From the Quirky Side of Life

ITALY -- THE PEOPLE (FINAL CHAPTER)

2009-05-27T13:54:00.000-07:00

Even though there are many untold stories about my adventures in Italy, I suspect that this will be my final blog. The people I chanced to meet in Italy were, by far, the best part of my trip. I will share with you a little about my “brief encounters”.

ITALY – THE PEOPLE (FINAL CHAPTER)

Francis and I stayed in a lovely apartment in Rome for five days and at La Casa del Garbo, a bed & breakfast in Florence for the remainder of our time in Italy. I am still pondering why it seems that people were friendlier in Florence than in Rome. Please don’t misunderstand me, we had a wonderful experience in Rome but the people we met in Florence were more engaging and eager to converse.

GIUSEPPE

It was on our first evening in Florence that Francis and I dined at i’Lorenzaccio’s, a ristorante next door to our bed & breakfast. We met one of the waiters, Giuseppe (a/k/a Joe), a friendly and very handsome Italian. It was on that same evening that Giuseppe was particularly helpful. The B&B office had already closed for the day and on our behalf, Giuseppe telephoned the innkeeper to report our broken toilet. From that moment on, he was our hero and friend. We enjoyed several conversations with him throughout our stay in Florence.

PAUL

On our last full day in Florence, Francis and I crossed the Arno River at the Ponte Vecchio Bridge and walked towards the Pitti Palace. We stopped for lunch at a small sidewalk ristorante, “Celestino”. As we were nearing the end of our delicious meal, a man sitting at the small table next to us, leaned toward Francis and asked, “Excuse me, but do you mind if I ask you a question? I am marveling at your accent. Are you from Texas?” First of all, we were enamored with HIS sexy, British accent (imagine Hugh Grant). Then, Francis explained to him that yes, it is a Texas accent as she had lived in Houston for 45 years. In a matter of seconds, we were engaged in a delightful conversation with Paul, a handsome Brit from Oxford, and his companion, Anita.

We exchanged names, occupations, and travel experiences. Paul was a quick wit and charmed us with flattery and jokes. Francis told him she was in need of someone to hustle her bags while traveling and he readily volunteered for the job. He told us that he and a few of his British mates had spent some time in Boston shortly after 9-11. He was impressed with the Americans’ friendliness and especially enjoyed the way in which Americans curse. I responded, “damn straight!”

Unfortunately, Paul and Anita were leaving Florence in just a couple of hours to return to Oxford. So, Francis gave Paul her e-mail address and asked him to keep in touch. Shortly, after our return to Oklahoma, Francis was delighted to receive an e-mail from our new friend and she forwarded it on to me. It meant a lot to me and Francis that Paul would take the time to correspond with us even after returning to his home and busy life.

OTHERS

There were others with whom we had a brief encounter. I fondly remember Dexter, the bartender at the Scottish pub Tartan Jack’s, Danieli Corvagio, a waiter and student of jazz guitar, Jacopo at i’Lorenzaccio’s, and Giuseppe (not the one previously mentioned) who was the cute guy with great hair who flirted with us at the leather shop. Also, there was the beautiful young woman and her male co-worker at another leather store who asked, “Are you from the South? Are you from Texas?” After going through the same explanation as with Paul, Francis confessed to her Texas drawl and I owned up to my Oklahoma “twang”. With his delicious Italian accent, the young man replied, “I think twang is cute!” Well, that just did me in right then and there. For the first time in my life, I was so proud of my Okie twang!

ARRIVEDERCI

On my last night in Italy, I stood in the center of Piazza della Signoria. I threw my arms open wide as if to embrace the moment and slowly turned in a complete circle. I savored all that I heard and saw – a flutist played haunting tunes, heavenly aromas from the ritzy Rivoire café drifted through the air, and young lovers walked hand in hand. The famous statues, Rape of the Sabines, Cosimo I, and a replica of David towered over me as I stood in the shadows of the famous Uffizi Gallery. It was a thrilling moment yet I was incredibly sad. My time in Italy was over and I desperately wanted to sear the memories of all that had happened to me into my heart forever.

I will never be the same person as I was before my trip to Italy. Enrichment, entertainment, education, expanding one’s horizons, enjoyment, and emotion – isn’t this what travel is all about?

MAY 27, 2009

ITALY -- THE PEOPLE (PART ONE)

2009-05-27T13:50:00.000-07:00

Since my return from Italy, I have shared my thoughts about the food, culture, art, and my experiences with bad hair. However, I have saved the best for last.

ITALY: THE PEOPLE – PART ONE

I enjoyed every part of the Italian experience – the ancient history and architecture, the most fabulous cuisine in the world, the Renaissance art housed in the grandest museums in the world, the Vatican, the Pantheon, and the Colosseum. However, without a doubt, the most treasured experiences involve the people Francis and I met during our 12 days in Italy.

Traveling with Francis is amazing. She knows no stranger, she will chat with anyone, and she even has the nerve to exchange e-mail addresses. She taught me a lot about seizing the moment.

I also discovered that, when traveling, people are more open. Ideas, opinions, and even secrets are shared with ease, without fear of being judged, and without worry that friends at home will somehow find out. Travel encourages openness and honesty.

I will begin with Francesco. Aah, Francesco.

Francis and I took the 11:10 a.m. train to Siena, a small town just 35 miles south of Florence. It was one of those last minute decisions to visit Siena and I am so glad that we did. We bought our tickets, literally ran to the train, and boarded just minutes before the train pulled out of the station. I sat next to and Francis sat across from a handsome young man with a backpack in his lap. Seeing our tickets in hand, he asked us in if we had validated our tickets. Francis and I looked at each other and gasped. Knowing the stiff fine for an invalidated ticket, we became concerned. The young man told us not to worry. He took the tickets from us and wrote the time of departure on the ticket. He told us that his method of ticket validation would assure our not receiving a violation. Somehow we trusted his advice although it seemed preposterous at the time.

We thanked the young man and introduced ourselves to him. He told us his name, Francesco, and explained that he is backpacking across Europe. His home is near Guadalajara, Mexico, however, he had lived in the States several years ago. After working and saving for two years, he set off to Europe for sightseeing and adventure. He shared with us stories about his childhood and family, his girlfriends, his studies, his dreams and goals. We were quite impressed with his maturity and wisdom.

Across the aisle from us, an older couple was sitting. The man spoke to his wife in Italian and at the same moment, Francesco and I looked at each other and laughed. I said, “That man sounds just like Don Corleone in the Godfather!” He said he was thinking the very same thing. We were waiting for the old gentleman to say, “I’m gonna make him an offer he won’t refuse.” I told Francis that was going into a blog.

As the train neared Siena, we compared our travel books and determined that we would need to catch a city bus up the steep hill to Il Campo, the best square in Italy. Francesco became our tour leader and assisted us in finding the orange bus to the town center. Once we arrived at the Il Campo stop, we got off the bus together and began our tour of picturesque Sienna. Francesco suggested Osteria la Chiacchera for lunch. The travel book describes it as an “eat-it-and-beat-it, pasta-slinging place, with rickety outside tables clinging to the steep, stepped lane” and I couldn’t say it any better than that! The food was delicious and the company was divine.

After lunch we continued our tour of Siena and discovered it to be charming and absolutely breathtaking. We were mesmerized by the Duomo, fascinated with Il Campo, and found the narrow and cobbled streets charming.

Finally, Francis and I decided it was time to catch a late afternoon train back to Florence. Francesco was staying in Siena a while longer but stated that he would assist us in finding the bus stop. After walking several blocks, we located the bus stop and immediately, the bus bound for the train station pulled to the curb.

I will never forget the last time I saw Francesco. I was standing on the bottom step of the bus and the impatient driver was ready to shut the door. Quickly, Francesco stepped up and kissed me on each cheek as is the Italian custom. He said, “Arrivederci” and I responded, “Grazi. Ciao.” And, in the blink of an eye, he was gone. There were no long goodbyes, no exchanges of last names, facebook information, or e-mail addresses. He simply disappeared.

But such is the life of a traveler.

I had the privilege of meeting people who, for a brief moment in time, came into my life and made an eternal impression on my heart. I will always remember Francesco and will treasure the opportunity to spend an afternoon in his company.

And thanks to Francis, I will always remember to seize the moment for there may not be another opportunity.

May 26, 2009

ITALY -- THE HAIR

2009-05-27T13:44:00.000-07:00

From the first day I arrived in Italy, I had out-of-control hair. Everyday was a bad hair day. I know, some of you are rolling your eyes and thinking, “She’s such a whiner, she should be thankful she has hair, she is self-absorbed . . . boo hoo hoo . . .”. I admit, I could have had worse problems but for me this was almost enough to ruin a good vacation.

In reading through my journal, I am reminded just how awful my hair behaved. Everyday I wrote about the frustration, anger, and dismay I experienced because of my hair. Let me explain.

If it wasn’t raining during our stay in Rome, the humidity was about 99%. My hair goes wild and free in the humidity. The blow dryer provided in the apartment was adequate but was not enough to tame my fuzzy mess. My flat iron, one of life’s necessities, would not work even with the converter. Too many volts were causing it to shut off after 5 seconds. This could only spell disaster for me. So, it was ponytail time.

When we arrived in Florence, I had a meltdown when the blow dryer in our room wouldn’t stay on for more than 30 seconds. I told Francis that it was imperative I get to a hair salon. No matter how shallow this sounds, I didn’t feel good about myself and I needed help immediately. I was prepared to pay big euros for a hair transformation. So, we asked for a recommendation from our hostess at the B&B and she directed us to I Rinascimenti Compagnia Della Bellezza, a salon only a short distance away.

We were greeted by a lovely lady who spoke a tiny bit of English. Through the miracle of her broken English and my hand gestures, we were able to establish my need for a wash, dry, and style. As if receiving a holy epiphany, she suddenly exclaimed, “Oh, no frizzies!” I replied with great enthusiasm, “Si, no frizzies!” She looked at the appointment book and said, “Come back. Four o’clock.”

So, promptly at four o’clock, I returned to the salon. She greeted me and introduced me to Sasha, the cute, young Italian who was to turn my frizzy mop into a sleek and stylish coiffure.

Thus began my experience with Sasha. He took me back to the shampoo bowl where he stood behind my head to wash my hair. And boy, did he wash my hair. He massaged and kneaded my head like it was a lump of bread dough. This went on for at least 15 minutes. Now, picture Meg Ryan in the restaurant scene in “When Harry Met Sally”. You remember the event she was faking and the older woman sitting nearby said, “I’ll have what she’s having.”? Well people, it was that good!

Finally, he asked me to come with him to his station. I was barely able to walk but in sheer ecstacy I did manage to stagger to his chair where he began to work his magic. He blew my hair dry, applied some expensive products, and fired up the flat iron. The entire time he was drying and styling he was talking, talking, talking. Sasha had previously lived in the States and he could speak very good English so I could keep up with him pretty well. In one breath he told me he was mourning the loss of his male lover and in the next breath he told me he was interested in finding an American wife. Needless to say, I was totally confused.

Not only that, but apparently Sasha’s brain was going faster than his tongue. He would catch his breath and then simply say, “You know, blah, blah, blah . . .”. Over and over he repeated, “You know, blah, blah, blah . . .”. I was very amused but didn’t dare laugh out loud for fear he would do something awful to my hair.

Finally, after one hour of kneading, rubbing, rinsing, drying, combing, and spraying, Sasha was finished. I couldn’t believe how awesome my hair looked. It was shiny, smooth, and well-behaved. My life was suddenly good and I was ready to explore Florence. I turned to Francis and said, “Now I feel like ME again!” “NO FRIZZIES!”

May 20, 2009

ITALY -- THE ART

2009-05-27T13:40:00.000-07:00

Florence is intense!

In Florence, there are so many museums which contain so much art it is nearly impossible to see it all even in an entire lifetime. I was on the fast track during my week long stay in Florence and only saw a few of the highlights recommended in the travel books. My aunt Francis and I toured the Uffizi Gallery, Santa Croce Church, and Pitti Palace, to name a few.

On our last full day in Florence, we had an early morning reservation for admission to the Accademia, home of Michelangelo’s David and his powerful (and unfinished) statues entitled Prisoners. I was somewhat surprised that the building style was not the grand architecture of so many other museums and churches in Florence. However, what I was to discover inside was one of the most thrilling experiences in my life.

First, a little history about David. It took Michelangelo three years to carve the statue (1501-1504). He was only 26 years old when he was commissioned to the project. He was given a block of marble that was rejected by other sculptors because they believed it to be too tall, too shallow, and too flawed to be of any value. When completed, David stood outside for 350 years. In 1873, he was moved to a specially built indoor rotunda where he stands to this day.

Now, I will share my experience with Michelangelo’s David. When first entering the Accademia, I encountered the Prisoners and was intrigued by the mysterious figures of men who are struggling to free themselves from the slabs of marble in which they are entrapped. I was studying the pieces as they are lined up in a long hallway when suddenly I looked straight ahead and I saw him, David. My aunt told me not to look yet but I couldn’t resist. Slowly I began to walk toward the 17-foot tall figure of the young shepherd boy David as he was poised to face the enemy, Goliath. There are no words to describe the emotion I felt as I gazed upon the most beautiful piece of art I have ever seen.

At first glance and quite by surprise, my eyes began to sting as tears began to form. I was mesmerized by the details of his face, muscles, his arms and legs, every part of his body is so perfect and life like. I wanted to put my hand on his legs and feet and feel the smooth, cold marble. I wanted to touch his perfect face and hair. Of course, no one is allowed to get that close to David but many people in the rotunda were reverently whispering and most were just standing and staring in awe. I was deeply moved.

Finally, after a long while, I told Francis that I was ready to leave. We moved away from David so we could continue with our tour of the museum. But before leaving, I stopped and turned to look at David one last time. Because I may never see David again, I wanted to burn the memory of him, the moment, the experience, and the emotion into my heart and brain so that I would never forget.

My trip to Italy has changed my life forever. I have a new appreciation for Renaissance art. Could it be that Michelangelo somehow knows that over 500 years after the “birth” of David that his artistic gift absolutely rocked this Okie cowgirl’s world? I hope so!

May 18, 2009

ITALY -- THE CULTURE

2009-05-27T13:29:00.000-07:00

In the few short days I spent in Italy, I learned a big lesson about the importance of knowing and understanding the culture and history of where one calls home.

I had an opportunity to have a nice conversation with an Italian who is near my age and who, in his youth, had traveled throughout the United States before returning to his home in Florence, Italy some twenty years ago. He was exceptionally fluent in English so we were able to have an in-depth, although brief, discussion about his life in Florence and my life in Oklahoma.

I told my new acquaintance that I work at the State Capitol Building, that I volunteer at the National Cowboy Museum, and I am involved in my sister’s business, Bonedust Cowgirl. He listened attentively then made this statement, “You are rich.”

In an instant I thought to myself, he thinks I am just a rich American. So, in response, I just shook my head and said, “No, I’m not rich.” His reply to me was, “Yes, you are very rich.” I explained that I am just a lowly government employee and again insisted that “I am not rich!”

Suddenly, my new friend bristled and with all the passion you would expect from an Italian and with hands flying in the air, he emphatically stated, “Not rich in money. Rich in culture!”

That was my ah-ha moment. I suddenly realized that he and I were talking about two completely different concepts. My idea of being rich is so closely associated to money that I could not see that he was speaking of being rich in other ways such as culture and history.

I see this as a huge difference between Americans and Italians. Of course, there are exceptions but for the most part, Americans are all about stuff. Buying stuff, storing stuff, getting rid of stuff. It’s a vicious cycle. This is what defines Americans as “rich”.

On the other hand, the Italians embrace their culture, habits, food, history, arts, instruments, tastes, and skills. To do this is what they consider as being “rich”.

Over the past several days, I’ve thought a lot about the simple lesson my Italian friend taught me. Actually, I’ve always known what is really important in life. I just needed to have a stranger on the other side of the world to remind me of it. It’s not money – it is culture!

ITALY -- THE FOOD

2009-05-27T13:14:00.000-07:00

I’ve been an on an emotional roller coaster since my recent return from my first trip to beautiful Italy. In one moment, I am sad because I miss Italy and in the next moment, I am all smiles as I recall a pleasant memory.

For someone who never traveled beyond the North American continent, I was not prepared for jet lag, culture shock, drastic time changes, and many other challenges that come with travel. But I quickly adapted and embraced the many differences between America and Italy. To sum up my experiences in a few short paragraphs is absolutely impossible so as special memories of my trip come to mind, I will share them in my blogs.

The Food. Volumes have been written about Italian food. I can’t add anything new and clever to what has already been discussed by greater minds and better cooks than me. The difference between Americans and the Italians is that in Italy, dining is an experience to be savored and enjoyed. In America, it’s fast and fattening. In Italy, there is no rush to eat your meal and the food tastes healthy and pure.

In a ristorante or trattoria, the meal begins with pane (bread) dipped in EVOO (olive oil). Of course, rosso or bianco vino is served and water is ordered “gas or no gas” meaning carbonated or non-carbonated. Then, appetizers, primo piatto or first course (pasta, soup), secondo piatto or second course (meat, fish), insalata (salad), and dolci (dessert) all follow. There is plenty of time to relax and enjoy the flavors of the food and leisurely conversations. Most noticeably, loud music is not blaring in the background. The waiter will not bring the il conto (check) until the customer asks for it and tips are not expected.

I tried several new dishes including deep fried artichoke, a special dessert from Napoli called Baba (cake swimming in rum), pizza unlike anything in the U.S., caprese salad, pecorino cheese, and gelato. I also discovered a delicious drink, Limoncello, which contains 100 proof Vodka. Needless to say, it has some kick to it!

I learned a lot from the Italians about really appreciating the taste of fresh herbs and vegetables, pasta, and wine. A white tablecloth and cheery cloth napkins, a votive candle, and a flower in a small vase make all the difference in the dining experience.

So, in the future, I will reduce the time I cook pasta so that it is firm and not mushy, use less sauce and more olive oil with seasonings, open a bottle of wine for ordinary rather than just special occasions, and use cloth napkins instead of paper. These little touches will forever remind me of the romance and charm of Italy. Delizioso!

May 14, 2009

2300 NORTH LINCOLN BLVD.

2009-04-16T12:40:00.000-07:00

I work in one of the best places in Oklahoma – the Oklahoma State Capitol Building. Everyday I enter into a museum of sorts. The artwork is unrivaled by any other art museum in the state, the architecture is breathtaking, and the best part, of course, is the people that work within its walls. Put aside your opinions that the State Capitol Building is full of long-winded politicians and lazy government employees and know that there are many good things that happen in and around the massive granite walls of this building.

Yesterday, April 15, 2009, was not exactly a typical day at the State Capitol. An estimated 5,000 tax payers rallied on the south plaza in protest to government spending. They carried flags and signs, chanted and cheered in what was called Oklahoma Tax Day Tea Party. I watched from the safety of a second floor window and snapped a couple of photos of the angry yet controlled mob.

After a few minutes of watching the protesters, I walked down a hallway on the second floor which I call the "Hall of Heads", where busts of all the past governors of Oklahoma sit on pedestals. There on the floor sat a small group of young students reading newspapers and talking. I thought it was an interesting contrast to the events unfolding outside on the south steps.

By the end of the day all the protesters, students, tourists, and most of the government workers were gone. Before leaving the Capitol complex, however, I stopped at another display sponsored by a group working to make Oklahomans aware of the number of children who have died as a result of child abuse. Each American flag represents one child. It is very sobering and touching. I took a couple of photos of the flags whipping in the Oklahoma wind.

What a great opportunity I have to work in the State Capitol Building. I would invite anyone to come and see for yourself the treasure that belongs to you!

UNFINISHED BUSINESS

2008-02-05T12:08:00.000-08:00

A woman that I respect recently told me that she NEVER procrastinates. She said she could be accused of being many things but a procrastinator was definitely not one of them. She further stated that when she dies she knows that there will be no unfinished business between her and anyone else. She explained that when an issue arises in a relationship, she meets with the other person and resolves the misunderstanding or problem immediately.

I was quite amazed and even flabbergasted by her statements. Consequently, her remarks sent me on yet another soul searching expedition.

I confess that I am a "mild" procrastinator and even worse, I recognize that there is some unfinished business in my life.

I further admit there are relationships in my life that I would file under the "unfinished business" category. Unfortunately, these are not just relationships with people who I might have had a disagreement concerning a billing statement or who cut me off in traffic. These people are family.

Here I go again, questioning how the relationships got to this point. Feeling sad, guilty, confused, angry. Feeling the death of relationships but never having closure. For me, this is unfinished business. But after two days of wrestling with this bizarre notion, the thought came to me that my business with these particular family members IS finished, however, not particularly by my design. Ending a relationship does not require an agreement by both parties. One person can decide that it’s over and then, it is. It’s finished, over, null and void.

So, I’m back at square one in my quest to come to terms with fractured relationships and a broken heart. Maybe, one day, I, too, can say that I am not a procrastinator. Maybe when I lie on my deathbed, I can honestly say that I am at peace with all of humanity. Until then, I will make every effort to be true to others and myself and to leave no unfinished business.

UNTIL DEATH DO YOU PART . . . AND BEYOND

2007-10-04T11:50:00.000-07:00

Let me preface this by saying that the names have been changed to protect the innocent – if there are any.

Last Saturday night, Hubby and I attended the wedding of our neighbor and her boyfriend. I have attended quite a few weddings but this was without a doubt the most fun wedding I have ever experienced and one I will never forget.

The wedding took place in a local park and was officiated by an Elvis impersonator/minister. He arrived in a pink 1959 Cadillac and in full Elvis attire. The bride was escorted by her shih tzu, Zac, who was appropriately dressed in a little doggie tuxedo. Seven bridesmaids, a flower girl, and a ring bearer served as attendants.

The bride wore a red and black lace dress, black fishnet hose, a red veil and Birkenstocks. The bridesmaids wore dresses of their choice but all wore matching black fishnet hose. The first bridesmaid to lead the processional was Mandy, a tall slender woman in a beautiful pink lace dress. I had never seen Mandy before and thought she was a striking woman with beautiful blond hair and nice makeup. Most of the other attendants I had met at the bachelorette party and found them to be delightful, creative, and witty.

The bride and groom exchanged their personal marriage vows and I noticed that everyone gathered around had big smiles on their faces and some even had tears of joy in their eyes, including me. Immediately after pronouncing the couple as man and wife, Elvis went to the microphone and sang a couple of Elvis songs. We applauded him because he was quite good and after telling the audience, "thank you, thank you very much", Elvis left the building and sped away in his pink Cadillac.

After the ceremony, H pulled me aside and whispered that Mandy is not all she appears to be. Mandy is really a man. Okay, so that explained a few things. Moments later, I stood next to Mandy in the buffet line and commented to her that I really liked her dress. Mandy turned to me and in a deep voice replied, "thank you".

After a wonderful meal, the guests danced to good old rock & roll music, ate wedding cake, drank beer, mingled, and chatted.

I am sure we would all agree that marriage is a serious commitment, however, I believe that a solemn and formal wedding ceremony isn’t mandatory. The bride and groom celebrated their love and future lives together with their beloved friends in their own quirky way. They threw one hell of a party and I was glad to be included in the happy occasion.

Here’s to the newlyweds. May you live long and prosper and may you love each other until death and beyond.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!

2007-09-21T17:47:00.000-07:00

As you know, I have had some difficulty accepting this aging thing. I don't like it. However, growing old is inevitable and considering the alternative, I have decided that it is time to embrace my oldness.

Yesterday was my 54th birthday. Good grief, that's hard to think about much less admit to the world. However, September 20th was a gorgeous day and I celebrated it with gusto!

It started at 6:45 a.m. when my neighbor called me to say that she had left a lemon meringue pie on my front porch. She knows lemon meringue pie is my favorite dessert! My buddies at work took me to lunch at Ted's for the best Mexican food in Oklahoma City. Last night, Hubby and I and two other couples went to Pop's on Route 66 for dinner. I splurged and ordered a chicken fried steak and a vanilla milk shake. So, it was non-stop eating all day long.

I received 20 birthday cards, several greetings via e-mail and telephone, a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and a Supreme Court justice actually sang Happy Birthday to me! The sweetest phone call was from my grandson which totally made my day.

The birthday greetings I received from many dear friends and my precious family remind me that life is good. It's a lifetime of relationships that makes 54 years on this earth seem worth it.

My health is good. I enjoy going to work each day. My home is comfortable. I have a husband and a mutt who love me. My children think I'm okay. My grandson tolerates my hugs and kisses. Life is good.

So, happy birthday to me. I'm just glad I can take in a big breath and blow out all 54 of those darn candles!

BAGPIPES, BOOTS, AND A BIG BLUE WHALE

2007-09-18T13:09:00.000-07:00

Last Friday, Hubby and I went to Tulsa for my pre-birthday celebration. Soon after we settled in our hotel room, our daughter and her boyfriend picked us up and we went to dinner together at Café Ole, a trendy Mexican restaurant at Brookside. After a wonderful dinner (which I enjoyed with equally wonderful margaritas) we went to the Gathering of the Clans ceremony at River Park. Our specific clan was not represented so we didn’t experience the shout of the Maclean battle cry Fear eile airson Eachainn, meaning in Gaelic "Another for Hector", which oddly enough sounds like something a burly Scotsman would shout in a barroom rather than on a battlefield.

Cowboy Trade Day was on Saturday. It is a cowboy-stuff flea market and located on Route 66 just outside of Catoosa, Oklahoma. We arrived around 9:00 a.m. and shopped until a few minutes after noon. This year we weren’t looking for anything particular, however, I did purchase two antler candle holders, which said antlers at one time sat on the head of a six-point buck. The candle holders are made by Dan Porter from central Kansas and his work is exceptionally good. I looked through lots of vintage cowboy boots but didn’t find a pair that would work for me. We were disappointed that the cowboy music and poetry were cancelled and there were not as many vendors as there had been in past years.

After leaving the cowboy sale, we stopped at the Big Blue Whale which is also on Route 66. The whale is the main attraction of what was a water park many years ago. The whale was built in the early 1970's and the water park closed in 1980. Because it was declared a Route 66 roadside attraction in 2002, hundreds of people stop there to explore and take their photo in the mouth of the big blue whale.

Of course, I snapped a few photos of Hubby posing as Jonah just prior to being swallowed by the big fish. A hand painted sign was posted on the old ticket booth which stated NO SWIMING. No swiming? I understand the intent of the sign is NO SWIMMING but it made me laugh anyway.

For those of you who have read my past blogs, you know I love Route 66. Cowboy Trade Day and the Big Blue Whale are only a couple of endless reasons why I get my kicks on Route 66.
What a wonderful way to celebrate my impending birthday!

IT'S LIKE SAYING GOODBYE TO AN OLD FRIEND

2007-09-11T06:58:00.000-07:00

This past weekend, I worked a shift at the National Cowboy Museum where I serve as a volunteer. I love working as a greeter because it never fails that I meet people from literally all over the world. On Saturday afternoon, I had the opportunity to welcome folks from Poland, Michigan, Arizona, and some first time visitors from right here in Oklahoma City. Many art lovers came to the museum to see the Prix de West Invitational show before it closed forever on September 9th.

After I finished with my duties, I walked through the galleries to view the artwork entered in the Prix de West. As I stood before Curt Walters’ paintings of the Grand Canyon, I felt tears sting my eyes. Even after looking at the pieces he entered in this year’s invitational at least a dozen times, I still experience the emotion I did the first time I saw them.

I continued through the galleries and said silent goodbyes to Howard Terpning’s piece entitled Lady of the House which sold for over $750,000 at the silent auction, Craig Tennent’s pieces with water features that look incredibly real, and Gerald Balciar’s stunning sculptures, to name just a few.

Because most of the artwork were sold to private individuals, I know that it is likely I will never see the original art again. That truly saddens me. Many pieces in the Prix de West spoke to me personally and brought me so much pleasure and enjoyment.

Then, I reminded myself that at this very moment, these same artists are now working on pieces for next year’s invitational show and sale. I’m sure I will be just as excited next year to see the amazing works of Martin Grelle and Wilson Hurley as I was this year. So, I await in great anticipation to fall in love all over again.

YOU CAN'T ALWAYS GET WHAT YOU WANT

2007-09-04T14:03:00.000-07:00

Do you remember the 1983 movie, The Big Chill? If so, you must be forty-something or even older or maybe you are young and enjoy the "classics". I consider The Big Chill to be a classic.

The soundtrack to the movie is a fantastic collection of songs from the 1960's. Remember the dinner clean-up scene where everyone is dancing around the kitchen and singing along with The Temptations’ "Ain’t Too Proud to Beg"? How about the funeral scene at the beginning of the movie when you hear, "You Can’t Always Get What You Want" by the Rolling Stones?

The words go like this,
You can't always get what you want
You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes well you just might find
You get what you need
Oh baby, yeah, yeah!

Well, it seems to me that those words apply to my life a lot. The truth is, I don’t always get what I want.

I want the slim figure I had in my 30's. I want to be able to go without makeup and not worry about covering the gray. I want to wear jeans with no concern for the dreaded muffin tops. In other words, I want to stay young forever.

I want a sexy sports car, a convertible sports car. And I know exactly what I want. I want a silver, 5 speed Mazda Miata with a Bose stereo. Yes, that’s what I want.

I want to jump out of bed every morning feeling energized and excited about going to work. I want to anticipate exercising and walking every evening with the same excitement that I have for chips and salsa.

But, you know, you can’t always get what you want. However, sometimes you get what you need.

I need to be content that, at nearly 54 years old, I am able to exercise and walk everyday. I need to be content in knowing that I make every effort to dress in style, keep up with the latest hair and skin care, and stay away from "mom" jeans. I don’t drive a sports car but I do drive a nice car that is paid for. I am fortunate to have a great job that provides me security and fulfillment.

So, I’ll admit it. I am shallow and I place too much importance on immaterial matters. It’s true that I don’t always get what I want. I never have and I never will. However, I do have everything I need. Oh baby, yeah, yeah!

WHO IS YOUR "LITTLE OLD MAN IN SHORTS"?

2007-08-30T12:16:00.000-07:00

My friendly, hyperactive, little dog Max loves his evening walks with me and Pete. We put him on a retractable leash which gives him lots of room to run from one side of the street to the other. He generally pays little attention to neighbors working in their yards, children riding bikes, or passing cars. However, he has an aversion to an older man in jogging shorts who we frequently encounter on our route.

When Max eyes him from a block away, Max immediately freezes. Then he begins growling, barking, and lunges towards him. This isn’t just an occasional display of bad manners but it happens every time we see this poor fellow. We can’t explain it, we are embarrassed by it, and we apologize to him profusely as we physically hold Max down.

Last night as we were walking the dog, we had our usual encounter with the "little old man in shorts". Afterwards, I began to think about the things and people in my life who cause me to react in much the same way that Max reacts to the old man in jogging shorts.

Rude drivers cause me to growl. Driving home last night, someone followed me too close and it didn’t take long for my blood pressure to rise. Finally, the driver sped around me and went on to ride someone else’s bumper. Rude drivers are my "little old man in shorts".

Getting frisked by security at the entrance to the building where I work causes me to bristle. I come through the same door five days a week and on most days, I enter twice. The security officers see me everyday and know where I work. However, when I set off the alarm, I reveal my bracelets and belt, and still one of the troopers will insist I "undress", hold my arms out to my sides like a criminal, and then "wand" me. I do not fit the description of a stereotypical terrorist, yet I feel like one. Unfriendly security guards are my "little old man in shorts".

Last but not least, my serious pet peeve is dialing a business, i.e. an insurance or utility company or a financial institution, and never speaking to human being. Going through several layers of recorded messages and in the end being rerouted back to the beginning or, worse yet, getting disconnected can really get my blood boiling. It’s maddening to spend 30 minutes jumping through hoops, sitting on hold, listening to bad music, and then hearing the dreaded click and dead silence on the other end. The automated telephone system is my "little old man in shorts".

Unlike Max, who is controlled by a retractable leash, I am the master of my own leash. I am responsible for my reactions to the annoyances I face in life. Like Max, I growl, I bark, and sometimes I am ready to bite, however, I can control my emotions and take ownership of my responses. Isn’t it better to recognize the "little old man in shorts", more commonly known as "minor irritations", and smile rather than growl, keep quiet rather than bite, and calmly walk on by? Isn’t that what being a mature adult is all about?

WHAT I DID ON MY SUMMER VACATION

2007-08-24T19:52:00.000-07:00

It's Friday and the end of the work week. It's also nearing the end of August and Summer is almost over. I consider Labor Day weekend to be the end of Summer and the beginning of Fall. That notion probably goes back to my younger days when school didn't start until after Labor Day.

I sound really old when I say this but it's true -- this Summer has flown by. It started with a trip to the Grand Canyon which was awesome. Then, there was a fun weekend in Stillwater with my girlfriends at a professional association meeting, then to Las Vegas with my daughters, then to Missouri with our grandson, throw in three funerals and a wedding, several parties with friends and family, and suddenly the Summer is gone.

When I was just a kid, I remember the days of Summer to be long, hot, and sometimes boring. I honestly don't know how my mother could stand it with three kids in the house, begging for money to buy an Icee at 7-11, fussing with each other over who will wash the dishes, always hungry, and making messes. Thank goodness, my life went another direction than my mother's did otherwise I think I would have lost my mind.

By this time of year, I am usually sick of the heat and ready for the cool temperatures of Fall. I suppose the mild weather we've had this Summer has somehow made the season seem shorter than usual. We've not suffered any days over 100 degrees which is quite unusual for an Oklahoma summer. I believe this to be one reason why it seems that Summer has sped past me.

Another reason I think this Summer has gone by so fast is that I have been very busy. I've hardly slowed down. I've made an effort to either walk or go to the gym every evening after work. I've been working on three scrapbooks, volunteered quite a lot at the museum, and spent time with my grandson, Hubby and Max the Wonder Dog (not necessarily in that order).

As I look back on the past four months, I consider what I should have done and never got around to it. I intended to ride my bike more however that's been my intention at the beginning of every summer for the past 10 years. I intended to get the carpet shampooed in the den -- that hasn't happened. I planned to sit on my porch swing every evening -- however life got in the way.

What will I remember to be the most significant thing about the Summer of 2007? For example, the Summer of 1995, my daughter had a terrible car accident. The Summer of 1996, I bought my first Miata and I broke my hand. The Summer of 2006, we spent the entire summer in the hospital with my sister. So, how will I remember the Summer of 2007? Maybe, I won't remember it as anything special. It will be just another season filled with good health, love for family and friends, and a life lived to the fullest.

GIRLFRIEND THERAPY

2007-08-20T12:42:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I met three of my longtime close girlfriends for a leisurely visit. We were invited to help one of the girls put some finishing touches on decorating her new apartment and helping her pick out a couple of outfits for a television interview.

Karen, the girl with the new place, invited us to come at 1:00. I arrived fashionably late but was quickly excused for my tardiness when I unloaded my sack of goodies which included Jose Cuervo ready-made margarita mix, chips, salsa, and guacamole. After pouring everyone drinks, we settled down to a nice, long chat.

It had been about 8 months since we were together last so we had a lot to catch up on. We shared stories about family, our jobs, Karen’s recent move, mutual acquaintances, and life in general. Sometime during the afternoon, we could hear thunder and rain hitting against the window pane. I lost all track of time.

Finally, when we gathered our things to leave, I looked at the clock and was surprised to see that it was nearly 7:00. We exchanged hugs and kisses and went our separate ways.

Thinking back on our rainy afternoon together, I am so thankful for my girlfriends. The four of us have been through a lot together. We’ve experienced an adoption of a new baby, death of a child, parents and co-workers, relocations, marriages and divorces, illnesses, new jobs, kid problems, the list goes on and on. But through all the years of chaos, sadness, joy, and celebration, we have been there for each other. We know the secrets, we share our disappointments and frustrations, we encourage one another, and most importantly, we do not judge each other. I call it GIRLFRIEND THERAPY.

In girlfriend therapy, we give and take so that not one of us dominates our "counseling sessions". Everyone gets equal time and attention. And we laugh, we laugh a lot.

I can’t imagine living my insane life without my girlfriends. The older I get, the more I need my friends. A husband is nice to have around. Children, family, and pets can bring great joy to life, but it is my relationships with my girlfriends that complete me.

QUESTION OF THE DAY

2007-08-16T11:27:00.000-07:00

DO YOU REMEMBER WHERE YOU WERE WHEN YOU HEARD THAT ELVIS PRESLEY DIED?

This morning, I heard the question asked on the TV news show, on the radio while driving into work, on one of the news web sites, and I just now read it in the newspaper. Today is the 30th anniversary of Elvis’ death so that explains all the buzz about Elvis Presley.

Sadly enough, I am old enough to remember EXACTLY where I was when I heard that Elvis had passed away. I was 23 years old, it was mid-afternoon and I was standing in my kitchen when the phone rang. It was my cousin Gayla Reigh who tearfully gave me the tragic news. She was sobbing so much that I could barely understand who or what she was talking about. Finally, after realizing what she was saying, I was stunned. ELVIS IS DEAD!

I remember watching the news that evening, listening to Geraldo Rivera give an account of how and when Elvis had died. Everyone knew that Elvis had issues but he was the King, he was famous and talented and he was too young to die.

Since then, I’ve watched lots of Elvis movies, I’ve been to Graceland twice, I’ve seen an Elvis impersonator act in Vegas, and I still crank up the volume when the oldies radio station plays one of his early hits. I was actually excited to sleep in a motel room that Elvis had slept in 40 years ago.

On this day of remembrance to the King of Rock ‘n Roll, I am feeling somewhat melancholy. I am saddened to remember a life of hope, tragedy, despair, and musical genius and more personally, I am saddened to know that 30 years have passed by so quickly.

SOMETHING OLD IS SOMETHING NEW

2007-08-13T09:38:00.000-07:00

You know how it is. You hear an old song on the radio, TV, or internet, a tune very familiar to you, but it’s been years since you heard it last. It stirs up old memories of a place, a time, or a special person.

Last week, I was channel surfing and landed on PBS. An old rerun was playing of The Johnny Cash Show. Joni Mitchell and Johnny sang a duet which immediately drew me in. It was a familiar tune but it was as if I were hearing it for the very first time. The song is about a man who was suspected of murder. He refused to provide an alibi because he was having an affair with his best friend’s wife at the time and he would rather be hanged to death than reveal their secret. The chorus hauntingly tells of how his lover visits his grave in a long black veil and cries over his bones. The song is sung from the perspective of the dead man.

The last time I heard the song was just a year ago. My best friend’s husband is a musician (vocals and guitar) and he sang it to me. Bob’s soulful rendition brought tears to my eyes.

Oh, the scaffold was high and eternity’s near
She stood in the crowd and shed not a tear
But late at night, when the north wind blows
In a long black veil, she cries over my bones.

She walks these hills in a long black veil
She visits my grave when the night winds wail
Nobody knows, nobody sees
Nobody knows but me.

The ballad is titled "The Long Black Veil" and after a little research I learned it was first recorded in 1959 by Lefty Frizzell. The list of popular artists who have recorded the song is long and impressive. I have added it to my list of all-time favorites.

I heard another song which was made popular in the 1970's by Captain & Tennille. It’s a ballad but more on the quirky side. And for anyone who knows me, I lean toward quirkiness. The song is "Muskrat Candlelight"and was written in 1971 by Oklahoma native, Willis Alan Ramsey. I was actually listening to the original version on Ramsey’s CD and believe I like his bluesy, moody style more than the Captain & Tennille version called "Muskrat Love". This is another tune I have added to my list of favorites.

And they whirled and they twirled and they tangoed
Singin’ and jingin’ the jango
Floatin’ like the heavens above
It looks like muskrat love

I do love the ballad whether it is sung by Marty Robbins, The Eagles, Red Steagall, or my friend, Bob. As long as there are stories to be told, I’m sure someone will put their words to music and create a ballad for people like me to enjoy.

MEET ME AT THE THEATER, DAHLING!

2007-07-19T11:26:00.000-07:00

During the past couple of weeks, I have had the good fortune to attend a couple of excellent musicals. In high school, I competed in drama tournaments. In college, I majored in speech and drama and, even though I have not pursued acting in adulthood, I have maintained an appreciation for the magic of live theater.

While in Las Vegas with my daughters, I bought tickets to Mamma Mia at the Mandalay Bay Theater. I saw Mamma Mia a few years ago with Hubby and I suspected my girls would love the show, too. Mamma Mia was delightful and much to my pleasure, my daughters agreed. I noticed that most of the women in the audience over the age of 50 were having a difficult time staying seated during some of the ABBA songs. The only reason I didn't jump out of my seat and dance to Dancing Queen was to avoid embarrassing my children!

Last weekend, Hubby and I treated one of our daughters and her boyfriend to a matinee production of Spamalot. My daughter is a Monty Python fan and can quote each and every line of the movie, Monty Python and The Holy Grail. So, when it was announced that Spamalot, the musical production of the movie, was coming to Tulsa, she pleaded with us to get tickets.

Hubby and I had seen The Holy Grail years ago and we decided we should watch the movie again to refresh our memories of the plot, characters, etc. It has little plot, the characters are silly, and there are no musical dance numbers. So, we wondered how could a successful Broadway musical come from nothing? Much to our surprise, the musical is hysterically funny, witty, colorful, and energetic!

While in Las Vegas, I noticed that Spamalot is showing at the Wynn Hotel and stars John O'Hurley as King Arthur. You may remember John O'Hurley as Mr. Peterman, Elaine's boss on Seinfeld. Now that we have seen Spamalot, I wish we had seen it in Las Vegas, too.

This weekend, Hubby and I are going to a community theater production of The Wizard of Oz which is directed by my dear friend, Kyle. The play has received rave reviews and I am looking forward to seeing what Kyle has done with one of my all-time favorites stories. Kyle's dog, Ozzie, is starring as Toto. Even Ozzie has received glowing reviews.

By no means do I claim to be a theater critic, however, I just know what I like. And I liked Mamma Mia and Spamalot a lot! I recommend that anyone who loves to laugh, tap toes to music, or sing along to ABBA oldies of the 70's, should make a point to see Mamma Mia and Spamalot. As the words from one of the numbers in Spamalot suggest, experiencing a theatrical music production will help you to Always Look on the Bright Side of Life.

MAMMA MIA! WE HAD SOME FUN!

2007-07-09T14:31:00.000-07:00

Isn't it strange that while waiting impatiently for something big and exciting to happen, suddenly in warp speed, it happens, it's over, and only memories remain. Well, that's how it was with my trip to Las Vegas with my daughters. I waited, what seemed like forever, to blast off for three days packed with fun, entertainment, food, shopping, walking, and unbearable heat. Then, suddenly it's over and we were back in Oklahoma City. The mother/daughter getaway was over.

There were the big things about Las Vegas that we made plans for, i.e. our hotel room at Planet Hollywood, shopping at The Forum at Caesar's Palace, walking the Strip. However, it is the unexpected little things that create the fondest memories of our vacation to Las Vegas. What, you ask, are the "unexpected little things"?

Oh please, let me explain!

PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION. Need I say more? A fleet of new double-decker buses runs up and down Las Vegas Blvd. 24 hours a day. The Duece, as each comfortable, air-conditioned bus is called, provides a great way to see the sights along the Strip. A day pass costs $5 – a real bargain for Las Vegas. We rode the bus downtown and as lady luck would have it, we encountered some of the Strip's finest examples of humanity along the way.

One of the passengers on the bus was a self-appointed comedian. He had a joke for everything and everybody we saw on the Strip. He finally got off the bus and with a big, friendly wave from the curb, he disappeared into the crowd.

Shortly thereafter, we arrived at the downtown bus terminal and changed buses. At the next stop we picked up three loud, foul-mouthed, and belligerent people. One of the guys popped off at a handicapped guy who was struggling to get off the bus. A verbal argument ensued. The crippled guy kept on moving and fortunately, no one was hurt. At the next stop, the jerks got off the bus. It was embarrassing to me because two prim and proper English ladies were also on the bus and they were equally embarrassed. I facetiously commented that they represented America's finest.

One last experience that riding the bus provided was seeing all the brides and grooms in front of the hotels and wedding chapels on the Strip. At the Graceland Wedding Chapel, we saw the bride in her white wedding dress walk to a water faucet on the side of the chapel, bend over with her butt high in the air, turn on the water, and then drag the garden hose to the back of the wedding chapel. WHAT IN THE WORLD WAS SHE DOING? Dousing the groom? Washing the truck? It was just too much for me to even imagine!

In Las Vegas everything is so over the top. Even a simple ride on the bus can be entertaining. And for only 5 bucks, it's certainly worth every penny!

DISPOSABLE RELATIONSHIPS

2007-07-02T08:10:00.000-07:00

I have identified relationships with some of my immediate family members as "disposable relationships". Wanting to understand my feelings concerning these relationships and at the suggestion of another family member, I have decided to work it out through my journaling.

Before writing however, I felt sure that someone out there has addressed "disposable relationships" so I "Googled" the term. Immediately, I made a hit on a blog by the Ignorant Intellectual. The blog entry was precisely on target and asked the same questions that I have asked, discussed the same issues, and came to the same conclusions.

I wouldn’t attempt to restate Mr. Intellectual’s analysis because I couldn’t do it more eloquently or succinctly than he. His article precisely addresses the issues swirling about in my head but what about those in my heart?

HOW DO I COPE WITH KNOWING THAT I AM DISPOSABLE TO SOMEONE I LOVE?

Okay, you are thinking, this woman is in dire need of psychotherapy. That may be true but until I find myself on the shrink’s couch, I’ll just vent here for the entire world to see.

We live in an age of disposable diapers, razors, and eating utensils. Disposable items are convenient, healthier, easy to use, save time, and usually there are performance advantages. However, this phenomenon has not only taken over our material world but also our personal lives, as well.

Is it easier to dispose of another person just because they have become inconvenient? Is the other person consuming too much of YOUR time? Do they not perform or please as they once did? Is it healthier to throw away the old relationship and replace with a new and improved model? Is the other person damaged or obsolete?

There are just too many reasons for disposing of another person. Some are legitimate reasons, however, most are not.

In my situation, I believe I have been unfairly dumped and it’s no surprise that the other parties will not discuss it with me. So, I’m left to sort it out on my own. I may never fully comprehend why and how their minds and hearts can be so insensitive towards me but it does make me aware of how I should treat others who are important to me.

BE CAREFUL NOT TO TREAT PEOPLE AS DISPOSABLE OBJECTS. JUST REMEMBER THAT ONE MAN’S TRASH IS ANOTHER MAN’S TREASURE.

I'M MAD AS HELL AND I'M NOT GOING TO TAKE IT ANYMORE

2007-06-21T13:26:00.000-07:00

For anyone over the age of 50 and not yet ready to be classified as a SENIOR CITIZEN, may I solicit your heart felt sympathy?

Last night after my exercise class, Hubby and I made a quick trip to Kohl’s to shop for me a new pair of athletic shoes for my Las Vegas trip. I settled on a pair of Reeboks and to complete the ensemble, I chose three pairs of sports socks . All items were on sale and I was quite pleased with my purchases. H bought a belt and shirt and his purchases went on a separate sales ticket.

Upon our return to mi casa, H asked me what I had done with my Kohl’s receipt. I told him it was in my wallet and off he went in search of my purse. A few minutes later, he walked back in with both receipts and sheepishly handed my receipt over to me. After a quick inspection of my receipt, in horror I realized that I had been given a 15% SENIOR CITIZEN DISCOUNT!

Apparently, the look on my face scared both H and Max the Wonderdog to the extent that H retreated in fear and Max jumped off the bed and ran.

"WHAT IS THIS?", I screamed!

I was shocked, mad, and confused all at the same time. It isn’t that I am complaining about the discount. Who wouldn’t want a 15% discount on a pair of shoes and new socks? But, what really burns me up is the idea that Skippy (the cute, young dude who checked me out) ASSUMED I qualify for a senior discount!

H attempted to console me and after the dog decided it was safe to be in my presence, he also tried to console me, however, there was no consoling this angry broad. I swore to boycott Kohl’s for the rest of my natural life.

I quickly took inventory to determine what might have given Skippy the impression that I could be a senior citizen.

SO, I ASK, WHAT DETERMINES SENIOR STATUS? Is it gray hair? Matronly attire? Hunched back, wrinkles, and shuffling?

Once again, I am faced with the reality of growing old. Armed with a sense of humor and a positive attitude, I hesitantly accept my fate. I’ll continue to cover the gray, exercise like a maniac, and listen to Retro Rock. Maybe my next move will be to trade in my four door sedan for a sexy Mustang convertible.

Hopefully, that will show the world that I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore!

BLOGGING LIKE A VIRGIN

2007-06-18T13:11:00.000-07:00

This is not my first attempt at blogging. I have been posting blogs for a couple of years on myspace. Recently, I began to consider expanding my audience and hopefully through blogspot, I will find other bloggers who will better relate to me, my age, and my experiences.

By no means am I a professional writer. I am just an ordinary person, living an ordinary life. In spite of that, I try to view my ordinary experiences with a sense of humor and a sensitive heart.

I am a married to a nice guy. He enjoys laughter and like me, he appreciates irony and word play. He is a lawyer who works exclusively with the written word. Rather than critique my blogs, he encourages me and looks forward to reading my online musing.

If I tell a story that reminds you of someone or something that brings a smile to your face, or if a feeling is stirred within your heart by a word that I’ve shared, then I have accomplished my ultimate goal and received the highest compliment.

So, I’m going to jump right in and get started. I hope you’ll join me!