Nice Sighting

Yesterday I was thrilled when UNC walk-on basketball Luke Maye made the winning shot in the game yesterday elevating UNC to the final four for next weekend. Not only did the nonstarter make the winning point, but he was named Most Outstanding player of the South Regional.
Imagine my surprise when My friend Hannah and I saw Luke walk into the little Franklin street eatery Sandwhich today at lunch. He was all alone, obviously looking for someone as he circled the tables. We wanted to congratulate him, but thought we should give him his privacy. A mother and her young son came in the restaurant and were standing right beside our table when Maye came up to greet them, with a pat on the back for the young boy. They were the people he was waiting for.
Hannah and I could not help but overhear their conversation since Maye was standing right beside me. He took off his final four hat, with the section of net from the winning basket tied to it, to let the little boy look at it. It was obvious they were friends, but were not related. Eric Montrose, ex- UNC basket star and now commentator, came in and joined them. Luke told the young boy that he was here for just today since the team is leaving for the final four tomorrow.
Hannah and I decided not to bother them and neither did anyone else in the place. Hannah showed me the Tar Heel report that had just been posted showing Maye at his 8AM class this morning where he got a standing ovation. It was so nice to see that someone who was the star last night on the court was just a student today. Yes, he was a student who had gotten a standing ovation, but he also was someone who was spending his one lunch back in Chapel Hill with a little boy. I hope that Maye continues to win, but keeps that humility that he appeared to have today.

March Madness Changes Me

This is the big weekend with the sweet sixteen and elite eight in college basketball. I came more about teams I never followed this weekend than I ever have before. The really big thing is how watching these games makes me opposite of myself in every possible way.
Today while I was walking on my treadmill watching the South Carolina/Florida game I found myself upping the speed to a full on run. I never run. I hate running. I am a terrible runner. I could have a large dog chasing me and I still would not run. I can’t explain why watching two teams I have no investment in run up and down the court on my TV entices me to run. But I did run. I ran the whole last fifteen minutes. Believe me, this was a miracle.
The final game of the weekend was the only game I actually cared about, the UNC/Kentucky game. Sadly our neighbors Laurie and Colin who have been living across from us for the last six months while they renovated their house were having a goodbye to Westover road party. It started right at the start of the game. Normally I would be thrilled to go to a party across the street. Many neighbors were there, the food and drink was great, but the game was on silently. I was not alone in being interested in it, but I missed the commentary.
I stayed for the first half of the game, but had no guilt leaving to go home and watch the final half all alone. Russ and Carter went out and Shay snuggled down with me for the last half of basketball for the big weekend. The elite eight made me antisocial. I didn’t want anyone with me. It is best I am alone when I am screaming these obscenities at the TV. 
The final four with only three games is not the same basketball orgy. Of course I will be watching my Tar Heels. Hopefully I can have the same running experience I had today. If this works out I am going to see what watching the Masters does to my treadmill work. Somehow I am not sure golf will energize me in the same way.

I Missed National Puppy Day

Apparently I was not alone in missing celebrating National Puppy day which was Wednesday. In the past three days I have seen many mea culpas on social media to four legged friends whose owners forgot to celebrate them. I was worried that Shay might get on Facebook looking for my tribute to her and give me a guilt trip over it.
Then I got to thinking, Shay is not a Puppy. Neither were most of the dogs that were belatedly honored. Does it make any difference? Isn’t your fourteen year old dog always your puppy? Just like my adult daughter will always be my baby.
I do have a number of friends who have recently gotten actual puppies. Is there anything better–the puppy breath, the high energy excitement, the way they pass out the second they come in from a walk. It is easy to love someone else’s puppy when you are not the one cleaning up the mistakes on the new carpet, or having to wake up in the middle of the night to go out.
Puppies make everyone feel happy, that is why they are brought in as a stress reliever to kids taking exams. So of course they deserve a day of celebration even more so than national pencil day or liver appreciation Wednesday. Ok, liver appreciation might also be on a Thursday, but celebrating puppies is a no brainer.
To all you dog parents who did not post a photo of your sweet love, don’t feel bad. Everyday is a dog’s day. They are never going to hold it against you that you did not throw them a party. Just rub their belly and all is forgiven.
To Shay Shay, you will always be our puppy, no matter how old you get. Happy day to you!

No Artist in the Oval

I apologize now that this is going to be a political blog, but there is a lesson for us all in what happened today.
45’s promise to repeal Obamacare died today despite his having a historic one party control of the executive and legislative branches. This was the main stay of his political promise. Calling Obamacare the worst thing to happen in America and something he would “easily” fix was not so easy.
Now even Obama himself agrees that the first iteration of universal healthcare could be improved, but healthcare is an intricate web of medical providers, insurers and payers. Pulling on one string affects the whole web and throwing it our completely and starting over is more difficult than the President ever imagined. So 45 came to admit.
What 45 did not learn is that just because you have the numbers in terms of majorities in both the house and senate does not mean you can do anything you want. The self proclaimed deal maker is no artist when it comes to negotiating. He forgot to even talk to democrats about it. Today he blamed the democrats for the failure to get the bill passed which is really rich since he has done nothing to build any bridges to compromise with them. If he couldn’t get his own party to vote with him, why would he think the opposition would help him out, especially when he just calls them names.
Maybe this humbling moment will teach him that he needs to be the leader of whole country and work to craft legislation with both parties, not just within the multiple sides of his own party. The republicans practiced obstructionism for the last eight years since they refused to work with Obama and now they don’t know any other word than, “no.” No is not legislating. 
So congress, take this opportunity to reach across the aisle and do the hard work to make compromises, find middle ground and work on improving Obamacare. You don’t have to throw the whole thing out, but you can make amendments. Our best legislation comes when a leader from each party works together to craft a bill. It certainly takes more work, but nothing good is every easy. Hey 45, being President is harder than you thought.

I Just Look Like I’ve Had a Lobotomy 

File this under “watching the washer is the new TV.”
My new washer and dryer arrived today. It has been two weeks since my old one broke and although we were away for most of that time I was really missing having a washer. Times have really changed in the twenty years since it last got a washer. I actually read both manuals and there is a lot to learn about doing laundry.  
First, I have a giant tub without an agitator so it just feels weird to put the clothes in the machine sans a middle pole. Apparently there is a right way you put the clothes in. I learned that I did it incorrectly as I watched the washing action at first. I could only do this because it has a glass lid. I have no idea what happened in my old washer since once I closed the solid metal lid it just did everything in the dark.
It was down right mesmerizing to watch the machine first “sense” the load before the water poured in waterfall fashion. I was shocked by how little water actually went in. That is one of the reasons why I hung around to watch it work. I was concerned that some of the clothes were not actually getting wet. Silly me. I had not yet experienced the dance that is a new fangled wash tub.
Staring like a fool with half a brain at the wash under the glass I must have looked like someone who was just seeing TV for the first time. I realized that I was standing there with my mouth open and just the tiniest drop of drool beginning to seep from the corner of my mouth. Why was that? This was not like watching the Great British Bake Off. Oh, but how I missed having a washer, I guess.
Since I am just now running my first load I cannot report on the quality of the washing, but boy does this thing ever put on a good show. If I ever get a lobotomy you can just park me on a stool looking down at the glass lid and give me a dozen or so baskets of dirty laundry. I can’t wait until I have a comforter that needs to be washed. Life without a center agitator is going to be grand.

Deals and Steals 

My sister Janet owns a cool company that is in the beauty biz. She is the US distributor for a line called Treets Traditions. It is a bath and body product line that is new to the US? Tomorrow morning on Good Morning America in the 8AM hour on the east coast her line is going to be offered on the Tory Johnson Deals and Steals segment. You can log into GMA to get the code to order products at a greatly reduced price.  
Here is what my sister J says about it:
TREETS TRADITIONS is a beautiful line out of Holland…100% made in Europe and 100% natural. We are the only distributor in all of the Americas and it is exclusively available at ULTA for the next 3 months and then will be available at other retailers.
It is completely natural in every way and free of colorants, detergents, SLS, paraben’s, animal testing, purchases all raw materials as free trade…so is really doing it right in terms of being good to the world. It is a product you would be proud to put on your families skin. The Body Butter’s are the BOMB and they are famous for their bath fizzers and their body scrubs.

Here is the link to the web site: https://www.treets.com

Silent No More

File this under, “the miracle of Dana’s silent phase.” Most anyone who knows me knows that I have never had a silent phase. Despite my inability to keep from talking I do have the ability to keep a secret. No one would ever think so, but I have kept quite a few secrets, but that is another story. Just because I am talking I might not be telling you everything that is going on.
Officially my silent phase is over today, that is in relation to the “So all may eat” campaign for the Food Bank of Central and Eastern North Carolina. Eighteen months ago the Food Bank quietly began our campaign to raise ten million dollars for our new 114,000 square foot headquarters in Raliegh as well as some new and exciting programs to help people not need the services of the Food Bank any more.  
Our wish to raise the capital money as quietly and quickly as possible was so that we would not impact our annual giving that goes to food. It was a big goal. It had been fifteen years since we had our last capital campaign the “breaking bread” campaign. That is too long between campaigns. Some people were worried that we might not make it. Not me. I was fairly certain that when we told people about what we do for hungry people in one third of North Carolina they would generously support us.  
We had done a feasibility study and the experts thought we might be able to raise the money in two years and would have to go public and ask our regular donors for the last million. Instead we did it in 18 months and never got out of the silent phase. Thanks to Ed Carney, a previous board chair who headed the campaign with Ron Doggert as honorary chair. I chaired the board division and did not have to twist many arms thanks to the deep commitment that current and past board members have for the organization. I also had the wise wisdom and council of Ash Pipkin, godfather to the board and former board chair Al Ragland to help me.
Today was the thank you lunch to officially announce we have passed our goal, not that we still won’t take pledges from those last few generous organizations. Now I no longer have to be silent about this. 
I am so proud of the leaders at the Food Bank, CEO and President Peter Werbicki, who started life at the Food Bank as an operations guy and over the years has morphed into a great fund raiser and communicator about the good work the Food Bank does and Amy Beros, VP of Development who came to us from another feeding organization as a lieutenant and during the course of the campaign rose to be the leader. Working with these professionals has been an utter joy. That is not something most campaign workers say at the end of a big capital campaign.
So I can shout it from roof tops, “Congratulations to the Food Bank for exceeding your goal.” So now all may eat.

Risottoed Quinoa with Shiitake Mushrooms and Spinach

In the quest to add more protein to every meal and reduce outright starches I made Quinoa risotto style tonight. It was the perfect blank slate to add veggies to. It could be a complete meal.
8oz. shiitake mushrooms – stemmed and sliced

2 shallots minced

2 cloves of garlic minced

1 T. Olive oil

1 cup uncooked White Quinoa 

1/2 cup white white

5 cups of broth (chicken or veggie) – hot

1/2 cup Parmesan cheese

5 big handfuls of baby spinach
Spray a big skillet with Pam and put the sliced mushrooms in on medium heat. Cook stirring every so often for five minutes. Remove mushrooms from pan and set aside. Spray more Pam and add the shallots and garlic and cook on medium low for three minutes. Add the oil and the Quinoa and stir coating the Quinoa in oil and toasting it at the same time, about three minutes. Turn the heat up to medium.
Add the wine to the pan and stir, cooking until the liquid is absorbed. Once done add a half a cup of simmering broth and stir and cook until absorbed. Continue this routine until all the broth has been used up, should take about half an hour.
Remove the pan from the heat. Add the mushrooms back in and the cheese. Stir well and add the Spinach. Mix well and put back on low heat for one minute while continuing to turn everything over in the pan until the Spinach is just starting to wilt. Serve and eat

No Tea Like Home

Apparently I am supposed to live in a very skinny section of the world, known as south of the Mason Dixon line and above the hard core confederacy. We spent last week in Mexico, which is technically in the south. I was able to find iced tea, but it was just not quite right. Between the just a little too weak to hold up to the melting ice, and the lack of any free refills I was able to barley hold on by my fingernails in my needed tea consumption. At the airport lounge Russ gave me a can of iced tea that I considered should be illegal to call iced tea. It was a brown sugar water with a splash of some acidic chemical to act like a lemon.
The first thing I did when we finally got home three hours late last night was make a new pitcher of iced tea so that in the morning I could return to being a human. A strong tea, with a good splash of fresh lime juice and a sweet ‘n low with lots of crushed ice and I am a happy camper.  
The only problem with going on vacation most anyplace that is not North Carolina is my tea fix is hard to satisfy. If I am able to procure a satisfactory glass of my elixir of life the establishment that I have found it at often wants to charge me full price to refill my already used cup. Now I am all for just refilling a cup I have already soiled, no need to be wasteful, but really the cost to produce iced tea is so minimal that I take great offense to paying full charge for a second glass.
I know restaurants are in business to stay in business, but if the tea and limes or lemons cost you ten cents a glass and you charge $2.95 you could afford one more ten cent refill. In Mexico I was able to have free refills if I was having the breakfast buffet because it was all you could eat, but at the pool, forget it, no refills for you.
Perhaps I should go on a local vacation and just consume Iced Tea. It would be healthier for me and I would not get delayed at an airport since I would just drive myself. That would be a double bonus to my mood, no flight delays and perfect practically unlimited supply of unsweetened tea. Maybe I should just stay home where my tea is the best tea.

Eavesdropping

In the way travel goes these days we got to the airport in plenty of time, security lines were long, but went fast and we were through with lots of time to spare. Then the notice that our flight was delayed almost three hours came in. What else is the for us to do but sit in the airport.
We found a “club” we could pay to sit I and so here we sit. At the table next to us is a group who are also delayed. I am not sure how they are related, but they are some how. One pair is going to New York, the other to Florida. This is how their conversation goes, all four talking at once
“We are always delayed.”
“Will my wheel chair escort reschedule or do we have to let them know?” 
“Judy’s daughter is getting married today and they have a green theme for St. Patrick’s day.”
“Is the groom Irish?”
“No, Jewish.”
“Last year we were delayed on the way to Fort Lauderdale.”
“Is Judy’s daughter’s dress green?”
“I still want the wheel chair.”
“How do I know if her dress is green? I’m stuck here and not at the wedding.”
“We went on this trip to get out of going to the wedding.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Maybe we should not travel anymore.”
“If we get home early enough let’s go to the wedding.”
“I want to see this Irish wedding.”
“They aren’t Irish. Judy is our cousin. They are Jewish. How many Irish Jews do you know?”
“Why are they having a St. Patrick’s day wedding?”
“Our flights are always delayed.”
“Maybe I should get a wheel chair for at home, then I could be at the front of the line everywhere.”
“Judy doesn’t even look good in green.”
The joys of listening to other people’s conversations. I may be delayed but I am very entertained.

Eavesdropping

In the way travel goes these days we got to the airport in plenty of time, security lines were long, but went fast and we were through with lots of time to spare. Then the notice that our flight was delayed almost three hours came in. What else is the for us to do but sit in the airport.
We found a “club” we could pay to sit I and so here we sit. At the table next to us is a group who are also delayed. I am not sure how they are related, but they are some how. One pair is going to New York, the other to Florida. This is how their conversation goes, all four talking at once
“We are always delayed.”
“Will my wheel chair escort reschedule or do we have to let them know?” 
“Judy’s daughter is getting married today and they have a green theme for St. Patrick’s day.”
“Is the groom Irish?”
“No, Jewish.”
“Last year we were delayed on the way to Fort Lauderdale.”
“Is Judy’s daughter’s dress green?”
“I still want the wheel chair.”
“How do I know if her dress is green? I’m stuck here and not at the wedding.”
“We went on this trip to get out of going to the wedding.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Maybe we should not travel anymore.”
“If we get home early enough let’s go to the wedding.”
“I want to see this Irish wedding.”
“They aren’t Irish. Judy is our cousin. They are Jewish. How many Irish Jews do you know?”
“Why are they having a St. Patrick’s day wedding?”
“Our flights are always delayed.”
“Maybe I should get a wheel chair for at home, then I could be at the front of the line everywhere.”
“Judy doesn’t even look good in green.”
The joys of listening to other people’s conversations. I may be delayed but I am very entertained.

Farewell Beer

For our final night in Mexico we went to dinner at a place my friend Stacey had recommended, Coco’s Cabanas. She and her family somehow found this tiny hole in the wall place at Christmas and liked it so much they went multiple times. Although it did have a small sign on the main road we had no idea that it was tucked between many larger resorts and down a bumpy dirt road. It was worth the searching for.
The six table open air cafe and bar was staffed by a friendly young man who my father would have loved. He was gregarious and funny. We ordered drinks and when Russ him about beers he told him to get one that was not on the menu. “It’s my favorite beer,” he told us.
“When the beer salesman told me to start selling it I told him how can I sell it if I don’t know what it tastes like,” he volunteered. “So I popped one. Not sure I popped another. BY the third one it was my favorite beer.” This story sounds as if it came out of my father’s mouth.  
When I was little my father told me a lot of stories that involved beer. Not just stories, but even math problems used beer. “…if you drink six beers for six day and on the seventh day drink eight beers how many beers will you have drunk in a month?” I think my dad thought words problems were much more fun with beer. One day I asked him what his favorite beer was. I will never forget his answer. “The best beer is the last beer I just had.”  
Tonight I wish my dad was on this trip with us just so he and our waiter could compare beer notes. Nonetheless I know my Dad would be happy to know that Russ was enjoying some fine Mexican beer. He hates it when he hears Russ is not drinking.
It’s back to no drinking reality for the Lange’s tomorrow. “Sad, sad each bitter wail,” as my friend Judy likes to say. I’m not exactly sure what that means, but it deals appropriate at this time.

Things I’ve Learned in Mexico This Week

I don’t like speed bumps on the highways.
Everyone’s car is white so using that as the descriptor to say which car is yours does nada.
You don’t want any people who bought the all inclusive package to sit near you at the pool. They are trying to maximize their investment by drinking four times as much as the plan cost.
If you are in the market for a pan flute you can find one on every corner cheap.
Mexican food on the Mayan Riviera is never spicy enough for Russ Lange.
The Mexican waiters with the best English all lived in the states in grade and or high school, but chose to come back and live and work in their homeland.
Guacamole is an every meal option.
Driving in Mexico is easy as long as you practiced in New York City at some point in your life.
Imodium is a prescription drug here, when it is over the counter in the states, but viagra is over the counter.
Mariachis must keep playing in their bands because their matching pants are so tight they can’t get them off to do anything else.
I should just order an appetizer as my dinner because the portions are always too big.
I don’t really like pan flute music.

A lot of the clothes look alike.

Everyone is friendly, even the people on the all inclusive plan.

It Used To Be Called A Rubdown

When I was a kid there were no spas. Massages did not exist. You could get a facial if you went to Georgette Klingers or Elizabeth Arden’s in New York City. Old grown men I knew who belonged to the Athletic Club or the University Club would go and “take a steam” and get a “rub down.” Since I was not a man and did not belong to one of these men place I am not sure exactly what a “rub down” consisted of but I think it was the cave man equivalent of a massage.
I was well over thirty before I ever had a massage. I can’t remember exactly where or when it was, but I think my thought about it was, “Why the hell did no one tell me about these things before now?” Now getting a massage is not just a huge treat, but practically part of my wellness care. I apparently get some serious knots on my hamstrings, from what who knows. It certainly isn’t from some major athletic endeavors.
I introduced Carter to massages at a young age and she is equally hooked on them. Today as our vacation treat we spent the better part of the day in the spa. Apparently no one else at this place knows about massages because we had the run of this huge spa to ourselves. Carter went earlier than I and texted me that she was all alone at the spa outdoor mineral and regular pool. Later we were the only ones in both relaxations rooms and whirlpool, steam, sauna and Swiss shower.  
Having a good masage turns me into a lose rubber band. I walk a little wobbly and being a little greased up does not help keep me in my sandals. But there is no better feeling than that relaxed muscle post massage euphoria. 
I am thankful for those old men getting rub downs from brutish men in white tee shirts and white pants. It opened the door for young women with soothing voices and strong hands to make a good living and have me addicted to something that is calorie free. It also created a whole new genre of pan flute music that otherwise would have died a quiet useless instrument death. Oh Spas, you may be a young industry, but please keep growing.

No Wall 

We must do everything possible to stop 45 from thinking about building the wall. If there is a wall it might prevent Americans from being able to come into Mexico and that would be a shame. The people here could not be more lovely and are very kind about not bringing up that man in Washington, even in the face of his racism.
If 45’s son’s who are now running the empire wanted to hire the best people they would include the Mexican people we have met here. Why would 45 want to build a wall and keep out the best workers. On the other hand why would any of the people here want to leave? The weather is fabulous, the food is yummy and the culture is strong.
Of course no place is perfect. The peso is weak against the dollar right now and the government is, well the government. But there are a few things they have here that we don’t have at home, one being cenotes. Centones are underground caves filled with water. They are limestone so the water in them is so clean because it has seeped through the rocks to get to the cave. Today we took Carter for her first cenote experience. There are literally hundreds of them so I found one that was off the main road. It was very quiet and even though the property was huge with four open cenotes, and one enclosed underground cave we hardly saw another tourist there. We had what turned out to be a private tour of the enclosed cave where we got to float through the caverns being careful not to touch the stalactites coming down from the ceiling. Our tour guide Miguel could not have been nicer. It was a very fun day off campus.
Another thing they have here that we don’t have at home is “purse trees” to hold your bags at restaurants. I have seen them everywhere we go and they range from the industrial to the artistic. A favorite was this tree branch “purse holder” we had at our dinner spot last night. Why has this idea not crossed the boarder? The wall will not help spread these good ideas north.
Now we can’t import cenotes, but we can make “purse trees.” If you gave me a couple of more weeks down here I am sure I could find other things Mexicans do better than we do, well besides making tortillas and guacamole. We already knew they were superior in that. 

Obnoxious Spring Breakers

We parked ourselves at the “adult pool” today to stay away from screaming children. In the morning that was good, but by the afternoon the hung over Texans, all fifteen families with their teenagers, who were also hung over, descended on the adult pool. The fathers smoked cigars while sitting in the pool, the mothers discussed their plastic surgeries gone wrong and the kids, who were freshmen or sophomores in high school complained about their algebra tests while ordering liquor drinks.
I think that the non-Texan guests would be happy if our hotel gave the Texans their own pool, “Just tell us where they are so we can stay away from them!”
My favorite conversation that I could not help but over hear thanks to their Texas volume, which for reference is twice as loud as my incredibly loud voice, was the one two mother’s were having with four of the teens.  
“Colin, what are you doing this summer?” Uber thin bikini clad fifty year old Mom asks fifteen year old boy, who was finishing his third Jack and Coke.
“I applied for an internship, but I am too young.”
“You should do the First Pres. camp. They give priority to kids who just got confirmed.”
“Sounds like work.”
“Not too bad, you can still drink. It will look good for your college application and then you can head the Bible study group at college, even though that is a long way off.”
I can’t even begin to list all that is wrong with this. The only good news is that they got their obnoxious portable speaker wet and now they are not blasting music, the parents that is. Rich entitled parents are producing rich entitled kids for whom no rules apply, but at least they are “god fearing.” They are Texans after all.

Sitting Around Vacation

For the last five years the only kind of vacations we have taken are the go and see and do vacations, not the and do nothing ones. We got good at sight seeing and studying and learning. Today we got up with no agenda and it was hard, not that we didn’t fill the time, but it seemed lazy.
It started early when Russ and I got up well before Carter and went to breakfast. Carter said she wanted to sleep in and said not to wait for her to eat. We had a lovely table on a porch overlooking a river. First we had coffee, for maybe an hour. Then we had fruit for another half an hour. A text came in from Carter that she was up. Surprise, we still haven’t really eaten breakfast. So she came to join us and we were there at least an other hour. An almost three hour breakfast is just not what we usually do on vacation, but I guess this is what vacation is.
Then we went to sit by the pool. That was a good four hours of not doing anything, but read, play some games and do a little needlepoint. Finally Russ and I got antsy, so we changed into clothes and walked the mile to the beach and back. The only thing sightseeing we did was meet an iguana. A siesta from our taxing day and then dinner and now I am exhausted from doing all this nothing.
Tomorrow looks similar. Really the three hour breakfast is the highlight. You can really talk about things in depth when you don’t have work to run off to or a dog to walk. I may not be learning any cultural history, but time spent with Russ is the best education. Carter should be fully rested and ready to learn when we get home from all this nothing.

The Sitting Around Vacation

For the last five years the only kind of vacations we have taken are the go and see and do vacations, not the and do nothing ones. We got good at sight seeing and studying and learning. Today we got up with no agenda and it was hard, not that we didn’t fill the time, but it seemed lazy.It started early when Russ and I got up well before Carter and went to breakfast. Carter said she wanted to sleep in and said not to wait for her to eat. We had a lovely table on a porch overlooking a river. First we had coffee, for maybe an hour. Then we had fruit for another half an hour. A text came in from Carter that she was up. Surprise, we still haven’t really eaten breakfast. So she came to join us and we were there at least an other hour. An almost three hour breakfast is just not what we usually do on vacation, but I guess this is what vacation is.

Then we went to sit by the pool. That was a good four hours of not doing anything, but read, play some games and do a little needlepoint. Finally Russ and I got antsy, so we changed into clothes and walked the mile to the beach and back. The only thing sightseeing we did was meet an iguana. A siesta from our taxing day and then dinner and now I am exhausted from doing all this nothing.

Tomorrow looks similar. Really the three hour breakfast is the highlight. You can really talk about things in depth when you don’t have work to run off to or a dog to walk. I may not be learning any cultural history, but time spent with Russ is the best education. Carter should be fully rested and ready to learn when we get home from all this nothing.

Final Spring Break

When I was a child we did not have this thing called spring break. We had Easter holiday, but that involved Good Friday and Easter Monday off and a lot of church going. That in no way equaled a vacation. When Carter started school we fully embraced spring break as our best family vacation time. It was easier to schedule Russ off from work for one definitive week in March than to get him to block out a week in the summer when he had so many to chose from.
Today we left on our final spring break as a family while Carter still lives at home. We got to talking all about our trips. Things were so different than those early years. Today she packed for herself and was up and ready to go at six in the morning. She gladly sat in the seat on the plane that was three rows away from ours and I did not have to read her the same book over and over again. But I longed for those early spring break trips.
When we arrived at our hotel at three in afternoon, hungry from the trip without food instead of going to get a hot dog like we would when Carter was young we went to the bar and shared some apps. The sharing of food was also new.
We discussed our favorite trips, trying to remember which were the Disney years and thankful for the non Disney trips. As we sat there Russ saw a little girl about three or four years old, wheel her tiny suitcase into the lobby. He pointed her out to Carter. It reminded us of Carter’s first rolling suitcase with an A, B, C on it.
“That suitcase is still in the attic,” I told Carter. 
“Maybe I can get it out and use it for like one pair of shoes,” she said.
Russ, in his typically cheeky way said, “Or maybe it could hold one bra.”
Lines like that are what make our trips memorable. Time together, away from routine is what is most special.  

Is It Real?

Back in the day when you had to pretend to be married to get to take someone on a prize trip I got a really good fake engagement ring. It was just part of the whole fake marriage story, but the ring really sold the whole thing. It wasn’t an cheap ring since it came from Niemman Marcus, but it was one hundredth of the cost of a ring with real diamonds. It was also definitely not my style, but the people I had to fool with this ring loved it and thought I had hit the jackpot.
When Russ and I got real married I put this fake ring in my jewelry box and more or less forgot about it. Today I decided to pull it out and change it with my real ring since I am going on a trip. I could just go without any ring, but my finger feels funny without one and it is nice to have one that if I get accosted I can throw at someone giving me time to get away. I guess this is my plan in place of having learned to run.
The older I get the less I care about jewelry. I used to council my friend’s husband’s about the benefits of giving their wives good jewelry. Once I explained to them what “jewelry sex” was my friends started getting better and better presents. Today I might tell them about retirement savings as their best aphrodisiac.

Never a Good Time

When Carter was in Preschool she had a friend whose Mom was an expert house renovator. I remember going to a house she had recently moved into and redone and was instantly envious of her laundry room with its new fangled front loader washer and dryer. They were cherry red and more beautiful than appliances he a right to be. I went home and looked at my standard, no frills white top loader in my garage. My washer and dryer were only about eight years old, but looked as if they had been designed in the seventies. I waited for them to fail so I could get one of those front loaders.
Fast forward two years and Carter at six and I were walking through Sears on our way to another store in the Mall. We lingered at the colorful washers. A lonely salesman came right up to us inquiring if we were in the market for new appliances. Before I could say anything Carter responded, “We are just dreaming.”
The years went by and friends who had front loaders began to complain about the way they smelled and the size of the loads. I came to appreciate my old reliable top loader. I stopped coveting new machines and saw my twenty year old appliances as great investments.  
Then today, as I had two loads to wash for spring break the washer gave up the ghost. I put a load of whites in and when I returned 30 minutes later I was accosted by a burning smell from the motor and a machine full of water and still dirty clothes. Twenty plus years was a good run, but why did it have to stop working today?
I retrieved the whites and took the wet laundry to my neighbor’s Mary Eileen’s house and imposed on her laundry room. Between loads I went to Lowes to purchase a new washer and dryer set. No dreaming, no front loader, just the pair that consumer reports told me to get. They were not in stock, so maybe breaking right before spring break was a good thing. At least I won’t be home wanting to do laundry looking at my broken old standard washer. You served me well.

Dog With The Finest Taste

Somehow pets are all attracted to the best thing in the house. Today I found Shay, who has her run of the house, drooped across the bunny pillow I so loving needlepointed. It is in no way the most comfortable pillow in the house, for that she has her chose of many down pillows. It was not in the sunniest spot, for that she could go to the sunroom and perch atop a soft sofa dappled in the warm glow of the spring light. It is not the coziest seat, unlike my low number side of the sleep number bed. It is not the best place to watch the wild life outside, for that she could sit in the chair in the living room with her head perched on the big arm that has a great view of the front yard. No, Shay has to sleep on top of bunny face pillow, covering his eyes so she can prove she is the queen animal in the house.
This is somehow similar to whenever I am dressed up in my finest outfit just about to go out and she comes in the house with dirty wet paws and decides she need to jump up on my legs. Normally Shay is happy to just walk inside and wait on her bed in the kitchen for a freeze dried liver treat, except if I have silk on. What is it about the finer things that attracts her so?
It is not just me she does this too. If a guest enters the house and has jeans on Shay tends to just saddle up to them and encourage some petting without jumping. The second a well dressed, and often animal indifferent person comes in, Shay feels the need to jump, paws first, up on their clothes. Yes, this is a training issue on the part of her owner’s, but how is it that she is so selective? Do you think there is such a thing as a blue blood dog?

Eating the Refrigerator Clean

It’s is about to be spring break around here. Seems weird since we have had spring for the last two months. It has hardly been a harsh winter that needs escaping. Instead it has been a pleasant weather calendar year so far that is barely making up for the nightmare political year.

I need spring break to run away from news.
The only thing I hate in these pre-spring break days is the feeling that I need to eat the food in my fridge and not purchase anything new that might go to waste. This goes only for fresh, not frozen food, which can’t languish in the zero tundra of the freezer for months after I get home from break.  
So now I look in the fridge and lament the asparagus and Brussels sprouts I bought days ago and have not eaten yet, along with the leftover container of broccoli and multiple small chucks of various cheeses. Since I really don’t want a meal of these items it dawns on me that if I put some of them together with eggs I can make a frittata where the sum of the parts is better than they are alone.
I vote the Brussels sprouts out of the dish since those mini cabbages are uncooked and might survive an extra week in the veggie drawer. I blanch the asparagus, saute an onion and put it all in a baking dish with the leftover broccoli. A dozen eggs whipped up with some salt and pepper poured over the veggie and the many bits of leftover cheese on top finishes up the dish. Thirty minutes on 350 and I have a brand new main course from what was just sides and apps. I have decided the frittata is the pre-vacation best friend to cleaning out the fridge. The combinations of things that can be put together are endless, but almost all of them will benefit from addition of onion.
Now I am looking at the half full bottle of milk and am thinking that if I go very light on my morning cereal I can make it last just the right number of days, that is as long as it does not turn before hand. Sometimes I wish I was not so frugal, but I know I still won’t drink milk that might make my stomach unhappy, especially right before a trip. Thank goodness I don’t have any leftover fish.  

What’s in a Name?

Today at an emergency Mah Jongg gathering (yes, there are Mah Jongg emergencies, but that is a different story) I learned that two very long time friends had different birth names than the ones I call them now. This was interesting since I too was given a different first name at birth, that I never went by after day three. Eventually I legally changed my name to Dana after I got married, but there was a lot of confusion with driver’s licenses, passports, social security and other official forms.
Since I was given the name Jane at birth, which was also my mother’s name, my godmother declared, “there are too many god damned Janes around here, I am going to call her Dana.” Or at least that is story I was told, I was only three days old so I don’t remember. What I do know is I am no more a Jane and my God mother was right to declare me a Dana. One of my friends today told us her name had been Wanda and never in a million years would I see her as a Wanda. Eventually she started going by her middle name. But getting people to start calling you a different name, is hard even if it is one you legally own.
What I wonder is if you could chose your own name would it be something different than you were given? Names come and go in fashion and what if you have a very old fashioned name, or you happened to be named the most popular name of the year and by the time you get to third grade you are just one of six Taylors, and they re not all the same sex? Are you tempted to create a nick name for yourself that ends up sticking and if you do what do you do about your legal name? Is your new name more like a Grandmother name, one you just created for yourself?
I am very thankful that my godmother so quickly came up with my true self name. Maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to name children and instead let them hang out with us for a few days until we find the name that fits. Changing your name later is just a lot of work.

Pickled Pineapple

I cut open a pineapple I had bought last week. When I bought it I did not think it was ripe enough so I left it on the counter to ripen. That plan did not work. The fruit was not sweet, but flat and a little tasteless. I turned to the internet and found out that once a pineapple is picked it stops ripening. I have been under the illusion that letting a pineapple sit on the counter can help it improve. I am still unsure if the source I read on the internet is right.
No matter, I now had a container of what I thought was useless fruit. Since it was not sweet I could not make a cake so I decided to go the other direction and pickle it, enhancing the tartness with spice. It is going to be the perfect accompaniment to roast pork.
1 tasteless unripe pineapple (certainly a good pineapple will work too)

3 jalapeño’s thinly sliced

1 cup of white vinegar 

2 T. Salt

2 T. Sugar

Handful of cilantro 
Put the vinegar, salt and sugar in sauce pan and heat until the salt no sugar are dissolved. Let the liquid cool. Put the pineapple and jalapeño in a bowl and pour the liquid over it. Cover and put in the fridge for at least a day. Add the cilantro a few hours before serving.  
Not only would this be good on pork, but would be excellent on fish tacos or grilled salmon.

A Rare Family Meal 

In a rare moment these days I had Russ and Carter with me at the same meal. It was such a treat. Russ flew in late this afternoon from a week in Chicago, Minneapolis, New York, and Washington, DC. Tomorrow Carter is going to Charlotte and Russ is back out to Chicago.  
The times that Russ and Carter get to see each other are fleeting so I am doing my best to maximize these opportunities. Tonight I enticed Carter to have dinner with us before going to watch the DUKE UNC basketball game by taking her to JuJu an Asian restaurant she had never been to. My plan worked perfectly. Carter wondered, “Why have I never been here before?”   
When all my parent’s kids had moved out on their own my parents built a house at the beach. I asked my Dad why he was building such a big house with a pool and he told me, “I have to make it really nice so you and your sisters will want to come visit us.” I thought that made us sound very shallow, like what, are we not going to want to visit our parents anyway?  
Now I find myself in that same position. In order for us to get time with Carter we have to offer something better than her friends. It works out fine that we can go to an early dinner and then Russ and I get to come home and go to bed early and Carter can go out, but that is not always the case.
We are about to embark on our last spring break. I figure that Carter may want to do spring break with friends, at least that is what I did in college. But maybe I can learn from my Dad. Maybe I can create someplace so fun that Carter will still want to visit us. For now I am happy if we eat a meal or two a week together.

Congratulations Graduates

This was a fun week in my Mah Jongg world. I had a class or I played a game everyday this week. Sounds decadent. Monday was the first day of Durham beginners class with Lucy, Kathryn, Kay, Trena and Page. Tuesday was third class of Chapel Hill friends Alice, Kim, Lisa and Linda. Wednesday was my regular game where I got to play and not teach. Thursday was Durham’s second class and today was Durham’s third and final class. It also happened to be Kay’s birthday.
I am happy to report that there are many new Mah Jongg players in the area. Everyone caught on to the game and improved to the point of being able to figure out what to pass without help. If you do not know what that means it is time for you to learn to play Mah Jongg.
Teaching everyday but one was a fun way to spend the week. If I was not such a natural born salesman I probably would have liked being a teacher. When I was a kid playing “school” was a favorite game for me. I used to love to make worksheets up for my much younger sister who did not find math a fun game. It is too bad, because she might have gotten further along in math if she had stuck with the “school game” a little longer. She always wanted to quit playing school and play beauty parlor instead.
Now that my week of running Mah Jongg school is over I am going to miss it tomorrow. I know there are other people who have asked me to teach them and I am happy to start up a new class, I just need to know if you want a day or evening class. Now that basketball is over evening is easier.
In the past month I have had beginners, intermediate and advanced Mah Jongg classes and it is amazing to me to see how much more there is to teach people who have been playing a while. One of the friends in the beginners class today asked me what else I taught because we were having such a fun time at Mah Jongg. Now I am trying to think of what else I know that I can teach. I know it is not math.

Progress? 

Today a friend stopped by the house after her yoga class. She told me how yoga had solved her bulging neck disk that was caused by too much driving and hovering over a key board. She credited yoga with her ability to open up her shoulders and solve her own ailments. I told her the story of the massage therapist who told me I needed to work on opening up my shoulders because of too much keyboard time also. I asked him how my shoulders were for a seventy year old. “Oh, great,” he told me. “Good, since I am only fifty.” (I wa just trying to find out how bad I really was.)
After that conversation today I got to thinking about all the secretaries that worked at Avon, where my Dad worked when I was a kid. They were beautiful women who sat at their typewriters all day, except for the times they were going to the Xerox room or to get coffee.  
My Dad was a prolific writer, scribbling out page after page of his left handed scrawl across many yellow legal pads. Goldie, his secretary, had hours of typing daily just from the things he wrote on the three hours he spent on the train going to and from work. Then there was all the typing that she had to do from what he dictated, not just in person, but also on his dictaphone.  
I knew Goldie for years and never once did I ever her her complain about neck or shoulders pain despite the many hours spent at her IBM Selcetric. I also never ever saw Goldie hunch over her typewriter. She sat at her desk with the most perfect of posture.
I took typing back in junior high school. My teacher Mrs. Green and her army of typewriters were housed in a portable classroom out back of the gym. It was perfect because that kept the noise of us all banging away on the keys sequestered from where the real learning was going on inside the building. The first thing Mrs. Green taught us was how to sit at the typewriter and hold our hands in position. At the time it seemed like over kill, especially for someone like me who had terrible posture to begin with. Now I am understanding the importance of all that.
Along the way, with the advent of lap top computers and now IPads, we have detached ourselves from always having to work at a desk and sit in an appropriate chair. I am terribly guilty of writing my blog every night from my bed where I certainly do not have good posture. Those old school ways of sitting up straight with both feet on the floor, shoulders down, neck stretched long have disappeared.  
We have taken the convenience of being able to work anywhere and have ruined our bodies because of it. And now we have to go to trainers, classes and physical therapy to fix the damage we have done because of that convenience. Perhaps I need to look for an old IBM typewriter and a little typing desk and chair and go back to sitting properly when I write. I can just take a photo of the paper with all the cross outs and edits and post that on the blog. I might lose every reader, but at least I won’t be risking a bulging disk.

Past Life Feeder

My friend Lynn asked me the other day if I might be making some Jambalaya soon. Lynn is a very picky eater who consumes practically nothing but Starbucks green tea lattes and movie theatre popcorn so if she wants some real food I figure the least I can do is make it for her.
So after working out and playing Mah Jongg well into the afternoon I decided I should not continue to do fun things for me, but instead make that Jambalaya. Since I was making it for Lynn I might as well make some for others, I thought. So I went about chopping and cooking and before it knew it I had made 32 quarts of chicken and chicken andouille sausage jambalaya.  

The pot in the picture holds just half of the total amount made. The crazy thing about this is that Lynn will eat about half a cup and be full.
I am wondering exactly what syndrome I have that makes me unable to cook small amounts? There must be a name for this. I can not blame this from my years catering. When I was a young child and cooked for my family I over cooked even then. My parents gave me a biblical/American Indian name of “Feeds the five thousands.”
I must have run a major food business in a past life. Perhaps I was a chef to a royal court, feeding not just the royal family, but the staff and hangers on. Or maybe I ran a school food service, or a prison kitchen. Somewhere there has to be a past life feeding experience.
I know there are all these little libraries popping up around the country where people can just pick up a book on a corner. Maybe I can have a little soup kitchen out front of my house. Seems like my need to feed people is deeply bred in me.

Not the TEEN Mom

“She’s the teen mom.” That’s what I thought I heard Carter’s basketball coach say as she was presenting the third and final award at the awards ceremony tonight. The first thing that went through my head is, “Who is the teen mom?”  
Then I realized she said, “Team Mom,” and she was talking about Carter for the Captain’s Award. It was a cherry on top of a fun basketball career. Carter was not the best player, but she was the coaches right hand.  
“She was the team Mom and organizer as well as a great listener and motivator. She always wanted to sit directly on my left shoulder on the bench in order to best communicate my thoughtsto the team and I also think she liked that seat in order to better communicate her opinion to the refs.” No one knows a player better than their coach. But Carter also studied what her coaches wanted and tried to help make that happen any way she could.
Being a TEAM Mom has been a highlight of her high school career. Thanks to Krista and Robert for being tough loving coaches. Thanks to the team for being a family. Good luck next season. Now who is going to be the new Mom?

How to Really Drive 45 Crazy

The news has been rife with polls showing that people who voted for Trump think he is doing a great a job and people who didn’t think he is doing the worst job ever. There is no middle ground. No “he’s our new President so I’ll cut him a break” bump that almost all previous presidents have gotten. Everyone is standing their ground, or at least the Trump lovers see nothing wrong in what he is doing.
High on my list of concerns for this POTUS is his slamming of all the press, save CBN or other far far right media outlets. An uneducated populous is his best friend. Yet, Trump is a guy who always wants to be in the media, the center of the universe, the most talked about. Given that no one is changing their minds about him I think the thing that would make him the most crazy is if all the news stopped talking about him.  
Imagine if Trump opened the newspaper, wait, not sure he reads, OK turned on the TV news and there was not one mention of him. Late night comics stopped referring to him ever. I know that Trump jokes are the low hanging fruit of comedy, but try it, just for a month. I can’t think of anything that would make him madder than to be ignored.  
I am not suggesting that the opposition stop working to improve the country, but just never mention the president by name, number or title. You can talk about the “administration” but not the man. It would drive him crazy. What if all the White House reporters just stopped going to the White House? They are already locked out of meetings, already ignored during question time, already told to sit down and be quiet. Rather than chase the man and give him the spot light, which he loves, go out and do investigative journalism on the issues, not the President.  
Now to Twitter… What if everyone just gave up Tweeting and retweeting and looking at twitter and reporting on what he puts on twitter for a month. He could be sitting on the throne in the White House screaming out in all caps on Twitter,”WHY AREN’T YOU PAYING ATTENTION TO ME?” and no one would respond.
We can’t let him go unchecked. We have to find other ways to fight him, but we don’t need to feed the ego that fuels him. Neither the news, nor comedians are going to change anyone’s minds, so let’s just drive him crazy with lack of coverage. This means we have to cover everyone else who works for him so that none of the stuff they are trying to do, like spend 23 billions dollars to build a wall, goes on without us trying to stop it, but just credit everything to an underling and not the POTUS. Soon enough the spotlight on the underlings will rub him the wrong way and he will turn on them.  
The only sad part about this plan is that if 45 called a press conference and no cameras or reporters were there we would not get to see him implode because no one was paying attention to him. Just an idea.

Surprise Baby Shower

Today we had the basketball team for lunch. Traditionally we this has been a farewell to the seniors, but today it was a surprise baby shower for their coaches, Krista and Robert.  
Carter did the inviting over group text which had me completely out of the loop, except that I had to be the shopper, cook and setter upper. Thankfully freshman center Claire Middleton generously offered to bring dessert. That meant I only had to make the main meal.  
As Carter was going off to Philly with Russ she told me that one girl was now a vegan and one a vegetarian. I decided to make pasta carbonara, one traditional with bacon, one veggie with peas and I had plain pasta for the vegan. I also had a deconstructed salad so the vegan could leave off the cheese and make a meal with the nuts and pears in her salad. She also had plain peas without butter or cheese. I am not sure if I could be a vegan. Thank goodness carbonara is easy to make for a crowd and the basketball girls are very appreciative and polite.
After lunch Carter invited the team to come up to the “gathering room,” the pretentious name for our family room. If this party was not at our house it might have been the time when the seniors were celebrated, but instead there were presents and a welcome baby balloon. Krista said she was surprised, but Robert said he thought this was what was going on.
Since the sex of the baby is a surprise the girls gave a great group of unisex presents. The most important one was a kid sized Duke Basketball signed by the whole team. Toys, books, a sleep sound machine and a boppy pillow were all things the new baby will use.
Krista and Robert have had lots of practice with many high school girls. It will be a change for them to have a baby. I hope that this baby likes basketball because it would be a terrible waste to have two parents with so much basketball experience not get to pass it on. Tuesday night is the winter sports awards and that will officially end Carter’s high school basketball career. The shower was a fun way for it to end.

Dogs Don’t Understand Weather Delays

Russ and Carter went to Philly for the last two days to visit the Lange side of the family. This meant that Shay Shay was getting two solid days of bonding time with me. OK, not her first choice. I know that Shay would prefer to be with Russ.
Every time a noise happens outside my bedroom window Shay thinks it is the garage door going up returning Russ home to her. So many times in the last two days I have had to tell her that sound was not Russ, which I know she fully understood by the way she would settle back down with a big sigh and look of disappointment.
Yesterday I had to be in Raleigh all day at a Food Bank retreat and Christy came by with her dog Lucy and generously took Shay on a walk with Lucy. That bought me a little bit of love when I got home rather than a huge guilt trip of “you left me all day.” Last night Shay slept on Russ’ side of the bed so she at least could smell like him.
This morning she gave me the “when, when, for god’s sake, tell me when he is coming back look.” I told her straight up. “He will be home at five thirty tonight.” She was happier knowing this and went about her day with less remorse than before.  
Russ and Carter got to the airport and were happily on the plane when they texted that weather was delaying them. Carter was unhappy since she wants to get home to go to a school dance. I did not tell Shay about the weather delay.
Five-thirty came and Shay started pacing in front of the front door, looking out the glass. I thought she wanted to go out and when I opened the door she just stood there. No going out, but instead looking down the road for Russ’ little car. She lay back down, nose to the glass. I decided I should try and tell her. “The plane is delayed, I don’t know when he is getting home.”
Shay howled at me. Honest to goodness, a sound like a wounded bear I have never heard her make before. I hugged her and told her he would be home. I went to get her some chicken to cheer her up, she just looked at it and went back to staring out the door leaving the chicken untouched. Such a broken heart for a two day trip. Don’t tell me dogs don’t understand everything, except weather delays. Next time I am going to tell her he is coming I later than his actual time just so I won’t have to live with such disappointment.

Arugula Salad Addiction

Since Russ and Carter went to Buck’s County to visit Russ’ family I have had the luxury of not cooking for myself. For the last two days I have eaten nothing but arugula salad and cereal, save the vegetarian lunch I had at the Food Bank today. I wonder if I were to live alone if I would even bother to buy anything other than chicken, pears, blue cheese, arugula, raspberries and special K? Oh yeah, I would need milk, ice tea and limes.
Despite my love of cooking I am perfectly happy to eat the same thing day in and day out. Especially when I am being extra good on my diet. When Carter goes to college and Russ is on a long business trip I am going to see how many days I can go eating just these things before I get bored. I predict it will be more than five days.
One reason I am happy to eat this arugula salad for two meals everyday is that I almost always have all the ingredients prepared and waiting in the fridge. I caramelize a couple of thinly sliced pears every few days. I cook 10 boneless skinless chicken thighs and keep them in the fridge. Thighs warm up beautifully in the microwave because they have more fat than breasts so they don’t get dried out. With those things prepped it takes less than minute to put the arugula in a bowl, crumble a little blue cheese on top, add the pears and the warmed chicken and douse with balsamic vinegar. It is a taste I hope I never tire of.
I remember when my Grandmother, Mima moved to a retirement home and I was in my early twenties. She had a little apartment with a small kitchen. She ate her breakfast and lunch in her rooms, but went to the dining room every night for a nice dinner. When I went to visit her at lunch time she always offered me the same thing, a small bowl of couscous with Parmesan cheese. She ate it everyday. I knew she had never been much of a cook, but I thought this lack of variety in her diet was not good.
I realize that I have turned into my grandmother. Perfectly happy to eat the same thing day in and day out, despite my well studied talent for cooking. I worry for Russ what life will be like in our house when it is just the two of us. He will have avocado toast with eggs and spicy sauce every morning and if he is given his druthers a kale salad and pizza bread for dinner.
I guess that you might say we will have variety in our house because we will have two different salad greens. I am going to have to give a lot of dinner parties to ensure I am cooking other things. Russ will be happy with any party leftovers and I can still have arugula.

Gratitude Tour Four – Sandhills Edition

I know I sound like a broken record, but I spent my day going to visit the Sandhills branch of the food bank and I was blown away by the people who work there. This gratitude tour started as a way for me to go and visit every Food Bank employee to thank them for the job they do, but it has turned into a much more inspirational tour for me.
One of the things the Food Bank does is called Back Pack Buddies where volunteers pack a bag of food for children who have very little food at home over the weekends. A wonderful woman in Southern Pines, named Joanne runs the program. She told me about the 1,100 children they provide a bag of food for every Friday in just Moore County alone. Nine hundred of them are homeless. This number broke my heart.  
Joanne said she had a dedicated group of volunteers who come in on Thursdays and pack the bags with food which always includes an apple for the children. On Fridays more volunteers come and drive the bags to the 28 school these children attend week after week. The Food Bank is great at gathering the right foods for these back packs and always making sure they have the right amount so no child goes hungry, but it takes these dedicated volunteers to pack 1,100 bags and deliver them.
I wish that my gratitude tour could include every volunteer who are helping feed children, seniors and those who need help. I was lucky enough to meet Austin, who is the Sandhills number one volunteer. He has been coming to the Food Bank every morning for twenty years. He told me today he can’t play golf that much of the Food Bank is the best place to spend his time. What a love.

Volunteering to help any worthy organization makes for a more fulfilling life. For my birthday this year I am going to invite my friends to come and do a volunteer morning at the Raliegh branch and have a lunch. Before I retire from the board (not from volunteering for the Food Bank) I want to show everyone the beautiful branch we spent the last five years making happen. Save May 4 to come and have some fun helping others at the Food Bank.

Arrested at the Post Office?

Today I had the fun errand of getting something notarized and then taking it to the post office to send it certified mail. Seemed like an easy enough job. What did I know?
After waiting fifteen minutes at my bank for the guy who is the official notary I was off to the post office. Since it was three in the afternoon I thought the lines would be short. I should have known that the lines are never short at the post office. I counted eleven people in front of me. I can survive that, until I noticed just one Postal guy working.
Seems like today no one was doing anything easy at the Post office. One woman was trying to mail two bras to her mother in France. Why you would send American bras to the country that invented beautiful lingerie? The number of forms she had to fill out about those bras made no sense to any of the people who had to listen to the whole embarrassing conversation.  
“Is there any liquid in this package?”
“No, as we have already discussed they are bras.”
“Are you sure there is no liquid?”
“Yes, they are not padded.”
This questioning went on for many minutes. You would think that the current administration had instructed the Post Office to start keeping tabs on all Americans to determine who is next for deportation, whether you are American or not.
I bonded with my fellow linemates as we took bets about how long we would all be there. I lost when I guessed twenty minutes and I was off by fifty percent. At minute twenty five a second postal worker appeared giving us false hope of a second line opening. It did not. I took a selfie while standing in line and this superfluous “worker” practically took my head off.
“No, photos in the Post Office,” he screamed at me.  
“Sorry, I don’t see any signs saying that.” I responded. He did not go so far as to ask me to delete it.  
I have not studied the law about taking pictures at the post office, nor about posting them. This may be my farewell blog post as I am certain to be dragged off to jail. It can’t be any worse than being at the actual post office.

Sick Child Diet

Poor Carter has been home the last two days with the crud. Apparently half her school has been out too. One of her good friends said it was terrible today because all the friends she eats lunch with were out, leaving her at school all alone.
With spring break coming I have been trying my best to get back on the healthy eating wagon with little will power. Today, with Carter not able to eat much I found it was easier for me to withhold. Since it is not the stomach bug, but an achy flu, she can still eat, but doesn’t have much appetite. I made artichokes for dinner. I know, not a normal sick food, but she was already tired of soup. Poor Carter ate part of one and was done with that.
Normally I would have finished her artichoke, but I certainly did not want to even touch anything she did. I had my artichoke and put the plates in the dishwasher and washed my hands well. Shay thought she wanted what Carter was not eating, but once Carter gave her a green leaf Shay thought better of her begging for it.
Now if I can eat the little amount Carter does while she is sick I may be able to shrink my stomach. I’m hoping for enough to ensure that a I am only eating enough to burn some of my stored fat and not take on more than I burn. I envision needing to exercise every waking minute to make my plan work, but realistically that is not going to happen. I certainly don’t have time to get the flu, but I wold like to get the flu non-eating desire. I pray that everyone in your house is well, but based on the school report that is not going to be the case for half of you.  

President’s Day — Not for Everyone

It’s President’s Day, formally celebrated on two days as Washington’s and Lincoln’s birthdays. When Martin Luther King got his own birthday holiday we rolled President’s into one. For the record I want to say it is not a holiday to celebrate all President’s. Many don’t deserve a holiday every year. I thought that we should have one holiday called Great Leaders Day and then we could celebrate everyone who actually was great. Washington, Lincoln and King would all be included, but you did not have to win an election to make the list.
Unless a stoke or some other dramatic brain transformation happens, I do not see 45 making the list of great leaders day. I got to thinking about fictional presidents I wish he would emulate since he loves T.V. ratings so much. Michael Douglas in “The American President” might be one 45 would like to copy. He is attractive and has a beautiful wife, things 45 admires.
Harrison Ford in “Air Force One” is another President that 45 might be attracted to. I am worried 45 is going to be more like Leslie Nielsen in “Scary Movie 3 & 4,” or Randy Quaid in the forgettable “Mail to the Chief.” The thing that scares me the most is that no movie, no matter how absurd would ever write a script even close to the craziness of the last four weeks.
On this President’s day I morn the loss of the really great Presidents we have had. I hope that the future holds more people who might make the Great Leaders list. We certainly still need them.

It’s Supposed to Be Hermitting Season

February should be snowy and cold and a time to hunker down inside your house with a fire and your loved ones. This weekend of beautiful 72 degree sunny days is ruining my hibernation. Actually, it is just making me feel guilty for hibernating.
Russ and I basically stayed home all weekend except for venturing out this afternoon for a movie, which is a form of hibernation. In our defense we had yesterday blocked off in case Carter’s basketball team made it to states and we’d have to go to Charlotte. When that didn’t happen I did not fill the time with other activities. Russ, who spent last week in New York, Boston and Washington was thrilled to have a down time weekend. I felt a little anti-social as we so enjoyed our alone time so much. Carter was here, but she was off with friends or studying. Russ and I decided this was what our future held, snuggling time with Shay.  
If this were regular February I would have no guilt about my utter joy in being in my house. Not that we never left the house. We had a glorious walk this morning in this beautiful weather, but I feel like we need some weather suffering so we can fully embrace the good weather months.  
Don’t get me wrong. I am not looking for winter. I certainly don’t want snow to come and kill everything that is in blossom. The daffodils are abundant, the forsythia has popped and the tulip trees look like Holland on a branch. I just want the excuse to be a hermit, this coming from an uber extrovert.
Perhaps my introverted husband has rubbed off on me. Or more likely I have some bear DNA and actually need a little hibernation. I wish that my hibernation came with an extended nap, but that sounds incredibly too decadent.

Aging In Unison

Yesterday Carter was talking to me and she suddenly stopped and said, “Oh look, you have a Stacey London stripe.” For those of you who are not “What not to wear ” fans Stacey has a stripe of silver hair in her dark black hair. Since I don’t color my hair I told Carter that this must have been the first time she had really looked at me since I have had a greying temple for a while. “No, Mom, it must be the way the sunlight is hitting your hair. I like it.”
This morning Russ went downtown to try and get a haircut from his very popular barber Tony. He had tried earlier in the week but the wait to see Tony is always long. Today was no different except that since it is Saturday Russ had time to sit their with the brothers and the fathers and sons.
Tony is a friendly guy and Russ asked him if he had a good Valentine’s Day since Russ knew he had a new girlfriend. When Tony asked Russ about his Valentine’s Day he said that he had been in NYC so we had to celebrate it early.  
“It was our 25th Valentine’s and it will be our 25th anniversary this year,” Russ said.
“Wow, your silver anniversary, like your hair!”  
Russ can handle this banter from his favorite barber, but he made sure to tell me about it.

I guess that it is perfectly expected that the two of us will both have some silver hair for our silver anniversary. I don’t see either of us doing anything about it. I can’t think of anything better than aging in unison.

Professional Audience Member

My job as loud laugher and professional audience member for Durham Academy plays is done as a parent. Tonight I went to the winter musical, “She Love Me” where most of the actors were seniors who I have literally seen grow up. As a person with no musical talent myself I make a very appreciative audience. I am especially useful at comedy’s since I laugh loud and quickly, often starting the ripple effect of laughter throughout the theatre. Tonight at intermission I saw Thomas Benson in the lobby on crutches. He would have been on stage it it were not for his knee operation and I told him I missed him up there. He said he knew I was in the house because he could hear me in the thousand seat room. A dubious distinction.
Some of the actors have only been around since upper school but in the case of star, Lily Tendler I have watched her in productions from Kindergarten on up. I knew she was someone to keep an eye on when I created books for the school auction from the kindergarteners. I asked each child to draw a picture of what they wanted to be when they grew up and dictate a sentence about their dreams. Lily wrote that she “wanted to be on TV and in the movies because they made a lot of money.” She was the only five year old who even knew what money was then.
My favorite part of the show was when Lily and other female lead senior Ellie Dusek sang duets together. Ellie has the perfect musical voice that is able to blend with others. The show had many strong parts for boys and as always I loved Chris Villani. The ensemble cast was fun, but I wish we had more opportunities to have them on stage. I loved Liza Aldridge sitting on that boy’s lap and Libby Beirsach played the perfect December 24th shopper.
My job is done. Carter suggests that I could become a paid audience sitter, but plays in the future will not be the same when they are not cast with kids I have watched grow up and know so well.
Great job to the whole cast and crew on a very long and complicated production. The sets were beautiful, the music great and the show a success. Lily Tendler, I still like you best as a red head, although the brown wig was perfect.

Gratitude Tour Three

Today was my third visit to one of the Food Bank branches that are my gratitude tour to meet and personally thank every staff member. I had the pleasure of going to New Bern with Peter Werbicki, the CEO. I drove over to Raliegh early this morning to meet up with Peter. It was great that he still went even though he should have not come to work today as he is an immigrant. Peter hales from the U.K. and is the hardest working Food Bank CEO in America.  

If anyone want to know someone who is making America great, it is Peter, an immigrant.
New Bern is the newest of the Food Bank’s six locations. I have visited that branch about four or five years ago when it was first started because it has a big beautiful garden where they grow lots of produce to give to feeding agencies. It was nice to see how much the branch has grown in that time. They have increased their output over 900%.
Of course I went to see the important part of the operation, the people. They are the key to the success of the branch. Their commitment and dedication was evident. It made me very proud to get to spend time with them. A bonus of my visit was getting to present them with the plaque commemorating six years of no work place accidents.
The real highlight is getting the chance to talk to each individual and find out what they like about their job and to impress upon them how important they are to helping feed their neighbors. Looking someone in the eye, thanking them and telling them that you appreciate them is fun. I wish I had done this gratitude tour years ago. Next week I go to the Sand hills. After this tour is over I might have to stand on a street corner and give out hugs because I am going to need something to replace this gratitude tour.

Three Day Glasses 

I am not an extreme sport enthusiast. I don’t do crazy things like jump out of planes wearing my reading glasses. I like to sit and needlepoint and play Mah Jongg. You would think that a new pair of glasses would last on a person of my sedentary nature for years. Not so my new Eyebobs readers. Three days was all the lasted before the fishing line holding the lens in place broke.
Now these are not readers from the Dollar store. They are expensive for readers. I called up the company and spoke with the person who answered the phone. “My three day old glasses have already broken.” This news was not unusual to her. In fact the indifference I met on the phone was shocking. No apology, no sorry for your trouble, no offer to send a new pair before they got mine back.  
It will be another week, at the least, before I will get the replacements and I hope they come with an apology. I also hope the new ones hold up longer than this pair did.  
I understand why a business does not want to send out a new free pair until they get the old one back, but a little sympathy for the trouble I have to go through would have been nice. Not so from Eyebobs, based in the nice state of Minneapolis. I thought they would be better being in the Midwest. Not so much.
Three days. Really.

The Mama of the Mama Bear is Sad

The game ended in a hard fought loss. The end of the high school career in basketball was over. Carter came to find me in the stands and sobbed in our hug. Her job as team Mama Bear was over. The sadness was overwhelming for her. She loves this team, she loves her job as captain, psychologist, and ad hoc coach. She is not the best player on the team, but she will miss this team profoundly. It was the best place for her to belong all these years.
As the Mama of this Mama Bear I am equally sad. I will miss this team of parents who sat vigilantly in the bleachers together for the many months of the longest sports season. I made promises to come back and watch the girls next year when Carter is off in Berlin.  
I just barley got to know the freshman parents. I am thrilled that the team has such promise for the years to come with these young girls. I know Carter will want me to report to her the progress the Young’s ones make and the success of the juniors, then seniors who will anchor the team next year.
Congratulations to Grace and Carter who are graduating. To Izzy and Erin who made all conference. To Imani and Claire who started. To Nicole whose threes were key. To Audrey, Morgan, Jenny, Brooke, and Christina who were always there in support of the team. You are a special group of girls. As the Mama of your Mama Bear I will always be looking out for you.
Thanks to Krista and Robert, the best coaches. You gave Carter a chance to blossom and I know the lessons she learned from you will be carried into all she does in the future. The world needs more Mama Bears.

Strength Needed 

I consider myself a fairly strong person. I can fairly easily lift 50 pound bags of mulch and put them in my car. Not that fifty pounds is so much, but as a large unwieldy bag it is more difficult than its weight suggests. If a lid is stuck on a jar I am usually able to open it without resorting to the husband handoff. All that being said I might have met my match in a squash.
I have been having a little craving for some red sauce of the Italian sort. My issue is I am also having a hard time eating healthy in the post holiday diet season. So in my need to avoid pasta I was searching for something to satisfy my red sauce habit. I spotted the perfect answer to my dilemma at Trader Joe’s. A nice spaghetti squash for $3.29.  
I bought two last Thursday and brought them home in the hope of convincing the rest of the family that they thought squash was an acceptable substitution for pasta. Then one thing led to another and we ate out or enjoyed other things that were found in the fridge and the squash sat idly by on the counter. All this time my Italian craving was multiplying.
Tonight is the night I am going to satisfy my need for tomato sauce. Russ is on a business trip and when I suggested to Carter my plan she gave me the “what are my other choices?” look. Off she went to basketball with the promise she could eat any leftover in the fridge, but I am holding out the hope she will choose the “Italian.”
One of the beauties of pasta is you boil water, dump in the contents of a box and ten minutes later you have a blank palette ready to accept the artistry of any sauce you concoct. The squash route seemed like it was equally easy, just more time consuming because you have to cut it in half, scoop out the seeds and bake it in the oven for at least 45 minutes.

Ok, not too much trouble.  
I went to work on my sauce, using up some mushrooms I had in the fridge and pulling out the homemade turkey meatballs I had in the freezer. Fairly healthy if I say so myself. This is going to be a low guilt and easy to manufacture satisfaction. That was until I went to try and cut the squash.
I took out my heaviest cleaver hoping I could cut the yellow orb in two with one whack. Not a chance. I hardly scored the tough outer hull. I got out my wooden rolling pin to use as a hammer against the cleaver. I only dented the wood of the pin. I tried another thinner blade knife, no piercing at all. I rummaged around in the rare utensil drawer and came up with the meat pounding mallet. I used that heavy hammer to bang on the back side of the cleaver and was able to get the knife stuck into the squash just the littlest bit. I then was able to pick the squash up with the cleaver and slam it on the cutting board. Many hits later I eventually broke the vegetable on two unequal parts.
I am not envisioning using spaghetti squash as a substitute for pasta into my old age, that is unless I get a kitchen band saw. No wonder boxed pasta has got such a hold on America. It is far easier to cook that a squash.

Let’s Start With Agreement

I’m tired of all the disagreement in America. As we become more and more insular with our own beliefs I fear that we are not listening to any other point of view. I know that I am not going to change anyone’s mind by just spouting what I believe so I want to change the whole conversation. Let start with a ground work of what we all agree we want in America. Beginning with the positive might get us to where we can all be happy.
I’ll start the list, but welcome you to add to it.
In America we all want or need:
Opportunities for good and fair paying jobs and a chance for improvement.

Education systems for all our children to learn and blossom.

Clean air and water in abundance.

Healthy food available for everyone.

Solid infrastructure to move us around.

Freedom to practice our beliefs.

Right to speak our minds without fear.

Control of our own bodies.

Available good healthcare nearby.

Peace in our country and our world.

Fair tax system.

Affordable housing.

Love.
Now what these things mean to you and how to get there are your point of view, but if we can start with principles we agree on we may see that we are more alike as Americans than different. If we consider us one America first and not that our neighbor is our enemy we can move forward.  

British Morris Makes America Happy 

It is a gorgeous, global warming is a real thing, day here in North Carolina. Sunny and 72 degrees. Sorry to my friends up north. Russ and I ate lunch on the terrace and with nothing else important to do we pulled the Morris Minor out of the garage to run the most mundane of errands.  
A dry and warm day is the perfect time to drive a car with little heat, no air, no radio, electrical outlet or retractable seat belts. Down Hope Valley road we went first to get gas for the baby blue car. Four gallons is practically filling the tank. As Russ pumped the gas I nodded to the other customers who came by with thumbs up or big smiles when they see the clown of the car.
We headed down to Southpoint to the Sur la Table store to recycle our coffee capsules. While stopped at a light an old guy with long hey hair in a beat up Trans Am pulled up beside us. I looked over at him and he gave me the “what up?” head nod, while checking out my car, and thankfully not me. When the light turned green he raced ahead. I laughed that he had an antique car license plate on the early eighties machine, while we sport just a regular ‘ole NC plate.
Once at the mall I just pulled up to a loading bay and stayed in the car while Russ ran the recycling in. No less than a dozen people stopped to say they loved the car in the five minutes he was gone. One lady said, “That makes my day.”
Two more errands for wiper blades for Carter and new house keys to be cut and dozens more happy people waving at us. I have decided that I need to drive the Morris everyday to make “America Happy Again.” Since I don’t have a radio I can block all the news of what is going on in the rest of the country and just concentrate on the few square miles the Morris travels.
If you are local and are having a particularly rotten day, give me a call and I will come take you for a ride. Nothing makes you happier than seeing the smiling faces of the people you pass. 

Happiness Is…

Blowing out the last regular season basketball game against Not Really Christian Academy
Every girl playing the fundamentals to the best of her ability
Making their coaches smile bigger than they have all year
Enjoying a fun family tapas dinner in celebration afterwards
Listening to Spotify “songs to sing in the shower” and singing all the way home
Loving that my daughter loves songs from my childhood as much as I do
Coming home to a sweet dog so happy to see us all
All of us spending quality time together while we are all in the same place 

Poor Nordstrom

Some business leaders have made the news for saying how great it is to have a President that is so pro-business. They envision a governance that takes away their taxes, regulations and brings us back to the wild west days of anything goes for a dollar.
Then there are the businesses who made the “Grab Your Wallet list” outing them for supporting any Trump related business. Nordstrom’s was the top of the list, why I am not sure because they certainly could not have been the biggest seller of Trump goods, nor was the list alphabetical. Many anti-Trump people let Nordstrom know they were not happy that they sold Ivanka’s clothes and shoes.
So without saying they were bowing to that pressure Nordstrom’s announced they were dropping Ivanka due to poor sales. That action unleashed the dragon that is the oh so powerful daddy. Not that he who shall not be named likes when anyone says anything harsh about his family, but harm one hair on the obvious favorite daughter and you are playing with fire.
So last night the twitter war against Nordstrom started. First from the personal account, the the POTUS, then Instagram and finally Facebook. Nordstrom’s stock dropped at the opening bell.  
So where is that pro-business president? All those CEO’s who think they have an ally running the show need to realize he is not pro-business for the good of their businesses, but only for his own. If your business crosses him or worse, his off spring, he is going to be more anti your business than any previous President ever was.
Then there was poor cross-eyed Kellyanne. Blindly trotted out to be the spokesperson for Ivanka. Did Kellyanne not read the conflict of interest memo when she took the job or perhaps she really does not give a damn about her own integrity. I love that the White House gets to do it’s own reprimanding of KellyAnne for breaking the ethics rules. I imagine she is getting a spanking in the Oval Office right now and likes it a little too much.  
But poor Nordstrom, damned if they kept Ivanka, damned if they didn’t. No one is safe. Be careful Macy’s, LL Bean and Bloomingdales. The last thing you want is to do anything that gets Kellyanne involved in your story.
Note to readers with little sense of humor.  Don’t bother me with with rebuttals,  this is satire.  Get your own blog.

Mah Jongg Tournament Report

Yesterday I went with my friend Deanna to my first ever Mah Jongg Tournament. It was a fundraiser for the Cary Area Hadassah so I was certain to be playing with some people that had Mah Jongg in their bloodlines.  
We arrived and found our assigned seats for the first round. The woman who was in charge of my table told me this was her 13th tournament and she was yet to win. With eighty people playing I did not want to tell her that the odds were against her. I would have thought that as a Mah Jongg player she would understand that probability. Wearing her Mah Jongg tiara she told me all about the weekly games she runs and how much she wins. I was not about to be intimidated.
For the most part it was a very nice group of people. My play was fairly good, but not good enough to be in the top 10% at the lunch break. My score was just under the scores they read out before we were sent to the buffet.
A kosher lunch of bagels, lox and kugel was exactly what I would have expected from a Hadassah event and it was fabulous. During lunch I was invited by some of my table mates to come and play Mah Jongg at their homes. It was a very cordial and inclusive group.
We played five rounds of four games during the whole day. The only disappointment was that they never let us know who won the whole tournament. Not that it mattered, there were no prizes. 
Although it was fun to compete with the sisterhood of Mah Jongg players I like playing for money so much better. I can tell right way if I have had a good day or not by the pile of quarters.  
For the tournament they scored somewhat differently than we do in regular play. There were serious penalties for being the person who gave Mah Jongg to the winner. This changed the game from an offensive game to more defensive. I watched woman give up their chance at winning a game, just to make sure they did not give Mah Jongg to someone else. If I were to run a tournament I would have to think twice about this scoring. If you always play defense you never win. I guess my life philosophy is like my Mah Jongg, always play to win and you will come out ahead, even if that means you help someone else along the way.