Good Vision

"Boy, I got vision, and the rest of the world wears bifocals."

-- "Butch Cassidy," 

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid

"Four eyes" 7-31-14

Nellie Oleson:

"Well, look at Miss Four Eyes!"

Willie Oleson:

"Mary has four eyes! Four eyes!"

Laura Ingalls:

"You be quiet, Willie!"

Willie Oleson:

"Well, Mary has four eyes. Two real ones and two glass ones. Four eyes!"

Laura Ingalls:

"And you're gonna have two black ones!"

-- Little House on the Prairie, "Four Eyes"

"Was blind but now I see."

-- Amazing Grace

My eye doctor is a super great guy. Genuinely as nice as can be. So I could tell yesterday that he was searching for a kind way to tell me what he knew I needed to hear.

He hemmed and he hawed, he um'd and he uh'd. 

Finally spit it out.

Him: "You know, it might be time for you to maybe consider -- and I'm not saying you have to right now -- but maybe, you know, somewhere down the line, you might want to consider something like a no-line ... bifocal."

He de-voiced the last word, the b-word, like he was saying Lord Voldemort. He kind of whispered it the way people do when they mention someone's cancer. The walls between exam rooms are thin. Maybe he was just protecting my privacy. 

Maybe. But I doubt it.

I think he was afraid.

I think he was afraid of what I might do once he dropped the bifocal bomb. I'm pretty sure he flinched, or winced -- like, he actually physically pulled back a little bit when he said it.

But I didn't freak.

Hell, I know my vision is shit, but even I saw that one coming a mile away.

In truth, I went into the appointment prepared to broach the bifocals subject myself if he didn't say something first. It's been lurking in the shadows, nibbling at the edges, for a while now. I've just been putting it off with excuses like, "Oh, I can just use my reading glasses," and "Oh, bifocals are so expensive."

But now I'm switching glasses all the damn time, and if I'm stuck somewhere without my cheaters, I'm fucked cuz I can't read shit. I didn't fully appreciate how much reading I do in the course of a normal day until my eyesight declined enough that it became impossible to do it without a pair of big, fat magnifying lenses.

And so ...

I accepted my new prescription as the good thing that it is, and today I will venture to the optical store and pick out my new bifocals.

Eyesight may seem like an obvious "good thing." But until mine began to falter and fail, I didn't fully appreciate just how good it is.

But now I see.

Nothing From a Box, Can, Store or Truck

"When eating fruit, remember who planted the tree;

when drinking water, remember who dug the well."

-- Vietnamese proverb

Vegetable frittata 7-30-14

"We may find in the long run that tinned food 

is a deadlier weapon than the machine-gun."

-- George Orwell

"Shipping is a terrible thing to do to vegetables. 

They probably get jet-lagged, just like people."

-- Elizabeth Berry

One of the most singular pleasures in life, for me anyway, is cooking a meal with food that comes straight from the good things growing in my own garden.

Yesterday I did just that, using ingredients I picked twenty steps from my backdoor. Anything I didn't grow myself came from someone I know who did.

I provided the zucchini, basil and tomato (I found my first ripe one blushing on the vine yesterday).

My farmer friend Bob grew the spinach a stone's throw away on his local vegetable farm. 

The eggs came from a physical therapist named Megan who raises her own chickens. She personally hand-delivers dozens of her home-grown brown beauties -- eggs so far beyond "jumbo" that the cartons won't close over their tops -- to my husband at work every week or two. 

With this handful of simple, good things, I took a personal stand against "big food" and the corn cartel and environmental negligence and processed pseudo-food and cooked up a nutritious, deliciously simple vegetable frittata.

It was probably the best frittata I've ever eaten. I made enough to fill my biggest cast-iron skillet -- plenty for four people -- and ate half of it all by myself. I'd give you the recipe, but there isn't one. Sorry. I just free-formed with what I had and made it up as I went along.

I like cooking that way. 

It feels more creative and exciting and satisfying. Instead of running to the store to buy something some cookbook or recipe writer says I should use, I'd much rather assess what I have on hand, and go from there, creating something good all on my own -- with a little help from my friends.

Free Socks!

"He may be president,

but he still comes home and swipes my socks."

-- Joseph P. Kennedy

A free sock 7-29-14

"One can never have enough socks," said Dumbledore.

-- J.K. Rowling, 

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

Leo bought three new pairs of snazzy socks yesterday for five dollars.

I am a sucker for snazzy socks. I like to wear them with my motorcycle boots.

So when Leo brought his new socks home -- 2 stripey, 2 camouflaged and 2 color-blocked -- I was a little jealous. 

Covetous even.

Yep. I did. I coveted.

I kinda wanted those socks.

I kinda really wanted those socks.

Leo knew this, and so he openly flaunted his new socks as he released them from their little sock-hanger and snipped all the plastic thingies that hold the matching pairs together at the toes. 

Then he tried them on it was clear they were a trifle small on his size 14 foot.

I don't know everything about my son, but I do know that if something doesn't fit him comfortably, Leo will not wear it. Too tight, too short, too loose, too itchy, too whatever ... forget it. 

So I knew that it was just a matter of time before these really great socks would be relegated to the back of Leo's sock drawer, held captive and imprisoned there, lost and forgotten, confined to a sad life of non-use.

As a champion of snazzy socks everywhere, I simply couldn't let that happen.

I saw my opening and made my move.

I told Leo that if the socks shrank more in the wash -- and surely they would -- I would take pity and take them off his hands, er, feet. 

I even offered to give him back his five bucks, just to sweeten the pot.

The hook was set.

He didn't give in right away. He stubbornly tried on all three pairs, like Cinderella's step-sister searching for a shoe that fit. 

Finally he gave up and just flung the socks at me.

Him: "You might as well take them now. I'll be giving them to you anyway."

Me: "Yay! Free socks!"

Sweet Corn

"Give me fresh corn and wheat --

give me serene-moving animals ..."

-- Walt Whitman, 

"Give Me The Splendid, Silent Sun," Leaves of Grass

Unicorn on the cob 7-28-14

"A light wind swept over the corn,

and all nature laughed in the sunshine."

-- Anne Bronte, The Tenant of Wildfell Hall

It's a magical time of year here in Ohio.

The sweet corn is on and the living is good.

Sweet corn season is brief, but around here we live for it.

Probably every sweet-corn growing town in the state thinks it has bragging rights to the sweetest, tenderest, tastiest ears. But I'd go all in and bet the house that the stuff grown at the Hahn Farm right here in my little town buries them all. 

Hahn's corn is legendary in these parts. When the first picking is in and they finally hang the sign by the road, people start calling each other to breathlessly announce "Hahn's has corn!" 

A constant flow of cars -- many with out of state license plates -- queues up early every morning in a snaking line that often runs all the way down the driveway and into the road. They pick fresh every day, and you gotta get their early, before they sell out.

For the next several weeks, families around here will gorge themselves on Hahn's corn. They will stash it away in their freezers for winter. They will eat and eat and eat until they're sick, and then they will eat more.

It's just that good. And we know it won't last forever.

I've had other sweet corn, naturally.

Some is pretty good. Some is merely fine. Some sucks.

None of it measures up to the ambrosia grown at Hahn's. This corn has made me into such a corn snob that I will not eat sweet corn from anyplace else. 

Also, as a child I was traumatized by sweet corn drama.

I grew up thinking there was some special skill or technique or culinary wizardry required to prepare delicious sweet corn. Getting it right was akin to locating a passageway to a parallel universe, or spotting a unicorn.

Here's how it went:

My dad would buy a dozen of the cheapest who-knows-how-old ears he could find at some random roadside stand or grocery store and tote it home for my mother to boil. She boiled it. He watched like a hawk and as soon as he smelled the corn cooking he'd bark, "I smell the corn!" That was Mom's signal to shut it down and stop the cooking. Which she did.

Tension would build as my dad parked his elbows on the table and sloppily buttered and ear. We all waited for the verdict -- did Mom get it right or did she fuck it up, again? 

You never knew. It was always a crap-shoot.

If she got it right, he'd just keep chomping away, stacking up a log-pile of kernel-less cobs, a shiny slick of butter running down his chin.

If she fucked it up and the corn was tough or chewy or overcooked or not sweet, he'd deliver the death knell -- always the same two harsh words.

"It's starchy."

My mother's spine would stiffen, her face would twitch. My three sisters and I would sit in wide-eyed anxious limbo exchanging panicky glances and wondering "Do we eat the corn or don't we? WHATTHEFUCK should we do?"

See, I was led to believe that if the corn was a failure, it was my mom's fault for cooking it wrong. 

Now I know better.

Mom wasn't a bad corn cook. She was just cooking bad corn.

If you start with perfectly good corn, it will be perfectly delicious every time.

But no matter how well you cook shit, it's still going to be shit. 

Now, just because they  are mean little fuckers and know how much it grinds my gears, my husband and sons will sometimes bite into an ear of Hahn's delicious summer sweetness and tell me, "It's starchy."

But I know better. 

Boiled, roasted, microwaved, on the cob, off the cob, in the pot 9 days old -- Hahn's corn is so perfect you simply can't fuck it up. You don't even have to cook it. Even raw it is sweet, tender and juicy.

There's no magic to it.

It's simply that good.

Holding Hands

"So we stood hand in hand like two children,

and there was peace in our hearts for 

all the dark things that surrounded us."

-- Arthur Conan Doyle,

Sherlock Holmes: The Complete Novels and Stories, Vol.1

Holding hands 7-27-14

"Have you ever really held the hand of someone you love?

Not just in passing, a loose link between you -- but truly clasped,

with the pulses of your wrists beating together and your fingers mapping

the knuckles and nails like a cartographer learning a country by heart?"

-- Jodi Picoult, Salem Falls

"I wanna hold your hand."

-- The Beatles, "I Want To Hold Your Hand"

Breakfast Anytime

"Everyone runs around trying to find a place where they still serve breakfast 

because eating breakfast, even if it's 5 o'clock in the afternoon, 

is a sign that the day has just begun and good things can still happen.

Having lunch is like throwing in the towel."

-- Jonathan Goldstein, Lenny Bruce Is Dead

Polymer clay breakfast 7-25-14

"Hope makes a good breakfast. Eat plenty of it."

-- Ian Fleming, From Russia With Love

I don't usually eat breakfast, but I love breakfast food.

It's not unusual for me to eat toast and eggs for lunch and supper on any given day.

My son Sam hates it when I cook breakfast for supper. He won't touch an egg with a ten foot pole unless it's baked into a cake -- just so long as it's not a pancake.

Well, Sam was out eating pizza with friends last night, so I seized the opportunity and cooked a full-on breakfast spread for the rest of us -- French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, little crispy potatoes, strawberries and whipped cream, and a pot of good decaf.

They say breakfast is the most important meal of the day and to start things off with a good one.

I agree. A good breakfast is a good thing. 

I'm just a slow starter. But I get there eventually.

Hey, better late than never.

It's all good.

Morning Glories At My Window

"Be willing to be a beginner every single morning."

-- Meister Eckhart

Morning Glory 7-25-14

"A morning glory at my window satisfies me 

more than the metaphysics of books."

-- Walt Whitman

Earlier this spring Leo planted some pots full of flower seeds.

One pot has been growing stalky sunflowers.

Another contains a crazy wildflower blend.

My favorite, though, are the Morning Glories. They're in the pot with the tall, fragile, willowy tangle of green vines and heart-shaped leaves winding their way up slender stakes, reaching for the sky. The first two buds on this one finally unfurled yesterday morning, so that the first thing I saw when I looked out the kitchen window were the fresh, wide-open faces of two Morning Glory blooms.

It made me feel good.

I think I might have said something like "Hey, Morning Glories! There you are! I've been waiting for you."

Morning Glories are smart flowers. They take advantage of the early morning sun to get their blooming done, and as the afternoon wanes and evening falls, they wisely close up shop and turn in early, somehow re-wrapping their papery, fluttery, blue and purple petals back inside that tight pointy whorl where they rest all night.

When they wake well-rested the next morning, they are bright eyed -- literally -- with a light-up yellow center that practically glows with brightness and hope and encouragement.

The hopeful presence of these flowers makes me feel like I might just have a chance of getting a re-start on some stuff I've been fucking up and stumbling over lately. 

Leo's Morning Glories remind me every morning that it's never too late to start over, to try again, to go back to the beginning and give it another shot. 

Morning after morning after morning after morning.

Soap

"I took a shower washing every body part with actual soap.

including all my major crevices,

including in between my toes and in my belly button,

which I never did before but sort of enjoyed."

-- "Kevin McCallister," Home Alone

Soap and a rubber duck  7-24-14

"So when somebody has B.O., the 'O' usually stays with the 'B.'

Once the 'B' leaves, the 'O' goes with it."

-- Jerry Seinfeld, "The Smelly Car," Seinfeld

"Civilization begins with soap."

-- The Galveston Times

My friend Shirley says "Soap is cheap. There's no reason to not be clean."

She's right.

You can buy 10 bars of Ivory Soap for about four bucks. 

I'm no math wiz, but that works out to about 40 cents a bar.

Shirley knows that soap is a good thing.

Just imagine a world without it. 

Or a locker room without it. 

Or yourself without it.

Body odor. Bad.

Soap. Good.

Just ask Shirley.

Rolling My Own

"You won't accept a guy's tongue in your mouth,

and your'e going to eat that?"

-- "John Bender," The Breakfast Club

Sushi roll 7-23-14

"'Heaven has no taste.'

'Now ...'

'And not one single sushi restaurant.'

A look of pain crossed the angel's suddenly very serious face."

-- Terry Pratchett, 

Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch

Sushi roll 7-23-14

Sometimes "cheap" sushi means nasty sushi.

But in my case, cheap sushi means pretty damn good sushi.

I made myself sushi rolls for supper last night.

I had some nice fresh ingredients and was feeling adventurous.

My home-rolled sushi isn't perfect, but it tastes delicious.

It's also super easy on the wallet -- the fish was free (Leo caught it), the veggies were free (I grew them in the garden). A single sheet of nori and about a cup of rice costs mere pennies.

Go ahead. Eat all you want. I'll make more.

Getting A Package In The Mail

"Brown paper packages tied up with strings

These are a few of my favorite things."

-- Rodgers and Hammerstein, 

"My Favorite Things," The Sound of Music

Paper heart box 7-22-14

I get packages on my doorstep all the time, but they're typically full of stuff I've purchased online and sent to myself.

I know they're coming.

It's no big surprise when they arrive.

Hell, I can even track them minute by minute until they get here.

But a surprise package, sent from a friend, loaded with special items selected just for me? That's a whole other kettle of fish.

My birthday was over a week ago, but I got a birthday package in the mail yesterday anyway.

It was from my friend Kelly. She sent me a box of really great stuff all the way from Rhode Island.

Kelly is always sending me little surprises through the mail, even when it's not my birthday -- everything from Lego mini figures, to skull bandanas, to books, to t-shirts to pastries from her hipster Providence bakery. (She is still trying to crack the code on how to ship her delicate, fragile meringues without the USPS reducing them to rubble.)

I can tell at a glance if a box on my doorstep is from Kelly, because she usually seals them with cupcake duct tape.

Even though I'm a big kid now, the thrill of getting a surprise package in the mail never gets old. It still makes me as super happy and super excited as it did when I was small. And there's something about knowing someone thought of me when we weren't even together that feels, well, really good.

And so ...

Ding! Ding! Ding!

In honor of my awesome thoughtful friend, I'm introducing the One Good Thing "What the Helly-Kelly Surprise Package Challenge."

Think of someone you love, or like a real lot, and shoot them a li'l sumthin sumthin through the mail. You can make it, or buy it, or find it. And it doesn't have to be their birthday either. It doesn't have to be their anything. And don't tip them off that it's coming. Just send it and see how super happy and super excited you'll make them.

In fact, I'll bet it'll make you both feel pretty good.

(*Cupcake duct tape is totally optional, but is definitely a nice touch.)

It's A Good Thing I Had My Camera With Me

"Swimsuit season may be over and many of you will be growing your winter coat,

but what if you get that last minute chance to go to Hawaii or the Bahamas?

What are you going to do?

You certainly don't want to look like a Sasquatch in your swimsuit."

-- CajunMama, TravelingMamas.com

Sasquatch (Vermilion, OH) 7-21-14

So I was on a motorcycle ride in Vermilion, Ohio, and I just happened to have my camera in the saddlebag when I spotted this sexy Sasquatch in a red bikini standing alongside the road.

So of course I stopped to take its picture, because, well, that's just what you do when you have a camera and you spot a Sasquatch in a red bikini standing alongside the road. You don't just pass that shit up.

The other side of Sasquatch, 7-21-14

So I was snapping away and a guy walked up to me:

Him: (pointing) There's an even bigger one over there.

Me: Is it wearing a bikini?

Him: No.

Me: Not interested. But this is funny as hell. It kind of makes my day.

Him: Yeah. The owner goes to Brazil every year and buys all kind of bikinis. The last one was green. But it fell off.

Me: Well, it's a good thing he had an extra one.

And P.S. -- Who walks into a swimsuit shop in Brazil and says "I need to buy a few bikinis for my Sasquatch." Maybe it doesn't sound so weird in Portuguese.

Anyway, I thought Miss Thang looked fly in her itsy bitsy teenie weenie bikini -- well-toned, muffin top under control. She was showing maybe just a little too much coin slot, but otherwise, she looked good.

Oh, and she could definitely use a good waxing.

I'd suggest a Brazilian.

A Family Outing

"What greater thing is there for human souls

than to feel that they are joined for life --

to be with each other in silent unspeakable memories."

-- George Eliot

Chessmen 7-20-14

"The memories of my family outings are still a source of strength to me.

I remember we'd all pile into the car -- I forget what kind it was -- and drive and drive.

I'm not sure where we'd go, but I think there were some trees there.

The smell of something was strong in the air as we played whatever sport we played.

I remember a bigger, older guy we called 'Dad.'

We'd eat some stuff, or not, and then I think we went home.

I guess some things never leave you."

-- Jack Handy, "Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy"

Because I'm a baseball junkie, for my birthday the guys took me out to the ballgame.

The Indians are on a two-week road trip, so instead of going to Progressive Field, we went to see the Lake Erie Crushers play the Florence Freedom in a Frontier League showdown at All Pro Freight Stadium.

I like Crushers games because the ballpark is smaller, parking is simpler, tickets are cheaper and you can get a lot closer to the action. And for me, baseball is baseball. I'll watch anyone play as long as its a good game.

And it was.

We had front row seats directly behind home plate.

The rain stopped just in time.

The french fries were hot and crispy.

The beer was cold.

Leo got a rare lucky "double dog" -- he unfolded the foil and discovered two wieners in one bun.

We saw a rainbow (also lucky).

One of the Crushers players (#25, you're my favorite) gave me a foul ball.

The Crushers slammed a few dingers and taters and, well, crushed the Freedom 16-4.

When we got home, we all ate chocolate cake.

It was all good, but the best part was that we were all together having a really good time. 

I think that's why I prefer "experience" gifts over "stuff" gifts.

Stuff just sits around, takes up space and gathers dust until you eventually lose interest. 

But experiences happen. Here. Now. 

Everyone gets to take part. 

And the only space they take up is in your memories, where it's a good thing there's always room for more.

Pain Relief

"We begin to realize that it will take something 

more powerful than we are

to relieve our suffering."

-- Marta Mrotek, 

Miracle in Progress: A Handbook for Holistic Recovery

Wet noodle 7-19-14

" ... that breath of relief that there is someone in the world, finally, 

who understands what hurts you."

-- Lysley Tenorio, Monstress

"So, verily, with every difficulty, there is relief;

Verily, with every difficulty there is relief."

--The Quran

For the most part I try to rely on acupuncture and massage therapy to iron out and relax my sore muscles. 

But every once in a while I need pharmaceutical intervention.

I had a pretty painful and stubborn shoulder spasm happening after my bike ride a couple of days ago.

It was night time, so acupuncture and massage weren't options.

I tried to massage it myself, but I couldn't reach it.

I rolled around on the floor with a baseball under my shoulder blade, and tried to work it out that way.

It hurt. And it didn't work either.

The pain had already disrupted one night's sleep, and I wasn't interested in it happening again.

So at bedtime I took a muscle relaxer.

My stiff, sore, rigid spasm-y muscle (and the whole rest of me) gave up its hold and I relaxed like a limp wet noodle. I slept hard and solid, all night, and woke up more rested and refreshed than I have in a long time. 

In the morning, my shoulder felt a lot better -- a little sore, but the spasm had finally un-clenched and released its grip.

Aaaah.

To celebrate --

Ding! Ding! Ding!

-- here's a "One Good Thing/One Bad Joke" special bonus:

Q: What do you call a fake noodle?

A: An impasta.

Get it?

Good.

Meeting A Girlfriend For Drinks

"Girlfriends are therapists you can drink with."

-- Unknown

Drinks 7-18-14

"More important than the food pairing

is the person with whom you drink the wine."

-- Christian Moueix

Good Sleep Hygiene

"I cannot alter the past, but the future is very much in my hands."

-- Mary Lydon Simonsen, 

The Perfect Bride For Mr. Darcy

Self portrait 7-17-14

"Good 'hygiene' is anything that helps you to have a healthy life."

-- The American Academy of Sleep Medicine

Sleep hygiene isn't a very sexy topic.

It's about as sexy as oral hygiene -- stuff like brushing and flossing my teeth and scraping the gunk off my tongue.

As un-sexy as it is, though, I know good and well that if I neglect good oral hygiene, my teeth will rot and my breath will stink and I'll pay the price (and it ain't cheap) at the dentist. And that's super, duper un-sexy. So I do all the stuff. I follow the protocol and maintain a very clean, healthy mouth.

I also know that if I neglect good sleep hygiene, my sleep will decay. Still, I fall into patches where I don't do the stuff. I neglect the protocol. I do things I know I shouldn't, and don't do things I know I should, and little by little I settle for rottener and rottener sleep. And I pay the price. My sleep stinks, and I not only feel rotten, I feel rotten about it because I could have easily avoided the problem.

I've been playing fast and loose with the sleep hygiene rules lately. God knows I know them well enough by now -- inside outside upside down. I could recite them in my sleep, if I was sleeping. I know these guidelines are good for me. I know I'll be happier and healthier if I obey them.

And yet.

Long story short, things have gotten a little out of hand and it's time to clean up my sleep routine.

Again.

It's time to snuggle back up to the rules of good sleep hygiene so that tonight, and tomorrow night, and the nights after that, I can enjoy good, healthy sleep.

It's all in my hands.

Everyday Heroes

"We don't set out to save the world;

we set out to wonder how other people are doing

and to reflect on how our actions affect other people's hearts."

-- Pema Chodron

Hero brownies, 7-16-14

"True heroism is remarkably sober, very undramatic.

It is not the urge to surpass all others at whatever cost,

but the urge to serve others at whatever cost."

-- Arthur Ashe

Our neighbor, Vera, is a rascal.

We love that about her. It's part of her immense charm.

It's also the thing that gets her into dangerous, troublesome situations. Repeatedly.

Our dear, sweet, widowed Russian friend has a stubborn streak that runs deep. Even though she's 86 years old, frail, and very unsteady on her feet -- she always seems like she's on the tippy edge of the fall that'll end it all -- she refuses to ask for help.

If something gets stuck in her mind that she thinks needs doing right now, and she decides to do it, well ... 

We help her do all kinds of things. We've told her numerous times to call us. We've pleaded, lectured, talked tough. We call her son and rat her out when she's naughty. But despite the smack-downs, tough love and interventions, she persists.

Like I said, she's a rascal. 

Like the time last winter when I caught her outside in her nightgown on a sub-zero morning chasing tissues all over our icy cul-de-sac in a bitter cold wind, barely staying upright as she tried to navigate the curb before I got out there and escorted her back to the house.

She always picks the hottest, most humid days to do "yard work." She'll be out there in 90-degree heat, red faced, sweating and dangerously out of breath, clinging to a trash can full of yard waste like its one of those toddler learn-to-walk push toys, trying to stay on her feet -- all because 2 geraniums need to be dead-headed.

She tries to hide from us so she doesn't get caught.

My husband has rescued her.

My sons have rescued her.

I've rescued her.

We're not trying to be heroes. We're just trying to help.

Yesterday, it was my neighbor Tyler's turn. 

We've lived next door to Tyler's family since we moved in 16 years ago, so I've watched Tyler grow up from a goofy little preschooler into a big, strong kid with a big, soft heart. 

Now, he's a real life firefighter. A real life hero.

Which is super handy, because Vera can be like a kitty stuck up a tree.

I drove into the circle yesterday and saw Tyler with a 9-foot-long telescoping pruner in hand, trimming one of Vera's trees. There was a big tall aluminum ladder in the driveway and I could see Vera lurking in the shadows behind the tree -- with her gardening gloves on, while Tyler worked away.

I'm no math wiz, but I put 2 and 2 together and figured out the equation.

Rascal.

Later, I did a little recon and asked Tyler what went down.

He confirmed my suspicions. Vera had dragged out the ladder and the long-handled pruner and he'd caught her in the nick of time. (There was also something about a chain saw, but the details were a little sketchy.)

Tyler stopped whatever else he might have been doing and spent the next hour or so pruning the tree for Vera while she told him what to do and how to do it. She tried to pay him. She insisted on giving him some money. But Tyler refused. He said he was able to talk her down and convinced her to just bake him some brownies instead.

(She "pays" my husband with Manhattans.)

Anyway, I thanked Tyler for swooping in and saving the day and for being an integral part of "Vera Watch."

He's an "aw shucks" kind of guy who just saw an opportunity to help and took it. 

Not for accolades. 

Not for glory. 

Not for recognition. 

Not for money. 

Not even for brownies.

He did it because he's an everyday hero. And everyday heroes help just because it's the good and right thing to do, especially when they live next door to an 86-year-old stubborn Russian rascal.

Still Playing With Barbies, At MY Age

"You can't stop the future

You can't rewind the past

The only way to learn the secret

... is to press play."

-- Jay Asher, Thirteen Reasons Why

Self portrait 7-15-14

"She was not one for emptying her face of expression."

-- J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey

"How old would you be if you didn't know how old you was?"

-- Satchel Paige

Yesterday I came face to face with my age.

Again.

It was my birthday.

Again.

So that happened.

A Good Dog

"If there are not dogs in Heaven, 

then when I die I want to go where they went."

-- Will Rogers

Mama 7-14-14

"Here I wait, for my friend who's late. 

I will stay, just to walk beside you for one more day."

-- Jess C. Scott, Skins, Animal Stories

I'm not a real "dog person."

But I dearly love a couple of people who dearly love their dogs.

Fortunately, those couple of people happen to have remarkable dogs that are easy for me to love as well.

This is my mom's really good dog, Mama.

My God, this dog.

She's about as close as any dog has ever come to making me into a dog person.

Call it dumb luck, a happy coincidence, kismet or karma -- Mama was a stray who ran into my mother's backyard several years ago and never left.

The two of them look after each other in the most remarkably beautiful way.

I got to visit them both yesterday at my mom's house in Michigan.

As Mama was lolling on the patio, panting and exhausted from chasing her Chuckit! ball around in the afternoon heat, Mom said, rather tenderly and wistfully, "She's been a good, good friend."

And then there was just this quiet moment.

We kind of let those few words hang there in the atmosphere for a while as we appreciated the pure, simple truth of them -- as we appreciated the pure, simple goodness of a really good dog.

There was nothing more to say.

Funfetti

"I just love cake. Confetti cake, to be specific.

It has little colored candies inside the cake,

and then you get the confetti icing ... 

It's icing that actually has candies inside of it.

It's Funfetti icing."

-- Channing Tatum, GQ (July 2014)

Funfetti cake 7-13-14

Because ... Funfetti.

Jesus.

Do you seriously need a reason?

Fine.

Here's your fucking reason.

Because it's Funfetti.

Meatballs

"Meatballs are a fun form of meat."

-- Cesare Casella, 

"What Chefs Really Have to Say About Meatballs," Esquire

Barbie meatball sub 7-12-14

"IKEA is considering putting its horse meatballs back on the market in Swedish stores 

and is claiming there is no health risk associated with eating them."

-- Hunter Stuart, The Huffington Post

I make good meatballs.

They are perfectly nice top of spaghetti all covered with cheese.

But they're even better crammed into a meatball sub.

These ain't no girly freakin' finger sandwiches.

They're hot, tasty, juicy, hearty, saucy, cheesy, messy.

A meal with balls.

The Power Of The Rally Cap

"Indians erupt late to cruise past Yankees in finale."

-- Indians.com

Self portrait 7-11-14

All I'm saying is, before I put my rally cap on last night, the Indians were down 3-0 to the Yankees and the game was flat-lining after six scoreless Tribe innings.

Immediately after I put my rally cap on, Cleveland scored 9 runs in the 7th and 8th innings and the Yankees didn't score any more all night.

After rookie catcher Roberto Perez slammed his first big league homer in his first big league appearance, the guys in the row behind me said I should wear my rally cap to every game.

No shit.

In a post game interview, Indians DH Nick Swisher said "Regardless of what's happening early in the game, it kind of seems like we always find a way to fight ourselves back into a game."

That's right, Swish. You found a way alright.

I proudly take full credit for the win. It was me. All me.

Never, ever underestimate the power of a good rally cap.

That's all I'm saying.

Being The Third Wheel

"Man, I know how you feel -- third wheel.

I have been the third wheel so many times in my life ...

my mom told me something once that made me feel a lot better.

she said the third wheel is what makes it a tricycle."

-- "Michael Scott," The Office

Three wheeler 7-10-14

Yesterday Leo invited me to go on a trip to the thrift store with him and his girlfriend, Mackenna.

I thought maybe he just wanted me to go along so I could pay. So I gave him 20 bucks and said they could go alone. He gave the money back and said no, they actually wanted me to come.

I asked if he was sure.

I didn't want to horn in on their time together.

I didn't want to be that weird mom who inserts herself where she isn't wanted.

I didn't want to be that awkward third wheel.

But he insisted, saying "We want you to come. Mackenna likes you."

Awww!

So I went.

I rode in the back seat of Leo's car and listened to their adorable, entertaining banter.

Mackenna and I helped Leo pick out a couple of pretty cool shirts.

Then I left the two of them alone and cruised around the music section while Leo waited for Mackenna try on dresses. She found a pretty great little sweater dress, and I found a used Indigo Girls "Shaming of the Sun" CD.

Being the third wheel is typically a bad thing. Shadowing along behind two people who are all gaga in love with each other and who don't even notice whether or not you're there isn't all that fun.

But our little threesome to the thrift store wasn't about all that. It was simply about three people who enjoy something in common, doing that thing together.

Leo and Mackenna enjoy the treasure hunt atmosphere of searching for vintage-y treasures buried in the clothing racks.

So do I.

They enjoy getting really great stuff for practically pennies.

So do I.

They both like straying from the high school herd and wearing unique clothes that aren't emblazoned with the same "guess where I buy my socially acceptable clothes" logos.

So do I.

We all like the thrift store because you never know what abandoned little gems might be quietly waiting on a dusty shelf for you to notice them and maybe take them home -- like the warm fuzzy feeling that your kid isn't embarrassed by you, and that he likes you enough to take you out in public with his girlfriend and actually share his life with you.

I paid for our finds -- they didn't cost much.

But that last little treasure -- that one didn't cost me anything at all. Just a little bit of time.

It didn't go into the bag with the other stuff.

I carried that one home in my heart.

Anticipation

"The idea of waiting for something makes it more exciting."

-- Andy Warhol

Beans and Jack and the Beanstalk, 7-9-14

"When I think something nice is going to happen

I seem to fly right up on the wings of anticipation ..."

-- L.M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea

"... that sanguine expectation of happiness which is happiness itself ..."

-- Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

I love that feeling when, during a regular old ordinary nothing special day, I remember that something really good is going to happen tomorrow, and a little wave of happy expectation ripples through me.

It doesn't have to be a big thing.

Maybe it's reservations at a really good restaurant.

Maybe it's a visit from a really good friend.

Or maybe, as in the case of tomorrow, it's really good seats on the right base side, just behind the New York dugout, for Derek Jeter's final game in Cleveland in game four of the Indians' homestand against the Yankees.

Anticipation can be awful and torturous. But it can also be the perfect thrilling antidote to a stubborn case of the summer ho-hums. 

I feel like Jack laying in bed all wound up like a spring waiting for the beans to sprout.

This is going to be good.