The "No Mess" Mess

No parent ever wants to hear these words:

     "Mom, I need to show you something."

My youngest son did not say "I WANT to show you something",
                                         or "COOL!  Look at THIS!  Check this out!"

He said, "I NEED to show you something". 

That USUALLY means it's something I don't really WANT to see. 

I was immediately on guard.

"WHAAAaaaaat?" I asked, like a lazy teenager that had just been asked to get out of bed at the early hour of ...................10 a.m. 

"I need to show you something in the bathroom," he said, " It's BIG."

GREAT. 

Again, wanting to show me something BIG in the BATHROOM? 
NOT something I want to hear about or deal with on a Sunday morning (or ANY morning, for that matter), especially, not before I've had my coffee.

I mean, did the toilet overflow, and there is sewage all over the bathroom floor? 

Did someone vomit?

Is there a dead rodent involved?

I don't REALLY want to know. 

"Just TELL me what it is," I responded.  "I don't WANT to come look."

I braced myself for the response. 

"There's............a hole.  A BIG hole.  In the door," he said. 

A hole?  That's IT ?  No sewage?  No vomit?  No dead rodent? No bad smell? NO MESS?



"Okay," I responded, " I will come take a look at it after I've had my coffee.  Thanks for telling me." 

I can handle a hole. 



A Splash of Color on an Autumn Day

It was a beautiful October day.

Two friends, and (for the next couple of hours) untroubled souls. 

We tossed the dog and my camera in the convertible, and hit the road - wherever the road should take us. 

          "I have a place in mind," said my friend.

 Apparently, he knew where the road would take us.        

          "I know of a nice little winery," he stated. 

Drag me out in the beautiful Virginia countryside
and force me to drink wine ? ? ? 

I think NOT ! ! !


BUT, I went anyways.
The air was crisp; the sun - warm, on my face. 
I closed my eyes, soaking in the last of the late Autumn rays  that would soon be overcome

by clouds of pre-winter gray.               

Turning off the highway, we followed the sign that read "Corcoran Winery",
          gravel kicking up behind us along the winding, dirt road,
          and made a left onto Corky's Farm Lane. 

Perfectly witty and appropriate, I thought.   

As the wind blew back my hair, we came upon a clearing -
          an enclave of newly built homes; a misplaced suburban community. 


We would find out later on that these were homes to the Corcoran Winery "family".  

Around the corner and up the hill, we followed along the fence line.

Grape vines danced in the fields to the left,


          and an old, rustic barn stood staunch, to the right.

We pulled the car into the perfect spot, and sauntered down the drive.

In contrast to the modern construction of the homes that first greeted us,
          the tasting room was housed in a small, unstately structure, more characteristic of
          the country setting in which it sat.

The front yard was dressed with garden tables and chairs -

a welcome introduction to the charming front porch. 

As I grabbed the handle and walked in the front door,

          I could feel the history of the 1750's restored log cabin. 

Oh, the stories this old dwelling could tell. 

Once inside, I was transformed back to an earlier time, yet, with modern day faces. 

It felt both welcoming and familiar. 

We were greeted with smiles and warmth - even the dog. 
          Though small enough to tuck under our arms, we are not always sure how he will be received.

          Here, there was no pause. 

There were two tasting rooms - one in the front, and one in the back,
          where the bathroom was located, as well. 
That was my first stop before moving onto the wine. 
On my way out, my friend introduced me to Jim Corcoran, one of the owners of a husband and wife team,
          who graciously offered a friendly handshake.   

Stephanie was our host for the next hour, walking us through each taste -
                   full of knowledge and a very down-to-earth style. 
Any pretentiousness that may have been carried through the front door,
          was immediately dissolved by the warm spirits - of both the wine and the people.

We ordered two glasses of red, cheese and crackers............and a bottle "to go",
          and found a nice table for two outside.

While I was drawn to the peaceful setting of the beautiful pond, lined with willow trees and 
          picnic benches on the backside of the house,
I chose one of the wrought iron tables out front, where I could see all of the "comings and goings". 

We engaged in pleasant conversation with a few of the other patrons as they passed by,  and watched others as they walked in and out, arriving in cars, pick-up trucks, and motorcycles.
There were friends, families, couples, and other dogs - each here to enjoy and get away from it all. 
      
I was just about to go inside and order another glass of wine, when Jim came out with a bottle to share.           

He pulled up a chair, and over a glass of Cabernet Franc, we enjoyed getting to know one another.  
It was just a snapshot view,
          but enough to see the real flavors, and colors, and shape. 

We talked about the winery, and we talked about life.

As he raised his hands up, arms wide, looking from one side of his property to the other, he said,

     "It's not so much about the wine, as it is about THIS.  Bringing people together. The wine is just an excuse."

I think he is onto something, there. 

As we sat talking, he welcomed three other people to our table -
          friends from the past and present.
All of us, who were of different ages and backgrounds, sat together and enjoyed a glass of wine,
          as if we had known each other for years.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end,
          and responsibilities at home were knocking on our door. 

It was time to leave......................................... but not without a souvenir.

It had been quite windy all afternoon. 
In fact, in between sips of wine and conversations,
          I spent a good part of the time trying to keep from blowing away. 

In the midst of a conversation with Jim, the wind literally lifted my glass off the table,

          sending it air bound,

                    landing several feet away,

          but not before leaving a splash of color all over my white t-shirt,

                              as well as my dog's white "coat".

Jim felt terrible, but we were BOTH laughing.

What else was there to do? 

It was quite impressive, actually. 

And besides, it was JUST a shirt. 

How is that in comparison to the glorious afternoon we had all just shared?

It was worth it. 

Did the stain come out?  Not totally.

But I know that when I go back to visit my new friends at Corcoran Winery,
          if they do not remember me by name or by face,
and if they do not remember the wonderful conversations that we had,
          they will at least remember me by my purple colored ......................left breast.  

Maybe I will just show up wearing the same t-shirt.

              

        
 

         

The Missing Pin

It was my daughter's Homecoming Dance. 

My only responsibility that day was to show up at the "host house" for pictures, with her date's boutonniere in hand.

I picked up the boutonniere from the florist, and arrived at the "gig" a few minutes early -
shortly before 6:00, which is a good thing,
because the street number my daughter had given me

DID NOT EXIST.  

I had been told 3110, and though the numbers on the street ranged from 3000 to 3015, there was NO "3010".

One thing reliable about teenagers, though - they rarely show up on time. 

I parked my car along the street, until gradually, a caravan of cars arrived, migrating toward house # 3013. 

I believe my daughter finally arrived around 6:30.

I walked down the long driveway to meet her, and entered the large, two story foyer, into the sea of homecoming dresses, neck ties....................and moms.   

Soon after, my daughter's date walked up to greet her, and I handed over the boutonniere. 

About a minute later...........
    

"Um, Mom?" my daughter asked, "There is no pin." 

I reached over to inspect the tiny, delicate, orchid, turning it around and around,
as if the next time I turned it, the pin would suddenly appear out of the green stemmed camouflage.

"Huh."  I said.  "There is definitely no pin."

I looked at my daughter's date and said,

" My guess is that you are not too terribly upset by this."

He received my comment with laughter and a smile. 

Easy going and a sense of humor, I thought.  That's good.

I reached over to his jacket pocket, and positioned the flower so that it was peeking out, just enough. 

"This will do for pictures.  After that, you can do with it whatever you'd like,"

                                                                                           I told him.

PROBLEM SOLVED.

Both my daughter and her date seemed perfectly satisfied.   

After all, amidst all of the teenage drama that coincides with Homecoming night
 (not to mention, some of the  "MOM" drama), 
a missing boutonniere is nothing more than showing up for pictures a few minutes late.

Dinner and a Movie.............and a Trip to Indonesia

This past Friday night, my very close, very special Dutch friend took me out for a wonderful Indonesian meal.  He is half Indonesian, but with his steel blue eyes, carried by his large 6'2" frame, you would not know it to look at him.

Indonesian food is comfort food to him, and he has shared it with me enough times now, that it has become MY comfort food, as well.

In fact, on this chilly October night, after a downer of a week, Indonesian food was MY choice, and he was was happy to come along.

For those of you who have never had Indonesian food, we are talking succulent meats -

either satay on a stick, or stewed in hearty sauces

such as peanut, curry, or sweet soy,

along with perfectly cooked sauteed vegetables, such as beans and  potatoes,

stewed in the same heavenly sauces.  

Hard boiled eggs, like you have never eaten,

seafood - fish, shrimp, clams, and such,

and for the vegetarian, the best tofu I have ever had. 

My friend likes a side of pickled vegetables - cucumber, carrots, cauliflower. 

I was never a fan of pickled vegetables before, but these are the perfect combination of sweet and sour and "crunch", as well as the perfect accompaniment to the spicy sauces, providing a balance to my taste buds.

Oh, the flavors, the textures, the combinations - all surrounding a bed of perfectly cooked, perfectly comforting hot, steamed rice.

Yes, I used the word "perfect" a lot, and that is why Indonesian food is my favorite comfort food, as well.

After dinner, by sheer coincidence, we saw the movie, "Eat, Pray, Love".  I had read the book, long ago, and it was showing at the nearby low budget theatre.

As many of you already know, Indonesia is the setting for a good part of the film.

After eating the wonderfully flavorful, pleasing to the palate - Indonesian meal,
then visiting the picturesque countryside on the big screen - taking in all of its visual glory,
                           

I was ready to pack my bags and buy a ticket.  

"Want to go to Indonesia?" my friend asked, at the end of the evening.

"I'm already there!" was my response.      

          

Fifteen Minutes in a Flower Shop

I was having a bad day - feeling a bit low, before I opened the door to the shop.

 

Beautiful flowers strewn about in a magical, organized fashion, and unique gifts for the romantic or whimsical, at heart. 

The room was filled with color, light, and warmth. 

Suddenly, I was lifted, and life felt good. 

Standing in line, I met a new neighbor in front of me, and caught up with an old friend, standing behind. 

We were all there for the same reason - Homecoming Dance.  

Corsages and Boutonnieres. 

The shop was bustling with last minute customers. 

Mostly moms and one adorable teenage boy who wanted three roses - red, pink, yellow. 

I guess he was trying to cover all of the bases.    

As I walked toward the exit, there was a charming little decorative jack-o-lantern that caught my eye, and I thought about buying. 

Instead, I smiled at it, then opened the door - leaving quite a bit more refreshed than before I arrived.

Fifteen minutes in a flower shop completely changed my mood. 

Isn't life great ?           

photo credit, Leslie Morrissette

Quote of the Day, and BOY am I feeling this.

Courage means flying in the face of criticism,

relying on yourself,

being willing to accept and learn from the consequences of all your choices.

It means believing enough in yourself and in living your life as you choose so that you cut the strings whose ends other people hold and use to pull you in contrary directions.

 -Wayne Dyer

Rebel Yell

I used to love going to amusement parks, but somewhere during my metamorphosis into adulthood, I lost the desire.


Maybe a spell was cast over me one night, by the evil Wicked Witch of the West, whose sister, the Wicked Witch of the East had been killed, falling out (or pushed out) of a roller coaster.

Maybe not.

Maybe childbirth had something to do with it. Something happens to your equilibrium during that process.

Very likely.

While I am convinced that explains why I do not care for the rides that spin you around in circles, what about the roller coasters?

I used to love roller coaster.

Back to the "Wicked Witch of the West" theory.

Or, maybe it is just that they do not make roller coasters like they used to.

In the quest to make them bigger, badder, faster.............................they have simply (in my opinion) become "less fun" .

I think I am onto something, here.

I remember, years ago, when I went on one of the new, wooden roller coasters. My head was not high enough to rest comfortably in the "head rest", and the entire ride, my head was being jerked around like some politician making promises left and right, that he knows he can't keep.

Like trying to follow a politician, the ride was not "fun", and I had a horrible head-ache, afterward.

Since then, I am simply not impressed by any of the shiny, new roller coasters.

I am, however, still devoted to my three favorite roller coasters of all time:

Rebel Yell (Kings Dominion), Lochness Monster (Busch Gardens), and Space Mountain (Disney World).

Like a faithful pet, they never let me down.

My boys and I were recently at Kings Dominion.

While my kids tried to tempt me to ride such roller coasters as the Ricochet, the Dominator,
and the Intimidator,

the only roller coaster that I was interested in riding was my old friend the Rebel Yell.

As we stood in line, the anticipation was building. I could feel my nerves, like I was riding it for the very first time.

I could see the expressions of fear and excitement on the faces of the people in front of us, as they loaded into the roller coaster cars and strapped themselves in.

Then, the sounds of the claps and cheers as they approached the gate at the end of the ride - wind blown hair, rose colored cheeks, and eyes widened with exhilaration.

"That was awesome!" was a commonly heard statement.

Finally, it was our turn.

We stepped into our seats, buckled our safety belts, and pulled the shoulder harness over our heads.

As we ascended up to the top of the first, big hill, I said to my friend, who was sitting next to me,

"The only thing that would make this roller coaster better, is if they played Billy Idol's "Rebel Yell" song along with it."

That would be "totally awesome". 

Just then, we reached the top of the sky, curved over the top of the hill and....................................................................................STRAIGHT DOWN, baby!

FAST, STEEP, SCREAMING WITH FEAR AND UNBRIDLED DELIGHT, SPEED.......................................................................... ELATION.

The man sitting in front of me had a permanent smile on his face during the entire ride, as did I - one continuous thrilling hill after another.

Pulling out of the final tunnel, and up to the exit area, we were clapping and cheering, with our wind blown hair, rose colored cheeks, and eyes wide with exhilaration.

My son and his friend both said in unison, "THAT WAS AWESOME!"

How thrilled I was that my 11 year old and his friend were just as impressed by the old Rebel Yell as I was at their age, and still am.

We moved onto the next roller coaster, and as I stood in the waiting area near the exit, I overheard some teenagers discussing their next ride.

"We HAVE to go on the Rebel Yell. That is my mom's favorite roller coaster."

I stood there and smiled.


Warning:  The following video contains profanity.  But THIS guy is funny!