Postcards from the Bottom Rung

Can you believe it? I've been awarded again! I feel like Miss America!! This time, it's the "Circle of Friends" Award, bestowed to me by my new friend Kelly, who pens a terrific, beautiful blog, titled Kellyansapansa.

This means a lot to me, coming from Kelly, because she's actually been a great inspiration to me. Kelly is the epitome of the thoughtful blogger, one of many I have discovered since joining this awesome community. You'll notice that her comments appear after many of my posts, always delightful and encouraging. As I visit other blogs in the cyberworld, I notice she has done the same for them as well. Because of her faithfulness, we are happy to visit her blog and offer encouragement with her upcoming wedding plans, her new family, and her busy school schedule. That's just how it works in this blog world, I've learned, and I must say I truly adore it. I think that's why I love Kelly's award so much -- because it's titled "Circle of Friends," which is what I most certainly have found. Thanks, Kelly, you ROCK!!

Kelly's award, actually, couldn't have come at a better time, because it ties-in perfectly with what I was planning on writing about today. Here's the story I had in mind:

When you're a performer in a theme park as I was for over sixteen years, you soon learn that there is a definite "pecking order" in the show biz community. High at the top of the list, of course, would be the A-list movie stars; your Deniros and Streeps, Pitts and Jolies. Next would probably include all Broadway performers, maybe your B-listers, followed by sit-com actors, then reality TV cast members. Then way, WAY down at the very bottom of the order, we lowly theme park entertainers would rest.

After all, it was decided by some unseen "powers-that-be," what we were performing wasn't exactly Shakespeare, right? We were appearing on colorful, cartoon-like stages, sometimes out-of-doors, alongside Mickey Mouse and Woody Woodpecker. Surely, no one would consider this "acting." We "theme parkies" learned to accept our position and dealt with the silent but ever-present disdain held by our colleagues who chose more reputable positions in the show biz community.

Truth is, we "Parkies" were crying all the way to the bank! While our more cultured colleagues were struggling to pay the bills, waiting on tables to fill the monetary void in between gigs, we weekly collected above-decent paychecks, complete with 401k plans and health benefits. While our artsy friends were huddled alongside seven roommates in overpriced, tiny apartments located in Hells Kitchen, NYC, we lounged poolside, sipping pina coladas, in the backyards of the homes we'd purchased ourselves. We performed lavish, well-written shows everyday before crowds numbering in the thousands. Some of the shows included audience participation, which not only sharpened our improvisational skills, but also meant that each show was completely different from the last.

I can honestly state that some of the most talented singers, dancers, comedians, actors and writers I've ever known, I've met working in a theme park. We all knew we weren't going to win any Tonys or Oscars, but we loved our work and we were pretty damn good at it, so we didn't care. But since I've left performing behind me and have dipped my toe into this new literary world, I'm finding that show biz is not the only community with a dreaded pecking order.

I first became aware of this fact when I attended a Penn-Writers meeting at our local Borders bookstore. Their flier promised that all authors were welcome and everyone's work would be shared and discussed. I was nervous, but I printed out a few of my favorite blog entries and joined my fellow writers at a table set up near the back of the bookstore.

Since I was new, the group leader, Mary, asked me to introduce myself and tell the others on what I was working. I smiled at these members of my new community and said, "I'm Joan. I'm very new to this, but I've been doing a lot of work writing in my blog." Complete. Silence. Seriously, you'd have thought I'd just proclaimed, "I'm Joan. I like Nazis and kicking babies." Everyone stared in horrified shock. I think one woman placed her hand over her mouth, stifling a scream. Finally, Mary quipped in a condescending tone, "A blog. Yes. I'm going to have to figure out how to do that someday." I sheepishly placed my manuscripts back in my bag, message received.

I then sat quietly while they each produced their work, passing it out for all to read. None of it was great, but I understood this was work in progress, so when it was my turn to offer an opinion, I tried to be encouraging. "I like the nurse character, you've really done a great job describing her in detail." Then the guy next to me had his turn. He began, "Um, yeah. I noticed in paragraph two that you used the word 'cheerily.' Shouldn't that be 'cheerFULLY?'" The author, feathers clearly ruffled, shot back, "Actually, both are acceptable. I chose 'CHEERILY.'" The man shrugged his shoulders, palms upward and performed one of those "Ok, if THAT'S what you WANT, even though it SUCKS..." expressions. That's pretty much how the rest of the evening went. Man, I had no idea writers could be so CATTY!

Skip ahead to my writing class I've been attending over the last couple of weeks. I should say in advance that I genuinely like my professor. He's a published author, a thorough teacher, and he's been infinitely helpful to those of us just starting out.

To his credit, he only twitched ONCE on that first day when he went around the room and asked us each on what, if anything, we were currently working. I told him, "I write a blog." He paused, gained his composure, then said, "That's actually a great way to practice writing everyday." Then he turned to the class and asked, "Who here has written something in the last two days?" Guess who was the ONLY one to raise her hand? You got it -- ME, Lowly Blogger Girl!! Yay!! Someone in the literary world didn't snub their nose at my chosen medium -- excellent!! Maybe there was hope for this community yet!

I was so encouraged by my prof's response that at the end of class I gave him my card on which was written the link and title of my blog. "I'd love for you to read a few of my posts and tell me what you think," I said. He looked down at the card in his hand. "Whoa!! 'NAKED man?!!' What kind of blog is this?" I explained that my title was in homage to an expression my dad used to always say. He seemed unconvinced. "Yeah, but...'NAKED?!!' That's pretty crazy!" Wow. Really? What are you, seven? Ok, he was allowed to hate the title, to each his own, after all.

All week long I imagined him reading my blog. I kicked myself for not having directed him to my favorite posts, but hoped that he would take the time to peruse at least a few of them. When I arrived in class the next week, I tried to appear nonchalant and resisted the urge to pounce on him immediately and ask if he'd visited my site. After an eternity, he turned to me and said,

"Hey I read some of your 'Naked' blog." (Geez.)

"You did?! Wow, thanks! What did you think?"

Long pause.

"Man...you really jump around a lot on topics don't you?"

"Um, yeah. That's kind of the whole idea of a blog. You pick a topic, then you write about it."

"Oh."

That's IT??!! Actually, yes, that was it. The subject was immediately dropped and I tried to hide my disappointment. Apparently, the case was closed and I was to now take my place down at the bottom of the literary pecking order.

So my dear new blogger friends, I'm afraid I've discovered that this is our reality. They are champagne and caviar, we are pizza and beer. They are Streep and Redford, we are Mickey and Goofy. But just like my awesome theme park friends, we know differently, don't we? We know we are thoughtful, talented, hard-working writers who support each other with encouraging words and constructive criticism. There are no Nobel Prizes for Literature in our world, but there are Beautiful Blogger and Circle of Friends Awards that, quite frankly, are FAR sweeter, as far as I'm concerned. In short, I'm proud to share this "bottom rung" with such lovely, inspirational souls like you!

Think I'll CHEERILY go visit a few of you right now...

Thanks for Reading!!

Singing Praises

As I write this morning, I am being serenaded with a delightful, quiet solo performed by my tiny red canary, Cleveland. Actually, his full title is Cleveland Brown, because he's bright orange and has a slash of brown over his right eye. I couldn't resist naming him after my favorite football team, since he already sports their colors!

Cleveland's singing is profoundly sweet to me, mostly because we were recently without it for an extended period of time. When I first brought him home from The Bird Store in Orlando, FL, he was only a few months old. The shop keeper assured me that he had, in fact, performed a little trilling earlier that day, proving he was male (females don't have the capacity to sing) and should be serenading us "full force" in only a matter of days. I set up his cage near a sunny window in our home and waited excitedly for the concert to begin. Begin, he did! He'd go through several different tunes, some melodic, involving intricate notes, others just a simple trill, alternating between two octaves. All of them were loud and lovely.

He'd go all day long. From the moment we removed his cage cover to the time I'd place it back on in the evening, Cleveland sang. In fact, he sang so much, I began not even to notice it any more. Guests in my home would interrupt our conversations and say, "Wow, that's really pretty!" pointing in the direction of his cage. It would take me a minute to figure out they were referring to Cleveland's song, because I hadn't really been hearing it. It's as if his trills became "white noise" to me.

Then came Alan's promotion last year and our subsequent move up North. Since we had to make the trip with both our cars from Orlando, Alan drove the Infiniti with Trixie on board, I followed behind in my little yellow Volkswagon Beetle, carrying Cleveland in his cage, and also our cockatiel, Vegas, in hers (Yeah, she's named after a city, too. But hers is a different story, I'll tell that one another time!!). Both birds, obviously, were quite nervous at the beginning of the trip, but they seemed to settle down as the drive progressed and accepted their new surroundings.

When we finally arrived at our new home and began unpacking, I made sure once again to place both cages in a sunny, warm location that seemed ideal. I adequately hooked them up with food and water and continued with the unloading. I was so overwhelmed with boxes and bubble wrap and dishes, it took me a few days to realize something...Cleveland wasn't singing. I approached his cage to check on him, he seemed happy enough, eating and hopping around like normal. Just no singing. I moved his cage to a different spot so he could view the wild birds in the backyard, like he did at our old house. "That'll get him going," I thought. Still, nothing.

I considered taking him to a vet, but then I'd imagine the conversation I'd have with said vet: "I don't know. He just seems...depressed, you know?" So, discouraged, I'd drop the whole thing. I bought a "Canary Song Instructional" CD, claiming to be able to "jump start" your bird into singing along. Cleveland would join the CD for the first thirty seconds or so, then lose interest. Clearly, Cleveland just wasn't "feelin' it."

Then one morning, for no particular reason, Cleveland began to trill. It was very quiet and tentative, but it was definitely singing! Alan lunged for the TV remote, lowered the volume, and we both sat frozen, not wanting to distract our tiny prodigal Pavarotti. It was so soft and sweet, like he was practicing. I couldn't believe how much I missed it. It's been only a few weeks since that morning, and he's still not back to full volume, but there is definitely hope yet for our little songbird!

But this episode has taught me a valuable lesson. When Cleveland was loudly and confidently trilling everyday, I barely noticed anymore. It was only when he was silent that I appreciated how beautiful his singing was. It's made me wonder, how many other instances in my daily life have I under-appreciated a kindness or an extra effort being given to me? People like the kind teenage boy who bagged my groceries with extra care or the bank teller at the drive thru window who saw Trixie in the car and sent a milkbone through the tube along with my deposit receipt. Did I make them feel appreciated for their extra effort?

You know, I'm always the first one to fire-off a strongly worded letter to the management whenever I have a bad experience at a shop or restaurant. I rarely do the same when the opposite is true. Cleveland's singing today has prompted me to decide to change all that, starting now:

I want to let YOU know, you who have taken the time to visit this site and read my words written here, that I greatly, greatly appreciate it. I appreciate the comments you leave and your encouraging words that make me want to try harder. I appreciate you for clicking the "follow" button and making me feel, at long last, POPULAR! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart!

Wow! That felt great! Makes me feel like singing! Think I'll go hum Cleveland a tune, see if we can get a good duet going. With any luck, maybe I'll get him to drown me out!!

Thanks for Reading!!

Pink Plastic Real Estate

It was bright pink, three levels, and sported a beautiful, working scalloped elevator on one side. I am, of course, describing the awesome Barbie townhouse. It was glorious!

I never owned the townhouse, it belonged to my best friend, Gay, who was exactly my age and moved into the house next door when we were both in grade school. Unlike the Donnelly "clan," Gay was one of only two children, her sister being several years older and attending high school. Her family appeared so MODERN to me! While my mom stayed home and cooked, cleaned, and took care of five children, Gay's mother worked as a secretary at their church, and often called home with instructions for starting dinner. Her Dad, a kind man with a great sense of humor and charm, worked at one of the local steel mills.

I loved being at Gay's house. It was always so much quieter there than at my own, less children running around and all! It also served as the perfect place to escape when Dad was having one of his "Irish Temper Days." I think her parents appreciated the fact that their youngest daughter had a playmate, and they were always overly generous and welcoming to me. I spent many sleepovers and dinners at their home, we had a fantastic time together!

She had a large basement, so we had a lot of room to put on records and make up dance routines, one of our favorite activities. Gay did a fantastic rendition of Cher, singing "Gypies, Tramps and Theives" with perfectly inserted hair flips and upper lip licking. She was good! I preferred to make up and perform choreography to Broadway musical numbers from West Side Story and The King and I (guess which one of us was cooler?). Each day, as soon as I arrived at her house, we would begin with a discussion regarding the day's itinerary. After the record playing and dance numbers had been completed, I almost always wanted to play "baby dolls," (with Tubsy!). I loved pushing them around in strollers and giving them their bottles. Gay preferred more active games, like roller skating or bike riding. We compromised, alternating one with the other.

On days when I insisted on the "doll thing," Gay preferred that instead of Tubsy, we opted for playing Barbies. Gay LOVED Barbie. For Christmas each year, she was always receiving the latest of Barbie's accessories. She owned the pink convertible, the plane (This was the early 70's, so Barbie was not the pilot, of course, but served as a stewardess!), and the most coveted of all Barbie toys -- The Townhouse!!

Gay would be Barbie (duh!) and I would bring over my Francie (Barbie's "Mod" Cousin!) with the brunette, flippy, Marlo-Thomas-in-"That-Girl" hair! We played with that townhouse for HOURS!! By "play with it," I mean we placed Barbie and Francie in that elevator and pulled the string attached to the pulley that made said elevator go up and down. That's what we did, about five THOUSAND times. Poor Babs and Cuz, had they been real, they most certainly would have hurled their entire stomach contents several times over from the constant ascending and descending on that silly elevator! We'd get them to the top and exclaim, "Oops! Forgot my glass of water downstairs!" Then both, of course, would need to get back in the pink lift to go down and retrieve it. Good times!

Barbie has several more accessories these days; pet salons, swimming pools, dream homes and horse barns, to name a few. But I don't think any of them can hold a candle to my best friend Gay's magnificent townhouse. Did I mention it had an elevator?

Thanks for Reading!!

It's A Major Award!!!

Check it out!! I've been awarded!! I received this fantastic honor from my new friend Megs, who pens her own awesome blog, Box of Tricks. Stop by and give it a read, it's terrific!

You know, I initially began this blog when my husband suggested it might be a creative way to practice my writing while also receiving helpful feedback and constructive criticism. What I didn't expect, was that I would be introduced to this whole wonderful "blogosphere" of sites that are delightfully funny, heartwarming, and thought-provoking. Some of them are daily journals, others are pictorials, ALL of them are lovely. When I first began to timidly reach out to some of the authors, I found them to be tremendously helpful and encouraging, and I'll never, ever be able to appropriately express how grateful I am for their indispensable support. This award is an example of that kindness. Thanks, Megs, you made my day!!

Ok, so the way this works, apparently, is that I now have to list seven interesting things about myself, then tag seven more blogs that I'm currently following. I feel like I've "revealed" facts about myself ad nauseum throughout this blog, and I'm not sure how interesting this will be, but, I like a challenge! So, here goes:

1. When I was twenty-three, I was a chorus girl in the national touring company of South Pacific, starring Robert Goulet. We toured all over the US and Canada, and professionally, it was THE greatest time of my life. Mr. Goulet was a consummate professional and has since passed away, but his deep, melodic rendition of "This Nearly Was Mine" will be with me always!

2. Although I am a performer and an extrovert, I can get very nervous and tongue-tied when talking with strangers on the phone (ex: repairmen, doctor's offices, etc.). If prompted to leave a message, I usually babble-on needlessly, leaving out pertinent information or using the wrong words to describe something. I have NO idea why.

3. When I lived in NYC, I was once mugged by three men just a few steps from the front door of my apartment building. I should probably tell that story in my blog one day!!

4. I have XM satellite radio in my car, which broadcasts hundreds of channels, with categories including talk, sports, comedy, country, rap, christian, new age, pop, heavy metal, and much, much more! Yet I rarely move the dial from "The 40's" channel. I LOVE big band music, Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, and Rosemary Clooney. Their music makes my ears happy!!

5. That being said, my favorite song of all time is "She's Got A Way" by Billy Joel. I love how honest and simple it is. I can't imagine being the girl he wrote this song for, nor hearing him sing it to me for the first time. Swoon!

6. When I'm driving and see a dead animal on the side of the road, I immediately say a prayer for it. I know "the jury" is still out on whether or not animals get to abide in heaven, but I figure a prayer said on their behalf can't hurt, right? I love the idea of someday making it to heaven myself and being greeted by all those creatures I've prayed for over the years. Nice, huh?

7. I take great pride in the fact that I have the self-discipline to drag my sleepy self onto the treadmill every morning and pound-out 3-5 miles, yet that discipline is basically non-existent by the evening. That's the time when I am consumed with an intense craving for a glass of red wine, cheese, and crackers. The food usually wins! So back on the treadmill I climb the next morning...you see a pattern forming here?

So, there you have it! Hope that was along-the-lines of what was expected. Now I'm required to tag seven other sites that I'm following, so you can check them out as well. The first two listed are authored by two good friends of mine, the rest are all part of my new blogging community friends! I know you'll enjoy them all!

The Dogged Pursuit of Happiness

Knit Fiber

Doing it with Grace

You Must Take Your Chance

With Eyes Wide Open

Four Jugs

Running Commentary

Thanks for Reading!!

Unprepared

When my sister Kathy's four kids were small, she couldn't watch any television show or movie that depicted a child or parent in peril. It didn't matter if it was fiction, non-fiction, comedy or drama, watching a young boy or girl suffer was completely unbearable for her. Remember the delightful 1988 comedy blockbuster "Big," starring Tom Hanks? One of the earlier scenes of this movie involves Hank's thirteen year old character, Josh Baskin, waking up a "full-sized" man after making a wish on a carnival machine the night before. He descends the stairs of his home and is confronted by his mother, played by Mercedes Ruehl, who believes he is a man who has kidnapped her son. She chases him around her kitchen with a knife, screaming "What have you done with my son?!!" Kathy got as far as that scene and turned the movie off. She couldn't stand watching Mrs. Baskin suffer over the loss of her child, even for a few seconds in an otherwise heartwarming, lovely comedy. Once Laura and I tried to simply EXPLAIN the plot of "Sophie's Choice" to her, and got about two sentences in before she grabbed her ears, squeezed her eyes shut and shouted, "Shut up, shut up, shut UP!! I can't hear you, la-la-la-la-la."

I could make fun of my sister, but I'm actually even more pathetic. I can't bear to watch ANY scene depicting an animal in distress. I mean ANY animal. A possum could get a splinter in a scene from the movie-of-the-week, and I am immediately reduced to tears. The image will stay with me for days, and will ultimately be the object of countless nightmares. "Old Yeller" is my "Sophie's Choice." I will never, ever view it. I watch scenes portraying historical civil war battles in which hundreds of yankee and rebel soldiers are being shot, cannon-balled in the gut, and bayonetted, yet I cringe and cover my eyes only when the horses on which they are riding are fatally wounded. Like I said, pathetic.

Alan is very aware of my disability and has developed a fantastic system for surviving these disturbing scenes. When the scene in question begins, I immediately cover my eyes and focus my hearing on his voice. He continues to watch and lets me know when the coast is clear to rejoin the viewing. Eyes closed, I hear Alan say, "Not yet...not yet...OK." It's not perfect, but at least I can enjoy the REST of the movie without my soul feeling crushed for the remainder of the evening.

It's not just movies, either. The other morning, Alan retrieved the newspaper from the driveway and scanned the headline on his walk back to the house. Apparently, some local stupid, evil, shit-for-brains, waste-of-space, repulsive, vicious, vile, worthless teenagers got bored one night and decided to physically beat a mixed-breed stray dog within an inch of his life. Someone discovered the poor thing clinging to life at the bottom of a trash bin. Alan scanned the article as he entered the house and met me in the kitchen where my arm was outstretched to accept the paper. "I don't think you should read this," he told me, "Why don't you let me cut out the front article before I give this to you?" It was only after Alan finished the article, which reported the dog survived and was now recovering nicely, that it was determined I could "handle" the morning paper.

So, with this ridiculous disability in mind, you can imagine my intense distress these past two weeks as my sweet, dear, sixteen year old companion, my dog Trixie, became very ill. We started noticing something was wrong when her trips outside to relieve herself were very frequent and produced only a small substance resembling blood. This was followed by complete loss of appetite, vomiting, and lethargy.

Unlike Kathy, I'm not a parent. Trixie (with the exception of two small birds) is my only charge. I apologize in advance to all parents who read this and might be insulted that I am comparing my distress over my dog's health to that of what they may feel for their own ill children. I know the intensity of the parent/child bond is far greater than that of mine to Trixie. But she is mine, and the idea of her suffering is simply unbearable to me.

For the past two weeks, we have spent many sleepless nights on the couch together, her looking at me to "fix" her, me looking back in complete helplessness. Three trips to the vet and many tests have revealed perfect blood work and a normal x-ray. He administers penicillin, gives us some drugs equalling doggie Maalox, and sends us on our way. Her health improves slightly, then slowly slides back down again a few days later, so back to the vet we go.

On our last visit (the third in two weeks), the vet very gently explained that he felt the need to "prepare me for the worst." He pointed out that at Trixie's advanced age, illnesses that can't be diagnosed often just mean her body is simply shutting down.

I appreciate his candor, but I don't believe I can comply. How do I "prepare" for life without this precious dog of mine? How do I "prepare" to say good-bye to a companion who has seen me through countless weeks when Alan was out of town (or the country) on business trips, accompanied me on visits to nursing homes to cheer up the elderly, and entertained me hour upon hour frolicking in the pool? Trixie's been with us as we've lived in three different homes, always panicking when the packing of boxes began, but ultimately relieved and content when she realized she was coming with us. She's celebrated job gains and promotions with us. She sat on my lap and let me bury my face in her neck that evening of March 19, 2007 (Worst Day Ever), the day that we simultaneously learned that Alan was being laid-off and that my tests were positive for lymphoma. She's traveled with us on several misadventures, staying in flea-bag motels and air condition-free cabins. Trixie never cared, as long as she was with us.

So, my dear vet, I really do appreciate your warning, but there will be no preparing. I will fight for this treasured charge of mine with every fiber of my being, until her last breath. If the time arrives when all attempts at fighting this mystery illness have failed, and she is in visible pain, I promise I will do the right thing and end her suffering. But if sheer will and the intense power of prayer have anything to do with it, that last breath will not be exhaled for a long, long time to come.

Thanks for Reading!!

Bingo!!

I recently had the immense privilege of holding a microphone in my hand once again. "Joan!" you may exclaim, "Was it Open-Mike-Night at a Karaoke Bar?" or "Are you performing a singing gig at a local nightclub?" Not even close! It's actually WAY cooler! My friends, you are reading the writing of the brand new BINGO CALLER at the Susquehanna Senior Center! Can you believe it? It was a RIOT! Want to hear about it?

I decided recently that I needed to get busy contributing to my new community, so I started by volunteering to be a deliverer for the local Meals on Wheels program. Treena, the perky, blond, no-frills, raspy-voiced Program Director asked me to come in early on my first day so she could "show me the ropes." When I arrived at the Senior Center, a rousing game of bingo was already in progress. When I reached Treena's office in the back, I told her, "That looks like they're having fun out there!" Her reply was a casual, "Would you like to call bingo numbers next Friday?" Because I was filled with so much pure joy, it's hard to remember my exact response, but I think I performed one of those Little-Rascal-esque, bright-eyed, fist-pump-scoop-across-the-chest maneuvers and shouted something like, "WOULD I?!!!" (Meaning, "Yes!")

I worked on my material all week. I had a couple of ideas for jokes, but I thought I'd gage "the room" first and get a good feel for my audience. I spent hours picking just the right outfit to wear on my big day. I settled on my pink jeans, white turtleneck, and fuschia v-neck sweater (Always wear bright colors when standing in front of a crowd that might have poor vision!).

On my big day, I arrived early at the Center to "mentally prepare." The prize table was already set up and, quite frankly, it broke my heart a little. The "prizes" were mostly canned goods. Canned goods, bags of spaghetti and flour, Rice-a-Roni, and pie crusts. They were playing for groceries. Treena pointed out that many of the seniors were living on fixed incomes, and times were pretty tough. Hence, she explained, several of the bingo games we played each week always included "All Wins." These were the games in which I was to call numbers until EVERYONE got a bingo, and therefore claimed their "prize."

Treena sat me down by the mike and rotating basket of numbers, and I excitedly watched as my "contestants" slowly meandered in. The women were all dressed similarly: orthopedic sneakers, cotton stretch pants, and turtlenecks under brightly decorated sweatshirts. Some of the sweatshirts were Christmas themed -- cardinals perched on snow-capped evergreen boughs. The men wore a combination of button down, tucked-in flannel shirts, eyeglass cases peeking out over the left hand pockets, or brand new Penn State sweatshirts, Christmas presents from their grandchildren.

I smiled broadly and greeted them with a nod as they poured their cups of coffee, grabbed a slice of vanilla-iced cake and a bingo card, then took their usual places at the many tables. Treena began with a few announcements: Craft day was to be this wednesday, anyone interested should bring a pair of scissors and arrive promptly at 9:00 a.m. sharp. Also, a field trip was being planned to attend a matinee performance of "Nana's Naughty Knickers" at the local dinner theater. When the announcements were completed, Treena placed a hand on my shoulder, introduced me, and handed me the mike.

We had a BLAST!! I said hello, told them I accepted any and all bribes (they thought that was HILARIOUS!), and the games began. My treasure-trove of jokes were a huge hit! When I called "B-4," I followed with, "Like my dress size!" Or, when the number was "I-24," I'd add, "Like my age!" They were in stitches, I tell ya! When we got to the next game and I again called "I-24," I yelled to the crowd, "Say it with me..." and they all replied in unison, "Like your age!!!" LOVE those seniors!!

In the blink of an eye, the hour was up and the prizes had all been awarded. I helped Treena return the unclaimed prizes to the pantry in the kitchen, and placed the number wheel and cards in their appropriate cabinet. When I returned to the room, I saw a game of bridge was being played in one corner, in another, two men sat hunched over a card table assembling a jigsaw puzzle. At the center table sat four women exchanging recipes and pictures of grandchildren. They made me wish I was one of them.

As I stood observing my new friends, I wondered if my own generation, when we reach this age, will ever gather like this, playing cards and enjoying each other's company? Probably not. We're so disconnected, aren't we? We'll probably grow old sitting in our empty, lonely houses, facebooking each other about favorite TV programs and recent trips to the doctor. Oh, I hope not! I hope we have a wonderful place like the Susquehanna Senior Center where we can brew a big pot of coffee, play trivial pursuit and reminisce about Bruce Springsteen concerts, puffy hair, and fashions containing enormous shoulder pads. Wouldn't that be great?

I grabbed my coat and purse and was heading towards the door when an older gentleman in a Penn State shirt looked up from his cards, raised his hand and yelled, "Take care, Joan! Nice meeting you!" I turned back to him and replied, "You too! Thanks for letting me be here today!" That's the thing I've noticed about volunteering to work with senior citizens. You start-off thinking you're doing them this enormous favor, but you always end up being the one thanking THEM in the end!

Thanks for Reading!!

Get Your "Freak" On!!

It's three o'clock in the afternoon at the orthopedic surgeon's office in Syracuse, NY. With great anticipation, we co-workers reach for the radios on our desks and carefully turn the "volume" knobs a click to the right. Judie, our office manager and expert phone dialer, picks up her receiver and punches in all but the last digit of the radio station's number, finger poised over the remaining button. Finally, the car dealership commercial ends and the D.J.'s voice is heard. "Ok, everybody. It's three o'clock, time for our 'Movie Madness Trivia' contest. Here's how it works: we're about to play a short, five second clip from a movie. The first caller who can accurately name that movie will be our winner!" We girls all make the rolling "get on with it" gesture with our hands, we know the rules. We play this game every day. My coworkers turn to me, I lean into my radio as the clip begins. I identify the voice immediately as that of Sam Shepard. "Do all men make your nervous, or is it just me?"

"BABY BOOM!!" I shout to Judie, even before the clip has finished. She presses the final button on her phone and, as always, immediately gets through to the station. "Baby Boom!" she tells the D.J. I don't wait to hear his response, I already know I'm right. We won this contest many, many times, thanks to Judie's dialing and my freakish talent for identifying movies after hearing only a short clip played. In fact, we won so often, we had to start passing the phone to other girls once we got through, so the station wouldn't realize it was the same office that was collecting all of the "bling." Honestly, I have no recollection of the prizes we won, only of the supreme pleasure I gained from realizing there was something at which I was really good, without even trying! I never subscribed to People magazine nor watched Entertainment Tonight, I just have this weird ability to identify the actor's voice, then name the movie within seconds. My coworkers were in awe, I just shrugged.

So, it is with my bizarre talent in mind that I offer-up today's blog topic. I can't believe I didn't do this long, long ago. Are you ready? Here goes: I proclaim today officially "BONDING QUESTION DAY (Hold for gasps of disbelief followed by thunderous applause)!!" Those of you who've been with me since the beginning of this, my first blogging venture, might remember my entry entitled "Tubsy." In it, I explained how much I have LOVED to ask "bonding questions" at my places of employment through the years. These questions can be anything from "What was your BEST day, EVER?" to "Whom from history would you most love to have dinner with?" I have deeply enjoyed the responses I've received, once everyone stops groaning and eye-rolling and realizes I'm unrelenting. The answers always manage to stir-up a mixture of heartwarming and fun stories, to say the least!

So let's do this! I'm going to present you, my readers, with a bonding question and ask you to respond in the "comment section" at the end of the page. You can be anonymous if you like, but I promise if you tell me who you are, I won't hunt you down or stalk your children. Really, I promise!

OK, ready? Like my "movie identification" talent, what special, weird "Rain Man"-like gift do you posses that stuns and amazes others? Is there something silly for which you've had no training, no lessons, but you just do really well naturally? Tell us!

Need some help identifying your talent? I posed this question to my family recently. Some responded with things I never knew, others I remembered from our shared past together. Here's what we came up with:

My Husband, Alan: Alan has been nicknamed "The Human Calculator" by his co-workers. He can accurately add, multiply, and divide any number in his head, including percentages. No paper needed, his freakish noggin is the only tool he requires.

My Brother, Jack: Jack says he can hear a song once, then, upon hearing it played the second time through, can sing along, word for word, EVERY lyric. He says he doesn't try to memorize the words or anything, he just seems to "know" them the second time through. Cool, huh?

My Sister, Kathy: I've actually seen this one for myself. You can drop Kathy in the middle of the city, country, or suburbs, anyplace she's never been before, and she will immediately know her way around. We've nicknamed her "The Homing Pigeon." It's amazing. She has some kind of grid in her head that expertly guides her along. When she visits me, she navigates her way through my new hometown of York FAR better than I. It's awesome, astounding, and GROSSLY unfair!

My Mother, Sandy: Mom taught all her girls to knit, crochet, embroider and sew, all from a very young age. Although we became fairly good at all of these crafts, you can imagine the trials and errors that occurred during the learning process. I remember coming to Mom with two knitting needles and a pile of knots that was supposed to be the first row of a scarf I was making. I handed Mom the mess in a fit of frustration, then plopped down in front of a Looney Tunes episode on TV to ease my stress. In the time it took for the Roadrunner to elude the Coyote's only second murder attempt, my mother returned, perfectly stitched knitting in hand. Mom can fix ANY snarl. The Gordian knot would've trembled in her presence. No matter how tight or tangled they are, knots are no match for my mother's nimble, excruciatingly patient fingers.

My Nephew, Brett: Brett's talent may be my favorite of all. I've seen this one first hand, as well. We'll be watching the Browns game together (Brett is an INTENSE sports fan) and there will be only two minutes left, with the Browns losing by three touchdowns (surprise!). Hopeless, right? In these instances, I would turn to Brett and ask, "Can we still win this?" Brett's optimistic response was ALWAYS the same, "Absolutely! This is DEFINITELY not over!" He'd then proceed to tell me how all that had to happen was a Browns drive for a touchdown, followed by a recovered onside kick, returned for a touchdown, followed by an interception and "hail-mary" pass, caught in the end zone, then going for two instead of the extra point and BOOM, Browns win!! I really love that boy!!

My Brother-in-Law, Bryan: Bryan was the hit of his Sunday school classes growing up because he could tell you not only what hymn was on what page in the hymnal, but also the composer and the year it was written! His classmates would take turns quizzing him, yelling in delight at his (always!) accurate response!

See, wasn't that fun? OK, now it's your turn! Tell me what talent you posses that makes others gasp in amazement! Click on the comment button below and brag to the cyber world about your awesome "Rain Man" ability! I can't wait to applaud you!

Thanks for Reading!!