No, I have not died,

Dear One.  Neither have I fallen in a hole or gone over a cliff or taken a lengthy visit to parts unknown.  I've been right here in this spot I call home, chewing my nails (metaphorically speaking only) and procrastinating mightily (alas, in actuality) and racking up rental woes about which to regale you, Reader Dear.  I will climb back aboard the bloggity-blog train just as soon as ever I can, I assure you (in the event you are searching with any degree of eagerness for that train to come chugging along).

The Soiree

It was my first invitation!

Ah, Reader Dear, just let me explain "The Soiree" to you (you know, I'll tell you exactly what it is).
Then, I'll give you details.  But here's a note of caution: Watch out for a slight bit of green emanating from your psyche before I have finished with my tale (Oh, Dear Reader, you know that's not my aim.  It just might happen, however, that you will be a teensy bit jealous. It can't be helped).

I've got a very good friend who's got a very generous sister who, once a year, throws this party for all of her female kin (her sister, those married to her brothers, her nieces, those married to her nephews.

The Soiree is normally a twenty-four hour event at the home of the woman who hosts it (I'm going to call her AH for Awe-inspiring Hostess!).   She is the one who generally cooks the exotic meals, and who strews air mattresses on the floor to accommodate sleep for all who attend.  (This history of The Soiree was all told to me.  Keep in mind, Reader Dear, that you're getting it second-hand information.I'm trying diligently to make sure it's all correct.

 Generally there are  up to a dozen or more women attending The Soiree.  The Awe-inspiring Hostess always has grand surprises for her guests (I heard one year she escorted them to a salon, and they all walked out of there with their hundreds of fingers and toes freshly manicured and pedicured, all snazzily painted, compliments of this superb hostess!  Traditionally, she also treats them to one evening meal out.   And she's always got a physical gift for each attendee as well.  Oh, my! 

Now, you may be wondering how it all came about that I ended up with an invite to this event!  I understand your curiosity, and I perceive that ever-so-slight tinge of green.  Here's how it went:

The HM and I spent time at a lovely rental house in Elkton, Virginia, a month or so ago.    I've told you all about it, Reader Dear!

While there, the HM and I issued an invitation to the very good friend whom I mentioned in the opening remarks (of this post, Dear One! I told you about that, too, you know!  [I do understand, things may be getting murky (the current story has several background stories, all taking place at this spot in Elkton, Virginia (just jump over all of this, Reader Dear [it's not all that pertinent])]).

Following that visit, Mi Amiga Preciosa suggested to her sister (the Awe-inspiring Hostess) that perhaps she'd wish to hold The Soiree at this rental vacation house in the mountains of Virginia (rather than at her own home where The Soiree is usually held).

After the Husband of Mine and I and our family had returned home from our lovely vacation spot in Elkton, Virginia, the Awe-inspiring Hostess (sister of my friend) called me to obtain the rental contact information for the house.  And then she issued an invitation for ME to attend The Soiree! I was to be the "mystery guest" about whom she'd pique everyone's curiosity.

Okay.  NOW.  You follow all that, Reader Dear?!

Last Friday evening at six p.m.:  I arrived at the Elkton house in the mountains of Virginia. The AH had informed me that she was hiring a Master Chef to prepare the meals because a health issue was  preventing her from whipping up her usual culinary delights.  Not ever having been to The Soiree previously, I was busy trying to conjure how one would hire a Master Chef at such a (relatively) remote location and for such a (relatively extended) event--hors d'oeuvres and an evening meal on Day 1; a morning brunch, a mid-afternoon dessert on Day 2; a breakfast on Day 3.  I did not have the slightest suspicion that it would be a fellow attendee.

Here's the thing I'd neglected to consider:  This family, does, in fact, include a Master Chef!  I was likely the only invited one who didn't know or have a strong suspicion ahead of time that Jenny (neice of the Awe-inspiring Hostess) was to be the chef! She it was who spent a large amount of time in the kitchen, and served the group of nine with fabulous and bounteous spreads!

Between you and me, Reader Dear, I wish I'd have taken more photos of the food.  But, I've got something even more special:  a post by the Master Chef!












To the left is the Awe-inspiring Hostess of The Soiree!
Because the weather was quite chilly, there was not a great rush to the pool following brunch on Saturday.

Above, Dear Viewer, see the Solo Plunge into the chilly water of the pool.  Hurrah for the warmth of the Hot Tub!

All nine of us--AH and guests-- spent a good length of time there in the hot tub.
We luxuriated.
We lounged
We laughed.
We were one big tub full of buoyant bon vivants!*


*Strictly my description, Dear One.



...to be continued...

Old Age

Reader Dear, has got me.  Folks seem to want to disavow me of my description of this new age.  But it's a milestone that I've reached, and I'm proud of it. (Er, you could use other words, too.  Such as, maybe,  Puzzled by it. Surprised by it. Astounded by it! Even, uh, slightly Afraid of it! Terrified of it!)

 Even though I'll concede that life expectancy has risen over the years, I still maintain that this new number of three-score-and-ten years that I've accumulated is a valid entry into Old Age!






























But be aware, Dear Reader, there can be  perks (other than being called  "dearie" and "honey" by strangers, and having the door held open for one when out in public.

On my birthday eve, I got in on a celebration with three generations--only three persons missing from this closest group of kind kin, who treated me to a birthday dinner!

It was a fancy meal at a fancy restaurant, with a fancy drink (compliments of the restaurant)  to go with the sumptuous birthday cake!

The birthday cake was equipped with re-lighting candles, I might add (always a hit with my crew of small actors!)

It was a lovely evening!
**********

Then, there was the actual anniversary of the day I was born.
I spent most of the day with Husband-of-Mine.
There was lunch in the city:

There was a unique sidewalk rendition of my song for the day, beautiful in its "Happy Birthday" generosity, played for me by a total stranger (whose mother seemed intent on having him perform; and me encouraging the performance, as well).

I also basked in a  birthday massage by this friendly masseur.










I was with this daughter-of-mine (the Dark-haired One) who had a masseuse working on her back and shoulders right there in the chair beside me.





Then there was this: a would-be Happy Birthday song sung to me, had the Itty-Bitty Actor not changed his mind about the whole endeavor.

Supper was with the HM at a favorite Asian restaurant.

In addition, there were lots of you (Readers Dear) and even some other  well-wishers communicating their "Happy Birthday" thoughts and paper communications and actual, open-and-enjoy physical presents (in addition to physical presence in some cases)!

Wow.

I'm thinking this Old Age thing might conceivably add up to even bigger birthdays in the future!

*****************

Still Climbing

Dear Reader, I'm here to let you know that I extricated myself from the fix that you found me in a few days back.

Or, was it a few weeks back?! (Greased Lightening!--that's how my dear old dad used to describe TIME, when he had reached an advanced age, such as mine]).

So, after sniffing the scent of burnt rubber, and pulling off the road, I had called the young man to whom I was scheduled to show an apartment, and I had explained the fact that I was stranded with a flat tire.  When he heard my predicament, this young man had offered,
"You're just a half-mile away? I'll come put your spare tire on for you!"

"Well, uh..."  I stammered.  This was a first!  I knew I could call AAA*.  But...there was that dinner date...and, and...

"Okay!" I said.  "If you're sure you want to."

Soon the would-be tenant showed up, along with his sister (who is already a tenant of mine). This bodes well, I thought.  Perhaps things will move quickly!  (Reader Dear, I didn't expect it to go like greased lightening, but, you know...).

It was coming-home-from-school time, traffic of all kinds was streaming by (there were Amish school children, who, I might point out, likely will never need to deal with burnt rubber tires!)


Well, then...argh...the would-be tenant couldn't get the spare tire out of the rear of the car, couldn't unbolt the plastic "tray" that held the tools and covered the tire.  After he'd worked on it for a while, I thought about calling the guy who deals with all the plumbing problems for me at the apartments.  He's a long-time friend and lives just a quarter-mile away from the spot I now found myself in.

I called Ron, the plumber guy.  He joined the crew.
Turns out, nobody knew what to do!

As I made a call to AAA, the two guys (Ron and the would-be tenant) at the back of my car decided to beat the plastic tray into bits.

It was loud!  I had a hard time hearing the AAA dispatcher.  "Call me before you send someone," I shouted.  "I might get lucky with my good Samaritans!"   Sure enough, Reader Dear, just as the dispatcher called me back and was telling me who it was that was coming to my assistance, the two who had been beating away at the problem triumphantly removed the tire and set to installing it.

****
I'm going to jump forward in time, Dear Reader.  Since it's moving at such a clip, anyway, why try to catch up with every little trivial detail?

I gave a very speedy showing of the apartment.  I called that Husband-of Mine and we met at the spot where his route to the restaurant and my route home intersected.  I leaped into his car, and off we went.  The roads were clogged with rush-hour traffic!

As you may have guessed, Dear Reader, we were late for the dinner date.
ONE MINUTE late!**
*********

*American Automobile Association (to which one can subscribe for "roadside assistance"

**"You can't afford another speeding ticket!" I loudly cautioned the HM. "You're liable to lose your license! It's not worth it! Slow down!"***

**********

***While it might have added an interesting twist to the plot, I'm here to thankfully tell you, Dear One, that though the HM did not heed my advice, neither did he get caught for speeding!  We enjoyed a delightful dinner with friends, and arrived home feeling fine, and with the HM's driving license intact. So, hurrah for "All's well that ends well"

Keep your fingers crossed, however (if you so kindly would, Reader Dear)  as to,  "Be sure your sins will find you out!"

The Scent of Burning Rubber

Reader Dear, is not a pleasant scent.  I've never seen a candle, room freshener, or even a stick of deodorant labeled "Burnt Rubber".*  But, alas, when things start to spiral out of control sometimes that's the scent that ends up telling the story.  It can make one believe that one has just fallen into a big old pile of rotten bad luck.  But, let me hasten to tell you the tale.

Yesterday, my day was full.  Activities and responsibilities came one after another with little room to spare.  Calm down, calm down, I told myself.  Just keep moving along and you'll be fine.  And, utilizing a rare case of optimism, I took my word for it.

However, Dear Reader,  there was the twist.  Ah, yes.  The Twist*.

All I needed to do was run to the apartments (Surely you will recall, Dear Reader of Mine, the rental tales).I had set a time to show an apartment to an interested would-be renter.  Then I would dash back home and leave with that Husband-of-Mine for a dinner date with friends.  The restaurant was nearly a half-hour's drive away.  I made sure I was quite ready to leave for the dinner date prior to leaving for the apartment showing.  Traffic is very heavy in the late afternoon hours, we all know.

Still, I could make it!  Appointment to show apartment: 4:00.  Dinner: 5:30.

Backing from the driveway I suddenly thought of my phone.
Did I have it? Was it buried in my purse?
I tried searching with one hand  (the purse has four zippered pockets; what absurdity) while driving with the other (happy to have two hands, but three or even four could have been subtly suggested to the Creator by Adam, if not Eve, herself).

Speeding up the tale (while slowing the car) I abruptly pulled off the road for a better search.  I hit a large rock.  I discovered the phone truly was missing.  I pulled back onto the road, backed up slowly, nervously, and carefully.  I re-entered the driveway, re-entered the house, retrieved my phone, got back on the road.  If I sped up ever so slightly, I'd still make it to the apartments by four o'clock.

Except.  What was this?!  The car was throwing a  tantrum, difficult to steer.  No, no, I tried to convince myself.  It must be my imagination. (Optimism, however, as I continued on down the road, was beginning to seep away like air from a slashed tire). The steering and the noise got ever more disturbing.  I crept on, hoping to make the complete four-and-a-half mile drive to the destination before giving up.

Four miles into the drive I got the clear and distinct smell of burnt rubber.  BURNT RUBBER!  Furthermore, the car began to shake and rattle most fearsomely.  I could tell there was something seriously wrong with the right front quadrant.  Was the whole wheel coming off the car?

As all sensible drivers would do, I stopped the car (yes, yes, Reader Dear, I know an argument could be made for that thing that you're thinking--sooner would have been better! Truly sensible drivers would have put on the brakes earlier! [ I'm going to just ignore that])  I put on my four-way blinkers.  I called the would-be renter to inform him that I was a mere half-mile away, but couldn't be there as scheduled.

...to be continued...

*The candle I've got burning right now is labeled: "Richly Scented Candle. Paperwhite Vanilla". Ahhh...

Do You Recall that Saxophone Concert

that the HM and I attended about five months ago, Reader Dear?

Please know that I will not fault you if you are exclaiming, "A concert five months ago?! Merciful Musical Mutterings, how am I to remember one particular concert out of all the various ones you're forever running to, subsequently posting to your blog?!"

Well, here's the thing.  The HM and I, we were not aware of the fall and winter Community Concerts that have been taking place locally for years and years (decades and decades, actually. Believe it or not, these concerts have taken place for scores and scores of years. It's true).  Had our friends not shared tickets with us in late winter,  we'd still be lounging on the sofa at home, possibly watching TV, during six Wednesday evenings throughout this current season of concerts.  What folly!




The HM and I, we now have season tickets.  They are such a bargain.



Next things next, Listener Dear, I must inform you that you'll be hearing about concerts all year long now--these indoor ones in the fall-winter-spring and the outdoor ones in the summer.  Get ready!



Concert One of the current season was held a few  weeks ago.  It was performed by an Irish-born man and three women who sang a lot of opera pieces.  We were asked to refrain from recording the music, but then at one point we were asked to join in.  With the HM singing there beside me, I decided I'd record the HM's  voice.

If you happen to hear Ciaran's voice as well, Listener Dear, I suppose I cannot be held responsible.

 It's not often one has two persons singing along together (in person, in such close proximity) with such feeling, regarding falling in love with the one listening  (though I can't say it's never happened before).

After the concert, there was the usual activity.
The buying of CD's was welcomed, of course.  I chose the one that included both Danny Boy and Shenandoah, and asked for an autograph. 

And then I chose a photo with the "acclaimed actor, singer, voice healer whose performances have been said to warm the heart and touch the soul."

Hmm. Yes.  I believe it's true--his singing warmed my heart and touched my soul.    Sorry you missed it, Listener Dear.*
*********
*If you care to have your heart touched and your soul warmed, please search out a performance by Ciaran Sheehan.


***********

It's a Toss-up

It was Day Two.
I was settled in for the duration.
My plan was to spend the day in bed, rumpled sheets beneath me, tissue box beside me, cough drop packet nearby, laptop atop my lap.

But, first, of course, I needed fortifications.
I shuffled downstairs and made myself a cup of coffee.
I tore a banana off the bunch.

I carried the coffee, the banana, the phone charger and a back-up box of tissues laboriously upstairs.
I settled in.
I was so proud of myself.

Ahem.  Pride, they say, goeth before a spill.*

Coffee, they say (though perhaps it's not a widespread bit of wisdom) will splash out of a lidded mug if one's trying to handle the removal of the lid while sneezing.  To put it simply, Reader Dear, I spilled coffee directly onto the keyboard of my laptop.  Quickly, I thrust the box of tissues and the half-peeled banana and the phone aside set down the mug hurried to shake the laptop over the bathroom sink.  I shook it and shook it.  I wiped it clean.

No harm done! I told myself, out loud and emphatically.

I spent the rest of the day staring out the window and sneezing
I read a book.
I tried to pretend I was living in the 1800's.

Day Three was quite similar.

Day Four I cautiously had lunch with HM and friends.

Day Five I rose early.  I carried my pitiful laptop to the Apple Store at the local mall.

In (what could have been a lovely coincidence, had I wished to buy the latest model of Apple Iphone) the store had just opened for business with the latest model of Apple Iphone to sell.  Simply put, the store was mobbed!

*****
Inching.
Inching.



******

Reader Dear, I've tossed that cold!  I'm well again.  Alas, I had to toss the laptop as well.  I threw away the cough drop packet, gathered every last used tissue from dresser top and bed and floor and threw them away, tidied up the pile of magazines and books, carried the empty mug(s) downstairs, washed the sheets, spent one-half of a day at the Apple Store, carried home a brand-new laptop, spent the equivalent of half a day trying desperately to figure out how to make the brand new laptop  behave at least as well as the coffee-besmirched one had done before I had to toss it.

******

 I'm inching along, trying to catch up.

******
Spill: rough synonym for "fall"

You May Think,

Reader Dear, that the Devil is in the details.  But I'm here to contend that the Devil is in the used, wadded-up, wet tissues I've just thrown into the trash bin!

Aargh.  The Common Cold has Conquered!

1. It has conquered my will to get out of bed.
2. It has conquered my will to dress myself in something other than pajamas.
3. It has conquered my will to do anything more productive than make myself a cup of coffee.
4. It has conquered my will to look at the clock as it ticks toward noon.
5. It has conquered my will to stop thinking of 1:00 p.m. as the "new noon".
6. It has conquered my will to stop thinking of myself as Mother Theresa for staying home all day and not spreading the virus around.
7.  It has NOT, however, (no, I will NOT allow it! the Devil be damned) conquered my will to stop making this list and start thinking of things to do that are actually worthwhile and productive and helpful to the world...*

THE END!
(As I grab for a tissue, and produce another sneeze that would break the Richter Scale)


*You know,  a la Mother Theresa, for real.
Or, maybe Michelle Obama.
Er, well, at least like the next door neighbor woman, who is working in her flower beds.

Ditto on the Ditto

Annually, my Dear Reader, it appears that I repeat the fun stuff a lot.

There's this, for instance:  Gerry's Pig Roast

This time I did not thank the pig, and, in fact, tried to avoid looking into his or her face.  I am a bit ashamed and have tried to make up for it since the pig roast by eating mostly vegetarian meals.  However, oink, oink, was that pig yummy! Thanks again, Gerry!


********
,And, of course, unless things go very badly, we each have a birthday each year.

Here is the HM's:  The (Very Nearly) Annual Party at the Park.

Susquehannock State Park, in this case.

All my little actors and my Little Actress were in attendance, along with parents.

 Highlight for at least three of the dozen folks at this party was the downhill rides aboard the riding vehicle that the man with the birthday brought along for anyone of the appropriate size to enjoy.




Reader Dear, these three, in an historical upset,  were more carried away by the rides than by the chocolate birthday cake!

This greatly pleased the HM.



******

Gee Whiz, Gotta Wrap Up

this vacation story.  It's almost Fall.  School has long since started.  Halloween junk is beginning to fill the store displays.

******
So, here's the fond farewell to the vacation house in the Shenandoah Valley, way back on Labor Day weekend, and a few details to the story that I neglected to tell:
On the lawn of the vacation house, standing peacefully under a shade tree, was a statue of the Holy Mother of God (Madre de Dios, Reader Dear).  I don't know when she arrived, but she was still there when we left. 

*********
During our stay at this vacation house, in addition to the caterpillar (who may or may not live there) we noticed another fine creature moving about. Was he one of the caretakers? I wondered.

He didn't say.

**********

Elder Brother brought a fig bush to the vacation house for me.  Together we named this type of fig 
the Warwick.  He has many of these fig bushes at his farm.  They were all started from the bushes that grow at the old home place.  The place, Dear Reader, I've shown you many times.  It was our growing-up home by the Warwick River.* 

I carried the Warwick along home, and have been eating from it ever since!









**********

Our very final event-slash-food-slash-fun as a group of vacationers was lunch at an Indian Restaurant,

and a visit to Shirley's Popcorn shop, just up the street.

Three of my small actors left the shop with plenty of fortification for the long trip home.

*********

Only HM and I returned to the vacation house for one final night.  I sat up late, diligently attempting to capture the sound of a train whistle for you, Listener Dear.  Failing, I tried again in the misty morning, which was filled with sound, but nary a train whistle.

****
At the end, approaching the "check-out" time of ten a.m., I was still scrambling around, cleaning up the kitchen, emptying the refrigerator and the dishwasher, sweeping the floors, emptying the trash cans, transporting dirty laundry, dealing with the garbage, texting my children, "Does anyone know the whereabouts of the combination lock that was on the gate to the pool?!", searching-searching-searching for the lock, watering my newly-begotten fig bush, packing to go home.  By the tine the HM and I were driving away from the vacation house, down the long, sloping driveway...I needed a vacation!*

*It's just a joke, Reader Dear.
Only a joke.  After all, all the cleaning up was simply labor that I hadn't done the day before, you know--on LABOR Day!

Yep, Still at the Vacation Spot

And, now for The Big She-Bang!

My Amiga Preciosa, who lives in the very same valley where this vacation house stands, had suggested (when she heard we were coming there) that we get all of our follow-afters together for a big reunion.  It sounded like a great idea!  "Yes," I said.  "Oh, yes!"

Consequently, we had a great deal of communicating  back and forth.  My friend had invited the whole (enormous) group (all descendants) to come to her (and P's) house for the get-together.

But, I had said, "Why not come to this vacation house? There is a pool!  And a hot tub!  And the house is so BIG!"  

"Well, hmmm, okay," said my friend.

But then, she was second-guessing.  And, I was conferring with my daughters.

Which location? What day? Which  meal? What food?

We finally agreed on having the get-together at the vacation house.

My friend said,
"Here's what I'll bring: A Taco Salad, everything served separately so everyone can build their dinner however they choose!" (And she sent me a photo to help with the decision).  It sounded (and looked) like a terrific idea!

Keep in mind, Reader Dear, that this Big She-Bang was going to be the very first of its kind (you know, with these particular people [and during the past twenty-odd (or perhaps thirty-odd) years])! And, if everyone attended, there would be thirty-plus people.

"I think you'd better come (across states) and visit me," I told my friend. "We need to have a Summit Meeting to discuss this event!" 

Reader Dear, the Summit Meeting did not occur.  But, you know, of course, that the large  reunion did happen.  And, I'm here to tell you about it.   Both of the "shes" who planned it deemed it a huge success!
*****

It was late afternoon, on the day of the Big She-Bang.  The actual meal, served up, was one of the first successes of the evening. I'm afraid, Dear Viewer, you can't see the crocks filled with meat, and the beans, and the plate of avocados and the corn and tomatoes and cucumber slices and onion and grated cheese...and, well...the food in itself was a big deal!

HM and I had stopped at Costco and grabbed a few boxes of ice cream and chocolate syrup and a case of drinks.  I don't need to tell you that , I , most certainly, had the easy part in this extravaganza!

Gracias a Mi Amiga

The food was terrific!  The weather was fabulous--temps fell through the 80's--with sunshine!  My Horse Man found a fellow horse enthusiast! My children connected with the adult versions of these friends from childhood!  Even my shyest small actor did some mingling!

There was lots of eating! Lots of talking!  Lots of laughing! Lots of jumping in the pool!

Fortunately, we had a photographer among us who (in addition to me snapping pics all around) recorded some of our moments in time.

I'm crediting her with our fun and frantic final photos of the forty of us (not quite that many, but who's counting?!)

Take One

Take Two

Take Three! 

*****

****
Then, Thank You, Thank you!
Good-bye, Good-bye!**

**Oh, yes.  Let's do it again!

There was a lot

that was "non-ditto" about this vacation.

First and foremost, Viewer Dear, there were two new attendees.
My Itty-Bitty Actor and my new Little Actress had never been to this spot before.

*******

Fig Bush Story to come Later

Then, too, there were my two brothers, who joined us for a dinner; neither of these two had visited with us at this spot the last time we were here.  And, they brought along three other dear family members; likewise, these three were here at this vacation spot for the first time.

(You may notice, Dear Viewer, there is a lot of talking and laughing.  I feel that it pairs well with food and drink)

Here is another new visitor we had during this stay (This visitor may not consider herself to be "visiting", however. It could very well be that it's her permanent home, though she did not act as though we were intruding.

Well, and then there's more.
Oh, yes, Reader Dear, there's more!

Also new on this visit was "The Big She-Bang"!*
* It was a big shebang!**
**Preview:

***Stay tuned!