The Rainbow Connection

We have lost some people who are particularly dear to us this year.  My sister's mother-in-law, my father's lady friend, and two of our closest friends all passed away this year.  

Our friends Jeff and Pat were gone far too soon, taken from us in the middle of their lives.  While they did not know each other, they died within 24 hours of one another and we learned of their deaths in the space of an hour.  While it's been several months since that fateful day, I'm still struggling to make sense of the fact that these two lovely people are no longer in this world with us.

Then there was Laura.  I never met Laura, but her sister Janet and brother-in-law Keith are friends and former co-workers of mine.  Laura was diagnosed with cervical cancer in February of 2009 at the age of 34, and beat it through rigorous chemotherapy and radiation treatments.  In February 2013 her doctors discovered that her cancer had returned, and that the tumor had collapsed her lung.  She resumed her fight with the same determination that she did the first time around.

As I followed her journey through Janet's and Keith's posts,  I could see that Laura possessed a remarkable lively spirit symbolized by the rainbows that she loved so much.  She embraced life even as she fought for it, surrounded by the unwavering support of her extraordinary family and friends who called themselves the Team Laura Rainbow Warriors.  There were 526 Warriors on their Facebook page.  I was especially struck by the fact that Laura was always smiling, in every picture, no matter what she was enduring at the time.

On November 15, Laura lost her battle, surrounded by her loving family.  She was 37.  I wept when I read this although we had never met.  Laura had instructed her loved ones not to wear black to her funeral;  rather she wanted them to wear colorful clothing as she had to celebrate her life.  On the day of the funeral this rainbow appeared in the sky:

Clearly, Laura was sending some rainbow love back to her Warriors.  

A few weeks later as I was driving on the turnpike to join our family for Thanksgiving in New Jersey, the sun shining on the CDs that sit on the visor created a rainbow on the dashboard. I immediately thought of Laura.  I remembered that our loved ones stay with us, even after they depart this world.

My good friend Debbie, who passed away about seven years ago, is with me whenever I commit or witness a random act of kindness.  Debbie faced a number of challenges in her life and she took what she learned to help others and make the world a better place.  When she died, she asked her beloved husband to share the following with all of us she left behind:

Please do not conduct a Memorial Service. Instead, please remember me by committing a "random act of kindness" for someone in need and asking others who cared  for me to do the same. Thank you for all your love and support during my illness and God bless you all.  Be good to yourself and help others along the way.  Goodbye for now ......Love Debbie

Jeff is with me every time I write this blog because the title "Rip Aches All Over" was his.  As a  parody of my original column title, it was a product of his wit, that sense of humor of his that I loved sharing with him so much.  I can almost feel his appreciation of some of the humor in my blog, and I can still hear his hearty one-of-a-kind laugh in my head.  

Pat lives on in this perfect home of ours.  Pat was a generous woman who took good great care of her own family, and used her talent as a real estate agent to find the perfect homes for many people, including us.  Without her loving assistance, we might not be enjoying this wonderful home of ours today.

So, Laura lives on in rainbows, Debbie in kindnesses, Jeff in my laughter, and Pat in my home. We all have the capacity to live a life that leaves a mark on those who loved us, and sometimes on people we don't even know.

Twas the Week Before Christmas (A Shopper's Tale)

Twas the week before Christmas, and all along McKnight Road

All the shoppers were scurrying, carrying many a load

The cars were lined up, crawling one by one

With drivers hoping all the shopping soon would be done

We were nestled all snug in our bed

With tablets and i-pads resting near our heads

Mr. Rip in his Scrooge hat and I in my cap

Had just settled in for a long winter's nap

When into my brain there arose such a clatter

I sprang from my bed to take care of the matter

Away to Windows I flew in a flash

Tore open the app and got ready my cash

The moon on the glow of the computer screen

Gave a luster to that one last present I'd seen

But what my weary eyes saw gave me fear

The perfect gift was on back order until early next year!

For a little old lady not so lively or quick

I knew in a moment I had one more present to pick

More rapid than eagles I jumped in my car,

I whistled and shouted and hit stores near and far

Now Target! Now Macy's! Now Barnes and Noble!

On Brookstone!  On Penny's! On stores that are global!

To the top of the county! To Ross Park Mall!

Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!

As leaves that before the wild hurricane fly

When I meet with an obstacle I mount to the sky

So from store to kiosk to strip mall I flew

And found the right gift and some stocking stuffers too!

Then in a twinkling I was back at my house

Prancing and dancing with my loving spouse

I drew in my head, and turned around

And looked at the chimney, where my presents were bound

It was bedecked by a Christmas tree and poinsettia to boot

and a fake fireplace, so no ashes or soot

Bundles of gifts came through the mail to unpack

Some still to be wrapped, others ready to stack

Our eyes how they twinkled, we were so merry

Our cheeks were like roses, we got a little teary

Our droll little mouths drew up like bows

When all we needed were groceries with three days to go

So we stumped off to Giant Eagle, with smiles full of teeth

Where we found all sorts of fish ready for a Christmas Eve feast

Shrimp and smelts and anchovies would soon fill our bellies

And pasta and ham and desserts sweet like jellies

We'd be chubby and plump, right jolly old elves

And we laughed when we thought of it, in spite of ourselves

With a wink of my eye and a twist of my head

Soon gave me to know I had no more shopping to dread

I talked non-stop, but went straight to my work

And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk

Feeling all happy right down to my toes

I placed by the chimney all the gifts that I chose

I sprang to my couch, waiting for the tea kettle to whistle

And away my shopping list flew like the down of a thistle

But to you I exclaim as I wait for my family to alight

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

At Work for the Holidays

I know a lot of people who were OUTRAGED because some local retail establishments (like Walmart) decided to stay open on Thanksgiving Day last month.  There were protests and boycotts, and people saying that they weren't going shopping on Thanksgiving and telling me that I shouldn't either.  It was a civil rights matter, they said, proclaiming that it wasn't right - that those people (who work in those stores) should be home with their families on the holiday.  Mind you none of the protesters I knew personally were actually the employees scheduled to work that day, just other folks who were taking this cause up on their behalf.

These are not the first people who ever had to work on Thanksgiving or some other holiday.  For 7 straight years from the time I was 17 until I was 23 I worked every single Fourth of July in the evening at Winky's Drive-In Restaurant in Swissvale.  The managers scheduled me because they knew if I was scheduled I would work, instead of calling off like many of their other teenage employees did to join in all the teenage Fourth of July games.  I understand my friends had a lot of fun out there but I would never know because I had to work.

For the same reason, they also liked to schedule me to work on Christmas Eve, when my family celebrated, making me miss Christmas dinner more than one year.  As unhappy as this made me, not one person protested on my behalf, or particularly cared that I got home after dinner was finished.  Furthermore it never occurred to any of us that I, a teenager who made minimum wage working part-time, in the summer and when I was home on breaks from college, should request that day off or call off if scheduled.

So why aren't we rallying around those other folks who have always worked on Thanksgiving?  No one seems to be  protesting all the people working to assure us a pleasant holiday experience and safe travels. 

We traveled on the Turnpike on Thanksgiving this year, and there were people working at every stop along the way.  Many cheerfully proclaimed "Happy Thanksgiving!" after ringing up our orders. There are the pilots, the train conductors, the bus drivers and all the personnel supporting them working to make sure you reach your destination.

Hotel clerks and cleaning people make sure you have a place to stay and their food service staff hold big Thanksgiving buffets that day for people who choose not to cook. 

You can't send the sick people home on holidays, so hospitals are open and staffed on the holidays, as are all institutional establishments, like nursing homes or prisons (the one place almost no one wants to be any day of the year).

Movie theaters (at least as unnecessary as the retail stores) and many restaurants stay  open every day of the year, even on Christmas.  Thank goodness, because our Christmas Day is all about going out for Chinese food and a movie.

Oh, and I think all of the Pennsylvania State Police work on Thanksgiving, because they were certainly out in force when we were traveling the Turnpike, lurking around every corner.

So, to all those who sanctimoniously state that you cannot bring yourselves to go to Walmart on Thanksgiving because of your solidarity with and compassion for the people who work there, you better stay off the roads and out of the hotels, the movies and the restaurants because those employees have families, too.

Personally, though, I am going to protest on behalf of those hard-working State Police.  Seriously
those guys need a break, don't you think?  I think we can make it across the Turnpike without them just one or two days of the year.

I Told You There was a Problem with Maria

I have never liked to say "I told you so" because it sounds so confrontational and borderline hostile.  I much prefer "See, I was right!" which may be self congratulatory but also demonstrates healthy self esteem (something with which I've struggled).  

Which brings to us the The Sound of Music - Live!  on NBC last Thursday.  A couple of weeks ago in my blog entitled  "A Problem with Maria" (http://ripachesallover.blogspot.com/2013/11/a-problem-with-maria.html) I shared some reservations about the casting of Carrie Underwood as Maria.  I said that while I thought she would certainly sing prettily enough for the role, that her lack of acting experience made her a risky choice for a lead role in a live televised performance.

Well, I was emphatically right about this.  Carrie sang the role just fine, but her performance was wooden - with blank expressions and a lifeless line delivery.  She had absolutely no chemistry with her leading man, Stephen Moyer as Captain Von Trapp.  To be fair to Carrie, it was evident that she gave this demanding assignment her very best effort - she worked very hard at what must have been a daunting task for a non-actress and was clearly the very best Maria that she - Carrie Underwood - could be. 

It wasn't her fault that she was reportedly, inexplicably, the first choice for the role - we would have to turn to the producers and directors for an explanation of their reasoning for that.  Did they even audition her for the part?  Or did they cast her only based on her popularity as a country singer and American Idol winner.

Honestly I wish the powers-that-be on projects like this would have a little more faith in their audience.  I understand that it's a business and you want to cast someone with a following, but the integrity and quality of the project should also matter.  I can't buy the theory that this project could not have been made without Carrie Underwood. They could have tried a little harder to find that superstar with a following who can sing and act.  A good first step might be to actually read the star you have in mind for the role.

 

As for Carrie, I can imagine that it was very flattering to be told she was the first choice for the role, and it probably seemed like a wonderful opportunity, but in the end I wonder if she did herself any favors by taking on something so completely beyond her.  Before this, she was a star beloved by many with few detractors. But now she is the brunt of much deserved criticism, and ridIcule.  She seems like a nice enough person, but her tweet of "Plain and simple: mean people need Jesus" in response to her critics is just naive (on so many levels).  When you perform you open yourself up to be critiqued, and as a former AI contestant she really should know that.

Now, let's get back to how I was right, shall we?  In a stroke of genius unbelievable in the same people who cast Carrie in the lead, the producers thought outside the box and cast the incomparable Audra McDonald in the role of Mother Abbess.  I was pretty excited about this, saying that I would literally cast Audra McDonald in any role she wanted, and that I was waiting in breathless anticipation to hear her performance of "Climb Every Mountain."

Well, Audra blew all my expectations out of the water.  She was the best Mother Abbess I have ever seen.  She turned in the most riveting, compelling, ferocious "Climb Every Mountain" you could ever hope to enjoy, and she actually made Carrie Underwood weep (the only real emotion she showed all night).  Audra acted while she was singing, if you can imagine, and created one of those one-of-a-kind iconic theatrical performances that will be remembered and revered forever.

So, maybe those were the easy calls, you say?  How else was I right, you ask?  Well, the luminous Laura Benanti was so enchanting as the Baroness that it was puzzling why the Captain would choose Maria over her, almost as puzzling as why the producers would choose Carrie over Laura to play...oh, never mind.  Laura was great as the Baroness, as I predicted.  And Pittsburgh native Christian Borle was even better in the role of Max than I said he'd be.

All in all, Sound of Music Live! was a thoroughly satisfying experience. Wondrous sets, some really fine performances by the supporting players (including the kids, the nuns, and the housekeeper and butler) yet still enough to poke fun at.  And the best part is that I was right about it all. 

Two Lovers from Friends

If you ask me I could write a book

About the way you walk and whisper and look

I could write a preface on how we met

So the world would never forget

And the simple secret of the plot

Is just to tell them I love you a lot

Then the world discovers as my book ends

How to make two lovers of friends

                                                  - Lorenz Hart

Mr. Rip and I celebrated ten years of wedded bliss on Friday, and when I say bliss, I do mean bliss.  It is hard to imagine a relationship that is emotionally healthier and more satisfying than ours, and we make each other laugh every day.  We're just a couple of happy clams, we are.

When we reflect back on our story, it is not surprising that we are still happily married ten years later.  We are, after all, absolutely perfect together.  The real miracle is that we ever got together in the first place.

We were a couple of middle-aged odd ducks when we met doing community theater.  Neither one of us was exactly looking for a relationship because neither of us was available at the time. We became "show buddies," friendly when we were working on the same show, but not really in touch otherwise.

I liked him. He was nice to me and he laughed at my jokes, which is pretty much all you need to do to win me over as a friend for life.  He was also funny and smart and interesting.

Much later, when we were both available, we actually started to see each other on purpose in settings outside the hallowed halls of the theater, but just as friends. We became great friends. We liked to do all the same things, and we just enjoyed being together.

I was falling for him.  But taking it to the next step was trickier. You might say we both had "baggage" by that time in our lives; Mr. Rip says we were both carrying a full set of Tourister luggage.

History had taught me that falling for a friend was fraught with the potential danger of losing a perfectly good friend, so I wasn't bringing up the subject.  Instead, I tried to look for clues in things that he said that might suggest he might be leaning in that direction as well.

The only problem was that I never did have a knack for that sort of thing.  I have absolutely no feminine wiles.  I also was born without a flirtation device, so I can't tell when someone is flirting with me.  One time he told me that I was a "nice lady."  Hmm... was that flirting?  Or did he just think I was a nice lady?  Boy, this stuff didn't really get any easier with age, did it?

One day he asked me that fateful question.  "Are we dating?" A few hours later, we decided the answer was a resounding yes and we never looked back.  As a bonus, we didn't see why this had to interfere with our friendship, so we're still best friends.

The real evidence that we are soul mates meant to be together is that I am convinced that I'm the lucky one because he loves me and he believes that he's the lucky one because I love him.   Maybe the truth is that we're both pretty lucky.

Oh, and we unpacked the baggage a long time ago. 

To Be or Not To Be...in Pittsburgh

Once I was presenting the iconic "I'll be there" passage from The Grapes of Wrath to my Communications Seminar class in college (gamely tackling both the parts of Tom and Ma Joad) when my professor, the late great Dr. Roger Emelson, stopped me.

"No, no, no, no, Sharon!"  he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You sound like someone who was born and raised in Pittsburgh."

I thought about that for a minute before I responded.  "I am somebody who was born and raised in Pittsburgh."

"Well, of course," said the exasperated Dr. Emelson, "but you don't want to sound like someone who was born and raised in Pittsburgh."

Pittsburghers get no respect when it comes to the way we talk.  I for one can't imagine why so many people get so riled up about this.  What we like to call "Pittsburghese" is actually the Midland North American dialect, and is practiced in some form in southwestern Pennsylvania and in many areas west and south of the Pittsburgh metropolitan area.  It is just one of an estimated 24 dialects in America.* It's as good as any other dialect in my humble opinion.

I find the study of language and its evolution fascinating, and occasionally I even think I'd like to study it in more depth or at least read an internet article or two about it, maybe while eating a jumbo (bologna) sandwich with a nice cold glass of pop.  If I were not from Pittsburgh, I might have said I find language to be  fascinating. Here in the 'Burgh our dogs need walked and our cars need washed (well, at least mine does). 

I did not realize that there was anything grammatically questionable about that until I was 31 and a professor with whom I was working pointed it out to me.  It seems that "To be or not to be" has an entirely different meaning in Pittsburgh.  I had no idea.  See, if you hang around with professors they're going to teach you things.  They can't help themselves.

Is it the fact that we use fewer phonemes than most of the country that bothers people?  I like to think of it as being economical in our speech. Why waste time using two or three different small "o" sounds when one will do the trick?  When you look at it this way it makes sense, doesn't it?

Is it the way we redd up the house when yinz are coming over or fall on those slippy  hills of ours when it's snowing or get all nebby sometimes and put our noses in some jagoff's business?  Well, we have the Scotch-Irish (some of the early settlers to our area) to thank (or blame) for those expressions, and for the "to be" conundrum for that matter.* 

It really could be worse.  The Scotch-Irish are also responsible for bringing bagpipes into the country, which sound a lot worse than any Pittsburghese I've ever heard.

* Source:  http://www.pbs.org/speak/seatosea/americanvarieties/pittsburghese/

Can't get enough of the Pittsburgh dialect and want to read more?  There's a new book out on the subject that is on my Christmas Wish List... http://www.amazon.com/Speaking-Pittsburghese-Dialect-Studies-Sociolinguistics/dp/0199945705/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1385392486&sr=8-3&keywords=pittsburghese

Ten Things You Didn't Know About Rip

When I saw the latest "thing" on Facebook sharing a number of things people might not know about you I thought "Hey, that would be a great blog topic!" So here we go....

1.  I was a cheerleader in high school.  People who know me well are surprised to discover this unless they went to high school with me. Look it was a fluke, okay? I tried out on a lark, and I made it solely because of my loudness scores.

2.  I attended a dozen Grateful Dead concerts as an adult. People who DON'T know me well are surprised by this. To clarify, I did not quit my day job, wear tie-dye, sell beads or follow the band around in a van.  I was a once-a-year Deadhead who just joined the party when they performed in Pittsburgh, like a Christian who only goes to church on Easter and Christmas.

3.  I have never lived more than 39 miles away from my childhood home.

4. I vehemently HATE the sound of bagpipes more than any other sound on earth, even more than the sound of fingernails on a blackboard. I have given my loved ones only one instruction for my funeral- no bagpipes!! Thankfully, I am not Scottish.

5. I am completely unsentimental when it comes to inanimate objects (including former high school buildings) but am completely emotional when it comes to people, even sometimes people who I don't actually know (e.g. Friends of Friends).

6. I have absolutely no understanding of or tolerance for mean-spirited people.  Mr. Rip says that my instruction book is one page long and can be summed up in four words, "Be nice  to me." I mean, really, is that so hard?  I have never really forgiven anyone for any slight they've ever bestowed upon me.  I probably should work on that - maybe after I finish this blog.

7. I am afraid of horses, ever since I broke my pelvis in two places when one threw me.  The nightmares have stopped, but I'll still cross the street to avoid being too close to one.

8.  I met Geraldine Ferraro when we both participated in a national child care forum that was moderated by Paula Zahn and covered on the CBS early morning show.  Geraldine was there because she was the first woman to run on a Presidential ticket.  I was there because I was one of the winners of the "Three Life Lessons I Want for My Child" essay contest sponsored by Good Housekeeping and Kindercare.  Come to think of it, neither of us were exactly child care experts.  Geraldine showed us all family snapshots of her newly born grandchild at lunch.

9. I interviewed Judd Winick of "The Real World San Francisco" for the Washington (PA)  Observer Reporter when he spoke at  California University of Pennsylvania.

10. According to a recent survey I took, I am a closet introvert.  That one came as a surprise to even me.

A Problem with Maria

Carrie Underwood must have one hell of an agent.  

When we visited the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame a few years ago, she was featured in the Women Who Rock exhibit despite being a country singer.  There is nothing even slightly rock 'n roll about this woman's music.  I know because she is singing everywhere you turn around because of that stellar agent of hers.

Now she has been chosen to play Maria in NBC's upcoming live remake of The Sound of Music.    While she certainly sings prettily enough for the role, I was unable to find even one actual acting credit listed in her IMDB profile.  Sure, "America" must love her (she won American Idol a few years ago) but even if she read extremely well in the audition, this is a LIVE performance of a lead role, and choosing a first time actress for the part is clearly a risk.

I have a complicated relationship with The Sound of Music.  The iconic movie starring Julie Andrews and Christopher Plummer was released the month I turned 9, and my parents decided to take me to the Warner Theater in downtown Pittsburgh to see the movie as a special treat for my birthday.  I remember the excitement of dressing up and making the trip downtown.  I was completely enthralled and enchanted by everything about the film; I thought it was perfection.

Then I saw the movie again when it was re-released when I was 11. I was more sophisticated and jaded by then, and suddenly the whole thing seemed a little saccharine to me.  This has not kept me from willingly watching and enjoying the movie and various productions of the stage version many more times over the years.  Mr. Rip, my friend Casey and I went to see an interactive sing-a-long version a few years ago that was loads of fun.

Which brings us to the question of whether The Sound of Music needs to be remade at all.  I might have said no, until I heard the announcement of some supporting cast members that made my reservations about Carrie as Maria vanish.  Listen to this:

Audra McDonald will be playing the Mother Abbess, Maria's wise advisor.  Mr. Rip, who is a very literal guy, has taken issue with the historical accuracy of such casting, but c'mon.  This is five-time Tony Award winner Audra McDonald we're talking about here.  I would cast her in literally any role she might like to play in a production of anything I was directing.  Mr. Rip asked if I would cast her as Max Bialystock in The Producers. Yes, yes I would.  Anyway, I wait in breathless anticipation to hear her sing "Climb Every Mountain."

Which brings me to the lovely Laura Benanti being cast as the Baroness, who is supposed to be a villain or something, but I don't think she's so bad.  Sure she isn't so childlike that she is practically one of the kids, but she wasn't really mean to them either.  

I am sure that Laura Benanti will shine in the role.  She is also a Tony Winner for her role of Louise in the Patty Lupone revival of Gypsy five years ago, where she believably transformed from the innocent and awkward teenager to the jaded worldly stripper.  You know, kind of like the transformation (albeit a less dramatic one) that the character of Maria makes in The Sound of Music?  Hey, wait a minute, if a world class actress and singer like Laura Benanti who actually won awards for her portrayal of a character going from adolescence to adulthood was available, why didn't they offer her the role of....  oh, never mind.  She'll make a great Baroness.

And, finally, there's Christian Borle, yet another Tony Award winner as the wise-cracking Max.  I think he'll be great in the role, and besides I'm legally obligated to enthusiastically cheer him on in his career because he is a Pittsburgh native.

So, anyway, I am eagerly awaiting this production, although the jury is out on Carrie Underwood as Maria.  All I know right now is that Laura Benanti ought to give her agent a call.

       

The Lost Weekend

I started off my long weekend on Friday with a routine colonoscopy and things went downhill from there.

My nose was running a little and I sneezed a few times on Friday but I thought little of it.  I am a victim of Seasonal Allergies so these things happen all the time, or at least seasonally.  However, when I woke up on Saturday it became clear that my Seasonal Allergies had burst into my head for an extended visit with a couple of weeks of luggage with them and I hadn’t even fixed up the guest room.

Frantically I dug up all my allergy medication, only to realize it almost all expired sometime LAST allergy season.  I was out anyway on Saturday morning and in a painful trip to the supermarket I stocked up on new allergy medication.  My nose wasn’t just running; it was galloping.  And every time I moved around and especially if I made the mistake of actually stepping outside I would have a severe sneezing jag that didn’t want to stop.  And people think I’m kidding when I say I’m allergic to the great outdoors.

So I came home and stayed home for the rest of the weekend.  I believe that my symptoms are purely allergy-related because they are all in my head and by that I mean that my literal symptoms are happening from the neck up, not that my symptoms are in any way merely psychological or a figment of my imagination.  The number of Kleenex boxes I’ve emptied attest to the fact that my symptoms are very, very real.

Whatever, the ever-running eyes and nose, the ridiculous sneezing jags, and the headaches are all making me a little foggy.  This makes it more difficult to write a witty and original blog this week, as I am incapable of original thought right now.  Despite the compromised state of my head I continue to live in a rich fantasy universe of my own making in which one of my delusions is that some people will really deeply miss “Rip Aches All Over” if it does not appear promptly on their Facebook News Feed or in their e-mail sometime on Monday. If this is not the case, please do not set me straight – I need my fantasies to cling to right now.

So here it is -my non-blog!  Let’s see…say, how about my assessment of the two movies I watched that just happened to be on television yesterday?

Limitless with Bradley Cooper and Robert DeNiro, a movie that I was unaware of, was a cleverly-directed movie with an interesting and unique premise.  Mr. Rip, who is healthy, enjoyed
 it too.  We both thought that the make-up people deserved kudos because Bradley Cooper looked pretty bad in the beginning of the movie and we know how good-looking he actually is.

I really couldn’t warm up to The Other Boleyn Girl though.  Natalie Portman played Ann Boleyn, Henry VIII’s ill-fated Queen, and Scarlet Johansson was her sister Mary.  I didn’t really like any of the people in the movie and might have turned it off if I had the energy to actually see what else was on.  

I hope I’m not giving anything away when I tell you that the story didn’t end well.  The same will be true of this blog, because I just can’t come up with a snappy ending in my present state.

For more information on why Fall 2013 seasonal allergies are bad and getting worse, check out http://www.weather.com/health/fall-allergies-why-theyre-bad-getting-worse-and-what-you-can-do-20130917?pageno=7

Just Open Up and Let It Come Out

Far too often, I find myself wanting desperately to give people advice they don’t necessarily want from me.  Sadly, many of these people are fictional, but it does not stop me from wanting to save them from themselves.  That’s just one of the downfalls of being an avid reader of fiction.

Right now, I am listening to a novel about a couple of senseless sisters whose avoidance tactics have not only ruined their lives, but also the lives of their daughters and granddaughters.  It seems that the steadfast stubborn-as-a-mule trait of keeping unnecessary secrets runs pretty strongly in this family.

See, Sister #1 runs away with Sister #2’s boyfriend to escape their brutal stepfather who is sexually abusing her.  The plan is that once they are safely in Chicago, #1 and the BF will send a letter and train ticket to Sister #2 so she can join them in Chicago, and they can all live happily ever after.

Only Sister #2 won’t open the many letters that her sister sends her because she is mad at her and instead burns them all unopened.  

I know I’m supposed to willingly suspend my disbelief in these situations but I still want my fictional characters to act in a way that makes some semblance of sense.  How could she resist?  Wasn't she even the least bit curious about what her sister had to say?  Of course, if Sister #2 were in Pandora’s place, I guess we wouldn’t have any evil in the world. 

"Now if you had just opened that damn letter, you and generations of your family wouldn’t be in this miserable mess, would you?”  I find myself telling Sister #2 over and over again.

As for those tight-lipped younger generation members I implore them, in my finest Irish brogue, to "Just open your mouth and let it come out" channeling Mrs. Paroo from The Music Man. 

Let me tell you all this secret-telling would never fly among my sisters.  It's not that we can't keep secrets if we have to.  You might remember that very recently I kept the secret that my son was going to propose to his girlfriend for 100 long days.  No, it's just that there are too many of us to keep track of who knows what.  It's just easier to tell each other everything. 

Well I could go on but I really want to get back to the book.   I did not travel through 70 years as  told through the viewpoints of seven different women (so far) to stop reading before I find out whether any one of these gals actually bucks up and has an honest conversation with someone.

The Right Stuf

The rats who scored the Oreo study gig at Connecticut College must have been pretty happy about it.  I imagine them exchanging high fives all the way to the lab, and saying things like "No, really, I'm not joking. They actually just want us to eat Oreo cookies."  It must have been like hitting the lab rat lottery.

It seems the burning question spreading through the halls of academia was "Are Oreos addictive?"   Well, of course they are.  I could have told them that without a study.  Anyone who ever had a box of Oreos in the house could tell them just how impossible it was to resist them.  Clearly the researchers must have grown up in one of those sad little households where sweets were strictly forbidden.

However the study also showed that Oreos are as addictive as cocaine or morphine, because eating them triggered a powerful pleasure response in the rats similar to the drugs.  I don't believe this.  

Cookies and the corner piece of the cake with all the icing have always been my drugs of choice, but once I was given morphine for the pain when I was in the hospital after breaking my pelvis.  As happy as Oreos have made me, it was nothing compared to the euphoria afforded me by that morphine.  

Morphine is so addictive that they won't let you have it after you leave the hospital (I know, because I asked).  Oreos can be purchased in large quantities at the local supermarket, and in tasty treats offered in many food establishments.  I didn't do a study or anything, but I've never heard of anyone overdosing on Oreos, having actual physical withdrawal symptoms if Giant Eagle is out of them or turning to a life of crime in order to support their Oreo habit.  As far as I can see, the only danger of eating too many Oreos is becoming fat and happy.

One thing this study did teach me was that laboratory rats and I have more in common that I thought.  

When given a choice between an Oreo cookie and a rice cake, the rats always went straight to the Oreo cookie.  I'm with the rodents here.  There is no rice cake in the world than could win out over an Oreo with me.  Seriously, couldn't the researchers come up with some more compelling, non-sweet food item - like Shrimp Scampi-to put up against the Oreo in a taste test for rats?

Furthermore, the rats all opened up the cookie and ate the cream first.  That is exactly how I always ate my Oreo cookies!  As a child my one and only complaint about Oreos was that they didn't have enough cream in them.  I was an adult when Nabisco (who clearly did a little research of their own over the years) came up with Double Stuf Oreos, which meant that other people must have wanted more cream just like me, and the rats.

All this talk has just made me hungry for some Double Stuf Oreos, which I typically don't keep in the house because, you know, they're addictive.  

For more information about the study, and a photo of some researchers with one fat and happy rat, check out:  http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/answer-sheet/wp/2013/10/18/rats-find-oreos-as-addictive-as-cocaine-an-unusual-college-research-project/

Another Saturday in the Burgh

                                      

Mr. Rip and I were meeting our son and his fiancee for lunch at the Sonoma Grille in downtown Pittsburgh this past Saturday.  We decided to make a day of it because we had two admissions to the Heinz History Center we'd been meaning to use.  

I thought as long as we were down there anyway, we might as well take a walk down to Point State Park and see the duck, as preposterous as I thought it was that there was a 40-foot-tall duck docked in Pittsburgh's rivers.

The History Center was first on the day's itinerary.  While I hadn't been there in several years I always love a visit to this museum.  Its beautifully designed displays are all about Pittsburgh, which conveniently happens to be my favorite city and my hometown.  

We saw the very impressive Western Pennsylvania Sports Museum (a museum within a museum) for the first time.  This is a real treat even for those with the most passing interest in sports.  It featured sports like bocce ball and rowing right alongside all things Pirates, Steelers and Penguins, and had a whole section that explored what actually constitutes a sport.  Fascinating stuff.

But the highlight of the visit to me was the special exhibit featuring the artistry of Pittsburgh native Burton Morris.  Morris' Pop Art is so called not just because of the genre he works in, but because his art captures pop cultural themes and the bright colors and techniques he uses make the images he produces pop off the canvas, sometimes literally (in the traditional sense of that word).  I couldn't get enough of it - I loved one image more the next.  Burton Morris' art made me very very happy.

Next up was the day's raison d'être - lunch with JJ and his lovely lady.  It was the first time we saw them since their engagement. It was wonderful sharing their excitement, hearing about the very beginning of their planning process, and of course seeing the beautiful ring on her finger, where it clearly belongs. Our happiness grew watching their joy.

Just in case we forgot we were in Pittsburgh while we were there, a Slovak group was having a Beer Tasting with entertainment by an accordion player in the restaurant while we lunched. 

Then we were off to see the 40 foot tall rubber duck that the Pittsburgh Cultural Trust brought to town to kick off its Festival of Firsts. Pittsburgh is the first city in the United States to host the duck, which is the brainchild of Dutch artist Florentijn Hofman.(http://www.newpittsburghcourieronline.com/index.php/featured-news/metro/17748-40-foot-rubber-duck-arrives-in-pittsburgh)

The only reason that the Duck wasn't the biggest news in the Burgh this October was because the Pirates were in the playoffs. People are flocking to the Point to see the Duck and get their picture taken with it.  Pictures of it are EVERYWHERE. I couldn't believe all the fuss over what is essentially just a big rubber ducky.  Frankly, I thought it was all kind of ridiculous.

However, since we were downtown anyway, I thought we should check it out - you know because it was there, and so I could say that I did.  It was a beautiful day so if nothing else it would be a nice walk. The closer we got to the Point the more people we saw milling around.  Mr. Rip wanted to know what all these people were doing downtown.

They were there for the duck.  People from all walks of life -young and old, couples of all ages, families with young children, extended families, groups of teenagers, all ethnicities. If you didn't know any better you might think that Pittsburgh was a thriving, multicultural metropolitan area. Everyone was in a really good mood; it was the most pleasant crowd I've ever been in.

We made the acquaintance of another couple who couldn't quite believe they were there for the duck and we took each other's pictures with the duck. We walked all the way around Point State Park again for the first time in a long time, soaking in the beautiful panoramic views of the North Shore, the South Side, and of course those three rivers, and appreciating them anew. 

The whole day just made me smile.  Hofman has said that the duck has "healing properties" (Ibid). Maybe it does, but so does spending a day with your favorite people in Pittsburgh celebrating everything that it is.

Just a Building

When I heard that the parish where I grew up was demolishing my former high school - my alma mater - I was like Priscilla Lopez in A Chorus Line.  I felt nothing.

The building in question was no longer St. Anselm High School when they decided it needed to come down.  It  was only used as a high school for about 20 years, and graduated its last class 35 years ago.  Reportedly the building had some major problems that made it unusable, including a problem with asbestos, and the parish could not afford the repairs it needed.

They also tore down the freestanding gym, which had an unfinished ceiling of fully- exposed fluffy asbestos which would fall in clumps onto our heads when a lot of physical activity took place in the building where our gym classes and basketball games were held. I'm pretty sure that the gym was never technically usable.  The physical activity they forced onto me there was bad enough; the asbestos falling on me while it happened was like pouring salt into the wound.  I couldn't really be sorry about the gym coming down.

To me ultimately they were both just buildings.  When buildings are destroyed through acts of terrorism or through natural disasters like hurricanes or tornados, especially when accompanied by loss of life or the loss of people's homes, that is tragic. But when an unoccupied building that happened to be my high school 35 years ago comes down I can't really get that excited about it.

All of this has had me thinking a lot about my high school years.  I can't say they were the best years of my life, because I'm in the best years of my life (which began in my mid-forties) right now.  I actually feel sorry for people who experienced their best years in high school, because for them life went downhill after the age of 18.  

High school may well have been the longest four years of my life, though.  So much happened to me, and to my friends, in those years.  Some of it was good, some of it was bad, but it was all very eventful.  If you asked me, I could write a book -or at least a couple of blogs - about my high school years. Actually, come to think of it, it might make a pretty good mini-series.

When I do think back on high school, I don't think about a building.  The people with whom I shared my high school experience come to mind.  The good, the bad, and the eccentric teachers. My friends and all my classmates, some of whom weren't friends at all. Some of my best friends today I met in kindergarten and we were in school together through 12th grade.  

I have reconnected with many friends from high school in recent years, and because of social media we are able to stay connected in ways that just weren't possible when we graduated.  We meet for dinner, get together for casual mini-reunions at Sparky's Spot, (a great little family restaurant owned by one of my old neighbors and classmates), and of course keep in touch on Facebook, where we share life events and photos from all over the world.  

Many of my friends and fellow St. A's alums are much more upset about the high school and the gym coming down than I am, and I feel badly for them and their pain.  But among the countless photos they are posting on Facebook featuring the high school and the gym before, during and after destruction there are photos of us when we were there.  

The class photos from grade school. The French Club photos.  A group of us on Senior Day when we got to leave our uniforms at home and wear "regular" clothes (which turned out to be colorful mini-dresses for most of the girls).  The picture of my friend and me going to the Prom with hairdos that I suppose were fashionable at the time. And a couple of pictures from one of my favorite high school memories of all- one of our English Department field trips to the Shakespeare Festival in Stratford, Ontario, which happened in Canada far from that high school building in Swissvale, 

In the one French Club photo, my eye fell on my pretty friend Debbie, one of my best friends who started attending St. A's with us in the fifth grade.  Debbie and I remained close friends as adults and stayed in touch even when we lived in different states without the help of today's social media. We lost Debbie seven years ago. I would give you any building on earth to have her back.

 

For good homemade food at reasonable prices check out Sparky's Spot (owned by St. Anselm alum Joe Schaffer) on Route 8 in the Glenshaw/Allison Park area-  http://www.jjnkids.com.  

What He Did for Love

My son JJ was never a big fan of delayed gratification.

It all began on the day he was born 15 days before my due date. The doctor explained to us that "this baby is coming out whether your body is ready or not."

This general impatience continued even after he was born.  "Waiting is what I hate," my little boy would solemnly proclaim, anytime he had to wait in a line, or wait for a show to begin or wait for a holiday or his birthday to arrive. No one who ever stood in a line with JJ doubted that this was true as he practically elevated fidgeting into an art form -his own version of an interpretive dance.

Now that he's all grown up, he waits in line more easily, but he still doesn't enjoy it.

So it came as no surprise to me that when he finally found the right one (after an agonizing wait) that it didn't take his lovely lady and he long to figure it out.  Within a few weeks they were officially "in a relationship" - on Facebook- so you knew it was for real.  You don't announce a thing like that to 700 of your closest Friends unless you're serious.

When we met her just a few weeks later we understood why J.J. fell in love with her so quickly.  She is brilliant, vibrant, funny, loving and full of life.  Most importantly she is perfect for him - we can just see it in the way they are when they are together.  Of course we would have loved anyone who made him as happy as she does, but we are crazy about her anyway.

This past June, about a year after they started dating I got a cryptic message from JJ asking me to meet him for dinner.  I was thrilled when he showed me the beautiful ring and told me that he loved his girlfriend, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her and he was planning to ask her to marry him...on September 28th.

September 28th??  He was waiting for three months?  Why, I asked.  He explained that September 28th was a day that had special significance to his girlfriend, and he knew that a proposal on that day would be very special to her.

I felt it was my duty as his mother to remind him that waiting is what he hated.  "Do you think you'll be able to hold off that long?"

"If it makes her happy, I can wait that long."  he said, simply.  "I can do whatever it takes to make her happy."

Did I mention that JJ grew up to be a terrific man?   I already knew how much he loved his girlfriend, but he loved her more than he hated waiting.  I swelled with pride.

It wasn't easy but he waited. He planned a very special date for the proposal, and most importantly, she said yes.  Sometime good things really are worth the wait.

I Can Do That Museum with Two Bathroom Breaks!

Now the only time I don't have to pee is when I'm peeing.

                                                                                            -Martin Short, on turning 60

Mr. Rip and I heartily enjoy a good museum.  Some museums contain a wide variety of artifacts  and artwork and others just focus on a particular topic.  It doesn't much matter to us because we're interested in lots of different stuff and the history of it and good art representing it.  We're eclectic that way.

We have visited five museums since Labor Day, four of them in our trip to Corning, NY (with a side trip to Elmira, N.Y.) this past weekend. When we arrived at the Rockwell Museum of Western Art a few days ago Mr. Rip looked around and said, happily, "Hey, I think that we may be able to do this museum with just one bathroom break!"

Yes, folks, this is what it's come to.  We were not exactly young when we took up with each other 11 years ago, but one thing has changed as we have "matured."  We have to go the bathroom more often than we used to. I choose to think that this is due more to the fact that I have studiously followed the advice of health care professionals to drink more liquids in order to stay healthy (with mixed results) than to my advancing years, but whatever the cause, the facts remain the same.

Of course, while there is nothing quite as challenging in a museum as there is in the ballpark (see "Ache Me Out to the Ball Game," last week's blog) there are other factors to consider in navigating the museums for those of us who have lived long and more or less prospered.  Is it walkable?  If you can't walk without aids like walkers or wheelchairs, is it accessible?  Is there anywhere to hang your coat while you schlep around the museum?   But they all pale in comparison to whether or not you can get to a restroom when you need one.

Here are capsule reviews of our five latest museums, with the most important information at the end.

FALLINGWATER, Fayette County, PA

The magnificent design and architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright's masterpiece never fails to inspire awe, even on a repeat visit.

3 Bathroom Breaks - but I was only able to take two! There are NO restrooms at the house itself and the tour and the absolutely mandatory   ground-roaming to get post-tour photos can take a couple of hours. Take my advice and don't drink anything for a few hours or so before you arrive.

CORNING MUSEUM OF GLASS Corning, NY

Everything you ever wanted to know about glass but were afraid to ask.  You can spend a full day -or two!- there, seeing glass in every conceivable form and usage, and that's just in the gift shop.  Ha! I jest, but seriously there were displays of glass objects, the history of glass, glass-blowing and glass-breaking demonstrations, and the chance to make your own glass item. All totally worth it, but reserve your space ahead of time if you want to make a glass item of your own to take home.

4 or 5 Bathroom Breaks   Actually I spent so much time there that I lost track, but there were bathrooms on every level, so I didn't really have think about it.

ROCKWELL MUSEUM OF WESTERN ART Corning, NY

This was my chance to experience the American West and should hold me until I actually get to go there.  The museum was so great that Mr. Rip and I wished there were more of it, especially since two exhibits had been "deinstalled" to make way for new exhibits opening next week.  We liked it so much we bought the official book of the museum so we could continue to enjoy the art  and learn more about it when we got home.

2 Bathroom Breaks - Mr. Rip underestimated (or overestimated?) me.

CHEMUNG HISTORICAL SOCIETY MUSEUM Elmira, NY

Our visit to this museum and to Elmira was all about Mark Twain, one of my literary heroes, who summered in Elmira with his wife's family and who is buried there.  A nice little one-floor local history museum with special exhibits of signs of places that don't exist there anymore, local education and baseball, and a permanent exhibit that included enough Mark Twain information and paraphernalia to satisfy me.  For $2.00 each we had the place to ourselves - such a deal!

0 Bathroom Breaks -Technically, but I went once just in case.  A pre-emptive strike.

ARNOT MUSEUM OF ART - Elmira, NY

A small museum with a small and very eclectic collection of fine art. Only three of the five galleries were open for viewing, but I scored a cool Mark Twain postcard while I was there, so it was worth it.

1 Bathroom Break - conveniently located right by the entrance.

Well, I need to go now.  I'll let you guess where I'm going.

Ache Me Out to the Ball Game

The reason I don't keep a bucket list is that I don't want to have to do anything before I die.  Instead, I have always been a day dreamer with a rich fantasy life full of unlikely achievements.  Things like what I'd do when I won the lottery, even though I never play the lottery. See, I don't want to have a list full of things I have to do, just one of things I'd love to do but probably won't.

Therefore, I was especially excited when I learned that the Pittsburgh Concert Chorale would be singing the National Anthem at the Pittsburgh Pirates game against the Chicago Cubs on September 14th.  Singing the National Anthem at a major sporting event  was always one of those fantasies of mine, even though I never go to baseball games.  

I would imagine being on the field singing the Anthem to an appreciative ballpark crowd that erupted into thunderous applause afterward.   That's pretty much exactly what happened - just exactly how I imagined it, together with 60 or 70 of my favorite people.  Yes, all in all, a very nice fulfilled fantasy.

Then we stayed for the game.  That was never a part of the fantasy.   Nonetheless, it proved to be a very enjoyable evening, as my son J.J., a huge baseball fan, was with us, and his lovely girlfriend made a surprise appearance halfway through the game.  It was a perfect evening to enjoy the game in the exquisite PNC Park overlooking the beautiful Pittsburgh cityscape. The Pirates are in the midst of a rare winning season, and they won that night before a sell-out crowd. 

That said, it had been a number of years since either Mr. Rip or I had been to a Pirates game, and some things have changed since then.  Perhaps it is we who have changed, as we are older and more arthritic now.  While we did a few things right, like wearing sensible shoes, we also learned a few things that might have made our trip to the ballpark even better.  We call these tips "The Arthritic's Guide to the Ball Game."

Mr. Rip astutely observed that, unlike when you go to the theater or to the symphony, when the ball game begins the audience does not fall silent.  Actually there is a cacophony of sights and sounds throughout the game, especially when something exciting happens on the field.  If you are someone who finds this assault on the senses even the least bit overwhelming, you should remember your soft earplugs when you come to the Park.

Another new development at the ballpark is the availability of a number of healthy food options, and you may be tempted to have one of them if you have been making any kind of attempt at "eating right" no matter what your age or overall physical health. Now I have a theory that you should never get a gyro at the pizza joint, and never order a pizza at the Greek place  - that is, it is always safer to stick with the restaurant speciality.  This holds true at the ballpark.  I virtuously chose the "hibachi shrimp" (which was just shrimp fried rice with shrimp with a consistency unlike any shrimp I'd ever eaten), and Mr. Rip had a chicken dish from the same place.  Unsatisfied, we ended up getting big, juicy, tasty hot dogs which is what you're supposed to eat at a baseball game. 

Perhaps, most importantly, you will do a lot of walking at the Park, and tax yourself physically in other ways as well.  If you have arthritis it is safe to assume that it may act up, and you should bring a stash of the painkiller of your choice to use when it does or when the effect of the dose you took before you left the house wears off.

Of course, if I really need to see a game I can always watch it on the television from the comfort of my house.  Fresh air is overrated anyway.

She Thought She'd Dance

I have been an avid fan and faithful viewer of Dancing with the Stars since the very beginning, but as it is with many relationships it hasn't always been perfect.  

For instance, I never really understood the need for that second night of programming - a full hour just repeating the performances, and then an hour-long "results show" full of filler and contests for kid dancers.  It all seemed extraneous to me.  I really just wanted to see who was eliminated, and if the truth be told it was fine with me if I was just surprised the following week with which celebrity didn't show up.

So I was pretty optimistic when I heard that Season 17 of DWTS, which begins airing next week, will now be just one two-hour broadcast on Monday nights.  The viewers' scores from the week before will be combined with the judges' scores of that night and the eliminated couple will be announced at the end of the night.  Works for me.

The cast this season seems like a pretty good bunch.  I'm intrigued by the fact that Bill Nye the Science Guy will be a contestant this season.  Will he bring the same wacky approach to dancing that he always brought to  science?

But my favorite Season 17 DWTS cast member by far is Valerie Harper.  Back in the 70's, Harper played Rhoda Morgenstern on the The Mary Tyler Moore Show.  I loved Rhoda.  Rhoda was the neurotic, smart, wise-cracking, self-deprecating, overweight friend of Mary Richards, the star of the show. She reminded me of, well, me.  

I hung on Rhoda's every word and move.  I cheered when she lost weight, and when the character was so popular that she was spun off into her own show, entitled Rhoda.  She gave hope to wise-cracking sidekicks everywhere that we too could emerge from the shadows of our more glamorous friends to get lives of our own.

It wasn't until much, much later that I came to the realization that...are you ready?...Rhoda was never overweight.  Not ever.  And furthermore, Valerie Harper (and therefore Rhoda) was and is an extraordinarily beautiful woman, at least as beautiful as Mary.  I can't speak for all the viewers, of course, but she certainly had me fooled.  That's when I realized the true genius of Valerie Harper and what an exceptional actress she actually was.  She had me convinced that she was as ordinary-looking as I was.

Back in March, Valerie Harper, now 74, made it public that she had been diagnosed with  a rare and terminal brain-related cancer, almost three months after she was diagnosed and given three months to live.  Like Gilbert Grape's brother, she could go at any time. Sadly, I braced myself for her death announcement.

But Valerie wasn't done living yet.  First she started shooting a movie, and now when Dancing with the Stars came calling, she decided to dance.  She has said that she made a decision to live life fully until she dies.  Maybe that's a lesson we all should embrace.   She continues to inspire us all.  

OUTRAGED, I Tell You

It seems like people are always getting OUTRAGED over the most trivial things these days.  First they were OUTRAGED because Justin Bieber left a lovely, respectful message at the Anne Frank Museum.  

Then they were OUTRAGED because Ben Affleck (who is fast turning into the Rodney "I Don't Get No Respect" Dangerfield of the modern entertainment industry) was cast as the Caped Crusader in the next Batman movie.  Seriously? Why can't he play Batman?  Of course, he's no Adam West, but he certainly might be along the lines of Michael Keaton.  In any case, there is no cause to lose sleep over this.

Now they're OUTRAGED because of Miley Cyrus' performance at the 2013 MTV Video Music Awards.  Now I didn't watch the VMAs. Devious Maids was on at the same time, and I have my priorities.  However I couldn't help watching Miley later to see what all the fuss was about.

My first thought was "Hey, the Furries are dancing back up for Miley Cyrus!"  People think I'm out of touch but I recognize Furries when I see them.  They have their convention in Pittsburgh every year.

There are really no words to fully describe just how terrible this performance was - on every level.  I watched with my mouth open, unbelieving and flabbergasted.  What the hell was she doing?  And why did she keep sticking out her tongue?  You'd think that Kiss' Gene Simmons was her celebrity father, not Billy Ray Cyrus.

But I wasn't  OUTRAGED.  Teenagers have been shocking their parents with their performances probably since the beginning of time and parents (who were the teenagers doing the shocking at some point) continue to fall for it.  It reminded me of performances by Madonna and Lady Gaga, except that Madonna and Gaga are actually talented.

But the funniest part I thought of all the OUTRAGE was that there was a huge backlash from some African Americans saying that Miley Cyrus had no business to be twerking, because it was their dance.  I had no idea what twerking was even after watching the debacle, so I looked it up. I found an instructional video on You Tube with the most earnest young African American woman demonstrating ("first you squat, then you put your hand here to push your hips forward, and here to push your hips back.")

So, basically, twerking is shaking your hips forward and backward while squatting.  I'm sorry to be the one to break it to anyone, but people both black and white have been shaking their hips while they dance for decades, and in a free and equal society we all have the right to shake our hips however we see fit.  Besides, it's not like she did it well or anything.

If people want to spend their time and energy being OUTRAGED about something related to pop culture, there are more important causes for concern.  Why not be OUTRAGED that none of the legislators in this nation will grow a pair and introduce and fight for a bill that bans high powered-assault weapons and high-ammunition magazines?  If they did, we all might be able to go freely to our local cineplex to view that new Batman movie without fear of being shot to death in a massacre by some random gunman when we get there. 

Stinkin' Up the Joint

Like moths to a flame, they came. From near and from far.  They waited for hours, sometimes until the middle of the night, to experience it.  You would have thought that John and George had come back from the dead so that the Beatles could perform together again.

Actually, though, the source of all the excitement was a bloomin' Corpse Plant at the Phipps Conservatory in Pittsburgh. Indigenous to Indonesia, the Corpse Plant takes an average of 7 to 10 years to bloom and then the bloom only lasts for 24 to 48 hours.  It is so named because while it is in bloom it stinks to high heaven and smells like hell, and the smell has been likened to rotting flesh.

As you can imagine, all this had Phipps' curator of horticulture Ben Dunigan pretty excited.  He described himself as being like a father waiting for the baby to be born and the blooming of the Corpse plant as being the Super Bowl of the plant world.  They named the plant Romero after George Romero, the director of Night of the Living Dead  which of course was filmed in Pittsburgh (Read more: http://www.post-gazette.com/stories/local/neighborhoods-city/corpse-flower-romero-blooms-at-phipps-700083/#ixzz2cydjqe4N)

This may have been a dream for the botanists, but it could have been a nightmare for the good folks working in marketing and public relations at the Phipps.  I mean, would this awful-smelling plant keep folks away from the place during some peak summer hours?  

But it's all about the spin.  Like a modern day P.T. Barnum or Tom Sawyer getting the town's boys to line up to whitewash the fence, Phipp's marketing department promoted the living daylights out of this unlikely attraction.  The blooming of Romero was heralded with ads telling you that this was your once-in-a-lifetime chance to see and smell this plant.  They threw a big party and stayed open late, and even had the foresight to save some of the smelly nectar for people to smell so as to extend the fun for a few days after the bloom had faded.  And the people came, hundreds at them at a time.  Grow it and they will come.

Despite my admiration for this stellar public relations effort, I never once considered joining the hordes to visit the plant.  For one thing, the bizarre-looking Titan Arum (its real name) looked vaguely familiar to me.  I realized that I had seen its cousin playing Audrey 2, the man-eating plant in a few productions of Little Shop of Horrors.  Lending to this illusion is the spadix that leaps from the leafy structure (http://science.howstuffworks.com/life/botany/stink-plant-stink.htm) which one visitor compared to a ballerina's leg, but at first glance resembled another anatomical appendage to me.  

But mostly it's the smell that kept me away.  Although some of my senses (such as vision and hearing) have started to fade with age, my sense of smell has remained as ever-sharp and particularly acute as it's always been.  I can smell a smell a mile away.  I am surprised I didn't smell Romero from my house in the North Hills.

I spend a fair portion of my time trying to avoid the noxious smells all around me. I buy products to clear the air in the bathroom.  We do laundry to remove smells from our clothes.  We're constantly in the kitchen wondering where that smell is coming from so that we may remove it.  Is it the garbage, or something in the trash disposal, or what? Mice sometimes like to die in the walls of the building where I work.  I have smelled every bad odor used to describe the stench emitted by the Corpse Plant, so why would I make a special trip to stand in line to smell this plant? 

My friend Mamie, who was kind enough to allow me to use her photos here, waited in line for three hours to see Romero, with her baby (who is just a few months old and who loved the sights and sounds of the Conservatory but slept through the actual viewing and smelling) in tow.  She assures me that it was worth every minute, and that is the general consensus among those who made the pilgrimage.

I wondered why the plant smells so bad.  It turns out that the stench attracts insects which is necessary for pollination, given its very short blooming period (Ibid).   It seems the stench also inexplicably attracts people, too! Either that or the marketing professionals at Phipps deserve a bonus.  

Recreating the Error

The mechanics at Firestone were very sorry that my car was working just fine.  They assured me that they saw the problem I described when I brought it in when they pulled it into the garage, so I definitely wasn't crazy.  Nonetheless they couldn't determine the cause of the problem even after the extensive diagnostics because they couldn't get the error to recreate.

The error in question was an occasional hesitation between when I put my foot on the gas and when the car started to move.  The latest lull started when I tried to pull out of the parking lot at work and lasted several seconds leaving me temporarily stranded blocking the entrance to someone's business.  When I got the car to move, I drove it directly to Firestone, my friendly neighborhood mechanic.

I have trust issues when it comes to mechanics.  Although I hate to say it, some mechanics I have patronized in the past have taken advantage of my ignorance of car mechanics  and have performed procedures on my cars that were not necessary.  Hard to believe I know, but not terribly unusual.

However, I cannot say enough nice things about Firestone and its crackerjack team of mechanics, who are the epitome of ethical professionalism.   They do an excellent job  They explain everything to me in detail, and they never do anything that doesn't need to be done without my permission. So I have nothing but appreciation for these fine and trustworthy gentlemen who explained  that there could several causes for such a problem - some simple and inexpensive, others more serious and potentially very expensive - but until and unless they could get the error to recreate, they couldn't determine what needed to be fixed.  

They assured me that they took it on several test drives trying to get it to screw up, but the car just kept working.  Furthermore, the car didn't need anything to pass inspection, but there were a couple of minor things that could be fixed, if we chose.  I chose to have them done, just in case one of these repairs fixed the problem, which these ever-truthful mechanics assured me that they would not.  The car has worked fine since I drove it away that day.

I hate it when the professional you finally consult can't recreate the error that has been causing you so much trouble.   Like when the web site administrator can't recreate the error that has kept you from updating the web page for the past week or when the symptoms that have been plaguing you and stumping your family doctors for six weeks mysteriously disappear the second you are finally being examined by the specialist.

Now, as the car runs smoothly every day, I am on edge just waiting for the car to malfunction again.  It's like the Sword of Damocles hanging over my head.  Well, I have a plan.  Just the minute the error recreates, I'm having AAA tow it right to Firestone without even trying to get it there myself.  

But you and I know that the car won't recreate its error until I'm on the highway in the pouring rain in the middle of night. 

A Mountain on Maui

According to an article in Parade magazine last week, when Oprah Winfrey was asked why the film Lee Daniels' The Butler brought her back to acting she responded, "Lee was relentless.  I remember being on my mountain in Maui where I go to restore myself.  And he called..." (http://www.parade.com/58556/katherineheintzelman/oprah-winfrey-forest-whitaker-talk-lee-daniels-the-butler-racism-and-the-n-word/comment-page-1/#comments)

 

Seriously, Oprah?  Your mountain in Maui?  And how is this apropos of why you accepted this role in the film? 

You know, this is why I think that Oprah has lost touch with the common folk.  I'm guessing that most of us don't have a mountain in Maui for rest and relaxation. I can't speak for everyone but to me it just feels like bragging.  Oprah really wants us to know about her mountain in Maui.

I shared this information with my Friends, some of whom decided to share where they go to restore themselves.

Tom likes to restore himself on his back patio with a cup of hazelnut coffee.

Janette likes to go to coffee shops or little diners to be an anonymous person with her journal or sketchbook and hide in plain sight with a cup of coffee or a good breakfast.  Just to clarify, I asked her if any of said coffee shops or little diners were in Maui, but she confessed that they were mostly here in Pittsburgh or in Michigan, where she was born and raised and where many of her family members still live. I thought Michigan and Maui were similar because they start with the letter "M" and are both out of state. Janette assured me that even if they were that she owned neither a mountain nor a coffee shop, for that matter.

Mary always said that she went to her old claw-foot tub to restore herself. I reminded her that she and I often went to the Highpointe restaurant, which was near California University of Pennsylvania where we met as students, where we restored ourselves after class with crab legs, which were not listed on the menu (you just had to know they had them).  I thought that the Highpointe and a mountain were almost the same thing because they were both, you know, high.

Then Debbie said that she used to restore herself at the Village Dairy, a sandwich shop and favorite dining spot in our hometown of Swissvale.  Just the mention of the Village Dairy filled me with that kind of fond nostalgia that is restorative.  Nancy, another Swissvale classmate, also remembers the Village Dairy, but now goes to her back porch or patio to restore herself.

As for me, the place I go to restore myself is to my side of the love seat in my living room with a cup of Zen tea and Mr. Rip by my side.  It's not on a mountain and it's not in Maui, but it is our only home.  Thank goodness, because flying to Maui is probably so stressful and expensive that if I didn't need to be restored when I left, I surely would need to when I got there.   

Playing the Game

It was one of those oh-so-rare lazy Saturday afternoons  at home with nowhere to go and a clean-enough house.   I pounced on the opportunity to catch up on some much needed organization of my computer apps and files while watching mindless television.

The mindless television pickings were especially slim.  Then I found a whole day worth of Family Feud scheduled on the Game Show Network.  I have always liked watching game shows involving words or trivia, so I have enjoyed many an episode of the Feud over the years, with all five hosts. Yes, this would do for mindless background television.

As I watched, I remembered that for a time Family Feud was my online game of choice. It was hard at first because the game involves thinking like other people, which has never exactly been my forte.  I mean, seriously, where DO they find some of these “100 people surveyed?”  Slowly, I caught onto what answers the masses would come up with, which was in some ways more disturbing to me than getting the wrong answers.

But now I am actually pretty good at the game. In one game in this mini-marathon I kept yelling "sporting events" at the contestants who were trying to come up with an occasion when people scream when they're having fun.  Not only did I have the right answer (which none of the contestants  ever did get), I also had the right terminology.  I would never say "sporting event" in everyday conversation.

Despite this, I would probably never go on the show.  First of all, one of the family leaders on the episodes I watched kept introducing his one family member as "my wacky Aunt Sharon."  This gave me pause, as I, too, could be described like this in front of a national television audience.  Not to mention what a nightmare it would be to coordinate our outfits.

I have no idea how the families pick which two family members play the fast money round, but I just think it's a lot of pressure. Not only might you lose the game for the whole family, but you could be like the woman who answered, "crab fishing" when asked "What is a dirty job that someone has to do?"   

Of course, no one in the survey said that.  Then, to make it even worse, the host said "I'm not touching that one!" As the studio audience erupted in laughter,  the other connotation of her answer dawned on me.

Although I'd like to think that my answer would never be that crazily inane, I could inadvertently say something with another meaning because double entendres are often lost on me.  They just sail right over my head.  I still think “Cream”, my favorite Prince song, is about coffee, or maybe about realizing your potential, even though many a more knowing soul have scoffed at my naiveté, suggesting that it might be about sex.  Well, if they say so.  All I know is that it had a beat and you could dance to it.

I just envision the family reminiscing about that stupid answer at every holiday get-together for the rest of her life.  

Mostly, though, I hesitate because now the Feud gives the winning family a car, presumably to split five ways.  Even Solomon might have trouble figuring that one out. 

Rip Doesn't Live There Anymore

Today I finally saw the Tony Award winning musical Avenue Q, and I don't know who was having more fun - the audience or the performers.   As good a time as I had at the show, the thing I liked the best about Avenue Q is that I don't live there anymore.  

I vaguely remember those days.  Long, long ago in a galaxy far, far away I too was a recent college graduate with a degree in Sociology, trying to find my way in life.  I wouldn't go back there for all the money in the world.

First of all, it really doesn't suck to be me anymore.  I'm a  very lucky and happy lady who fully recognizes and appreciates all my blessings.  It's actually pretty great to be me.

I no longer wonder if that seemingly nice guy I kind of like likes me back.  Mr. Rip, who is a very nice guy, loves me just as much as I love him.  There's nothing better, because unrequited love really is a bore.

It's been years since a gay friend realized he or she was gay, or came out of the closet or confessed his homosexuality to me.  My gay friends know they're gay, and so do I. In my circle of friends it's so okay to be gay that we don't even have to talk about it.

As for those Bad Idea Bears, they never write, they never call, and they never visit anymore.  I sure don't miss those little scamps even though I have to admit that they were deceptively cute and cuddly.  Believe it or not life can be even more fulfilling, exciting and fun when you make good choices.

I moved out of my last rental property in1988. I made a few stops along the way but found my place in the world when Mr. Rip and I bought our condo in the suburbs, using our mini-van to haul our stuff there.

The moral of Avenue Q was that maybe you're not so special and not all lives have purpose, but it's okay and besides all the bad stuff going on won't last forever.  That's actually a pretty good philosophy in getting on with your life after college but there's more to it than that.   

All kinds of crazy adventures happen in life: some good, some bad, some planned, and some a total surprise.   You learn a few things along the way, like you need to keep an open mind because you never know what you are going to find in some totally unexpected places.  As a bonus, you find out that you are never going to be too old to explore new possibilities.  

Sometimes you will want to fire the writers who wrote the script for the soap opera that your life's become, and other times you will want to drop to your knees to thank them as things have turned out so much better than anything you could have planned or imagined.  In the end it all turns out the way it's supposed to, if you let it, and it can pretty great to be you, too.