52 Reasons Why I Love You?

Hurricane Kelly was recently back in town from Carolina.  She arrived home at 11:00 PM and I awoke from the sofa just in time to give my daughter a quick hug and kiss.  Then she went to town preparing Valentine cupcakes and cards in my just-cleaned kitchen suddenly sprawling with baking supplies and art materials.

Into the wee hours of  morning, she came into the great room to show me her handiwork. From a sleepy state, I saw what looked like a deck of cards.  They were secured by two binder rings at the very top of the deck. The  front card was beautifully decorated and stickered with the words "52 Reasons Why I Love You"--an early Valentine and anniversary gift for her boyfriend of nearly two years.

I complimented her on her thoughtfulness and creativity.  No, I wasn't permitted to look through the cards and have to admit I'm damn curious as to what she wrote on the cards.  However,  I also have to admit that my nineteen year old girl has earned her right to some privacy. 

Next morning I got up and went to work.  Kelly was still sleeping and would be off to Boiling Springs to see her boyfriend Zack at Garner Webb.  He had come so many times to visit her at Carolina and so it was her turn to make the drive to see him.

I admire their dedication and the "52 Reasons" for sure.

That night I started thinking about me and my husband and I told him about the "52 Reasons" deck of cards.
We both half-joked that we'd have a hard time coming up with that many reasons! 

Then it crossed my mind that maybe something wasn't right.  Why would we joke about not being able to come up with reasons why we love each other?   Not good.

The Black Cow Lives On at Godino's!

         I don't know about you, but lately I"ve been mourning the loss of some of my very favorite cafes and restaurants in Greensboro.  This double dip recession has put out the lights in a slew of wonderful restaurants, bakeries, and coffeehouses.
        I'm still feeling the blues over the closing of Greensborough Coffee on State Street where I sipped on locally roasted coffee, enjoyed fresh baked goods, and bantered with the owners on a regular basis.  And I finally worked up my courage to sing and play my guitar at their open mike held every other week.  I was getting into quite a routine and after several performances I barely noticed my nerves.  It just doesn't feel right drinking my java and strumming my guitar in some other strange coffeehouse.
       The closing of Ganache was also a blow.  This was the perfect lunch spot whether dining alone or treating a friend or family member to that special meal and, of course, dessert.  Their expansive dessert cases brought me back to my childhood days living on Long Island where bakery after bakery on every other street corner was fiilled to the brim with  fresh cakes, breads, and cookies.  The Black Cow cake at Ganache was legendary in our circle.  Birthdays and celebrations were always marked by a visit to Ganache for coffee and cake or the purchase of a Black Cow to bring home with us.  I sure miss those delightfully perfect evenings on the rooftop deck now that this wonderful weather is with us.

The Real Housewives of New York City Are Really Rude Imposters

It's 11:40 PM.  Tom's asleep and I'm surfing the channels of my nonflat-screen TV.  I stumble across the "so-called"  Real Housewives of New York City on Bravo.  I lament about the old Bravo when it programmed British period pieces and independent films.

Those were the days.   

To borrow some phrasing from another era and former VP candidate Lloyd Bentsen:   I know New York housewives.  I am friends with New York housewives.  And you all are not the Real Housewives of New York City.

I've watched this show maybe once or twice and to be blunt the whole thing is sickening. These are a bunch of mean,  self-centered, and overindulged women who apparently don't get that we are in the midst of a Great Recession.  When I click them out of my life, I immediately jump up and down with joy about what a wonderful and meaningful life I lead.

Tuning in every now and then makes me downright grateful for what I have!

Glenn Beck, Please Don't Mess With Grandma Frances!

I have a nice little blog where I write about local and everyday little happenings.  I seldom write about politics.  I like to keep things light and positive and unfortunately politics is a nasty business.  My work days are also pretty heavy and filled with many sad stories of illness and joblessness. That doesn't mean I don't follow the local, state, and national scene.  Or let's just say I try to.  And being a social worker by trade demands that I keep up with policy at many levels. 

I actually consider myself an independent.  I have both liberal and conservative leanings.  There's no one party who can define who I am.  But I won't get into that here.

I have to confess that I've been addicted to FOX News for a long time. I have liked and respected Bill O'Reilly and felt over the years that he evolved into someone who gave time to both sides of an issue (although his association with Glenn Beck may force me to stop watching him altogether). I absolutely love Greta Van Susteren because she gets right on the case and is a fantastic investigator, interviewer, and reporter. Sean Hannity of FOX News will not be discussed here because he has nothing new to say and professes the same tired things over and over and over again.  He makes Forrest Gump look like a PhD.

Unfortunately, I believe I can no longer support FOX News with my viewing time.  And this is why:

What's Up with Edward McKay Used Books?

Edward McKay used to be one of my absolute favorite places in Greensboro.  What the heck has happened to this establishment?  There was a time I could bring a brimming bag of books to the counter and get back some good credit or cash.  And I always felt like I was getting a great bargain on almost every book or CD
I ever purchased there.

But not so much anymore .... I'm not feeling the love from Edward McKay's Used Books and More.

The "More" must mean, "Give 'em more and get less!" Because it's like an act of Congress for them to give you a few cents for your books.

Just the other day,  I dragged an overflowing bag filled mostly with the classics. The Bostonians.  Wuthering Heights.  Black Beauty.  Little Men.  I could go on and on with the titles, but you get the idea.   Some I'd even bought from their store for my own reading pleasure or because they were required by Guilford County Schools for either summer or regular school year reading. True, some of my books were older editions both in paperback and hardcover, but still in good, very usable condition.

Certainly book lovers couldn't possibly be above reading an older edition of a classic or any great piece of literature, even if it's in less than pristine condition. If you're like me, I enjoy a book with some character, one that looks like it's been passed around.  A little bit of wear, a few dog ears, and some strategic underlining makes the book much more interesting for me.  My mind wanders as to the stream of folks who have read the book before me. I also love it when someone has written something personal in the front cover for a birthday or other special occasion.

I'm definitely not complaining about the credit I received on the books that McKay's decided to take. I got back around $8.00 and change from whatever was deemed worthy to be placed upon their holy shelves.   However, I left the shop with 3/4 of the books still in the bag.

Very annoying.

I'd love to know what it is Edward McKay wants and what it is he doesn't want.  But who can figure it out?

Midlife Madness: How Tom Petty, My Whining Guitar and a Local Wizard Saved the Day!

Once upon a time, I made a promise to myself.  I would never be one of those women thrust into the madness of a midlife crisis.  I thought I had it all figured out.

Then a few summers ago, it hit me out of nowhere.  I dropped 75 cents into the slot of a newspaper machine.  I pulled a USA Today out from the stacks.  And there appeared Tom Petty of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers.  I couldn't believe it!  The guy on the cover resembled nothing of the skinny kid who stopped me dead in my tracks, singing Refugee on Saturday Night Live.  He looked great, but obviously time had passed.  Petty's face and figure were a little fuller. His hair was slightly shorter and not so blonde.  Nonetheless, he was smiling and aging with all the grace a fifty-something year old man can muster.

What's ol' Tom up to these days?  Where's he been?  I thought to myself.

However, by the time I'd finished reading the article, I was pretty shaken up and asking myself a different question ...