Rockin’ around the clock

It was Rocky and the Rollers instead of Bill Haley and the Comets, but the music was just as loud - and just as much fun.

We’d heard this band was very popular, and that if we didn’t get there early, we wouldn’t get a seat. So, like many other people here, we drove to the square early and reserved a couple of chairs by leaving our hats on them to show possession. Then we found a cute little restaurant and had dinner. True enough, by the time we got back, the square was packed and latecomers arrived carrying their own portable chairs.

As the evening wore on and dusk fell, it became like one huge house party. More than 200 people in the square rocking & rolling, strolling, or line dancing to four hours of live music from the band. Who knew I was the only person on the planet who didn’t know how to do the Electric Slide?

Even RH got into it, and he doesn’t even dance. Of course, he had to be in the middle so he was hidden from spectators, and the dance area had to be completely jammed. But that’s okay. For the first time in all the years we’ve been married, we danced together - outside. A balmy evening, a soft breeze, good music, new friends. What more could I ask for?

Anna Pavlova I’m not

Doesn’t every little girl at one time or another dream of being a prima ballerina? Even though 99% of the time I was a cowboy hat and holster-toting die-hard tomboy, there was a moment or two - all because I read a biography of ballerina Margot Fonteyn - that I dreamt of gracefully gliding across the floor, pirouetting on my tippy-toes in my little tutu. The fantasy didn’t last long, the call of a game of handball or a tree to climb pushing it to the back of my brain.

To be honest, the thought of spending hours at a ballet performance makes me yawn. Still, I do enjoy watching it for a few minutes, even though I have no idea what story the dancers are trying to tell.

In my quest to do at least one new thing every year, last week I did something I never thought I’d do. I took a beginner ballet class. Not because I thought I’d ever be able to dance like Pavolva or Barishnykov, but more because I thought it might increase my flexibility, since mine seems to have disappeared. I thought it would be fun, and since it was geared to mature :cough: ladies, I thought, how hard can it be?

Man. Ballet. Is. Hard. The instructors make it look simple. First position. Easy, right? Uh … no. My feet don’t go in opposite directions. And getting to fifth position - do they not realize the legs are not made to twist into a pretzel without dislocating something???

Instead of my toes meeting my opposite heels like this:

The closest I got was a little more than T (as in TIME OUT!!)

Plie, battement, glissade. Words I’d never heard before, and movements that were impossible for my body. I could practically hear
my muscles screaming “I don’t think so.” Grace and elegance - not even a tiny bit. We’re talking baby elephant in the room.

The instructor did say I had great balance, but my rondes de jambe a terre needed a little work. Since I had no idea what he was talking about, I wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or insulted

Still, I enjoyed it, and so I’ll go back for more punishment this week, unless my hips are still disjointed from last time.

Have you tried anything new lately?

I don’t need no stinkin’ gas

There might be a gas crisis in other parts of the country, but where we’re staying, filling up the tank is not a problem. Other than one or two trips to the supermarket for heavy goods, our car has been parked in the garage since we got here. We aren’t walking everywhere though. Transportation is by golf cart. Battery operated, we just plug it in at night and it’s ready to go in the morning. No worry about running out of gas.

It’s so cute to see them lined up on the street, parked in front of the stores, in the parking lot at Wal-Mart, scooting down the special lanes on the road made specifically for them.

Even crossing a busy intersection isn’t a problem. Tunnels and bridges make it safe and easy to get around.

I don’t know whether it’s because they aren’t closed in or because people are just friendlier here, but when we’re out driving around in our golf cart, people wave or call out a hello as we pass. It’s so strange, but nice.

Yes, I think I like traveling by golf cart. Sure, I have to leave a little earlier than I would if I was driving a car, but to me, it’s worth the extra time it takes.

Schedule for today (or until my tired body runs out of gas):
* a choice between tap dancing or creative writing at 11:00
* a choice between rug hooking or jazz dancing at 1:00
* ballroom dance practice at 2:30
* ceramics at 6:00

There’s also a piano recital at 3, and happy hour and entertainment starting at 5.

Busy, busy. I LOVE these kinds of vacations.

Yippee!!!

The rec centre finally accepted my computer and lets me access high speed. Yay! Now that I have that, I’ll be blogging regularly. Stay tuned.

The vacation continues

I’m still on vacation in Florida, but because I’m stuck using dial-up to get on line. Note to self: never rent another house without high-speed internet.

The old computer with the dial-up software won’t load photos, and until last night wouldn’t even let me access my blog to post messages. The rec centre nearby is supposed to have high speed access, but for some reason, it doesn’t like my new laptop. Still, I have high hopes I can fix the problem.

Meanwhile, if the weather holds out, the plan for today is:
* RH has baseball practice while I play with my computer at the rec centre
* Billiards
* Golf at 5

With luck, I’ll have photos by tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I’ll post my daily schedules here

Getaway day

It’s vacation time again. We’re heading out today for a almost six weeks in the sunny (I hope) south. I’ve never been away from home so long before, and I admit, I’m a little hesitant. I love travelling, but I also love my own bed, and I like to be near my boys (even though they’re grown men and think I’m weird because I still worry about them).

This is a trial run for hubby (aka RH) and I before we make some decisions about spending our winters away from the snow and ice. So we’ll see. Hopefully, I’ll have decent (high speed) internet where we’re staying. If so, I’ll check in daily with our activity schedule and pictures. If not, well, you’ll just have to wait until I get back and do a recap.

Doily days

Does anyone still use doilies? You know the ones I mean, the little lace mats our grandmothers - and even some of our mothers - put under lamps, knick-knacks and dainty glass bowls to prevent scratches on wood. Or the lace tablecloths on dining room tables? I remember both my grandmother and my mother making doilies, their heads bent over a tiny crochet hook and fine thread, intricate patterns appearing as if by magic. I remember wishing I had the skill to produce such beautiful pieces.

I tried, but couldn’t make my fingers and the cotton work together it until I was in my twenties and my mother pointed out that, as usual, I was trying to run before I could walk. She suggested I try using thick yarn and a big hook like this

instead of trying to wield a hook the size of a darning needle and fine crochet cotton

I persevered, and finally, FINALLY! I did it. I could crochet just like my mother and my grandmother before her. But like everything else, timing is everything! By the time I mastered the techniques, nobody wanted doilies and lace tablecloths. So what do I do with all the doilies I inherited from them, as well as those I made myself?

My sister asked me to make her a doilie, so I made this for her.

But really, how many doilies can a person use?

A free pattern arrives in my mailbox every day, and more times than not, it’s for a doilie of some sort or a lacy tablecloth. Some of the patterns are really pretty, but I wonder how many people save those patterns and actually make them. And what do they do with them once they’re done? Church bazaars? Craft sales? I suspect it would be hard to sell them even there.

Anybody want a doilie?

Sin City vs. The Rock

I was all set to write about my trip to Las Vegas when I realized I’d never written about my day trip to Alcatraz. So, Sin City will have to wait. We did have a fantastic visit to Vegas, but I digress.

The Birdman of Alcatraz. The Rock. Escape from Alcatraz - only a few of the many movies made about the maximum security prison and its inmates, even though it closed more than forty years ago. Al Capone is probably its most famous prisoner, but “Machine Gun” Kelly and other criminals who were considered “incorrigible” also called Alcatraz home.

We left our hotel at 9 am in T-shirt, sweatshirt, jacket weather. It was July! Why was it so cold??? Okay, overcast I expected, because after all, this was San Francisco, home of rainy weather, or so I’d heard. We hopped on a Rice-A-Roni car (my son still calls it that even though he’s old enough to know better) and headed to the pier.

Here’s where Myth #1 was debunked. I believed the prison sat w-a-a-y out in San Francisco Bay. It looks a long way out, but it’s actually less than a mile from the mainland. The big deterrent to escape wasn’t the distance or the sharks (myth #2), but the cold water and the currents. According to the tour guide, there was never a documented successful escape. Two men (I think) were never found, and it’s assumed they perished in the bay.

In case anyone got any ideas, this sign greeted anyone who crossed the bay to the prison.

Perched high on the rock is the main prison. I was tempted to take the little tram they offered for those who needed it, but I didn’t think laziness qualified as need. So we climbed … and climbed … and climbed.

New prisoners started here. Not exactly Saks, or even Wal-Mart (no choice of color, style, or even size if all the clothes in your size were already taken)

Each of the main cell blocks was named - Broadway, Michigan Avenue, even Seedy (C-D) row, where the isolation cells were located. New inmates started out on Broadway. Hmm, not one neon light to be seen.
>

A 5×9′ cell with an open toilet Notice the pillow - it’s on the end of the bed closest to the bars. Seems to me you’d be a target when you’re asleep for any other prisoner with a grudge. But sleeping with your pillow at the other end, EEEWWWW!!!!

The prisoners ate well, the only stipulation being that if you put it on your tray, you had to eat it. The menu for the last breakfast served in the prison is still posted. It rivals some restaurants I’ve eaten in.

Alcatraz was one of the few prisons who supplied hot water for showers, the theory being the authorities didn’t want the inmates to become acclimated to cold water, making it less likely they’d try to swim across the frigid waters of San Francisco Bay. But even though they had hot water, there was no room for modesty.

Guards and their families also lived on The Rock, and from what we heard, growing up on the island wasn’t so bad. This building housed many of the unmarried guards.

The ruins here are what’s left of the building where prison officials, guards and their families held parties, meetings, and other social gatherings.

I can’t imagine spending years - or maybe even the rest of my life - locked away, and I wonder if the inmates had any remorse, especially when they could see the city so close by, and hear the sounds of freedom (like a New Year’s Eve celebration) carry across the bay in the dead of night.

PS. The sun did eventually come out, and because I hadn’t remembered sunblock, I ended up with a sunburn on my nose that would make me a shoe-in to drive the sleigh on Christmas Eve. Just one of the souvenirs I brought back from my visit to The Rock.

Viva Las Vegas

Ever noticed how many movies and TV shows are set in Las Vegas? There was the original Vega$ with Robert Urich, Las Vegas, Leaving Las Vegas, Honeymoon in Vegas, etc. etc. etc.

I’m heading off to Las Vegas today for a week to play pool in the APA National Team Championships at the Riviera Hotel. It’s a huge event, with approximately 700 teams competing, as well as a kazillion doubles and singles tournaments going on at the same time. This is my first time visiting Vegas as well as playing in such a large venue. It should be quite an experience.

Do you sense another Vegas movie in the making, an autobiography written by me? I can see the title already - “Petrified in Vegas”. Hmm, doesn’t really have an Oscar-winning ring to it, does it?

I’ll work on that when I get back. Maybe, with any luck, I’ll have to change the title to “Victory in Vegas.” Yeah, I like that one much better.

Meanwhile, to keep up with the action going on around the pool tables, check out the on-site coverage here.

Until next time,
Margery

Life at the lake

As the mosquitoes look on, the car stops in the driveway, and two people begin to unload supplies and carry them into the house.

Mosquito #1: I’m surprised she’s back. Especially after what you did to her last time.
Mosquito #2: What?
Mosquito #1: Don’t play innocent with me. You were such a glutton you made yourself sick.
Mosquito #2: Oh … yeah … it was so good …
Mosquito #1: I wonder why she came back. I would have stayed in the city if I’d swelled up and itched that bad.
Mosquito #2: I heard her hubby really likes it here, so …
Mosquito #1: Would you do that for me? Do you love me that much?
Mosquito #2: Uh … sure I do …
Mosquito #1: What about the man? You want him, or should I?
Mosquito #2: I wouldn’t bother him. She’s better tasting. In fact, I think I’ll have a little snack before she goes inside.
Mosquito #1: Fine. But don’t eat too much. I saw the neighbors pulling in earlier and you know they always have their meals outside. Maybe we’ll have Chinese for dinner.