Happy Pancake Tuesday!

Today I was contemplating how to celebrate Shrove Tuesday - or Fat Tuesday or Mardi Gras - all names for Ash Wednesday Eve.

As kids we took full advantage of getting in one last shot at whatever you pledged to give up for Lent. It was the time for one last chance to pinch your sister or roll your eyes at your brother or to savor a coveted chocolate bar. Mom would make a special meal that included dessert and we would whoop it up, Boone County farm kid style.

I still take Lent very seriously, not only giving something up (usually booze) but trying to do something extra (typically pledging to write notes to folks to let them know how much I appreciate them).

This evening, I considered my stand-by walking to the Red Key for a Jameson whiskey or driving to a fast food joint for French fries and a diet soda. I'm giving up the drink this year - both booze* and diet soda.

I remembered reading that the Irish celebrate by eating pancakes. According to lore, the tradition started because you needed to use up your eggs and sugar - things that were not allowed to be consumed during Lent. I really enjoyed this explanation. 

As luck would have it, I had all of the ingredients at home. In the spirit of using things up, I added lime zest to the batter and made lime syrup.

I poured my diet Pepsi in an Apollo glass in honor of Katherine Johnson, who died yesterday. I used my Lord's Prayer glass for my carefully-measured ounce of Irish whiskey.

I think it was a pretty decent way to celebrate Shrove Tuesday. Although I'd totally pinch my one of my sisters if I happened to see one of them in the next hour and a half. 

Wonder how many pancakes are being consumed in Ireland today? Here is the surprisingly precise number: 
https://www.irishtimes.com/news/offbeat/pancake-tuesday-irish-people-love-to-go-on-the-batter-1.2989835

*I'm reserving the right for a Saint Patrick's Day dispensation.

a picture is worth a thousand words, right?

[click on title for full post] 

under the mosquito net, Morogoro, Tanzania. 

I am a last-minute participant in the Think Kit blogging challenge. I tried to blog everyday last December, but it fell apart for various reasons....mostly because December is busy with work and play and obligations and holiday panic, blah, blah. 

But I really want to start writing again. I still write the music column for the Broad Ripple Gazette, but I've let other writing opportunities slide and I don't like it. 

And this year I have plenty to write about and need to capture those stories before they have totally left my brain. 

So here we go. Again. 

Day One prompt: 

Nothing like a strict word count to kick off our month of blogging...just kidding! Share your year in photos. Was there a moment of unrestrained happiness? An unexpected encounter? What role do photos play in your life – were you more selective with your phone (er...camera) this year? Or are you the King of Selfies? Dig into the deeper meaning of a moment frozen in time.

I'm all about the photos and think that the idea of selfies might just have been invented for me. In previous years I took an extraordinary amount of feet snapshots - so many that they have their own label on this blog. 

I moved away from photographing my feet when I discovered the whole selfie thing. Or maybe because I lost weight and figured out the right angle to tilt the phone to hide the double chin that I was born with. 

I embraced the foot photos again this summer when I spend most of July in Tanzania visiting my godmother. I started wrapping up my day with under-the-mosquito-net facebook posts. It was a great way to reflect on the adventures of the day and there is great comfort and safety in being  under a net. 

Tucking the net in makes going to bed intentional and marks a clear end to the day. Going to bed at Chez Pez is fluid. I get up to find the charger for my phone, up to get a glass of water, up to double check the lock on the door, up to start laundry, up to grab another book.....

I think I should add a mosquito net to my Christmas list, I think I'd sleep better. 

+++++

So what is old is new again....photos of toes, blogging, and hoping to make it through the month. 

I'll see you tomorrow. 

Indiana State Fair - Day 10 - 2011 Edition

Today is an incredibly sad day. The stage at the Indiana State Fair Grandstand collapsed last night, killing five, with scores of others hurt.

You all are familiar with my deep love of the State Fair and the fact that I've leaned against that very stage dozens of times with camera in hand waiting for the concert to start.

 Thanks to all of my blogging friends that reached out last night through facebook and e-mails. I safely at my waitressing job when the tragedy occurred.

Please click here for my thoughts on the day.

Sending cyberhugs to you all. xoxxox

icepolocypse 2011 day 6 - the super bowl edition

These sensible boots are on some stylish woman at a swanky hotel opening. I couldn't stand the snow boots one more day, so I broke out my brown 1970s Frye boots.

The JW Marriott is Indianapolis' newest upscale hotel. It has changed Indianapolis' skyline — it is now the seventh tallest building in Indianapolis.

It has been fun to watch the construction from our seats at Victory Field during the baseballs games the last two seasons.

I'm not someone who likes building for the sake of building, but the new hotel fits into the skyline. The building has a gentle curve that mirrors the center of the town, Monument Circle. 

I was invited by the opening by Risa, who was on the Bahamas trip last Super Bowl Sunday. It was almost like being in the Bahamas. With an ice storm and winter coats at a potato fork, which I still need to navigate walking up and down my driveway. The valet parking guys were kind enough to not point it out, although they had to wonder what the heck it was doing in the front seat.

You can see a photo of me and some swanky folks at the party by clicking here — we made the  Talk of our Town section of the Indianapolis Star. Society folks at our finest!

I loved seeing everyone and drinking a fancy $10 pomegranate Cosmopolitan and pretending I was one of the swells.

I feel like the article calls for a Paul Harvey, 'rest of the story' explanation.

First of all, I worked at the Red Key last night and it was 4:30 in the morning before I was showered and in bed. Up at 9:00 for a meeting at church, then 10:30 Mass, followed by working at Marigold all day. Not to mention that the ice made everything from walking to driving difficult.

At half time of the game I started to head to the washroom but decided to go to the lobby to call Dad instead. I knew that he would enjoy hearing about the new hotel, all of the televisions, who I was hanging out with and the fancy drink. 

Dad sounded a little odd and swore that he had not dipped into his homemade wine. I asked if he wanted me to drive out, and he did. Which he never does. 

I thanked my hostess and joined my friends in the valet queue. I was concerned enough that I didn't take time to go to the restroom. 

The drive to the farm from downtown took about 25 anxious minutes. 

I drove straight back to the chicken house, now repurposed to his workshop. Dad was fine and working on restoring an old cider press that he remembers using as a child. 

I was relieved that he was okay and slid back out the door to make the trek to the house and bathroom. 

I crashed through layers of ice and snow in my beautiful boots on the way to the house, falling twice. Trust me, falling in the freezing cold and struggling to stand up while having to pee is torture. Why did I leave the potato fork in the car? 

I finally made it to the house. The laundry room door was iced shut — three inched of ice kept the door from moving. I skated cross-legged and fell up the step to the kitchen door. Same deal, iced shut. 

Back to the work shop, more falling, more crashing through the ice-crusted snow, to burst into through the door. 

N: [hopping from foot to foot] Dad! How do you get into the house? 

D: [looking at me like I was nuts] What do you mean? 

N: [exasperated] How are you getting into the house?

D: I use the ski pole.

N: [shouting] What? 

D: The ski pole I found in the ditch. 

N: [with tears of frustration] How. Are. You. Opening. The. Door. To. Get. In. The. House? 

D: I wonder how a ski pole got in the ditch. It's amazing what I find out there. 

N: [screaming] Dad! I NEED to get in the house. 

D: The doors are frozen. 

N: Yes! Have you been living in the workshop this week? 

D: [looking at me like I'd said the most ridiculous thing ever] I go through the garage. 

N: [so relieved I almost wet my pants] How do you get in? 

D: Through the garage. 

N: How. Do. You. Open. The. Garage. Door? 

D: I push the button. 

N: What button. 

D: I think it says 'enter.' 

I crashed back out the door, this time following the path of the driveway, and using by best ice-skating techniques made it to the garage door. I flipped open the key pad (things are getting modern at the farm) and jabbed 'enter' with my mittened finger as hard as I could. 

Nothing. 

Absolutely nothing. 

Arrrrrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhhh. 

Remember that bad word that Ralphie said in A Christmas Story, when he was helping his dad change the tire? 

That was my mantra all the way back to the work shop. 

N: Dad! I couldn't get the garage door open!

D: Did I tell you there was a code? 

N. Nooooooo....what is it? 

D: I haven't told you the code before? 

N: I don't know....can I have it now? 

D: It's ****. Do you want the ski pole?

N: I'll be back. 

This time I took a different route. To the back of the cow barn. 

All of the practice of going to the bathroom outdoors in my farm-girl childhood paid off. The added layers of clothes and coat and sub-zero weather added to the fun. I did it. And didn't get any on my boots. 

And that is the rest of the story: from the society page to peeing behind a barn.

Ain't life glamorous? 

Dad and the damn ski pole.

colts!

Colts vs. Jets
Colts win!

J.R.

I think I lead a charmed life. I try to balance that with lots of hard work and guilt. But this is a perfect example of falling into fun.

My friend NYC John sent me a text: I’m on the plane next to a guy with Colts tickets for sale. Would you like to go?
My reply: Yes!

Details be damned. The fact that my dear mother’s birthday party was at the same time. We’ll make it work.

John got a little dose of family pre-party craziness. Buy flowers, don’t buy flowers. Buy balloons, don’t buy balloons. We finally made it to the country club and I introduced him to brother J.R. and cousin Jim. Off they went to tail gate for the game. I sent my famous salsa, Colts blue corn chips and foam finger – the only piece of Colts gear I own.

John, J.R. and Jim

An hour into the party I got a call from J.R. The folks in the seats next to him scored suite passes so the seats were open. John and I upgraded from section 635 – about three stories up – to row twenty-something from the field.

I had a wonderful time at the party and watched the kickoff at the club.

I was one of a handful of people with out Colts or Jets gear. And possibly the only one wearing a dress. 

I raced downtown (and when I say raced, I drove at a sensible speed) to Lucas Oil Stadium. J.R. parks at the Hurst Bean Lot and gave me his pass from the week before. I was able to park just yards from the stadium and stroll on in (after the metal detector and purse search of course).

The seats were awesome. So good that I kept getting distracted. Whoa -there’s someone wearing a sparkly wig. Lookie - football. Hey- jumbotron!

The game was a blast!

The rock band Foreigner played at half-time. Here is the review I wrote:
I was impressed by the logistics of getting the stage with classic rockers Foreigner perched on top out to the middle of the football field to fire out two songs and back to the sidelines in the twelve minute half-time break with no one breaking a hip.


Foreigner played Feels Like the First Time and Hot Blooded to tens of thousands of air-guitar playing, face painted, Colts jersey-wearing guys. I know the running audio must be crazy to get the sound three stories up to the cheap seats but I think they did a decent job with the audio. It looked and sounded like drummer Brian Tichy (Billy Idol and Ozzy Osbourne) was playing live. It was hard to tell with the other guys. Between front man Kelly Hansons mic stand waving and dramatic gestures and bassists Jeff Pilson’s (Dokken) wavy locks I forgot to play attention to their vocals and instruments.


Foreigner was a good band to warm us up for the main show – Super Bowl XLIV half-time entertainment The Who.

What a fun day! Thanks NYC John and Brother John Roman!

And on a side note, I took one of the best naps ever when I got some from the game. I can’t remember sleeping that well in years.

hanging on my ear

I feel guilty about all of the unwritten blog posts that are floating around in my head. As I was cooking burgers at the Red Key last night, I realized that they were "hanging on my ear." Chances are they won't get written. 

I have been writing my ever-shrinking ass off (26 pounds lost - 4 to go). You can read all about the music and stuff here: QueenBeeMusic. 

I've also been working on the house. I'm trying to keep things clean and tidy. My old ways of writing in a nest of books, papers and Twizzler wrappers are gone. It is hard work to keep up! I've also sorted though all of my clothes - some to a resale shop, some to Dress for Success, some for a yard sale and some had to be pitched. I had a pretty impressive concert tee shirt collection, but years of waiteressing in them have taken its toll. I can't believe how emotional I got about tossing some of them. 

I've also vowed not to walk out of the house looking like crap. I'm obsessive about brushing my teeth, but not so much my hair. I'm working on applying makeup somewhere besides the rear view mirror.  In the last month I've worn a scarf as an accessory (not just to keep my neck warm or cover up a coffee stain), worn something besides big silver hoops in my ears and necklaces other than my beloved John Travolta (Sweathog years, not Scientology). And in the biggest fashion news: I WENT SHOE SHOPPING! 

Thanks to Kristi's Christmas generosity, I made my first trip to DSW. It was totally overwhelming. I'm glad she went with me or I'm sure I would have run screaming from the store. 

Here are the shoes that I got with the gift certificate, they are darker than they appear in this photo - a lovely brownish-ivory color. And yes, that is a leg lamp in the background. I said I was keeping the house clean, nothing about classy!

In my new found quest of self-improvement I fell for some fancy skincare creams. "Look younger! Smooth lines!" Ha! I broke out so badly that my face puffed up (yeah, that smoothed those lines right out) and I my face was covered in tiny blisters (looked like teenage acne, so yeah, younger) and had to get a prescription for magic make-things-better cream. 

I've also been making myself separate myself from work a little bit. I realized that I was at the dangerous point of wrapping my identity up with my job. I've been making myself stop on the way home from work and do something - be it a bowl of soup at the News Cafe, dinner at Yat's or a trip to the grocery store. Something to create a division between work and home. It seems to be working. 

All of this self improvement has brought some excitement too. The boys seem to be noticing. Nothing close to a date, but fun stuff. For the first time since Joey Ramone gave me a nod in 1983, a musician openly flirted with me on-stage. Lose weight, wear a mini-skirt and cowboy boots, throw a camera over your shoulder and next thing you know you're on a tour bus. 

I need to work on my technique from there. Chattering nervously about how we listened to the band while touring Ireland and that we drove through their hometown singing their songs at the top of their lungs was probably not the most impressive thing I could have done. Here is the review and photos from the show.

See you soon!

drama in the 'hood.

I was a victim of armed robbery tonight.

The more-than-good news: I'm fine.

The news-news: I went to the Northside Newsstands Festivus party tonight. I considered walking the four blocks from my house to the party, but decided that the sidewalks were too treacherous. I almost parked on a side street, but decided that it would be safer to park on College Avenue, a well traveled street. As I was walking toward the Jazz Kitchen two men walked toward me. Being ever so polite, I moved over and walked on the grass so they could pass. No dice. One man batted at my purse and the other showed me his gun. I very nicely handed over my bag. The part that really frosted me was that they both called me a bitch....really? You're taking all of my favorite things and calling me names. Whatever, asshats.

The I-know-I-am-loved-news: It took me a few minutes to walk/slide/freak-out my way to the Jazz Kitchen but I knew once I got there I'd be taken care of. I whispered the situation in to the ear of Frank, the doorman. You know how I hate to cause a scene...I'd debated whether to call 911 or the non-emergency number as I was walking, but Frank very rightly called 911. I stood in the lobby as I was waiting for the patrol car and made small talk with people passing by. The weather was awful and the police were super busy. The policewoman finally arrived and we realized that it was too loud to talk in the entryway. So I got to sit in the back of a squad car, in front of the Jazz Kitchen. By the time I got done giving my statement a crowd of friends had gathered on the deck waiting in the rain for me. It was like walking in to a big group hug. I just wish someone had gotten a photo of me getting out of the police car.

Dave Allee (owner of the Jazz Kitchen) let me use is office, phone and computer to call in credit cards and de-activate my phone (it was bad enough the jerks had my beloved iPhone, I'll be damned if I'll let them use it). Newsstand Joe sat with me while I made the calls, Tammy, Cara and Novella were there for hugs and support. Hostel John had my spare set of keys. Broad-shouldered Hugh drove me to get the keys, made sure no one was in my house and drove me back to my car. And Tammy and the twins were kind enough to let me sleep at their house.

[I wrote the above the night it happened]

Now that I've had time to sort it out, I realized that I'm just good old-fashioned pissed off. I'm mad for the neighborhood -- it was on College Avenue, between two of my favorite places - the Red Key and the Newsstand. I'm mad because I love to walk at night. I'm mad that they were black and that people ask and that I've had to say it a hundred times. I cannot imagine how hard it must be to be a young urban black man. I'm mad that people are giving me a hard time for walking alone at night (it was around 9:00). I'm mad that I've totally overeaten the last two days and feel like crap.

I'm mad that my camera is gone --I feel really naked without it. I'm mad that the notebook that I've kept notes for every show I've seen in for 2008 is gone. I'm mad that my press pass is gone. I'm mad that my Jesus key chain that was also a flashlight is gone (you never know when you'll need Jesus to light your way) and my Hatch Show Prints key chain is gone. I'm mad that all of my make-up is gone (not that I wear a lot, but it was all in there). Not to mention cash and credit and gift cards and other crap. I'm mad that I have to get another driver's license. I'm mad that my cash is gone. I'm mad that I'm achy and sore (between adrenaline and the one block walk of running/sliding to get help I really goofed up my neck and back). I'm mad that Christmas notes I'd written to friends are gone. I'm mad that I had to change my locks. I'm mad that I don't feel comfortable in my own house. And most of all, I'm mad that I'm mad.

But all in all, it's okay - I'm thankful that my dad could hand me cash and a credit card so I could replace the phone and have some walking around money. I'm thankful that I have such caring friends and family. I'm thankful that I have a warm and cozy and mostly safe neighborhood to live in. I'm thankful for living in a neighborhood that people know my name. I'm thankful to have a good job that I love.

But I'm still pissed. And a little afraid.

There were some funny moments. Me stepping out of the squad car in my sparkly skirt was one. Before the police arrived and the news spread Dave Allee came out and teasingly asked if I had any ID. I flipped him off, I don't know who was more shocked -- him or me. When I came back in from making the report Dave asked if I needed anything. I said: whiskey and a nice boy to make-out with by the dumpster later. All night, people who didn't know what happened were telling me how beautiful I looked - apparently I wear wide-eyed flushed-faced fear well.

For the record: the whiskey appeared, but alas, no boy.

wow.

I had a Tonic Ball meeting (November 21, mark your calender) at the Northside Newsstand. I moved up to the counter to enjoy some delicious tomato and artichoke soup and conversation with one of those bad boys, the kind your friends tell you to stay away from. You know the type; long beard, leather jacket, no discernible source of income, hoop earrings, keeps a protective eye on you in the bars late at night and has a motorcycle parked out front....

Anyway, I snapped out of it, finished the conversation about early 1980s punk rock bands and headed home. When I fished my keys out of my purse I checked my iPhone.

Holy Crap!

Three missed calls and a text message from Tammy.

The Tammy who is pregnant with twins. The Tammy who asked me to be with her for the birth. The Tammy who is counting on my to get her to the hospital. The Tammy who is due in the beginning of December, seven weeks away. The Tammy who told me that twins usually come early, probably around Thanksgiving (I was convinced that it would be Tonic Ball day).

The Tammy who's water had just broken. The Tammy who was driving herself to the hospital because she couldn't reach me. That Tammy.

I raced home and did my best bumbling sitcom father routine. I tripped flying in to the house, shucking off my dress as I went. I pulled on jeans and a top. I fed the cat, grabbed my tooth brush, a book, a big cozy scarf, my camera and my computer and raced out the door. I saw that I'd missed another call from Tammy - could I please print out the phone list she'd mailed everyone last week? I raced back in to the house walked in circles, raced back out to get the computer and back in to print the list. As I was locking the door I looked down to see that I'd put my top on inside out. I whipped my top off walking down the driveway and juggling my computer and turned it right side out. I stopped at the Red Key to cash a check- I don't know what I thought I'd need money for, but you never know.

By the time I got to the hospital they'd given Tammy a shot of steroids to help mature the babies lungs. The doctor on-call came to check her. As it turned out she lived right down the street from Tammy and just a few blocks from me. We joked that we could have all stayed in the neighborhood. They moved her to a room and started an I.V. designed to stop labor.

No luck.

Within an hour Tammy's contractions were two minutes apart. Apparently there was a queue for the Delivery OR. In the meantime the neonatal pediatrician came in a told Tammy all kinds of scary things about premature babies. Tammy did a great job, but I wanted to scream "Dude! The train has left the station. Can't we just cross that bridge when we come to it?"

I finally asked Tammy if she'd decided what to name the babies. Our group of friends have been calling them Corn Dog and Tatar Tot, but I assumed that was not her final decision.

They whisked Tammy to the OR and gave me a bundle of paper-ish clothes to put on while they got Tammy ready. I used the time wisely, zipped on the white jumpsuit, put on the cap and mask and took selftimed photos of me trying to do my best Elvis sneer. By the time I was allowed in the room the drape was already up and I was given instructions not to look and to let the anesthesiologist know if I started feeling woozy. Ummm, okay.

The room was full. A team of doctors for each baby and the team doing whatever they were doing to Tammy (I didn't peek, not at first anyway). She was a champ! I'm good in crisis situations, but I'm not so good at the comforting stuff. I was saying helpful things like, "hey the anesthesiologist is wearing a Purdue cap, you know he's got to be smart" and "wow, who thought the day would end like this?" and "if you hurry, we can make last call at the Red Key." I think it was soon apparent to the doctors and nurses that the twins did not have two mommies.

Baby Boy (5.4) was born at 11:46 and Baby Girl (5.3) at 11:47. I decided that the best sound in the world must be hearing a baby cry for the first time. They let me step around the curtain and peek at the babies and snap a few photos.

Evan and Katherine are beautiful, just beautiful. And I was honored to be there for the first minutes of thier lives.

you never know how the day will end, pt. 2

Nora and Susan Cowsill at the Red Key 

To see a young groovy Susan on the Johnny Cash show, click here. 

To see an even groovier Susan click here. 

Wednesday, July 2, 2002

you never know how the day will end

Nora and Evan Dando

Click here to watch Evan singing Being Around