It's a Date!

It’s hard to wrap my brain around the fact that it’s been 30 years since my initial fascination with the royal family began.  As one of the 750 million viewers who watched Diana marry Prince Charles on that July day in 1981, I surely wasn’t alone in my royal obsession. And now it’s going into overdrive all over again. Diana's son is getting married! 

I have to say I am pretty jazzed about watching the whole wedding of Wills and Kate.  Much like I felt about Diana, I really like this girl William has picked for himself – a pretty key qualifier in my book.  Unlike his father, William has truly picked his bride.  And I appreciate, far more now than I might have back then, that Kate and William have a very long relationship behind them.  I also like that she is a commoner.  In fact, I'm thrilled that she is not only inviting the postman, but also her local bartender to the party!  Seems like two good choices to me.  I think Diana would be tickled pink with William’s pick. 

It’s not that I’ve gotten in so deep that I’ve been reading all the blogs and second-guessing the details surrounding their big day. Mostly, I just can’t wait to see the dress.  And at the end of the day, it will be Kate’s dress that influences wedding wear for the next several years, just as Princess Diana’s did nearly 30 years ago! That was one BIG dress.

In full disclosure on this score, I’ve also recently become somewhat enamored with a little show called, “Say Yes to the Dress,” a TLC reality show which films at Kleinfeld Bridal in NYC.  Whatever Kate’s wedding confection ends up being on her big day, I have an inkling that the latest royal wedding will only amp up the volume on this kind of show going forward.  Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.

As it happens, and as I’ve mentioned, we also have a recently engaged girl in the family.  Therefore, it is with a twisted kind of reasoning (and playing a little fast and loose with definitions) that I’ve decided that all of this – the royal wedding watch and the dress obsession - is just good research.  However, I am also keenly aware that, if I am not careful, this could be one slippery slope evolving into a full blown obsession requiring eventual intervention. 

Kleinfeld's Randy

When my daughter announced that her boyfriend had proposed in Paris (something we knew he was going to do before she did, and I sincerely thank my future son-in-law for his adherence to a somewhat antiquated etiquette on this score), she assured me it was to be a long engagement.  With this in mind and long before we begin to entertain the idea of a visit to Kleinfeld’s for the quintessential buying trip - very high on my oldest sister's to-do list -  and dreaming of my daughter receiving the wardrobe wizardry of Randy, I decided that maybe I should write to the wedding coordinator in Chautuauqua about the protocol for planning a wedding at the Lake.  Nothing on a royal scale, mind you, but a wedding nonetheless.  Surely, there was plenty of time considering the length of their intended engagement.  Surely, it was too early to even ask. Nope! The truth is, I feel pretty lucky that I wrote at all!

Hall of Philosophy

When it comes to getting married at Chautauqua’s Hall of Philosophy, a long engagement is not only a good idea, it's apparently absolutely necessary!  Unless you're the type of chick who is merely dating a guy and likes to think ahead (no pressure, buddy), getting married on a Saturday in Chautauqua is not for the spur of the moment kind of bride!  It's barely an option for the regular kind of bride!! As of last week, the Greek-inspired outside venue was already booked for every time slot available for every Saturday from May 2011 all the way through October of 2012!  Granted, weddings held here are limited to May, early June, September and October due to the 9-week summer season, but even I was pretty surprised that what I thought was a completely premature inquiry into a wedding date late in 2012 or 2013 quickly evolved into our actually picking the date.  Now!

My daughter was also pretty surprised.  Her fiancé, even more so.  In all likelihood, “freaked” is probably a better word.  But if it's your daughter's dream to walk down the center aisle at the Hall of Philosophy on a Saturday in June, it is what it is.  And what it looks to be is a June 15, 2013 wedding at Chautauqua.  Slippery slope indeed!

And My Heart Goes On

With tax season just around the corner, I don’t feel one bit guilty about getting my money's worth out of my community’s infrastructure this past weekend.  While my memory is still fuzzy when it comes to recalling the exact siren count between the numerous police, firemen and paramedics, we had quite a few civil servants show up at our house on Saturday night.  But that’s what happens when a husband calls 911 reporting that his wife thinks she’s having a heart attack.  They tend to show up pretty quickly for stuff like that.  On the other hand, reporting that your mechanical Rudolph was stolen from your front yard on Christmas morning?  Not so much.  (But that's another story.) 

Making this particular event even more memorable was the fact that we had just finished hosting a herd of well-behaved high schoolers, the last of whom had just left about 20 minutes prior.  While I am pretty sure my neighbors spent at least a little while speculating on the drinking and drug use at our home that evening, I couldn’t really care about that; I honestly thought I was dying. 

Now, I could further describe the pain that was in my chest or the pain that was my spouse, who initially encouraged me to wait out the interminable squeezing of my heart until I pointed out the possible downside to his waking up with a corpse, but those are just details. He relented eventually.  The pain also relented - eventually - but not before I landed my first (and hopefully, last) ride in an ambulance.  This, too, might have been OK had I not been strapped down to a gurney while riding over potholes the size of moon craters while an otherwise nice EMT guy tried to insert an IV in my hand (which, sadly, was later mocked by the hospital staff while they put one in my other hand). It does bear mentioning, however, that despite mediocre IV placement, if you have heart pain and think you’re dying, calling an ambulance almost always puts you at the head of the line once you arrive at the ER – especially with a family history like mine!  Good to know.

Ironically, what lay at the heart of the matter had absolutely nothing at all to do with my heart!  And while I am still left wondering why I never took an anatomy class in high school or college, the various scans, x-rays and tests galore, along with a very astute and seasoned ER doc, deduced that my gallbladder was the culprit and had to go.  Of course, my questions were simple.  “What’s a gallbladder?” and “Why does it feel like a heart attack when it’s pissed off?”  Apparently, English majors don’t usually know these things.

Despite my love of a good Google or two, I still don’t really have all those answers, but due to a lengthy family history of bad tickers, most of my Sunday was spent giving enough blood to infuse a small country, undergoing the all-important Echo Stress Test and getting my only sustenance through multiple cups of ice chips.  I did move up to a little broth later in the day, but considering the extensive ala carte menu that is now the rage at our local hospital, I felt a little let down by my lack of culinary enjoyment.

After the offending gallbladder was removed bright and early Monday morning via laparoscopy, the surgeon told David it went “beautifully,” although apparently they don’t seem to offer up your organs preserved in a glass jar they way they did with tonsils back in the 60’s.  Bummer.  Still, three little band-aids and a couple of steri-strips later, I found myself safely tucked into my own bed at home by 3pm that afternoon.  I will also add that I passed all heart related tests and inquiries with flying colors.

As an aside, I did take note that my husband does not like hospitals.  And this would be a gross understatement.  He actually found a place to park that would allow him a mere 20 minutes of free parking, where he could quickly visit and get the heck out of there, all within the prescribed time.  I surmise that as we further age, either he has to go first or I will have to be hit by a bus!  Don’t get me wrong, he’s very good once at home, but there is just something about a hospital that turns him slightly green around the gills.  His discomfort is palatable to everyone.  I’d understand this far better if he were the patient, but as a visitor, not so much.  I will also say that this was one incredibly nice hospital and, except for that little thing called major abdominal surgery, everything and everyone was very nice, almost like a hotel.  And with the added benefit of having a nurse show up at your beck and call upon pushing a conveniently located button, it was far better service than I ever get at home!  So at least I had that going for me.

As weekends go, it was indeed interesting.  But it wasn’t Paris.  And once again, I’ve buried the lead. While I was feeling death coming for me on Saturday night, my oldest daughter was flying home from Paris. After a wonderful week of perusing famous museums, eating at French cafes and taking romantic strolls along the Seine, the end result was a proposal of marriage on bended knee on a bridge with a view of Notre Dame in the distance.

Engaged and Elated!

I can hardly believe she’s that grown up.  But of course she is.  And now, wistfully recalling the day she was born, I feel a whole new kind of pain in my heart.  And with or without my gallbladder, I couldn’t be happier for them both!!

The View from Here

Our 900 sq ft "Castle"

The odd thing about closing on real estate from a thousand miles away is that there is no culminating moment when someone rises from their seat to shake your hand and pass off the keys to your new castle.  Phone calls of Congratulations from both my attorney and realtor were surely appreciated, but it’s not really the same thing.  This said, and despite its somewhat anti-climatic finish, I am completely over the moon to be a bona fide Chautauqua Property Owner! (Pause for thunderous applause.)

Mama and Papa Chairs

Of course, as is the case with most properties at the Lake, our little abode came completely furnished and then some, right down to having tin foil in the kitchen drawers!  All in all, in terms of style and taste, we're dealing with kind of a mixed bag.  And while I am convinced that the previous owners were undoubtedly lovely people, I can’t help but wonder if they weren't also somehow distantly related to the Three Bears or at the very least, often had Goldilocks over as a guest for some porridge made atop the tiny stove!

Baby has it just about right!

Antique Dresser is Staying!

Yes, there is some truth to the lore that once furniture comes through the gates of Chautauqua it rarely leaves, and every year the Women's Club holds a massive flea market as a philanthropic endeavor proving the rule that one person's trash is another's treasure.  Admittedly, I look forward to doing a bit of my own treasure-hunting this year.  And if you’re in the market for a few items in which to re-create an iconic fairy tale or two, have I got a chair (and more) for you!

"Master" Bedroom's brick of a bed

Moving along, and in keeping with the Three Bears theme, the master bedroom’s mattress is as hard as a rock and the second bedroom’s two mattresses are as soft as slighly melted marshmallows.  While replacing them will have to wait, there will definitely be some purchases made of pads and toppers to make it “just right” or at the very least, all right for now.  Princesses requiring peas, please take note.

Second Bedroom with words to live by.

Galley Kitchen w/ Dishwasher (Yeah!)

Admittedly, the kitchen needs updating (as does one of the two bathrooms), but it's perfectly fine for now, especially since what I do cannot really be considered "cooking" by any real definition of the word.  And with a budget that amounts to a whole lot of nothing at the moment, my diamond in the rough is going to be staying slightly rough for the time being.  However, in addition to a little color in the way of paint, the paring down of a few things and some rearranging of a few others, I’m going for some immediate gratification via two chairs I have which are being re-upholstered in a fabric more in line with my own sensibilities.

To be re-upholstered in this

Albeit small, it’s a start. And a comfortable one at that!

But the pièce de résistance, and what ultimately sold us on the place, is the porch. Life at the Lake is all about a porch, and this one is a keeper!

Our Porch

With a mahogany floor and double ceiling fans to encourage the lake breeze, it adds a considerable amount of living space to our little nook of a place, especially during the summer season.  It’s just an ideal spot with a bird’s eye view of the lake in which to welcome family, entertain friends or simply curl up with a good book. I love it!!  Yes, there’s some need here as well (the couch is part of the Three Bears Collection), but as I’ve said, it's practically porch perfection!

It's all about a rocker.. and now I've got two!

Granted, patience has never been one of my strong suites, and it still applies today.  But back in 1995, I returned to the Lake with my three young children in tow after a seven-year absence.  I was never quite sure what had kept me away (beyond those small stumbling blocks of time, distance and money), but it was during this visit that I came to realize just how much I had missed being there.  I have rarely missed a summer since.  Chautauqua rejuvenates my spirit and fills my heart in ways I cannot articulate, although I have tried many, many times.  But with 16 years of wishing and waiting behind me, patience is mine!  There is time.  So for now (or as soon as the snow melts), I am going to take a deep breath, sit back, maybe rock away an hour or two, and simply enjoy my new view.

Our Bird's Eye View!

Late Summer Street View to the Lake

A Pool and a Pond.

I have an international following.  Well, I am not sure it's a following per se, but that this blogosphere allows you to view from where your readership hails is pretty cool. On the one hand, it's thrilling that I have found an audience in the United Kingdom, India, Rwanda, Thailand and Turkey in less than two weeks.  On the other, it pretty much only confirms what I already knew (and have already mentioned): My siblings lead fabulous lives.

My oldest sister's most recent blog entry describes her riding elephants in Thailand, replete with photos of said elephants and a pictorial that, by her own admission, is something akin to Out of Africa.  And then there's my brother who's currently enjoying a Nepalian spiritual journey that includes 5-Star Presidential suites, fabulous feasts and bonding with Monks over their mutual ease of hair care in Kathmandu.

Consider too that, thanks to the reliability of Facebook, I've recently learned my Aunt just enjoyed Carmen at the Sydney Opera House with a real horse bowing on stage and my cousin has been snorkeling with sea turtles in Riviera Maya. And oh, did I happen to mention that my other Aunt is on an epic Around the World cruise of a journey?  No.  No, I did not.

When you add in the historical data that my other sister spent a decade or more living in Tokyo, Frankfurt and London with side trips to, well…everywhere one would travel to and from such places, and that my own parents spent months of my young life traveling through the Caribbean, Europe and South America, it does leave me to wonder:  At what point was I diverted to the wrong lane in the pool? I refer, of course to the gene pool that has given almost every member of my family some sort of wanderlust of fabulous proportions.  It seems to have skipped right over me.  Even my own daughter leaves for Paris at the end of the week! As so aptly put by Chevy Chase to Bill Murray in Caddyshack, "We have a pool and a pond; the pond would be good for you."  Methinks I splash in the pond.

As someone who prefers the upside, however, the bottom line is that I have an international readership.  Now, if I could just find something to say… 

One Ticked Off Old Bird

Angry Birds

I have a slight addiction.  And if I were really honest, I'd admit I probably have a few.  But for the purposes of this confessional, I am only divulging one. It all started back in August when my sister’s facebook status warned others of falling into the deadly nest of a game that is otherwise known as Angry Birds. I, of course, immediately downloaded it to my iPad. 

As it happened, we were just about to embark on a massive road trip to take our son back to school in Vermont and then make a stop in Chautauqua to enjoy a few last fading days of summer.  And if I was going to be spending the next week mostly sitting in the passenger seat of a car, I figured I owed myself some options of entertainment.  Enter Angry Birds.

Over the course of 2680 miles traveled, I worked my way through poached eggs and a mighty hoax. I looked out for danger above and landed somewhere in the midst of a big setup before pulling back into my garage.  Several months later, I had smashed and bashed my way through every level and every scene, taking out pigs left and right, collecting all the golden eggs along the way.  And since I wasn’t always a three-star academic, I have to admit that seeing my three-star achievements on every screen gave me a sense of pride, warped as it was.

Then last week my iPad had syncing issues.  I should have known right then and there this wasn't going to turn out well.  But I didn’t even think twice when I hit “restore.”  It never crossed my mind as I watched the bars reload and fill.  With syncing issues resolved and updates updated, I was very pleased with my techno-assuredness. 

Jump forward a day or two when I went searching for the latest Angry Bird level.  Imagine my surprise (read horror) to find that it was like I had downloaded the game just yesterday!  What remained were screens and screens of padlocks!  All that progress!  All those Golden Eggs!  All those Stars!  Gone. Gone! GONE!!  Who’d have thought a silly game would cause such angst and dismay?  Well, had I even thought of it, I surely would have.  After all, "know thyself" is one of those things I've been working on for close to 50 years.

So after a few choice words that proved that I had indeed become an angry old bird myself, I’ve now started again… slowly collecting the eggs (in which I’ve saved time because I know where they are - as if "saving time" is any part of this endeavor).  And earning the illusive triple star is slightly easier this time around, but only slightly.  However, hours upon hours have been lost accomplishing a whole lot of nothing else, made even more obvious since there has been no road to travel on this particular trip.  The reality is that on a couple of levels, I've gotten exactly nowhere.  Fortunately(?), my obsession is usually concentrated to the evenings.  But that I can hear those stupid birds chirping in my brain as I drift off to sleep has let me know that its time to back away from the screaming flock.  

I hear them calling my name.. there are eggs to collect, stars to amass and levels to clear.  I am thinking I might have to plan a road trip to get me there.  Anyone else care to drive?

More than Happenstance

I often wonder about colliding circumstance.  You know, the age-old question of whether the universe is simply random to the wind or if we somehow attract meaningful coincidence to us because of something even bigger?  Are things really a matter of fate or is life little more than the result of decisions made of our own free will?  With mostly whispers as answer, these are big questions for sure.  I don't have much insight to offer, but I do have this...


Two days ago the U.S Postal Service delivered a big fat envelope telling us that the bank deemed us worthy enough for them to lend us money - a lot of it - to buy a little place at the Lake.  There were lots of places to “please sign here," which I gleefully did.  It would be dishonest, however, if I didn't also mention my slight trepidation and fear in thinking, "What exactly have I gotten us into?"  Then yesterday, a recently debuted PBS documentary about Chautauqua became available for instant viewing on Netflicks.  You get exactly one guess of how I spent 53 minutes of my Wednesday afternoon!  Was it just coincidence that these two things converged one on top of another or was the universe offering me something deeper?


Sure, one could describe Chautauqua: An American Narrative as mostly a marketing blitz to boost attendance and therefore, Chautauqua’s revenue stream.  The cynic in me sees this clear as day.  It also was clear that the current PC world had a loud voice as well.  For while Chautauqua is wildly diverse in its ideas and is undoubtedly welcoming to all, I saw more faces of color in this one hour show than I have in a lifetime of summers spent there.  As a life-long Chautauquan prone to sharing an opinion or two in all things, I had to quibble with a somewhat limited view of what defines diversity.  To me, color is but one aspect, but that's an entirely different post.  Nonetheless, I had a few other quibbles as well.


First of all, beyond the inordinate amount of time spent with the Chautauqua Theater Company comparatively, is it wrong that I found Ethan McSweeney's use of the word “campus” off-putting?  Admittedly, I don’t even like when someone uses the word institute over Institution when talking about Chautauqua, and perhaps my vernacular snobbery need be put on notice. But even if the grounds might loosely fit the definition of a campus, it simply isn’t done.  Second, when referring to the range of housing options on the grounds, was it just me or did the guy carrying a stack of books and pulling a wagon look like he was searching for a place right then and there? All in all, however, this mid-winter opportunity to walk around the grounds on a beautiful summer day was a tonic of pure bliss for me. Sure, call it kool-aid because I drank it.

Aptly described by a visiting pastor as “...a mother’s love, a professor’s discipline and a pastor’s passion all rolled together,” Chautauqua is an experience as much as it is a place.  As far as documentaries go, it’s understandable that PBS mostly focused on the unique history and the daily programming of the place.  After all, it’s an incredibly ambitious nine-week marathon that has existed for the past 137 years! But Chautauqua is much more than its historical relevance or its present day programming.


Being a fifth generation Chautauquan, I spent the majority of my youthful summer days at Girls and Boys Club.  I'd jump on my bike just as the Bell Tower began chiming at 9am and land squarely on the benches of Girls Club just in time to sing its anthem by the ninth bell.  Friends made there are life-long friends, many of whom are still there today.  Our children have done the same, much like our parents and grandparents did before us. That PBS gave "club" only a passing glance was disappointing.  And what about the Bell Tower?  Beyond the very opening scene, where was it?  While undeniably a lovely backdrop to any view,  its chorus is the essence in understanding the rhythm of the place.  It tells you when to get up (8am), return home for lunch (noon) and when its time for dinner (6pm).  It calls you to morning lecture, church on Sundays and evening performances in the Amphitheater.  And when I was younger than I am now by far, its supersonic boom on the hour let me know if I was going to make it home for curfew or, as was too often the case, not.


Some will say that it’s the intangibles of the place that leave it impossible for anyone to capture, even in being there.  And I admit that perhaps some of what PBS missed were the intangibles central to my own experience.  While not giving more attention to life lived on the lake, some might conclude it missed the boat (literally), or that by not offering so much as a glimpse of the bowling green in action was an opportunity lost.  But putting all of Chautauqua into a context the masses will understand has never been for the faint of heart.  Added to this is that for many of us the complexity of Chautauqua also includes a layering of family tradition that colors everything else, leaving it indescribable.


I admit to not having answers to some of life's big questions. But I do know that any fear I had in signing away my kids' potential inheritance has been replaced with the belief I am giving them and their (someday) children something far more valuable.  Our family house there will forever hold a large piece of my heart, but come Tuesday, March 1, THIS will become our new home!! 

New Digs - (second floor)

How happy am I?  Ecstatic barely covers it.

Heaven Can't Wait

By acknowledging that my siblings lead fabulous lives, I didn’t mean to imply that I didn’t have it pretty good myself.  Because on most scores, I do.  It’s just, as I’ve said, different.  For example, for the past several months, I’ve been consumed with buying a little slice of heaven in a tiny hamlet called Chautauqua Institution in New York.  Five generations of my family have spent their summers in this place and it has been a life dream to someday have a place there to call our own.  So back in September, I embarked on the process to make this a reality.

After much searching, we found a charming little condo with a great porch and a view of the lake.  Perfect. But before I go talking about the cart (and really, at less than 900 square feet, it’s not much bigger than one), let’s talk about this horse that is a mortgage.  

Whereas my two older sisters would simply plunk down a big pile of green stuff to buy a property and then plunk down another big pile to transform it into something out of Architectural Digest (and have), my station in life is to work with an industry that has been raked over the coals by a mortgage crisis in a current economy that has left more than a few folks smoldering in the ashes.  Let’s just say, it’s not as easy as it used to be.

Not that I ever really understood how easy it used to be either.  It’s been nearly 17 years since I’ve dealt with getting any kind of mortgage.  Yes, we refinanced at one point about 10 years ago when the rates were low enough to warrant it, but that’s not the same thing.  However, what’s also true is that 17 years ago there wasn’t this thing called the Internet where you could simply Google the phrase “getting a mortgage” and be met with 68,900,000 results in exactly .11 seconds.  Yes, it’s awesome that you can cue up all kinds of things you knew absolutely nothing about less than half a second ago.  But it’s also a tad overwhelming, especially when the goal is to learn everything there is to know just so you’ll appear less stupid than you really are.  At best, I’ve ended up only slightly less stupid.  After all, I was an English major.

Up until a few years ago, you could apparently just show up at a bank and politely ask the person sitting behind the desk for a large sum of cash to finance your dream.  Actually, I don’t think you even had to be all that polite about it.  Bad credit?  No problem.  No money?  It’s all good.  It’s not like that anymore.  In fact, it’s quite the opposite and for some very good reason. 

When it comes to understanding the business of lending these days, especially via the Internet, paying attention to when things were written becomes prudent.  The good news is that headlines and taglines extolling the boon of sub prime mortgages or the benefits of 0% down became an easy tip that I was dealing with outdated information, eliminating the vast majority of the 68,900,000 hits of my search.  What I did learn during this round, however, is that a good part of the housing bust problem was the fault of the people lending money to people who couldn’t possibly keep up with the moving targets of variable interest rates and resulting balloon payments because, duh, they had no air to breath under their already suffocating debt.  But that’s enough about what I didn’t need to know.  Suffice it to say there were a lot of additional links on “how to avoid foreclosure” and "plummeting house prices" during this particular hit parade.

What I did need to know, and am still learning, is that buying real estate in New York is very different than buying property in Minnesota, regardless of a need for a mortgage to help finance the thing.  And buying something in Chautauqua is hugely different than buying something anywhere else where the average age of property is far younger than 100 years old.  Go figure.  At the end of the day, hiring an attorney to protect your interests is not only good business; it’s absolutely necessary to doing business. 

Add to this a self-employed husband who doesn’t receive your typical W-2 to confirm income, and you’re then dealing with things like copies of K-1’s, cancelled checks and bank statements ad nauseum, to say nothing of tax returns, current mortgage statements and signing over the rights to your first born.  (No, not really.  But if Rumpelstiltskin happens to show up any time soon, I am in trouble).  We also have not a small wrinkle in that we are trying to do all of this via email and fax from a thousand miles away.  So toss in the need for Power of Attorneys in there as well.  In the end, it would have been a heck of a lot easier if I had had boatloads of cash.  But, hey, when it comes to living a life, EVERYTHING  is easier with boatloads of cash.  I could even buy the boat to hold it all!

Where we are now (sans money boat) is that assets have been confirmed, appraisals have been done, insurance confirmed, overnight deliveries made and documents documented.  And while not completely done without the help of a well-phrased Google now and then, none of it would have been possible without the incredible assistance of some very nice people along the way.  Flowers seem appropriate.  Most important, however, is that I can almost see heaven from here.  ALMOST!

Stay tuned (and maybe cross some fingers and toes)!

Welcome!

All three of my siblings have blogs.  Of course, their lives are interesting and fabulous, and therefore worth blogging about. Mine is not.  My life is mostly about laundry.

We're different that way.

Actually, we're different in a lot of ways.  But this blog is not about them, not really anyway.  I will, however, reserve the right to regularly pull them out for comparative analysis and to further illustrate my unique perspective in life.  I would be crazy not to!  Like I said, they lead fabulous lives.

And too, I am a firm believer that we are all products of our upbringing and it's inclusive of all those who were along for that particular ride.  I also believe that how you define yourself in life is all on you in the end.  My therapist readily agrees and encourages in me a positive narrative on a bi-monthly basis. Fortunately, she appreciates the irony (and my sarcasm).

So here goes: I define myself as a black jelly bean.  Sure, not everyone likes them.  They are a little bit of an acquired taste and, without a doubt, they hold a distinctive spice all their own.  Most relevant to my sanity, however, is that my Father loved them.  So I choose the upside.

Welcome to my world...