It’s not often you find a Las Vegas slot machine sitting in the middle of an RV center’s waiting room. But there it was, next to the camouflage-themed popup camper marked down to $9,995. An authentic Bally’s casino Blazing 777, the slot machine had plenty of complimentary credits for customers to pass the time as they waited for their recreational vehicles at Kline’s RV Center in Warren. Before I could pull that one-armed bandit’s lever, an older gentleman got up from his chair and walked toward me. “Good morning, young lady,” he said. Seeing his crisp, blue Oxford shirt with the RV company name and logo on its breast pocket,…
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Scat
The “tap-tap-tapping” was loud enough to startle the dog, who woke up from a sound sleep with her game face on, barking as if the Jehovah’s Witnesses were on our front porch with copies of The Watchtower and Awake! As I’ve been known to tell them, “Trust me, you’ve got the wrong house.” “Tap-tap-tapping.” The ubiquitous Ring Video Doorbell we had installed wasn’t chiming. No one was outside. It was something else. Madison – the killer dog who allegedly nipped Sprinkler Guy John – growled, barked some more and then went back to sleep. I heard the noise again, so I got up and put my ear to the outside wall, where the…
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Staycation
If it’s early November, then I am, as Gilbert O’Sullivan sang, “… alone again (naturally).” A three-time Grammy Award-winning record, this 1972 soft-rock hit may be the most depressing song ever written. Recap: Jilted groom gets ghosted at the altar and contemplates jumping to his death. Pass the popcorn. More than 45 years ago, this song made grownups cry and sixth-graders like me giggle, especially at these tender lyrics: “To think that only yesterday, I was cheerful, bright and gay.” What can I say? There’s something incredibly silly about the word “gay” to a 12-year-old kid. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Luckily, I’m not getting married or throwing myself…
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Domenica’s birthday
In her later years, my Italian grandmother couldn’t remember what day it was or her own name. Yet before leaving the house, she never forgot to grab her black leather pocketbook with the single-snap closure that safely housed her dentures, balled up in a slightly-used Kleenex that ultimately ended up being thrown in the trash. By her. One minute Nonna would be sitting in her tattered living room chair, and the next she’d be out the front door, down the crumbled cement steps and halfway up the block, on a mission to go home. We soon figured out that “home” meant back to Italy, where she was born on this…
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Bite me
I have failed as a mother. Evidently, our fur-baby tried to bite Sprinkler Guy John last spring during his annual startup visit. This was news to us when we called last week to set up our winterizing appointment with the irrigation company. The owner’s wife answered and made some small talk, saving the best for last. “Oh, and, um, you’ll have to lock up your dog when Sprinkler Guy John’s there because a note in your file says she nipped at his baby-blue cotton elasticized surgical shoe covers back in April. Sorry.” What? A note in our file? Nipped at his what? Sorry? Suddenly, I’m transported back to Goodale Elementary…
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Retired lady
Six years ago, after 25 years of too much work and not enough play, I retired. It was time to leave. And don’t forget what Cicely Tyson’s character, Sipsey, said about Idgie Threadgood’s beloved friend, Ruth, in the film, “Fried Green Tomatoes”: “A lady always knows when to leave.” For Sipsey, who nursed Ruth through terminal cancer and gave her the lethal dose of morphine that ended her pain, leaving meant dying. For me, that job – the hours, the workload, the stress – was killing me. Staying meant dying. Leaving meant living. Performing the duties of not one but two people myself for several years had taken its toll on my…
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Half full
For most of my life, I’ve been a “glass-is-half-empty” kind of person. Maybe because as a working journalist for more than three decades I became rather jaded covering the news. The daily grind turned this once idealistic college graduate into a hard-nosed, cynical reporter. Half full or half empty. Pick one. You are what you are. Yesterday, heading to the dentist for a routine teeth cleaning, I was daydreaming about how much I loved driving my 1965 Mustang with the top down on crisp autumn days, with visions of fresh apple cider and warm, cinnamon-sugar doughnuts dancing in my head. I wish fall could last forever. Then the car lurched…
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Taste of Bordeaux
A half-dozen middle-aged women just flew in from two weeks vacationing in Europe – and boy, are their arms (and feet) tired. Being abroad with these broads was a blast, swollen ankles and all. Divorced, widowed, partnered and hailing from various cities, we converged in France earlier this month to experience an AmaWaterways “Taste of Bordeaux” river cruise on the AmaDolce. This elegant ship holds 144 passengers, but we had just 98 guests on board. Sort of like a family reunion at my sister Sandy’s lake house but without the jet skis. And more wine — a whole lot more wine. Ninety-eight passengers to 45 crew members. A nearly 2:1…
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International coverup
BORDEAUX, France — More men have seen me naked on this trip than in my entire life. Monday’s one-hour, full body massage with David the masseur from Romania was at 11. Rebecca had had one at 9:30. Our paths crossed briefly, and I asked her how it went. “Oh, you’ll see,” she said. Hmmm. The last time Reb said something like that to me I wound up on my stomach straddled by a Chinese woman who called me a whiny American baby. Good times. The full treatment was 60 minutes for 60 Euro. Not bad for a fancy add-on cruise perk. Before David stepped out of the room, he handed me a…
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Alpha bits
Andrew sounded a tad annoyed even though it was his 10th birthday, a momentous occasion for most 9-year-olds, to be sure. “Man, it takes sooooo long to go from 8 to 9 and then 9 to 10,” said my thoughtful great-nephew with surprising dramatic flair. He was decidedly relieved to join the ranks of double digits earlier this month. The dude is wiser than his years, a small but mighty soccer player who reads hardcover books and can tell a knock-knock joke with the best of them. Born in 2009, Andrew is considered to be a member of Generation Z, whom demographers say were born from the mid-1990s into the…
