Selecting the PERFECT Christmas Tree!

Tree Trek

Soon all across the country, it will begin....men will go on Tree Trek.... the infernal quest for the perfect tree. I was married to a Tree Trekker. I still attend Tree Trek-Anon.

Tree Trek only affects men who insist on a real tree. It begins slowly. Their mates suggest a nice artificial tree. Many of the new ones are beautiful. They make the argument that an artificial tree saves the life of a noble fir. They are fire resistent, reuseable. They don't shed any sharp nettles that she is still vacuuming out of the carpet in May. She doesn't have to nag him to take it down and schlepp it away to the dumps since we have no garbage pick-up here. She makes a good case, but nooooOOOOooooo. HE has to have a 'real tree'......

First he has to decide when to get it. Can't get it too soon or your pay full retail. Can't get it too late or you'll have no selection. Tree Trekkers usually won't buy a tree until less than a week before Christmas, by then they figure the prices will be starting to drop.

Next, where to get the tree? It must be the as FAR as you can POSSIBLY drive in a day and still get back home by nine! And this trip can not be made alone..... After all, it is Christmas and picking the tree is a tradition! You WILL go with him and you WILL enjoy it. So Mama packs the kids in the car with toys, pampers and enough food for three days. The kids are excited about getting the tree as you put them in the car. As the car leaves the driveway, they begin to ask, "Are we there yet?"

The tree must be purchased from the same place where they got 'such a deal' last year. It may also be purchased from where a co-worker said they got a great deal. Many Tree Trekkers go to tree farms where the workers chop down the one HE picks. Trekkers can spend hours looking at over 5000 potential candidates before they find the perfect tree which is always the furthest possible point from the entrance! Severe Tree Trekkers even insist on chopping down their own trees. A Tree Farm worker's favorite entertainment is watching Weekend Warriors prove to themselves that they are still men of the Great Outdoors by trying to chop down their own trees and perform a traumatic amputation of their leg at the same time....

The next funfilled event is tying the tree on top of the car while all the passengers wait inside the car...big fun. This must be done when the kids are at their hungriest and grumpiest peak. A freezing cold night adds to the festive atmosphere. The tree is tied tight enough to keep the it in place, but loose enough not to break any branches. Years of practice have honed the Tree Trekkers skills. He performs this task with mathmatical precision, taking into account the aeronautical lift of an evergreen traveling at 75 miles an hour, the weight of the car, the drag caused by the door handles, and the air speed velocity of a coconut laden sparrow (you have to watch Monty Python's Holy Grail to get that joke).

Finally, with his kill tied atop his car, the Trekker heads home. He is jubilant. He retells the tale of how he got the best tree and for five dollars less than they were charging yesterday. This joyous occasion reminds him of treks past. He reminensces about when his father took him and his Mom and siblings on tree treks. While he's lost on memory lane, his wife who has combated tired, bored children for the past eight hours, discreetly takes her Stress Tabs (M&M's) out of the diaper bag, turns towards the window and eats them.

At last, the tree is home! She wrangles the kids to bed, changes to bedclothes and steels herself for the final assault of the Tree Trekker...

The tree must be put up tonight and it must be plumb! When she gets to the living room, he is spinning the tree around to determine the best side. She dutifully gets behind tree, the nettles poke through her flannel gown and get damn personal. Her hands are full of sticky sap. He stands across the room.

"Okay, tilt it to the right. No, that's too far, back a little. Nope, too far, I said a little bit, not a foot. Okay, that's better. Now hold it." He runs to another corner of the room and starts again.

"Oh man, it's way off from this angle. Lean it forward, little more..... you're not going to fall into the tree...c'mon, a little more, STOP. Don't move." He runs to back to the first corner...... this goes on for quite awhile until she threatens to give Lorena Bobbitt his name and a thousand dollars. Now all she has to do is hold this big tree perfectly still while he lays under the tree and screws the tree into the stand.

I recall once when I was eight months pregnant and too big to move the tree around, I got to lay on the floor and turn the screws. I couldn't get under the low branches and ended up tipping the tree over. My Tree Trekker was so mad, he wouldn't help me get off the cold linoleum floor. If I hadn't found a Lego table to help me to my knees, I'd be there still.

Hallelujah, the tree is up ! Things go smoothly after that, the tree gets decorated and the Christmas shows up on time. The next battle is how long the Tree Trekkers wants the tree up.

My ex insisted on having the tree up until after the Super Bowl. After the "Stupor Bowl" I would strip the tree and offer to help him take it down and drag it outside. He would put me off and warn me not to nag him. Well, I'm a patient woman.

Valentines Day. I would offer to hire someone to take the tree down. He refused, as a dedicated Tree Trekker, he would take care of that himself. Sort of completing the circle, he chopped it, he would drag it to the curb.

St. Patrick's Day. I would start to feel very discouraged. Most of the nettles were gone and what was left was totally brown. I used to worry what people would think of us with a tree up in March, then I remembered, he hated people in the house, we never had company......what a relief!

My ex's record for having a stripped, brown, nettleless Christmas tree up was June 6. On that day I rebelled and hired a man to haul it out of the house. He said not a word, but went straight to his work.... Dragged out the tree and said, "Who's the jerk?"

Someday I may find the courage to date again. Among my list of qualifying questions, right after, 'Breathing, owns a boat, likes board games, will take me back to Venice', and I will add, 'likes artificial trees'.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

N.A.H., America’s Party of Poopers

Denver recently renamed it’s annual Christmas Parade the “Winter Holiday Parade”. All symbols of Chanukah and Kwanzaa are allowed, I’m not sure if they decided to allow Santa, but no Nativity symbols are allowed and no “religious holiday songs” are allowed either so that cuts down the selection to Frosty the Snowman and a few others. Booooorriiiinnng......

According to Newsweek, roughly 92% of America is Christian, 4% is Muslim and 3% are Jewish and 1% are atheist. I’ve never met anyone of any faith who objected to other people celebrating their faith. People of faith celebrate faith itself. Last time I checked, attending a Christmas or Hanukah party doesn’t mean you adhere to that faith, it means you are sharing the joy of other’s holiday’s. Chanukah celebrates the rededication of the Temple after history’s first recorded war fought for religious freedom. Chanukah, which took place 163 years before Christmas, made Christmas possible. Without that victory, is it possible the Jewish diaspora would have started in 163 B.C instead of 63 A.D. Joseph never would have met Mary and the rest wouldn’t be history.

Besides, a Chanukah party is tremendous fun, as is a Christmas party and Kwanzaa is coming up fast as a great holiday that celebrates family and community and also fills in the gap nicely between Christmas and New Years. Denver, in it’s attempt to offend no one, offends everyone by pretending that Christmas doesn’t have a religious component. I think it’s safe to say that both Christmas and Chanukah have religious components (duh!) and thank G-d they do!

If everyone in America has to stifle their celebrations to avoid offending the atheists, let's give them their own holiday. Let March 11th be National Atheist Holiday, NAH, for short. Why March 11th? Because I checked the calendar and not a damn thing is going on anywhere in America on March 11th. The atheists can get together and not sing, not drink and not put up any decorations. They can not cook any special foods, not give any gifts and not get any time off from work. They can put up images of Jean Paul Satre in their windows and not be nice to any one for no apparent reason. If that doesn’t work I say we tie them to giant candy canes and shoot their asses to the North Pole. I am sick of them being the national party poopers!!!

One lousy atheist objected to prayer in schools and we changed our national policy. Now they’re coming after Christmas.... I say we head them off at the pass and drown them in eggnog. Okay, maybe drowning people doesn’t quite fit into the Christmas theme...how about Ebenezer Scrooge’s suggestion... we boil them in their own Christmas pudding and bury them with a stake of holly through their hearts! Still a little too strident? Alright... how about we make them spend the night after Christmas in Santa’s barn with all the reindeer who have been eating cabbage all night? The gas will make them beg for mercy.

Could you imagine being a kid with atheist parents at this time of year? Not even a shot at a present....
“That’s right Johnny, we believe in NAH. We are the official Party Poopers of America, designated to make sure no one is having more fun than us. There’s no G-d, no Santa, no Easter Bunny, none of that nonsense. You’re here until your dead and that it. So get that Toys R Us flyer with the circled toys off of my bed, you get nothing. You can’t stay up late because there’s nothing to watch for, I took us off Santa’s mailing list. Why are you crying?”

Wait a minute... wait a minute... atheist parents don’t have to go broke at Christmas buying presents... they don’t have to make an effort to be nice to relatives they’re not fond of... they don’t have to cook any big holiday meals.... they don’t have to do all that expensive drinking... they don’t have to find last years Christmas decorations...they don’t have to find the right tree.... they don’t have to argue about where to spend Christmas Day....they don’t have to return gifts...they don’t have to keep gifts they hate and use them so as not to offend the giver....they don’t have to vacuum pine needles out of their carpets till May....maybe I spoke too soon... there’s a lot of advantages to this atheist stuff....

Nah, just say nah to NAH. The fun of the holidays far outweighs the aggravation, and if it doesn’t, add rum in the eggnog till it does! As for me, I will sit by the window and look into the night as I do every year until I hear, “MERRY CHRISTMAS to all and to all a good night....”

My Christmas Wish List

Is It Too Much To Ask?

I’m one of those people who never sleeps through the night. At around 3:30 am, without fail, I get up and prowl. I check E-mail, read, and of course, watch TV. I have all the informercials memorized. I love gizmo’s, but it’s time they invented some things that I really want. So here is my Christmas wish list.

I want someone to invent flat LCD panels that attach to cabinet surfaces and give me a readout of all the foodstuffs in the cabinet. If there’s a hidden can of water chestnuts, I want to know about it before I get a new one. I want it equipped with a cereal and snack level monitor so I know how full all the boxes are.
I want a milk and egg alarm in the fridge. I want a blinking warning light to go on when there’s only a quart of milk or six eggs left in the fridge.
I want an electric shock to fry the hand of anyone who puts an empty or nearly empty carton back in the fridge.
I want a vacuum, any vacuum, that works as good as it’s commercials.
I want that vacuum to have these settings: Regular Dirt, Damp Dirt, Sand, Pet Hair, Christmas Pine Needles, and a special sonar beam that spreads out ahead of the vacuum and beeps an Earring Found! alarm.
I want expandable shoes for children. If my luggage has an zipper that expands the volume two inches, I want a tab I can peel away, like a plastic milk tab, that extends shoes one inch in length. That gives a parent a two paycheck lead on getting new shoes for the kid.
I want America to manufacture again. I am tired of supporting the Chinese economy. I don’t want Wall (of China) Mart to be the only place with bargain prices. I will pay a little more to know I am supporting another American worker.
I want a fragrance that will last the whole work day.
I want someone to invent an electric blanket that has pet zones on it that can be individually heated. For those of us who sleep with pets, usually not by choice, think how great it would be to hit the “Pet Zone” button on the blanket control and then the cat or dog would sleep on the warm spot and not against your legs so you can’t turn over!
I want flashing runway lights for men using the bathroom in the dark...if you live with a man, I don’t need to explain further.
I want soft bottom tubs. If they can give a pool a soft bottom why not a tub?
I want people who make glasses to invent a ‘soft focus’ coating for men’s glasses to prevent them from seeing our wrinkles clearly.
I want rolling luggage carts with seats at the airport so we can all sit and be comfortable while we wait for hours in an attempt to keep our airports secure in spite of our borders being wide open. It’s like locking the car on the ferry, absolutely pointless.
I want someone to invent a cat food that cannot vomited by any cat unless they are outside.
I want a Deer Locator display on my dashboard. No deer dies of natural causes on Shelter Island. It’s death by bow, bullet, or Buick.
I want mini vans to have a fold out changing table and drying station in the back to always have a clean place to change the baby and a way to dry off kids at that beach.
I want the grocery stores to have a separate lane for impatient people. A lane that will surreptitiously mist valium vapors at them while they wait so they don’t get irritable. We’ll call it the Regis Philbin lane. I adore his show. He puts the crank in cranky.
I want ‘reality shows’ to go away. I have enough reality. It’s all around me when I wake up and follows me around the whole day. Reality I’ve had, it’s mindless fun fantasy I need. Bring back Designing Women and Remington Steele.

It seems like the only time we’re allowed to enjoy fun fantasy shows is during the holiday season. Not fair I say! Bring on all the holiday specials and keep that light and happy spirit going! What? Is it too much to ask?

The Thermostat Wars Have Begun!!!

Therm Warfare

While everyone is pulling out their Christmas, Hanukah and Kwanzaa decorations, there is a silent war, a true ‘cold war’, going on in nearly every household in America. Even more so now, since fuel prices have soared thanks to the Halliburton frontmen in the Whitehouse, the Thermostat Wars have begun...

It’s a biological fact that when men get cold, blood flow increases to their extremities; arms, legs, hands and feet get an extra circulation boost to stay warm and continue hunting. When women get cold, blood flow decreases to their extremities and increases in their abdomen, to keep any fetus that might be lurking in there, at an even temperature. This evolutionary adaptation, really great during the Stone Age and all the metal ages, lost it's advantage around 1100 AD, when we began to see chimneys being built in northern Europe, which allowed people to go inside and get warm.

My research found a diary from that time recording the seminal moment when the concept of the chimney was born...

“September 1100AD.
Just taking a moment for myself this morning after stitching deerskins, before I make soap and start a venison roast for dinner. Jakob Hoffensnuffer proposed again. Such a nice man, but I told him, “Castle, schmastle. Figure out an indoor heating system or I might as well stay in this cave with my mother.”

“October 1100AD.
Moving today! Jakob invented a chimney! It's a funnel you put over a fireplace to draw off the smoke and keep the heat in the castle. Everyone’s coming to see it. Mother and I will be hanging tapestries all week and getting ready for the big cook-in next Thursday. Mother says it’s the best thing she’s seen since the wheel. What’s next? Sliced bread?”

99% of all the men I’ve ever met live comfortably between 65 and 70 degrees. It’s us gals that are the problem I’m afraid. Our internal thermostats go up and down with different stages of life and drive those around us nuts.

When we’re first married and prior to the kids coming, we fight with our spouses about keeping the heat up. The men plead, “Just wear a sweater!” But who wants to wear a sweater when we’re trying to look sexy 24/7? We know damn well this firm body is time limited so we better enjoy it now before child bearing forever flabs out our flat stomachs, nursing deflates our boobs and gravity wrecks the rest!

It’s at this age we learn to pop the heat as soon as he leaves the house. We develop an ability to hear his car coming down the street over anything. We can hear it over TV, stereo, phone calls, even in the shower. And as soon as we hear his car, we race through the house clearing jumps over furniture like an Olympic hurdler to reach that thermostat and turn it to down 65.

Then, we race to a neutral spot in the house, far enough away from the thermostat to throw off any suspicion he might have that we had the heat up the whole time he was gone, and just turned it down 2 seconds before he walked in the door. And when he says, “Geez, it’s hot in here!” We say, “Not really. I think the heat is on 65, you’re just cold from outside.” We give him a welcome home kiss and he realizes that we would never try to deceive him... Mission accomplished.

Then we get pregnant, also because of the thermostat.

Anytime a woman alone in a house with a man complains that she’s cold, he offers his favorite solution......sex (which seems to be a cure-all in his mind for anything a woman needs)... And sometimes we’re so cold, we say, ‘fine’. But now we’re warm and pregnant! Some solution!

But now, for the first time, we are finally warm, really warm....now HE’S begging to turn up the thermostat. I recall going to the movies with my hubby one November when I was seven months pregnant. It was 38 degrees outside. I was in a tee shirt, capri pants and sandals. He was freezing and I was comfortable for the first time in seven months.

During the child raising years, the thermostat wars rage. The men are too hot, the women are chilly, the kids are freezing. The heating bill arrives and the fights are huge. The thermostat is moved to 62 degrees and a machete is hung by the thermostat as a reminder that anyone who touches it will have their hands chopped off. That lasts until Dad leaves for work, then Mom pops the heat, and all the kids learn how to turn the knob down when they hear his truck....

Then... and here is where I genuinely pity the men.... menopause and all the years that lead up to it arrive. Personally, I can now sleep on a block of ice next to an air conditioner. If the temperature nears 65, I get anxious. At 70, I’m cranky and aggitated. If it hits 80 degrees, I’m stripping to my sunglasses. At 90 degrees, I go rabid and the fire department hoses me down and chains me to a tree so I don’t kill anyone. My children throw ice cubes at me which hiss as they melt on contact...

I have to admit, men are the noble long suffering victims of therm warfare. God bless them, everyone...

Santa Baby, I'd Like a Man....

Every year, those of us gals without guys to buy us expensive gifts at Christmas, lament our loss and secretly ask Santa to leave us a man under the tree....

What I Want in a Man, Original List, age 22 :
1. Handsome
2. Charming
3. Financially successful
4. A caring listener
5. Witty
6. In good shape
7. Dresses with style
8. Appreciates finer things
9. Full of thoughtful surprises
10. An imaginative, romantic lover

What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 32)
1. Nice looking
2. Opens car doors, holds chairs
3. Has enough money for dinner at a place that has cloth napkins
4. Listens more than he talks
5. Laughs at my jokes
6. Carries bags of groceries with ease
7. Owns at least one tie
8. Appreciates a good home-cooked meal
9. Remembers birthdays and anniversaries
10. Tries something romantic to get sex at least once a week

What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 42)
1. Not too ugly
2. Doesn't drive off until I'm all the way in the car
3. Works steady and splurges on dinner out occasionally, even if we only go to the restaurant HE chooses
4. Nods head when I'm talking and look conscious
5. Usually remembers the punch lines of his own jokes
6. Is in good enough shape to rearrange furniture and paint a room
7. Wears a shirt that covers his stomach
8. Learned from his first DWI it's better to drink at home because you don't need a license to drive a couch
9. Remembers to put the toilet seat down
10. Shaves and showers on the weekend if he intends to beg for sex

What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 52)
1. Keeps nose and ear hair trimmed
2. Doesn't belch or scratch anything in public
3. Can operate an ATM without my assistance
4. Doesn't nod off to sleep while I'm venting
5. Doesn't retell the same joke unless he takes the time to embellish it
6. Is in good enough shape to get off couch on weekends
7. Can find his own damn glasses, wallet, watch and keys!
8. Appreciates a good TV dinner
9. Remembers my name high on the list of names he goes through when calling somebody
10. Doesn't bother me for sex unless he actually has a usable erection, or has taken viagra

What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 62)
1. Doesn't scare small children
2. Remembers where bathroom is
3. Doesn't require much money for upkeep
4. Only snores lightly when asleep
5. Remembers why he's laughing
6. Is in good enough shape to open the door for the repairman I called
7. Usually wears some clothes around the house
8. Likes soft foods
9. Remembers where he left his glasses and teeth
10. Doesn't even think about sex unless he's showered, shaved and has a damn good piece of jewelry or gift certificate to Macy's ready at the bedside next to the lube.

What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 72)
1. Breathing
2. Doesn't miss the toilet.
3. Has a fantastic life insurance policy

Wild Turkey was supposed to mean the whiskey!

Wild Turkey, not wild turkey!

Here it comes... the day we look forward to all year... Thanksgiving!

It all began when the Pilgrims landed in Massachusetts in search of religious freedom. There was little food their first winter since most of the seeds that survived the trip from England, didn’t take to the American soil. Many of the settlers died that first winter. But in the spring, Squanto, a native, walked out of the woods and into their settlement speaking fluent English! He had been taken to England as a slave years earlier and returned to America by Monks who taught him to speak english. Talk about your lucky break!!! It makes you wonder about Divine intervention..... If Squanto hadn’t shown up to teach them what to grow and how to prepare it, the colony likely would have failed and history might have been very different.

The first Thanksgiving records they had “goose, codfish, lobster and wild turkey”. When I read that, I wondered.... if lobster and goose were on the first menu, shouldn’t we stick with tradition? The Wild Turkey obviously referred to the whiskey and not some bird because you already had the poultry dish covered with the goose. Besides, you have to have something to drink in that cold weather, but who made the mistake of thinking they meant the bird and not the whiskey?

There have been other mistakes associated with Thanksgiving as well. In 1934, the Detroit Lions thought it would be fun to have a football game every Thanksgiving. Bad idea. In 1966 the Dallas Cowboys played the first Thanksgiving Day football game on TV and that was the last year that men sat at the dining room table with the family for Thanksgiving. This led to the rapid development of the TV tray table and nachos and noshes before the game.

Today, the men come to the table for the presentation of the bird. Someone says an awkward blessing and you can just tell that the men are controlling themselves long enough to get a plate and head back into to living room, leaving the women to create a meaningful event with the children while football blares in the background.

Sometimes there’s a delay in their plans if they have a man carving the turkey who wants to slice it nicely. Sometimes there is a delay because of the ‘passing of the carving knife’ ritual where a young man goes through the rite of passage of being given the privilege of carving the bird. This is always fun to watch. The poor guy gets instructions from four men at the table simultaneously telling him their method. No matter what he tries, it’s a hack job. Still, the men are glad it’s over so they can fill that plate and leave.

I know there are men who don’t watch football. Who stay and the table and help with gravy dripping on little chins. At least, I believe there are men like that. I’m sure I read it somewhere....

But that’s the real reason to have Wild Turkey with the wild turkey. While the men are whoopin’ and hollerin’ in the living room, the Mom’s can discreetly knock back a few, and then the urge to throw the turkey through the TV screen eases. The desire to pulverize the remote with a potato masher subsides. The silly urge to see the men interact in a sensitive and meaningful way with the kids for three consecutive hours dissipates.

Sarah Josepha Hale, the editor of the magazine, Godey’s Lady’s Book in the 1800’s lobbied for forty years for a national day of thanks. She is the one to be credited with the creation of Thanksgiving as we know it today. In 1863 President Abraham Lincoln decreed that America would observe “a national day of thanks for all the bounty America has been given”.

OUR NATIONAL THANKSGIVING BLESSING
by Sarah Josepha Hale 1853

"All the blessings of the fields,
All the stores the garden yields,
All the plenty summer pours,
Autumn's rich, o'erflowing stores,
Peace, prosperity and health,
Private bliss and public wealth,
Knowledge with its gladdening streams,
Pure religion's holier beams --
Lord, for these our souls shall raise
Grateful vows and solemn praise."

Mrs. Hale’s blessing is the best Thanksgiving blessing I ever read. I am adding it to be read at out table starting this year. God Bless You and have a wonderful day!

Symptoms of Bird Flu

Bird Flew

For years the medical community has made a BIG DEAL about getting a flu shot every year. Last year, there wasn’t enough serum, so they amended their recommendations to ‘only the frail’ should get the flu shot. This year, we’re being bombarded with dire predictions about a Avian flu pandemic, but my doc says I can’t get a flu shot because Aventis Pharmaceuticals screwed up the serum order and there is a severe shortage of vaccine available in Suffolk County where I live. Then he said, “You don’t really need a flu shot if you’re healthy”.

So let me get this straight.... if the serum is available, we need the flu shot, if the serum isn’t available, we don’t need the flu shot. Makes perfect sense.

We’ll all just have to be on the lookout for bird flu symptoms. I thought I’d better make a list for everybody, as a public service of course. If you exhibit ALL of the following symtoms, call your doctor, otherwise don’t bother him.

BIRD FLU SYMPTOMS - IN ORDER OF PROGRESSION OF SEVERITY:

1. Headache
2. Fever and Chills (Shake and Bake)
3. Body Aches
4. Sudden fear of cats.
5. Joint Pain
6. Picking at your food.
7. Fatigue
8. Urge to bath under the sprinkler in the front yard.
9. Crankiness
10. Passing up Playboy for seed catalogs.
11. You keep turning south when driving the car.
12. Saving bits of string.
13. Fascinated by shiny objects.
14. Blessing yourself when you pass a Kentucky Fried Chicken.
15. Running into the living room to watch Big Bird on TV.
16. Playing bird call CDs on auto repeat all day.
17. Taking undue notice of freshly washed cars.....
18. A meal of gummie worms look great to you.
19. You were removed from the pet store for opening all the canary and parakeet cages and you can’t explain your actions.
20. Attention span is six seconds.
21. Toes are turning in when you walk.
22. Now taking undue notice of the windshields of freshly washed cars.....
23. Building Osprey platforms in your backyard.
24. Googling “How to build a better Osprey nest” on your computer.
25. Calling the Fire Department to get you down from your nest.
26. Aversion to eating eggs.
27. Rising just before dawn whistling loud enough to wake up the whole house.
28. Feeling an overwhelming urge to poop on the freshly washed windshields of freshly washed cars....
29. Skipping work to see the movie “Chicken Little”.
30. Unconsciously standing on one leg while waiting in lines.
31. Being called a ‘bird brain’ is happening more often, but it doesn’t sound so bad anymore.
32. Being taken into custody for eating french fries off the ground in a parking lot.
33. Throwing your teenagers off your roof while shouting, “You can do it!”
34. Cocking your head to one side, then the other, when people talk to you.
35 Inability to tell if a sliding glass door is open or closed until you shatter it with your head.
36. You make an appointment to see the doc and tell him you are so sick, you’re “coming in on a wing and a prayer.”

2 boats vs. A CRUISE SHIP ???

GODZILLA vs. Bambi

In the "What were they thinking?" catagory.... A small group of idiots on two little speed boats decided they could commandeer a giant cruise liner, the Seabourn Spirit. They were probably thinking David and Goliath... I'm thinkin'...Bambi meets Godzilla....



Two weeks ago, somewhere in a cafe in Somalia....

“I KNOW we can pull it off, Jama. David took Goliath, we’ll take the cruise ship and be famous! We got two fast boats, AK-47 machine guns, and a grenade launcher....I got my cousins. We’ll be like Rambo. There must be thousands of dollars worth of money and jewelry from the passengers and then we’ll sell the ship to the highest bidder.”

“Yes Dido, but people will know she’s a stolen ship.”

“We will put new decals on the back, fool.”

“But she is big, Jama. The Seabourn Spirit is 440 feet long and 63 feet wide. 10,000 tons. Our boats are only 25 feet long...”

“But Dido... but we will have the element of surprise!”

"Yes... like the mouse who scares the elephant..."

"Yes Dido... we shall be the elephant of surprise..."

"The elephant of surprise... yes, that would be more surprising than an element....I like it, Jama."


Saturday, Nov 5 05:30 AM

“Captain, there’s two boats approaching us. They’re waving machine guns! And they have some kind of a rocket launcher too!”

“Okay Jim, order all the passengers into the center of the ship. Give me the bull horn.”

The Captain at the railing to the boats below, “Hi there! Good Morning! What are you guys doing?”

“We are pirates! You are surrounded! We are taking over your ship! Stop your ship now and throw down a rope so we can board and take you prisoner!”

“You sure you want a rope? I think we have a nice ladder...”

“This is not a joke you fool! Our guns and grenade launcher are pointed straight at your ship and we will not hesitate to shoot if our demands aren’t met!”

“So you plan to attack and overpower the ship with those weapons? All nine of you? Well, I hope you brought lunch and flashlights.”

“What are you talking about, fool? Why do we need lunch and flashlights?”

“Because it’s gonna take you all day and all night to attack this ship!”

“Dido! Shoot the grenade at them!”

(explosion heard as a grenade hits the side of the ship)

“You see Captain, we are serious. Now surrender and we will not harm the passengers.”

“You took out half a room. We got 208 rooms on this ship, how many grenades you got? You know our lifeboats are bigger than the boats you’re in....(laughing) Okay listen, we’ll surrender. Let me bring the ship closer so you can take us over. Stay right there. (turning to his First Officer) Okay Joe, take us in closer!”

“STOP! STOP! What are you doing, dog? You’re going to ram us!!!”

“We can’t steer, the ships too big.... you’d better move!”

“This is your last warning! We are smaller and can fly around you like a bee! We can do 30 knots (about 35 mph)!”

“For how long?”

“WHAT?”

“I said for how long, scooter?”

“What does it matter how long? Throw down your ropes! Prepare to be boarded!”

“We can only do 20 knots (about 24 mph), but we can do it for three weeks....how bout you boys? Brought enough petrol? You’re already more than a hundred miles off shore...how far do you think you can go?”

“Enough of your foolishness! OPEN FIRE!” (machine guns spray the ship)

(the captain shouting down through the bull horn) “Uh oh! You chipped our paint! We’d better run for cover! (turning to his First Officer) Okay Joe! Open her up full throttle, head for the open sea! Let’s see how fast they can go in the big chop....”

“Turn your ship around, dog! We will criss cross in front of your bow!”

“I don’t think so, scooter...”

Saturday, Nov 5 06:30 AM, heard over the loud speaker in the Dining Hall.

“This is your Captain speaking. Our pirates turned back for shore at 06:12 AM.

I understand that congratulations are in order for Mr. Harry Felder of Colorado for winning the pool on the exact time the pirates would head back (applause in the dining hall).

We apologize to the Wrights whose room was ruined by the grenade and we will be offering them a complete new wardrobe from the ship’s stores plus a free cruise.

We apologize for any inconvenience anyone suffered as a result of this event and are happy to announce that everything can go on as scheduled. There will be a tour of the grenaded room at 16:00 hours. Thank you.”

A Deer in the Headlights.....

Deer Me...

Three deer, a pregnant female, her two year old, and her new baby from Spring, have made our front yard part of their rounds for breakfast and dinner. The mother doesn’t even flinch when you walk within ten feet of her so we named her Brazen. The adolescent is so focused on eating, he doesn’t move unless she does, we named him Grazen. The baby is very skittish and bolts if we even look out the window, we named him Spooky. As I walked to my car I looked straight into Brazen’s eyes and wondered what this dull animal could be thinking...

“I bet this stupid human is wondering what I’m thinking.... How about you get in that car fatso and let me and the kids finish off the boiled cabbage you threw out here in peace.”

“What Mom?”

“Nothin’ sweetie. Mommy’s just attempting an interspecies mind meld to tell this woman not to boil the cabbage with corned beef, it gives Mommy gas.”

“Let’s go over to the Calabro’s. Your Aunt Melanie’s there. We can get some decent Italian in their back yard I bet.”


“Hey Mel!”

“Hi Cathy, hi kids!”

“How’s it going? How many bucks you got chasing you now?”

“You know how it is, everybody is somebody else’s ex. Same guys, we just rotate partners I think. I’m up to three bucks now. First it was just Rodney and Clyde, now Bennie wants in.”

“Bennie? He’s just a 2 pointer isn’t he?”

“Yea. He just got his first points. You know how they are when they’re young. He’s thinks he’s ‘all that’ and a bag of chips besides.”

“So you’re not even gonna give him a chance, Mel?”

“Oh please... in his dreams. I told him to meet me in the woods behind the country club.....you know, by the deer blinds...”

“Melanie! They’ll be twenty hunters there!”

“Yea...I’m trying to feel bad about it, but he needs to exit the gene pool. That moron would be out of his depth in a puddle.”

“You heard about Mary and Joe?”

“Kinda, Cathy....it’s sound’s like they have a drinking problem.”

“I heard they were eating and licking out the bottles in back of that bar, The Dory, and Joe thought it’d be a good idea to go for a swim...”

“Oh no...”

“Yea. They came out by New York Ave and sent about four cars off the road. It was great.”

“I love playing chicken with cars on New York Ave. It’s so narrow and all those trees! I love when they honk the horn, like we can’t see a half ton vehicle traveling towards us at thirty miles an hour....”

“Cut them a break Mel, they don’t know that we use their cars for natural selection. Any deer that stands there and gets hit, deserves to be on a mantle or in a freezer somewhere.”

“You heard about Christine, Cathy?”

“Oh yea... how awful.”

“Everybody tried to tell her. Stay away from the salt licks. That’s how they get you. Her family did a big intervention with her last Spring. She did so well this Summer, she just couldn’t kick the lick it I guess.”

“Well, Freddie won’t be alone for long...”

“You got that right. Have you seen him lately? Eight points....”

“Oooooo nice. Where’s he hangin’ these days?”

“He’s still pretty upset about Christine. He’s gonna be dodgin’ the bullet this year, playing it safe in Mashomack Preserve, no hunting there you know...”

“Oh yea.....where the pussies live. Can’t blame him though.”

“He’ll be okay. He’ll get his nerve back next year. Route 114 won’t be the same without him. Remember that three car accident he caused last season? It’s gonna be hard to beat that record.”

“Freeze Mel.... there’s a woman looking out her back window at us.”

“I see her. She’s got that stupid, “I wonder what the deer are thinking” look in her eyes.”

"So what are you doin' later Cathy?"

"No plans, but I can ditch the kids in the meadow for a few hours if you have an idea."

"I was thinkin' we could go over to the Moose Lodge and blow a few bucks."

"Oooo... dangerous... you know what they say.... Once you go Moose, you never get loose..."

Okay, It's a Hurricane, we got it.....

Situation Saturation


I don’t know why the news treats each hurricane like it’s the first one that’s ever happened on earth. I can’t be the only person who watches the news and wonders why the reporters feel it’s necessary to stand outside in hurricanes, hanging onto parking meters, with their microphones batting into their faces, while they shout obvious statements like, “Well Bob, as you can see, these 90 mile per hour winds are pretty strong. A trash can nearly killed me just as we were setting up.... I can barely stand up as I talk to you!”

WELL GO INSIDE YOU IDIOT !!! No one can understand anyway! We all know it’s a big storm. We’ve all felt strong wind and can reference the experience from tactile memory without watching you roll down the street!

Maybe there’s some kinda merit badge given to weather people if they break a bone after being slammed against a phone pole... Maybe they show scars to each other when they get drunk. “I got this one on my leg here, when a potato peeler hit me while I was standing in the path of an oncoming tornado that just ripped through a trailer park...yep... that was back in the day when a weatherman knew how to handle his low pressure zones....”

I love the reporters wading waist deep in bright yellow waders so we can all see the sacrifice they’re making to prove how high the flood water is. Standing waist deep in water holding electronic equipment...oh gee, and what’s wrong with this picture? Maybe they get extra points if they electrocute themselves on national television....

“Good evening America. I’m Jane Dumb standing here in chest deep water where our co-anchor, John Dumber, was electrocuted just a few short hours ago. He tripped over something he couldn’t see through these muddy flood waters and fell in, completely immersing himself in these fetid, bacteria laden waters, causing all the wiring he was hooked up to, to short out all at once. Our crew, who are experts in electronics, did all they could to save him, but in the end, they were unable to fix John’s shorts in time. Back to you, Dave.”

Remember the reporters after Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans? Wading through contaminated water and describing how the toxicity of the chemical bath they were wading in, would blister skin on contact. I think they’ve taken the concept of ‘in depth’ reporting way too literally... someone has to tell them that it’s not necessary to stand in a cow patty to describe the smell.

I hope a big hurricane never hits Shelter Island. I can just see it now...

“Good evening America, this is Wendy the Weather Wacko, saturating the news with redundant reports. Here’s an update from our last update five minutes ago on the big storm hitting the east end. Bill? How’s it look out there?”

“Hi Wendy! This is Bill Moron. I’m strapped to the gate of one of the ferries, on Shelter Island. Man, the waves are ggggllubbbb. As you can see, I can barely ggggllllubbbb, as the ferry bobs up and down in these high ggllllluubbbbb. We’re approaching the dock ggggllubbb, I hope the gate I’m tied to doesn’t hit ggggglllubb.....”

“Bill? Bill? We seem to have lost contact with Bill. Probably some technical problem. We’ll check back later. Right now, let’s go to Felicia Ifican, who has lashed herself to the flagpole in front of the firehouse. Felicia?”

“Hey Wendy! This is Felicia Ifican. I’ve lashed myself to a flagpole here to bring you the news on this storm. It’s a big one, folks! Fedi’s Deli, is doing a brisk business in ‘sandwiches to go’. You just pull up to the front door, roll down your window, and they’ll shoot one into your car. The roof of the Post Office has blown off, and for the first time, mail is being delivered all over the Island. Lots of people here have these big wooden cut out sheep on their lawns. They’re about 2 feet by 3 feet and they’re whirling around here like giant frisbees. We estimate they are traveling at 125 mph as they cut things in half and imbed into the sides of buildings. I have to be careful. If one comes my way and I don’t take cover in time, it could slice my ....”

"It's the Lord, Noah..." "Right....."

Singin’ in the Rain
Last week was just like monsoon season in the Pacific. For a solid week, the rain ranged between ‘dampen your clothes’ to ‘drench you to your skivvies by the time you get to the car,’ with a smothering blanket of warm humidity as a bonus.

The first Saturday of the monsoon, we rented the movie The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. The movie opens with dolphins all over the world doing back flips, which we learn is dolphin speak for ‘farewell.’ You see, they just received a memo that an intergalactic construction firm has just been granted eminent domain over earth and the earth will be destroyed in a half hour in order to clear the way for a new space highway (wormhole). The dolphins sing their thanks as they ‘swim’ up into the air in a lovely choreographed number called, “So Long, So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish.” They all get picked up by space buses waiting to take them away. After that, the movie gets strange.

Sunday: The dreariness of the monsoon was offset for many by the fact that Vinnie and the Jets won over the Buccaneers. I have no idea what I’m watching when I watch any sport, but I have learned to hold an expression of interest for three hours straight, just like a man does when you talk to him about redecorating.

Monday: I’m not sure which is more depressing, a rainy Sunday or a rainy Monday. Either way, soup is the order of the day. I made pea soup to match the atmospheric pressure outside my window. We ate it with a fork.

Tuesday: It’s still raining. We’re running out of movies to watch. It becomes a choice between renting new movies that aren’t quite appealing except that we haven’t seen them, or watching old favorites that we’re not quite ready to see again. Small lakes are beginning to form across streets all over the Island. Everyone is slowing down as each driver wonders how fast he can go without wetting the brakes. This does not apply to the SUV people; they are taking the mini lakes at full speed. They figure, “For the amount of money I’m paying to gas this thing, I’m damn well gonna have some fun!”

Wednesday: My brother is building something in the back yard. He’s working feverishly through the torrential rain. All he’ll tell me is that it’s 80 cubits by 30 cubits by 20 cubits.... He orders me to gather all the Island wildlife in pairs and wait for his signal. I have corralled two regular patrons from each bar. Of the animal life, I have corralled two dozen each scallops, clams, and oysters. I have housed each species in its own stainless steel container. The stainless steel containers help to keep the sea creatures from cross breeding. The containers are stored on my stovetop, except for keeping one back burner clear to melt the butter.

Thursday: It will be necessary to capture more shellfish, as the first captives seem to have pried their shells open and escaped.

Friday: How can it STILL be raining? It’s so humid people are getting the ‘bends’ in the time it takes to return a shopping cart. Should we call FEMA now to give them a head start? Will the runoff from the Island raise the sea level around the Island and cover the beaches? Everything in the house feels damp unless it just came out of the dryer. The dampness is renewing every undesirable smell the house has kept hidden till now. The upside is you can locate and clean every spot where your dog peed once and for all.

Saturday: It’s pouring again. But I no longer care. I’ve just gotten a memo and I’m doing back flips on the front lawn. My neighbors look amazed as they watch me float into the sky with a full dolphin escort as we sing, “So Long, So Long, And Thanks For All The Fish...” The neighbors had no idea I could do a back flip.

Give Me Coffee and No One Will Get Hurt...

Java Jive

One of the greatest inventions of man is the auto-timer on a coffeepot. It’s amazing how you can hear the soft click of the pot turning on, through any depth of sleep. It’s like a dimmer switch inside your head that is gradually turning your lights on. By the time I can smell the coffee, I’ve got my hair pinned up and I’m nearly dressed. I scream at my kids to get up, which helps clear my throat so I’m ready for a nice day of yelling at them, talking over people I dislike, and cursing at things that don’t work. I owe the smooth flow of my day to the auto-timer on my coffeepot.

But recently, when one of my brothers and I decided to move in together, my coffeepot was broken in the move. He said, “Don’t worry, I’ve got a coffeepot. I get up earlier than you, I’ll make the coffee.” That’s what he said.

But men lie.....they lie and they are sadistic.

Sometimes there is coffee in the morning waiting for me and sometimes not.

On the mornings when I have to make it myself, I am forced into the battle I hate. First, you put in the water, which I forget to do sometimes until I smell coffee grounds baking. Sometimes I put in the water, but forget the coffee and come into the kitchen for a cup of coffee tinted hot water. If I do remember to put in the grounds, I have to confront that monster we all hate...the compressed stack of coffee filters. I believe there is a layer of weak glue between each coffee filter in the stack. Not enough for you to be certain the filters are glued together, but enough to make you battle for a single filter. The best you can do is pull out two or three stuck together and then you have to massage them to separate them and stuff one back into the plastic bag, if you can. The first cursing heard in any household is done by the poor tired soul who was just trying to get out one lousy coffee filter! Eventually, I will get the coffee and the filter and the water into the pot at the same time. I flip the ‘on’ switch and the little red light speaks to me, “Be calm, I bring forth the miracle of coffee. Your quest for consciousness is nearly ended.”

When there is coffee ready and waiting for me in the morning. I am happy. I am happy until I realize that I cannot get the top off of the honey jar. To fight off allergies, I have a teaspoon of honey in my coffee every morning (say what you will, it works great for me). Unless someone, who shall go unnamed, has torqued the top of the jar on so tight I can’t get it off even after running it under hot water.

When I complain to him at the end of the day that he screwed the lid on too tight again, he laughs. He laughs because men are sadistic, they just love knowing that even though a woman can run a corporation, she still can’t open a jar. It’s this sick little moment of superiority they all enjoy. I have rubber grippers and a clamp jar opener and it is still a major battle to get a lid off in this house! This is why I have never remarried, I like to be able to open jars and I am not willing to go to ‘Defcom 4’ if the TV remote is missing.

Last Friday morning, there was no coffee again. So I started to make coffee and I thought I’d scramble some eggs too. As I cracked and dropped an egg into a freshly poured, honeyless, cup of coffee, I realized I needed professional help to make breakfast. So I went to Pat & Steve’s. They are caring breakfast professionals who help the morning impaired. Nurse Clarissa gave me coffee, eggs, bacon and even toast. I never have toast because if I successfully make myself coffee, eggs and bacon, I don’t want to jinx it by going for toast.

I am buying a new coffeepot with a timer. I will set it up the night before as usual. I will be like Winnie the Pooh and keep my jar of honey in my room, and if anyone touches it, I will break his hands with a mallet.

Autumn Leaves

The leaves are starting to turn ! I hated autumn when I was little because it meant the beginning of another school year. Now it has become my favorite season, cool and colorful.

The only negative thing about autumn is having to rake leaves. I try to do it all at once. I spray a light coating of glue on the trees until all the leaves turn color. Then, I wait for a windless day and back up my van and hit the tree once or twice so all the leaves fall straight down. If I have a neighbor I dislike, then I do this on a windy day - and while they're at work....

The current parenting manual's suggest using tasks like raking leaves as an opportunity for fun family interaction. I notice most of these manuals are written by men. Which is perfect when you think of it, because surely from their vantage point in the Lazy-Boy, they can easily watch all the family interactions out in the yard.

I try to convince my children that it's fun to rake leaves, just like my mother tried to convince me and with the same effect.

"Just let us know when you've made a big pile Mom, so we can jump."

"Hey listen," I tell them, "only them what raketh, jumpeth !"

"Other mothers don't use their children for forced labor. Aren't you worried about going to jail for child abuse?" my daughter inquired as she jumped clear of the rake handle just about to hit her in the rear.

"Okay, I tried the 'raking is family fun' routine!" I threw off the 'understanding mother' mask and let them see the face of terror, "now pick up that rake and commense interacting with the front lawn!"

"I'm not doing your work for you, Mom," she responded.

This is the point where a parent must count to ten while looking intensely at the child so that they know some insurmountable retort is coming. The ten seconds allows you to quickly review the insurmountable retorts files in your brain.....you reach back in your memory for whatever it was your mother said in this situation.

"Do it or I'll kill you," I said quoting my mother.

"What?"

"I said, rake these leaves or no TV tonight."

"That's not fair. You hate me. Nobody loves me," her standard response for anything she doesn't want to do. "You love my brother more!"

"That's not true!' I said, "I can't stand either one of you. Now pick up that rake!" Content that she had pushed me as far as I'd go, she began raking and making her own pile, not touching my pile of course.

Eventually we have two large piles and we are talking and laughing again. I go get the bags only to be called back by my daughter's blood curdling screams. I round the corner to witness her Uncle David and little brother diving into our freshly piled leaves !

Looking into my daughter's beautiful azure blue eyes, I see she is learning the art of wordless female communication. In a flash she grabs the two rakes, tosses one to me, and we begin beating the piles, hoping to strike one of the interlopers..... but we're too late, our piles are wrecked. Nothing left to do but throw the rakes aside, dive in and beat them up. Oh, I'll be so glad when autumn leaves leave.........

Show Me Your Moon, I'll Show You Mine!

“Blue moon.... you saw me standing alone....”

So I was walking to my car when I felt it hit...an acorn planted itself firmly in my chignon. Couldn’t have landed more perfectly if it had be scripted. That’s the third time I have been nearly impaled by acorns falling from far above me from tall Oak trees. I learned that the indians called this time of year, the Moon of the Popping Trees, the time of year when Oak trees attempt to kill people with acorns traveling at Mach One.

All day and all night for the past few weeks, I will suddenly hear what sounds like a gunshot as an acorn from forty feet up decides to explode off the tree and attempt to impale itself into a host body.....just like in Aliens. I can see it now... I’ll be having coffee at a restaurant when suddenly I’ll fall to the floor and a sapping will spring out of my chest.

I checked www.geocities.com/thunderingheart1/moons_seasons.html and found some other names for months from assorted native american tribes. Not only are all of the names self-explanatory, but most are still accurate today!

JANUARY- Sun Has Not Strength to Thaw; Old Fellow Spreads Bush Moon (well, what else is there to do in January to stay warm?); Snow Drifts into Tepee Moon (aka, Who Left the Flap Open? Moon); Thin Moon
FEBRUARY- Moon of Melting Ice; Sucker Moon (?); Frost Sparkling in the Sun; Boney Moon; Huddle Together Moon
MARCH- Catching Fish Moon; Snow Crust Moon; Buffalo Dropping Their Calves; Sore Eye Moon; Wind Moon
APRIL - Wind Breaks Moon; Broken Snowshoe Moon; Ice Breaking in the River; Frog Moon; Plant in Holes Moon; Geese Lay Eggs
MAY- When Women Weed Corn Moon; Horses Get Fat Moon
JUNE- Green Corn Moon; Strawberry Moon; When the Hot Weather Begins; Bulls Hunt Cows Moon; Fish Spoils Fast Moon
JULY- Raspberry Moon; When the Buffalo Bellows; Ducks Molt Moon;
AUGUST- Corn Tassel Moon; Young Ducks Fly Moon
SEPTEMBER- Snow Goose Moon; Scarlet Plum Moon; Acorns Fly Moon
OCTOBER- White Frost Moon; Moon of the Popping Trees; Striped Gopher Looks Back Moon; Harvest Moon; Long Hair Moon; Time of Poverty Moon
NOVEMBER- Freezing Moon; Hunting Moon; Deer Rutting Moon; Time of Much Poverty Moon; Turkey Moon
DECEMBER- Snow Moon; Wolves Run Together Moon; Young Fellow Spreads Bush Moon (some things never change....)

I rather like the idea of months having descriptive names rather than some old roman names. I thought of a few possibilities...

January: Moon of Bills and Weeping; Big Party Moon; Women Throw Off Blouses Moon; Hangover Moon; Aspirin Moon; Moon of the EPT's
February: Big Snow No Go Moon; Chocolate Heart Moon; Jigsaw Puzzles Moon
March: Wind Pushes Eyes Back in Head Moon; Chickens Lay Same Eggs Twice Moon
April: Small Flowers Sweet Air Moon; Bunnies Lays Eggs Moon; Umbrella Moon; Moon of Arthritis; Advil Moon
May: Children Groaning Moon; Moon of Cleaning Closets; Moon of Redecoration; Martha Stewart Moon; Moon of Husbands Painting
June: Tourists Coming Moon; Gun Cleaning Moon; Bridal Moon; Honey Moon; Graduation Moon; Moon of the Poor Fathers
July: Boating Moon; Fireworks Moon; Big Beer Moon; Moon of Nagging Children
August: Humidity Moon; Homicide Moon; Ice Cream Moon; Moon of Christmas Catalogs
September: Tourists Leave Moon; Leaves Leave Moon; Children Back to School Moon; Moon of Parental Happiness; Moon When Children from Big Party Moon Come
October: Moon of the Attacking Acorns; Moon of Acorn in Bun; Moon When Christmas Decorations Appear; Asthmatic Moon; Baseball Moon; Moon of Silly Costumes; Moon of Giving Candy; Moon of Rich Dentists
November: Turkey Moon; Stuffed Moon; Rutting Deer Moon; Run Over Deer Moon; Moon of More Catalogs; Football Moon; Moon of Women Hiding Remote; Moon When Women Die
December: Moon of the Flying Deer; Moon of the Moving Belt Notch; Moon of Mastercard; Toys ‘R’ Us Moon; Neimans Moon; Moon of the Kiting Checks

A blue moon is a second full moon in the same month. “Pow, zoom, to the moon Alice!” means you have an imminent domestic crisis. “Goodnight Moon” is a book you read repeatedly until your brain wanes into jello. Moonshine is what you need after your 100th reading of Goodnight Moon. Moon Pies go good with Moonshine. Avoid Moonshine and moonlight together or you could wax sentimental and end up with another five year commitment to Goodnight Moon!

How To Elect-trocute An Official

“Let’s give them something to talk about....”

According to last week’s Shelter Island Reporter, the Republican primary for Island Supervisor will be decided by 50 absentee island votes, of which 20 have been challenged. So the three candidates, Al Kilb, Jr., Art Williams and Hap Bowditch, sit and wait...

But does this election really have to be decided by absentee votes? There are other ways to decide these things, for instance...

How about a swimsuit competition? The Lion’s Club could sell tickets and donate the proceeds to charity. It would certainly be a memorable event! The photographs of the guys in Speedos could be used to blackmail them for years...

How about taking a page from “Fear Factor” and see who can eat disgusting things the fastest? Peanut butter and fish sandwiches downed with a clam broth and chocolate milk cocktail, but with a twist of lemon so as not to be too cruel...

How about a tolerance test? The Town Supervisor has to be able to tolerate a lot of anger without using napalm as a response. How about having the candidates sit at the school playground, surrounded by Moms, while wearing a sign that says, “I think you are a lousy mother!” Hell hath no wrath as a mother criticized...

What about a Dr. Phil competition? Have all the candidates sit in chair while holding handguns and listening to endless inane whining. The candidate who doesn’t shoot himself or the designated whiner, wins!

An Oprah test could be interesting. The three candidates would sit on her couch and listen to supermodels complain about their hard lives. How hard it is to keep their hair nice on a beach shoot, how no one understands the burden of beauty and how people prejudge them because of their incomparable faces and bodies. The first candidate to tie one of the supermoaners into a pretzel and jam her face into the backfold of the couch wins!

We could always do a Jerry Springer competition. The candidates, with ALL their collective relatives on the island in the audience, could debate absolutely any issue. It could be “Is a Gnat the same as a No See Em?” Within ten minutes it will be a donnybrook with full audience participation, chairs flying and everyone taking pictures with their cell phones for the lawsuits later.

How about a wheelbarrow race like they do in Ireland? Each candidate gets a partner and a wheelbarrow. Starting at Sweet Tomatoes, the candidate drinks a beer and the partner pushes him in the wheelbarrow to The Old Salty Dog, where they switch, and now the partner downs a pint and pushes the candidate in the wheelbarrow to the next bar, etc., until they reach the last bar or until they are the last one standing, whichever comes first. Some may say that a drinking tolerance test isn’t the best way to select a supervisor, but I say it is, because if the candidate isn’t a drinking man when he starts his term, he probably will be by the end, so we might as well see who can handle it now.

“A Queer Eye For the Straight Guy” test? The three candidates could be locked in a room with the Queer Eye boys, and ....nope...that will never work. The winner wouldn’t even be in office before he was up on charges for assault.

I’d enjoy a Mapquest test. Give each candidate a blank map of the island and see who can draw in the most roads from memory. Then, who can list who lives on each road, who they are related to, and what kind of car do they drive? Extra points if they know what kind of dog they own and mega bonus points if they know the dog’s name.

The Shelter Island Phone Book test would be excellent. Each candidate puts a dot next to the name of everyone he knows. The dots can be connected to form a network and the best connected person wins! Why? Because the island is all about connections. The term ‘dial-up connection’ doesn’t refer to the Internet here. It means you called in a favor.

“Desperate Housewives” Test: This is an excellent way to choose a Supervisor. Each candidate lists how many island secrets he knows and how many bodies he can locate, and the one with the longest list wins.

But then of course, the whole town will know who knows too much...

Self Help...Shoot Me Now...

They Call Me Mellow Yellow...

Shelter Island is home to many authors. Betty Crowson, a famous life coach from the island, recently published a terrific book called, “The Joy is in the Journey, A Woman’s Guide Through Crisis and Change”. It takes you through her “Eight Practical Solutions of; Self-Acceptance, Balance, Embracing Spirituality, Letting Go, Healing, Paying Attention, Taking Action, and Living Consciously”. “The Joy is in the Journey” is available through book stores or you can visit www.thejoyisinthejourney.com.

I read it and I have some additional insights that may help women through times of change as well...

Self Acceptance: This is very important. I accept the fact that my life is a train wreck. If you need me, I’ll be laying across the tracks in Greenport.

Balance: Critical to your well being is balance. I have achieved this by evenly stacking all my bills onto the four corners of the dining room table. I added a pile of rice in the center of the table for that feng shui effect. Additionally, for more emotional balance, I am limiting phone calls from relatives to fifteen minutes a call. That way I worry about everyone evenly. Some get a little more of my worry than others, but with my new system, I am definitely feeling more emotional balance. They say Knowledge is Power, but I say knowledge is anxiety producing, better you should live by the axiom Ignorance is Bliss....

Embracing Spirituality: I hug any pastors, priests, rabbi’s, nun’s, monk’s that I find. They all seem to be very nice people and say nice things to me. So I can clearly recommend embracing spirituality.

Letting Go: This is the hardest step for me. It’s not so much that I’m a controlling person, it’s just that I like to be in charge of everything. I can armchair quarterback just about anyone else’s life. And it’s certainly more fun than taking the time to effect positive change in your own. Breaking habits is time consuming and disruptive to your Zen state of mind. Unless your habits are life threatening, like making grenades at home for fun and profit, just let your habits go...

Healing: I keep an excellent first aid kit in my house for physical healings. I have chocolate and macaroni and cheese on standby at all times for emotional healings. I have an encyclopedia of adages and advice in my head at all times for intellectual healings. The most important thing to be able to distinguish when you are the shaman in your own home, is to know who needs to heal versus who is a heel.

Paying Attention: This I do all the time. I pay attention to my roots so I know when to color. I pay attention to my mascara so I buy a new one before the old one gets dry. I pay attention to the person who signals where I should go on the ferry so that I don’t look like an idiot for getting in the wrong lane because I forget the signal in the six feet I drove since I got it. I pay attention to how many eggs are left whenever the carton comes out of the fridge. I pay attention to a thousand things a day, who doesn’t?

Taking Action: As soon as I get everything I’m paying attention to, balanced and under control, I plan to let go and take action about something or other I want to change. I’ll work out the details later...

Living Consciously: This part of Betty’s book really spoke to me because it’s the hardest thing to do as a parent. I try to live unconsciously because reality is not only a bummer, it’s a nuisance. Living consciously requires that I deal with my eighteen year old daughter and her inane life choices. If I live unconsciously, I can believe that she is attending school in Europe, learning and having fun. If I live consciously, I must face that fact that although intelligent, she is so emotionally dense that light bends around her. I think I’ll just remain unconscious till she gets back from Europe in four years.

Thanx for a great book, Betty! The joy really is in the journey, or as we flower children used to say, life is a trip...

Timing, Speed and Prayer

Maya Angelou said, “I’ve learned I can tell a lot about a person from how they handle these three things; a rainy day, lost luggage and tangled Christmas tree lights.”

How true. I’ve thought of a few other situations to add to her list. I can tell a lot about a person from how they handle:

Getting lost while driving to a timed event, like a baseball game or a play. You can really tell a lot about a person by how they handle getting lost on the way to the airport. And if you really, really want to see their coping skills, stick around and watch how they handle missing their flight. And if you really, really, really want to see their worst coping skills, stick around till the police come because they punched out the person at the ticket counter.

You can tell a lot about a person from how they handle being around other people’s rotten kids. We love our own offspring, but no one else seems to discipline their children right. I was fixing a friend’s sewing machine when her five year old squirted maple syrup into my sewing basket; my threads, bobbins, scissors, notions, everything.... If there hadn’t been witnesses present, that kid would have been launched out of that second story window like a surface to air missile .

When you run out of toilet paper at a family or friend’s house, you can call for help. You have to suffer through a short series of tired jokes, but you’ll get the roll pitched at you through the door after a minute. Ever have it happen in a strange place, like a job interview at someone’s home office?

If you live on Shelter Island, you’ve faced this situation many times: you’re in the ferry line and you or a child has to use the bathroom. You try to wait till your car is close enough to the restroom that you can make the run there and back before the boat gets back. Timing, speed and prayer and the three things needed to pull this off. If you don’t make it back in time and as cars go around yours, you get annoyed looks from tourists, but never from locals who just just smile and wave, unless it’s a friend - they point and laugh.

Every woman can relate to this: You’re all set to go, dressed to the nines, he’s waiting impatiently in the living room. You just need to check your hair, do a final spray, and put on your earrings. And one earring, of the two perfect earrings for this outfit, has apparently disappeared into the parallel universe of the lost socks....if you go berserk, he’ll get angry and say incredibly stupid things like, “What is the problem? Just put on another pair of earrings!” Like any old pair of earrings could replace the ones you searched for to perfectly compliment your eyes and the outfit at the same time!

One of the biggest shocks in my adult life was realizing that men don’t give a rat’s behind about the earrings we so carefully chose to attract them. They don’t care about necklaces, pins, bracelets or anything except whether or not the woman is wearing a wedding ring. Do you know how much money I’ve spent on jewelry? Neither do I.

Many Islanders like to watch how tourists handle having their car alarms go off on the ferry when someone else’s bumper touches theirs. It’s sort of a learning experience for the newbies. They get the idea that it isn’t really necessary to lock their cars on the ferry while they walk six feet TO THE RAILING!

Another fun coping situation for Islanders is how you handle being on the ferry and realizing you forgot your ticket and now you have to pay full fare...my mother taught me to beg for mercy and offer to bring them fast food. Shelter Island is one of the few places in America where McDonalds can be traded like coin of the realm.

One of the toughest things to handle is a beach or boat outing canceled due to weather. There’s wailing and whining, laying on the floor kicking feet, punching the couch, refusing any kind of compensatory activity - like going to the movies, cursing the weather and just hours of fruitless temper tantruming. And the kids act even worse than the adults...

I’d like to close with another quote, from my daughter when she was in fourth grade. When asked to finish this sentence, ‘Laugh and the world laughs with you, cry and.....’ She wrote, “Laugh and the world laughs with you, cry and somebody yells, “SHUT UP!” “

Lock, Cock and Barrel...

I just want everyone to know that I tried desperately to completely ignore this story for fear of breaching good taste. But Jay Leno has brought it up four nights in a row and my resolve is gone....When I worked as a psych nurse, I roomed with a surgery nurse and an Emergency Room nurse. The ER stories were always the best.

"Portsmouth Herald News By Adam Dolge
BRENTWOOD, NH ...On Saturday, July 30, at about 3:40 a.m., Brentwood police assisted ambulance and rescue personnel with a 39-year-old man with a padlock on his testicles. According to police, the man, who police are not identifying, was intoxicated when they arrived on scene. The man reported that the padlock had been on his testicles for two weeks. ... the man reported that a friend put the lock on his testicles. He was allegedly severely intoxicated and passed out. He told police that when he woke up the padlock was placed around top his scrotum and his friend was gone....The man reported to police that he allegedly attempted to remove the padlock with a hacksaw after the key broke off inside the lock. He was taken to Exeter Hospital, where a locksmith was called to remove the lock.”

And whose job was it to call the locksmith?

“Hi, is this Exeter Locksmith? This is Judy Smith, I’m a nurse at Exeter Hospital. You guys are available 24 hours a day right?

No, we have keys for all our locks. The cleaning staff have masters, it’s not for the hospital itself. We have a patient who has a problem. He has a padlock... around his, um, his testicles.

No! This isn’t a crank call, I’m serious. I’m a nurse in the ER. I was elected to call and see if you could come as soon as possible.

I don’t know how he did it....... Was he drunk? Yeah, I’d say that was a safe bet...

No, he’s not a teen, he’s 39. Yeah, a 39 year old man. He says his friend did it while he was passed out.

Hey, I don’t know why, okay? I don’t know what kinda friend it is, or was. ........ You're right, maybe it’s a sex thing. Could you just come over here? Yes, that’s him screamin’ in the background. He’s pretty swollen, he’s experiencing some pain and discomfort....

No, he’s being seen by a female doc. Our male doc ran out of the room. He’s in the office with me right now, laughing and crying in the corner with his hands between his legs....completely useless.

When? It happened two weeks ago....I AM serious.....yeah two weeks, please stop laughing, you’ll make me laugh and I’ll get in trouble...... Yeah, about the size of a grapefruit.....now don’t YOU cry!

He’s got the key! He broke it off in the lock.....well, I don’t know how...... maybe he was drunk when he tried to unlock it and used too much pressure. I think it’s a moot point. We need to get this off of him and get the swelling down so we can stitch him up....

No, the lock didn’t cut him, the hacksaw did....... The hacksaw he tried to use when the key snapped off. Oh please sir, you gotta stop laughin’ and help me.

Well, maybe he should’ve asked the friend who did it in the first place, but the question, “Could you come over with a hacksaw and work on my testicles?” was probably a little awkward to slide into everyday conversation.

Yeah, we have little cranial saws, but they can’t saw through steel...... Nope, there’s no way to get a lock popper through the loop. We’re really stuck.

Bill it anyway you want to. If his insurance doesn’t pay you, we’ll take up a collection........sure, if you wanna keep the lock, keep it. Ah c’mon, who’d buy that on ebay?

No, that’s not the patient, that’s the doc throwing up in the waste basket. He didn’t know the part about the hacksaw....”

Ice Cream: It's What's for Dinner!

I figured out that there’s no holiday’s in August simply because it’s just too hot to do anything.

The August Excuse: This is the official excuse of August and it is acceptable in any situation: “I can’t. It’s just too hot.”

August Sex: “Fugettabowtit! We’re not having sex unless it’s in front of an air conditioner and neither of us has to move.”

The August Defense: “Because Your Honor, it was 94 degrees, the humidity was 94 percent, I was up to my eyeballs in cramps, I had to go off island on a Friday to replace a dead hamster, we had to go to three places to find a girl hamster and when the kids and I got back at 8:30, he was in his chair askin’ me what’s for dinner. So, I grabbed the frying pan, intending to sauté a lovely vegetable medley and make a fritata with homemade salsa, sour cream and garnish with scallions, when suddenly his head ran into the pan. ..........Yes Your Honor, yes it did, he ran into the pan six times. I was right there, I saw the whole thing.”

The Hair of August: We wash our hair. We fix it nice. We reach up to scratch an itch and say, “Oh Gawd... I still have sand in my hair?”

The Cars of August: Having vacuumed our cars twice since summer began we are now resigned to let the sand stay there till autumn. Furthermore, you can identify those who will not be cleaning their cars till autumn by the new line up of shells along the dashboard. In addition to shells, I have a crab on my dashboard. With his multi directional eyes, he is my navi-crab. I think everyone on Shelter Island in August has some of a beach in a car...

August Shoes: All cute cheap shoes bought in July look like crap in August. But there’s no point in buying new sandals now, so we wear them no matter what they look like because it’s too hot to care. In July I bought cutsie thong sandals with big daisies and big sparkling stones in the center. One of my sparkly stones fell off, I glued it back on, but the heat took it off again, and half my pedals are missing, but enough about my mental health...

August Parenting: In July we tell our teens, “I’m serious. You can’t go off island without checking with me first. It’s not about control, it’s about safety. If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t care.” In August we tell our teens, “Listen smartass, depart from this island one more time without telling me and I’m gonna depart ya teeth from ya head!”

The Four Basic Food Groups of August: Ice Cream, Ice Tea, Barbecue, Ice Cream.

August Reading: It’s too hot to read.

August Housekeeping: Unless someone contracts tuberculosis or typhoid, the house is clean enough till September.

August Make-up: Someone needs to invent a make-up for August that will not melt off your face. Until then, it is acceptable to wear the largest wraparound sunglasses you can find, indoors and out, and lipstick.

The Dog Days of August: Clean up after your dog. Neighbors can handle your dog pooping in their yard in Winter, Spring, and Autumn, but not Summer and absolutely not August. August is hot and steamy enough without stepping in anything similar. If you fail to scoop the poop and someone beats you into a coma, you deserve it. And they won’t be punished because they’ll use the August Defense: “Because Your Honor, it was 94 degrees and the humidity was 94 percent.....”

August clothes: A cotton gauze tent is the only intelligent attire for August, but in lieu of that, you may wear as little as possible as long as you are clothing/age/weight proportionate. Please remember that somethings don’t mix, for instance; stretch marks and a belly ring, saggy boobs and a tube top, viagra and a speedo.

Tribal Markings of August: It’s nice in August to see what new lawn chair patterns appear on the back of everyone’s legs. Makes for a nice conversation starter; “Oh, I see you’re wearing the Martha Stewart lawn collection, very nice.” For those of us with cellulite, it presses nicely into almost any pattern. I’ve been enjoying a lovely, deep relief, Waverly toile pattern all summer.

August Marriage: I believe marriages improve greatly in August. It’s just too hot to fight, too hot to pack and move out, too hot file for divorce. I know spousal homicides increase in August, but that’s not the same as divorce. Overall, you leave your spouse alone, unless they're acting like and idiot and it’s 94 degrees and the humidity is 94 percent.....

Catch and Filet Fishing

One Saturday a few summer back, my brother David, took me and my two perfect children fishing under a bridge on Shelter Island. David is one of those rare men who actually likes children - he really thinks they're fun. Just as our familes taught us to fish, we now pass this important knowledge down to the next generation. As I told my daughter, "Feed a man a fish and he'll come around everyday. Teach a man to fish and you can get rid of him when your friends visit."

Within five minutes of arriving at the fishing spot, we had the soda and beer in the water, poles baited, and I was dragging my lawn chair into knee deep water. The bait in my pocket would wiggle a little and give me a cheap thrill. I unfolded my chair, sat down and commensed "serious fishing".

My exhusband was a "Catch and Release" Fly Fisherman. He spent more time fiddling with his fly (and that's whole other column) than he ever spent fishing. More over the concept of catching fish and letting it go is as foreign to my family as a liberal thought to Sen. Jesse Helms.

My family are Catch and Filet Fisherman. Under the docks all over Shelter Island, the fish have put up posters of my family's legs at local Sand Bars with the caption, "Warning from the Sturgeon General; Clams scram when you see these legs. Don't let your Flounder founder. Make your Scallop gallup. Get your Striper hyper. Make your Mussel hussle. Otherwise your Bass is grass, you'll be Crab on a slab, Snail in a pail, a Snapper in the crapper, Eel on a reel, Pike on a spike, a dorsal morsal, in other woirds, You're splatter on a platter.....".

My son, Jacob, has autism. He was eight at the time and this was his first time fishing so we were all prepared for anything. His auditory comprehension was very poor, but his visual comprehension was and is, amazing. We call him, "One Take Jake". After ten minutes of fruitless verbal instruction on casting, Uncle David just showed him just once. Jake took the pole and cast a perfect line up and over in a beautiful arc and did it over and over. Yup, over and over. Obviously the lesson about leaving the line in the water until a fish bites is for another day.....

My then eleven year old daughter sunned herself and together we gave directions to tourists who stopped on the bridge and called down to us. Now, I get lost when I turn around in a phone booth. Asking me for directions is like asking Stevie Wonder to drive...... the people we directed are probably still lost.

When my son was through casting, he went to the bottom of the bridge to talk to the hermit crabs. He was reciting word for word the lecture on the 'Life of Crustaceans' he had memorized from a CD-ROM. We all listened because we know from experience that if you interrupt him, he'll start over and over until he completes the sequence. There is a way to stop him, but we left the duct tape in the car.

Suddenly the lecture stopped, there was a splash and then the words, "I got ya". I looked over to find my son and brother gone. As fast as a beached orca can move, I made my way to the base of the bridge just as David was emerging from the swift moving current with a boney eight year old wrapped around his head. He lost his thongs in the process of swimming to get Jake. We gave Jake a new nickname, "Swifty", 'cause now you see him, now you don't...

We left shortly after that heart stopping experience. I gave David my new orange thongs that I had just gotten from K-Mart for four dollars. I know I was going overboard with my generousity. But what the hell, he saved my son's life. I always tell my son he's my "special boy". Once he told my friend , "My mother got me from the hostipul because I was on special." .

Erection? Don't leave home without it....

There's a link on my blog to my blog about parenting an autistic child. Most of it is serious, but I decided to add some of the funny stories too. Here's one of my classics.

Autistic child are forever innocent. They see the world without prejudice, without assumptions, without malice. They get into situations that can make you can laugh or cry, so you might as well laugh.

One day Jake and I were grocery shopping. He was about ten. I was choosing coffee and he was a little further down choosing which hot chocolate with mini-marshmellows he was willing to try. Suddenly a woman brushed past me and shot me a look. The look was one I have become very familiar with, it said, "Is that your son? Do you know what he's doing?"

Turning to face Jake I saw that he was standing in the aisle with his sweat pants and briefs fully extended at the waist band. He was staring down into his pants totally fascinated with something.....

"Mom, look at this," He said in his characteristic monotone.

Fearing the worst, but being a dutiful mother, I peered in. Of course, he had an erection. Then he said, "Watch this." And he made it bounce....

"That's very nice Jake," I said, "but you know what... that's kind of a private activity for a boy. It's okay to play with your peety in private, but not in a store. Okay?"

Being ever obediant he responded, "Okay Mom. But you don't understand because you don't have a peety, all you have is a fluffy and it doesn't do any tricks...."

I laughed so hard, I thought my pants would never dry....if he only knew the all tricks this fluffy has done!

So, there you have it folks, my existentialist angst has been solved ... I don't have a peety, I just have this big fluffy and it doesn't do any tricks. The mystery of life has been solved, even in the autistic world, it all comes down to peety's and fluffy's... and just for the record, Fluffy's Rule!

Beach Blanket Bingo!

The Art of the Beach Blanket

It’s the middle of summer and the stores are already rushing us to buy ‘back to school’ stuff. I think retailers hate August because there’s not a single holiday in it, that’s why they have to push Back to School stuff. How about a bill that says retailers can’t push holiday or season related items till three weeks before the event? That way we could all slow down and breathe and not feel so rushed. How ironic, that the more technology we create to save time, the more time we lose. I want to enjoy summer without having to crowd my mind with getting ready for school!

I went to the beach recently and enjoyed practicing a fine art that technology can’t teach you and can’t improve upon. It requires patience, skill, control and grace. It is an Island skill, a coastal skill. The Art of the Beach Blanket.

Beach blankets stake out your turf by the surf. Like an Indian graveyard, everyone knows you never walk across someone else’s beach blanket. When you arrive at a beach, you must select an area that is roughly equidistant from all others there. Unless you are one of the first two arrivals in which case you can put your blankets anywhere and all others have to orient according to your blankets.

Laying down and gathering up your beach blanket takes years of practice to do well. You have to bring a blanket big enough for your whole party, but not so bulky that you can’t spread it out by yourself. You find that certain spot. You gauge where the edge of the blanket should be, and standing with your back to the wind, you unfurl your old bedspread in it’s final incarnation as an island in the sun. Sometimes the wind shifts and your blanket cigarette rolls. But experts wait for the updraft and in one gesture, unfurl and loft the blanket, lowering it slowly with the dying breeze into a perfect square shape. You enjoy that moment of accomplishment as you go around and secure all four corners with sand. You then add all the beach accouterments you schlepped. Next you cover all the kids with tee shirts or sunscreen, you give instructions on free range limits, and finally sit in your chair. With your hand you punch a cup holder pocket into the blanket that is half the height of a coke can, anything less and I can guarantee, somebody will tip over that drink.

No matter how crowded the beach, you must keep a walkway of sand between blankets. No matter how crowded, you must pretend that you cannot see or hear anything that is going on on any other blanket. Even though it may be possible to grab your little cooler with one hand and bash the head of the young man next to you, who is blasting obscene rap music, it is frowned upon. The rules are, if it bothers you, you have to get up and move or leave. However, there is nothing in the rules that says you can’t crack his windshield with your little cooler on the way to your car.

Sometimes young couples get a little too amorous on their beach blanket and you’re supposed to look away. But lately I decided, if they didn’t bring enough for the whole class, then they have to stop. So if things get a little too steamy, I look right at them. This tends to cool their ardor and often elicits their question, “What are you lookin’ at?” My response, “You’re the ones puttin’ on the show... why don’t you get a car?”

At the end of your stay comes the true test of your beach blanket expertise... the lifting of the blanket. By now your blanket has acquired a layer of sand from kids running on and off, sand kicked up by passing feet and fine sand that came in on the breeze. The rules are, you have to get this blanket up without redistributing your sand onto other blankets. Some people start at one edge and gently shake the sand down as they go. The sand still flies onto other people, but they can see that you are trying, so you don’t have to apologize. But almost always a gust of wind comes up and somebody get a face full of your sand, then you have to apologize and they have to say, “It’s alright.”. Novices just get up and shake their blanket, coating everyone around them and we all say, “Thanx....” with our distinctive New York intonation that let’s them know that we know how to wrap a body in a beach blanket and position it for the outgoing tide...

Sitting on a beach blanket, listening to seagulls, hearing the rush of wind and waves, is as close to heaven as I need to be in this life. I always say the salt air blows goes in one ear and out the other clearing out all the chafe. Within the imaginary boundaries of my beach blanket I can focus on what’s important, like making a list of back to school things my son needs and looking at my calendar and figuring out that there’s only nine paychecks till Christmas...

A Crab's Tale

It was a fine day last week when my handsome single brother David bought a new crab net. He took it the nearby dock to test it. He scooped up two crabs who were ...busy.... threw the female back (the one with the earrings) and brought the male home to my kitchen sink and left it there.

After my two perfect children, the three things I love most in life are; old movies, the look of new snow at dawn, and crabs in the sink....

I love any crustaceans in the sink, but crab is my favorite. This one had "sandwich" written all over him. He reached his claws high up to threaten me as he ran back and forth across the rubber mat on the bottom of the sink in a pitiful attempt to attack the pot that was being filled with water.... his eyes were wildly rotating in different directions while his crablife passed before him. I looked him right in the eye that was looking at me and laughed sinisterly, " Arr, harr, harr...". And then it happened.

My beautiful daughter (then just eleven), came into the kitchen. She sized up the situation and began intervine to save marine life.

"Oh, Mom, he's so cute. You can't eat him. That's too cruel! You can't boil him alive! What did he ever do to you ?"

I pleaded my case. "He's part of the food chain, and tonight he's coming in just ahead of franks and beans."

Hey, I am sensitive to the preservation of marine life... I give money to Greenpeace, I always cut up the plastic rings that hold soda's so that mantees won't get them wrapped around their noses. I pointed out to her that no manatee has EVER drowned in my kitchen!

She engaged every eleven year old strategy she had. She would brush her teeth everyday without being nagged, she'd stop calling the Pound to come and put her brother to sleep, she'd shower using soap and the coute d'gras - she'd clean her room ! She was good...very good, but I held my ground as I decided whether to eat him on white or rye.

She stood at the sink between me and my crab. Like a Greenpeacer between a humpback and a harpoon. In the reflection of her steely blue eyes, I saw every crab salad I ever made. Every softshell sandwich, every cracked crab, crab cake, the Blueclaws and the Dungeness, the gallons of melted butter, it all came back to me in an overwhelming rush of memories. Surely, she implored, for all the crabs I have eaten, I could let this one go.

I was alone in a house with a nagging pre-teen. I held on as long as I could. But the parental mind can only take so much, then, like a crabshell, it cracks. Without another adult to help me hold onto reality, I lost it.

I reached for a tupperware container. Using a nearby sneaker I gave this very lucky crab something to hold onto while I lowered him in the container. He began to speak to me. He told me he was recently separated from his mate. She was special because it was his first female since Lois. Lois was a young lobster he loved. They tried to make a go of it. Their families objected because crabs walk sideways and lobsters walk straight and what of the offspring, they might walk diagonal... it was a moving moment.

I watched my girl put him in the basket of her bike and take off down the road to the boat launch to free him. I made some tea and sat down to collect myself after the ordeal. Then I heard the sound of a pickup truck in the driveway and shortly thereafter the sound of a man's boot's in the kitchen and the words, " Hey Sissy, where the hell's the crab ?"

Since then, I've gotten one letter from the crab. He's doing well. He has written a book about being the only crab to have ever escaped a kitchen. He has a new job as spokescrab for the new Adjustomatic Kelpbeds. Disney has purchased rights to his story and is planning a summer blockbuster movie. The titles being considered are ; Claw Wars, or maybe The Man Who Caught Liberty Crab, or my personal pick, Gone With the Tide.

Clams: Friend or Foe?

Happy as a Clam!

[A.P. July 24; BRANFORD, Conn. - An 82-year-old man who went clamming in the Long Island Sound says he made the ultimate catch: the wedding ring he lost two years ago. Stewart Petrie says he found an encrusted ring mixed in with his clams Tuesday while he was clamming at the same spot where his ring slipped off his finger in July 2003. After his wife, Mary, scrubbed it with jewelry cleaner, they were able to read the inscription: "MPS to SJP 9-10-67." Her husband's eyes began to tear, she said.
"It was an absolutely stupendous feeling," Stewart Petrie said.
....The Petries say they eventually plan to have jeweler restore the ring. But in the meantime, it isn't leaving his finger.
"I treasure that ring," he said.]

For years I have maintained that clams are smarter than people think. I believe they can communicate, herd, migrate and act like any other intelligent group of beasties. They plot and plan against us and that's why they deserve t be eaten alive with a dab of cocktail sauce! And if this story about them stealing Mr. Petrie ring doesn’t prove my point, then I give up.

Two Year Earlier, the morning of July 24, 2003...... a clambed in Long Island Sound...

“It’ s just that we’ve changed Clarice....”
“Changed nothin’! It’s that scallop isn’t it? Her ruffled shell, huh? What’s her name? Dawn?”
“Leave her out of this.”
“Is it because I’ve gotten so wide? Gee, I’ve only given you a few thousand seed clams! I’m a Mama Clam, and now that the kids are grown and caught, you’re just gonna move on?”

“How’d it go Joe?”
“Ah, Lou, she didn’t take it well. I left her crying in her silt. But she a tough old chowder, she’ll get over over it. Meanwhile, you gotta help me get a ring for Dawn.”
“Okay buddy, anything for my future brother in law. What’s the plan?”
“Can you pump yourself up on top of that conch to get a good look over the clambed?”
“Geez Joe... I dunno, that conch’s gotta be.. two....maybe three inches high...I’ll do my best.”
“You up there okay, Lou?”
“Joe.. I can see your old spot from here!”
“Watch for legs.”
“Hey, lucky day! I see a pair comin’.”
“What’s the hair pattern? I brought the Blue Claw Book for Long Island Legs.”
“Legs are bright white..... with patches of blue streaks. Look’s like a little hair around calf and shins, not much towards the ankles. Knees....movin’ slow...old and arthritic.”
“That’s a classic set. Blue Claw Book value of one gold ring likely. Get down now Lou. When he reaches down I’m gonna open wide and he’ll think he reached into muck, then I clamp down with imperceptible delicacy and hold the ring while he pulls back. Watch.”
“WOW! He didn’t even pause. He doesn’t know you got his ring. He’s still reaching around!”
“Tell Dawn to meet me by the Smirnoff bottle on the sand bar at high tide.”

That evening at the Stewart Petrie home:

“I don’t know where it is. Must’ve come off in the shed. I’ll go look out there.”
“Well you better find it, Stew.”
“I’m 80 years old, what are you worried about?”
“Viagra and that new widow down the street....it ain’t over till it’s over babe....”

The evening of July 23, 2005

“So, she left you for a big oyster with an nine millimeter pearl did she? And you got nothin’ that’s nine millimeters, do ya? So you wanna just wiggle your way home. “
“I brought you a gold ring.....please Clarice, I’m begging you. I wasn’t happy with that scallop. You were right, mixed mollusks don’t work.”
“Isn’t that the ring you gave her? Oh... I don't think so mister..... you ditch that thing where you found it. I want something better than that!”

The morning of July 24, 2005

“I can’t believe it! It IS your ring Stewart!”

The morning of July 25, 2005

“How’d it go, Joe?”
“Ah, Pauly , I think it’s gonna be okay. But you gotta help me her a ring.”
“Okay buddy, anything for an old friend. What’s the plan?”
“Listen, Pauly, you’re a razor clam, can you pump yourself up on top of that conch to get a good look over the clambed and watch for legs?”
“I see a pair comin’ already, moving fast.”
“What’s the hair pattern? I got the Blue Claw Book right here.”
“Legs are tan. Look hairy all over. Knees....fast and flexible.”
“That’s a newer model. Blue Claw Book value of one thick gold ring with a big stone and writing. Watch this, I’m gonna use the old clamp and grab trick.”
“WOW! He didn’t even pause. He doesn’t know you got his big ring!”
“Check this out Pauly! It’s got a faceted stone, ooooo.....lobster red, her favorite color. Got the year... 2005 right around the stone...that will be our new anniversary year. Ohhhh, she’s gonna love this!