Random Googling

A Gorgeous Looking Man.



A Great Black Dress



A Breathtaking View

That's all I got, for now.

In The Swim

They say when you’re drowning, your life flashes before your eyes. I think “they” got it terribly wrong. For 3 successive evenings this week, I went swimming in a beautiful brand new pool, one of the enticements of a gym I’m considering joining. I was never in any danger of drowning, but I had these same kinds of flashes, little vignettes of my life, from the moment I first slipped beneath the surface of the water.

The smell of chlorine hits me as I walk into the women’s changing room. I'm immediately brought back to my freshman year in high school, when swimming was a gym requirement. That pool was dank, dark and depressing, and the water felt oily. Nothing like this state-of-the-art facility, but the smell in the dressing room is exactly the same. At least I’m free of my 9th grade agonizing about how my hair will look afterwards, but I still modestly choose to change in a stall with a curtain just like I did back then. The time slot is reserved for women only, but unlike my PE class there is a noticeable difference in that all of the women here are older than me. Maybe it’s the early hour I chose, but most of the women look to be in their 60’s and 70’s, their bathing caps are almost a dead giveaway. It seems to be a club of some sort and they congregate in the shallow end to do their aquatic exercises against the 3 sides of the pool, leaving the deep end all to myself. I’m perfectly happy with this arrangement because one of the reasons I'm swimming is for the solitude.

I stretch out to do what I came for and dive in. It feels great, not too cold, just right. I begin to swim laps back and forth across the width of the pool. The water feels smooth and glides off my skin, it's crystal clear and I slide through it effortlessly. There is something so primordial and life affirming about being in water this way, although my favorite form of swimming is in the ocean, not a chlorinated pool. As I swim my mind goes back to being in the ocean as a child, the annual family vacations to the beaches of New Jersey. I think about my mother’s flowered bathing suit with the detachable skirt, and how my father had one bathing suit ("swim trunks") that he wore year after year. I remember when he showed me how to swim past the breakers to get to those gentle rolling waves, the ones you could backfloat on. Another memory from a child's perspective: how the ocean seemed to change at nighttime into something scary. A powerful force of nature from my view up on the Boardwalk. It still does that to me.

I stop swimming after a while, and float on my back to rest, just like I used to on those softly lapping waves in the ocean. A more recent memory comes to mind this time; being in the Caribbean with 3 of my children several years ago. It was their first trip ever to a tropical island, and their first exposure to the breathtaking beauty of an undersea dive. This is one of the best memories of my life. We had just gone down into the ocean from the boat, and all three were floating in a sort of semi-circle around me as we descended. I could clearly see their expressions through their scuba masks, their looks of astonishment and pure joy as we took in the unbelievable colors of the tropical fish swirling all around us, the brilliant coral below, the shimmering turquoise of the water.

Priceless.

Unfortunately, the membership to this particular gym is not priceless, it's much more than I can afford. I continue floating there for a while longer, enjoying how the water blocks out the voices and sounds of everything else.

I think to myself, I should do this. Just join and damn the expense of it. But summer is coming up fast, there'll be lots of opportunities of my having access to other pools.

And hopefully, other oceans.

3 Day Pass

I'm not a gym person. Oh I've tried them, even joined several times - and I always get intimidated by all the equipment, especially that obscene open-your-thighs-wide contraption which inevitably has me facing some sweaty guy on a treadmill. I get annoyed by all the people hanging out and perspiring to be workout professionals, flexing whilst guzzling their fancy-schmancy bottled water. Makes me want to just stre-e-etch out on a yoga mat, eat my doritos and make fun of them. To me, there are untold number of reasons why just plain walking is so much preferable over exercising at an indoor gym.

1. Being able to look in people's windows.
I'm amazed at the number of people (usually men) who think no one can see them in their bathrooms.

2. If the windows are open, hearing other mothers yelling at their kids.
This is always kind of vaguely comforting to me. God only knows what other walkers have heard when they've walked past my house.

3. Being outside, breathing in the fresh air, the wonder of nature, the changing of the seasons, etc.
Besides giving great calves, it really is good for your soul.

4. Being able to stop and smoke a cigarette if I want to, or make a phone call out of the earshot of my kids.
I stopped smoking years ago. I wouldn't dare smoke in front of my kids, they'd crucify me. But I started smoking "socially" several years back when I was out with someone and he lit up a Gauloise and it just looked so damn appealing. Ditto if I'm out and the other person is smoking, I'll usually have one too. Or two or three, I'm pretty easily led that way. I used to keep a pack of Dunhills in the freezer for special occasions, but there just wasn't enough of those and they went stale.

5. If I don't feel like walking anymore, I can stop at my sister's house and she'll give me a ride home.
This has happened more than a few times. She only lives about a mile away and her house is a convenient restroom stop, or to scarf down one of those Entemmen chocolate donuts. They're a family addiction.

But just this week, I received a 3 day pass to an upscale and rather luxurious new gym that opened up close to where I live. They have a heated pool, which is the main reason I'm thinking of trying one out again. Swimming is envigorating, it tones the muscles and being underwater is so very soothing, you can shut everything else out. Even if swimming is all I use it for, it'll be worth the membership cost.

I'll be sure to let you all know how it goes. Glug.

Mimes Protesting The War

God, but I love this picture. I guess because you can use it over and over for any number of causes. For example: "Mimes Protesting Geoff Not Returning My Star After a More-Than-Reasonable/Actually Harsher Than Needed 90 Day Disciplinary Period" and so on.

Off-topic stuff: Grey Goose La Poire Vodka. It is to die for. As I discovered when I went out just this past Saturday night. I'd seen a big advertising spread in the New Yorker about it, so when the bartender asked what was my pleasure I asked for a pear martini.

Of course, as is typical way out here in Pennsylvania Dutchland, he looked at me crosseyed when I asked for La Poire because he'd never heard of it. No problem, I just ordered something else. Five minutes later, I'm deep in conversation with my sister and bartender reappears, having discovered they did indeed have a whole case of the stuff, brand new. "Let's break it out" he says and offers up free pear martinis to me, my sister and everyone around us.

Cue to a few hours later, I'm back home walking my dog, almost fall on the ice twice. Hmmmm. Could've been a very dangerous night.

Four 3-Pointers

My 16 year old son Michael sprints down the court like a gazelle. He's fluid tonight, loose and aggressive, he's on his game. The ball gets passed to him from a teammate on the left, Michael dribbles from midcourt looking for an opening, sees none, whips the ball to his right. Immediately it gets returned to him, he shoots and sinks a perfect 3 pointer.


Here comes Johnny singing oldies, goldies
Be-bop-a-lua baby what I say

There's a scramble for the rebound, the other team fumbles and lets it slip out of their hands, gets passed back to Michael who is still hovering midcourt. He shoots again with flawless precision as if he's playing all alone, and indeed he is because no one is guarding him at that moment. Whoosh, 3 more points.

Here comes Johnny with the power and the glory
down in the tunnels tryin to make it pay

The opposition is good. Really good. It's been a two to three point game all through. The pressure is on but bolstered by his two critical shots, Michael is pumped and clearly having fun. He passes the ball to #3, his brother Patrick. I love it whenever I see this, see them working together as a team, within a team. Sibling rivalry runs high, even higher when you share the same birthday. Patrick has scored a couple baskets himself in this game, and I can see he wants to shoot now, he wants to outshine Michael. But tonight is Michael's night.

Patrick almost loses the ball in a steal, retrieves it and that momentary lapse sets him back on the right course. He gets the ball back into his brother's hands and blocks the offense who try to grab it from him, allowing Michael to shoot unobstructed, again from midcourt. Again, nothing but net.

He got the action, he got the motion
Yeah, the boy can play

It's Michael Jordan time, with 23 seconds left in the game. We're down by two, 57-59. Determination and sweat are clearly visible all over the court now, and the aggressiveness goes up about 3 notches. Patrick is on the bench, but Michael is still out there, he knows what he has to do. The opposition is all over him, they won't get fooled again. But in that inexplicable way that some nights are just magical, there's magic in Michael tonight. With two seconds left in the game, Michael shoots his final and fourth 3 pointer, sinking it just as the buzzer sounds. Game over, 60-59. A game to remember.

Dedication, Devotion
Turning all the Nighttime into the Day
And He do the walk
He do the walk of Life

With acknowledgement to Dire Straits, for the soundtrack: here

New Neighbors

Okay, I wasn't really surprised yesterday morning, when I saw the rental truck sitting in the driveway next door. I knew Old Lady K-----'s house had finally sold after almost 11 months on the market; I knew the jig was up on my carefree days of letting the dog do her business over on their lawn instead of ours.

Even when our quiet little street became lined with cars by 10 AM, I thought: "Wow, these new people sure have lots of helpful friends"...and indeed, one of them even waved to me as he rolled two kegs through the snow and right into the front door.

Like Gladys Kravitz ever with an eye out the window, I watched as the naugahyde sofa & loveseat were taken off the truck, along with the "blonde wood" bedroom furniture, and the super-sized TV set. Two burley looking guys carrying a washing machine around back slipped and tipped it precariously, losing their footing in the deep snow (and in turn, the washing machine) with a loud reverberating whomp. 24 hours later, it still sits there, white on white. Is there a Maytag Repairman in da house?

But it wasn't until this morning when I went out for my newspaper that I actually got to meet them. The wife had a coat thrown over her pajamas, but the husband was completely shirtless, they were both loading junk back into the moving truck in the driveway. I guess he noticed me standing there kind of incredulous, I mean, it wasn't like he dashed out for a second in 15 degree weather; he was out there working! They immediately stopped what they were doing and trudged through the snow to where I was standing in the street, shook my hand all friendly-like and we made introductions. There was pleasant small talk while I tried not to stare at his nipples, and I asked if they had any children. The wife grinned and said no. "No kids, just the 2 dobermans is all."

Gulp.

I'm trying to keep an open mind, really. Just because I can watch what their watching on TV right from the street doesn't mean anything, just because we've always let our little 12 pound mutt wander freely in the backyard and woods doesn't necessarily mean I'm going to find her severed head served up on my front doormat, and just because there's all that loud raucous laughter - it only means they know how to have fun, right?

Buy My House

For far too long now, I've held on to my house much like I held on to my marriage; because of my kids. Right now it's the middle of the night as I write this, the teenagers are all snug in their beds, but I'm the one with the sugarplum visions of shiny new condominiums with granite kitchen counters dancing in my head.

I remember when we first moved here 14 years ago - "moving up" from a twin in the city to a non-descript 4 bedroom single further out in the burbs - how one short walk "around back" and suddenly life was never the same again. Canopies of mature trees towering over a hidden jewel of a backyard that included among other things, a real live babbling brook and a swing hung by two 20 foot ropes - now frayed but still doing the job. That swing has seen all ages grace its lovely worn wooden seat - even my mother hopped on it one late spring night during my oldest daughter's first communion party. My mother is pretty much confined to a wheelchair these days.

It was the back yard that sold us on the house, really - and it has served us well. The creek was the perfect spot for two little boys who loved building bridges with old cast off 2x4's, for catching crayfish ("Mom, A lobster!") For snake spotting, for lining with daylilies and irises and slippery stepping stones perfect for jumping, perfect for breaking on through to the other side.

A thatched roof storage shed shrouded by huge rhododendron bushes turned into a playhouse for about five years; a secret clubhouse with entry granted by passwords known only to my younger daughter and her girlfriends. The lawn used to be much lusher, much greener - but slip n' slides and summer sleepovers in staked tents had a tendency to leave bare patches after a while. And when it snows, like tonight? So beautiful it could take your breath away.

But now my children have put away their childish things. They lead busy lives that center around high school friends and myspace.com and learning how to drive, drive away from this house. The backyard sits unused, unappreciated except by me when I'm at the kitchen sink or at my desk in front of the living room windows.

Eventually we'll figure out a price tag for the house and do a little sprucing and painting and the sale sign will go up soon enough. But that backyard is where the sale will happen.

Probably in the late springtime, when those irises are in full bloom again.

Immeasureable Loss

For as long as I can remember, whenever I've been seriously troubled by something, I've always been able to find tangible relief and comfort simply through the moon or the ocean. There is something that draws me toward these natural life forces in times of stress, something that connects me to their ancient pull of cycles and tides. Within their very perpetuality there exudes a calmness, a way to make sense of what's going on. I feel it when I swim in the ocean as well.

Even if you're not a praying kind of person, life has a way of bringing you to your knees. Regardless of your beliefs or how well you think you know yourself - when you're up against a situation holding life and death in the balance, it's the ultimate leveler. You'll bargain, plead, beg and promise everything in exchange for whatever will up the ante; help, forgiveness, mercy, anything to save what is most precious to you.

To lose a child is an unspeakable loss, unlike any other. It's unnatural, it alters life in such a way that it can't be put back together again, can never be wholly restored. It's unbearable, yet if it happens you must bear it. The passage of time surely helps, but time will only scar over a raw open wound of pain, it won't take it away. You want to howl at that moon and rail at the endless ocean of pain surrounding you, yet it's only the slow day in/day out ticking of time that will inexplicably soften it for you; that will help to blunt and blur those forces that can crush you at the tragedy's onset.

You'll continue living and go on loving, but there will always be a qualifier present now to whatever joy you'll ever experience again. Living will never be as easy as it once seemed to be, nor as taken for granted.

Dreamgirls

I've always gotten a real kick out of listening (and dancing to) En Vogue. To me, they epitomize the classic heart and soul of an all girl group, a sexier, more sophisticated take on both the Supremes and the whole girl group era in general - but with just a little bit more fabulousness.

None of the 4 women who made up EnVogue were classified as official "Lead Singer" and this was unique in that they worked it with a different angle; they shared lead vocals, each one taking over lead reins depending on the mood and arrangement of the song. Kind of an anomaly when you consider the fact that each one of them possessed the fiercesome talent and stunning good looks to make it as a solo act, had any one of them wanted to venture out on their own.

So whatever happened to them?

It seems in that way all "All Girl" groups go, they've disbanded and gone their separate ways for a while now, virtually disappearing into private life. Guess I'll have to console myself with treasures from their archive - like this sexy little rendition (below) of an old Aretha Franklin song, while waiting for what I'm hoping will be an eventual splashy comeback.

Click Here and Enjoy

Prince Charles Makes Mockery Of Liberty Bell

Prince Charles, in Philadelphia this weekend ostensibly to celebrate the 150th anniversary of the Academy of Music, left mouths agape when he suddenly darted behind the stately Liberty Bell in a sick and sordid game of Hide and Seek with shocked reporters.

Meanwhile on the other side of The Bell, his adulteress-cum-second wife Camilla, lewdly ran her finger up and down the famed "crack" while whispering something that onlookers said must have been quite lascivious,
causing Charles to erupt in a most un-king-like snort and guffaw. The Royal Couple were quickly ushered off to their next event, leaving bystanders perplexed and puzzled.

Indeed, Housekeeping Staff at Philadelphia's plush Four Seasons Hotel, where Charles and Camilla took occupancy for the evening, were not amused. A maid who was interviewed on the condition of anonymity said that the master suite bath was "littered with toenail clippings" and several plastic containers of Lipton Onion Dip were found on the bedside nighttable, "with half-eaten potato chips still stuck in."

I Hate New Year's Day

I've always hated it because for whatever reason - I always seem to dwell more on the "ending" aspect rather than the beginning. Especially true this year in particular, after finishing up all the loose ends of divorce, experiencing an in-law's Christmas week death (although at 86 he had a good run) and a long-awaited, bittersweet reunion with someone significant, one that likely won't come around again.



I Was Never Meant To Work

Tomorrow I have to go back to work after having EIGHTEEN DAYS OFF, and a couple of those days actually included some spectacular

...Um, well, never mind. I keep forgetting a blog is NOT a private diary.

Suffice to say it's going to be hard to get back into the work grind, dammit.

I See Dead People

Having just spent this entire week helping my ex-husband and his family deal with the handling of funeral arrangements (my father-in-law died Christmas Eve) I have to say I'm taken aback at the whole business and practical side of death. Cremation? Or Traditional Burial?

What started out as plans for a simple funeral soon turned into a staggering bill, once the $3,600 mahogany casket was chosen by all his siblings, along with the funeral home costs which included the embalming - making my father-in-law look like some kind of horrible blood-drained wax creature, kind of frightening to his grandchildren to say the least.

He already had a burial plot, apparently my parents' generation took care of these kind of things as almost a rite of passage once they hit middle age.

Me, I can't fathom buying a plot for myself. Not because I think I'm immortal - but because yesterday as we gathered around the burial site at the cemetery and I looked out over the acres and acres of headstones surrounding us, I couldn't help but wonder how much longer this small world can possibly provide the land needed for cemeteries. It almost seems like an extravagance in itself, traditional burials, that is - in this day and age.

I want to say "Cremate Me, Please"...but what holds me back? The fear of fire, the thought of my body being incinerated to dust and ashes? But really, how much better is it to end up being artificially "preserved" in the grotesque way my father-in-law now is?

Going Home Again

December 2006; a house near the ocean.

Upon reflection, some things are just too precious to be written down at all, but they'll live on forever in our memories. This is one I'll keep safe within my dreams.

Fall From Grace

In light of a recent transgression, I've been doing a bit of reading lately on this subject. What I'm finding is that there are many different categories of collapse; the United States for example, has been experiencing a cataclysmic fall from grace, and on a worldwide stage to boot. Setbacks, scandals and slips are all too familiar within the corporate world, where every penny earned hinges on maintaining a solid reputation. Celebrities keep the tabloid industry thriving with their public gaffes and indiscretions. Winona Ryder, Mel Gibson, and most recently Michael Richards have felt the full sting of consequences resulting from their actions; their reputations became unraveled and are seriously tarnished.

But I'm interested more in the everyday personal fall from grace, the kind an ordinary person experiences when they've done something wrong, something that appears to be terribly out-of-character, something that changes the view others always held of them.

I experienced a very serious fall from grace about 5 years ago, the repercussions of which resonate with me to this day. I was living in a marriage that was mutually loveless, held in place only by the children my husband and I both adored, and in my loneliness I drifted into an affair. Although he was aware of my infidelity my husband chose to ignore it, which in turn gave me a sense of entitlement to continue it.

That affair eventually ended, as all affairs do...but trailing in it's wake was the impetus to finally go ahead with the divorce we both had long wanted, but delayed for the sake of our children. The divorce was never about the affair, after all - but you can only stay together so long "for the kids" before even more damage is inflicted overall.

I didn't escape my indiscretion without paying a price, however. An email account inadvertantly left open and stumbled upon by one of our children changed everything. All the lovingly explained and carefully thought-out reasons we'd given them for ending our marriage became discredited and moot in light of this discovery. For children facing the trauma of a family about to be broken, it pretty much comes down to the black and white; who to blame. It was heartbreaking and painful - one of those life-altering moments you wish you could forever erase.

It was through this terrible fall from grace with my own children that I learned redemption actually does exist. It's taken understanding and patience, love, and lots and lots of time, but my children are proof of this fact.

I'll never be the shining model of motherhood they once believed I was, and in my grief over how I hurt them that was a significant loss - but I also realized that they would've begun discarding that ideal regardless, simply in the process of growing up. Every child eventually begins to see their parents as the real and imperfect human beings they are, complete with flaws and foibles - but it's the children who can see beyond those things that have learned firsthand for themselves what forgiveness means.

No matter if it was a major or minor transgression, a fall from grace isn't something to be dismissed or taken lightly, but neither do you have to let it define you. There will always be the inevitable fallout and unintended collateral damage, and saddest of all, the ones who may never quite trust you again.

All part of the consequences you have to bear, albeit made more tolerable when paired with the knowledge that redemption can and does exist, you need only to seek it by making reconciliation, and hopefully in time you will find it.

I Want A Katrina Cottage

Little Pink Houses...

Or yellow, as the case may be. I'm thinking along the lines of khaki, with black shutters, to match our main house.

Makes perfect economic sense. It's an ideal size for an in-law apartment, I can buy it at Lowe's, and with almost an acre on my existing property I have the lot space to build it. I could use it for my parents, for my kids when they need a transition space after college, or even for myself if I want to get away from my kids.

How much you want to bet zoning won't allow me to build it? Fuckers.

Isabel From Ireland

The excellent and superbly written review for Edna O'Brien's newest book (on Slate's Book Blitz) brought to mind another Irish woman...

A cousin from Ireland, one I'd never met before, visited my family for two weeks this past summer. Isabel was her name, an attractive looking woman in her mid-40's, and we were happily prepared to entertain when she arrived on our doorstep in August with 3 of her 6 children, all teenagers, 2 girls and a boy. She had long contemplated making this trip for over two years, and only by the urging of her husband and unrelenting pleas of her children did she finally decide to book the plane tickets and go for it.

While her chldren and ours bonded almost immediately, it took her a few days to feel sufficiently comfortable around my 3 sisters and myself - we were all roughly around the same age - but gradually as the first week wore on and we traveled together to visit places like the beach, NYC and DC, she began opening up to us about her life in Ireland, and her first impressions of the US.

She was stunned by all the little luxuries (2 cars in a family, garages, remotes for everything) all the activity and the technology that permeated our everyday lives, finding it at times thrilling but mostly bewildering and unnecessary (4 computers in one household, for instance) although both her daughters had cellphones, her 16 year old son had no use for one. She dressed in a kind of utilitarian manner, something I understood from when I was a mother with much younger children at home - you rarely looked at yourself in the mirror or thought much about how you dressed. She had a "makeover" at Bloomingdales and blushed furiously when they made a huge fuss over her because she was from Ireland - it was pretty obvious that she'd never been fussed over like that in her whole life. She bought some flattering new clothes and shoes that weren't as "sensible" as they were stylish.

Isabel was remarkably well-read and educated, as were each of her children, not to mention totally aware, knowledgeable and opinionated on almost all current events. This was the one striking difference I noted and felt we came so far short in comparison as to be an embarrassment. She would regularly use literary references in conversation or to describe something, a habit her children seemed to pick up naturally too, often leaving my own teenagers puzzled and clueless. Needless to say, it made an impression on them as well.

The two weeks flew by, when it was time for them to leave my sisters and I felt we had gained a new sibling, and we all cried at the airport, lots of hugs and promises for a future visit to Ireland next summer.

It was a couple weeks later that I received an email from Isabel, describing the inevitable letdown after such an exciting trip - "the best two weeks of my whole life" as one of her daughters said.

She described standing at her kitchen sink and losing herself in thought about the things she'd seen on the trip, she was surprised at how much she missed it and wanted to come back, how addicted she had become to all the daily trips and just the fun, laughter, excitement and festive atmosphere of being around a large extended family.

But mostly, she missed the daily contact with me and all my sisters. We were not without influence, things had already changed in their household - the old home computer they'd been using (all sharing the same email address) was just recently replaced with an upgraded model, and she's been emailing us pretty much on a weekly basis ever since.

And just a few days ago, when I stumbled across Stephen King's "It" wedged into the side of our living room sofa with one of the pages folded over to bookmark it, I knew things had changed at my house, too.

**

Joy Is The Right Word

Funny how something as simple as diving can be so powerful.

Last year, amidst all the sadness of going through a divorce, I decided it was high time my children got a fresh perspective, that a little fun was in order. My oldest daughter was away at college but it was my other three (triplets) who needed this more so than her. I wanted to take them somewhere they'd never been before, so I booked a short escape for a long weekend, to the Bahamas. Keep in mind that the Jersey shore was the only ocean these kids had ever seen in their short teenaged lives.

I know that I speak for them as well as myself, when I say that a single stellar memory of that trip will forever stand out. It was the moment right after we had just gone underneath, just seconds into that shimmering sea of turquoise. My three children were floating in a sort of semi-circle directly in front of me, and even though they were all in scuba masks I could clearly see their faces.

I will never forget how each of them looked to me at that moment - each taking in the surreal spectacle of undersea life - hundreds of brilliant-colored tropical fish swirling around us, the gorgeous orange of the coral further down below, the deep clear blue of the water, each of them looking at me so wondrously as if to register "is this for real?"

Joy. That was what we felt together, at that moment.

Online Dating: Judging a Guy By His

Grammar.

You know, like the way he writes in his profile. (Perverts. What were you expecting?)

Anyhoo, I caught a lot of flack last time I wrote about online dating, for saying how important good grammar was to me. Well I still say it. I can tell immediately if he reads and if he’s educated by the way he writes. By “educated” I’m not talking about university degrees. For example, if I get a reply from someone and he uses "your" instead of "you're" and then I read on and see all kinds of misspellings, I get this mental image of someone with a lot of dirt under his fingernails. I have similar distaste for anyone who uses “LOL” in their correspondence, although that’s more a petty personal thing of mine and I try not to let that cloud my overall impression.

In the world of online dating, your first impression comes from how you write it. If you don’t think grammar is important, its no different than showing up on a traditional old fashioned blind date wearing shorts with black socks and shoes.

Peach Pie

I made a pie all by myself for the first time, last night.

Key words: all by myself. Over the years I've made dozens and dozens of pies, but they were always a collaborative effort; my husband always made the crust because he was excellent at it. He had a way of turning out pie crusts that were picture perfect and so flaky the first bite would melt in your mouth. I'd always do the easier part of peeling the apples or paring the peaches, mixing in the sugar and cinnamon and whatever. We both come from big families, and our pies were legendary within our family circle and because of that, we were always assigned to bring dessert to all family gatherings, Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. Every holiday would find us slaving in the kitchen the night before, always filling the house with the most wonderful aroma.

Funny thing but the last ten years or so of the marriage, things deteriorated to where the only thing we ever did together (as a couple) was making those pies. Oftentimes our kids would sit up at the kitchen counter, taking in the unusual sight of us working together as a team. Watching them watching us, I'd always feel such pangs of regret. For not giving them more of those kind of moments, the ones that bring such security when kids see their parents are in sync. Even then, they knew - we all knew.

Its been a transitional year for all of us. I've taken on a lot of new (to me) responsibilities since Tim moved out over a year ago; the more mundane things like mowing the lawn, fixing things or painting aren't as big a deal as I once thought. Its been the subtle things that are much harder to keep attuned to, things I have to make sure I don't become too busy to miss; like the way one of my sons began to check and double check the locks on all the doors every night before we all went to bed. He's finally stopped doing that now.

Last night I bridged a little bit more of the gap when I rolled out that dough and took on the pie crust by myself. It wasn't for a birthday or a holiday, there was no special occasion except that I had all these perfectly ripe peaches and the free time to do it. My daughter sat up at the counter and chatted with me while I measured out the flour, she never alluded to it but I knew she was watching, and remembering. I started feeling those pangs again, but I just kept on rolling, and talking with her.

Damn if it didn't turn out halfway decent. No one even noticed it wasn't quite picture perfect when it was still warm and topped with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream. All they noticed was the specialness of having homemade peach pie on an otherwise normal day.

Yesterday, I Was Caught Shoplifting.

Actually, I was caught eating the goods outright, I wasn't concealing them.

I was at Wegmans, a rather upscale grocery store that happens to have an unbelievable candy section, one that would bring out the kid in anyone, a candy section to die for. They've got all the penny candy from my childhood; atomic fireballs, red hot dollars, wax lips, wax bottles, fizzies, licorice snaps, candy cigarettes, candy buttons on paper, sugar babies, now & laters, Oh. My. God.

So there I was, cruising all the tempting choices with my bag in hand, trying to decide - when I nonchalantly dug into the raisinet bin and scooped out a small handful.

I was munching on them when two security guards slithered up behind me and flashed their badges. Gulp.

Mortified, I immediately pulled my cart over by the m&m bin. A couple of kids were pointing, whispering and snickering behind the Hershey kisses display. I smiled at the mullet-coiffed guard; she didn't smile back. They didn't make me spit out the evidence or read me my rights, they didn't even prosecute, it was just a warning. This time, anyway. But I've got a feeling there's a frozen fuzzy picture of me somewhere (from their monitor/camera) stuffing my mouth with raisinets - and its hanging up back there in their corporate offices, its on my permanent record now.

Should I seek help?