Not just pork rolls and potholes

New Jersey:

It's not just about potholes and pork roll sandwiches. 

 It's so much more than oil refineries and oily mobsters.

Jim took me for my routine mammography, fifteen minutes away.  When we went in 2020, it was my first outing--the first time I left the house in over three months.  I got squashed, and then had a Mexican lunch on a cracked sidewalk. 

 It was also the beginning of the unflattering  Karen memes, so the day--and the memory of it--weren't exactly ideal.

I wanted more after this year's squashing.  So we drove another fifteen minutes, seeing the most breath-taking mansions we've ever seen.  And lush golf courses.  

Homes high on hills.  Winding roads dotted with fragrant flowers and a hint of ocean breeze.  It was intoxicating.

 We were in Mr. Bon Jovi's neighborhood--probably whizzed right by his house.  (As in:  drove by--not, stopping to take a leak in his bushes, although both of us probably had to.  Of course, at our ages, we always have to)

We had lunch on an open deck high  above the water.  The sunshine was perfect.  The views of all the boats and mini-yachts were so serene.

We split a bowl of a scrumptious peppery cream of chicken soup, and then Jim ate the flounder and I ordered crab cakes.  Readers of my vacation blog(ah..remember those??  Blogs?? Vacations??) know I have a stupid prejudice against seafood and fish that I can't explain, but when in Rome you order pasta, when in Atlantic Highlands you order the crab cakes, which I did,  and they were insanely good.

I so needed a day like this...a yearly routine examination turned into a little slice of paradise.

Looking forward now  to some pool time, some Abba music, and best of all, more of  the new Carl Hiassen book, "Squeeze Me."

It is a wild and hilarious ride so far--the shadier the character, the worse their fate.

I can't wait to see what happens  with this fictional president, who you one hundred percent will recognize by Hiassen's ruthless description.

Trump fans beware:  You're probably not going to like this book...

New Jersey and Me:  Perfect together!

Dads fictional and real

There are Daddy long-legged spiders

there's a Daddy Warbucks, too

There's Father Goose and Father Time..

there're daddies in the zoo

there are those who say," Dear Father"..praying to a holy God

There are those who cannot bother sprucing up the old Dad bod

there's fiction's famous fathers--

like a great one, Atticus Finch

And then there's Peter Griffin--

(guess that he'll do..in a pinch)

there are Dads who tell a Dad joke

as they think, "I'm such a wit!"

while others hear a BAD joke..

and think, "Dad is full of sh*t"

There are fun Dads like my father, Mike , I  really do miss HIM

There are great Dads  to four-legged sons.

..and to Evan, too..like Jim!

Let's celebrate them all today..

these sentiments are sweet

We love them!!!..

(would it kill them, 'though

to close that toilet seat?)

In the Heights in a strange land

Hey..98.6..so good to have you back again!!

Another Saturday night and I ain't got..scratch that..I DO got..

Plans!  With my husband! For an evening that promised a lot  more than a bite to eat and watching the tube at home  by 8:00 PM

It was surreal being out tonight, being a mere fifteen minutes away in Freehold, NJ, but after not being there in nearly fifteen months, I might as well have been in Uganda.

Everything looked so strange, like when your house shrinks during  the summer after you come home from camp, or when you're  not sure if there's a new restaurant or a demolished one when you cross over the drawbridge and arrive at the vacation spot you haven't been to in a long time.

The theater was relatively empty: the popcorn was divine, and "In the Heights"  was a Busby Berkley musical for this decade.  I felt like I was in a kaleidoscope: splashy and vibrant colors and pulsating music...plus superior acoustics to when I saw the play in a community theater.

Welcome back, Date Night.

You were missed more than you know

Jackhammers, the Borscht belt and Movie Theaters

Another day, another chance to blog about nothing and everything.

If I blogged daily, I'd chance becoming one of those BUBS, the Brutally Untalented Blogger who makes minutia seem  like MINUTIA, but I'm going to force myself to say SOMETHING today. 

This is the only real exercise I get. (Not counting what I do in the pool)

We survived Wacky Wednesday, a day of chaos and upheaval, a day of torn up streets(thank you, township!) and a  repaved driveway.  (Thank you, hired sealing  company, for dealing with the cracks on that hot morning in June)

 And at long last, we dealt with the Grand Canyon that was forming in our den, the tsunami blamed on Luke's bladder  but was actually caused by a razor-thin slice in an underground pipe.  We survived jack hammering, soldering, cementing, and cursing. 

 Not sure if our hearing survived, but then again, how would we know if we had any long term damage since neither of us can make out what the other is saying most of the time anyway?

That was followed by thrilling Thursday, which wasn't exactly like surfing Hawaiian waves on the thrill scale, but I'm looking for alliteration so this will do.

I'm currently reading "The Last Summer at the Golden Resort" by Elyssa Friedland and it's terrific. It's a little bit "Dirty Dancing"; a little bit  "The Marvelous Mrs. Maisal",  it's a little bit funny.  

Actually, quite a bit funny!... but  I just wanted to sing the opening line from our wedding song.  

It really brings me back to the summers of 1968 and 1969, taking that four-plus hours drive  from Philly to the Catskills in the  back seat of my father's Ford, complaining about the middle seat with the hump.

The Nermerson Hotel in South Fallsburgh NY wasn't exactly the King of the Borscht Belt, but it suited our budget and our needs just fine. 

 I'll never forget the looks on the faces of those lifeguards, pre-heart attack(s), as I jumped off the high dive... several times a day.

Or the look of my own face when served a dairy lunch, trying not to be grossed out by copious amounts of sour cream.

I did not fit in one bit with those snobby LI girls my age who only wanted to curse and smoke and make fun of my Philadelphia accent.  ("Watch how she says "chawk-lit ECK-lah!" as I ate a chocolate eclair, they'd say between curses and puffs)

My Dad shelled out some pretty pennies during those trips, giving us the opportunity to inhale  fresh mountain air and row on a lake,  but all we really wanted to do was drop everything and watch "Dark Shadows" on a black and white portable  TV with poor reception in the lobby.

I did not want to eat sour cream and hang out with smokers who thought belly dancers were hilarious, but leave it to my Mom to find a perfect match,  Laura from Far Rockaway, who opened our first conversation talking about how she didn't need the cups sewn into her bathing suit top.  A tween with body issues--that I could relate to.

Anyway, the book is great, and it's getting me really psyched for next month's trip to Woodloch.  (Wow..I really DO sneak that name  into everything I write, don't I? )  Woodloch offers a lot of the activities and a general feel that the Grand Hotel does, but it's a little less Borscht Belt, a little more Campbell's 57 varieties.

(Woodloch's homemade soups are incredibly delicious, FYI)

Let's see..what else..what else..

I've already discussed how terrific "Hacks" is.  It's going to sweep the Emmys and now that most of prime time offerings are heading to reruns, I can tackle my list of recommendations and Must Sees.

Oh!  

That's right!

We're going to the movies this weekend!

In a theater!

With sticky floors and rude, unvaccinated coughers and the smell of burnt popcorn.

We're seeing "In the Heights" which I saw in a theater with bad accoustics, so now I get to see... and HEAR... a movie!

I haven't been to the cinema since February 29th, 2020, when we saw "The Invisible Man."

Who I apparently live with, because it's not my HUSBAND who leaves dirty dishes in the sink and unmatched shoes scattered all over the foyer.

No indeed.

And HE'S apparently married to The Invisible Woman, who does not exist whenever he confronts anti-vaxxers on Facebook.

(He has my full support on that one, by the way)

I am the Mistress of the Mundane, but I own it.

And a lot of my FB friends show an active interest in all these trivial matters, so I think I'll let them know what I plan to have for lunch today.

As soon as I decide what it will be.

In comes Company..

Phone rings..door chimes..in comes COMPANY!!

Well..not exactly like  that..

More like:

Gate squeaked, pool water splashed, Luke barked..in comes Steven, Jane, and Marissa!

After twenty-two months, we were reunited!

Reunited and  it felt so good, even hugging a dry person while wearing my wet bathing suit.

I've missed family so much..the laughing, the reminiscing, their reaction when Jim and I played "celebrity death alert!" which we do a lot, but not to an audience who've never witnessed sick humor before. (Although my brother, sister-in-law, and niece have wonderful senses of humor too!)

We snacked on salsa and made waves in every way that waves can be made.

We enjoyed dinner and nostalgia.

I didn't think I'd get to see them until our Woodloch reunion in July, but I was beyond thrilled to get this sneak preview.

It it amazing to be with people who totally get you, who love you unconditionally.

Phone rings..door chimes...that's the way to start good times