Lions, and Tigers, and Bears...Oh MY!

It’s Halloween - the second most popular holiday in America - so I'm wearing my Halloween socks, an orange shirt, and black pants in honor of this candylicious day, even though it's not my favorite holiday.

I wore Halloween socks to Zumba this morning, hoping they'd help me feel a little less ancient or movement-impaired than I usually do when shaking and shimmying like a lunatic, but they didn't. A few of us had on Halloween-colored clothes, but no one came in costume, thank goodness, which would’ve made Zumba-ing like a pack of wild Zombies impossible to do. 

I had to stagger drunkenly to my water bottle between each song, for quick pick-me-up slurps, which did help me, miraculously, to make it through the entire hour without melting into a little puddle like the Wicked Witch of the West. 

As soon as late afternoon rolls around, right before the sun goes down, I’m leaving the house to escape the knock knock, who’s there madness, though, since I no longer have any reason to celebrate, now that the kids are grown up and gone (boo hoo).

If you’re wondering where I’ll be, I’ll be hiding out in the dark at the movies, where I won’t have to worry about opening and shutting the front door (which sticks), my inability to curb my enthusiasm for eating miniature candy (which I can’t resist), or the incessant, unending ding dongs and loud, crashing door knocking of costumed children demanding treats.

After I get home, when Halloween is officially over, listen carefully (now that the doorbell's stopped ringing) and you might be able to hear me giddily counting down the days to my favorite holiday: Thanksgiving. 25…24…

Cry Me a River

In the last week, I’ve cried though two plays and a movies, plus a bunch of DVR’d TV shows I taped and caught up watching on Friday night while my husband, the card shark, was playing poker with his buddies.

Yes, it’s true: I’ve set the all-time Tiny Tears, Poor Pitiful Pearl record, which I’m humbled and honored to have set, thank you very much. In fact, please feel free to wave a Kleenex at your computer screens as you read on, because, believe it or not, I’m looking through you, oh yeah, I am - and I can see for miles.

Play number one: Broke-ology, playing at Theaterworks in Hartford, was so funny, poignant, well-acted, and heart-wrenchingly sad that I sniffled and snorted my way out of the theater and into the sun. It wasn’t until I was safely in the car that I was able to break into a round or six of loud sobs. My husband cried with me – but not as long or hard, because he was driving. When we got where we were going (a favorite restaurant), I made him take a walk around the block with me, so I could compose myself before we walked in the door for what turned out to be another yummy meal.

Play number two: Brief Encounter, playing on Broadway in NYC, was also funny, poignant, and well-acted, as well as incredibly innovative and clever. The set was minimal, but oh-so-creatively constructed, and the songs vintage Noel Coward. The actors were versatile and brilliant. The juxtaposition of clips from the original movie and videos made for the production were perfectly rendered. The end, though, turned out to be a four-Kleenex tearjerker, which was difficult for me, because I only had two stuffed in my jacket pocket.

Movie number one: Nowhere Boy, about the early life of John Lennon, before he became an official Beatle, made all four of us cry. (I was at the movies with another couple, right? You probably figured this out without me explaining, but I wanted to make sure, so I explained. OK?)

Since I’d also cried the night before while watching some of my DVR’d TV shows (like Parenthood, where I cried along with some of the characters, who were also crying), I’ve started to worry that I’m, maybe, baby, turning into a middle-aged, female version of Johnny Ray, the singer who cried like a baby when he sang on the Ed Sullivan Show.

Now that you all know I’m a world-class sobber, who loves to Cry Me a River, I heretofore guarantee you that the next time you see me, I’ll gladly cry a river over you.

Ten - Ten - Ten

I know, I know – I haven’t written a word since exactly one month ago Just in case you want to know what I’ve been spending one entire month doing, I’ve been:

(1) Taking out storm windows, washing them, putting them back in, taking them out again, and putting them back in one last time (on the first floor).

(2) Vacuuming up paint dust (yes, the painters are still outside, driving me crazy).

(3) Fighting migraines.

(4) Growing a set of fingernails.

(4) Tutoring 1^st and 2^nd graders at Rawson School in Hartford. Reading.

(5) Teaching girls, boys, and moms how to knit each Wednesday from 3-4 at my local library.

(6) Taking the bus to NYC the second Wednesday of each month to cram myself full of cultcha.

(7) Doing the storm window shuffle on the second floor (the 3^rd floor awaits with bated bad breath).

(8) Getting my ears tested for hearing aids, which are arriving any day now.

(9) Forcing myself to give up bread, pasta, fruit, desserts, and cheese and crackers while sticking to the South Beach Diet, even though only six pounds have unstuck themselves and jumped ship.

(10) Reading, watching must-see fall TV, editing a book, exercising, and riding my bike.

Yes, I know that’s more than 10, because I'm terrible at math-centric writing (and speaking). Go ahead. Be my guest. Call in the math police. They've been buzzing around my door since I was forced to use flashcards to learn my multiplication tables in second grade. Ten Four. Over and out.