Do-Over

I was getting ready to write a post about last evening's Ballet Danse, the recital in which my two little dancing granddaughters danced in Jack and the Beanstalk. The older girl, nearing 13, has been dancing for nine years, and this was her first year on pointe. She danced the part of a cloud as three girls, dancing as birds, danced as if in the sky. Our girl was graceful and smiling and very confident in her ability on pointe.

The Little Sister, almost nine, has been dancing for six years. She was a Court Performer in the giant's castle, and was quite proficient in her one-handed cartwheels, her walk-overs, and her "coffee grinders". She's a bundle of energy on stage and a joy to watch.

Anyway, to get back to the first sentence of this post, when I read last year's post, it was almost the same. Except this year, the Big Girl was also dancing in the Senior section and her dance was a tribute to the Boston Red Sox. As the shortest, she got a lot of front row time and Lordy! can she dance!

So, just as I told you last year at this time, there will be another recital next weekend for Jazz, Tap, and Hip-Hop. They both dance all three of those disciplines so back to the flower shop for more tribute bouquets.

I suppose I could just skip the annual Dance Report, but then I wouldn't get to brag about the Tiny Dancers.

Scrapple

Just a few random thoughts---


I don't like cooking. I used to like to cook when the house was full of hungry boys with appetites for whatever was put in front of them. Now, it's just for me and I could eat cheese and crackers or a peanut butter sandwich and be satisfied. I could go out to eat every night if I chose, since there are enough restaurants in a five mile radius to keep me going without repeats for several weeks. Trouble is, going out means the combing of the hair and the finding of the shoes and the driving of the car. Seems like a lot of trouble when I already have peanut butter right here and I don't have to put on shoes!!


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I have some work to be done on the house. But finding someone to do it without charging me more than I can afford is what makes me procrastinate. And this being northeastern Pennsylvania, it's hard to find someone willing to even return your call, let alone come and offer to do your work. I called four advertised contractors and two never called back; one said he had more work than he could handle; one said the job wasn't worth coming out to look at.


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Whatever happened to slips? I mean underwear slips. They were pretty much a staple of every woman's wardrobe a hundred years ago when I was young. There were full slips and half slips. There were slips that went under every day dresses and skirts and long slips that went under gowns. And no self-respecting female would leave the house without a slip. Stand with the sun behind you and without a slip, you're a horn-dog's delight. So whatever happened to slips?


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Kudos to the young man who took his great-grandmother to his Prom. There's a true gentleman and I predict an astounding future for him. (Lest you think he was the School Geek, this is the tall, handsome captain of the football team. I'm sure he could have asked any girl in the school)


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I filled up with tears at the story of the Hurricane Sandy displaced family who lost their beloved dog in the storm. After 18 months, they went to the ASPCA to adopt another dog and were greeted by their lost pet, Reckless. Makes you believe in miracles.


30

Too Late...

It has been a terrible week-end. Our family lost one of our number. One of the dearest, sweetest, happiest among us. She had suffered through the throes of breast cancer, with chemo and radiation and all that involved. But she prevailed. She came through and spent the next 15 years raising her two beautiful daughters. Her bright, well-read, high-honors, daughters. Young women who could carry on a conversation without saying "like" every third word. She was an educator herself and along with her husband, my eldest son, she instilled the importance of learning in her two girls. She was a daughter who saw her Father to the end of his life. And her Mother who also passed away, but who carried on longer than she might have had she not had the care of this terrific caregiver. She was a Sister who drove half way across the country when her only sister was in crisis. She loved her brother and his family. She was a Wife who willingly went to work every day and arranged that her husband would stay home and be "Mr Mom" from the infancy of the children. And it worked for them. She was an in-law to an assortment of her husband's brothers and their wives and their many children. She was a daughter-in-law to me. A splendid relationship. She had the Summers with her girls because as a teacher, she had the same school schedule. They read books, and took walks, and went on vacation. When you saw her, you were immediately happy that she was there. She smiled more than anyone I knew. And she meant every one of her smiles. Never fake. She told you what she thought and pulled no punches, but she never did it in a mean way. Last year, illness struck again. I still don't know all the details. Only one person outside of her immediate family knows the timeline. But it was not like before. Not like when she got sick, took her treatments and got better. This time, there was no getting better. From what we've learned, she chose to keep her decline from the rest of us. I knew something was wrong but respecting her privacy, I didn't pry. The rest of the family saw her just after the New Year. For reasons of my own, I didn't attend the gathering. So I missed seeing her. But she knew that was probably her last hurrah because I have had two people tell me that in retrospect, they realize that she was saying "good-bye". On Friday last, I got the call. She was gone. Forever. And I never said, "good-bye".

Goodbye is Never Easy

A little melancholy today. My car, my old, faithful (mostly), pal and chariot, was unceremoniously hauled off on a flat-bed as "salvage". Back in July, it began to act as though it was tired of going places. Broke down and left me stranded with two little girls on my hands on one of the hottest days of the Summer. Had to be towed, TY AAA, and the next day I got the news that it was a blown fuse. At $120.00, a pretty expensive fuse. But it seemed as though the problem was solved. Ah, but no. A couple of weeks later, the same thing happened. Dtr-in-law rescued me and the following day, son got it going with a new fuse and it looked like I could simply carry a supply of fuses and be okay. Heading to shop for a few items and my brakes failed. Boy, howdy! Didn't expect that. Managed to limp to my neighborhood mechanic who effected a repair and that was $200.00. Good to go, right? Nuh-uh. A few days later, the Old Grey Ghost gave it up. Gave up the Ghost, that is. Stranded me in the middle of five lanes of traffic on a busy afternoon. Kind Sir pushed me off the road. Once again called the DIL and she agreed to come for me. While I waited, I turned the key and the sucker started. I began to drive (a circuitous, back-street route) and managed to make it home. Where I promised that I would never again attempt to make the car do what it obviously wasn't willing to do. It had performed yeoman service for 23 years. That's right. Twenty-three years. Time to let it rest. DIL shopped around and found me a deal on a 2013 Honda Civic. (I've always been a Toyota girl but you take your deal where you find it. On Tuesday, I drove home in a car that is smarter than I. I swear. Only problem is, the Old Grey Ghost is in the garage, leaving no room for the New Grey Ghost. This cannot be allowed. I found a web-site called Peddle.com, that offered to give me a quote based on the answers to a few questions concerning age and condition. Got a quote. All I had to do was accept it. But I couldn't. I was 1. afraid it was a scam, and 2. reluctant to say goodbye. In the end, after 48 hours of pondering, I pulled the trigger, accepted the offer, and 12 hours later, a wrecker was at my door. I signed over the title, the man handed me cash, and my old faithful pal was off to the Big Junkyard in the Sky, or where ever it is. And I felt a twinge of melancholy as I pulled my new bestie into the garage. I don't foresee a 23 year relationship with this one. At least not on my part. But for however long it lasts, just get me "there" and "back", 'kay?

Dance, Dance, Dance

Last night was the "Big Girl Ballet" recital, in which two of my not-very-big granddaughters performed. The younger of the two, approaching her 8th birthday, was on the mark and knew all her steps. She was fully involved with the other dancers. But she, being her first year in "Big Girl Ballet", is still one of the little ones and her role was minor. The older girl, all of 11 and weighing not much more than that, is so graceful and happy to be dancing that the joy transmits to the audience. And since she is so petite, the one male dancer in the troupe is able to lift her successfully and repeatedly. The lifts evoke applause from the audience. It just isn't expected because there aren't any other males. The young men in the finale don't count because they aren't students of the dance academy, but are brought in as foils for the older "Big Girls". It isn't quite as exciting watching young men lifting young mid-teen ladies as it is to see a not-yet-teen lifting a teeny girl. Anyway, the dance and the dancers were lovely and when it ends, there are hugs, and compliments and bouguets. And having been on stage myself, I know the feeling of the adrenalin pumping and thinking that there won't be sleep for hours. As strange as it seems today, I can't quite believe that one of these girls will be on pointe next year. Time just goes too fast. Too fast. Next week-end will be the final recital of the season. The girls will dance tap, jazz and hip-hop. They have been dancing, each of them, since the age of three. Every year, the skill and discipline grows and it's a nice evening out, even if I do have to sit through everybody else's kids.

That Time Again

Today is that most dreaded of days - Prep Day. In all fairness, I haven't had a Prep Day for three years. But if you've had one, you know what I mean. If you haven't, let me explain. If you've had colon cancer and survived the surgery and chemo, you need to periodically have a colonoscopy. I know, right? You shuddered just at the mention. But trust me, the scope part is simple. I'm pretty sure I've described it here in an earlier post. You could look it up. You show up at the center, check in, disrobe, get an IV inserted and then they take you into the Procedure Room, knock you out, and when you awake, you're back in the holding area where they give you cookies and something to drink - that actually tastes good. But Prep Day. Ahhh, Prep Day. A horse of an entirely different color. First off, you are expected to refrain from solid food from midnight and throughout the day. You can have jello, just not red. I happen to like green jello so that isn't too bad. You can have clear broth. Popsicles, not red. Coffee, tea, soda, as long as it isn't red. And you can't have cream or creamer in your beverage. No milk products on this day. At 4 PM, you take a pill. The pill is a laxative and within an hour or so, ya gotta go. Not urgent, but you really need to heed the call. Then you can relax for a bit before you have to drink a gallon - YES, A GALLON! - of a not-very-pleasant-tasting liquid. And you have to get it down at the rate of 8 oz. every 10 minutes. They give you a little packet of flavoring to make you think it's going to taste better. It isn't. But drink it you must. At this point, you'll want to take your phone, a book, a crossword puzzle, your laptop, a radio if you like, and head for the Loo. The actual time spent there will vary with the person, but you can plan on anywhere from an hour to several hours. Until you are completely empty. E-M-P-T-Y. At the end of this, you'll be very tired and you might want to spend a few minutes in the shower. Just to make you feel a little better. You think how nice it would be to have a sandwich. Or a cookie. Or a pretzel. Anything. But you can't. You are to continue fasting from solid food for another 12 hours or so. You can have clear liquid until midnight, then nothing until after your scope. Mine is scheduled for 9AM. It's very hard to manage those hours in the morning with no coffee, but knowing how important it is, you hang in there. Eat something now and you have to cancel the appointment. Then you have to do it all over again for the rescheduled appointment. You're almost there so suck it up. You'll get up in the morning and the person you've arranged to pick you up will pick you up and take you to the center. Refer back to the second paragraph for what happens next. If all goes well, you won't have to do this again for three years so you can go home and eat whatever you want. Strangely, you won't be as hungry as you think. But after you eat something, you will probably want to take a nap. And that's good because you're not supposed to drive for at least 12 hours after your procedure. So there you have it. Prep Day. I truly hope I haven't scared you. It's important to get this test when your doctor tells you it's time. Colon cancer is one of the most curable cancers when detected in its early stages. I've survived for four years after my diagnosis. And looking forward to more. Oh, something's going to get me. You don't get out of here alive. But I'll do whatever I can to try to avoid that something being cancer.

Don't Drink the Kool-Aid!

Well, I've done it...again. Drank the Kool-aid, I mean. I try very hard to avoid it, and I'm usually able to spot when I'm being sold something that I don't want and would never agree to buy, and yet, sometimes I just have to find out the hard way. For background, I'm pretty much a food purist. By that, I mean I like the way most food tastes all by itself. I'm one of those strange people who, as a child, liked liver. Really liked it. Just floured and fried in a pan with a little oil and served with salt and pepper. I like shrimp and I refuse to eat Shrimp Scampi. Why on earth would you overwhelm the sweet deliciousness of a shrimp with garlic? Meat loaf? Just the meat, TYVM, with a bit of onion, some bread crumbs and a little milk. No fancy additives. Given those few examples, you should be able to glean the fact that I'm satisfied with few frills when it comes to eating. And so it was, that I heard, read, and watched as people went all-out to convince me that roasting veggies brought out a "nutty, buttery" taste. So even though I like the taste of Brussels Sprouts steamed and dressed with a dab of butter, a kiss of salt and a soupcon of cracked black pepper, I succumbed to the cajoling and roasted ten ounces of the little beauties "drizzled with olive oil and salt until golden brown". Let me hasten to assure you that I went into this venture with a fully open mind. After 22 minutes, or so, I checked on my roasting sprouts and saw that they had turned a golden brown, thereupon, I removed them from the oven, blew on one to cool it off, and tasted. YUK. As I suspected, the whole "foodie" thing has us doing ridiculous things to foods that were perfectly fine for ages; in order to sell new products and new cookery channels and convince us that we have been doing it all wrong. Believe me when I tell you, that my steamed sprouts with a drizzle of butter, a sprinkle of salt (the plain old iodized, TYVM) and a grind of black pepper are far superior to my taste buds than the "golden brown" roasted lumps that are currently resting at the bottom of my kitchen garbage can. P.S. The only thing nutty about this whole thing was me for believing the hype.