Monthly Archives: August 2013

it’s my story, and i’m sticking to it


returning to school this week for a bit of professional development. gearing up for the return of my kinders in just a couple of weeks. had a case of ‘mistaken identity’ this morning that made it clear that i’m getting back into school mode. 

reached into my purse, and this is what i expected to put on my lips:





instead, this is what i actually put on my lips:




good thing it is ‘disappearing purple’ color. 


Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.  – Albert Einstein 

i have a dream cruise.



cruising on woodward avenue as the sun goes down

it was wonderful to have once again attended the annual woodward avenue dream cruise in detroit, the motor city. home to the big 3 automakers. it’s the largest car cruise in all of north america, with cars driving from the river in downtown detroit, all the way to the north end of this historic avenue in pontiac. 

there’s no need to know anything about cars or history to enjoy this event. here you’ll see every kind of vehicle imaginable: detroit muscle cars, famous cars, many rare classics, and more that are classics only in the owner’s eyes. all along the road, for many miles, will be people of every age and kind, sharing in the pure enjoyment of the day, with crazy events, creatures in costume, classic car-cruising food, and happiness, all coming together and spilling over onto the avenue. 

on this day, differences are set aside and all the cities on the route, tv and radio stations, auto companies, people, and local businesses, work together to celebrate detroit’s heritage and its contributions to the world. even with all of detroit’s struggles, it’s so amazing to see people come together to celebrate each other and their city’s triumphs, and it shows their strength and refusal to give up, even through hard times. t’s always been one of the most open, happy, and pure celebratory events i’ve ever been lucky enough to be a part of, and i’m proud to say i’m from the motor city.


pre-cruise eve, teaching the kids how to play craps at their own mini-event


I know a lot about cars, man. I can look at any car’s headlights and tell you exactly which way it’s coming.  – Mitch Hedberg

Never have more children than you have car windows. Erma Bombeck




that was zen, this is now.


as i headed out to plant flowers in my little secret zen garden, tucked away behind the cottage where i live, i noticed that something was different.  here, in my quiet sanctuary, the place where i can put my feet up, read a good book, listen to music, light a candle, stare into space, share a quiet conversation, and enjoy a lovely glass of wine – something was missing.  

just a couple of weeks ago, after my return from the southern hemisphere, i had put up a simple string of buddhist flags. the flags are not valuable, nor are they rare, they are simply to remind one of the simplicity of life, to be grateful, to offer hope, and to remain there until they unravel and wither away, once again returning back into the universe. symbolism does not get much more low key or simple than this. 

 it was at this moment, i realized that someone had stolen the flags from weathered fence, right in the midst of my tiny refuge. while it may have been the mischief-making squirrels and other woodland creatures that share the space with me, who were behind this caper, i highly doubted it, as they do not have the best fine motor skills, nor thumbs.  as for the wind, or other act of nature, the flags would have fallen within the confines of my fence,  or there would have been some remnant of them, had they had a violent run-in with mother nature,  which i deduced after surveying the surrounding area, using my c.s.i. skills.

this left one explanation. a human had come into my special place to heist the flags. i found this to be hilariously ironic and i had a good laugh standing there thinking about it. karma is a bitch, i thought. you must have needed them more than i did for some reason only known to yourself.  probably someone who ascribed to the buddhist approach to life would find a conflict with the very act of stealing, but perhaps they still had a bit more evolving to do. later, i walked back downtown to the himilayan store, to purchase another string of flags to replace them, hoping these ones would remain just a bit longer this time. 


the scene of the crime, sans the flags


here are 3 wisemen, whom i admire, each with their own take on the situation:

Nothing is permanent.  ~ dalai lama

The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief. – william shakespeare 

Perhaps you should look at it differently. you have given a gift to the universe. -himilayan sherpa guy who owns the store 














a kiss is just a kiss. unless it’s a miss.


when he was just 6, one of my kindergarteners handed me this story that he had written using his invented spelling. . as he read it aloud to me, i transcribed it into more traditional adult spelling. i found it to be heartfelt and very funny and i’ve saved it among my treasured writings . recently, i gave him a copy of his story, as he heads off to college, a little older and perhaps little more worldly and wiser. 









original invented spelling version





transcribed version


Women still remember the first kiss after men have forgotten the last.

Remy de Gourmont


what has 4 wheels and writes?





i am fascinated, time and again, by my garbagemen. they’ve taken on the role of old-school catholic nuns – strict with their rules, calling me out in front of everyone, and trying to teach me using a tough love approach, though they use ink rather than chalk as their medium of choice, and rap my knuckles with pens rather than wooden rulers.  


i am always amazed, that for some reason, there are times when they see fit to stop on their route and write me a note, leaving sticky notes on top of my bins. these notes tell me what i’ve done wrong: bins too close together, wrong item in the wrong bin, green bin to the left of the blue bin, trash not in alphabetical order, and god knows what else, a myriad of my garbage sins.   

i find it hilarious that they will take the time to stop and write me these notes rather than just moving a bin over 8.5 inches if need be, taking the trash, and going on with their day. no, instead, they leave it full and with a note atop, promising to be back the next week at the appointed hour to attempt to pick it up again, when my mistake has been corrected. i imagine, at that point they figure i will have done my penance and they will have forgiven me my sins and they are willing and able help me to dispose of my trash, so that i can start anew with a clean slate once again. these guys are all forgiving and have no limit to trying to teach me to do better, and i plan to give them a lovely pen set for christmas this year. 


 I lived through the garbage. I might as well dine on the caviar . Beverly Sills


it don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing


going through my mother’s papers – organizing, passing on, saving gems – i came across an old newspaper, circa 1962, and loved everything about this article:


“Show me a man with a great golf game, and I’ll show you a man who has been neglecting something.”
-John F. Kennedy 


shopping with methuselah at home depot



None are so old as those who have outlived enthusiasm.  – Henry David Thoreau


while waiting in line to buy some late summer flowers, i heard a sweet voice over my shoulder. i turned to look, and the man behind me, who appeared to be at least 157+ years old, was talking to me.  his joy was infectious, and left us both happy, after such a short and random encounter.

methus: ‘wow, a pretty girl has bought me a flower!’

me: ‘yes, it is for you.’

methus: ‘only charge her 1.98 please.’

(checkout woman looked confused. looked at the price tag again. meths laughed out loud.) 

methus: ‘have you been good?’

me: ‘yes i have.’

methus: ‘i expect not.’

me: ‘are you having a good day?’

methus: ‘hell, i don’t know. i wouldn’t even know the difference.’

(another hearty laugh as i gave him one of my flowers and we each went our separate ways) 


Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been. – Mark Twain