The organic use of communication called the whistle has been around for a while. The original tweet probably was expressed by a caveman. He may have accidentally whistled while dashing home for supper. Later, it alerted his clan to imminent danger, meaning, “Dude! Look out for those crazed and hungry mastodons behind you!” Dinosaurs are extinct and the whistle is increasing in rarity.
When I was a kid, I heard a whistle nearly every day.
My dad loved to imitate birds, even warblers. After hearing one summon a mate from a faraway tree, he would whistle to it for kicks and giggles. It would fly closer and closer. This nasty trick worked best on cardinals. Imagine their disappointment when the poor bird discovered it was only stupid human producing the intoxicating siren call and not a voluptuous feathered friend. Continue reading
Do you believe in fate or is life filled with choices where coincidences happen?
Last summer, my daughter, Courtney, studied in Barcelona, Spain. My husband, Danny, and I planned to pick her up in July and travel around France and England on our way back to the States. This trip depended on how quickly I healed after my double boobectomy. Our three week vacation would start five weeks after the first surgery.
I had some priorities. Since the book I wrote takes place in the Côte d’Azur, I wanted to re-explore the area. In my paranormal thriller, the protagonist has to solve the dark mystery surrounding her brother-in-law, Nico, and his estate. I’ve never known anyone named Nico, but the name seemed to fit.
The view from the cacti gardens in Eze.
From the South of France, we planned to drive to Paris. It was ten hours away from Antibes. If we stopped halfway, we could explore another city. We studied a map and found Lyon. It was our Omaha, Nebraska when road tripping from Boulder to Wisconsin. Okay. It’s not, but it is a halfway point. We would stay there July 17th and 18th. Continue reading
My father was one of the original Madmen and worked in advertising. On the weekends, he sometimes created art projects like transforming a baby buggy into a shoe.
It was the 4th of July and my sister, Patty, and I were characters from, The Old Woman and the Shoe. I’m the old woman and she’s one of the children who lived in crampt shoe conditions. My mother was a fine seamstress and sewed our outfits. Patty is wearing a rosebud dress and I am in the hoop skirt. We gathered in front of Queen of Peace Church and paraded down the streets of our neighborhood.
It seems, I was directionally challenged from the start. Note the stroller next to us. It appears we’ve crashed.
Do you remember this abusive nursery rhyme?
There was an old woman who lived in a shoe.
She had so many children, she didn’t know what to do;
She gave them some broth without any bread;
Then whipped them all soundly and put them to bed.
Summer began last Saturday and many of you probably gardened, went to a farmer’s market or festival. I did what any Wild Rider would do on the first day of summer. I skied!
My husband, Danny, and I wore “gaper” attire for the last day at Arapahoe Basin. According to the Urban Dictionary, “A gaper is a skier or snowboarder who is completely clueless. Usually distinguished by their bright colored clothes and a gaper gap or the gap between goggles and a helmet or hat.”
Who knew we’d be color coordinated?
It was about 65 degrees on the bottom, but the temperature dropped on the chairlift.
The conditions appeared to be more than a little thin. Continue reading
We arrived in New Orleans and hit the street. After checking out the Oyster Festival, we had dinner while being serenaded at The Palace Cafe. I fell in love with the NOLA culture and its music.
It was Saturday night and I had to find out what Bourbon Street was all about. While approaching the street, it seemed like Mardi Gras continued in full party mode. Music played through the open doors of all the clubs which lined the streets.
I pulled my husband, Danny into one bar playing one of my favorite songs, “Blurred Lines.” When the music slowed, we ran across the street. Bands, DJs and singers played with no cover charge. I was in heaven. Continue reading
I travel to visit relatives a few times a year, to the mountains most weekends, and in my dreams every night. Exploring new lands, people, dining experiences and cultures is one of my favorite pastimes. I just returned from California where I enjoyed the seafood, sourdough bread, shopping, and friendly beautiful people. Now I’m in the great state of Louisiana. It’s another Wild Ride!
Danny and me and a booty bomber.
After landing in the French Quarter of New Orleans, my husband Danny and I headed down to the Oyster Festival, located on the soft shoulder of the Mississippi River. This event provided my first brush with NOLA (New Orleans Louisiana) culture. The women dressed in appropriate attire for 80+ degree weather. Many wore skirts and dresses, but what really stood out was on their feet. Continue reading
After my daughter, Courtney’s phone interview with a California company, we booked a last minute trip. You never have to twist my arm to come to the land of sandy beaches, amazing seafood, and beautiful people.
I called my friend, Jan McCarthy, who lives in downtown Los Angeles. Luckily, she was in town since she hops between LA and Boulder. The last time we visited, we went clubbing. I made all kinds of new friends and had my first Red Bull! We call Jan The Mayor since she knows everyone.
Me, Courtney, Jan and Danny in her loft.
We started with a tour and a view from the top of the Eastern Building. Continue reading
Dear Bionic Boobs,
I know you’ve been adjusting to your new digs since the reconstruction surgery seven months ago. I’ve protected you from wild elbows, supported you with a bra, and exercised you by smooshing you girls together. (Doctor’s orders.) You seem happy enough and pretty perky.
I do have some concerns.
One night, I looked down and you had wandered off to the sides of my chest. You left four inches between you two. I almost had a heart attack. I thought I’d torn something while vacuuming. As you know, I’ve started wearing a sport’s bra to bed to corral you at night, so I don’t wake up and freak out. I wish you girls would stick together.
Although you’re shaped like hamburger buns and aren’t huge by any means, you weigh more than my old boobs. In fact, you’re a little on the hefty side. The doctor suggested some exercises to build muscles in my back to keep from hunching over.
I thought I’d never need to wear a bra again, but apparently some of your sisters have sagged. I’ve been instructed to wear one when I’m active. Bummer. You’re a little wrinkly when you’re just hanging out, but I refuse to get a fat transfer. You’ll have to get used to that.
You look totally fake and I’m sure some people will stare and roll their eyes this summer. They’ll think I had a boob job. I can always wear this t-shirt. Continue reading