RIP clothes dryer.

After nursing our clothes dryer for a while, it was finally time to let it go. So much was wrong with it, it didn’t pay to fix it….again.

And the bright side is that the boys have another huge box to play with! They’re out back now painting the new toll booth….

Would you like fries with that?

AmVets is coming in the morning. They come almost every month. Cathy calls (she’s so nice! In fact, at poker last night I realized that she calls all my friends!) and I always try to find something nice to donate. So I’m looking in all the nooks and crannies. I found a box with photos and congratulations cards (from my 1st wedding! yikes!) and my pay stubs. Pay stubs?

So here you see my pay stub from Gino’s. For a whopping $9.24. I worked my butt off for that paycheck. Slipped on a slimy floor, wore white shoes and a tacky red and beige polyester uniform. I EARNED that $9.24. More than earned it.

For those who don’t know…

In 1957, Baltimore Colts football players Alan Ameche and Joe Campanella, along with Louis Fischer, opened a hamburger restaurant at 4009 North Point Road in Dundalk, Maryland just outside of Baltimore. Soon several other stores were added in the Baltimore area. In 1959, the trio was joined by Colt’s captain Gino Marchetti, and the chain became known as Gino’s Drive In. Within a year the company went public to secure funds for expansion and began to reach up the East coast into New England and as far South as North Carolina.

Gino’s did not franchise, each store was company owned and operated. Gino’s was distinguished for it’s philanthropic efforts, aimed at helping young people. Executives of the company supported many educational, cultural, recreational and athletic projects.

By 1969, there were 100 Gino’s Restaurants, growing to 330 in 1972. In 1978 there were 359 Gino’s stores.

Aside from working for the family business, this was my first paying job. It was an eye-opener. Not the working hard part. I was good at that. It was stepping outside my social comfort zone…

Marty had a crush on me. He was cute. Not as cute as his friend, Mark (who I later met as an adult and was not nearly as perfect as I thought he was back then…) but cute just the same. He drove a motorhead kind of car. I really liked that car. I had never met anyone with a car like that. (until college when I dated a guy with a primer gray 1967 Camaro. But I digress.)

All my friends drove their parents’ cars: Volvos, Buicks, station wagons. You get the point. Marty was different. He and his friends were wild and daring. His parents let him stay out late and he had few rules. He had freedom. It looked really great from where I sat. I didn’t find out until later that Marty felt miserable and unloved at home. Never occurred to me that it wasn’t freedom, it was lack of involvement at all.

The kids I hung with (you know who you are!) may have done the occasional rebellious act, but were really good kids. And they had loving, caring families. And rules. I don’t know that I realized that lack of rules and expectations is not a good thing for kids until later.

I wonder what happened to Marty. I hope he’s happy somewhere. We didn’t “date” long. I wasn’t comfortable with his rowdy friends (and he didn’t kiss very well…but that’s another story!).

Then there was Charise. Don’t even ask me why I remember her name! Maybe it’s because she punched me REALLY HARD in the parking lot after closing one day. Ouch.

I got her fired. I, my friends, was a whistle blower. I didn’t like to make trouble. And particularly there, where I was not with my friends, I was shy and reserved. But this girl did something terrible.

She and I were both working register. I overheard some guy snip at Charise. Not ruder than most customers, frankly, but not very polite. And then it happened. I saw Charise make a soda from the fountain, turn around with her back to the counter and spit in it. Then she put the lid on and served it to the customer.

GRRRRROOOOOSSSSS.

I said, “excuse me” and took the cup. I made him a new one. I told him the cup looked dirty. She glared. Then I went to the manager and I tattled.

She was, as I said, fired.

And she was waiting for me after work.

I don’t think I told my parents. Why? No clue. But it does make me wonder if my kids will tell me things. My parents were plenty approachable, so I don’t know why I wouldn’t have talked to them about this. Great. Another thing for me to worry about as my kids get older.

Anyway, the Gino’s years were enlightening. Since my neighborhood and school were a bit insulated, it gave me a peak into the wider world. And finding the whopping paycheck stub brought me back there for a visit…

Wednesday words.

I’m just an old-fashioned girl.

I think people are nicer when they write by hand. I think that handwritten notes are appreciated and treasured. I think that taking the effort to write a note makes the writer content, too.

This is my favorite pen. It’s a glass stylus and it was given to me as a gift with the rest and the beautiful burgundy ink you see. When I write with it, I feel special.

You have to work harder to say the right thing. There’s no white-out. No backspace. No erasers. It’s worth the effort – your words looks so beautiful on a great piece of paper or stationery.

Funny thing. I was given this lovely gift by an old friend of mine for my birthday. I’ll call him Alan – because his name is Alan. I opened the box and gushed. I love this pen. I also knew (sorry Alan, if you read this) that he could not have picked it. It was chosen by a woman – a thoughtful and classy woman. Most likely, his girlfriend, Beth. Though this might have been before her time, so it could have been the girlfriend before her – but we like her best, so I’ll just pretend to myself that Beth picked it.

Alan surely knows me well enough to know that I’d love a pen/ink set. I have always written notes and I used to do quite a bit of calligraphy. Sometimes for hire. But what man would think that a female friend would be excited over a pen/ink set? None that I know. And besides, I know him. He’s always had people in his life do his shopping. He doesn’t have the patience.

Still, I love this pen. Sometimes, I think about whom I can write to – just so I can write a real, penned letter.

I can’t imagine writing anything except the kindest, most considerate things with this beautiful pen.

So the genie offers Andrew 3 wishes…

Traffic.

[whistle]
…little patience, mm yeah, mm yeah
need a little patience, yeah
just a little patience, yeah
some more patience, yeah
need some patience, yeah
could use some patience, yeah
gotta have some patience, yeah
all it takes is patience,
just a little patience
is all you need *

by Guns & Roses

We took a quick roadtrip – up the NJ Turnpike. All the way up to the GW Bridge. From here? It’s about a 4-hour drive without traffic.

Thing is, there is never no traffic.

So it was just me and the boys. While they watched Dumb and Dumberer, I clenched my teeth and tightened my grip on the steering wheel. I don’t know which showed worse judgment; letting them watch that trash or driving in the NY Metro area at rush hour. And unfortunately, it was difficult for me to keep some of the thoughts about my not so polite neighboring drivers from escaping from inside my head. Some words were said. I’m not proud.

It all got me thinking. Why is it that I can’t just be patient? Everyone in those cars had someplace to go. What is the big hurry? Can’t I just hum a nice tune and wait? I have this need to be moving. Constantly moving. It’s a little exhausting, I have to admit.

I am fast. No, not like that. Well, maybe a little. What I mean is that I make fast decisions. I trust my instincts. I get things done quickly. I’m efficient. I can buy a house in a day. I have. I can choose my paint colors in 5 minutes. I have. I like speed. (Though I don’t drive fast.) I like to accomplish a lot in a day. My trainer is always telling me to work out slower. It’s better for your muscles. But I have to work at slowing down. It’s not who I am.

When I was a kid, I broke things a lot because I was so fast. Hasty, some might say. Reactive, others might say. I just think I was extremely productive and there were a few casualties. Shit happens.

But what is it about me that won’t allow me to slow down the pace? To sit quietly and enjoy just sitting. I don’t know. But I can’t. So traffic makes me particularly jumpy.

I decided to get off the NJ Turnpike to avoid the traffic. Great move, brains. I ended up on the Garden State Parkway in traffic. Much better. Yeah, right. Now, I got to go the LONG way in bumper to bumper snail’s pace instead of the SHORTER way in creeping along in the same bumper to bumper pace.

Great move, Sherlock.

So 6 hours later, I got home with the boys.

But it was all worth it to see my kids hang with their wonderful cousins. And to spend time with my sister.

But I have to admit that I’m not going back anytime too soon. I have to forget the pain.

Or learn a little patience.

Green Bean Casserole

Remember when everyone made this? You know, with Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup and French’s french fried onions…

When is the last time you made this or had it at someone’s house?

For me? 1986, I think.

I’ll have the Shirley Temple.

We took the boys out to dinner. Hoping to keep it modest, we told them they could order sodas, but let’s not have Shirley Temples today. They looked a little disappointed.

Max sat there thinking hard. Then he said, “I’ll get a glass of water instead of a soda. If you divide that price in half and add half to the price of a soda, it’s enough for my brothers to each have a Shirley Temple.”

It’s moments like this…

Passover thoughts.

Passover is about freedom. Freedom from slavery and breaking out of our constraints, real and imagined. And personal freedom.

Matisyahu (yes, the singer) said, “We think of slavery as someone else enslaving us, but in truth, we are often the ones enslaving ourselves. We are so busy being influenced by money, by society, by external pressures, that our true identity and abilities can be hidden.”

So I want to wish everyone a great Passover. I hope we all (those who celebrate and those who don’t!) can find personal and universal freedom!

Peace.

(Did I mention you get 4 glasses of wine with dinner?)

Happy Passover.

Next year in Jerusalem. (Oh, no! I think I ruined the ending for our guests who haven’t read the book. Sorry Megan!)