Quick Update

Wanted to thank everyone for kind thoughts, positive energy, and prayers.

Things went well. Great staff, less pain and more mental acuity than I expected after it all. Yippee! I'm having a tough time keeping food down but I'm hoping today will go better with that.

Painkillers are kicking in so I'm off for a nap. Thanks again. You all really are a wonderful bunch of supportive blog pals and I so greatly appreciate it.

HNT and Da Count-I Gotta Hand It To You

Janita and I won't be around tomorrow since it's the big day she has all the implanted metal removed. I wasn't sure I'd bother with HNT this week or not and I knew I wouldn't be posting tomorrow. I've done a lot of whining lately about how much I don't like surgery. I whined about Mr. Lime. I've been rather grumpy and impatient this week. But I thought I should at least get the count in.

Janita has done really well up until now. There are some things she still struggles with and she lets me know when she is unhappy with things I make her do. So now hopefully we can make her feel better and more able to cooperate. So for HNT here she is letting you all know she's OK for now but will be even more OK soon.

For an early edition of Da Count I need to focus on all the really good things rather than the crap I worry about. So I am counting hands.

1. The amazingly skilled hands of my surgeon who put me back together so skillfully that my therapists knew from looking at my scars that I had the best doctor out there.

2. The gentle yet firm hands of my two therapists who have known when it's best to push Janita and when it's best to let her rest.

3. The tender hands of my kids, Mr. Lime, my mom and dad, who took really good care of me in the moments right after I fell and in the early days when I had trouble doing even simple things.

4. The generous hands of the folks who brought meals, did some cleaning, and drove me around when I came home from the hospital.

5. The hands of bloggy friends and real life friends who used their hands to type comments of encouragment, write out get well cards, or dial a phone to check on me.

Happy HNT and thanks again.

Weird Place Wednesday-The Sale

Over the weekend while I was visiting my family I got to visit one of my favorite places. It's not a favorite because of any scenic beauty. It's a favorite because it is strange and wonderful in the convergence of people and products you can find there.

Welcome to Zern's, or as it is affectionately referred to by locals, 'The Sale.' Or if they are real oldtimers, 'Fendue.'



The Sale is smack dab in Pennsylvania Dutch country. It's in a small town but close enough to Philadelphia that it can pull city folk each weekend. It's basically a farmer's market but there is so much more than just produce. Though if you go just a couple hours before closing time on Saturday you can cart off a box full of fresh produce for next to nothing, just so the sellers don't have to crate it up and cart it away.



The mixture of city folk and farm folk always used to be a fascinating contrast. It's changed a lot in recent years but when I was a kid it was not at all unusual to see a mix of people that included local farmers still in their work clothes, socialites in fur coats, Mennonites in bonnets and plain dress, and bikers in their leathers. there doesn't seem to be such diversity today but The Sale is the place where I first learned how much fun people watching could be. You just never knew what you'd see next.

This sign sums it up best.



The plant auction.


The items offered at the Sale also run the gamut, from produce, to fresh meats, to baked goods and candy, to cars at the auto auction, shrubs at the plant auction, puppies at the pet stand, socks, boots, books, vacuum cleaners, clothes, a myriad of junktiques, electronics, haircuts...pretty much every thing you could get at a mall or a Super WallyMart only with a lot more personality attached to it. And the beauty of it is being able to haggle. One of the most amusing things was to watch a Puerto Rican from the city and an old time Dutchman engage in such negotiations. One working in rapid fire staccato, the other in deliberately (almost maddeningly) slow thoughts and expressions.


What would you like to buy?







Wet bottom Shoo Fly Pies, the local delicacy with the unappetizing name.




This sign really gives you some of the flavor. where else would you get to work on the honor system?


More local delicacy...

Hope you all found something you wanted here. Since there is so much going on in these pictures you can click for a larger image (hope it works).

Enjoy.

Time for Percussive Maintenance?

I've gotten a few messages from people wondering if I did in fact resort to homicide and asking if I am ok since I didn't post earlier. Mr. Lime is alive and well. I have managed not to commit any felonious acts. I also hasten to add that my diatribe yesterday should in no way be construed as a rant against an entire gender. I like men. Some of my best friends and favorite readers are men. The men who posted yesterday demonstrated their own merit and decency and should be afforded protection from rampaging scorned women.

I did have a groovy post all planned out in my head for today but alas, Blogger was being rather pissy about it all and my server was in cahoots with Blogger so I could not make things work before I had to leave for hand therapy. I'm back home now and things are being more cooperative. I'm just running behind now since I have an exterminator coming (see yesterday's mouse reference in addition to a persistent carpenter ant issue) shortly.

Since I don't think I will have time to get this together before the afternoon onslaught of activity I will just give you a brief rundown of the arm thing. Friday afternoon is when the surgeon will excavate the metal from my forearm.

As you know, I am not keen on anesthesia. I get to try a new form this time. They are going to do a nerve block and sedate me. They tell me my arm will be a floppy dead weight for at least 14 hours and I will be asleep for only a couple of hours. I will feel remarkably well rested when I wake up. Yeah, ok...Should be interesting. I'm supposed to show up Friday afternoon, actual time is TBA, in baggy clothes, no bra, no jewelry, no make-up (hahaha, like I own any of that anyway). So in other words I should look worse than I do at the bus stop at 6:15 am every morning...think back to that HNT a couple weeks ago when I only had one eye open (for the bus stop I at least harness the twins into their underwire and have on the earrings I wear all the time). Hahahaha! An excuse for looking haggardly in public, I love it!

They tell me even though I don't get cut on until the afternoon I can't eat after midnight on Thursday. Oooooh, but I can have 8 ounces of juice or water. Whooopeeee!!!

My therapists and doctor seem to think that by Thanksgiving I should be out of therapy and Janita will be able to finish the job just on home exercises. There's an end in sight.

Thanks for the encouraging words yesterday about surgery, about bearing jerky behavior and for checking in today. It's all much appreciated. You folks are the best bloggy bunch a girl could ask for.

Bitchy Post to Follow...

If it is a weekend when a surprise 60th birthday party has been planned (and over a month's notice has been given) for one family member, the newest family member has just been adopted and brought home from Guatemala, and the family matriarch has been in the hospital for the last week I am still willing to have you stay home if that's what you prefer. I will even do that without complaint.

However, when the children start asking why they have to be involved in family life if Daddy isn't and you back them up not in a mature way, but by making disparaging comments about my side of the family, I will defend my kin. I will also point out that the reason the kids don't feel connected is because they follow your example in not participating. I will however, allow them the choice. I will also go without you. And yes, I will ask my mother (yes, that member of the family you can't be bothered with but who you want to serve your purposes), who works for hourly wages, to drive me to and from the surgery center on Friday because God forbid you, with your salaried wage, should have to use a personal day to do that. (Yes, folks, Friday is the day the hardware comes out of my arm. I mentioned it to a few of you but forgot to post anything about it. Sorry)

If, when I return after two days, I hear about all the fun activities the 4 of you engaged in during my absence (special activities that do not normally occur and I have been asking to do as a family for sometime) I will feel slighted but I will put that aside long enough to enjoy the kids' happiness.

If I hear tales of how you all chose to subsist on Twinkies, potato chips, smores, and baloney I will understand the resulting stomach aches and indigestion.

If I walk into the kitchen that was clean when I left and see every glass, bowl, dish and pot littered about, along with all sorts of crumbs and other food residues (keeping in mind the hysteria and disgust I witnessed in all of you when we caught 3 mice in the last two weeks) I will not smile and clean it all up. I will call all of you to come fix this mess as I wonder how the aforementioned diet can produce so many dirty dishes.

If the father of my children should choose this moment to whine about how unfulfilling and beneath him it is to wash dishes (I am completed as a woman every time I get to scrub pots.....yeah, right) because he chose to excuse the children from their part of the job he may not reasonably expect a great deal of sympathy from me.

After all that he may wake up the next morning and give thanks for life because I chose not to smother him with a pillow while he slept.

Friday 55-Da Count

A young woman sobs when she learns she is pregnant. She nurtures this fragile life until the day she hears her daughter's first cry. A world away a couple waits. Their months of patience end and the labor to bring their daughter home begins. Tears of joyful release flow when they hold her at last.


Da Count this week is for adoption. One of my cousins and her husband just came home yesterday from picking up their daughter in Guatemala. Their little girl was supposed to be home back in May but various things have delayed it until now. Tomorow we have a surprise 60th birthday party for another cousin and our newest family member's arrival is sure to be the icing on the cake for the day. The whole family has waited in anticipation. I can't wait to meet her!

As I'm counting her adoption I have to count my own. Mine was arranged before I was born. Unlike hers it occured at a time when secrecy and shame still surrounded so many adoptions. Fortunately I had parents who believed in honesty so I did not experience that in my own family. It's not uncommon to meet people who think that I should have some sort of deep psychological scar due to being adopted. A friend who is a psychiatrist even asked me what my main maladjustment was since he'd never met an emotionally healthy adoptee. I laughed in his face and said he ought to consider that his population sampling was a bit skewed given his line of work.

Is my family perfect? Far from it. Do I have lingering questions about my birthfamily? You bet. But at the end of the day I was wanted, waited for, and welcomed with love and that's something to count. And I can't wait to meet my newest cousin this week too!

If you want to count along click the button in the sidebar.
Have a great weekend!

Weird Wednesday-Crying Fowl

Ok, forgive me more Isaac anecdotes. Eleven year old boys provide such a lot of material for wonderful weirdness.

#1
What do you get when you cross 3 boys, ages 11-13, a rubber chicken, a football, a brick, and a muddy back yard?

Any guesses? Oh come on...

Poultry ball! And no I am not joking. I'm sure it will be the latest sports craze to sweep the nation. The brick is home plate. One pitches the football. One stands at bat while holding the rubber chicken. One squats as catcher. Since a rubber chicken does not have quite the oomph of a bat and a football has more mass than a baseball physics dictates hitting for distance is not the point. The location of other bases is somewhat in question but there seems to be a lot of sliding toward whatever might suggest a base.

I asked if there were any rulings on fowl balls or fly balls. I suggested the mudhens as a mascot. I asked about scoring and if anyone had a goose egg. They invited me to play but I declined, saying I was having fun watching. They called me a chicken.


#2
Isaac had a homework assignment in Language Arts. He was to write a personal narrative. On Monday he had asked to go to a neighbor's house to play. He had his watch and I told him to be home by 6pm. At 6:30 after I called for him, he came in apologizing. I said, with perfect calmness, 'Tomorrow you don't leave your own yard.' He replied with similar calmness, 'I know. Sorry.' All was fine.

The narrative had him an hour late. I was worried sick. When he finally got home I flew into a rage and grounded him for a week. He went to his room with a slam of the door.

I asked him if he thought I had really been that mad and pointed out the other points of difference. He said, 'Yeah, I know. You just didn't get mad enough to be interesting.'

Ah, the art of literary embellishment is alive and well at the House of Lime!

Trini Tuesday-Caroni Swamp

*Picture taken from Wikipedia article on Scarlet Ibis

Trinidad is a popular destination for serious birdwatchers from all over the world. Caroni Swamp is one of the specific places birders flock to in order to see the Scarlet Ibis, trinidad's national bird. The interesting thing about this bird is it's a commuter. The ibises live mostly in an area on the west coast called Caroni Swamp. Each morning they fly across the Gulf of Paria to Venezuela, about 11 miles. Each evening they return home to Trinidad to roost for the night. Because of their migration patterns the best times to see the birds are at dawn and dusk.

For a pretty nominal fee you'll be taken out into the swamp. The guides will point out other interesting flora and fauna along the way in the mangroves. They will gladly share their mosquito oil with you even as they chuckle over the mosquitoes getting to feed on fresh tourist flesh. Trust me, it's the tropics and it may be crazy hot, but if you go to the swamp you will want to wear long pants and long sleeves. Make sure the fabric is thick too. These mosquitoes are industrial sterength, remember what I told you last week about the insects? The wild flailing of a poorly prepared visitor swatting madly at mosquitoes will make the boat rock, scare off the other animals you might see, and generally irritate fellow passengers. If you ignore this advice and wind up dumped into the swamp or covered head to toe in bug bites don't come crying to me.

Like flamingoes, scarlet ibises develop their distinctive color over time as a result of the crustaceans they eat. A scarlet ibis is a good bit smaller than a flamingo. As you sit quietly on the swamp watching the sun dip the sky will become red with birds. First a few lead birds in small flocks will arrive. More and more follow until the sky is thick with ibises. It's an exciting and distinctive Trinidad experience that every visitor, even those who are not birdwatchers, should enjoy.

*Taken from http://www.richard-seaman.com/

Happy Trini Tuesday!

I'd tell you but then I'd have to kill you...

Susie has challenged me to divulge 8 secrets. She posted about all sorts of naughtiness in her younger days and seems to think her challenge will cause me to do the same. Hhhhmm, we shall see...secrets, secrets, whose got a secret...

1. I created Colonel Sanders' secret recipe. I even invented one of the 11 herbs and spices. Sshhh, don't tell anyone...it's floor sweepings.

2. I also hold the formula to Coca-Cola. I am NOT taking responsibility for the New Coke fiasco. Incompetent underlings...

3. I helped perform the autopsy on the Area 51 aliens. We preserved DNA samples which have been used in cloning experiments. I'm really not at liberty to divulge much more but you should carefully watch Pat Robertson, Al Gore, William Hung, and Paris Hilton...some of our experiments went horribly awry.

4. Jimmy Hoffa is not swimming with the fishes in the East River, nor is he in the Giants endzone. He's working as a clerk at the convenience market where Elvis shops.

5. Former Australian PM Harold Holt, who mysteriously disappeared during an ocean dip in 1967, occasionally pops into the same market.

6. Victoria's Secret is that she used to be a man. She confided in me but I'm angry at her because she never carries my size bra in stock. So there!

7. I am letting David Copperfield think he has found the Fountain of Youth in the Bahamas just so he doesn't bother me when I go back to Trinidad.

Ok, I know that while Susie is giggling right now she is also annoyed that I haven't actually dished any dirt on myself so...

8. My prom date really was 30 years old. I was 17.

Friday 55 & Da Count-Music

Friday 55

Old Guitarist by Pablo Picasso

People pass by me on the street, never daring eye contact. Occasionally, young lovers stop to twirl momentarily before they run along giggling. I close my eyes, gently hold the neck, and tenderly strum. I lean into the familiar curve as my fingers softly pluck the passionate song that reminds me of you, my love.

Da Count:

This week I am counting music. It soothes me when I am stressed and enlivens me when I am tired. It gives clarity where words fail. Before I was married I went through this 'get rid of worldy possessions' phase. Though there was merit in the exercise I figured out too late that it was exceedingly stupid of me to get rid of my records and cassettes. I needed them. When we were robbed the possession I nearly went bonkers without was the stereo.

I have a singing voice that could peel paint but I always sang to my kids when they were small. For Calypso, singing to her and holding her firmly were literally the only things I could do to get her to sleep as a baby. Just last week Diana, who is not generally given to expresions of tenderness, told me that when she was little and didn't know better she thought I had the most beautiful voice, now that she knows better it's beautiful because of the memories it gave her. I cried. I have wonderful memories of my grandfather and mother playing and singing to me when I was a child.

Isaac has started learning trombone so we have some very interesting noises around here, but his excitement makes those odd honks a joy. Diana and Calypso are full swing into marching band and loving it. I'll go to football games and ignore every second of the game but nobody better interupt me for the 6 minutes they march during halftime tonite.

One way or another, Janita and I are going to play my guitar again. Maybe not well, but well enough for me because I'd go crazy in a world without music.

Want to count along? Check the big green button in the side bar and see what other people are counting.

Update (11:45am): I just got back from a therapy re-evaluation and I have made progres in everything except wrist rotation (no suprise there since we backed off on that after last visit). The big gains were in strength which is a really good feeling...good enough to make me do my happy dance and sing 'Woohoo!' I find out on Tuesday if the hardware has to come out or not.

Update (9:45pm): Go check Insane Asylime for a very brief entry on the musical 'talent' my son displayed this evening.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

HNT-Chicks Only Dig Guys With Skills

Ok, I'm running out of my own skills so this week I will feature Limelet #3. On Tuesday I mentioned his love of all things creepy crawly. From before he even turned 3 he could catch a cricket or grasshopper by the back leg. I watched him do it several times and it amazed me how such a little guy could so patiently stalk a bug, sneak up on it from behind, and grab it so quickly, yet not hurt it. (We do catch and release...no crawlies were harmed in the shooting of this HNT.)

So this week, I present Limelet #3's skilled hands. They're dirty, leave prints all over things, and nail-bitten (all of which just adds to their charm). They are also, gentle, helpful, and strong. My favorite is when he slips one hand in mine and we can trade the three squeezes that mean 'I love you.' He is always so happy to show me what he catches with them. How can I not enjoy that with him?

Happy HNT!

Weird News Wednesday-The Dog Ate My Homework

Well, it's been a while since I did an actual news post for Weird Wednesday. I stumbled across this little story and since school is back in session I just had to share it.

LARGO, Fla. - Stephanie King had to tell her music teacher that a raccoon was to blame for her missing homework. "I explained that the raccoon fell from the ceiling in my bathroom and it ran into my bedroom," the 13-year-old seventh grader at Osceola Middle School told the St. Petersburg Times. "Animal control came out to get it and they couldn't catch it and they said we couldn't go in my room."

Stephanie's grandmother vouched for her story Friday with school officials. "I told them she can't get her homework, her books, because everything is locked in the bedroom," Natalie King said. The female raccoon and its babies crashed to the Kings' bathroom floor Wednesday night. Until that moment, the family didn't know the roof was leaking, much less that a family of raccoons was living in their ceiling.

The mother raccoon escaped into Stephanie's room. It finally made its way Thursday night into the trap set by Pinellas County Animal Services officers, who picked up the critter the next morning.


Now class, your homework tonight is a creative writing assignment. I want you to come up with animal related excuses for not turning in your homework for the rest of the year. Here are my examples.

• The Schlitz Malt Liquor bull led a stampede over my homework. (Yes, I just dated myself that much...)
• My pet monkey threw feces on my homework.
• A dingo ate my homework (after it ate the baby).
• I had to be taken to the ER after falling off the table I climbed on after a tarantula fell on my head. (Hey, you'd believe it could have happened if you'd seen Mr. Lime, our friend, and me all jumping around to get away from that monster.)
• Well, every night I try to sit down and do my homework but this eagle comes and starts pecking my liver out. Yes, I know I look fine every morning. What can I say? It's a curse.
• I was distracted by the bats having sex upside down on the ceiling. (This I have actually witnessed in a place we rented up at Toco Beach, Trinidad. It was rather intriguing in a scientific sort of way. Honest, I'm really not some kinky bat voyeur! Just because I asked Mr. Lime to buy gravity boots doesn't mean a thing, you pervs!)
• There was this threatening rabbit. It had nasty, sharp, pointy teeth! It was terrifying! I was too traumatized to do my homework.
• I was testing the theory that cockroaches will be the only survivors of a nuclear holocaust and my homework was a little too close to ground zero.
• Once upon a midnight dreary, while I studied weak and weary......Quoth the raven, "Nevermore." And who am I to argue with a talking raven?
• I didn't finish my geometry homework because there were snakes on the planes.

So what's your excuse??

Trini Tuesday-That Really Bugs Me!

If you've paid much attention you know Diana lived in Trinidad and Calypso was born there. My son Isaac has not yet had his turn to even visit. It's his birthday this week so I thought I'd share something about Trinidad that gets him excited.

My last visit was during the summer of 2002. Before I went I called my dear friend who works in the entomology division of the Ministry of Agriculture.

Flora, how yuh goin', gyul? I comin' to TNT fuh meh holiday and I have a favor tuh ask.

Meesh, I goin' good. You would be stayin' by us I hope? What I could do fuh yuh?

Of course I would stay by all yuh. And well, meh boy does love insects, yuh know. He been catchin' dem since he jus' small and I was hopin' yuh could maybe hook us up wit' some big, freakish bugs.

Oh gosh gyul, yuh make joke!

No, Flora, I eh make joke. De boy love insects.

Gyul, meh own chil'ren eh like insects. Yuh does make me real happy! I would be glad to collect some fuh all yuh.

When we lived on the island, Flora had taken us to the Ministry's 'Bug Museum.' The museum is a large room full of specimens of virtually every insect to be found in Trinidad and Tobago. May I just say it was a somewhat disconcerting experience. There are some seriously big ass bugs that are just insanely icky. There were beetles the size of my palm or bigger, with these terrifying looking horns coming off their heads. There were locusts bigger than my whole hand. There were arachnids of nightmarish proportions. I tried to confine myself to the order lepidoptera...(deeeep breaths, focus on the pretty butterflies....). I had not yet developed even the slightest degree of appreciation for many of the much more sanely sized insects I lived with in Pennsylvania, much less these titanic tropical beasts that looked like they could carry off small children.

I asked Flora if I could expect to find any of these creepy crawlies in my own back yard. She said yes but that since I already knew wasps and bees I really only needed to concern myself with scorpions. Nothing else I would come across in my backyard was a danger. Right, except when I am standing on a chair shrieking like a...well, like a girl...because one of those giant beetles with horns comes lunging at me. (In my own defense I hasten to add that I am the resident spider killer here at the House of Lime. Mr. Lime is the one given to standing on chairs and giving an estrogen heavy performance when spiders are in the vicinity.)

By the time I left Trinidad I was learning to be blase. Crib legs in dishes of water to keep the ants off the baby. Wash the dishes after use and before use because of the proliferation of cockroaches. Wait for ants to exit the water well in my iron before pressing clothes. Don't sit on tree stumps so scorpions don't go after you. Replace electrical switches and outlets with regularity because the ants crawl in, get zapped and the moisture in their bodies shorts it all out. React by nonchalantly asking, 'Didja flick it off?' when Mr. Lime tells me he saw a 4 inch cockroach on my head when he woke up in the night. Understand that when I wake up with a swollen lip it is because a kissing bug bit me during the night. However, I still hopped around like a lunatic when a tarantula skittered towards me after falling from the ceiling and hitting Mr. Lime in the head. Mr. Lime just about had a heart attack. He climbed on a sofa after Flora's husband suggested Mr. Lime just step on the tarantula. Mind you, Mr. Lime only had on flip flops. I don't blame him for not wanting to squish that thing.

Fast forward to when we have returned to the USA. Isaac is almost 3 and now catches grasshoppers and crickets with considerable efficiency. He regularly comes into the kitchen dangling one by its back legs. I'm rather amazed that chubby preschoolers fingers are nimble enough to catch the critters without damaging their fragile bodies. Also, I don't want to ruin his fun by screeching in horror, 'Get that thing outta here!" Trinidad has helped me learn to control my responses and actually kneel down and marvel with him over whatever his latest catch is. Then I take pictures of whatever he catches. So now the routine is catch, marvel, snap a pic, release the critter, look it up in field guides to identify the species. He finds stag beetles, luna moths, walking sticks, preying mantises, newts, salamanders, frogs, snakes (the amphibians and reptiles I have enjoyed since I was a wee Lime myself).

Now it is 2002 and I am headed to Trinidad and Flora has promised to help me find some crazy tropical insects. As soon as I arrived she presented me with a scorpion she caught in her own yard. She also found a really magnificent walking stick,some sort of burrowing cricket, some gigantic beetle, and then I found this big katydid on the beach. It was dead but in good condition. I even picked it up and carried it myself, aren't you proud of me? It was really fun to see her glee as she caught these critters and told me all about them so I could tell Isaac.

She packaged them all up in jars of formaldehyde. She got me documentation from the Ministry stating that I had permission to remove the specimens from the island in case customs gave me trouble. Isaac was completely thrilled with his insect collection (I got some bonus 'Cool Mom' points and Auntie Flora got a gushing letter of thanks and a bunch of 'Cool Auntie' points.). In fact, just last week when everyone had to bring in a bag of their favorite things to share with their class as a part of 'getting to know each other' the little jar containing the scorpion went along to school.

Happy TriniTuesday!



May I also suggest that you go check the comment by Lacquer, Semi-Gloss Lacquer on my post yesterday. He added it quite late but it is a very good tribute to another WTC victim with whom he was personally acquainted.

Fifth Remembrance

When the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon occurred and when Flight 93 crashed in a field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania it was not just New York City/Metro New Jersey and the Washington, DC area that lost its citizens. Americans from 41 states were killed as well as citizens of Bermuda, Ireland, Mexico, England, Canada, Japan, Australia, Dominican Republic , Germany, China, Israel, and El Salvador. Pennsylvania lost 30 sons and daughters that day. Below are those from the Pocono/Slatebelt region.

Melendez , Mary 44 Stroudsburg , PA Deceased WTC Occupant

Ragonese-Snik , Laura Marie 41 Bangor , PA Deceased WTC Occupant

Flounders , Joseph Walken 46 East Stroudsburg , PA Deceased WTC Occupant

Lopez , George 40 Stroudsburg , PA Deceased WTC Occupant

Blanding Jr. , Harry 38 Blakeslee , PA Deceased WTC Occupant

O'Sullivan , Timothy F. 68 Albrightsville , PA Deceased WTC Occupant

Merdinger , Alan Harvey 47 Allentown , PA Deceased WTC Occupant

Calandrillo , Joseph 49 Hawley , PA Deceased WTC Occupant

I did not personally know but I'd like to remember...

McNeil , Walter Arthur 53 East Stroudsburg , PA Deceased Emergency / Rescue Personnel

Walter Arthur McNeil
After a Life in Uniform, He Was Planning to Retire
March 15, 2002




Walter McNeil spent most of his life in uniform, from his early days in Vietnam with the U.S. Army to his final minutes at the World Trade Center with fellow Port Authority of New York and New Jersey officers.
The 53-year-old New York native planned to retire in January to the home he purchased in East Stroudsburg, Pa. in 1996 with his long-time companion Sonia Rodriguez.
Like growing numbers of New York City residents, the couple decided to move to the Poconos so that their child, Walter McNeil Jr., could attend good schools.
Rodriguez met McNeil while serving in the National Guard, and knew his duties often thrust him into dangerous situations.
On the morning of Sept. 11, McNeil called Rodriguez after the first plane hit the trade center, asked if she was watching the news, and told her he wouldn’t be home for a while.
“I know, just be careful Mac,” she told him.
McNeil had come home from Vietnam, from the Gulf War and from the Trade Center after it was attacked by terrorists in 1993. He didn’t come home this time.
Co-workers remember him as a “go-to guy” who trained countless rookies during his 22 years on the Port Authority police force. They also say they won’t forget the delicious barbecued ribs McNeil would cook in the summer months.
McNeil was a member of the Holland Tunnel Police Unit and a sergeant in the 369th Transport Unit of the Army National Guard.

All information and above obituary taken from Newsday Victim Search.

Here is a man who clearly knew what it was to serve in dangerous times and places. He'd survived two wars and the first WTC attack. He was close to retirement. If anyone deserved some peaceful golden years, it would seem he certainly did. I'd like to thank his family for McNeil's years of faithful and dedicated service. I know that the family who supports a man like this makes their own sacrifices in order for the one serving to do so. Now they suffer the worst loss as Mr. McNeil made the ultimate sacrifice in attempting to usher others to safety. May they be comforted by his memory and may they find peace.

Friday-Naked Guy and Octopi

Last night was back to school night at Isaac's school. What a comedy of errors. He is assigned to a team of four teachers, in a building with 5 floors. We all got a map. I quickly checked for the location of his classrooms. Not one of the teachers he has for anything was marked on the map. Oooook, I know this is the school he comes to... However, I'm not alone since there are a few other parents milling around looking fruitlessly at their maps. We ask the principal, who cannot seem to recall where this particular team of teachers is located. Neither can the vice principal. Neither can the guidance counselor. I understand this is only the second week of school but sheesh...not one of these people can even tell me what floor to go to, let alone what room. We march off to the office where the secretary tells us in half a second what the room numbers are and which floor. One my son's desk was a copy of the schedule of classes for the evening. Teacher names, room numbers... I don't know whose schedule Isaac copied down but it sure wasn't his. He got his first and last class right but everything in between was wrong. Enter a class, sit down, no one is there but the teacher and me. Why are you here? Um, the schedule says so. Let me see your schedule, please. No, sorry, this is incorrect. I had Isaac last period/will have Isaac next period/don't see him at all. Well, alrighty, thanks. OK, I have some sort of free time here. I'll go to the library and get set up on the parent web page thing that let's you look in on grades. Hi, I signed up for this last year but the email address I used is now defunct so I need to change things. Grave looks, Ooooh, you have an account? Yes, I need to change the email address because the one my husband used is no longer functional. Ooohh, we can't help you here. (There are 2 dozen empty computer terminals and we have the district technology director and his assistant but they are looking like I told them I just hacked NSA computers.) If you call our office tomorrow I think we can help. Alrighty then...it was an interesting evening to be sure.

Today's Friday 55 brought to you by Auguste Rodin and by the organizers of Parent Night.



I turned off the coffee pot and iron. I let the dog out. I have checked my dayplanner...meeting at 9, lunch with the superintendant at noon, parent night at 7. I have to get the oil changed in the car. Gees, it just feels like I am forgetting something...What could it possibly be?


Da Count:
It's that time again, time to count what you got instead of bemoan what you don't. Even though I posted it months and months ago at Insane Asylime, I want to share what has become a bit of a mantra in the Lime household because I think it fits with the concept of 'da count.'

Limelet #3 was very emphatic about being independant from a young age. He wanted to learn to do things on his own with no assistance. One day, when he was 3 or 4, he was struggling to get his coat on. One arm was in a sleeve and he was flailing wildly and spinning like a dog chasing his tail as he tried to find the second sleeve. Knowing he preferred flying solo but seeing his difficulty, I asked gently, 'Do you want any help with that, buddy?' He continued flailing and spinning, 'Oof.....ugh......errk...mmpphh...No, but I'm glad I'm not an octopus.'

So, for da count this week, I'm counting my son, Isaac, who cracks me up with his sense of humor, touches me with his tenderness, and challenges me with his perpsective.

Let me encourage you all to make your own count whether you post it on your blog or not. For of 'Da count' you can check at Lecram's.

Have a great weekend!

HNT-Exhausting Commute

Ok, Os decreed that we were to post pictures of our commute in honor of Labor Day. Well, I'm an at-home-mom. My commute consists of hauling my rear down the hallway. However, now that school is back in session my 10 year old son has to be at the bus stop by 6:15 am (which means the kid wrangling starts at the obscene hour of 5:15am). Here's a shot of how thrilled and energetic I feel at that hour of the morning.



I think I could pack for a 3 month tour of Europe in those bags under my eyes. You're lucky to even get this picture. It only happened because the camera was already on the table and only required me to lift one finger to the shutter release. I'm thinking of lifting a different finger to the nut job who thinks this is a reasonable hour to be dragging 10 year olds out of bed. Alright, I did my duty. Leave your comment and lemme get some sleep.

Oh and if you are looking for some truly useless talent, my talent and the talent of my fellow Blog-Hijackin' Krazies can be found here this week.

Happy HNT

Weird Wednesday-Crap-O-Rama

Well, my idea last week turned out to be a rather lame one with fairly pitiful results. I want to thank Seamus, M, and Tan Lucy Pez for playing along by sending me some rather bizarre emails in an attempt to induce Gmail to give me even more bizarre results in advertising. Alas, Gmail simply did not cooperate by providing anything amusing enough to waste blog space on. The real tragedy is I might actually have to attempt creativity this week.

I was getting panicked about needing to produce. In the nick of time I received a package in the mail from my dear Logo as part of a crap swapping idea initiated by Susie. Logo showed what craptacular magnificence she received from Susie back on Friday. I am waiting to see what Susie does with the truly amazing crap I sent to her.

What lovely crap did I receive? Let me show you...



Now to be honest this is fairly nice crap. I mean it might actually have some tasteful decorative purpose unlike the glasses Logo received or the thing I sent Susie (And heaven help you if you combine Logo's crap with Susie's crap...I'm telling ya, it could be like matter meeting antimatter.....the end of intelligent life on this planet!) But this little palm tree plaque isn't so bad. In fact, it makes me think of a terrific place with palm trees...I think you know the place...little island called Trinidad?

Ok, I know this picture is supposed to be more evocative of the Mediterranean, but I'VE NEVER BEEN THERE LIKE SOME PEOPLE!!!! Oh, sure I've wanted to. Sure, it's on my 'do before I die list.' Sure, I'm only half Greek and would give my left arm (Wait, I almost have) to see my ancestral homeland. And now I have this plaque to remind me of where I've never been. Oooooooh, the cruelty. (cue wailing and gnashing of teeth, beating of breast and rending of garments....someone get me the sackcloth and ashes already!)

Well, I have only one response to this. Logo? Remember that killer sandwich I told you about? You know, the one with a grilled chicken breast marinated in lemon pepper and balsamic vinegar and olive oil? The one with homemade fresh pesto and peppers I roasted specially for the sandwich? The one with fresh mozzarella? The one on that yummy toasted garlic herb bread? Yeah, that's the one. The one right here.



The picture came out kind of overexposed a bit but mmmmm, doesn't that make your mouth water? Mwahahahahaha!

Love you, Logo dear. Thanks for my crap. Meet you in San Francisco! Mwah!

*UPDATE: Please run, do not walk, over to Ratburn's place to see what he's doing with the crap I sent Susie!

*UPDATE to the update: Sorry the link was no good. It's fixed now.

Trini Tuesday-The Dark Side

Ever since I started Trini Tuesday features I have wrestled with whether or not to share this story. If I do, how do I do it? I NEVER want to come across as disrespectful or judgemental of the culture because I loved it there so much and there are so many people in Trinidad who I cherish so deeply and esteem so highly. I think it is reasonably well-establised that I loved it there, that I sought to learn all I could about the place, that I truly enjoyed the experience, that I continue to have a great affection for Trinidad's people and culture.

That being said, all was not sweetness and light. Trinidad, like everywhere else in the world, has a dark side. In Trinidad, it is the crime rate. When we moved there we understood it was virtually guaranteed we would be burglarized at some point. I can't think of a single person I know there who doesn't have a story about being robbed. It's practically a rite of passage. As such, most houses have high fences or walls around them and most people put burglar-proofing (iron bars) on at least their windows. Most people also keep dogs for security.

Our turn came January 19, 1993. Prior to that we had been living in Arima in a relatively safe neighborhood. Then we moved briefly to D'Abadie because a fellow affiliated with our boss was coming to the USA to study and wanted to have someone live in his house while abroad. We agreed to be the renters/housesitters. I was concerned about the lack of burglar-proofing even though there was a high wall with broken bottles along the top. I refused to move until some was installed. Admittedly, we still did not have a dog due to my protests about allergies. We were smart enough to ask about neighborhood security. The homeowner assured us in the 5 years since he had lived there he had never been robbed. The guy was going to be attending seminary in the USA, surely he'd be forthcoming about something this important. Uh, yeah, right.....what a naive Lime you are.

Our former house had faced west which meant it baked in the afternoon sun and the walls literally radiated the heat back on us each night. This new place was an 'upstairs house' (two-story) which faced east, so each evening we got the most refreshing breeze. I was 5 months pregnant and having real difficulty adjusting to the tropical heat. Diana was asleep in her crib, Mr. Lime and I were watching TV with the front sliding doors open (lots of people sit with east doors open at night) so I could sit right in front of it and enjoy that wonderful breeze.

And then he came in. He had on a ski-mask. I am feisty enough that I started to rise to chase him out and then he raised the gun. I sat my ass right down. Something about being pregnant and having a gun trained on me makes me quite docile. And then the next one came in...and then the next one....My God, when will they stop coming in??...Three ski-masked gunmen were in our living room demanding whatever cash we had. Sleep, Diana. Just sleep right through this, please. They got a lot because we did not yet have a secured checking account (several months rigamarole before they will give you one), which meant we had to stop by the office of each utility service and pay in cash. The long lines meant you went to the bank one day and got to pay the bills the next day. Mr. Lime had just gone to the bank to be able to pay the bills the following morning. Mr. Lime and I each had a gun pointed at us as they marched us around. They demanded our wedding bands and made Mr. Lime empty his pockets (hence they came into possession of our car keys).

Then they marched us into our bedroom and told us to lie face down. We are going to catch bullets with the backs of our skulls...Diana! They had brought rope but during the looting process found our duct tape and decided that would work better. They taped ankles, hands behind back, then mouths. Mr. Lime, then me. As they started to tape my mouth they went up over my nose as well and I squirmed and mumbled in a panic. They removed it from my nose.

Two left the bedroom and one remiained with his gun still on us. I heard Diana cry out once and fall silent. My God, what are you fucking bastards doing to my child??????!!!!!!!!! I started wriggling, trying fruitlessly to get to her. The gunman flipped me over on my back and tore my clothes off from the waist down and then undid his own pants. They are hurting Diana and now they will hurt this baby too! NOOOO!!!! With pleading eyes and muffled cries for mercy I begged him not to while my husband thrashed in desperation next to me, as helpless as I was. I will never know on this side of eternity what made him stop before he raped me but something did. All I know is I am deeply grateful.

The other two came back to our bedroom and said we had to go keep Diana quiet. They yanked us to our knees. My husband was able to knee walk slowly. I had been taped so tightly my feet turned purple. I kept falling over as I frantically tried to reach my daughter. One of the gunmen grabbed me under the arms and dragged me to her. Oh, my Diana....You're ok!!!! Diana sat very placidly sucking her thumb in her crib. The mosquito netting around her crib was undisturbed. She smiled when she saw us, pointed at our faces and babbled, 'Mommy, Daddy, funny masks. Hahaha!!' Oh my precious child, you have no idea. We hummed every soothing bedtime song to her we could think of while she reached through her crib and touched our faces. She had been cranky and fussy all day. This was the only time she had been calm.

While we were humming my husband managed to get his hands free from the duct tape. We waited what felt like an eternity until the house fell quiet. My husband removed the rest of his duct tape and then mine, he checked to see the house was empty while I scooped Diana out of the crib and clung to her tenaciously. The phone lines had been cut so we would have to go to a neighbor's house to call the police. I am quite sure even though I was barefoot, 5 months pregnant, and carrying a 2 year old while I ran across a dark pineapple patch I could have easily beaten Ato Bolden himself (T&T's Olympic track and field star).

It was the most horrific event of my life thus far and one I hope is never repeated or exceded and yet some good came of it. Back then the routine robbery scenario was coming home to find a ransacked house, maybe a break-in while people were asleep. Our experience horrified most who knew us. Until that point, some folks had been a bit aloof. Yeah, dey nice an all but dey gonna leave when tings does get bad. When we didn't immediately run home to the States people were more trusting. We found out we were loved when a good friend came to us the next morning with tears in her eyes and just hugged me while I cried and when others came and offered practical assistance (we'd lost an entire month's paycheck BEFORE we paid the bills and bought groceries, if you recall).

The other positive outcome was being reconciled to my brother. He had not spoken to me for 7 years, for various reasons. I had never shut the door on reconciliation but he had chosen not to walk through it. Several months after we came back to the US he came to me and we made peace. I was stunned. I was overjoyed, but I was stunned. I couldn't imagine what brought it about finally. I asked my mother what her thoughts were and she told me after we'd been robbed he started asking about us. She said he remained worried for the rest of our stay in Trinidad. None of us were harmed physically so if that ordeal is what it took to bring my brother back...well, ok, I can be thankful.

Some weeks after the robbery the police found the 3 guys they believed had robbed us. They were a fairly notorious group that had killed one of their robbery victims the week after our encounter. There was a gun battle between police and the men. One of the men died in the shootout. The other two went to jail. Works for me. We also found out that while the house we had lived in had not been robbed in the prior 5 years the neighborhood itself had seen 23 robberies in the past year alone. Shame on us for taking the homeowner at his word and not pressing further.

R.I.P.

Say what you want about the guy being more than a bit crazy. He, along with The Kratt Brothers, inspired a great love of the animal world in Isaac. We are sorry to hear of his premature death.

Friday 55 & Da Count

Well, we have lived through the start of school in these here parts. Already we've had a few gems.

Isaac reports that in 5th grade he no longer gets to play tag at recess. The class was instructed to play 'touch fast' during their 'wellness activity.' He demonstrated by jogging in an effeminate and overly gleeful manner and gently tapping a shoulder. He said he couldn't wait to see what the next politically correct wellness activity was and rolled his eyes. I told him 'touch fast' made it sound like a game Michael Jackson played at Neverland Ranch.

Calypso reported being sternly corrected in her terminology at the junior high. The school is over crowded so trailers (Oh, I hear the PC police knocking on my door for using that term) have been installed for overflow. She called them 'pods' and a teacher told her they were to be referred to as 'learning cottages.' Puhleeeze.

Finally, Diana, never one to mince words, let me know the girl next to her on the bus drives her bonkers with inane conversation. 'Mom, I don't care about her new jeans or her hair cut or if red is her color. It's like being in a sucking black hole of boredom.' Yeah, I know kiddo, soul-stirring conversations on fashion and interior design make my ears bleed too, but be nice at least.

Onto our Friday 55!

Am I at the right bus stop? Did it leave without me? How am I going to get to school? Who are those people back there? Are they laughing because I have a pimple? Do they hate my clothes? Do they think I'm a dork?

The first day of Junior High School is soooo stressful?

In honor of the return of Edvard Munch's stolen masterpiece, The Scream, and the start of school. Inspired by Amber's series of 55s based on pieces of art.

Lecram has instituted a new Friday feature called Da Count. That new green button over there explains it. We can all spend time complaining about any number of things but we really need to focus on what we already have. Count your blessings sort of thing. So to that end...

Yesterday I bumped into someone at a school function who I hadn't seen in since before my accident. She saw the gnarly scars and the odd way my hand moves and wanted to know what happened. I told her and she very sympathetically offered, "You must have thought 1000 times 'Why me?'" I paused and I realized that while I have had moments of thinking what a serious pain in the butt it all is or that it hurts like a son of a gun I really don't think 'Why me?' has ever crossed my mind. I posted way back when it happend that I was glad it was me and not one of my kids, their friends, or Mr. Lime. Over 4 months later I have to say I still feel that way. I'd have terrible guilt and hate seeing one of my kids suffer. I'd feel awful for my husband and we'd be in a much worse bind financially if he couldn't work. So dat's Da Count dis week. It was me not them.