I was given three books for Christmas, the last one I received just yesterday from Sue and Mick, a wonderful Pop-up book of bird songs in stereo sound. Each page pops up, filled with a woodsy scene, lots of birds that start singing, each different, each from a different area of the page. Wonderful...I laughed out loud. Gave me a chance to remember when I was in second grade in Spring Street School. Our prinicipal Miss Palen loved birds and an assembly would often be sitting in our seats at our desk, looking at slides of birds, and hearing their songs. Miss Palen was tiny, but tough. I can still see her reaching up to grab a misbehaving sixth grade boy's ear and tugging him by his sore ear to her office. But she loved birds, and so do I.

The second book was from Helene, "Reading Jesus" by Mary Gordon. I got my nose in it (like Bucky used to say) and couldn't stop reading. Her thoughts on the Gospels are so in agreement with mine, I can't believe it. Raised as a Catholic, and hearing Masses in Latin, like myself, the only English was the reading of the Gospel and then the homily that followed. Her thoughts on the Prodigal son and the orchard workers are a convincing argument of the importance of examining the stories that Jesus used to teach. And then she got to the Beatitudes and I almost cried out YES, YES. So many blessed are the --, offering us a gentle, peaceful world. And the one that she dwells on the most, is also the one I think of the most- "blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be conforted". The author sees this blessing as different from the others, whereas the others extol moral qualitites and mourning is not a moral act - she calls it a useless act without a product. But to mourn, to really mourn you must have loved and loved deeply, a gift. I can't wait to read more.

The last book is a little picture book given to me by Sabra, a picture book recounting the day of the family portrait in the cemetery. On the cover is the photo of the couch strapped on Kevin's big truck, on the cemetery road, with grave stones all around. The only words in the book are on the cover - "The couch worried this was the end of the road". Cute, huh? Then the pictures follow in order, first the Bagge boys on the couch, then me sitting down, then Timmy pulling my pigtails straight up in the air, and I am laughing, then the others get into the picture, until the whole family is there, all smiles, arms around each other, Ria's stone in the foreground, her pirate flag a flying, what a day, what a nice book. A good Holiday all in all. Happy New Year's to all - I love you.

Christmas is so full of memories for me, and more and more keep coming back, especially of the days at 17 Falconer Street, even earlier at 28 Washington Avenue. In Grandma's house we lived upstairs, at the bottom of the steps to our apartment was a small table holding the one telephone in the house, and under the stairs was a table. On this unlit table under the stairs, would be the gifts from Aunt El waiting to be brought upstairs and put under the tree. Barbara and I would look them over for hours, in complete rapture. Aunt El's gifts were special. Even before we unwrapped them, they were special. Beautiful paper, each package different, bows and tags with all kinds of beautiful decorations printed on them, a candy cane taped to the top. Our mother and grandmother were not wrappers, Grandma would just put something in a brown bag, or reuse some old wrapping paper, even birthday. Bucky was the same. I guess that's why Aunt El's presents stick in my head.

After moving next door, Christmas memories become more vivid. We had to wait on Christmas Eve for Daddy to get home from work to start decorating the tree. He would be working on it in the cellar, making a stand out of two pieces of wood. He then nailed a coffee can in the center and put the tree in that. Nothing fancy, but I don't even remember it falling down. We each had an area for our presents, for a long time, mine was under the tv, making me about twelve years old for that memory. As a teenager, I remember each year Daddy would buy each of "his girls" a small bottle of Chanel #5. That was precious and must have cost him dearly for he had five girls and a wife.

Christmas with my own children are full of memories...Maria getting a baby doll from Bucky as big as herself, as she tried to carry it around. Then our move to Tivoli, coming the Sunday after Thanksgiving, we looked forward to our first Christmas in our own home. Oh, yes, I remember the good times, but there were troubles too. The time we went to Mass and our dog Woofus ate the Christmas presents - Maria's ear muffs, Paul's GI Joe. Or the time I thought the kids were old enough to put presents under the tree early on Christmas Eve. What a mistake. The piles were carefully counted, oh Sabra's got more than I do. Then Paul realized that none of the wrapped presents in his pile resembled a round item (he wanted nobby tires whatever they are) that he went berserk, ripping a small hole in his pants larger and larger until they were in shreds.

Oh yeah, Christmas is full of memories, and they are ready to pop up at anytime. I'm still shopping so I better not get too nostalgic.

Having lived through 69 Thanksgiving Days, I have different memories from each. The earliest ones were held at Grandma Burky's. The kids were fed early, before the adults, and I don't even think we got the turkey. Then the dinner moved to Bucky's house, first being held downstairs. There was a fire going in the fireplace, all the tables lined up to make one long one and the food was brought down from the kitchen and up the street from Grandma Burky's. But Grandma still had one thing in mind, feed them and get them out. I remember once Grandma put a piece of pumpkin pie right on Uncle Jack's full plate, in fact maybe right on top of his turkey. Then we moved back upstairs into the dining room. The kids ate in the kitchen at the kids' table and that's when the Thanksgiving Day beatings started. The O'Leary's loved to put on a show for their cousins, John leading a contest to see who find the longest hair in their stuffing and other contests involving the dinner. Once, when they were suppose to do the dishes, John or Tom or both opened the kitchen window and jumped out with Uncle Jack following them down the street.

Oh, there are funny memories - the time Uncle Eddie put his hand in the sofa, looking for an earring that Aunt Muriel had lost and instead found a piece of lemon merinque pie that Pooh Bear, their dog, had hidden for a later treat. And the time that the grinder that Bucky used to mix the sausage into the stuffing broke and the stuffing was served full of nuts and bolts.

A sad memory of the Thanksgiving when Kennedy was shot, all eyes on the television watching the grief of the country for a president that was so full of life and vibrant.

But this Thanksgiving might be talked about for years, and I doubt if Liz or Zander will ever forget it. It's the Thanksgiving that Zander fell into the septic tank. The kids were playing kick ball outside, Jer and Liz were chatting on the deck when Zander screamed and they saw that he had been swallowed up with just his head peeking out of the earth. Liz pulled him out, got him into the house crying and whipped off the Buzz Lightyear outfit he had worn for Thanksgiving Day. The hole, we discovered, was the Bird's Nest septic tank, the top had collapsed and thus the sink hole that poor Zander discovered.

Later I thought how bad this could have been - Zander ending up in the septic and what if we had people upstairs in the B&B? "Hey honey, come and see some poor kid is up to his chin in the shitter." Well, as Bucky used to say, "All's well that ends well" (maybe Shakespeare said it too) and all I have to do is find somebody to fix that damn hole before we lose someone else in it. Happy Black Friday.

Mark Twain said, "I've seen many troubles in my time, only half of which ever came true". I thought the quote was 90% never came true, which seems more like the odds should be in my family of worriers. But the family photo that was taken last Saturday came off with no problems at all and my worries were for naught.

The idea came up at the kitchen table, somebody mentioned the gift certificate for a family photo that Maria, Laura, Paul and Sabra had chipped in for my Christmas gift, so many years ago, we weren't sure if it was 8 or 9 or 10. So, then the conversation continued, we should use the certificate, which I had kept in plain sight on my bedroom bureau . I fetched it and we decided to use it, but I said, we are missing Maria now, and it was suggested to take the photo at her gravesite, so the stone would be in it. Then, someone said "Let's take ma's couch and we can have a couch picture with the group." Now, I had my concerns, but I figured the photographer would either say that the certificate was too old, or most certainly she wasn't going to the graveyard with a couch. Laura offered to call her with the proposal. And to my surprise, Laura said she loved the idea.

We called everybody, there are more than 20 of us, and got everyone to pick a good time for all. I called Kevin and said, "We're taking a family picture, can you be there?" Sure he said. I said it's going to be at the graveyard, and he said ok. Then I said, "there's one more thing - we need your truck to bring my couch there." Again, no "what the hell are you thinking?" Just an ok.

Then I worried for a week, what if we got arrested, thrown out of a graveyard. Sabra tried to calm me, Ma there's a list of things you can't bring - sleds, glass vases, etc. - nothing about a couch.

So Saturday came, we got there and dread of all dread, there were people throughout the cemetery, surveyors, men measuring to put in stones and my dentist and another woman cleaning up branches. But the photographer was there, the couch was positioned and we had the pictures taken. And not one of the others even came near us to ask, "Hey, guys what are you doing?" So, all my worry was for nothing. Don't worry, be happy. We can't wait to see the pictures.

This week's NY Times had an article on "Shadow Work", work we do that is unpaid. When the term was coined 30 years ago, it referred mostly to housework, but today it is all around us. Pumping your own gas, bagging your own groceries are just two examples. The article mentioned that once stores had employees that assisted shoppers in finding what they were looking for. Today that no longer exists for two reasons, stores saving money and more important the longer it takes you to find what you are looking for, the more likely you are to just pick up a few more items.

This made me think of when I was a kid in Beacon we had a department store Schoonmaker's in which each department was manned by a clerk, who could not only help you find an article (such as a gift for your father in Men's Wear) but also had a cash drawer where you could pay for it. My friend Elaine's mother worked for years in the men's department, each Christmas helping me find the right thing for the right amount for Daddy. Even Grant's across the street had an employee in each department to help you. At Christmas I worked in the stocking and sock area, helping men pick out stockings for their wives. Today most people are young enough that they don't remember that method of shopping or so old they forgot.

And what I miss the most is the Shoe Store. Today you go to the shoe section, look for the style you want on display, check the item number and then search the shelves for that shoe, in your size. Not easy to find, and then you sit on a bench, if you're lucky enough to find one, try on the shoe, and if not satisfied, start all over. What a contrast from the past. First you would look at the selections available, much more than today. Then you would show it to an employee. He would seat you, remove your shoe, measure your foot, and then go find the shoe in the back of the store. Then he would kneel before you, helping you tuck your foot into the shoe - honestly, you felt like Cinderella with the prince...Anyway, if you wanted another color, off he would run and get it for you. Anything you asked for, it was his job to make you happy. Then he would take the boxed shoes to the counter, ring if up and send you off happily ever after.

Shadow work - I still don't pump my own gas -oh, I tried it about 25 years ago, but each pump is different to operate, I got gas on my hands, and then I had to wait in line to pay. I go to the one gas station in Red Hook that still pumps your gas, sometimes they even wash your windows, front AND back. It's hard when I'm away and every gas station is self service, then I have to beg a relative, usually a young kid, to go with me and pump the gas. They do my shadow work for me. Shadow work, sounds sneaky, and I have to think maybe it is.

So today is calling for snow - not fluries - snow, up to ten inches. The juncos reappeared this week, so I knew cold weather was on the way, but this is too much. And my worse nightmare, we have four people staying in the Bird's Nest. That means the driveway has to be cleared, the steps leading up have to be cleared, the deck has to be cleared. Not to mention, that they are predicting electrical outages, as the trees heavy with snow and weakened by Irene, come down. So that's what we have to look forward to - shoveling and no lights.

Daddy loved snow, mostly because he was a skier. But also as a deer hunter, he would say a light coating of snow during deer season (around Thanksgiving) would be good to track the deer and also, if a wounded deer is moving, to follow him. April snow he liked for spring skiing, would be off to Vermont, returning with a sunburned face and stories of sleeping in an attic with other skiers.

I remember it snowed on the night that Barbara and Jack were married, not much but a coating. That too was late October. But I was hoping for some more of those Indian Summer days, didn't Timmy and I just see swimmers two weeks ago? The neighbors are busy all putting on plows, bringing in wood. Us? Timmy is at the gym, and I told him to pick up some fundador on the way home. First things first.

Well, another Oysterfest under the belt. We had wonderful weather, warm enough that I wore my bathing suit and got sun burned a bit. Stayed at the Sea Shells, in the house I had shared with Ria in 2007....pretty much the same. In back of us at the Main House, a wedding party was there on Sunday, the young people looked so nice all dressed up going out to the wedding. Not so nice coming back in about 1am, loud yelling, laughing, talking, waking both Timmy and myself up. Just got back to sleep about 3am when a woman's screaming voice was heard, "Thanks a ff....lot for leaving me and coming back without me, I had to call three f...cabs before I got one to take me here, on and on and on, until someone calmed her down. I leaned over to Timmy and said, "Do you think that's the bride?" Timmy just said, "I think I know why they left her." The next day they were gone and things were quieter. In fact, after Columbus Day, everyone left and our car was the only one in the lot until Friday when people starting arriving to go to Oysterfest..

The Oysterfest was crowded, good weather brought thousands of people out. In the ten years we've been going, it's changed dramatically. Used to be a small table set up on Main Street where the shucking contest took place. Now there is a big commercial stage, tents filled with all kinds of food, vendors up and down the street, and barely enough room to get through. Also, everyone is on a phone. One girl checking her new earrings, lots of people trying to locate each other, and one woman at our table, checking her calories "Oh 6 oysters are only 180 calories", although from the size of her, there might have been something else on her plate. Our boy Caleb was there, amidst the Pirate Shellmen who were shucking oysters to sell. Caleb was standing in front of a large steering wheel, dressed as a pirate. When he saw me take his picture, he yelled to me "Give me your gold ARRRRR". Made me laugh with tears in my eyes.

And riding home, along the Cape Route 6, people with signs, "We are the 99%" - even in Great Barrington, which is an elite Berkshire city, there were at least 50 people demonstrating on the Main Street. That makes me glad. Glad to see that people are waking up and willing to go stand on a sidewalk and voice their opinion that our government has got to do something. I think I will start an Occupy Tivoli Movement. My sign will say, STOP THE WAR AND SAVE TRILLIONS OF $$$$$$$. Give the people the gold ARRRRR.

Well tomorrow we are off to the Cape for fun in the sun and Oysterfest. I remember years back a Columbus Day when the Murphy family went to Sherwood Island on the Long Island Sound in Connecticut on a warm day like is predicted for this year. We all went into the water even though it was October. I remember I was about 12 because Barbara had brought Jack, her boyfriend, along in the family station wagon. The beach was very rocky, and I remember him limping on the rocks to get to the water. He had hurt himself playing high school football a few days earlier. Later he found out that he had a broken leg and used crutches for a while.

I don't remember if the broken leg came before the cut up arm, when he put his arm through a glass window at Beacon High. As I remember, he ran bleeding, to Highland Hospital, a block away from the school. He needed thousands of stitches and had the scar as long as I can remember. Thinking about this, I bet today he could have sued the school for big bucks for both times - one, who would have a glass door for students, and two, don't they monitor hurt football players? But in those days, nobody sued.

Welll, back to a warm day in October. They are gifts, and if they come after a frost, are given the name Indian Summer. Tomorrow is also the Street Painting, which I will miss for the first time in 11 years - and for Tivoli, the weather is predicting in the 80's. One year for the street painting, Laura had put an unbrella in a tub of sand to get shaded while she worked. It can get dangerously hot on a hot pavement, working in the sun. In Florida at the Lake Worth Street Painting in February the younger kids are all wearing shorts and small tops, sunscreen. The older folks wear big hats and cover up. Street Paintings and Oysterfest. I love Indian Summer.

So another soap opera bites the dust. I remember my Grandmother watching this show, it was on for over 40 years. Grandma called it "All My Childrens" - cute, isn't it? Makes me worried about my show Days of Our Lives, which I have been watching for 16 years, five days a week, something like 4,000 episodes. What would I do without it?

The appeal to me is that anything can happen, the crazier, the better. This year Hope, breaking up with her husband Bo, starts taking a medicine that changes her personality at night, and she goes on a rampage, attacking men, the Mayor, other policemen (she's a cop) and even her ex, who she knocks out, pours gasoline on and is lighting him up when she is stopped. She goes to prison, where the prison matron is killing inmates and selling their body parts. Hope's cousin Jennifer gets involved and they take out her heart, put it in a cooler, then the hero doctor, replaces her heart back, and in a week she is fine. Hope solves the case, gets cleared, goes back to Bo and we go on to the next story. There are usually about 5 or 6 story lines at a time, weaving in and out during the week. Still one of my favorites is when Stefano dressed like Elvis, and seduced Susan, who had a baby EJ - Elvis Junior. Now that was early on in my watching, but Elvis is already married, divorced, married again, and has two or three kids. That's another thing about soaps, time can speed up, or slow down to a snail's pace, weeks going by and it is the same day.

People being buried alive occurs frequently, as well as babies being switched at birth. Dead cast members come back, healed and no one seems to notice. Bucky used to watch "Dark Shadows", a vampire soap opera, that my kids were hooked on as well. When in Beacon, they would all join Bucky in front of the TV every afternoon to get scared and then talk about the show for hours.

Solomon and Henry don't like Days, but they grudgingly let me watch, uninterrupted. During a commercial, Henry made the comment "Don't you just hate Judge Judy?", so I guess he puts Days on a higher scale than that. So do I.

Today feels like fall, all of a sudden the air is cold and crisp and the flannel robe hanging in the bathroom all summer is a long, lost friend. I had a memory of these kind of days, a memory of driving around the back roads of Tivoli, looking for wooley bear caterpillars. Sabra was probably three or four when she became obsessed with wooley bears. First, we found them on Clay Hill Road, taking a walk, and she picked one up and wanted to keep it. "We will need a jar or something to put him in", I told her and on our next walk we had a mason jar to hold the wooley bears. It was a good year for wooley bears, easy to find them on the road. She liked the jar, but found something even better as a home for the caterpillars - a good sized pocketbook, with a snap top.

For the next few days, we walked Clay Hill Road, up and down, looking for more wooley bears for her pocketbook. Oh, she made it nice for them, lots of grass, leaves to hide in. Wooley Bears are smart little things, when you catch them, they curl up and play dead. But in the pocketbook, they roamed up and down, looking for a way out. But still, the collection wasn't big enough.

"Get in the car", I told Sabra when she whined for more wooley bears, "We're going wooley bear hunting", and she climbed in the front seat with the yellow (I think it was yellow) purse on her lap. In those days, there were no car seats, I don't even think there were seat belts, so she had a good spot next to me to search the roads. We hit all the back roads, and when spotting a caterpillar crossing the road, I would pull over, throw the brake on, put the car in neutral and run out to catch the wooley bear before he crossed the road. Then I would bring it back to the car, Sabra would pop open her purse, and in he would go.

This would go on for hours, until we had to be home for the school bus bringing the older kids home. They would look in horror at the open purse, crawling with brown and orange caterpillars, grass all over, little caterpillar poops all over, and shake their heads in disbelief.
"Ma, how can you actually encourage this kind of behavior? This is cruel, let them all go," but Sabra would stubbornly hang onto her purse.

I can't remember how it all ended, what happened to all the caterpillars, and the crazy drives around town trying to spot a small bug crossing the road. But I am kind of glad we did it. You rarely see the wooley bears anymore, at least not in the numbers they used to be. Of course, Sabra and I might have done some damage to their numbers in our quest to get every wooley bear in the county into her yellow purse.

I've been missing Maria a lot lately, maybe because of the 9/11 ceremonies, all that grief, maybe because of fall coming, maybe because Maria the hurricane is drifting away. Anyway, after shopping at Hannaford today, I headed for the graveyard, but passed it on a whim, just wanting to see her house. As I drove up Starbarrack Road I thought of excuses I could use if anyone saw me, "checking on the apple tree in Kevin's yard" that's a good one, I concluded. Anyway, I pulled into her driveway, the house even bigger than I rememembered it. I stayed only a moment, it really didn't help and headed to her grave.

As usual, no one was around. I began deadheading the cosmos on her grave and a few tears were falling. Moving slightly, I looked up and there standing before me was the largest buck I have ever seen. Great big rack of horns, looked like something that had escaped from the Catskill Game Farm. I spoke to him, told him what a beauty he was and warned him about the upcoming hunting season. He stared at me, motionless for what seemed forever, but probably a minute of two and then slowly trotted back into the woods. "Did you see that?" I asked Ria, that probably was the sonofabitch that ate all your sunflowers. (Nothing but the stalks remain among the cosmos.)

The moment was gone, almost as if I had imagined it. But like in Harry Potter, the deer had changed the mood from sad to excited. Was it a sign, or was it just a curious giant buck that came out of the woods to see who was sniffling in his territory?

This morning, after bringing breakfast upstairs to our guests, I noticed hundreds of spider webs in the grass. Timmy hasn't cut the grass for over three weeks. His right leg hurts (actually makes a grinding noise) so he has avoided this task, though he can go to the gym twice a day, for over four hours. Go figure. Anyway, I pointed out the webs to him. They are funnel webs, made by the funnel spider, and in the center, hiding in a hole is the spider waiting for a bug. Timmy then told me that one of his earliest memories of my grandmother is her swiping away at the spider webs in her hedges. He thought that very brave as his whole family seems to be afraid of spiders. But that made me forget spiders and think of those hedges.

They were high and surrounded her house at 28 Washington Avenue. So high that Poppy would stand on a step ladder, waving hedge cutters that were attached to a long extension cord. As Poppy cut the hedges, Grandma would pick them up and cart them away. I grew up in that house with the hedges and can remember trying to peek through them to watch passers-by.
A perfect safe playground for kids.

Mrs. Chase, the next door neighbor, did not have hedges, but an iron fence, but her yard was so grown in you could barely see the house. Next to her house, the Lotsko's had the same high hedge that Grandma had. My most vivid memory of that hedge is when Tommy Lake's grandfather dropped dead in them. I remember it was a while before his body was removed, and for a long time, whenever I passed those hedges, I saw the indentation of where his body had fallen. Today I would say quite a nice way to go. I also bet Poppy and Grandma were happy that the old man made it past their hedges safely.

So, that's how spiders got me to Grandma's hedges. I think Timmy might be cutting the grass today and there will be a lot of spiders out of work for a while.

For some time now, I have been thinking about conscience. It started in July in the church in Wellfleet when the priest was giving his sermon. He was quite the character, taking the microphone off the dais and pacing back and forth, like on a stage, doing a monologue. Well, I guess he was doing just that. Anyway, he said when he was growing up his nun teacher said they should examine their conscience each night, searching and reviewing their day's actions, both good and bad and asking if they were mean or good to others. He made a joke that most people today examine all the bad things other people did to them that day, not the other way around.

Growing up, Bucky use to say that we had a devil on one shoulder telling us bad things to do, and an angel on the other, leading us in the right direction. I can remember her saying to one of the kids, "I see that devil on your shoulder", and they would twist their head and try to look at their shoulder to see him too. When I was working in IBM we each had a white board in our office, supposedly to figure out complicated formulas or jot down ideas. No one used it for that purpose. My girlfriend was religious and she would put Bible quotes. It drove our manager nuts because they are not suppose to criticize anyone's religion, but also not to promote religion. I found a quote I liked and wrote it on my board: There's no softer pillow than a clear conscience. My manager would frown when she read it, trying to figure out what it meant and how it applied to IBM. I looked that saying up recently and it is attributed to almost every country, so I guess it is not original. But I liked it then, and still do.

You must have to lose your conscience in war. I just finished reading "Unbroken" about an Olympic runner that is captured by the Japanese during the war. What they do to him and the other captives made for difficult reading. War IS hell and anyone with a conscience would have a hard time in it and for years and years after.

Maybe they should start teaching about conscience in the schools. Walt Disney did it with Jiminy Cricket and that old devil on one shoulder, angel on the other is also a good place to start.

The B&B season is in full swing, and it is taking me down. This morning the phone rang at 6:30am - I pick up, no answer. Again, at 6:45 it rings. I spring up, expecting to hear the worse, death, accident, people I love dying in pain. But it is a foreign voice asking if we have certain dates in September available. "Let me look", I say through clunched teeth, "yes, we do". And the rate is as your website says is $125 for two people? "Yes, that is right, plus tax"...and the foreign voice continued what does that come to? $140 a night. "Good, good" I hear...we are traveling around America with two big suitcases...will that be a problem? "Yes" I say quickly thinking maybe I can get rid of him, "Yes, the Bird's Nest is above the garage, you have to go up stairs." "How many stairs"? Now, I am starting to shake....this man is killing me. "A set of stairs". "Is there anyone to help us up the stairs?" "No", I almost scream, NO there isn't. Well, we still want it. I will check with my wife and call you back in a few minutes.

Now this is when I lost it. "It is not even 7am in the morning. I do not like early morning calls. They scare me. "Oh, I am sorry to wake you up". "No you didn't wake me up, you scared me. The phone ringing this early is not good. Don't call me for four or five more hours, I requested.
Now he is apologetic...."I am sorry, but keep the rooms for us."

The day before I had a call, "Do you have towels at your B&B" Yes, we do. And do you have soap? Now, what would compel a person to ask these questions.

Monday the phone rang at 7am and our guest who was to come that night was on the phone from a motel in Poughkeepsie. "How do I get to your place?" I said, Oh it is easy. Go up 9...and he stops me. I do not have a car. Then, I said, you will need a cab or take a bus.

Last weekend the Bard freshmen came to school. The parent drove up, the mother, got out of the car, but the daughter refused. The mother puzzled went back. Is the door locked? What's the problem? "Spider" the girl says, pointing at the outside mirror. "Spider". I looked and said I don't see a spider, and the mother came around and brushed an imaginary spider from the mirror. Ok, now, she said. You can come out.

Do you see how they drive me nuts?

Here we are in August - after the fourth of July the summer is over...where is it going? Well, in July we had the wedding - and it was all we expected and more. The girls all looked beautiful, the location was perfect, right on the river, the tent, the food, everything wonderful, but what stands out in my mind is the PHOTOBOOTH. Yes, the photobooth was the hit of the party, in constant use, and the pictures getting better and better as things loosened up. I love the pictures of Timmy and me, the second shooting that is.

Then there was Cape Cod, another fun filled week, a new house right in town to explore and the same cast of characters. Our neighbor had puppies to exclaim over, a chipmunk filled himself and his nest with the bag of seeds I brought, and two visiting cats ate our leftovers. The ocean was warm and the bay was great for swimming. Kevin and I went to Provincetown to a psychic who specialized in readings and aura camera pictures until her dog ate the aura camera wires. Kevin tried to fix the wires while I had my reading. Then it was his turn. The readings were good and Kevin and I both kept saying, "boy, was she right on" for the drive back to Wellfleet.
Laura and I met Caleb, the boy who lived and entered our lives for ever, and he was sweet, saying "I love you" to both of us over and over. Another scene that stays in my mind is an old man going for a swim in the ocean. His daughter on one side, his wife on the other, a cane in his hand, he made it through the waves, the strong undertow and into the water. We all shared glances with each other, the sight was a warm touching tribute to both him and the ocean. Water is a great bonder of all - connecting the young and the old, each laughing as the waves try to overpower them.

Then it was home to hot, hot weather and get ready for Yard Sale Day in Tivoli, which was this past Saturday. We used Sabra's yard, Sabra, her friends, Laura all putting everything out and boy it was busy. The neighbors all had sales so the street was hopping. The best part of that day was when a boy of about 8 or 9 picked out one of Tim's combination locks for himself. "He loves to figure out locks," his father explained. Sabra and I regret that we didn't give him the whole box.

Now we are in August. Lots of bookings at the B&B as the Bard students come back, and the music festival is taking place. Already, the stores are full with back to school items so it does seem like the summer is dashing away. We only have picked one red tomato, so we have that to look forward to and whatever else this summer will bring in the next month.

Sad, sad day. I wondered why the cat Gray Boy was not waiting on the deck for his normal routine, Friskies Mixed Grill on top of dry cat food, that he would leave for the blue jays to fight over. Then taking out the garbage, I saw two cats in the road, one down and one right next to it crying. It was Irene's big cat Franco crying , and I knew it was Gray Boy down. Irene was coming from the house, attracted by the cry of her cat, and I just kept saying poor Gray Boy, poor Gray Boy. Irene bent down to look at him, "he's still breathing, but he took a terrible blow on his head - not going to make it." I got Timmy who put him in a basket and brought him to our yard. Irene had watched over him until then, keeping traffic clear. An hour later he was still breathing, so Tony took him to the vet and that was it. I couldn't look at him, but Sabra said he didn't look like he was suffering, so that's something.

Gray Boy came to us in July 2007. We were coming back from Cape Cod, Ria driving, when Sabra who had arrived home earlier, said, "Ma your cat died today." That was Ellie, old, old cat so it was no surprise. What was a surprise, was later that day, a gray cat appeared in the yard, a gray cat wearing a pink flea collar. And that is how we got Gray Boy. Oh, we tried to find his owner, Sabra took a cute picture of him and we posted them throughout town. The phone rang, and a woman said she saw the poster and thought it was Smokey. She came to the house, with two kids, a girl and a boy, and the kids both yelled Smokey, It's Smokey, and I smiled. But the mother looking closely, said No, it's not Smokey, Smokey held his head differently. So close. Then a man called and said his cat was missing, looked like the picture, but did this cat have only three legs? Sadly, I had to admit there were four. No one else called, and he became our "outdoor cat". He slept under the living room window, and since he was a Russian Blue Cat with heavy, heavy fur, he didn't seem to mind the winter. Recently, in the heat he had been tearing his fur out, pieces all over the deck.

Maria loved Gray Boy. "He was a prince in another life, Ma." Sabra loved him too, would pick ticks off of him, which he patiently let her do. Timmy would chase him if he came in the house, but he would prefer Timmy instead of me for his nightly belly rubs.

Poor Gray Boy....rest in peace. We are going to bury him with Sabra's cats, Horchow, Toad and Aunt Eddy. Rest in peace.

Well, the wedding is in three days and I still don't know what I am wearing. The problem is all my clothes come from two places - the thriftshop in Tivoli and the Free Table at the gym. Well, acutally, there are two tables at the gym, one is FREE and the other is LOST AND FOUND, but Timmy treats them both as the same thing. Right now I am wearing New Balance sneakers from the free table that I saw at Kohl's for over $80. You can't beat the free table.

And the same is true about the thrift shop, most clothes are marked under $5 and once a month there is "bag day" where you can fill a grocery bag with clothes for $5. Hence, the problem why I can't buy clothes. It just doesn't make sense. ButI haven't seen anything recently at the thrift shop that would be good for the wedding.

So I started pulling out old dresses from the closet. One was so old, it was falling apart on the hangar. Well, time to get rid of that one. I showed one of my favorites to Sabra, and she called it "frumpy". So that's my latest dilemma.

Last week it was my car. I needed to get it inspected, but the "service engine soon" light was on. I told the manager that when I made the appointment, and his voice saddened, as he said, "well, that's going to be a problem." So I took it to the garage, "Needs three new tires to pass inspection", so feeling hopeful about the light, I said "Well, you might as well make it four", and went home to await the phone call. It came. "Well ma'm the light indicates the emission valve might be stuck , we can get a new one for $290". Go ahead, I gave approval. I have to get the car inspected. But when I picked it up, no inspection ticket. You have to drive it now for 50-100 miles and bring it back with the light still off. So I drive for 50 miles, bring it in and my friend Chris who was behind the desk is not there. "He was taking over for me last week", explained the new face. When I told him I drove over 50 miles, he shook his head, and said"You have to drive it more than 80 miles." But we will check it anyway. Sweating bullets I watched them attach the computer to the car. Then, the mechanic drove it into the shop. Oh, No, this isn't good. I watched thru the window as he typed in information on a computer. Finally, I saw him open the driver's side of the car and do something with the window. GREAT...he was putting the sticker on. $21 more dollars on top of $653. No wonder I can't buy a dress. Maybe something will turn up at the FREE table.

Courage has come up several times lately - Kathy send Laura a courage pin from Maria, the cowardly lion, and Maureen sent her a cup from Maria that had one word on it - COURAGE. So, it came as no surprise when the priest yesterday quoted Robert F. Kennedy: "Moral courage is a rarer commodity than bravery in battle or great intelligence. Yet it is the one essential, vital quality for those who seek to change a world which yields most painfully to change."

Courage - I have been interested in that word since I read Anne Morrow Lindberg. She questioned what courage was....was the person afraid to face the world that managed to get out of bed and face his fear any less brave than the soldier on the battlefield? Good question. She was also quoted as : "It takes as much courage to have tried and failed, as it does to have tried and succeeded."

Lots to think about - COURAGE...you can almost see the Wizard of Oz lion when you say the word. Courage ---Anne also said, "Don't wish me happiness...Wish me courage and strength and a sense of humor. I will need them all." So my wish to you today is COURAGE.

It's been a while, I have been in a scattered frame of mind and today is no different. I am thinking about turtles and thunderstorms. Turtles first. I saw a painted turtle on the road and I always have the urge to stop the car and pick them up. I used to do this for the kids. We would bring them home, look them up in the turtle book to identify the type and watch them for a while before releasing them. 40 years ago there were a lot of turtles, painted turtles, box turtles, snapping turtles, etc. Today you are lucky if you see one turtle all year. We had turtles, as I recall Maureen had them and gave them to us...Romeo and Juliet? Something like that. They were big painted turtles that lived in the living room window, eating flies, vegetables and ground beef. When I couldn't take the smell anymore I released them in the creek here in Tivoli. They got caught in the current, and I saw them going downstream, heads lifted high, watching out for each other.

My favorite turtle story is from Paul. He and Steve were going somewhere when they saw several cars stopped, watching an enormous snapping turtle slowly crossing the road. Now snapping turtles are scary to look at and if you hold a thick stick by them, their jaws can snap it in a second. Paul and Steve got out, and unexpectedly, Steve picked up the snapping turtle and carried him to the side of the road. The people were amazed. "Is that the direction he was going in?" asked Steve, and was told that actually, he was going the other way. So Steve picked him (or her) back up and carried him to the other side of the road. The turtle watchers loved it.

Thunder storms are another thing that comes with summer. Today was just a small one, but we've had some boomers. When I was a kid Bucky would go crazy when lightning and thunder arrived. "Take the bobby pins out of your hair - it attracts lightning." And, we would pull out the bobby pins quickly. Another thing, "Get off the phone - you'll get electricuted". This I almost believe because one storm hit close by and our phone made a strange noise. When I lived on Beacon Street, we had some terrible storms, and I would gather the kids and run into the hallway. There I would be joined by the woman and her daughter from across the hall, and we would hear Helen from downstairs, hurrying to join us. Actually, that is a good memory, we would all look at each other embarrassed, laugh at ourselves and wait for the thunder to stop.

I heard on the news this morning that they are expecting more than the usual number of hurricanes this season. Then when I saw Sabra this morning, she said one of the future hurricanes is named Maria. This gave me goosebumps...I mean that, so I think we better be ready for that one.

May 1st was the last day I saw juncos, those little caped birds that mean winter is here. They all left at once, and on the first day of May. The cat birds have come back and the rose breasted grosbeak, so it really must be spring. Thursday was Cinco de Mayo and that always makes me think of my last days at IBM. It was on Cinco de Mayo that still another offer of an early departure from IBM came around. This one seemed to be made for me. You had to be a certain age, 49, you had to have 9 years of work at IBM and you had to be willing to "bridge" for 6 years until the time you would have had a total of 15 years, which was the earliest you could retire at.

Cinco de Mayo, my last name at that time was Ciancanelli, so I kind of sang Cinco Ciancanelli, a few times, and e-mailed my manager that I wanted to take this last offer. Who wouldn't? IBM was going down the toilet, grown men were crying in their offices, the older workers were hiding in bathrooms to avoid the talk with their manager about taking retirement, the young workers were afraid that they would be the first to go. Rumors were all over, this department was going to Texas, this one was being dissolved. No problem, Cinco Ciancanelli is going out the door. Oh, my manager tried to talk me out of it. They had just put me through three years of programming school, wanted to get their money worth, and of course I was an older woman, one of the statistics the government liked to see in corporations. But I took the bridge. My last day the main desk called me that I had flowers, and I went there to find who would have sent me something on my last day. Sure enough, it was Maria, with a note that said"To Ma, the Captain of her ship". As I returned to my office, one worker seeing the flowers said, "Did you get a promotion?" "No," I replied, "I'm leaving -it's my last day." And it was one of the best feelings I ever had.

It turned out to be a good decision in so many ways. And the money I got up front paid for a big house in Cape Cod that I rented for three weeks, with everybody we knew coming and going.

Then there's Mother's Day. I would be told to stay in bed - the kids were going to make me breakfast. My bedroom is right over the kitchen, so I could hear the fighting and arguing, while I waited. Then they would come up with a tray...a dishcloth covering a pizza pan, a cup of tea, toast with jelly in a little cup, and flowers in a small vase, usually apple blossoms from our apple tree. Then they would all sit on the bed and watch me eat. The toast was cold, but I ate it, the tea too sweet, but I drank it and when I was finished, they said "We're starving - can you make us crepes? Happy Mother's Day everybody.

Yesterday I went to the Stations of the Cross for the first time in many years. When I was a kid I remember going with Grandma Burky. The church was packed, waiting for the priest. I remember her looking at my hands, dirty from playing outside, and frowning and shaking her head. You should have clean hands in church. Then the priest came out, with beautiful robes, and an altar boy on each side, each with an enormous candle that took both of their hands to hold upright. They moved slowly down the center aisle, stopping at each station, singing, praying and sprinkling incense. Nothing like that last night.

First of all there were only 10 of us in the church - 10, my first surprise, no full church, no anticipation. Then only one priest came out, no altar boys, no incense, no robes. He started out by saying that there cannot be an bell ringing on Holy Week, he even said he disconnected the outdoor bells so he wouldn't make a mistake. I knew from Ria dying on Easter week that we could not have any music at her funeral, so this was no surprise. Then the priest, elderly with a heavy accent, slowly walked and stood in front of the first station. We each had been handed a booklet with the prayers and recitings for each station, so we opened them and started. As we went from station to station, there was one refrain at the end of our recitation that was always the same, "do with me what you will". It had been a hard week, I'm down with a bad cold, then Laura went into the hospital and had surgery, and I was too sick to even go and see her. Sabra kept me informed and Laura and I talked on the phone, but that's not like being there...do with me what you will, kind of says it all. We cannot be and do everything that we want to, and we certainly don't know what lies ahead, day by day or even minute by minute. But do with me what you will, takes a lot of pressure off. Stations of the Cross, so different from my memories 60 years ago with Grandma, but boy, worth every minute of it. Happy Easter everybody.

March is fast coming to a close and that makes me think of two things. The first one is fishing season, April 1st is the official start of the fishing season. Daddy loved to fish and after we moved to Tivoli he would come to our house and go to a stream in Elizaville he especially liked. When we were kids we would help him get this bait. He would take us to Legion Pond in Glenham (now a car dealership) and he would put his homemade net in the water. It was square, as I remember it, two to three feet in diameter, and lined with a fine netting, maybe an old curtain. It was at the end of a long stick, and he would put the net in the water, letting it sink. Once it was deep enough, we would throw little pieces of bread over it, and the shiny minnows would appear, a feeding fenzy. When there were enough of them, Daddy would quickly jerk the net out of the water, and the trapped fish would be carefully put into a pail of water. Another place he got bait was on the creek near Texaco by a dam. There were a lot of rocks in the water, and he would carefully lift one and there would be a crawfish exposed, a little lobster that he placed into his special baitbox, a small wooden box with a screen top, so you could watch the crawfish in their new home. Daddy would bring home his catch, if it was a large trout, he would place it next to a ruler and take its picture, no "fish story" here. The second thing is April Fool's Day. About sixteen, seventeen years ago Timmy got me really good. It was a Friday, like this year, and we were both going to work, Timmy left before seven and I went about eight. Before he left, he put a lottery ticket on the kitchen table and said, "I didn't have a chance to check my ticket. Would you find Wednesday's paper and check the numbers?" Then he left for work. I did a few chores and then I noticed the ticket on the table and dug through the recycled papers until I found the one that listed the winning draw. I checked the first number, it matched Timmy's, the second number, the third number. My heart was pounding, every number matched. Timmy had won the lottery! It was too early to call anybody, then I remember Paul left for work around seven. I called him up, my hands shaking. He answered the phone, sleepily, I think I woke him up. "Paul, I screamed, "You have got to come over and check the numbers, I think Timmy won the lottery, he matched every f.... (I let that slip) number. Paul answered generously, "That's great he won Ma, nobody deserves it more," and said he'd be over as soon as he got dressed. I checked the numbers again and again, and then I looked at the date. It wasn't for last Wednesday, it was for the coming Saturday. Poor Timmy, he matched the numbers, but not the date. I called Paul not to come, and then I realized that I had been fooled. He knew I wouldn't check the date, just the numbers...Poor Timmy really got me good. Well, anyway, I thought, now I know how it feels to win the lottery, and I did. Happy April Fool's Day.

Happy St. Patrick's Day. Next week my classes start and one of them is titled "Dystopian Works", we are reading books about the opposite of Utopia. And Japan is a good example of this right now. But let me tell you what I read last night. I was reading Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury and this passage jumped out at me. "Everyone must leave something behind when he dies, my grandfather said. A child or a book or a painting or a house or a wall built or a pair of shoes made. Or a garden planted. Something your hand touched some way so your soul has somewhere to go when you die and when people look at that tree or that flower you planted, you're there. It doesn't matter what you do, he said, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away." And a little further on "Grandfather's been dead for all these years, but if you lifted my skull, by God, in the convolutions of my brain you'd find the big ridges of his thumbprint." Now Maria left a million things, kind letters, an "invisiblity cloth" for Timmy to wear to family functions, a book for me titled "How to be a Guest at the Bird's Nest B&B", a collage of Mothers- Grandma Burky holding Bucky, Bucky, holding me, and me holding Maria.... I could go on and on, you probably could add something to the list if you knew Maria, because that was just the way she was. Three years is a long time, and it is a blink of an eye. Today is a beautiful day and I am going to wish everyone I see Happy St. Patrick's Day. God Bless. Rest in peace Maria.

Well today would have been my mother Bucky's 95th birthday. Maria loved Bucky and I think she was a lot like her in many ways. When Maria was in College a lot of her essays were about her childhood memories of Bucky and staying with her on Falconer Street, sleeping on the back porch, looking for Mr. Chase's hidden money, etc. I recently found a letter Maria had written but never mailed to her cousin John...she wrote "You remember how Grandma used to walk Poohbear - she'd always say, "Who wants to take the dog for a dump? She had a way with words!" Maria had captured Bucky in a nutshell - she had a way with words.

We could all add to the list: (1) After the fourth of July, the summer is over, (2) Show me an engaged girl, and I will show you a future bride, (3) you shit in one hand and wish in another, you know what you get first. My brother Bob remembers these two: "I know someday I will wake up dead", and a recurring dream of hers where she would wake up and say I was dreaming I was choking on a peach pit. She never could stand clothes that were too close to her neck...she would explain, "I must have been a dog in my other life, I can't stand a tight collar."

Well Happy Birthday Bucky - we miss you wisdom and your wit.

Today I was at Agway buying birdseed, when I walked in on a conversation between the cashier and her customer. "The news was so bad this morning," she was saying, "I don't know why I bother to put on the Today Show." He agreed and added, "It's only going to get worse with the unrest in the Mid East, terrorism you know," nodding like he knew we were going into RED ALERT at any moment now. The thing is that I was thinking these exact thoughts this morning. Why am I starting the day off with all this terrible news? Today's morning show was filled with graphic pictures of the victims of the earthquake, bloody, writhing in pain, and I thought back to 40 years ago when I would get up and have a cup of coffeee, not with the tv, but with the radio.

I had a little black portable radio, battery driven that picked up an AM station in Kingston, WGHQ. The radio sat on the kitchen counter, close by, while I made the kids' breakfast and packed their lunch bags. Bill Skilling was the show's host and he gave the news, the weather, and played music. The music was always the same..."Breaking Up Is Hard To Do", was played every morning - I don't know if that was a reflection of someone on the show, or the only record they had at the studio. The best part of the show came on 5 minutes before the hour. Bill would read the school lunch menus, making appropriate voices and sounds to go along with the food. For example, hamburger on a toasted roll would be said in a Jackie Gleason voice. Desserts were always good for a laugh, especially fruit cup, which he would pronounce, and then put his thumb in his cheek and make a ccccuuuupppp noise. That was the way to start the day, laughing with the radio, no visuals, nothing more dramatic than thinking of canned fruit mix being served to the poor kids as dessert.

I should have known back then that the newspaper and tv weren't for me. The songwriters were telling me so. Simon and Garfunkle said, "I get all the news I need on the weather report."
And really, that is all that I am interested in. Don McLean said it also, "Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn't take one more step." Timmy is always telling me I need a "News Fast", go a week or two without the news and see what happens...like a fruit juice fast or that cayenne pepper lemonade fast that people use. Maybe I'll try that, or see if I can find a radio stations that reads the kids' menus today.

Well this is the first weekend in two months that there is not a zero reading or snow predicted. Hooray! I've been spending my time mostly watching the birds and the neighbors. The neighbors are like the fable the ants and the grasshopper. We (Timmy and me) are the grasshopper, fiddling away our days, while the ants (the neighbors] are working hard. Wayne has a big yellow shovel, a long roof rake shovel, a snowblower, and a little go-cart mobile that has a plow on it. He can use all of these almost at the same time, removing methodically the snow from his house and yard.

Last week our other neighbor Tony did something I have never seen before. He hitched his son Christopher in a harness, tied a rope to it, tied the rope around himself, and they both went up on the roof. Now this is a high roof, steep pitch, therefore the rope on Christopher who had a roof rake shovel and was clearning off the roof. Now this made me laugh, because I remembered a story from my childhood where the husband and wife trade jobs, and the husband does everything wrong, including putting the cow on the roof, so he doesn't have to take the cow to the pasture. Then he tied a rope around the cow and himself. Well, the story ended with the cow falling off the roof, and the old man going down the chimney. This didn't happen across the street, but the tension and drama lasted most of the afternoon. Better than the Superbowl.

So February is dragging on. I tried to think of some good that has come out of this winter - hard to do when the pipes froze in the garage, had to all be replaced, cabin fever doesn't even describe it - and a trip to the Post Office is all I can say happened in my journal. But then I thought of one thing - no mice. Usually, in the winter, they come in the house and Timmy is trapping almost one every night. No mice. They can't make it into the house through all the snow. I think I would rather have mice than this winter.

Yesterday when Timmy brought in the mail there was a package for me from my Aunt Alice. Now this was a surprise on many levels - Aunt Alice was married to my father's brother and is in her 90's. We only corresponded once a year, at Christmas and I hadn't received a Christmas card from her this year. I thought perhaps she's not well. Anyway, when I opened the box there was a letter on top of the wrapping which I read before looking into the package. Aunt Alice said she was cleaning out nick nacks, saw this and thought of me. I couldn't imagine what it would be, unwrapping the papers, I laughed and then cried...one of the teasel ladies Ria used to make years and years ago.

Maria and Kevin were running the Stork - delivering (thus the name) sandwiches, foods, desserts to businesses, but mostly Bard students. To supplement their income Ria was also making crafts, one of which was the teasel lady, a plump, kerchiefed lady, holding flowers with a teasel face, making it look like a hedgehog. Then I remembered Maria going to the craft fairs and one event jumped into my mind. This was maybe 27 years ago, when Jer was 3.

There was a craft fair in Cold Spring and Maria asked if I could go to watch Jeremy, maybe take him someplace, while she was at the fair from 10 until 2. I said sure, and my friend Crissy decided to come too. "I've always wanted to visit Boscobel in Cold Spring," she said and we agreed to go there with Jer while Ria was at the fair.

Boscobel was beautiful, but we realized a few seconds into the tour that it was not Jeremy's idea of fun. He started to scream "Lets go" and twist and turn, trying to get away. I asked the guide if we could be excused, but the woman, in a strong German accent, said "No, you MUST stay with the group. There is no one to take you out." So we stayed and it got worse and worse. On the second floor both Crissy and I were red faced, sweating trying to control Jer. In the main bathroom the tour guide pointed out the large bathtub and said, "You could drown a bad boy in there." Finally, it was over. Crissy held Jer, who tried to punch one woman in the face, and he bit into Crissy's leather jacket, leaving teeth marks. We went to a deli, got sandwiches and two beers and drove to the river, where there was a nice beach, people feeding swans and sitting in the sun, and we tried to relax, eating our lunch in the car. Just then the noon whistle went off, Jer panicked and huddled under the front seat of the car, shaking in fear. Crissy and I looked at each other in amazement. That kid who had no fear of the guide, the other visitors, us, or anything was terrifed and quiet as a mouse with the noon whistle!

Anyway, just seeing that little teasel lady from Aunt Alice made me think of that day. Maria must have made a 100 of those dolls, I wonder how many will turn up.

The snow that fell last night clung to the trees this morning, making a winter wonderland. I swept off the deck to lay out birdseed and filled the front feeders, got a new cup of coffee and waited. The cardinals, juncos and chickadees were the first to appear at 7am. For a time in the early morning light, they all were motionless in the trees, bright red dots against the snow. A hawk must have been around, and then left not seeing his breakfast, for in union they all again began to eat and flit from feeder to deck to feeder.

Then the blue jays came. Noisy, piggy, stuffing themselves with seed after seed. Not like the cardinals, who politely nibble one seed, look around, wait, then take another nibble. Also, the jays are loud, screaming to each other, screaming for themselves, chasing each other away from their special place.

The squirrels come next on the half hour as if an alarm clock had set them off. I had to laugh because as they jumped from branch to branch they set off avalances of snow, minature blizzards. They are more like the bluejays, glutons, and not nice to each other. The other morning I counted nine, nine competitors, some more interested in fighting than eating.

The last to rise on a cold morning are the woodpeckers, downy woodpeckers that will go for the feeders, but prefer the suet, but today the suet is frozen, a little too hard for their taste.

Birds have been in the news lately - the reports of thousands of them dead, lying on the ground, in several parts of this country and even in Europe. What this mystery means seems to have everyone baffled. I can't imagine my life without birds. They are my meditations, my seditives, my addiction - and my salvation (that might be going a little too far!) When my neighbor Nick's wife died years ago, he went into a deep depression. She had been sickly, but her death was totally unexpected. His mood was so different, not the laughing, joking person he once was and his eyes would fill with tears frequently. Then, something changed him, brought him out of the depths of depression - a fishtank. Yes, he found an old tank in his garage and decided to buy a couple of fish. He told me about it, and I could see something had changed. Then he bought more fish, apparently he had once earlier in his life had fish, so he knew what kinds were compatable and would once in a while, splurge on an expensive, exotic fish. He told me how he would sit and watch those fish for hours. I thought of that this morning - I guess I use the birds like Nick used his fish. Relaxing, calming, amusing. I hope they find out soon what is causing these bird deaths. I need my birds.

Happy New Year - since all the media seems to be looking back over the year, I thought I would do the same, but just break it down to one per season. Spring would have to be the kite flying and bubble blowing festivities in the cemetery. Not gloomy, not sad, I don't think a tear was seen, just the joy of watching the kids running, some with adults trying to get their kite in the air. We all rubbed instant lottery tickets, but no big winners, only one $3 that Paul had. Sabra's tarot reader later said to forget the ruboffs, go right to the lottery and we will have a winner within 3 years.

Summer would have to be Wellfleet, almost the whole family there, lots of laughs, lots of good seafood and Ava spotting the skeleton of what turned out to be a dophin, that came home with Jer and is now on the back porch. The kids gave me a lot of laughs and it was fun to sit on my bed, drinking fundador with Maureen, listening to David Sedaris. John O'Leary's yearly trek to our campsite was fun for all the girls and Sabra and Laura are still talking about midgets and webbed feet.

Fall would be the StreetPainting in Tivoli, working on the pavement between Sabra and Tony and Regina on the other side, doing the Guiness bird, remembering Margaret. The funniest part was that Natalie Merchant and her daughter were working on a square right in back of me. They had live music, a young woman dressed in fancy clothes, little red hat, peacock earrings, and singing all the songs I knew from my past. When she did "Blue Skies" I couldn't help myself and broke into song: "Blue skies, shining at me, nothing but blue skies do I see...never saw the sun shining so bright, never saw ..." I looked up and realized I was within earshot of Natalie and she probably never before had heard anyone sing like that.

Winter would be Rachael and Miles' engagement party - really nice restaurant, good food, everyone dressed up. Rachael looked beautiful and Regina was wearing a topless little dress she kept pulling up. Lots of topless dresses, lots of tugging, lots of pictures and lots of families. Very nice and gave us a glimpse of what is coming at the wedding.

So that's it - the year in a nutshell. Let's see what happens this year-I'm hoping for the lottery.