Happy Birthday to Me!

Like my column says, today I finally am "on the other side of 50". This morning Grumpy surprised me with a Blackberry - not the fruit, but the trendy phone that really makes you look like a business person. I couldn't help but notice the irony since he never stops complaining I don't have a "real" job. Perhaps he figured if I have one of these contraptions someone will use it to call me to offer me one!
After breakfast with the girls and a soothing massage, I met Grumpy for a spot of window shopping.
"While we have lunch, give me the Blackberry and I'll set it up for you," he offered.
I'm not sure he even noticed what he was eating. I assumed this was just an excuse to play with my new toy, but sometimes you have to let boys be boys.
"Hmmn, I can't work out how to get it to accept your phone contacts," he began.
After 10 minutes he was literally sweating. I knew things were bad when he asked to see the instructions, something no man ever does.
Eventually he admitted defeat and we went into a nearby phone store where a nice young man sorted it out in 2 minutes flat. (I've been waiting longingly to reach this ripe old age just to used that expression). I bought a matching gel case for it, so not entirely a waste of time. It's always nice to get a birthday present that requires a present of its own.
So far no one has called me, but I did manage to make a call to the gbf, so I can see it will be very useful. The real reason I wanted one was to feed my addiction to email. Now I'll never have to leave the shops to go home to check what's been going on in my absence.
And if I can ever get to grips with the keyboard, I may even be able to reply!

Oscar Buzz

Last night I enjoyed the Oscars in traditional American fashion. I got together with Buffy and her friends and we sat and drank wine, ate food and bitched about who won what and more importantly, what they were wearing. (Did you see Daniel Day Lewis's wife, by the way? Where did she get that dress? Goodwill?)
The main advantage, of course, was the fact that we could watch at an entirely reasonable hour, Chicago being only about three hours behind LA. In England, even the re-run was shown around midnight!
I also felt unusually proud every time anyone with an English accent collected an award. Not sure I quite agree with the Americans' response to Helen Mirren. I think most of them believe she really is our Queen.
The show itself was not what it was years ago. No more huge musical numbers, no more comedy routines. Without that all you are really left with is..well..a string of awards. Even this year's dead people montage was largely full of technical people unknown by the general public.
And where are those old Hollywood stars who would be dragged out for a final round of applause on a ventilator? Guess they must have been on a previous montage..

Hair Raisers!

I dread to think the impact we are having on our neighbours! Yesterday Grumpy received an e mail from John next door asking if he would consider shaving his head! Turns out it's all in a good cause - to raise money for charity. These days Grumpy has enough trouble hanging on to his hair without shaving it off, but I thought it was such a good idea that I am posting this link here.If anyone would like to sponsor John via the internet feel free to do so. Grumpy says he cannot join in this year because we have to attend a wedding a couple of days later. (Excuses, excuses). But he formally promises to take his turn next year, so watch this space!
http://www.stbaldricks.org/participants/shavee_info.html?ParticipantKey=2008-22171
Alternatively, if you would like to offer John hair styling advice or ask him any questions, write to him at:
ohaverjohn@ameritech.net

The Column They Banned...

The following should have appeared in next week's Naperville Sun, but it the powers that be didn't think it was suitable.
Feel free to let me know what you think...

It all started when Grumpy and I went into the adult store Lover’s Lane, W. Ogden, to buy a whip. Before you jump to any conclusions, let me explain. We needed one as a prop for the show I am directing at the local synagogue, and since Halloween has long gone, it was the only place I could think of that would have one.
I’m not sure the assistant believed me, because she said: “Why don’t you also take at look at these kits we have? They’re our most popular line.”
“Oh no,” I said hastily. “I really am only buying this as a prop, we don’t want anything else.”
“We could take a look,” said Grumpy. He was unusually accommodating, but this could have been because the assistant was a 20-year-old beauty with long blond hair.
Mary started explaining the contents of the kit as if she were selling cosmetics in Macy’s. There was massage oil, some powder and creams. I listened politely, but knew the cost would probably be prohibitive, especially as far as Grumpy was concerned.
“This kit would be $59.95,” she chirruped.
“For a few creams and a bit of powder? That’s a bit steep,” I said, making for the door.
“But we have a sale on at the moment, so it will only be $51.56.”
“Ok, we’ll take one,” said Grumpy, reaching for his wallet.
“What??”
The man who can turn buying a stamp into a military campaign was happy to spend over $50 on a box of lotions and potions. I couldn’t believe it.
Mary assured me that many of their customers fall into the over 50 age bracket. In fact some couples are apparently recommended by their doctors. So for the purposes of this column only, you understand, and not wishing to waste $50, I thought we might as well take a little peak inside the box later that evening.
We darkened the lights in the bedroom, and pulled out a piece of paper from inside the box.
One disadvantage of being over 50 is slightly failing eyesight, so I then had to get out of bed, put the light back on and put on my glasses which I usually wear with a cord around my neck. So romantic.
“Ok,” I said to Grumpy. “We could start with the massage oil. It says for a hot oil deep tissue massage, all you have to do is remove the cap and put it in the microwave for 20 seconds.”
The thought of having to get out of bed again, go downstairs to the microwave then climb back upstairs with a bottle of hot oil in my hands frankly seemed too much bother, so we left that one.
“What’s this for?” said Grumpy, plunging his hand into the box. He pulled out a small bunch of brown feathers, which looked like a cross between a shuttlecock and something a cat had just killed.
“Dunno.” I said. “But look at those cobwebs on the ceiling. If the handle was longer it would make a great feather duster.”
Next was a black pouch filled with powder. It felt like all purpose flour, sprinkled with little bits of grit.
“Hmm, this is honey dust apparently,” I said, not convinced. “It’s meant to make your skin feel soft, whilst tasting sweet at the same time.”
I rubbed a bit on the back of my hand. It made me sneeze. Grumpy switched on the TV.
“How about this one then,” I said. “It’s called Oil of Love. It says here it’s a yummy warming oil that has an original taste of sugar cookies.”
“Well, I suppose you could give that one a try then,” said Grumpy, selflessly turning off the TV and the light so I could begin.
I rubbed a little into his shoulder.
“This isn’t doing much for me,” he said.
“Me neither,” I agreed. “But I do have a craving for a slice of cake.”
“Let’s try just one more,” I continued, reaching out in the dark for a bottle. I picked it up and sprayed it onto Grumpy’s face.
“Ow,” he yelled. “What on earth’s that?”
I switched the light on to see I had inadvertently picked up a bottle of throat spray that had been sitting there since I had had a cold the week before.
Grumpy rolled over in a huff and that was the end of that.
Still, the box wasn’t entirely wasted. I now keep most of the ingredients in the kitchen, and my sugar cookies are the talk of the town.

Tooth Delay

You really know you are living in a country and not just holidaying there when you visit the dentist for a check up. It's something I'd been putting off for a while, but finally decided it had to be done.
Our insurance company recommended Sears Dental. I tell you, there is nothing scarier than making your way to the reception desk via a collection of heavy duty tools, electric saws, giant pliers and the like. For English readers, it's like going to have your teeth looked at in a corner of B and Q.
"I'm a very nervous patient," I told the hygenist as I sat down.
What a ridiculous thing to say, I thought, as soon as the words were out of my mouth. Who goes to the dentist and says: "I'm a really confident patient. Just pull them all out. I can take it."
I guess I somehow assume they'll say: "Really? In that case we'll just give you a manicure and you can go."
I had made an appointment with the hygienist, because I thought she would just give my teeth a quick polish and I could scoot out before ever seeing a dentist. They're obviously wise to that one.
"I'll just work out your hygiene plan and the dentist will be in shortly to see if he needs to do anything," she said.
The hygiene plan started with multiple x-rays. In England they did two. One on the left side, one on the right, more than sufficient I always thought. But she must have x-rayed every tooth individually.
Then she started poking about with a pick which she somehow used to measure the gum line. Obviously this showed my gums were full of infection and I would need to come back not just for a clean, but a deep clean.
I know the Americans are obsessive about their teeth and the British are quite the opposite. It's for that reason that our new American friends all have shiny tombstone mouths and I smile with my lips shut tight. I was happy in England to escape with a quick bit of scraping and a polish. I now have to return for two 80 minute long appointments involving multiple local anaesthetic and more digging than the excavation of the Channel tunnel.
Just when I was trying to come to terms with that little bag of horrors, the dentist returned to give me the good news about the state of my teeth.
To cut a long story short, most of my fillings need to be replaced, a couple of root canals could stand a bit more treatment, a new filling would be handy and my front four teeth need to be capped!
Apparently it is up to me if I proceed with all this work, but he seemed concerned that I might not take his advice. Not because my teeth would fall out, but because I might sue him if some future dentist ever asked why I hadn't got it done!
"We do have a very different approach to European dentists," he conceded as my face turned white. "We prefer to use preventative treatments here."
Personally I'd rather wait to be in searing (no pun intended for once) agony before volunteering for such torture.
"The good news is you have a really good insurance company," the dentist continued. "They pay for so much of the bill, it's excellent."
Looking at the estimate it would still cost a small fortune. I can see now why Americans are often envious of our National Health System, not that that is exactly free, of course.
So tempting though it maybe to have all my teeth surgically removed and replaced with diamond studded ones, I think I'll stick with these for now.

Fitness Regime

Seen in the middle of a shopping mall yesterday. A group of young mothers doing aerobics with their babies watching in buggies next to them. Talk about multi tasking!

Whip-per Snapper

The things I do for that show! This evening I found myself in Lovers Lane, the local adult shop. The reason? Purely for props. Don't worry, it's a strictly family show, but we really needed a whip for the Egyptian overseer, and since it's no where near Halloween, I had no idea where else to buy one. I'm not sure the young girl serving me entirely believed why I wanted it, but she was very helpful.
Point of information. You have to be 18 or older to set foot in the shop. The assistant was only 20, so fine to work there, but still a year too young to have a sip of alcohol, even in her own home.

All That Jazz

This weekend we have been lucky enough to go to not one but two great concerts. On Friday night we went to the magnificent Chicago Theatre to see one of my favourite jazz musicians Chris Botti. The theatre is huge, the interior was used for the movie Chicago, but we managed to get seats so close to the front that we could have been in an intimate jazz club.
The very best part was right at the end, where the sound system was switched off, the lights dimmed, and all you could hear was One For My Baby, played by trumpet and piano. It was just like being transported back to the 50s. Instantly you felt like you were in a little bar in a Chicago backstreet.
Last night, something different. An opportunity to see an old hero of mine that is so much easier living here in the U.S. - Neil Sedaka. This was a very simple performance, just him, his piano and a some old film of him from the early sixties. The atmosphere may not have been as electric as the previous evening, but it was still unbelievable to finally get to hear him perform live.
We've been very lucky this month alone to hear two great songwriters perform.
Writing lyrics has been an ambition of mine for a while. I have plagiarised many existing songs over the years for various school/university productions, my favourite being in an updated version of Cinderella. You haven't heard Chatanooga Choo Choo, until you hear my version, which begins, "Pardon me dear, are you the girl who dropped the Choo shoe?"
Yesterday morning my ambition came true, when the composer of the show I am directing at my local temple, agreed to use my lyrics for a much more serious anthem to be sung by the children of Israel as they cross the Red Sea. I must admit I felt quite emotional about it.
Of course the audience will be asleep by the time we get to that bit, but I quite like it....

Dancing in the Dark

Last night, after 27 years of marriage, we tried something we've never tried before. We attended a dance class!
I've been pestering Grumpy to take me for years, but he never would. Not until Spike said he and Divine were thinking of signing up for some private classes. Suddenly, Grumpy was mad keen. Not sure why, I can only assume it's because he sees me as a inferior partner and fancies his chances of quick stepping with Spike.
Grumpy had thoughtfully brought along some formal shoes to replace his Timberland boots, but forgotten to bring a change of socks, so had to cram his thick woollen sock clad feet into them. I swear I could see his eyes watering as he stood up.
I decided not to wear my toe crunching sparkly dancing shoes in favour of something much more practical, but with a little heel. I was disappointed to see the lovely Divine had chosen some black diamonte studded peep toes.
"Oh, I'm not wearing these," she said gaily, and promptly replaced them with a pair of cream silk sling backs with four inch heels. Does that woman excude natural glamour or what?
Anyhow, we went along to a local dance school to learn the Hustle.
I know sometimes the midwest can be a bit behind Europe, but the Hustle? I thought that died out in the seventies.
"Oh no, it's enjoying quite a resurgence here in the States," said our knowledgeable instructor, who looked like she'd been let out of high school early to join us. "You can fit it to any disco music."
Disco? Oh well, I suppose it is what we used to do, so how hard could it be?
"Hold you partner like this. Just lightly touch hands," she said pointedly at Grumpy, seeing his vice like grip. I could see this was going to be something of a white knuckle ride for both of us.
"Just march gently like this to begin," said Alicia. "Then one step back, then forward. One, two, three, four."
Seemed easy enough. I concentrated hard and looked down at my feet. If I could stare them out, perhaps they would do as I told them.
Looking up I saw Grumpy had a somewhat crazed smile on his lips, and beads of sweat running down his face.
We'd only been going for 30 seconds.
"You might want to take slightly smaller steps," Alicia suggested, as she watched Grumpy clodhopping back and forth like a giant lumberjack. "Maybe we should change partners for a little."
Thank God. The dance was easy with Spike to guide me. And I wanted to show Divine just what I had to put up with. The real reason I didn't wear delicate shoes was that I needed all the protection I could get from Grumpy's leathal weapons - his feet.
After almost an hour, we had got half way through the dance. Spike and Divine were now able to glide effortlessly back and forth, while Grumpy and I had grown four left feet between us.
"Don't forget the Valentine's Dance on Friday," quipped Alicia. "You can practise this and we can always show you some new dances."
As Spike and Divine wrote the details in their diaries, Grumpy and I looked at each other.
A dance? In public? So soon? We may have to sit that one out....

Car Tours

Yesterday was our 27th wedding anniversary, so what could be more romantic that a visit to the Chicago Auto Show?
Don't worry, I'm getting my own back in next week's Naperville Sun...

Here's Grumpy in his dream car, a Porsche Boxter. To find out how he got out of the car, you'll have to read next week's column...
You could lead your own convoy in this big boy.

This is the car the late Princess Diana used when she was in Chicago. Guess someone else parked it for her.

So now you know drug dealers are dealt with in Chicago. Their cars are confiscated and paraded at the Auto Show. Such humiliation!

I didn't trust this stand. There's no such thing as free army dog tags. I think it was a crafty way of constripting people...

Mind you, it could be worth it. Look at the company car they supply!

And Now For Something Completely Different...

Yesterday we stumbled across a very unusual store in Morton Grove, 15 miles north of Chicago.
Magazine Memories is one of only seven independent stores of its kind left in the United States, selling 100,000 periodicals from the 1860s to 2000 and 20,000 movie posters from Europe and the USA. The sad thing is that the store is going out of business because of competition from internet sellers like eBay.

The owner, author Bob Katzman, refuses to succomb to modern pressures, and would rather see his business die that transfer it to the internet.

Bob is a fifty something somewhat eccentric Jew, who self publishes his books rather than submitting them endlessly to prospective publishers.

I can't work out if he is a child of the sixties, disillusioned with modern day life, doing what he can to fight it with a mixture of supreme intellect and humour, or simply a raving lunatic.

If you would like to decide for yourself, visit him at his store, 6006 Dempster, Morton Grove, Illinois 60053, check out his blog http://www.differentslants.com/ or click on www.fightingwordspubco.com.

I'd be interested to hear what you think....

Facelift!

Since so many blog readers are on Facebook, I thought you might like to take a look at my column from today's Naperville Sun...

Facelift.com: Facebook for baby boomers
February 12, 2008
I thought I was really cool this week, when I joined the social networking Web site Facebook. To the younger generation, Facebook is everything. It's a way of meeting people, showing off and getting dates without even having to leave your computer.
It's a very interesting concept, but since it's full of kids, I think those of us over 50 should strike back with our own version. Which is why today, I plan to launch Facelift.com!
Imagine. You settle down with a malted drink and begin by filling in your profile.
Name, e-mail. Simple enough. Don't want anything too complicated or we'll have to resort to writing it all down with a pad and pencil. The age box on Facelift won't even have a space for a year of birth, just the date and the address where people should send gifts.
That leads us on to interests. The kids tend to come up with really exciting things like scuba diving or hotwiring cars. What should the Facelift subscriber put?
Attending Red Hat Society, or Weight Watchers meetings, but only on weeks where you haven't been out to eat three times. Watching TV but always falling asleep before the end of a crime show. Listening to the new Fresh radio station because it makes you feel younger, even though the music is actually the same as the old Lite station just without the presenters.
At the top of the Facelift profile page you'll find a space to put in what you are doing now. That's a little erroneous, because obviously what you are doing now is filling in the space at the top of the profile page. In the drop down box you'll find helpful suggestions like "I'm having a hot flash" or "waxing my moustache for the third time this week."
Don't forget to post your photo. Anything taken more than 10 years ago will be fine.
The most important thing on Facelift will be the number of friends you have (left alive).
Once you have confirmed someone is your friend, good memory test that one, they can display photos of themselves on your page. Word of advice, make sure they are all older, or at least less attractive than you are. You don't want too much competition if, like the majority of people, you are using the site to attract a date.
I see you can also play virtual games with your friends. For Facelift, I would suggest something like shuffleboard. This would be far less strenuous than the real thing, with the added bonus that players wouldn't risk toppling overboard in a wild moment.
How about posting some photos of you socializing? Take some fun photos at the next quilting meeting you attend. The kids photos often show them looking very confused under the influence of too much alcohol. Fortunately that's very easy for the over 50s to accomplish without any alcohol at all.
There are those outrageous pictures from cousin Annie's wedding. The one where granny slipped on a wet lettuce leaf and fell over showing everyone her bloomers. Or how about when Uncle Vinnie fell asleep on the table? A riot.
There's so much fun stuff to do. Invite your friends to take a quiz. Try "Twenty Ways To Tell If You Are Going Through Menopause," or '"Can Osteoporosis Break Your Heart?"
Before logging off, don't forget to post a message on a friend's wall. Somewhat confusingly, this isn't really a wall at all, just somewhere to talk to people without going through the bother of having to slather on a pound of make-up first. Maybe this is a better idea than I thought.

The Sound of Silence

Sorry there have been no updates for a few days. It's just that I have lost my voice and thought if even if I wrote you might not be able to hear me!

Truth is Stranger than Fiction

As I may have mentioned previously, Grumpy and I spent our honeymoon staying with one of mum's old boyfriends in L.A.
This may sound a little odd, so let me explain. Shortly before we were due to get married, mum got a call out of the blue from an old GI who was visiting London. To cut a long story short, we all met up and when he found out we had planned to go to LA for our honeymoon he insisted we stay with him.
Actually, what he actually said was: "You're going to stay on Sunset Strip? Don't you know it's the red light district? You'd better stay with me."
(See echos of our trip to Gary even all those years ago. Who knew? I thought it sounded glamourous!)
He had a daughter of our age, also newly married. So we went over and she showed us a really good time, admittedly not something you expect on your honeymoon.
We kept in touch on and off over the years. When Grumpy went to the States on a business trip they met up again. Her children are the same age as mine and the youngest is even called Hilary.
Unfortunately they lost their home in the Northridge earthquake in the late 1990s and we had trouble finding them, although we found out they had survived and moved away.
When we knew we were coming to live in the U.S we tried desperately to contact them through the internet, but to no avail.
This week Orphan Nos 1 and 2 persuaded me to join Facebook, and I started plugging in old names to see who I could find.
Eventually I came across Marlene's (not her real name, this is my blog you know) oldest daughter. Turns out at the same time we were moving here, she was moving to Seattle.
So finally, this evening, I got to talk to my old friend. It was really strange. Like someone you knew really well, but at the same time not at all.
The strangest thing of all, was that her daughter had only joined Facebook herself within the past couple of weeks. And the conversation took place exactly almost 27 years to the day from the time of our first meeting. It's our wedding anniversary on Tuesday.

Where's George?

Most of us wonder where our money goes, but have you ever wondered where it comes from?
Today I found out. Taking out some money from an ATM yesterday, we noticed that one $20 bill had a message scribbled on it. It said we could track where it had come from by looking it up on www.wheresgeorge.com
All you have to do is enter the serial number. This is what I found out:
1. The bill was first tracked in Hawaii in September 2005.
2. 100 days later it turned up in North Carolina.
3. Nearly a year later it appeared in Goreville, Illinois.
4. More than a year after that it made it's way into the ATM of my local supermarket.
The bill travelled more than 5,000 miles in two years. It is currently about 4,000 miles from it's original location.
Looking at today's weather (heavy blizzard, drifting snow) I imagine it would like to get on the first plane out of here and head back to Hawaii. If the airport was open, I'd be happy to escort it.

So Long, Farewell..

After 10 days of sharing the American dream, Lord Lee of Edgware, Dumb Bell Door,

Orphan No. 1 and Earl Grey headed back home, just before the latest snow storm blew in.

That leaves the Hotel Decent just a few weeks to prepare before Orphan No. 2 arrives.....

One Last Joke...

Why is Orphan No.1 playing darts dressed in only a towel? Because he thought there was a tornado warning this morning!

Why would he think that? I hear you ask. Because when the test siren went off this morning (10 a.m. first Tuesday of the month as usual) we told him it was a real tornado and he and the boys dashed down to the basement. Cruel I know, but it was funny...

Happy Birthday

It's Orphan No. 1's birthday....

24 today..amazing when his mum is only 29....

Good to know that hospitality degree is being put to good use..

after 4 years he can serve cake!

Hate Crime

No one in the public eye can be universally loved, so I really feel I have arrived. Today I got my first piece of hate mail! This was forwarded on to me by my editor, following a column I wrote touting for work in a humourous (so I thought) manner. Just goes to show, I'm not as funny as I thought!


Your columnist who solicited for work a few weeks ago has really stuck in my craw and I can't read your paper without becoming irate every day.
This woman HAS A JOB ALREADY and if she wants to hand it over to me, I'll gladly take it and not abuse the position.

As a 50 year-old-woman who chose to stay home with my kids, I also have a hankering to get a decent part-time job, but can't because the opportunities that suit my needs don't exist. That's the price one pays for being a stay-at-home parent; your career ends and you have to take what you can get when you are ready to enter the work force again.

However, this woman ( who has the ideal job) wants to use her platform to beg for more work. What a boon for her! The paper gives her her very own megaphone to scream " I want a job and can't find one-please call me and hand me the ideal 2nd job". What about those of us who send resumes non-stop, looking for the job that will use our skills and give us satisfaction but won't infringe upon our first job: being there for our little ones?

Bottom line, the woman abused her position, isn't very interesting anyway and deserves to look for a full-time job elsewhere.

Need a writer? I am published and have plenty of ideas that women who don't exactly fit into the ' Naperville mold" would love to read. Ever heard of average children, or middle-income, or economy cars, or doing our own yardwork, or hey...here's an idea NOT taking a vacation to Europe during spring break because our money goes to our college kid who did not get a scholarship!!!



I’m so sorry Hilary Decent’s column made you so angry. I will forward your feedback about the column topic to her. I’m sure she will appreciate your perspective.

In Hilary’s defense, you should know she is a part-time freelance writer for us. As someone who has been published, I’m sure you have an understanding of just how little money freelance writers sometimes make. Without disclosing details, let me just say, Hilary’s case is no exception. I think her intention was to offer readers more of a light-hearted romp about trying to find a job than to conduct a serious job search. Though, now that you’ve pointed it out, I can see how readers might have taken it that way.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us on this matter. I wish you the very best in your endeavors.

If the reader knew what I actually earn, she certainly wouldn't be jealous. Let's just say it's lucky I don't have to drive to the office, because what I am paid wouldn't pay for the petrol, and that's not an exaggeration!

Measure for Measure

I was standing in my kitchen this morning, when I saw a stranger walking around in my garden, which is now under about 8" of snow, by the way.
In England, I would have called the police, but Naperville being what it is, I assumed he was probably going to plant some bulbs or landscape the lawn for free.
He took out a tape measure.
"Can I help you?" I asked.
"Just checking the steps of your deck are the correct depth," he said. "I'm from the city council. They're fine."
That's good. I thought he was there to measure the snow....

Read On..

Today I achieved a life long ambition (sort of).
I have always wanted to be published in my old favourite newspaper the Daily Mail.
I think this is the next best thing...
(You may have to scroll down the comments a little)

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/showbiz/showbiznews.html?in_article_id=512085&in_page_id=1773&in_page_id=1773&expand=true#StartComments

Music Man

Last night we went to see Marvin Hamlisch in concert at Pfeiffer Hall - Naperville's answer to Carnegie Hall. Actually we have a Carnegie Hall too, Pfeiffer Hall is right next door, but I digress.
I thought it would inspire me to continue with my piano playing, but it had the opposite effect. He has been playing for nearly his entire life and is nothing short of brilliant. The music just seems to pour out of him. He was probably thinking about what he was going to have for breakfast tomorrow, but still managed to perform like a magic music machine.
He must have a had at least a 45 year head start to reach that level. I had been quite pleased with myself that I can now play Oh Susannah with both hands. (Easy, peasey version). If I keep going at that rate, I may one day be an accomplished pianist/composer. Trouble is, I'll need to live to 160!

Groundhog Day

Feb. 2, 2008, 7:58AMGroundhog predicts more winter weather
© 2008 The Associated Press

PUNXSUTAWNEY, Pa. — Brace yourself for more wintry weather. Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow Saturday, leading the groundhog to forecast six more weeks of winter.
The rodent was pulled from his stump by members of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club Inner Circle, top-hat- and tuxedo-wearing businessmen who carry out the tradition.
Each Feb. 2, thousands of people descend on Punxsutawney, a town of about 6,100 people some 65 miles northeast of Pittsburgh, to celebrate what had essentially been a German superstition.
The tradition is that if a hibernating animal sees a shadow on Feb. 2 — the Christian holiday of Candlemas — winter will last another six weeks. If no shadow is seen, legend says spring will come early.

Guess I won't need to plant those spring bulbs yet....

Sledded Bliss

To the local children's delight, there was no school today because of the snow. So we joined in the fun, sledding on Rotary Hill.

"I must try this out," says Orphan No.1. "It can't be hard. I've just seen a five-year-old using one."

"Uh oh. This isn't as easy as it looookkkkks....."

Well at least the scooter made it to the bottom of the hill...

Earl Grey and Dumb Bell Door found this an easier way to get down the hill, as a man with a crutch hobbled past.

"How d'you think I broke my leg?" he asks as Earl Grey calls out: "Room for one more on top!"

Storming the Weather

With around 12" of snow expected, Orphan No.1 got a real taste of Chicago living late last night, when he got to grips with a snowblower.

Here he is smiling, shortly before realising his hands had frozen to the handle. Obviously the Americans still have a bit more to teach the Brits about how to 'get to a grip' on the weather!

Games for a Laugh

Party time again at the Decents' last night. Despite the fact that we had the biggest snowfall of the season, friends and neighbours still made the effort to brave the elements to join us...

Venus and Kay Mary thaw out over a Cosmopolitan
Dumb Bell Door, Lord Lee and Earl Grey attend their first meeting of Gamblers Anonymous

"It's so cold, my hand is stuck to the table!"