THE LIVING LIBRARY...
When we are young, everything seems so far away, time is unbearably endless; anticipation and fulfillment of dreams are delightful, exciting adventures.

As we grow older, time catches up to us. Our expectations and goals are just within reach. Hard work and achievement brings us to the tip of the rainbow, as we bask into the multi-colored light of life's choices. We are almost there.

And then there are the golden years ...
Time speeds up like a merry-go-round gone askew. We hold on as we go round and round, faster and faster. We blink our eyes and we are in the last chapters of our biography. The end is inevitable, but how we fill those last pages are significant.

It's our final chance for fulfillment before the book is closed.

And so, as I begin to form the outline for the last chapters of my story, I project a last hurrah of sorts. My hope is to leave all behind and travel cross-country, seeing the wonders of the country --east to west, before settling in the city of misty harbors, coffee shops, public markets, and museums.

Unraveling my tale to the second lead of my life, the idea was received with silence, but not dismissed. There was hope. When finally confronted with projected actions to make this last vision a reality, the silence was broken with words that destroyed the possibility for: "and they lived happily ever after."

The beginning chapters of life's book are variable, with extraordinary scenarios and character development as its roots are to a tree. The middle volume weaves story fragments into the sturdy tree base branching into the limbs of experience. But as the season change, there is but a brief moment of magnificent color and glory before the leaves wither and drop off and life becomes dormant.

I've lived my life within the boundaries of convention and the perimeter of family responsibilities. I will not wither and die with blank verse for my last chapter. If need be, I will depart as I have lived for far too long ... alone... "and she lived happily ever after."
- posted by rosemary @ 5:45 AM 0 comments

 
THE DOGGIE GIRL ...

Since I have never had a four-legged pet as a child, during my married life, my husband who is a cat man - (I know it's unusual for a man to be a cat person, but he is what he is) introduced me to the world of cats. So BK (before kids) cats were the pets of choice since their independence had the least impact on our childless social life.

Once the children came, and our cats went on to that Wild Kingdom in the Sky, my daughter wanted a dog. My husband wasn't receptive to the idea, so we decided to appease her with a cockatiel. KC Bird sufficed for awhile, but her request for a dog lingered in the back of my mind. I remember as a child that I always wanted a dog, and was told 'no' -- no explanation, no appeasement, just no. (My mom was so averse to any type of animal - and Dad paid the price with many years of spousal compromise for bringing home Skippy the Parakeet, that the topic was as forbidden as a conversation about the "birds and bees". Sex wasn't discussed, because, in my childhood domain, it didn't exist! Another topic for another day.

Well I decided that my daughter was not to be denied (at least that would be one less childhood trauma for her to hold against my parenting efforts), so utilizing my wifely skills (wink/wink! No, I really just nagged mercilessly) until, with quiet hostility - my other half's strongest emotional weapon -- we all went off to The Puppy Farm an in-breeding kennel in our area (which is again a completely other story), so my daughter/and I could finally get her/our puppy.

She chose the Doggie Girl, a red brown lass whose demeanor was quiet and unresponsive to human contact. She looked like a cute, miniature Ewalk. A Lhaso Apsa who wasn't supposed to grow larger that 7 - 8 lbs., or at least that's what the store attendant said. Yeah, right she's twenty-three pounds,, and the little sable colored darling eventually turned white to my dismay. There went the cute "little" Star War's ewalk. (Told you The Puppy Farm is a whole other chapter.)

My daughter dressed her in doll clothes and 'mothered' her, pampered her, annoyed her and loved her. My son trained her to stand on demand and beg, moving her paws as a gesture of "please." My husband, as stubborn as they come, was in a constant state of pout during her puppy years, ignoring The Doggie Girl; and when she annoyed him, would go into the kitchen and distract her by kicking at her food dish. She became extremely protective of her food, and my husband's habit of kicking her food dish, made her almost fearsome at eating time. No one dared get between The Doggie Girl and her vittles without a battle scar to remember the occurrence.

Well, anyway, as time passed, our little Doggie Girl learned that petting wasn't the most terrible human offense to her person and allowed us the privilege to touch her, if only for our own needs. Of course her squeals of delight when the right spot just behind her ear was rubbed, was only for our benefit.

The Doggie Girl trained us as much as we trained her. She demanded a treat whenever she did her business, and still to this day accepts her reward for a job well done. The Girl's major accomplishment,however, was winning over the last holdout to her charms -- the Master of the House. He eventually came around, and became the Doggie Girl's biggest conquest, doting on her more than the rest of us.

My children have grown and have moved to the West Coast, and now, 12 years later, Doggie Girl is the queen of the house. She is a bit sway-backed, has arthritis in one paw, (which decidedly has turned outwardly giving her a bit of a Charlie Chaplin walk,) and her eyes are a little droopy. She manages a few retrievals of a ball before she walks away from her one and only exercise session of the day. She isn't able to jump up on high places or furniture as she once did, but what she lacks in physical stamina, she compensates with the most extensive vocabulary of whines, moans and groans, a language she developed independently, to let us know her every desire. She is very vocal and very spoiled, as she looks up at the biggest recliner in history,(a Christmas gift gone awry!) and beckons to be lifted upon the Master's grandiose burgundy velour throne. She may be willful, annoying, and demanding at times, but no matter what anyone else thinks (and they all think as I do) -- she is my much beloved Doggie Girl and I respond to her every command...afterall I had 12 years of training!
- posted by rosemary @ 7:02 AM 0 comments

 
Cicada Symphony ...

I woke up this morning to the lilting choirs of the beady, red-eyed, transparent-winged, large, black, ugly cicadas. Their lingering mating song is like constant background static or white noise that invades our everyday lives to mask individual sounds around us. I did not hear the usual cooing of the morning dove, or the petulant mimic of the mocking bird. There was no buzzing of the bumblebee in the flower garden, since the accustomed sounds of nature have faded to the background in reverence of the long-anticipated symphony. Less than 30 days and this will be a forgotten memory, just a nuisance to we humans, but to many of nature’s predators, cicadas are a once-in-seventeen-year delicacy and will have served a useful purpose in the life cycle of our planet. So if you’re lucky enough to be in the audience of this year’s concert, listen as I do, with a new awareness and respect to the extraordinary performance of the millions of emerging cicadas.

- posted by rosemary @ 6:37 AM 0 comments

 
Just a Thought ...

Driving home tonight, after a hot, muggy day, a flash rain storm briefly passed through, cooling the evening air and leaving behind the refreshing scent of wet grass and moist folliage. Somehow -- for just a moment, it felt so good to be alive, with no other thought in my mind, except the serenity of being in the peaceful stillness of dusk. And in my mind's eye, for a singular moment, I was one with the universe. Truly a moment with God.
- posted by rosemary @ 4:59 PM 0 comments

 
SHORT TAKES ...

Congrats to ...

Mel Gibson - living La Dolce Vita. Put his money where his mouth was, produced his passion, rode the waves of criticism and is living his prestigious lifestyle through wisps of his $100 Cuban cigars, draped head to tow in Armani and worshipping in the Church that Mel built. A real American (via way of Australia) success story!

Drea De Matteo - Snuffed out of her role on the Sopranos ... morphing as Joey's sister on (what else) but the Friends spin off,Joey. (Drea has a real, believable pisan look to her, and will give some credibility to characters on the new show. She could walk down any NJ street with nary a glance. Let's hope she doesn't go all Hollywood on us and adapt the plastic, Stepford look). Keep it real Drea!

Arrested Development ... This interesting, off-beat show was given a last minute reprieve and another shot on next season's schedule. The series needs a good time spot to find it's audience. It is not only one of the most original shows produced on the regular networks in years, but probably could have become a big hit on a Pay-per-view channel in it's first season. For all who are too cheap to pay for premium channels -- tune in to Arrested Development next season, and feel like a big spender!

Bummer to ...

Mr. President - George W. is blowing it big time when even his staunchest supporters are having second thoughts. His No. 2 man, Cheney, certainly was influential in securing the spoils of the war (most of the large contracts) for his former company, Haliburton and their off-shoots, and while the administration spouts how the economy is improving (improving for whom?), more people's unemployment is running out by the week while the Federal government denied approval for the three-month extension, which was once in place. Less people may be collecting, but doesn't actually mean more people are employed. Keep this up, Georgie, and Howard Stern could run against you and win! GET A GRIP!!! Lose your father's cronies, seek opposing views and strategies from a consensus of your constituents, give better tax breaks to the middle class, keep jobs in America, tighten up the borders, beef up security and anti-terrorist forces and get the gas prices back in line ... Awe the hell with it... You obviously aren't interested, so why not just take another vacation to prepare yourself for the permanent one after November.







- posted by rosemary @ 8:43 AM 0 comments

 
THE AMAZING SKIPPY BIRD...

I never had a dog as a child or, for that matter, any pet. My mother, had no use or love for animals of any sort, so we remained petless, until my uncle Al decided to raise and breed parakeets.

You must understand, My uncle Al, the big game hunter, was also a professional hobbyist. Model trains, fishing, hunting, boating, gardening, and last but not least, parakeet breeding, were all, at one time or another, his passion. His sister, my Aunt Emma, was not one to be outdone by her younger brother, so she too indulged in recreational endeavors including: ceramics, sculpture, pastel chalk and oil painting classes, but although the same creative blood flowed so generously in our native artists such as Michelangelo, DaVinci, Raphael, Titan, etc., my Aunt Emma was artisically anemic. Her unsuccessful efforts at piano lessons, gourmet cooking classes, gardening, finally turned to the inevitable, bird breeding. It seemed my whole extended family became enamored with parakeets. Go figure!

One day, my father came home with a blue/grey young bird, which he had obtained from my Uncle Al. Of course, my Dad was given the special family discount for the bird.

I named the bird Skippy. He was a blue/grey, and was a real character. Since the rest of the family lost interest in the constant and repetitive training lessons needed to develop his vocabulary, songbook and tricks, I spent the most time with him. He soon became finger-trained, spoke a few phrases, whistled a few tunes, took showers in the sink and wrestled spaghetti off our Sunday dinner plates. He and I were the best of buddies, and he was a great companion for many years.

Out of all the birds in the various family's household, Skippy was the smartest, best trained, most responsive and intelligent bird of all. No one else's bird could hold a candle to Skippy, and some jealousy arose between my cousins and me, because without a doubt, Skippy was the star pet parakeet of the family.

Although My Uncle Al couldn't train any of his birds nearly as well, he compensated his bruised ego by bragging that Skippy was the top of the line from his stock, and my Dad should be grateful for the privilege of purchasing the best at such a discount. (since he could have gotten triple the price from an outsider).

However, my Aunt Emma was a different story. She was a miserable failure at breeding, training and raising her birds. I was never fond of my Aunt Emma, but being my father's oldest sister and the most fiancially comfortable of the clan, she was held high in the pecking (no pun intended) order by the rest of the family. (I truly believe the real reason was that each family wanted an 'invite' to her shore home each summer, hey it's was a free vacation -- and although I never liked her, I must admit I did like her shore home!) So she was given a wide berth, and her vanity constantly stroked by insincere compliments as she placed herself in the position of the family expert on everything.

One day Auntie Emma was visiting our home while I was out playing, and when I came in, the house was extremely quiet. I didn't hear any Skippy sounds which was more than unusual. I ran to his cage, and there was no Skippy. I looked at my father whose countenance was extremely glum. My dad finally told me that Aunt Emma, the bird expert, had been over and had noticed that Skippy's beak and toenails needed clipping. Unfortunately she had an accident and had mortally wounded Skippy as she was 'trimming his beak.'

I was devastated and cried, screamed and went hysterical. My friend, my companion, my Skippy was gone. My Aunt had killed him. My father bought home two other parakeets to try and compensate my loss, but they weren't Skippy and it was never the same. I never cared about my aunt's shore house after that. Never wanted to go visit her, and never forgave her.

Skippy wasn't the only victim of Aunt Emma. There was a family legend about another bird who was to have his toe nails trimmed by the nefarious Auntie Em, and wound up known as Peg Leg Pete, never to nest on a perch again. I wasn't quite sure if this was a true or a family urban legend, but years later, as old age approached, Aunt Emma started walking with a distinct limp, which developed into total dependence on a cane. Arthritis was the official diagnosis, but I never believed that. Arthritis didn't explain the raw, red, larged-pored, bulbous nose that she also developed. They say what goes around, comes around, and I knew in my heart, that my Aunt was the perfect example of that old adage.
- posted by rosemary @ 2:53 PM 0 comments

 
AMIDST THE CLUTTER ...

I am a clutter bug. I live in a vortex of 30 years of clutter. I save everything. The problem with a clutter bug, is that when a special coupon, recipe, gift, or article of clothing is needed or just perfect for the occasion, it usually cannot be found. But it seems other treasures that were utterly lost previously, suddenly appear during the ongoing search for the new, totally unrelated item.

I have a theory about such occurrences. There are the clutter gremlins whose sole purpose is to foil any attempt in utilizing the saved mishmosh of a clutter bug's reserves. These spiteful little critters live in the eaves and nooks of my cluttered home, coming out precisely at the stroke of 13 each night to perform their mischievous tricks and pranks. Those Christmas ornaments purchased after the holiday last year, inevitably show up at Easter, and so on and so on.

Buy two and get one free! - That's for me!!! (Even if by the time I utilize one - the product is hopelessly outdated and unusable!

Buy your holiday/birthday gifts early and put it away until the special occasion arrives! -- I'm still finding gifts purchased in the '80's such as a baby gift for a friend's child who is now graduating from college. Oh well, I just put it away again for the original recipient's future first born, which will be even more desirable since vintage is so in!

Does this sound remotely familiar? After all, there is a bit of a clutter bug in all of us.

Not long ago, I had a rude awakening after seeing a program on some obscure cable channel describing the aforementioned, thrifty, virtuous and good-intentioned behavior as a 'disorder,' Imagine me -- suffering from a disorder??? Oh no, not me. Thus my crusade began to clean up and out the piles of clothes, toys, gifts, expired food items and to turn a new page and a new leaf on life, (and to assure myself that I'm not clinically obsessive).

I started with my closet. I had filled one and one half large garbage bags of clothes in just one month. Although I must admit I did pull a few items out to wear in between, just a few, well maybe more that just a few -- but I will put them back in the bags soon.

Each morning I awoke with determination that when I arrived home after work, I would devote just one hour to clearing out some new area, dresser or pile, but alas, the road to hell...

And, just when all seemed hopeless, I had an epiphany! Yes, folks - eBay! -- The paradise and happy hunting grounds of the nations prime and first class clutter bugs! All my treasures up for bid and on their way to the lucky winners, well almost on their way -- (as soon as I can find the packing tape, scissors and labels that the gremlins have successfully hidden in the mounds of packing peanuts converting my basement into a sea of white foam).

But the point I wish to make is, I can no longer be classified as an obsessive-compulsive. No, no! I've proven I can or will -- at some time, divest myself of all the "stuff." (That tape and scissors have to be somewhere and when my metal detector arrives, I'll find them in a pinch and fulfill my new calling as an entrepreneur).

Until then, I now fit into the category of a delusional idiot!









- posted by rosemary @ 5:06 AM 0 comments

 
FOOD FOR THOUGHT...

I have a love/hate relationship with food. On one hand I really love food. I enjoy eating to the point it is a more of a pleasure than a necessity. I enjoy cooking, scouting out new recipes, and trying different foods. My grandfather, uncles, parents and brother, all had Italian restaurants at one time or another, so I was raised in an atmosphere of tomato sauce and pasta (or as genuinely known by Italian Americans: macaroni and gravy)!.

My favorite family restaurant was my Uncle Matty's which was stereo-typical; but to me -- charming, nonetheless. Subtly lit, it was quaint and brick-walled. Of course, there was the required fresco -- the focal point of the dining room, centered on the large, plastered wall depicting the hills overlooking the Bay of Naples. And the floor was scattered with groupings of wooden, pretzel back chairs and tables covered in red checkered cloths, centered with dripping, candled Chianti bottles with straw bottoms.

When we visited our relatives' restaurants during business hours, there was the food that was served to the patrons, and the 'family food' made especially for us.

But on the day when the restaurants were closed, typically Mondays, the extended families would get together on a semi-regular basis and each would contribute his/her specialty to an ensuing feast.

The antipasto was usually provided by the host of the family dinner. A palate of mixed colors, various textures and varieties of cured meats, soft and hard cheeses, assorted condiments and vegetables, it more than included a daily allowance from the entire food pyramid, and accompanied with crusty Italian bread or sesame bread sticks, it was easy to forget this was only the appetizer.

There was also stuffed mini-eggplant, stuffed artichokes and stuffed mushrooms. Do you see a pattern here??? No vegetable was edible unless prepared with olive oil, bread crumbs, capers, garlic and/or assorted sharp cheeses.

My uncle Al, the hunter, provided venison or rabbit, which was marinated in herbs, spices, wine, and cooked in a tomato based stew which was truly memorable. During different seasons, different game was brought to the table such as roasted pheasant, duck or quail. During the summer, fish took over as his contribution which included stripe bass, blue fish, blow fish, fluke, flounder, whatever was the catch of the day.

There was always home-made macaroni and gravy, which my parents took the honors of making and preparing. (We had a cotton sheet, which was used exclusively for the drying of the macaroni, which usually took overnight, so someone had to sleep on the couch). Of course the gravy had meatballs as big as tennis balls, hot and sweet sausage, spare ribs, rolled, seasoned pork skin, and rolled stuffed flank steak (brasole). My mother had a thing for rolling up meat.

My grandmother would make polenta, trippa, calamari, scungilli salad, picked or fried eels, baccala (salted, dried cod) and other yucky delicacies, which I usually passed up, for the more traditional and identifiable fare. (By the way, when in doubt, we were assured anything questionable was chicken; however, it didn't work well with the split,roasted lamb's head whose eye and tongue silently refuted the lie).

My Aunt Minnie's specialty was dessert. Her cannoli were to die for --and yes, she made her own shells! But she also made all the holiday specialties, including the Christmas honey balls, wheat and meat pies, Easter sweet egg bread, St. Joseph's pastries, zeppoli, and a ricotta cheese cake that was truly her masterpiece.

My Uncle Paul was the winemaker, as well as the master of liqueurs. (Won't go into where he got the alcohol to make them, but it's not too difficult to figure out. Remember we were from the neighborhood). We kids were allowed to have wine mixed liberally with soda, usually lemon or ginger ale, since the homemade wine was exceptionally potent.

After the big feast, the women cleaned up, while the men had their traditional card game as the large jugs of wine passed back and forth amidst the players and billowing wisps of cigar and cigarette smoke, and we children ran around until we finally conked out in the corners of the room.

Waking up to the sounds of the inevitable argument between the men or woman or both, shouting aimlessly above the crescendo of each other's loudly-pitched voices, whatever the topic, it was believed to shout and scream was the only way to score a valid point in the heated debate. To watch this spectacle of frustration was almost comical. With no listeners to the other's point of view, there were no winners, nor changes of opinions, just very animated, gestured discourse. To end the fruitless fracas, my great uncle would get out his mandolin, my father would strum (badly)on a guitar, and the family would sing Italian classics to bring harmony once again to the table.

Before going home, it was time for the best course -- dessert. All Aunt Minnie's heavenly creations were displayed front and center amidst fruit platters, finnochio(fennel),roasted nuts, espresso, peaches and/or cherries soaked in wine, spumoni, and an assortment of Uncle Paul's finest liqueurs. The pause between the main course and the final one was over, and at last it was time for my favorite part of the meal. Yum!

The official end of the dinner was ceremoniously signaled by the men, who unbuckled their trouser belts -- the true rating of a Italian gourmand - one notch or two -- which determined how successfully the dinner met with approval!


So perhaps -- this -- one of my earliest memories of food, is why I have a semi-sweet love affair with the culinary side of life. Why not join me in the delights of childhood's lost memories with every bite!

Bon appetito, mi amici!





- posted by rosemary @ 7:00 AM 0 comments

 
DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC??

It's said that everyone is psychic (no not psycho, but psychic)!

Although some people believe I am, some think I'm not, some aren't sure, I do have my moments!

It is quite clear the first time this was evident. I was a child of the city, and as most city children of my day, played outside on the sidewalks and steps of the houses on my block, basically a street urchin until beckoned home by the automated street lights.

When I was five or six, I was tagging along with a group of neighborhood children who were playing with a toy roulette wheel. On that day, I was included in the game and I kept winning and winning and winning. At first, my playmates were amused, then amazed, and began looking at me in a new light of interest and even respect. Since I was the youngest in the group, my usual place in the pecking order was dirt bottom ... gofer ... hanger-on. But on this day, as I kept picking consecutive winning numbers, my newly-impressed peers began counting how many I would guess before I missed. I remember that I rarely missed and usually, had runs of numbers in the range of at least 10 to 15, before my pick was off by a digit or two from the winner!

How did I do it? I would concentrate, really concentrate, clearing my mind of all other thoughts, and a number would just pop into my mind. I could almost hear it. This wasn't such a special feat to me, it was something that was always there, at least until that day.

I also remember for the first time in my young life, I was, on one hand, not just an accepted equal, but someone special with a talent that was beyond the others in the group. But on the other hand, I was someone different in an eerie way from the norm. I was no longer playing the game, I was the game!

Thus, my gift became a curse, and ultimately I learned it was best to keep my ability to myself. As time passed, there are reasons, which I will not reveal, why my ability never developed further, but rather was suppressed and -- even lost for a time.

Unfortunately for me, I can no longer predict winning numbers, neither on roulette wheels or lottery tickets or of winning race horses. However, throughout my life, at random times -- I get feelings, impressions, whispering thoughts, so to speak, which come to my head out of nowhere, -- either telling me something about a person, place or event that is in the past, present or future, but proves to be quite true! It is eerie, sometimes disturbing, but I've come to respect these feelings and especially heed any that come in the form of a warning.

So I do believe in magic, esp, premonitions, conscience, prophecy, superstition, clairvoyance, woman's intuition, -- call it what you will.

I will share -- here and now, -- with all of hyperspace, my personal belief, my own explanation of this phenomenon:

There is a little voice in each and all, and I like to think it's the voice of our own guardian angel, whispering secrets, giving us guidance, that most of the time, we are too busy or too preoccupied to hear.

Clear your mind of the clutter, and listen, really listen closely ... Do you hear your angel?
- posted by rosemary @ 3:55 PM 0 comments

 
OLD FRIENDS HAVE LEFT THE BUILDING...

With all the razzamatazz regarding the last episode of FRIENDS, I'd rather wish fond goodbyes to other shows that are leaving the air this season. Those that will be lost in the feeding frenzy of the departure of FRIENDS, and so I bid adieu to:

FRASER - A show that spun off CHEERS, and developed into one of my all time favorites. Although Fraser wasn't an especially memorable character during his appearance on CHEERS, for me, Fraser came alive amidst the wonderful characters found in his Seattle home and workplace.

Brilliantly written scripts, a super ensemble cast, funny, funny, funny, for so many years, and somehow, just when it seemed to get a bit stale, the plots again revived with a second wind of great plots and belly laughs. I would try to mention some of my favorite episodes, but there are just too many, so suffice it to say, I will always remember the Cranes with fondness and a smile, Daphne in red dress dancing a riveting tango with Niles, and a lodge getaway fiasco of mistaken revolving doors opening and closing as characters play physical "telephone" trying to connect with their perceived secret admirers. One tall latte for all!

ANGEL - Also bowing out of prime time is ANGEL. Another spin off, and strong show that has a faithful, loyal following and, once again, this season perked up with the inclusion of Spike to the roster. But, alas, Angel will also be retired before his redemption. However, call me lightheaded as blood rushes to my jugular, but I believe Joss Whedon (the creator of BUFFY, THE VAMPIRE SLAYER, the precursor of ANGEL), may have other ideas for his beloved characters. There may be new life with future sequel movies featuring a combo of the characters from both series. Star Trek anyone????

THE DREW CAREY SHOW -- Drew put Cleveland back on the map with his blue collar humor and Buzz beer ethics. Screwball characters, yo-yo relationships, dancing extravaganzas, -- there were some over-the-top fun times in good ole' Cleveland thanks to Drew. Who can ever forget the Time Warp Rocky Horror parody! Almost as classic as the original.

Well doors close and doors open. I'm enjoying some new shows which help with my sense of loss of the old, for example ...

TRU CALLING - interesting first season -- a decent play on the good and evil premise with the introduction of Jason Priestley (Jack) as the foil for Eliza Dushku's character(Tru). Next season promises to develop into a fast-past competition between the two.

JOAN OF ARCADIA - I just really like this show. The scripts are a little slow in the smooth flow of episodic development, but the acting and likeability of the characters more than make up for it. Perfectly cast: Joe Mantegna as Will Girardi, Mary Steenburgen as Helen, Amber Tamblyn as Joan, Jason Ritter as Kevin and Michael Welch as Luke, need I say more?

COLD CASE - Another excellent show, following the lead of CSI, this show has lots of originality and spawns a different tale of murder unsolved, finally getting a chance to be resolved after years of dormant inactivity. Each tale is unique as its victim, and the use of flashover montages melding the characters back and forth in time is interestingly unique.

DINNER FOR FIVE -- Love it, feel like I'm living vicariously rubbing elbows with four different celebrities each week, enjoying relaxed, intimate dinner conversation and really getting a sense of the personalities of my companions. The best part is that I leave the table within my calorie allowance in tact.

Note to Jon Favreau: Enough about SWINGERS. Need you mention it nearly every week! Yes it was a good picture, yes it won acclaim, but time to move on to new projects and stories! Thanks.

---So I still look forward to the rest of The SOPRANOS season. (Love the inclusion of Steve Buscemi this season, since we lost Joe Pants (Pantoliano) my boy from Hoboken!).

---Await the new SIX FEET UNDER and CARNIVALE seasons and

---Check out whatever A&E, DISCOVERY, HISTORY, IFC, SCIFI, COURT and SUNDANCE, channels have to offer to round out my viewing time.

As a boomer, growing up in the "age of television" -- TV is one my best friend and companions, loyal for so many years -- entertaining me, educating me, and even putting me to sleep -- it is always there when I need it -- It is my drug of choice!.


- posted by rosemary @ 10:52 AM 0 comments

 
WHO KNOWS WHERE THE TIME GOES

Seems like the older one gets, the faster time passes. I seem to get less and less on my "To Do List" accomplished these days. I've wanted to post more frequently, by there just isn't enough hours in the day. So maybe some shorter, but more frequent posts, will help me ramble on a more, regular basis.

Quick observations:

Why do people pick their nose when stopped for red lights? Ugh - Car boogies!

Why do people not wash their hands after using the facilities if there is no one in the room? -- Caught you - huh!

Why do men love to scratch their privates parts in public areas, especially on sports courts, arenas, and fields? Crotch rot anyone?

Why do woman say, "Size doesn't matter", Face it guys, it does! Your family jewels or your wallet -- one of them better be sizable!

What about men who say: "Over a hand full is too much," Yeah, right! --can't even comment on this without coughing up some silicone!

Well, "Time is money, look in the clock." This little ditty sure dates me, but I'm sure only a few, very, expert TV trivialists know from where it originates, and for those I say ...

Good night, Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are!

- posted by rosemary @ 7:29 AM 0 comments