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.