Yesterday marked the 3 year anniversary of the S.O.B.. I couldn’t go on the ride. Why, you ask? Because Andrew’s bike doesn’t have a back seat. I could pout and pretend that it makes me sad, but the truth is, I hate riding on the back. (I was going to call it by the name that everyone calls riding on the back, but I fear that some might think it inappropriate.)

Some of you might know I have my motorcycle license. I used to have a bike. But I sold it after Davis was born. Hanging with these folks last night (I went to the party, of course!) made me want one again. It sure would be nice…..

A few comments about the party.

The trivia games included “who is the Jew, who is the bigot” with some pretty tough questions. Other questions were about NASCAR drivers, hunting, electrical work…you get the picture. Andrew did respectably well, but alas… he did not win.

Notice all the chaps? Can I get a pair if I start riding again? (All those walking lunges better start to pay off!)

The house where the party was is historic building, dating back to the late 1700′s. I got the tour. Really cool house. Our host told us all kinds of neato stuff about the house. And I checked into the history a bit more and found out that the original owners had sixteen children in the home. SIXTEEN kids? And I think I’m tired.

There was a guy there cooking and serving Pit Beef. I love that stuff. And I just found out it’s a regional thing. Anyone out there had it before? It’s great!

Fun was had by all. It was great to see all the people Andrew hangs with…they’re some terrific and real people.

Thanks Flo for the photos!

Music. It’s amazing how it can bring people together.

My kids want to know about Paul McCartney and Wings because of Live and Let Die. My mother loves the new CD I bought, Brandi Carlile’s The Story. (It is pretty awesome.) I’ve been amazed over the last few years how much my mom and I agree on music. No, she does not love The Dead. Or John Prine or Springsteen or Sean Paul. But she really does like a lot of the same music I do. And not just the sappy stuff.

Over coffee after Shabbat dinner tonight, we were talking about Elvis. I got my little JBL speaker thingie and my iPod and brought it to the dining room table and played In The Ghetto for my dad. He couldn’t place it without hearing it. He recognized it immediately. He remembered it from years back. I mentioned how handsome I thought Elvis was in his prime. My mother did not agree. Not her type. Well, we can’t agree on everything, I suppose.

The boys like to listen to a radio station that plays all the hits. I don’t mind it at all. Honestly, I like a lot of it. It’s really interesting to me how much they know about the artists, the songs, pop culture. They seem so little to me… and yet, they know so much. I guess they are more saturated in media than I was at that age. Yes, I listened to American Top 40 (where the heck IS Casey Casum? Is he 100 years old by now?). But I don’t remember knowing much about the artists except the ones in Tiger Beat.

Tiger Beat? It is still published? Yikesorama! Who’d have guessed. Well, without David Cassidy and Leif Garrett, how cool can it be anyway?

Yes, I realize this is a rambling post. Could be the wine. We went to a wine tasting at IM Wine today and bought a lovely Cabernet – Honig from Napa Valley (2004) and polished that off and here I am writing. Perhaps not my clearest moment.

But you should have seen me just minutes before I sat down here… flipping through the hundreds of record albums we own (we do have a turntable!) looking for Band on The Run. Couldn’t find it. But I did pull out some amazing record to listen to later on…

The Wild, The Innocent and The E Street Shuffle
Rock ‘N’ Roll High School
Best of the Bee Gees
Crown of Creation
Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends

So after the kids go to bed (soon?) I’ll be settling down by the stereo and playing some of my old favorites with my honey.

Should be nice.

Have a great weekend, y’all!

The boys (and Andrew) are watching Live and Let Die. It’s the 7th Bond movie they’ve seen together. My guys are hooked. They want to see every one…they’ve made a list and are crossing them off one by one.

I might have mentioned in passing that Andrew has a huge collection of vintage James Bond books. So I guess I know where the kids got the gene….

And while I’m on the subject I have to ask….

Sean Connery?
Roger Moore?
Pierce Brosnan?
Daniel Craig?
or one of those other guys…?

The boys started fencing lessons last week.

Not a sport for the germ-phobic.

The thought of putting on that mask…the one some other kid with a runny nose was wearing earlier.

Well, it’s just gross.

Fortunately, my guys either haven’t thought about that or don’t care. I’m guessing they don’t care. And that’s fine. Better, in fact.

It’s been a crazy day. I have tons of thoughts in my head, but no energy to put them down. So I’m walking away from the computer.

Walk away.

Away.

Today is the anniversary of my first marriage.

Today is the anniversary of my first divorce. (And, Andrew…I’m not expecting to have a second!) Seriously, in Maryland, you apply, do the process, blah, blah, blah and the papers show up dated. They were dated April 24th.

Funny how the universe rounded this out for me.

A few things I can finally get off my chest. I didn’t want a wedding. Yet, we had one. I didn’t want to wear a wedding dress, and yet, I wore this monstrosity. Seriously, it had a bubble hem. I am not kidding.

I didn’t like the photographer from the first time I met him. Clearly, his talent and creativity wasn’t what got him business, either. Why did we hire him? I have no idea.

The going-away photo. Clever. What I do like about this picture is that I loved my outfit. And the shoes were a radical departure. Fun. Okay, fine – it’s totally dated! But this was the 80′s.

Notice how the ex-hub tried the funky shoe choice, too. Somehow, it didn’t work for me. It was kind of like marrying Pat Boone.

Oh, the memories.

This day was the best and happiest of all our married time together.

Sad, but true.

As I waited for a friend at Katana for lunch today, I overheard a conversation. And I haven’t been able to shake it all day.

These were two old friends. Both women were, by my guess, in their seventies. It was clear they’d known each other a long, long time. The one I could see better was well dressed. Not fancy, but put together. She had short gray hair and thick glasses. She looked like she had a weight on her shoulders.

Seems she is moving away. Away from her friend.

Her daughter, Kendra I think, has insisted she move closer so she can keep an eye on her. Help her. I heard a bit of sarcasm in the woman’s voice.

She doesn’t want to go. She still lives independently. She’s lonesome sometimes – now that her husband is gone. But she has her friends. And a lot to do here.

But she realizes that she will need more support at some point. And that if she waits until then, it might be too late to move.

I felt so sad. And since I was eavesdropping, I had to keep a stoic face. Look busy.

And then.

The woman said to her friend that her daughter says she’ll make new friends where she’s going.

And with a sigh I could feel across the room, she explained that while she might make some new acquaintances, she’d never make a friend like this friend. And that when it comes down to it, a real friend will be there no matter what and no matter when. But a new friend will be there if it’s convenient.

And then my friend showed for lunch.

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By the way, those candy characters really do walk around the park. Don’t you think that’s weird? Who wants to talk to candy? But I digress.

When I was in 7th grade, my friend Sarah asked me if I wanted to ask a date (she suggested Howie – who likely does not go by Howie anymore) and go to HersheyPark with her and her date, Benjie. (I know for a fact that he’s just plain Ben now – and that he’s still extremely handsome.)

I was not a particularly mature 12 year old. I was not comfortable with the idea of going on a date at all, and the thought of a 8-10 hour ordeal was more than I could manage. So I said no, thank you. It was really hard to do that. I remember feeling really pressured to say yes…I recall that her parents said she could bring a boy if I brought a boy. And here I was saying I didn’t want to. So I’m sure Sarah was just overjoyed that I messed up her plan.

She was nice about it, I think. We stayed friends for sure – and in fact, we still are. Though I see her only about twice a year, she has been my friend longer than anyone else. Since 1970. We sang together in the 4th grade talent show. That was the year she moved to Baltimore from Wisconsin.

I wonder. Was not going to HersheyPark with a date in 7th grade my first taste of bucking peer pressure? Maybe so.

I wouldn’t say that my junior high and high school years were free of influence from my friends, but I would say that I was always my own person and I made my own decisions. Some weren’t perfect. Okay, some really stunk. But they were mine. All mine.

I see my boys growing up and I hope that if I can give them anything, it will be the ability to see the options, assess the risks and benefits, and make good decisions.

By now, everyone knows what MILF stands for… but what is WILF?

You know when you’re online and you get a little distracted? Next thing you know, you are “wilfing.”

Don’t be ashamed. It happens to lots of us.

WILF is short for “What Was I Looking For?”

Check out this article, Aimless workers “wilfing” through cyberspace.

I think this world needs more acronyms. Don’t you?

A friend and I started running last week. We’re doing the Couch Potato to 5K plan…

I ran track in high school. Not well, mind you. A friend dared me. Well, actually, he said, “I bet you can’t run a mile.” And I joined the track team to prove him wrong. I never won a race. But I perservered. I ran. And ran and ran.

That guy? He married a triathelete. I guess he just liked girls who ran.

After high school, I never ran again.

But I’m very proud of myself. I went 1-3/4 miles today.

There’s a charity 5K in June that lots of my friends are signed up for. I’m thinking about doing it.

I’m either optimistic or crazy.

Or both.

Note: The picture is not me or my friend. We just wish we could look happy and calm (not to mention in perfect shape) like that when we run!