No, really. I've been busy.

OK, part busy, part slug. I'm way behind in my blogging since my England trip. I didn't post in England for two reasons. One, I was busy from early morn till late at night, meetin' and greetin' folks coming through the marketplace at Lambeth. And two, I was pouting because my laptop refused to talk to my photo disk, and you have to know that pictures come first on this blog. So, yeah, pouting.

Got back to the land of air-conditioning and cheap food last Friday evening. Never thought I'd think of NYC as "cheap," but 15 days in England made the city look like a veritable Dollar Discount Store (price-wise, I mean). So, simma' down about inflation, Americans - inflation is paying over $3 for a regular little bottle of water or over $17 for a taxi ride from Canterbury West station up the hill (not a big hill) to the University of Kent. The only thing cheaper in the UK is over-the-counter drugs, so stock up when you go.

Highlights of the trip? Here ya' go:

Dinner with the Mo' Mo' Moores. I've already posted about my grand evening with Jo, Chris, David, and Thomas. The meal was wonderful, but the best part was relaxing with "family." We had lots of laughs and proved that blog-friends are real friends, not just virtual ones. I did neglect to mention the beautiful pendant necklace Jo made for me. I got so many compliments on it throughout my time in England. Thanks again, Jo!

Candlelight Tour and Compline at Canterbury Cathedral. Got in on the first-come-first-served opportunity (limited to 50) for a tour of cathedral and candlelight service. We were divided into two groups for the tour, where we saw all the highlights, including the undercroft. We came back together, were given our candles, and proceeded to the altar area for Compline. When time came for the prayers, we walked up to the normally roped-off shrine of the martyr, and encircled it for the prayers and dismissal. It was an over-powering, goosebumpy experience.

Dover. I had Sunday the 27th off, so I took the train down to Dover. It was a gorgeous sunny day, and I latched on to one of the harbor tours for a spectacular view of the White Cliffs and castle. After lunch and a cold cider, I schlepped up a very big hill to Dover Castle and St. Mary de Castro. More spectacular views. I explored the castle, with its secret underground tunnels used strategically during World War II, and St. Mary de Castro and the Roman lighthouse. Dover's castle and harbor did not disappoint - a great day out.

I'd better get back to this stack of work on my desk. Glad to be home.

Three Tired Women

Big conferences are tiring. Days start early and end late. You have to be (or appear to be) knowledgeable, friendly, and interested for 10-14 hours a day. You do a lot of sitting (if you're a workshop participant), standing (if you staff an exhibit hall booth), and walking (because whatever you need - food, ATM, sleep - will be miles away from wherever you are at the moment).

Then there are all the little unexpected surprises. Temperatures reaching the upper 80s with 70% humidity in a country that eschews air-conditioning. A computer that refuses to acknowledge your heretofore-acknowledged photo disk (aaargh!). Being consigned to two weeks' of cold breakfast because your particular lanyard is the wrong color (white, not purple or red).

Welcome to Lambeth Conference 2008.

But not all of the unexpected surprises are bad ones. The best kind are the impromptu conversations that crop up throughout the day. Some of the conversations are bridge-builders, allowing the people at either end of the bridge to at least meet in the middle. Some are laden with "isn't it a small world?" and the wonders of six degrees of separation. And some start out very ordinary and grow into conversations of amazing possibilities.

The other evening after a long day in the exhibit hall, friend Elizabeth and I met up with another friend, Hellen Wangusa, on our way back to our dorm. Hellen is the Anglican Observer at the United Nations and based in our offices in New York. We were three tired women, I tell ya', as this kind of conference wrings it out of a person. The main topic of conversation as we made our way to the dorm was where to eat dinner - go down to Canterbury or endure one more University of Kent meal. Hellen decided not to join us in Canterbury but opted to come to our rooms while we unloaded our laptops and put on comfortable shoes.

We didn't intend to get into deep conversation about anything. We were tired. We were hungry. But at some point our brains woke up and big things started happening. It started off with a mention that many voices weren't being heard during the Lambeth program time, even the time for spouses. American women (well, fine, we were expecting to be marginalized) and developing world women were virtually left out of the program presentations. We were particularly concerned that our sisters from remote areas of South India, Myanmar, Kenya, and many other areas didn't have a forum for their compelling stories. It was obvious to all of us that those stories weren't going to push through at this Lambeth Conference. How could that change in the future?

Hellen sat on my bed, while Elizabeth and I drew chairs closer into a tighter circle as the conversation progressed. Could Hellen's office not find a way to pull together all the powerful women's groups and networks across the Anglican Communion (and there are many) to make sure these incredible stories of triumph and need and despair and hope rise above the silly din of political posturing? Believe it or not, no such umbrella task force exists. These groups seem to work at cross-purposes most of the time, accomplishing not much of anything except baby-steps to affect change.

I loved Hellen's story about her daughter's explanation of music re-mix. "Mom, it's like your old familiar music in the background, while our new interpretation is layered on the top, giving the old song new life." In other words, we have the comfortable/familiar given a new spark.

Well, "re-mix" became our watchword. How could we re-mix, re-imagine a new way to work together? The old familiar, with the new/young/fresh? Specific goals and ways to reach them came out of nowhere (i.e., three tired women). Names of traditional stakeholders and fresh faces began to emerge from the three of us. Plans were made for Hellen's office to pull these women together to begin the conversation. We surprised ourselves with what we came up with in this moment at the end of a long day. We held hands, said a prayer, and were re-energized.

Such an ordinary slice of time - three tired women, a little conversation to pass the time. But that moment was ripe for big ideas to pop. Ideas that just might make a difference if we follow through and bring in more (and less tired!) minds. Just a little conversation.

Just three tired women.

. . . until . . .

Here's something you may not know: the 11:43pm/23:43 train from Weybridge to Waterloo stops at almost every station between the two, even Vauxhall, and I don't think I've ever stopped at Vauxhall. (It's spittin' distance to Waterloo - what's the point?) So when the HRH Slow Boat To China pulled into the station at around 12:25am/00:25 after my fine visit with the Moore family, I made my way to the good old Bakerloo line for the straight shot to Paddington.

Imagine my chagrin (and that of other Bakerloo-wannabees) when I found the gate to the platform closed. En masse weary travelers ran to the Northern Line as the last train was about to leave. Whew! sez I to meself! Made it!

Ah, but my relief was short-lived. My Plan B was to hop off at Tottenham Court Road, then catch the Central Line to Lancaster Gate where I was staying. Plan B didn't work. Ours was the last train into/out of the station, and all were unceremoniously shoo-ed out the door and onto the street as the station gates slammed behind us.

Hmmm. Now what? It was a few minutes to 1am, and I'm on Tottenham Court Road trying to figure how to get back to my hotel. Cab, you suggest? On Friday night? Hardly. It was like Times Square after the theatre lets out - impossible. Bus, maybe? Sounds like a plan, but which way and to where?

I walked purposefully but aimlessly (can that be done?), going in the wrong direction for several blocks twice, eating up about 15 minutes. I asked a couple of people to point me in the right direction. One got me completely turned around (thus, wandering the wrong way for the second time). The second person did point me right, but suggested I get a cab or bus since I was so far away from my destination.

Again, I started walking, turned right when I got to Oxford Street and headed south. Such a busy, happ'nin' street, I figured I could easily get a cab or find the right bus. No to both. Every so often I'd stop and spend a couple of minutes trying to hail a taxi, but they were all otherwise engaged. Oxford Street is quite the party-place in the wee-small-hours of the morning, I've found out. It was knocking on 1:30, my feet were aching, and I was close to worn out.

OK, I'll just cut to the chase. I ended up walking all the way back to my hotel, arriving a little after 2am. I was tired, but not really uncomfortably scared (I'm a Noo-Yawka') until I got to Marble Arch and Edgeware Road. Suddenly, all the people disappeared. Guess no one takes early-early morning walks in Hyde Park, so the walk from the Arch to Lancaster Gate was a lonely one. I was hyper-aware of everything, walking as fast as I could without breaking into an actual run for the last 15 minutes or so.

Completely my fault. I certainly knew way back in the 1970s when I was living there that the London tube closed down around 12:30am, but I suppose after 24/7 New York, it never entered my mind that the tube still closed early. Or that I wouldn't be able to get a cab (and no Mr. Big offered to pick me up). Or that I couldn't figure out which bus to get on. I'll know next time.

And by the time I got back to the hotel, I'd walk off that wonderful Chinese meal I'd shared with the Moores. Ah, me!

It was a wonderful evening . . .

Things have been hoppin' the past few days, what with working my way down to Canterbury and getting used to my duties here at the Lambeth Conference. Also, I'm a bit bummed that for some weird reason, I can't upload photos to my computer, so I'm having to put them on a friend's computer and email them to myself. Aaargh!

Anyway, let's catch up, shall we? When last I posted I was on my way down to Weybridge to have dinner with Joanne and Chris (and David and Thomas). The good news is that I made it, was graciously met at the train station by Chris, and escorted to her home for tea and talk before going for a lovely dinner at a Chinese restaurant.

The food was grand and the company grander. We never ran out of things to say, noting several times how this whole blogging thing had lead to relationships that would've never happened otherwise. Alas, Pete couldn't join us, and we just missed Chux (next time?). And we did our best to embarrass young Thomas (nearly succeeding several times, I suspect!), but he put on a good game-face and suffered through.

I rolled out of Weybridge station at 11:43pm (er, 23:43), and then the adventure started.

Stay tuned.

God bless Albert, Pan, and Micky D's

Well, I made it. Got to London last evening around 7:30, almost 45 minutes early, if you can believe it. Made my way to my hotel at Lancaster Gate. Tiny room, big price tag. Everything here is sooooo expensive. Or maybe everything in the US is soooooo cheap. Even given the exchange rate (lousy), things cost twice what they do in Little Old New York. I don't need to eat whilst I'm here, really. This will be great for my diet!

Rolled out of bed, had breakfast (included in said big price tag), then crossed Edgeware Road and spent the morning boppin' around Hyde Park. Walked straight through to the Albert Memorial and Albert Hall. Ahhh, poor old Vickie! She did miss that guy when he died, eh? And the Proms are happening at Albert Hall - wish I had time to take in one or two. Been there, done that, though. Still.

Sauntered by the Serpentine and Princess Diana Fountain, though it's hardly a fountain. Then found Peter Pan and some lovely flowers. Exciting morning, eh? Then I went back to my room and crashed for a couple of hours - the time difference finally taking its toll.

Always the bargain hunter, I refuse to pay 6 pounds 99 for the hotel's internet service, when good old McDonald's is around the corner and offers free wifi. Why, I'm sitting in the big MD's right now. A salad. And just the meat (and I use that term loosely) from the burger, I promise. Coke tastes like Pepsi - way too sweet, but maybe the caffeine will wake me up.

Big plans tonight, friends. A meet-up with the Moores (Jo and Chris) in Weybridge for dinner. We'll take lots of pictures and talk about all of you, I promise! Wish Pete (the other Moore), Chux, and Liz could join us. Well, maybe next time. I'm scheduled to come back to UK the first part of November.

OK. I've finished my meat and salad, which tells me it's time to end this blog. Tonight Weybridge. Tomorrow, Canterbury.

Travel Insomnia

I always have a hard time getting to sleep the night before a morning journey. I'm sure part of it is the fear of sleeping through the 4:30am alarm and missing a flight. That, and the weird things that go round and round in my head like "What am I forgetting?" or "Did I remember to put the black dress shoes in the (already zipped) suitcase?"

As of now, the larger bag is packed and sitting by the door, while the smaller one is waiting for the morning's last-minute items like the laptop and curling iron. I wanted to get the main suitcase finished early to make sure I could, indeed, stuff two weeks' worth of gear into a carry-on bag. British Airways allows two carry-ons, and thankfully, both of mine seem to comply with size and weight. I'm flying into Heathrow's notorious Terminal 5 and don't like the odds regarding lost luggage. So, yeah, I'm carrying my bags with me, thank you very much.

Anyway. Back to getting a little sleep tonight. I'm thinking a hot bath and a little G&T might lull me to Slumberland. After all, the alarm is set (for AM, not PM - I double-checked) and my bags are ready to go. All travel/hotel documents are in order. Yes, the passport's with the travel docs. I printed my boarding pass earlier today. But somehow, I'm not feeling sleepy. Probably won't until, oh, say, 3:30am. Aargh!

And now for that bath and gin. Hmmm. Did I remember to pack my underwear? . . .

Sunset from my window

If it looks this good from a dinky little apartment in Spanish Harlem, imagine what it must look like from a penthouse on Fifth Avenue!

Nah. Couldn't have been any prettier from a penthouse.

Our Lady of Los Bravos

In honor of Tuesday's All-Star Game (that's baseball, if you're wondering) being played here in New York, mini-Statues of Liberty painted in team colors/logos dot the city. As a true-blue Atlanta Braves fan, I searched online to find our statue. The Braves have pride of place on the waterfront outside the World Financial Center in Lower Manhattan.

Beautiful day that it was, I sauntered down to pay homage to Our Lady of Los Bravos. Ain't she lovely? Go Braves!

Snakes and the City

Evidently, excitement reigned supreme around here yesterday morning, but I was too busy sluggin' it to notice. I just learned from neighbor Allie, who lives one floor below me, that she and her hubby awoke to find a 4-foot anaconda curled up in their living room. Imagine their surprise!

They called Animal Control, only to find out Animal Control doesn't work on Saturday. (Hmmmm.) Next, 911. Allie said they had about 11 NYPD in their apartment at one point. It took a long time to wrangle the snake because it had crawled in back of the refrigerator and wrapped itself around the back coils. The police had to remove the back of the fridge and pull the snake off with one of those long poles.

Theory is that it must be someone's pet because it was clean and well cared for, but as far as anyone knows nobody in the building has a snake. The landlords Fred and George were unhappy to hear of it, I tell ya'. Only dogs and cats and birds in this building. Er. Or so we thought. No one's claiming it. Yet.

Also, the neighbors had no idea when or how the snake got into their apartment. Allie said it had been there long enough to leave a poop-trail. Aaargh! I'm not that afraid of snakes, but knowing one had been slithering around all night in my tiny rooms would've sent me screaming out the window. Yuck.

I'll report back when I get more details. Wonder if HBO would like to pick up an option on "Snakes and the City"?

PS - Does anyone else miss having Winston comment on his/her blogs? I know good and well he woulda' commented on this one. Sigh.

Manhattanhenge 2008

What? Never heard of Manhattanhenge? Well, a couple of times a year the sun perfectly aligns with Manhattan's east-west street grid, since the Comissioners' Plan of 1811 laid out the streets on a grid offset 28.9 degrees from true east-west. For the next two days Mr. Sun sinks into the west bouncing amber-colored beams off the glorious buildings on the Isle de Noo Yawk.

Having been a slug all day (see previous post), I roused myself up and elbowed a spot on the bridge crossing 42nd Street at Tudor City and the UN. I had company; about 200 other folks wanted a view, too.This is my first chance to see the sunset version (it happens at sunrise in December/January) since moving here. Glad I made the effort.

My camera just couldn't capture the spectacularness of the big orange sun sinking below the west side horizon. You'll have to take my word for it. It was lovely. You can see the Chrysler Building on the right in one of the shots. Maybe I'll have a better camera next time. Or maybe I'll just watch and leave the camera work to someone else.

It happens again tomorrow night. Get on up here so you can see it!

The Midsummer Slugs

I am a big old summer slug. I have the day off, and the weather's gorgeous. I should be out-and-about doing all sorts of things. Or, if not venturing outside, I have plenty of stuff to do inside - cleaning, packing for my trip to England next week, writing, reading - well, lots of things. All I seem to want to do is just veg in front of the TV today.

Work has been so busy lately. Still, that's no excuse. I should get out and make an effort. I'm going to blame it on the Midsummer Slugs. Thinking about everything I should be doing just causes me to burrow deeper into my easy chair.

Maybe tomorrow . . .

The real Lola

Good friend Carey reminded me that we have a real Lola in our family.

Though our Lola is one of daughter's four dogs, she is hands-down the Alpha Dog in the house. She's the tiniest canine of the brood - which consists of two chihuahuas (Lola and Little Man), one Australian shepherd (Tripps), and one border collie/lab mix (Zoe) - but that does not stop her from ruling the roost. Everyone (and every dog) knows she's boss, so it doesn't cause any problems. She thinks nothing of taking a toy away from the bigger dogs or sitting wherever she pleases.

I've never been a fan of small dogs, but Lola is hard to resist. She's just so matter-of-fact about her power to rule (plus she can be real cuddly), that she's a very appealing little thing.

And it's true: whatever Lola wants, Lola gets!

Whatever Lola wants . . .

. . . Lola got at Damn Yankees today. Such fun! Not as much heft as Gypsy the other night, but wonderful music, plus the original Fosse choreography. Sean Hayes from "Will & Grace" played the Devil, er, Applegate, and Jane Krakowski from "Ally McBeal" played Lola - both fabulous. And who can resist songs like "You Gotta Have Heart," "Whatever Lola Wants," "A Little Brains, A Little Talent," and "Who's Got the Pain (When They Do the Mambo)?" Good stuff.

Lest you think I've come into some money (I keep hoping . . .), this was another cheap seat deal. Evidently, ticket sellers don't think folks will pile into theatres over the 4th of July holiday so they deeply discount a batch of tix. I just took advantage of the incredible offers, that's all.

And now for a couple of theatre complaints. Ahem. And they have nothing to do with the performers; these are audience complaints:

1. People, this is theatre. Broadway theatre. This is not a weekend barbeque or bowling night. Show a little respect for the art form and dress appropriately. I'm not asking for furs and tuxedos here, but you certainly shouldn't be wearing shorts, denim, tube tops, or any other housecleaning attire. Simple business (and I mean professional office-type business, not street-cleaner business) clothes are appropriate. Lord a mercy! What folks wear nowadays! Do they even look in the mirror before they leave home? I'm embarrassed for them. You'd think they were chilling out in the Barcalounger in front of the TV instead of sitting in a lovely Broadway theatre.

2. People, this is theatre (Part 2). This is not your living room (see above). Running a conversation during any part of the performance - including the overture - is strictly a no-no. What? The orchestra isn't performing? It's background music? No, it is not. And reserve your side comments and questions for the intermission or for after the show. Sheesh! Where do these people come from? (Sounded like Queens or New Jersey.) Perhaps if they were dressed appropriately, they would act appropriately.

OK. Enough kvetching. Damn Yankees was damn fine (except for certain audience members).
All together now:

You've gotta have heart
Miles 'n' miles 'n' miles of heart,
Oh, it's fine to be a genius of course,
But keep that old horse before the cart,
First you've gotta have heart.

An Independence Day Reminder

IN CONGRESS, July 4, 1776.

The unanimous Declaration of the thirteen united States of America,

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.--That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed, --That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it, and to institute new Government, laying its foundation on such principles and organizing its powers in such form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their Safety and Happiness. Prudence, indeed, will dictate that Governments long established should not be changed for light and transient causes; and accordingly all experience hath shewn, that mankind are more disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than to right themselves by abolishing the forms to which they are accustomed. But when a long train of abuses and usurpations, pursuing invariably the same Object evinces a design to reduce them under absolute Despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.--Such has been the patient sufferance of these Colonies; and such is now the necessity which constrains them to alter their former Systems of Government. The history of the present King of Great Britain is a history of repeated injuries and usurpations, all having in direct object the establishment of an absolute Tyranny over these States. To prove this, let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

So begins The Declaration of Independence. On this 4th of July, 2008, I invite you to read the whole thing. It's not long, but it is powerful, brave, and damn intelligent writing.

Whatever the black stains on our history, whatever our leadership and world image have become (and yes, that's our collective fault), the good folk of the United States of America have a lot to be proud of today. Hey, America, I love all y'all! Happy 4th!

Hold your hats and Hallelujah!

Gypsy. Wow. Patti LuPone. Wow. Hold your hats, indeed. It don't get no betta' than what I saw tonight at the St. James Theatre. I had cold chills at the end of "Rose's Turn." It was that spectacular. I mean, really, every song is a winner (OK, well maybe not "Little Lamb") - a big boffo fabulous winner. This is why God invented Broadway, I tell ya'.

LuPone was amazing; she doesn't use those silly head-set mics, she just sings to the back row like Merman. I'm not a huge LuPone fan (I know, I know - she's a big Broadway diva), but she blew me away as Mama Rose. Boyd Gaines as Herbie was endearing and wonderful, and Laura Benanti as Louise/Gypsy was excellent. Loved everything about it.

Great, great, great, great, great! Get to New York and see it. Ya' don't even gotta get a gimmick. Just a ticket. (And I got mine for $40, nanny-nanny-boo-boo.) What better way to celebrate the 4th of July than with Baby June, Louise, Miss Mazeppa, Mr. Goldstone, and Mama Rose?

Sing out, Louise! Happy 4th!

The 4th of July Vermonster Parade

A hundred years ago or so - 1970's/80s - we had a house in Waitsfield, Vermont, near the ski resort Sugarbush. It was a "family" house, a place for the Brennan clan to gather whenever it could break away from whatever it was doing, wherever it was doing it.

The 4th of July was a big occasion for the gathering - food, fun, laughter, food, Trivial Pursuit, food, etc. One highlight of the holiday was the annual parade over in Warren, VT. It was the quintessential 4th of July parade, cute as all git-out.

One year I arrived in Vermont to find out I'd been given the on-site parade coordinator job. Evidently, some in-fighting had occurred within the New Englander ranks and my husband volunteered me to handle the enormous task of lining up the parade participants and giving them the cue about when to march or drive out.

The rationale for chosing me was two-fold. First, I wasn't from around there. I only knew a handful of folks - mostly family members who lived in the area - and I wasn't burdened with a long, in-bred relationship with the parade-people. Second, as a senior television producer at Turner, the committee felt I had the organizational skills to pull it off. (Well, they were right about that.)

I was just a whippersnapper. Only 29, I think. But you know how young'uns are. Invincible. So there I was, this young Southern bossy gal giving marching orders (literally) to crusty Vermonsters - "Legion Post 5382, go NOW!" "Start that big red truck NOW!" "Podunk High School Band, line up NOW!" Funny thing was, they did as they were told. Such power in the hands of a Girl Raised In The South (GRITS)!

Well, the Warren parade is still a big deal, but I haven't been there since the last time I gathered with the clan in 1984. Kate was just over a year old. We all spent time having fun, food, Trivial Pursuit death matches, and, yes, attending the parade. I played a more relaxed role that year. I just watched. But I knew that somewhere a mile or so down the road was some poor person yelling "Start that big red truck NOW!"

Happy 4th o' July!

And the heavens ring with "Rocky Top"

The saddest news came through today. Forget Carlin, Korman, and the rest of 'em. We lost our dear Winston on Saturday. How will our blog community ever be the same?

When this Tennessee-by-way-of Georgia gal was sent to the heady world of New York City a couple of years ago, it was Winston who sent me grits and Luzianne tea bags so that my Southern cravings could be sated. His downhome wisdom and sense of humor are irreplaceable.

The Tennessee Vols have a new cheerleader in their heavenly fan club.

Winston, I'm glad I knew ye. Rest easy, dear friend.

10%, Baby!

Woo-hoo! Finally! I hit my 10% weight loss today at Weight Watchers. Took me forever to crawl over that last pound-and-a-half. I thought I'd gained at least 5, what with the conference and the girlfriends' visit. But, nope.

Now, on to the 25-pound mark!

Last Week's Top 3

New York, New York. So nice, they named it twice. Bronx is up, Battery's down. East Side, West Side. We pretty much covered it all last week when the girlfriends were in town. But there are three stand-outs for me.

1. Ellis Island and the American Family Immigration History Center. Unfortunately (or, fortunately), three of us didn't have ancestors who came through Ellis Island - we're strictly Virginia-landing types. But Linda's grandfather did come through Ellis during the early years of the 20th century, so we took the opportunity to try to find out a little about the specifics of his arrival. Linda had the grandfather's name (Israel Feldman), country of origin (Odessa, Ukraine), ethnicity (Hebrew/Russian) and a few other specifics to help begin the search.

On the ferry from Liberty Island to Ellis Island, our group horned into seats with a wonderful man who worked at the Immigration History Center. He and Linda spent the brief trip going over her grandfather's information. The man explained how the tracking system worked and promised to show us the ropes once we got there. He was an enormous help and saved us lots of time at the Center.

We paid our $5 and were assigned a computer. You're limited to something like 25 minutes to locate your information (the computer keeps a timer for you), but the system walks you through step by step. We narrowed down the years (1892-1906) and typed in the name "Israel Feldman." All sorts of iterations came up, but we could eliminate most since we were looking for someone from Odessa. The only one that came up spelled his name "Feldmann" with two n's, but everything else seemed to check out.

Though we were pretty confident we'd found Linda's grandfather, we couldn't locate her grandmother who came over a couple of years later. Time ran out, so we printed the ship's manifest and picture of the ship and other details. We weren't completely sure we'd found the right guy (the two n's threw us off). Once everything was printed out, a wonderful woman at the center took the time to explain the ship's manifest. Linda's grandfather was listed as a "clerk" but he was actually a musician. Upon closer inspection of the manifest, it appeared that the word "clerk" was written over the word "musician" (clerk was a better wage-earning profession than musician). As for the two n's? The ship was German, sailing from Bremen. Since Germans would have filled out the manifest, it was very probable that they added the extra "n" to Feldman's name.

Well, who knows? Whether we found the right guy or not (but we really believe we did find him), the whole exercise had us all in tears. Definitely a memorable New York experience.

2. Gramercy Tavern. We wanted to splurge at a notable New York restaurant one night, so we chose Gramercy Tavern for that experience. We were not disappointed. Yes, it's expensive: $82 prix fixe 3-course menu, but, boy, those three courses were special. I had a wonderful duck terrine, an absolutely perfect smoked lobster, and a definitely-off-Weight-Watchers-list warm chocolate bread pudding with cocoa bean ice cream. Others chose offerings like halibut and sirloin. In between courses we were brought little specialty tidbits, and the olive bread was to die for. The service was magnificent - attentive, but not intrusively so. Water glasses were always full. We were in a lovely room that leant itself to conversation. The restroom was fabulous. What can I say. We loved it. I'd definitely go back if I ever win the lottery.

3. The Metropolitan Museum of Art Super Summer Sale. Well, the Met is always spectacular, and the girls found more to hold their interest than I would've ever expected. I think we were there 4-5 hours, everyone going off in different directions to explore on their own with certain meet-up times and places. But when I found the super summer sale on the the 2nd floor, I was in hog-heaven. I was handed a large Met shopping bag and told "$5 for whatever you can fit in the bag." I wasted a little time saying, "No? Really? Honest? $5 to fill this thing up? Really?" Once I accepted the fact that, yes, I could fill up the bag and only pay $5, I was off and running.

Most of what I grabbed was Christmas stuff - a pop-up Christmas in New York book, boxes of Christmas cards, 6 gold cloisonne ornaments. But I also got a fabulous photography book, several art books and a couple of New York trinkets. Let's just say, I over-filled the bag. When I got to check-out, it didn't cost me $5 - I'm a Met member so it cost me $4.80. Woo-hoo! I was one happy camper, I tell you. I just wish I'd gotten in there earlier. Next year, my friends. Next year!

So there you have it. Don't you wish you'd been there? At Ellis Island? At Gramercy Tavern? At the Met filling your shopping bag for $4.80? New York, New York. So nice, they named it twice.

Bye-Bye, Carlin

Has June 2008 not been the deadliest month for celebrities in recent memory? (I'll add Harvey Korman to the mix, though he missed the cut by leaving us May 29.) Friend JC Burns posted about this the other day. And now, George Carlin.

I posted about Carlin in November 2005, so I'll leave that as my tribute since it links to two good articles about Carlin.

“Some people see things that are and ask, Why? Some people dream of things that never were and ask, Why not? Some people have to go to work and don't have time for all that ...” - George Carlin

"The Visit That Went Like This"*

Whirlwind tour. Burning all candles at both ends. Meeting ourselves coming and going. And that's just a taste of what things were like around here once the girlfriends hit New York City last Sunday afternoon (2 hours late, via Philly). We turned this town inside-out before I put them into the airport limo yesterday morning. Since then, I've been in uber-nap-taking mode.

Because there's just too much to tell in one post, and because I'm a total vegetable right now, I'll give you a quick rundown of what we accomplished in one short week. Here goes:

Spamalot, Hourglass Tavern, Central Park (Bethesda Fountain, Strawberry Fields, Boat House, Reservoir, countless statues and gardens), The Dakota, Emerald Inn, Tom's Restaurant ("Seinfeld"), Cathedral of St. John the Divine, Riverside Park, Grant's Tomb, Cornelia Street Cafe, Greenwich Village, Statue of Liberty, Ellis Island, Grand Central Station, NBC Studio Tour, Rockefeller Center, St. Patrick's Cathedral, The Plaza, Trump Tower and 5th Avenue hoity-toity stores, Empire State Building Observation Deck, The Museum of Natural History, Radio City Music Hall Tour, Circle Line Harbor Lights Cruise, Patsy's Pizza, Metropolitan Museum of Art, St. Bartholomew's Church, United Nations, Gramercy Tavern, Union Square, Sex and the City (yeah, we took time out to see a movie), World Trade Center site, St. Paul's Chapel, Trinity Wall Street, Wall Street, Federal Hall, US Custom House, Bowling Green Park and the bull, Fraunces Tavern, City Hall Park and Municipal Center, Little Italy, Chinatown, Manhattan Bridge (walked to Brooklyn), Brooklyn waterfront, Brooklyn Bridge, and a tiny Spanish Harlem apartment where we finally collapsed Friday night and watched three movies and ate junk food.

I'm sure I left one or two things off the list, but you get the drift. We went from sun-up to sun-down, hitting all the city sites on the friends' must-do lists. The point was to be so tired by the time we got back to my place at night, that nobody minded having to sleep stacked up in 600 square feet.

It was fun, but very tiring. I'm looking forward to getting back to the hum-drum of work tomorrow and just being part of the workaday crowd. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to put my feet up for a while.

*Very poor reference to Spamalot's "The Song That Goes Like This."

The girls are goin' on the town

Every June four of my childhood girlfriends and I get together for a weekend of catching up, looking forward, and - of course - food. The venue rotates through the group: two are still in Chattanooga, one's in Franklin, Tennessee, and one lives on Sand Mountain, Alabama (no, seriously). All the years I lived in Atlanta, my house was a popular destination because, well, because it was in Atlanta, and we could hook up with even more old friends who'd moved there. Kate refers to this annual event as "The Old Ladies' Slumber Party."

But now I'm in New York. Somehow, one weekend just wasn't going to do, so Linda, Susan, and the two Sharons arrive today for a week's visit. Two of them, I think, have never been to NYC. Everyone stated their sight-seeing d'ruthers a while back, so the week ahead will be quite the Manhattan Marathon.

Tonight, we're having a pre-theatre meal at The Hourglass Tavern before heading to the Shubert for Spamalot. I've seen it - remember, I sat 10 seats down from Liza when the show was in previews? - but I got a great deal on great seats, so Spamalot it is. I guess the deal was available because most shows will be duking it out at Radio City Music Hall for the Tony Awards this evening. Anyway, I thought we should play it safe with a rousing, funny show, rather than a subdued one. So there's a plan for tonight's entertainment.

My concern is how five grown women are going to bed down in my tiny apartment. I actually have places to sleep - 1 double bed, 1 full-size sofa, and a queen-size air-bed, but where that air-bed's going, I have no idea. Wonder how they feel about sleeping in the hall. Ah, well. We'll work it out.

And Bailey? Well, there was no way five women and a dog would fit in my SpaHa abode, so Bailey is spending the week at doggie camp. I'm trusting that it's more the fun kind of camp and not the army kind. No, I did check it out. It'll do her good to be out of Manhattan for a week.

I'll try to post throughout the week as The Girls Do New York. Now, off to La Guardia to meet my buddies!

Good times and bum times, I've seen 'em all and my dear . . .

I'm still here. (I love stealing from Stephen Sondheim!)

I am still here. I have survived a major conference, new job expectations (the small print stuff), the heat and humidity of Baltimore, several testy meetings about websites and branding, and a general early-summer malaise (why can't I be on summer vacation, too??). I've learned a lot about planning and pulling off a conference and even more about human nature, most especially the great chasm of difference between the Can-do's and the Whiners.

Currently, I'm preparing to welcome my four childhood buddies, arriving Sunday for a week's stay in New York. We always get together for a weekend over the summer, just to catch up with each other's lives and play remember-when. But since NYC was chosen as the destination, the girls decided we needed a week to do that. So I have a full slate of tourista activities planned. I'll post about it so that you, too, can enjoy the latest episodes of "Fun (Not Sex) and the City," coming to a blog near you next week.

Sorry I didn't post about the passing of the great Harvey Korman, but Pete did - so, here's to you Hedley Lamarr . . . and Rhett Butler and all the other great characters you played on The Carol Burnett Show. Who's gonna crack up at Tim Conway's antics now, eh?

You all seem to be doing fine without me. I'll get back on the blog-go-round soon. Stay cool (and avoid tornadoes), my friends.

Lord knows, at least I was there, and I'm here.

Crossing bridges

I live in a city of bridges. Tunnels, too, but I rarely use them, as they mostly lead to New Jersey. Anyway. I live in a city of marvelous bridges. The Verrazano-Narrows is simply incredible, spanning two bits of land once deemed unspannable. I travel the Triborough Bridge more than any other, as it leads to my home-away-from-home, La Guardia Airport. Of course, Simon and Garfunkle made the Queensborough Bridge (aka, 59th Street Bridge) famous with "Feelin' Groovy" (the 59th Street Bridge song).

And then there's the BMW. That's how I remember the order of the three bridges connecting Manhattan to Brooklyn: Brooklyn, Manhattan, Williamsburg.

Yesterday, I took a late afternoon stroll across two of the bridges. Well, it wasn't exactly a "stroll" over the Brooklyn Bridge. The old beauty is celebrating her 125th birthday this week, and the walkway to Brooklyn was absolutely packed with people. It's usually bustling, but yesterday it was uncomfortably crowded. I was glad to exit at the other end and meander down to the riverside park (also crowded) to view the 8th Wonder of the World from below. As always, spectacular. Solid. Gothically beautiful. With the most breathtaking background in the world, the skyline of Lower Manhattan.

Still, I was seeking peace and quiet and the old Brooklyn Bridge wasn't the place to be on her birthday. So, why not try a different bridge? Why not indulge in a little adventure? I cast my eyes a few blocks north and headed for the Manhattan Bridge.

Aaahhhh. I had the thing pretty much to myself. I took my time heading back to Manhattan over the bridge, stopping now and then to take a picture or two - incredible views of the Brooklyn Bridge and Lower Manhattan - as the sun was lowering over the City. Not even the subways trains crossing the bridge to my right disturbed me. It was a beautiful, clear evening, and I was oh, so thankful to have the place to myself.

At the end of the bridge, I was thrown onto Chinatown's Canal Street. Meandering through the less-traveled warrens north of Canal, I lucked upon Little Italy (tiny, as Chinatown has pretty much taken over the Italian sector) and a street fair. Lots of twinkly lights and sausage-and-pepper rolls. The smells! Yum!

I could have grabbed the subway there, but I was still in the mood to walk. One great thing about New York is that you can walk for miles, iconic images at every turn, until before you know it, you've gone 'way farther than you intended.

This happened to me last evening. I just kept walking. It was a gorgeous night, the streets were crowded (as always), and the energy palpable. It wasn't long before I was near NYU/Washington Square. I grabbed a burger at a diner, dropped into Cold Stone for a small strawberry ice cream, and headed for Union Square. Crossing all sorts of "bridges" along the way.

It was late and time to cross the bridge to Spanish Harlem. I didn't realize how physically tired I was until I took a seat on the #6 train. I'd walked long and hard, but it was worth it.

Crossing bridges can certainly clear the mind. I highly recommend it.

I need a little Christmas

Most years, I don't feel the need to get my Christmas "goose" until late July or August, but with a hectic schedule and priorities a-whack, I'm going to indulge in Christmas right now. Not the presents or all the hurly-burly, though I do enjoy both during December. No, not that part. Just my own personal Christmas Film Festival, cinnamon tea, and a frigid apartment caused not by snow outside, but by cranking up the a/c until the windows frost over. Brrrrrr!

Sometimes I need to be reminded of the big picture, the span of time. Lately, I've been buried too deep in the details of Now. That is a ponderous way to live. So I hereby raise my cuppa cinnamon tea, resolving to let Ebenezer Scrooge and George Bailey and Cindy Lou Who pull me out of the muck.

And once I've regained my vision, I shall take a walk over the Brooklyn bridge at sunset this evening, for perspective can be gained through other means besides Christmas classics. I do believe that all the silly fluff inside my head right now won't take up so much brain-space after that.

So I will celebrate Memorial Day by celebrating the Christmas spirit. For as Old Scrooge said, "I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach."

Happy Memorial Day. Merry Christmas.

Catchin' up

When last you heard from me, the tulips were a-poppin' in Central Park (they're pretty much gone now), I'd never been to Syracuse (not that I sat around troubling myself about it), and George Bush was president (oh, wait - he still is president). I am still here, too, just completely buried in work. Blogging, alas, has had to sink to the bottom of the "to-do" pile. (Thanks for missing me, Winston!)

I do find time to walk Bailey in the Park (that's how I know the tulips are almost gone). And I did go to Syracuse for a conference over the weekend. The New York finger lakes district is really beautiful. I stayed with a friend who has a house (built in 1872) on one of the lakes, which was much better than having to park at the local Holiday Inn, I tell you.

Other than that, I'm all-work-all-the-time right now. I hope that things ease up a bit once the June 5-8 conference is over. For me, it's the "Little Red Hen Conference," after the fable of the little red hen who did all the work planting, tending, and picking the corn, though she had all sorts of volunteers to eat it. I'm the little red hen on this. But as far as I'm concerned, everyone's welcome to eat all they want, as long as they don't bitch and moan about anything. The time for "advice" passed about three weeks ago.

I'm taking Friday off so that I can have a 4-day weekend before the onslaught. It really is time to break out the seasonal clothing and put away the wool. That should help, right?

Bouquets for All Mamas

Happy Mother's Day!

(Flowers courtesy Central Park Conservatory Gardens.)

"Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?"

When I was about eight years old, I decided to run away from home. I'd suffered some great injustice at the hands of my mother and felt I had no other choice but to leave the Frazier family far behind. I don't remember what it was that caused me to start packing my bags, but it the straw that broke this little 8-year-old camel's back. I was outta there!

I sulked and plotted and devised a completely ingenious plan to just walk away and start a new life. Maybe a family with no children who really wanted a smart-ass little 8-year-old girl. (Yeah, right.) Throughout the afternoon, I flounced in to announce my plans to Mother so that she could start being real sorry even before I left. Being a natural-born drama queen, I could do no less.

After gathering my meager but necessary belongings, I was set to bid adieu to hearth and home. I could do so much better, right? And anyway, Mother obviously had it in for me. I needed to find a new mother who would appreciate me and my creative little ways. Yep. I was ready to go.

Mother was washing dishes when I lugged my sack - yes, it was a sack, not a suitcase - of assorted life possessions into the kitchen. The moment was fraught with emotion.

"Well, I'm going now," I announced in my best, kid-full-of-confidence voice.

Mother - who'd put up my tirade all afternoon - turned to look at me with big sad eyes, took the slightest pause, then said, "Aren't you going to kiss me good-bye?'

Well, that did it. Kid-confidence turned to kid-puddle-o'-tears as I dropped my sack of belongings. Mother wiped the water and suds off her hands and bent down to give me a hug.

"Welcome home." And I was back in the fold.

Down 3

Woo-hoo! I thought for sure I'd gained a pound or two over the past couple of weeks, but at my WeightWatchers weigh-in today, I'd actually lost 3 pounds! Yea, me!

Only a few ounces to go before I reach my 10% body-weight goal. Then, on to my personal 25-pound goal.

(And thanks for the pep-talk, Jo.)

O fractious day! Callooh! Callay!

It wasn't a frabjous day. Nor was it brillig with slithy toves gyring and gimbling. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, get thee swiftly to a copy of "Jabberwocky.")

No, it was a fractious day. Ever have one o' dem? I just woke up lookin' for a fight. Why is that, I wonder?

Fortunately for me (and my job), I realized early on that I was going to be a sarcastic, irritated, impatient smart-ass all day, so I hid in my office and tried to avoid all human contact. Pretty hard when one works at the headquarters of religious denomination. I tried asking myself, "What would Jesus do?," but I think he'd a-been fractious, too.

The good news is that I didn't slap anyone or send out a bunch of pithy emails. No, I truly behaved myself. I knew I was dangerous and took the proper steps to contain my (potentially) dangerous behavior.

Now I'm home, having weathered the fractiousness of the day. The gin and tonic's helping, I can testify. Cheers!

Happy 25th, Baby Girl!

You're the joy of my life!

The picture at Kate's baptism has special significance this year,

since the priest who baptized her in 1983 will also officiate at her wedding in October. Thanks, Harry!

Friday Night at the Red Food Store

I dreamed about the Red Food Store the other night. The one on Ringgold Road in Chattanooga, Tennessee. It was a weird dream that featured the old familiar store with two identical Red Food Stores surrounding it. I was a little discombobulated when I woke up, as you often are when some place or person from the past suddenly pops up in the clouds of night for no discernable reason.

The Red Food Store. It didn’t sell red food. Well, I reckon it did, but it sold all the other colors, too. And it wasn’t painted red, either. In short, no clue as to why the grocery chain was called Red Food Store, but there you are.

Anyway, Friday evenings after supper, Daddy would head out to do the weekly grocery shopping, usually with one or two or all four of us chir'run in tow. See, Mother raised us to believe that going to the grocery store was a man’s job, like taking out the garbage and tinkering with cars. Daddy always seemed to enjoy doing this weekly chore, and I suppose Mother hated it, so the system worked well for them. (And wasn’t Mother clever, eh?)

So. Off we’d go on Friday evening with Daddy, wondering what little goodie we could talk him into buying. He could be a real pushover, as long as we didn’t go overboard. Fritos. Sprite. Some new-fangled cereal. And it was primo Daddy-time. He always seemed to be in high spirits – it was Friday, after all! – and we loved going with him. To the Red Food Store.

All those grocery store trips run in together, except for one. It was Friday. November 22, 1963. We got out of school early that day; once the news came that President Kennedy had been shot, well, that was that. We spent the afternoon in front of the TV set, watching the strange events unfold. I don’t remember whether Daddy came home early or not. My parents were no fans of Kennedy, but this event rocked even them.

Still, dead presidents are no excuse to break a cherished routine, I guess, and Friday night meant a trip to the Red Food Store. Maybe Mother and Daddy thought that doing something completely normal would keep us from being scared. Or maybe we just needed milk. But whatever the reason we headed for the store, as usual, on that bleak evening.

Very few people were out and about. The store was open, but empty. Everything seemed dark (well, yeah, it was late November, but even so . . .) and moving in slow motion. I can tell you that not much high-spirited stuff went on during that shopping foray. We were just going through the motions at the Red Food Store that night.

But one aberration doesn’t dampen the memory of all the other Friday nights, all the other jaunts to the Red Food Store on Ringgold Road in Chattanooga, Tennessee, with Daddy and the little Fraziers picking up the week’s necessities while choosing a few special treats.

And I’m remembering all that, as I sit here in New York City on a Friday evening, thanks to a strange little dream. (Though I do wonder about the meaning of the extra stores.)