A Taste of Freedom

     Hope everyone enjoyed a memorable July 4th!  The heat didn't deter hundreds of thousands from viewing the fireworks around the country, although in Boston the Esplanade had to be evacuated for a thunder and lightning storm that was its own spectacle.
    
     When the boys were young, we used to housesit at my parents' place in Riverside, Connecticut.  On the 4th we had a ritual of morning tennis, afternoon beach, and fireworks at Binney Park from a blanket.  It was the same park where I'd watched, growing up.

     When the boys got older and we had a summer place on the coast of Massachusetts, we began a new ritual with all of Charley's family.  We went to the beach, then came back for a cookout at our house.  Charley was the oldest of seven children, so some years there'd be fifrty of the Carey clan.  The numbers began to dwindle when our sons were playing for the Red Sox and their cousins were working elsewhere around the country.  Some years Charley and I took off to view the boys' professional games and the celebrations, wherever they were.

     As our kids began to have their own families, we only hoped that the 4th fell on a day that would allow them some time off to stay with us.  When that happened, we decorated the bikes and wagons and the kids put on special red, white, and blue outfits with hats or headbands to join in the parade along the beach.  Boats became floats and family clans marched together in costume ("Yankee Doodle" band or fishermen or farm animals, of which there are many here).  They still do.

     This year, because the holiday fell in the middle of the week, Charley and I enjoyed the sights and sounds of the parade and a picnic at the beach by ourselves.  Which was ok, since my definition of Independence Day changed on July 3rd.

     That day I went to a Panera Bread restaurant for lunch.  The table next to me was no more than twelve inches away and was occupied by two men in their thirties, both with food in front of them and one with an open laptop.  I'd taken about two bites of my grilled chicken and a sip of iced tea when the man with the laptop began to invoke a blessing.

     What to do?  I stopped munching out of respect, since I could hear every word and figured it would be over in a jiffy.  But it wasn't!  The fellow went on and on in a monotone.  Since I was the only other person in the restaurant who could hear him, I began munching again.

     When he finally finished, he began reading to his companion from his laptop and took an occasional bite of sandwich.  From what I could gather, it seemed like a sermon and his companion gave responses.

     I hadn't been to church in a long, long time, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to finish my salad while I kept one ear tuned next door.  Let's face it...I had some choices.  I could move to another table, I could get a "to-go" box for my salad, or I could stay.

     The men had made some choices, too.  They were quietly observing their beliefs and not disturbing anyone, given my decision to sit in my seat and eat.

     I had witnessed a perfect example of the meaning of July 4th.  It wasn't in the fireworks or the family gathering or the parade.  It was in our freedom of choice.
  

An Anniversary Celebration

     Have you ever gone in a bar as a couple and discovered it was a singles' hook-up joint?  Or worn a strapless gown to a function, when everyone else was in jeans?
     I thought it would be fun to celebrate our anniversary at some of our old haunts.  Got a reservation at The Old Canteen, a favorite Italian restaurant in Providence, R.I., about forty-five minutes from our summer home.  We started going to The Old Canteen to celebrate our kids' victories (academic and athletic), and continued through college graduations and engagements.  Although the owner, Joe Marzilli, and Sammy the busboy are no longer alive, the menu and decor haven't changed.  Glowing pink paint on the walls reflected off our cheeks, or was it the bottle of Prosecco we finished?  The garlic bread was still crusty and hot and "Veal a la Mike" with eggplant and prosuitto was still on the menu.  A perfect anniversary dinner!
     Trinity Square Repertory Company is a training ground for Broadway.  One of the stars that moved on after we had seen him at Trinity for decades was Richard Jenkins.  Knowing Charley has a good sense of humor and went through natural childbirth with me (twice), changed diapers, chauffered to practices and took over the laundry while I went back for another M.A., I bought tickets to the musical  "Motherhood." 
     The producers of "Motherhood" are the same team who produced the musical "Menopause."  Although Charley went through menopause with me, he suggested I attend that show with a girlfriend.  Which I should have done for "Motherhood!"
     As soon as we entered the lobby of Trinity Square after our perfect dinner, I knew I was in trouble.  We were surrounded by hundreds of women.  ONLY women.  Not a man in sight...except Charley.  Who dutifully waited by the rest rooms while I got in line.
     We found our seats.  He hadn't bolted yet!  "Look honey," I said.  "There's another man over there."
I was pointing directly across the theater to the far side.  It was the only other man I could see.  Eventually I found one other.
     "Oh look, there's Babs," I said.  Three rows up to our right sat one of our son and daughter-in-law's best friends.  In jeans (not a dress, like me).  With two girlfriends.  Charley immediately began waving at her. 
     "You realize this is going to come back at you?"  Just wanted to make sure he knew he could still bolt.
     Big hugs and kisses for Babs.  "So what are you doing here?" she asked Charley.
     "We just had a wonderful anniversary dinner," I explained, "and thought we'd see a show.  We used to have season tickets here for twenty years."
     "Congratulations!" Babs said, with more hugs and kisses.  The lights went down and the music came up.  Saved!  Babs scurried to her seat.
     I thought the show was hilarious.  Motherhood = changes to a woman's body, priorities, lifestyle.  Right up to grannyhood!  But Charley didn't laugh.  At least not for the first forty-five minutes.
     There was no intermission.  If there had been, I knew we would have been out of there.
     The second forty-five minutes, he was smiling.  I even caught him laughing once.   As the four stars were doing their encore, we dwarfed ourselves down the aisle in the dark. The woman behind us pointed and laughed. We made it through the lobby with the crowd still cheering.
     We got to the street.  "I was really worried they'd come up in the audience and grab any guy they could find for an audience participation thing," was Charley's only comment.
      I was just grateful he'd stayed. 
     For forty-seven years!

Granddaughters' Wit

     The following occurred during a recent visit from Emma, her sister, and cousin Olivia.    

     While feeding goats near a fence, Emma noticed there were still a few in the wooden shed.  "Those," she announced, "are getting a time-out!"

     When we asked Emma which position she enjoyed playing on her baseball team, she said, "First base."
     "Why is that?" Papa asked.
     "Because I get to talk to everyone when they get there!"

     After watching her grandmother (me) play a tennis match, Emma wanted to know, "Gran, why do you always grunt when you bend down to hit the ball?"

     We went to the Longhorn Steak House for dinner, where a pail of peanuts sat on our table.  "What do we do with the shells?" Emma asked the waitress.
     "In this restaurant, you can throw them on the floor.  It's ok, because the workers clean them up later."
     "I feel bad for you!" Emma said.

     A conversation follows between Olivia and her mother when Olivia did not get her way.
     Olivia:  "I think there should be three adults in this family!"
     Her mother:  "That would be pretty confusing.  Who would they be?"
     Olivia:  "You, Dad, and me!"
    


    

    

 

One College Reunion

                                                                                

      It seems that June is a good time to head down memory lane.  Since I posted a blog about my 50th high school reunion on October 10, 2011, and wrote about my senior prom in last week's blog, I thought I'd  write about one of my college reunions.

     Charley and I both graduated from Colby College in Waterville, Maine.  Although he graduated well before me (Ha!), we attend each other's reunions because we know each other's classmates.  When I sent in our deposit for a particular reunion of mine a while back, it seemed a good idea to take advantage of the option to stay in one of the dorms.  My class would have its headquarters there, so it would be just a short walk down the hall after late nightcaps - no driving.  And we'd save some $ by not getting a hotel room.

     Our core group gathered at headquarters in the morning, organized the keepsakes and memorabilia, and put on the tee shirts that our classmate, Chris Brown, had designed for the parade of classes.  The weather had been perfect for the boat ride the day before, and remained that way for the lobster/clambake, tennis, golf, seminars, lectures, and class dinner.  The trouble started when we went to our room to sleep.

     Trying to relive your youth at forty is one thing.  Trying to relive it at sixty-something is another.  The twin beds, which we'd expected, looked miniscule.  Could they have really been that narrow when we were students?  Or was this an attempt by the college to cut the budget by purchasing from Job Lots?  If we turned over at all, we'd bump into a wall.  The pillows felt like lumps of coal.  Fortunately, we'd brought our own.

     Maine gets cold at night, even in June!  On each bed were sheets and one thin blanket.  We changed into warmups.  We put our socks on.  Then we hopped in.

     As I eased under the sheet and 1/4" blanket, I heard a crinkly sound.  When I turned toward Charley, I heard it again.  "What the heck is that?"  I yelled across both desks to the far wall, where Charley was curled into a ball on his pallet. 

     "It's plastic on the mattress," he mumbled.  "Come over here.  There'll be more body heat."  A tiger doesn't change his stripes!  I put a sweater over my warmup and pulled a raincoat over the blanket on my bed.  Like I said, reliving your youth at sixty-something is another matter.

     I heard singing.  It seemed to be in the next room.  I pulled myself out of bed and unlocked the door.  The music wasn't coming from the hall.  I pulled the shade up on our window and looked down.  There was a bunch of twenty-somethings celebrating below us on the grass.  A couple of guys were doing a really bad job of "Celebrate Good Times."

     It was three a.m. when they disbanded.  After that, I dozed off.

     I have been known to get up several times during the night to use the bathroom, if I've had lots of liquids.  Ditto for Chas.  He went first - down the hall to the far corner.  I heard a shout echoing off the tiles, but didn't budge.

     When he reappeared, he woke me.  "What now?" I asked. 

     "The bathrooms are co-ed!  Guess who I just met in there?  Cindy Mello, the homecoming queen!"

     "I'm sure she didn't look any better at 3 a.m. than you did!  Go back to bed." 

     You can bet I showered in the ladies' locker room at the field house the following morning!  Another safe bet would be that the Holiday Inn became our home during future reunions.

    

      



    

    

Prom Memories

     Aahh, spring proms!  I look at the photo of my senior prom from the early sixties and see a chubette with dark brown hair (I fixed that in college with highlights) and a gap between her two front teeth  (fixed that, too), in a strapless white beaded gown (full skirt, bridal-looking).  What was I thinking, when I was clearly fifteen pounds overweight? 

     It was not the greatest night in my memory bank.  I was boyfriend-less (wanted to head off to college unattached) and had no prospect for a prom date till two weeks before, when one of my senior "buddies" invited me.  He, too, was not part of a pair.  In the early sixties, our parents wanted us to start drinking at home, instead of at bars.  So the evening began at the home of a classmate, where her parents served cocktails!!  I don't remember much about the prom itself (too many cocktails?), except it was under a gigantic tent attached to the front facade of our three-story brick fortress of a high school.

     "Grundy" and I didn't spend much time together, except for the picture taking.  In an attempt to keep all of us safe, the school administration (public) offered an after-prom party at a banquet facility in town.  They probably suspected that we'd been drinking before the prom, since the  party was aptly named "Afterglow."  Some of the same teachers were chaperones at the Afterglow that we'd seen at the prom.  Boring!  Our gang made an appearance, then had other plans.

     Which were to camp out on town conservation land!  We followed each other in a caravan.  Yup, we had large tents, flashlights, all the equipment, even food, which we didn't need since we'd been eating all night.  Don't know how we didn't get caught?  Around 3 a.m. "Grundy" and I couldn't stand to look at each other any longer, and he took me home.  So much for a fantasy evening!

     Fast-forward to the late eighties.   In an attempt to be protective, Charley and I phoned the parents of each son's friend for junior and senior proms.  We got permission to have the limos bring the whole gang down to our beach house, over the state line and an hour away from the prom.  No kids would be driving, and they'd all be spending the night with Charley and me.  Sans liquor.  Or so we thought!

     The night of younger son's junior prom, the kids arrived as scheduled.  They changed and headed to the beach at the end of the road.  Older bro and his friends went down for the party, along with sisters and boyfriends over age 21. Guess what they brought?

     When the party got too rowdy on the beach, neighbors called the police.  There were some juniors who were swift of foot, while others got  arrested.  Charley and I got the call from the station at 3 a.m..  As did all the parents, an hour away in another state!

     We hadn't supplied any liquor, which each kid had to verify to the cops.  When Charley arrived at the jail cells, male and female seventeen-year-olds were in tears.   By 5 a.m. I was cooking breakfast for the parents and the promgoers.  The police wiped everyone's record clean with the promise from the kids to pick up the beach that morning. 

     Moral of stories:  provide a safe place for your kids on prom (or graduation) night, and don't let older sisters or brothers chaperone!

     What are your prom night memories??

The High Cost of Protecting Our Heritage

     Today is Memorial Day, 2012, and we attended a local parade honoring our veterans, our military still serving, and those who lost their lives on active duty.  Before writing this blog entitled, "The High Cost of Protecting Our Heritage," it seems fitting to say "Thank you" to all of them, including my husband Charley, who served in Viet Nam.

                                                                       
     Friends of ours called from Ohiopyle, Pennsylvania.  They had just walked out of a homeowner's association meeting for their community named Deer Lake.  There was so much shouting that no-one could hear the discussion. Here's why.

     It seems Deer Lake (the lake) is a man-made thing of beauty.  Unfortunately, Deer Lake needs to be drained so the state can tear down a dam and rebuild it.  The drainage permits cost the homeowners $3,000.

     The actual dredging of Deer Lake has cost the homeowners another $14,000 to date.  Now the project has been halted!

     "Why?" you ask.

      Because in the silt the engineers found three endangered species.

     "Species of what?" you ask.

     Three endangered PLANT species! 

     St. John's Wort was among them.  St. John's Wort is a widely-known herbal treatment for depression (which the residents might soon need).

     St. John's Wort, according to Wikipedia, is also listed as a noxious weed in more than twenty countries, which "replaces native plant communities and forage vegetation to the dominating extent of making productive land nonviable or becoming an invasive species in natural habitats and ecosystems.  Ingestion by livestock can cause spontaneous abortion and can lead to death."

     Is there livestock around Deer Lake?  Don't know.  There are certainly deer!  So how much will it cost the homeowners to relocate the deer to save St. John's Wort to save the Lake to save the dam?  And where will the water go and who will pay for that?

    Reminds me of the time Charley was Chairman of the Board of Trustees of a private psychiatric hospital.  The Board had approved plans to build a continuing-care facility (independent living, assisted living, and skilled nursing) on the "campus."  When the contractor broke ground, he discovered an Indian burial ground along the river - sacrosanct.  Everything halted.  One of the Board members suggested building a casino on the Indian territory - "a much more lucrative proposition," he claimed. 

     The residents of the skilled nursing facility, now sitting upriver, claim they hear chants to the sound of drums at night, as they place their bets at Bingo.

Top 10 Antics of Almost-Two Twin Grandsons

       (In descending order)
                                                                            

10.  Holding rubber-ducky races in the toilets.

 9.  Peeling wallpaper off the wall in the timeout chair.

 8.  Unzipping p.j.'s and whipping diaper off after bath, then peeing on bathroom floor.

 7.  Starting a food fight with fistfuls still on bro's plate.

 6.  Pulling bro backwards on his stomach through the sandbox.

 5.  "Sharing" a truck by leaving indentations in bro's nose.

 4.  Mistaking bro's wrist for a hunk of bread.

 3.  Hurling Superman-style from the ottoman onto the sofa and missing by 2 inches.

 2.  Pulling chairs to the dining room table to climb to the chandelier and swing like monkeys.


                            AND THE WINNER IS:


 1.  Disappearing into the mail truck while the mailman's talking to Dad.