Pittsburgh's Going To The Super Bowl!!

I got out of my car, my nerves a big jumbled mess. I was waving my car flag, and my magnet was attached to the back, but my feelings all week were a mess. It is too important to take lightly.
I waved to the Steeler fans in the parking lot of the Steelers Bar here in Florida. I chatted with a guy as we walked toward the bar. I asked him how he felt.

Him: "It will be a good game. A good match up between teams."

It wasn't what I wanted to hear, but then:

Him: "No matter what, I'm glad I'm here."

Me: "Oh, yes, It wouldn't be the playoffs unless we were here."

And then I opened the door. It was like what I imagine running through the tunnel at Heinz Stadium is like--wall to wall Steeler Fans, pumped, ready, and full of energy.

The game was exciting to watch, with everyone rooting for the same team. It is an experience unlike any I have been through.

We did it. The team played to win. We won.

PITTSBURGH'S GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL!!

Out of the Mouths of My Babes....

January 4, 2005

Sarina: "Miss Cara, Darcy just ate something and then wiped her hands on her pants."

Me: "Well, Sarina, I suppose I could make my kids do their own laundry. I could make both girls carry their laundry down to the river where they'd have to wash their clothes with rocks."

Sarina: "Poor people have to wash their clothes in the river."

Darcy: "Why?"

Sarina: "Poor people don't have any washing machines."

Me: "Well, Kelly doesn't have a washing machine. But then again, she does think she's poor."

Darcy: "Kelly isn't poor."

Sarina: "How do you know that?"

Darcy: "Because she has a purse."

Some of us are not classy enough for a spa...

Last year my husband got me a spa certificate for my 40th birthday. Our local Spa is, according to their website, one of the top 10 spa destinations in the country. It sits on a natural mineral spring that was first discovered by Spanish explorer Hernando de Soto who thought he had found the Fountain of Youth. The Spa pumps the mineral springs from 3 pump stations into their resort to be used for the pools, the spa treatments, and for drinking.

I was intrigued as I have never entered the doors of a spa, much less a world-renowned one, but I was reluctant to go by myself. I waited a year before I was able to secure some company (read: people who could afford to go). My visiting family members, my aunt, my cousin, and my mother agreed to accompany me to the famous Spa. We picked out a package, and I made the reservations.

We arrived at the Spa half an hour before our first scheduled appointment. We paid and were directed through a door, to a woman behind a desk. She was tiny, dressed in designer clothes, and she had a sweater casually thrown over her shoulders. She looked at us as if we had wandered in by mistake. 

Her: "May I help you?" 

We refrained from bringing to her attention the fact we'd just entered from the payment station. Instead, we smiled and informed her we had appointments. She issued us locker keys and then pulled her sweater tighter on her shoulders. 

Her: "We don't have any more robes."

We just looked at her. From the moment we'd entered this resort, we'd had been the minority when it came clothes. Meaning we had them on while everyone else was dressed in white floor-length spa robes. From the people walking the halls to the people enjoying a meal in the restaurant, everyone wore robes. 

How was it possible that they'd run out of robes? Had they unintentionally gone over their max occupancy? We continued to stare at her. She continued to pull at her sweater.

My mother caved first in the standoff. 

Connie: "So, are we supposed to walk around naked? My sister and I don't mind going nude, but why aren't there any robes?"

The woman pulled harder at her sweater, hoping, I think, that it would stretch over her head. 

Her: "We have one robe." 

It suddenly materialized, and my cousin took the robe. We took down the pamphlets about our treatments to read. There down the page was a warning about people with high blood pressure. My mother and I looked at each other.

Connie: "What does this mean? I have high blood pressure. Am I not suppose to do the herbal wrap?"

Her: "Oh, no, you shouldn't have picked that treatment. I'll have to get someone." 

She sighed and looked at us as if wondering what hole we had crawled out of, and she disappeared and then reappeared with the woman who had signed us in. 

That woman began to lecture us on picking the wrong treatment, but my cousin cut her off and suggested we trade time slots. She and her mother were scheduled for the aromatherapy bath, and my mother and I were scheduled for the dangerous fat girls with high blood pressure herbal wrap. 

The sign-in lady agreed to this temporary solution while she searched for a manager. 

Sign-in Lady: "In the meantime, go ahead into the locker room and get into your robes."

Us: "We don't have robes."

The sign-in lady looked at the other lady who pulled on her sweater and admitted they were out of robes. Sign-in lady sighed heavily, rolled her eyes, and disappeared. We stood and look at one another.

Her: "I do have two old robes." 

She pulled out two robes that seem a bit frayed on the collars. We snatched them out of her hand.

Her: "Why don't you go on into the locker room, and someone will bring you the last robe." 

She waved her hand at the door to our right.

We went into the locker room, where we met another attendant who immediately produced a robe. Interesting how robes were suddenly appearing. We changed, and she showed us around as she led us into the woman's waiting area. We sat on couches and snickered at each other.

Our names were finally called, and off we went to our designated treatments. 

My mother and I went with our attendant, Judy, who was actually the best thing in the place. She led us into a room with a swimming pool in the middle. Around the room were six to seven bathtubs.  

Judy assigned us to tubs, turned on the water, and let us sniff several aromas to chose. Then, she dumped them into our baths, creating millions of bubbles. We slid out of our robes and into our private baths. 

My bath was tepid, so Judy added hot water. She put towels behind our heads and cold washcloths on our eyes. We were to relax, and if we chose, we could hop out and jump into the pool (76 degrees) to cool off.

I lay back in the tub and tried to relax. Judy turned off the hot water, but I could feel cold water pouring in. I thought this a strange treatment. Hot then cold. It got cold. I sat up, and the washcloth fell into the bubbles. 

Judy was immediately at my side with a new one. I told her I was cold. She thought this strange, but then she noticed that cold water was pouring into my tub. She turned it off, but to put in hot, she had to pull my plug to drain the cold water. 

Eventually, she got the tub water warm, and I settled back against the head towels. I couldn't relax. I tried, but the water was hot, and I started picturing my blood pressure (which was such a hot topic at this Spa) rising on the thermometer. 

Just when I thought I was going to have to join my mother in the freezing swimming pool, the jets shut off. We left the bath area and joined our party back on the couches, where we compared notes.

My cousin had thought her treatment was fine. My aunt said hers had been lousy. She got cold within 10 minutes, and she wasn't sure there was any type of herbs in her wrap.

Marilyn: "It smelled like moldy dishrags," she said.

After munching on oranges and apples, we were led into the massage area. My masseuse was Sandy. Sandy's arms were as big as my pinky finger, and I wondered how she would massage with those things. The answer: with her thumbs. 

Sandy loved using her thumbs and enjoyed working on feet. Sandy dug her thumbs into my back three times, circled her palms three times on my arm, massaged my hands, circled three times on my leg, and then sat down to do my foot. 

She began rubbing her thumb up my big toe. She stroked and rubbed and rubbed. I wanted to scream, "For god sakes move to another toe!"

She did after about three minutes. She spent another three minutes rubbing that toe and worked her way down the digits, rubbing as if erasing something. Then she started all over again with the big toe. Eventually, she moved to the other foot, where she continued her torture. 

After 20 minutes, she moved to my leg, three circles. She moved to my hand, then my arm and then she asked me to turn over on to my stomach. Finally! 

I rolled over and prepared for a massage. Sandy dug her thumbs into my back. Circle, circle, circle. She slid her hand down my arm and then....then....then she WENT BACK TO MY FEET! 

The same torture was applied once again to my feet. The woman spent 40 minutes of my 50-minute massage working on my feet. When she finished, she moved up to my head and passed gas. So help me, god, the woman farted at my head. 

There was no apology or an "excuse me." She dug her thumbs into my spine several times, ended with a head rub that burned my scalp, patted me, and left the room.

I rejoined the gang back at the couches. Everyone else had enjoyed their massage. I smiled and said we would talk about mine later. 

At some point in our treatments, a manager had apologized for the herbal wrap mistake, handed us all free gifts, and told us we could bathe twice if we wanted. Coming out of that massage, I was freezing and looking forward to jumping back into a hot tub. Our names were called.

Judy was gone, but we had Pit and Pat who did not dump enough aromas into our baths, and so we had few bubbles to cover our nakedness. 

I was in the same tub as before, and once again, the water would not shut off. Pit, or Pat, worked on it and got it just right. For the first time that day, something was perfect. I settled back and relaxed. It lasted about 10 minutes before my cousin was poking me on the shoulder. 

Maya: "I'm bored."

Connie: "Jump into the pool."

Marilyn: "Is this all we do?" 

She climbed out of her tub and proceeded to investigate closets and drawers, a towel clutched to her breasts, her backside open to all of us. Pit and Pat were nowhere to be found. 

We decided we'd had enough, dressed, and hightailed it out of there. The best thing about the whole excursion? The mineral spring water that we consumed in vast quantities throughout the day. 

We discovered later that it certainly cleans out your system! 

Perhaps that had been Sandy's problem.

A class act

My children started out their education in a Montessori school. For five of those years, they were in the Pre-Primary/Kindergarten class under an excellent teacher by the name of Sharon Root. This year Mrs. Root is retiring after 26 years at the Montessori school.

One of the hardest things that I have ever done in my life is to turn my children over into someone else's care. I was nervous that first day when we met Mrs. Root, but within two minutes, she had won me over with her gentleness and soft voice. She took Madison into her room and into her heart, and for three years, she helped my shy, little toddler grow into an independent young lady. My youngest daughter was already independent by the time she began Mrs. Root's class, but after three years, Darcy too thrived and blossomed with Mrs. Root's guidance.

They say that in every student's life there will be a teacher she never forgets. I now know that in every parents' life, there will be a teacher that her children will have they will always remember. Sharon Root has nurtured my children with love and kindness. She provided a safe environment for them to learn. She helped them with self-assurance, independence, and she taught them the learning skills they will need for the future. She started them both out in the world of education. We could not have released our children into a better pair of loving arms.

Mrs. Root, we love you and adore you, and Tom and I can not thank you enough for all you have done for our children and our family. We wish you well in your new endeavors. You are the teacher we will never forget.

Everything is Rosie

I first saw Rosie O'Donnell in a movie. I'm not sure which one, but she was funny. The one movie that I do remember is A League of Its Own because some of it was filmed in the Indiana city that I grew up in. My mother's best friend was actually one of the softball players that the movie was written about, and she is in the Baseball Hall of Fame. So we went to the cinema and saw it several times. I thought Rosie was funny. I liked her.

I didn't really get to know her (as much as anyone can get to know a celeb) until she did her show. When she talked, I heard my voice. When she gushed over her guests, I felt like she knew it was how I would act. Except for the fact that she grew up with no mother, was a fabulous student, had a great sense of comedic timing, and actually did something with her life, I felt just like her. Most of the time, I saw myself in her. I was sorry when the show ended.

I read an article on her blog about a month and a half ago, checking in. It was like rediscovering an old lost friend. I'm glad she is back.

See My Food?

Last night my husband and I joined a good friend who was celebrating her 40th birthday. As it was also our 11th wedding anniversary, it was a planned night of partying and good times. One of her friends chose a Japanese restaurant for all of us for dinner. I had a picture in my head of all of us seated around a grill with an Asian chef twirling and juggling knives as he deftly sliced and diced my chosen meal of either beef, chicken, or shrimp or a combination of all three.

The emphasis I would place on this image in my head is COOKED food.

Unfortunately, that image was quickly squashed when I realized that I was in a house of sushi. While we did gather around a table, a chef did not come out to thrill us with his knife dexterity or his cooking knowledge. Instead, a fisherman who'd reeled in his catch earlier plopped it down in the middle of our table. Where I am sad to say, my fellow tablemates sucked down these poor creatures like they were in an episode of Survivor, or worse, Fear Factor.

As much as I pride myself as one willing to try things, I draw the line at a meal that might up and walk off of my plate.

There was yellow-tail, tuna, salmon, and gasp, eel. Oh, and the octopus was on the menu as well, but no one signed up for that tasty dish. It was all wrapped in a beautiful bed of rice tied tightly with a rope of seaweed! Most of my tablemates opted to ignore the rice as some were on low carb diets. Instead, they slurped on the raw seafood in the middle and left the rice shell to sit forlornly on the plate.

To start things out, they served a soy-based soup with pieces of floating tofu and ended with a complimentary dish of birthday green wasabi ice cream. The smell alone was enough to kill me. When I want the scent of raw sea creatures, I prefer to be sitting in the sand on a private beach somewhere watching seagulls eat the sushi. It is a miracle that I was able to hold down my diet coke.

Thankfully, I was able to wash away the scent and the taste of my tempura (a sushi bar isn't exactly great at cooked food either) with a coconut creme pie martini from the bar we ended up at later in the evening. I went to bed, hungry. But what an exciting experience for my anniversary.

Happy 40th Birthday, Veronica! May you never meet a mermaid in the next 40 years of your life!

Stirring the cauldron

I have decided in the last month or so that I need to study religion. My husband, one day, was bemoaning the fact that I'm always griping about the fanatical religious zealots out there who do not believe that women have rights to their bodies, their country, etc. He felt that I was missing out on the right things a church has to offer, like potluck dinners and other social activities.

Now mind you, he did not feel that we needed to start attending church, which I offered to do each and every Sunday, he just felt like I wasn't embracing the pleasant side of religion. This got me thinking. I grew up in a household where religion was left up to us. I have attended churches of all faiths, including Baptist, Methodist, Pentecostal, Catholic, Presbyterian, and non-denominational. After all, was said and done, I chose to sleep in on Sundays.

I have come to a point in my life where I want to study the whole religion art form and know more about the history of religion so that I can enlighten my children when the questions begin. After spending the day in Salem, Massachusetts, on vacation this past month, I have decided that I shall start with Wicca from the Pagan religion. (NOTE to anyone in my shoes: It probably isn't a good time to announce this to your Catholic in-laws and non-religious parent on Easter).

Today I spent some time at the computer researching Wicca. I found a Wicca guide named Pythia (you take a second name if you chose), who led me through various phases of the Pagan religion. As a Wiccan, you can choose to worship a God or Goddess or several deities of your choosing. You do this by meditating, and sometimes the deity comes to you through meditation. This then led me to the different myths regarding said deities. As I read about the various mythologies, I came upon the Greek and Roman myths. I love Greek mythology. I once took a class in college about the myths of Greek and Roman times. T

The book we used was written by our professor. I remember it as not only informative but quite humorous, as was this professor. Years ago, before my house at 8200 was cut out from under me sold, I tried to find this book in my collection of textbooks. It was not to be found. Today I tried to find the book online.

Without my professor's name, nor the title of the book, I was not daunted because hello, it's the age of the Internet. I started with the University's website. I ventured into the faculty and narrowed that down to the English department. Only one professor from my days at the good ole University is still teaching there. He looked WAY older than I remembered him.

I tried to find the faculty from the 1980s, but it was a no go. This then led me into my closet and into my keepsake box. There I found an envelope full of my report cards from college. In 1984 I took the Greek Mythology class and received an A. The professor's name is not on the report card. I searched for faculty from 1984. Then, suddenly, in the middle of googling, his last name popped into my head: Richardson. Dr. Something Richardson.

I could see the man in my head in the classroom teaching Greek Mythology. I typed in the University and the name Dr. Richardson, Richardson's Greek Mythology book, Dr. Richardson, English Professor Dr. Richardson, etc. To no avail.

I got almost every faculty list of every school that ever had a professor that ever attended the University. I got to know Anthony Richardson, who taught at the university, but not in the English department. I found a Richardson who writes about the Islam faith, but alas not the Richardson I was looking for, but I just kept on googling and reading article after article until WHAM, the name Don popped into my head. That was it!

Dr. Don Richardson. Even having that, finding him was still hard. I ended up at the University's library's online facility, where I discovered that Don Richardson had written a book titled, Great Zeus and All of His Children: A Mythology Book for Adults.

Amazon could get that book for me in about 1 to 2 months. I turned to eBay and half.com, where I found the book, ordered it, and will eagerly await its arrival. The whole process took me about two hours, and I did not have time to get back into my research of Wicca as I had to pick up the kids from school and transport them to their various after-school activities.

While transporting, I had time to think back over the information I had amassed so far regarding Wicca, and it came to me that perhaps my deity to worship is Dr. Don Richardson.