Sounds like there's going to be a family reunion amongst the Davidges this summer!
I know lots of families make that an annual event but... us? Not so much. Therefore, getting together the first weekend in August in Blackstone, MA will be noteworthy, certainly.
Jim and Debbie will be hosting at The Compound. We're not the Kennedys but there are a slew of Davidges in a small geographic area. Jim and Deb have my brother and his wife living in their large home as well as their daughter Kim and son Brian. Their eldest child, Shayna, her fiance and their baby-to-be, Haylee Rae, all live in a ginormous apartment above the five-car garage.
Nephew Billy and his wife Nancy live a literal stone's throw away; their yards adjoin, in fact. Their two grown sons have left the area but are still in MA so will hopefully be available for the fun.
Scott, Lin and their two boys live minutes down the road.
That makes Blackstone the reunion Mecca!!
It's a former mill town but the mill's been gone for ages. Now I think it's mostly just a bedroom community. It's closer to Woonsocket (pronounced woon-saw-KET by the mostly French-heritaged locals)than to Boston.
All the MI girls and their kids will be coming. The Cape Cod contingent will make the trek as will the mountain people from the Berkshires. Those of us living in paradise will be on hand as well.
The Davidges are unique in that, while we aren't together all that often, when we DO congregate it's as if we lived in each other's pockets all the time!? There's a perceived closeness amongst us despite the fact that years sometimes go by before we see one another.
It's inexplicable but true.
I'm hoping there will be Scrabble. All the ungrateful upstarts I've taught to play will be in one place and then we'll just SEE who wins in face-to-face matches. I'm thinking a tournament is in order and I plan to reestablish my rule of the roost.
Volleyball will be a biggie with the more fit.
And the pool will get a workout for sure as will the hot tub, you betcha.
Tom will be much-missed just as he should be, that's a given.
There'll be family and food and games and chatter, lots of hugs and kisses, maybe a few tears too but your basic Good Time Had By All.
My father-who-art-in-heaven will be smiling.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Friday, April 10, 2009
How Dry I Am
Some of you have been wondering where I have been lo these many days without a post.
Wish I could say I've been away 'on location' or super busy or tied up with official affairs of state but none of those reasons are even close.
I just didn't feel funny. Or clever. Or any of the other things that tend to make a blog entry readable.
But I think I'm coming back!
Just had a little blip on the Perk-O-Meter is all??
That's fair; I AM The Widow Judy and have a right to be pathetically out of sorts on occassion, don't I?
Tom's been gone for 10 weeks now and it's starting to sink in that he's really NOT coming back. I will admit outright that just sucks.
I so much loved having him available to play with and be my better half. Alone, I'm just not sure I'm the same person as when we were as a couple. That's where I was last week, bathing in self-doubt.
Missing him. Missing ME being with him. Missing our couplehood.
But I find that, now, I can say that and not burst into tears; that would seem to be progress in separating myself from him and our life together, would it not? A step in the right direction, I think.
TWJ has to stand on her own two feet and not shrink at the thought of being alone.
Forever.
OY! The drama. What a Sarah I am!! Even I have to laugh at me.
And that's a good thing, right?
Wish I could say I've been away 'on location' or super busy or tied up with official affairs of state but none of those reasons are even close.
I just didn't feel funny. Or clever. Or any of the other things that tend to make a blog entry readable.
But I think I'm coming back!
Just had a little blip on the Perk-O-Meter is all??
That's fair; I AM The Widow Judy and have a right to be pathetically out of sorts on occassion, don't I?
Tom's been gone for 10 weeks now and it's starting to sink in that he's really NOT coming back. I will admit outright that just sucks.
I so much loved having him available to play with and be my better half. Alone, I'm just not sure I'm the same person as when we were as a couple. That's where I was last week, bathing in self-doubt.
Missing him. Missing ME being with him. Missing our couplehood.
But I find that, now, I can say that and not burst into tears; that would seem to be progress in separating myself from him and our life together, would it not? A step in the right direction, I think.
TWJ has to stand on her own two feet and not shrink at the thought of being alone.
Forever.
OY! The drama. What a Sarah I am!! Even I have to laugh at me.
And that's a good thing, right?
I Am The Whizzing Hat
My grandsons Gret and Reece were here visiting this week with their mother, my daughter Beckie.
Gret, who is 8, loves Monopoly but it wasn't enough for us to just sit down at the dining room table and play a game... oh, no! He came up with his own version which, while convoluted, turned out to be very clever.
He called it "interactive life-size" Monopoly and I was completely confused as he went through all the rules with me; they were many and varied.
His 'board' was my living room, dining room and lanai. He'd taken all the property cards and made a maze of them that wound its way from sofa cushions to tables to seat backs to bookshelves and then to the computer. The cards were all placed face up and appeared in the order they appear on the board from "Go" forward to Boardwalk. The Chance and Community Chest cards were included too.
I was not playing as myself but instead as surrogate for the two Webkinz animals I have, Icicle and Buddy. The premise had me rolling the dice and moving for one and then the other, deciding as I landed whether they wanted to purchase or pass on the properties. If they bought, then the card was turned over, face down, indicating it was 'owned'.
If they landed on Income Tax or Free Parking etc... they paid or reaped the rewards just as they would on the board game. He drew these odd spaces on paper himself: go to jail, jail, etc....
Gret was the banker and carried the money around with him following me as I took Icicle then Buddy through the maze and paid for their properties or their debts and, of course, collected $200.00 for passing "Go".
In THIS game time was an element so it was mandatory that I race through the house chasing down the number of spaces indicated by the dice.
It was exhausting but so very clever.
The set-up for the game took most of a morning; we played it in two sessions the sum total of which couldn't have been more than 40 minutes.
Was it worth it? You bet! We laughed, we clapped for Icicle and/or Buddy when they made a coup; we commiserated when they didn't. It took both our brains to remember which properties had, in fact, been purchased by which animal so the right one had to pay up and look big; we agreed we were smart to be doing this together.
I was lucky indeed! I got to participate in Gret's fantasy game and scored big points with him regardless of which Webkinz ultimately won.
That would be the monkey, Buddy.
Or rather, in fact, me!
Gret, who is 8, loves Monopoly but it wasn't enough for us to just sit down at the dining room table and play a game... oh, no! He came up with his own version which, while convoluted, turned out to be very clever.
He called it "interactive life-size" Monopoly and I was completely confused as he went through all the rules with me; they were many and varied.
His 'board' was my living room, dining room and lanai. He'd taken all the property cards and made a maze of them that wound its way from sofa cushions to tables to seat backs to bookshelves and then to the computer. The cards were all placed face up and appeared in the order they appear on the board from "Go" forward to Boardwalk. The Chance and Community Chest cards were included too.
I was not playing as myself but instead as surrogate for the two Webkinz animals I have, Icicle and Buddy. The premise had me rolling the dice and moving for one and then the other, deciding as I landed whether they wanted to purchase or pass on the properties. If they bought, then the card was turned over, face down, indicating it was 'owned'.
If they landed on Income Tax or Free Parking etc... they paid or reaped the rewards just as they would on the board game. He drew these odd spaces on paper himself: go to jail, jail, etc....
Gret was the banker and carried the money around with him following me as I took Icicle then Buddy through the maze and paid for their properties or their debts and, of course, collected $200.00 for passing "Go".
In THIS game time was an element so it was mandatory that I race through the house chasing down the number of spaces indicated by the dice.
It was exhausting but so very clever.
The set-up for the game took most of a morning; we played it in two sessions the sum total of which couldn't have been more than 40 minutes.
Was it worth it? You bet! We laughed, we clapped for Icicle and/or Buddy when they made a coup; we commiserated when they didn't. It took both our brains to remember which properties had, in fact, been purchased by which animal so the right one had to pay up and look big; we agreed we were smart to be doing this together.
I was lucky indeed! I got to participate in Gret's fantasy game and scored big points with him regardless of which Webkinz ultimately won.
That would be the monkey, Buddy.
Or rather, in fact, me!
Monday, March 30, 2009
Do-Do-Do-Do...
Do you believe in ghosts?
With me, it's not so much believing as it is not being able to deny their existence.
I have seen and heard and even, once, touched them; what I can't figure out is, "Why me?"
I don't have any other claims to the supernatural: I'm not prescient or clairvoyant; I can't read palms, cards, or tea leaves; I don't have visions. But I do have ghosts.
The first one was my mother. I awoke one night to see her half-body hovering over my bed (I know this sounds crazy but it really happened)taking pictures of Tom who lay beside me. I was sceptical, figured it was a dream, but it felt so REAL. I pinched myself to be certain I was awake!? I was. Strangely, although I was sure it was my mother, the ghost looked nothing like her. Mom was classically American Indian with high cheekbones, flashing dark eyes, black hair and dark complexion; this woman was almost cherubic with blond hair and pink cheeks yet I felt certain who she was.
I only saw the top of her body; she was wearing a perfectly pink angora short-sleeved sweater.
I can hear you scoffing!
When she disappeared I woke Tom up excitedly and told him what I'd seen. He scoffed too and said it had to have been a dream. I came down from the high and had to agree. It couldn't have really happened the way I thought it did??
Morning came and the first thing I did was check the place I'd pinched myself. Sure enough, there was a bruise.
I went upstairs to wake my three daughters, they were 2-3-4 years old then, and as soon as I said, "Good morning," my middle daughter sat straight up in her bed. That surprised me immediately because usually Beckie was my little slug.
"Is she still here," she asked all a-flutter.
"Is who here, Beck?"
"The PINK LADY!! She said she would stay."
Our house in Detroit's East English Village was haunted with at least three ghosts who talked to us. My eldest daughter, Amy, was the first to broach the subject. She was living with us as an adult having returned to MI after teaching in FL for a number of years and asked if anyone besides her ever heard 'a voice' calling our names. She had; it happened more than once that she would hear her name called clear as a bell, would answer and get up to welcome whomever "it" was only to find no one there!?
At that point none of the rest of us had heard any such thing.
But after Amy left the voice started calling out to me, then to Tom, and finally to my youngest daughter Suzy. It was a friendly young adult man we heard.
Then a young woman started calling out to Tom. I did finally hear her too but for awhile she only spoke to him.
The first time my granddaughter Olivia slept over I heard a child call out to both of us.
The voices were pleasant but always held a question in their timbre.
Then a REALLY weird thing happened. Tom and I were in Florida visiting friends over Easter break when Suzy called with this story:
She was home sick from work. Had a horrible flu bug with a high temperature, chills, vomiting, the dire rear.... As she lay in bed a presence hovered over her rendering it impossible to move. It was an amorphous dark blob, like having a cloud inches from her face. Even though she was literally paralyzed she felt no fear. She watched the presence pass over her whole body very slowly from head to toe then disappear. Once gone, she could move again and, sitting up, realized her flu was gone as well! She went from being sick as the proverbial dog to feeling entirely A-OK!?
I too saw that presence late one night in our bedroom. I got up to use the lav and as I came around the end of the bed I literally ran smack dab into it! I jumped back like I'd touched fire though the cloud-like blob was cold as ice!? "What the f--- was THAT?" I shouted aloud and when I did it evaporated into thin air.
There are other examples like the ghosts sabotaging the sale of our home the first time we offered it, Amy's wedding pictures clearly showing two ghosts sharing the altar with her and Bill at their wedding, ghosts in the pictures at Tom's mother's 80th AND 90th birthday parties, ghosts in my classroom pictures from Highland Park and East Catholic High School....
When we finally decided to move to Florida and tried a second time to sell our house we assured the ghosts they were welcome to come to Florida with us. This time there were no other-worldly impediments to the sale and here we are.
We've been in this house for three and a half years, ghost-less. BUT, and there's always that big but, last night someone called out to me and it wasn't Suzy or her fiance Thom.
They're baaacckkkkk.
With me, it's not so much believing as it is not being able to deny their existence.
I have seen and heard and even, once, touched them; what I can't figure out is, "Why me?"
I don't have any other claims to the supernatural: I'm not prescient or clairvoyant; I can't read palms, cards, or tea leaves; I don't have visions. But I do have ghosts.
The first one was my mother. I awoke one night to see her half-body hovering over my bed (I know this sounds crazy but it really happened)taking pictures of Tom who lay beside me. I was sceptical, figured it was a dream, but it felt so REAL. I pinched myself to be certain I was awake!? I was. Strangely, although I was sure it was my mother, the ghost looked nothing like her. Mom was classically American Indian with high cheekbones, flashing dark eyes, black hair and dark complexion; this woman was almost cherubic with blond hair and pink cheeks yet I felt certain who she was.
I only saw the top of her body; she was wearing a perfectly pink angora short-sleeved sweater.
I can hear you scoffing!
When she disappeared I woke Tom up excitedly and told him what I'd seen. He scoffed too and said it had to have been a dream. I came down from the high and had to agree. It couldn't have really happened the way I thought it did??
Morning came and the first thing I did was check the place I'd pinched myself. Sure enough, there was a bruise.
I went upstairs to wake my three daughters, they were 2-3-4 years old then, and as soon as I said, "Good morning," my middle daughter sat straight up in her bed. That surprised me immediately because usually Beckie was my little slug.
"Is she still here," she asked all a-flutter.
"Is who here, Beck?"
"The PINK LADY!! She said she would stay."
Our house in Detroit's East English Village was haunted with at least three ghosts who talked to us. My eldest daughter, Amy, was the first to broach the subject. She was living with us as an adult having returned to MI after teaching in FL for a number of years and asked if anyone besides her ever heard 'a voice' calling our names. She had; it happened more than once that she would hear her name called clear as a bell, would answer and get up to welcome whomever "it" was only to find no one there!?
At that point none of the rest of us had heard any such thing.
But after Amy left the voice started calling out to me, then to Tom, and finally to my youngest daughter Suzy. It was a friendly young adult man we heard.
Then a young woman started calling out to Tom. I did finally hear her too but for awhile she only spoke to him.
The first time my granddaughter Olivia slept over I heard a child call out to both of us.
The voices were pleasant but always held a question in their timbre.
Then a REALLY weird thing happened. Tom and I were in Florida visiting friends over Easter break when Suzy called with this story:
She was home sick from work. Had a horrible flu bug with a high temperature, chills, vomiting, the dire rear.... As she lay in bed a presence hovered over her rendering it impossible to move. It was an amorphous dark blob, like having a cloud inches from her face. Even though she was literally paralyzed she felt no fear. She watched the presence pass over her whole body very slowly from head to toe then disappear. Once gone, she could move again and, sitting up, realized her flu was gone as well! She went from being sick as the proverbial dog to feeling entirely A-OK!?
I too saw that presence late one night in our bedroom. I got up to use the lav and as I came around the end of the bed I literally ran smack dab into it! I jumped back like I'd touched fire though the cloud-like blob was cold as ice!? "What the f--- was THAT?" I shouted aloud and when I did it evaporated into thin air.
There are other examples like the ghosts sabotaging the sale of our home the first time we offered it, Amy's wedding pictures clearly showing two ghosts sharing the altar with her and Bill at their wedding, ghosts in the pictures at Tom's mother's 80th AND 90th birthday parties, ghosts in my classroom pictures from Highland Park and East Catholic High School....
When we finally decided to move to Florida and tried a second time to sell our house we assured the ghosts they were welcome to come to Florida with us. This time there were no other-worldly impediments to the sale and here we are.
We've been in this house for three and a half years, ghost-less. BUT, and there's always that big but, last night someone called out to me and it wasn't Suzy or her fiance Thom.
They're baaacckkkkk.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Sunday Supper
Pot roast.
Makes you feel good just reading those words, doesn't it?
Would you believe that when I was a little girl my mother told me only poor people ate pot roast??! She really did, but, well... I also told you that she was an alcoholic and, therefore, one might correctly assume, not always in her right mind.
The first meal Tom's mother cooked for me was the aforementioned. At 17, I was shocked but tried not to show it on my face. Two bites were enough to tell me that Mom was obviously crazed; this was Good Stuff.
I'm loling as I write because, at that first meal on Farm Brook in Detroit, two bites were truly all I got to eat. Dinner at Tom's was quite different from dinner at my house. In the amount of time it generally took my family to politely pass the food around the table while everyone filled their plates, Tom's was entirely done!
It was like eating with Speedy Gonzales and family!?
When I saw his mom start clearing her plate and his sister's too I figured the right thing would be to stop eating so I did.
It was the best two-bite meal I ever had!
At home, there were usually six of us dining and EVERYONE had to tell a story about something interesting or funny they had learned or something that happened to them during the day. If you claimed 'nothing happened' then my dad would insist you chronicle the precise progression of your day starting with "the alarm clock rang at 6:48AM" and ending with "I sat down for dinner at "6:30PM."
Six people each recounting a diverting anecdote, everyone responding to it, questions asked and answered for clarification purposes... dinner was never shorter than an hour in length.
I didn't have a stopwatch so I can't give you a precise number of minutes First Dinner at Tom's took but I think "seven" would probably be a safe guess.
Since that first, albeit brief, introduction to pot roast I have always been a fan.
It's the perfect meal, is it not, on a cold day, a wet day or just simply Sunday?
It's the best of all the Diner Food we serve regularly. Spaghetti falls into that category as does meatloaf, kielbasa and sauerkraut, cheeseburgers, Coney dogs, mac and cheese.
Who doesn't like diner food?? It's hot and satisfying, full of flavor, kind to the pocketbook and universally enjoyed.
It's mmm mmm good, Mom's bias notwithstanding.
Makes you feel good just reading those words, doesn't it?
Would you believe that when I was a little girl my mother told me only poor people ate pot roast??! She really did, but, well... I also told you that she was an alcoholic and, therefore, one might correctly assume, not always in her right mind.
The first meal Tom's mother cooked for me was the aforementioned. At 17, I was shocked but tried not to show it on my face. Two bites were enough to tell me that Mom was obviously crazed; this was Good Stuff.
I'm loling as I write because, at that first meal on Farm Brook in Detroit, two bites were truly all I got to eat. Dinner at Tom's was quite different from dinner at my house. In the amount of time it generally took my family to politely pass the food around the table while everyone filled their plates, Tom's was entirely done!
It was like eating with Speedy Gonzales and family!?
When I saw his mom start clearing her plate and his sister's too I figured the right thing would be to stop eating so I did.
It was the best two-bite meal I ever had!
At home, there were usually six of us dining and EVERYONE had to tell a story about something interesting or funny they had learned or something that happened to them during the day. If you claimed 'nothing happened' then my dad would insist you chronicle the precise progression of your day starting with "the alarm clock rang at 6:48AM" and ending with "I sat down for dinner at "6:30PM."
Six people each recounting a diverting anecdote, everyone responding to it, questions asked and answered for clarification purposes... dinner was never shorter than an hour in length.
I didn't have a stopwatch so I can't give you a precise number of minutes First Dinner at Tom's took but I think "seven" would probably be a safe guess.
Since that first, albeit brief, introduction to pot roast I have always been a fan.
It's the perfect meal, is it not, on a cold day, a wet day or just simply Sunday?
It's the best of all the Diner Food we serve regularly. Spaghetti falls into that category as does meatloaf, kielbasa and sauerkraut, cheeseburgers, Coney dogs, mac and cheese.
Who doesn't like diner food?? It's hot and satisfying, full of flavor, kind to the pocketbook and universally enjoyed.
It's mmm mmm good, Mom's bias notwithstanding.
Friday, March 27, 2009
The Widow Judy and Friend
The Widow Judy took off on her own today!
I've been wanting to go to the John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art and just sort of hang out there. It's a lovely venue - 66 acres in toto - with one of the top 20 art museums in the U.S., a circus museum, the Ca d'Zan (KAH duh zahn) mansion which was the Ringling's home in Sarasota, a couple of education centers, the Florida State University Center For The Performing Arts, and lots of gardens for sitting and contemplating one's navel.
I bought an associate membership so now I can go as often as I like!
Because the campus is hugh they have a dozen or so oversized golf carts to tote you from one area to the next. I REALLY like that even if the drivers tend to be loquacious and madmen besides. I don't know how fast the carts actually go but on all the twisty paths it feels almost dangerous!
I like a little danger with my art.
I've been there three or four times in the past but always with other people; going alone made it an adventure for me. No one knew what I was up to... not even me... and I could take as much time as I liked with the life-sized naked statues in the courtyard!! Tom's been gone for two months now and, frankly, I have been missing seeing a naked man.
I got the recorded casette but gave up on it after Gallery Nine. It was just too sensitive for me to operate and, also, I didn't actually care all that much what other people had to say about the art collection. Like many people, I don't know a lot about art but I know what I like and that was enough for me for now.
The museum itself is very lovely, very impressive. So is the collection. I could sit in any of the gallery rooms and simply 'be' quite happily. I don't paint but I would like to. My sister Karen and I planned to take art lessons together when we retired but she up and died at 45 leaving me, now, to my own devices.
There are lots of natural outdoor areas perfect for sketching. I'm thinking I might just get a pad and some soft pencils, sit myself down and see what happens. One of the drivers, not Stan, told me HE started art classes when he retired four years ago....
If I could live at the Ca d'Zan, I would. You've probably seen it yourself and never even knew it because it's been featured as a locale in a goodly number of movies. The Ringlings supposedly built it in the Venetian Gothic style having loved homes they'd seen in their travels on the Continent but to me it's less Venetian and more North African influenced. There are spires and domes and porticos and all manner of arches; the colors are hot and strange and sun-baked; the windows are squares of pastel-hued glass that make everyone look harlequinesque as they pass by; the ceilings are a miracle of inventiveness and have unique pictures encompassed within, many circus-inspired.
Altogether it's a strange and wonderful place.
I sat on the vast marble terrace this afternoon and enjoyed the view without and within. There are 25-30 umbrella tables out there each with 4-6 heavy armchairs; I took just one chair for myself and turned it so that I was looking at the house enjoying the architecture and watching the people and their outfits add diamond pastel squares when they walked by the windows (so amusing!). I was giggling to myself because I was sure the people inside had no idea they were clowns when something very strange happened. It was a windy day and the terrace is directly on the water so it was even blowier there than elsewhere in Sarasota. One chair, ONE CHAIR of all the hundred plus on the patio, spontaneously moved crosswise for probably 50 feet until it came to rest directly beside mine. I reached out and patted it saying, "Hi, Tom. Glad you could be here with me." Then I turned both chairs to face the water view and just sat there for a few minutes being still. It was a moment.
That was my signal to Say Goodnight Gracie so I headed around to the front and rode back to the entrance with "John" behind the wheel. He was chatting and I know I answered him and smiled while he talked but I have no idea what he said or what I said. I was thinking about Tom and his being with me on my adventure. It was very nice having a pal there after all.
I've been wanting to go to the John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art and just sort of hang out there. It's a lovely venue - 66 acres in toto - with one of the top 20 art museums in the U.S., a circus museum, the Ca d'Zan (KAH duh zahn) mansion which was the Ringling's home in Sarasota, a couple of education centers, the Florida State University Center For The Performing Arts, and lots of gardens for sitting and contemplating one's navel.
I bought an associate membership so now I can go as often as I like!
Because the campus is hugh they have a dozen or so oversized golf carts to tote you from one area to the next. I REALLY like that even if the drivers tend to be loquacious and madmen besides. I don't know how fast the carts actually go but on all the twisty paths it feels almost dangerous!
I like a little danger with my art.
I've been there three or four times in the past but always with other people; going alone made it an adventure for me. No one knew what I was up to... not even me... and I could take as much time as I liked with the life-sized naked statues in the courtyard!! Tom's been gone for two months now and, frankly, I have been missing seeing a naked man.
I got the recorded casette but gave up on it after Gallery Nine. It was just too sensitive for me to operate and, also, I didn't actually care all that much what other people had to say about the art collection. Like many people, I don't know a lot about art but I know what I like and that was enough for me for now.
The museum itself is very lovely, very impressive. So is the collection. I could sit in any of the gallery rooms and simply 'be' quite happily. I don't paint but I would like to. My sister Karen and I planned to take art lessons together when we retired but she up and died at 45 leaving me, now, to my own devices.
There are lots of natural outdoor areas perfect for sketching. I'm thinking I might just get a pad and some soft pencils, sit myself down and see what happens. One of the drivers, not Stan, told me HE started art classes when he retired four years ago....
If I could live at the Ca d'Zan, I would. You've probably seen it yourself and never even knew it because it's been featured as a locale in a goodly number of movies. The Ringlings supposedly built it in the Venetian Gothic style having loved homes they'd seen in their travels on the Continent but to me it's less Venetian and more North African influenced. There are spires and domes and porticos and all manner of arches; the colors are hot and strange and sun-baked; the windows are squares of pastel-hued glass that make everyone look harlequinesque as they pass by; the ceilings are a miracle of inventiveness and have unique pictures encompassed within, many circus-inspired.
Altogether it's a strange and wonderful place.
I sat on the vast marble terrace this afternoon and enjoyed the view without and within. There are 25-30 umbrella tables out there each with 4-6 heavy armchairs; I took just one chair for myself and turned it so that I was looking at the house enjoying the architecture and watching the people and their outfits add diamond pastel squares when they walked by the windows (so amusing!). I was giggling to myself because I was sure the people inside had no idea they were clowns when something very strange happened. It was a windy day and the terrace is directly on the water so it was even blowier there than elsewhere in Sarasota. One chair, ONE CHAIR of all the hundred plus on the patio, spontaneously moved crosswise for probably 50 feet until it came to rest directly beside mine. I reached out and patted it saying, "Hi, Tom. Glad you could be here with me." Then I turned both chairs to face the water view and just sat there for a few minutes being still. It was a moment.
That was my signal to Say Goodnight Gracie so I headed around to the front and rode back to the entrance with "John" behind the wheel. He was chatting and I know I answered him and smiled while he talked but I have no idea what he said or what I said. I was thinking about Tom and his being with me on my adventure. It was very nice having a pal there after all.
FEEDJIT
I'm totally fascinated by this "Feedjit" live traffic feed on the blog.
It's so cool to see people come in and out in real time!
Some of the places listed I recognize as towns of relatives and friends but there are a whole bunch of others signing on from places I have never been and where I know not a soul!?
How did these people find The Widow Judy and what are they thinking as they read about me and mine?
I would love to know the answers to those questions.
So... if you've never met me but are reading this would you please leave a note in the comments when you're ready to clue me in as to who you are, how you came to find the blog and what keeps you coming back?
You can remain anonymous if you like but if you are comfortable telling me about yourself that would be fine too.
I really appreciate that there are people out there who want to read the blog, both the ones I know and the ones I don't. Please keep on coming back and - next time - bring your friends!
It's so cool to see people come in and out in real time!
Some of the places listed I recognize as towns of relatives and friends but there are a whole bunch of others signing on from places I have never been and where I know not a soul!?
How did these people find The Widow Judy and what are they thinking as they read about me and mine?
I would love to know the answers to those questions.
So... if you've never met me but are reading this would you please leave a note in the comments when you're ready to clue me in as to who you are, how you came to find the blog and what keeps you coming back?
You can remain anonymous if you like but if you are comfortable telling me about yourself that would be fine too.
I really appreciate that there are people out there who want to read the blog, both the ones I know and the ones I don't. Please keep on coming back and - next time - bring your friends!
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