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Read that sign outside a bakery this morning as I ran by…thanks little bakery, needed that brilliant piece of grounding!!

Leaving today for Africa. Some stress seems logical right? Will the basement flood while my cousin is watching the house? Will he be able to jimmy jam the broken shower knob the way we jimmy jam it every day instead of getting it fixed. Will he agree to being my cousin after this week of house/dog sitting??

After packing, unpacking…3x…and then finally saying screw it…
I’m now wondering…what did I pack? Good chance there are 5 of this and 0 of that..oh well…doubt Kenyans will notice my thislessness or thatlessness..

I’m hoping for some connectivity, our itinerary is amazing and if all goes well, I’ll post pics and comments about life on another continent.

Check us out…in our backyard practicing with our hats…practicing with our hats???..that tells you all you need to know about we safari neophytes!!  Except maybe that I look ridiculous…who do I think I am Jane Goodall with a splash of Victoria Beckham??

Next stop … Kenya… Hope to see you along the way..

Rhubarb pie…who knew?  Like who knew it was so delish.

Apparently lots of people, just not this gal.

Call me officially enlightened.

The Mr’s bro-in-law is a rhubarb pie guy..and just rhubarb…with clarity and conviction he told me, no strawberry this, custard that, just rhubarb..

Every Spring I say, dude I’m going to make you a pie.  The fact that my pie acumen is less than zero and I’m not even sure what rhubarb tastes like is a very minor detail in my annual proclamation.

But this spring, damn it, I was determined.

Mr. and I were out in Morgantown getting annuals for our pots, a story unto itself but we’ll save it for a slow news day.  Anyway we eye-spied an unmanned vegetable stand that said ‘rhubarb available’…clearly a sign from the pie Gods..or at least an Amish farmer.  And even more serendipitous, the family came home as we were skulking about..

“Sure we have rhubarb” said the father, and away I went bounding back into the garden with 2 of the children.  I pulled 2 stalks and said thanks so much.  The daughter with a steady frankness that probably could avert war said, “well what kind of pie are you baking?”  “Well rhubarb”, I replied confidently, “And no strawberry” and then continued to yak on about the Mr’s brother in law, and his summers in Wisconsin, his parents, blah blah blah.  She continued to quietly pick stalks while I blathered, and thought to myself, wow I guess they want to unload some of this rhubarb.

Helllo..the damn pie takes 5.5 cups…clearly something this 16 year old stateswoman knew.  And without any judgement, comment, or correction, she just made sure I went home with more than 2 stalks.

I laughed later upon reading the recipe…(yea clearly who reads a recipe before they start assembling ingredients) her story would have been more than fair if she described me as a yahoo without a clue!!

Oh and icing on the cake or lattice on the pie as it were…her younger brother, much more direct, rolled his eyes when I asked why they were stripping off the leaves.  “They are poisonous”.  Hmmm…good to know.

No pie acumen…well that’s the understatement of the day.

People, epilogue time, the pie was the bomb…fantastico…if I do say so myself (apparently I am but in fairness so did the neighbors).  And you know who never tasted it…yup that brother in law.  The pie gods (a/k/a Amish farmers) married the path of a great recipe, amazingly fresh crop, and good fellowship, but not, alas, an intersection of time with the brother in law.

And so, we ate it ourselves.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Guess there is always next year…and I know the farm to visit for my stalks.

Be well lovely farmers in Morgantown.

Hope to see you along the way..

Over Memorial Day weekend with weather questionable, I tried to make a dent on my honey-do list…yes that list that is continually impacted by adds and subtracts but never seems to find its way to zero.

Maybe some combination of grey weather and taking stock of lives lost in battle motivated me to sort through boxes I have carried from pillar to post, though rarely opened. Some call this behavior hoarding…why ya holding onto that stuff, its just taking up space, you never even open the boxes.  I’ve heard it.  And my response…balderdash..I am a treasure keeper thank you very much!

And this weekend, treasure was indeed unearthed. Inside a storage box, was a box, and low and behold…a school ring.  Pictured below, clearly a girl’s ring, two hearts, initials engraved H.A.M., and class of 1968.

Who is H.A.M.?  What school?  How to find you….

I asked friends from other local schools, maybe Merion Mercy, but no.  At first I thought the 2 hearts may be my own alma mater of Sacred Heart, but no, similar logo, but our ring has always been green.

 

 

 

 

 

Class of 1968…11 grades ahead of me, how did I end up with you, must have been sometime in the late 70s as I lived out of the area for years after high school graduation (and truth be told I had not opened those boxes in years and years).

Who is H.A.M.?  What has H.A.M.’s life been like for 50, yes 50, years.

Me and your ring H.A.M..well we have had some adventures…

80’s were a blur of college, move to Florida, gambling with a Rockefeller, partying with Grosse Point Fords, parking cars for Pure Platinum dancers at night, working at a law firm by day, contemplating law school, the Peace Corps, getting married, getting divorced, and ending up in the Army on my 30th birthday..you would have been 40? 41? married? kids? career? all of the above?

Early 90’s were Army, Samoan boyfriend who lived in Alaska, truck driver boyfriend turned into a best friend, sweet boyfriend with many issues..and then heading into 2000’s, finding forever love with a guy disguised as my dear friend’s punky younger brother.  Life’s craziness morphing into a variation of calm.  After the Army, work was corporate, lots of travel, saw all 50 states (with the help of that Samoan boyfriend by way of Alaska I knocked off Alaska and Hawaii in one summer).  You were edging towards 50 H.A.M…did it agree with you?

2000’s… I was flying for work on 9/11, lost a sister to hit and run accident a month later, married said punky younger brother the the following spring and away we went.  No kids, lots of nieces and nephews, and each day a little dance with adventure.

And here we are…egad…2018…

All the while your ring has been along for the ride, sitting in a box I carried with me to apartments and houses over the years, even spending some time in a storage facility (struggled to leave FL, figured if I left everything in storage down there I wasn’t really leaving…oy vey, not so smart).

My goal is to repatriate you two soon, and more so, I hope your years have been a series of adventures big and small and the loss of your ring did not cause any lasting heartache.  Truly have no recollection of how I ended up with this ring, best guess is sometime in the late 70’s, maybe at a fun house in Overbrook that could tell lots of stories.

Time to find its way home.

Be well H.A.M.

Hope to see you along the way.

So this morning I ran a Half M for which I was woefully untrained.  A 10 miler …I can mail it in…13.1..not so much. At Mile 11 I was making all manner of deals with the devil.  And as any runner knows, all the deals in the world don’t get you to the finish line. Even if you quit and walk it in, well you still have to, yup, walk it in. Miles 11 to 13.1 were a run walk affair.

But a fun brunch with a couple of girlfriends followed – race debacle in the rear view mirror – we were making plans for some other race this summer. What in the holy hell is the matter with me??

Alas this post is an ode to HDN not MCB.

Today HDN starts a 1 month yoga class with an end goal to be a guru of fitness/wellness. I think she is well on her way, she eats some weird stuff that has nothing to do with fritos or ice cream. But anyway, to honor her dedication and going after what she wants, I’m making a big solidarity commitment.  Oh no worries, its not yoga related, good god gertie, downward dog means I bend down to pet the dog. No, this is food based.

For the 30 days while she is at school, I will maintain an NWA policy.

Not No Whites Allowed like white people, they’re fine, no NWA, no white flour and white sugar.

And not crazy, not dissecting every label, but not eating a cookie or ice cream or my precious chips and pretending the demon white is not in there, lurking, waiting to sludge me into submission.

This one’s for you little girl and I’ll be cursing you daily, but I’ll also be inspired by your gumption.

Rock steady…or in the yoga parlance…namaste..

Hope to see you along the way.

Lately, and I write lately when it should be all the time for a long time, I’ve been struggling to get through Day 1.

Day 1, otherwise known as …today is the day I will eat less carbs, run more, be nice, do something outside my comfort zone.  Sometimes Day 1 actually happens…but Day 2 is cloaked in fog and hard to see.

These are not unrealistic goals mind you..be nice…is that so hard??

So today, Day 1, I’m putting it in writing.  Today I will get to, and tomorrow, Day 2, looks clear and sunny.

Hope to see you along the way.

That lovely sister of mine would have been 62 today.

2017 has been a year of milestones in the lives of both Shea and Hannah.

Shea just graduated from college and has been dating a charmer of a girl.

Hannah married a fantastic guy in March. A guy Lauren would have loved..and loved for Hannah.

I miss you daily Lala and try to honor your spirit with fun jewelry, kind spirit, adventurous open nature, and a loving supportive presence for Shea and Hannah.

Toast to you and Dad on this almost summer Sunday.

Quick thought.. If you are under 30 and looking for a wild time, get your happy ass to Hvar Croatia. At 5 this morning, Heyyyy Baby I wanna know if you’ll be my girl, was still being sung in various languages. And then they all jumped on the ferry for the next island. Smart plan to keep that party moving, I do not envy them their headaches.

We push on to our next island too. Tough day for me as the fun is in the morning, the work, the ride, is in the afternoon. I like to get the work out of the way early. But as my complaint is that I am forced to jump on a sailboat and cruise the Adriatic for 3 hours, I think I will hush!
Talk to you later.

Continue reading “Cruising..”

Good morning Tuesday and let’s hope it is not as tough a ride as Monday. Never dawned on me as we rode down the hill into the quiet town of Dol on Sunday night…that we would have to ride UP to leave. And up and up and up we rode yesterday to the other side of the island of Brac to pick up our boat again. Yes, I had to briefly use gear 31, but it felt good to hop off briefly. And yes it felt good to fly down the backside of the island.

Once in Bol, (haha, not to be confused with Dol), I plunked my big tired butt into the Adriatic and it felt great.

The rest of the day was a grand reward. We sailed from Brac island to Hvar but not before swimming in a gorgeous cove and eating fresh fish and vegetables. Amazing!! I need to hit the lottery and do this everyday.

We pulled into Hvar amidst a sea of yachts and yet everyone turned to look, our boat is beautiful and lovingly maintained by the captain/owner. She is truly yar.

The hotel for the next few nights is a 180 from the last place, very sleek, modern. And the town of Hvar is anything but sleepy. It is young, hip, and has that crazy Russian mob money feel to it.

We ate again as a group last night at a restaurant owned by a young couple, one of those places where you are walking down a lane and thinking where is this place, and then suddenly twinkling lights strung in the trees, oh here we are..

Great meal and hilarious conversation. I sat with a group of Canadian doctors and the one guide from Slovenia. The guide told “you won’t believe this” stories from her travels and the docs told hilarious “I can top that” stories of crazy patients.

Great end to a hard fought day of cycling.

Gotta run, today calls, will post pictures as I can, connectivity has made that a bit of a challenge.

During our briefing yesterday, the leaders described the bikes with 32 gears. 30 on the bike, the 31st is your feet, the 32nd is when you say the hell with this and get the van to pick you up.
My goal is small, avoid 31 and 32, so if I had to choose between taking a picture and making it up a hill, I pedaled on, but here are a few..