Mrs. B at Nineteen!

A friend of mine posted this on Facebook. Thought I'd share with those of you who do not frequent Facebook.

This is me (left) and a childhood friend at another friend's high school graduation party.

Ah, to have those chubby little cheeks again!

Mrs. B

Parade of Homes: Part One

I can't remember when exactly I started doing this, but, instead of counting sheep when I cannot sleep (something, really, that never made much sense to me), I take a mental tour through all of the homes I have lived in. I start out with the one I can remember everything about (or mostly everything); this being the first house we lived in after we moved to San Diego in 1969.

I do recall bits and pieces; odds and ends, about earlier houses, but, interestingly enough, I remember more of things to do with the neighbors/the neighborhood than those actual houses.

For example, the house on Sunset Lane in West Lafayette, IN where my sister and I lived with our Father and Mom, I remember it was next to a energy station and there was a constant buzz in the air. My not-yet Step Dad and his first wife lived on the same street, several houses away. I remember sitting outside at a picnic table there in what was like a breeze-way. And, of course, I remember being knocked off the back-end of my sister's tricycle by a huge standard poodle named Cocoa. How could I NOT remember this as Cocoa, after straddling my chest, bent his head down and bit through the lobe of my left ear. My mom kept the news clipping and I still have it, "Girl, 3 bit by neighborhood dog". Obviously, there wasn't much exciting going on in that town!

The Sunset Lane House

Amy and Ann at Sunset Lane 1964

Amy and Father at Sunset Lane 1965

The next house, the first that my Mom and Step Dad lived in together, was over in Lafayette (as opposed to WEST Lafayette; crossing a bridge over the Wabash meant the difference between the two) was on Carlisle Road. Once again, I don't recall overly much about the house other than snippets. Sitting on the back of the couch watching "The Wizard of Oz" with my sister Ann (duly terrified of the witch and her flying monkeys). Hanging out in this incredible backyard with an astonishing garden with my sisters (now plural as the marriage brought me another sister) and Ann's friend Debbie Boyd. Sitting in Mrs. Boyd's kitchen waiting for her freshly baked bread to come out of the oven. To this day, I remember her killer bread! Vague recollection of spending time in the house behind ours with a boy my age named Simon.

Kathy, Amy and Ann at Carlisle Road 1968

Ann, Debbie and Amy at Carlisle Road 1969

There is probably something more scientific regarding memory than this, but, I think when your memory is still young; meaning, there isn't much yet to remember, what you tend to recall are memories of feelings, events, people; nothing terribly specific. As you mature, your mind is able to hold onto details and put them into their proper place. Hence, the earlier houses I lived in, I don't remember things like how many bedrooms there were, the color of the carpet or where the bathroom was located but I do remember the people surrounding me and certain things that happened. Obviously had I remained in either of those houses for a longer period of time, those things would have stuck with me, just like I can remember every detail of my Grandma's house on Highland because, even though my very first visit there occurred when I was an infant, my last was when I was in my thirties.

Dad, Grandpa, Grandma, Mom and Amy at the

Highland House 1969

Mom, Grandma, Amy and Rebecca at the

Highland House 1994

So, our first house in San Diego on Terrace Drive. That is where my ritualistic Parade of Homes commences when I cannot sleep. With it, and every house the follows, I allow myself to walk up to the front door and go inside. I look to the left, to the right; taking note of the various rooms and even small details like a window seat over there or the placement of the dining room table. With each house, with each room, memories flood and I might find myself a bit distracted. Depending on the mood and what memories chose to come, I may end up in one house for a very long time indeed. Sometimes, in fact, I'll fall asleep never having left the Terrace Drive house.

Sometimes while in the Terrace Drive house, I spend time thinking about the two elderly ladies that lived, by themselves, on either side of us. I liked one "better" than the other, Mrs. Aiken. Her house was pretty large (compared to ours, I guess, which was sort of like a bungalow) and she had this really neat ottoman in her living room that opened up to reveal a stash of toys and games she let me play with. She'd give me treats in her tidy kitchen. The other lady, Mrs. M (I can't recall her last name) lived in a house similar to ours. She also would give me treats but I don't think I had as much fun with her as I did with Mrs. Aiken. Looking back, I do believe they had a sort of adversarial relationship and used me to poke each other; "Take that, Mrs. M., the child is visiting with ME today!" Now, I wonder why; and also why they were always alone. Where were their families? Their grandchildren? I'm sure there were stories, there always are. And, how interesting that my Mom allowed me to go pester them on a routine basis! I cannot imagine anything like that going on these days! But, of course, that was over forty years ago and things have really changed in this world.

Amy and Mom at Terrace Drive. 1969

Note: Mrs. M's house is on the left!

We had this nasty all-black cat named Warlock when we lived on Terrace Drive. Seriously, he was AWFUL. For whatever reason, he took a particular dislike to my sister Ann and would purposefully hide underneath the dining room table, stalking her. When she'd walk by, he'd leap out and pounce on her legs, all claws out. She forever had scratches up and down her skinny white legs (yet another memory!) Because this was before Mom and Dad wised up to leaving cats outside, Warlock met an end he more than likely deserved; squashed on the entrance ramp to I-15 (which was literally a hop, skip and jump down the street).

In the same dining room where Warlock once had his lair, me and a group of my friends chased each other around the table with balloons tied to our ankles. It was my 6th birthday party and my Mom had come up with this brilliant idea; we all had the balloons on our ankles, we went around in a circle and attempted to stomp on the balloons of the girl ahead of us. Once your balloons were stomped, you were out of the circle. The girl with last balloons standing (so to speak) won the game and a prize.

My brother Jon was born when we lived in that house. I woke up one September morning to discover our usual babysitter was there instead of Mom and Dad (we still called him Uncle Butch at that point in time, though). I still remember that the babysitter was tying my shoes when she informed me and Ann that we now had a baby brother.

Ann made me an angel food cake with white frosting and poinsettia decorations for my 7th birthday.

Amy at Terrace Drive with cake by Ann 1970

Dad tells me I learned to really, really read sitting in the window seat with the Little House series. One of his memories is working in the kitchen, hearing me read out loud. One of my chores while living in that house was to empty the trash and clean the ashtrays. I took great pride in being the best ashtray cleaner ever. I had a ritual and an order to the process, the last ashtray I cleaned was always the big heavy clear glass one in the TV room in the back of the house.

Sisters at Terrace Drive: Kathy, Amy and Ann

Ah, having begun this Blog entry, I've realized I have a lot more to remember and write about. So, I'll carry this forward in the next post, as, it's time to get cracking with my present day.

Mrs. B

I'd STILL Hold His Hand!

This picture, which I'd never seen before, came courtesy of a family friend. It is (l-r); my Father, me, Bobby Jr. (the family friend) and his wonderful dad, Bob Sr. We were at a work picnic/party of my Father and Bob Sr's employer at a place called Indiana Beach.

The year was 1967 and Mrs. B was about 3 1/2 years old.

I don't remember it, but, I'm absolutely in love with this picture...and the fact I'm holding my Father's hand :-)

Love ya, Father!

Mrs. B

Where I Was Six Years Ago Led Me To Where I Am Now

Mid-August (especially hot and steamy ones) will always call to mind my adventures in Italy six years ago. I know I've posted bits and pieces of this before (an accounting of my first few extremely frustrating days in Italy); yet, I post it again as a reminder to myself (and perhaps others) that your life can take off in a completely new direction if you simply turn away from the way you are heading and go somewhere else, instead.

Mrs. B

My Apartment; Verona, Italy
I made it to Verona…but my suitcase did not. Doesn’t this figure? I’m trying not to panic…yet, or freak out, because there is no phone in this room and the landlady does not speak any English. The airline is supposed to call her before they deliver it. Sigh. I need to go get a phone card and find a phone to use to check up on this. Talk about frustrating, but somehow, I’m really not surprised.
Despite this, I managed to get to the train station then to the apartment. It’s ok, but sort of loud. I’m really glad I brought ear plugs. I hope it’s a safe area because I’m on the first floor and it’s hot, no AC, so, windows have to be open. Oh well. I’m a bit out of sorts right now, mostly because my bag didn’t show up!

Later
I’m feeling a tad overwhelmed. No word on my suitcase and I still don’t know how to get to the school tomorrow! I’m tired of these clothes and I’ve really not done too much to get acclimated to this place. I was so exhausted, I slept until noon. Sigh.
Well, I’ll go out and see what I can find out. Maybe get a bus schedule, at least. If worse comes to worse, I can take a taxi tomorrow to school. Hopefully they will be able to help me. I sure hope I don’t have to buy six weeks worth of clothes, etc. I’ll try and be positive. I’m here to grow, after all; to learn something about myself.
There is a small child wailing away nearby. Guess what? It’s just as annoying here as it would be at home.
No use thinking of home, it just gets me sad.
Random Thoughts Written in Piazza delle Erbe; Verona, Italy
Day One
· It was beautiful flying over the Dolomites. They looked a lot like the Matterhorn at Disneyland, but a countless number of them. It was hard to tell the difference between the clouds and the mountains!
· It really sucks that my suitcase went missing. This threw me for a loop! This, and the fact Signora G. speaks no English! I got sort of sad and took a nap. I felt a bit better, but I still have a lot to figure out for Monday; one sort of stress traded for another, I guess.
· A light bulb went out in my room already! I have tons of questions. Tomorrow, I will try to call the airline regarding my suitcase (I bought a carta telefonica) and also find a TI to get a bus schedule and hopefully directions to Idea Verona (right now, I’m clueless).
· If the luggage situation isn’t resolved by Monday, hopefully Idea Verona can help. I also need to pay them for the room.
· Maybe my room will grow on me. I hope it’s safe.
· I’ll feel better when I have my things!
· I am sitting in Piazza delle Erbe. At least I am finding my way around. There are many, many people out for the stroll. I feel like I look like crap. Thank God I packed my shorts. Everyone else really looks great. I’m trying not to get paranoid that all these lovely, fashionable people are looking down their Romanesque noses at me. I want to shout, “I do clean up nicely!”
· This whole fiasco regarding my suitcase must be one of those adventures my “Gutsy Women” book referred to. I think that little suitcase has some bad Karma (remember Fort Wayne; when it didn’t show up to mom and dad’s for almost SEVEN days one Christmas vacation?)
· But, hey. Here I am. In Italy. I made it, at least! And, it’s as beautiful as I remembered. Verona is a nice place (bel posto).
· It’ll get better.
· Did I mention it’s troppo caldo? Sweltering comes to mind.
· I think once I know what the hell I am doing, I’ll really like it here.
· I’m trying to communicate with people, too. Faltering, but I’ve got to start.
· It’s probably not so hot that I’ve had 2 Campari & sodas. Well, e cosi! It’ll help me sleep, anyway.
· There’s a cool breeze now…yey!
Later

It’s amazing what becomes important when things go awry. Right now, all I care about is getting my suitcase.
I did venture out and found where the school is. At the very least, I will arrive there tomorrow morning (hopefully I’ll wake up as I don’t have the alarm clock) a bit stinky, perhaps, but I’ll get there.
I met a girl from Madrid, Eva, who is also here to study Italian. She is going to another school, though. She spoke good English and was very kind. She helped me to call the airport and I found out that my suitcase is in Verona now and is supposed to be delivered today. I don’t know when and I’m a bit concerned about how it’ll get inside this building.
I went upstairs to talk to the landlady, her name is Renata. I stayed up there about ½ hour or so. I met her husband Renzo, as well. They were both nice to me; offered me beer, some fruit and a cigarette. Unfortunately Renzo doesn’t speak English, either. I think I picked up from our halting attempts to communicate that we have to wait for the suitcase to be delivered, we can’t go to the airport to get it. I think they’re waiting around on my account. I feel badly about that and will have to remember this and get them a gift when I leave.
Even though I don’t know near enough in Italian, I’m glad I know what I do know. Thank God I learned the word for suitcase! I told them in 4 weeks I will know more Italian. Hopefully, we’ll be able to sit down one day and laugh together about this fiasco!
Eva gave me her cell phone number so I may call her too at some point. It sounds as if her apartment is much nicer; AC, a pool, etc. Well, I wanted to live like the locals and I think I’m experiencing this.
I found an Internet Café and also a place to maybe buy a cell phone. It might be worth the expense to get one.
I haven’t done any sightseeing or taken any pictures yet. I’m too out of sorts and I know I’ll have plenty of time to do this over the next four weeks.
So far I’ve learned several things. It pays to reach out to people, even if it’s difficult to communicate. Also, it’s a good idea to pack lightly enough to be able to not have to check baggage!
I’ve also learned I have a hell of a lot to learn. And, here no one cares where I come from, how much money I make, or what type of car I drive. I have to rely on my personality and the kindness of strangers!
I haven’t been eating much; too anxious. I have been drinking a lot of water and smoking way too much. Once I get my stuff, I’ll head to the store.
I’m not as homesick today, mostly because I’ve been too busy trying to figure out my next steps/plan of action. I know things will be different 4 weeks from now.
I’ve taken the tact of keeping a low profile. I look awful; no make-up, hair not done, etc. This way, I figure no one will pay any attention to me. Not that I’d grab attention, given all of the other beautiful women here.
It’s time to nap.
Later

My suitcase did not arrive. I spent a fairly miserable, self-pity filled evening alone. I was afraid to go out lest my suitcase chose to arrive at the moment I left. Because I didn’t go out, it didn’t show up. That’s the way things work.
No matter what today, I have to figure out what’s going on with this. Because of the language barrier, I’m not 100% sure my landlady was telling me they’d deliver it or if she was telling me, “Sorry, too bad, figure it out yourself!”
I hope the people at the school will help me get this taken care of. I don’t think I can manage one more day like this.
I’ll try to think positive but right now I’m starting to wonder if all of this was such a hot idea.
Random Thoughts Written at Caffe al Teatro on Via Roma; Verona, Italy
· Sitting here an hour before I am due at school. This is where I met Eva yesterday. I’m wearing the same stinky clothes. This R&R Hall of Fame tee-shirt is getting a lot of mileage. I am wearing my Tommy Hilfiger blue jean shorts, too. They are probably not appropriate for school,l but I have nothing else. I refuse to wear my sweatpants and swelter to death.
General Observations
· Italians are a bit aloof. I stand out like a sore thumb and they notice and look down at me. Of course, they can’t know this isn’t how I intended to appear!
· No one looks into windows as they walk past. I’ve sat at my window for hours last night, watching. Eyes straight ahead, no glancing up, down, left, right.
· I can’t believe how noisy it is at my apartment at all hours. Street noise. Cars passing, people walking by talking, etc. Except this morning it was quiet. Funny.
· It’s real humid here. In addition to making me a sweaty, icky mess, it’s rendered my appetite to next to nothing. If anything, with this situation and all the walking (Eva said I should rent a bike), I should manage to stay in good shape.
· I used the carta telefonica this morning to call regarding my bag. It worked, amazingly enough. Too bad it hasn’t been so easy to get my bag returned to me.
· It only took me 15 minutes (or less) to walk here. Good to know. Why take the bus (except to learn, I guess)?
Later

Woo-hoo, my suitcase showed up this morning! During the afternoon break, I ran back to my apartment and was able to change clothes! Glorious! Now I feel a bit more “at home” and able to relax.
And school was fine; but when they say “Total Immersion”, that is exactly what they mean! The staff and teachers try not to speak any English. Yikes! I ended up (I think) in a very basic class. I’ll know for sure domaini.
The good news is, everyone is very nice, including most of the other students. The bad news is, I comprehend about ½ of what is being said. Ok, more like ¼!
There was a 2 hour lecture this afternoon on the city of Verona, ancient cities in general, arenas, gladiators, etc. The instructor, Andrea, (a man), speaks very fast Italian, says “va bene” a lot and reminds me of Cesar. Luckily, he also throws in some English so you can somewhat follow what he’s saying. He also gave a 2 hour walking tour of Verona which was good to get oriented. I think I understand, basically, how to get a bus ticket and where they go; also, where to buy groceries (there may be a store closer to my apartment but I haven’t found it yet) and what the best wines in Verona are. He also told us a lot about the Arena di Verona. Maybe I will see if some of the other students would like to see an opera.
I left the tour when we got close to my place. I said, “Parto, abito (the word for “over there”, which I know can’t spell, sounds like “la jew”)
I went home and unpacked/got organized. Now I’m out having dinner (pizza and a beer, I figure I deserve the beer). I’m not too worried about drinking too much over here, it’s too hot to get drunk.
Yes, it’s steamy, steamy, steamy qua. I’ve never sweated so much in my life. I need to buy a fan for my room.
Tomorrow I have to buy a notebook. They haven’t provided me one. My notes are all over the place.
I hope now that school has begun, I will start doing things in the evening with other people. I didn’t come here to hang out by myself.
I’ve made myself go to restaurants, etc., by myself and it’s ok, but, other than Eva, I’ve yet to see any other “single” women.
I would also like to find the gym, but we’ll see. I need to get the Internet thing figured out soon, too.
And, I need to remember that I am here to learn and grow.

Who knows what direction this will take?

My Old Photo Album

I have A LOT of photo albums (just check the box in the garage and the a few of the bookshelves upstairs) however there is one in particular that has always been very special to me. Why? Because it is the very first one that I went through and labeled all of the pictures (something I continue to do to this day with all those that have followed in its footsteps).

I even remember the point in time that I did this. It was 1986.

The pictures themselves are a somewhat rag-tag collection. I have a few from my early childhood, some of my brothers and sisters, my parents; even one or two of my maternal great-grandmother and HER parents (courtesy of my mom). The majority of the pictures in this album, though, are from (roughly) 1983-1986; my college years (with pictures of my brothers living their parallel lives thrown in for good measure, as well as recordings of certain family events like b-days or Christmases).

Well, this album finally bit the dust. I mean, it's been falling apart for years (hell, it IS over 20 years old) and it's had a lot of face time. It's the ONE album, despite how old it is, that isn't in the box of albums in the garage (this is where the ones of my life with my first husband reside).

So, I went to Target and bought a brandy-new album with the intention of transferring the pictures into it. Just now (well, about an hour ago), I started the process of removing the pictures from the old album. This was difficult at times since a few had been glued in (and, I'm sorry to say, a few bit the dust as they tore in half as I attempted to get them out of the album). Also, there were several that I just left in the album where they, along with the album, will meet their ultimate destiny in the garbage can (let's just say there were a few certain guys that I'd just assume NOT remember plus a few of some old friends engaged in what others might view as questionable activities (no Michael Phelps drama here, please)).

I thought, frankly, that this would be a fun way to spend a few hours this evening, but, in all truth, after I'd finished getting the pictures out, I was feeling slightly sad so I've decided to shelve the project for now (the pictures all went into several large envelopes where I'll sort through them and reorganize them for their new home at some point in time).

I guess it's normal to feel sad and/or depressed after looking at what amounted to 23 years of my life; people who are no longer with us, friends I no longer see, cherished pets (at times forgotten now) come back to life, memories of fun time long since past as well as some memories that I'd just assume not remembered. Sigh.

However, I suppose I should be thankful (and I am) that there are more people in those pictures than not who are still in my life. My parents, my siblings and several dear friends. Some of the pictures are out and out hysterical; like the one of me and my friend Patrick in a hotel room in Las Vegas all dressed up to go out on the town; I don't know who had bigger, fuzzier hair, him or me! And, the one of my friend Peri, fresh home from her first trip to NYC, wearing sunglasses that resembled the Statue of Liberty. And, the one of my friend Kathleen holding up a magazine picture of a (then very young) Ricky Schroeder and pretending to be fawning all over him. And, the one of Kathleen and me on the day we graduated from college; I have to admit, these made me smile a bit.

Still, and maybe it's because I miss Mr. B, they mostly made me melancholy. So, no more visits to the past for me, at least for now.

Mrs. B

Wee Mrs. B (40 Odd Years Ago)

Here are three videos (made from OLD 8mm) of yours truly roughly 40 years ago.

What is really something is both seeing myself doing things I vaguely remember AND in places I remember being at (e.g., Indy) but my memories are of lots of people around me and that is about it.

Thanks to family friends Megann and John for putting these together!

Mrs. B

The Office Holiday Party

So, yeah, I'm gearing up for Mr. B's office holiday party tonight. Judging from the one last year, this should be fairly fun. At least we'll get to hang out with our friends John and Marilyn; share a few drinks, eat some (probably) more than decent food.

While out walking Lucy this morning, my mind ventured off down the path of contemplating all of the office holiday parties I've been to over the course of my life. And, there have been many.

Back before I even graduated from college I worked at a small manufacturing company in San Diego. They made radar absorbent material and were, in essence, a subcontractor to some of the big defense companies. I was there in the mid eighties, back when smoking was still allowed in office buildings, as was alcohol. Because it was a relatively small outfit, we typically held our party AT the office. Usually everyone would bring in a dish to share and we probably had some sort of gift exchange. I don't quite recall ALL of the details but what I do vividly remember is the vast quantities of alcohol that would flow. One year (I think it was the year the movie "Cocktail" came out starring Tom Cruise), we had a real hoot and holler pushing people backwards onto the conference table and pouring cocktail concoctions down their throats. This was also the year when "the boss" chased me into the back of the plant with naughty thoughts in mind (this wasn't the first or the last time he did this; another thing that amazes me in looking back (especially with an HR mind frame); WHY did I ever put up with this?)

Flash forward to my years at TRW. I don't think I missed a holiday party in the 17 years I was there. Most of them were held off site in the ballrooms of nearby hotels. These all sort of blend together (with the notable exception of the time my ex husband and I stayed at the hotel for the night and I got stinking smashed, he pissed me off, and I called hotel security on him; this was BEFORE we were married and I probably should have thought later that my subconscious was likely trying to tell me something). A goodly number of the parties held during the TRW years were planned and coordinated by yours truly so you can imagine how wonderful they were! Seriously, my first job at TRW was at "Sector Staff", which meant all of the Vice Presidents attended the parties. My boss at the time, The Crazed Psycho Bitch from Hell, had a reputation for throwing spectacular parties; a rep she was not about to let me ruin. So, MONTHS before the party (as in June or July) we would start to plan out every little detail. By the time the party occurred, I was a wreck.

Much nicer were the parties we planned when I was working for my pal Col. George in Colorado Springs. His wife Jean would make lovely wreaths that we would raffle off and we typically held the party at a nice hotel, once or twice at The Broadmoor! And, there was always a Conga line going once everyone had sufficiently relaxed. Then, George and Jean moved to Omaha so I ended up attending two holiday parties each year; one in Omaha and one in Colorado Springs. The last party I attended in Colorado Springs was memorable in three ways. One: It was the final party I went to with my ex husband, Two: I danced crazily around the dance floor to the tune of "La Vida Loca" with the security manager from Falcon Air Force Base (Ken) and Three: I actually won a door prize; something that NEVER EVER happens to me (usually); it was a nice bottle of Chivas Regal with two rocks glasses that said "2000" (it was Christmas 1999). I later drank about 1/3 of that bottle in January to give me courage when I handed my ex our divorce papers.

I don't want to forget to mention that, in addition to our holiday parties at CSEO, Col. George also, on his own dime, took his direct reports out for a very very nice lunch; again, usually at The Broadmoor; a tradition his successor also maintained.

And, how could I not mention a party that I did NOT attend but I ended up hearing more about than I care to discuss? Our sister division up in Denver had a real barn burner one year. A bunch of people got thoroughly trashed (whilst most of the other attendees stayed relatively staid and sober, including my HR counterpart). The site manager; a stout, loud toad looking man named Pete (oh God, PETE; sorry, my Pete!) encouraged the drunkards to start a mock strip tease while he acted the emcee. Problem was, a few people took him seriously, in particular, a very pretty young woman who began running around the dance floor, lifting up her skirt, and flashing her panties (which, thank the Lord, she had on). Well, after the party, more than one employee called the Legal and Ethical Hot Line and yours truly was called in to do an investigation. I might add that this was not the end of my involvement with Pete. He ended up working in the same division I was at in my last stint with the company. And, he drove me absolutely nuts.

My final job at TRW brought some of the more unique variety of parties. The first year, it was held at one of the nearby hotels. My VP (a shy man) refused to go so it was hosted by one of his VP Program Managers. This meant that mostly only program people went (something that caused quite a bit of fracas which eventually meant we stopped having those types of parties in our division). The first year I was there, one of my male co-workers invited me to go with him. Not a date, per se, but, we did arrive and depart together. I can tell you that for the rest of the time I was there, rumours always followed us.

My VP (Ed) decided the next year ALL of his employees would attend so we had it in the cafeteria. Sounds sort of cheesy, but, we had a large committee working on it and it turned out quite nice. And, we had killer door prizes.

Alas, even THAT was too much for Ed so, the next two years we had quiet holiday luncheons at a very nice local restaurant. Oh, and there were also the HR luncheons I had to attend (although us HR weanies got a lot of crap over that since each employee was only supposed to attend ONE holiday party per year and here were the HR fools going to at least two, sometimes three. What can I say? We were popular and always asked to attend people's parties).

Now, several years after "my" last office holiday party, I now attend parties as "the spouse". Let me tell you, it's quite a different role to play (but one I think I'm good at). And, it is SO nice not to have to be the "person in charge", but, rather, to sit back, sip a glass of wine and enjoy the company. Last year was very amusing for me because, apparently, the person who planned the party did not order sufficient food. So, about 1/2 way through the evening, the wait staff started to bring out huge bowls of french fries and platters of quesadillas. Mr. B's boss (and the other partners) were mortified (all of them being extremely "genteel"; they should thank their lucky stars that site manager Pete from Denver isn't around) and I know the gal planner got an earful later about it, but, frankly, the rest of us didn't much care. I was thinking that, with the amount of alcohol being consumed, that type of food was probably a good thing!

So, tonight we'll be back at it; celebrating the holidays with Mr. B's work associates, a few friends, and many people I hardly know at all (maybe the woman who demanded a glass of milk with her cake last year will be there again?)

As for me, all I have to worry about is what to wear!

Mrs. B

Happy Anniversary to Mr. and Mrs. B!

Three years ago today, Ms. H became Mrs. B in a private ceremony on Charleston South Carolina's Folly Beach. I know I've posted this before, but, it seems an apt thing to re-post today. And, hey, it's even raining today!

Mrs. B

May 16th, 2005

We ate a leisurely breakfast at the hotel, then went off to find our wedding site on nearby Folly Beach. It really is a good thing that we went to search for it prior to the ceremony as it wasn’t exactly easy to find. But, find it we did, after a few minutes of searching and back-tracking. We parked and walked the short trail to the beach itself; I took several pictures of the general area while Mark walked about (he ended up in several of the shots; there are a few where he looks quite pensive; hopefully not thinking about running away!) At that point in time, the weather was quite fine although there was the ominous threat of thunderclouds hanging in the sky.

Mark strolls along Folly Beach the morning of our Wedding Day

After we satisfied ourselves that the location would do perfectly well for our wedding ceremony, we headed back towards Charleston (via a gas station) to look for a place to get flowers for my hair. We tried one place near to the hotel but they were closed. With a bit of trepidation that we might not find one open, we headed back towards Folly Beach via Calhoun St. and found an open florist shop. We went in and managed to order a few orchids; the owner needed about 15 minutes to do them up so we walked down to a Starbucks and each had a caramel frozen coffee drink (mine light, Mark’s fully loaded!) We walked back to the florist and the flowers were ready; beautiful pure white orchids with vivid purple centers. So delicate; but, we were assured that they would last quite some time before they wilted.

As we were paying for the flowers, a small collie dog came bounding into the room; pretty active given she looked sort of aged; as the owner rang up our sale, the dog started to bark furiously; turns out she doesn’t like the sound of the cash register, also turns out her name was... Amy!

We went back to The Vendue Inn and relaxed for a few hours. At this point, I was actually starting to get a tad unsettled and nervous. So, Mark poured me a glass of red wine and assured me that all would be okay. I felt a bit calmer after that; enough so that I could read a bit while he checked email and, then, showered and got ready. He left me about 1:30; book in hand, headed up to The Rooftop Bar to hang out for 2 ½ hours while my transformation was in process.

Juliet Jones arrived and began working on my hair. She chattered pretty much non-stop, which was likely a very good thing since it had started to pour down rain; thunder, lightening, the whole nine yards. Since she kept talking, it was easy for me to be distracted; it was a pleasant, light-hearted conversation about various subjects; I’m grateful that she was so gregarious. As was Leslie Moore, the make-up artist, who arrived around 2:45 just as Juliet was finishing up with my hair. Between the two of them, I hardly noticed the deluge that was going on outside my window.

My elaborate Wedding Day hair!

Upstairs in The Rooftop Bar, Mark and his fellow patrons, the waitress and the bartender, were all keeping an eye on the Weather Channel. They all assured Mark that the storm would indeed blow off shore as the Weather Channel was reporting. Around 3:00, Mark called me to tell me this (he was worried that I’d be freaking out about the storm; he had no way of knowing, of course, that the beautification ladies were doing their best to keep me completely oblivious to the storm).

After Mark called, Leslie finished up my make-up and helped me get into my dress. After she left, I called Mark to tell him I was done but got his voice mail. I will admit to having one brief moment of panic; what if he left? What if he got hit by a car (how this would happen atop The Rooftop Bar, I have no clue), but, within a few minutes, I heard him coming into the door to our room and sighed a sigh of relief.

He seemed quite pleased with my appearance; I felt a bit shy about everything; my nerves came back full force and it was time to hit the bathroom one more time before leaving.

Thank God that I did; while in there, I happened to notice that my dress had one of those ink-tags in it; you know, the ones that explode when they get wet and spread a hideous ink stain over the garment which cannot be removed. A deterrent for would be dress-thieves, I suppose. Well, since we were about to head out into a rain storm…I shuddered to think of the disaster I had just escaped.

But, no scissors! So, Mark had to cut the tag out with a pair of nail clippers.

With that drama behind us, we left the room and went down to await our car. The rain was still coming down hard so we borrowed a large umbrella from The Vendue Inn.

Off we went!

The short drive to Folly Island was probably the worst part (if I can even say we had a worst part) of our wedding day. I say this as, there was a lot of traffic in Charleston, tons of tourists walking across the street willy-nilly, plus the rain; it all combined to make it a harrowing drive. Then, as we approached the access road leading to the island, there was a TON of stopped traffic; people weaving in and out, changing lanes, etc. Once we got onto Folly Beach Road, the traffic came to a dead stop and I started to get antsy thinking about the people that would be waiting for us at the wedding site (a look at the clock told me it was 4;45 and another look at the traffic indicated we’d not make it there in 15 minutes).

So, I called Mary Ann from A Charleston Beach Wedding to inform her we were stuck on Folly Beach Road. She said, “Oh yes, I came through there about 20 minutes ago and it was a mad house!” She told me that, further on up the road, the road itself was flooded (GREAT) and that was causing the delay. She asked for me to call her once we got onto the island itself and she’d leave the house to meet us.

Right about that point in time, a purple PT Cruiser pulled out in front of us; but for the grace of God, we would have been in a wreck on our wedding day.

As it was, we weren’t, but, all of this wasn’t doing much to calm my somewhat frazzled nerves!

We got to the point where the road was flooded (not so bad as the traffic piling up behind it) and made quick time from there. I called Mary Ann back; she said, “Okay, I’ll gather up my things and meet you!” I hung up wondering, “What about the officiant and the photographer?” I started to get paranoid; were we supposed to arrange for an officiant? No, I couldn’t imagine we’d pay almost $500 and have to also coordinate our own officiant! But, as I was starting to get worked up, so, anything made sense, even things that really don’t make sense at all. Mark maintained his cool, and did his best to keep me calm and collected.

We pulled up to the wedding site (with me breathing a prayer of thanks to the wedding God that a) we’d had the sense to go out previously in the morning and locate the spot and b) there weren’t a ton of cars in the parking lot) and parked. As we got out and looked towards the ocean, it was apparent that there was no rain anywhere near in sight; a very positive sign! A few minutes later, Mary Ann pulled up. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to learn (by observation, not by being informed) that she was IT; the coordinator, the florist, the officiant AND the photographer.

Mary Ann can best be described as “beachy-funky granola-crunchy’; she’d fit in perfectly in either Carrboro (or Santa Cruz, CA) and, as far as I know, might use a pen name (she said she was a writer, on top of many other things) such as “Willow” or “Storm”. In any case, she DID have a very calming affect on me; her kind face put me instantly at ease.

My bouquet was comprised of all white flowers; lilies, roses, carnations, with a splash of purple freesia (my request, as purple is Mark’s favorite color). They were quite lovely, and very fragrant. Mark’s boutonnière had a white rose and purple freesia.

My Bouquet

We walked the short, sandy path to the beach; Mary Ann asked Mark where he wanted to stand. We moved a bit closer to the water’s edge, we faced the water, she faced us, and began the ceremony.

I knew from pre-reading it that it would be a short; I thought maybe 15 minutes. Boy, was I wrong! Within 5 minutes we were exchanging rings and the deed was done; barely enough time to work up a good cry!

But, the speed of the act in no way took away from its power and impact. To some degree, it was surreal. But, I took away from it a few vivid memories.

The wind was blowing slightly and I could see and hear the waves lapping against the sand. Mark and I alternatively looked at one another, then at Mary Ann, who, even though she was definitely present, it didn’t feel as if she was really there. There was no one else on the beach at first (although a lone surfer-dude did amble onto the beach about mid-way through the ceremony; he had the good grace to lay down on the sand far enough away as to not be intrusive) so, it truly felt as though we were alone in the sight of God and nature; just the two of us making a commitment to one another that was stronger than any commitment we’d ever made before in our lives. The words of the vows fit in perfectly with the surroundings, and, even more importantly, our intent.

As we exchanged our rings, the sun came out to shine on us; and, I’d dare anyone one of you reading this to challenge our belief that God, or a spirit, or whatever or whomever, was smiling on us that day.

The rings slid on easily, we had our first kiss as man and wife, and, we were married; Mr. and Mrs. Mark B.

The B's on their Wedding Day

After pictures, we walked back to her car (after being congratulated by a few people that had wandered onto the beach and witnessed the photography session, as well as the surfer-dude) and took care of the necessary paperwork.

After a hug and farewells, Mary Ann got into her car and drove away and we headed back to the BMW. Luckily, we’d had the forethought to take a hand towel from The Vendue Inn to wipe off our sandy feet. Since Mark left he shoes on, I had the towel to myself!

Off we went back to Charleston; as we were leaving Folly Island, Mark spotted a painted sign on a billboard that read, “Amy, will you marry me?” Another appropriately perfect sign, we felt, that our marriage was meant to be!

"The" Sign!

When we got back to The Vendue Inn, Mark carried me over the threshold into our room. He plunked me onto the bed and promptly took a picture of me.

The newly made Mrs. B!

We had just enough time to freshen up before our horse-drawn carriage was set to pick us up outside of the hotel.

We went downstairs and the carriage was already there. Unfortunately, it was raining again (thank God not a downpour but a steady mist) so we were not able to put the top to the carriage down. But, it was romantic all the same being drawn through the streets of Charleston’s historic district, holding hands, holding my bouquet, with the smiles and waves from people on the street warming us up inside. It’s amazing how happy people are to see other people happy!

In all honesty, though, I have to admit to being somewhat in a daze during that ride! I recall the driver talking pretty much nonstop about this and that about Charleston; some of it stuck, but not much.

He dropped us off at 7:00 pm for our dinner RSVP at S.N.O.B (Slightly North of Broad) where we were shown to a prime table towards the back of the restaurant. Mark had had the forethought to request this table when he made the dinner RSVP several weeks prior; we thought we were getting the same table we sat at last May, but, we got the table directly across from it. No matter, it was cozier, anyway, and still offered a wonderful view of the goings-on in both the open kitchen and the rest of the restaurant.

No sooner had we sat down than the server came over, and, upon spotting my bouquet, she said, “You look very nice this evening…is this your wedding day?” We smiled and said yes, and, within a few minutes, we were brought complimentary flutes of champagne. A very nice touch!We really took our time at our wedding dinner; after the champagne, we had martinis, then ordered and split an appetizer (goat cheese and pesto crostini), a salad (caramelized pear with walnuts, bleu cheese and field greens) and then our main entrées; Mark had salmon, I had grouper. Mark ordered a ½ bottle of a very unique and tasty Zinfandel, and we finished it all off with sharing a decadent key lime tart with passion fruit.

At Our Wedding Dinner

After dinner, we strolled back to The Vendue Inn (a mere five minutes away) and, upon entering our room, discovered a bottle of champagne chilling on ice, compliments of the hotel! Mark had already put our own bottle of champagne on ice (the sister bottle to the one we drank on the night he proposed), so, we saved the hotel’s gift for the next night.

When I took off my wedding dress, I discovered that I’d never cut the price tags out, so, I got married advertising (or soliciting?) a price!

Mark turned on the fireplace, poured the champagne, and…the stage goes dark…

Labor of Love

It's been two months today (already) since Clyde passed away. Really, it is hard to believe that as much time has passed as it has.

Like I did when Nigel died, I wanted to put together a "Clyde Album" made up of pictures, captions, memories, and other items celebrating Clyde's life. Today, I finally started the "writing" aspect of it; the toughest, of course, because it will bring out a lot of emotions as I do so. But, really, that IS part of my objective; part of MY grieving and healing process.

Up to now, I'd bought the album, compiled the pictures (no mean task, considering we're talking 15 1/2 years of pictures pulled from a variety of sources) and started putting the pictures into the album. Frankly, I was feeling a bit guilty, because, by the time Nigel had been gone for two months, his album was nearly finished; here, I've barely started with Clyde's!

So, I sort of wondered if this was like how new parents typically spend a lot of time and effort on baby books and the like for their first child, but, by the time the second one comes along, well, maybe there are some pictures in a drawer somewhere! So, because Nigel was the first of the two and the first to go, I was more committed to doing his album?

But, as with parents, this isn't the case at all. Life is different this go-around; I wasn't home a good portion of the past two months, for one thing. Also, as I told Mr. B, I think I was purposefully holding off on doing this because I knew it was going to make me sad and I didn't want to feel sad.

I'm ready now; not to feel sad, especially, but, to celebrate Clyde's life by walking down memory lane with him. It might take me a bit longer than it did with Nigel's album, but, the end result won't be any less thoughtful or any less a labor of love.

Once I got going today, I managed to do quite a few pictures/captions. Here is what will go into the album as the first Clyde memory:

Clyde Memory: Bringing Clyde Home
October 31, 1992

For some time, the ex and I had contemplated getting Nigel a little brother for a friend and companion. There was never any doubt that the new kitty would be a boy, and, having never had a grey cat in my life, I decided I really, really wanted a grey cat. So, knowing that we’d ultimately bring a new kitty home for Nigel (and us!) we were content to wait for the right one. The right kitty presented himself to us on Halloween Day 1992. I was in the local pet store buying some things for Nigel. I happened to look up on the “advertisement” wall and saw an ad that said something like this, “6 kittens, all male, 5 yellow, 1 grey, free to good home”. Well, to me, this seemed to be “the sign”! So, when I got home, I talked to the ex and he agreed we should go check out the grey kitty. We called the number and were told all of the kittens were still available and, yes, please come on over!

We did. And, I must say, that entire experience was like something out of a weird movie. The woman (and husband) had a nice house near where we lived. Inside, though, were so many cats roaming around that I lost count. And, ugh, the place smelled like you wouldn’t believe; there were piles of cat barf all over the place, plates of empty or half-empty cat food, cans of opened cat food, etc. Frankly, it was just plain disgusting. The ex and I exchanged glances as we were not sure if we wanted any sort of creature from this environment! But, we figured that we’d come this far, may as well check out the grey kitty. The (somewhat strange) woman told us he was out in the garage with his brothers. So, we all trooped out to the garage where we immediately saw the five yellow cats in various locations around the garage; on top of a car, up on a freezer, etc. As we waited for the woman to locate the grey kitten (he was nowhere to be seen), we wandered around the garage looking at his brothers. I must say, they all looked exactly alike and they were none-too-friendly, either. At least two of them took swipes at us with their paws as we walked past. So, again, we were not sure how this was all going to turn out, we certainly didn’t want a feral cat. The woman, who by this time had finally located the grey kitten (hiding under the car, of course!) stood up and apologized for the other cats’ behavior saying, “They aren’t too nice, they are sort of wild, but, this one” as she held him out to me, “Well, he’s really sweet. I call him my Grey Baby”. I took him in my arms and, of course, knew from that second that this little guy was going to go home with us. I remember that he looked up at me; his eyes locked on mine, and he started to purr that fantastic rumbling loud purr of his. The ex looked him over and agreed that he was a keeper. So, the woman told us she’d give him a flea dip and bath for us if we wouldn’t mind waiting. She took “Grey Baby” back and we went into the house. While we sat there watching her bathe him, her husband came into the house. He was a nasty piece of work, I’ll tell you; he grumbled something about being glad to get rid of one of those “damn” cats. I am pretty sure that this mean character was THE reason why our new kitty was so fearful for so long about anything coming near his head. The woman told us that the kittens’ mother, a stray, had them on their porch and, not too long afterward, disappeared. I guess she recognized a house that was “cat-friendly” (to a degree, anyway). Later, this explained why our new kitty had this odd habit for awhile of sucking on the back of my hand (weaned FAR too soon); in fact, the woman said she’d had to feed several of the kittens with an eye-dropper. While cleaning “Grey Baby”, the woman was cooing to him, cuddling him; in general, looking like she didn’t want to give him up. She started fretting that it was Halloween (and perhaps we were going to take him and sacrifice him, I guess!) In any event, the ex wasn’t taking any changes; he snatched him up mid-towel rub, shoved him into my arms, said, “Thanks a lot!” to the woman and started pushing me out the door. I felt sorry for her; she looked so sad! She asked me if I would call her in a few days to let her know how her “Grey Baby” was doing and I said I would. And, I did; and when I did, I told her his new name was Clyde.

To see the rest, you'll just have to come on over and check it out...whenever I manage to get it finished!

Mrs. B