Nits End.

Another word about Block Island. Bring supplies. I forgot to bring a hair tie and could not bring myself to pay $5.49 for a little package of them when I knew I had some at home. Even if I didn't have them at home I could get the same item in Providence for under $2. It was the principle. I spent the day looking more and more like Slash from Guns 'N Roses.

Fabio sweetly asked our waitress if she had an extra hair tie and she gave me one. I took it and I thanked her but I couldn't use it. In 1988- when I was living in Athens, Georgia I got head lice six times in a row. There was an epidemic in the school system. OMG. Just the thought of this makes me itch. I was a live-in nanny and I babysat for 3 other families. All of the kids had it. I kept getting re-infested. I had hair that hung a little above my waist. It was long, thick and really curly. The perfect breeding ground. Those little critters found a nice nest in me. I offered warmth, security and endless expansion. That is,until I cut it all off.

By the end, I had so many dead white nits in my hair it had really begun to affect my personality. I was so unhappy. I just could not believe the mess I was in. Even though they were finally all dead, I could not get them out of my hair. They clung to me. I had SIX batches in there. It was hell. The loads of laundry, the endless treatments, it wasn't cheap.

I actually had to move out of my house.I had only lived there for a couple of months. I had just moved out on my own. I was so excited about it. I had gone from my parents house to a dorm to being a live in nanny. This was my first foray into independence. I lived in a really big house, all alone. My roommate had just moved out.I wonder why. There was wall to wall carpeting and I think my dog might have had fleas too. I felt really bad about leaving such a legacy. The whole place was spotless, but I think that I left some live wires. I felt even worse when I found out that my house had become a half way house. Those poor people, trying to screw their heads on straight without the added pressure of head lice.



I remember sitting on a bench in downtown Athens. I was sitting between an ice cream store and a record store. I had put my riddled hair in braids. I was reading Frankenstein for English Lit. That is kind of ironically funny now that I think about it. My friend Bill Chappell came over and sat down. He said, "Oh man Lucy, you have really got to do something about your situation." It was bad. I was in a bad situation.

I asked Bill to "go ahead and see" (that's how they talk in the South.) if Mr. Brown (the record store owner) had a pair of scissors that he could borrow. Bill came back out carrying the shears. I told him to cut the braids off and then some. It was traumatic, I loved my hair.

I will never forget the two little boys sitting in the window of Gorin's Ice Cream. They stared in astonishment as Bill clipped off my braids, one at a time. It was awful.

When Fabio scored me that hair tie from a stranger it brought back a flood of horrible memories. One interesting memory of that trying time stands out. I was a Sophomore at UGA. I had been at the Student Center just hours before my first bout with head lice. I had to get a student id made.

My sister Moy had given me this absolutely beautiful hand painted barrette. I loved it. It was gorgeous. I always received compliments when I wore it. Right before my picture was taken I took the barrette out and fluffed up my hair. I somehow forgot the barrette. I realized that it was missing after I had already walked 20 minutes across campus. I turned around immediately. When I went back it was gone. I asked the lady who took my picture if she had seen it. She said no. I didn't believe her. I bet my little friends were breeding in her top desk drawer. Serves her right.

I am paranoid about head lice. When we go to the movies or travel by plane or train I always wear my hair in a tight bun high atop my head. We all have our quirks, and they all have to do with our histories. People can be weird for good reasons.

Journey to Block Island

We went to Block Island, Rhode Island two days ago. We have lived in Providence since April of 2002. From 1967 until 1986 I lived in Fall River, Massachusetts. How is it that I have never been to Block Island? Why wasn't I one of those high school kids who would spend their Summers working at The National Hotel? They got room and board and a salary plus tips! What was I thinking? There were plenty of jobs. I always saw them advertised at the beginning of Summer in the Providence Journal.















I saw them advertised THIS Summer. Can you imagine? If you are single with no dependants- what an idyllic way to spend a Summer. Housekeeping at The National Hotel. I love making beds. I am sure the linen is crisp. It is a fancy hotel.

Block Island is now my favorite place on earth. I love Block Island. I love saying "Block Island". I loved the whole day. We missed the 10:30 ferry by five minutes because Fabio mistakenly headed toward Fort Adams in Newport where the ferry leaves once a day instead of to Point Judith where the ferry leaves every hour and a half.

I realized his error as soon as he took the wrong exit, by then we were on the Newport Bridge. He had to turn around and we were just too late. They run a tight ship. I have never gotten to use that cliche so accurately in my life. Fabio is never late for anything. I mean never. He has "drop dead departure times" that are strickly adhered to. This guy is never late. He was so bugged.

Hanging out in Point Judith for an hour and 25 minutes was great except for having to endure Fabio's repeated apologies.
























It was fine. We got the boys ice cream.

















There was a buzz in the air. I was really really excited. I had been wanting to go to Block Island for my entire life. It is only $17.50 RT and a short 55 minute ferry ride from Point Judith!I have no idea what I had been waiting for. It is hardly inaccessible. It is the nicest place I have ever been to.
















When we stepped off the ferry we were on new land. We had no idea what to expect. We took a right and walked down the street. We walked past charming houses and little shops. The boys,of course, were famished, as if they had spent days on The Mayflower. We stopped for lunch and then headed to the beach.























We sat and we swam and we buried the boys in the sand.























The weather was perfect. I could have sat there all day.


































After a day at the beach we packed up and headed back to the center of town. We had a couple of hours before the last ferry left so we decided to explore a little. We walked up this cute little street with old homes and seaviews. We walked past the fabulous Hotel Manisses 1661 Inn. It is enormous and grand. People were sitting on the big old porch reading in rockers. Red wine was being served.


As we walked further up the street we came upon a curious farm.


















Enzo spotted a yak. Owen read the handpainted sign aloud, "Please don't feed the camel."
























At that moment a young family came strolling down the path . They told us to go up even further and we would see a Zedonk. A Zedonk is (you may have guessed) a cross between a zebra and a donkey.







That is a llama beside him.





Did I mention the emu?

















This is a very old fainting goat, apparently.



















Have you any idea what this is? Enzo is pretty sure that it is a Scottish cow.

















Block Island is a magical place. I cannot believe that I had never been there. I almost feel duty bound to pack up the family and just go ahead and move there to make up for lost time.

The day kept getting better and better, apart from the fact that it was going to end.


















We boarded the 7:30 pm ferry back to Point Judith. On the ferry we saw the most beautiful sky. We had the smell of salt water on our skin and some color in our cheeks. All of us were dressed perfectly for the dip in temperature and the sky was all that we could see.





















I don't think I have ever had a better day in my life. It was effortless enjoyment. I would like to do it again and again and again. It is a hidden gem. The pace of Block Island is perfect. It is so uncrowded and relaxed.

I am going on and on because I feel I must! I cannot say enough about Block Island. The charm is intoxicating. It really was one thing after another. When we came home I googled Block Island. We haven't even scratched the surface. I am going back for more.

A Little Hang Up of Mine.

This picture was taken in 1996. It was Christmas morning. I was talking to my parents. I make very few phone calls. Since this picture was taken I have probably made less than 100 phone calls. That is not a lot when you do the math.

I find the phone annoying. I am extremely bothered by it. When it rings, I get a physical reaction. My stomach sinks. I feel it. Every single time. I get nervous. I don't like it.

I will be happily reading, or writing or cooking or you know, anything-making my bed. Out of nowhere I will hear a loud ringing in my ear. It assaults me. Next I am supposed to pick up the offending object and merrily say, "Hello!"

Back in the day that may have been novel but we have email and facebook and text messaging now. I am not anti-social at all, I can be down right animated and engaging face to face, but get me on a phone? I am hopeless. I need facial reactions. Dead silence is not nearly as intimidating when you can see the person. You have a million common distractions to restore the flow. You can get up, use hand gestures, even pull props out of your bag.

When there is a lull in conversation when you are on the phone you are forced to fill it with some inane thought that has leapt into your mind at that very moment. My thoughts tend to "I am so tired." Tired of talking on the phone.

When I lived in Athens, Georgia I didn't have a phone. I didn't even realize it. I just went over to people's houses unannounced or biked downtown. I never made plans and I always had fun. I never really had a phone until I moved in with Fabio. (I had one growing up too, of course).

On my 34th birthday, I decided to answer the phone. I thought it might be a family member calling to wish me well. We didn't have caller id (my favorite thing ever)yet. It was the sister of a friend of a friends. I am not kidding. I had met her a few weeks earlier at a party and somehow birthdays were brought up. I said that mine was in a few weeks. She asked me the date.

She is a perfectly lovely gal but please. That weird phone call was exhausting and unnecessary. That is when I really started hating the phone. I spoke to her-a woman I barely knew- for 20 minutes about NOTHING and it was my birthday!!

Ugh! There it goes. As I type, that blasted thing is ringing. Fabio is out with the boys. It is up to me. My stomach hurts. Oh good. It is Providence City. I don't have to answer it. It is the School Department calling to tell parents about a Summer program for the kids.
Can't they send an email?

That is what I like to do. I always return phone calls with emails. I write long ones too. I try to think them through. Email allows you to refer back to your notes. No one is sitting by you while you yak on the phone taking minutes of all the highlights and key points.

Email is so much more relaxing. You can get the kids to bed, make a nice cup of tea, take a deep breath and think. You can be assured that whoever it is that you are trying to convey a message to is reading your words with their full attention, at their convenience. At least that is the case for me.

If I am caught off guard by the telephone, and forced to think on my feet immediately I just don't make any sense. I love sitting down at the end of a long day and reading a good letter as opposed to trying to banter cheerfully while boiling pasta for dinner.

The telephone is distracting and intrusive. It always rings and demands your attention when it is least convenient for you. Gawd, and then you have to be NICE.
I would like to be placed on the Do Not Call List. If it is an emergency-fine.I am not unreasonable.

Aunt Flo Is Not My Friend. Period.

I had promised my father that he could come to work with me. I work in an Assisted Living Facility. When I work upstairs with all the able bodied, sounded minded people in their apartments I can't bring him. I have been working up there a lot lately. When I work downstairs in the locked Alzheimer's Unit with the common room I can bring him. I finally got sent downstairs so I asked him if he wanted to come with me. He had been before and is a big hit with the ladies.

I usually leave for work an hour and 15 minutes before I have to get there. The facility is on these amazing grounds and I like to walk around before I start my shift. I am never late for work. Today, I knew that I wasn't going to be walking so I planned to leave a little later. I had forgotten how hard it was to get my father out of the house.

Thirty minutes before we were to leave, I said just that. He said he was ready. As I got myself together I called down a fifteen minute warning. I was downstairs with three minutes to spare. I said, "Ready?" . My father stood up. Now where was his cane? I found it on the downstairs bathroom window ledge.

He stopped to read a bit of Yankee Magazine as I am shaking my keys. I said, "Dad, are you ready?"
"Yes I am ready!" he replied sounding a little annoyed as he continued to leaf through the magazine. He was standing up, which was something, I guess. I said, "We are going out the back door."
"Oh". He walked toward the kitchen. As he passed the table he stopped and started pushing a sponge across it. I was by the door. "Dad, we really have to go."
His indignant, "I am coming!" made me laugh. I finally got him out the door. I was going to be late for sure.

As I was securing both our seat belts I felt this dull pain in my back that was beginning to intensify. Great. My period had started at that very moment. I had to go back inside.By the time I got back outside enough time had elapsed for my father to wonder what the matter was. He was walking back to the house looking for me. I got us both back in the car, and started for work.

I know, gross. I mentioned my period. TMI,fellows? Well, Hear Ye! Hear Ye! This is a very real and annoying "condition" that effects every non pregnant woman of a certain age for about a week each and every month. It is a bloody nuisance is what it is.

I can stay silent and stoic on the situation no longer. My back aches and I get horrible cramps and I bleed like a stuck pig. It is 5 to 6 days of hell. Obviously, I get through them but I am not all that pleasant. My immediate reaction to my period is to become annoyed. I usually pick a fight with whoever is nearest or I silently stew.

I was silently stewing on my disastrous drive to work with my father. CarTalk was on NPR. I had saved a to-go cup from LaSalle Bakery where I had taken Owen the day before. I rinsed it out and filled it up with black coffee. Take a guess what happened. I did not put the lid on properly and I spilled hot coffee all over myself while I was driving.

At the very moment I was burning myself instead of enjoying a little sip of joe, my phone rang. I had just changed my ringtone to "ABC" by The Jackson Five. I have a new cell phone and I didn't like my ring. ABC was one of the choices, I thought it would be funny. I had it up really loud. I had just taken a long walk that morning. I was listening to This American Life on my Ipod so I wanted to be able to hear the phone if it rang. I had forgotten to turn it down.

It was all very startling. I had to pull over and re-adjust. My father was totally bewildered by all this chaos. CarTalk prated on. I dried off with an old shirt of my husband's that we keep under the driver's seat.I fixed the lid, I still had over half the coffee left. I let the phone pick up. It was Fabio. I would explain everything to him later. Believe me, I was the LAST person that he wanted to speak to at that moment, he just didn't know it.

I started down the street again. Within five blocks, as I was wincing in pain from a sudden sharp cramp in my stomach and having the sensation of hot searing daggers in my lower back, my right contact fell out of my eye. Come on. I pulled into the Dunkin' Donuts parking lot to retrieve the lens.

My father had a million questions. He thought I was getting more coffee to replace the stuff my uniform drank. I explained to him that my contact had fallen out. He asked, "Where did you last see it?"
No he didn't. Oh, yes he did!

The Love.

I lovermont

Remember that bumper sticker? I do. I love Vermont. As Fabio is fond of saying, "I have never had a bad day in Vermont". I want to move there. I romanticize about living there on some rolling hillside, home schooling the kids while the bread rises. Fabio would be in his shop out by the chicken coop. I'd have to get up early to fetch some warm eggs for breakfast. There would be cheese boards at lunch. Oh Vermont, I want you!

Last Sunday I was reading the circulars in the paper. I saw one for the "99" Resturant.They were giving away chances to win box seats, and throw out the ceremonial first pitch at the Fenway with the purchase of an entree. They also offered a $10 coupon for every $25 that you spent. I thought it sounded like a deal and said so. Fabio agreed. I looked at all their locations and said, "We should go to the one in Rutland, the boys are out of school." Hotel rooms are going for a song.

We left early on Wednesday morning, dropped our bags at the room, and drove up to Montpelier. We had soup at the Culinary Institute and then played bocce on The State House lawn.



















It was a beautiful day. Everyone was on their best behavior. It was like they had just been let out of prison. The weather was perfect, and apparently that is not always the case. But it is for me. Every time I go to Vermont the air is always crisp and fresh. I am another person who has never had a bad day in Vermont.

After a great game of bocce we bagged the balls and left them on the lawn. We took a tour of the State House.










It was in session and exciting. We walked all over and watched laws getting shaped and passed. Everyone was so friendly and happy to see us.





















We collected our bocce balls and drove backroads back to Rutland. It was a lovely day. We went out for dinner where we won nothing, and went to bed early. The next morning I googled "Family day hikes near Bennington, VT".Haystack Mountain looked good. We had a little complimentary continental breakfast and set off. Back roads.
We stopped at The Country Store in Wilmington for some provisions (and sparklers).


















These photos remind me of a dying carnival on the Jersey Shore.













We hiked up a beautiful snow covered trail, hiked down and drove home. We got Chinese take out for dinner. It was the best 2 days I have had in awhile. If we don't move to Vermont,we should really try to get there at least 4 times a month.

Butch Leary

A while ago I wrote a blog called, "The Miracle of John Leary." On February 28, 2009, John's 57 year old brother Butch collapsed at his friend's daughter's first birthday party. He had gone out to his car to get something and he fell. His friends found him on the ground. He never regained consciousness. That was John's birthday.

Butch had just spent a year and a half in and out of the the cardiac unit of the hospital. He had lost 100 pounds.He was a biker. He was pretty cool. He had John's eyes, those big blue tear drop endless eyes,but he was huge.

Emily Liu, along with her sister Erica, and brothers Christopher and Matthew were my charges for years in Honolulu. Butch was their Uncle and Emily's Godfather.











Emily was two when I started nannying her. She is now a senior in high school. She just got accepted to Northeastern and is waiting to hear from Harvard. She is obsessed with New England. She is especially obsessed with New England sports. She would come to Providence to stay with us for a couple of weeks during the Summer while she was in high school.


We would bring her to see her Uncle Butch in Connecticut.











She would stay there for a few days. I would have loved to have seen the looks that those two would get. They made quite a pair. They ate every meal out. It was hard for Uncle Butch to get around but he drove. He drove Emily to Foxoboro,Mass from Vernon,Conn so that she could go to Patriots Training Camp. He hated the Patriots with a passion. He wouldn't go into the stadium. He set up a lawn chair just outside the gates and read a book-but he got her there. Uncle Butch was a great guy. He would do everything that he could to accomodate.


Two weeks ago we went to Butch's Memorial service.












I knew it was going to be big. He was larger than life. His biker family was enormous. As we filed into church we were surrounded by (I am not kidding) hundreds of bikers. I asked Fabio if he could discreetly take a picture of the boys and me. I thought it was understood that I wanted to document the scene and not just get some random close up of the family. I didn't see the picture until after the service. I wanted to swat him. I cracked up. It really catches all the buzz around us doesn't it?















When we got into the service I saw how extended and colorful Butch's biker family was. We sat in Catholic Mass with about 200 bikers. It was a sight to behold. The church had been condemned. We met in the parish hall that had been converted into a make shift chapel.

There were two altars in the middle and lots and lots of chairs set up on either side. I dressed the boys in their fancy Indian kurtas with their fancy Nehru jackets,and jeans. I was in a black pantsuit. Fabio was in dress slacks and a dark top. We sat with Rosemary and the kids.

We sat across from the most ecclectic group that I had ever seen. There was a little girl in a bright pink hello kitty halter top with a jean skirt.Her mother, in a cleavage showing V-neck with an eagle tattoo taking up her entire chest, was sitting next to her husband. He was in his mechanics uniform. There was a beautiful gal in a red bandana and sunglasses in biker leather. All kinds of hair. Every seat was filled with a fully clad biker. One seat after another, row after row. It kind of looked like a movie set. It was amazing. I wanted to take a picture so badly but I was nervous and I wasn't sure if it would be appropriate.

Before Mass began the priest asked everyone to turn off their cell phones.EVERY SINGLE PERSON in that room- all 200 hundred of us- pulled out our phones. There were all kinds of tones and "goodbyes". It was hilarious! We all laughed. It took a minute to regain composure. It is a moment that I will never forget. Enzo wasn't feeling well. He sat on my lap for the entire service with his head on my shoulder.


In the middle of the altar sat Uncle Butch. His ashes had been placed in the gas tank of his Harley per his request. I noticed that the tank had been draped by a cloth.It wasn't until later, at the Italian American Club, did it become clear. The gas tank had been uncovered and was sitting on a table with the words "White Whore" emblazoned on the side.

















We made our way to the buffet table














A really tough looking girl was standing with her tough looking boyfriend and their tough looking friends. Tough is the word. It is the look that they are going for. It just is. They look tough. As we walked by, the tough girl said, "How are you doing little guy?" to Enzo as she touched his head, "I saw your mommy feeling your forehead at church." Enzo told her that he felt better. She suggested that he drink some ginger ale, then the whole lot of them oohed and aahed over their Indian suits.


Later, the boys got their hands on a photo album that was being passed around. A sweet old lady with long yellow hair held back with a leather cap and wearing a big old Harley jacket(you can't make this stuff up) gently took it from them. "There is nothing in here for you dears."