RIP Richard Dawson

The friendly face of Family Feud has fallen. We got word today that Richard Dawson passed away due to complications from esophageal cancer. When I heard the news I immediately thought, "Didn't he die years ago?!?" Then I thought, "I wonder if you can get esophageal cancer from kissing hundreds upon hundreds of women over the years."

He was handsome, he was funny, he was charming, he was frankly...a little creepy. But he sure gave us some great family memories. He liked lollipops, children's drawings, Mormons, carnation lapel flowers and being patient while lovely grandmothers drew a blank (perhaps brought on by acute vodka consumption.) 

Survey Says:  Thanks for the memories, Richard. Maybe one day we'll meet you again in heaven where we can greet you with a kiss and a "Helloooooo Richard!" 

I invite you now to share some of your favorite memories of Mr. Dawson...

Let the Vacation Begin

This is for all of you who are envious of me basking in the Palm Springs sunshine. I would like to give you a quick recap of the past 24 hours of my life,  in an effort to make you feel better.I'll  begin at about 11 am yesterday - exactly 90 minutes before we're set to leave home for six weeks. I'm rushing around trying to make sure all the last minute tasks are done. You know, furnace filter changed and humidifier turned way down, thermostat dialed down, water softener set on bypass, coffee pot unplugged, doors locked..... Then I hear a call from upstairs, "Cin. ". "Yes, dear."  "Can you come up and fold some things for me?" In an effort to maintain the peace, I stop what I'm doing, head to the bedroom, and silently fold all the clothes he has yet to pack. Through gritted teeth I respond with all the kindness I can muster, "There you go."  He doesn't look up from what he's doing as he responds, "As soon as Im done here you can put everything in the suitcase for me."  Are you kidding me?   You'll have to imagine where the conversation went from there.

We finally made it to the airport and had an uneventful on time flight to CA. When we landed in the desert it was 50 degrees and pouring rain.   I went to the car rental counter while my loving hubby, who had yet to apologize, waited for our luggage.   Budget did not have the car we reserved so they gave us a lovely tan tank called a Crown Victoria. Did you know they still build a car that can seat  3 passengers in the front seat? I swear that my grandparents, were they still with us, would be embarrassed to drive this car.   On a good note, it has a mammoth trunk, so Lynn and Marie you need not worry too much about my ability to transport you and your luggage when you arrive.    We had a pleasant drive, in the rain, to our condo.   Got everything unpacked and headed off to Ralph's, the local grocery chain.   While we were overloading our cart  with over $400.00 work of stuff  we can't live without, the store lights went out twice. I'm not talking a flicker, but for an extended period.   No problem.   Once we're satisfied that we have more than we can possibly eat we checkout.  I scan my credit card, only to have the cashier announce in his football stadium voice that it is declined. I'm surprised he didn't use the public address system to inform all of Ralph's  shoppers that there's some loser at counter number 12. Okay.  I carry a seldom used Am Ex card for such emergencies, and it was accepted.

So, I head back to the condo and spend nearly an hour discussing my travel usage with the fine folks at Visa.   I thank the fraud prevention attendant for watching over me  and reactivating my card.  It's time for bed.  

Early this morning I waken to some strange and urrecognizable sounds. Maybe a giant woodpecker or a desert animal with which I am unacquainted.  This later proves to be construction workers. They are using our garage to store and cut sheetrock they'reputting  in a condo one floor up and several doors down. I manage to fall back to sleep for a few minutes and then hear that dreaded call again..."Cin"...."I thought you said we have WiFi."   We do."  "Well, it doesn't work."  "It works fine for me. Did you sign into the condo network?"   By the silence, and from past experience, I know that he has no idea what this means.   So I crawl out of bed at the break of day to get him signed on to the Motorola network.   Let me just state that an adult who knows nothing more about his new laptop than how to turn it on and click on 'the big blue e' is nearly as dangerous as a drunk behind the wheel of a car. At this point I have the option of becoming violent or heading out to Target.   I choose the latter.  I dig out my coupons, fill my cart with the last of the essentials required for our stay, and learn that once again my Visa is declined. (In a subsequent phone call they tell me the person I spoke with last night forgot to enter the correct code to reactivate my card and promise it is all okay now  We'll see.) Am Ex to the rescue once again.  By this time I'm feeling a bit overwhelmed and decide to treat myself to a latte at Starbucks on the way out of Target.   After waiting in line behind a woman who ordered five vanilla frapacinnos, I am informed by an unapologetic barista that Starbucks doesn't have any coffee this morning because their grinder is broken.   AARGH!   I just had to laugh.

Now I'm back at the condo. Having cleaned and organized to my compulsive satisfaction, I put on some jazz music, make myself a hot cup of coffee with soy milk, and take a seat on the patio/lanai. The sun is coming out, the mountains are majestically snowcapped, the flowers are blooming. Kinda reminiscent of that Camp Granada song.  This is more like it.  Ya, well, the relaxation lasst a good 5 minutes before the landscape workers invaded with a blower so loud it sounds like a  Midwest tornado.   And now they're joined by some backup singers, the street sweepers, who have passed by three times so far.

I tell you all this not to complain, but to have you join in my laughter over how my vacation has begun.  I realize I am extremely fortunate to be here.   I know that it is only the first 24 hours of a long stay and things will settle down.  I will eventually unwind.   (Here comes that GD blower guy again.)  I'm attempting  to just be grateful for the impeccably clean sidewalks and patios,  pool decks, and streets  here.   Better try a little harder cuz' I'm not quite there yet.  And before I can even type one more word the street sweeper is passing by again. 

I assure you I have not exagerated one tiny bit about the past 24 hours.   I am telling you the honest truth.  This is all  too comical.  Mom, I know you wish you were here.  I would love that.  Lynn, Corinne, Marie, Anna, Caitlin, Heather, (street sweeper again) and Tyler, I'm looking forward to your visit.  This truly is a beautiful place.   I'm going to get my kindle and a visor and settle into the chaise lounge.   I vow  to relax if it kills me!

Love to all.

Ode to the Brassier

Recently I heard some startling news.  My granddaughter got her first bra!  Besides reaffirming that she and I are both getting older, that fact immediately brought me back to 8th grade when my mother required me to strap on my first one.  I know many, if not most, girls see it as a right of passage.  One more step down the road to womanhood.  Not me.  I hated that thing.  To me it was akin to being placed in a straight jacket. 

I have a very clear recollection of the tension around my rib cage when I began wearing  that dang  bra.   I swear I couldn't expand my lungs far enough to take in a healthy breath.  I believe it must have been how my horse felt each time I tightened a saddle cinch around his middle.  You see, when you saddle a horse you pull that strap under their bellies incredibly  taught so the saddle stays in place while you ride.  You tug, and you loop, and you tuck, and then you hop on and the saddle slides off to the side anyhow.  How can that be you ask?  Well, a horse is not stupid.  They soon come to predict what is about to happen when a heavy leather object is placed on their back. They do, after all, have horse sense.  They learn to expand their midsection by taking  in an incredibly  deep breath and holding it for as necessary.   So, what did I learn to do?   I would  get everything all set and then  knee him in the ribs so he exhaled while I quickly pulled that cinch  as tight as humanly possible. I knew it was working because he would emit  a sound similar to the one you would make if you were holding your breath and someone punched you in the gut.  Oh,  Teddy, I'm so sorry I did that to you. 

But I digress.  I need  to tell you that, in addition to the physical discomfort  my trusty Playtex Living Bra presented,  it also caused some  intense emotional pain early in my freshman year.  Let me preface this story by explaining that I attended a parochial school from first through eighth grades.  For a kid who was never allowed out of her desk for eight consecutive school years, junior high was  quite an adjustment.  How liberating to be allowed to travel from one classroom to the next every hour. And they even let you talk while processing  down the hallway.  For me, each day of ninth grade began with physical education class.  Imagine my horror when I  learned that I would be required to disrobe, wear a blue gym suit that was similar to the orange ones convicts wear in prison (except ours sported shorts rather than long pants), and then strip naked and shower with girls I din't know,  before being allowed to redress.  I detail all of this because it was these circumstances that set up one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.  It all happened  a week or two into my first year at  John Glenn Junior High.   After completing the fore mentioned requirements related to P.E.,  I rushed off to my second hour class:  art.  I was seated at a table in mixed company, shyly learning to chat  with boys.  Mind you, mixed company conversations were a forbidden activity at the Catholic school, so this was a totally foreign activity for me.  Into the art room  walked a girl who loudly announced, "Someone left their bra on the floor of the locker room."  I could see all the boys eyes quickly dart from one female chest to the next.  I looked down at my blouse and noticed two little nipples smiling back at me.  Yep, I had forgotten to buckle up after my shower.  I was, after all, quite new to the world of foundational garments.  So off I went to reclaim, and re don, my white cotton bra.  And then I headed back to art class where all eyes were fixed upon me as I meekly reentered the room.  To this day I wonder why I didn't just abandon that bra right there on the cold cement floor.  I know that's what I would do if it happened again.  Would it actually have been so terrible to have my classmates peeking  at my aureoles through light blue oxford fabric for the rest of the day.

Perhaps that event is part of the reason I still hate wearing a bra. Or maybe it's the simple fact that they're uncomfortable.   Granted,  the construction of the brassier has improved with time.  We now have pretty stretchable lace, elastic straps that are supposed to prevent slippage, cups that are rounded and seamless rather than funnel shaped heavy cotton ones with countless rows of top stitching, and they even have darling little pearls or fabric  rosettes attached to the front for adornment.  Nevertheless, I still have to wonder who came up with this crazy contraption. And why are the required apparel.   I was always told that you need to wear  a bra when you're young, or you will have saggy breasts when you get older.  NEWS  FLASH....no matter what you do when you're young, your boobs will still sag when you're old!  And this begs the question, if we're so worried about drooping body parts, why doesn't someone invent a testicle sling for men in an effort to ward of the unsightly "ball drop" that they experience in their golden years?

Burning An Eternal Flame

At a quaint Dairy Queen on the border of White Bear Lake and Mahtomedia, a family devoured their hot dogs, french fries, and marshmallow cream sundaes at a booth in the corner of the restaurant. Two women, one short and stout, the other tall and gangly, approached the booth and spoke to the adult female of the family. Both wore bulky winter jackets in the heat of the early 1990’s summer day.

“I almost sent my mother a light bulb for Christmas,” the thin stranger wearing a puffy navy blue coat stated.

The kind mother who had taught her children the basic social rules of being polite to strangers- particularly strangers with special needs, smiled and responded to the lady, “You did? Now, how on earth did that happen?”

For more than 30 minutes, the mother put down her hot dog and listened intently as the stranger’s story unfolded. As the details poured out, the story got more and more peculiar, but never once did the mother divert her attention or smirk at the quirky tale of the mail mishap.

However, after the strangers exited the restaurant and began their traditional walk up Highway 120, the family erupted with laughter restating every hilarious part of the stranger’s chronicle. These details and events were brought up again and again in a variety of situations even after decades had passed. The story often came up to illustrate the fact that the mother was a magnet for strange people with strange backgrounds and strange stories.

This mother is my mother.

So many times during my 30 years of life I have watched my mom skip a meal, rearrange her schedule, bend over backwards, neglect her own health and well being, and completely extinguish her own candle to be this magnet. And while she probably does it more frequently than most of us, you’ve got to admit it- you’ve done it yourself too- more than once! It’s in our blood. We’re all magnets for this type of behavior. We all blow out our own candles to make other peoples' flames combust into a vain inferno of narcissism (okay that might be a bit of an exaggeration for most of the situations- especially for the poor puzzled parcel lady at DQ- but you get my drift).

Perhaps this is why we resort to gossiping. We need an outlet. We have to vent. We’ve completely stomped out our own candles and the fumes from the blazing flame of someone else’s candle have us keeling over with disgust and annoyance. If we can’t gossip, reflect on the situation, and get reassurance for our feelings from others, we’d never reignite our own flames.

But, here’s my question...

If we are so irritated and upset by something (or someone), why do we still end up doing it (or letting ourselves feel guilty or annoyed by them)? If we really think it, then why don’t we really do it or say it? The human brain has no censor so we should be able to just say what’s on our mind. The problem (or blessing in some cases) is that most peoples’ mouths and actions do have these censors. We censor all day.

“Do you like my haircut?”

Brain says, “It brings out your crooked nose and buck teeth.”

Mouth says, “What an adorable 'do for spring.”

“I’m coming to visit the town you live in. I would love to hang out. Where should I stay?”

Brain says, “Oh man, this house isn’t in any shape for you or any guests to stay. Plus, I don't know how I'd survive if you stayed here that long.”

Mouth says, “Well, I wouldn’t recommend this construction zone, but you’re more than welcome to stay here if you want.”

“Thanks so much for paying for my lunch, you didn’t have to do that!”

Brain says, “I put down my money to pay for my half. Where's your half, cheapo?”

Mouth says, “Anything for you, lifelong friend.”

“It would mean the world to me if you and your whole family dropped everything to come to the grand extravaganza I’ve planned to celebrate my 3-month anniversary of being cavity free.”

Brain says, “Who the hell cares about and wants to celebrate your dental health?”

Mouth says, “What can we bring, Colgate and Listerine?”

“Actually, we prefer Crest in this household.”

Brain says, "Seriously! What nerve sending me to the store to fulfill your brand loyalty and do your errands!"

Mouth says, "Look Ma, no cavities! Crest it is!"

Why do we do it? Isn’t there some happy medium between what the brain thinks and the mouth says? Can’t we tweak our censors? Or, would that just leave all of us completely inconsiderate jerks with no friends? There are plenty of people whose mouth censors are relatively equal to their brain censors. Doesn’t America love and appreciate Simon Cowell, Joan Rivers, and Howard Stern? Love and appreciate…not so much. We love to watch what they’ll say next because maybe we wish our mouths could do the same. Even though there might be a tinge of admiration, I know I’d much rather have lunch with Mister Rogers, Stewart Smalley, or Barney the Dinosaur.

I don’t have the answer to this musing. But I do know that the more we censor our mouths and our actions, the more gossiping we do, the more resentful we feel, and the more annoyed we get. Isn’t gossiping the lesser of the evils here? Thank goodness we have one other to help us re-light our candles and burn our eternal flames. Thank you all for the countless times you've listened to what my brain really has to say about others.

And to the light bulb lady, thank you for being a lifelong friend and example. You didn't care what others thought- you just said what was on your mind- no censor, no filters. And because of that, you made our lives richer. You gave us a lasting memory. May your candle (and bulbs) always burn bright!

...Then What DO We Talk About?

What have we learned about ourselves ladies? We're all afraid to participate in a public family blog because we don't know what to talk about if we can't gossip. But I ask you, is there not more to us than being catty and judging others? Are we not capable of engaging in positive conversation that doesn't involve blowing others' candles out to make our own glow brighter? Ok...probably not. So here are some scientifically proven benefits of gossiping: 


According to the April 2010 issue of O, The Oprah Magazine, " Gossiping can solidify friendships and strengthen your moral compass—so long as you're judicious about what you say and whom you say it to."


According to insidershealth.com, "Your heart rate rises when you witness something unjust; and researchers have found that your heart rate lowers once you tell someone about what you witnessed." 


Also from insidershelth.com, "some gossip is fueled by the frustration of seeing someone misbehaving and the desire to keep that person from hurting or exploiting others. It is this type of gossip, that seems to come from a “good place,” that has been shown to be therapeutic."


This from Canada.com (because apparently our neighbors to the north like to gossip too): "Most of us relate better to stories than to raw data, and gossip is a form of storytelling, an interpersonal folklore. But instead of "Once upon a time" we say, "Did you hear about so-and-so?" By hearing and sharing these stories, we learn about the social norms and conventions of those around us. We learn how to act - and how not to act - in certain situations."


So what did we learn from this festival of cutting and pasting from random, and perhaps sketchy, internet sources? Gossiping is good for us! And let's be honest...we're not going to stop gossiping no matter how many times we make it our New Year's resolutions (Cindy!). So we can embrace it and do it well! But just in case we need ideas for non-gossip related blog topics to contribute, here are a few ideas: pregnancy and birth, new homes (including burglary), husbands (and how awesome they always are!), living next door to Snoop Dogg, treasure hunting, raising children (past and present and future), major awards and game inventions, hockey mama drama, running your first 5K, life lessons, favorite memories, etc. Let's run with this. Happy blogging ladies...Love you all!

This Blessed Family

Hi Ladies,

Do you ever contemplate how blessed you are to have been born into this family?  Oh sure, we have our quirks, but generally  we're a  pretty loveable  bunch. I can't imagaine how incomplete my life would be without each of you in it. When we're together it's so comfortable.  So warm.  So easy ... to just "be."  I cherish those times.  As the miles between us have increased those occasions have become far too infrequent.   I do  love keeping up through second/third hand telephone reports or facebook status updates,  but it's just not enough. Thus, the birth of our very own blog.

I'm so excited to have a place to record the stories of our lives, whether exciting or mundane. Time goes by too quickly.  In the blink of an eye Marie, Heather, and Caitlin have grown from our precious baby girls into beautiful women who  are off designing remarkable lives of their own.  And mom, I bet you would agree that it doesn't seem so very long ago that you were a young mother raising your children.  Wouldn't it be incredible to have a written journal of those days over a half century ago?  I can only imagine the giggles and tears those pages would contain.  So let's not let one more day pass before we start chronicaling our history.

I hope this blog will be a spot to share our thoughts, our insights, our wisdom, our photos, our recipes, our memories, our laughter, and our love.  A forum to safely open our hearts and discuss whatever is on our minds.  A place that feels like coming home to a nice tight hug even though we're not physically together. 

So welcome aboard!  Take a few minutes to come on in, sit awhile, and tell me what you really think.  I can promise you one thing - you'll never be bleeped - because there's nocensorbutton.

Lots of Love,

Cindy