One Silent Night, Long Ago

It was Christmas Eve in France in December of 1944 during World War II . One 20-year-old American G.I. had the assignment of guarding a train station along the border of France and Germany, where his battalion was stationed. The young soldier was half a world away from his girlfriend and family in Pennsylvania, and was not very happy about the assignment and the lonely holiday ahead.

A young German family lived in an apartment above that train station on the border of the two countries that were at war. With the Americans patrolling the French border and the Germans patrolling the German border, this family was caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. The resilient family was friendly and got to know the soldiers surrounding their home on both sides, even the Americans who by that time had learned enough German to communicate with them a little.

The American soldier was settling in for a long night when the 12-year-old daughter of the family greeted him from the window of her apartment. It seems that he might have a little company after all on this holiday. They talked a little, and then the young man thought of a way to celebrate the holiday even in this most unlikely time and place.

He began to sing:

Silent Night, Holy Night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon Virgin, Mother and Child
Holy Infant, so tender and mild,
Sleep in heavenly peace,
Sleep in heavenly peace.

The little German girl responded:

Stille Nacht, heilege Nacht
Alles schaft, einsam wacht
Nur das traute hochheilege Paar
Holder Knabe mit lokkigem Haar
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh,
Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh.

She had sung Silent Night back to him in German, and it moved the young soldier to tears. They continued like that, with the young man singing a Christmas carol in English, and the little girl singing it back to him in German. That little girl did not seem like the enemy to the soldier that Christmas Eve so long ago. They were just two kids singing the same holiday songs, just in different languages. He never forgot that Christmas Eve or the little girl.

That young soldier was my father, and he was telling me this story for the very first time last week, one week before our celebration of Christmas Eve this year.

Last month my husband and I were perusing the sheet music at Colony Records in New Year when I came across a copy of Schubert’s Ave Maria. We bought the sheet music that day so I could sing it for my father on Christmas Eve as one of his presents, with my husband accompanying me.

I knew that my father loved Ave Maria more than any other piece of music. I knew that he loved his daughters and all our accomplishments, and would love to hear me sing this song, even if I was no Nana Mouskouri. But I had no way of knowing how significant singing for my father on Christmas Eve would be.

Let Your Fingers Do the Shopping

Nothing was going to stand between me and my Holiday Season. Neither my bum knee (which is fine now, thanks) nor my seasonal allergies were going to keep me from my appointed rounds. This was because this year I decided that I could make those appointed rounds from the comfort of my own couch in my own home, armed with my laptop and my VISA card.

Yes, that is correct, my friends, this year I ventured into the Brave New World of On-Line Shopping. Oh, I had dipped my toe in that proverbial water in the past few years. I found that using the on-line shopping sites was a sensible and effective method of long-distance gift giving. It enabled me to order and send wrapped presents to family and friends who were out of town and it was not much more expensive and a lot less time-consuming than buying all the gifts and the wrapping apparatus and sending them myself.

My husband had already embraced on-line shopping for many of his purchases, and I would look on with envy as his packages from Amazon arrived, one after the other, at the house. I finally realized that there was no need for my on-line shopper’s envy. I had an active Amazon account of my very own. I, too, could shop without leaving the house. I rationalized that this would save my already compromised knee the wear and tear of literally beating the pavement searching for the perfect gift. Every single perfect gift is now available online.

I have found that online shopping is especially helpful when you have a very specific item in mind. In a traditional shopping scenario, I would physically go from store to store, hoping to find said item. This could turn into an ongoing and sometimes fruitless quest, or in settling for whatever version of the item I finally found. Let me tell you it wasn't easy finding a "man bag" my husband requested  a few years ago.  Obviously, men in Pittsburgh don't carry bags, unless they are backpacks emblazoned with a Steeler logo.

But online you can comparison shop, looking at every available version of man bags, sometimes all on the same page. You can find the best price for the item.  You can actually order the bag from Fossil, your husband's favorite brand, in the color, size and style you choose.  You can even add the exact wallet that your husband admired in the Fossil Store in Times Square last month to your order. And then it is delivered to your house, for what is usually a very reasonable shipping fee that in the long run may be less expensive than the price of the gas you put in your car shopping in the more traditional fashion.

Some people worry about the security of their financial information when ordering online, but, you know, I’m a risk taker. Just in case, though, I always make sure to use a credit card (not a debit card) when ordering online so that any glitch that might happen does not have an immediate impact on my checking account. Another cost-saving tip is to shop early enough to allow for delivery and to avoid the cost of last minute shipping.

Of course, there were a few things I still needed to buy in person, and a couple of strategic trips to Target and Rite-Aid helped to fill the stockings. Strangely enough, the Target in Cranberry is the place I buy my Hanukkah candles each year. This year all my gifts ordered online had been delivered to the desired recipient or to my house by December 14th and I picked up the last in-person gift on Friday, December 16th, four days before the first day of Hanukkah, and 8 days before Christmas Eve. This is a record for me.

I was so euphoric when I made my final purchase that I almost broke into a spirited rendition of the Hallelujah Chorus of Handel’s Messiah right there in the mall. Do you think that’s what inspired Handel to write it in the first place?

Lead with Your Bad Leg

I was talking to my father the other day after I hurt my knee and was explaining that it hurt most when I was walking down steps. “Do you know that you should lead with your bad leg when you’re walking DOWN steps?” he asked, “Are you leading with your good leg or your bad leg?”


Well, I was trying to stay off steps altogether but when I couldn’t avoid them, I was always leading with my good leg, up or down. Dad explained that you should lead with your good leg when going up steps and lead with your bad leg when going down. This seemed counterintuitive and I was a little skeptical. He clarified that this method allowed your bad knee to remain straight, and it was bending the knee that caused the pain.

Hmm, that made some sense. I tentatively tried it. It worked! It has in fact been an absolute revelation to me as I nurse this bad knee of mine. Dad has been giving me advice and helpful hints all my life, of course, but he really outdid himself this time.

I have carefully structured my life so that I can avoid navigating long flights of stairs if need be, but the sad fact is that everywhere I go there seem to be “a couple of steps” that absolutely can’t be avoided. There is a step or two to get into my house. There are two steps at work that separate me from the restroom, the front desk, the mail, the coffee, the conference room and a couple of key co-workers.

Before Dad tipped me off, navigating these few steps was torture, and set the knee back a little every time I attempted them. Now I just lead with my good leg going up and my bad leg going down! I never have to put off going to the restroom again. I am grateful for that.

More than that, though, I now know that now, in an absolute emergency, I can slowly and carefully navigate an entire flight of steps. Say I am literally dying of thirst at work and the only thing that separates me from the bottles of water in the refrigerator in the kitchen downstairs is a long, daunting flight of steps. No problem! One step at a time I can get to the water.

Or, say the whites are in the dryer in the basement at home, I am totally out of clean socks, and my husband isn’t home. One step at a time, I can go to the basement to get some socks. I never have to go barefooted again.

Yes, armed with this important technique, a good Ace knee bandage, and some knee-shaped ice packs, I can conquer the world! Thanks, Dad.

Expectant Mothers and New Parents of Infants Only

The other day I was running into Giant Eagle to pick up a book of stamps and something from the salad bar for lunch. Since it was lunchtime the parking lot was packed, but in the distance I saw an empty spot right next to the handicapped spots. It was like an oasis in a desert. I happily headed for the spot only to find that it was “Reserved for Expectant Mothers and New Parents of Infant Children Only.”

Really? Since when do pregnant women and people with babies get spots right next to the handicapped spots to shop in the supermarket?

Look, it’s not that I am unsympathetic to the pregnant women. I was a pregnant woman once. In my totally “uneventful” pregnancy I gained 50 pounds. I had a sharp debilitating pain in my upper abdomen for my entire second trimester that the doctors called “a little heartburn.” In my third trimester, I could not find a comfortable position, and could not get from one position to another without a great struggle.

Not only did no one give me a special parking space in the supermarket parking lot when I was pregnant, I was encouraged to walk. It was supposed to be good for me. My “office” at the time was a desk located in a storage loft of a sheltered workshop. I had to climb up and down stairs every time I had to use the restroom, which was all the time since I was pregnant. My boss did not seem concerned about this, and never considered finding a workspace for me on the first floor to save me this trouble.

Okay, so maybe I’m just jealous of today’s expectant mothers and their special treatment in the parking lots, but what about the “new parents of infant children?” They need a special spot, too?

I won’t even TELL you about the time that my younger sister and I flew to Boston with my six-month-old baby to visit my other sister. My sister was someone who prided herself on packing enough for a week’s vacation in a carry-on duffel bag, and I was also an everything-I-need-in-one-suitcase kind of gal. You would have thought we were packing for a six-week tour of Europe with the luggage we had on that trip, but we were really just flying somewhere with a baby.

Actually, the “new parents of infant children” who I know today are a plucky lot. They are marvels of ingenious organization. They juggle careers, and the babies, and a bunch of fun extracurricular activities for the whole family. And they still have time for Facebook. Taking the baby out is a cinch due to all the new-fangled contraptions young parents have today – like car seats that convert into a baby carrier without having to so much as remove the baby during the conversion. It is actually insulting to young parents to suggest they need a special parking spot when they take the baby to the supermarket.

Do you want to hear my parking lot fantasy? I see that empty spot in the crowded parking lot next to the handicapped spots, and when I get there I find that the spot is “Reserved for People Who Ache All Over But Don’t Quite Qualify as Handicapped.” Hey, that would be me!

Aunt Shirley and the Brownies

The very first thing my husband ever told me about his Aunt Shirley was about her brownies. You see, Aunt Shirley brought homemade brownies to every family dinner.

These were not just any brownies, mind you. These were generally recognized as the "Best Brownies in the World." My husband insisted that he had in all his days never tasted brownies better than Aunt Shirley's, and my husband is somewhat of a brownie connoisseur. After several years, Aunt Shirley's special recipe was finally revealed - she made her brownies using Duncan Hines Brownie Mix.

When we were planning our wedding eight years ago, my husband  was delighted when Aunt Shirley, then 80, called to tell him she would be able to come to the wedding.  Her son Seth was flying from his home in New Mexico to New Jersey to meet up with his mom, and then flying with her to Pittsburgh for the wedding.

When Aunt Shirley asked my husband what we wanted for the wedding, he answered truthfully that her presence would be gift enough, and then jokingly added, "Unless you want to bring me some of those brownies of yours - they were always my favorite."

Aunt Shirley and Seth were flying in the day before the wedding in time for the rehearsal dinner.  Unfortunately their plane had been delayed and they had endured a rather lengthy wait in airport terminals on their way to Pittsburgh.  So we were all seated and having dinner when they arrived - a very tired man and his gentle, soft-spoken mother, looking none the worse for wear, carefully carrying a pan of her homemade brownies covered in aluminum foil, which she had made for her nephew because he loved them so.

It seems that Aunt Shirley had carried those brownies in her arms and on her lap all the way from New Jersey - in the car, through airport terminals, on the plane.  She shared the story of her encounter getting the brownies past the security guards in these post-9/11 days of air travel.  The guards gave her a mock hard time, saying that perhaps they needed to confiscate these brownies, in case she was smuggling some contraband in them.  She explained to them that she was taking them to her nephew who was getting married in Pittsburgh, as a special present for him, because, you know, he really loved her brownies.  The guards thought it over, and let her pass with a smile, her brownies intact.

My husband shared Aunt Shirley's brownies with me.  They were some of the best brownies I'd ever tasted.

It was clear to me that Aunt Shirley's secret brownie ingredient was all the love she put into making them and sharing them.

Aunt Shirley passed away yesterday after a long illness, almost exactly eight years after I first saw her, walking into the rehearsal dinner carrying her pan of brownies.  Aunt Shirley accomplished many things in her life besides transforming Duncan Hines brownies into something special.  She had been a newspaper editor and writer, had raised a family, and still occasionally wrote a column on Senior issues in a local paper after her retirement.

As for me, I will never eat a brownie without thinking of Aunt Shirley, with love.

Thankful for the Little Things

I’m really not all that complicated or mysterious. My husband always tells me that my instruction manual is about a page long and can be summarized in just four words: “Be nice to me.”

It’s very true that I find pleasure in small things. When my husband and I were getting ready for the Early Thanksgiving dinner that we hosted at our house yesterday, there were lots of little things that were making me very happy.

The scent of the turkey and the fixings filling the house put me in a pretty good mood. This made me count my lucky stars to have a husband who doesn’t just cook, but creates delicious feasts for our dinner guests. I later followed my bliss by thoroughly enjoying eating that mouthwatering meal. I am also glad that I enjoy turkey so much, as this would be just the first time I would be eating it this week.

I couldn’t find the nice paper dinner napkins that I was certain that I had in the house somewhere. I realized that my dinner guests were not the kind of people who would care if I used the everyday paper napkins for dinner. I had thousands of those. I appreciated my down-to-earth family and friends.

I also really enjoyed vacuuming the house with my brand new vacuum cleaner, which actually sucks up the dirt (unlike the one we recently threw away) and is self-propelling. The piece de resistance is that it also has neat storage compartments for all the attachments built right onto the vacuum itself.

As I was repositioning the living room chair that we picked up on a whim at an antique store when visiting Geneva-on-the-Lake in April, I had to stop one more time to admire it. It makes me very happy every time I look at that chair.

I realized that preparing the house for guests was actually a pleasurable experience. I loved my house one more time for being such a perfect home for us and such a welcoming place for our visitors.

On Thanksgiving we are supposed to give thanks for our blessings. I am very blessed, and I am actively grateful every day of the year for the wonderful people in my life – my husband, my son, my family and dear friends. So it is fitting that our pre-Thanksgiving dinner reminded me to also be thankful for the little things.

Not in Your Size

My husband treated me to lunch at Habitat the other day, the new trendy restaurant in the Fairmont Hotel in Pittsburgh. The food was exceptionally good, but the décor was just as interesting and intriguing, and as special as the company. As a bonus, Larrimor’s (the upscale clothing store) was having a promotion, and we each got a $50 gift certificate to the store.


I was skeptical about finding anything at Larrimor’s. I’ve never been in the store, and not just because it is upscale (code for “ridiculously expensive”). I am actually willing to shop the sale rack at the upscale places, but I presumed that they would not carry plus sizes. However, I had made that same assumption about Saks, where I found my most beautiful burgundy wedding dress for a fraction of the original price, so I tagged along after my husband to Larrimor’s.

It was clear when we walked in that the store stocked primarily men's clothing, with just a very small women's department. I thought I would just cut to the chase with the salesperson who asked if she could help me. I asked if they carried plus sizes. She got that pained, disapproving look that the elite sometimes exhibit when encountering the lower classes. “Well, no, we don’t,” she said, “We do have some things that are one-size-fits-all. It IS a boutique, after all. You know how that goes.”

Actually, I don’t know that much about boutiques because they don’t usually carry plus sizes. I decided to look around at handbags and scarves and things, but I quickly found out that not only don’t Larrimor’s wares come in my size they don’t come in my style either.

The salesperson continued to try to assist and engage me, probably in a sincere effort to provide good, personalized customer service.  Either that, or she felt badly because they didn’t carry my size.  Maybe she just didn’t want to lose a sale. “So you’re just visiting here?” she asked brightly. I explained proudly that I was Pittsburgh born and raised and had lived here all my life. “And you’ve never been here before?” she asked accusingly. I reminded her that they didn’t carry plus sizes. I was here now and there was nothing for me to buy.

I decided to go where I was welcome. Avenue, my favorite little downtown plus-size women’s clothing store, was having a huge sale. The merchandise there is inexpensive at full price, but not cheaply made. Not only do they carry my size, they carry clothes that are actually cut for people my size. The salespeople occasionally ask me if I’m finding everything alright, and are always helpful if I should ask for their help, but otherwise leave me alone to browse. Sometimes the clearance items are practically free.

An article in the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette today which was talking about the dwindling of the women’s fashion retail choices in downtown Pittsburgh with the downsizing of Macy’s and the closing of the Sak’s store stated that “…Larrimor’s is thinking about expanding its women’s fashion section…” (http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/11317/1189300-28-0.stm#ixzz1ddVLSNAU ).

Hey, what a great idea! Here's a crazy thought - maybe they could expand their customer base even further by expanding their thinking as well, and stocking some clothing for the more expansive women out there.

Hey, Make Me Over

Last week I stumbled upon an updated version of The Look for Less on the Style Network. It pitted a Celebrity Stylist against a Budget Fashionista (whatever THAT is) in finding two stylish outfits for a woman. They had $250 and two days to complete the challenge, and they could each choose two pieces from her existing wardrobe with which to work.


The woman they were helping was a motivational speaker who had been unemployed for a year and a half, and had really hit bottom in terms of her self-esteem, which was also having an adverse effect on her relationship with her boyfriend. She had, in effect, lost her motivation and her mojo. She wanted a professional look to jump start her career, and a date look to rekindle things with her boyfriend.

So, I’m thinking, “Wow! $250 AND two pieces from her closet? Where’s the challenge in that?” The Celebrity Stylist is just flabbergasted at the budget (as if he didn’t know what it would be until this moment), and says that $250 wouldn’t even buy an accessory for one of his celebrities. The Budget Fashionista is pretty smug about her ability to show the Stylist what’s what on how to shop on a budget.

The Stylist puts together a very smart business look using an out-of-date blazer with an attached pocket square that the woman already owns. He updates this blazer primarily by removing the pocket square, and they all applaud his genius in coming up with this idea. The Fashionista, the so-called expert on budget shopping, chooses an ankle-length, strapless floral dress with a mismatched green scarf thrown over it which looked more like it belonged at Woodstock than in a workplace, for her business look. Clearly, she has no concept of how people dress when their occupation involves giving inspiring and instructive speeches to other professionals. Both of them chose dressy short-shorts for her date look, which I found curious. Maybe that is a fad in Southern California. Not surprisingly, the woman chose the Stylist’s collection, I’m guessing based upon the business look alone.

Well, I just couldn’t believe it. “Do you know what I could have done with $250?” I rhetorically asked my husband. Without hesitation, he responded “You could have created a whole collection.”

Actually, that’s about right. It would be safe to say that I usually do not spend more than $250 on clothes (not counting shoes) in most YEARS. Yes, that’s right – I love a good bargain. No, I LIVE for a good bargain, rarely paying full price for anything.

Here’s what I would have done for that motivational speaker. I would have put her in a work outfit very much like the one the Stylist put together – a blazer, structured blouse or top and dressy slacks or skirt. For the date, I would have found a one-piece figure flattering dress in a solid print, set off with some nice accessories. And I probably could have done it all at Dress Barn, in half a day, with money left over.

Does that make ME a Budget Fashionista? Can I be on the show?

All Dressed Up and Nowhere to Go

My husband and I are that nice middle aged couple who don’t go to Halloween parties anymore and give out pretzels to trick-or-treaters so that if there are any leftovers in the house, we can indulge without going off our diets. And we’re fine with that.


As a child, though, Halloween was always one of my favorite holidays, right next to Christmas. Trick-or-treat was a big deal, and there was none of these time-limited-periods-on-a-Sunday-afternoon that some communities try to get away with nowadays. In Swissvale, where I grew up, trick or treat always took place on October 31st, and there were no time limits. We would carry pillowcases as our treat bags and trick-or-treat until we couldn’t walk the hills anymore or until the pillowcases were full.

But the part of Halloween I liked the best was dressing up – in my case, as a Gypsy. I liked dressing up as a Gypsy so much that I chose that as my costume almost every year of my childhood. I wore a colorful one of my Grandma’s babushkas on my head and another around my waist. My mother lent me some of her costume jewelry - big hoop earrings and beaded necklaces - for the occasion, and let me put on her rouge and bright red lipstick. I would also draw a little beauty mark on my cheek. It sure was a nice break from those navy blue jumpers they made us wear every day at St. Anselm’s.

My favorite costume as a teenager was when I went to St. Anselm’s annual Halloween dance as Huckleberry Finn when I was a high school freshman. I found a straw hat and a corncob pipe, blackened my front tooth with a piece of black construction paper, tucked my hair up under the hat, and wore my favorite flannel shirt and denim cutoffs with pair of suspenders. This set me apart from my classmates in many ways. I don’t remember any of them dressing up as their favorite character from literature, and even my true friends who loved me just the way I was thought my obsession with Mark Twain and Huckleberry Finn was a little odd.

Without a doubt, though, my most inspired costume was the time I went to a Halloween party (when I was an adult) as a Freudian Slip. I wore a full white slip with the following velcroed on the front:

Sigmund Freud (1856—1939)

Father of Psychoanalysis

Manic Depressive

Insomniac

Once asked “What do women want?”

The answers:

1) A blackish square-ish, round-ish purse that is not too large but is large enough to carry all she needs that can easily go from work to a night out, and

2) A man whose ego has his id firmly under control but who has enough of a superego to be socially acceptable and gainfully employed.

Honestly, what women want is that simple.  I don’t know why Freud was so clueless on the topic.

Dancing through Life

Now that we are about halfway through this season, it is obvious that no one involved in the show itself has read my blog on “How to Win on Dancing with the Stars.”


In the third week, Kristen Cavalleri of The Hills went home. Everybody on the show was SHOCKED because she danced very well that week. After her very gracious speech about what a wonderful experience it all was, she admitted that she was disappointed, and added, “Clearly, it’s not REALLY a dance competition.”

I thought I explained all this. Of course it isn’t all about the dancing. There are several other factors that come into play, including having a compelling back story.

Kristen went home on “Most Memorable Year” (aka “Compelling Back Story”) Week. The contestants talked about their most memorable year and danced to a song of their own choosing to represent that year. Let me tell you, there was one incredibly compelling story after another.

There are really no words that adequately describe the inspiration in human form that is DWTS contestant J.R. Martinez, motivational speaker and former All My Children actor. J.R. was serving in the U.S. Army in Iraq when he drove his vehicle over a land mine. He suffered severe burns over 40% of his body, including his face and head, and lost an ear. He was 19. No number of scars can mask this man’s spirit. He radiates positive energy and his beautiful smile brightens up a room. He is one of the most attractive people I have ever seen, and is coincidentally, one of the best dancers this season.

J.R.’s most memorable year was the year he was injured. He talked about the incident, and his injury, and how his mother’s strength and courage helped him to get through what was obviously an extremely traumatic time for him, both emotionally and physically. She told him that people would like him for who he was and not what he looked like. He talked about all the soldiers who gave their lives in the war, and danced to a song that was dedicated to all of them. Well, there wasn’t a dry eye in OUR house, and the dance was beautiful.

Chaz Bono talked about his transformation, and danced to a song written by his father Sonny Bono about what is it to be a man. Ricki Lake’s marriage broke up and her house burned down, but she found new love in her now-husband. Well, we’ve all had those years, now haven’t we? Carson Kressley talked about how difficult it was growing up as different as he was from his schoolmates. Chynna Phillips danced to a song she wrote herself –Hold On, her big hit with Wilson Phillips- to help her get through a very bad time with her father. Nancy Grace talked about the premature birth of her twins, who are now healthy five-year-olds sitting in the audience with Dad each week.

Kristen’s most memorable year was when she graduated high school and had to decide whether to go to college or be on a TV show. Now, it’s not young Kristen’s fault that she had not seen real trouble in life yet, but if the producers don’t want to set it up for contestants with compelling back stories to beat contestants who dance well early in the season, then they should skip Most Memorable Year week.

By the way, J.R. Martinez is going to win this season. Remember you heard it here first.

Towanda Becomes Electra

We saw the Pittsburgh Public Theatre’s production of Electra the other night. It was pretty good. Like most plays written by Ancient Greeks, the players just talked a lot – about what had happened, what was happening now, and what they would like to see happen in the future. I can sum up the plot for you in three words. Electra was ANGRY.

From the moment she crawled onto the stage until the play ended about an hour later, she growled, she wept, she wailed, she gnashed her teeth. She had her reasons to be angry. Her mother and her mother’s lover murdered her father and were now ruling the kingdom together. Her sister told her that there was nothing to do but accept it but Electra was bent on revenge, which, for some reason could only be exacted by her brother Orestes, who was out of town. You know- typical family stuff.

I got confused when Orestes showed up and Electra didn’t recognize him, but I found out later that they hadn’t seen each other in 20 years. Wait. How could Electra possibly have sustained such intense anger and fury for 20 YEARS? I’m surprised that she didn’t spontaneously combust.

Maybe Electra could take a lesson from Towanda on taking immediate action on your anger.

In case you are unaware, Towanda is the aggressive alter ego that meek, mild and middle-aged Evelyn Couch, a character in the novel Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Café, creates for herself. In one scene, Evelyn is waiting for a parking spot only to have two younger woman take the spot from her, saying “Face it, lady, we’re younger and faster.” Evelyn mutters “Towanda” and then rams her car into the back of their car several times. She then tells them, “Face it, girls, I’m older and I have more insurance.”

I had a Towanda moment myself recently. One day last week I was driving in a parking lot, minding my own business, when a car started pulling out of a parking space in front of me. I simultaneously hit the brakes and laid on my horn, but the driver didn’t hear or see me, and proceeded to back into my car.

I was annoyed but not really angry. Accidents happen and she was going slowly. The “damage” was more of a scratch than a dent, and certainly not worth worrying about. She was clueless, so I nicely explained what happened, and told her I was willing to forget about the scratch on the car. I was headed back to my car, not even waiting for her to say “thank you,” but the lady who just backed into me wanted to talk more about it.

“Well, I guess that’s okay, because we don’t really know what happened,” she said

I reminded her that we DID know what happened – she backed into me.

“But we don’t know whose fault it was,” she said.

I could actually feel my blood pressure starting to rise. I explained that SHE hit ME – it was her fault.

This chick wasn’t done. “Actually, I didn’t see you and you saw me, so it was your fault.”

Okay, I was now Towanda. “BECAUSE I saw you I stopped the car. My car was NOT MOVING when you hit me, ” I was shouting now.

“No, it was definitely your fault,” this witch said, haughtily, “You should thank me. I am just going to forget it, even though my car is brand new, not like yours. You’re lucky.”

Suddenly, the intensity of my fury matched Electra’s.

THANK her????? I wanted to bitch slap her. Would that have been wrong? Actually SHE was the lucky one. I didn’t take her insurance information, or drive into the back of her car several times (although the thought did cross my mind). And, because I neither own nor carry a gun, I did not shoot her on the spot. That WOULD have been wrong, of course, and this, my friends, is why I am a firm believer in gun control. That kind of homicidal overreaction is what got Electra’s family into such a pickle to begin with.

Instead, I went to Dress Barn. I found a beautiful lightweight sweater that I loved. I needed to get a smaller size because of my recent weight loss, AND it was 60% off. I bought two in different colors. I could feel myself calming and my blood pressure returning to normal. Yes, there’s nothing like a little retail therapy to soothe the raging beast. Maybe Towanda and Electra should have tried it.

Fun with Kitty and Cherie

My sister, who was living in Baltimore at the time, invited me down for the weekend to attend a huge Arts and Crafts Fair that was being held near where she lived. She had heard great things about it, and knowing that I really liked arts and crafts, thought I might enjoy it as well. Of course, she was right, and I happily made plans to go to her house for the weekend.

I left work at 2 p.m. that Friday, and drove from Pittsburgh to Maryland. The weather was perfect, and the drive was just like I like it – that is to say totally uneventful.  After dinner, my sister and I tried clothes on Kitty and Cherie, our J. C. Penney website virtual models and alter egos, who we had created to look just like us. Trying clothes on these avatars didn’t really give you an accurate idea of how an outfit would look on your real body, but it did provide hours of fun - kind of like a grown up version of playing with paper dolls.

Saturday morning we set out in happy anticipation to explore the great and mighty Arts and Crafts Fair. We arrived at the fairgrounds where the Fair was being held and....there was nothing there. When I say nothing, I mean nothing. No arts, no crafts, no people, no vendors, no cars. No signs of life whatsoever. Perplexed, my sister checked the ad for the Fair she had cut out of the newspaper to see if she was mistaken about the location, or the date. But no, according to the large, flashy ad, we were in the right place at the right time, but, clearly, the organizers had thrown an Arts and Crafts Fair and nobody came. Except us.

So, there we were, all dressed up and nowhere to go. You know, some people would have let this little glitch ruin their day, but not us! We didn’t tarry long. My sister barely skipped a beat before pointing out that there was a Borders Book Store right across the street from the Fairground. She didn’t have to ask me twice. The absolute joy we find in a bookstore is something we all share in my family. After whiling away a happy hour or two in the bookstore, we were ready to move on.

My sister asked if I might want to go to the mall in York, PA not far away. I’m always up for a trip to a mall, and so off we went. We stopped and had lunch, and had a perfectly fine time shopping at the mall.

All in all, it was a great weekend– a nice, relaxing fun visit with my sister. I always remember the Weekend of the Missing Arts and Crafts Fair (its picture was later featured on a milk carton) very fondly.

That’s the way life is sometimes. You set out with a plan, but sometimes things just don’t work out the way you thought they would. But if you are flexible and open-minded and in the company of good people you can have a pretty fine time of it after all.

Adding Insult to Injury

I went for my routine doctor’s check-up the other day. It’s official. I Ache All Over.


My doctor is a pleasant guy and a very good doctor. I thought that as long as I was dropping by the office to get my blood pressure and cholesterol checked (both of which are fine, thanks), I might ask him about some “issues” I’ve been having.

Like the fact that my hands hurt. Now, I may go for days or weeks without using other parts of my body, but I use my hands ALL the time. I type constantly. I work on the computer all day at work, and then come home and write or tool around on Facebook. I have also become focused on actually finishing the "Rise of Atlantis" computer game I am currently playing. I can’t tell you how elated I was when I finally got past Carthage the other night.

I was sure that the problems with my aching hands could probably be attributed to either arthritis or carpal tunnel syndrome, but my doctor dismissed my diagnoses pretty definitively, telling me that actually my tendons in my hands were just thickened. Well, that didn’t sound any worse than my own diagnosis. He said it wasn’t really a problem unless the occasional stiffening in my hands at some point didn’t go away, resulting in permanently disabled fingers. Yeah, that WOULD be a problem, I think.

However, the one thing that I really wanted to address with my doctor was The Knot. See, I have had a painful “knot” in my left shoulder for many, many years now. I figured it was caused by stress and bad posture. “What that actually is – and you’re going to LOVE this,” my doctor explained, “is gristle that has grown up around your muscle, probably as a result of some injury along the way.

Maybe that’s what they mean when they refer to “adding insult to injury.” Not that it matters, but I just wondered what injury might have caused this.

Was it the time I was thrown from the horse, breaking my pelvis in two places, and hitting my head on a large rock?

Could it have happened when I was rushing to answer the phone at work, and slipped on the carpet-protecting plastic mat, and went headlong into my desk, badly injuring my left arm and sustaining a serious bone bruise on my elbow? I took that phone call, by the way.

Maybe it was the time I fell down the steps at the conference, and went headlong into the wall, injuring my right arm and sustaining a bone bruise of my right elbow. My right side was obviously after equal time.

It couldn’t possibly have dated all the way back to when I fell off my bike onto my mouth when I was 12, could it? Here, all these years, I have just been blaming all my dental problems on that, not giving a thought to what it might have done to my shoulder.

Then there was the time I fell flat on my face, for no apparent reason whatsoever, walking into Arby’s, bruising my nose (which apparently broke my fall) and scratching my eyeglasses badly enough that I had to replace them.

I could go on, but what’s the point? It seems all my years as a klutz have finally caught up with me. Thank goodness I never played any sports, since most of these incidents occurred when I was just trying to walk. Considering that I hit my head in each of the accidents I recounted, I know I should just be grateful that my only long term problem is a little painful gristle on my shoulder and not brain damage.

I guess all those accusations of my being hard-headed are true.

The End of the World as We Know It

R.E.M., my favorite band, is calling it quits after 31 years. It’s funny, because I’ve been thinking about the band a lot lately – they were mentioned in two of my last four blogs.

In the past few years, I haven’t been listening to much music that didn’t come attached to a Broadway musical, so I haven’t been hearing R.E.M. as much as I used to. But they were like an old friend who you didn’t see often, but you always knew they were there if you needed them.

I first discovered R.E.M in 1991 when their Out of Time album came out. "Losing My Religion" was a single playing on the radio during my final semester at California University of Pennsylvania, when I was writing “Rip Wakes Up,” my first column, for the campus newspaper.

Writing the column allowed me to express myself in a very public forum, and I was exposing myself (in a purely figurative sense, of course) for the first time in a very long time. Of course, readers reacted to what I wrote, especially those columns that addressed the current situation on campus, and sometimes it wasn’t all favorable. It was liberating, scary and exhilarating, all at the same time.  "Losing My Religion" really captured the experience for me:

That’s me in the corner,
That’s me in the spotlight,
Losing my religion
Trying to keep up with you
And I don’t know if I can do it
Oh, no, I’ve said too much
I haven’t said enough.


That’s how it was with R.E.M. and me. Their lyrics were poetry set to haunting music, and always seemed to reflect some of my experience back to me. The genius of their work is that the lyrics were usually not terribly literal- because they were so poetic, they were up for interpretation. What they meant to me might not be what they may have meant to you, or want the band meant when they wrote them.

So R.E.M has provided a soundtrack for my life. They were among my traveling companions when I was driving from place to place throughout the western part of the state as a part of my job, getting me through many a boring stretch of road, or literally helping me make it through the storm.

They helped me through a few emotional storms, too. I’ve never been one to shun change, but there have been a few times in my life when sudden, dramatic and unwelcome change was thrust upon me, through no fault of my own. These were times when my life and my world were altered forever, because of the decisions and actions of other people. At these times R.E.M’s uncharacteristically literal "Everybody Hurts" from their 1992 Automatic for the People album would just come to my mind:

Sometimes everything is wrong. Now it's time to sing along
When your day is night alone, (hold on, hold on)
If you feel like letting go, (hold on)
When you think you've had too much of this life, well hang on


'Cause everybody hurts. Take comfort in your friends
Everybody hurts. Don't throw your hand. Oh, no. Don't throw your hand
If you feel like you're alone, no, no, no, you are not alone….

So hold on, hold on

That song was like a musical lifesaver to me. It was a lot less expensive than therapy, and probably equally effective.

A funny thing always happens to me during the life-changing bad times. I always come out the other end not just okay, but better - in a better place. I become stronger and surer, and more loved and supported than I was before. Again, R.E.M. says it better than I can-

It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.

So now the band is calling it a day, which can’t help but make me feel just a little melancholy. But I hope they feel fine.

I Don't Like to Complain, But...

Lots of people say they don’t like to complain but do it anyway. Complaining comes very naturally and it’s an art that anyone can master. It is a great American pastime, like barbecuing or baseball.


Complaining can also be therapeutic. Sometimes you just need to vent – to get something off your chest. People actually form clubs so that they can complain together about something that affects everyone in the group. They’re called “support groups.”

I’ll be the first to admit that I love to complain, in a non-offensive, constructive and humorous fashion, of course. Heck, I have devoted entire blogs to complaining about one thing or another. Like most people, I have some special little favorite complaints aka “pet peeves” that I hold close to my heart,  If you will indulge me for a moment:

1) Receiving the wrong order in a restaurant.  My husband and I routinely receive food that is wildly different than what we ordered, like Pork Medallions instead Barbecued Chicken Wings, or Beef Tortellini in place of Shrimp Primavera. It is hard to imagine how they could even make these magnificent errors, but sometimes it actually works out. I once received a Pomegranate Cosmopolitan in place of the Peach Daiquiri that I ordered that was absolutely delicious.

2) Hot Flashes- This perfectly natural part of life and the aging process feels like someone lit a bonfire inside your body every time it happens.

3) Snow – I loathe everything about snow, but especially trying to drive in it. I am filled with bitterness every time there is any significant snowfall. I rarely complain about any other kind of weather though because I figure that, well, at least it’s not snowing.

4) Newscasters who commentate - I flinch every time a reporter announces “Get this,” at the beginning of a news story. In my mind, good journalism requires impartiality. There should be no commentary in a news story – just the facts.

5) Plus Size Upcharges - First, manufacturers of wedding fashions cut their dresses smaller than other fashions. There seems to be no logical reason for this, other than to make brides-to-be and their wedding party members feel badly about themselves, but then you realize that these same manufacturers will charge you extra for a larger size. Gee, if they cut the dresses smaller, then they will be able to charge more people the discriminatory upcharge. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

6) Overly Familiar Store Clerks – I am a friendly and outgoing person, but unless I ask, I really don’t care whether the supermarket cashier likes the brand of pantyhose I use. It’s none of the bank teller’s business why I didn’t cash that check sooner. And, certainly, I am not interested in engaging in a long conversation with the teenaged bagger over his astonishment that the R.E.M. concert t-shirt I am wearing is actually mine because he just can’t believe that I am young or “with it” it enough to listen to R.E.M., despite the fact that the band members are my chronological contemporaries.

7) Pretentious Job Titles – There are no more secretaries in the workplace anymore, just “administrative assistants.” And the stewardesses who assisted us when we flew the friendly skies have been replaced by “flight attendants” (and, sadly, the skies are no longer so friendly). But things definitely got out-of-hand when the young man waiting on us in Max and Erma’s informed me, haughtily, that he was NOT a “server”- he preferred the term “facilitator.”

8) Diet Saboteurs – It’s hard enough to stay on a diet plan, without waitresses who cannot wrap their heads around the fact that you don’t want any potatoes with your omelet (“But, ma’am, it COMES with potatoes”), or a friend saying “Oh, you have to cheat sometimes.” while waving a piece of cake in your face.

9) “Stop and Chatters” These people will stop in the middle of the road and shout to each other from their cars, or they will stop in the middle of their work out and sit on the exercise machine at the gym to talk to a friend. They will do this even if you are sitting in your car behind them on the road, or waiting for the machine.

10) The Way Other People Drive Oh, I could write a whole blog about stupid drivers…wait. I already did, didn’t I?

How Can I Keep from Singing?

Everywhere I go I will keep a song in my heart
and usually there will be one on my lips as well…
I will sing loud and soft, high and low, for the rest of my life.
                                                   - Sharon “Rip” Ciraulo, age 16

When I was moving, I found a poem I had written when I was 16 called Dreams. It was about all the things I thought, as a child, that I might want to do or be when I grew up. At the end of the poem I wrote about how I planned to pursue each childhood dream in my lifetime.

One of my things-I-wanted-to-be-when-I-grew up was a singer. I wrote a stanza about each of my other aspirations, but I devoted two and half pages to singing.

It’s hard to put into words the joy I get from singing. I cannot remember a time that I didn’t love to sing. Singing is more than something I like to do. It is something I do automatically, like breathing. My time as a member of the Glee Club and the Folk Mass Group were some of my happiest high school memories.

After graduation, I stopped singing publicly, saving my performances for the listening pleasure of those who lived, socialized or worked with me. Let me tell you that some of them were happier about this than others, although “At the Gates of Heaven” (a great lullaby I learned in 5th grade) was always a pretty big crowd pleaser among babies and children I knew. I sang in the shower and I sang in my car, always preferring to listen to music with lyrics, so I could sing along. Bette Midler is one of my favorite singers, in part, because she and I sing in exactly the same key.

In 1998, I decided to audition for a production of The Music Man. I suddenly discovered that I was absolutely terrified to sing in public, especially in front of a director who was going to judge my ability and then decide whether or not I could be in the show. I discovered that I needed to work on a song with the accompaniment before being able to perform it, and that timing does not come easily to me. While I always did and probably always will get very nervous before an audition, I actually went through a period where I would literally choke when I auditioned – I would open my mouth and the song would get stuck in my throat.

As you can imagine, this led some people to believe that I wasn’t really much of a singer. I couldn’t accept that, so I worked at it. I was fortunate to take voice lessons with some exceptional teachers, and with some experience singing in the ensemble and with lots of practice, I improved. A few years ago, I auditioned for the Pittsburgh Concert Chorale, did NOT choke, and was accepted into the group. Singing with the choir has taught me even more about singing.

When I auditioned for our new choir director, she told me that I really was appropriately placed as a Second Soprano. Beyond just being able to comfortably sing the notes in that range, that is where my voice was at its richest and fullest. I had some higher notes and some lower notes, she explained, but my voice was best in the middle.

That’s all very true, but that hasn’t stopped me from singing First Soprano or Alto, because I never turn down an opportunity to sing. I have sung First Soprano in some shows when the musical director was desperate, but can only hit the highest notes when I am thoroughly warmed up and when the moon and the stars are aligned correctly.

I channeled my inner Alto to play my dream role of Mama Rose in Gypsy, singing eight songs that never went above a middle C, thanks to Ethel Merman. I discovered that I could belt if I had to, and that when I sing low it feels like a reverse falsetto – there is nothing natural about it.

So, it seems that my sixteen-year-old self was onto something. How can I keep from singing? The simple answer is- I can’t.

I Hope You Dance

There was an avalanche of negative reaction at the announcement of Chaz Bono as a contestant on the upcoming Dancing with the Stars. It seems there are a number of folks out there who actually believe that allowing a transgendered individual to dance on a television show will somehow threaten their idea of what America is.

Oh, I shouldn’t have been surprised. There are plenty of small minded and mindlessly mean people in this world. I’ve known more than a few. It’s just that I figured out as a preteen that all people are equal and have the right to believe what they like and live how they choose. What can I tell you? It makes it hard for me to accept such ignorance.

It especially irks me that many of these people take this stance in the name of Christianity. Before I officially became a non-denominational spiritualist, I was Catholic, which IS a form of Christianity. I seem to remember being taught that Christians were supposed to love and not judge their fellow man. Furthermore, I know plenty of real Christians who do just that. So people who use Christianity to defend their hatred of and discrimination against anyone who lives or believes differently than they do not only aren’t really Christians themselves, they are giving a bad name to the good, decent, authentic Christians out there.

People may accuse me of being open-minded to the extreme. Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. Despite this, I never fully understood why people would actually go to the extreme of physically changing their gender. Maybe it is just because the idea of elective surgery is a foreign concept to me. I pretty much limit my surgical procedures to those that are absolutely necessary. Transgendered surgery always seemed such an extreme measure and so very final.

Because of Chaz Bono, I finally get it. He was of course born as a girl named Chastity to Sonny and Cher. As an adult, Chastity came out as a lesbian and was an active gay rights activist. I never had a problem with Chastity Bono but never felt a particular affinity for her either. Then she decided to undergo transgender surgery and became Chaz.

I have not seen the documentary or read Chaz’ book about his journey, but I have seen him on several talk shows. I like Chaz VERY much. He is warm, engaging, intelligent and articulate. It struck me that as Chastity he LITERALLY was uncomfortable in his own skin. I admire that he is making his process so public, and I believe that he is sincerely doing so in an effort to help others, to increase awareness and understanding of transgendered individuals. I appreciate his wit, his candor and his bravery.

Of course, every action has an equal and opposite reaction (and people think I don’t know anything about physics). There were lots of people, including his professional dance partner Lacey Schwimmer, who spoke up supporting Chaz and his right to participate in a televised ballroom dancing competition.

And his mama Cher also took to the internet, mouse ablazing, to defend her offspring. Cher basically said that what Chaz was doing took guts and these haters should give him a chance. She said that no matter how old you or they get, you still don’t stand by and let people mess with your children. Although I’m pretty sure she didn’t originally use the word “mess.” Ah, it was good to hear from Cher again. Chaz thanked his mom and everyone else for their support, and just said that all negative response had made him determined to work harder on his dancing.

So if Chaz Bono wants to dance on DWTS, I say he should go for it. I hope he dances presentably, has some fun and wins some people over with that great personality of his. I’m rooting for him, and am looking forward to seeing Cher cheering him on in the audience.

Rip's Excellent Rock and Roll Adventure

My husband has an entire wall of sheet music surrounding his piano in our music room, a massive collection of classical, opera, standards, and show tunes. None of it, however, is rock and roll.

The closest my husband has gotten to a rock concert since we’ve been together was when he agreed to attend a ballet set to Bruce Springsteen music with me, and Joe Grushecky played during intermission. On the other hand, I VERY much like (that old time) rock and roll, particularly American rockers with folk influences, like Springsteen, John Mellencamp, and R.E.M.  I have been to a few –maybe 50 or so – rock concerts in my day.

When we went to Cleveland on vacation, we had to see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. My husband would a first-time visitor, but I had been there before. I knew it was a magical fun place, like Disney World, so I was optimistic that he would enjoy it. After all, I once attended a performance of Ariadne auf Naxos, an obscure and painful German opera for him, and I….. well, okay, “enjoy” would be a strong word, but I survived.

The first thing I did when we got there was make my husband pose for a picture in front of the building so I could prove to people that he was actually there. He panicked for a moment in line when he realized that he left his earplugs back at the bed and breakfast, but I assured him that he wouldn’t really need them – it wasn’t like an actual rock concert inside.

We started with the introductory History of Rock and Roll film and had a fine time exploring all the exhibits and paraphernalia from the featured musicians. Rock fan or not, you just have to appreciate some of this stuff – like the jacket Michael Jackson wore in his Thriller video. I mean, how cool is that? And I learned new things while I was there. I found out that country singer and American Idol winner Carrie Underwood is actually a rock artist when we visited the brand-new “Women Who Rock” exhibit.

I realized that my husband was getting into it when we entered a theater where they were showing clips of performances from the telecasts of Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremonies. When we entered, Aretha Franklin and Annie Lennox (two of my favorites) were just finishing up a duet of Chain of Fools.  Annie was writhing and gyrating all over the stage while Aretha was looking at her like she was some kind of damn fool. I imagined that Aretha was thinking, “Child, I don’t have to work that hard, not with my voice.”

Then Metallica came on. Heavy metal is not my thing. I got up to leave. “Where are you going?” asked my husband.

“Do you really want to listen to heavy metal?” I asked.

“Right now, it’s less painful than my feet,” he said.

When the first song was done, I was again ready to leave, but then Lou Reed joined the band onstage. “Do you mind if we stay for this?” I asked.

“Why would I mind?” he asked.

“Well, because it’s Megadeath,” I explained.

“It’s Metallica,” he corrected.

“Whatever, they’re all the same,” I muttered.

“Oh, listen to you, being dismissive,” he said, with a smile.

When Ozzy Osbourne joined Metallica, or whoever they were, we were both ready to go.

We continued on our merry way. Suddenly my husband was talking like a convert. He didn’t want to miss anything in the place. It wasn’t the music itself he didn’t like, you see, it was just the volume and the crowds that put him off. He was pretty excited about the gift shop, where he passed on the t-shirt that read, “If it’s too loud, you’re too old,” opting instead for a (pardon the pun) rockin’ Rock and Roll Hall of Fame mug.

I’m glad he liked it, but I sure hope he doesn’t want to see Metallica the next time they come to Pittsburgh.

Nothing Wrong in Cleveland

My Friends are taking all kinds of exciting vacations this year. Disney World, the Outer Banks, and TWO went to or are headed for France.


We were actually all set on the idea of international travel ourselves this year. We were considering either a New England-Canada cruise or a trip to Toronto (a four-hour drive from our house). Unfortunately, because of some bizarre government plot to keep us from leaving the country (they now require birth certificates with parents’ names on them to issue passports) we were unable to get our passports in time for those glamorous trips. So, we settled on Cleveland as our vacation spot.

When you tell people from Pittsburgh that you are going to Cleveland for vacation, you might as well be telling them you are going to some far-off unfriendly foreign land, like Baghdad, for the reaction you get. This is all about –you guessed it- football. The Pittsburgh Steelers and the Cleveland Browns are bitter natural rivals, like lions and buffalo.

Look, it was an easy drive, okay? We wanted something close by and affordable. We have been VERY busy this summer and we didn’t want to work very hard just traveling to and from our vacation destination. Besides, Cleveland has a couple of non-sports-related world class attractions to recommend it.
One of those, the Cleveland Museum of Art, provided to be an ideal start to our vacation. My husband and I are perfect companions in an art museum, just as we are everywhere else. It is a serene and happy place for us. We like the same exhibits, spend the same amount of time with each piece of artwork, and walk quickly through the same exhibits. I was elated to discover an unfamiliar Monet painting that thoroughly captured my imagination. I left with a bookmark, magnet, key chain and 8 x 10 print of my new find, all of which cost me $17.49. This is MY version of “art collecting.”

We stayed at J. Palen House, a lovely and affordable bed and breakfast located in Cleveland’s historic Ohio City neighborhood. Our room boasted a comfortable King-sized bed (covered with more pillows than we knew what to do with), a roomy Jacuzzi, a rain forest shower head, and our own balcony so surrounded by foliage that you could almost forget you were on a city street. You can keep the beach – hanging out in a room like this is my idea of relaxing on vacation. Our hostess was gracious, and the breakfast freshly made and delicious.

Clevelanders are almost excessively friendly and cheerful, yet polite and savvy enough to say only nice things when we said we were from Pittsburgh, without as much as a grimace or sideways glance. If they weren’t sincere, you never would have known it. Only once did anyone mention the Steelers.

A two-hour Trolley Tour taught us many interesting facts about Cleveland, and you doubters should know that we learned that Cleveland is actually THE most awesome city in the whole world! We also learned that trolley seats are pretty uncomfortable after two hours, and that our tour guide had been an art teacher and a flight attendant before taking on this latest gig, and that she was not in the least bit happy about the way “The Avengers” filming in the city was affecting her tour route. I thought the most interesting factoid we learned was that city founder Moses Cleveland left the city about 90 days after landing there and NEVER CAME BACK. Maybe he was a Steelers fan.

I think my husband summed it up the best about a day into the vacation when he said, emphatically, “Oh, there’s nothing wrong with Cleveland.” I will go a step further and say that Cleveland was actually an excellent vacation destination.

In retrospect, we probably should have just said that we were going to see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame (the second world-class Cleveland  attraction) for vacation. Pittsburghers get that, and many think it’s the only reason that one would voluntarily go to Cleveland. And we DID visit the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, but that visit warrants its own blog. Tune in next week.

"Rip's Carousel" (Reinventing the Wheel)

Director Diane Paulus is reinterpreting Porgy and Bess, the 1945 Gershwin opera, in an upcoming Broadway theater production of the work that she plans to call The Gershwins' Porgy and Bess.  If I understand it correctly, she is keeping most of the music but is shortening the piece and adapting it to make the characters more multi-dimensional and accessible to today’s audiences (in her opinion).  She is doing so with the full blessings of the estates of George Gershwin, Ira Gershwin, and DuBose Heyward, who co-wrote the lyrics with Ira and was the author of the novel Porgy upon which the original opera was based. http://www.nytimes.com/2011/08/07/theater/porgy-and-bess-with-audra-mcdonald.html?pagewanted=3&_r=1
No big deal, right? Not only is it the prerogative of a director to interpret a work, isn’t updating and reinterpreting classic works (even sometimes opera) all the rage on Broadway? One has to imagine that when writing “Rent” that Jonathan Larsen veered much further from Puccini’s La Boheme than Paulus is straying from the original Porgy and Bess.

Ah, but the “purists,” including no less than Stephen Sondheim himself, have risen up to condemn Paulus, her interpretation, and her viewpoints. http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2011/08/10/stephen-sondheim-takes-issue-with-plan-for-revamped-porgy-and-bess/?hpw  My first thought was "What does Sondheim care?" He has allowed several drastic reinterpretations of his own works (e.g. Sweeney Todd, Company) in recent years. Of course, he is entitled to his opinion, just as Paulus is entitled to hers.

I pretty much love everything the Gershwins ever wrote, and I am not familiar enough with Porgy and Bess in its entirety to have a personal opinion about whether the work needs to be reinterpreted. I can tell you that there are musicals that I would re-write in a heartbeat, given the chance.

Let’s examine Carousel by Rodgers and Hammerstein for just a second, shall we? I loathe the book of this show, and let me tell you why. (SPOILER ALERT- the rest of this blog reveals most of the plot of “Carousel.”)

Okay, so Carousel is about Billy Bigelow, a carnival worker, who takes up with sweet-young-thing Julie Jordan. He marries her, loses his job, beats her because he is frustrated that he is unemployed, gets her pregnant, and then dies while committing a burglary so that he can feed the family. A series of bad choices, if you ask me. Inexplicably, Billy is not sent straight to Hell when he dies, but instead spends 15 years in purgatory.

Then an angel sends him down to earth to redeem himself by helping his troubled 15-year-old daughter, Louise. He talks to her for a while, and THEN smacks her. Julie tells her daughter, and this is a quote: "Sometimes a hit is just like a kiss." This somehow turns Louise around, and Billy gets into heaven. It glorifies domestic violence, and that was never acceptable, even in the 40's when it was written. It literally makes my skin crawl.

It’s a shame really, because it has a nice subplot about Carrie, Julie’s quirky best friend, and Mr. Snow, the decent (if less glamorous) fisherman she marries, and some exceptionally beautiful songs by Rodgers and Hammerstein, whose work I admire as much as I do the Gershwins. You’ll Never Walk Alone is a song I can sing by a character I could play (cousin Nettie), but I could never live with myself if I appeared in a production of Carousel as written.

This is why I would love to get my hands on Carousel. We could call it Rip’s Carousel. It wouldn’t take much to fix it. First things first, I would cut This Was a Real Nice Clambake, one of the most inane songs in all of musical theater history. “The vittles we et [sic] were good you bet.” Boy, they don’t write lyrics like that anymore. Thank goodness.

Then all I would have to change is the ending. Billy would return to earth and explain to his daughter that it is never okay for a man to hit a woman under any circumstances. He might even apologize for making her life so difficult. Julie would tell her that while she loved her father, his violent temper and abusive nature ruined her life and caused his early death, and that is why she, Louise, should never accept that kind of behavior in a man or in herself. Louise would have the guidance that would give her a fighting chance for a happy life, and Billy would go to heaven.

Then I…um, I mean Cousin Nettie…would return to the stage to lead the entire company in a rousing encore of You’ll Never Walk Alone.

Honestly, Do You Really Want the Truth?

You know that old saying, “Honesty is the best policy?” Honestly? That's such a lie.


Let me be clear that I advocate honesty in personal interactions most of the time. Honest and ethical behavior is most important, absolutely paramount, in fact, in business dealings. Furthermore, I find myself attracted to relentlessly honest people. People who just say what’s actually on their minds can be refreshing. Since they are physiologically incapable of lying, you know you can always trust them.

However, not only is telling the truth not always the best policy, it is actually sometimes a very bad idea indeed.

Take children, for example. “Children are SO honest,” people will say, as though that were a good thing. Children are not ALWAYS honest, of course. They are absolutely guileless when making observations about adults. “Gee, Mister, you have a funny voice!” they will happily announce to a gentleman upon meeting him for the first time, or they will innocently ask you why the dress you’re wearing is so ugly. However, they will lie like adorable little rugs just the minute they sense that the truth might get them into hot water. They will lie about breaking the lamp, or pulling Matilda’s hair, or not finishing their homework. Children can get away with these sorts of thing because they’re so darn cute.

Adults don’t have that luxury- we expect more from them. Those of you who think that saying what’s on your mind is always the best idea are just lying to yourselves. Being tactful in a civilized society occasionally means bending the truth or even lying outright.

Rhetorical questions rarely require a detailed, honest answer. “Hi, there, how are you?” is usually just a greeting more than an actual question, especially when exchanged with a casual acquaintance in the supermarket. The proper answer here is, “Fine.” Almost no one really wants to hear a litany of your latest ailments.

Sometimes people think they want more information but they don’t. Once, my husband and I were paying after having a perfectly adequate dining experience at a local pancake restaurant. The upbeat young man at the cash register asked, “How was everything?”

“Fine,” answered my husband.

“Is that the best we can get from you – a ‘fine’?” cajoled the clerk.

“Oh, you actually want the details of how our visit was?” asked my husband, amiably. “Okay! We waited several minutes before someone even took our drink order, and they could have refilled the coffee more often, and they kept forgetting to bring us more cream when we asked for it. The food also took a while to come out, but was very good when we got it. So, all in all, it was fine.” I could tell from the look on the cashier’s face that, in the end, he didn’t really want the whole truth.

If you are a waitress, it is an especially bad idea to apologize to your customers for the bad service you’ve been giving them by truthfully explaining that you have been suffering from a terrible stomach flu and that you’ve been “puking your guts out” all morning. This is the epitome of TMI, and, believe it or not, might cause your customers to lose their appetites and complain to your manager. Who knows? They may even avoid you and your restaurant in the future.

When commenting on someone’s appearance, even in response to a direct question, a lie is often more of a kindness than it is a deceit. There is nothing to be gained by telling someone that you really don’t like their new outfit or haircut. If someone shares with you that they FEEL like hell, they almost never want to hear that they also LOOK like hell. And, men, trust me, when a woman asks you, “Do I look fat in this outfit?” she is looking for reassurance, not the truth.

There are occasional exceptions, of course. My husband once volunteered to me that if I ever asked him if my butt looked big in these pants, he would have to say yes, but that it would be a GOOD thing. Well, when he put it that way, it was honestly pretty charming.

"Your Destination Will Be on Your Right"

It was the quintessential dark and stormy night, about 20 years ago. I had attended a production of "The Odd Couple" at Linden Hall in Dawson, PA, which is located somewhere outside Perryopolis in Fayette County. It was my first time there.


I set out for home at about 11 p.m. in a torrential downpour on unfamiliar country roads. I missed an essential turn and was now lost on the country back roads of Fayette County. I drove for miles without seeing one business of any kind where I might stop and ask for directions. As I drove I realized that I was starting to get dangerously low on gas. Cell phones existed at the time but regular folks did not have them, so I had no way of contacting anyone about this predicament.

There was nothing to do but drive and pray. I am not the type of person who prays for favors frivolously. I do not pray for good weather or that I find shoes that match my clothes. In this instance, I prayed more intensely than I ever had before that I would find a familiar road or a gas station before I ran out of gas. After about 45 minutes, I happened upon a sign leading me to the nearest highway, got to a gas station in time, and headed for home. There is no way that I had enough gas in the car to get as far as I did that night, so I am convinced my prayers were answered (it was kind of like Hanukkah).

I’d like to pretend this was an unusual occurrence, but the truth is that I’m a bit directionally challenged. The first time I go anywhere, there is a decent chance I may miss a turn on the way. Heck, I once got lost on my first visit to a large Target store. Usually, I realize quickly what happened and just turn around to get back to where I was. It certainly doesn’t ruin my day or anything. If it did, I would spend a fair number of my days in a state of wild despair because I went a mile or two out of my way.

Once in a while, though, it all goes terribly wrong like it did all those years ago in Fayette County. Just a couple of days ago, I was trying a new, presumably simple back route to work. I am still not sure where I took the wrong turn, but I ended up in Economy, PA, where I am pretty sure I’ve never been before. Again, I was in the country, with no business establishment in sight.

However, the difference this time is that I now carry a phone with me that is not only portable, but also very intelligent. My android is a very smartphone, indeed. All I had to do to get myself back on track was to pull over and type my destination address into the navigation app. The phone took care of the rest. A soothing female voice talked me back to work, telling me exactly when and where to turn (“In 500 feet, you will turn left onto Mary Reed Road”). I wasn’t far from work, but without that GPS, I might still be looking for a gas station or convenience store in Economy, perhaps never to discover that my destination would be on my right.

Technology is grand, isn’t it? Say what you will about the dangers of using your cell phone while you’re driving. In certain cases, having that cell phone in the car can save you.

If the Shoe Fits

One of the favorite annual events of my childhood, along with Christmas and my birthday, was the yearly airing of the television production of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella starring Lesley Ann Warren in the title role. Lesley Anne was just luminous, and I was entranced each time I watched her win the Prince (played by Stuart Damon).


I looked forward to seeing it all year, and my friends and I would often watch it together. We would sing along with all the songs we loved so much, envisioning ourselves being lifted from our everyday drudgery by the love of our very own Prince Charming.

My love of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella never really diminished. I still get that same warm and fuzzy feeling every time I catch a clip of Lesley Ann in the role on You Tube. So when I heard that the Robert Morris University Summer Colonial Theatre (where I like to spend my summers) was doing the show this year, I was excited. I was thrilled when I was cast as the Stepmother.

Although I am now old enough to be Cinderella’s, well, mother, I do still share one characteristic with her. It’s about our feet.

We were talking one night at rehearsal about how unusual it was that no other woman in the kingdom wore the same size shoe as Cinderella, and our director shared her theory that perhaps it wasn’t a matter of size, that perhaps Cinderella had misshapen feet. My husband immediately turned and looked at me.

Let me set one thing straight right now. I do NOT have misshapen feet. They are an unusual size, to be sure- short, with an unnaturally wide instep, a narrow heel, and a high arch. This makes it hard to find shoes that fit, but does not exactly qualify me for a circus side show or anything.

I don’t know what Cinderella did for footwear before the Fairy Godmother showed up, but for years I ran around in 8 ½ W shoes that cost $19.99 or less at one of the discount shoe chains. These shoes did not fit me, but I didn’t know that at the time because I had never experienced a shoe that fit.

My fairy godmother showed up in the form of a salesperson at Lady Foot Locker, where I went when I joined a gym and decided that I wanted a good pair of sneakers to work out in. She measured my foot and informed me, much to both our surprise, that I actually should be wearing a 7WW, which she assured me would be hard to find. They did not carry shoes that size, and so she referred me to the Easy Spirit store across the way in the mall.

The Easy Spirit sneakers I purchased that day were so comfortable that my spirit actually was easier when I had them on. I wanted to wear them every day. I began to wonder if shoes that actually fit my foot came in other styles. As it turns out, they do, and it seems that only Easy Spirit makes them.

So, I set out on a lifelong quest, with shoes that fit as my Dulcinea. Each shoe purchase is its own little scavenger hunt. First you have to find a style that comes in a 7WW, and then find a 7WW that is actually in stock. Once I started wearing loafers and pumps that fit, I discovered that my feet were slightly different sizes, which means the more adjustable the shoe and/or straps, the better. And I never could wear heels and I still can’t. However, with time and patience, I have acquired a small wardrobe of Easy Spirit shoes, suitable for all occasions.

Easy Spirit shoes have changed my life just the way that glass slipper changed Cinderella’s. Wearing shoes that fit has been a revelation to me, a luxury I never imagined would happen to me. And my feet and I are living happily ever after.

Robert Morris University’s Summer Colonial Theatre presents Rodger & Hammerstein’s Cinderella July 28 – 31 in Robert Morris University’s Massey Theatre. Curtain is at 8pm, Thursday – Saturday with a 2pm matinee on Sunday. Tickets are $10 and will be available at the door.  For more information about the show - http://www.rmu.edu/theatre

But I Won't Do That

You hear a lot lately about people and their “bucket lists” of things they must do before they die. Me, I have a list of things that I’d rather die than ever do again. I call it my “chuck it list.” 

Of course, there are things that I’ve never done that I don’t care to try. Mountain climbing, skiing, sky diving, and bungee jumping all come to mind. My “chuck it list” is made up of things I’ve tried (often more than once) and never want to experience again. My top ten things I never want to do again, in no particular order, are:

1) Washington County Fair - I was a city girl who had never even been to a county fair when I was put in charge of my organization’s food booth at the Washington County Fair one year. To say that week was a living hell is a gross understatement. Beyond the horror and utter exhaustion of that assignment, I realized that there really was nothing at a county fair that I liked to do, with the possible exception of chatting with the carnies (the quirky and off-beat folks who travel from fair to fair to run the midway rides). Nonetheless, I attended several more times when my son and his high school band performed before the School Bus Demolition Derby each year. Seriously. I can’t make this stuff up.

2) Any Body Of Water- I am a non-swimmer who hates the feeling of being in water, even in a bathtub. When I was 12 I had to be rescued by the lifeguard at a local swimming pool. At 23, I almost drowned after falling in while riding the rapids on the Youghiogheny River. You don’t have to hit me over the head more than 2 or 3 times. I can take a hint. I stay out of bodies of water now.

3) Horse Back Riding- You know that old adage about getting right back on that horse if you fall? I am here to tell you that you never have to get on a horse again after breaking your pelvis in two places when the horse you’re riding throws you, even after the nightmares stop.

4) Canton Football Hall of Fame-I once spent FIVE HOURS in this museum, because my then nine-year-old son was determined to read every word of every display in the place. That was quite enough for this lifetime.

5) Any Production Of Copacabana- I have nothing against Barry Manilow or Lola (she was a show girl), but I sat all the way through one fine , well-done production of this truly abysmal musical based on the lyrics of the song. The very thought of seeing it a second time makes me cringe.

6) A Roller Coaster- I used to ride roller coasters, within reason. But as I “matured” I lost my taste for these and most other amusement park rides. I have morphed into one of those studda bubbas who holds everyone’s stuff while sitting on the bench in the shade, eating my Sno-Cone and Potato Patch fries.

7) Grade School Spelling Bee- You would think these would be fun and happy memories, wouldn’t you? Instead, they were intense affairs, with driven 8-year-olds and anxious parents, and (in at least one case) enough trauma and angst over a misspelled word to last a lifetime.

8) A Yes Concert- Yes is a 70’s rock band that is perfectly enjoyable in concert – the first 5 or 6 times you go.

9) Confession – In my Catholic elementary school, they used to march us over to Church periodically to confess our sins. Despite being generally wracked with guilt all the time, I often couldn’t really think of anything I did that was all that wrong – I was a kid after all. I confessed to disobeying my parents and lying far more often than I actually committed those offenses, because I felt like I had to say SOMETHING when I went into the confessional booth. The last time they made us go to confession in eighth grade was the last time I went to confession.

10) Canonsburg Fourth of July Parade – Been there, done that – 14 times. Enough said.

Don't Know Much About History

Don’t know much about history
Don’t know much biology
Don’t know much about a science book
Don’t know much about the French I took.

                             -“What a Wonderful World”, Sam Cooke

I always like watching Jeopardy, even though I could never make it on the actual show. My general lack of coordination coupled with my need to mentally process the clue and THEN formulate the answer (in the form of a question) means there is no way that I could possibly buzz in before two fellow contestants whether or not I knew the answer.

So, when I discovered I could play Jeopardy online I was pretty happy. Online Jeopardy is different. There are no opponents – just you and the Machine. It is also in a multiple choice format. Being provided with four possibilities gives me a fighting chance - I have at least a 25% shot at a correct answer in every category, even if it is a complete guess.

This is important for me because I am stronger in some categories than others. I like to think that this is the case with most of us, with the exception of a handful of brainiacs who just know something about everything. What disturbs me, though, is the particular subjects with which I struggle.

You see, I don’t know anything at all about serious, weighty subjects like science and math. Math was always the bane of my academic existence, despite coming from a family who was, largely, good in the subject. I cannot accurately add and subtract numbers in my checkbook without my calculator, but my sister is an accountant who elected to take Trigonometry in high school because she figured it would be an easy “A.”

Geography also baffles me. For some reason, I have never been able to remember exactly where all the places are or what they’re called in this big world of ours. I am embarrassed to admit that I’m not exactly sure of the placement of some of the Midwest states in our own country, and, honestly, I really have never been able to distinguish Montana from Wyoming.

I actually do know a little bit more about history, which is the story of people. I have always found the subject of people and their motivations very interesting, if often perplexing. However, I am better at modern history than ancient, especially those current events of my lifetime which happened long enough ago that they are now history. I do keep up with current events – e.g. politics, the weather, anything that involves a Steeler - stuff like that.

So what topics DO I know, you’re asking yourself? I am quite proficient in what I like to think of as the “Fine Arts.” I am very knowledgeable about Broadway musicals, theater in general, literature and writers (especially Mark Twain), anything to do with language, the movies and Oscar winners, actors and actresses, and the pop culture of my youth. While I may not be able to tell the difference between a trapezoid and a triangle, I know without hesitation that Cherie Currie appeared as “Annie” in the movie Foxes with Jodie Foster in 1980. Trust me neither of these topics typically comes up at your average dinner party.

Music is a little trickier – I know a LOT about Broadway show tunes and popular music produced between 1930 and 1989, but not so much about classical music and opera. Somewhere in the 1990’s the popular music scene lost me. My first thought when I heard that Josh Duhamel was dating Fergie was that Sarah Ferguson, the Duchess of York, and he made quite the odd couple.

My ultimate top Jeopardy category, though, is television. I am an avid television fan, and you can ask me anything about it, from its beginnings to the present. I even know facts about shows that were on before I was born and about shows that I have never watched. I am a living, breathing example of how watching too much television can absolutely rot your brain, and keep you from learning important topics like science, math and geography. Unless of course you‘re watching Jeopardy.

Freedom on the Fourth

I am as patriotic as the next person. I love being an American, and I thoroughly appreciate the democratic process. In fact, I continue to enthusiastically participate in it no matter how many times my candidates are turned down by fellow patriots (Hillary was ROBBED).


So, here it is – the Fourth of July. The birth of our nation certainly warrants a national holiday. What a better way to tip our hats to our hard-working forefathers than to take a day off work in their honor?

The chairs are lined up and down the parade route in Canonsburg, in preparation for what is truly one of the biggest and finest Fourth of July parades, certainly in Pennsylvania and perhaps in all of the United States. I have no intention of going anywhere near Canonsburg today. See, I’m not crazy about parades, and after attending 14 consecutive Canonsburg Fourth of July parades (each attendance has its own place on the things-I’ve-done-for-you list that I have compiled for my son), I’ve blissfully retired from parade attendance.

My husband and I aren’t much for fireworks, either. I mean, they’re okay, the first few are pretty, but really, how many fireworks in a row do you want to see? They’re certainly not worth leaving the house and staying out after dark. Our mutual distaste for fireworks is one of the things that brought us together. “You don’t like fireworks? Really? Wow! I don’t like fireworks either!” A pause, as you look at each other, the happy realization that you have found your soul mate sinking in. “Let’s get married!”

So, perhaps it comes as no surprise to you that my husband and I had no specific plans for the Fourth this year, aside from watching the Boston Pops on television. When we realized that my father’s senior apartment building was having their meal at noon, as they often do on holidays, we asked him over for dinner. Our first thought was a cookout, a Fourth of July tradition we actually wholeheartedly support. We cook out on our grill all the time. However, my dad doesn’t much like eating outdoors, and since we do grill out all the time, my husband decided to make Shrimp Jambalaya. We all like shrimp.

Actually, when you really think about the meaning and spirit of Independence Day, this will be a perfect holiday celebration. And I know all about the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and not just from studying it in school, way, WAY back when. I have also seen 1776 four times on stage, which included seeing three performances of one production of the show in a five-day period. My husband played Benjamin Franklin in that production. It was my favorite husband playing my favorite founding father. How could I resist? Believe me it is a better history lesson than it is a musical.

Today, by breaking with tradition, we will celebrate the very principles upon which our nation was founded –that is, the freedom to be exactly who we want to be, to express ourselves without fear, to live as we please and to do whatever we damn well please on any given holiday.

Besides, jambalaya is at least as American as, well, hot dogs and hamburgers, originating as it did in the French quarter of New Orleans, most likely by Spanish immigrants trying to recreate their native paella without using saffron (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jambalaya ). And I did buy a festive plastic Fourth of July tablecloth for our Shrimp Jambalaya dinner. I fully support the red, white and blue thing. As anyone who knows me can tell you, red is my favorite color.

The Great Weight Loss Challenge

My husband and I like to think of ourselves as youthful, fun loving folks. That’s all in our minds, of course, and our bodies continue to age no matter what we think about it. Both of us have been told by various doctors that losing weight might help or alleviate some of our troublesome conditions related to aging, so we finally bit the bullet, and, hand in hand, joined Weight Watchers.


Weight Watchers and I go way back, all the way to 1980. At the time I was just a fraction of what I weigh now and ashamed to be "fat" at a weight that I now consider to be VERY thin. However, I desperately wanted to lose 20 pounds so that I could wear a size 9/10 wedding dress to my first wedding.

The program worked, with its mixture of foods from different food groups (which were determined based on the nutritional value of the foods). I faithfully followed the program, weighing in weekly and attending the motivational meetings. I was proud when I met my goal, became a lifetime member and earned a black Weight Watchers pin, which I still have. Over time, I regained the weight and then some, because maintenance was not something Weight Watchers or I had mastered back in the 80’s.

The biggest difference going into the program now is that it isn’t really about weight this time. I am no longer ashamed of my weight and am totally comfortable in my own skin. I know now that people of various shapes and sizes can be healthy and attractive. My husband absolutely thinks I am beautiful just the way I am, and it has nothing to do with my weight. I am, however, very interested in being in good health. For me, eating right and exercising always seems to result in weight loss, so my optimum weight is definitely less than my current weight.

So here I am back in Weight Watchers, after all these years. I have to hand it to them, they have continued to take what they know about nutrition and tweak and revise the program to continually make it better, more effective and workable. The Points Plus program is light years ahead of the program I followed in 1980, totally flexible and actually individualized. I can keep track of my food and progress online, in addition to weighing in in person.

The other big difference this time around is that my husband and I are doing this together. While I had support from people around me in the past, and the meetings were always there if I needed them, it is different - and better - to be doing it with your life partner and housemate. In our case, it is just one more adventure we are exploring together, and we are actually enjoying the process.

It feels a little like we are in our own weight-loss reality show, without the abusive trainers and hosts or the downright dangerous forced exercise routines (no one forced us to run a mile our first day on the program). But it is about surviving challenges, in a way. There’s the Doughnuts and Birthday Cake at the Staff Meeting Challenge (just say no). There’s Eating Out at a Real Restaurant (that doesn’t provide nutritional counts for its food) Challenge – can you pass up the bread and the delicious dipping sauce which you did not account for when planning your meal ahead of time looking at the menu online? The Pizza Challenge - can you stop at just one or two pieces, so that you can eat something other than fruits or vegetables for dinner? You get the idea.

Of course, there’s no prize money, but there is a pay-off in weekly weight loss and long term improved health. And we can all be winners here – no one gets voted off this island.