Red Nose

My Heart's Place

Ever since I got home from the beach Sunday afternoon, I've been thinking about why I love it so much.

And I don't know -- or rather, I can't put it into words. The closest I can come is:

Ocean City is my heart's place.

I know that as soon as Joe started backing out of our parking space, I felt happier -- peaceful and excited at the same time. I tick off the milestones as we go -- the Severn River, the Bay Bridge, Kent Island, Easton, Cambridge, Salisbury, Route 90 -- knowing that every mile brings me closer to the beach, to My Place. Then we crest the first bridge over the St. Martin River and there's the skyline and oh, I'm home.

Call it a power spot, if you will, or a special haven, or a true home. Whatever you call it, the beach, this particular beach of all beaches, is my heart's place. I love the crowds in the summer, the raw wind in the winter; I love the high rises and honky tonk boardwalk. I've been going there since before I was born. I've been splashing in those waves and sitting on that sand since I was a baby. I've swum and fished and laid out in the sand and walked miles up and down the Boardwalk and sat on the porch doing nothing but looking at the sunset over the bay.

I'm always so content when I'm there. I always feel sad when I leave.

I think I just need to be by that water, by the waves, to feel the pull of the tide and to watch the sun rise over the ocean. I need to gaze over the gray-green-blue Atlantic and float over the swells, weightless, part of the deep, the place we all came from, and rest.

When I die, I want whatever is left of my creaky old body to be scattered in the sand, right at the edge of the ocean, so that I can be a part of it forever. And this entry is sappy and syrupy and silly, but you know what? I don't care. It's true.

 

I Confess

I confess: I love My Fair Wedding.

I know. I KNOW! Okay, God. But there it is. I can't help it.

I love how David Tutera looks so shy and retiring and humble when his bride and groom go into spasms of thanks during their over-the-top receptions. "Oh David! You've made our dreams come true and you are so awesome and we love you so much!"

You just know that a big old "Thank You David Tutera You Made My Dreams Come True" clause is written right into that wedding makeover contract.

And yet, I always tear up during the fabulous wedding ceremony when the handsome groom sees the beautiful bride in her perfect dress walking down the aisle in the fantasy venue. (Even if it's a church, it's still a fantasy venue -- David makes it so with flowers and tulle and sparkle!)

I am a goofy old broad.

My nephew is engaged and I confided in his lovely fiancee that she needs to plan the tackiest, cheap as shit wedding ever, then submit it to David Tutera so that she can cop a bazillion dollar wedding for nothing.

Well, maybe not for nothing; the cost is right there in that contract that you know must exist. I suspect that you must scream "OH MY GOD! I DON'T BELIEVE IT!" a hundred times, and you must act kind of bitchy at least twice ("No! I love my dress, even if it is fugly and too small and makes me look like a can-can dancer covered in whipped cream!"), and you must go along with the incredible pimping of wedding products -- everything from dresses to food to cocktails to linens to ice sculpture to cakes to caterers.

At the moment David is dealing with a Monopoly-themed wedding. I can't look away.

Spring!

Are the peepers peeping in the wetlands? No.

Are the robins flitting in the trees? No.

Are the daffodils and crocuses poking their heads out of the ground? No.

Then do I know it's spring?

The ice cream man is back!

Yep, we spotted the ice cream just the other day, trundling through the neighborhood in his off-white minivan while an annoying tinkly song (and I know the title as well as I know my name, but I'm damned if I can remember it) played loud and clear.

Joe hollered, "I want a Bomb Pop!"

I hollered, "I want a Toasted Almond bar!"

And then we giggled and went inside.

When I was a kid, the ice cream man (actually, we had a popsicle man) came up the side street every evening, just before the light faded and the street lights came on - our cue to head home and get ready for bed. He didn't have an annoying song; he rang the bells attached to the front of the refrigerated truck. When we heard those bells, we ran for the side of the street as fast as we could with our nickels.

In those days popsicles cost a nickel apiece. I know, the olden days.

The ice cream man wore a white uniform with a black bow tie and a cop hat, also white. I'm remembering that we had the same ice cream man for years - but I could be wrong about that. He could pull quarters out of our ears too!

We always got popsicles when we were little - there's nothing better on a hot evening after you've been playing all day. My favorite flavor was Blue Raspberry, followed closely by Cherry. Those are still my favorite flavors too!

How about you?

Today We're All Irish!

Happy Saint Patrick's Day!

Plus Minus

"Plus MInus" is a hockey stat. It's a way of measuring a player's effectiveness. A player gets a +1 if he's on the ice when his team scores; he gets a -1 if he's on the ice when the opposing team scores. My Caps are in Hockeytown tonight, so it seems like a reasonable analogy for me.

Okay, maybe it's a stretch, but I'm running with it.

On the minus side, my feet hurt.

On the plus side, the two new tops that I ordered from Igigi arrived yesterday. They are quite lovely! So... score!

On the minus side, I'm having a bit of heartburn.

On the plus side, the pizza that I had for lunch was delicious and worth a little heartburn.

Aw shucks, I could go on and on, but here's the gist.

I've been listless and apathetic ever since the layoff and reorg at work. I'm gettin' by, but my heart's not exactly in it. I'm slogging through a project at the moment, so I set myself a deadline and by God, I'll meet it. I want to tough this stretch out for a bit to see if the new department settles into a groove, because I really do not want to look for another job. I really don't.

Now, if by some miracle some angel flew down and offered me the job of my dreams with a short commute and a decent raise, well...

Well, I can dream, can't I?

At  least it's Daylight Savings Time again. I know a lot of people hate DST, but I am not one of them. I love it. I love long, light evenings.

Damn. The Red Wings just scored. That's a minus.

YES! We just tied it up! That's a plus!

Okay, I'm clearly all over the damn place, so I shall wrap this up and fix myself some dinner - chicken soup and Zantac. Yum!

All in All, Okay.

It is pouring down rain right now; flood warnings have been issued. I can hear the swish swish swish of the cars as they fly too fast down the avenue outside the building, spewing up great flumes of water. Sometimes, when the downpour really gets going, I can hear the rain on the window.

It's almost time to leave. I thought I might just type something here in the old blog before I venture out into the storm, duck into the subway station that's just outside the door, and start the long ride home. At least I'm not transferring today. Since Joe has the day off today, I take the Red line all the way to the end. On days that he works the early shift, I transfer from the Red line to the Green line, either at the station that's completely indoors but very very crowded or at the semi-outdoor station that's not as crowded but, well, outdoors. On days that he works the late shift, I stay on the Red line, but I get off in Silver Spring and walk two long blocks to catch the express bus that takes me almost to my door. Then I walk, huddled up and pretending to be invisible so that the boogeyman can't get me.

Luckily it is almost Daylight Savings Time so the boogeyman will not be out when I am walking home anymore.

I have big plans for this walk. Once the weather warms up a little more, I'm going to get off the bus one stop early, so that I can call the walk home a real walk and -- as my new doctor has requested -- "work on my exercise." When that gets to be easy, I'll get off yet another stop earlier, and another stop earlier, and another; pretty soon I'll be jogging home from Silver Spring! (Um, no.)

In other news, we got our Federal income tax refund and celebrated by buying new tires, a wheel alignment, and an oil change. We also bought the tire warranty for all four new tires, because we are saps. But also because of what happened to me a couple of years ago -- I do not want to be begging the tire store to replace a tire that went flat the afternoon I bought it ever again. I even had a dream that we bought new tires and got to the tire place just as the old tires burst. I am very glad that it was a dream because, God.

So the car is in good shape now. The weekend is shaping up to be wonderful, a reward for enduring this nasty rain. The Caps are on a six-game winning streak. There is lemon ice cream in the freezer. I'm thinking things will be okay.

Truth in Advertising

At last, an organic health cereal that's honest about its ingredients!

There's A Story In Here Somewhere: A Contest

My coworker and I took a nice long walk down to the local Cal Tort for lunch today. On the way back, we spotted this newsbox.

It's a typical newsbox with typical free publications: Apartment Guide, Yellow Book, New Homes Listings, and...

What? Are those...

 
SHOES? Really?? Someone actually left a pair of shoes in the newsbox? Surely not. Let's take a closer look...

 
Yep. Shoes.

I can't for the life of me figure out how or why someone would leave a perfectly good pair of sneakers in a newsbox, so I turn to you. Tell me a story of how these shoes came to be here, in this newsbox on Connecticut Avenue in DC.

The one I like the best will win two pats on the head - how can you pass that up?