tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-334905342024-03-13T07:33:30.296-05:00anger managementThe goal of anger management is to reduce both your emotional feelings and the physiological arousal that anger causes. You can't get rid of, or avoid, the things or the people that enrage you, nor can you change them, but you can learn to control your reactions. Unfortunately, I must have been absent the day those genes were given out. I speak my mind. Most of the time it doesn't have the desired effect. So what's a girl to do? Call a few friends, have a few beers, and forgetabouit!!!!!Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.comBlogger318125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-71716064630272707472015-11-25T19:06:00.003-05:002015-11-25T19:06:48.147-05:00Give Thanks, or not. <span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;"><br /></span></span></span>
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<span style="color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.2px;">Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday, well, except for </span><span style="line-height: 18.2px;">St Patrick's Day (obviously!!). But since my mom passed away and my aunt went into a nursing home, I have to admit, It's bittersweet. </span></span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Although we all go our separate ways now, when I was growing up, Thanksgiving was always at our house and Christmas was always at the Devinneys. I could probably write a best seller on those two dinners alone! But that's a whole other story!!</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">By September Harriet would start buying her canned goods and would call my sister and I weekly to give us the tally. Then, a few days before, she would get out the "good dishes." I think she purchased them with </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S%26H_Green_Stamps" style="background-color: white; color: #b5653b; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px; text-decoration: none;">green stamps</a>. <span style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">She would carefully set the table the day before, with Christmas music blaring in the background, to get her in the holiday spirit. The menu was the same year after year. Aunt Babe made the cole slaw and jello. Mary Alice brought the relish tray which my cousin Georgie devoured. Of all 30 or so of us, I think he was the only one who liked olives and radishes. Come to think of it, I think he was the only one who ate the beets also. And the green beans. Maybe he just didn't like the turkey. I'll have to check on that!</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><br />Anyway........<br />
<br style="background-color: white;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">As we got a little older, you knew wedding bells were in the air when one of us brought a boyfriend or girlfriend to Thanksgiving dinner. The engagement ring was usually expected that Christmas. Our friends would stop by after dinner and we would all sit around the table and play games or just talk until the wee hours of the morning. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">When we kids started having kids, we just kept adding a card table. When there was no more room in the dining room, we just started setting up additional tables in the living room of my mom's tiny house. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">We were young, and we had no idea that when we were crammed around that table holding our hands up high in the air when Aunt Babe screamed "</span><em style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;"><strong>WHO WANTS PUMPKIN PIE</strong></em><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">?" that they would be some of the best memories of our lives. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Or just maybe we did. The grandkids and great nieces and nephews still tell me how much they loved sharing holidays meals and were thankful that we did it as many years as we did until logistically, it just couldn't be done anymore. We only had one bathroom!! </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">I am so thankful that these two crazy sisters raised their kids to enjoy each other. So much so, that all these years later, we still consider ourselves not just cousins, but friends. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">And for that, on this Thanksgiving, I am thankful to God for the gift of Harriet and Babe!</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TOwdvqH7n_I/AAAAAAAABbQ/VWQVnaW4sqw/s1600/thanksgiving.jpg" style="background-color: white; color: #b5653b; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px; text-decoration: none;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542837945984851954" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TOwdvqH7n_I/AAAAAAAABbQ/VWQVnaW4sqw/s400/thanksgiving.jpg" style="background: transparent; border-radius: 0px; border: 1px solid transparent; box-shadow: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.2) 0px 0px 0px; cursor: pointer; height: 400px; padding: 8px; position: relative; width: 305px;" /></a><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">Happy Thanksgiving everyone. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;" /><em style="background-color: white; color: #4e2800; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.2px;">*The picture above of my mother and Aunt Babe was taken on Thanksgiving 1974. The only workspace they had to feed thirty people was the kitchen table. Notice the towel rack right on the wall, And the sink with the pipes, my mothers apron,come to think of it, I don't remember having cabinets in the kitchen and can't remember where we kept the every day dishes. (we never had to do the dishes, Thank God!!) The "good" ones were kept in the China Cabinet.....my mother would kill me if she knew I sent this picture of her dirty kitchen all over the Internet!!</em>Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-59461701665870748912014-01-19T03:35:00.003-05:002014-01-19T03:48:46.482-05:00A Daughter Remembers<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>A Daughter Remembers</b></div>
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I listen for her still...a phone ringing can</div>
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send me winging back</div>
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into my memories of her,</div>
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and remembered laughter lights my day. </div>
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I look for her still...in familiar places</div>
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where the sense of her presence</div>
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lingers like a fragrance, and I feel</div>
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the warmth of her arms around me again.<br />
Forever, I will be her daughter--</div>
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Trusting in her love,</div>
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Delighting in her praise--</div>
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These beautiful gifts from my mother</div>
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live inside my heart...</div>
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and I listen for her still </div>
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I always will.<br />
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<i>*Verse from a card sent to me by my Aunt Patsy on my first Mothers Day without my mother. So appropriate, as usual. </i><br />
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Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-98409814791525782013-10-01T01:05:00.000-05:002013-10-07T15:06:24.402-05:00The a Summer Of '42<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>It was the summer of '42. One of the neighborhood guys from Lawrenceville, Alan Stutsman worked for the Pirates as the locker room manager and offered my father and his friend Biggie Fisher summer jobs. My dad never actually told me how he felt getting that job, but if you know him, you probably have firsthand knowledge of his emotional outbursts along with his passion for sports, so its a safe bet to say he was ecstatic.<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>At the beginning of every Pirate season he would remind us of that summer of '42. And what a time they had! He would tell us how Biggie Fisher had a ball signed by every visiting team that year and he wished he had done the same thing because they were now worth a small fortune.<br />
About a year ago, he told me a story I'd never heard before. My grandfather passed away when his youngest sister was just 5 days old, leaving his mother to raise 7 of them herself. To say they were poor, just doesn't do their childhood justice. But somehow they got by through from the kindness of the nuns from St Frances Hospital and the Fireman from Station #6 next door. Needless to say, he wasn't showing up for work looking like he stepped out of GQ Magazine. The soles of his shoes were worn through from him and his brother before him and their constant use. (They were used shoes to begin with. Bought at Kaufman's 34th St aka The Goodwill!) He would stuff cardboard to cover the holes in the shoes and tape them up to hold them all together.<br />
After one particular game, he was cleaning up and a Pitcher by the name <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Luke_Hamlin">Luke Hamlin </a> tossed him a box. He opened it and it was a brand new pair of Florsheim shoes. My dad never owned a pair of new shoes in his entire life!! Luke said something like he bought the wrong size so as not to make him feel bad. But my dad knew the truth. He did something nice for a kid for no other reason but for the kindness in his heart. <br />
What brought this up tonight? Through the kindness of a friend, my father and I will be watching the Pirates play their first post season game in 21 years........from the comfort of a luxury suite. At least ten lifetimes away from the boy with the taped up shoes. He can drink all the coffee he wants for free. He will be in his glory!!! And despite me buying him a few pairs of shoes a year, I'm sure he'll be wearing 20 year old shoes, yelling at me that they still have a few years of life left in them. Just like him!!<br />
And win or lose tomorrow, the Bucco's made one old man very happy because they made it to the post season "<i>while he's still here!"</i><br />
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*<i>The job lasted only for that summer. A mere three months later, on Christmas Day, 1942, Alan Stutsman was killed when his plane was shot down somewhere over Germany putting an abrupt end to the Lawrenceville boys "in" with the Pirates. And by opening day 1943, my dad was somewhere in Utah getting ready to be shipped to Italy to fight in WWII. He was 17. I often wonder if they could ever in their wildest dreams have imagined how their lives would change in one mere Pirate off-season. </i><br />
<i><br /></i><strong>Since writing this post, you know that Dad's beloved Pirates won that game! Maybe it had something to do with him saying <i>just one more </i>Hail Mary before the final out(<em>See picture below</em>)!!! While driving home he told me that was the best time he's had in a long, long time. He was in his glory......and so was I!!! Thank You Bucco's for letting this old man have <em>at least</em> one more perfect day.</strong><br />
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<br />Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-17138249545125492622013-06-14T02:24:00.001-05:002013-06-14T02:38:15.417-05:00Forever YoungToday, Friday, June 14 is flag day. It also would have been Dans 60th Birthday. 60.Years.Old? <br />
I've had many doubts and many questions these past 13 years, but the one thing I'm certain of is that he would have been just as excited for his 60th as he was for his 50th, which unfortunately he didnt live to see. He was the only person I ever knew who was actually excited to be turning 50. We were in the midst of planning the big Five-O party. Unfortunately he came up exactly 90 days short.<br />
I think he loved his birthday for two reasons. One, he knew too many people who weren't afforded the opportunity. And two, he was a big kid at heart. Anyone who knew him, knows that. He was the adult at Christmas who made sure all the kids toys "<i>worked</i>" properly. He played army men with his little brothers well into his teenage years.<br />
But I think my favorite is depicted in this picture.<br />
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A little background. We had a pool in our backyard. Every kid within two blocks would be in our backyard every day of the summer. When they would get bored in the pool, Dan would organize them into teams and they would play good guys vs bad guys. If you grew up in Lawrenceville, you know that between every few streets there are series of little alleyways between the streets, alleys and yards. It's like a maize. They would run through the alleyways and try to catch the bad guys. I took this picture from my back deck. Dan, in his swimming trunks, with one of my kids robocop helmet on. Trying to squirt a "bad guy." The best part is that he is also wearing his bedroom slippers.<br />
Another time he thought he broke his leg when he slipped running and yelling "charge" with a plastic sword in his hand. We were in the emergency room and the Dr asked if he hurt his leg playing soft ball. I made Dan tell him what he was really doing. I'm sure all in the physicians lounge had a good laugh that evening.I wish I would have found the picture of him using a batman beach towel as his cape. But I think you all get the idea.<br />
They say everyone is a kid at Christmas. Dan was a kid the other 364 days of the year also. I'd be lying if I didn't say it sometimes drove me crazy.<br />
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">Soooo many things unfinished. I still needed him to help raise our boys. They didn't want mean ol' mom. They needed calm, cool dad. Who would iron their clothes??? </span><br />
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Such an unfinished life. Would his hair ever start turning <span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);">gray? Would he FINALLY have a beer gut? Would he have taken Whole Foods up on their offer? </span><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"> </span></div>
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Helvetica;">Sigh...we'll never know. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Helvetica;">What I do know is that there is 48 peoples whose lives were enhanced because they were able to use various parts of his body. Some may think that strange. But I find comfort knowing that maybe the cornea from his eye is helping someone to see their grandchilds smile for the first time. His beautiful Irish skin was used to help a burn victim Or his heart valves helped a father of four with serious heart issues and without those valves, he would die. One of his tendons might have helped someone walk without pain by repairing a torn ACL. And his brain. That perfect perfect brain that held more information in 49 3/4 years than most us could learn in ten lifetimes. The brain that remembered every word to every song ever written but had to remember our addresses and phone numbers in relation to Steelers jersey numbers. In his wallet I actually found a piece of paper that simply said Jack Lambert and Mike Webster. I asked what it was. He said our phone number! (Like <em>I</em> was crazy for not knowing!!)Their Steeler jersey numbers were the last four digits of our phone number. He always got them confused so that's how he remembered. That brain was used for research. He had all the qualifications for a study that Pitt was doing. They probably looked at it and said WTF???</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: Helvetica;">So if someone corners you tomorrow and starts talking Civil War statistics, tell him happy birthday. He might look at you strange. But he also may be seeing you through my husbands beautiful bue eyes. The same eyes looking with wide eyed wonder in this picture below. </span><br />
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Happy Birthday My Irish Prince</div>
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And Happy Flag Day!</div>
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*If you are not already, please consider becoming an organ and tissue donor. </div>
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It may help someone you love. </div>
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Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-14487778043678793372013-05-09T00:38:00.000-05:002013-05-09T00:38:24.539-05:00I Miss<br />
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I miss writing on my blog.<br />
I miss my old life.<br />
I miss my old house.<br />
I miss my husband.<br />
I miss knowing I would spend my entire life with a man who was so handsome, he still took my breath away, even after 20 years and with all his faults!<br />
I miss being kissed.<br />
I miss slow dancing.<br />
I miss comfortable silences.<br />
I miss my mother.<br />
I miss being a good mother.<br />
I miss my mothers advise, which made me a better mother.<br />
I miss Devin.<br />
I miss having to take care of my family.<br />
I miss being content staying home with my family.<br />
I miss my father not living near me.<br />
I miss my porch.<br />
I miss my back yard in the spring.<br />
I miss my back yard in the summer.<br />
I miss my old life.<br />
I miss my old friends.<br />
I miss my sister. <br />
I miss my niece.<br />
I miss my nephews.<br />
I miss my Aunt Babe before she had Alzheimer's.<br />
I miss my Grandmother.<br />
I miss walking up the street and running into 3/4 of my family.<br />
I miss late night escapes to my cousin Tomasina's house.<br />
I miss her kids breaking into my house.<br />
I miss having fun with my Aunt Patsy.<br />
I miss having arts and crafts girls nights when all the girls were little.<br />
I miss Miss Harriet.<br />
I miss driving a Mercedes.<br />
I miss being able to afford a Mercedes.<br />
I miss Gang Picnics at North Park.<br />
I miss hearing my parents and their friends sing.<br />
I miss walking up Lakeview Ave and stopping to have a beer with Bernie Flannery in By the Way.<br />
I miss summers in Conneaut.<br />
I miss being a snack mother.<br />
I miss inviting friends over to the house.<br />
I miss being thin and healthy.<br />
I miss being a wife.<br />
I miss constant activity in my house.<br />
I miss my college friends. <br />
I miss planning get togethers.<br />
I miss entertaining often.<br />
I miss being proud of my life.<br />
I miss enjoying life.<br />
I miss happiness.<br />
I miss contentment.<br />
I miss being hopeful. <br />
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I miss looking forward to what life brings me next instead of dreading the day ahead.<br />
I miss the fact that I didn't realize the impact of losing two people in my life (my husband and my mother) would have on the rest of my life. <br />
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<br />Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-69365905247411573772013-01-12T15:29:00.001-05:002013-01-12T16:01:46.021-05:00Her Name Is Ka'Sandra Wade<div class="Pittsburgh_Lesbian_Correspondents-button" style="margin: 0px auto; width: 150px;">
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<img alt="Pittsburgh Lesbian Correspondents" height="199" src="http://www.pghlesbian.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/kasandra-wade_btn_150px.jpg" width="150" /><br />
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<a href="http://www.pghlesbian.com/2013/01/other/her-name-was-kasandra-wade-a-pittsburgh-cyber-vigil/">"33 year old Ka’Sandra Wade – mother, employee, daughter, student and so much more – was murdered by her ex who was also the father of her 11 year old son, Zaire. The situation is complicated and tragic and has generated an outcry from the community to push for better investigation of domestic violence allegations, stronger laws to protect women and more awareness on the part of the community. Too often in similar situations the names we remember are those of the murderers. It is tragic that so many headlines about the murder of Kassandra Perkins at the hands of her boyfriend, NFL player Jevon Belcher didn’t even mention her name. He murdered the mother of his son, then himself – and the headlines focused on his name and his final moments and his teammates. That’s not acceptable."</a><br />
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Domestic violence doesn't discriminate. It is in every race, religion and economic class. Hell, it even crosses political lines!!!! Domestic violence doesn't even care if you are a Democrat or a Republican. <br />
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As a society, we have to work harder to end these senseless deaths. We have to work harder to educate the victims. We have to work harder to get them the help they need. We have to work harder to educate the court system. But most of all, after they finally get the courage to leave, we have to work harder to educate the law enforcement community to take the threats they get from the abusers seriously. <br />
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Woman stay in abusive relationships for a variety of reasons. It is not up to us to judge. If you have a friend or family member who is victim of domestic violence, just be there for them and offer your help. Especially if they finally get the courage to leave.<br />
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I've had at least three friends that were victims of domestic violence. Each one was handled differently. When I found out my childhood friend was being abused, I went and confronted him publicly in front of all of his friends. I threw him up against the wall and told him if he was in the mood to hit a woman, please call me. I'll give him a good fight. I have a brown belt in karate. I shoved him across the room, and told the guys he was with what a real "<em>man"</em> he was. I shouldn't have done that. Unfortunately, he went home and took his anger out on my friend. He beat the crap out of her. I felt terrible. Luckily, she left him shortly after that. <br />
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My second friend was a victim only once. When she got out of the house, her and I went to the police and sat in night court all night waiting for a judge to sign a temporary PFA. It took so much courage for her to leave. The police and judge all just rolled their eyes at her as if to say, "<em>yeah, sure you'll leave him. We will see you back here again</em>." She never did go back. She got divorced. And is now remarried to a man that adores her and respects her. If she had stayed, her life would be much different than it is today. <br />
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My third friend is on the video below. I'll let her tell her own story. Talk about courage.<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZuG5jC5fDA&feature=player_embedded">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZuG5jC5fDA&feature=player_embedded</a> <iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="360" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/QZuG5jC5fDA?feature=player_embedded" width="640"></iframe><br />
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Here is a Post Gazette story about Ka'Sandra Wade<br />
<a href="http://www.post-gazette.com/stories/local/neighborhoods-city/slain-larimer-girlfriend-was-seeking-fresh-start-668770/">http://www.post-gazette.com/stories/local/neighborhoods-city/slain-larimer-girlfriend-was-seeking-fresh-start-668770/</a><br />
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Information and resources for victims of domestic violence can be found<a href="http://www.wcspittsburgh.org/page.aspx?pid=354"> here</a>.<br />
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If you want to hear a gut wrentching story, listen to William <br />
Gay of<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/InVz1nB-zfk" width="560"></iframe> the Pittsburgh Steelers telling about his mothers murder. The pain in his voice is heartbreakingEileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-18004627402365740192012-10-24T18:53:00.000-05:002012-10-24T18:55:27.611-05:00The Ghost Of Bloggers Past<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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yep folks....... I'm back. I'm back to torture all you persnickety proper English speakers/writers who were lucky enough to have had decent teachers who actually taught. Unlike me, who had a 110 year old Polish nun who couldn't speak English let alone teach it. <br />
So don't judge me as I tell my tales of anger, stupidity and absurdities that seem to follow me as I go through this crazy life,OK? I'll try not to make it too painful. At least I've lived to tell the tale!
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Last week I was lucky enough to turn 55. (Thank you) But to tell you the truth, I wasn't too sad to see 54 go. It was a rough year. Probably one of the worse. But again, I lived to tell the tale. I try to focus on the fact that for a stupid ass, dirt poor girl from Lawrenceville, I've been around (ahem, no comment! When crazy things happen to me I think to myself. Hmmmm, how would this all play out as a sitcom. I not even kidding!!! Even though I bitch, I am so lucky to have had such an interesting and amazing life.
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So, where was I for the past 360 some days? I guess you'll just have to check in now and then to find out now won't you. ;) I have so many stories, my head is exploding!!!!!
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Annndddd, Did you really think I could keep quiet through the whole election????? Jesus, Mary and Joseph and all the Saints in Heaven can this please be over. Hopefully without a President named Mitt who believes in magic underwear!
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Since the AMG girls are no more, maybe I'll change the name of this blog to "I Lived To Tell The Tale" (if I can figure out how to do it ON MY NEW IPAD!! Woo hoo)
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<i>*Picture is the front of a card I bought at Wild Card in Lawrenceville. If you haven't been there, GO!!<i></i></i>
Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-51230029062625345932011-10-31T14:44:00.004-05:002011-10-31T16:24:31.466-05:00Happy Halloween!<div align="center">Trick or Treat! Trick or Treat!<br />Give me something good to eat.<br />Give me candy. Give me cake.<br />Give me something good to take<br /><br /></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1OZwWkkc9Sc/Tq77ArZU6BI/AAAAAAAABhY/b3HDI-cW0yc/s1600/HalloweenDogs02.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 265px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669744969973557266" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1OZwWkkc9Sc/Tq77ArZU6BI/AAAAAAAABhY/b3HDI-cW0yc/s400/HalloweenDogs02.jpg" /></a>Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-63926598735327451402011-09-13T00:15:00.017-05:002011-09-15T09:43:54.793-05:00I Miss You My FriendI was looking for something in my library the other day and came across the following note from my mother. It was written on the day my husband and I returned from our honeymoon. As with most things these days, I thought back at how happy I was then, and it made me cry.<br /><br /><br /><p><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t3p2s1URK48/TnFMu-9rzqI/AAAAAAAABgI/C5AMR5qL7LM/s1600/lay%2Ba%2Bway_0001.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 259px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652383377386098338" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t3p2s1URK48/TnFMu-9rzqI/AAAAAAAABgI/C5AMR5qL7LM/s400/lay%2Ba%2Bway_0001.jpg" /></a>Then I looked at the other side of the note and saw that my mother had written me this lovely welcome home note on the back of a <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">HILLS LAYAWAY</span> advertisement, and it made me laugh out loud.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ca8CNttcz5s/TnFQYR6KEuI/AAAAAAAABgQ/_xgxEQCrp1E/s1600/lay%2Ba%2Bway_0002.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 273px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652387385381098210" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ca8CNttcz5s/TnFQYR6KEuI/AAAAAAAABgQ/_xgxEQCrp1E/s400/lay%2Ba%2Bway_0002.jpg" /></a>This is soooo Harriet. Finding this made me miss her and Dan more than ever. And like every other memory I have of them both, it made me laugh and thankful I had them in my life. And it made me cry that they are no longer with me.<br /><br />Today is my 27th wedding anniversary. </p><br /><p>If you haven't heard of her before, listen to this song by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eva_Cassidy">Eva Cassidy.</a> (Esp around the three minute mark) </p><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; FONT-STYLE: italic">All of those years we spent together<br />Well they're part of my life forever<br />I hold the joy with the pain<br />And the truth is I miss you my friend<br /></div><br /><iframe height="345" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/pOkIadp3cno" frameborder="0" width="420" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><br />I love this song, but sometimes time<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"> ISN'T</span> a healer. Sometimes its more than I can bear. I've been having a rough time of it lately. As Harriet would say "Better days are coming" I sure hope so mum. I sure the hell hope so.Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-8445986069473293812011-08-28T09:13:00.008-05:002011-08-28T12:07:55.959-05:00Good Night Irene........Good Riddance<iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/YvNavReXi7U" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="345" width="420"></iframe>
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<br />My friend Ski called me yesterday. Since this has been a daily occurrence for 40 years or so, it was nothing out of the ordinary. But this particular conversation happened to be the same that I had with about four or five other long time friends this week.
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<br />The gist of it was that they had been thinking of me all week. Every time news came on about Hurricane Irene, they would have themselves a little chuckle.
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<br />What does that have to do with me you might ask? For that answer we have to go all the way back to 1973. I was a shy awkward junior at Lawrenceville Catholic High School. We had an English teacher named Sr. Angela. For all you English majors out there, yes, she's the reason this blog makes you cringe. I learned absolutely nothing in high school English. The proof being right here in front of your eyes.
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<br />All of you of a certain age who grew up in Lawrenceville has their own sister Angela story. I could write plenty of posts about this crazy <span style="font-style:italic;">old</span> Polish nun that most took great pleasure into literally driving crazy. There would be one about Sr. Angela and BJ; Sr. Angela and the band room; Sr. Angela and "pennies from heaven;" I could go on and on and on........feel free to chuckle to yourself as a favorite pops into your mind. I'll give you a minute.......
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<br />Done? I bet some of you haven't thought about her in years.
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<br />How about the bangs and the white faced make up she wore that made her look dead! Sometimes I feel badly about how she was treated. But then I remember just how crazy she was!
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<br />Anyway, here's my story. For those of you that I met later in life, my name in high school was Eileen Quinlan. For some reason Sister Angela <span style="font-style:italic;">insisted</span> my name was Irene McQuillan. FOR TWO YEARS! Stupid, I know. But it drove me crazy. When she would call on me to answer a question, the whole class would laugh. Not cool for a shy high school student. After a while I think she did it on purpose.
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<br />Word of this spread quickly considering there were only about 400 or so kids in the school. When Jeff Devinney and Georgie Duke got hold of this, I knew I was doomed to be Irene McQuillan forever.
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<br />As if that weren't bad enough.......During this time my friends and I spent many a night sharing bottles of Boone's Farm (ewwwww) wine at St. John's Ball field on 36th Street. Naturally, my curfew was about a half hour or so before anyone else my age so I was usually the first to leave to go home (We didn't want to piss off Bud!) <span style="font-style:italic;">EVERY NIGHT</span> when I would leave to walk out of the park twenty or so 16 year old kids would break into the song <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goodnight,_Irene">"Good Nigh Irene"</a>. EVERYNIGHT! You can use your imagination as to how embarrassing this was for a shy 15-16-17-18 year old kid. Yes, it went on for years, and years, and years........
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<br />It quickly spread to everywhere I went. <span style="font-style: italic;">Everywhere!</span> Even during basketball games when I was a cheerleader (I know, I don't believe I was a cheerleader either!!) For years.
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<br />It took only one or two visits from high school friends to Mercyhurst for "Irene" to follow me to college and beyond. Same thing for the singing. You haven't lived yet if you haven't been serenaded with "Good Night Irene" by people you hardly know while leaving a keg party with a boy you have been dying to meet since the first week of freshman year. I guess the plus side of that would be that at least he remembered my name!!! (Poor thing didn't know what he was getting himself into, God rest his soul!)
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<br />It even followed me to the FBI for cryin' out loud.
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<br />Few in the life I'm living now know me by Irene. Every once in a while, I will run into someone from my younger days and when they call me Irene, my kids or whoever I'm with think something like they must have not know me very well if they can't even remember my name.
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<br />If only.....................
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<br />Enough about me.
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<br />Happy to report that old friends and new have seemed to escape Hurricane Irene with minimal damages.
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<br />Thank God, <span style="font-style:italic;">GOOD NIGHT IRENE!!!</span>!
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<br />Good Riddance.
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<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">*I should have named this post "What Hurricane Irene Means To Me." Sort of like the high school essay I never learned to write!!</span>
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<br />Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-66044193426765631382011-06-26T08:53:00.006-05:002011-06-26T09:11:01.045-05:00And The Big Man Joined The BandJudi over at <a href="http://judifromthismomenton.blogspot.com/2011/06/and-big-man-joined-band.html">Stories From The Road </a>says is better than I ever could.<br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">the background music of my life, the soul of a generation.<br />A sound that will play on. </span>"<br /><br />RIP Big Man. You will certainly be missed.<br /><br /><iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/81wv_w6_Z8M" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" width="425"></iframe><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">When the change was made uptown<br /></span> <span style="font-style: italic;">And the big man joined the band</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />From the coastline to the city</span><br /> <span style="font-style: italic;">All the little pretties raise their hands</span><br /></div><br />We certainly did.........Thanks for the memories.Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-44318096130212285522011-06-14T14:24:00.004-05:002011-06-14T14:28:48.415-05:00June 14<div align="center"><em><strong>Happy 58th Birthday Dan<br /></strong></em></div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KpC964vQ_Jc/Tfe1bucyisI/AAAAAAAABfc/Bt3S7MgNqiI/s1600/IMG_0001.jpg"><em><strong><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 280px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618158548097862338" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KpC964vQ_Jc/Tfe1bucyisI/AAAAAAAABfc/Bt3S7MgNqiI/s400/IMG_0001.jpg" /></strong></em> <br /><p align="center"></a><em><strong>Happy Flag Day Dan!!<br /></strong></em><br /></p>Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-82206210595258654862011-05-29T00:06:00.005-05:002011-05-29T11:42:46.560-05:00Happy Decoration Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-izB_lxKTooc/TeJ3Y3vsnbI/AAAAAAAABfQ/adEsXa8ZEnQ/s1600/decorated%2Bgrave.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 269px; height: 188px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-izB_lxKTooc/TeJ3Y3vsnbI/AAAAAAAABfQ/adEsXa8ZEnQ/s400/decorated%2Bgrave.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612179354821631410" border="0" /></a><br />Sooooo, where was I????? I've been missing in action for a while. Sorry about that folks. I'll try harder to write more often. I promise.<br /><br />As we fire up the grills this Memorial Day weekend, several thoughts are spinning in my head. As usual!<br /><br />First up, to the men and woman, many of whom were kids, who gave their lives so that assholes like me can enjoy the freedoms to bitch about stupid things on this here blog, I am eternally grateful.<br /><br />Memorial Day, or as my mother called it, <a href="http://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/civil-war-dead-honored-on-decoration-day">Decoration Day<br /></a> brings out a whole gamut of memories.<br /><br />One of my most cherished memories as a kid is going to the cemetery with my grandmother, aunt and mother to "decorate" the graves. In later years, my parents took my kids with them. If I had to miss for some reason, my mother would call and tell me the daily total of graves that they "<span style="font-style: italic;">did</span>." She would go on and on about how tired she was. And in later years, about how thankful she was that my kids were there to help.<br /><br />I laugh because Harriet was much better at delegating than doing. I can't believe some CEO didn't pick up on that during her life and nab her to head their production lines. I can hear her now. Come on Bud, just do it now. 1,2,3. Boom, boom, boom. And it will be done. Silence for about 20 seconds. Let's go. Come on. Here, this shovel is all ready for you. She would drive you crazy, until you just did it. No matter how tired or busy you were. You just did it. And she would sit there and tell you exactly how to do it. Herself, never breaking a sweat.<br /><br />Anyway, I am getting off subject. Yesterday, I grudgingly continued that tradition and made the cemetery runs. Decorating graves of relatives that were dead long before I was born.<br /><br />One of those is my mothers brother who died in 1945. He is buried way back in the corner by the wall in St. Mary's Cemetery in Lawrenceville. When I made my way back to his and his wife's graves yesterday, I read his gravestone. He was discharged from the service on May 28, 1945. 46 years to the day. Strange coincidence.<br /><br />His grave was decorated only with the flag that the cemetery staff puts on all the veterans graves.<br /><br />George Jenkins enlisted in 1939. He left Pearl Harbor three days before it was attacked by Japan. My mother used to say that my Gram was so relieved when she heard he missed the attack.<br /><br />As a kid, I remember going through my Gram's cedar chest and reading his letters home. Most information was blacked out with magic marker. I distinctly remember that. I also remember hearing stories of the various battle's he was involved in. I wish I would have paid better attention.<br /><br />One of the items in that cedar chest was a huge Japanese flag. My cousin Jeff and I would look at it all the time. It scared the hell out of me because it had blood and bullet holes all over it.<br />My grandmother said she would tease him and tell him that she was going to wash it for him. And he would reply "Mom, if you only knew what I went through to get that flag."<br /><br />I wish I had the opportunity to ask him. After he survived the war, he returned to Lawrenceville. Got married, bought a house. And died.<br /><br />After surviving the war, him and his young wife died of carbon monoxide poisoning in the home they purchased as newlyweds. He was home from the war for only 6 months. My mother said my gram was never the same after that.<br /><br />The least I can do is put a few geraniums and petunia's on him and his wife's grave to thank him for spending the last four years of his life fighting for my freedom.<br /><br />Geeze, I need to quit complaining.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">*When I was in 4th or 5th grade, I took that flag to school for show and tell. We think my teacher never gave it back, because no one saw it after that. That flag would be worth a small fortune today. </span>Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-69756336689528894692011-05-07T09:35:00.005-05:002011-05-07T10:20:04.484-05:00HAPPY MOTHERS DAY or GOOD GOD HARRIET<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s79Ypw2Gtww/TcVhuFCCl4I/AAAAAAAABfI/A9Ia-0ED89c/s1600/me%2Band%2Bmom.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 390px; height: 362px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s79Ypw2Gtww/TcVhuFCCl4I/AAAAAAAABfI/A9Ia-0ED89c/s400/me%2Band%2Bmom.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603992755585062786" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">*This is a previous post from Mothers day 2009 (with a few additions)</span><br /><div class="post-body entry-content" id="post-body-7882212121215068071"><div align="left"><br />My mother passed away over eleven years ago. There is not a day that goes by that I don't missed her. "<em>Harrietisms</em>" pop out of mine and The Madonna's mouth a few times a day and they still make us laugh.<br />I have turned into my mother. I don't mind.<br /><br />At my mothers funeral, I delivered the eulogy. Her friends asked me, how did you do that? It must have been so hard. To tell you the truth, it was not hard at all. I started writing hastily on a piece of paper around midnight the night before her funeral. They say you should write about what you know. Well, I knew Harriet. Everyone knew Harriet! I started remembering what people said to me when they came up to the casket during the viewing. Of the 1,200 people who signed the book, yes 1,200, their comments were going to be my eulogy.<br /></div><p align="left">Here is what I came up with:<br /><br />Everyone has a Harriet story. Today, I want to mention a few that I heard over the last few days....... At least the ones I can repeat in church.<br /><br />There are four things my mom loved in this world.<br />1. Her Husband<br />2. Her Kids<br />3. Her Grand kids<br />4. Layaway<br />Not necessarily in that order.<br /><br />She seemed to always make scenes in front of priests---Father, you know what I'm talking about don't you?<br /><br />My Mother<em> NEVER </em>held a grudge.<br /><br />She was a "<em>child bride</em>"<br /><br />I believed that the gray streak in her hair was paint until I was 21.<br /><br />She had hundreds of good times in Conneaut throughout her life. And who will ever forget the infamous "<em>fall under the car</em>"<br /><br />She went to weight watchers and stopped after every meeting at Eat'n Park for a strawberry sundae.<br /><br />She was responsible for getting all the guys at Quincy's Pub to quit swearing and watch The Guiding Light.<br /><br />I guess now my sister and I have to learn how to wash and hang curtains.<br /><br />She was the only person I know who believed OJ was innocent.<br /><br />She was constantly telling my father he was hard of hearing when she couldn't hear herself.<br /><br />She believed there was nothing like a <em>good night at Zalewski's.</em><br /><br />She <em>honestly</em> believed the Devinney boys were angels.<br /><br />We were all <em>sworn to secrecy </em>about how she looked in a bathing suit.<br /><br />How many times have we all heard my father yell <em>"Good God Harriet</em>"<br /><br />She was every ones Aunt Harriet. Now even her great nieces and nephews friends call her Aunt Harriet.<br /><br />You see, she wasn't just a Green or a Quinlan. She was a Devinney, a McGregor, a Gallagher, and an Olzak. She was a Piezak, a Flannery, a Neuch, and a Slemenda. She was part of everyones family.<br /><br />I always thought if ones wealth is measured by friends instead of money, mom was a multi-millionaire.<br /><br />I want to thank everyone here for being such good friends to her.<br /><br />One of the nicest things I've heard over the past few days came from one of our old neighbors. This woman lived next door to us for about two years when she was 7 years old. She was now in her late 40's. When she read about mom's passing in the newspaper, she came to the funeral home because she just wanted us to know what a difference my mother had made in her life in the few short years they were neighbors. They were neighbors 35 years ago!!!<br /><br />I want to leave you all today with one last thought. There is no need to worry about missing my mother. All of my life I've been told that my mother will never be dead as long as I'm alive. That surely is the best compliment I've ever been told in my life. If I can be half the person she was, or have half the amount of friends in my life then I'll die a millionaire too.<br /></p><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><em> HAPPY MOTHERS DAY TO MY MOM</em></strong><br /><strong><em>Harriet Green Quinlan</em></strong><br /><strong><em>Dec. 14, 1929 - January 19, 2000 </em></strong></div><p align="left">As we say in the Quinlan Family: "<em>Be dood to yo muddel Modwet</em>". (Translation: Be Good To Your Mother Margret) Happy Mothers Day.<br /><br /><em>*Note: The woman I mentioned above who said my mother made such a difference, we lived next door to them when her little brother was dying of polio. My mother helped her mom while he was sick. Jimmy died when he was 5. My father was a pal bearer.</em></p></div>Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-50210597242921666982011-04-06T19:45:00.022-05:002011-04-07T10:18:36.143-05:00Sissy<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sQWCU5nTn0c/TZ3LwckioRI/AAAAAAAABeo/Ekzn8X3UUwc/s1600/Aunt%2BBabe%2Band%2Bmom.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 248px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592850345427640594" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sQWCU5nTn0c/TZ3LwckioRI/AAAAAAAABeo/Ekzn8X3UUwc/s400/Aunt%2BBabe%2Band%2Bmom.jpg" /></a> <br /><div>I was blessed in my life with a runner up mother. My Aunt Babe, My mother Harriet's sister. What's that they say at Miss America if she cannot full fill her duties? If for any reason Miss America cannot perform her duties the runner up bla bla bla........My childhood was something like that. If I needed permission to do something and I couldn't find my mother, Aunt Babe had complete authority over us kids. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>My mother and her sister were 14 months apart. To write the words they were close just doesn't do their story justice. They spoke in a language known only to themselves. Even us kids had trouble following what they were saying. They never had to finish a sentence in their conversations and they always knew what the other was thinking. </div><br /><div>And the phone.......Good Lord, the phone. It used to drive my father and my Uncle crazy. Uncle Pud used to yell, half kidding, What can you possibly have to talk about so many hours in the day???? They would spend the day together, get home, call each other the minute they walked in the door to recap and say how much fun they had! </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>The day of my mothers funeral 11 years ago, my Aunt Babe told me she didn't know what she was going to do because there hadn't been a day in her entire life that she didn't talk to her sister. She was talking to me not as my Aunt, but as a woman who lost her only sister. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Come to think of it, I don't think they ever took separate vacations. Year after year we all went to Conneaut Lake, probably for close to 40 years. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>They loved singing the<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dolly_Sisters"> Dolly Sisters</a>. Every time they got in a car, I swear they would start to sing. I think it was out of habit. When we kids were little, they did it to keep us quiet, but they were still doing it when we were into our 30's! </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>My uncle used to kid them that us kids were going to grow up confused about which one of them was our mother. I could go on here with stories, but you get the picture. These two woman didn't do much in thier lives without one another. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>A few years ago my Aunt Babe was diagnosed with dementia. Some days are better than others. My Uncle and her still live in the house they have lived in for the last 30 some years. I'm sure its tough for him to repeat everything over and over because she can't remember he told her the same thing five minutes earlier. And five minutes before that. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>After my mother died, sometimes it was hard for me to see my aunt because she was such a part of my mother. Every once in a while, when I was having a particularly bad day, I would call her and we would have a good cry. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>When I stop to see her these days, my heart breaks and I wish my mother was still alive. She was always her memory, even when her memory was good! And I'm sure Harriet would welcome the challenge now. My mother was so patient. There's not a doubt in my mind that she would have wanted to sit by her side day after day reminding her over and over what she had for breakfast. I can hear her now. "Oh Sissy, you remember yesterday we saw so and so." or "you remember that white dress with the blue polka dots that I had on the time we went to the parade in 1959." </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Last week, my niece Elisabeth was in town so we could make wedding plans (whole other post!). I wanted to give her my mothers wedding gown and veil to do with what she wants. She could wear it or take it apart and use the lace for something. Anyway, my mothers wedding gown is in my grandmothers cedar chest in Aunt Babes attic. I knew it was going to be tough to get her to remember that we were coming down to pick it up. But I thought it would be nice if some of her grandchildren and I could go through some of the stuff. Maybe it would stir up her memory and she could tell a story or two. Most of the stuff the grand kids had never seen. When we were kids staying at my Grams my cousin Jeff and I would look through that stuff all the time. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Uncle Pud and I lugged the stuff down from the attic. Four of her grandchildren, Elisabeth and I started going through the boxes which among other things consisted of my mothers prom gown, shoes, both their wedding gowns and bridesmaids gowns. Both of their wedding gowns were folded in their original boxes like they were bought yesterday. My mothers from the Marlaine Shop (in the Clark Building) and Aunt Babes from Joseph Horne's Bridal Shop. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>We passed around each of the dresses and held them up to our bodies and took a ton of pictures. Aunt Babe slid hers over her arms and put on her veil. We all took pictures and laughed about the waistlines and had a wonderful time. Every five minutes or so, she would ask what was in the boxes. One of us would tell her that it was her or my mothers wedding gown. She would ask if she had seen it. We would say, "Yes Aunt Babe, we just took your picture in it, remember?" She just looked at us with a blank, confused look on her face not remembering that we all took pictures of her a few minutes earlier. Even though she couldn't remember, I think she had just as good a time as we all did. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>It was getting late and everyone was leaving. Elisabeth and I were packing up my mothers beautiful wedding gown to take with us. When we had it all packed up, Aunt Babe asked if we were taking that box with us. I said yes, Elisabeth is getting married and she might want to wear my mother's gown. I also said something like wouldn't she be thrilled that her Elisabeth is getting married. Then Aunt Babe looked at me with the clearest look I've seen in a while. She said to both of us "My sisters wedding gown is in that box. I've kept that dress for her for 60 years. Would you mind if I just touch it one more time?" With that, the three of us burst into tears and hugged each other and then she hugged her sisters dress one last time. </div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pn7TaP6SIMA/TZ3OW_-pqmI/AAAAAAAABe4/lmoa1RpVFQk/s1600/SANY2422.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592853206790679138" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Pn7TaP6SIMA/TZ3OW_-pqmI/AAAAAAAABe4/lmoa1RpVFQk/s400/SANY2422.JPG" /></a> <br /><div><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">Note: Funny Aunt Babe wedding story: Last year while sitting at my nephew Jeffrey's wedding she looked around and said to Uncle Pud "I don't know who any of these people are, but they sure know how to throw a party!!</span> </div>Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-78206550285953919042011-03-26T11:50:00.010-05:002011-03-26T13:16:11.070-05:00A Wee Bit O' March Madness Or The Madness To March or The March TO MadnessNow where was I???? Last we spoke, Steelers were going to the Superbowl. We all know how <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> ended. I'm ok with it though. Green Bay seems like a nice enough team. At least we didn't lose to a bunch of creeps.<br /><br />The <span style="font-style: italic;">High Holidays</span> (St. Patrick's Day) came and went without incident. I decided to march this year. I wasn't going to, but Devin really wanted to and I didn't want him to go by himself. It turned out to be a lovely day, despite being the 8th anniversary of Dan's death.<br /><br />Speaking of Devin, he's been home with me for a few months now. He had to have back surgery. Poor thing. His back is "<span style="font-style: italic;">messed up</span>." Those were the words of the Dr. when he came into his room the day after surgery.<br /><br />Some good news. My niece Queen Elisabeth is engaged. Wedding date is May 27th, 2012. The best part is she is having her wedding at <a href="http://www.fallingwater.org/57/weddings">Fallingwater</a>. I am so excited. More wedding plans to keep me busy. Woo Hoo!<br /><br />So enough with the catching up.......<br /><br />How about this years <a href="http://espn.go.com/mens-college-basketball/tournament/bracket">March Madness!!!</a>! Holy Shit. First let me say that I come from a long line of basketball crazies.<br /><br />Last night after Virginia Commonwealth University and Kentucky both won by making last minute shots I immediately called my father. It was well after 1 am. As I was dialing his number I heard my friend say something like "You father is going to be up and would answer the phone at this time of the night?" Not only was he up. He picked up the phone on the first ring. Instead of hello he started screaming. "Can you believe it, can you believe it? Both games won in the last second. I can't believe it.... Hello." He didn't know who was calling. He figured it was one of his kids or grandkids. I'm sure he had already talked to my brother 20 times throughout the night. He was so wound up. I'm betting he stayed up most of the night watching replays on ESPN.<br /><br />And how about Butler's coach! He looks like he's about 15 years old.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WdXginM_bgQ/TY4oPshRtMI/AAAAAAAABeY/o96BqqsVCFw/s1600/butrler.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 188px; height: 128px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WdXginM_bgQ/TY4oPshRtMI/AAAAAAAABeY/o96BqqsVCFw/s400/butrler.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588448437727245506" border="0" /></a>How cute is he??? Even though they beat my beloved Pitt. I'll be rooting for them to make it to the finals. As I said above about the Green Bay, at least Pitt wasn't beat by a bunch of creeps. (ie Duke!!)<br /><br />Best all round image so far for this years March Madness<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Byqyxpfzunc/TY4pveM0uaI/AAAAAAAABeg/7o95N-Wi2Nk/s1600/fredette.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 197px; height: 256px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Byqyxpfzunc/TY4pveM0uaI/AAAAAAAABeg/7o95N-Wi2Nk/s400/fredette.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588450083150805410" border="0" /></a><br />Please look at how high this kid is jumping. Unfuckingbelievable!!! Who does that??????<br /><br />The Madness continues...........................(in more ways than one!!!!!)Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-44667541147116442692011-03-17T09:05:00.005-05:002011-03-17T09:29:58.488-05:00Erin Go Bragh!<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4VHMksWiCag/TYIZ5JAEFdI/AAAAAAAABeQ/vvQxx6CBpL8/s1600/shamrock.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 180px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 113px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585054957352261074" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4VHMksWiCag/TYIZ5JAEFdI/AAAAAAAABeQ/vvQxx6CBpL8/s400/shamrock.jpg" /></a><br /><div><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">May those who love us, love us</span></em></div><br /><br /><div><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">And those who don't love us,</span></em></div><br /><br /><div><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">May God turn their hearts.</span></em></div><br /><br /><div><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">And if he doesn't turn their hearts,</span></em></div><br /><br /><div><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">May he turn their ankles</span></em></div><br /><br /><div><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">So we know them by their limping.</span></em></div><br /><br /><div><em><span style="font-size:130%;color:#009900;">*Irish Blessing</span></em></div>Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-30570780676109433482011-03-14T12:03:00.010-05:002011-03-14T16:48:04.709-05:00Time Is A Healer<div align="center"><em>And He will raise you up on eagles's wings,</em></div><br /><div align="center"><em>Bear you on the breath of dawn,</em></div><br /><div align="center"><em>Make you shine like the sun,</em></div><br /><div align="center"><em>And hold you in the palm of His hand.</em></div><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jRza4xg25nc/TX5QmZVUXZI/AAAAAAAABeI/BdZvwnYC53A/s1600/dan%2Band%2Ba%2Bpat%2B2.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 265px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583989208551546258" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jRza4xg25nc/TX5QmZVUXZI/AAAAAAAABeI/BdZvwnYC53A/s400/dan%2Band%2Ba%2Bpat%2B2.bmp" /> </a><p align="center"><br />Dan D'Amico </p><p align="center">6.14.53 - 3.14.03<br /></p><p align="center"><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ttl-W-hVDpQ" frameborder="0" width="480"></iframe><br />As the song says "<em>Time is a healer for all hearts that break</em>." </p><p align="left">* I love both songs. The second, by Eva Cassidy I think I must have listened to 100 times the first few months after Dan passed. </p><p align="center"><br /></p>Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-16924279690826442962011-02-02T17:57:00.005-05:002011-02-02T18:12:33.201-05:00Happy Groundhog Day<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TUnhiY_zOAI/AAAAAAAABds/6Vd3zEyP7LA/s1600/groundhog.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 316px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569230395162179586" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TUnhiY_zOAI/AAAAAAAABds/6Vd3zEyP7LA/s400/groundhog.jpg" /></a> And more importantly, Happy Birthday to my niece Queen Elisabeth aka Bitsy!!!!<br />(shown here in one of her Grams rain bonnets! Isn't she beautiful?????<br /><div></div><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TUnkecbGWqI/AAAAAAAABd0/uEytFRhwuJ8/s1600/bits.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569233625897392802" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TUnkecbGWqI/AAAAAAAABd0/uEytFRhwuJ8/s400/bits.jpg" /></a>Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-31427432946448134972011-01-31T14:13:00.010-05:002011-01-31T14:34:32.246-05:00Proof<div align="center">The proof that you are born into Steeler Nation. It is not a "choice."<br /></div><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TUcL8YKIrSI/AAAAAAAABdU/8DIn4uQDfWo/s1600/steeler%2Bbabies.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568432596171926818" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TUcL8YKIrSI/AAAAAAAABdU/8DIn4uQDfWo/s400/steeler%2Bbabies.jpg" /></a><br />And into the not so distant future, <a href="http://sports.yahoo.com/nfl/blog/shutdown_corner/post/Pittsburgh-area-hospital-wrapping-babies-in-Terr?urn=nfl-314361">those adorable babies swaddled in Terrible Towels </a>will turn into this.<br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TUcNt9U20XI/AAAAAAAABdc/2_di7HJVy3E/s1600/steeler%2Btodlers.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 223px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 167px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568434547474223474" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TUcNt9U20XI/AAAAAAAABdc/2_di7HJVy3E/s400/steeler%2Btodlers.jpg" /><br /><p align="center"></a><br /><strong><em>And then THIS!!!!!</em></strong><br /></p><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TUcONGcx83I/AAAAAAAABdk/yVRD7Ud4Jhc/s1600/crazy%2Bsteelers.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 154px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568435082499322738" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TUcONGcx83I/AAAAAAAABdk/yVRD7Ud4Jhc/s400/crazy%2Bsteelers.jpg" /></a> <em>Just sayin'</em>Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-73374609441654165262011-01-30T12:49:00.006-05:002011-01-30T13:41:08.151-05:00Here We Go, AGAIN!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TUWuLZ3bfDI/AAAAAAAABc8/LS8XMEyoTQ8/s1600/cheese.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 124px; height: 130px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TUWuLZ3bfDI/AAAAAAAABc8/LS8XMEyoTQ8/s400/cheese.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568048025258654770" border="0" /></a><br />Sooooooo, As you may have heard by now, THE STEELERS ARE GOING TO THE SUPER BOWL!! Woo hoo. My town is covered in black and gold from end to end. If you aren't wearing a Steeler shirt, you look like a tourist. <br /><br />Some of my best memories of growing up were of the weeks leading up to the Superbowl. I'm happy the Steelers are doing the same for my kids. That's mighty nice of them, don't ya think?<br /><br />As in years past, everyone has their<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terrible_Towel"> Terrible Towels</a> or Steeler flags hanging in the window. Half the fun of being in the Superbowl are these weeks leading up to it. The media gets a little carried away though. I really don't think its breaking news when one of the Steelers has breakfast!<br /><br />Pittsburgh is such a football town. <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/bill-maher/new-rule-football-sociali_b_815673.html">Here </a>is an interesting take on the difference between the NFL and MLB. It would be even funnier if it weren't so true.<br /><br />Happy Superbowl Week!!!! Have fun. Enjoy the ride.<br /><br />And I'll be sure to concentrate on the Glorious Mysteries when saying my Steeler Rosary!Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-3376132691614840232011-01-23T15:55:00.002-05:002011-01-23T16:00:40.178-05:00Knock, Knock, Knockin' on Seven's Door<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TTyWGE2YaLI/AAAAAAAABc0/TWUbdZzx6PY/s1600/steeler%2Bdogs.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TTyWGE2YaLI/AAAAAAAABc0/TWUbdZzx6PY/s400/steeler%2Bdogs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565488270648305842" border="0" /></a><br />And the girls are ready!!!<br /><br />Let's go Steelers!!!!!!!!!!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">*These dogs belong to a friend of mine. Suzanne Garafolo. Love it!!<br /></div></div>Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-41824205556739658192011-01-22T00:44:00.013-05:002011-01-23T11:33:36.083-05:00STEELER NATION..........................<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TTp2Z7msAgI/AAAAAAAABck/N02wyylQ4V8/s1600/STEELER%2BNATIO.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 272px; height: 185px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TTp2Z7msAgI/AAAAAAAABck/N02wyylQ4V8/s400/STEELER%2BNATIO.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564890477438435842" border="0" /></a><a href="http://www.steelers.com/video-and-audio/videos/Renegade-Fan-Cam/cb8aae32-7364-4935-8176-9a9bd5ffd7fa"> SEE YOU ON SUNDAY!!!!!!</a>, at <a href="http://joeyporterspitbulls.blogspot.com/2011/01/myrons-on-job-and-other-reasons-for.html">Myron's Birthday</a> Party.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">AND</span> if that isn't enough good karma on it's own. I have the <a href="http://angermanagementgirls.blogspot.com/2009/06/i-had-great-day-today.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">Steeler Rosary Beads</span> (that were blessed by the Pope, no less)</a> ready for action.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TTsqV80d9zI/AAAAAAAABcs/Cdy1ALAWL1k/s1600/rosaries.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TTsqV80d9zI/AAAAAAAABcs/Cdy1ALAWL1k/s400/rosaries.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565088321138194226" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />You want it.......You got it.......................blackandyellowblackandyellowblackandyellow......uh huh uh huh!!!Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-91564338910500299922011-01-16T22:43:00.006-05:002011-01-17T00:22:27.103-05:00A Jolly Holiday<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TTPK6GrzrII/AAAAAAAABcM/Z1EKw0i9UG8/s1600/poppins.jpg"><img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 183px; height: 275px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TTPK6GrzrII/AAAAAAAABcM/Z1EKw0i9UG8/s400/poppins.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563013064308272258" border="0" /></a><br />Tonight I was transformed from an old, cranky 53 year old lady with sore knees back to a skinny lanky 9 year old who was still trying to get used to wearing glasses mesmerized by the magic of Mary Poppins.<br /><br />I remember watching that movie for the first time like it was yesterday. What I didn't know that magical afternoon in 1965, was that I would remember it vividly more than 40 years later.<br />What I also didn't know was that the following week, my favorite afternoon pass time, sitting in the Arsenal Theater on Butler Street in Lawrenceville would become something I could only enjoy in my memory.<br />Mary Poppins was the last movie to play at the Arsenal Theater. A few weeks later, they tore it down to make a parking lot for PNC bank. <span style="font-style: italic;">Sigh, a parking lot. </span><br />It's hard to say whether my love for Mary Poppins came about because it was the last movie at the Arsenal. Or was it the perfect movie for a nine year old girl to escape into.<br />Probably a little of both I suppose.<br /><br />That Christmas I can remember getting two things. A Mary Poppins doll. And the movie soundtrack. I still have the doll. The album? I'm assuming it got too scratched up from playing <b>Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious</b> over and over on my parents blue hi-fi. Either that, or it was replaced in importance by 45's such as Stone Soul Picnic, Sealed With A Kiss, and Hey There Little Red Riding Hood.<br /><br />Anyway, I mention all this because tonight my best friend Ski, who I have known since childhood, took me to see the<a href="http://www.culturaldistrict.org/production/23253"> live version of Mary Poppins.<br /></a><br />Let me tell you, with out a doubt, it was the best show I've ever seen live. Ever.<br /><br />First there were the seats<span style="font-style: italic;">. FIRST ROW, CENTER</span>, yes, front and center. Mary Poppins was singing to me. And I was singing back to her, (not so sure the person next to me appreciated that) And the Bird Lady. Ahh, the Bird Lady. She was looking right into my 9 year old eyes when she sang Feed The Birds. And after all these years, it still made me cry.<br /><br />Tonight was a truly magical night made extra special by that fact that as I watched one of my favorite childhood memories actually come to life, I did so with someone who I've been friends with since the days when I saw the magic of the movie for the first time. Ski. My non-lesbian life partner.<br /><br />What a joy both her and Mary Poppins are.Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33490534.post-52369809105919977972011-01-09T05:30:00.008-05:002011-01-10T16:48:01.258-05:00A Bad Dream<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TSt-hWPBWHI/AAAAAAAABcE/C53Iv17DGtc/s1600/peace.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 242px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 345px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560677276288374898" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GGRIH6T920c/TSt-hWPBWHI/AAAAAAAABcE/C53Iv17DGtc/s400/peace.jpg" /></a><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left">I'm sitting here, awake, at 5:00a.m. It doesn't happen very often, but for some reason I can't sleep. Among other things, the events of yesterday are on my mind. I try, but I can't think of anything appropriate to write here concerning the <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/Politics/rep-gabrielle-giffords-shot-grocery-store-event/story?id=12571452">events in Arizona yesterday.</a> While listening to early morning radio I heard someone on <a href="http://pittsburgh.cbslocal.com/station/newsradio-1020-kdka/">KDKA</a> read the following speech.<br /><br />These words by Bobby Kennedy, spoken the day after the assassination of Martin Luther King, say what I want to say. Take a minute to read it. How sad that exactly two months later, this mindless menace of violence he speaks of found its way to him.<br /></div><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"><br />On the Mindless Menace of Violence</span><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">City Club of Cleveland, Cleveland, Ohio</span><br /><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">April 5, 1968</span><br /></div><span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"><br />This is a time of shame and sorrow. It is not a day for politics. I have saved this one opportunity, my only event of today, to speak briefly to you about the mindless menace of violence in America which again stains our land and every one of our lives.<br /><br />It is not the concern of any one race. The victims of the violence are black and white, rich and poor, young and old, famous and unknown. They are, most important of all, human beings whom other human beings loved and needed. No one - no matter where he lives or what he does - can be certain who will suffer from some senseless act of bloodshed. And yet it goes on and on and on in this country of ours.<br /><br />Why? What has violence ever accomplished? What has it ever created? No martyr's cause has ever been stilled by an assassin's bullet.<br /><br />No wrongs have ever been righted by riots and civil disorders. A sniper is only a coward, not a hero; and an uncontrolled, uncontrollable mob is only the voice of madness, not the voice of reason.<br /><br />Whenever any American's life is taken by another American unnecessarily - whether it is done in the name of the law or in the defiance of the law, by one man or a gang, in cold blood or in passion, in an attack of violence or in response to violence - whenever we tear at the fabric of the life which another man has painfully and clumsily woven for himself and his children, the whole nation is degraded.<br /><br />"Among free men," said Abraham Lincoln, "there can be no successful appeal from the ballot to the bullet; and those who take such appeal are sure to lose their cause and pay the costs."<br /><br />Yet we seemingly tolerate a rising level of violence that ignores our common humanity and our claims to civilization alike. We calmly accept newspaper reports of civilian slaughter in far-off lands. We glorify killing on movie and television screens and call it entertainment. We make it easy for men of all shades of sanity to acquire whatever weapons and ammunition they desire.<br /><br />Too often we honor swagger and bluster and wielders of force; too often we excuse those who are willing to build their own lives on the shattered dreams of others. Some Americans who preach non-violence abroad fail to practice it here at home. Some who accuse others of inciting riots have by their own conduct invited them.<br /><br />Some look for scapegoats, others look for conspiracies, but this much is clear: violence breeds violence, repression brings retaliation, and only a cleansing of our whole society can remove this sickness from our soul.<br /><br />For there is another kind of violence, slower but just as deadly destructive as the shot or the bomb in the night. This is the violence of institutions; indifference and inaction and slow decay. This is the violence that afflicts the poor, that poisons relations between men because their skin has different colors. This is the slow destruction of a child by hunger, and schools without books and homes without heat in the winter.<br /><br />This is the breaking of a man's spirit by denying him the chance to stand as a father and as a man among other men. And this too afflicts us all.<br /><br />I have not come here to propose a set of specific remedies nor is there a single set. For a broad and adequate outline we know what must be done. When you teach a man to hate and fear his brother, when you teach that he is a lesser man because of his color or his beliefs or the policies he pursues, when you teach that those who differ from you threaten your freedom or your job or your family, then you also learn to confront others not as fellow citizens but as enemies, to be met not with cooperation but with conquest; to be subjugated and mastered.<br /><br />We learn, at the last, to look at our brothers as aliens, men with whom we share a city, but not a community; men bound to us in common dwelling, but not in common effort. We learn to share only a common fear, only a common desire to retreat from each other, only a common impulse to meet disagreement with force. For all this, there are no final answers.<br /><br />Yet we know what we must do. It is to achieve true justice among our fellow citizens. The question is not what programs we should seek to enact. The question is whether we can find in our own midst and in our own hearts that leadership of humane purpose that will recognize the terrible truths of our existence.<br /><br />We must admit the vanity of our false distinctions among men and learn to find our own advancement in the search for the advancement of others. We must admit in ourselves that our own children's future cannot be built on the misfortunes of others. We must recognize that this short life can neither be ennobled or enriched by hatred or revenge.<br /><br />Our lives on this planet are too short and the work to be done too great to let this spirit flourish any longer in our land. Of course we cannot vanquish it with a program, nor with a resolution.<br /><br />But we can perhaps remember, if only for a time, that those who live with us are our brothers, that they share with us the same short moment of life; that they seek, as do we, nothing but the chance to live out their lives in purpose and in happiness, winning what satisfaction and fulfillment they can.<br /><br />Surely, this bond of common faith, this bond of common goal, can begin to teach us something. Surely, we can learn, at least, to look at those around us as fellow men, and surely we can begin to work a little harder to bind up the wounds among us and to become in our own hearts brothers and countrymen once again.<br /><br /><br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/E8vm6AsZw40?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><br /><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/E8vm6AsZw40?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /></span>Eileen, Founder, Organizer, Mayor and Chief Cook And Bottle Washer of the Anger Management Girls.http://www.blogger.com/profile/05719417162705603598noreply@blogger.com3