Private Classes Offered

Offering Private Personal Training and Nutrition Coaching for Mature Adults 55+. Yoga, Meditation and Stress Management Teacher as well. Contact me for details

Thursday, July 1, 2010

Joy in a Lunchbox

Who knew Blondie could make me giggle like a little girl? The story I am about to tell you is true, to the horror of my mother, I am sharing it with the blogosphere. She would be mortified!
Once upon a time, at the bottom of a hill in a quiet, middle class neighborhood in Staten Island there was a pile of broken, used, loved but unneeded items waiting for the trash collector. My tear-filled 7-year old eyes kept staring in disbelief at the shiny metal lunchbox sitting there. I loved that lunchbox, but mom said we couldn't take it to Spain with us. There just was no room. No room for a lunchbox??? We had room for a stupid old baby grand piano but not my favorite lunchbox? I cried so hard and to this day, with crystal clear vision, can see my treasure waiting at the curb. I remember the day my mom bought it for me. I had waited for what seemed eternity for my Blondie lunchbox. Then, one day at the supermarket, I spotted it neatly lined up on an upper shelf above the open freezer with scores of other lunchboxes. I squealed with delight, jumping up and down pointing at it! I HAD to have it, so the nice clerk climbed up the ladder and handed it to me. I quickly unlatched it, but there was no Thermos. No Thermos? The man looked around at all the other lunchboxes, but this was the last Blondie left. I glanced quickly at my mom terrified she would make me give it back and told her there was no way I was giving up Blondie, Thermos or not. She asked the man if it would be possible to take one from a different lunchbox and my Blondie lunchbox was complete with a Yellow Submarine (yes, from the Beatles) Thermos. I carried that lunchbox everywhere! I was soooo happy! Until the day we moved to Barcelona, Spain.
I've never forgiven my mother for that atrocity, it was psychologically damaging. She has apologized over and over for this faux pas, and I certainly seem to have survived without it. In fact, I didn't realize how much it affected me until last week. A friend gave me an unexpected gift for just being a friend. You guessed it, a Blondie lunchbox with the correct Thermos this time around. See picture accompanying this entry to see me clutching it with absolute joy and delight!
Even I was surprised at how much joy and completeness it brought me. My friend remarked how brokenhearted he was when I told him the story a while back and wanted to show his gratefulness by giving me this incredibly thoughtful gift.
My Blondie lunchbox and I are reunited at last, a complete circle of sorts. I've forgiven my mother and I am NEVER letting this one out of my hands! Our joys in life sometimes come in the most unexpected packages. The gift of gratitude is the most awesome gift of all. May gratitude find its way to you, and when it does, pass it on!

Monday, June 14, 2010

In 30 Seconds, You're Homeless

The sound and force of a freight train plows through your home at 165MPH, levels it and as quickly as it showed up the train leaves. Within seconds your life is changed, your belongings strewn for miles, it's dark, raining and you are homeless. Except it's not a freight train that ripped away your home, it was an F3 tornado. This is what happened in Millbury, Ohio recently. My girlfriend Sue lives in the neighboring town and the twister roared by a half mile from her home. After viewing the devastating pictures of the damage, I am eternally grateful she and her family are safe. Now it is time to grieve for the dead and help those who were injured or left homeless. Those who were lucky enough to escape the wrath of the twister are left to grapple with an array of emotions: relief, sadness, guilt, grief among others. Tornadoes are especially cruel when weighed against other natural disasters. They are selective on what they destroy. Just view the pictures of Millbury and see. One home is intact and the next door home is flattened to the ground. It is that indiscriminate characteristic of tornadoes that leads to the inevitable question: "Why me?" Is it a matter of luck, fate, God's will? It's none of those, of course. No matter how carefully we craft our lives, plan and organize them, life happens. There is a saying that states "Life is what happens while you are busy making other plans". If the raw power of nature teaches us anything, it is that we do not have complete control over our lives. We are at the mercy of the unknown. Sometimes bad things just happen for no reason, not because of superstition, religion, punishment, karma or whatever other label our subconscious tries to slap on it. Accepting that the universe is chaotic and at times without rhyme or reason, is a concept I am coming to terms with. There is one word that sums up how to deal with the uncertainty life throws at us: Grace. And that is how the wonderful people of Millbury and surrounding areas are handling this disaster, with grace. To make a donation to the Toledo Red Cross Chapter, click here.

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Random Thoughts

I'm starting a new entry on totally unimportant, useless thoughts and questions that pop into my mind. I figure if I release them into the world they will stop haunting me. Here's one that drives me batty:

Why do drive-up ATM's have braille on them?

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Stay Away from the Chicken Farm

Ever smelled a chicken farm? No? Take my advice, stay as far away from the chicken farm as your VISA card will take you. Trust me on this. What about egg farms, you ask? Same as a chicken farm, as my olfactory senses learned last fall in western AZ. Don't worry, the only way you will end up in this far flung town is if you work for the largest nuclear plant in the country,..or the egg farm. Although the guy on the side of the main road as you head into town selling nuts would make a fortune selling gas masks instead. Seriously, bring a gas mask or an astronaut helmet. It seems like a charming, rural Arizona town with towering mountain ranges to the south and land as far as the eye can see. Charming that is, until this horrendous, indescribable pestilent smell creeps into your car's vents. At first you think it will pass, like skunk stink. Then it quickly floods your nasal cavity with a combination of salty, sulfuric and just plain nasty. As I gasped for a sliver of unpolluted oxygen, I hollered "what's that smell?" over and over as my seemingly oblivious husband looked over quizzically...until it hit him. How could such a sleepy, quiet town exude such a rancid aroma? The big, blue sign reading Hickman's Egg Farm said it all. That and the dead chickens across the street. Apparently, some of the smarter chickens tried to make a run for it, only to be killed by the loose dogs in a neighborhood yard. Why did the chicken cross the road? To escape slavery. As we reached the plot of dirt we drove out to see, I could not understand why anyone would live here. Miles away now, the offending scent was still quite present and as a backdrop, the majestic mountain range had a permanent cloud of low fog, a gift from the nearby nuclear plant. Oh, yes, and let us not forget the air horns visibly staked in the event of a nuclear meltdown. Really, what are the air horns for? To warn residents of impending death or permanent zombie hood when they clearly don't stand a chance of escaping?? Land is cheap out there and owning your dream ranch is attainable. I suppose someone needs to man the nuclear plant and I prefer locally grown eggs. But who knew chickens could emit such a foul odor? Disclaimer: I wrote this for you to laugh at my city girl silliness and chose not to name the town in question to protect the chickens.