Monthly Archives: May 2009

Dan Caro soloing

As a child, Dan Caro was burned over 75% of his body.

After surgeries and therapy, his fingers and toes fell off.

But Dan wanted to be a musician, and what a musician he is!


Beautiful wisdom from a 9 year-old

Photo credit.

My family did a great job in Oliver.

I didn’t get any pictures, because I forgot my camera.

The whole family piled into the mini van after the play, and my grandchildren were tired and cranky–they had been at the theater since noon, and it was now almost 10:00 p.m.

My granddaughter Veda, aged 8, was freaking out because a moth was in the car, and was flying around her feet, in her hair, etc.

I was trying to swat the darn thing (you know how slippery moths can be), when I heard my daughter-in-law’s advice, “If you kill that moth, Jaxon (aged 9) will freak out.”

“It’s a living thing too, Bunny Beth,” Jaxon whispered from the back of the van.

“Shoo, shoo,” I whispered to the moth, flapping my hand, trying to keep it away from Veda. But not to kill the moth, a living thing.

“You are right, Jaxon,” I told my wonderful grandson.


Anyway, it’s almost noon on Sunday.

I’m home, doing my laundry, and getting ready for another week of work.

I hope you are all doing well.

May you all have the wonderfully warm sunny weather we are getting right now.

Happy Sunday.

Catching up

Photo credit.

What a week!

I left work last night, and decided to grab a quick dinner at Pike Place Bar & Grill, located at Pike Place Market, of course.

I enjoyed one Corona beer with lime and a mixed seafood grill.


Then I came home and tried to blog, but my lightning fast internet service kept going on and off.

So I decided to rent a movie, Taken, via my cable service.

I couldn’t get the movie to play, and found out cable was having some “issues” last night.

This did not go over well with this tired and cranky woman.

Finally, about 8:30 last night, I got my movie to play.

It was pretty good, very violent, but I must confess I was so cranky I didn’t mind the violence last night.

I even shouted out once or twice, “kick some ass, Liam!”

Told you I was cranky.

So now, I’m off to visit and comment on some of your blogs.

Then I’m off this afternoon, to go to the play my family’s in, and plan to be back online tomorrow.

It was such an awful winter in Seattle, cold, wet, rainy, etc. We finally have some great weather, and I just need to get out of the house.



Photo credit.

The photo above is a good indication of my week at work!

And it was only 4 days long.


So tomorrow is Friday, and I do have some plans for the weekend.

Saturday evening, I’m going to see my son and grandchildren in a community playhouse production of Oliver.

Then I’m spending Saturday night with my family, home Sunday to get ready for another week of toil.

Thanks to all who commented on my last post, and a special thank you to Joanna for making me smile.

Thinking of you today, Mom

The photo above, taken of me with my Mom and Dad, was taken in 1995, before I left for grad school in St. Louis.

I won’t be blogging any more today.

Here’s what I’m feeling today, Mom:

Three years ago today, you slipped away from us and joined Dad.

You may not have given birth to me, but you were my Mom in every sense of the word.

I miss you and Dad, every day, and I’m sure I see you both, from time to time, as I go about my day. I swear, sometimes I hear your laughter and I look for you, sure you are right behind me, or next to me.

You are there, I know, somewhere between this world and the other.

My memories are strong and clear, all the good days (and bad ones too), that add up to the life we shared as a family–you, Dad, me, and Roger.

It hurts a little less every year, more like an ache, because I’m comforted by those memories. But there’s still an empty spot in my heart.

I love you Mom, and miss you every day.

When Tuesday is Monday

I’m tired.

I wasn’t able to take a nap today, because I had to work!

More tomorrow.

Good night.

Kicking back

I’ve crammed a lot of living into my four days off: a doctor visit, a movie, a great dinner (complete with one Margarita), time with my family, and lots of sleep.

In a few hours, I return to work, and I’ll be ready to hit the bricks and do my job.

Now I’m kicking back in my chair, surfing the internet, drinking a diet coke with a wedge of lime, and listening to the Seattle police and fire scanner on KOMO 4 news. I won’t listen to the scanner for long, because it’s too unsettling.

Last night, I offered to babysit three of my grandchildren for a few hours so my son and daughter-in-law could get out for a few hours. We rented two movies, Oliver & Company, and The Adventures of Shark Boy and Lava Girl. The kids got a real charge when a character in the last movie talked about having a “brain fart.” They giggled themselves to sleep.

What is it with kids and bodily functions?


Anyhoo, I’ve commented on lots of blogs today, and now I’m just going to flake out.

Gran out for now.

Happy Memorial Day, USA
I will be back on Tuesday.

Be well, my friends.

Moving to Seattle: Drunks loading trucks

Photo credit.

We hired movers in Rochester, (New York) and Seattle to load and unload the U-Haul.

On the morning of our historic move, my friend Helen came over to help me drop off my car at Volunteers of America (It was a great car, but it had 150,000 miles on it, the window on the driver’s side of the car wasn’t operational, the hood kept flapping open, the brakes needed work, etc.) and pick up the U-Haul.

I got everything done, said good-bye to Helen, and drove home to get ready for the movers.

They showed up, a few minutes late, and turned out to be three jovial men who had celebrated the Memorial Day holiday with a few drinks.

And as they started loading the truck, it was clear they were still celebrating.

There was not much we could do–I needed to turn in the apartment keys, drop off the license plate to my car, and get us on the road so we could spend the night in Buffalo.

My mom sat in a kitchen chair while they moved our stuff into the car, arms folded, and fixed these gentlemen with her “I’ve got my eyes on you, don’t think I don’t” look that I hadn’t seen since my brother and I were younger.

After a few attempts to tell some really weak jokes, the moving guys realized we were on to them (luckily they weren’t too drunk yet), and hustled our stuff into the U-Haul.

Finally, we were standing in a totally empty, and sparkling clean (we had been cleaning for weeks) apartment.

I was born, and lived much of my life in Rochester. My mom had lived in Rochester as a young woman. This was home.

But now, it was time to leave.

We looked at each other for a long time, then my mom told me, “Let’s do it.”

We were on our way.

Anniversary: the move to Seattle

Photo credit.

It was Memorial Day weekend, nine years ago.

Mom and I were packing up everything we owned, getting ready for the move to Seattle.

Packing, cleaning, eating a lot of takeout food because the fridge was already empty.

We were getting ready to leave the day after Memorial Day.

I had our AAA Trip Tik ready, witgh our route mapped out, and reservations in Holiday Inn’s throughout the country.

We would be in the truck all day, with a stop for lunch, and a cooler with drinks and light snacks to keep us going throughout the day.

At night, after our packing and cleaning was all done, my mom and I would sit in the living room of our box filled apartment and just look at each other.

Holy shit, we kept saying to each other.

We are moving across the country.

Like in a few days.

Every so often, I would look at my mom and ask, “sure you can do this?”

“WILL YOU STOP ASKING THAT QUESTION?” My mom would answer every time.

Mom’s health had never really recovered after taking care of my father, at home, in the years before he went into a nursing home.

And Mom refused to take an airplane from Rochester, New York to Seattle.

“I’ve never been in an airplane, and I’ll never get on an airplane,” Mom declared.

So a U-Haul it was, and a 3,000 mile drive to another coast, a new life, to be close to my son (aka Mom’s grandson), and his family.

“This will be the trip of a lifetime for me,” my mother declared.


Nightly, I prayed to God that I could drive safely, across country, with my aging mother riding shotgun.

The trip of a lifetime.

I certainly hope so.

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