Wanamaker memories

The Eagle at Wanamaker’s was always a meeting place. I can remember going to Philadelphia on the subway from Camden. Mom would walk us down Stevens Street. We would turn right on Broadway and catch the subway. This was prior to the high speed line and the turnstiles were really wooden. The driveway and the house no longer exist. We lived at 309 South 6th Street in Camden. I think this is now the green area of Cooper University Medical Center. This is where I started school (Broadway); saw escargot in baskets, poultry hanging by the neck and where I learned that a store with a neon pretzel does not sell pretzels.
There were times I remember ducking under while the older people put the token in the slot and walked through. The train went over the Benjamin Franklin, past Whitman Chocolate and Old Saint George’s. It was a great view. Campbell’s Soup was on the going home side of the bridge a little further down the Delaware River. We would stop at 8th and Market to shop at Lit Brothers. Dad worked at Lit’s when he was at Penn so it was considered a pilgrimage. After we shopped a while we went to Strawbridge and Clothiers which was across Market Street. We dressed to go to shopping. I remember being cold in my dress, my winter coat, anklets and Shapiro’s shoes. Even though I was cold the walk to Wanamaker’s was full of wonderful sights.
I remember the sights and smells of Reading (RED-ing) market. We seldom ate at the market because we were headed for the Cranberry Room at Wanamaker’s. We met my paternal grandmother, Honey, and headed for lunch. I have many memories of the restaurant. It had deep cranberry walls and starched white tablecloths and napkins. I think the favorite menu item was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The water in Philadelphia had a funny taste to it. My sister and I were dress alike in either in a Nova Scotia Tartan or Royal Stewart pleated skirt. All I remember was the stupid straps. After lunch we would get into the elevator (there were walls of elevators).The nice man in the maroon uniform would take us to any floor we wanted. Sometimes, if we were lucky we would be on the main floor when the organ was playing. At Christmas there was a neon light show, narrative story and organ music. Oh to be able to see that huge green board with all the tubes and see that organ. While I was checking some facts, and looking for some pictures I found out, maybe reminded, both the eagle and the organ came from the St. Louis State Fair.
As I grew older we moved away from the Philadelphia area. I came back to the Philly after high school to go to nursing school. Oh what fun it was on the subway and/or subway surface cars going to classes at Penn. Lunch was usually at Pagano’s and Roberta Flack’s song “Killing Me Softly” was playing in the background.
There were times I left Methodist early enough to scoot into Wanamaker’s and grab something prior to transferring to the line that would take me to a lab or class. After graduation I was able to shop in a more relaxed way. I think my second credit card was Wanamaker’s. I know the first on was Strawbridge and Clothier. The purchases I remember making at Wanamaker’s were a shirt and tie for a good friend (pale yellow Cutlass Classic Convertible) who was graduating from medical school. (Jefferson). The other treasure I bought was violin music books. There was a wonderful assortment of music books. I spent hours rummaging through the stacks. I finally settled on a bluegrass and something else book. Three months later I accidently took the books out with the newspaper. I still miss the memory, not the books.
Watching the video of the random acts of culture churned up numerous memories for me. I am sorry there was nothing like this locally for the girls to know and love. Thank you so much to all those who sang and the foundation for bringing the spontaneity back into center city. The facebook friends who posted the link will never really know the joy it brought.
I cannot dwell on what the wrecking ball of change has destroyed but I can still remember the parsonage in Camden. The wrought iron fence around the yard, feeding pennies to the parking meters so the policeman would not give tickets to those parked. Decorating the front porch of the parsonage with the bishop’s funeral flowers was a highlight. Climbing the vertical iron railing was a blast. I think we entertained the patients at Cooper Hospital. I still remember listening to Mr. Mason play the bells in the tower and the smell of Ralph the caretaker’s tea. Camden was a great memory mom and dad. I promise never to throw toys out the third story window again.

Thank Pat for sending on this email--sad but true

What about American exceptionalism? When you need a solution, you send for an American company who has the expertise. Do our leaders give credit where due? NO NO NO.

Wonder why?


Far be it for an American President to publicly congratulate (let alone even mention) AMERICAN ingenuity and AMERICAN PRIVATE ENTERPRISE for the miracle
rescue of the Chilean Miners.

Schramm Inc.quot;sans-serif"; color: black;"> of West Chester , Pennsylvania built the drills and equipment used to reach the trapped miners.


Center Rock Company, also from Pennsylvania , built the drill bits used to reach the miners.

UPS, the US shipping company, delivered the 13-ton drilling equipment from Pennsylvania to Chile in less than 48 hours.

Crews from Layne Christensen Company of Wichita Kansas and its subsidiary Geotec Boyles Bros. worked the drills and machinery to locate and reach the miners and then enlarge the holes to rescue them.

Jeff Hart of Denver Colorado was called off his job drilling water wells for the U.S. Army's forward operating bases in Afghanistan to lead the drilling crew that reached the miners.

Atlas Copco Construction Mining Company of Milwaukee , Wisconsin provided consulting on how to make drilling equipment from different sources work together under differing pressure specifications.

Aries Central California Video of Fresno California designed the special cameras that were lowered nearly a mile into the ground sending back video of the miners.

Zephyr Technologies of Annapolis Maryland , made the remote monitors of vital signs that miners wore during their ascent.

NASA Engineers designed the " Phoenix " capsule that miners would be brought to the surface in, and provided medical consulting, special diets and spandex suits to maintain miners' blood pressure as they were brought back to the surface.

Oh, and Canadian-based Precision Drilling Corp. and South-African company Murray & Roberts, drilled backup rescue shafts in case the American rig failed. Which it didn't.
And in the same mailing, this from another friend:
Below a few points of general interest regarding the recent rescue in Chile .
While the White House may not believe in American exceptionalism, I'm thinking there's a whole bunch of people in Chile that would agree.

Regarding the mine rescue, did you know:

The guy that designed the rescue module was a NASA Engineer?

The Drill was made by Schramm Inc. from Pennsylvania .

The Drill Bits were made by Center Rock, Inc. located in Berlin , Pennsylvania .

The lead driller Jeff Hart and his team are from Denver , Colorado . They are on loan from the US Military in Afghanistan where they are drilling water wells for our Forward Operating Bases.

He spent the next 33 days on his feet, operating the drill that finally provided a way out Saturday for 33 trapped miners. "You have to feel through your feet what the drill is doing; it's a vibration you get so that you know what's happening," explained Hart.

Hart was called in from Afghanistan, "simply because he's the best" at drilling larger holes with the T130's wide-diameter drill bits, Stefanic said.

Standing before the levers, pressure meters and gauges on the T130's control panel, Hart and the rest of the team faced many challenges in drilling the shaft. At one point, the drill struck a metal support beam in the poorly mapped mine, shattering its hammers. Fresh equipment had to be flown in from the United States and progress was delayed for days as powerful magnets were lowered to pull out the pieces.

The mine's veins of gold and copper ran through quartzite with a high level of abrasive silica, rock so tough that it took all their expertise to keep the drill's hammers from curving off in unwanted directions. "It was horrible," said Center Rock President Brandon Fisher, exhausted after hardly sleeping during the effort.

Fisher, Stefanic and Hart called it the most difficult hole they had ever drilled, because of the lives at stake.

"If you're drilling for oil and you lose the hole, it's different. This time there's people down below," Stefanic said.

"We ruined some bits, worked through the problems as a team, and broke through," Hart said. "I'm very happy now."

Miners' relatives crowded around Hart on Saturday, hugging and posing for pictures with him as he walked down from the rescue operation into the tent camp where families had anxiously followed his work.

"He's become the hero of the day," said Dayana Olivares, whose friend Carlos Bugueno is one of the miners stuck below.

In a different day and age, Jeff Hart would be the most famous American in our country right now. He would be honored at the White House. Schoolchildren would learn of his skill and heroism. But because Jeff Hart works in an industry currently being demonized by (insert name for the clowns currently running our country) more people in Chile will celebrate this symbol of American greatness than in America itself.



Where were the Chinese, Russians, French, Iranians, or any of the big mouths I hear sounding off nearly every day ?

Thoughts about a friend

Loosing a friend

Loosing a friend is never easy. There are times of death or a change in geographic location that will permanently affect a friendship. I need to discuss the loss of a friendship through misunderstanding. It hurts deeply and will for some time. I still tear up when I think about the loss.
A few weeks ago there was an open house and I was not supposed to attend. At the last minute I received a phone call from the individual who was asked to “handle it.” He wanted me to be there so I made arrangements to attend.
The day of the event the friend (I have now lost) and I talked on the phone. We talked about the upcoming event in detail. I do not remember the conversation. I wish I could.
The event came and all went well. The individual who was holding the meeting could not attend and sent his assistant. Time passed.
Several attempts were made to talk to this individual in the following weeks. Many excuses were made not to talk to me. Finally after two weeks, I asked the question what was wrong.
To summarize: I was told that I had attended the function and intentionally chose not to include the party.
I have never heard such anger from this individual.
I would never intentionally hurt any individual.
The facts are that I was not in charge of the function or the guest list.
I was told another individual would take care of the session. Later that week, that party called me and asked me to help out. I did not know if others were called and I did not ask.

I am sorry for the hurt I have caused this individual. It hurts. However I have learned a lesson. The individual should have listen to the whole story and not jumped to a conclusion. My friendship was shallow. If the individual knew me well, the accusation would not make sense. Those who know me well know I would never intentionally hurt another human being.
The reason I am writing this is to get the message out to all readers. Please remember friendship is a two way street. Please watch out for the potholes.

My thoughts a little later

BACK UP PLANS.

Back up plans according to me are alternative paths to take when the original arrangement fizzles.
Fizzle is a nice way of saying shot to Hades. Oh I know you wanted to see me write another word, but I may be saving that for more urgent matters.
A good back up plan can get anyone out of a quandary. You have seen it on Television in the movies and on stage. Perhaps I should call it “THE WHITE HAT MOMENT”. You know what I am talking about the hero rides out on the white horse wearing a white hat and everything is better. (Word check did not like saves the day.) Birds sing, ribbons fall from the sky and the sunset is gorgeous. Yes I know that Prince Charming did not wear a white hat, but he had a white horse and sometimes wore a white jacket. So he counts.

There are times in our life that we need someone to ride in and fix the situation. As we grow older our parents cannot pick us up and kiss what we hurt and proclaim to the world “all better!”
What these times of trial really boil down to are blooming experiences. After all is settled down we usually find out that we have grown by getting through the challenge. Over the years I have found that time, meditation and prayer work wonders. These trials are not easy. Take a few friends with you to help out along the way. They just might have a white hat available.

I COULD NOT HAVE SAID IT BETTER....

I was thinking about what to write and this email came. More later.
Thanks for stopping by.

Subject: Military Pay





IT NEVER STOPS





Seems like another brilliant appointment by His Royal Highness.





CINDY WILLIAMS was appointed by Obama as an Assistant Director for NATIONAL SECURITY in the Congressional Budget Office....Military Pay



This dim bulb should be fired before sunset with no government retirement. What a disgrace to our service men and women.


This is an Airman's response to Cindy Williams' editorial piece in the Washington Times about MILITARY PAY, it should be printed in all newspapers across America.

Ms. Cindy William wrote a piece for the Washington Times denouncing the pay raise(s) coming service members' way this year citing that she stated a 13% wage increase was more than they deserve.

A young airman from Hill AFB responds to her article below. He ought to get a bonus for this.

"Ms Williams:
I just had the pleasure of reading your column, "Our GI's earn enough" and I am a bit confused. Frankly, I'm wondering where this vaunted overpayment is going, because as far as I can tell, it disappears every month between DFAS (The Defense Finance and Accounting Service) and my bank account. Checking my latest earnings statement I see that I make $1,117.80 before taxes per month. After taxes, I take home $874.20. When I run that through the calculator, I come up with an annual salary of $13,413.60 before taxes, and $10,490.40 after.

I work in the Air Force Network Control Center where I am part of the team responsible for a 5,000 host computer network. I am involved with infrastructure segments, specifically with Cisco Systems equipment. A quick check under jobs for "Network Technicians" in the Washington , D.C. area reveals a position in my career field, requiring three years experience in my job. Amazingly, this job does NOT pay $13,413.60 a year.
No, this job is being offered at $70,000 to $80,000 per annum............ I'm sure you can draw the obvious conclusions.

Given the tenor of your column, I would assume that you NEVER had the pleasure of serving your country in her armed forces. Before you take it upon yourself to once more castigate congressional and DOD leadership for attempting to get the families in the military's lowest pay brackets off of WIC and food stamps, I suggest that you join a group of deploying soldiers headed for AFGHANISTAN ; I leave the choice of service branch up to you. Whatever choice you make though, opt for the SIX month rotation: it will guarantee you the longest possible time away from your family and friends, thus giving you full "deployment experience."

As your group prepares to board the plane, make sure to note the spouses and children who are saying good-bye to their loved ones. Also take care to note that several families are still unsure of how they'll be able to make ends meet while the primary breadwinner is gone. Obviously they've been squandering the "vast" piles of cash the government has been giving them.

Try to deploy over a major holiday; Christmas and Thanksgiving are perennial favorites. And when you're actually over there, sitting in a foxhole, shivering against the cold desert night, and the flight sergeant tells you that there aren't enough people on shift to relieve you for chow, remember this: trade whatever MRE's (meal-ready-to-eat) you manage to get for the tuna noodle casserole or cheese tortellini, and add Tabasco to everything. This gives some flavor.

Talk to your loved ones as often as you are permitted; it won't be nearly long enough or often enough, but take what you can get and be thankful for it. You may have picked up on the fact that I disagree with most of the points you present in your open piece.


But, tomorrow from KABUL , I will defend to the death your right to say it.

You see, I am an American fighting man, a guarantor of your First Amendment right and every other right you cherish...On a daily basis, my brother and sister soldiers worldwide ensure that you and people like you can thumb your collective noses at us, all on a salary that is nothing short of pitiful and under conditions that would make most people cringe. We hemorrhage our best and brightest into the private sector because we can't offer the stability and pay of civilian companies.

And you, Ms. Williams, have the gall to say that we make more than we deserve?

A1C Michael Bragg, Hill AFB AFNCC

SUPPORT THE AMERICAN FIGHTING MEN AND WOMEN.
THANK YOU!!!!!!!!!!

God Bless America! Travel light, leave no footprint, be silent in sight and sound. We are the guest of an ancient soul.

Too hot!

The heat index continues to soar. I think I am going to die if I do not get some relief from the heat. The current code orange air quality and heat indices near 110 require that I stay home. The tedium is as oppressive as the heat. Therefore I type. Lucky for me you guys read. This blog entry is the cry of a desperate New Jersey transplant who cannot tolerate this heat.
I promise you when we moved here in 1982 the summer was severe. Luckily we bought a home with central air. John and I grew up in the age of window units. Happiness abounded within the young couple. We would not be changing out units and storing the monsters in the basement.
The summer of 1992 was the summer I learned how to sweat. This was not the run of the mill glisten or a bead or two on the forehead. This was a full fledged dripping wet sweat which I understand is an acquired behavior. The sight of my sweat amused my spouse. He can be so funny. I think I have sweated less then ten times in the 28 years of oppressive heat.
I first experienced the sight of perfuse perspiration one morning in 1981. John was changing the tire of my Granada. I hit a pot hole in the road near Wheeling on my way to Cincinnati. As he was loosening the lug nuts sweat started to pour. I had never seen anyone sweat like a flowing river. I was scared to death. I demanded that this 24 year old stop immediately. I think the exact quote was, “Stop you’re having a hear attack!”
Admittedly I had never seen such sweat. I worked critical care. It was a no brainer. Exactly! After I got the “I am marrying a nut job look”, John stopped and explained a few facts of life to me. The sweat from this farm boy flowed like a stream, normally. It was a fact of life. I thought I knew all about hot and sweaty. I had two brothers and a sister. We were always outside playing. (I bet I can still point out the bases on Sleepy Hollow Road in Stratford, NJ.) Guess which one of us had to use MITCHUM antiperspirant as a teen? Sea Isle city was our summer play ground. I know all about physical fitness.
. My body still does not cool itself efficiently. Thank goodness for air conditioning because this silly girl does not do heat well. Anybody want to go to the beach? I’ll drive.

Go ride the ferry

It has been a while since I sat down at the computer to share my thoughts. Some of you may think it has been too short of a hiatus, but too bad.
I got to thinking about the old classic ferry boats the other day. As a child I think my first ferry ride was the Chester Bridgeport Ferry that ran between Chester Pennsylvania and Bridgeport New Jersey. I think it was on this ferry that a sibling of mine discovered where the potty emptied if it was used during the ride. “Right into the ribber!” was the direct quote.
We are talking ages ago. I was in elementary school either in Camden or Stratford. It could not have been Atlantic City.
It amazes me for a father who easily became seasick and a mother who probably was due in to work at 11 PM, to treat four stair step children to the slow pace transport of the ferry.
Dad does not usually do water travel. It has something to do with inner ear and dizziness. But at last a memory of many was made. I do not know if this was the first ferry I rode, but it is the first I remember.
Years passed and so did the many ferry rides. I have always been fond of the Staten Island Ferry and enjoyed several years going to and from Manhattan. There were numerous trips to Governor’s Island too! I naively thought it was a free ferry ride from the city to Governor’s Island. I would gladly pay out the nose to revisit the site of many fortresses that protected the New York Harbor.
August was family vacations and thus more ferry boat rides. I remember taking the ferry form Maine to Deer Island, New Brunswick at least twice. The so called ferry was a barge guided by a retired fishing boat. After our arrival we raced around the island to the free ferry that delivered us onto the mainland of Canada. The boat was spotless and FREE! My parents were making more memories to store away for later.
We were camping on Cape Cod. It was cold and damp. The tent was soaked. I remember being wet and cold and not liking the color cranberry. The weather cleared and we took the boat to Nantucket, rode bicycles on the island, posed for a picture and returned to Atlantic City, without ice cream. (Mother will fill you in on the details.)
I remember going to Prince Edward Island, but I do not remember how we got there. The memory of Mackerel fried in buckwheat flour comes to mind. I think we camped.
The Cape May Lewes Ferry will always be a favorite. There is a lot of excitement parking the car at the ferry terminal and riding across to Lewes, Delaware. We ate in a restaurant in Rehoboth Beach and mother order turnip greens so we could experience some “Southern Food”.
The longest and most momentous ferry boat ride was from Cape Benton, Nova Scotia to Newfoundland. Dad had just bought a new ford country squire and we were off for our annual vacation. My sister and I were in high school and were innocent targets for the summer employees. We had the run of the ship. Nothing happened we just had fun. The potato soup was excellent. The purser paged our personal tour guides as we landed. The only thing I remember that is worthy of mentioning is the car broke down 1 block from the only ford dealership on the island. Angels were watching over us.
The most exotic ferry boat ride by exotic I mean foreign away from this continent Star Ferry in Hong Kong.

Since it is almost August I thought I would tell you about parental love for children and the wonderful life of riding a ferry boat.

Hay girl’s have we been on any other ferry then Staten Island Ferry?

The dog days of summer

The dog is in the basement and the thunder continues to roll overhead. Baby and Fitzwilliam are at large and apathetic. I must admit it is amusing to have a dog with limited talents. Okay let me give the dear old thing some credit. She is a great snake dog. She even has a special bark reserved for such intruders. Lacey is close to 15 human years old, has arthritis in her legs and is losing her sight in her right eye. She is as affectionate as a puppy and can never get enough loving. (Scratch my head please please please, ahh.) This sweet but challenged canine came to us from Kent’s Animal Hospital after we lost our blind cocker, Shadow. Lacey was abused and left for dead on the door step of the clinic. For several years we had to approach her from below her chin or using the underhand motion to pet her. Any action from above as in overhand and she shirked away. Her breed is unknown. Some say part Sheltie and part Austrian Shepherd. Her coat is soft, thick and full of Lanolin. It took her a while to accept affection and grooming. It was a trial acclimating her to being brushed. Rides in the care were met with whining and vomiting. Now we tell her to get into the car and she is ready to ride. This has been a blessing after a decade of car sickness. She seems stupid to some people, but I know she is as smart as a whip. As for predicting weather she is as good as James Spann. She does it on her own without the aid of NOAH weather radio or storm watchers. There is no need to doubt her predictions. She is dead on.
When a storm is in the area she will climb the chain link fence and start to dig herself, pardon the reference, a doggy fox hole. (She has to be on a leash or she will get disoriented. She will come in the house whining her weather alert and go to her personal place of safety. Sometimes she will go into the shower. She hates baths; it is personally degrading to her. When she goes into the shower we know we are in for a severe storm. So here’s to my canine buddy Lacey, keep up your diligent work. We are counting on you.

Thanks Pat for this inspirational message.

---
Dedicated to all of us who have lost a best friend.


This explains why I forward jokes.
A man and his dog were walking along a road. The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead.He remembered dying, and that the dog walking beside him had been dead for years. He wondered where the road was leading them.

After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble... At
the top of a long hill, it was broken by a tall arch that glowed in the sunlight.
When he was standing before it he saw a magnificent gate in the arch that looked like mother-of-pearl, and the street that led to the gate looked like pure gold. He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side.When he was close enough, he called out, 'Excuse me, where are we?''This is Heaven, sir,' the man answered.. 'Wow! Would you happen to have some water?' the man asked.Of course, sir. Come right in, and I'll have some ice water brought right up. 'The man gestured, and the gate began to open.'Can my friend,' gesturing toward his dog, 'come in, too?' the traveler asked.
'I'm sorry, sir, but we don't accept pets.'The man thought a moment and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going with his dog.
After another long walk, and at the top of another long hill, he came to a dirt road leading through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence.As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.
'Excuse me!' he called to the man. 'Do you have any water?' 'Yeah, sure, there's a pump over there, come on in.'
'How about my friend here?' the traveler gestured to the dog.
'There should be a bowl by the pump.'They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned hand pump with a bowl beside it.The traveler filled the water bowl and took a long drink himself, then he gave some to the dog.
When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree.'What do you call this place?' the traveler asked.'This is Heaven,' he answered.
'Well, that's confusing,' the traveler said. 'The man down the road said that was Heaven, too.''Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That's hell.'
'Doesn't it make you mad for them to use your name like that?''No, we're just happy that they screen out the folks who would leave their best friends behind.'
Soooo...Sometimes, we wonder why friends keep forwarding jokes to us without writing a word.Maybe this will explain.When you are very busy, but still want to keep in touch, guess what you do? You forward jokes. When you have nothing to say, but still want to keep contact, you forward jokes.When you have something to say, but don't know what, and don't know how, you forward jokes.
Also to let you know that you are still remembered, you are still important, you are still loved, you are still cared for, guess what you get? A forwarded joke.

It's not about me but...

The house is rather quiet with the exception of papers and boxes being taped. Is it selfish for me to want to turn back the clock. I have already offered to write a check to the US government to keep my Ensign home. But that would not be letting her live her life. The air is knocked out of me. This is worse then "I" day four years ago. I feel my heart being torn from my chest. I have not felt this heartache since I dropped Charlotte Mae off for four year old kindergarten at Advent years ago.

Tomorrow Beth starts on her life journey. She and John are heading to Norfolk with a detour to Amherst, Virginia to visit Aunt Dorothy before her deployment. My heart is screaming let me come with you. My conscience says cut the cord (for about the nth time). I am very proud of both girls. I do not know if I desire to ward off all the evil that will pass their way or share in the thrill of the adventure. I must admit that it is a combination of the two.

The tears started after church today. They are not the tears of a mom who has dropped a teenager at the academy for plebe summer. These tears will not stop. You know the type. These tears are the ones that make your vision blurry and drip down your face as soon as you can wipe them away. I know I am not being fair to anyone by acting this way, but it is not about me. I hope these tears are a symbol of the pride I have for my girls. Both have done well and are a joy to their parents. I think the tears are for the next to final declaration that she does not need me in the same way she did a year ago. I do not have a problem with that really. This is another right of passage that must be achieved. Both of us need to continue and hold each other in our hearts. Take care of yourself Beth, I love you and Charlotte more then I can say. Wear clean underwear and make sure your belly button is clean.

Love to all the USNA class of 2010. Fair winds and following seas.

Then and Now

Today was my last day of pulmonary rehabilitation. I want to find a place just as perfect as Trinity’s Cardio-pulmonary rehabilitation area. Thank you ladies and physicians, I now have my life back. When I walked in for my first session, I was very apprehensive. This stuff looked like the same equipment we used for open heart and post myocardial infarction patients. Since neither diagnosis was applicable I wondered, what was here for me? It did not take me too long to find out. After a few weeks I was called the pace car. (Long legs can walk very fast on the tread mill).
Bottom line I improved my 6 minute walk by over 200%. For all of you doubters, it is documented.
A year ago I was not worth a flip. I was told to quit work and live or keep working a well you know the other option. In my head I wanted to quit work and be able to attend Commissioning. My heart was giving me a different message. There are times when I heed the passion of the heart more then the discernment of the brain. It was when John, bless his heart, looked at me in the eyes and told me I would not make it to Commissioning if I kept working. That is when I understood. Yes, I was the child who had to look mom in the eyes to understand the message. Thank you, all who visited me, sent me cards of encouragement and kept me on the prayer list at HUMC. I cannot forget those who cooked meals and made phone calls. You have been a blessing.
I am very much alive today and not 6 ft. under in a big brown box. Commissioning was a blast. Watch out world I am back to being a 26 years old for ever! Basketball anyone? Again thank you to all of you who supported me in this huge literally life decision. There has to be a bunch of stars for your crowns.

Short note

We made it!

The last week in May was filled with fun and adventure. The entire town of Annapolis celebrated Commissioning week with a flair. The townies who can, rent out their homes to the parents of the USNA graduates. The parents who are lucky enough to find a perfect house put down a few grand and look forward to the week.
We arrived on Saturday and settled in. Sunday we attended Baccalaureate services at the chapel. Monday through Thursday was spent getting ready for the big day. Friday was wonderful. There are so many events that were special all week. I am thrilled to say Mom and I made it. We appreciated the prayer warriors and the physicians who helped us attain this goal.
Our sights are set for April 2011 and May 2012.

Thanks and please keep praying.

"To everything these is a season..."

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:


I know this is going to sound strange to many of my readers (5 of you, bless your hearts,) but I have a custom of reading my Christmas cards and Advent books after Easter. During Advent, I read them "licitly split" as them come, but I feel much better knowing I can give them full attention at a later date. I just finished re-reading the Advent devotional written by the members of the church and introduced by the Bishop. I loved reconnecting with these meditations. Everyone who contributed to the booklet did a great job. I have learned more about those who took the time to write then I did a year ago.
I agree that dogs add many years of happiness to one’s life. I know why they are called dogs. Who else but God, parents and pets (cats questionable) have unconditional love for humans?
Losses and accomplishments seemed to be awkward discussion material for the Advent season. But by reading the thoughts of those who have had numerous losses, I have learned more about the writers. Christmas memories are my favorite. The stories of train rides, Christmas parades and other traditions are treasured memories.
Some children have the privilege of being born on Christmas. I am married to a Christmas baby and know a few others who were born on Christmas. Some would think it is a bummer to have a birthday on Christmas. In this house it is considered an honor the share the day we celebrate the birth of our Lord.
Most people would consider it odd to read Advent literature around Pentecost. For me it is a confirmation of the greatest gift of all, salvation.
Looking at Christmas cards and writings in springtime may not be considered appropriate, dare I say normal, but it helps me connect with the fellowship of believers.
I hope you all have some unique traditions that bring you closer to others.

My wish for you is for you to enjoy your day no matter what season you are celebrating.

CARTWHEELS

Guess What?

I feel like doing cartwheels in the front yard. No I am not exaggerating. My favorite Pulmonologist has agreed I am in the best shape I have been in since 2007. It has been a number of battles, and I think I have finally won the war!

Why you ask. Let me hear you say it…
I have permission to ride a real bicycle in the neighborhood on good air days. Do you know what it will be like to be able to take off and ride? Trick question, I do not know either, but I can sense freedom.

Pulmonary physical therapy has started to bring me back to my old hyperactive obnoxious self. So watch out world I am getting back to living. We are looking for a Schwinn airdyne, which I can ride on the bad air days. Green days are my friend all other colors please stay away.

Guess what? Yes again.

I got to stop one of my steroid medications! This is huge. I will probable stop eating everything in sight. Thank goodness for clean water to drink and fruit from ALDI. I am always hungry. My face is still round and I have the Cushing like belly, but in time, that should go away.

I want to thank all of you who prayed me through this mess. Please do not stop now. I have a long way to go. But for the first time in years I can see progress.

Stay tuned ready to rock and roll!

The Fish bowl - today I am inside and breathing well

Today I was able to go to therapy and walk an extra minute. This is phenomenal news for someone who was barely able to climb stairs a little while back.
Sure I need 3 or more naps after therapy, but who wouldn’t?
I resist the temptation to recline and sit outside and load up on natural vitamin D and wonder of wonders the sweet air of spring reading on the back porch. It stays cool until around 2 PM and then well it is darn hot. Hot is not good for my breathing. So I escape into hermit-hood for the rest of the daylight hours.

Birmingham has been compared to a fish bowl. I am still looking for the other side of the fish bowl where breathing bliss resides. Luckily right now the air levels are great and I can go outside. What I cannot control is the geographical or is it topography of the area. When the air does not circulate it is bad news for breathing. So if anyone out there knows where the end of the fish bowl lies, please let me know.

In today’s email I found an update for an ablation procedure that sounds promising. I am not sure my asthma, though brittle, would meet the pre-requisites for the therapy. I look forward to learning more about this therapy and would love to know how the 300 case study patients are doing a few years from now.

I am also very thankful that my pulmonologist keeps up with the latest trends. If there were a need for me to go to a larger center I would be there. Thank goodness I do not have pulmonary fibrosis or other diseases that are death sentences and require lung transplants. My problem is simply the fish bowl effect and the undesirable outcome will go away when we are able to get to the other side of the bowl. How do you nicely tell someone that it is the environment and not much of anything else that triggers attacks? Reactive airway disease is just that REACTIVE.
New things tend to pop up and trigger an attack, so who knows what will set me off. Today someone was smoking in their car behind me and I could sell the smoke. No one was in front of me this was behind me. I have an acute sense of smell that is sometimes a pain in the butt, for example.
I have been known to smell out a pizza on the first floor of Hunter while living on the 2nd floor of Eisenor. Yes the buildings were connected, but it did happen. There are numerous other “smelling” adventures but these shall be revealed in due time.
Keep watching for more smelly details. Air is free and this nose knows how to track down all types of yummy foods. So keep an eye out. I may be snooping around for some goodies.

Short lived long term goals:

This week I started pulmonary rehab. The purpose of the therapy is to improve my function and quality of life. I am not whining but would love to be able to attend yoga classes and ride a bicycle through the neighborhood.
I promise I am not going to go crazy and adapt the principles of the osteo anorexia group. Some well meaning individuals want me to stop all medicine stop seeing the doctor and stick to a rigid diet. (Osteo in this case means straight). Anorexia has a plethora of meanings just a Google stroke away. I agree that exercise is very important as well as a well balanced diet, however, my asthma is exercised induced. In other words, the more I exercise, the more I cough gag and spew. Nothing would please me more then to be able to run the mile in the record speed that I did at Manasquan High School. I would love to run the Spring Lake 5K again. Right now I will settle for walking on the tread mill for a set amount of time.
Therapy started on Tuesday and I was stymied. 6 minutes at a snails pace does not a happy me make. I can do better, sure easy. Just pace yourself.
Thursday came and I started the routine. Okay I am about to trip over my feet. I increase the rate of the tread mill. Yes I did. I was so proud to be able to do almost ¼ of a mile in that 6 minute period. Next the arm bike which was easy little or no resistance, I tore through that exercise. Next in line was the recumbent stair climber completed at 84-87 steps a minute, not bad for the second day of therapy. Finally I finished the Aerodyne bike 6 minutes of arm and leg exercise. I was burning up the road. I actually broke a sweat, which this Yankee learned to do after living here for a few years. The air in the room was noticeable stuffy.
Next it was time for a cool down. I was so proud that I pushed it! I was going to conquer the beast! I will return Monday and start the week again at a sure fire higher level.

NOT SO FAST BOZO!

How come you are coughing and having trouble breathing. (SUCKS IN AIR) Pursed lip breathing. SLOW…. Inhale through the nose exhale through the pursed lips. Could I be having an asthma attack? Yup money is on the dummy who over did it at therapy.
Thank goodness Frank Jett helped me get a portable nebulizer that lives in the car along with the necessary drugs. Needless to say the treatment was an embarrassment, but a relief.
I will be using my inhaler prior to working out from now on.
I do not feel sorry for myself, I did something stupid and I paid the price.
So guys when you give me advice and I roll my eyes don’t take it personally. I am going to try it and you’ll read about it soon, promise.

Thanks to all the Master's Good guys.

Today's post comes from an email that I wanted to share. Thanks Ree.

AUGUSTA, Ga. -- It's not often women win the Masters, but
they did Sunday.

Actually, Phil Mickelson won, but for millions of women
around the country, it must feel like a lipstick-sized victory. Mickelson,
in case you forgot, is the guy who stayed true to his wife. He's the guy
who's been missing tournaments the last 11 months while he flies her back
and forth to a breast cancer specialist in Houston . He's the guy who didn't
need reminding that women are not disposable.

Mani-pedis for everybody!

Also winning Sunday: karma, which proved to be alive and
well. And guys who never had a temper in the first place. And endings that
make you wipe your tears on the couch pillows.

Mickelson is the guy whose heavy head on the bed pillow
lately wasn't self-inflicted. Both his wife, Amy, and his mother, Mary, have
breast cancer. Usually, those two are at every tournament he's in, but for
the last year they've been fighting, resting, and fighting again at home.
And Mickelson has gone back to his rented homes alone.

So when Amy turned up on the 18th green Sunday at Augusta
National for the first time in 11 months and Mickelson practically fell into
her outstretched arms, you wanted to hug somebody yourself. Mickelson hugged
and cried. And his wife hugged and cried. And his coach and his caddy hugged
and cried. And 10 minutes later, the caddy was still crying.

"This is way beyond golf," said caddy Jim "Bones" Mackay,
who's been with Mickelson for 19 years. "This is about a guy who loves his
wife. This is about a guy who had a really hard year. Twenty years from now,
nothing will compare with this. This is his greatest win, by far. Because of
Amy, because of his mom, everything. God bless all those women that go
through what Amy and Phil's mom have gone through. Because I've seen it and
it ain't easy."

"Of all the majors I've been involved in," said
Mickelson's coach, Butch Harmon, "be they with Tiger, Phil, anybody, this is
the most emotional by far. This year has been a big, big strain on him. His
game has suffered. What he really wanted was to be home with his family."

You figured a guy who came into this Masters having played
only seven tournaments this year -- and never placing better than eighth in
any of them -- would have a snowball's chance. But something melted in him
when his wife and three kids showed up for the first time in nearly a year
on Tuesday.

"He just had this peace to him that I haven't seen in
awhile," said Bones.

Amy was still hurting, so she wasn't able to come to the
golf course, but it was close enough. Each morning, Mickelson would take his
oldest, Sophie, to a local coffee shop and play chess for an hour. At night,
the whole brood would watch dumb movies. Mickelson came through that door
each night after work like it was Christmas morning. You don't know how
dispiriting it is to come home after a long day to a strange, empty house.
Come to think of it, maybe Tiger knows.

"It's been tough," Mickelson said. "The meds that she's
been taking have been very difficult and she didn't feel well and she
doesn't have energy and she's not just up for a lot. But to have her here,
man "

Amy Mickelson is the kind of walking rainbow that could
put a smile on a mortician's face, so when she showed up, everything started
looking up. The golf gods started raining favors down on Mickelson's curly
hair. On Saturday, golf balls started going into tiny little cups from great
distances. Sunday, it got even better:

At 9: ball hits tree, bounces back into fairway. Par.

At 10: ball hits tree, bounces back into playable
territory. Par.

At 11: ball hits fan, bounces into short, happy grass.
Par.

"Got an assist there," Mickelson said.

Did the guy say anything?

"Ouch?" Mickelson guessed.

The big lefty took it from there.

At 12: looked into his "book of reads" for the 20-foot
putt -- the green-studying book that Bones and he spent "days and days"
putting together on a trip this year to Augusta -- and buried it. Birdie.

At 13: pulled off the most audacious, swashbuckling shot
of his life at 13 -- from the right woods, off pine straw, through two trees
(4 feet apart), over Rae's Creek, from 207 yards, to 3 feet. Two-putt
birdie.

At 15: smashed an 8-iron from 205 yards -- yes, 8-iron to
15 feet for a 2-putt birdie.

Suddenly, the guy who'd spent a career being eaten alive
by Woods had left him 5 shots behind. It was only a matter of lag for par,
lag for par, 10-foot birdie and get the Kleenex ready.

"I saw Amy just before I putted," Mickelson said. "That
was so great. I mean, I didn't know if she would be there. To walk off the
green and share that with her is just very, very emotional. We'll remember
this [for] the rest of our lives."

Contrast that with Woods, who spent the week reverting to
form -- acerbic answers, sprayed swear words, and curt interviews. He
finished fourth, which shows that the golf game is very close. The
personality makeover, though, looks like it needs some work.

Soon enough, though, Woods will win tournaments like this,
pass Nicklaus, and order will be restored in the universe. But for this one
Sunday in a flower-stuffed pocket of Georgia, the good husband, the good
son, the good man actually got rewarded.

SBWHBH

It has been a while since I blogged. I have a few subjects in mind for later dates. Today’s entry is CRITICAL!
It happened…Never in my life did I think it would happen to me, but today April 12, 2010. I acknowledged the fall of the boobs.

Genetically this was bound to happen way before now. I should consider myself lucky to be a member of the small breasted women have big hearts (SBWHBH) club. For some silly reason I thought non sag state would be a reward for gallantly not surgically enhancing the tad that I had. I should have had bazookas! All my maternal relatives have zingers! Dad did not have any sisters, so there ends the mystery. I have no idea why I have pre teen want to bees. I have visual memories of taking my grandmother to Bamberger’s and Strawbridge and Clothier at Cherry Hill Mall and hunt the grail of corsets. You do not want to know if you do not know. All in all the girl’s were there when I needed them.

Well today I had to go see my favorite pulmonologist and since I was hacking up my toe nails I knew it would be Chest X-ray time. Still spry and young at heart, indulge me people, I can get the bra off by taking my arms out of my shirt sleeve, whip the thing off and then freedom. Ok, she got the CXR and I decided to put my sweat shirt on top of the tee and forget about the rest.

All was lovely in my world until I got home and took off the sweat shirt. I looked down and had to look way down further. There was a bi plane plateau in the middle of my chest. It was a sad thought to realize I had to put the stupid bra back on in order to attempt to fill out the shirt. This was not done for the fashion police it was more in keeping up the status quo.

Today my heart goes out to all those women who have come to the realization that gravity works.
(Darn Newton)

Thoughts for living and loving thanks Cindy

Truth...........from a man the media has never been able to throw dirt on..amazing!! He has certainly hit the "world" on the head!! Billy Graham's Prayer For Our Nation THIS MAN SURE HAS A GOOD VIEW OF WHAT'S HAPPENING TO OUR COUNTRY! 'Heavenly Father, we come before you today to ask your forgiveness and to seek your direction and guidance. We know Your Word says, 'Woe to those who call evil good,' but that is exactly what we have done. We have lost our spiritual equilibrium and reversed our values. We have exploited the poor and called it the lottery. We have rewarded laziness and called it welfare.. We have killed our unborn and called it choice. We have shot abortionists and called it justifiable. We have neglected to discipline our children and called it building self esteem. We have abused power and called it politics.. We have coveted our neighbor's possessions and called it ambition. We have polluted the air with profanity and pornography and called it freedom of expression. We have ridiculed the time-honored values of our forefathers and called it enlightenment. Search us, Oh God, and know our hearts today; cleanse us from every sin and Set us free. Amen!' Commentator Paul Harvey aired this prayer on his radio program, 'The Rest of the Story,' and received a larger response to this program than any other he has ever aired. With the Lord's help, may this prayer sweep over our nation and wholeheartedly become our desire so that we again can be called 'One nation under God..' Think about this: If you forward this prayer to everyone on your e-mail list, in less than 30 days it would be heard by the world. (It's worth a try!) One Nation Under God !

Triggers Not supposed to be a tale of self pitty.

I wish I were blogging about Tiggers, “because Tiggers are a wonderful thing.”

Friday afternoon was coming home from an errand and got behind a pickup truck transporting a can of gasoline. The smell was pretty strong so I turned off the air exchange. After a while the truck turned off and I re-opened the vent.

An hour later I was baking and discovered I was not breathing well. So I called the pulmonologists’ office and went to get a steroid shot. In the doctors office I read the latest poster and darn if gasoline was listed as an irritant. WHO KNEW?

The following 12 hours were tedious. Breathing treatments were every 2 -3 hours alternating medication. About 1 AM., I had another asthma attack and started the regimen again and called the on call physician Saturday morning. Well that started the 60 mg, 60 mg. 40 mg. call first thing Monday morning routine. This sounds like a self pity story, but I am attempting to prove to the world that bad air happens.

I am waiting to hear from the physician’s office and I hope it will be verbal instructions. I do not feel like a class trip today.
Stay tuned for more adventures of the girl who needs a bubble.

Happy Monday, guys.

The fellowship of the siblings

Last Saturday was a busy day for the women of the household.

After we traveled to David’s for the final fitting of Beth’s gown, we found the bridesmaid and the MOB dresses.
The manager of the shop is a long time family friend and we were out in a jiffy. The gown is great and so are the dresses.

When we got home John and Rob, my ELDER brother was (were) on the deck having a great time. *hates it when argues with spell check*. Char, Beth and I went out to see what was causing two grown men over 50 to laugh like pre-pubescent boys. At first glance I thought happy hour had come mid afternoon to the household. There were cans all over the deck. Looking closer I saw the cans were the generic brand from Publix. To be exact the cans were Ginger ale and Cola.
Then I got a grasp of the situation. The boys, really almost old men, were shooting soda cans with the BB gun. John was munching on the coveted WISE potato chips and Rob was setting up for the shot.

The target (can) was placed on top of the bird house. Said target was shaken, not stirred, before placement. The shooting stand was at the top of the steps directly across from the bird house.

We watched as the cans went spinning leaking soda all over the natural area of the yard.
Next, Beth took the gun and got the cola, and then Char hit the target. This went on for a while finishing the cases. Charlotte swore the red cans split better then the green cans. She split three cans during the spree. We did a product test and compared carbonated v/s non carbonated beverages. We had a ½ case of Country time lemonade and when shaken spin just as well off the perch.

The target practice went on for about 2 hours and every one had a great time. Yes when left alone boys do become boys and left with time to waste make up fun. Rob was always gifted in entertainment. I was reminded of the fun we had as kids. Some things never change.
The best shot in the group was Charlotte Mae, so let this be a warning young man. Finally I am proud to report, no one shot their eye out!

Tuesday afternoon thoughts

LIMBO!

Limbo, the dance (game?) was great when I was a kid, but now anything less than 5 feet will land me on my backside.

Today I received another rejection from Alabama unemployment. It seems I should have begged for my job. I asked nicely for the sick leave to be extended and was told there was nothing I could do about the situation. “Did I want to quit?” asked the talking head of HR.
NO!
So now I have resorted to wondering if I should persist. Limbo

Mom can’t hear when I call her on the phone when I call the rehab center. I called the nurse’s station to enlighten them of the situation. That was a “gimme”, no limbo.

The cats hate the foot we bought at Sam’s. Mix in some other stuff or wait and they will eat. Mini limbo, not earth shattering.

Sunday Beth was home and visited the new Sunday school class for collage students and young couples. Appropriately the class is named LIMBO.
Beth was excited to see everyone. It was a mini youth fellowship revival/reunion. It was nice to see them sitting together in church. Kevin, you are doing a great job. Okay so I am a fan of the family. I hope to get a larger portion of ice cream at the annual garage sale, barbeque, carwash, bake sale and ice cream gala. Did I leave anything out?
What excited Beth was the desire of the young adults to give back to the community. This is phenomenal!
When I was their age I was partying (by my conservative description) after hours at Doc Watson’s near Jefferson. Thomas Jefferson Hospital supplied all the residents to Methodist Hospital. While I was a student I abstained from such frolicking. But after graduation at the age of 21 I was ready to hang out. The worse thing I did was taking the pediatrics narcotic keys with me. I had worked a double shift, I forgot I had them. Fearfully I turned them at 2 AM. I came in to work early the next morning fearing the worse, LIMBO. Nothing happened, peds was empty.

Life presents many opportunities to make decisions. It is a part of maturing. As one who occasionally, cough cough, shoots from the hip, I would advise making informed choices. It may not be PC, but it is uniquely yours. Take the opportunity to prayerfully consider the options.

The Circle of Guilt or Learned Female Behavior

Several times this week I have started this blog. But then, I remembered something else that I should have been doing. Does this sound like a break out of the guilt disease? It does to me. Earlier this week Mom (Mary) told me that she was not going to take her preoperative physical therapy because Pomona was too far away. Okay Mom, I know that if there were a Lenox sale or a luncheon south of Tom’s River, you would be there. So why not go to therapy? I know there is the drive is tedious. Counting the exits on the Garden State Parkway can be a bore. Pomona is near Atlantic City which I think is close to Exit 38. Spring Lake is Exit 98 so there is 60 miles of non stop bliss going to and from therapy. My second thought was why not do therapy locally? This was not going to fly so I did what any reasonable daughter would do; I called my sister, Deborah. Debbie lives near Winston-Salem, North Carolina. Distance is good in this case. After I ratted my mother out Debbie called and gave my father, Bob, a lecture about muscle tone and the ability to hold the hip prosthesis in place. (I think this is the 4th for that side.) I felt guilty about Debbie doing the dirty work, but not for long.
Mom has been taking a walk around the park when the weather is nice. Okay this translates to walking from her front door to the end of the sidewalk going to town. This equals walking from the door of any Sam’s to the bakery and then back to the front door. A real walk around the park is about 2 miles.
I really felt guilty when the mail came the next day and there was a BIG check from the ‘rents for our anniversary dinner out. There balance was to go toward the new car (Volvo 2007) that we picked up last week. At last…
The following night I was IM’ing Beth who was putting off going to the doctor because she was swamped. She said two words which made me rationalize getting on her case. She had a sore throat and headache for a few days and did not go to medical. I used the MENIGITIS word and she started to get worried (that is mommy code for freaking out). Okay I guilt-ed her into going to medical the next day, but I felt REALLY guilty upsetting her.
Why do females do guilt?
Today Mom and Dad went to Reading (RED-ING) PA., to shop the outlets. Mom said she walked all over and got her exercise walking. I did not ask what she bought, nor did I ask where they ate. Dad was not volunteering any information. After I heard the shopping v/s exercise excuse I just asked her lie on her stomach and do some leg lifts, sometime.
Surgery is 3/17…There is no Irish on her side of the family.

B-I-N-G-O...AND BINGO WAS HIS NAME

B-I-N-G-O!

I have been exposed to BINGO my entire life. Friday night was BINGO night at a nearby Roman Catholic Church.
Somehow between then and now the definition of BINGO changed. This is not a soapbox against gambling. It is a stand against untruth and misinformation. I have before and after pictures from when I lived in ATLANTIC CITY. The astute reader will understand.

OK people of ALABAMA please show me an electronic BINGO machine that has rows and columns of numbers below the letters. That is my legal definition of BINGO.
IF the machine does not resemble the bingo card then it is nothing other then a slot machine sans the one armed bandit.

Get a grip people. Growing up with the there is no such thing as a free lunch mentality; I just do not get the casino scene. Those who love to gamble need to follow the money trail. Who is really getting rich from the casinos? I really do not remember reading a headline where anyone has won a windfall legally. The proponents have requested another vote on the issue of gaming. I may not be the sharpest knife in the crayon box, but I do remember at least two votes in the past.
MILT, what part of no do you not understand? Alabama has made their choice, twice.

I have researched the bingo card issue and not once do I see bars, cherries and lemons. Go ahead and Google slot machines and ta dah! There they are.

Cruise ships and resorts have real slots. Feel free to spend your DISPOSIBLE income as you please.

Schools need additional monies so write a check and take the deduction. No one gets hurt. Gaming is a choice not a way of life.

Off the not soapbox.

"Oh Canada"

“Oh Canada!”


Several times this week I have discovered the tune for the Canadian national anthem bouncing about in the recesses of my mind. The excitement of the Olympics and the metal race has not gone unnoticed.

Ohno was robbed of a metal in his next to final race. That is all I have to say on the subject, until I interject again.

Growing up in New Jersey a trip to Canada was a frequent treat. Camping from the back of the Country Squire or the Belair was fun, sorry mom, and taught us a life time of survival skills.

The first time I remember going to Canada we took the Eastport Ferry from Maine to Deer Island, New Brunswick. The ferry was a barge guided by a fishing boat. Here is the link for those interested.
http://wikimapia.org/5740394/Deer-Island-Eastport-Ferry-border-crossing

Once on Deer Island there is a race to the other side via the paved route or the scenic route
(I have read the sign) to the free ferry to the Maritime mainland. I vaguely remember going through Customs and heading toward St. John’s to view reversing falls. No I have never seen the falls reverse, but I probably saw what I was supposed to see. Most of you know I am at times a dense literalist and if the signs says the falls reverse, I expect to see the water go up rather then down. I think we camped that night in Fundy National Park.

As we entered the Provence of Nova Scotia, we listened to a piper dressed in appropriate tartan welcome us. Each Provence or territory has a distinct tartan and would make a great category on Jeopardy. I can see it now; I’ll take tartan for 1200, Alex. Ding DING DING, a video daily double. Up would flash the reddish brownish green tartan and I would proudly state what is NEW FOUNDLAND? Pronounce the Provence, NewFOUNDland please.
Newfoundland tartan

Family vacation has not been fair or fun to Beth and Char. Ask them and they will admit to being born and raised on I 81. What was the difference? Location? John and I both grew up within minutes of relatives. Sunday dinner was always a circus at the Crowther household. Our girls travel hours sometimes days to visit theirs. I know it is not fair, but exposure to the idiosyncrasies of the family is imperative to understanding who you are. Ask mom the difference between biscuits and short cake. Well maybe not today. That is another long story.

Take the children on a road trip. We waited too long because our priorities were different. Sorry girls.

Twenty years

Do you remember where you were twenty years ago at this very moment? This is not a trick question it is simply a method of introduction.

Twenty years ago, I was pacing the halls of the Hospital at the University of Alabama in Birmingham, waiting for Charlotte to make her debut. The afternoon before, February 25, when were ready to start pushing her royal nibs decided to show some signs of fetal distress. Her heart rate was soaring as the credits to “Hush Hush sweet Charlotte,” were rolling on the television. All calmed down after a huge fluid bolus and Charlotte pulled her first “GILDA” (“Never mind”).

John’s Aunt Charlotte was staying at the old house in Parkway Estates with Beth who was ending the worse case of chicken pox in modern history.

It was now mid afternoon, Monday and I was getting tired. Labor was in full swing, nasty stuff all over the place and I am pushing and pushing and pushing. The doctor hates to deliver in the suites he is a “there is never an easy delivery in the suite, give me the labor room type of guy.” As he calls for the forceps, I pick up my head; hold up my index finger and say “One more try”. Finally this head the size of Gibraltar pops out and the delivery commenced. To this day it is very vivid memory. Sorry baby your head was huge!

We named her Charlotte Mae in honor of her two great aunts. I just could not name the baby Dorothy -Charlotte. Charlotte Mae was the surprise name that was agreed upon. Could you come up with a better combination of Dorothy Mae Kent Harvey and Charlotte Foster Kent? I did not think so. Charlotte was not a traditional name for the 90’s and Mae was just old. These two women have been some of my most true to life angels on earth. Some of you may remember when I had to go to be for 3 months before I could deliver Beth, Aunt Charlotte was there to experience the walking on egg shells with us. The aunts lived together and I am sure Aunt Dorothy was very lonely while Alabama was monopolizing Aunt Charlotte.

Last year, Aunt Charlotte (91) died from metastatic cancer. Two days ago Aunt Dorothy celebrated her 97th birthday.

Today is another reminder to honor and cherish the saints who have influenced our lives. Enjoy their childhood adventures let them live vicariously through you. Learned from them and pray a prayer of thanksgiving for their lives.

Happy 20th Charlotte Mae, love you with all my heart.
Momma

Singing myself to sleep

When at night I go to sleep,Fourteen angels watch do keep. Two my head are guarding: (Two are standing near my head) Two my feet are guiding: (At my feet two lightly tread) Two are on my right hand; Two are on my left hand; Two who warmly cover; (Two who cozy make me) Two who o'er me hover; (Two from sleep awake me) Two to whom 'tis given (2 who guide my steps aright ) To guide my steps to Heaven. (& lead me on to Heaven’s light.)

The tune is the lullaby from Hansel and Gretel.

Perhaps some of you recognize the lyrics to the lullaby above. Mrs. Peckham the director of the Junior Choir at Stratford UMC (NJ), made us sing this song, to the delight of our parents and blue head ladies. My remembered lyrics are in parenthesis. I am sure we sounded angelic and fooled the masses. What I have discovered lately is that the songs of our childhood can comfort us as we age.

Last night started off as a just plan horrible night. At 3 PM I was told by my doctor to go to the ED to make sure nothing else broke when I fell on Sunday. Final answer no fracture on left hip or shoulder. Soreness is another subject.

John and I got home shortly after 8PM. We ate and then attempted to sleep. I could not sleep, despite prescription measures. Finally after an hour I was able to doze after I sang this song to twice to myself.

Today’s lesson for me was to remember the Saints whom have gone on before us. They have left their impression on our heart.

Today’s Goal: What quality endowment will I leave behind?

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Psalm 18:2 The LORD is my rock, my fortress, and my savior; my God is my rock, in whom I find protection. He is my shield, the power that saves me, and my place of safety. NLT




Some Sundays are supposed to be spent in church. I should have been there today. I wanted to go, but I knew I would be exposed to a trigger. Triggers are irritants that interfere with my breathing. Instead of taking my chances and going to church I found my own trouble.

This morning was nice and Lacey needed some exercise. I opened the gate, released the chain and off she ran. Yes we close the gate and chain the dog to the tree. Lacey climbs the chain link and runs away if she is unchanged.

Focus… So Lacey is loose. I start walking toward the right of way and boom, down I go. We have a natural area behind the house with pavers to insure safe passage from the yard to the clearing. Not safe this time but stunned. The back yard is loaded with center point rock. Angels protected me from serious injury. When I was able, I got up and got a bag of peas from the freezer, best compress ever.
Lesson learned?

Probably not.

BLOG DAY 1

Saturday February 20Th 2010 is the beginning day of blogging. I am blogging because I want to think. In my former profession I audited patient records for various regulations but due to poor health have been sent to the house. For some stupid reason I cannot work from home. Ok that is off my chest. Medical chart or EMR ( electronic medical records) are to be kept contained at the mother ship. I do understand the regulations but not the double standard. If I were a transcriber I would have access. An RN BA BSN & MSN do not grant you access. Okay I am still not over this but perhaps blogging is my therapy?

Twogoldengirls is dedicated to Beth and Char because their mom is very proud to have two beautiful, yes beautiful daughters who have worked very hard. Both have their Girls Scout Cold Award thus the name for this blog.

Since I am batting 100% on daughters, I must add the man of the house is a helpless romantic and it totally taken by the women in the house. He is by no means a pushover, but for me, the best possible mate in the world.

Pets (outside) include Lacey, Baby and Fitzwilliam. Pictures to be posted when I can figure out where I have a group picture. All pets are rescue animals. I am a big fan of the "Dog on TV" available from a local humane society, but I have to refrain. Three is enough.

Fitzwilliam has the best name. Fitzwilliam Kermit Tallmedge Kent. The inspiration for the name came from Charlotte Mae. She remembers her daddy commenting that good old fashioned names are not used anymore. To her credit she named Fitz and John has been a fan most days.

Baby and Lacey are 14 years old and still going strong. Baby is a tuxedo cat and knows she looks good. Lacey is Beth's "PUPPY!" and thinks Fitz is her personal playtoy.

What I am doing to be productive is baking and crocheting. Aunt Barbie Bakes and Aunt Barbie Makes. Best catch phrase I could come up with at this time.

Thanks for stopping by,

Barbara