Ambitchous….

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There is a fine line between a woman ‘standing up for herself’ and being a ‘bitch’. I have yet to find that line but I am sure it exists; more often than not, I get the ‘bitch’ label. For those of you that have said it to my face (on many occasions), you can agree that my response has always been, and will always be: stop kissing up.

I have to say that my super-cranky reaction to a situation is just that; a reaction. I am by no means searching out scenarios in which to wield my highly explosive intolerance for stupidity.

The first (and most repetitive interaction) typically involves me waiting in line and getting cut off, as though I have hit my ‘stealth button’ and instantly became invisible. The millisecond response from me is always an unwaivering, ‘are you kidding me?!”  For some reason that seems to startle the offender and wakes them up to the fact that they are no longer on their lonely planet of “I” and must abide by the simple rules of society and it’s strongly recommended guidelines of ‘wait your friggin turn’.

There are times where adults are not pointing out their children’s misbehaving and I have to take things into my own hands. Example: at a college open house for Goose, potential students (17-18 yrs) and their parents are sitting in an amphitheater getting the background on the school and what they offer, finances, etc. and the three young miscreants with their mother were talking loudly and laughing throughout the whole seminar. It was not until the continuously full-blown kicking of my chair, did I spin my head faster than Regan from the Exorcist, and gave my, “are you kidding me??!!” to which the young men horrified, stood up and said they would wait outside. Good call because next comes the pea soup vomit while talking in tongues and no one wants that.

Other times, a good friend needs to have that certain someone on their side, that friend with a bit more bravado then they do. So… while in a Chinese restaurant with my friend (we will call her Shrink because she is one) and her boyfriend were sitting at a crowded bar, I hear a woman complaining to her boyfriend that Shrink is being loud and obnoxious. Really? We are sitting three people away in a packed bar and the only voice you can hear is Shrink laughing and telling stories. Hold the phone and call Oscar Goldman because a new Jaime Sommers is in town! (that’s a late 70’s reference for you kiddos) but I digress. I walked over to her and called her out on it, citing the fact that it’s a loud bar and there is no way she should be calling my friend names without provocation. As she turned to her boyfriend and started to curse about me, I kindly noted that I was not using profanity in any way and name calling wasn’t necessary… just apologize to my friend. The boyfriend stood up (a good 6 inches taller than me) and became aggressive to which I stood my ground and said that he was not part of the conversation, I was talking to his foul mouthed girlfriend. He then called me a bitch (yes I had to say, stop kissing up, it’s a natural reaction) and then he poked me in the shoulder a few times. I nicely reminded him that unwanted poking is considered assault and that seemed to warrant him screaming me a few other choice words but stopped the poking. No better way to show your pea-sized brain than to scream profanities; boring, yawn, over it.

So you see, I have been mislabeled and misunderstood my whole life. I will not be walked on or overlooked. I demand as much space in this world as the big jerks that seem to be taking over.

(P.S. if you know to whom I owe credit for this awesome intro picture please let me know!)

The ‘burbs meet concrete jungle

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A very interesting combination for its residents; the ‘burbs and its beautiful flowers, shrubbery, terraces, and fresh air meets the concrete jungle of city living – Habitat 67.

Habitat 67 – I had never heard of it until the Goose and I took a last minute road trip in the Mini this weekend to Montréal (her suggestion of course). The World’s Fair, held in Montréal in 1967 prompted a McGill architectural student to conceive this housing complex. Currently, 146 residences sit on a peninsula (of sorts) in the St. Lawrence River, jutting out from the Old Montréal port.

The “last minute unscheduled trip” lives in the world of mystery – waking up in another country after a few hours’ drive is something I don’t think I would ever get used to but would love to do on a weekly basis. We did cram quite a bit of walking, eating, and history into a just a day, but where are all my pictures?!! Looks like I need to go back sooner than later…. (YES!!)

 

Virgin PaddleBoarder No More!

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Shortly after this photo was taken, I did stand up (I swear! I have witnesses!).

Paddle boarding is much easier than it looks; especially if you keep to calm waters as I do. I just started a few weeks ago and became instantly addicted. It is like being on your own island all day. Unlike kayaking, I have the ability to stand, kneel, sit or lay down.

I love the serenity, the tranquility, being in the sunshine, the sound of the water slopping underneath the board, the dragonflies landing on the board to take a rest…and a great break from the hustle and bustle of the workplace… my new hour and half of Zen….until the snow flies anyway…

 

Army Ranger and so much more

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It is with great displeasure that I write this post. What I wouldn’t give to have my brother back these 30+ years. To see whom he would have married, his children, his choices in life. But instead he chose one of the most unselfish ways to spend his short time here among us, he joined the Army and became an elite Ranger. Consequently he was killed during the second wave in a very small town, on a very small Caribbean island called Grenada, giving coverage to many American medical students forced to return home during a hostile political event.

A devastating time for my parents; to be told you will never see your child again, to never say good bye one last time, to say I Love You one last time. It’s one of those things we take for granted I think, saying I love you, taking for granted you will see or talk to the person tomorrow and remember ‘next time we talk’. Even saying it in passing is great to hear, but not quite the same as if you knew it would be the very last time…the very last time… heart breaking, devastating, it goes beyond that. There is just no word for the amount of empty left behind.

He was just a great person, not because he is no longer here and fond memories can sometimes overshadow the bad times, he was truly one of those people who would go out of his way for you to make sure you were happy, to help if he could, a kind and gentle soul and so very funny. He loved music, was artistic, and put up with his kid sister always tagging along when he just wanted to hang with his friends.

Ah, his friends, they were bountiful and from so many different crowds; neighborhood, school, church, sports, he fit into all the groups with ease because there were so many different levels of him to love. I could go on for pages giving him accolades, and all would be true, but I won’t.

Recently I have been given the opportunity to have him, and his unit, honored for years to come as I have been requested to submit his picture (shown above) to the National Museum, United States Army for a permanent exhibit in their halls. How proud we of him, how much we miss him every day, how I would give anything to change that day and have him back.

#MemorialDay

Today’s Hero

To all the media: STOP, just please stop dishonoring and degrading the thought and spirit behind what a true HERO deserves; someone with the courage and selflessness for others.

A sports newscaster said this morning that the ‘hero’ of the night was “insert athlete name here” (because really, does it make a difference?).

Given today’s struggles and daily violence I am fed up beyond comprehension how the word ‘hero’ is continuously used so nonchalantly. It’s a sporting event. He hit the ball, got it in the hoop, made the touch down, did what his million dollar paycheck required to win a game. A GAME! No one’s lives were saved, it is that simple. Would his teammates consider him the ‘hero’ for winning the game? Probably, but even that goes beyond suitable recognition and thus, the overuse of the word.

There are so many other superlatives that would be much more suitable without marring the word ‘hero’. He was certainly the man-of-the-hour, the saving grace of the game, the MVP of the evening, but let’s reserve the word HERO for those it really applies to and gain back some of the respect it deserves.

Let’s save the word HERO for – the first responders in your town that have no idea what they are up against when the bells go off at 2:00 am and they jump in the truck. It could be a shooting to contain, victims in a burning home that need to be carried out safely, or a young person suicide, whose face will haunt them for years to come…

For the catastrophe workers who load up and run to a natural disaster at a moment’s notice leaving family, friends and their own lives behind with only the one goal of saving as many men, women and children as possible. The diseases that they face due to lack of hygiene and clean water as evident in the Nepal and Haiti earthquakes, the hurricane in Katrina and the tsunamis in Japan and Phuket.   They do not have special treatment, they do not and live out of a four-star hotel…they volunteer and sacrifice to live like the people they are helping with lack of food, lack of water, no bathroom facilities, and very little rest in a make shift tent…

For those everyday people who woke up with the intension of ‘just making it through a day at work’ only then find themselves running into harm’s way to extract a driver or passenger in a burning vehicle… a teacher who wants to make a difference, for the positive, in just one student’s life, but is faced with a gunman randomly ready to shoot any and every one, but he/she steps up and thwarts the evil plan…

These actions (and so many more) are the definition of HERO and deserve all the praise that accompanies it. Let’s remember that.

The air traffic controller’s nightmare

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The Dragonfly…or as some may see it, an air traffic controller’s nightmare. I guess you have to be in my mind for that one, a ladybug sitting atop a branch overlooking an area with headphones on, looking into a radar screen, losing her mind trying to control all the insect traffic and flight patterns…never mind, I digress.

I have always loved the dragonfly. When I was very young, my mom would take me to the town where she grew up and we would stand on the small bridge that overlooked the rather large pond (and small portion of the river) that ran behind her house. Thousands of dragonflies would zip across the water back and forth, in all possible directions, eating tiny bugs while avoiding being eaten themselves.

Although the flight pattern was chaotic, it still had a very mesmerizing affect (much like meditating) watching them for what felt like hours, being pulled into their very busy world. To see them perched with their dainty see-through paper wings, reflecting a rainbow-of-colors-sitting-atop-a-graceful-ballerina one moment and then shoot off like a Black Hawk helicopter on a hot mission the next, made it impossible to look away.

As an adult I now know that they must cram a lifetime of dragonfly business into just a few months. They must live for the moment, not only because their moment is already too short, but the perils that await them on a daily basis; the birds, the frogs, the omnivore fish that are a constant threat to their shortened lifespan…

Every moment, every second is cherished… to sit on a Lilly flower or vine and let the sun shine on their tiny bodies drying the morning dew may be the most simple enjoyment one can possibly have.

 

Mirror, mirror or through the looking glass?

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I am not sure what prompted me to take this picture. The day started out with the intention of spending a day at the beach with the girls but rain changed those plans (so please forgive the lack of make -up eek!). So we stopped for lunch and reevaluated the strategy.

We decided to explore the town instead and one of the stops was a very large indoor consignment shop. You can find statues, clothes, jewelry, paintings, old military items, just about anything you can think of. The girls were just being silly and posing next to different items in the shop and having a fun day.

But when I look back at this photo in particular, I wonder, what I was looking for? Was I looking at my own reflection or was I looking through the mirror into another world? The future? The past? Maybe I was just, in the moment, but somehow as I sit and gaze at it, it seems deeper than that.

 

A mother’s day to remember

Scrolling through some of my pictures from the past I came up on a wonderful event that Goose surprised me with: a day at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (MFA) for Mother’s Day. What’s the big hubbub? Well, the special exhibit they were showing at the time was that of (Dale) Chihuly. With over 200 collections world wide, I was so very lucky to be able to see one of his major travelling exhibitions (thank you from the bottom of my heart Goose! It was awesome!)

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It was another ‘mystery adventure’ only this time the mystery was on me!

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The colors, the forms, the exhibit as a whole was an overload of the senses. Glass blown in all shapes sizes… some that dangled from the ceiling while others were floor to ceiling in height. This particular display (shown above) was actually a small portion of the exhibit which was in the ceiling above us, so I was looking up at these plates of glass-shells of sorts.

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The party hat lemon left all other lemons envious.

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The delicate carvings, while still maintaining the enormous size, cannot be described adequately and must be seen with your own eyes.

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A giant monster from your glass garden awaits to wrap you in its tentacles and eat you alive!

If you ever have the opportunity to see his work, you simply must go. Pictures and words do not do any of it justice. Just say yes, who knows where it will take you!