Charlywalker's Blog











{June 5, 2011}   Blog Agility (earlier post)

If you are reading this blog AND you find it clever or funny please comment. I need the feedback or otherwise I am wasting my Megabytes.  Speaking of mega-bites, my puppy is still snapping even after two weeks of guaranteed training. I don’t blame the Trainer , I blame my family who are lacking in the follow-up program arena.

My scheduled training of two weeks ended recently and I feel a bit empty inside. Charly-dog and I got use to the trainers 10 a.m. visits and it is hard to let go now. This trainer came into our lives and spent hours with each and every member of my family and worked with all of us as a whole to get Charly on track. I am  starting to have a small tinge of anxiety that once he is out of our lives for good, things will resort to the way they were.  The trainer did drop an anecdote  while sipping his bottled water, that being ;if any “uprisings” occur he will be here on the spot, and this is guaranteed forever.

Hmm.…. I could always find some fault somewhere in my puppy that might need tending to; maybe stage a scene or two…….kind of like the little boy crying wolf, only it’s a middle aged menopausal woman needing someone to talk to other than her doggie…..

I find as I am getting older and less tolerant of my estrogen levels, that letting go is becoming harder and harder. I took my son to the airport to catch a flight from Philadelphia to Los Angeles. He has been bugging me to let him fly out to see his best friend  ever since we moved out to the East Coast. My children have traveled extensively since they were born, but never without me in tow. I have this phobia about my children on  planes without me, what if something happens to that plane; what if there is an outbreak  on board of food poisoning from stale pretzel’s; what if there’s an emergency landing in a Delta swamp; what if  they have snakes on board……or worse yet , Samuel L Jackson  is pushing the beverage cart………”I’ve had it with these Mother F*ckin’ Pepsi’s on this Mother F*ckin’ plane…..coffee? Tea?….”

My son is 16 and does not qualify for the “unaccompanied child Airline escort” anymore. Plus, there is a $100 hidden  fee for this “Program”. It must fall in line with the “Meal Program” and the “Luggage Program”.   Personally I think they should wave this amount for first time moms letting their youngster fly solo and traipsing through Major City airports spending all their allowance on nonsense that is flagged out in the open Kiosks. ( Oh , yes son, I love the $50 neck snuggie you purchased to keep you comfortable during your flight that you left on board and is now on its way to Hong Kong where it originated from).

My sons flight was delayed over an hour from his connecting flight. I have a party retrieving him at the baggage claim terminal and they phoned to inform me that his flight was going to be late.   I got nervous.   I phoned the Major Airline that starts with a “D” and has been around since the Nixon administration, to find out more information about his flight. The “D” Agent confirmed that it was delayed twice, out of Atlanta.

I spat out; “TWICE?”.

“Yes”,( he said with an accent that was identical to the driver in the second Indiana Jones Movie).

I interrupted his silence with a very loud “WHY TWICE?”.

He enlightened me with the explanation that the first delay was a security issue.

(Oh great,  glow snakes in a Plane Pocket..)

AND THE SECOND DELAY? 

  “Was a maintenance problem”.

 I questioned him further on the maintenance problem and he laughed and told me:

Well the plane is in the air now”.

Oh thank God, that is so reassuring, I am so thrilled, oh, and I feel so relieved and unconcerned that that plane is in the air now! How about the landing??? Please tell me the maintenance problem was a toilet that wouldn’t stop flushing or the Captain’s coffee pot heater light keeps blinking, or the food cart has a rusty wheel…………

I popped open a Dos Equis and brought up my sons Itinerary and  started to track his flight on my Macbook like a Pro. I love technology, it’s almost like being in the control tower yourself, minus all the other distractions, like ten million OTHER flights trying to take off and land.   I went into the “D” Airline WEB site and typed his flight number and it showed a map of the U.S. with a little yellow airplane following a bright blue line to his destination. I felt a little more at ease and managed to breath a little easier…………..

Until this little yellow plane started a nose dive over Arizona….

The time left on his flight was an hour and a half and the meter was not moving, nor was the tiny yellow plane that I was watching for twenty minutes without blinking…

 That little mustard piper cub was not advancing on my screen and I was having the most horrible images run through my mind.  Images of a black smoke plume smoldering from seat 11B because I thought I  had confiscated all the fireworks my son wanted to share with his friend in California. Where they are illegal.….. And maybe, just maybe,  he sequestered a box of black Snake Glow worms that he stuck in his back pocket. I was a flight attendant once and have witnessed plight flights that brought me to my knees saying a few Hail Mary’s while pouring a few Bloody Mary’s……anything’s possible.

I shut the laptop off  and logged back on to the “D” website to commence with stalking my sons flight. His fake plane kept stalling in the air until I clicked the refresh button so it would advance faster to LAX airport.  In a matter of seconds that little yellow cartoon 757 was now starting it’s descent  into Los Angeles with it’s nose in the air and landing in 22 minutes……..Funny if I keep clicking the Back Button that plane just might land on time.

My son loves being independent and Hates that his mother texted him thirteen times before he even left the ground. I can’t wait to tell him about the tracking device….I wonder if they have that for everything…like when he starts driving or is out with his friends at a movie, or maybe, just maybe…on a date.

Yes I love technology it helps a mom sleep at night…….and you thought Big Brother was watching……………hellooo Big Mother……..




My daughter’s boyfriend bought an item for me to use on my Puppy. It is something that has been advertised on the late night barkers channel and plastered all over a coupon on the back page of a grocery store flyer. It is a battery operated device that is suppose to control your dogs incessant barking by using high frequency waves that can only be detected by dogs. Or , possibly your sixteen year old son.

This three inch plastic made-in-a-remote-area-of-cheapness, houses a nine volt battery and emits a high frequency sound that resonates every time your dog barks. There are two levels that occur in this cycle of transparent noise: High and Low.

This small appliance is the size of a cell phone and operates up to twenty feet away. It is a remote tool which ends up in various places much like the remote from my T.V. in the family room. My remote for the television has legs because it wanders aimlessly throughout the house. I found a lovely basket to place all the entertainment apparatus which sits atop the coffee table one foot from the couch, which means a mere outstretched- arms -reach could cover the radius of placing the remote in it’s proper place. It is a simple convenience accompanied by simple science, but aggravated by lazy couch potatoes who have a “control” issue. They find it adhered to their palm and it winds up in areas that could possibly never find any reception, like the bathroom, or under the sofa cushion, or God forbid, in one’s suitcase.

Our new “Bark-B-Gone” toy travels with us from room to room as the dog follows clasping his paws over his ears. This little receptive instrument does not give any implication that it is on and working. There is no LED light blinking, there is no sound resonating, there are no beeps , blips, or flashes to insinuate it is in working order. This piece of PETrochemicals just sits and stares into the rooms without focusing on a target, very much like I do at times.

My puppy started his seven o’clock ritual of barking at air and this “bark-no-more” piece of crap did nothing but glare at a wall with its seeing eye glazed over. It wasn’t until I walked over and plucked it from its holster and steadily held it above my pup like a priest holding a cross over Emily Rose that my dog Charly turned his head around and ignored  the “Bark-Never-Again” contraption. And  only then,  did his right ear slowly raise like an antenna on an old Rambler sedan. That seem to have lasted a mere second as he turned his head around and continued his conversation with the drapery patterns.

I had rendered this thing useless until my sixteen year old son came stumbling down the stairs with his palms covering both ears and screaming at me to to “turn off the high pitch sound”.  I managed to quiet the pup yet my son was still holding his head and complaining about the white noise in the room. I told him that Charly is actually WHITE  with black spots.

At that moment I realized my son has a sensitivity to electromagnetic high frequency waves which could cause irrefutable damage to his hearing. (I’m sure his blasting Slipknot and Eminem through his Skull Candy from his Ipod mini at 300 decibels isn’t an issue). I just realized that my son could hear the noise from the mute plastic box that was meant for my dog’s ears. I just realized that he woke up before noon stumbling down to where this little toy box sat on the kitchen counter and utter a nearly complete sentence at me to “shut off that sound, it’s hurting his ears“.

That SOUND that my dog would scoff at and “no one else could hear”, the ad stated……..

I just realized that this $9.99 special from QVC could retrieve my son from farther than twenty paces at a rabbits pace, and the setting was on “low”.

I Just realized I now hold the secret to life. The secret of getting a “teen” up and on time for school in the morning…….

RUFF-LIFE….Bark-on..Bark-Off….




Some one saw my blog and made a constructive critical acclaim to the way it looked.  She said that it didn’t have enough “zip” to it and that I “needed to add more ambiance and eye-catching glitter”.  I told her to put down her Rose` colored wine glasses and just try to enjoy the humor of it all.  I happen to like the dark-haired green and black cartoon version of a silhouette that keeps reminding me of what my body looked like twenty years ago.

I haven’t blogged for quite sometime due to the fact that I was actively pursuing some academics that might help me further a career that was lying dormant over thirty years ago.  After getting my fifty-something year old carcass out of bed at 5:00 a.m., and jumping into a sassy saffron uniform with the school logo stitched over my left breast, and downing a cappuccino while racing the other commuters in the dark to board a freezing train that wreaked of diesel and radiated loud gum popping cell phone addicts in the quiet car and after brandishing 29 credits for three months and harvesting sleepless nights, watching the dust and grime host a no swifter party in my house, and neglecting my children ( who barely noticed between their social life and Ipods that I was missing), and, worst of all, forgetting that I owned a dog.

I missed passing a required course by two points in order to continue on with the program.

I thought that if I resurfaced a career I would be helping the family income during these bouts of economic hardships. Instead, I found that my economics were becoming even harder while aspiring to achieve greatness.  After calculating the cost of this venture and weighing the outcome of age vs. job opportunity, while finding myself crying over spilt Martilnelli 2008 Pinot Noir, daily,… and realizing that I am not smarter than a fifth grader,…I decided to do what any normal red-blooded hormonal woman would do:

I booked a trip to Italy.  Isn’t that where all the menopausal misfits run off to during a time of reputable failure? As my neighbor so eloquently put it to me over her lovely pomegranate martini’s: Ah hell, you didn’t want to be a nurse any way..fuck em’.. No truer words spoken out of an elegant pearl clad mouth..

The beauty of this departure from my academic whirlwind is that is brought me back to the basics of what my purpose may be in life. Even though my children are growing and heading into the adult world, they still need me. They have been use to their mother hanging about and being at their beck and call throughout their lives. As much as it appeared that they were fine without me being at the helm, I could see that they were not. They watched as their mother turned into a maniacal obsessed text-book worm letting the responsibilities of the days slip into the abyss. They witnessed mommy breakdown’s from the pressure of not being able to tackle her Medication Math and Calculate with Confidence.  We were a family of a traveling husband, teens in action, a mom running amok, and Charly-dog bearing the brunt and being locked up for hours, alone, in his room, with a night-light and food and water and an August issue of The Enquirer spread out on the floor. There was only so much that Charly could take, and peeing on yesterday’s news was his limit…  I’m sure Charly felt dejected and unwanted until someone came home from their daily activity and he was freed from his laundry room habitat and able to roam the great out doors to relieve himself.

My children are very capable individuals, and that is one trait that I am proud of.  My children will survive in this world and make wonderful lives for themselves with out me in tow.  My dog, however, I worry about.  I think about him when I’m away, I think about his well-being, I think about whether he is tearing up the wicker basket in the laundry room, or has dived into the pile of dirty clothes waiting to be washed and torn into every sock of every family member that has abandoned him for the day.  I think about him possibly sitting in is doggie bed staring at the white walls holding his hind legs with his front paws and rocking back and forth seething and thinking hate barks.

These things weigh on my mind more than one knows, which is why I probably missed passing the school program by two lousy points. But I will say this, when I came home every day and sometimes into the night and opened Charly’s door, I was met with a wide-eyed, waggy tailed, sausage-shaped, tongue licking my face Mongrel that is irreplaceable and doesn’t care if I pass or fail,  only that I returned home.

Sometimes life does funny things to a person, like taking a 4.0 graduate and mashing them into elementary mush making them wrap their entire being around  the word stupid. And sometimes is takes a mangy flea-bag tail-wagger to pull you out of your Picasso Blue period and pounce to a different tune, a tune where you work like a dog and you don’t have a dog’s chance to be a Top dog, so you’re thrown to the  dog’s, only to return with your tail between your legs.

And sometimes you just have to face the inevitable and break open that vintage 1989 Chateauneuf du Pape that has been collecting dust in your wine cabinet awaiting that special dog day afternoon…….



{May 22, 2011}   Handwriting is on the Blog

I recently watched a movie the other night that happens to be one of my favorites; it’s called The Bucket List.  It’s a movie about a list of things a person wants to fulfill before they “kick the bucket”.  It made me think: Why would a person wait til they are about to die before they think about doing  the things they really wanted to do while living?  I have always done whatever I set out to do.  I personally think my bucket list was handed to me in my Rubbermaid pail when I was able to walk; along with the matching shovel.  I learned at an early age to kick your bucket aside and use your shovel to bat the sh*t that flies off the fan…………I was an intense toddler.

  I had a list of things written in crayon that I wanted to accomplish, which I did, and I’m still not finished.   I think when my time comes and I will be asked about the “things I wanted to do, but never got to”,   I will probably just respond with:  “I’ve done them thank you, now go fix me a dry martini and change the channel on the TV to Mob Wives…I’m tired of listening to that Sajak guy  blowing vowels out his ass…”.

This “Bucket List” topic sparked my interest one night while catching an episode of the Wheel- of -Fortune.  I like that show. I get to watch Vanna White grow old in designer gowns. She keeps getting thinner and thinner and before you know it they’ll be rolling in her Versace on a skeleton wearing a blond wig.  Pat Sajak will drop his choppers on the Wheel bending over to spin and gumming out the letters for the Bonus Round: “O.K.  Vanna, gimme an R-Eth-Teeth-L-N-Eeeeeeeee”( that’s Pat suffering  vowel incontinence).

The “Bucket List” came up while Pat was doing his 30 second interview with the contestants.   One girl mentioned she had a “Bucket List” and that she has completed most of it, (mind you, this girl was attractive and I assume in the mid 20’s range of age).  I asked out loud: “Why would someone so young be concerned about something like that at such a youthful time in their life?”.  No one answered me because I was watching the show alone with my dog.  If my pooch  did respond to  me……well…. then…..I guess I would have to face the obvious:

….that being,…my stray came from the same litter as David Berkowitz’ dog…………

This vibrant young lady seemed thrilled to tell the world she had a “Bucket List” on national T.V.  while the other two candidates  just gave “shout outs” to their peeps and dispensed free advertising to their workplace.  I still couldn’t shake the notion of this unseasoned woman and her  desire to do what exhausted elderly accede to teetering on their last leg.  The strong leg.  The one that has to kick the bucket.

But then..WHAM!  It hit me like a ton of bad lyric’s thrown by George Michaels; (no, not wake me up before you go-go..)..

Why not pursue a “Bucket List” because you want to; not because yo think you feel pressured to.  Life is a bucket of cherries waiting for you to take a bite and spit the pits back into your pail……….with or without dentures.  I think this Wheel lady had it down to a science and mapped out her  List constructed to fulfill her Fortunate life.  I think she was sending a message over the airwaves to entice the audience to re-think this “Bucket List” operandi.  Maybe make this list accessible to youngsters who complain too much about their cell phones not being the latest model.  Maybe we should make a Bucket List mandatory and have it notarized and produce them adjacent to a birth certificate to hand out to the next generation.  Maybe this Bucket List will start with small ventures, like:

1) I will be potty trained before I reach pre-school

2) I will brush my teeth as often as the dentist tells me to after my braces are applied.

3) I will complete my homework and hand it in on time.

4) I will not exceed the speed limit when I’m 16 while carrying a freshly pressed driver’s license.

5) I will not party to excess in college and wake up kneeling over the porcelain god sporting a tattoo I don’t remember getting in Vegas…

6) I will listen to my parents and take out my Ipod earphones when doing so…..

7) I want my Laundry List completed first…

8) I will kick the bucket if it’s left in the middle of the hallway full of dirty water for me to trip over…..

Oh this list could go on until I kick the bucket, but apparently buckets are hard to find these days since the cleaning lady switched to the Wet Jet Mop.    I guess we’ll have to change ‘Bucket List” to “Swiffer Starter Kit”.

spread the humor



{May 13, 2011}   Dumb as a Post

I am having great difficulty in trying to understand the workings of a seventeen year old boy’s brain.  I can understand a seventeen year old girl’s brain a little better because I was one…once..a long, long, looonnng time ago. My son is  a very clever chap and highly inventive with a heart of gold and yet manages to make me crazy and is driving me to pull out a rare bottle of Lafitte Rothschild that is  hidden behind a glass case.  There is a brass chain holding a plaque and a mini mallet on the outside  that reads: “Break glass in case of emergency”.

What is it about a teen  boy that makes their brain stop working and  experience hardship in the “logic” area.  Is that part of the lobe on a continual lunch break?  I know my son can put two and two together, but it’s when he has to think about putting them together is when the trouble begins.  He will find a loop-hole to master mind a scheme between the TWO'(s).  I have spent a lot of my” mom” time ascertaining “mom” knowledge that is based on experience with a little pinch of hindsight.  I have pitched independence and autonomy to my son and  left him  to hold the cards until they spring out like a magician who has  lost control  of his deck.  Maybe I should switch to Domino’s, at least they fall in consecutive order.

My son has been preparing for his SAT’s and  I have left him alone  with only minor nagging in order to conquer this feat .  A feat that is to predetermine where his future college will be.  A feat  that was developed to stir anxiety in a teen just by uttering the words” number two pencil”.  A feat to jam his feet into over-sized Ive league loafers.  He managed to sign himself up for the test center and print out his golden ticket for his special day.  He  also arranged to buy the Study guide and prep until he was too pooped to prep.  He announced in his big -boy voice  the evening before the big exam that “he is ready“.   READY...for what? Is he ready to get into the car, is he ready to get out of his flannel Guinness pajama bottoms and put on some Khaki’s, is he ready to possibly clean his room, or is he ready to PREPare some breakfast?

I asked my son what time he needed to arrive at the testing center and he assured me it was to be bright and early, “around 7-ish”.  It was the ISH that worried me.  I asked him to check his Willie Wonka ticket for the arrival time, but he pooh-poohed that notion, and had it in his head that he knew the time. ” I got this, MOM“,   were what I believe to be his exact words.  It takes approximately 25 to 30 minutes to reach the testing site.  Halfway there a light bulb exploded in his head and he decided to pull out the chocolate bar that held his winning ticket and read the instructions that listed the necessary protocol for SAT test taking.  It was now ten to seven and I was breaking the law in two states to get him there on time. My son mumbled the direction section and then I heard him yelp in a broken teen voice.  Under the list of necessities and PERTINENT information section; it stated in bold print that he needed his student I.D., and, “oh yeah, it says to bring your ID and arrive by 7:45” ………CRACK!…………..

That was the sound of  my  breaking the Lafitte Rothschild glass container………not a car accident.

I turned the car around and returned home so he could grab his ID and have a little time to, oh, I dunno…..THINK about what just transpired with his independent brain…...oh I got it mom…..  “ That’s OK son, mommy doesn’t mind getting up at 5:30 a.m. on a Saturday to prepare a healthy breakfast for you so your brain will have all the enriched nourishment it needs to remember all that information you study from that big fat Prep book that cost a small fortune. No worries, it’s just a test that determines the fate of millions of kids each year.  Maybe you could borrow an ID from one of the Princeton candidates”.   We drove all the way back home and then back again to the test center in order for my son  to make his scheduled debut.  My last words to him were;  well my second to the last words were; ” Phone me when it’s over and I’ll pick you up here..right here…same spot… don’t wander….don’t move”.

He phoned me when it was over and I told him I’ll be there in about  a half hour.  I arrived at the school and waited outside for a few minutes. He was no where in sight, mind you,  he’s six feet tall and not hard to miss.  I went inside the test center and there were a few students  left lurking in corners violently texting on their cells..  Probably got their results already and are forwarding them  on through the  Harvard information super highway. I returned to the car and waited another ten minutes. Still no sign of his blue sweat shirt. I saw a message on my phone from an unknown number and I listened to it.   It sounded like someone gargling salt water.  I returned the phone call and there was no answer.  I do not like chasing a teen down and I was never a fan of the game Hide-n-Seek…………SMASH!…………

…………..that was me stomping on the case holding the Lafitte Rothschild.

He phoned me and wanted to know where I was and that he decided to go over to his friends house who lives a few blocks from the testing area. He said he left me a message.  It might as well have been a message in a bottle.  I staggered  to erase my menopausal anger for a few moments to collect my thoughts to navigate  my car over to pick him up.  When he jumped into the car all he could manage to say was how tired he was from taking the SAT’s.    Oh my heart goes out to him for having to endure such pain in filling in Scantron circles.

I blurted out:  “Son, what part of DON’T MOVE don’t you get?”. …..” What intricate part of your brain told you to send me on a wild goose chase to locate you.  What part of the garbled message from Jacques Cousteau was I suppose to interpret?”  He retorted back: “you need to have more understanding.”………SCREECH!………

That was me reaching for the emergency corkscrew in the glove-box……

“Oh I understand you had the wrong time scheduled in your brain, and I understand you forgot your Identification card, and I understand the unlimited mileage and gas used in  transporting you to and from and to and from again, and I understand you’re borrowing an unknown phone, and I understand messaging can get distorted, and I understand enduring twenty hours of labor and pushing out a nine pound baby boy can be hazardous to one’s brain; But I don’t understand your logic right now”.

He states emphatically: “Because I wanted to go over to Josh’s house”.

………and  POP!  goes the cork…….

I want(ed) to thank Carl Brigham for his insight and development of the SAT’s.  ” He derived that they could be used with accuracy to predict a person’s innate mental capacity;  however,  these tests failed to help with knowledge of baseball trivia, brand names, and cuts of beef.     AND also to help a son to stay put when his mother tells him to stay put…….


Ahh…pour and sip…….



{April 29, 2011}   In Cold Blog

I think my dog is out to kill me.  My mutt is a cross breed of Chi-hua-hua, Cocker Spaniel, and..after DNA testing, probably a little bit of Beagle.  I call him a Chaniel, pending the DNA results. If the bit of beagle comes into play then he will be a Speagle, or a Cheagle, or a Chow-wow..or he can  just remain on a shelf with the rest of the Chia -pets.  In the meantime I  think he may have also put a hit out on me.   While walking him one day ,a neighboring canine ran up and lifted his hind leg onto my Levi’s and then ran off.   More like a hit and run.

My Black and white miniature cow has been lurking around corners and staring at me through squinty-eyes.  He started to conceal his dog tags in between his teeth  like a bayonet and slither  through the Polyester Pile on his underbelly so I won’t hear them jingle when he sneaks up on me.  He lays across the room spread out in a full Monty  sleeping with one eye open.  I’ll take a break from the computer and stroll downstairs for a cup of java and find him already at the espresso machine foaming an additive into my cappuccino and slowly stirring the contents.  He was wearing the same facial expression of Hannibal Lecter when he offered Clarice a glass of wine….

My dog has been with us for nearly two years and we have had a despicable time of it lately.  I don’t know if this is a product of the “terrible twos” or maybe he’s having flashbacks of his “night of neutering”.  Maybe I needed to do a little more research on what happens to young pups who have their valves shut off so early in life.  Maybe I cut off a very important life line…....Maybe I’ll just phone a friend or ask the blogiance…  In the meantime his behavior is out of sorts and he is regressing back to his puppy-dom and completely obliterating any training he may have had in the past.   I tried enlisting him in the Marines but because he was a rescue of some kind we are unable to locate his birth certificate for verification. It seems I’ve pulled the trump card…….. Sending him to boot camp would be fruitless.  He defies authority and goes commando baring his canines;  and, thanks to my husband feeding him gourmet delicacies from Dean & DeLuca, he would never handle the canteen cuisine.  Plus I doubt the high ranking officials would allow him  to curl up like a cooked shrimp under their sheets in the officers quarters.

Lately my pup has been grabbing items from his toy basket and leaving them strategically about for me to trip and fall and ending up in the emergency room. Knowing my dog, he would  re-set the ambulance GPS to deliver me to his Vetinarian’s office.  Once I was comfortably situated on the family room floor watching the Dog Whisperer scream at a pair of Pit Bulls, and my precious pooch dragged his faux marrow bone and dropped it onto the top of my head.  This startled me to rise quickly and catch the corner of the coffee table with my right temple brandishing a two inch scrape above my right eye.  He pranced over to the corner carrying his rawhide in his smug mug leaving me behind to lick my own wounds.  Ha! in a pig’s ear…   

I can feel my pup watching me. His bulging eyes rotate around the room following every move I make ,exactly like the pictures  that hang in Disney’s Haunted Mansion. I just know he is planning my demise.  His favorite tactic is to jump on my chest when I am engrossed in sleep apnea and plant his poundage on my blood supply …I’m sure he’s trying to regulate my blood pressure to increase beyond repair.  This hound basks in his little villa parading around in all his black and white coat of Paws, and doesn’t think twice about trailing his kibble and bits down the main staircase knocking about like a pool of marbles.  He knows I run around barefoot throughout the house . He’s turning my feet into arch enemies with the hardwood floors.


I caught my pupster running off to a neighbor with a distress bark in his throat trying to get them to call the PETA hot line because I no longer set his dog dish by the glass  slider  so he can have a window seat during dinner.  He has their number on speed dial.   One  time a neighbor galloped over in a heated rush to check if the dog was  “alright”, because he had outlined “call 9-1-1” onto the  foggy window with his cold snout.  I reassured her that my puppy was fine and that he was just upset because the high humidity was causing his tail to curl up and fray on the ends….

My doggie likes to disappear out back when he is released into the fence-less yard. He likes to try to get out from under my view and hide behind the large pine trees and slink into the tall grass and watch me running circles around the house yelling his name in a panic.  One day I had him followed when he went on one of his escapades and he was later caught in a neighboring yard plotting with another raggedy mutt.  I think there may have been some treats exchanging in  little paws.  My dog was seen leaving with cookie contraband dangling from his snaggle-tooth.  I ran twenty-five minutes between houses before I could manage a noose around his neck.  Yeah..his tail was between his legs as I led him back to the gallows……

I was so angry I was sputtering single syllables like Porky Pig. I was walking so fast in a dither and spewing doggie expletives while dragging my mangy mutt to his den of inequity, that I failed to notice he was not on the other end of the leash.  Houdini managed to escape his full metal jacket.

I found him lounging in a chair on the Lido Deck extending a four-paw salute………catch me if you can….

He’s killing me….



{April 12, 2011}   The Blog Less Traveled

Is this venue a Blogularity contest of folks competing to be the best in Blog or is this just a case of diarrhea of the diatribe.  If someone were genuinely writing to express their emotions on, say, such subjects as motherhood or fatherhood, in hopes that their editorial would bequeath down to their offspring as a little light reading of parental aspirations….well…It just makes me reach for another round of Pomegranite Martini’s.  How much can a person endure and or find interesting of someones cutsie Kid anecdote,  Rumball remedies, or how one managed to be the greatest “whatever” they can be.  After scanning the Blog waves I have truthfully found that my attention span can not endure paragraphs that contain T.M.I. (Too Many Idio-syncrazies)   Some posts have me at Hello and some have lost me at the Title.

Maybe the blogging’s are individualized because they are vented around a personal genre that only the Blog-head that wrote them can understand or *get*.  oohh help me Obi- Blog-Kanobi…..

I *get* the posts displaying food, in fact, I get those cuisine commentaries so much that I put on ten pounds just drooling over them.  They are so life like that I cut and copy the articles and paste them onto my families dinner plates. If there were an aroma tab in the drop down menu I’d have it made…..

I *get* Blog-fomercials that instruct on the adversity of  the diversity of Chiropractic care of an unused clavicle and the pro’s and con’s of Transformer’s vs. Toy story.  I understand clicking on a useful site to gain pertinent info that might be useful to  our Blog alignment yet  can also carry us back to our childhood action figures. What I fail to *get* is the bait-n-switch routine once my mouse has clicked into the vast unknown.  Some of the deceptiveness has risen it’s ugly blog and turned into an advertisement for something that should enhance my life and enlarge my milieu. If I had one….a milieu that is…..

I *get* the ramblin’ blog who’s insight ,via their own eyesight, is the never ending story that temporarily perks my interest at The End.  I know love and life are hard…so are the other four letter words…….

I *get* the Sci-Fi and Mad Hatter routines using anonymous fillers for entertainment value to coerce a firing of rapid responses.  I’ll even throw in the Techno crowd-pleasers with their abundance of orchestrated graphics and pie charts.  ummm..pie (chart)..makes me want to return to the Food Blogwork…..


I *get* the poetry section?  Well I try to.  I can barely follow the alliteration of Dr. Suess‘ One Fish..Two Fish… I know that has a deeper meaning attached to it some where located on the Discovery channel.  I can follow the Blog-alligory  set in motion by the ingenious minds  masked behind a comic relief.  I GET humor. What I don’t get is someone so far removed that they don’t *get* the GET.  That could be a diagnostic dilemma in the getter or the getee….Hmm this proses a problem.

I *get* the travel section and reading about expeditions and exotic camping equipment , it’s riveting and has me on the edge of my Blog and makes me want to jump into an action packed Wrangler toward the end of the horizon. Although the scenic one’s that picture white sandy beaches and a coral reef  keeps me in a trance until my stomach growl’s…..which makes me return to the Food blog network…

I *get* the Kid’s periodicals on their growth charts and the parental expletives of the undertakings of their underlings.  I am particularly fond of the ghost writer posing as Dr. Spock, who blog-ly goes where no one has  blogged before.  I’d like to review those credentials….ohh were makin’ Wookieeee…

I *get* Humor.  The  Good,   The Bad, or The  Ugly….I *get* it.  The left brain function is logical enough to disentangle  the right brain creative force enabling the egghead to look at the whole picture in detailed funny.  Some folks can’t grasp the different depths of Funny…Lot’s of people are Off The Wall……Take Humpty Dumpty for instance…even he cracked up.

Well, if I had my say, which I do because this is my venue where I stand too tall in my platform shoes; I believe  most reader’s contain a humorous bone in their skeletal Blog. Even if the writings are subject(ive) to one’s own mind using a Forced energy to  Sabor our  thoughts throughout the Ja-wa sisterhood.

MUMBO-JUMBO NUMBER FIVE…..a little bit of blogging in my life…





{February 2, 2011}   A Blog in Sheep’s Clothing

I have been in Italy for nearly nine days now and I depart tomorrow on an early morning flight back to the states.  I am having mixed feelings about returning to my home in Pennsylvania, not because of what awaits me when I land but what has been left behind. My husband.

  I just realized after 21 years of marriage I actually love my husband. Over the last nine days I witnessed a man whose heart is larger than the moon that rules him and  he carries the world’s woes atop his stooping  shoulders. Shoulders  that lean more than the Tower of Pisa. Atlas cowers in comparison to my husband and he’s not even standing upright…I can’t decide if the amore rekindled because of the visit to Italy or if this is a part of what happens when a marriage continues past 20 years and the love  drought is over.

I will say that Geography plays a large part in where intimacy raises it’s protuberant head; well with me it does.  For example, having sex while married over a long period of time has it’s ups and downs and the outside meddling affairs that intervene during  a marriage can put a damper on your sex life:  The onset of children; A troublesome mother-in-law; A job or lack there of; and even a dog can cause rippin’ the sheets up to cease and desist.

  I always found that my PGAD was on high alert at the most inopportune times: Like the airplane toilet, or a cab, or the front steps of the Brooklyn Museum in February….. A bit frosty but fun. Or if you need to come in from the cold; your car parked outside Tavern on the Green under the lighted trees.. I’m sure there is a psychological term for folks that take advantage of our countries beautiful monuments and tourist attractions for their own nookie gratification, but I don’t care. You get off wherever you get off. You indulge when the urge strikes, because sooner or later you will be met with many interruptus bouts of screaming babies, or an everlasting phone calls from the boss, or the ferocious knock on the front door from your mother-in-law who schlepped all the way from west 6th street to find out if everyone is O.K. because no one answered her phone call… for the seventh time…..

Or maybe your dog jumps in to assist with what has been desist and causes mayhem on the mattress.  I don’t know if recapturing a spark that ignited over twenty years ago happened  again because of a romantic location or if I actually found my husband appealing.  My vote is the location.. location.. location… Italy brings the best out in me, there are no distractions except the  lovely country side, fantastic food, and an abundance of not over priced Chianti, all accompanied by the rapture of the language that captures your heart.

  There were no arguments breeding in our emotions or outside stimuli of  vagrant responsibilities that caused us to go asunder. We just had each other and the waft of Italian ambiance embracing our beings. All of this stayed intact until I entered the U.S. and headed home.

I left the garden of Eden to enter the gates of Hell.  As I crossed the threshold of my front door, I was immediately trounced on by Charly-dog who saturated my new Euro coat with pee stains ;  after receiving a giant hug from my 16 year old son  he followed up with complaints of “how he did all the work around the house and his sister did nothing”, then topped  the evening off by my invisible daughter who hasn’t seen me in weeks and opted to stay at her boyfriends parents house instead of asking me “how my trip went”.

I shuffled into the house after a nine hour flight and noted the dishes piled in the sink stained from yesterdays meals, pizza boxes left open laying on the garage floor two inches away from the recycle bin, soda cans left atop my car, laundry piled higher than Mt. Everest, and my husband calling to have me check his phone messages because he doesn’t want to be charged for roaming.  Business as usual.

I grabbed my over priced American Imported Chianti Classico and my box of chocolate covered Pocket Coffees and retreated  my jet-lagged ass to my bedroom.  I plugged my used airline earphones into my IPOD and blasted Pavaroti into my deaf ears as I downloaded my Flip videos of  Italy onto my Macbook Pro and sipped a lovely Vino Rosso all the while watching a recap of virtual food being served to me on a lovely terrace in Florence.   I feel the love…..Is it love or is it the idea of love?…….

OR is it the Location of love……………….Ciao Italia until we meet again…



{August 24, 2010}   Blog Agility

If you are reading this blog AND you find it clever or funny please comment. I need the feedback or otherwise I am wasting my Megabytes.  Speaking of mega-bites, my puppy is still snapping even after two weeks of guaranteed training. I don’t blame the Trainer , I blame my family who are lacking in the follow-up program arena.

My scheduled training of two weeks ended recently and I feel a bit empty inside. Charly-dog and I got use to the trainers 10 a.m. visits and it is hard to let go now. This trainer came into our lives and spent hours with each and every member of my family and worked with all of us as a whole to get Charly on track. I am  starting to have a small tinge of anxiety that once he is out of our lives for good, things will resort to the way they were.  The trainer did drop an anecdote  while sipping his bottled water, that being ;if any “uprisings” occur he will be here on the spot, and this is guaranteed forever.

Hmm.…. I could always find some fault somewhere in my puppy that might need tending to; maybe stage a scene or two…….kind of like the little boy crying wolf, only it’s a middle aged menopausal woman needing someone to talk to other than her doggie…..

I find as I am getting older and less tolerant of my estrogen levels, that letting go is becoming harder and harder. I took my son to the airport to catch a flight from Philadelphia to Los Angeles. He has been bugging me to let him fly out to see his best friend  ever since we moved out to the East Coast. My children have traveled extensively since they were born, but never without me in tow. I have this phobia about my children on  planes without me, what if  they have snakes on board……or worse yet Samuel L Jackson pushing the beverage cart………”I’ve had it with these Mother F*ckin’ Pepsi’s on this Mother F*ckin’ plane…..”

My son is 16 and does not qualify for the “unaccompanied child Airline escort” anymore. Plus, there is a $100 hidden  fee for this “Program”. It must fall in line with the “Meal Program” and the “Luggage Program”.   Personally I think they should wave this amount for first time moms letting their youngster fly solo and traipsing through Major City airports spending all their allowance on nonsense that is flagged out in the open Kiosks. ( Oh , yes son, I love the $50 neck snuggie you purchased to keep you comfortable during your flight that you left on board and is now on its way to Hong Kong where it originated from).

My sons flight was delayed over an hour from his connecting flight. I have a party retrieving him at the baggage claim terminal and they phoned to inform me that his flight was going to be late.   I got nervous.   I phoned the Major Airline that starts with a “D” and has been around since the Nixon administration, to find out more information about his flight. The “D” Agent confirmed that it was delayed twice, out of Atlanta.

I spat out; “TWICE?”.

“Yes”,( he said with an accent that was identical to the driver in the second Indiana Jones Movie).

I interrupted his silence with a very loud “WHY TWICE?”.

He enlightened me with the explanation that the first delay was a security issue.

AND THE SECOND DELAY? 

  “Was a maintenance problem”.

 I questioned him further on the maintenance problem and he laughed and told me:

Well the plane is in the air now”.

Oh thank God, that is so reassuring, I am so thrilled, oh, and I feel so relieved and unconcerned that that plane is in the air now! How about the landing??? Please tell me the maintenance problem was a toilet that wouldn’t stop flushing or the Captain’s coffee pot heater light keeps blinking, or the food cart has a rusty wheel…………

I popped open a Dos Equis and brought up my sons Itinerary and  started to track his flight on my Macbook like a Pro. I love technology, it’s almost like being in the control tower yourself, minus all the other distractions, like ten million OTHER flights trying to take off and land.   I went into the “D” Airline WEB site and typed his flight number and it showed a map of the U.S. with a little yellow airplane following a bright blue line to his destination. I felt a little more at ease and managed to breath a little easier…………..

Until this little yellow plane started a nose dive over Arizona….

The time left on his flight was an hour and a half and the meter was not moving, nor was the tiny yellow plane that I was watching for twenty minutes without blinking…

 That little mustard piper cub was not advancing on my screen and I was having the most horrible images run through my mind.  Images of a black smoke plume smoldering from seat 11B because I thought I  had confiscated all the fireworks my son wanted to share with his friend in California. Where they are illegal and maybe he sequestered a box of black Snake Glow worms that he stuck in his back pocket. I was a flight attendant once and have witnessed plight flights that brought me to my knees saying a few Hail Mary’s while pouring a few Bloody Mary’s..

I shut the laptop off  and logged back on to the “D” website to commence with stalking my sons flight. His fake plane kept stalling in the air until I clicked the refresh button so it would advance faster to LAX airport.  In a matter of seconds that little yellow cartoon 757 was now starting it’s descent  into Los Angeles with it’s nose in the air and landing in 22 minutes……..Funny if I keep clicking the Back Button that plane just might land on time.

My son loves being independent and Hates that his mother texted him thirteen times before he even left the ground. I can’t wait to tell him about the tracking device….I wonder if they have that for everything…like when he starts driving or is out with his friends at a movie, or maybe, just maybe…on a date.

Yes I love technology it helps a mom sleep at night…….and you thought Big Brother was watching……………hellooo Big Mother……..



{August 15, 2010}   One Blog Night…..

I have a friend who is in dire straits. This friend stands to lose everything she owns that she has worked hard to obtain. My friend is separating from her husband and losing her home at the same time. My friend has never been in this position before and is too proud to ask anyone for anything, she has been a big contributor to life and community and doesn’t deserve this fate. Someone needs to throw her a bone.  She doesn’t own a dog, but I think a dog would help her disposition and frame of mind during this time. I would offer her  my Charly-dog, but that might cause undue harm.

I don’t think anyone should lose anything except their mind once in a while. This person stands to lose her home. A home that she lived in for a long time and paid for with her blood,sweat, and many tears. She’s losing this domain because of a job loss. A job she held for many years with a company  that now thinks she is too old to be there anymore, only they don’t quite put it in those words. Downsizing do to economy.

I can’t speak for anyone else ( or can I?) but I am tired of that phrase flowing out of corporate HR’s like lava out of Kilauea’s Volcano.  My friend is in her late forties who looks ten years her junior and has kept herself fit and has the mind  and wit of a sassy pre-teen. Why wouldn’t a company want to keep someone like that on board  until death do them part? What can a corporate conglomerate’s hope to gain by hiring a newbie grad from  “Ivy League Du Jour” who belonged to Tap-a-New-a-Keg Frat house,and majored in “babes”?

  Oh, yeah, intro pay scale. Let’s get rid of the highly experienced high producers that made the company’s P&L  statement soar into the black abyss heading skyward on the line graph, and replace her with a Poly Sci major who’s bed time  ritual includes washing with Pro-active Skin care.

When will businesses wake up and realize that its the quality, integrity, and loyalty of the person they employ. This friend of mine runs circles around kids half her age all the while trying to explain to them the meaning of of the words work ethic. This woman has spent countless days training youngsters and explaining the mission statement of the company  based on credibility , reliability, and visions of the future. All this, of course, fell onto IPOD clad ears and thumb texting titans who parlayed their comments in anagrams.

 I had advised my girlfriend to do what I do with my teeage son when I need him to listen to me…..I download my instructions onto his ITunes and yell at him through Facebook. I have a Facebook account now. I actually had the account for months and didn’t know it. My daughter had set it up and posted photo’s of me on a wall without my consent. (Funny, I’ve had to sign consent forms for my children throughout their lives and now the role is reversed and their is no legal protection for Parents.)  I don’t know where my daughter found these photo’s of me, but they are the unedited versions. You know the ones with the distorted face or the close ups of the age spots and that lovely morning shot before you apply the Deep wrinkle cream. Facebook is a network that reaches into the vast unknown of society in an instant. I have picked up friends that I never knew existed and witnessed conversations that are for Mature Audiences Only. (That are written by the immature..).

I do admit though that I visit this site and I have conversed on it and I have posted my own photography.. I added Charly-dog.  I also contacted my friend in distress on this site and offered a ray of hope. I sent her a video of my dog’s first day with the professional dog trainer. The one where Charly is screaming his bobble head off while the trainer sits on him. The one where the yelps were at a decibel level that could break crystal. I also showed her my hand with the bite wound  from Charly that was bound up like a boxing mitt.

I  decided to take my Flip camera and give a tour of the potty stained carpet throughout the house and the furniture covered in pet hair and the scratch marks on the hardwood floors from the CLAWS of life. I added the one  video where I’m walking the puppy and he’s viciously  attempts to attack all passer-bys with me in tow.  I also sent her a subscription to my blog.

Funny..I heard form her and things had miraculously turned around for her. She sold her house, got a new hubby, and sent me a picture of her “new addition”.

 A  Dog………….  There is a light at the end of the choke collar…..



et cetera
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