God's Phone Number

Just some funny things that I used to think when I was a kid...

I remember being in first grade at St. Francis de Sales in Indy and attending mass every morning. That was back when the masses were in Latin and telephone numbers began with a word--but shortened to two characters. Our phone number in Indy was Melrose 92736, but dialed ME92736. During every mass when we said, "Et cum spiri tu tuo", I thought that was God's phone number.

Whenever I'd visit my grandparents in Newton Stewart, I'd usually go see my Uncle Carl and his family since they lived just down the road from Grandma. Although Grandma didn't have running water, Uncle Carl did. It came into the house from a location just outside their kitchen window. To insulate it, the water line came out of a large metal barrel/drum that was filled with sawdust. I'd stand at the barrel and just stare at it and try to figure out how they got water out of sawdust.

I thought I had it figured out how to keep from getting killed in a plane wreck. Just before hitting the ground, jump! I didn't see why that wouldn't work. Then years later, I heard George Carlin saying the same thing.

I've already written about the tiny little skeletons that lived in our staircase like they were little bitty coffins. They came out at night, walked up and down the stairs and made them creak. And I've already written about Mom telling me my embryonic little sister was in a sac in her stomach. I pictured a brown grocery sack.

I know there are more, but they'll have to wait until I get some sleep. Before I turn in, I think I'll give God a call.

The Magician

The magician asked for volunteers from the crowd and selected a little girl from all of the kids holding up their hands. She walked up to him and waited for instruction. He asked her name and thanked her for helping him. Then he had her turn and face the audience while standing in front of him.

As he flourished "The Magic Wand", he began to explain to her that he was going to use his magic to turn her into a rabbit and asked if that would be ok. She grinned and nodded her head. Then he began the "hocus pocus", "abra cadabra" talk while circling the top of her head with the magic wand. Just as he'd get to the point where he was going to complete the transformation, he'd stop and tell a story. One of the stories was about a little boy he had turned into a rabbit, and the rabbit ran off never to be seen again. He asked the little girl to please not run off after she was turned into a rabbit. She nodded and promised to stay put.

After about the tenth iteration of "abra cadabra", he dropped the magic wand in front of the little girl. A large sheet of paper rolled out of the wand, and the magician held the paper in front of the little girl. Painted on the paper was a rabbit with the face cut out--exactly where he positioned her face. After a round of applause, she returned to her mom.

The little girl really thought she was going to be turned into a rabbit. But I had already transformed her--my little girl--into a rabbit a few years earlier. I had made her a costume for Halloween; she's the white bunny on the right. I also turned my son into Batman. (By the way, I had no trouble getting him into the traditional "Batman Blue" (girls) tights.) Also pictured is "Robin"--my nephew Chris and the gray bunny is my nephew Pat.

All four of these "kids" love seeing the photos from that Halloween. I can't believe that I took this photo almost 30 years ago.

Enjoy the memories and the photo, kids. I love you.

I'm a "Grandma in Waiting"

Finally! I'm about to become a grandma to two very special little girls--sisters! My daughter and son-in-law are fostering, then adopting, two sweethearts. I can't wait until the first time they call me "Grandma". As far as I know, they've never had a grandma or grandpa in their lives. That's about to change.

I've already bought a pattern for some summer clothes, along with fabric. Making clothes for little girls again should jump-start my sewing. Years ago, I made nearly all of my daughter's clothes. I loved to sew, but haven't really sewn much of anything in years.

Funny thing about all of this is that God seems to have played a major role in making all of this happen. There's just no way all of this could have worked out by chance. And the oldest girl is the spitting image of my daughter.

I also need to pick up my knitting needles to make a couple of baby afghans. That's because I'm not only getting two instant grandkids, but in a few months I'll be a grandma again--to twins! My "exchange daughter" from Spain has just made the announcement, and as far as I'm concerned, the twins are also going to be my grandkids. After all, their mom was my daughter for nine months or so (and still considered my daughter).

Now if I can just talk my Indian son and daughter-in-law into this grandbaby thing, I'll have grandkids all over the world. I have plenty of hugs to go around--I've been saving them up for quite a few years.

So please, God...continue to hurry this little project along. I have cookies to bake.

If Thy Eye Offends Thee...

"Just great!", I thought, "Another floater." And it was a big one. I've had floaters as far back as I can remember. Some people are born with them, and I'm pretty sure that was my case. But this one was especially bothersome.

At least it was hanging around off the outside of my direct vision, in my left eye. I hoped it would hurry and break up. Then I remembered on my return to work after vacation a couple of weeks earlier, I kept seeing shadows behing me. This went on for days, and I thought it was people walking behind me. It was just then that I realized those "shadows" I was seeing was this stupid floater--not shadows of people.

Tuesday at work, as I was flipping my eyes from one wide-screen monitor to the other (yes, I use two monitors at once), this distorted, blurry thing began swinging across my center of vision. It would always move the opposite direction that my eyes moved. Since my left eye is my dominant eye, it was really bugging me and making it hard to do my job--which is writing. This was not an ordinary floater. It was like it was attached. It didn't sink like normal floaters eventually do (maybe they should've called them "sinkers").

I knew better than to put this off, but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to call my optometrist. I wasn't seeing sparks or flashes of light that signal a retina detaching. I wasn't losing any part of my vision field. But there was definitely something wrong with my left eye. Wednesday, it was still there and seemed worse. I gave up and called to make an appointment, hopefully for Friday since it's my regular day off. But when I explained to the person on the other end of the phone, she pretty much insisted I come in that day. She made an appointment for 2pm.

As soon as I walked into Dr. Buechler's office, he asked what was going on with my eye. I told him I couldn't figure this one out. I explained my symptoms, and he reached for the dilating drops. After fifteen minutes, he pulled over the slit lamp biomicroscope to have a peek. No comments, so I hoped that was a good sign. But then he got out the artillery.

After giving me more drops to dilate my eye even more, Dr. B. pulled out this contraption to wear on his head. I knew this was the test where he used those horrible magnifying lenses. Those lenses intensify the light coming out of his head contraption to the point where they temporarily blind you. He was especially showing too much interest when my eyes were pointing down and to the left.

He told me he saw changes in the gel of my eye. He asked me if I'd ever heard of a vitreous detachment. I hadn't. He said it appears to be a vitreous detachment, but it looked slightly different than they usually do. He said there could be a retinal tear behind it, and he wanted me to see an opthamolgist. Not wasting any time, he picked up the phone in his office and called Dr. Flannagan's office. I was to come in immediately. Dr. Buechler put another drop of dilation juice into my eye so I'd be ready to go when I got to Dr. Flannagan's.

Luckily it was only a five-minute drive, since the sun was out full force and my eye was dilated. Dr. Flannagan's partner did the same tests on me as Dr. Buechler. She said she saw "old blood" and a large floater. She also told me that she wanted to check me again in two weeks, and until then I wasn't to do any "jarring" activities in case the retina was getting ready to detach. She said if there were no new bleeds and the retina looks ok, I'll be good to go. The eye should eventually absorb the blood and my vision should improve. Let's hope. This thing is about to drive me mad.

If this doesn't go away, I think I'm doomed to a life of watching this thing swing back and forth . So far, it only seems to be getting worse. Today it's darker.

I've learned that vitreous detachment happens to 50 percent of us over 50, and it normally doesn't cause a problem with your eyesight. At any rate, there's nothing they can do to fix it. If it causes a retinal detachment, that can be fixed, but since the vitreous detachment is caused by a shrinkage of the "gel" of the eye, that's just something I'm going to have to get used to.

Another wonderful side effect of "getting old".

Riley's General Store

I wish I had a real photo...

This is a photo I took of a painting of my Grandpa Riley's general store. It's pretty accurate, but lacks some details that I will carry in my mind for the rest of my life. It does spur some good memories.

Somewhere near the front door was a Sunbeam bread sign--it may have even been on the screen door. On the far right, there's a small white rectangular sign. That was the sign for the Masonic Lodge, which was on the second floor of the store. I'd never been in the lodge at the general store, but I heard it was pretty fancy like most Masonic Lodges.

The gas pump did sit exactly where it is in the painting, but when I was real little Grandpa had the old-timey gas pump that had the clear glass tank on the top that filled up with gasoline. There was always an old car or truck parked where this one is parked in the gravel parking lot. On the other side of the parking lot in front was Patoka River and the bridge. Grandpa kept old cane chairs on the porch and anyone coming by was welcome to pull up a chair, sit, and talk.

I loved visiting Grandpa and Grandma, but my favorite thing to do while in Newton Stewart was to coax my dad into giving me a nickel or two. Then I'd run down to Grandpa's store. Once I entered the door, I could smell the old wood. To this day, visiting an old store that smells of old wood takes me back to the general store.

Just after entering the door and to the right was the candy and toy counter. And I knew how to make a nickel go a long way. I'd first buy a packet of fake toy money in bill form. Then I'd use all that play money to buy all kinds of candy from Grandpa. Little did I know then that this was called counterfeiting and punishable by going to jail for a few years. Thankfully, Grandpa never called the law on me. He just let me purchase candy with my fake money.

After having my fill of candy, I'd walk across the width of the store to where Grandpa kept the "dry goods". There was a tin wind-up carousel I loved to play with...and I'd give my eye teeth to have that carousel today. Towards the back of the store were a few chairs--the kind of chairs with the small round seats and the curved iron backs. The chairs were located around the pot-bellied stove that heated the store in the winter and gave the old men that gathered there something to sit around and tell their tall tales.

To the right of the stove was a counter with bar stools where folks could get some of Grandpa's good bologna and crackers. Across the aisle was the Coca-Cola cooler--the kind with the two lids you lift up. It was always full of the small glass bottles of soda. Folks would just grab a soda, open it using the opener on the cooler, and then leave the nickel on the counter.

Customers would come in and tell Grandpa what they wanted. I remember the cereal was behind Grandpa's counter, along with most of the groceries. Grandpa would grab what the customer ordered. If they wanted some bologna, he'd cut it with a large knife and weigh it on the old scales on the counter. I can still taste that bologna today. In fact, there's a local meat locker that makes and sells bologna just like Grandpa's. I'd be willing to bet the same family makes it with the same recipe. Some day I'll ask them how long they've been in business.

Grandpa even had a post office in his store. I don't know how many people lived in Newton Stewart, but there couldn't have been more than 20 houses. Neighbors would come by and get their mail and usually end up talking. Back then they mostly talked about the reservoir that was coming in someday. I can remember hearing them say the reservoir would take their land and their houses, and they would all have to move away. It seemed a long way from happening, but 20 years go by very quickly.

Grandpa died when I was around 11 of an aneurysm, a trait he's passed on to a daughter, son, and one grandson. The reservoir was built after the town of Newton Stewart was purchased for peanuts and all of its townsfolk moved away. I remember hearing talk of an old small graveyard near Grandpa's house that was "moved". They said all they have to do is take a shovelful of dirt from each grave and move it to a new location; and that constitutes "moving" a graveyard full of ancestors.

The construction of Patoka Reservoir was halted for a time when Native American artifacts were found while they were digging and grading the land. We could've told them that before they started. Back behind what I remember as a blacksmith shop was an area where we'd go to scoop up handsful of "Indian" beads, which were actually small fossils. I don't know why they were piled up behind the blacksmith shop, but we kids always imagined the "Indians" put them there.

Once Grandma moved to French Lick and the reservoir finally finished, she'd always tell me not to go see it; that it would make me feel bad. After Grandma died, I did finally go. I found Newton Stewart. The new store built next to Grandma's house was still there and utilized as a garage or storage. The footprint of Grandma and Grandpa's house was still there, with even a few hand-carved foundation stones. A herd of deer were laying in the grass right where the house sat. The trees still overhung the road, and I could walk down the road just like I did when I went to Grandpa's store. The pavement had been taken up, but no trees had grown where the road was. As I walked down to the water's edge, I could tell the water began just before the spot where Grandpa's old general store had been.

Other than Grandma's cinder block store, Newton Stewart had been scraped off the earth where it had been since its establishment.

Angels and Demons

I just got home from my sister's house near Indy. We held our Mother's Day a week later than normal due to our trip to Italy to celebrate my sister's 50th birthday. You don't turn a half-century more than once, and we did it in style We flew to Venice where we were wonderfully surprised by my Indian son Saumil. After staying three nights, we took trains to Cinque Terre for another three nights. Then a train or two to Pisa to pick up a rental car so we could travel to Volterra in Tuscany for three nights. After that, we drove back to Pisa to turn in the car and catch a train to Rome for six nights.

It was an amazing adventure for my son, my sister, and me.

Today we held an Italian Mother's Day, complete with spaghetti and meatballs made by my brother Mark and spaghetti carbonara made by me. After lunch, we doled out the gifts we got for everyone. Necklaces made of art glass for our nieces...Hard Rock T-shirts from Rome for our nephews. My brother Mark, spaghetti-maker extraordinaire, received an Italian spaghetti apron and chef hat. Mom got a rosary, and my brother Mike received a Fiat shirt. And my great-nephew Kyle was given a "cut-away" book on Rome that illustrated how the buildings probably looked when they were in their heyday.

On the way home, my son decided we'd stop in at Bloomington and watch "Angels and Demons". We saw it advertised in Rome like crazy. My friend Rick said I have to go see it, after just getting back from Rome. I must admit...I'm not a movie watcher. I fall asleep nearly 99 percent of the time, and that tends to make any movie boring. But not this one. It was a great movie and I recommend that everyone go see it.

I also recommend that everyone take that one adventurous vacation before something happens that makes it impossible. I couldn't tell you my favorite place of all we saw--I loved them all. And don't go to a country merely to stay in some chain motel, or a fancy five-star place. If you do that, you might as well stay in the states. To get a more realistic "flavor" of a country and its people, stay where they stay. In Venice we stayed in an apartment on one of the canals where we were serenaded awake about 9:30 every morning by Italian musicians on gondolas passing in the canal we were located.

We stayed in Manarola in Cinque Terre in a studio apartment. It was quite a climb to get to our apartment, which was located near the top of a cliff on the ocean. Hauling two heavy suitcases didn't help matters any. But we made it, and the view alone made it worth the dozen rest stops we had to take to catch our breath.

In Tuscany, we stayed at an agriturismo--which was a 1,000-tree olive farm. The food, cooked by our hostess, was out of this world. Volterra was wonderful too. I can't wait to return.

We stayed at a B&B near the top of the Spanish Steps, and Anna's place was not only gorgeous, but comfortable. Anna made us a really nice breakfast every morning. We sure hated leaving there.

Details later...I just needed to touch base for now.

Crack Addicts

OK girls...what's so cute about your butts that you draw attention to them with a hideous tattoos, then wear pants that are specifically cut to show the cracks of your butts below your hideous tattoos?

Sorry, kids...this look is NOT attractive. And you never know when some old lady fed up with cracks and bellies might be right behind you, armed with a camera, and not afraid to use it. This photo is one I snapped while in Italy the last half of April. I was walking down the Spanish Steps and this is what confronts me. It was bad enough to see the tattoo and the crack, but she was also sporting black undies and something white stuck in the crack. (If you can enlarge the photo, you can see it, but I don't know why you'd want to.)

At the last Mellencamp concert I attended, we were on the side of the stage and close enough to touch Mellencamp when he came over to our area. In the first row, just before us, a young lady took a seat. The chairs were the folding kind that had the lower back open. And of course, there was her crack. I had my handy-dandy cell phone, so I took a crack photo and sent it to my brothers with some smart-aleck caption. A few minutes before the concert began, a father and his son--who looked to be about ten--sat next to us. And right in front of that young boy was the girl with most of her butt visible to me and him.

What did I do? I happened to have some paper with me, and two Bandaids. I took the Bandaids and taped the paper onto the back of her chair. That way, I didn't have to look at her butt all night, and neither did the kid.

I'm certainly not a prude--I'm just sick of this look. The girls went from wearing "home boy" clothes that completely covered up their shapes to completely uncovering their shapes. I don't know how fashion made such a radical jump in one year.

Not to leave the guys out, I have some big complaints about how they dress too. I really have an issue when I'm forced to look at one foot of your boxers sticking out of your pants. To top it off, your pants would definitely fall to the ground except you're holding them up by grabbing your crotch and hanging on for dear life. Ever notice how many of those goobers on COPS wear these too-big pants, and then try to run from the cops?

It's bad enough when they wear the boxers, but a few weeks ago I saw a young man wearing "tidy whities", with his jeans down as low as the ones shown. I mean, if you're going to show that much of your underwear, you might as well not wear pants at all. Just strut around in your undies. What's the diff?

And I'm aggravated at myself for spending time writing about cracks and boxer shorts when I've got tons of Italy photos to document and write about in my blog. I planned on writing two blogs tonight, but I need to hit the hay to try to fight this awful cold I contracted from someone in Italy. I'm too sleepy to write anymore. Please excuse any typos. I'm gone.

Back from Italy

I just returned home after a wonderful vacation in Italy. I had no problem with jet lag, and slept like a log the entire time I was there. Maybe I just live in the wrong part of the world. I even had dreams and talked in my sleep. I dreamed about Mussolini twice while in Italy. In one dream, he was going to have lunch with my neighbor and in the other he had a large paper clip on his nose. I thought that was so funny that I woke myself up laughing.

Italy is a wonderful place to visit. I would recommend it to anyone. Got to see Prince Charles and his "lovely" wife come in to see the pope, and also got to see them leave. I've had some delicious Italian food and am going to take a shot at making spaghetti carbonara.

Photos and stories to come. Right now I need to put my stuff away from the trip. Got the last load of laundry in the washer, so at least I'll have some clean clothes to wear.