IT WAS REAL. IT WAS FUN.

And it was real fun...and a lot of time-consuming, hard, make-your-eyeballs bleed work.

But we did it because we felt it was the right -- and journalistically moral and necessary -- thing to do at the time.

We couldn't just sit back and let the BS continue to fly without, um, throwing our two cents worth of perspective in. So we gave it our best blogospheric shot.

People loved us. People hated us.

It was the best of times. It was the worst of times.

It was The Independent Eye.

One year ago today, Suz.

A moment of remembrance, please...:)

IT ALL BOILS DOWN TO THE EGGS

It's a gloomy Sunday evening...

We're under some sort of severe weather watch/warning...

Think I'll throw on the pjs and cozy up to a good, old, classic movie...Annie Hall.

One of my favorite quotes from the movie:

Alvy Singer (Woody Allen) at the end of the movie, summing up relationships, after seeing Annie (Diane Keaton) one last time:

"After that it got pretty late, and we both had to go, but it was great seeing Annie again. I... I realized what a terrific person she was, and... and how much fun it was just knowing her; and I... I, I thought of that old joke, y'know, the, this... this guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, "Doc, uh, my brother's crazy; he thinks he's a chicken." And, uh, the doctor says, "Well, why don't you turn him in?" The guy says, "I would, but I need the eggs." Well, I guess that's pretty much now how I feel about relationships; y'know, they're totally irrational, and crazy, and absurd, and... but, uh, I guess we keep goin' through it because, uh, most of us... need the eggs."

WHAT? NO LIST?

School supply shopping...is there anything more frustrating?

Well, of course, in reality, there is.

But over the years, I have found that school supply shopping is not for the easily stressed and strained.

I know what you're thinking..."But Ann, they give you a list. How tough can it be?" Well, since you asked...

Example (from School Year Past):

Notebook (single subject, college rule, at least 70 pages)
2 Red
2 Green
1 Yellow
1 Blue
1 Black

Seemingly simple enough. Until it comes down to actually FINDING a yellow single-subject, college-ruled 70-page notebook.

I found purple. Lots of purple. But no yellow. Or I found yellow, but it was wide-margined.

I searched Wal-Mart. I searched KMart.

"Oh, I found lots of yellow notebooks at Target,"I recall another mom telling me, inferring, I suppose, that a blind monkey could easily find a yellow spiral notebook, so why couldn't I...

Well, how nice. Except Target is in Des Moines. I was 70-plus miles from Des Moines, and school started in, oh, 15 minutes.

OK, so I am exaggerating just a skosh.

School was actually starting in 2o minutes.

Ba-da-bump.

But let's face it...school supply shopping -- successful, stress-free school supply shopping-- takes excellent planning and organizational skills, and patience...three attributes that aren't readily at my fingertips.

Especially patience.

Another flash from School Year Past:

"But I want the 36 -crayon box, Mom."

"But Daniel, it says you only need 24."

"But Mom..."

"But nothing, young man! Put the 24 box in the dang cart or you're grounded for life! Or until second grade."

And what about those colored pencils? Ya got erasable, gel, metallic-colored, multicultural, twistable, pastel...the list, of course, is extremely vague-- just says colored pencils -- and while Junior is clamoring for twistable gel, you're thinkin' Teach proobably just wants traditional (and possibly erasable)...if you could just get into the teacher's psyche for but a minute...)

"Just get the traditional 24-pack colored pencils, dear."

"But Mom, I want the 36 metallic-colored..."

"Put the 24-pack traditional colored pencils in the dang cart or you're grounded for life. Or until graduation."

So this year, as Daniel enters his first year of high school, I says to myself, I says, "Annie girl, this year, you're doin' it right. You're going to plan. You're going to be organized. You're going to have patience. It's ONLY school supply shopping.

Three weeks -- count 'em -- THREE weeks before school starts, I ask the high school principal (he's a long-time neighbor of mine) for a freshman school supply list.

"There isn't one," he says, oh-so-matter-of-factly.

"Pardon me," I sputter incredulously. "What did you just say?"

"There isn't a freshman school supply list," he says.

WHAT?!?

"So, what? We just figure out what they need by flippin' telepathy?" I snarl.

"Oh, you pretty much figure a spiral notebook for each class, some pens, pencils and a binder...the partciulars will come later from each teacher..." he says.

"Wait a minute, pal," I says, teeth clenched, eyes narrowed. "We are slaves to your insanely detailed yet horrendously vague school supply lists since pre-school, and now, suddenly, 11 school years into it, you're tellin' me there's no list?"

"Yup."

"You can't do this, man," I cried. "I'm hooked! I finally had it all planned! I was ready this year. I was counting on a list!"

*********
Hi. My name is Annie. I'm a school supply list-a-holic. I'm about to go school supply shopping without a list for the first time in over a decade...

Hi, Annie!
*********
Oy.

Oh, well.

One notebook at a time.

WAXING REMINISCENT

Do you remember JFK?

I certainly do.

And the blog, "I Remember JFK" is an excellent place for Baby Boomers to visit and reminisce about all things Baby Boomerish from our childhoods...

If you've never visited , click here and check it out...Or click on the link on my links list.

Today's post is about, of all things, those grisly Charles Manson murders back in August of 1969...but I do remember them...they happened around the same time as my big outdoor slumber party...some of you reading this blog may remember it...

We slept in the backyard, and held "seances" and spun ourselves around to make ourselves dizzy...had to go inside in the morning because it started raining...turned out to be a day of tornados in Cincy...was that the tornado that wrecked the Bingo tent at the St. Gertie's festival that summer? I think we went on a scavenger hunt that night, organized by noneother than my big sister, otherwise known by most as Sissy.

Anyway...

It's Friday and I am pulling shelves, which is a nice switch from schlepping groceries up front... I don't have to be perky (although I am feeling rather OK today) and I find straightening the shelves therapeutic.

Hey, it's cheaper than Prozac.

THANKS, BETH-O!

Merry Christmas to me and the fam!

My dear friend Beth not only sent me a taste o'Skyline and Frisch's Tartar Sauce, but threw in some Montgomery Inn BBQ Sauce and and some LaRosa's sauce as well...and some ADORABLE toys and treats for Mimi, our rather emotionally-charged rat terrier!

It's ribs, tonight!

Love you, Beth!

I am so blessed...

MYSTERY PACKAGES ON THEIR WAY...

So I'm standin' at the cash register, doin' my Thursday morning grocery schleppin' thing, and my friend, Geri, the postal carrier, comes burstin' thru the door laughin' and grinnin' and sayin', "Girl, you've got two big packages from Ohio waitin' for you at the post office...maybe it's the chili and the tartar sauce...or your missing underwear!"

(It's a small town...everybody knows about the missing tartar sauce, chili, and underwear.)

Omigod!

Could it be? From whom? Which one of my adoring friends sent me replacement tartar sauce and chili? (I dare say the underwear is a moot point.)

Geri says there's no return address...they're just from Ohio...

Ironically, just last night, I heated up a pan of Skyline chili (one of three out of the original five cans that DID make it through the US mail) and had me three yummy Skyline Cheese Coneys...

I only wept for an hour...

Nah. Just joshin'...

Actually, I am SO over my Cincy Vacation Lag...

Geri says she'll drop the boxes off at the store...

I feel like a kid at Christmas!

Stay tuned!

WHY DON'T CANNIBALS EAT CLOWNS?

Because they taste funny.

(Thanks, Natalie Ann, I needed a good laugh!)

BUT WHERE'S MY COFFEE CUP?

At last!

Some good news this a.m. from our friends the French researchers...

Click here to read all about how caffeine is our buddy...

SEX, CLUTTER AND WEIGHT LOSS

One of the exciting aspects of my life as a grocery schlepper is that I get to check in the magazines every Monday morning...

Yes, I start off my week with all the dish on all the Hollywood stars at my fingertips -- The National Inquirier and The Globe (both magazine journalism icons, I know), and I speed read all the helpful how-to stuff in all the women's magazines -- Woman's Day, Family Circle, Cosmopolitan, Glamour -- as I check them off on the sheet.

Lately, while perusing the headlines, it has come to my attention that women's magazine publishers/editors apparently believe there are only three things that women really care about: sex, clutter and weight loss.

And not necessarily in that order.

I think, actually, that it all has to do with the age group a magazine is marketed toward.

I mean, let's be honest...Cosmo and Glamour are not geared toward women 50 and over. Probably more like women 18-25. And those are the mags, filled with pics of bone-thin temptresses in little or no garb, inviting you to read up on all the advice you will ever need need to sexually satisfy your man.

(I usually stick those mags on the back shelf...I mean, this IS a family grocery store...)

I think the mag publishers and editors figure that women from 25 to 35 are busy putting all that sex advice to work, seducing men willy nilly, and don't have time to read. Until they get married, that is. And a few kids come along. And the varicose veins start popping up, and they develop those little belly pouches.

And suddenly, or so it is presumed, women aged 35 and over don't really care if Mr. Studley is satisfied sexually. The mag publishers and editors then apparently figure that these women look and feel frumpy and would rather putz around the house in a shift, clean, and read women's mags while wolfing down bon-bons. They figure these women need a little encouragement.

Check out this month's Woman's Day:

"Get Rid of Clutter For Good"

"Trim That Tummy in Just 3 Weeks"

"How To Look 5,10, 15 Years Younger!"

Last month's Woman's Day issue?

"Walk Off Weight! New 4-Week Plan!"

"38 Super-Speedy Ways To Clean!"

"Dress 10 Pounds Thinner!"

"One Minute Health Busters"

Or check out this month's Family Circle:

"Get Slim Fast!"

"Clear The Clutter! Quick And Easy Organizing!"

And do you know what I bet most of that "clutter" is?

Why, back issues of Cosmo and Glamour, of course.

Well, gotta get back to work.

I'll have to wait for my lunch break to read about Lindsay Lohan's secret affair that destroyed her life...

HAVE A GOOD ONE!

SNAP OUT OF IT, GIRL

So we finally got some rain...not much, but at least it was something.

And, thankfully, this afternoon is overcast....muggy, but at least the sun isn't out so I don't have to feel guilty that I don't feel sunny.

Of course, it wigs the fam out just a hair when ol' Normally Perky Pollyanna Mom is curled up in the fetal position, sobbing, and watching Thelma and Louise for too long...

I'm sure I'll snap out of it soon...or just plain snap.

Next vacation, I've decided, I'm going to some Third World country where I have no emotional ties and life is treacherous and stark so that when I return home, I'll be chomping at the bit to get back to my reality.

Cincinnati Vacation Lag is not for the weak of heart. However, it's nothing a little time, distance and a daily IV of Ben & Jerry's Chunky Monkey Ice Cream won't eventually quell...

Oh, well. This, too, shall pass.

Nevertheless...Somalia, here I come.

I'll send postcards.

God, I wish it was fall...

Maestro, a little something to sulk by, please...

Bring OnThe Rain

by Jo Dee Messina

Another day has almost come and gone

Can't imagine what else could go wrong

Sometimes I'd like to hide away somewhere and lock the door...

A single battle lost but not the war.

'Cause, tomorrow's another day

And I'm thirsty anyway

So bring on the rain

It's almost like the hard times circle 'round

A couple drops and they all start coming down

Yeah, I might feel defeated, I might hang my head

I might be barely breathing - but I'm not dead, no

'Cause tomorrow's another day

And I'm thirsty anyway

So bring on the rain

I'm not gonna let it get me down

I'm not gonna cry

And I'm not gonna lose any sleep tonight

Cause tomorrow's another day

And I am not afraid

So bring on the rain

TOO-DA-LOO TARTAR SAUCE

Somewhere out in that vast black hole I call the U.S. Postal Service Lost Items Dept., are two jars of Frisch's Tartar Sauce, two cans of Skyline Chili, a sack of my new, albeit needs-to-be-laundered, underwear and one tennis shoe...and a pair of sandals. Oh, and one plush dog.

Likewise, there is a woman somewhere out there,Size 22, who is missing a rather ugly denim haltar top she apparently just bought from JC Penney, a ripped sun dress, and a very small, tattered red sweater... I know this because those items were in MY package that was supposed to contain the above mentioned tartar sauce, dirty laundry, etc.

Yes, the U.S. Mail strikes again.

Somewhere in the shipping and handling process, the box I had mailed (containing items I couldn't fit in my suitcases on my return trip) from Cincy split open, and by the looks of the contents that did make it here, the whole kit-and-kaboodle was run over several times by the greasy tires of a mail truck.

Arghghghghg.

Nothing says, "Hey, girl, your vacation is over, done, kaput" quite like opening a box that you think holds precious vacation memories-- not to mention your underwear and other clothes -- only to find several said "valuables" missing and those remaining, ruined.

And what the hell am I to do with a Size 22 sun dress and an ugly denim haltar top from JC Penney? And the tattered red sweater? I do think it is small enough to fit my rat terrier, Mimi, however.

And to think that someone may be gleefully slathering MY tartar sauce on THEIR burgers...I shudder to think about the fate of my underwear...

Oh, well.

One must get smacked back into reality somehow. Not that I haven't had my share of reality "smacks" this week...but I digress.

What's a little missing tartar sauce in the big scheme of things? Besides, the tartar sauce never tastes as good on MY burgers as it does on a Frisch's Big Boy, with French fries, while actually sitting at a Frisch's restaurant in Cincy.

It's just not the same.

In fact, enjoying and then finishing a jar of Frisch's tartar sauce back here in Iowa only makes me yearn for more. It has even, on occasion, caused bouts of homesickness and mild depression.

Some things are just better left as vacation memories.

Bottom line is, vacation isn't reality and reality is no vacation.

Hence, the following lesson learned (finally, after all these years):

Sometimes, a taste of Frisch's tartar sauce, like a "taste" of vacation, is worse than none at all.

Memories light the corners of my mind

Misty water-colored memories

Of the way we were...

Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind

Smiles we gave to one another

For the way we were...

Can it be that it was all so simple then?

Or has time re-written every line?

If we had the chance to do it all again

Tell me, would we? Could we?

Memories may be beautiful, and yet

What's too painful to remember

We simply choose to forget...

So it's the laughter

We will remember

Whenever we remember

The way we were...

When you're down and troubled,
And you need a helping hand
And nothing, whoa, nothing is going right...

Close your eyes and think of me
And soon I will be there
To brighten up even your darkest nights.

You just call out my name,
And you know wherever I am
I'll come running, oh, yeah, baby
To see you again.

Winter, spring, summer, or fall,
All you have to do is call
And Ill be there, yeah, yeah, yeah.
You've got a friend.

If the sky above you
Should turn dark and full of clouds
And that old north wind should begin to blow...

Keep your head together
and call my name out loud
And soon, soon I'll be knocking upon your door.

You just call out my name
and you know wherever I am
I'll come running to see you again.

Winter, spring, summer or fall
All you got to do is call
And I'll be there, yeah, yeah, yeah.

Hey, ain't it good to know that you've got a friend?
People can be so cold.
They'll hurt you and desert you.
Well, they'll take your soul if you let them.
Oh, yeah, but don't you let them.

You just call out my name
and you know wherever I am
I'll come running to see you again.

Oh, babe, don't you know that
Winter, spring, summer or fall,
Hey, now, all you've got to do is call.
Lord, I'll be there, yes I will.

You've got a friend.You've got a friend.
Ain't it good to know you've got a friend.

You've got a friend.

TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES...PLEASE STAND BY

I'm having some probs uploading my pics...
For those of you waiting breathlessly to see more, please come back soon.
Gotta preserve those memories...they're all that's left you...
Must go schlep foodstuffs.

Me & Holly
(She was also brave enough to visit me in Iowa once...)

'WE MAY NEVER PASS THIS WAY AGAIN' WHIRLWIND TOUR SUMMER 2007

That's me and Linda, the birthday girl.

If it weren't for the fact that Linda's generous and fun-loving hubby, Mike, flew me in to surprise the ol' gal for her 50th b'day, the "We May Never Pass This Way Again Whirlwind Tour Summer 2007" would not have been possible.

Thanks, again, you guys! How can I ever thank you enough?

Our senior year -- months before we were to graduate-- I wrote Linda a letter with the words to Carly Simon's little-known song,"Reunions". Yes, miles before we were to take our first step down the aisle to the bittersweet strains of Pomp and Circumstance, I was already waxing melancholy, sure that once we left the hallowed halls of high school, I would never see Linda or anyone else from our gang again.

Ha! Still crazy -- and bestest friends -- after all these years. (Note: Linda is one of two brave friends to make the trek to Iowa in the 20-plus years I've lived here.)

Nevertheless, now that we're all in our AARP years,"Reunions" speaks to me even more...

First one in the city.
Wearin' all those grass stained jeans
Nothing is forgotten, everyone is pleased
Someone got his hair cut
The girls have lots to say
His friends had felt more comfortable
With it worn the other way...

And I don't know if I'll see you again...

Next one at the old house
Snow is on the ground
Photographs and wine are passed around
Someone toasts an absent friend
Another takes his seat
They gather round the dying fire
But the circle's not complete

And I don't know if I'll see you again...

Last one by the highway
Wind blows through thin smiles
Someone made a wrong turn
Missed a joke by miles
Someone got their hair cut
A tear is in her eye
But no one even comments
Except to say 'goodbye'

And I don't know if I'll see you again...

WHAT I LEARNED ON VACATION

Day 2 back in reality...

Actually, real life isn't all that bad...like everything else, it's all a matter of perspective.

Sometimes going "home" to Cinci only serves to remind me what I have, in some instances, forfeited, as it were, by establishing/re-establishing my life in Iowa. Then again, maybe some of those things "lost" should lost remain. It's the ol' glass half empty/half full/be careful what you wish for scenario.

They say you can't really go home again...but God knows I've given it the ol' college try. And in doing so this last time, here is what I've learned:

1. White Castle "sliders" -- with extra pickles -- really do taste best at 3 a.m.


2. No one remembers "Speedy" Joe Duncan, MHS Class of '72. (My apologies to Speedy if somehow he bumps into this blog...who knew?)


3. Makeup bought on vacation is oh, so much more exciting than the same makeup bought at home.


4. If I could afford it, I could easily live the life of a sloth and not feel guilty about it.


5. You can never have too many Big Boys with extra tartar sauce...and The Mainliner is THE best place to enjoy them.


6. Mary Kay has more lip stick colors than Carter has little pills.


7. We really are as young as we feel.


8. Time flies at the speed of light, especially on vacation.



9. Misty water-colored memories of the way we were become misty-er per each glass of wine.



10. I have the best friends in the world.

11. I really don't want to be a grocery schlepper the rest of my life.

COMING SOON...

Picture Postcards From The Edge (Of The Pool)

Silver Spring House: The Pictorial

And more...

:)

CINDERELLA SYNDROME

Coming home from a perfect vacation -- also known as "snapping back into reality" -- is no different than Cinderella's gorgeous gown suddenly morphing back to tattered rags at the stroke of midnight after the prince's ball, her beautiful coach once more a mere pumpkin.

Reality-- after vacating one's life and responsibilites for nearly 10 days -- bites.

"But it's not like this all the time," my friend Holly assured me before I left Cinci. "No one gets together unless you come to town."

And Linda swears she doesn't spend every waking, sunny hour by her pool, that life in Blue Ash, OH isn't all Starbucks Double Chocolate Chip Frappuccino Grandes and LaRosa's Pizza.

I know, I know.

But God, it was great to see everyone, to stop the dizzying carousel we call life, relax, laugh, have fun...and seeing Fountain Square and the rest of Cinci's downtown by horse-drawn carriage?

Like I always say, girls just wanna have fun. Especially 50-year-old girls.

Oh, well...

I must unpack my suitcase of memories, don my grocery schlepping garb, throw in a load of laundry...pay some bills... feed the cat...walk the dog...


Maestro, a little something from the Elton John 70s archives, please...

I hope the day will be a lighter highway
For friends are found on every road
Can you ever think of any better way
For the lost and weary travellers to go...

Making friends for the world to see
Let the people know you got what you need
With a friend at hand you will see the light
If your friends are there then everything's all right...

It seems to me a crime that we should age
These fragile times should never slip us by
A time you never can or shall erase
As friends together watch their childhood fly...

AND IT'S GOODBYE AGAIN...

Elton John was wrong.

He once crooned that "sorry seems to be the hardest word".

I disagree.

"Goodbye" is, hands down, the hardest word to utter...without bursting into tears...at least for me it is.

Today is my last full day in the Homeland...my stomach is in knots and I'm feeling a little anxious...

I officially began my goodbyes yesterday. My dear friend, Holly Berry (no lie) stopped by for an hour or two for a few final laughs and hugs and promises to do a better job of keeping in touch...

Tomorrow will be the tough one...I will not be boarding the plane dry-eyed.
Chances are, I might be pie-eyed...nah, just jokin'...I have to make sure I make my O'Hare to Des Moines connection...:)

Anyway...

They say home is where the heart is. Cinci is the home of my heart. It is where I grew up. It is where my lifelong girlfriends -- the ones who truly know me and all my issues and quirks and idiosyncracies and love me and stand by me anyway -- live.

My late mother's best friend, Dottie -- I still call her Mrs. B. (also known as my second mom) -- is under strict advisement to never move from her home because it is just like my childhood home, and still holds so many wonderful memories of all those innocent years spent there...it is as close to going home again as I can get.

I am going to Dottie's today...it is always a bittersweet experience.

(A side note: My old elementary school at the end of my old street has been bulldozed and replaced with a new modern building...a bit of a shock to my inner child, but time does march on...)

Last night, my friend Holly called after we said our goodbyes because she was at a birthday party attended by one of our old junior high teachers...Mr. Kerns was my 8th grade science teacher, and for the most part, he scared the hell out of me...but he was one of my favorite teachers...even though I hated science...

It was great to talk to him...yes, he remembered me...and I took the time to tell him how much I appreciated him as a teacher...not that hearing that will change his life or anything, but I am a firm believer that we really need to tell people how much we liked/loved/appreciated/learned from them when we have the chance because (enter Seals and Croft) we may never pass this way again.

In fact, for those who may not know this, I dubbed my trip to Cinci my "We May Never Pass This Way Again Whirlwind Summer Tour 2007"...I mean, geez, we all are turning 50...life's third act is underway...

Nancy, Chris, Brad....I know you think I'm crazy for worrying that one or more of us might not make it to the next reunion, but we still have THREE years...I'd rather hedge my bets and and I am glad, so glad, we could get everyone (that's anyone) from the Class of '75 together NOW! :)

Anyway...I still have 24 hours to relish my time here in Cinci...the pool is calling -- and my buddy Linda and I still have a few laughs and giggles to share.

Meanwhile, I must steel my heart for the inevitable...

V-A-C-A-T-I-O-N

Have you missed me?

I've been in Cinci -- my homeland --for a week -- lounging by the pool, seeing old friends, laughing, crying...

Possibly a key lime martooni, er, martini, or two...

Tonight a mini Class of 1975 reunion with a few OLD friends, trying to remember OLD times, ought to be fun....

As a side note: A belated so-long-been-good-to-know- to The Life of TLC... actually, it was a faithful Cinci blogger was the one to let me know of Tyler's decision to hit the ol' "delete" button. I hadn't been blogging for a week, so I was completely behind the times on all things Stuart...

Also, I had planned on waxing philosophical about my life as a blogger, etc., on July 15 -- the one-year anniversary of the creation of The Home Stretch...but I was busy tanning by the pool, laughing, crying, and enjoying a key lime martooni...etc., etc.

I am sure I will have more insight and philosophical wisdom following my journey to The Homeland, hours of mingling with my childhood peeps, and a belly full of Skyline Chili (two cheese coneys, mustard, no onion), a Frisch's Big Boy (with extra tartar sauce), and four White Castle sliders with extra pickles...good times, good times!

I've seen the downtown Cinci skyline, my old street, my old friends...and I must say, that for turning the Big 5-0 this year, we all look damn good.

I'll post some pics when I return...

I am at peace. I am one with the universe. I am on vacation.

Later!

IF ONLY I'D HAD ONE...

Pizza, pizza, pizza!

It's a good thing my 14-year-old son loves pizza, cuz that's about all I'm up for cookin' after a long day schlepping groceries at the local Super Valu.

Some might currently blame my hatred of cooking/baking on the relentless, sweltering heat. Who wants to turn on the oven when it's 88 degrees in the kitchen already? (Our air conditioning is on the fritz.)

But here's the truth...

I blame my lack of culinary ingenuity on the fact that I never had a Kenner Easy Bake Oven.

Never.

My childhood best friend, Valli, had an Easy Bake Oven, however.

And I was GREEN with envy. I loved spending the night at her house and "baking" by lightbulb one of those adorable little Easy Bake Oven Cakes.

It was too cool.

She also had the Barbie Dreamhouse, and some cool plastic go-go girl wigs for playing dress-ups. But the Easy Bake Oven was my heart's desire.

Seems I'm not the only Boomer gal -- or guy -- with fond memories of the Easy Bake Oven.

For a bittersweet stroll down Easy Bake memory lane, click here...

Have a great Wednesday!

CHANGE IS GOOD

If you've been hooked on The Eye, you need to check out The Voices of Stuart, Peg's new blog. I've added it to my links.

It looks great, and it's exciting to have a new Stuart news/discussion format to explore.

(Peg is a brave woman -- blogging all that is Stuart is not for the faint of heart...but she has proven herself up to the challenge.)

Speaking of exploring...

I spent the day exploring the new Walgreens in Carroll with a couple of girlfriends...you'd think I'd been on a cruise, I am so relaxed after a day at The Wall with my peeps...

Walgreens is a nice change from that other "Wal", if you catch my drift.

Change is good. Without it we die. And we miss out on some great makeup lines and nail polish colors, too...:)

CLOSURE AND THE ART OF MATCHING SOCKS

I am as excited as everyone else in the Stuart blogosphere to see the results of the "Name That Blog" contest as The Eye takes its rightful place in Stuart blog history and Peg's new blog is unveiled.

It's so much fun now to just read the blogs, observe the antics of some, and then walk away...shut off the computer...read a book...it is amazing to me how much free time I have to accomplish other things now that I am no longer blogging about Stuart.

Things like laundry...my family hasn't had matched socks in a year...now they do. Yee-hah!

Things like catching up with my friends -- OK, so I still didn't get my friend Linda's birthday card in the mail in time...some time/organizational deficiencies die hard.

I have, with my new-found extra time and the help of my loving sister, organized my closets, my kitchen cupboards, my bathroom shelves...a place for everything and everything in its place, as the old saying goes.

And I guess, on the eve (or close to) the unveiling of Peg's new blog, that's how I am looking at The Eye's "retirement", as it were. The Eye had its place, its time, its purpose, its glory, its good and bad times...it had a life of its own.

The Eye was not the first Stuart blog -- that honor goes to Nate Westre's Good Egg Gazette -- nor was it the last. But it stood out from the rest because it offered honest-to-God news reporting in blog format...citizen journalism. It also opened the door to some hard-hitting editorializing that cut to the chase on more than one issue.

Sure, it got people's dander up -- being forced to think, to face the truth, will do that.

It's only right-- and natural -- for Peg to create and continue her own brand, her own style, of blogging . It is the logicial and necessary next step.

Of course, I find so darn amusing those who would give their eye teeth if Peg could/would delete The Eye -- as if it never existed...you know, sort of like what young Mr.Coe did with his original blog...kept the site meter but ditched the reality...the good,the bad and the ugly that made up Stuart politics this past year.

Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, folks.

But I digress.

Indeed, it's time to close the door, turn the page, and start anew a fresh chapter in that whacky world we've all come to know and love as the Stuart blogosphere.

It's been a great place to visit -- and once upon a long time ago, I lived there.

It was real. And it was fun. And for the most part, it was real fun.

Goodbye, IEYE NEWS. Hello,??????

And the winning name is...

Meanwhile, I've got a rogue sock in need of a mate...gotta go!

TRY TO REMEMBER

SOME THOUGHTS ABOUT FAILURE

Seems one of my chicken-hearted anonymous Stuart detractors finds it great fun to leave snide comments on my Father's Day post since I blocked comments on the "Changing Of The Guard" piece.

Ah, the beauty of comment moderation...

But his or her most recent comment inspired me to write about the very thing he or she is ridiculing me for...namely, failure.

He or she infers -- and finds it "too funny"-- that (in his or her eyes, apparently) my stints at The Stuart Herald, The West Central Valley Voice,The Independent Eye, and my husband's stint in the Methodist Ministry, all failed.

Funny, but I don't see our experiences in those areas as failures at all.

My two years or whatever at The Herald were some of my most prolific years journalistically. I managed to write a weekly column every week -- no small feat -- and many people enjoyed my columns. I wrote about important issues of the day, and human triumph and tragedy,and even won third place in the Iowa Newspaper Association annual contest.

I was fired unfairly, and I believe it was the corporation that owned the paper at the time that eventually handed the paper back over to its owner because, indeed, IT failed to make a go of things.

The best part of being fired, of course, was that it fired me up to start The West Central Valley Voice...we grew the paper from scratch and in a very short time, sported a circulation of roughly 800 a week -- and all from our homes and in addition to our day jobs. We covered four communities like a blanket, and we scooped The Herald on every major story.

Of course, The Voice was never about making money...it was a moral victory and a journalistic labor of love like no other. The time it took to run the paper from the editing side, however, eventually took its toll on my health. And I had a choice to make...my health or the paper.

I chose my health.

It was not an easy decision. I loved The Voice. We all did. And we loved and are still very proud of what we accomplished in 2 1/2 years.

The Eye failed? Oh, reeeely? I dunno. More than 33,900 hits since its inception...and it's still up and running nearly a year later. Just because Suz and I decided it was time for us to move on and officially hand it over to Peg, does not constitute a failure. The Eye has evolved, and is still evolving...and growing by hundreds of hits practically every day.

As for the ministry...they crucified Jesus. Was his ministry a failure? I think not. We chose to leave the ministry for several reasons, but the lives my husband touched with his ministry were numerous. And you never really know how the spiritual seeds you plant grow. Yes, there were some tough times, and not everyone agreed with everything my husband said or did. I challenge you to show me a ministry where there aren't differing opinions and behind-the-pastor's-back murmuring. Such is life in the ministry, Methodist or otherwise.

Anyway, Anonymous, if your comments were meant to hurt my feelings, they did just the opposite.

Writing about my adventures in journalism and the ministry only makes me appreciate these life experiences even more. At least I've had the guts to take a few risks.

It's been a crazy ride. Wouldn't have missed any of it for the world.

Afterall, as someone once said...

"The only real failure in life is the failure to try."

CHANGING OF THE GUARD

Whew.

I feel like a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

My friend/co-blogger Susan and I have officially handed over The Independent Eye to our esteemed colleague, Peggy.

If not familiar with The Eye, click on the link and check it out. Start back in the archives, back to the beginning-- Aug.13, 2006. Interesting stuff. If you love soap operas, you'll love The Independent Eye.

The Eye was a creative experiment, and we accomplished what we set out to do -- shine some light on some dirty backroom politics taking place in Stuart, IA.

Our blogging didn't erase the dirty politics, as evidenced by more recent posts by our pal Peggy. But like shining a flashlight on cockroaches in the middle of the night, it made it harder for the dirty politicians to survive without scrambling for cover.

And now, we pass the flashlight to Peggy for good...

Ahhh. Sweet relief.

You see, if you read enough of the comments, and the other back-and-forth, you will discover that the nasty-stupid-call-them-what-you-will underbelly of the Stuart populace didn't much care for me and Suz. We hit a nerve, crossed their territory one too many times. They tried to run us out by degrading us and our families, and while we continually beat them over the head with the truth -- and the truth HAS prevailed -- the bottom line is...you can't fix stupid.

Irritating, like hemroids, is the best way to describe some of the "anonymous" commenters we were dealing with. I believe I called them "a brood of vipers" in my final comment the other day...

Anyway, our friend Peggy is a bright, intuitive, "here's what I think" kinda gal, and a helluva good writer. And to top it all off, she lives in Stuart, and commands the respect of the vipers. She is kickin' blog butt and takin' names...and more power to her.

It's just time for me and Suz to move on. To let Stuart politics go.

So we officially passed the torch.

Peggy's been carrying the blog on her own, really, for some time now.

The vipers are happy, and so are we.

Susan and I are proud of The Eye...we created it, we designed it, we gave hours and hours of our personal time to it...and we ferreted out the truth and blogged it, much to the chagrin of our detractors.

The dirty Stuart politics will go on -- they have for eons -- but no longer do they go on under cover of complete darkness. The Eye, from its start, provided a much-needed checks-and-balances look atthe local political issues, and now Peggy carries the torch.

What direction Peggy takes The Eye is her business.

Suz and I said what we had to say, when it needed to be said, and we leave The Eye on our grounds, at our timing, in the most capable, talented bloggng hands in Stuart.

Here's looking at you, Stuart! It's been real!

Blog on, Peg!

THINKING OF YOU, DAD

Maybe it was the fact that I could not recall my user name and password to sign in to my own blog.


Maybe it was the fact that it is June 17 and I have not posted since March.


Or maybe it's the new diet program I just joined.


I dunno.


I feel compelled to update my blog and start writing again.


Let's start with the June 17th angle...omigosh! It's Father's Day!


John's big present is letting him sleep in and not be responsible for pottying the puppy (a new addition to our family since my last post.) I've also promised him a foot rub...he's working three jobs right now and those dogs are darn tired.


Of course, a Father's Day doesn't go by that I don't miss my father, who died 10 years ago.


Not that we were particularly close...


In fact, I always wished that Hallmark would come out with a special line of holiday cards targeted for dysfunctional families. You know..."You were never really there for me, Dad, but gosh darn it, I love you! Happy Father's Day!"


Something like that.


Maybe a picture on the front of the card sporting an empty 12-pack of beer...


Not that I am bitter.


'Cuz the truth is, all parents damage their children in some respect. However, I know, at the ripe old age of almost-51 that most Dads -- and most Moms -- do the best they can with the parenting skills they have in raising their children.


Hey,Dads make mistakes. And children, bless their hearts, are forgiving, loving little creatures.


No matter what, your Dad is your Dad.


And, no matter what, and despite his shortcomings, he deserves a day to be celebrated.


Happy Father's Day, Dad!


I love you.

You who are on the road
Must have a code
that you can live by

And so become yourself
Because the past
is just a good bye.

Teach your children well,
Their father's hell did slowly go by,
And feed them on your dreams
The one they picked, the one you'll know by.

Don't you ever ask them why,
if they told you, you would cry,
So just look at them and sigh...
and know they love you.

And you, of tender years,
Can't know the fears
that your elders grew by

And so please help them with your youth,
They seek the truth
before they can die.

Teach your parents well,
Their children's hell will slowly go by,
And feed them on your dreams
The one they picked, the one you'll know by.

Don't you ever ask them why,
if they told you, you would cry,
So just look at them and sigh...
and know they love you.

IT'S MY NEMESIS' BIRTHDAY

Happy Birthday, Barbie!

Yes, today is the official "birthday" of everyone's favorite fashion doll -- Barbie.

I hate her.

Always have.

I think my late mother, God rest her soul, hated Barbie, too, cuz she never bought me one. Not one.

Oh, I had a Little Miss Revlon doll -- a hand-me-down from my older sis. And a Babette doll -- the cheap grocery store version of Barbie (yikes).

And I had a Tressy and a Francie -- all Barbie wannabes.

But no Barbie. Until I was 30, and my good friend Linda surprised me with my first Barbie.

Too late.

I stuck her in the attic.

Impossible fashion and figure standards hve been set by that woman -- and frankly, Barbie has not always been the brightest bulb in the pack. Yet somehow she's managed to have some of the most exciting and interesting careers...

How DOES she do it?

Well, more on my nemesis later.

Must get to my job...doubt very much you'll ever see a Grocery Schlepper Barbie...

WELL-BEHAVED WOMEN RARELY MAKE HISTORY

THANK GOD FOR CLARENCE BIRDSEYE

TV dinners.

Boil-in-bag lasagna.

Frozen pizza, waffles, pancakes.

Where would my family be today if not for the wonders of frozen food?

Starved, I tell you. We'd be be starved.

Well, not really. John is the cook in the family -- and an excellent one, I might add.

But those days when John is working overtime or out of town...and it's Mama's turn to cook...well, nothing beats a frozen Tony's Pizza.

Just ask my son, Daniel.

Let's just say that Clarence Birdseye, the beloved Father of Frozen Foods (he developed the flash-freeze method that makes all our lives a little easier today), is a patron saint at our house.

One of my husband's favorite memories from the early days of our marriage is the time he was bedridden up in our loft bedroom, and had to rely on me to bring him up a meal. What to do? Frozen boil-in-bag lasagna ( drop bag in boiling water for 5 min.), as it turns out, was the frozen food entree du jour.

Sad thing was, I was somehow distracted, boiled the sucker dry, and poor John was a mighty hungry man that night...

I believe that instance was the impetus for the Swanson HungryMan frozen dinner line, but I can't say for sure...

Anyway, today is National Frozen Food Day, so celebrate accordingly.

If your husband asks you out for a fancy dinner, protest alluringly and whisper seductively in his good ear, "Sorry, darling, but it's National Frozen Food Day. We're having Stouffer's Frozen Meat Lasagna."

And then watch the romantic sparks fly!

WHY SOME RELATIONSHIPS GO DOWN THE TUBES

by Ann Kult

Twenty-seven years ago today, my husband met the woman of his dreams...

And then he met me.

Badabump.

No, seriously, folks...We met at a local eatery during an afterwork get-together...it was a Tuesday...

"Once upon a March 4th dreary..."

It was a snowy day -- not as snowy as the past few days here in Iowa -- but it was snowing...

"He, a carpenter, strong and able,
Happened by the writer's table..."

John and I have been through a few career changes since then...more than two decades of marriage, of course, bring with them more than career changes.

I'd be lying if I said we'd never faced any challenges or tough times in our relationship...

But nothing can come between two lovebirds faster than the debate over that age-old rascally relationship wrecker, the toothpaste tube. Well, maybe the whole "toilet seat up or down" issue, but that's fodder for another column.

Anyway...Here's to decades-long relationships and the sense of humor required to make them last!

"Quothe the carpenter and the writer...'Evermore.' "

WILD FANTASY AT 50

THE AGONY OF 50

THE BEAUTY OF 50

AARP...ARGH! BUT THEN AGAIN...

by Ann Kult

Well, it's official.

In fewer than 10 days, I will be eligible for membership in the American Association of Retired People (AARP).

Argh!

I'll turn 50 on Oct. 24 . I'll turn 50 on Oct. 24. (I keep repeating it so it will sink in).

So this week I get in the mail a pre-AARP membership card tucked inside an envelope sporting a supposedly 50-year-old fantastic looking woman cozily napping alongside the ocean.

Obviously, this alleged half-a-century-old woman does not live in Iowa and work part-time at a grocery store.

Do you still get to join if you can't afford to retire until you're 110?

"How comfortable should 50 be?" the advertisement asks.

How comfortable, indeed.

In a perfect world, I imagine, a tad more comfortable than I am feeling right now. Although I must admit, my trusty 13-year-old down comforter does the trick on a frosty fall night. I also enjoy a quick nap on my porch swing on a sunny fall afternoon from time to time.

But I digress.

Inside the envelope, I am assured by my fellow half-centurians: "There's a lot ahead of you. AARP is dedicated to making it easier for you."

Oh, really? Do tell...

"50. Feels good doesn't it" the somewhat annoying PR piece continues.

Well, what do they mean by "feels good"? I will go so far as to say that 50 does feel good from the vantage point of, say, the alternative...that being death, of course. And 50 doesn't feel too bad overall until I have to kneel down to pick something up off the floor, and I no longer just spring back up.

But sure, all in all, 50 feels pretty good. After I have my coffee. And a really hot shower. And a therapeutic massage. And four Extra Strength Tylenol geltabs.

Badabump.

Then they ask me, "But what do you want for the future? 50 more healthy years?"

Definitely.

"Financial security?"

That's a no-brainer.

Anyway, my sister, who turns 58 Monday, says she has made a sideline of tossing her AARP membership flyers away as fast as they arrive. But I think I will join. Why not?

I once took a gander at a copy of AARP Magazine, and there, smack dab on the cover, was that handsome, still sexy as ever, actor Richard Gere...yum. If he's 50-plus, it can't be all bad, can it?

It can? OH.

Well, I've decided to meet 50 head on, anyway. AARP membership and all.

Frankly, I think being around for half a century has been, all things considered (and after a few margaritas) a pretty cool ride. My family, my friends have all made my life's journey thus far such a blessing.

The best thing about turning 50 (besides still being alive and all)? With age comes wisdom. And perspective. Not to mention the "Hey, I'm 50, take me as I am, or don't take me; love me, love my cat" 'tude that growing older affords.

Ah! The freedom!

Well, it's Sunday. Gotta go! Things to do, places to go, people to see!

So, on behalf of Katie Couric (who turns 50 this year), Richard Gere, Cybill Shepherd, Sally Field, Robin Williams, and all my other fellow talented, sexy, still-going-strong Baby Boomers aged 50 and over, I wish you all a fun-filled, spirit-nourishing Sunday.

And remember, in the words of Grandma Moses, "Life is what you make it. Always has been. Always will be."

I NEED A NOSE MITTEN

As of yesterday, I have joined the ranks of those suffering from the first cold of the early fall.

There are certainly worse maladies.

And I'm not complaining, really. But it occurred to me this a.m. while showering that the worst part of a cold for me -- aside from needing a 24/7 nose mitten -- is that my sense of smell and taste vanish.

Not being able to smell or taste renders two of my life-long obsessions pointless -- food and aromoatherapy.

Let me rephrase that -- food isn't so much pointless -- one does need one's energy and nutrition when one has a cold. But what's the point of, say, eating chocolate, if you can't taste it? And what's the point of getting up in the morning if you can't eat/taste chocolate?

My bigger concern this morning, however, is not chocolate, or the lack of ability to taste it.

Oh, no. It's far more seri0us than THAT!

Here's my number-one heartache while enduring my cold -- I can't smell my aromatherapeutic toiletries.

Sure, a hot, steamy shower does wonders for an achy body. And I am most thankful for good water pressure.

But why shower when I can't smell my apricot facial scrub, cotton milk body wash, and white nectarine and pink coral flower-scented shampoo?

And believe you me, there is only one thing worse than a scent-free shower...and that is, of course, a scent-free after-shower ritual. You know what I mean ladies...it's rather boring when you have to rub in, splash on, moisturize, etc., without being able to breathe in the delightful aromas of shower-clean scented deodorant, aloe and cucumber moisturizer, and cherry blossom body splash.

I dare not describe the absolute depths of depression I sank to when I went to layer my perfume.

Oy.

COMMENT MODERATION IS OFF!

Well, I've decided to go without comment moderation and see what happens...

Registration, I think, disuades folks from commenting because it is a time-consuming and confusing process.

I can always switch back if the nasty trolls and sock puppets show back up...

Thanks to all of you who are reading my posts, and thanks for the encouraging comments thus far.

Hope you've had time to reflect today on how precious life truly is.

Take care...

LOOKING BACK: A CHILD'S VIEW OF 9/11

by Ann Kult

So I'm sitting here looking through my files this a.m., re-reading everything I've ever written about 9/11, and I 'm thinking about where I was five years ago today. And then I start thinking about how we, as a country, observed the first anniversary of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks.

Remember how raw our emotional wounds still were then?

Well, a few moments ago, I happened upon some poems written by Menlo Elementary School third and fourth graders back in Sept. 2002. Their topic was "compassion" because compassion was the first character trait the students were learning about as part of character education induring classroom guidance.

How fitting.

If I remember correctly, some of the students were asked to read their compassion poems during a special 9/11 first anniversary remembrance ceremony at Menlo Park.

Let's see...those third and fourth graders are now eighth and ninth graders. My son was one of those third graders whose poem was chosen to be read.

He is all pumped today because he has his first eighth-grade football game.

Five years ago today, he was 8 1/2, and not feeling well enough to go to school. I remember thinking later that awful, tragic day how thankful I was that I had him with me.

I remember how I stood in front of a TV watching in total disbelief as the second second plane slammed into the Twin Towers. Then came the news about the attack on the Pentagon. That's when Daniel slipped into the room without me noticing.

"Mommy, why would anybody want to crash into the Pentagon?" Daniel asked, startling me, his beautfiul baby blues wide with fear. "Is it going to happen here?"

"No, no, honey," I assured him, praying I was convincing. "We're perfectly safe."

But like all of us that day, I didn't really know. Five years later, are we any safer? Certainly a question being pondered by many.

Five years later, Daniel is 13 1/2 and he and his friend, Casey, are making a video called, "9/11 Revenge: Tracking Osama".

Kids of my generation grew up playing cops and robbers. My son's generation battles evil suicidal terrorists in their modern-day version of good vs. evil.

How things change, indeed.

But on a hopeful note, I'd like to share a poem written back in Sept. 2002 by Katie Bruno of Stuart; a poem that I think captures so vividly the awsome feeling of patriotism, of pulling together and praying together -- the good that came from the evil; the compassion that flowed -- that deathly September morn five years ago.

I wonder if she remembers writing it...

by Katie Bruno

Amazing
how everyone pulled together during tragedy
Memorable
moments of caring and support
Exhausted
firefighters and volunteers helping
Remembering
all the innocent people that died
Innocence
people that lost their lives
Courageous
firefighters that risked their lives
Awesome
how the country pulled together

FIVE YEARS AGO TODAY...

In memory of those who died on that beautiful, sunny, horrific day, let's each do what we can to make this crazy old world a better place...not just today but every day.

Give your loved ones an extra hug and a smooch; call that old friend you've lost touch with. Forgive. Lend a hand to those less fortunate. Give thanks. Pray for peace.

Life can change in the blink of an eye.

Sept. 11, 2001.

The day that shocked and forever changed us all.

We remember.

A FAMILY CHANGES...FOR THE BETTER

My dear friend Trish shared her memories and thoughts of 9/11 with The Homestretch early this a.m. What a heart-wrenching memory, but what a heartwarming personal outcome from the horrific happenings of that awful day. An inspirational for all of us that, indeed, good can come from evil.

Thank you so much, Trish, for leading off this 9/11 memorial with your story (it also appears under Comments, but I just didn't want anyone to miss this)...

"It was my first year working at Moeller (High School). I had a student walk in to my office and say, "Mrs. Niehaus, another plane crashed into the second tower. Do you think this is an accident?" I decided he was asking his mom, and I was his mom in that moment, not an employee of Moeller High School. I wanted to hug him, I just looked at him and said, "I don't think so, honey". He then just asked "why?". "I don't know" was all I could say at that moment. He just put his head down and walked out of my office.

I came home and told all three of my children how very much I loved them.

Since that day, my boys have chosen careers that were maybe because of that day. They sure make a mom proud.

Brad is now 25 and a firefighter/paramedic. He loves what he does and knows he is making a difference.

Mark is now 20 and a United States Marine. He is stationed in Bahrain, Saudi Arabia and he absolutely knows he is making a difference.

So, this family was changed by the events of that sad day. As it usually goes, we were changed for the better. "

(If you would like to share your 9/11 memories or thoughts, please feel free to do so either under "Comments" at the end of this post, or my earlier "Remembering 9/11" post, or email me at anniejen@longlines.com.)

IN MEMORY OF 2,998 LIVES LOST

Where were you that bright, beautiful morning of Sept. 11, 2001?

Sure, here it is, a couple of days before the fifth anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks and wherever you are, there's probably a high school football game; the kids busy gearing up for Homecoming in a few weeks. Our gripes with our jobs, our figures, our bad hair days -- all those little petty details of our daily lives -- consume us.

Indeed, life has gone on. But it's never really been the same, has it?

Remember that overwhelming feeling of shock and disbelief as you watched the first plane, and then the second, crash into the Twin Towers that morning? Remember how horrific it felt to not know how many more planes might be heading for, well, where? When?

The Pentagon. Pennsylvania.

Shrouds of smoke. Frantic people running for their lives. Watching the Twin Tower footage over and over as our brains -- and our hearts -- tried to comprehend the incomprehensible.

2,998 lives lost.

Life in the United States as we knew it came to a grinding halt that morning. Remember? People glued to TVs everywhere. Disbelief. Grief. Fear.

But do you also remember the overwhelming feeling of flag-waving patriotism? Of pulling together, praying together, greeting our neighbors and loving our friends and families with a little extra oomph in those days, weeks and months following 9/11?

What are your memories of Sept. 11, 2001? What are your feelings five years later? I invite you to take a moment or two this weekend and share your 9/11 memories and feelings here at The Home Stretch. Either email me at anniejen@longlines.com or leave your memories, thoughts feelings about 9/11 and where we are five years later as comments following this post.

2,998 lives lost.

Sharing helps the healing continue.

CRIKEY! WE'VE BUT ONE LIFE TO LIVE!

In all honesty, I probably only saw the adrenaline-charged Aussie on TV once, maybe twice.

One Christmas a few years back, as I vaguely recall, John and I did buy Daniel a Steve Irwin/Crocodile Hunter action figure and safari truck. Or at least I think it was supposed to be Steve Irwin. Possibly a close facsimile or cheap imitation. I'm not sure.

But no doubt about it, the real Steve Irwin was a larger-than-life hero, a one-in-a-million, animal-loving conservation icon. At least he was to his fans.

When news of Irwin's bizarre death from a stingray's lethal barb to his heart hit the media Monday, poignant eulogies and heartfelt condolences poured out to Irwin's family, via the blogosphere, from stunned, grieving fans around the world.

"A man with a huge heart, a genuine passion for what he did, an infectious enthusiam for life, a love for the natural world, and no fear of death. He died doing what he loved. If only we all could boast such a life and death..." commented "Mark" on the Sydney Morning Herald News Blog.

"We've lost a hero. An idol to our kids. A champion to the cause of conservation. And an inspiration to everyone to follow their hearts and do what you love..." shared a blogger named Stuart.

"...Nothing but admiration for the way Steve Irwin lived his life. He took something he truly, passionately loved and made a nice living doing it. He traveled the world, and shared what he learned with the world in his unique, energetic, enthusiastic style. I can't help but think of Rosalind Russell as Auntie Mame when I think of Steve Irwin, "Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!" He knew his entire life what he wanted to do, he spent his life living. Few of us are so lucky to do so much good for so many and have such a blast doing it...", wrote Jason of Warwick, NY.

Jason went on..."In Grover's Corners, the setting for Thornton Wilder's Our Town, Emily asks the Stage Manager: Emily: Does anyone ever realize life while they live it? Stage Manager: No, no they don't. The poets.... and the saints, they do. Some...Steve Irwin LIVED his life the way he wanted, doing what he loved, with whom he loved, and did a world of good for environmental conservation along the way. I am saddened that he's no longer with us but proud and consoled to say that here was a man who spent every minute on this earth doing what he loved..."

"How rare is it that?" asked Jason. "How wonderful it must have been for him to live with such unbridled, joyful, passion."

How wonderful, indeed. Just think what inbridled, joyful passion awaits all of us who are brave enough to make a living doing what we truly love. Of course, chucking the 9-5 desk job in pursuit of our heart's true, more adventurous career desire usually involves a little thing called "risk" that most of us, unlike Irwin, are mighty afraid to take.

Question: What are the "crocodiles" in your life/career that you are afraid to face?

Irwin knew the risks of cavorting with crocodiles and the other dangerous creatures that he loved, but he refused to let those risks get in the way of what he wanted to do.

"I have no fear of losing my life," he is quoted as once saying. "If I have to save a koala or a crocodile or a kangaroo or a snake, mate, I will save it."

No apologies from Irwin for living his life and making his living being true to his authentic self. Would you expect anything less from a guy who was given a 12-foot scrub python for his sixth birthday? The crocodile gig, I believe, was in Irwin's khakis. And he was, it seems, born to be a showman. He combined the two so well. To leave his unique call of the wild unanswered would have been spiritual suicide for Irwin.

Question: How many of us commit spiritual suicide by not answering our own "calls of the wild"? Most of our calls aren't that wild at all. Not a crocodile in sight. Maybe we feel nudged to take a college course, or get that nursing degree, or write that novel. It's what we'd love to do, but..."

Like proverbial sands through the hourglass, our lives slip away, carrying our dreams away with them.

Ironically, of course, it was a stingray, not a crocodile, that brought Irwin's maverick career and life to a sudden, tragic end. Whodathunk?

Question: What surprise "stingrays" have stung you, or barbed your heart at some point along your personal or professional journeys?

We raise our kids, give them everything we've got, and sometimes, in spite of our efforts, they whip around and break our hearts in various and sundry ways. But would we trade having our kids and all the parental stress and sorrow that often accompanies raising them, for a boring, sterile life without them?

Hell, no.

I love to write. I love to write columns. I'm blogging every day and loving it -- doing what I love -- writing -- and I've been stung a few times with some ugly comments. Not everyone likes whatI have to say. And I'm not making a blessed dime. Am I going to stop writing?

Hell, no.

I once read a popular career self-help book titled, "Do What You Love, The Money Will Follow." Well, I'm here to tell you that money does not always follow when you do what you love.

I'm also here to tell you that sometimes, you're swimming along in your life, doing what you love, and you happen upon a stringray. Sometimes you get the stingray and sometimes the stingray gets you.

Unfortunately for The Crocodile Hunter, the stingray's strike was lethal. For most of us, though, we live to see another day, make another dollar. Might as well make that dollar doing what you love. Sure, the stingrays may still follow, but do what you love anyway. Risk! Take a chance! Grow! Live and work passionately! Find your sense of adventure and follow it! Trust!

One final question: If you die tonight, what would you regret not having done?

Whatever you want to do, or think you can do, begin it now.

Remember Steve Irwin.

Realize your life while you're living it.

Live an authentic life.

MOODLE ON, MY CHILDREN

Mondays off are meant for moodling.

And that is pretty much what I have done all day. Maybe you have moodled the day away as well. I hope you have. Everyone needs to moodle now and then...it's the best way to find emotional clarity amid the frenzy of this thing we call "life".

Maybe you have moodled, and you don't even know it.

Let me ask you: Have you, at some point during this long Labor Day weekend, dawdled? Or puttered? Or putzed? If your answer is yes, then by golly, you have moodled. If your answer is no, for shame. During every harried life some moodling should occur. For moodling, explains writer Brenda Ueland (who coined the word), induces revealing and rewarding reveries -- those a-ha moments that nourish our souls.

Kids need moodling time, too.

However, it seems to me that kids these days aren't allowed much moodling. Oh, they get plenty of extracurricular enrichment -- which is a good thing, certainly. But too much of it can lead to stress, according to an article I read in Sunday's USA Weekend. Did you read it?

It was titled, "The Benefits of Boredom" by Ann Pleshette Murphy, and it pointed out that according to a recent poll by KidsHealth, 41% of children feel stressed most or all of the time because they have too much to do. But Ms. Pleshette Murphy went on to say that research also shows that enforcing boredom (a first cousin to moodling, you might say), or opportunities to daydream, produces brainwaves associated with creativity.

That shouldn't be news to anyone who grew up in the 60s...Most time I whined to my mom, "I'm bored," she gave me a list of things I could do -- clean my room, wash dishes, etc. -- and it was amazing how suddenly creative and not-bored I could be .

Anyway...according to this article, "when kids have a chance to sit with their thoughts -- not while playing a video game, watching TV or doing homework-- their brains benefit in ways that enhance other kinds of learning. And being able to calm yourself and de-stress can have lifelong health benefits."

In other words, before we schedule another dance/guitar/piano/tumbling lesson on our kids' off days from volleyball/football/cross country practice, or that weekend "select" sport tournament, maybe we just ought to pencil in a new routine called NOTHING.

Yup. You heard me. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

I can hear the parental gasps, moans, and general gnashing of teeth as I type...but I think the idea might hold some value.

Call it moodling. Call it boredom. Call it just plain old-fashioned downtime.

Everybody needs it.

So, take it or leave it, Ms. Pleshette Murphy advises the following:

• Make downtime a scheduled family activity.
• Enhance, don't engineer. In other words, don't rush to fill the void when children say, "There's nothing to do". You could repeat my mother's other favorite "I'm bored" retort, "Spit in your shoe and send a letter to Kalamazoo." But like that other 60s humorous parental directive (my father's favorite) "Go play in traffic", I really don't recommend it.
• Limit TV and computer use. Ouch. That's a tough one. But hey, if we made it through our childhoods having to generate our own fun without staring at a screen , our kids really can do the same. Unless, of course, a child's mother is addicted to blogging, which then requires yet another 60s' parental command, "Do as I say, not as I do."

Well, as another Labor Day weekend winds down and I sink slowly into a relaxing, hot bubble bath , surrounded by aromatherapy candles and calmed by Barry Manilow's Greatest Hits playing ever so softly in the background, I want to wish you and your kids many long, boring hours of inefficient idling.

Let the creative juices flow!

(NOTE: I posted this same article on my other blog...I was too busy moodling to be creative twice on one Labor Day...forgive me?)

Cricket Season & Other Anniversaries Of The Heart

Today has been one of those days...it's supposed to be a day of rest (see my earlier post) but the lawn called to me, "Annie, rev up that lawnmower... NOW!"

So I did.

Then I noticed how the morning glories, though beautiful, have taken over my entire garden, and the creeping jenny, albeit great, green groundcover, is really a weed and it has highjacked most of the yard.

Do I really care? No. But I started yanking weeds anyway and that's when I saw the first one. The first cricket of "cricket season". All sorts of little crickets hopping to and fro...they do that this time of year; that summer's-almost-over-but-fall-ain't-quite-here time of year that brings out not only the crickets but the big, beautiful (and scary looking) garden spiders...

It's the time of year I always think about my friend Kim...if you are reading this, Kim, you know where I am headed.

It was, I think, 1968...Kim and her family had just moved back to our neighborhood, and sixth grade was just getting underway. We were playing outside in the field behind the elementary school where it was crickets galore. And so Kim and I got a box, caught some of the little buggers, and one of them we named Flower...

Ah. The innocence of life back in the sixth grade in Madeira, Ohio.

That following summer -- our sixth-grade summer, as we still to this day reminisce -- was THE best summer of our lives. Kim, Tricia, Helen and I were best buds, and we rode bikes, and slept outside in sleeping bags, and talked about boys (as we were just discovering them), and how the four of us were going to get an apartment together some day...

We'd spend our days just hanging out, sometimes lying on the ground, staring up into the cloudless sky for what seemed like hours..."The sky is so blue," I remember one of us remarking once. It was, indeed, a scene right of Wonder Years.

As it turned out, the four of us never did share an apartment. We all went our separate ways after high school. But for the most part, we have always kept in touch.

We tried re-enacting that blue-sky moment years later -- around 1990 -- after I moved back to Cinci from Iowa. We were in our mid-30s, married...way past the age of catching crickets and naming them. But it felt so good to be back together again. So, putting our harried lives on hold for a moment, we all made our way down to the ground in Tricia's backyard one mid-summer afternoon and gazed up into the sky.

"The sky is so blue!" one us said, and we laughed and laughed.

For a brief moment, we were back in sixth grade again...lighthearted, carefree, awash in the sense that like the big, blue endless sky above, our lives stretched out before us, chock full of possibility and opportunity...

But then it was getting late, and there was supper to fix and diapers to change, and...

I don't think we will ever forget our sixth grade summer. Those rare and precious times we are blessed to be together -- usually class reunions (we LOVE class reunions), we almost always bring up the "blue sky" day, and Kim and I to this day fondly remember Flower, the cricket.

From the vantage point of my "omigod I'm almost 50" summer, life at 12 seemed so simple then. (Somebody stop me before I break into a teary rendition of "The Way We Were! Kleenex! I need a Kleenex!)

Ah. It's all good, really. Even the not-so-simple stuff.

Funny... to this day, I cannot kill a cricket.

So Kim, Tricia, Helen...if you are reading this...Here's to crickets, blue skies, sixth-grade summers, old friends, and life's innocence lost.

And to the rest of you...what are your favorite memories? What brings back, with a rush and a sigh, a heart-enveloping memory? What are your special anniversaries of the heart?

Celebrate them whenever you can.

DON'T YOU JUST LOVE SUNDAYS?

BABUSHKA BABES

Just a quick post to say, hey, Ned Nick, I think the babushka thing is comin' back as evidenced by these three gorgeous babes wearing, what else but...babushkas! (See comments from NN under Edwina Scissorteeth post.)

It is the easiest way to ensure a good hair day, although you are right, NN...wearing one's babushka too tight can cause one to falter when taking a college history test.

Oy.

That is me, of course, in the middle; Kristin to my left; Jess to my right. Ironically, Jess IS my hair stylist! My friend, Mary, just sent this pic to me today....good times, good times. I believe we were on our way to the Jason Aldeen "Hick Town" concert?

Perfecting the babushka look is time consuming...is there such a thing, really, as THE perfect babushka look? Well worth pondering THAT, NN.

More later, kiddos.