Welcome to My World















When you have family in Italy you get to be Italian, if just for a while.  We started our day with a wonderful visit with my cousin Kennon, her Italian husband Pietro and their darling son, Franceso.  Kennon, who’s mother was my grandfather’s sister, has lived in Italy since 1980.  We keep up through Facebook and when I said we would be in Rome she generously made time to see us.  

We met on a corner by the river and after all the kissing and hugging they drove us up to Piazza Garibaldi, the highest point in Rome with the best panoramic view of the city.  This was great because we never would have known about it or gotten there on our own.  After seeing so much of the city we headed down to the Trastevere neighborhood to meet up with Francesco and his friend.  The last time I saw Francesco he was a high school student doing in cannonballs into my parent’s pool, now he is a 27 man studying Philosophy in London.  It was great for Carter to get to meet her only Italian cousin. 

We walked the neighborhood, talking and stopped into a beautiful church just as the service was starting.  Since we had missed Wilson’s funeral yesterday Kennon lit a candle in the church for him.  Carter impressed me with her art history knowledge she had learned in her Western  World class as we looked at the paintings in the various chapels of the church.  Too quickly our time was up and we had to say ciao.

We ventured off to lunch in the ghetto upon Kennon’s recommendation.  I had the multi artichoke meal which made me very happy, but required a lot of walking afterwards through ruins and up to the capital, through more tiny alleys and finally back to our hotel for a small rest.  It was all I could do to wake Russ and Carter in time for our walk up the hill to the Borghesse Gallery for our appointed entrance time.  

All that art really drives Carter’s need to sit and relax somewhere and since it was too early for dinner I thought we should stop in at the famous Harry’s Bar on the Via Veneto and have a drink just like I did with my parents back in the seventies.  The only difference is that back then everyone in my family drank so going to Harry’s made sense.  We were seated at a nice table outside, Russ looks at the drinks menu and says, “Now that I have given up alcohol I don’t know what to order.”  Carter piped in, “Welcome to my world.”  For the record Carter had a Shirley Temple and Russ had the most decedent hot chocolate that came with a whole bowl of whipped cream.  Despite the lack of Campari and soda it was fun nonetheless.

Roman Holiday



Travel for fun is so much better than travel for work.  Last night, when all the other passengers on our delayed flight to Rome were losing it as the gate agent kept pushing back the departure time, 10…15… 7 minutes and finally an hour late, we were just chillin’ with no place we absolutely had to be. Vacation mode came to us quickly.

We arrived in the eternal city and since it is low season our hotel not only upgraded us to a better room, but had it ready for us early.  Purposely I had not planned for us to do anything today so we would have no guilt easing into our vacation.  The lack of plan turned out to be the perfect plan.

After unpacking and taking in the view of the Spanish steps from our balcony we went out for a walk looking for someplace to grab lunch.  We happened upon a rustic restaurant where we were seated beside a multi-century old fireplace where the smell of smoke permeated the ancient stones.  I happily had a small plate of the vegetable antipasto, Carter a pizza and Russ the first of his two spaghetti carbonara for the day.  Perhaps this trip should be renamed “Russ Lange’s carbonara tour 2015.”

After lunch Carter opted to walk back to the hotel alone to start her afternoon siesta while Russ indulged my pocketbook shopping and walk through the neighborhood.  I purposely had not brought a purse on the trip as a good excuse to have to buy one first thing.  My justification was that the dollar had never been this strong and I was never going to get such a good deal again.  Russ did not need any of this malarkey and just went along and cheerfully bought me the bag.

After strolling for a while the bed was calling me for a nap so we went back and I passed out for a good three hour restoration.  I think Russ might have worked the whole time, but it certainly did not bother me.  

Post nap showers and fresh clothes and we were all finally human again and ready to walk to dinner.  We picked a route that would take us by the Trevi Fountain. Sadly when we got there we discovered it was drained, covered with scaffolding and surrounded by a glass wall for restoration. We continued on our meandering way and arrived at our destination and old Roman restaurant.  Although we had not planned any activities for the day we had talked about all the roman foods we wanted to eat on this trip as well as a no diet talk rule. Tonight I Carter and I both had stuffed squash blossoms which was very high on our list and Russ had his second serving of carbonara for the day.  Carbonara is Russ’ favorite food, but the problem is that he compares each version to the one I make and seems disappointed in his selection.  I don’t know why, I tasted both his plates today and they were equally wonderful and different from each other.  I do hope he gives up searching for the best carbonara and try’s some other things soon.

Half way through our dinner a group of six men were seated at the table behind us.  As they were enjoying their dinner Russ leans over to me and says, “I bet they are from Philly.”  After we payed the bill I got up and turned to ask them if they were from Philadelphia and they say yes with a roar. Not only were they from Philly, but one of them was Rusty Shunk’s nephew who was the head of admissions at Dickinson and admitted me and all my friends since he worked there for about 30 years.

Russ quickly did the math, and the people of the city of brotherly love only make up 0.07% of all the people in the world and in this one small room in Rome where there were just three tables of diners seven were from Philly, with Carter and I being honorary Philly-in-laws it would be nine.

There was not enough walking today to make up for Italian food, but there was not too much eating considering we are in Rome.  Tomorrow we will get to work showing Carter the city, but for today we just were on vacation.

Rome Bound



In true comparison of our personality differences Carter and Russ chose to sit as far in the corner of the Delta Sky Club at JFK on the tall uncomfortable stools looking out the window so no humans were in their view.  I on the other hand plopped myself down on the comfy chairs in the six person pods and made friends with my neighbor across the way from me when his phone rang with the Odd Couple theme song.

This is how we differ as family members, not just while traveling, but always.  I take great joy in talking to strangers and learning their stories while Russ and Carter would rather be in their own worlds observing more than interacting.  Even though we all are different, the fact that we all love to travel is our family theme.

I leave on this long planned trip for Rome with a heavy heart since it means that we are missing my Uncle Wilson’s funeral tomorrow.  It almost never fails that I am going to be out of the country when a relative I love passes away. But since I come from a nomad group they all say, “of course you should go on your trip.”

I talked to my Dad today and he is doing exactly what he does best during times of sadness and family gatherings, he is hosting two big dinners where he is doing all the cooking.  I guess that I inherited the cooking grief gene from him and that is why I fry chicken when someone dies.

As I would expect many Carter and Michie cousins are coming for the funeral and I am going to miss all the story telling that is certainly going to happen.  If we were there I would be smack dab in the middle of the action and most certainly Carter and Russ would be off in a side room.

Not that they would not be listening to the stories, or interested in visiting with the family, just not in a big gang, more one-on-one.

To my family, I miss you all this weekend and send virtual hugs and kisses.  You get plenty of my stories everyday, but I will miss hearing yours.  Someone take notes and lots of photos so I can share in the celebration on Wilson’s life, as I am sure this weekend will be.  For us Lange’s we will toast Will in Rome and try and take photos worthy of his great eye, eat food he would have loved and visit churches he might have been suspect of.

How Much Is That?

When I was a kid I was really good at guessing the right prices on the TV show The Price Is Right. One of Bob Barker’s beauties would wave her arm model style in from of a new Amana Radar Range and I almost always guessed the price better than any contestant on the show. This was the case from the time I was about nine or ten. I was good at guessing the value of everything from a bottle of Windex to the total of the better of the two showcase showdowns.

I had no reason to have bought any of the items featured on the show. I can’t ever remember doing any appliance shopping although I did help my mother with grocery shopping. I must have just picked up the cost of items from watching other games shows that told the values, like Let’s Make a Deal. I also ran errands every Saturday with my father and I always was interested in how much things cost.

Today Carter’s advisory went to the Habitat ReStore to do their community service time. As one of the mother’s who has a more flexible schedule I drove half the class to and from the store.

Since I had never actually been in the ReStore I went inside to retrieve the kids at the pick up time.   I encountered Carter and her friend Amelia wearing blue habitat vests with a price tag gun, hanging hardware on a pegboard.

“What work did you do today?” I asked.

“Mom, we did the craziest thing,” Carter said. “We priced things.”

“Was it fun?” I asked.

“It was scary. We did not have any guidelines about how much things should cost and they told us just to price stuff.”

Then another classmate came up and basically reiterated the same thing. “I had no idea how much this giant window was worth, so I just put $200 on it.”

It made me chuckle. These kids have most certainly never strolled the aisles of Home Depot studying the prices of new doorknobs or kitchen sinks, how in the world would they know any value for a used door or ceiling fan? I doubt any of them had ever watched the price is right. Understanding the value of money, goods and services is a long-term study that starts with understanding how hard it is to earn the money in the first place.

Carter did say the volunteer supervisor did say at the end they had made the prices of some cabinet knobs too low at .50¢, they should have been $1. Seems like that was info she could have told them up front. I guess if you are in the market for some underpriced used hardware now is the time to visit the Durham Habitat store. With teenage pricing schemes I’m sure you can find a deal.

And Then There Was One

After three years of illness my Uncle Wilson, my father’s only sibling, passed away around noon today. He suffered too long and was in too much pain, but he stuck around as long as he did because he was so loved by so many and hated letting anyone down. I am thankful that my sweet cousins, Brooks, Leigh and Sarah were there with their mom as they always were in the beginning, the long middle and the end.

Will was two years younger than my father and for their whole life it always was the two of them. Growing up in a tiny house on Lockland Ave. in Winston-Salem they shared a room where Will would lie on his bed and read his comic books. When my father was about ten he decided that he would like to have a room of his own. Since it was only a two-bedroom house my Dad asked his father if he could dig out a basement room under their house.

Since my Dad had both a morning and afternoon paper route I’m sure my grandfather did not think my Dad would actually do it. I always wondered who’d let their kid dig a room under their house, cement block it and pour a cement floor? No one much came down to see what was going on until the day my father announced it was done and he was moving out of the room with his brother and down to the newly created basement.

My Uncle Wilson, who had read a lot of comic books while my Dad had been digging came down to see where his older brother was going. He looked around at the much bigger room with a shower in the corner of the room and announced that he too was going to move in with my Dad, and so he did.

That was the way they were together for their whole lives. My Dad went to Chapel Hill and Will came too. My Dad married someone named Janie my Uncle Wilson did too. Our families would spend summers at Pawley’s Island together, My Uncle Wilson, Aunt Janie and my cousins would come on vacation wherever we were living, be in Wilton or London. When my Uncle Wilson retired from the church he came to work with my Dad. Both brothers moved to retire at their grand parent’s farm.

They differed in their politics, but never let ideologies divide them. They both love each other’s children as their own. To me Uncle Wilson was much more than an Uncle, he was my father once removed. As an Episcopal priest he preformed the marriage ceremony at my wedding and at every wedding in our family. As a Jungian physiologist he analyzed and explained us all to each other. But mostly as a father, an Uncle, a grandfather and a great Uncle he loved on us.

But it was as a brother that he was always there. My grand parents were not the easiest couple nor ideal parents. I think that my father and his brother were always there for each other when things got tough. I’m glad that Uncle Wilson’s suffering is over, but I am sad for all of us who won’t have him to turn to for wisdom and advice. I’m sad for my Aunt, and my cousins, but mostly I am sad for my father. He lost the person who has been with him all his life that he can remember.

The Importance of Sisters

It was Winter Athletic Awards Program tonight. Given that Swimming had lost a team member Grame Kirven this year and Boys basketball had three players badly injured in a car accident with Ryan still out of school doing rehab it made the ceremony more emotional than a normal sports awards night.

Although Carter’s girl’s basketball team did not have the same direct hit as the other teams they were greatly affected by what their brother team was suffering. With no seniors playing and only two players returning the team did a remarkable job of coming together as a family. At first they looked like a group of odd balls, but together they made a beautiful work of art.

As Carter’s coach, Krista was talking about each player she often noted their scoring or rebounding, but when she got to Carter she said, “Carter said my favorite thing I heard all year from the team, “I never had any sister’s before I had this team.’” That is the way Carter thinks about her teammates and that is far more important to me than stats.

Having a team to lean on when times are hard is helpful. Inside jokes, silly songs, pushing each other to try harder, celebrating successes, offering condolences all part of belonging; and on this team everyone belonged whether you were a starter, or someone who was put in to give another player a break.

It was a tough year with injuries, but these girls never gave up. Nicole Ripple a freshman who started the first game got hurt in the first half and was out for the rest of the season, but she was at every game and according to the coach most practices. Kenan Little was injured the week before the season started, but she stayed on to manage. Grace Drewry did not even try out for basketball but was recruited by her friend Abby to play JV. When the varsity team got down to six healthy players Grace was drafted and she played both JV and Varsity most of the season.

Carter was not a starter, but she had the advantage of learning all the lessons coach Krista was teaching as she talked on the sidelines during games. Being a good listener was Carter’s big job, that and using her loud voice to repeat the names of the plays Coach was calling. It was hard to miss Carter’s distinctive voice as she screamed out “Syracuse” so her teammates could hear it.

The girls basketball team was the smallest team being honored tonight, but as the auditorium watched the slide show of all winter sports the girls basketball team was the most vocal in celebration of their teammate’s, or should I say sister’s photos being flashed up on the screen, Congratulations girls, you make a wonderful family.

The Smell is Getting to Me

I think I can speak for all mothers in our area when I say I am looking forward to kids going back to school tomorrow. Not that I have little or even multiple children who have been at home wanting to be entertained; and not that I lost my power and needed to keep small people warm and un-electronically entertained or fed; and not that we have missed even a third as many days as our friends in places like Boston where “winter camping” became the inside norm.

No, but my child and her Spanish classmate took over my kitchen today to make food for a class presentation tomorrow, which involved using a large bottle of vegetable oil and frying up plantains, chicken and making guacamole. The house smells like we are running a French fry stand or other frying empire.

I did my best to stay out of the kitchen because I don’t think I could bear to swim through the tiny oil droplets flying through the air and landing on every surface in the kitchen. On the other hand, I appreciate my child learning to cook with her friend. I did not get one question about how to do anything. They studied the techniques and executed them without instruction from me. Proof is their need to use a whole bottle of oil. I am sure the outcome is more authentic than my lightened up version would have been.

Now my issue is I am going to have to spend some of my childfree day tomorrow riding the house of the smell or I am going to open a funnel cake stand in my kitchen and capitalize on the already stinky space.

It is amazing to me how sensitive my nose is to fried food now. Just the whiff of overly hot oil makes my stomach turn. I guess that I have actually broken myself of ever wanting to eat fried food again. Now I need some olfactory overload of baked goods so I can gross my brain out on the smell of the things I really crave.

I wonder if Carter could get class credit for making 10,000 chocolate chip cookies? I am guessing that is about the number I might need to be baked in my kitchen to make me sick of the smell. Now that I think about it that number is probably low by a factor of 10. 100,000 cookies, that might make me never want to taste one again. I don’t know, that number might be low by a factor of 100…

A Hard, But Good Day

Last night as I was about to doze off the text on my phone buzzed. Russ was already asleep since he was going to be getting up early to fly to Philly to visit his younger brother who is home recovering from a serious heart attack. Carter was down in her room so I almost did not bother to rummage around on my bedside table for my reading glasses to see who was texting me so late at night. My normal mode of thinking is no late news is ever-good news and bad news can wait until the morning.

Something made me break habit and I turned on the light and looked at the message. It turns out that Carter had read a message on Facebook from my cousin saying that her father was nearing the end. I have known for a while that my poor Uncle Wilson had suffered enough with cancer and the pain was bad, but apparently in my effort to deal with my own grief I had not fully informed Carter of how bad it was.

“Mom, I need to go see him tomorrow.” She was right. Since my Uncle and Aunt live in the house next to my parents on their family farm they have been a fixture in Carter’s life, more so than most people’s great Aunt and Uncle. After much late night texting back and forth I begged her to go to sleep and we would go and see him in the morning.

Carter got up for her normal Saturday job at her barn, cleaning stalls and caring for horses and I texted my cousins. What I learned was that Wilson had finally decided it was time to go to Hospice and leave his beloved farm. I texted Carter that she needed to leave work and get right home so we could rush up there to see him, having no idea if he was lucid enough for our visit.

We got there before noon and found Wilson to be in great spirits and very awake. Aunt Janie Leigh was sitting on the sofa in his room with his bags packed and told us the EMS just called saying they had an emergency and were delayed in coming to get Will.

Uncle Wilson opened his arms and I was able to go and give him a hug and as the words, “I love you,” were coming out of my mouth the tears started flowing. He strongly replied, “I love you too, sweet girl. Thanks for coming. This stinks, doesn’t it?”

Stinks is not a strong enough word. Uncle Wilson and I have shared a lot of the same loves. He is an avid game player and at the beach in the summer we would carry on massive games of Risk. He was my first real photography teacher and he is the only grown up I knew when I was a child who openly proclaimed that dessert was important.

Carter got a good visit and felt better about seeing him while he was still in his own house. My cousin Brooks and his wife Sherri came in and it was like regular times telling stories and laughing. Then Will asked for some pain meds and soon after that the EMS showed up.

The hardest part was watching as they shut the door on the ambulance taking him from his beloved farm. My Dad, Aunt Janie, Brooks, Sherri, Carter and I stood teary in the driveway knowing this was the end of his long walk home. This was absolutely the right way for Carter to get to say goodbye. I’m still in denial because I have 54 years of memories of my life with Uncle Wilson and I know he will always be with me no matter what.

Car Troubles

I try and not use this blog as a venue to endorse or oppose businesses too often, but sometimes my life is just a little too dull to write about and the mundane happenings of the day are what you get. Despite the non-commerce philosophy of the blog I feel I owe it to AAA to give them a mention today.

For you foreign readers or people who live in New York City and may never own a car this blog is probably not for you. AAA stands for the American Automobile Association and is probably the best club I belong too, sorry Costco, Hope Valley and American Needlepoint Guild. Years ago when I was a traveling sales person I got a AAA membership and I can not count how many times they have saved my butt.

Just in the past week I have called them twice, once to tow Carter’s car to the dealership to fix a major problem and again today. After being stuck at home from the snow storm for the last two days I thought Carter was going to lose her mind if she did not get some teenage friend face-to-face time. Her friend Ashley wanted to go to the mall, get pedicures, do some girl shopping and have dinner. I was all for that happening since too had been stuck in the house with Carter.

Off she went in her recently fixed VW on roads that were now nothing but slush. I ventured out at the same time to the grocery since I had refused to go right before the big storm when the store had lines that wrapped the frozen section with people trying to check out. Just as I was pulling in our driveway, looking forward to starting my “House of Cards” binge watch walking on the treadmill session I got a call from Carter that the “low tire pressure” light came on in her car and she found a big screw stuck in her tire.

At the previous call to AAA just days ago I had gone ahead and gotten Carter her own membership, but her card had not arrived yet. I told her that I would call AAA to come and meet her and change her tire. “Please can you come and help me?” I heard over the line from a voice that was more reminiscent of pre-school than high school. Since she did not have her own card I said yes thinking that I would probably be sitting in my car at the mall for the next two hours waiting for help.

Boy was I wrong. I called the main number and asked for the service, got in my car and drove the ten minutes to the mall. Before I could even get there the nice man from Dave’s towing called me and said he was waiting by the car. The whole fix took ten minuets and he taught me all the secrets about the lug covers and lock that both Carter and I needed to know in case we ever had to change a tire ourselves.

The only way I ever see that happening is if we have driven the car deep into the woods where there is no cell reception because I can’t see owning a car and not having AAA. Yes, Carter learned how to change a tire herself when she went to defensive driving class, but doing it at the Mall on very wet pavement seems completely unnecessary when there is professional ten minutes away that is free since we already belong to that great club, the American Automobile Association. If you belong and want to add your child to your membership it is only $25 a year. That is the best piece of mind I can have because I know that I am not always going to be around the corner to help my new driver. Now that she has learned how easy it is she can call them herself next time.

Snow Days and The Desire to Eat

I don’t know about you, but there is something terribly bad for me about snow days and being stuck in my house. It is not that I have lots of little children who need to be entertained. Actually it is quite the opposite, yesterday I tried to get Carter to play a game with me and she said absolutely not.

My problem with snow days is that I seem to lose all will power to not eat carbs when I am stuck inside. Now there are plenty of days when the weather is perfect and I am choosing to stay home voluntarily and I eat my regular diet of salad and salad and salad.   But let the smallest amount of frozen precipitation come out of the sky and I start searching the house for chocolate, cookies, cakes anything I have put in the freezer to keep from eating it and I just eat it frozen.

I have no excuse not to get my exercise since I have a treadmill, so on snow days I still get my steps, but then I negate all that walking with eating what I would not normally. Perhaps I am not the only person who has this problem and that is why when southerners hear it is going to snow they rush to the store and wipe the shelves clean of bread and frozen pizza.

I know of other friends who say that a snow day is the only time they bake and make cocoa. Yes, a hot drink is a nice warm-me-up when you come in from sledding, but why not a good ginger tea? What is it about snow that screams, “I need marshmallows melting on top of a creamy chocolate drink?

I guess that wearing all those layers of winter clothes hides the reality of my real body. Somehow I need to break this cycle because I don’t see the snow stopping any time soon. I may not have any control over the weather, but I do over my eating, I think. I am yet to hear any scientific evidence that snow really changes a body’s need for calories. If it did, then sunshine should have the opposite effect, and I am really no better at dieting in the summer.

Is There a Nice Ranking For Colleges?

Tonight Russ and I have to go to college night for parents of sophomores at Carter’s school. It seems hard to believe that it is time for me to have a more meaningful role in where Carter goes next, but it also seems like we have been talking about college ever since she was in pre-k.

When I was a kid I don’t think I really knew what college was about. I just remember one day I would have a baby sitter and the next they were gone, where and how and for how long and are they ever coming back were questions that were never answered. Every once in a while I would just here the word, “college.”

Where I went to college was a little haphazard, although I think it was a great place for me. I remember going on a couple of college tours with my whole family in tow while we were on vacation. A memorable one was at Wake Forest when I must have been a sophomore and not really ready to think about what kind of school was right for me.

Here is the background, my father had grown up in Winston-Salem and had gone to Chapel Hill so he had a definite opinion about Wake. He asked our tour guide, who was an awkward young man, “What do you do for fun around here?” Now as an ex-college tour guide myself I know that questions like that coming from fathers are a minefield. Little did this guy know that my father thought having fun at college was very important, so as he hemmed and hawed for an answer that he thought a father of a daughter would like to hear, my father leans over to me and says, “You are not going here, they don’t know how to have fun.” (For the record, I know that is not true.)

My mother and I took a trip alone to look at colleges in Pennsylvania and it was a chance encounter with a professor at breakfast at Fay’s country kitchen that sealed the deal for me to apply early to Dickinson. That and the fact that three girls I had gone to Walker’s with had gone there and loved it.

The one thing I think that made Dickinson perfect for me was that I went to school with the nicest group of people. I totally credit the admissions office for choosing people who were generally nice. My friend Tommy Hurdman who went to a different, but very good school, used to come to visit and complain that his classmates were in no way as nice as mine and he wished he had gone to Dickinson. That is how his little brother happened to come to Dickinson.

Now that Carter is about to embark on her search for her next school I wish there was a “nice ranking.” Yes, we want academic rigor, or at least her father does, but I am probably more like my father and want to know, “what do you do for fun around here?” At the time my father asked that I was completely embarrassed, but now I see I have turned into him.

What Underwear Are You Wearing?

Since today is Academy Awards day the most asked question is, “What are you wearing?” Of course celebrities have been given the designer clothes they are donning on the red carpet so they are obligated to do their best job telling the world who designed and made the free things they have on.

Really the what are you wearing question is the safest thing for any journalist to ask. Imagine what a mess it would be if any one of the 1,600 worldwide journalist were to ask a real question like to Julianne Moore, “How on earth do you feel about going up against Meryl Streep for her 18^th best actress nomination?” What could the poor woman say? If she said, “I think since Meryl has won three times she should give someone else a chance.” No way. No savvy nominee is going to say anything juicy before the statues are given out so discussing their clothes is about all we will get.

Given that premise what I wish the TV people on the red carpet would ask is, “What undergarments are you wearing?” I can figure out the dress on my own since we can see it, what I want to know is what foundational items are under the dress and how uncomfortable are they?

To me the secret to a great look is one that is as smooth as possible and not all those bodies are naturally smooth. Also give us the inside scoop on how those boobs are staying in place, up high with little chance of wardrobe malfunctions. So you think there is any body tape left in Hollywood? What if someone sweats a lot? Could that make the tape slip off? These are the real questions.

While we are on the subject of questions they don’t ask on the red carpet I really would like to know what kind of hair products are used on these women with perfect hair that is left down. Now I know the updo girls can get sprayed to within an inch of their life and that complex braided bun ain’t goin’ nowhere. But what about the star who where her hair down and long and flowing, how does she keep it looking camera ready?

Please take note Good Morning America, Kelly and Michael and Jimmy Kimmel and ask these things next year. The Guccis and Armanis of the world get more than enough attention at Oscar time, I want to know which model Spanx is making it’s way up to collet a gold statue.

Motown Saturday Night

If only seat dancing were real exercise, then I would have runs marathon tonight. Russ, Carter’s and I went to see Motown at the DPAC and it was the sound track of my young life. I was so sorry that our friends the Prebbles had to miss the show, but it meant Carter got to come and our friend Susan sat with us.

Not only was the show a good two and half hours of songs I love, but the young actor who played Micheal Jackson, Reed Shannon was a friend of Susan’s daughter and Carter had just sat with him at dinner. He was exceptional.

I was particularly happy to have Susan next to me because when Diana Ross sang, “Reach out and Touch”, she asked the audience to join hands and raise them high in the air and sway back and forth. Susan gladly grabbed my hand, but Carter and Russ refused. Carter said I abused them for not joining in.

It’s too late to get tickets for this show here in Durham, but if you can see it someplace else with this great cast do it. I am thinking I need to pull out all my old Motown albums and make myself a good playlist to exercise to. I certainly got my share tonight and I was trying my hardest not to annoy the people behind me with all my wiggling. It took all I had not to get up and dance.

Somebody Is Going to Lose, But You Are Still Winners

Except if you are trying to reduce your weight losing is not fun. Today was the final game of Carter’s basketball season and it was a hard loss to their big rival Ravenscroft. That means no advancing in the state tournament.

For me it is the end of the parent camaraderie in the stands. We are a faithful bunch of ever-hopeful supporters. Realistic in our expectations, we have often been surprised by our girls over coming big odds and great deficits to pull out improbable wins. We have felt the teams pain when they lost when they had a chance and proud when they kept at it until the end.

I think the days off from school the last few days due to the ice and snow did not help the girls feel fighting ready. I was hoping the other team also was lagging from winter problems, but they were not.

Carter has loved playing on this team and I know will miss seeing this group every afternoon. I will miss watching them play and sitting in the bleachers with the other parents. But after a little rest for her ankle to finish healing it will be time for conditioning to start to help get ready for next year.

Despite this loss Carter said to me in the car on the way home that she learned so much this year and had the best time. Only one team can win, but every player can personally win if they take the lessons they gained through the season and use it to improve not just in basketball for next year, but in everyway.

Learning how to be a team, support each other, listen to coaches, have good sportsmanship, get up when you fall down, offer a hand to help an opponent up, be gracious as well as tenacious, try things you never thought you could do, these and many other lessons are the kind of things you learn from a team sport that you never learn in a classroom.

Thanks to the coaches Krista and Robert. It is not easy to mold, motivate and inspire teenagers. Hell, sometimes it’s not easy just to be with teenagers.

I am already looking forward to sitting in the bleachers next year, cheering for the girls who will keep building on what they have learned already. It was a great season. You all should be proud.

Winter Travel

I felt terrible that both Russ and I were away from home when an ice storm hit Durham. That meant that our wonderful friends the Toms who had agreed to let Carter stay with them had her at home for two days off school. It is one thing to agree to have a sixteen-year-old visit, who can drive, has her own car and is planning on being at school and basketball practice most of the time. It is another thing to have a sixteen year old cooped up in your house. Thanks to Lynn, Logan and Ellis for taking such good care of Carter.

I was lucky enough to have had a ticket on the flight I did today because it was about the only window of good weather to get home in. Yesterday’s full flights were canceled and todays were already full.

I pulled in the driveway today to a “Welcome Home MOM” carved into the ice in our driveway. I don’t know how Carter did that because the ice on top of the snow was so hard that my car could not break through the thick coating. Even with me jumping up and down on the ice I can’t seem to crack it. I did not jump long because I could easily fall and crack me on this stuff.

I have only been home a couple of hours and now it is snowing here. It is a slow light flake type of precipitation, but I am glad I landed during the clear spell nonetheless. Since it is right at freezing I am not sure when the ice on the driveway will possibly melt. Given the gravel underneath I am not going to try and shovel it since it would take a pickaxe.

I am thrilled to be home with my girl and our pup. Absence definitely makes the heart grow founder, the driveway sign is evidence of that. But I also only had a few short visits with my DC friends and seeing the few I did for such brief times makes me miss them more.

My friend Jeanne even came to the airport this morning to have breakfast with me so we could spend as much time a possible together. There is just not enough time in life, yet alone the day, to get to really see and be with all the people you love.

Besides coming home to Carter the other good thing is I need to get back to monk like eating and exercise. Something about staying in a hotel made me think I can eat omelets and toast for breakfast. I did, but I shouldn’t have. The snow and freezing, really single digit weather also made me think I could drink the hot chocolate with marshmallows and crushed peppermint stick the hotel put out in the afternoon, I did, but it was naughty.

I have to get back under control because before I know it spring break will be here and I can’t afford to be out of control before I am in the land of the best food on earth. Maybe I should dig an ice cave in the back yard and just stay hibernating for the next three weeks. I wonder if I could dig a cave big enough for my treadmill.

Home sweet home.

Proof the World is Small

Yes, I lived in Washington DC for ten years, but that was twenty-two years ago. This was the first place I came after graduating from college. It is where I worked, made friends, played, married Russ Lange and eventually left.

Today, in the snow covered city I went to visit the new office space for Russ’ business to help plan the build out. Once the subject changed from furniture and paint colors to technology I excused myself and left Renee to handle the real work. By that time the sun had broken through and some sidewalk shoveling had taken place. I decided I should walk back to the hotel so I could freshen up before getting on the Metro to go up to Bethesda to meet my friend Tricia.

One of my big reasons for volunteering to come work on the DC office build out is that I really wanted to see Tricia. The last time I saw her was this past summer at her husband’s funeral. Tricia and I went to college together and she was a bridesmaid in my wedding. Her husband Danny was one of my favorite people on earth and now in heaven. Although it was important for me to be at the funeral I certainly did not get the quality time with Tricia I needed.

As I was walking along M street navigating my way across the slush filled corners to cross the numbered streets I came upon one corner whose lake of brown melted snow and ice was much too big and deep for me to traverse in one step. Although it would mean I had to go the wrong direction and walk on the non-sunny side of the street I turned to cross M street rather than the numbered street. As I looked up at a man standing on opposite corner I recognized my ground zero, very first new friend I made in DC, the man who introduced me to almost everyone I knew here, who lived above me in my first brownstone and became Carter’s Godfather, David MacKay.

Dressed in a big black coat with a black bucket hat pulled down over my face, scarf wrapped around my neck I screamed, “Hi, David.” He cocked his head, wondering who the hell I was, then in a split second he recognized the voice he knew so well, but did not expect to see. I might be able to walk around downtown Durham for a month and not see someone I know, let alone someone I love.

This has to stand as proof of how small the world really is. If it had not snowed the night before thus closing David’s office he would not have been on that corner at that time. If he ever had learned to cook he might not have been on the corner buying a sandwich at that time. If Renee and I had not been so efficient in doing our work I might not have been on that corner at that moment. If the water had not blocked up my path, causing me to change directions I might not have seen him standing on that opposite corner.

At my reunion with Tricia she reminded me of something I had written about my desire to spend more time keeping in touch with people I have known a long time and loved forever. Today’s chance meeting was confirmation of that. I had not let all my DC friends know of my trip because I was not sure how much free time I would have and I wanted to make sure I did my job. But now I know I need to come back soon and do a better job planning real quality visits with old friends. I think that running into David is a fairly strong message from somewhere to pay attention to old friends.

I’m a Winter Wimp Now

It never fails that when I go away I get the worst winter storm in years in Washington, the land of snow wimps and I leave my child home in NC to face the only snow day we have had all year. It wouldn’t be that bad except that she ripped her beloved uggs today to an unwearable degree.
Oh the mother guilt.

On the other hand Renee, Russ’ new office manager and I had a very productive morning doing what I came here to do, picking out office furniture. Since it is President’s day in the city of Presidents, most everything was closed today and we were the only customers at the furniture showroom. We could not go to see the new space because the building was closed so I was forced to take the afternoon off.

I had been worried that I would not be able to get my steps during this business trip so I had banked lots of extra steps in the beginning of the month. The zero degree weather was not really conducive to walking outdoors, but luckily the gym was available. I spent two hours working out all alone and playing Mah Jongg on my I-pad. I followed that with an hour in my whirlpool bath tub. Do I feel guilty that Carter was having a tough day at home? A little, but what can I do about it?

All the flights are canceled. The roads are impassable, school is canceled. My friend Lynn is taking good care of my baby. Russ is freezing his ass off working in Chicago. Life will go on. But now I am exercised, cleaned and just had a good dinner with Renee and am watching TV.

Even though Washington will be closed down tomorrow thanks to this big snow, but Renee and I will still be able to finish off our work. I promise I will get home Carter as fast as I can. I want to get back to NC warmth, so please let the snow melt in a southern wink of an eye. I’m tired of this cold and I have only had to deal with it two days. God bless all you Yankees who have had the worst winter ever. I can’t imagine…

Will Work For Tea

Russ has been working like crazy. When he asked me if I could help him out with doing the build out for a new office in DC of course I said yes. I cleared my calendar, made plans for Shay to go to her favorite sitter and asked Lynn if Carter could hang with her. Then the lease signing dragged on and on. I pushed my plans back, first one week and then another and a third. At last everything fell in to place.

I love DC. I lived here for for ten years from ’83-’93. My sisters live her and I still have lots of friends here. I knew that Russ needed me to come up here and work, so I came today so I would get a little time to play with friends.

Given the cold and wind in the weather it took me much longer to get here than planned. I checked in my hotel and despite the single digit feels like temp I walked the nine blocks to le Diplomat to meet my friends John, David and Karl. It was a good thing I walked because lunch at a French Bistro was going to blow out my diet. It was not the warm shrimp salad off the appetizer menu that was bad, but the basket of French pastries and mimosa that were sent over to us from the general manager who was friends with John. I was able to withhold from having the drink, but the one bite of each pastry I shared with the three boys still added up to one whole flaky, buttery sweet naughtiness.

After a long and leisurely time in the warmth of old friends and good food we had to face the cold. I should have walked back to the hotel, but the boys wouldn’t hear of it so they drove me right back to the door. As I entered my room I saw a giant carafe of iced tea and a plate of limes sitting on the bedside table.

Russ knowing that I function better with tea had made sure that the hotel supply me with my drink of choice without my having to order it for myself. That one little gesture is why I love my husband.

I hope that I have a productive time here and make him happy because he makes me happy all the time. Happy belated Valentines Day to Russ Lange. Thanks for getting a new office in a place I love to visit. I’ll show up here and work for tea anytime.

Prayers for a Heart on Valentine’s Day

A couple of days ago Russ’ younger brother David had a serious heart attack. He is a cop and it happened at work where a coworker recognized what was going on and threw him in his unmarked detective car and with lights flashing rushed him to the local hospital. The doctors said that saved his life.

Russ flew up to Philly to be with his family. When he got there he was able to see his brother sitting up in bed eating lunch. We all were very hopeful that everything was on the right road to recovery. After spending two nights up there Russ came home late this afternoon.

When he got here he told me that David’s heart was not doing as well as it needed to and he was going to need to be moved to a larger University hospital and hour and a half from home.

So on this day devoted to hearts I want to ask you to pray for my brother-in-law David and that his heart quickly recovers fully. Please keep his wife Tasha and three children, Bri, Sierra and Chris in your prayers as well.

David is only 47 and is otherwise healthy and strong. He has spent his life keeping other people safe. Being a cop is a stressful job, but there is nothing else in the world he wants to do than go back to it.

While you are at please pray for Russ’ father Marty. The stress of having his son in the hospital is not good for him either. I hope that your Valentine’s Day was one filled with love and a healthy heart.

Last Regular Season Basketball Game

It was a do or die game tonight for Carter’s team at North Raleigh Christian tonight. The last time they played them at home one of the Captains, Cha’Mia was injured to the point of being out for the rest of the season. Two weeks ago there were as many players injured as there were able to play and with that being five of each it made the last few games of the season tough.

Carter diligently did her rehab since he coach really needed her for this game. She practiced hard yesterday and was able to play today. That made seven regular players on the team and one angel Grace who played not only the JV game earlier today but played up for this game too.

This was the last game of the regular season and if the lady Cavs lost this one it would mean they would not go on to any state tournament. This was also the last game I was going to see since I have to be away no matter what happens at the state level.

Tonight the girls played hard. Every member of the team contributed and they pulled out the win. It was not their prettiest game, but they did what they do best, never give up and fight to the end.

I am thrilled they will get one more chance to play and if they can win that at least another, but for me the basketball season is over. The sitting in the bleachers with the other team parents, cheering for our girls will have to wait another eight months to start again. I have love every minute of this sport. The support, camaraderie,celebrations, and consolations have made my heart sing. I count at least ten needlepoint ornaments I completed while sitting at games. You would think I was not watching by that amount of progress, but you can stitch a lot during warm ups, timeouts and half time.

The best news is that with no seniors on the team we do not have to say goodbye to anyone yet. I am already thinking about how sad I will be come this time two years from now when Carter is a senior. I am more than a little addicted to this team so I guess aim just going to have to keep coming to games even when I don’t have a child on the team.

Thanks to coaches, Krista and Robert and thanks to all the players. You brought a lot of warmth and light to a cold and dark season.

My Dog’s Eating Disorder

Maybe Shay Shay knows something about the flavor of tissues, paper towels and napkins that I don’t know, but given a chance she will nosh away on them, but turn her nose up at almost every dog food on the market. I’ve heard of people with eating disorders who chew on paper rather than eat in food an effort to keep the pounds off. I can’t seem to find a calorie count for tissues or paper towels, but it seems to me that anything you eat that does not go straight through you, like a penny, could put weight on you if you eat enough of it.

What in the world makes Shay love paper, and I don’t just mean greasy napkins that had pizza wiped on them, but even perfectly clean new tissues, ripped to shreds and swallowed down? Have I been missing a yummy delicacy all these years? Could a sheet of Bounty be as good as a brownie?

Maybe paper needs to come with nutritional charts just like all foods do now. If eating paper is ok recycling could be a thing of the past if it turns out that the latest office memo is also a yummy snack.

For the record I try and keep most pulpy snacks away from Shay, but she does not appear to have any bathroom troubles when she does consume a Kleenex or two. I just know that I have to coax her to eat dry dog food by lacing it with chicken or cheese. Maybe I should just give her an old napkin with her kibble.

Pretend is a Wonderful Place

With some of the sad realities of life happening around us I sometimes would like to go to the land of Pretend where everyone is healthy, happy and kind. Sometimes there is not much I can do about the bad or the sad in the world. When I am feeling a little down and useless because of that I like to look at a little book of Quotes from Carter when she was three. The wisdom and imagination of that age takes me away from the things I have no control over.

Here are a few little vignettes from that book:

“In August we were never alone. Carter had an imaginary husband, a daughter and a baby in her tummy. ‘They don’t have names, and don’t ask me again!.’ They are new additions to Carter’s imaginary sisters, Lala and Teetee. There is a good Lala and a bad Lala and sometimes they are both with us.

“September 4, 2002 was Carter’s second day of school in the frog class. While working on the computer she told her teacher, ‘I know how to fix computers, my husband taught me.’”

“’So, what happened at school?’

‘Conner asked me to marry him.’

‘He did. What did you say?’

‘Mom, I couldn’t say anything. Conner asked me right in front of my husband.’”

“Mommy, when I grow up I will have to move far away from you. But don’t worry. I will always remember you in my heart.”

Oh, to be three again.

How It Looks or How It Feels

Today I took my car into to get washed and have the inside cleaned. Yes, it did start to rain within an hour of my laying out good money to get a professional clean up my car. Am I an idiot for not looking at the answer machine I have with me at all times that has not just one, but four different weather apps, before I pulled into the car wash? Probably. The thing about the rain is that it may make the outside of my clean car look dirtier faster, but the inside is still pristine and that is the part that was making me unhappy when it was dirty.

To the world I really don’t care if my car is dirty so cleaning the outside is the least of my issues. I want to part of the car I live in to be nice and not feel gritty and no one else really sees that. That is also the way I feel about myself. I really don’t care what I look like to you, but to me I want to feel good.

My hair is a perfect proof of that. Last week while I was with a group of friends I see regularly the subject of hair color came up since a couple of friends were going off to get their hair done. I announced that I had never colored my hair and was met with disbelief. My evidence is my hair and the argument that no one would ever pick mousey brown as their color of choice.

Having grown up in a family of not the best hair my reason behind never coloring is that I want to preserve what little poor quality hair I have. Since I don’t have to look at my hair color it does not really bother me, but I do like that it feels as fine as it does. There it is, not the way it looks, but the way it feels to me.

Now I do want thinner thighs, not for the way they look, but that they don’t rub together when I walk and that feels better. I like weighing less, not to be thinner, but because being able to zip and button my jeans feels better. I like my house to be clean, not so it looks better to someone who walks in, but because I like the way a clean floor feels to my bare feet.

If there were a preference for how things look to others or how they feel to you which way would you go? It is clear to me that I am not going to make anyone else happy but myself and I feel fine about that. I hope you don’t mind seeing me in my dirty car with my mousey brown hair with the greying temples, just know I am happy in there.

Souper Bowl

I’m not someone who likes single purpose tools, but for some reason I have kept these ugly onion soup bowls for 33 years. I remember buying them from Wetzel’s catalog showroom in Carlisle the summer I lived there since I was friends with Chuck Wetzel’s. I think he must have given me a discount on them because they are so unattractive. Despite the look everyone in my family is happy when I bring them out because that means I am making French Onion Soup.

In honor of the big game tonight I made Soup! There is nothing easier and the soup base is very healthy. Adding a slice of toasted bread and a little Swiss cheese makes it a little less healthy, but if it is your whole meal it is still not too bad.

5 big sweet Onions sliced thickly
1 T. Sugar
32 oz. of Beef Stock
1 cup of white wine
2 Bay leaves
Handful of fresh thyme-tied with kitchen string
1/2 t. Garlic powder
Salt and Pepper

Spray a stockpot with Pam and put the onions in on medium high heat. Cook stirring every few minutes until the onions begin to brown. Sprinkle sugar on the onions and cook another minute.

Add the stock, bay leaves and thyme. Bring to boil and reduce to simmer. Cook for 20 minutes. Add the wine and garlic powder and simmer another 15 minutes. Taste and salt and pepper as needed.

But in an ugly bowl and float a piece of toasted French bread and top with cheese and put under the broiler to melt the cheese. You may be tempted to put so much cheese on it that it melts all over the outside of the bowl. Don’t do it! It makes a big mess in your oven and doubles the number of calories.

Frying Chicken is No Exercise

I slept in a little this morning, really just a little rather than getting up and walking. I knew that I was going to be busy making “somebody died? fried chicken” and going to a funeral I thought that I deserved a little lie in. Boy was that a mistake.

Thoughtfully I had two friend’s lose loved ones pass away in close proximity to each other so I was able to kill the proverbial two birds with one stone and just fry double the chicken in one grease cloud fried mess. Making this “you only get it in times of great sorrow” chicken takes some time, but I thought it would be more of a workout than it was.

After a few hours tending the stove I checked my fitbit to discover that I had walked a pitiful 1,500 steps while making 48 pieces of chicken. That is only about 30 steps per thigh, and I mean chicken thigh, Dreadful!

Now I have no control when people pass away, but it is the last day of the month. I have been on a fairly good run of walking over 20,000 steps a day, save two of my sick days. I knew that I had banked some extra steps early in the month and I quickly used up my surplus when I did not get out of bed all day last Sunday.

As of last night I was in good standing as long as I did at least 20,000 today. What was I thinking, sleeping in? I knew that funeral attendance would equal virtually no steps, but why did I think that chicken cooking would be a big stroll in the park. I am here to say it is not.

Cooking or being chained to a stove is not exercise. Perhaps if I did chain saw ice sculpting I would burn some real calories, but I don’t consider an ice sculpture appropriate sympathy fare. Maybe a treadmill stove is the answer, but somehow that seems counter intuitive to burning calories.

No Mrs. Lange

Growing up in the sixties in Connecticut with very young parents who had even younger friends I was almost always the oldest child around.  Given that youth was so prized at that time my parents friends abhorred the idea of being called Mr. or Mrs. Anything. Thus I called all parents really close friends by their first names.

I in turn was very old before Carter came around and since she was born in Durham, NC, which is not as southern as most North Carolina towns, but is still far more southern than Connecticut
, her friends called me Mrs. Lange and she called all most of my friends Mrs. or Mr. Something.  Only recently have things begun to relax.

One of Carter’s good friends who spends a good amount of time at our house felt close enough to me to give me a less formal nick name of Dma, short for Dana Mom.  Another who only moved here a year ago just calls me Dana since she was fifteen when she met me.  Carter refers to me as Dana with her group of friends and a couple of them have taken that as a sign that they can call me Dana too, which I actually prefer.

But old habits are hard to break.  This week one of Carter’s oldest and best friends Campbell turns sixteen.  Carter and Campbell started Pre-k together and have been together for twelve years now.  Campbell is the friend that broke Carter of her fear of sleeping at someone else’s house, or technically, Campbell’s mother Hannah broke her.  We have gone on vacation with Campbell, taken her on trips with us and if ever there was an emergency, Campbell was there.  I think it is time for Campbell to stop calling me Mrs. Lange.

I think it is easier to refer to me as Dana  behind my back, but to my face I’m not sure it will happen. It just makes me feel really old to be called Mrs. Lange and I would like for Carter’s friends to help me out in the reverse aging process and start calling me Dana.

Happy Birthday Campbell.  It is hard for me to believe that you are sixteen.  Just a moment ago you were a Daisy in my troop, waiting for the goldfish to be handed out, now you are driving.  Your birthday present to me is that you call me Dana from now on.  My present to you is the same thing it always is, if you ever need help, you can call me.  I love watching you grow up to being such a wonderful person and I look forward to seeing all the places you go in the next twelve years.

You Start To See The Thread

As I was heading out to a board meeting in Raleigh I got a text from Carter, excited after her advance photography’s class went to visit the Nasher Art Museum. “OMG, I wish you were with us. I loved the ancient and medieval paintings and pottery and sculpture,” she gushed. “I can’t wait to show you the photos I took of what I saw.”

Music to a mother’s ears.

Most people don’t know I was an art major in college. It was not so much because I had a huge artistic talent, but that I quickly figured out that I could produce fifty prints of one silk screen and sell them for $50 each and be making more cash than my parents were paying in tuition. I guess I really was a Sales Major, but my fine liberal arts institution would have frowned on that as an official major.

The true art talent in my family is my mother. If you want proof visit her website at Jane Carter Art. You don’t have to know much about art, just visit the Awards page to see the long list of art shows she has won. Finally after winning everything there is in the south she decided to stop entering shows. I thought that was nice of her to give some new artists chances to win, since I’m sure if she entered she would take a prize.

My sister Margaret is also quite artistic as an interior designer and if you want to see what her eye can do visit Margaret Carter Interiors. My baby sister Janet is also a great photographer, but you will just have to take my word on that.

All that being said, it is nice to see the love of art coming out in my own daughter. She loves photography, but is now making the connection about history and art and how it is all tied together. It is nice to see a child learn to appreciate something you love all by themselves. I can’t wait to see how this weaves into a great fabric.

Late Afternoon Shopping Syndrome

This morning when I poured my milk on my cereal I noticed it was slightly tangier than it should have been. Of course that did not stop me from eating my regular breakfast. I just did not share the leftover milk with Shay as I usually do. It would be OK to make myself sick, but not my dog.

I went to work out and on my way home thought about stopping at the market to get a replacement milk, but then I got sidetracked in my own brain and before I knew it I was sitting in my driveway. Big mistake. I should have turned my car right around at that moment and gone to buy milk, but I did not. Instead I went inside and got on my treadmill to clock some steps before my weekly Mah Jongg game. Sounds like the plan of a woman who is towing the healthy living line. NO.

After losing all but one game at the table today I should have gone right to the store on my way home and picked up that one bottle of milk, but I did not. Instead I came home to walk Shay who had been deprived of her milk snack this morning and had been home alone for a few hours. Sounds like I was being a good dog mommy, but I was setting myself up for a bigger mess up.

I should have gone right back out to the store, but instead I got on my treadmill, then I thought I would wait until Carter ran home between school and basketball practice so I could see her for five minutes. Sounds like I was being a good Mom, but it was a mistake.

By the time I did all those other things I remembered that I needed milk at 4:30 in the afternoon so off to the store I went. Big Mistake. 4:30 is my number one most hungry hour in the whole day. What was I thinking going unaccompanied into a grocery store full of Super Bowl Snack displays with a full wallet and empty stomach? Why did I get a cart when I really only needed milk?

The milk I buy is all the way in the back far corner of the store. With a giant cart, a full wallet and big eyes I wondered through the fruits and vegetables. First putting blueberries and a ripe avocado in my cart. Not so bad. But then I neared the fresh baked bread with samples for free, and then a cookie display and suddenly I had eaten things that I thought I had conquered.

Cheese and Bacon went in the cart with my salad for dinner plan being thrown out the window. At last I arrived at the milk where once the glass bottle was in the cart I made a beeline for the check out. $34 later I was walking out the store with two full bags.

Since my store does not offer armed guards at 4:30 to hold a weapon on me so I only keep to my list, I think my only answer to over come late-afternoon-shopping-syndrome is to leave my wallet, credit cards and phone in the car and just walk in the grocery store with $5 next time I need milk. That way I have no extra money to buy what I clear should not. Oh the depths I need to sink to in order to live a healthy life.

Ed Carter, Ahead of His Time

When I was a kid my sisters and I would spend our Saturday mornings riding around in my Dad’s car while he did errands. The loop was usually the same, the bank, since it was back in the day before ATM’s to get cash; the hardware store to get whatever items were needed for the weekend’s chores, since we were the in house handymen and painters; the grocery store, since my Dad wanted to eat and was without his executive dining room over the weekend; the liquor store, for cash if we missed getting to the bank before noon when it closed and for other things they sold at the liquor store – to us kids it was for the free lollypops ensuring future customer loyalty; the chain saw and lawn mower store, since we were our own lawn service; and lastly the car wash since my Dad liked his cars really clean and although he trusted his children with saws, power tools and climbing up on the roof to fix the antenna he wanted a professional to wash his car.

Long before my sister Janet was born and Margaret was just toddler, nick named George, I was used to riding in the front seat of my Dad’s black Corvair on our Saturday errands. As we drove up South Avenue in New Canaan heading towards Belcher’s, the chain saw store, with the windows open and my father singing at the top of his lungs, “Michelle, my belle,” I would lay down on the floor of the front seat in embarrassment.

“People are looking at us,” I would plead.

My father would just laugh. “They don’t care,” he would say, but to pacify me he would take me into Breslows, the candy and magazine store and buy me a Heath bar while he picked up a Car and Driver Magazine.

My dad loves all things about cars, especially the radio and he loves to sing.   From the time I was about five and protesting his public displays of singing with the Beatles on the radio he would tell me what his dream job was.

“I want to be a rock ‘n roll weather man.”

This seemed nothing but mortifying to me, but his dream did not change the older I got. This was an idea that was way ahead of its time. MTV was yet to even be a twinkle in anyone’s eye. The Weather Channel was double decades away. My father loved rock ‘n roll, making up songs on the fly and really should have been a meteorologist because he has been entranced by weather his whole life.

As I sit today with so much news surrounding me about the weather, blizzards or snownatos or any other made up term for what is happening out there I think my Dad was so far ahead of his time. I would welcome rock ‘n roll weather as a way of learning what is going on. I so quickly tire of repetitive and constant weather reporting. I am sure that the GDP is adversely affected by this constant blah, blah, blah about what might be happening days before it comes.

So Dad, I am sorry I lay on the floor of your car crying about your singing. I was so wrong. You were once again years ahead of your time. If only I had promised you an executive dining room at home if you opened a rock ‘n roll weather station you might have given up the corporate life and now I would be a rock weather princess.

Sick Day’s Activities

I don’t think I make a good sick person. Russ left for Chicago at four in the morning and Carter got off to school all by herself so I slept in to try and sleep off this flu. Thanks to good drugs I was able to leave my bed but I still felt under the weather.

I decided that I should not leave the house since I have no idea if I am still contagious and no one needed to see me anyway. Since I got all of 448 steps yesterday I thought the least I could do today was walk, albeit slowly on my treadmill. Maybe I should have walked faster to sweat out the sickness, but I don’t think my balance was up to it.

Stuck at home, feeling poorly and all alone I decided to binge watch a show that had won big at the Golden Globes, but that I had never heard of, called Transparent. It is on Amazon Prime and I thought the ten half hour episodes would be the perfect way to while away this yucky day.

Transparent is the story of a gigantically dysfunctional family whose seventy year old father is a Trans and comes out to his three grown up children. To give you some idea how dysfunctional they are the father is the least screwed up.

It is a very grown up show so if you have a weak stomach for grown up issues I don’t recommend it, but otherwise it is a deep study in crazy. I would say it did not help me feel any better except that it gave me a great appreciation for my family. In comparison all the people in my very extended family who I thought were crazy are down right normal, even my cousin George, bless his soul.

I am really looking forward to being well soon and not filling my days with binge watching because there is no normal left on TV anymore. When is House of Cards coming back?

There’s Only 1K

Whichever blue you bleed today we are all Duke Blue Devils in celebration of Coach K’s nail biting 1,000th win as a NCAA division I coach. I am somewhat thankful I am stuck sick in bed because if I wasn’t I might have missed watching this historic game. I am not an appointment basketball watcher except for Carter’s team, but seeing this game played at Madison Square Garden against St. John’s with a packed house almost made me feel better.

Well, that is not quite true, I felt much worse when Duke was down by ten in the third quarter, but when Plumlee came into the game and turned around the defense suddenly my sickness melted away.

During the post game interview when K was asked about what he thought of this being his 1,000 win he said something typical of him and of most consistent winners, “I was in this game, that’s how you get to 1,000. But we are 17-2 and we have to go to Notre Dame on Wednesday.”

This morning Carter and I were talking about our favorite words and I said mine was stick-to-it-tive-ness. She asked me if that was a real word and I said absolutely, but know now that my computer dictionary does not recognize it as such. To me Coach K represents that perseverance. Love him, (if you are a Duke fan, fan of Team America or no basketball fan) or hate him, (if you are the fan of any other team) you have to respect him and give him all the accolades due someone who has reached this seemingly unreachable pinnacle in men’s sports. Yes, Pat Summit had done it in women’s basketball, but coach K, you only need 99 more wins to beat her record. I think that Duke would like you to stay around and try and break her record. That would be real stick-to-it-itve-ness.

Congratulations to a great man and to the wonderful young people who play for him. It is a lot of pressure on these young athletes to perform under such high expectations. Sometimes I forget that I am watching a group of teenagers. But that is the magic of a great coach who takes the players he is given and with the rest of his staff and in coach K’s case his wonderful family, molds them into a winning team, year after year. The players come and go and even the assistant coaches move on to be head coaches at other schools, but coach K stays and keeps teaching and training new people. The common denominator of these winners is Coach K. Seems like getting to 1K was inevitable, but no one should imagine it was easy, for if it were you would not be the only one. Thanks for being a great role model.

Power Through Sickness

I guess it was inevitable. There was no way for me to take care of Carter being sick last week and not get sick myself. I got home from a party last night and thought my throat was sore from talking loudly over the crowd, but comm’on, I have the loudest voice on earth so I should have known I was coming down with something.

I slept fitfully, dreaming I over slept for an important meeting I had this morning. In my haze of half sleep I thought it was 11:30 in the morning which meant I was already an hour and a half late. Luckily it was just a bad dream. I got up in time to drink a cup of theraflu tea and it tied me over enough to make the meeting.

I warned everyone there of my illness and promised not to touch anything. I was reporting on budgeting issues and I would have begged off from going, but much action was required so I powered through my report that my group had been working on for weeks.

I think that the medicine gave me enough calming relief to deliver the message required while also tempering my bulldozing tendencies. This became obvious to me when a member of the group who had previously had trouble with me said, “Thank you for your presentation you were incredibly sweet and Christian.” I waited for a lighting bolt, but when it did not happen I shed one tear of thanks that I had delivered the information in a way that everyone could hear it and act on it.

Once the budget was approved I was dismissed and rushed home to crawl back in bed where the sickness has taken hold of me full on. I guess someone from above was giving me a reprieve for just long enough to do some good works, but before I got too proud, knocked me down and made me feel terrible.

Sadly I will miss seeing Margaret and Page, friends who moved away but are back visiting tonight. I hate being sick, but I hate causing others to be sick more. Quarantine for me. Thank goodness I have Russ to take care of me. Now I am praying he does not get it.

Final Wishes

Yesterday a stitching friend of mine came late to needlepoint because she was busy buying a burial plot for her daughter–in-law’s father. The man passed away in December in Texas, but with no plan or direction about what to do with his remains his daughter decided to have his ashes buried in Chapel Hill where her in-laws live even though she does not.

While my friend was at the Chapel Hill Cemetery she went ahead and got plots for herself and her husband even though she says, “he will never die.” I think they have a long time to hold on to those plots before they need them, but better to have a plan than leave it up to your loved ones to do as they might.

Our stitchers were very interested in the whole process of picking out a final resting place. The plot buyer told us that she had to call the Parks and Rec. department of Chapel Hill to get the woman who sells the plots to show her around the available sites. Clearly selling burial plots is in the Park part of Parks and Rec. I would hate to get the guy who runs youth basketball and probably does not know a thing about what makes a good or bad final resting place.

Having a conversation with your loved ones about what you want done is not always easy. Based on my disappointing my child today because I was not going to her basketball game if I were to go today I might end up in a plot in Newark on the Jersey Turnpike.

It all really does not make any difference to me, just that I want to be cremated. I don’t want anyone looking at me when I’m gone. I currently use the “distract people with some witty banter” strategy so they don’t look too closely at my wrinkles, rolls and varicose veins. I made the mistake of letting a friend of mine who sells clothes look at my winter white flabby legs in black ankle socks and she exclaimed, “Your legs are two different sizes.” Well, of course they are. When your weight goes up and down as much as mine does all your parts are mismatched.

I’m not sure why there is a need for a plot to put my ashes in. I certainly don’t expect anyone to come and “visit” them. I plan on living forever through the Internet, what difference does some dust make? So to my family, here are my wishes when I go, burn me up and walk away. Don’t pay for any silly urn that someone will have to figure out what to do with. Use the money to have a big party. Tell stories and eat a lot of good food. For once it won’t put an ounce on me.

Just Don’t Ask Me To Sing

I stopped in at Whole Foods today to grab a salad on my way to needlepoint. Right there in that one sentence are so many things that make me happy. First I was going to sit at the stitcher’s table and catch up with my friends. Second, I was getting a yummy salad that I did not have to cook, just pick and buy.

After I had gathered my roasted vegetables and seafood salad in one earth friendly container I went to the express lane that amazingly had only one other customer in it who was really only buying two items. I felt like the gods were smiling since despite this Whole Foods being in a well respected-college town and being expensive enough that only people who could read and count to 10 usually shop there, the express lane is often full of people with upwards of twenty items. I guess that these are overly educated and entitled people who feel like the rules don’t apply to them. All this being said I have never heard a check out person once admonish these rule breaking customers.

The express lane employees must be a special type of person who can keep people happy all the time. I was already happy, but my checker threw in a little comment that brightened my already good day when she said to me, “Do people tell you all the time that you look like Julie Andrews?” True to extra nice customer service training they get to run the express lane, when I must have had a very puzzled look on my face, she quickly added, “A very young Julie Andrews.”

“Oh my gosh, no,” I replied. No one has ever said I look like Julie Andrews, but thank you. I love her.” Another devoted Whole Foods customer walks out the door completely ignoring that her take out lunch cost as much as a white table cloth restaurant lunch.

The old saying, “flattery will get you everywhere,” could not be truer. Next time you need to ask a favor of someone start with a compliment. I promise you will get more than you would without it.

Why Are You Surprised It Tastes Good?

If I had to list things I can do and really do well cooking might be at the top of the list. I really like to eat so learning to cook was fairly essential at an early age. Since I grew up in the sixties going out to eat was a special occasion event. Most meals had to be homemade. Being a good cook probably contributed to my over eating problem, but it also has been key to loosing weight too.

My advice to young people is learn to cook.   It is one skill you will use everyday of your life, sometimes multiple times a day.

My own daughter is gaining interest in cooking only because she sees college in her future and she is worried about cooking for herself. When I say interest I am probably overstating the situation. She says things like, “You are going to have to teach me how to cook chicken before I go to college.” When I say, “Ok, I’ll teach you now.” I am met with a look that says, “Not now.”

It takes years to get to be a really great cook and that is if you are actually interested and have the time and the money. Knowing that Carter sees the learning as something she can put off until the last moment I am trying to make things now that are really easy to cook are cheep and tasty hoping to entice her to learn. The problem is that she often turns up her nose at new foods.

Yesterday was a perfect example. I made pancetta wrapped pork tenderloin with rosemary, lemon zest and fennel seeds with a side of green lentils. She had a bit of the pork and refused the lentils.

Tonight when she went to have dinner the mashed potatoes that were in the refrigerator were passed their prime. Seeing few options I offered her a bite of my lentils. Surprise, she loved them. A quick microwave of a cup and she had a new food she discovered liking.

When Carter was little she was a very adventurous eater. She was the only child at nursery school who was eating salmon roll-ups for snack. Somewhere along the way she started giving up foods she once loved and protesting things I cooked. Now if I can just get her to take a bite she often say, “Oh, I like this.”

Why is she surprised it tastes good? I actually can cook and I also like to eat good tasting food. Now if I can just get her to start doing some of the cooking so she can take care of herself in a couple of years.

Stinky Day

Carter came down with a terrible cold while on her basketball retreat. It never fails that she gets sick when she away from. I still remember the saddest call I ever got from her when she had the flu in Taiwan while Russ and I were in Portland. I was helpless to do anything for her being half way around the world but reassure her that she will get better, even though my mother heart just wanted to hug her.

She stayed home today still feeling achy, stuffed up and generally awful. I had to leave her home alone while I went to a meeting to calm a smoldering situation. After dampening the potential firestorm I stopped by the grocery to get some food to cook a real dinner for my family.

When I walked in the door Carter came up from her room still dressed in her sleeping shirt and shorts and said, “I have the worst news.” My heart stopped. Carter is not known for hyperbole so when she says it’s bad my stomach feels as if it has moved into my throat.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, dreading the answer. “One of my camp counselors died.”

“NOOOOOO,” I scream in my head. ‘How much more can happen this year?”

I give my girl a big hug. “I’m so sorry.” We go and sit in the sunroom with a cup of Theraflu for Carter and tea for me. She tells me all about this sweet girl and all the funny things she used to do at camp. My heart is breaking for Carter. I think of is this poor child’s family.

Carter’s camp network is strong. They are group texting to lean on each other. One of her local friends let’s her know he is here for her. She tells me to let his mother know what a good son she raised.

Carter says to me, “This is one stinky day.” That is putting it mildly.

Hug your children. Cherish every minute you have with them. Hopefully these stinky days will be much fewer and farther between them. I can’t protect my child from bad things happening, but I feel better when I am here in person to hug her.

Cauliflower Pizza Crust

Russ does not like cauliflower, so it was quite surprising to me when he e-mailed me a blog about cauliflower pizza crust. I think his love of pizza and the lack of my making it for the last few years finally had him succumb to a different way.

All the calories in a pizza are certainly not in the crust, but the part of a pie I like the best is the gooey cheese on top. Since I was craving some melted cheese today and was willing to take the calorie hit that involved I decided to try Russ’ recipe.

It involved chopping the raw cauliflower in the Cuisineart until was like snow, cooking it in the microwave and then putting it I a dish cloth and squeezing the water out of it.

I have to say that the end product of a pizza with caramelized onions a little sauce and five kinds of cheese was very tasty. I certainly could taste the cauliflower in the crust, but I like that vegetable. I think if you are trying to cut white flour out of your diet this is a very successful substitute.

In the end I felt like I was getting to eat pizza, but I am sure that the scale tomorrow will also know I ate pizza. There is no way around the cheese calories, but sometimes you just have to have some melted cheese!

If you want to make it yourself here is the link to the recipe I used.

Cauliflower Crust Pizza | Tasty Kitchen Blog
http://tastykitchen.com/blog/2013/08/cauliflower-crust-pizza/

Empty Nest Practice

Last night after the boys varsity team made their twelfth point in honor of Ryan whose jersey number is 12, Carter’s and her basketball team mates left school for a retreat at Emerald Isle. This long ago planned trip came at a perfect time for the girls to relax and just have some fun. What it meant for me and Russ is that we get a weekend alone to see what life is like with Carter gone during the cold months.

We are well acquainted with an empty house in the summer when Carter makes Camp Cheerio her home of choice, but she is almost always home the rest of the year. I don’t know why it makes a difference, but I somehow thought that I might be different, more productive, less in vacation mode in the winter.

I really could not be more wrong. Although Russ got up at his regular five AM, I was able to stay asleep until almost ten. Then I lazed around until noon. What a mistake that was. By the time I was up and dressed I was running out of time to get my steps in and do the laundry, unclog the shower drain, change the burned out light bulbs, pay the bills and a myriad of other minor chores.

I was determined to get my steps done before I did any other fun things. So much for spending the day with Russ to see what life sans child would be like. While I was walking he was napping. I guess this is much more like old age than I envisioned.

To counteract the potential steps towards a retirement home we decided to go out tonight on a little date. Normally if it’s just the two of us eating we can be in and out in under forty-five minutes since we try and not eat too much. That’s just not much of a date. I had originally thought of a movie and dinner, but after watching The Green Mile this afternoon while I was on my treadmill I couldn’t take the emotional hit of a second movie.

Russ suggested we go downtown for a drink at Bar Lusconi before dinner because they happen to have a Flanders Red Ale that Russ has been trying to find in North Carolina. Now we are taking “real date” because I drank some of his beer. Finding Bar Lusconi is not easy since it really doesn’t have a sign, but if you look for the lights hanging in the window of an ex-barber shop on East Main Street just down from the old court house you will find it. I highly recommend going there to order a Duchesse de Bourgogne Belgian beer.

After some bar time it was off to Gregoria’s Cuban restaurant in honor of the loosening of sanctions. True to form we were in and out in under an hour. Probably because I just had soup and Russ just had Paella. No starters, no dessert, no coffee, we were a waiters nightmare. At least we let him have a chance to turn the table quickly.

Back home by eight to snuggle in bed with Shay Shay so much for date night. Instead we both have our I-Pads out and as soon as I post this it’s on to needlepoint. Empty nest seems to be a lot like full nest, just less laundry. I hope Carter is having a bigger time than we are.

Stay Strong

Friday night four young people, three of whom are basketball players on the boys basketball team had a bad car accident. Carter is friendly with these boys who share the same court that she does at school. Learning the news of their accident has been very difficult since they were badly hurt.

As I was going out the door today for a church meeting Carter, my new driver said, “Be careful driving. Use your turn signal. Make sure your seat belt is on. Look both ways. Go slowly.”

“I’m just going around the corner,” I responded.

“Still be careful.”

It has been a tough year with the death of one classmate a few months ago and now this accident. These life lessons coming this close together are hard on everyone, but especially teenagers. I want Carter to be a very careful driver, but I hate for her to learn the need this way.

Please pray for them. Please pray for their families. Pray for doctors and nurses who care for them. Pray for their friends and classmates. Pray for their teachers and coaches. Pray for their community.

Tomorrow a whole school of kids will leave the sanctuary of their homes and go back to school to face classrooms and practice courts without their friends who are healing. Pray they heal well and quickly.

Keep Dancing, You Inspire Me

I spent my day in a strategic planning retreat for Carter’s school. Doing strategic planning is a long, but important process. Many very thoughtful people have spent countless hours meeting, surveying, thinking, talking, reading, writing and talking some more. Today 56 smart, busy and important people plus me came together to brainstorm and talk and think some more. It was an exhilarating process and one I think will produce a good plan. It is still weeks or months away from being done, but strides were made.

After mostly sitting in an auditorium for eight hours I moved from one side of the campus to the other to watch Carter play a really tough home school basketball team and pull out a win. It is lower school night at the “Cav Dome” as the court is called and many small kids and their parents came out to watch the games.

After Carter’s game the varsity boys came out and took the court for warm up with some heart pumping music to help hype them up. As much as I love to watch me some high school basketball I really needed to get home and have something healthy to eat, get my steps in after a day of sitting and walk my sweet Shay. As I was getting ready to leave the gym I stood up and saw five little boys standing on the back bleachers dancing their hearts out as they watched “their team” shooting baskets.

They clearly were having the best time in the world, without a care or actual rhythm in one case. Suddenly my day came into focus. I was not working on a five-year plan for my child; she will have long graduated before the majority of it takes hold. These dancing boys were the reason so many adults gave up their time to help make a school where they will be nurtured to be people who can make the world a better place.

So to Wesley and Will and your other dancing friends, thanks for inspiring me to keep working. I want you and all the DA kids to feel like dancing all the years you are at DA. You made my long day end on a happy note!

To see these guys in action go to my youtube video. http://youtu.be/fk74NBx2fLE

When In Rome

I am having trouble finding time to write my blog because my hours are filled up doing the most first world task, researching travel. I hate to complain about planning a trip, but the Internet has changed travel forever. No longer do you call a trusted travel agent who you know and has actually been where you are going and she steers you to a hotel she has seen. No, now you read endless reviews from people you may or may not like and take advice from millions of unknowns.

To compound my problem Is am trying to figure out where to stay in Rome, city of thousands of accommodations. Now throw one more variable in, we are starting and ending our trip in Rome so we can stay in two different places on the trip.

I have been to Rome three times and stayed in great places, but of course they have changed hands, and names. It seems the more I research the more confused I become. I started thinking I wanted to stay near the Spanish Steps, but then when I widened the search I was not so sure.

We are going to Rome with Carter who has fallen in love with Roman history. I want to stay near the action so that there is fun to be had for a teenager right near by. I want to walk and eat good food and see old stuff. If you have been to Rome in the last ten years and have any suggestions I want to hear them. What neighborhood would you stay in? Do you have a hotel recommendation? Did you eat someplace you wish you could go back to every week? What was worth doing and what do you wish you skipped?

Please be my “travel agent”. I am happy to take advice from people I know and tired of reading what someone from Tokyo thinks about the breakfast being served at a certain hotel. I hate breakfast in Tokyo so I probably would not agree with her taste anyway. But your taste might appeal to me! So I’m looking for opinions. Send comments, please.

Downton Lessons

The best part about having a blog is that I can use it as an excuse to re-watch last night’s Downton Abbey episode. There was something Cora said to her husband the Lord that I wanted to make sure I quoted correctly. So Spoiler alert, if you have not watched last night’s season premier of season five stop reading and go watch it.

The scene was at the 34^th wedding anniversary of the Lord and Lady Grantham. A young teacher that Lord Grantham disliked was invited as a guest. After a tense dinner when the young woman spoke her mind about politics that rubbed the landed gentry types the wrong way the whole group went into the drawing room for coffee. As she was getting ready to leave the outspoken teacher came up to Lord Grantham to say thank you and good night and say she wanted to go down stairs to thank the staff. That was just not done back in the day, but Lady Grantham was very gracious about it.

Lord Grantham who was just bristled said to his wife, Cora, “I assume you heard how she spoke to me at dinner.” Cora responded, “Of course, but how does it help to answer rudeness with rudeness?”

I didn’t really need to re-watch the whole show to get that bit of wisdom. It struck me the first time. It is a phrase I hope I can sear into my brain because I have a bad habit of answering rudeness with sarcasm and often a biting quip that makes the person I am speaking to have to think a moment and just as I am making my getaway they realized I said something so much meaner to them.

I don’t act this way often, but when I was younger I rarely hesitated before I took someone down who was rude to begin with. Now a day I realize that most of the time when someone is being rude they really are just ignorant and it is wrong for me to pick on the indefeasible.

But to those who are passive aggressive I have had little patience. Just say directly what you want to say and I will do my best to not be rude back. I am going to try and have Cora’s calm voice in my head saying, “How does it help to answer rudeness with rudeness?” Or as we say it in America, “Kill them with kindness.”

Of course this bit of wisdom from my favorite TV show will not outshine my favorite parts when the Grandmother played by Dame Maggie Smith says the most horrible things with the most innocent of looks. She would never subscribe to Cora’s way of thinking. I am afraid that I really aspire to be here, but I am neither old nor rich enough to act that way so I am going to try the nice way. Ha!

Being a Ref is the Most Thankless Job

Sometimes I am glad I don’t understand everything that is going on in Basketball because it keeps me from complaining about calls Ref’s make. I can’t imagine a harder job than trying to run back and forth on a court and watch ten different players doing ten different things. I have a hard enough time just following the ball, let alone all the people that are trying to get the ball.

At a game, which the opponent will remain anonymous, I had the displeasure of sitting behind a large group of family members from the other team. It was a good thing it was not a packed house so we could have a few empty rows between us. First because the Mothers’ hairdos were so big I could not see the court over them if I was right behind them. But the real bad part was the amount of smack they were screaming at the refs.

If bad sportsmanship had a PhD course these people were Doctors of how not to act in front of children. Not only did they complain about the refs at every call that did not go their way, but also one mother seemed to purposely pinch her baby when our team was making a free throw so the child would scream. This was completely unnecessary since the father’s were making rude sounds anyway.

At the end of the game the Ref’s, who I think were actually fearful for their lives, came up to the group and looked at the mother who resembled Sheena E from the early eighties in her ripped up acid wash jeans and earrings the size of saucers and said, “You are bad.” The language repeated back to the ref’s is unprintable, but those guys got out of that gym as quickly as possible. Here is the crazy thing, that mother’s team won.

Perhaps rather than team highlights on TV we need to have videos of parent lowlights. The poor children who have these people as their role models. I still can’t figure out which player they belonged to because no child on any team ever acted as poorly as these parents.

I think I am going to keep my ignorance of the game right where it is because I am never tempted to scream at a ref because I just won’t ever know as much as even the blindest ref. Poor people can’t get paid enough to put up with that kind of abuse.

Mother Daughter Tea Time

Months and months ago my friend Cooper made a reservation for a Mother Daughter Christmas Tea at the Carolina Inn. Our daughters are the best of friends and the mothers are lucky to adore each other too.

After weeks of prep for exams and the actual dreaded tests themselves finally over Christmas break could not come fast enough. This tea was the perfect respite for the friend group without having any work hanging over them. It was also a great time for Moms to catch up, reconnect and enjoy each other’s company. The only sad part was that two girls were already away celebrating the break in far off lands. It seems like it is a good excuse for us to have another mother daughter tea in the New Year so we all can be together.

Carter loves going to tea as much as her mother so she did not eat anything all day in anticipation of the big scone, savory, sweet filled afternoon. With such a large group our server had us order six different pots of tea to share with names like, “Comfort and Joy,” “Candy Cane” and “Silent Night.” After the company the actual tea was the best thing we had. I sampled three of the six types and each one was better than the last.

After filling ourselves to the brim with so many normally forbidden goodies we went out and took our photos in the beautifully decorated lobby of the Inn. Perhaps we should have done our pictures before we ate so much, but then that would have been before we had spent two hours talking, laughing and enjoying each other. I love spending time with my daughter, her friends and their moms, who I feel lucky enough to call my friends too.

Carter and I continued our fun after tea by coming home and making our gingerbread house and then fudge. Now we are snuggled on my big bed and watching the Sound of Music. The holidays are bringing out the best in all of us.

Shay Shay, Please Beg Me To Snuggle Sleep With You

Today was the first day in the last two weeks that I really had a normal, not planning, shopping for, cooking, giving or attending a Christmas party in the last two weeks — That is not all together true, yesterday was a funeral. But today I just got up and went to workout, then to play Mah Jongg and came home to see my child in the surround of exam study.

I have done a good job of ignoring the present side of Christmas and should have spent today dealing with that, instead I just played. When I got home Shay Shay, who got her Christmas haircut, which is a little too short and thus needs to snuggle closer than usual to steal body heat, wanted me to sit on the sofa in the living room with her. I promise that is exactly what she signaled me to do when she jumped up on the sofa and gave two little barks and shook her head twice at me.

Since I had been gone all day the guilt trip Shay was laying on me to sit on the sofa and pet her belly was not something I wanted to fight, so I just did it. It did not take long for the exhaustion of so much Christmas reverie to overcome me and before I knew it I was sound asleep sitting straight up on the sofa with a happy puppy next to me. I imagine I also had my mouth open as old people who just pass out sitting up often do.

I can’t remember the last time I fell asleep at three in the afternoon. Sadly the phone rang and woke me. Oh how nice that little nap was. The early darkness of these very sort days of December are made for snuggle snoozing. Forget exercise and productivity. Give me lazing and lounging.

I have no idea if I was dreaming anything in my short foray into the uncurious, but I awoke to the realization that I have not gotten teacher or coach gifts and school is out in two days. I have Russ’ office Christmas party tomorrow night and I have to provide something for the white elephant exchange. The pressure to be clever, yet still come up with something people can take home on an airplane is enormous.

Then there is the little thing about presents for my family. I think that if I could just go ahead and knock out all the presents on my list I could take a much longer nap without guilt or fear that I was sleeping through something important — as long as I remember to turn the ringer on the phone off. Maybe the nap will have to wait until after Christmas, but then it’s time to get back to exercise to get off the holiday pounds. I guess I don’t see any rest in my future unless my puppy demands it.

Shay Shay, please beg me to snuggle, I need the rest.

Letting Go of The Christmas Tree Plan

As far as I can tell there are two kinds of people in the world, those who like their Christmas tree decorated exactly the way they want and those that just want a decorated Christmas tree. I of course am the former. I have a plan for my tree, I think about it, I design it, and I execute it. Yes, I get help with the heavy lifting part, but when it comes to light placement, and lighting density that is all up to me.

Then there is the decoration plan. I have a definite look I am going for, the you-can’t-see-the-tree-through-the-ornaments look. My tree is the overwhelm scheme. I am basically hitting the viewer square in the face with a big screaming Christmas.

Getting this look from my brain to my house is best done through my own hands perhaps with a kitchen tongs for placement on the ornaments on the top of the fourteen-foot tree. Curating this look starts by decorating the tree from the top down, not because that is how I envision it, but because it is the only way to decorate the tree without knocking ornaments off the tree. See if you are standing on a twelve foot ladder leaning into the tree to reach the top you can’t have anything other than lights on the bottom of the tree.

Tonight we went to our friends the Hannan’s house for their annual Christmas tree decorating party. Mick has a rule that no tree can go up in their house until there are double digits in the month of December. This party is Hannah’s way of having a Christmas party without the worry of having all her decorating done before hand. It really is quite a brilliant plan if you are someone who is happy to let many hands create your tree.

Tonight they had a beautiful real tree with all the lights already on it. Hannah had put some of the more fragile ornaments on the tree before people got there so they would not break, setting out the others in baskets so guests could put them on the tree. Oh, how I wish I was someone who could let other people decorate my tree putting things on in a willy-nilly way, but it is just not in my DNA.

I did my part to get that tree done in a way that would be aesthetically pleasing. I tried to space the ornaments in a systematic way, and balance the colors so that there was not a big clump of red ornaments in one place, a hole of no ornaments and them a clump of gold. The hardest part is finding the strong branches for the heavy ornaments so they are not pulling the tree down.

In the end I am sure that in the light of day tomorrow Hannah may have to move some things around, but is more or less happy with the tree her friends create for her. It is kind of like a Christmas surprise. There is something to beautiful about enjoying the gift your friends give you when they decorate your tree. I wish I liked surprises.

Invite Criteria

The sign of a successful party is a totally trashed kitchen after all the guests have gone home. My friend Lynn, who I have co-hosted a Christmas party with for the last ten years, is a more-the-merrier-type-person so this year we were very merry. Thanks to some dear friends who were not ready for the party to ended and got the whole thing cleaned up in record time and still had time to visit and rehash the party while sitting in the living room.

I have a history of giving Christmas parties with friends that become staples of the holiday season. When I lived in Washington I used to give a big party with my friends Tom and Chuck. We would rotate whose house the party was at every year. It started as a way to get together with our close friends and eat some really good food.

That party was where I developed my tenderloin black bean chili recipe. It started out as the way I used up left over catering tenderloin from all the holiday parties I was catering. Each year the list of guests would get bigger and bigger. Finally we had to start to put a governor on the guest list because I no longer was able to feed the party with just left over tenderloin chili and I was having to buy two whole extra tenderloins to grill and make into chili. People used to beg me to sell them that chili. I told them that there was no way they would ever pay what it actually cost to make it.

Pairing down the invite list was quite tricky. Finally we came up with a rule to follow; In order to be invited to our Christmas party someone would have had to invite at least one of us to their house in the previous year. Not all our friends entertained at home, so we had a caveat that if someone had taken us to lunch or dinner that also qualified them for the invite list. It did not seem like unreasonable criteria, but when our usual night for the party came around and some people who had been invited for years were not invited back they were not happy.

How unreasonable. If you consider that they might had been invited for the previous five years and had a dinner that was priceless and had not reciprocated why should they think they should be invited back?

Since those days in the go-go 80’s when I threw multiple big parties all year I had no problem letting people know it was a one time deal if the only time I saw them was at my house. I think that everyone knew I was serious and always wanted to come for the best meal they would eat all month.

I’m a little more lax now. If our guest list were up to Lynn we would have hundreds of people at our annual Christmas lunch, including her baristas at Starbucks and the check out boy at the Harris Teeter. I am not as free as Lynn, nor as rigid as my 80’s self. I just love to have people sit around a table, enjoy some good food and laugh and tell stories. If it always happens at my table that is just fine. I like my cooking and my stories too.

My new measurement to get invited back is not just have I been to your house, or out to dinner with you, but were you helpful when you were at my house? Staying to clean up counts for more than most everything. So to those nice people who cleaned my kitchen today I can pretty much guarantee you are on the list for next year.

Totally Tea Time

It started innocently enough, a call from my editor Andrea, “The Blakemere company is doing an Afternoon tea for the holiday, would you like to go?” Andrea knows my weakness is English Afternoon Tea so the question was not really needed. Although I was not personally acquainted with the Blakemere company, if Andrea was inviting I was going. I justified this holiday eating extravagance as a work event since our staff photographer Brianna was coming too. It is most important for the success of Durham Magazine that the three of us get together at least a couple of times a year and our best thinking happens over tea.

The Blakemere is the business of Devon U.K. native Amanda Fisher who in 2011 started producing real Devonshire clotted cream in Chapel Hill along with lovey jams, curds, scones and yummy English pastries and cakes. Amanda produces her goods out of La Residence restaurant so that is where I met up with my friends, ‘er… I mean work colleagues for our Tea, oh I mean meeting.

Anyone who has read this blog more than ten times knows that Tea is my favorite meal, but also that it is so fattening I have to limit myself to it just a couple of teas a year. Unfortunately most Teas seem to come around Christmas, when all other goody tasting, naughty eating, diet busting gorging goes on.

I planned my whole day around this celebration. I got up a little later since I did not have to drive anyone to school. I spent the morning prepping the next Christmas party I am throwing tomorrow. I ate an egg in the late morning as the only other food I was going to allow myself outside of the Tea. In my mind I felt like I could justify all that I would eat if I considered it almost all my meals, save an egg, rolled into one.

Just after noon I started to feel a little hungry so I decided to get dressed up in my tea party clothes, go get my nails done, which means I could not even touch food and stop by the needlepoint store so I could stitch a little away from food. That part of the plan worked well. Finally 3:00 came and I met my friends at a cozy table by the fire at La Residence.

My editor Andrea had met Amanda before, perhaps for a story that was in Chapel Hill Magazine or at a previous Tea she had brought her grandmother to, whichever it meant that we had the most gracious of service from the owner of the Blakemere.

Amanda served us a plate of lovely tea sandwiches with out first pots of tea. Bri is having an issue with eating pork these days, not because she is pregnant, but due to something she got from a tick bite, so Amanda gladly substituted the ham with Cumberland sauce puff for another sandwich. There is nothing more British or satisfying than an egg cress finger or a coronation chicken when you have not eaten much all day. I don’t remember if there was any conversation during that first plate since I was savoring the savories.

Once my blood sugar levels had returned to normal I was able to slow down the pace and enjoy the company of my two young friends. We caught up on all the goings on of work and our lives just as the best part of Afternoon tea arrived, the scones three kinds of homemade jam a lemon curd and the star of the show, the homemade clotted cream. Nothing disappointed, in fact the scones were outstanding, having just been baked the hour before.

If I were a smart woman I would have stopped eating right there and then, but smart is not my thing. So we continued with the dessert portion of the tea, the cakes, tarts and sticky toffee pudding. In my mind the scones are a dessert, but the English insist it is just a precursor to the sweets. Everything sugary and sweet was fantastic, but the sticky toffee pudding was the real bomb.

After photos and hugs the best work meeting of my year was over and I had to get back to reality… Time to walk off the day’s “meal.” The only problem is there are not enough hours in this or the next three days to undo the damage that has been done, but isn’t that what January is for?

Santa Magic

At Mah Jongg today my friends were looking at a picture on Facebook of another friend’s child who was just not happy to be visiting Santa. That got us reminiscing about our own histories with meeting the jolly ‘ole elf and those of our children. My friend Christy and I shared our favorite Santa situations. Christy’s son Trey and Carter are the same age and have grown up in the same neighborhood their whole lives. No wonder that they both visited the same Santa as their first experience.

We used to have a mall called South Square right near us. It was not the best shopping experience and has been torn down long ago and replaced with a Target. Although the shops were sad there the Christmas experience for the kids as top notch. First there was a whole chorus of singing bears, not big scary bears, but toddler sized bears a la teddy Ruxpin Iike guys and they were animatronic so they not only sang, but moved too. At the caroling bear show there were dozens of tiny red and green wooden chairs and Carter would sit for hours playing with the chairs and singing with the bears.

Christy reported that Trey too loved the bears and since we were mothers of toddlers we both remembered spending hours of time watching the bears during the dark days of December when we had two year olds. Although our kids liked the bear show, neither seemed that interested in Santa. Carter was quite suspicious of the old man in the red suit and cried her eyes out before I made her sit on his lap. Really that was good instinct on her part to be fearful of strangers. Despite her initial fear that Santa had some kind of magic because after she was quite gleeful.

Christy said that Trey too would not go sit with Santa despite her visiting him everyday, just to listen to the bears. One day when the Santa line was really slow and Trey was the only kid in the Mall the Santa got off his big Santa throne and went and sat with Trey on the tiny toddler chairs in front of the singing bears. After Trey had gotten used to Santa he pulled out the book “T’was the night before Christmas” and read the whole thing to tiny Trey. That was it. Trey had made a new friend in Santa. For the rest of the holiday season when Trey would come through the Mall for his daily visit to the bears, Santa would call out to him, “Hi Trey!” And they both would wave at each other.

I don’t know where that Santa went after South Square closed but I hope that he continued to be well employed. He was the best representative of what Santa can be for children, the nice guy who loves you and makes you feel safe and special. I hope that all children everywhere have someone in their life that makes them feel that way. They may not remember the exact moment it happens, but I think the magic stays with them, at least it did stay with the mothers.

My Happy Day by Shay Shay Lange

Today is one of the great days in my life as a dog. See, I really like when people come to visit me and I know that everyone who comes to the door of my house is here just to see me. My Grandmother, that’s the loud lady named Dana, was running around the house this morning, putting out plates and lots of glasses. She is my Grandmother because her daughter Carter is my Mommy. When Dana picked up my bed from the kitchen and put it downstairs by Carter’s room I knew that we were going to have a party. My bed only gets moved when there are going to be a lot of people in my house. And Iike I said already, I like Iots of people.

Soon after my bed disappeared four other ladies showed up carrying boxes and pans, with food drink and ice in them all. They scurried about talking about what time lunch would be served and they all pet me and snuggled me and said what a good dog I was. I would have been fine for them to come without the boxes and pans as long as they hugged and petted me.

While everyone else was sitting in the living room I stood at the front glass door and watched as many other ladies who looked like my Grandmother came up the walk way carrying wreaths and cakes and other treats, for me? I got lots of snuggles, but not one treat. I did not care, visitors are the treat I like best. Suddenly I realized it was very loud in my house with lots of ladies standing in the kitchen and breakfast room talking and drinking, so I went in the living room and sat on the sofa when no one else was. There to tell me no.

After a while all the talking quieted down and I went back to the big room where that giant bright tree was growing inside. I saw my Grandmother standing in the middle of the room while all the other friends sat in a ring around her. One other skinny lady was carrying a cake and Grandmother Dana was calling out numbers and names and pointing at people. It was kind of like the way she plays ball with me. She throws me the ball and I catch it and bring it back. When she was finished calling out the numbers the skinny lady gave the person who Dana last pointed at the cake, then everybody clapped.

I thought they were clapping for me so I came up to the big room and sniffed around at the cakes and presents sitting on the floor. Nothing was made of liver or beef heart so I jumped up on one nice ladies lap and let her get happiness petting me.

This calling out numbers thing went on for an hour and then suddenly everyone got up and went to the dining room where they got plates of salmon, orzo, salad, rolls and tarts. Nothing I wanted so I just went to snuggle with my grandmother.

Before I knew it the ladies were kissing me good bye and carrying out all the cakes and wreaths and presents. I was left with the four original friends who washed the dishes and put away the glasses and laughed and talked. Still no liver for me, but lots of ear scratches and back rubs.

Grandmother got my bed from downstairs so I could lie down in the kitchen. I closed my eyes for just a minute, exhausted from all the friends who came to see me. When I opened them again the house was silent. No glasses were clinking, no friends were laughing, no numbers were being called out. I guess I have to wait another two years for my grandmother’s garden club Christmas auction to come to our house and bring back my friends to visit me. Next time I hope someone brings a freeze dried liver wreath. I would bid all I have to win that. Even if it never happens I think I like having the friends in my house loving me best of all.