Earlier this week, I got a text message from Mr. Accordion.
Mr. Accordion and I were roommates during my tenure at a certain nonprofit that suffered from toxic management. It’s funny though how life leads a person on a meandering path, and we end up gaining things from experiences that hurt us at the time. I have current clients who connected with me because of that job. I ended up at Stitch Fix because of that job. And I published my novel as a distraction when I lost that job. So many of the circumstances that led to the success of Parisian Phoenix Publishing launched from a very stressful and agonizing work environment, where I shared an office with Mr. Accordion.
Mr. Accordion retired, and he has spent the last four years at various part-time jobs and spending time with his family. I have only known him about five years, but in that time he has always had a joke to share, leads on good food, and a genuine care for other people.
And the other day he invited Eva-the-no-longer-a-teenager and I for pizza and mini-golf. And who am I to say no to pizza and mini-golf? The venue in question was Lucky Strokes mini golf and driving range and Isabella’s Pizza.
They had a strange, vintage upholstered chair in the parking lot with a “free” sign and a school bus with a giant target painted on it in the back of the driving range, if I saw correctly at 175 yards.
The no-longer-a-teenager and I arrived and ordered a medium pizza with capicola and artichokes.
And after some conversation with Mr. Accordion, Eva and I hit the golf range. Now, I did set my Apple Watch to “golf” (and Omada gave me credit for “sports”). It took us 37 minutes to play all 18 holes. (In part because the people ahead of us where having some intense discussion about his marriage and how his wife wasn’t taking the couples counseling seriously. At least, that’s what Eva heard. How she heard that without her hearing aids, I don’t know.
It looked to me like the worst first date ever. She looked disinterested with her back turned, sipping her soda. He would not shut up about himself or his wife. And every time you looked at them, he was standing over to the side with his putter over his shoulder and his ball on the other side of the green.
Immediately, Eva noticed two things:
I don’t even remotely line up the putter correctly.
I was swarmed by small harmless bee creatures.
And then while following my little pink ball around I fell up an incline and ended up crawling around the artificial turf on my hands and knees. Speaking of my knees, my knees and legs refused enough to let me get the ball out of the hole at each green.
Instead of keeping traditional score, we kept score of who landed each hole first, and who won each hole. We ended up trying, 8 holes each with two ties. None of which would have been possible without Eva’s golfing lessons. And her tendency to sometimes hit the ball so hard I feared she might have landed it on the next green.
And I think I had a hole in one, but now I don’t remember.
On the way home we stopped at The Spot for ice cream. I haven’t been to The Spot since my Stitch Fix days.
If you read the Parisian Phoenix blog, visit the publishing company’s substack or troll me on social media, you may know that on Saturday we hosted a Book Lovers’ Celebration at the Barnes and Noble in the Southmont Shopping Center (Bethlehem Township, Pa.).
After the event, I offered our intern Allison and my daughter Eva dinner as payment for their assistance during the day. We decided to pop by Williams Restaurant as it was the sister restaurant of the diner where Eva waitressed in high school. We had already taken Allison to Tic Toc.
We chatted about the event and Allison’s and Eva’s impressions and the fact that the store manager wanted to offer Allison a job. As we got up to leave, Barbara Sceurman (wife of Parisian Phoenix author Larry Sceurman and patron saint of Paulie, the cat temporarily in our care) called out to us. Apparently, they had stopped for dinner after the event, too!
As we were talking to them, our waitress passed by us all giddy and enthusiastic.
“Did you mean to leave this for me?” she said.
Now, Eva had left a generous tip, but it turns out that she also took off her Parisian Phoenix pin and left that on the table and this waitress was thrilled to have it. So we told her to keep it and she put it on and started showing everyone.
It might be great publicity.
Who knows?
And then I took Allison to Aldi for snacks (and she loved the concept of fancy German grocery knock-offs). A plan emerged that we were all going to watch 27 Dresses. Which, gave me a chance to vegetate on the floor while enjoying Katherine Heigl (and if you followed my recent Grey’s Anatomy journey you can understand how much I enjoyed the main character of 27 Dresses who happens to be Dr. Izzy pining over George).
For me, that doesn’t mean a whole lot because I work when I need to work and since I love the editing, reading and publishing that I do and I often forget to stop. I work seven days a week and regularly schedule day trips and small outings to force myself to take a mental break.
That’s really not even here nor there for today’s tale.
I woke a little late today, and rest is always a good thing, so I didn’t make it to my desk until about 8 a.m. Larry Sceurman, author of The Death of Big Butch and Coffee in the Morning from Parisian Phoenix Publishing, had sent me a story and asked for my editorial services. He was stopping by at 9:30 so that I could scan the cartoon he made to accompany the story and then we planned to have a breakfast meeting.
After that, (which included for me eggs benedict as Larry and I continue our tour of local diners– we’ve done Big Papa’s before it closed, then Palmer and now Williams’), I came home and looked at some of the text Ralph Greco sent me on his upcoming article for a major publication, and received an email from Thurston Gill about prepping a Phulasso course catalog and a text from Joseph Swarctz about his upcoming new picture book Sprinkles Did It!
I was feeling sluggish (all those yummy diner fried potatoes?) so I poured myself an iced coffee.
I got a text from Eva-the-no-longer-a-Teenager. I needed to deliver posters to Barnes and Noble for next weekend’s Parisian Phoenix Book Lovers’ Celebration and she needed to pick up come cat food from a client that their cat won’t eat. And she said I could swing by Panera and grab an iced coffee for tomorrow.
Into the car I go.
Phase One: Barnes & Noble
I run into Barnes & Noble as a cool summer rain falls upon the Southmont Shopping Center. The manager is behind the customer service desk and I voice to him my concerns that the posters aren’t the right size.
Now, I don’t know if the designer didn’t resize them when I increased the size or whether the printer we used couldn’t accommodate the size or whether I screwed up somewhere else along the way, but the posters are too small for the standard displays and took big for the table toppers. So if I can find some big sheets of Parisian Phoenix pink poster board I might have to swing by the store and matte them.
Sometimes things just don’t work the way you planned.
If being a small business owner has taught me anything, it’s that when these discombobulations happen, you can’t get angry. You can only roll with it the best you can and develop alternative plans on the fly.
And then…
I hop in the car. We run to Panera and I grab my Sip Club beverage. We drive through lovely developments where a strange number of homes have decorative boulders somewhere along their driveway.
Eva pulls into her client’s driveway and remarks that the truck is not present. She gets out of the car. The car yells because it is still running and she has taken the electronic fob. An email slides into my in box, and I see that it’s my automated response from Substack. I had put together an automated welcome email for “Larry’s Stories” and subscribed my junk address so I could see it. I glanced down at my phone so I could forward it to Larry so he could also see it.
I heard a strange buzz, like there was a bee in the car. But then I heard more buzz. I looked up. There was several wasps in the car. I had the windows cracked, so I thought maybe if I opened the sun roof they would exit, especially since they were gathered around the rearview mirror. (I was in the passenger seat.)
Swarm of wasps
A beautiful collection of colorful flowering shrubs sat outside the car to my right. I opened the sun roof and more wasps entered the car. The wasps were swarming the car!!! I made myself as small as I could in the seat, because the wasps had no interest in me. Obviously they did not see me as a threat and I wanted to keep in that way.
My daughter and the wife of her client, whom she had never met, came out of the house and Eva immediately noticed something was off and there was a weird amount of insects around the car. I hopped out, because I didn’t want anyone to come to close to the car without knowing that the car had a bit of an infestation.
Once I exited the car, the homeowner realized that her husband’s work truck had a wasp nest on it, which he had perhaps knocked down, and in any case, he had driven away. So these wasps were confused and homeless and probably search our car for their missing house.
I carefully slipped into the drivers seat and backed up the car farther down the driveway, with the door open, hoping the wasps would gravitate to the garden and not my Volkswagen. We closed the windows except for a crack in the sunroof and hoped.
When we reentered the car about five minutes later, only about four remained inside the car and as we started to drive away that number dropped to two. And one I accidentally squished in the window.
To make sure none of them followed us home, Eva jumped on the highway to outrun the bastards.
The clients felt terrible and they even texted us a photo of the original wasp nest. I can see why the wasps were confused.
This is going to be one of my cooking and grocery shopping posts, so if you’re not into that, you can feel free to skip this one. I was laid off from my warehouse job in September, unemployment expired in March and I’ve been surviving off my small publishing company (and editorial/writing/journalism clients) ever since. Being a small business owner, especially when it’s a new small business, is not for the faint of heart.
I had a loose plan of what I wanted to do today– get up, go get my coffee at Panera, swing by the Dollar Tree and maybe Grocery Outlet. I had $48 in my wallet and The No-Longer-a-Teenager complained that we had no food in the house except for the weird crackers and local cheese (local cheese from Joan Zachary’s cheese CSA).
My Panera iced coffee turned out to be the most perfect sip this morning, but the Dollar Tree next door was not open. I could go to Shoprite down the street but my $48 would not yield what I needed it to yield there.
Yesterday I prepped some seasoned white rice and teriyaki salmon, some lentils/split peas, and some pasta salad. My hope is that Eva, the college student and no-longer-a-teenager, and I can have a little bit of all of that for dinner. I thought picking up some tortilla shells and chips could mean some Mexican meals from the leftovers.
And we needed milk and half and half.
And then after all that cooking, I had a deep craving for spaghetti and super basic red sauce. So, I made some.
Creativity and patience are often the secret to making meals out of nothing. It’s often useful to designate some cooking time where you can coordinate some basic items that can be reused later– because making the decision to try and build a meal out of nothing while hungry usually ends in disaster. (I was a vegetarian for eight years until my daughter was born, took vegan cooking classes, and have incorporated some vegan choices into my life, so that helps me navigate cooking with minimal items.)
And like that bowl of spaghetti– sometimes the most simple things are the most satisfying. Sometimes you want a feeling in your belly or a specific spice more so than an item. That’s part of why I buy a lot of weird sauces and I love to keep on hand smoked paprika (for those ‘meaty’ desires), everything bagel seasoning (that can wake up those bored taste buds), and sesame oil (a must have if you enjoy Asian flavors). We all have our favorite seasonings.
Right now I’m drinking about 15 ounces carbonated water I made in my soda stream, with about 2 ounces of mango coconut water (from Dollar Tree), 2 ounces Seagrams ginger ale (leftover from Eva’s birthday party), and about 1 ounce fresh lime juice (limes cheap from Aldi). It’s refreshing in this hot day and different.
On Wednesday, Eva and I will receive a “meat box” from Hungryroot and we have a lot of leftovers from the in-law’s picnic yesterday (including half a ‘litter box cake’).
We needed some items to spice up our eating, preferably some fresh fruit, so how did I spend my $48 at Aldi?
Actually, I spent $38.53.
4 small cans of plain tomato sauce, 47 cents each.
4 cans chunk tuna in water, 85 cents each.
Everything bagel seasoning with jalapeno, 1.85
generic Spam, 2.15
larger can of chicken breast chunks, $2.69
quart of half and half, $1.98
half gallon of 2% milk, $2.22
two individual servings of Chobani Flips, chocolate chip cookie dough flavor, $1.38 each
8 ounces New York Sharp cheddar, $1.75
Deli pack slices of provolone cheese, Eva’s favorite, $1.65
Hummus Crisps (no idea what these are but they look like pop chips), $2.19
Veggie Straws, ranch flavor (for Eva), $2.35
frozen broccoli florets, $1.15
cotton candy grapes, a big container, $3.98
multipack of fresh limes, $2.29 (cheaper than lemons)
bunch of bananas, 2.04 pounds, 90 cents
2 avocadoes, 65 cents each
A dozen large eggs, $2.04
One of my guidelines is to look for items around $2. You will see that the grapes are the most expensive item on this list. By setting a mental guideline, I force myself to pause and consider whether the item on my list is worth the price. I ask myself questions like how versatile is this item? How many servings will I get out of this item? How healthy is this item?
For example, the grapes were an easy yes, because that is cheap for those grapes. They are one of the few fruit items I will eat. Eggs, also a solid choice, can add an egg to a lot of meals for extra protein. Even Ramen suddenly looks like a decent meal if you do it “egg drop” style. I chose limes over lemons to save a dollar, but buying them also meant I could transform the avocado into avocado dip/guacamole/toast spread. And the Chobani was also a splurge and has more sugar than I need, but it is also a great snack if you are craving cheesecake or ice cream or canolis.
It’s Wednesday afternoon, and it’s been a hearty week. I just finished editing a novel by debut author E. H. Jacobs. Parisian Phoenix Publishing plans to release the book, Splintered River, in September before the upcoming presidential election. Somehow, by the skin of my teeth, I managed to pay all the bills another month.
As a small business owner, there is always a hustle. And while I typically work seven days a week, I love what I do and it often doesn’t feel like work.
And this week I had a special surprise– Armchair Lehigh Valley asked me to cover First Lady Jill Biden’s visit to Allentown, the largest city in the Lehigh Valley region and third most populated city in the state. For comparison, it stands behind Philadelphia and Pittsburgh. Philadelphia has 1.6 million people. Pittsburgh has more than 300,000. Allentown has about 125,000.
Harrisburg, the state capital, has 50,000 residents and is number 16 on the list of most populated Pennsylvania cities. Bethlehem, the center-most city in the Lehigh Valley, is number 7 on the list with 78,000. Lancaster is number 12, which isn’t what you’d expect since Lancaster is known for its Amish communities.
The city closest to my small town is Easton, which is number 41 on the list with 28,000 people.
Anyway, Allentown’s population is 50% Latin, so lawmakers like to stop by to woo the Latin voter. Yesterday, Jill Biden visited Lehigh Carbon Community College to promote Career to Classroom, a proposal from the Biden administration to “reimagine high school” by connecting students to jobs, training and opportunities to learn skills and an associate’s degree while still in high school.
I haven’t attended an event with politicians that required Secret Service in decades. I arrived early, parking at the PPL Orange garage.
I arrived at the LCCC campus in downtown Allentown around noon, and the Allentown police were already outside with the people coordinating the event. Media had to line up along the building after receiving their press passes. The Malinois K9 sniffed our stuff and we headed inside two people at a time.
K9’s have to be high-energy and driven, and this guy was no exception. He played with his toy and barked when he didn’t have enough to do. You could see the disappointment when he didn’t find anything in our stuff, because for him, this was a game and he wanted to find whatever he needed to find to win the game.
Once I arrived inside, the Secret Service scanned my person and another agent checked my bag. He saw my cookie that my friend Laurel had given me in case I didn’t eat. It was a Panera oatmeal berry cookie, which is one of my favorites. The agent looked at me in all his Secret Service seriousness, and said, “Ma’am, all chocolate chip cookies must be confiscated by me.”
“That’s fine, Sir,” I said. “But it’s oatmeal.”
“Then you are free to go,” he said.
I headed into the elevator and up to the third floor. As we arrived, I saw the sign for the restroom. So, I asked the Secret Service agent if I could go to the restroom. I was told yes. When I returned, I entered the room and saw a random sign for “media entrance.” I saw all the video news crews and photographers setting up their tripods. To stay out of the way, I wove farther into the room and sat down.
I ended up sitting with the audience, unintentionally, but got a great view of everything.
To read the article, which the editors at Armchair focused on the workforce development legislation Biden has proposed, click here.
If you want to read a speech only a few words different from the one Jill gave yesterday, click here.
Yesterday, my friend Gayle and I embarked on an adventure. I wanted to motivate myself toward more movement and healthier living and Gayle enjoys visiting new towns via self-guided walks designed by local clubs of the American Volkssporting Association. Gayle has wanted to hit the Ephrata, Pa., walk (which is about 90 minutes away from our homes) and I love a day trip. The walk is maintained by the Susquehanna Rovers.
Gayle packed lunch. I packed sunscreen. I even tossed some electrolyte powders packets in my bag, knowing it would be a sunny summer day. I took my muscle relaxers.
Off we went.
The background
Now, as someone with a mobility disability (cerebral palsy, spastic diplegia), I suspected– or perhaps even knew– that this would end with some sort of injury or discomfort. I had hoped that having this walk, a 5K by design, would motivate me to get away from my desk and wander around the neighborhood.
That didn’t happen. I could blame the heat wave, but in reality, I doubt I would have changed my behavior even if the weather were nice.
In the end, I said to myself, “Anyone can walk a 5K.”
And in one respect, I was correct. I did it. On the other hand, it was stupid. And I’m suffering because of it. But that’s getting ahead of myself.
I wanted to use this walk to see how my movement was in a more long-term commitment. I wanted to test my breathing and my heart rate. I suspect a lot of my health issues will not resolve until I lose at least 20, if not 30, or even 35 pounds (at which point I ask myself– how did I gain this much weight so quickly?)
So this walk would help me evaluate my true status and make health-related goals.
That was my logic. Was it a tad reckless? Maybe, maybe not.
The Walk
Ephrata has a lovely main street, historic buildings and apparently monuments– none of which we saw because the 5K was mostly through residential neighborhoods. And we missed a turn somewhere and ended up shaving off about a half mile. Our time for our 2.8 mile 5K was about 31 minutes a mile, and we periodically stopped to enjoy the shade, look at weird buildings, and sometimes cuss about hills.
AVA walks are rated, and this was a 1B which means it was supposed to be easy, with sidewalks and the occasional hill. But if you looked at the “fine print,” the walk was rated “medium” for strollers and “hard” for wheelchairs. I think for the foreseeable future Gayle and I need 1A walks that are easy for wheelchairs.
So here’s my analysis of what we saw in Ephrata on the 5K:
A gnome garden. I like this tiered design of outdoor knick knacks. I’m not sure what sense it makes, but it seems like a concept the no-longer-a-Teenager would embrace.
A neighborhood egg stand, that was closed.
Your going to have to google this for yourself. “Best Kept Secrets Tour.” “Shopping, Food & Fun adventures.”
The strangest “double” homes I’ve ever seen. The walk took us through an entire neighborhood of attached, split-level homes. I own “half a double,” and some neighborhoods in my area are row homes that expand an entire block. But I have never seen neighborhoods like these. I fail to understand the logic. There are two reasons to “attach” homes– one is to lower the cost by sharing a wall, and the second is to squeeze more people into a smaller space.
These homes have the space to be detached. They are on suburban lots. So, if you are going to invest in a suburban home, why would you want (or even accept?) being attached to your neighbor. There were also attached ranch homes, with the same concept, but just without the extra stories. And some had a strange shared doorway in the middle, like a breezeway, so they were both attached and detached.
We did see a lot of great distant views. Mountains in the distance. Clear skies.
One of the first things we encountered was the Anne Brossman Sweigert Charitable Foundation, with a family sculpture out front and a sign engraved on a grave marker. (They also have not updated their website in almost 10 years according to the “grant history” tab.) Why did they place their sign on a grave marker? So it didn’t blow away? Fade?
Around the two-mile mark, we realized we had missed the turn and reached our threshold for the residential tour, and ironically, we ended up taking a street parallel to the main drag back to the hotel where the walk-box is stored.
Interlude: Early in the walk, I noticed my right leg was pulling in toward my left leg. So, minding my fitness and strength coach’s advice, I led with my knees to make sure I wouldn’t end up tripping over my own legs due to my knees facing inward. I tried stretching, to see if I could get my hips and thighs to move more outwardly, but I couldn’t come up with the right movement.
Nothing hurt, but damn everything was tight, and my legs fought me with every step.By the time we climbed the hill and stairs by the hotel, my back was starting to feel the stress. My legs didn’t want to lift. So I made it to the car and popped another muscle relaxer.
Step count: about 8,500
The Ephrata Cloister
We went to Ephrata Cloister, driving down the main drag and wondering why the walk couldn’t have shown us all these lovely local businesses and perhaps led us to a cafe where we could have rested. We had a savory-and-sweet vegan chickpea and carrot salad with a side of grapes for lunch. From there we headed into the gift shop.
At the gift shop, I found an impressive collection of wood crafts, paper folding kits for Moravian Stars, quilted cards, replacement ink for quills, Amish novels and a nice selection of Pennsylvania Dutch nonfiction books.
The no-longer-a-Teenager is mostly Pennsylvania Dutch on her father’s side. One paternal great-grandfather was Welsh, but all of her other paternal great-grandparents were Pennsylvania Dutch. Her paternal grandmother’s father spoke Pennsylvania Dutch (Leroy Buss) as his first language, learning English at the one-room schoolhouse he entered at age five. I would have loved to buy her a Pennsylvania Dutch to English dictionary or Superstitions and Folklore of the Pennsylvania Dutch, but the budget did not allow.
We visited the museum where we learned that the Cloister was a spiritual community with roots in Germany that came to Pennsylvania, just like the Quakers and the Moravians, in the early 18th century for religious freedom.** They had strict beliefs and practices, one of which was celibacy so it became impossible to keep the community alive. (The “householders” later became the German Seventh Day Baptist Church. Householders were the families on neighboring farms who supported the community and their religious beliefs without going all in on the celibacy, vegetarianism, and sleeping on a wooden block disciplines.)
We also saw a really long glass horn.
** 1720. That’s more than FIFTY YEARS before the Revolutionary War.
The tour
Gayle and I like to support local history and nonprofits, and who doesn’t love the story of a good old colonial cult. So, we embarked on the tour.
First, we watched a really information-packed but poorly acted and filmed movie. You can watch it online here. (This was where Gayle thought she lost her phone and I got a text from a client who needed me to do something later that day.) We were told the tour was 45 minutes to an hour long, depending how many questions people had, and that we should be on our way at 3 p.m., 3:15 p.m. at the latest.
Gayle was hoping the tour would send us all over the grounds walking from building to building. I was suddenly starting to hurt and could barely stand. Neither of us voiced what we were thinking to the other.
“You’ll love the tour guide,” the volunteer at the desk said. “He’s really knowledgeable and passionate.”
Our tour guide took ten minutes to get us out the door because already other members of the tour were asking stupid questions covered by the movie we had just watched. We walked out to the middle of the yard, not even a half acre away where the tour guide announced we had reached the village.
We stood outside for a long time, at first talking about architecture, then the idiots with us had to debate how old the trees might be, and whether they were “original.” I was mesmerized the whole time by a man who looked very Mennonite/new order Amish/”Dutchy.” You don’t think the Pennsylvania Dutch have certain genetic “looks,” but they do.
Now, somewhere around this time, it became difficult to know when the tour guide was telling us historical fact, and when he was expounding on his own “theories” (his word). He talked a lot about significance of numbers, how the triangle formed by the Village served as a reminder of our path to God, and the powers of the mystics. This is where I, as a journalist and a historian, started to get annoyed. He provided no proof of the sources of his ideas. (Here are some of the official lectures on the topics.)
We stood in the main living area of what became the Sister’s House. Eventually we ended up in the Meeting Room. We were *locked in* the building, so strangers who had not purchased the tour could not wander in. I know this because the Dutchy man needed to leave and he could not without interrupting the tour.
I faded in and out of the door mentally because my legs were hurting at about an eight. When we left the meeting room and entered the add-on kitchen, I was ready to fight the sweet little old ladies for a space on the small bench. My heartrate had been soaring since we started the tour (130s when standing and 110 when seated) probably in response to the pain. There was room for all of us.
Interior of the Meeting House (saal, meaning “room.”)
At this point, my plan was to sneak out of the tour when he let us out of the building and to tell Gayle to take her time as I would sit outside and read my book. But it turned out the tour was only to this building.
Our tour guide unlocked the door at 3:40 p.m.
The repercussions
By the time I went to bed, my pain levels had reached a nine. They are between a six and seven today and I’m taking it easy. I think my body has forgotten how to walk. As a person who deals with spasticity, which means my muscles in my legs never relax, I have a theory. This is the first long walk I’ve taken probably in years, certainly since I started taking muscle relaxers. It’s the first long walk I’ve taken since I started fitness training with Andrew, and even more certainly, the first I’ve taken since he had to pause our sessions several months ago. And I sit at a desk now, 8-10 hours a day, seven days a week, and walk 3,500 to 5,000 steps a day.
So, sure I overdid it.
But I still maintain that I have never moved the way I moved yesterday. I fried my adductors.
Hard to believe for several months from 2020-2021 I was a picker in the Stitch Fix warehouse where I walked miles and miles and miles every night, five days a week.
For more about this trip and some discussion of books, printing and those arts at the Cloisters, see ParisianPhoenix.com.
I wish I had some exciting reason that it’s been two weeks without a post. The reality is that I’ve been ghostwriting a novel and that every free moment I have has been dedicated to that client who is currently paying my mortgage. Luckily, I love the client, I love the story and I love the whole experience of being a part of the project so it’s not a hardship by any means.
The book publishing entity– Parisian Phoenix Publishing— has been paying the other costs of life. If you follow the blog there and/or read the Substack newsletter, you will see we are always doing something to keep the company and its authors growing. And if you need another reminder of why and where to buy books, check out the shop we’ve curated at Bookshop.org, where you can shop online and designate your favorite independent bookseller to receive the profits from the sale.
So, rather than try to catch you up with every bit of crazy while I’ve been away, let me provide this fine list:
The Initial Joys of Summer
The Teenager only has a few more days of Teenagerdom and she has spent much of the last month renovating our garage into an indoor/outdoor living space. She is hosting her birthday party out there and I can’t wait to show you the final result.
2. I have started using the outdoor patio more as the Internet extends that far and there’s really no excuse.
3. We decided to try the Papa Johns Cheeseburger Pizza and their new Spicy Lemon Pepper Wing Sauce. The boneless wings are terrible, but the sauce is out of this world. And the burger pizza– especially with the $10 promotional price point–might be our new favorite food. The Teenager has proclaimed that all pizza should have pickles.
4. I spent some more time with my cat, Fog. We normally use a “crate and rotate”-style system for all the animals. For the last year, my boy Fog, our old tripod Opie and the cat the rescue gave up on, Canyon, have been in my room. We decided to let them free roam and this meant I got to spend some time during my long work days with my man, Fog.
5. Speaking of cats, our houseguest, Paulie, still loves to bite me, but he has gotten quite forward about being in my business.
6. We pre-gamed the Teenager’s birthday by going to Dave & Buster’s for some arcade time and then visited this strange convenience store with the old style poker video machines, alcohol, vaping supplies, penny candy, ice cream, strange snacks and all the household goods one would expect from a convenience store.
7. I made some new recipes including rhubarb quick bread (think banana bread but with rhubarb) and my own twist on fried pickles. I smeared/shredded cheese on a kosher dill pickle sandwich slice and then pinched it into a piece of Italian meat before breading and frying. Both were amazing.
8. My 2015 Jetta turned over to 71,000 miles. The Teenager has been driving it for work, so it only had 55,000 on it when I got laid off from Stitch Fix in September. But in other exciting news, before the end of the month, the Teenager should pay off her 2012 Nissan Rogue which we’ve had two years when we only planned to keep it for six months. It’s pretty much ready for a demolition derby now, but it was The Teenager’s first car loan and she paid it off six months early.
And lucky number nine….
(The Celts believed 9 was a holy number, because nine was a collection of three sacred threes.)
9. Today, I got to have a lavender matcha latte with my book-making, mixed media, painting artist friend Maryann Riker of Justarip Press. We stopped at Spectacular Coffee at Easton’s Silk Mill after indulging in a green sale (yes there is such a thing!) at Vasari Oil Paint.
If you don’t know, my daughter– The Teenager about to turn 20– works in the pet care industry, primarily doing dog walks and in-home pet care visits. She is also a dog trainer, and spends a lot of time and energy studying dogs, observing dog body language and finding solutions to people’s problems with their dogs.
She is the one who encouraged me to apply for a service dog, and although I grew up with dogs, she has taught me so much about dogs and why they do what they do.
Her dog, F. Bean Barker, who, will be four this summer, can be reactive and territorial. The Teenager has worked very hard to decrease her dog’s reactivity and expose the dog to situations to improve her tolerance. Today, we took her to a dog park. The dog park is less than two miles away from our home and off-the-beaten path so it’s not as well-traveled as some other local places. It has a lot of green area to explore even outside of the dog park. So, if the dog park is occupied, there is other stuff to do.
This dog park has two sides, one for dogs 25 pounds and under, the other for dogs larger than 25 pounds. Each side has a double gate system, so you can enter the first enclosed room and make sure your dog is ready to enter the other side without risking releasing any dogs already in the park. (In this dog park, there is also a gate between the two sides.)
Now, if you do not have a dog or if you have a rural dog who has no need of a dog park, you may not understand that dog parks can be extremely dangerous. You never know how other people’s dogs will react, and you can find that certain dogs have behaviors that can unnerve the most calm and pleasant dog. Owners often don’t keep close enough control over their dogs inside the park, believing the environment is contained and safe. But just like two normally well-behaved children can suddenly behave like cold-hearted killers on a public playground, dogs can change in this unfamiliar and potentially unmonitored environment.
We know Bean is a good dog, well-trained with a recall, but that she often has a hard time with other dogs especially if they aren’t appropriately socialized. Now, even if you think your dog is “good with other dogs” or “well-socialized,” you may not understand dog body language or stress signals to know how well your dog is doing in a new situation.
Knowing this, we brought plenty of our dog’s favorite treats, put her in a harness and on a prong collar and tucked a can of “pet corrector” into our gear. When we arrived at the dog park, one adult and one child had two small dogs running the entire expanse of both sides of the dog park. The Teenager decided not to engage and walked the dog around the human passive recreation trails.
The family soon left, taking their two small dogs off leash through the parking lot and leaving every gate in the dog park open— the two entering the small dog park AND the interior. That means if someone had entered the large dog park, appropriately, the large dog could have run into the small dog side and exited into the busy parking lot. Really?
Needless to say, this dog grandmother went through and checked every gate before Bean and The Teenager entered.
I sat under the pavilion and watched while Bean and The Teenager explored.
I was technically lookout, because The Teenager had removed Bean’s leash and if another dog came The Teenager wanted enough time to leash her dog and make sure Bean was under control, or at least, obedient.
I looked up from my book (Hunter’s Shea’s Manrattan which I am enjoying very much) and there was an unattended mastiff with no leash standing outside the gate. The Teenager already had Bean outside the dog park and releashed. So, we left.
The owner of the mastiff strolled leisurely to the gate, while his unleashed dog just had free reign. Why don’t people have common sense???
Dogs in public should be leashed. It’s a law. I don’t care how well-behaved your dog is– if it is attacked or frightened, it will end up in a fight. Even the best dog in the world would defend itself in a fight, so regardless of how the fight starts, both dogs could be injured or killed.
And, as someone on a wait-list for a service dog, it angers me to see how many people don’t understand why certain laws exist regarding where dogs can go and how they should be handled. A dog masquerading as a service dog in a store for example not only might create a bad example for real service dogs, but if it is not trained properly it could attack or spook another animal (or a person or a service dog). A service dog that encounters poorly-managed and badly trained animals in public could be attacked or spooked in such a way that it might not be able to do its job, creating a financial and practical hardship for the disabled person relying on that dog.
So please, leash and control your dogs as the laws ask you to do.
Ever since my husband and I moved there circa 1998, downtown Easton has always been a magical place for me. I have lived there, worked there, dined there, and seen the neighborhood grow and change, businesses come and go.
Easton PA and Phillipsburg NJ were both struggling fiercely then, and fine artists were starting to buy property and set up studios in Easton. A lot of my favorite people came to Easton in this way. Phillipsburg had hoped to redevelop industrial lands (which, as in the trend now, has become warehouses) and attract railroad-related tourism.
For those who are not local, while these two towns are in different states, they are only separated by a river– the Delaware River– and that river is easy to cross, even on foot. When I was covering Phillipsburg as a newspaper reporter, I learned that Phillipsburg residents often referred to Easton as “going to town.” Both regions, in Pennsylvania and New Jersey, have strong agricultural roots so state lines meant little when compared to where the department stores, services, and professionals were.
Even though I do not live in Easton, and have not for the last 20 years, I have lived a mere two miles away from downtown Easton and can still physically walk there it’s so close. The street where I live, and those parallel, all go straight downtown.
I went downtown yesterday for an appointment at the Sigal Museum. Now, as a historian and a proud local history nerd, this alone was a great way to start the day. When I arrived, they had just opened so they weren’t quite ready for me yet. Being gracious hosts, they told me to go play in the museum. I mean visit. Visit the museum.
Arts Community of Easton Small Works show
Before I could reach the exhibits, I had the chance to explore the Arts Community of Easton Small Works Show — which features works by Parisian Phoenix contributors Joan Zachary and Maryann Riker (even if her piece didn’t have her name on it. I recognized it!), (speaking of Phillipsburg) a long-time peer and lover of Barenaked Ladies Claire Jewett who used to own a business in downtown Phillipsburg, and my neighbors, literally the other side of my house, James Cox and Sarah George.
I will be doing two workshops for ACE, at the Easton Area Public Library main branch in July. I believe it’s July 8 I will present a memoir class, and on July 30 we will be working on writing clear nonfiction.
So that was fun… And then it was time to immerse myself in local history.
They have a wonderful exhibit about the origins of the two rivers area and the Native American tribes there. And a wigwam/wikewam! I explored the first floor for a while but I had to carefully extract myself before I wouldn’t be coming out again until they closed.
After my adventure at the museum, I meandered to “the circle” to visit Andy at Book & Puppet Company, our local independent bookstore. We had a fantastic conversation and I found the most unusual purchase– a graphic novel rendition of Albert Camus’ autobiographical novel, The First Man. I learned that Andy had produced not only a new CD but also an audio book memoir by Melba Tolliver. Melba had a very interesting career as a television journalist.
And then there was only one acceptable way to end my morning out, with pie from Pie + Tart. I brought the pie home and shared it with the Teenager. I spent the afternoon working on a ghostwriting project and took a break to drive The Teenager to renew her drivers license. In the evening, I returned downtown to have a belated birthday celebration with a friend, poet and former work colleague. We had drinks, guac and other goodies at Mesa Modern Mexican.
My daughter and I come from very different generations. This first paragraph is absolutely, 100% my perception and my opinion; and I am categorizing or generalizing in a way that I have not researched as fact– not with my academic hat nor my journalism skills. Her generation (let’s call it born around 2000) loves labels. Even when that generation rejects labels, they put new labels on concepts they rebel against.
It took me until I reached my fourth decade to consider, accept and adopt the identity of someone with a disability. The Teenager, on the other hand, studies identities, labels and the DSM as a part of understanding who she is and how she interacts with the world. She ponders whether or not I have OCD, if her father has ADD, but she also has her own ADHD mind, and her hearing loss, which is a powerful combination.
I call her my tornado, but in reality she might be more of a thunderstorm– the crashing and banging, the relentless burst of energy, thrashing winds and then a deluge.
As people we all show symptoms or signs of all sorts of conditions that may or may not be part of a label, that may or may not be something we “have.” And one of the nuances of who I am is that numbers make me happy.
I think the phenomenon has become more noticeable since I starting spending more time with my traveling partner, M., because as someone with Asperger’s, numbers play a huge role in organizing his life. And we talk about numbers when we notice them, because it’s nice to have someone who also likes the comfort of numbers.
I was relieved when I got my current car, because the license plate featured a number I could live with. Speaking of cars, I have been in a special kind of mourning every since that car, my Jetta, turned over to 70,000. (Since I lost my job at Stitch Fix, my daughter has been driving it. She’s put about 12,000 miles on it in eight months.) But The Teenager also sent me a photo when her father’s car turned over to 11,111 miles.
I will transfer money between savings and checking to create more favorable bank balances, ones that are pleasing to see.
And I dread the day I need to close my primary bank account, because the account number features a sequence I particularly like.
I’m old enough to remember when telephone numbers were seven digits, not ten. And the strange sensation of having to add the area code for local numbers and not just long distance. The generation before me can probably remember when phone numbers did not include the local exchange.
And if you are unfamiliar with some of these terms…
These terms and systems originated and grew with the “landline” telephone technology. The numbers directed users to specific systems of wires and before automatic switching, a telephone switchboard operator had to direct callers to specific wires by unplugging them and plugging them back in.
An American phone number is customarily organized like this:
1-XXX-YYY-ZZZZ
The “1” is the country code.
The XXX is the area code which refers to a larger geographic region, like a few counties in a state, depending on population.
The YYY is the local exchange, usually a town.
And then the ZZZZ were specific residents. Like your house number, but for your telephone.
