Seeds of Change

My balloon flowers opened this week. They’re a little late, but we had an oddly cool spring and summer is half way over. No, not literally, but the fourth of July in my mind always signals a few weeks past, a few weeks to go before it all comes sadly to an end, again.

Things have changed for me this year. I’m not spending every waking second that I can in the sun, or even at the pool. I’m not sure of what happened but things have changed. For the last 5 ½ years I’ve lived in one of Forbes list wealthiest counties in the country and been proud of it but over the last several weeks the general milieu here has changed. My very nice neighbors moved out and some heavy cigarette social smokers moved in. The smell of the smoke is coming through my walls and I can’t imagine how bad this will be this coming winter with the windows shut. Whenever I’ve lived in an apartment with cigarette smokers in the house, I moved. But I own here and I didn’t have immediate plans to go—especially since the real estate market here hasn’t bounced back enough to get back the amount of money that I’ve put into my place.

There have been other changes, too. Twice in the last week people have had outdoor parties in their driveways with crowds of people drinking and hanging out. We had some burglaries and some graffiti; there have been dirty looks and verbal altercations at the pool. Most of us are just talking about it in shock; others have actively started looking to move out of here—mostly my friends. What was a lovely little wealth filled community on the mountain is becoming lower class by the actions of the people who reside here and their guests. On occasion I’ve witnessed something that has happened here and thought ‘no one here behaves that way’ and ‘where did those people think they were moving to’? For example, last summer, a woman who yelled at her kid from across the pool. Everyone else here understands that if you want to speak to your child, you get up, walk across the deck and reprimand your child as quietly and classy as possible—as not to disturb the other residents of the community—not the big mouthed, loud Long Island poor who though they could act the same way as they did ‘there’, but move to the suburbs of New Jersey. Those reality TV shows were extraordinary, but not in a good way. They just showed the worst of tasteless and classless of what New Jersey is.  I get that the outsiders; the ‘they’re not our kind’ disrupt and destroy out of jealousy. The ’have’s’ verses the ’have not’s’; the ‘they need to be dropped down a peg to equalize’ mentality even if I have to do damage in my rage. But this is different. This is about self-centeredness and anything that I do you’re just going to have to deal with without any sense of ‘community’.

One of my mentee’s wrote to me having had a conversational experience of a woman who had been sexually assaulted, and told her ‘second date’ about the assault and how she was further traumatized by a police officer asking her what she was wearing. As she continued the story to her ‘potential’ she discussed how she had to remind the officer that newborns and old women in nursing homes are raped and how she dressed wasn’t germane to the issue of her assault. Long story short, the assaulted woman was offended that her date wasn’t more sympathetic to her and SHE decided not to date this man again. My mentee asked me what I thought of the situation. Generally, she chose the wrong person and certainly the wrong sex to be having a conversation looking for sympathy to. It’s woman who sooth and smooth thing over; men take on a woman’s problems as problem solvers; and he couldn’t ‘fix’ this for her. My guess is that she would have never heard from him again despite her choice (ha!) to not date him again. That kind of private matter should have been reserved for a person and time when it was appropriate. She was raised poorly. At some point, one needs to take responsibility as an adult that has nothing to do with how you were raised and everything to do with how you choose to live your life.

And since we’re on the subject, I’d like to give my opinion on Paula Deen’s current issues. I’m on her side; and the crowd mentality of her sponsors one by one distancing themselves from her is not a decision that I would have made.

Paula has every right to hire who she wants when she wants. She has every right to fire or not promote for whatever reasons she has. No one is owed a job or a promotion no matter what your race is or isn’t. If her employees weren’t happy working in her environment, they had every right to leave and start their own company with the working environment of their own choosing—but instead they complained as if she owed them any more than what she gave. Paula is correct in saying that she doesn’t have control over what does or doesn’t offend a particular person. Paula’s family owned slaves; it’s come up in the media in the last few days; I remembered that from the ‘Who do you think you are?’ series. I’m not a Southerner. Hell, I’m not even south of the Mason-Dixon line. But I’ll stand up and say it just the way that my Eleanor’s native born Georgian husband said it. ‘Just because we lost the war doesn’t mean that I’ve changed my mind.’ Hold your head up Paula. You’ve apologized once, and that’s enough.  Be who you are in your heart and soul.

No one is immune from prejudice. In December of 1862 General Ulysses S. Grant issued a directive expelling  ‘Jews as a class’ from the war zone known as the Department of the Tennessee.*Only* about 100 Jews were forced to leave, primarily in Northern Mississippi and Kentucky.  Only one hundred? That’s not a lot, unless it was your family forced to give up everything that they owned.

More than one hundred years later at the 1988 Republican National Convention, while biding former President Regan farewell , George Bush introduced the children of his son and Mexico-born daughter-in-law to the President… ’That's Jebby's kids from Florida; the little brown ones.’

Harvard professor Henry Louis Gates professes to be ‘depressed’ (read that as very, very angry) that biologically, he’s half white. By his own aggrandizing, (he was arrested for potentially burglarizing his own home) his self-escalation worked itself into his having a beer with Barack Obama. I have to wonder if he would have chosen to have one with George Bush or if his own racism was responsible for his ’at a boy’ pat on the back and the pretense to stir a hornet’s nest and resolve it with the President. That’s his own racism at its worst.

 A week ago I witnessed a white man asking a Hispanic girl who was born and educated here in America (with advanced degrees) if she spoke English. She was minding her own business; he felt that he had the right to intrude on her day. Usually, you can see a neighborhood gradually change, but time caught up with me faster than I had anticipated; I need to find a way out, just like a real grown up should.

Coins

Let me start off by saying I frequently wonder what is wrong with people today… I guess I can answer that—it’s plain old laziness. Maybe they didn’t know that they dropped them; maybe they don’t care, but I find coins everywhere that I go—and frequently money in the form of bills. I know that I’ve handed bills to people who they didn’t belong to just saying to them that I think that they dropped this and handing them money that I found. But this is different. This is a general attitude in ineptitude that gets under my skin, everyone wants to be paid, and no one actually wants to work.

I’ve had this conversation with a cousin of mine who’s my age—in fact we’re only about 6 weeks apart. We both have a work ethic that is rarely seen today. We’ve talked about in relation to 911. Had I made a phone call and been told that the building was secure and to keep working, I know that I would have stayed, I know that I wouldn’t be alive today. I know.

So let me share a few stories coin stories. The first was regarding some bad service I had at a restaurant—Joe’s Crab Shack to be exact. The food was awful, people who came in after me were served before me and when I bill came—which was just under 20 bucks, I handed the waitress a 20 dollar bill, thinking that she would bring me change and that I would add to it for her tip. Yes, even with lousy service I tip; even when I’ve been hurt (parenthetical to this story), I tip. But she didn’t come back ever—even for the rest of her tip. I waited and waited until my patience level was at its’ end. She probably complained about the cheap tip to her friends….

Story two. I was out having dinner with friend. When the bill came it was just under $50.00. The waitress asks if we want change, we say yes, because once again, the change would have shorted the waitress on a 20% tip. So, she brought back the bills, but doesn’t bring the change. When questioned, she said that most people include the change in with her tip, so she didn’t bring it back to the table…what??? You’re presuming that I’m going to include the change in the tip???? Until that moment, I thought that it took a lot for me to complain about service enough to stiff someone a tip and let them figure out what they did wrong, but I had decided in that moment that if she wanted the change that badly, then I guess she could keep it—as her total tip. I’d like to say that I felt badly about treating her that way, but I didn’t.

Story three…now here’s where it really gets interesting.  I’m an honest person and this story will bear that out so please follow me thorough this.  Let me start from the beginning.  I save my change. Every time I buy something, I break a bill, throw the change into my purse, save it to a mason jar, and at the end of the month, I head over to my bank, dump it into a coin counting machine called a penny arcade, out comes a receipt which you then exchange at your friendly teller for cash. Except that I don’t actually take it in cash. It gets placed into a money order which is shipped to my local brokerage for purchases in the equities market. It’s money that I don’t miss, so it’s a forced savings into an asset. I’ve done this for years—in fact, when the banks put in the ‘coin counting’ machine, they no longer would accept coins rolled in wrappers and I miss the old fashioned way  of doing that , and I will admit that counting coins is strangely comforting for me…much the same as polishing silver. My guess is that counting brings a peaceful order to my life.

So being a bit bored, and it being the beginning of the month, I counted my change before I brought it to the bank to the penny arcade machine. I was careful that I had only brought a certain amount of change with me to get an even amount of coin exchanges for dollars—but the counter didn’t seem to see it that way and shorted me $4.00 but gave me an extra three cents. I voiced my concern immediately with the head teller who told me that it would take a week for them to get a tally on overages and that they would let me know of their findings…a week? They could have churned my money with anticipation notes in that time…

I left that branch and went to my usual one, telling the branch manager of my problem. He told me that they bag their coins 3 times per day and out it goes for counting. He told me that he didn’t understand their dilemma and opened his drawer and handed me the four dollars. I told him that the bank had given me an extra 3 pennies and he told me to keep them. Later that day, teller number one called to tell me that she had credited the 4 dollars back to my account, so back to the bank I went to teller number 2 to give him back the four dollars to have him keep his drawer in order. We chatted and he told me that often the machines come back with overages…what??? Apparently I can’t count on the counting acuity of the penny arcade machine—and neither should anyone else.  I had really hoped that he might tell me that they had a not-for-profit corporation that they made donations to, or even a local food bank, so I asked him what he did with the overages if people like me didn’t complain that they were ‘light’ on the coin count. He quickly covered for himself by saying that sometimes there were ‘under counts’ as well, so he seemed to think that it all evened out in the end…ummm…I don’t think so bro. I would think that perhaps in the top 5 things on a banking institution’s daily to-do list might include financial precision.

So, I left the bank, bought a couple of shares of a mutual fund with my change only to note the next day that my brokerage account was missing a penny between the amount of money transferred to purchase the shares and the actual shares bought. I called my brokerage house and was informed that since my penny couldn’t be evenly divided by shares, (and I’m quoting here) ‘we just keep that’. Are you kidding? You just keep my money? I’ll tell you what, just put it back into the account that you took it from. We can’t do that, it’s a securities issue—it was taken out, and it can’t go back. Eight money managers were involved in figuring out how to replace my penny, but it finally was resolved in my favor. The last manager that I spoke to told me that he had worked in that company for 4 years and that no one besides me had ever, ever asked about their missing pennies. And that America is why individuals can’t pay off their debt and the banks and brokerage houses make more money than they know what to do with.

As a post script to this story, I bought a few more shares this week—same dollar amount but three decimal places to the right of the period, there were fractional pennies in my favor….sigh. The universe plays fun tricks unexpectedly.

The Art Of Closing The Deal

Am I just not a closer? Do I have the most pernicious, invisible internal issues of all time, preventing me from being asked out? Will I have to go through another decade of therapy before I can get a mate? Should I stop trying to get a mate and focus exclusively on friends and work? I'm frustrated and I just had my 35th birthday.

Before I start the bulk of my rant I must say, that I hope you are dating and enjoying this season.   O.K., Last night I plucked up my courage and asked a girl friend for a ride (which I've been hesitant to do out of shame and disappointment at my current business and financial failures, so been staying home having pity parties instead of socializing) to a party full of eligible men. I coiffed and painted and dressed and bejeweled and worked my feminine energy (at my kindergarten level). I made sure to attract attention with a smile, not to offer a hand or speak first, and to have my girl friends introduce me rather than introducing myself to the men I found attractive. Two guys gave me multiple compliments on my hair and my eyes and my jewelry and my looks. We had other surface banter, they talked about their careers, I laughed and tilted my head and smiled and made sure not to lead the conversation, answered the question of what I do with my pastimes not my career, and then they left. Neither of them asked for my number nor a date. A third asked me how old I was, I told him, he said it was 10 years older than he thought (and was himself), and he walked away stunned. Maybe I shouldn't have told him...? What's the femme and attractive way to handle talking about age? And, what's wrong with me? I just feel confused and sad.

First of all, there is nothing wrong with you. you went out for practice--and you handled it well. not every fisherman who goes fishing necessarily on that particular day actually catches a fish--but you keep fishing until you catch one. So you should be going out and practicing being femme just for the practice. Secondarily, you don't know that this is over--it might be that one of the gentlemen that you spoke to asks around for your number or hopes to run into you again. If not, don't sweat it, it's their loss for not pursuing you further.

I was watching a TV show yesterday on what makes costco so successful--one of the things was limiting choices; that today people are so overwhelmed with so many choices that they don't make any. I do believe that is the problem with online dating. Men have so many women to choose from that unless they find you instantly extraordinary one way or another, they just keep looking. I, too, happen to be a woman whom once people begin know, I become more fascinating and deeper loved. But for those men who don't take the time to know me, they've passed by a woman that mght have been not just a good, but perfect partner and life mate for them. And I see even in women who know me they need time spent with me and the deep connections that they feel to me. There's a little girl at my pool named Amber who I absolutely adore--in fact, she's very much like me. Last winter, she told her aunt that someone was missing in her life and instantly she lit up and asked her if they could go to the pool to see me.

She had no idea that it was January and that the pool was closed for the season or that it was cold and I wouldn't be there...she just knew where to find me and how much she enjoys the giggles when I pick her  up and kiss her cheek telling her with every kiss how that I love her. I polish her nails for her, I polish her toes, I spin her around and around in the water and I feed her the healthiest choices that I can with the food that she loves. We had had cherries together early in the summer, and the next time that I saw her she asked me if I had any. I didn't, but I had grapes and apples which are among her favorites. I asked her if she wanted me to go home and get some for her. She said that she did and I brought her a whole baggie of grapes. She asked if all of them were just for her and I said yes.

Her aunt said to me, 'that was really nice of you'--it was a small sacrifice that brought her much joy. And I do think that is what makes relationships (even with men) work. It's NOT about overgiving, (that would be a bribe to beg a man to love you) but giving a small appreciation for all that they bring to your life. In that moment, I told her that she mattered to me and in the moment that she asked to see me, she told me that I mattered to her, too.

I've also made the very mistake that you did by telling a man that I was more than ten years older than he was and having him bolt. I've never forgotten him and it breaks my heart that age was that big a deal for him. From my perspective, I've never known a man that I had more in common with than him; I might have been his perfect match. On the one hand, Pat does recommend that IF a man asks, to tell him your real age, but not to offer that information beforehand (that was my mistake). On the other, I could make a point for it not being anyone's business but your own until such time as it's necessary to confess--and that would be somewhere between dates 3 to 5 or at monogamous exclusivity--your choice.

Men aren't women; women aren't men. Women are far more likely to let a man's age slide *IF* he cherishes, protects, provides and has the means to do so. Always remember that women marry for status and security. Men on the other hand seek a woman's youth, vitality and fertility and they are very aware of a ticking clock in a woman. If a man that you meet is nowhere near ready to settle down with a chosen mate and begin a family, then you're being 10 years older than he is would be an issue for him--knowing that you aren't in the 'playmate' phase of his dating and mating exploration. His leaving was actually a gift to you--he was being a gentleman by walking away to leave you for another man who is more appropriate for you socially and sexually.

Somewhere back in time men were better mannered than to ask a woman her age or her weight--but things have changed. Yesterday, in fact, I spent the day with my girlfriend Ellie and the little man she's raising. We joke constantly about our younger, fun years at the Jersey Shore--yes, it's always been that way; and yes, it always will be. She said to him 'that when he grows up that he can't be spending mommy and daddy's money buying drinks for girls at the clubs'--and I reminded her that was raising a gentleman. That manners matter and for as much as women have the responsibility to behave as such, men are not without their own responsibilities; such as standing when a woman leaves or returns to a table and yes, that he should be paying for the privilege of a woman's company. He pays for the company of her softness and grace; her respect, appreciation and admiration. He pays for what he cannot receive being in the company of men. I wish that I could remember who wrote it, but I can remember years ago reading some historical figure speaking of women who regarded his facination with them as 'it is their nothingness' and I understood that completely. When a man views a woman by his own metric of what makes a man a man--his courage, his fortitude, his leadership, his prowess--by his personal societal accountability, she has none of those and yet, he's helpless drawn...

You might choose to answer the question of your age with a smile, saying  'I'm old enough to know better than to answer that question' or that 'I've stopped answering that question when my mother stopped throwing me birthday parties', or 'are you buying me a birthday present?' or 'I'll be 29 again next year'---any way that you choose to deflect your telling a stranger something that personal is fine.

Dear Fran,

You were kind to write such a thorough response. I will keep doing what I did and let the process continue. And thanks for the clever and funny ideas for answering the age question!

Hugs, P

I'm Grateful For Hot Dogs

Really, I am....but not all hot dogs. They have to be 'push cart' hot dogs or 'dirty water dogs' as they're know in N.J. I was once even told that the secret to keeping them red was vinegar in the water...shhhhh don't tell.

I've been following the laws of attraction for a couple of weeks now with gratitude and thanks to my girlfriend Ellie who's little boy is now three weeks and one day old. She had gotten so many generous and great gifts, but fall is coming and she told me that he needed jeans. Bingo--in less than 24 hours, not one but four pair appeared from people who neither made it to her baby shower or hadn't yet seen the baby (ha!) It's been non-stop for her with about 15 people per day coming over for weeks. I suggested a sip-n-see at 6-8 weeks and she told me how right I had been--next time around...(If you don't know what a sip-n-see is, it's when you throw one big party--everyone gets to sip on cocktails and see the baby--all at once--no hurtsy feelings over who got to see the baby and who didn't.)

The next thing that happened for her is that she said to me that she has more clothes for him than she currently knows what to do with, and at this point she'd rather set up bank account for his education...bingo--just like magic, her attorney sister-in-law Barb (we both adore eachother) called the next morning to tell her that she's setting up an IRA with automatic withdrawls for the baby. Ask and you shall receive.

I had my own bit of magic happen today. I woke up remembering that I had forgotten to apply for a tax credit--way back on June 1st. I called the recorded message to find out that extensions were in place until October 19th. After it was all said and done, I realized that I wasn't eligible...oh well, at least I tried. Next year will be a different circumstance and I will be. Meanwhile, as I put away the necessary documents, I came across something that will give me funding if I wasn't eligible for the state tax credit...tomorrow that will get handled. BUT, I received $472.00 that I wasn't expecting and I've been working toward saving in the 'contactor' fix the house (again) fund. Now I'm only about 10 bucks shy of where I wanted to be...thank you universe and please bring me more.

In the meantime Ellie suggested that I go through the exercises in THE MAGIC. I've woken up for the last couple of days and written my ten gratitudes for the day, and it's been strange what's popped up for me. Things that I wouldn't think that I'd be grateful for are pouring out of me, nonstop.

Since all of the 9/11 programming has been on TV this weekend, I remembered what had happened to me on 9/10/2001. I had read Suze Orman's 9 steps to financial freedom and was doing those exercises when above me hovering and facing NY were black helicopters...maybe 4-5...they weren't moving, just facing 'the City'. I live less than 35 miles from Manhattan. I had forgotten that I was doing 'the laws of attraction' back then.

Hot dogs...for all of the years that I lived as a vegan, they were a guilty pleasure. I can remember my aunt taking me out for the day--on a day when we cut out of going to school. I was in 5th grade. I remember what I wore--a purple pants suit with tiny white and yellow daisys on them. She asked me what I wanted for lunch. I could have had anything and she offered me steak, pizza, anything...but I wanted hot dogs with extra mustard and sauerkraut. I still eat them that way today. I still can't leave Manhattan without having at least one...last call for dogs just the other side of the Lincoln tunnel. So for today and as weird as it may seem, I'm grateful for hot dogs. For the memories of my childhood, the jobs that I've had where food trucks sat outside and across the street...there was nothing better than the hot dogs...and my ex getting his daily fix of them with chili, cheese and bacon. For the ballgames I've gone to with Neil but without the peanuts and cracker jack...just hot dogs. Where Michael who now lives in Georgia took me to the worst parts of East Orange to scout out properties for him but we stopped on South Orange Ave. for the best dogs in the area. To my own shopping center where today 6 bucks got me two just the way that I wanted them (with pepsi--consumed and a bag of doritos--not). In those moments of soggy buns this afternoon, I couldn't have been happier.

If I Had A Wish, I'd Wish For A Fish

A shark to be exact; an alpha male. I’m getting married; there, I said it. It’s out there now into the universe (instead of my saying that I’d like to be married). I don’t know who the man is yet, but I’m getting married. Twice today (and it’s only noon) the differences between wishes and goals come up for me. As well as marrying for status and security which was something that I’ve walked away from many times in my life. God kept putting wealthy men in my path and I kept walking away believing that money wasn’t enough. I wanted it all. O.K., so I’m a snob and I know it, but I’m also gracious and well mannered. I need superior quality in everything, but I also recognize the beauty in perfect imperfection. I watched video tape of Lee Honish today. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him and I watched wondering if he ever sees how beautiful and how infinitesimally lovable he really is. He had asked me once why I had come back. I didn’t have the courage to tell him that I came back for him. He didn’t know that I had been torn between attraction, systematically being lied to about him, and my own understanding of his being unavailable. There was a woman he was in love with. You can call it proximity infatuation or rear view mirror love—objects are closer than they appear—but he wasn’t available, or available enough to me. I really just wasn't all that interested in being proceptive as much as receptive. I watched him loose her in moments--and I don't mean one incident, I mean a moment here and a moment there. I watched him not be able to get out of his own way to make that love happen for him,  and while he waited for her, I waited for him. Would he have asked me, I would have easily said yes.

Dr. Joshua has looked at my online profile 5 times in the last two weeks, I only have one profile left and I’m not active on the site. I guess when he gets bored with his life he looks for me to remind him of what he feels like when he feels like a man. I can’t listen anymore to his telling me that he’s coming to take back to California with him, and he’s not leaving without me. All women move toward pleasure and away from emotional pain.

I caught up on a bunch of episodes of Honey Boo Boo last night. I missed those moments of joy and light by never having had my own children. Given the right choice at the right moment, I would have had them. I can remember my ex boyfriend’s father asking me once how many children I wanted. I told him that ‘I wanted one, but two if I have to’. He responded to me smiling ‘three if necessary and four if you don’t have a choice’. We both laughed—but I knew where he was going—he wanted me as a daughter-in-law and a mother to his grandchildren. He had tried me on like an exquisite pair of shoes—a butter-soft Italian loafers with a tassel. I fit perfectly. But I had already known that. On our first date, I met his entire family. He wouldn’t have done that had he not thought that highly of me.

Last night, I watched this beautifully imperfect 6 year old say that she knew who Elvis was; Elvis helped Santa Claus make toys for children. It reminded me of my own babysitting past when I was trying to teach a little boy words with ‘eep’ sounds. I asked him if he knew where wool came from—he said he did—from a wolf.

I watched her gleam with delight at fireworks on the fourth of July when she told her mother it was ‘raining colors’ and that was the best day of her life. She lived in the joy of the moment and I shared that with her….I woke up this morning and realized there was a lesson there for me to learn.

He Took Me To A Jewelry Store With His Grandmother's Diamonds

Then didn't leave them to be made into an engagement ring. I told him that I couldn't go on this way; I needed a break from our relationship. J.

I know that you're in pain, but I feel that I have to say this. If he wanted to marry you, he would--and there is nothing else.

No amount of saying it 'correctly' is going to change that he isn't willing to take you to the alter any more today than he was 2 years ago.

I've written about this before regarding my older brother--he told me that although he's been with his girlfriend for 6 years, and her driving him crazy to get married--doesn't change his mind; he's never going to marry her. But let me be clear about what he said to me. 'she sleeps with me, she cleans for me, she cooks for me and I didn't have to marry her to have that arrangement---who's living better than I am? 'Big deal, so I spent 5 thousand dollars on an engagement ring, If I had to hire someone to do all of that for me, it would have cost me more'. In other words, he has no compelling reason to marry her--she has already given all of herself to him--all of her bargaining chips are gone.

I tried to tell you that when he was going to undergo surgery. You said that you wanted to take care of him because he had no one else to do it, if he has any money at all, he could have hired home health care.

Pat is very clear about the delineation of acting like a wife and  being one--there is a difference. In fact she told me that even with her own boyfriend of over 2 years now 'I'm not doing hospital visits.' Since she has chosen not to marry him, she doesn't have intercourse with him either. Acting like a wife doesn't make you one. Watch daytime television and you will see women crying their eyes out over some guy who left them pregnant or with children for another woman. When a woman gives a man her body she gives herself to him heart and soul. A man isn't commited to a woman until he signs a contract. Your guy has give you a thousand excuses to push off making a commitment to you because he doesn't want to.

Find the places of your boundaries.

Oh Fran!! You're amazing!! Here (once again) I'm going on and on and on ... and you synthesize it in a couple short paragraphs! Love you!!

It's A Boy!

I went to the hospital and sat with Ellie's family for about the last hour before Mason's birth. I particularly love her sister-in-law. She's an attorney, works for Spike TV and got me some very nice VIP seating to an MMA fight that I wanted to see; in fact, I couldn't have picked better seats. She thinks the world of me as well; but so do her parents. I wish she lived closer, we'd be dear friends. It touched my heart that when Rob came in to tell us that it was a boy, his sister wiped a tear from her eye. She's a beautiful girl inside and out.

Ellie's in-laws are begging me for what my other friends call 'Frannie time'--when they've missed me and need a good dose of my company in their lives. We'll spend the day together shuttling around Atlantic City sometime soon. It's nice to feel loved and embraced by extension to a whole family when mine is so far away.

My aunt died a few weeks ago, so my family was together for a week. My brother flew in from California and the rest of the clan came together by driving. Of all of the cousins and all of their kids, Samantha is my favorite. There is a peaceful beauty about her...a light from within her and where the other kids are rambunctious and loud, she's softer and it's beautiful to watch her. Even at at age four I can see that she is already fully comfortable in who she is in her femininity. I can already see who she'll be as a woman; she'll be picked early. She loves her jewelry and explains every piece to me, she holds her gaze at me and smiles.

When I asked her how she liked her new pedicure; she told me that it tickled; I told her that it tickles me, too.

The baby looks like Rob; dark curly hair, light skin...pink and cherubish. I only stayed long enough to let her know that I was there, then I left her to be alone with her family. It's her first baby; it was appropriate. I'll pop by the hospital tomorrow with lunch--she's been off of seafood during the entire pregnancy, so of course that's all that she wanted...maybe crabcake sandwiches and coleslaw.

Ellie and I went shopping for headbands and rosettes...we'll have lots of girly things to return. The only question left to answer is whether Mason will grow up to be a Giants or Jets fan.