To Pittsburgh and Back

Last week I was in the car headed westbound to go pick Jess and her friend up from Pitt and bring them home. My best friend from High School was in Pittsburgh for a conference, and he told me I should come out early and we should have some fun visiting and seeing the city.

We did just that.

Friday it took me forever to get there. I left at 6:15 in the morning, missed all the major traffic, and thought I'd be to Pitt by about 4pm. Not so. I got there around 5pm, picked Jess up to go to dinner with Rob (and her friend and the friend's boyfriend jumped in the car too).  We went and got Rob and I got onto a highway heading out of town, not the road I wanted to be on. We reversed direction and went back to Pitt to eat dinner and then show Rob the campus.

Rob was impressed with the campus and had a lot of questions about the school's history. None of which I knew the answers to. But we left Jess off and headed back to Rob's hotel so I could drop him off.

I ended up on the same wrong highway headed out of town, so instead of going up the highway to the exit I took earlier when everyone was in the car, I took the first exit off the highway, rte 28 towards a little town called Etna.

There were signs that said rte 28 was under construction, but I honestly had NO idea what I was driving into. Navigator Rob had the GPS and told me to take the 31st Street Bridge. That was closed... and the same with the 40th street bridge. we were in a tunnel of sorts, close in on us, made of Jersey Barriers. And we were almost out of gas. I thought to myself, Jeeeesh... If I run out of gas here, we are totally dead.

Luckily, the next bridge was open and we got off of rte 28, and headed back along the other side of the river through Lawrenceville. We found a gas station at literally the Eleventh Hour, and I rode him back to his hotel. We didn't pull in the lot or anything, I dropped him off and we said goodnight. I really wanted my own hotel (his was too expensive) and a shower.

I pulled back into the street, knew that I had to turn left, turn right, go straight and look for the sign to the Ft. Pitt Tunnel.

Well hell on wheels if I didn't turn left and then turn right ... right into Light Up Night celebrations in Dahntahn Pittsburgh. Sweet merciful crap.

The story goes that initially it was a couple thousand people in my way, then a half a million, then a bazillion million, and then the entire western hemisphere, depending on who I told the tale to afterward. Suffice to say, there was a buttload of people in the middle of the street and in my way. My GPS was urging me to "turn left" but the roads were blocked off.  "At next opportunity, reverse direction."

I saw Santa. That's all that mattered. Eventually, I found the ramp up to the Ft. Pitt tunnel and like a screaming bat out of bloody hell accelerated out of town. I got up to Robinson Township and stayed at a little Holiday Inn Express where the kid took pity on me and gave me the $109 a night room for $90.

Rob called me and said "I am looking at fireworks outside my hotel window... it's beautiful" and I was happy for him. But I got to see Santa, in the middle of Liberty Avenue.

The following morning I was up bright and early and found Rob easily. I was getting kind of okay good at driving around the city, and discovered that when there is no one on the road forcing me onto roads I do not wish to be on, it goes rather smoothly. We headed over to Station Square to park and then to ride up the Monongahela Incline. But upon arrival we found out the Incline was broken. So we got back in the car to head over to the Duquesne Incline, and I opted instead to drive up to the top of Mt. Washington. I remembered a few years ago Doug drove me up there and I almost had a heart attack, but the way was easy and Rob was excited about the houses being built into the side of the hill and wondered if people were ever worried about them sliding down.

We got to the top and parked, and enjoyed the absolutely perfect and glorious view of the city. So lovely. So beautiful... we talked about history and manufacturing in America and how cities like Pittsburgh have died, some managing to reinvent themselves and rise from the ashes and others that are not having as easy a time.

There were a few people looking down, straight down, so I followed their gaze. A buck was walking along the hillside, looking up at people. This is not something you see every day in a major metropolitan city. He was beautiful, with lovely antlers and a big black nose, and gorgeous white tail. There was an older gentleman there who said that over the summer he watched a doe give birth, and then leave. The fawn was there by itself... for about 10 days. He said people would come and check on her from above, but she just laid there. He dropped apples down to her, and someone ate the apples daily, because they were always gone. On the eleventh day, he came to check on her and she was gone so he didn't know if she got the strength up to go or if someone came and "got her." By which he meant a coyote or a human... either or. She was gone.

We drove down the hill and went over to Pitt and got Jess. We had a little time to kill, and the day was beautiful so we went back through the campus area. I scored a great parking spot and we went to Heinz Chapel to look inside. The organist was practicing, and the sweet little chapel was just ringing with beauty, with light, with sound... so lovely.


I once again missed the exit I wanted, and was on the wrong road... so we immediately fixed that over by Duquesne University and I got back on the road I wanted. I'm tellin' ya... all these years of being Doug's passenger you would think I knew what I was doing.

Rob's flight was at like 1:30, so we got him to the airport to get groped and fondled on time. Jess and I headed up to my in-laws, and we spent the afternoon talking with them. We ate a late lunch/early dinner at their favorite spot. I was slated to sleep at my sister in law's, and Jess came with me instead of me taking her back to Pittsburgh. We had a lovely visit with the cousins, sat around talking, wonderful Sunday dinner and lots of reading and battle hamsters and car races. We went out to eat with Doug's cousin Andy and his wife, they're expecting their first child and it was so nice to see them and have a little time with them.

Monday found me with only myself to entertain. I had reached out to friends in Cleveland and met them for lunch. I wanted to try the Great Lakes Brewery restaurant, so Bill and Stacey of Nothing But Love/Golf Blogger fame. We've been reading each other for like 10 years now, and who better to show me around Cleveland than them! We had a lovely lunch, they took me to The Christmas Story house on Clark, showed me the church from The Deer Hunter, and then we had mocha and pumpkin whoopie pies at their gorgeous downtown loft apartment and talked for hours.

I got back to my sister in law's close to 11pm. Slept like the dead, thinking that living in a loft in Cleveland would be pretty sweet.

The following morning my father in law and I went out to see his mom at her home. She has always been sharp as a tack but seems to be slipping a little bit. Doug's dad is often stressed by her, and he was glad to have me there as another person for her to talk to and for an excuse to leave because I had a deadline. Jess' class would be over at 3:45 and I had to get her.

It was a good visit, I made her laugh like her head was going to fall off her body at one point. I kind of love doing that to her. My poor father in law is long suffering and he even had a laugh at it.

Getting down to Pittsburgh was no fun. There was an accident outside the tunnel, and it took me forever to get to Jess. Of course her professor released class early, and I wasn't right there to meet her. The area of Forbes and Fifth was a disaster, thousands of people and buses and all kinds of road hogs all up in my grill. I got to Jess and her friend and by about 4:30pm we were on the road. On it but not moving.

We eventually got up to speed east of Monroeville, but it was pouring down rain at this point. Absolutely pouring. So hard to see and drive. I took a different route than normal - usually we go up 79 to 80 and buzz 80 across the state. This time I thought I'd try the turnpike to 99 to 80. It seemed to take longer. We got to Scranton where our friends Chris and Chrissy live, where we were staying for the night, at about 11pm. Much later than I thought we would. I don't know that I'm going to go that way again...  We visited with Chrissy for a while, and that was so nice. So sweet of her to stay up and wait for us and then chat. The girls slept on the couch with the kitties and I slept in the bed that I slept in last year when Doug and I went to get Jess. I couldn't fall asleep because I felt like I was still moving. The morning came too soon, and I got to visit with Chris, who while I was story telling told me I needed an editor. He's right.

We hit the road at 9 and got home at 3, after a brief stop at a Krispy Kreme and running into traffic on the Masspike.

I was so happy to get home.

The Nightmare of Paperwork

Am I the only one who does this?

You get bank statements, retirement account statements, 529 plan statements in the mail. You throw them in a pile. I'll look at those later.

The pile gets picked up after it has overtaken the dining table, and gets put into a box. If I need that stuff, I know where to find it.

Wash, rinse, repeat.

At our meeting with the lawyer last week he told us that we needed to produce financial documents to show what we have coming in and going out. Including all of our retirement accounts.

Which.... are ..... of course..... all in boxes or still piled on the dining table because there is mail there for about the last 2 quarters.

We don't eat much at the dining table.

So on Monday, Doug went to work and I went to ... work... on the piles.

After about an hour I found all the most RECENT things, but we needed to produce all of our paperwork since the beginning of this fiasco, so going back to December 2008.

Um.

I started to hyperventilate a bit. Then I started to feel my throat tighten and sweat.

I'll never be able to find all this stuff. I went into the bathroom, leaned over the toilet and couldn't puke. It just wouldn't happen. But the bathroom seemed to smell super funky to me, so I stopped what I was doing and cleaned the bathroom. Then, I did dishes. Then I took a nap.

My lawyer sent a "um, guys? paperwork please?" update email on Tuesday afternoon and I decided, hey... it's the freaking 21st century. I'm going to get all this stuff online. Like a modern boss.

In 2004 we consolidated all our 401(k)s into one account, so that was with Ameriprise. We've gone through 4 financial advisers since then. These kids come in, are all cool and nice, and then they move on to other pastures. Last time I talked with one was like February when they called to let us know we had a new contact. Well, today I called him and got a girl, and she is our new adviser I guess, for now.  She was super helpful and said she would overnight all our statements back to January 2009 to our lawyer and send a copy to us, no charge... Cool. But going beyond January 2009 meant archives, so we needed to set up online accounts.


So I did that, like a boss.

Then, Doug has some accounts that cannot be rolled into the Roth IRA, because of the type of account they are. they are 403(b) accounts. And they can't even be combined. So he has the one from When he used to work at the college and another from when he worked at Big Boston Hospital. According to this statement, he has 4 IDs. It made my head explode, so I'm going to have him deal with that nonsense when he gets home. I just can't.

I then found email correspondence that I had with the Attorney General's office, which kind of didn't do anything but it shows that I reached out there and provided info to them. I found other email that I'd had discussions with other people.

My poor lawyer's email box must be exploding.

Fingers crossed. Wish us luck...

So we can file this under more ways that I feel like my life is falling apart

My daughter has decided to leave college.

She won't give us a real clear and honest reason. She told me that she no longer cares about what she is studying, she no longer cares about linguistics and foreign languages. She hates everyone. She hates the people. She hates being there. She "cannot bear" to spend another semester there.

So she wants to come home at the end of this semester. I asked her if something happened to her, if someone said or did anything? Was it the homesickness? Was it the fear of having 90,000 dollars in student loans to pay off? What. Give me a reason.

Doug isn't hearing it from her. "You're depressed. Everyone gets depressed in college. Work through it, find a counselor or an adviser to talk to, and stay in school. Dropping out now will do you no good. If you think you're going to come home and find a job that pays more than 9 bucks an hour, you're wrong. Just stay there, and get a degree that will make you marketable."

But I have a degree and no one wants me. Does she see that and feel how fucking painfully USELESS everything is?

I think I've got that part of her experience figured out.

I know she had a good summer. She was very happy, and it was so good to see. She enjoyed working at our church, she loved working at the cooking school. She did a week of volunteer work at a christian rock concert up in New Hampshire and at one point I remembered she posted "I'm surrounded by people who care about things. I wish I cared about things."

Part of me agrees with Doug and the other part of me says to her, "come home, regroup. Take some classes at Salem State to stay on track. Change your major. Maybe we'll buy you a plane ticket and you can go to South Africa and go visit the women who visited us this summer from East London RSA. Go there for a while. They said they need teachers, they need smart women with big hearts. Go. And maybe you'll fall in love with something to care about. Or, just come home and wallow in it with me. Lord knows I'm not the chipperest happy person on the planet of late. Lord knows I prefer to watch 11 episodes of South Park back to back and work on stuff on my computer for Jo and then email it to her. Lord knows that mustering up the energy to go to a football game or to the freaking Grocery Store is a half day battle. Maybe if you're here, we can both yell at each other until we do things. Or watch another episode of South Park."

I don't know.

She told me today she didn't register for any spring semester classes (enrollment was 2 weeks ago) and that "by now, everything that I would maybe want to take is full. So it is pointless."

I honestly just don't even know what to do.

BOA update for November 2011

It has almost been a year since we first contacted our lawyer to put up our fight with BOA. Today, we are going to meet with him, with piles of documentation that BOA is asking of us.

We get to be deposed by THEIR lawyers next month.

My bowels are in knots, I'm completely stressed out. I didn't want to wake up this morning. I was having the coolest dream that I was a live action player in a video game that we like (Ratchet & Clank).

but off we go. Wish us luck.

Even The Least of Them

"The King will answer and say to them, 'Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.'" - Jesus

I do not get very religious on you here in the blog. What I believe, I believe. Sometimes I find the need to share, and I think this is one of those times.

Today at my happy little part time job, which I do not refer to as "work" but I call "awesome," my love Jo left me in charge of phones for two reasons. One, she has laryngitis. Two, she had to go run errands and shop for the classes. I was wheeling and dealing, marketing and helping, sending emails, answering phones, telling people how to book a birthday party, and telling the Groupon jerks to kiss my ass and go away because Jo wishes not to deal with them. 

Shortly before she returned to the office, the phone rang. On the other end was a woman who sounded as if she was maybe a bit intoxicated. Her speech was slurred, I had a hard time really understanding her. But I listened, because she was full of questions. Pretty soon I figured out she isn't intoxicated, she just is.

She told me that she was attending a cooking school in the Boston Area and was going to be flunking out because the classes are too fast and she cannot keep up, so she wanted to "transfer" to our cooking school.  

I explained to her that we are not a culinary arts institute like the one she goes to. We  teach cooking classes for fun... not for certification. She couldn't grasp that, and wanted to know what our application process was. I explained to her as clearly as I could, that we don't do transfers, we sell individual classes of 2-3 hours to individuals, and those classes are just those classes. She wanted to know what the classes were like, do the instructors work slowly so people can actually learn. She also wanted to know "Why do I need to learn French Cooking? I'm American!" which kind of made me laugh a little. I told her that is so basic! The skills in French Cooking are the foundation for all of modern cooking. Like if you go to become a doctor, you don't just go and take classes in just what you want to do, you have to take Anatomy and Physiology and all sorts of basic introductory classes. BEFORE you can become a specialist in just Otolaryngology or Podiatry. She kind of understood that. 

"The foundations. That's what I need. I need the basics. But for nine months I haven't learned anything so I need to go somewhere that I can learn."

She told me how much she loves to cook, she loves to make food that makes people happy. She wants to be better at it. So she knows she needs to learn things. She asked if she could come just look at our cooking school. See what it is like. I told her to feel free. But she can't transfer here. She can just take classes that make her happy. I explained to her three times how to find us if she took the T. She was laughing and happy when we finished the call; I was exhausted and a little bit sad.

It crossed my mind as I sat there sadly that I'm very lucky. My life may suck in a lot of ways, but when it comes down to it, how privileged am I?

When I call somewhere, I can communicate, and I communicate well. Heck, I've even talked my way into interviews for jobs that I am not even close to qualified for. I realized that this is a woman who probably just wants a better job, or a job at all, and she's just trying to make her life better. Aren't we all? I have a part time job, I have a wonderful family. I have a support system and network which does not allow me to fall through the cracks.

I am not getting financially raped by a culinary arts outfit that really should not be taking my money, at all. I'm getting financially raped by Bank of America, but I'm fighting that fight the best I can. In the back of my mind I recalled Jesus' words in Matthew, which I cite at the top of the page. And I realized that this my sister is really one of the least of them. It started to break my heart, started to make me cry a little.

As for me, I want to think that if we are truly judged by what we do "to the least of them," that this was my shining moment. I'm of the mindset that I always try harder to help those who are obviously handicapped, those who do not get the attention of others, I can focus on them... and help them. And I do it often. I don't do it because I think it will get me into heaven or anything, but I do it because I know that we're known by our love, by treating people the way we would like to be treated, and that it is commanded of us to do these things.

I doubt she will come visit our cooking school. But should she.... I hope she likes the facility.

Jo returned from the world and I told her of all my adventures, including this woman's call. She stated that the woman called on Monday and Tuesday. Jo spent a half hour with her on Monday and Renee had her on the phone on Tuesday. We agreed that she was being robbed by the particular school, and that if she made it to us we'd do what we could to get her to understand how our classes work.

My guess is she will call tomorrow. And maybe the next day. As annoying as it may be, treating her the best we can is all we can do.

Fall Back

I slept until a little after noon today, and Doug came to wake me up because I had committed to going and helping with the snack shack at the varsity home football game.

When he woke me from my sleep, I was having this amazing dream about a parade, and there were all kinds of people that I knew at the parade. I was looking for someone, and moving through the procession and the crowd, talking to people, confused and guessing, and seeking and reaching.

I was mad that he woke me. I felt as if I was just about to find that thing or person that I was looking for when he woke me up! He was actually in my dream,  trying to help me, I remember that much. It's a shame he ruined it by waking me, that certainly was no help.

Tonight we get to turn our clocks back an hour for Daylight Savings Time. I will endeavor to use that extra hour to sleep, to find out who I was looking for, and why.

What better use of time can there be?

Bread Bowls Should Not Be Feared...

On Facebook the other day, my friend Michael X. said that he was making french onion soup for dinner. This is one of my favorites, and it inspired me to do the same a couple days later. I asked Michael if he served up the soup in sour dough bread bowls, and he said no --  he loves the idea, but he is afraid they would leak.

I decided to take pictures of how to do it, to prevent leakage, and to encourage him to not fear the bread bowl. If worse comes to worse, you can serve the bread bowl inside a bowl bowl, and not have any worries at all about the outcome.

I started with Alton Brown's recipe for french onion soup, found here on the internet. I am a huge fan of Alton Brown, and only once have I been disappointed by one of his recipes (christmas sugar cookie dough. It came out like cardboard, hard and crispy and disgusting. We threw the whole batch out after it was cooked).

There are some tweaks to the recipe that I will state right off the bat.

I didn't have any beef consume, or consomme, and I had no chicken stock, so I used 20 ounces of beef broth that I had in a container in the fridge. We always keep some on hand for soups and whatnot... normally a container of chicken and a container of beef, but I didn't notice when I went shopping that we were out of chicken.

I used two vidalia onions, one red onion and three small yellow onions.

I would cut the apple cider in half, or not even use it at all. The soup was cloyingly sweet, which is too much for me, considering I don't eat a lot of sweets and I really notice when things are sweet... it hits my palette hard.

I would use more wine in the recipe. He calls for two cups, but the instructions say to pour wine over the onions to cover them. Two cups wasn't enough to cover them. But nothing got ruined - the wine reduced to a beautiful syrup and there is something so sublime about the smell of onions cooking in wine. Blissful.

And I left out the cognac, and my "bouquet garni" was more or less thrown in and not tied up in kitchen string. I didn't have any, but had plenty of bay leaves and parsley, so that got incorporated into the actual soup instead of removed from the soup.

For the bread bowls, I went to my local supermarket and ordered sour dough bread bowls a day in advance. They make them, but they usually only make a few and they sell out quickly.  I could have gone to Panera or something, but the local market had them for me the next day, and they were about $1.25 each.  Start by getting a nice knife and cut the top off straight across. Like this:

Put the top aside because you'll need it for later.

Then, using your fingers gently dig  out the center of the bread bowl. Don't dig too close to the bottom or sides, because then all that will be left is the crust and you'll realize Michael's fear -- that you'll spring a leak.

As you can see, I've left plenty of bread inside the bowl, but it is still a nice big bowl.

You will then take the top, and cut it into little pieces. I like how these bowls were scored before baking, and that gave them the little criss cross tops, which were perfect lines to cut on. Take the cubed/cut top (and the insides of the bowls) and put them on a cookie sheet, sprinkle with garlic powder, and toast them in the oven.

Alton's directions say to cut a loaf of crusty bread and then put it under the broiler, but I always find that burns the bread. Instead, I put the oven on about 450 degrees, and gently toast/heat until everything is crispy and crunchy, and not burned, about 5 minutes. I also do not apply any butter or olive oil to the bread... it toasts just fine without.

After your croutons are made, take your bread bowl and fill with your soup. Two ladle fulls went into my bowls here. Top with the toasted croutons, completely filling the top so you can't see the soup, and then cover with shredded cheese. I used Gruyere because it is my favorite, but you can use Swiss (Emental) or Fondita. Whatever makes you happy. Gruyere is my favorite because it melts so beautifully and browns so nicely. I should have shredded it smaller here, but we were in a hurry to get dinner cooked so Geoff (my kitchen assistant) used the slicer side of our grater and this was the result.

Pop the soup bowls into the oven, and this time I used the broiler... as you can see, the exposed edges of the bread started to burn (I hate the broiler)... but the cheese was melted just right and everything tasted perfect.

I ended up taking a lot of the left over bread guts and putting them back in the oven with some more Gruyere on them, and toasting them until the cheese melted. I then put them on top of soup in a regular bowl and ate it that way. I seemed to enjoy that a little more than the bread bowl.

The inside of the bread bowl after soaking up the soup gets a little, shall we say... snotty. The consistency of the bread was weird as I scraped the inside and pulled out a long rope of dough. It tasted great, but looked gross. And eating the bowl is always a great time. Whoever thought this up was kind of genius, if you ask me.

As for serving amounts, we ended up with four full bread bowls, a regular bowl full, and a small container of left overs. So I would say Alton's recipe claims to serve 8, it would be more along the lines of 6. Also, it would depend on your vessel of choice, bread bowl or some form of oven safe crockery.



So there you go. Don't fear the bread bowl.

Lessons learned are like bridges burned...

My son learned a valuable lesson this week.

On Wednesday, his school had an early release day. Normally he takes the bus home, eats lunch, and I take him back (or he rides his bike back) for 2pm football practice. Sometimes, the guys on the team don't go home, they just go and hang out at the gym and the weight room, work out, hang out, and play.

He decided he would stay there, and hang out with his teammates.

The guys all threw their backpacks and jackets against the wall. Geoff took his wallet out of his pants, and put his wallet and pens from his pocket and his glasses under his backpack and jacket, and went to horse around. After the horsing was over, all the guys were sitting waiting, and one of the kids on Geoff's team picked up his wallet and said "Hey Geoff, I'mma gonna steal all the money out of your wallet..." in a joking around fashion. Geoff said the equivalent of "Ha ha, very funny, asshole. Gimme back my wallet" and the kid chucked it to him.

"There's no money in it anyway. Why do you even carry a wallet?"

All that was in there was his social security card and his bus pass.

When he set it down, there was $90 dollars in there.

So he was rather pissed, and reported it to the coach. In Geoff's mind, the only guys there were guys on his team. His coach pointed out that lots of teams, lots of kids, and lots of people who aren't on teams cut through the gym to leave at the end of the day. It could have been anyone. But Geoff is convinced it was someone who knew exactly where to look for his stuff, and that would be one of the 10 guys he was hanging out with.

He's rather devastated by this, as by rights he should be. I pointed out to him that dozens of times in the past I've told him never to carry more than 20 bucks in his wallet. "You don't NEED to have $250 in your wallet. Let's go to the bank and put some of that away." But there he was, not listening again, and someone benefited from his decision to hoard his cash and carry it around with him.

The fact that he believes it is someone he is supposed to know well and trust, a teammate, additionally upsets him. He admits that it could be anyone, but he believes it was one of the guys. I told him that may be so, and sometimes some people make bad decisions. I asked him if he found someone's wallet if he would be tempted to take the money, what would he do.

"I know that at our age, getting money is hard. If there is a lot of money in someone's wallet, that means they worked extra hard all summer long and they earned that money. It isn't mine to take. I wouldn't even LOOK in someone's wallet. I would say "Hey Guy, your wallet is here in the open you should put it somewhere safer." He sighed heavily and said "I have more moral fiber in my hand than my entire team does," he tells me, holding his hand up to demonstrate.

"You have more moral fiber by an ounce than one other person has. And that's all."

I asked him why he didn't put his wallet and glasses INTO his backpack, there are enough compartments and zippers and slots and cubby holes that he could have secured the wallet more. "I just didn't think that I needed to. I mean, I'm among friends. These are my guys."

It's a hard lesson, that even sometimes "your guys" may not be what you think they are, or hope they are. I'm very sad that he has lost a lot of faith in his team mates. It very well could have been someone from outside the team, someone from JV or Varsity, or someone from one of the other teams who was hanging around. I don't want him to lose faith in his guys. I want him to always have that. But right now, that trust is damaged. And it will be for sometime.

He has his suspect in mind. There is one kid, one guy, that isn't one of his guys. They have not gotten along ever. Since fourth grade there have been issues between these two boys. We had to sit down with his parents and both boys on a few occasions in the past to iron out the issues and the last time it came down to "look, you don't have to be best friends, you just have to get along and behave yourselves."

So Geoff thinks it is this kid. He may be right. I've grown to awareness that this kid is kind of a turd. His facebook profile is public, and the stuff he posts is just disgusting. He constantly is talking about his penis, how he's going to NH to "eat pussy all weekend." He posts pictures of severely obese women, naked and licking their own nipples, as his profile shot. He gives me the creeps. A lot of the guys think he's funny, but Geoff thinks he's a troll. And here they are on the same team, in close contact, and periodically they will go at it with one another. I told Geoff to develop a filter, just avoid him, don't engage, don't respond, and stick to the other guys on the team like Will and Josh and Patrick. Just steer clear of him. The coaches know they don't get along, and do their best to drill them apart.

On Friday, his team had an away game down in Winthrop. It was a really tough game, and this kid got drilled at the end of the game, absolutely pummeled, and knocked out. Geoff turned to me and said "well he got his comeuppance." And I told him to shush - just to keep his mouth shut.  Some of the guys got him off the field and helped him walk to the bus. The bus wasn't ready for guys to get on it, so I told them to sit him on this low cement wall until they could get on. I sat on the kid's left side, and this other kid Kevin sat on his right. The kid was obviously concussed. I asked him a series of questions like "Do you know where you are?" and he answered "I play football."

He started to fall backwards, so I put my arm behind him to support him and Kevin leaned him forward a bit. The kid retched a little and threw up a bit. The coaches arrived and we discussed me driving him home, or him riding on the bus. Kevin was rather insistant that the kid ride home with me, safe in the car, with another kid. That would mean Geoff, because if I were to drive this kid home I would take my own kid with me. Kevin volunteered to go. The coach voted it down and said "He'll be fine on the bus." He's a crusty old dude, with a big smile, and has coached a million kids in football over the years.

He leaned over to the kid and smiled "You got your ass kicked on that last play, didn't ya?" The kid nodded. "Come on son, let's get on the bus." He was checking his eyes, and took his pulse and I gave them my sweatshirt so he could have something to lay his head on while riding the bumpy bus.

After we got home, Geoff said to me "Why were you so kind do him? He's my enemy. He treats me like crap and I think he stole from me, and you're being kind to him."

Sometimes, it's said, that you have to treat other people the way you want to be treated. And Jesus says to love your enemies, not just your friends. He was a kid who was hurt and needed some support.

In the long run, I hope I can help restore some of Geoff's faith in others by modeling that kind of behavior when possible. Maybe his faith can come back while he also protects his stuff a bit more carefully. We'll see.

Zombie Walk 2011 Salem MA

(Please Note: If you're here looking for info on the 2012 Zombie Walk which happens on October 6, 2012 please  click here)

This weekend I attended the fourth annual zombie walk in Salem. There were some logistical problems, such as the organizer getting arrested and the permits getting denied. At first it looked like no walk was going to happen, but everyone went and a good time ensued. As usual, the zombie costumes were amazing. My favorite was a couple who were Titanic Non-Survivors.

They were hysterical.  

 And this guy was one of my favorites.
Scary and hot all at the same time...

The zombie march went into downtown Salem around the East India Mall, if you're familiar with the area, and tourists and street vendors alike were loving the zombies!

Well, some of the kids in the crowd were freaked out, but for the most part, video cameras and other cameras and CHEERING came from the crowd. it was super amazing.

All the pictures are in my flickr account if you want to see them. I'm going to bed. I'm feeling like a zombie myself...

Singing in Bowling Green

"This is where we walked, this is where we swam. Take our picture here, take a souvenir."
-R.E.M.

This past weekend, I attended a funeral in Ohio.

My high school choir director passed away in mid September after suffering a stroke in late August. He had been rather unwell for a while, and sometimes these things do not come as a surprise.  His daughter E was very open and shared the goings on with him on our choir alumni Facebook group. It was incredibly generous of her, to share this intensely private family time with the students who loved him, from the late 60s through the 80s and into the 90s. 

We referred to him back then as "Uncle Andy" but E was the only one who held the honor of calling him Dad. 

When he was moved to hospice care, his daughter picked the date for his service, and began planning it. Some people said "He's not dead yet, he could rebound and surprise us." I told my husband this and asked him what he thought. As many of you know, he has a great amount of experience in end of life care. He told me very sweetly "once you are in hospice, there isn't a rebound to look forward to. He can be there a while, or he could pass quickly. E is right to make her plans for her dad at this time. No one can or should question it because it is the right thing to do."

And Doug was right. Uncle Andy passed away, and there was plenty of time for people to make plans, arrangements, and come to sing the gentle teacher home. I told Doug that I wanted to go, and he said "of course you do, and you should."

Now, a couple of months ago, one of my college professors passed away and I did not mourn the way other people did. I was sad for his family and their loss. But other than that, I wasn't so heartbroken that he had passed. It felt like nothing to me. 

This, however, was different. 

"Uncle Andy" was kind of a joke nickname, because he wasn't a loving Uncle figure. He sure could yell at us, he sure could be demanding...  We were mostly being sarcastic when we called him that. He was a taskmaster, was unrelenting at times, and there was sometimes a scariness to his intensity. 

But for as much as I thought he was mean at times, just like my college professor who recently passed, I never for one moment thought that he didn't love me and want the best for me, unlike the college professor. When it came time for "teach to" moments, he delivered them with love instead of self-righteous "I told you so" lecture and unwillingness to be a champion. I don't know if his daughter had the same experiences at home but "Uncle Andy" was inspiring, a great teacher, a tremendous mentor, and several of my friends went on to teach music, or have music careers, thanks to him.

Our high school choir was exceptionally good. Our entire music department was. We were incredibly lucky. 

E told us the songs we would be singing, and I got sheet music from a couple sources and posted them to my personal website so people could download them and start practicing. We all made our arrangements with our families, and about 40 of us I reckon made it to Ohio for the funeral. Some flew in from as far away as Phoenix and Atlanta. 

my friend Eva during the rehearsal

A couple of days before the event another good friend sent me an email with her regrets that she couldn't make it there for a variety of reasons.

I was sharing a hotel with my friend Eva, and told her that if she could make it to somewhere on my route I would drive her and not ask her to pay for a portion of the room costs.

I wanted her to be there, because she should be there.  So she got herself to Eva, and we had a fourth roommate, a girl who graduated the year behind us.

Two sopranos and two altos, just like old times.

I left here at 5:40am and arrived at my friend's house in Connecticut at 9:15. Not bad for rush hour through Hartford and down to New Haven. We were back on the road before 10am and made it all the way to Bowling Green with a lot of laughs and a few stops where we obeyed the bladder and the gas tanks. 

At about 7:40 we were checked into our hotel rooms, and readying up to go to a brief rehearsal at the church. Several people were flying in later and wouldn't get to their hotel rooms until midnight. A second rehearsal was held in the morning, and just about everyone was there.

One of the pieces I honestly NEVER remember singing. My friend Kat told me that we sang it on our England tour in 1983, but I do not have an ounce of recollection over it and neither did my friend Hadley. My sightreading skills are better than I remember, and being with other altos who remembered the song was exceptionally helpful. 

After the rehearsal and before we went up, our conductor, who herself was a music teacher, had done all she could for us to prepare us. She got rid of the "Hawl LAY lou YAs" and got us to remember it is "Allah lu ya" and to not sound like Jersey Shore or Long Islanders. She gave us the pep talk, reminding us that "you can do this, because he taught you to do it." She told us that today, we were all his children. This bothered me a little because we can't claim that... ever.  That relationship only belongs to E. He wasn't Pappa Andy, but Uncle Andy. But... I understood where she was coming from and deeply appreciated the pep talk.

Everyone started crying. It kind of wasn't fair to do this to us right before going up to sing. So not fair. 

You know you're in Bowling Green
when there is a Basketball in the
flower arrangement.

The service was really nice, and there was a guest vocalist, and her husband was the organist and accompanied us on the piano. They were were both incredibly talented and wonderful.

When it was our turn to sing the first of our four songs, I was terrified. It is meant to be done a cappella, and most of us wanted Judy the conductor to accompany us. She told us that we could do it, it would be wonderful, don't worry about it. The piece was the one I linked to in my entry yesterday, Randall Thompson's "Alleluia." 

We crushed it. I was so relieved.

At the end, Eva turned to me and was bawling. "I can't do this, I can't sing the next song. I can't."
I started crying too and told her she'd better stop it. I didn't want to kill her. In church. At a funeral. 

We all got through the second piece, and the third, without tears and with great success. 

Our final song was Handel's "Hallelujah Chorus," which we all knew inside out and upside down. I lost it at the end, and started to cry.

We sounded so good, it was so much fun. And I missed him. I missed Uncle Andy and I didn't get a chance to let him know that I appreciated everything he did for all of us through the years. Especially for me. My love for music is rooted in his choir classroom. And with several of the people standing there in the pews with me, and several people who couldn't make it. 

That night we all went out to dinner and then to a bar, which was loud and stupid, as my last entry explains. Yeah, you like the Yankees. Please be quiet about it. We tried a second bar that was supposed to have Karaoke, but it didn't.

I was back at the hotel room by 11, and the four of us girls holed up in this room all tried to go to bed but we talked and talked for hours about family, problems, life, the kids, the jobs or lack of jobs, our post-high school relationships (they had many, I had three...and I was kind of proud of that even though their stories were just plain hysterical and amazing).  Before I fell asleep I said "I love you guys."

The time was about 3am. Voof. 

In the morning I said "I hate you bitches," as I was packing up all my stuff. 6:30am came way too early. And I still hurt from laughing.

We were on the road before 8am and the plan was to swing a tad south into Pittsburgh and have lunch with Jessica, which we did, and it was wonderful. I miss her so much. Spending 90 minutes with her was such a blessing and my two travel companions were happy to meet here and see a little bit of Pittsburgh. 

I wanted to take them to the top of Mt. Washington to see the view of the city, but it decided to start raining and I opted to skip it and have us hit the road and put some serious miles between us and the whole rest of the weekend. 

I drove to Bellefonte, and Kat took over. She drove to Danbury where her husband met us at 9:30pm. I was home here at the house at 12:30. Exhausted, stiff, still feeling like I was moving. It was a great trip, a great time, and I am so happy to have wonderful friends, and while it was a sad moment in time, it was great to be together and support our friend, our "cousin" as it were, and be there for her. 

There were a lot of laughs, tons of laughs, and I have to do a whole separate entry about the funny stuff. In the meantime, here is a picture of my long distance traveling companion. Being a true pimp. Sitting in the baby high chair at the Fuel & Fuddle in Pittsburgh.