Professional Wisdom

Posted on November 18, 2009 by onesanevoice

I always appreciate when those who are doing something for me that I can’t do myself communicate in a manner I comprehend.  It annoys me when experts spew out a paragraph of jargon only their graduating class would understand, and then follow it with “in other words, in layman’s terms. . .” because the underlying flavor is one of condescension.  This is similar to what I call the English Major Flaw, or don’t correct someone’s grammar unless they ask you to.  Which they won’t.

I had an appointment this week for a routine dermatology exam and I decided for a change to see the female member of the group I go to.  I had never seen her before so we introduced ourselves in the treatment room as she looked over my chart.  I can’t tell how old people are anymore, but I would estimate her to be roughly in my age range of late-forties to mid-fifties.  She examined me and pointed to the many freckles on my arms and face that have appeared as regularly as the years that brought them.

DR:  These are all to be expected with the passage of time and exposure to the sun.  They’re absolutely nothing to worry about.

OSV:  So you’re saying there’s really no avoiding them.

DR:  The only way is to die young.  Which for you is no longer possible.

She totally deadpanned it and had already moved around to my back when I went out of control laughing.  She almost had to stop the exam.  I told her I appreciated her candidness.  She asked if I’d be having a lot of company for Thanksgiving.  I told her we eat out and only Husband orders turkey.  She said we wouldn’t be trading recipes anyway since she caters in.  I’ve had some memorable Meet the Doctor moments but this was in a class by itself.

When Husband got home from work, I asked him to follow me over to our auto mechanic so I could leave the car overnight for him to work on the next day.  Among other things, it was making a strange noise, which Husband said sounded like the muffler or manifold.  I wrote it all down in a note for Artie so he knew what had to be done:

Hi Artie,
Please take care of the following things on my Sentra:
1. Oil change
2. Air in tires
3. Doesn’t always start the first time
4. Unnatural sound when running
Thanks!
OSV

I waited in Husband’s car as he went in to talk to Artie.  He came out laughing as hard as I had at the dermatologist.

OSV:  What’s so funny?

HUSBAND:  Artie got to number four on your list and said not only will he look into the unnatural sound but while he has the hood up he’ll check for UFOs.

World Traveling Cousin could be anywhere, but his pictures are here

Budapest from the Citadel

Budapest from the Citadel

WWII Memorial, Washington

WWII Memorial, Washington

snowy road

snowy road

London's Little Venice

London’s Little Venice

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Hop hop hopping along

Posted on November 14, 2009 by onesanevoice

We have something brand new in our basement.  Crickets.  No, they’re not pets.  They just showed up.  And we’re not talking the cute little Jiminy variety; these are giant rogue-type specimens.  As if I’d been thinking this is what’s missing in my life, hidden creatures that would jump into my face as I bent over in the laundry room to pick up a sock.  What better reward for zooming down two flights of steps on a commercial break from Project Runway than jet propelled insect legs slapping against my cheek in an enclosed space.  Aiiieeeeeee!

I ran back upstairs and burst into our bedroom where Husband was munching Chips Ahoy cookies in his recliner.

HUSBAND:  Hey, you cut it pretty close.  They’re just heading down to the runway.

OSV:  We’re moving.

Husband didn’t even look up.  That’s the problem with hysterical declarations.  They’re often made by repeat offenders.  There I was, circling the room with cricket DNA on my face and I couldn’t kick up a molecule of attention.

OSV:  Did you hear what I said?

HUSBAND:  Call the exterminator.

OSV:  Why are you telling me that?

HUSBAND:  Because you must have seen a bug in the basement.

I felt totally revealed and transparent.  The Girl Who Cried Insect.

OSV:  Don’t you want to go kill it and avenge me?

Husband looked up at me as I put on my most fetching damsel in distress expression for my knight in shining armor.  He chewed his cookie while taking me in with his eyes.  I shifted my weight provocatively from one leg to the other.

HUSBAND:  No.

OSV:  Shit.

In the morning I went to the hardware store to buy some boric acid as my exhaustive Internet search recommended.  The clerk walked me to the pest control shelf and noticed the spot was empty.

CLERK:  You wouldn’t want this for crickets by any chance, would you?

OSV:  Yes! Yes!  They’re hopping all around our basement.

CLERK:  Yeah, yours and everybody else’s.  I guess that’s why we’re out.

OSV:  What else would you suggest?

The clerk looked at me and grinned.

CLERK:  You could always move.

Wiseass.

There’s Fun Out There according to Daughter’s Featured Fotos

fun with plastic

fun with plastic

crash full rhythm from the catch series

crash full rhythm from the catch series

3,038 - robert sagerman

3,038 – robert sagerman

learning to love

learning to love

mii

mii

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Game Over

Posted on November 10, 2009 by onesanevoice

Along about Game 5 of this year’s World Series between the Yankees and the Phillies, my mind started to wander, and not just back to the Bronx for Game 6.  I got to thinking:  If Philadelphia’s team is called the Phillies, shouldn’t we be the Yorkies?  How much would you enjoy seeing former Mayor Giuliani in the stands yelling, “Who loves ya, Yorkies?!”  And what better end to that gratuitous locker room interview with the multimillion dollar pitcher than for him to look down humbly and say, “I’m just thrilled to be here.  All my life I wanted to be a Yorkie.”  I think it could grow on us.

I haven’t been to the new stadium yet.  It certainly looks modern and spacious.  And well it should because for the price of your first car you can get a seat behind first base.  Unless Giuliani makes your family switch seats with him, as he reportedly did in one postseason game.  Since this is our first High Definition TV, Husband and I have been switching back and forth from the regular broadcast to the HD channel pointing things out to each other like a couple of hillbillies in the big city.  “Look!  You can see the little raindrops on his batting helmet.  And his nose, look at the raindrops on his nose.  Oh, he has a booger in his nose.”  Which begs the question, how much is too much?

Particularly during the World Series, it’s rare to find a New Yorker who isn’t either thrilled the Yanks are in it or miffed the Mets aren’t.  One morning a week I volunteer to make tactile art for visually impaired kids, and several members of the group that gathers are fairly opinionated older retired folk.  After a playoff game that went into extra innings, I asked one of the women if she stayed up to watch the whole thing.  “I HATE the Yankees!” she sneered.  Oh, I responded, I guess you’re a Mets fan.  “I HATE the Mets!”  Well, I said strategically, soon it’ll be time to get ready for the holidays.  “I HATE the holidays!”  I backed off and got busy with the glue.

Now that Daughter is permanently living in NYC, she was probably relieved the Red Sox were out of it this year.  Going to school in Boston really scrambled her baseball loyalties to the point where she didn’t know which side of Fenway’s Green Monster she wanted the ball to land (see Before The House Comes Down).  Loyalty is no longer an issue in major league baseball anyway.  Just ask Johnny Damon and Pedro Martinez, both former BoSox.  They’ll tell you the Cal Ripken era is over.  Ten years ago, Daughter was in the thick of it when she got egged on Massachusetts Avenue during the New York/Boston World Series her freshman year.  She was outraged.  She was also wearing a Yankee shirt.  Go Bossies.

Daughter’s Fotos from the Dumbo Arts Center hit us with their Best Shot

red paper trees

red paper trees

recycled plastic bottle home

recycled plastic bottle home

steel wool beards and needlepoint

steel wool beards and needlepoint

silly putty face specimens

silly putty face specimens

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Tell Me No Lies

Posted on November 6, 2009 by onesanevoice

Now that another Halloween is behind us, I’ll share something one of our area dental offices has done this year.  They offered to buy back candy from youngsters at $1 a pound.  Although people have joked that trick or treating was created by the dental profession to drum up business, these local dentists are weighing and paying in an effort to fight childhood obesity and tooth decay.  After rewarding the participants with cash money, the office will then donate the candy to soldiers overseas to remind them of home.  And of course to brush and floss.  Nice effort.

Did anyone else hear that you can now buy coffins at Walmart?  I heard it on the radio while making breakfast this morning.  When Husband walked into the kitchen I asked him if he knew anything about buying caskets at Supercenters, and he asked if you could get them individually or did you have to buy the family four-pack.  Or is it buy three and get one free.  Or order within the next ten minutes and they’ll double your order and you pay only shipping and handling.  I could go on, but it’s too easy.

Another story in the news involved the sale of an area house that had been the site of a notorious murder twenty years ago.  Most of the block’s original residents are still living there, including the family of the murder victim.  So you’d imagine the situation would call for the utmost sensitivity on the part of the new homeowner.  According to the article I read, when asked how she felt about her new home’s history, the woman who bought it from the killer’s family said, “I don’t care what happened.  It happened twenty years ago, not yesterday.”  I’m sure that attitude will go a long way toward joyous future block parties.

And finally, in the Love Your Abuser category, we have the ongoing saga of the New York State senator charged with slashing his girlfriend’s face with broken glass.  Despite the fact that the incident was captured on security video, the girlfriend is now begging to have the order of protection lifted so they can resume their intimate relationship.  Apparently it was all just a misunderstanding.  Would that be like the misunderstanding this senator put the whole state through by senselessly disrupting legislative sessions on the taxpayers’ dime?  And now the senate has voted to let him retain his seat in our state government.  Forget the public’s order of protection and wasted money.  Just put it on our PayPal.

Halloween lingers in Daughter’s Featured Fotos

hallow's eve in the subway

hallow’s eve in the subway

heeere's jack

heeere’s jack

wicked

wicked

the amazing grovers

the amazing grovers

Last scare:  Go on Walmart’s site and enter casket in the search box.  BOO!

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Signs All Around Us

Posted on November 2, 2009 by onesanevoice

Husband, Son and I met for sushi last week and talked about the friend’s wedding we were looking forward to attending.  The groom was someone the kids and I have known since they were all in elementary school.  Now he was a physician and soon to be a married man.  I was contemplating that when Son announced suddenly that he’s leaning toward having a destination wedding some place warm and exotic.  Husband and I looked at each other dumbfounded.  We said we weren’t aware he was seeing someone special.  “I’m not,” he said, shrugging.  Alrighty then.

Also that week I attended my first session of the American Sign Language class I’m taking in school.  I’d always wanted to learn this form of communication, and it’s as lyrical and intuitive as I’d imagined.  People think the deaf spell everything out using the ASL alphabet of hand letters or through mime.  People would be wrong.  The alphabet is only used for proper names or places for which there is no sign.  Much information is conveyed with facial expression and body movement.  Questions, answers, and exclamations all require the use of facial muscles and head position as well as meaningful hand motions.

The two-hour weekly class is one of total immersion, meaning there is absolutely no speaking in the room, before class in the halls, or after.  The teacher writes on a big whiteboard and then signs what she’s written.  Then we all go around the room and repeat what we’ve just been shown.  Remembering the appropriate facial expression is the toughest part when you’re busy concentrating on your hands.  But without expression, you’re essentially signing in a monotone.  You’d sound like Ben Stein to a deaf person.  When that happens, the teacher writes “botox face” on the board.  And we all laugh.

The workbook we use comes with a DVD as a study aid.  After that first class in a room so silent everyone could hear my stomach growl, I came home and put in the DVD for the first time.  I was eager for some sensory stimulation, some description in words to reinforce what I’d learned that day.  The image came on the screen of two people with their hands held up in greeting.  The large caption across the screen said There is no audio on this DVD.  Of course.  What was I thinking?

After the second class, I was on my way home when I stopped for a red light on a main road.  Glancing to my right, I noticed the driver in the car next to me was looking directly at me.  He appeared to be in his forties, a decade I haven’t seen since last decade.  All of a sudden, he flashed me a big smile, tilted his head, and winked at me.  The light changed and I took off feeling like a Cougar on wheels.  Even though he was in a dented Civic and I had just been called botox face, I couldn’t help grinning.  Mama’s still got it.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos celebrate November

burns for mayor

burns for mayor

fall

fall

1984

1984

the art of rebellion

the art of rebellion

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I’m there.

Posted on October 29, 2009 by onesanevoice

Raise your hand if you see yourself in either of these scenarios.  #1:  You open an envelope in the mail and say, “Wow!  A party!  This is great!”  #2:  You open the same envelope and think, “If I bury it under some magazines and act like I never got it, is that a sin?”  You already know where you fall.  Whereas someone might be in denial about whether they’re a cheapskate or a spendthrift, no one is hesitant about saying they either can’t wait to go or wild horses couldn’t drag them there.  The third group in the mix are the people who attend because you’ve begged them to, but are ready to leave before you take your coat off.  This group is often called husbands.

I’m at the party.  Before the party I’m looking forward to the party and planning what to wear to the party and wondering who else will be at the party.  Daughter takes after me except she’s usually throwing the party.  When she tells me the staggering number of people she has squeezed into her studio apartment at one time I say, “Good grief, where did everyone sit?”  To which she replies, “Sitting is highly overrated.”  I guess space isn’t a priority when you wear the party gene.

For Husband the question is, “When does it end?”  If I say it starts at nine and ends at twelve, his response is, “Right, but when can it end for ME?”  Like at what point can he take off without appearing rude or acting sick.  And in the end, he usually excuses himself politely saying he has to get up very early.  For a while all my friends thought he was a farmer.

Often it seems obvious what type someone is.  Years ago when my sister-in-law was going to her high school reunion, I invited her to stay over at our house since she graduated from a school in a town nearby.  I asked her, “Would you like me to go to the reunion with you?”  And she said, “How did you know your brother wasn’t coming?”  WILD GUESS.  So she and I went to the reunion together and had a great time, although we hardly saw each other until it was time to leave.  She had lots of people to catch up with and I was busy chatting up strangers who kept telling me I hadn’t changed a bit.

Son resists classification.  I’ve known him to show up with a smile or stay home just as gladly.  The thing I take special joy in watching is the ease with which he converses with everyone once he’s there.  As a child, his vocabulary consisted of the shortest possible words to convey his thoughts.  When he’d answer our phone at home, his end of the conversation went, “Yup,” “Nope,” “Right,” and “Uh-huh.”  Then he’d hand me the phone and say, “Grandpa.”  After I said hello to my father, a lifelong salesman who died a few years ago, my dad would say, “Don’t let that kid go into sales.  His family will starve.”  The great thing is Son grew up to be an incredibly gifted and successful salesman.  Grandpa would love that.

Daughter’s Foto reminds us It’s That Time Again

i'm there 1 10_29itsthattimeagain___

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The Natural Look

Posted on October 25, 2009 by onesanevoice

The newspaper recently ran a half-page obituary about a race car driver from the 1960’s who just died at the age of 82.  It caught my attention because the picture was of an attractive young woman in a race car fastening her helmet.  The article said she was the first woman to win a Sports Car Club of America national championship.  The hook in the story was that she had requested her body be seated behind the steering wheel of a 1979 pink Corvette for visitation at the funeral home.  I looked again at the photo and wondered what it would be like to go to a wake and see the deceased ready to gun the engine.  I’m laughing right now, but the far-reaching implication of this sort of farewell is kind of spooky.

Do we need to prepare ourselves for the specter of golfers being buried on the 9th hole?  Can you imagine popping in to see your insurance agent only to find him propped at his desk with an actuarial table in front of him and a Starbucks in his hand?  If he’s not a big talker to begin with it might be some time before you realize you’re paying your respects.  I don’t know about you, but I’m skeeved enough by a body laid out for viewing without having to consider the possibility it might be leaning by the door on roller blades.  Preparing to have an active death seems somewhat counterproductive.  Or maybe I’m just not seeing the bigger picture.

When my grandmother was about 90, which would be ten years before she died, we were at a family gathering down in Florida at her Century Village condo.  Husband was saying that his parents had just sold their home and bought into a life community.  My grandmother asked what that entailed and maybe she should do it too.  Husband and one of my relatives who was in his 70’s explained that the money you invest in the community provides you with living quarters forever with all of your meals included, and a health facility on the premises in the event you ever need nursing home care.

GRANDMA:  What does this sort of thing cost?

HUSBAND:  For a couple, anywhere from one-fifty to two-hundred thousand.

GRANDMA:  DOLLARS??

HUSBAND:  It’s for lifetime care, no matter what happens or how long you live.  It’s security for the rest of your life.

RELATIVE:  Selling this condo might net you enough to buy into one.

GRANDMA:  But you get the money back, right?  You can still leave it to your family after you die.  The community gives it all back in the end, right?

Husband and the older relative looked at each other amused.

RELATIVE:  Yeah, sure.  They toss a check in your coffin before you go in the ground.

Or behind the wheel.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos say WOW

the square root

the square root

colorful empire

colorful empire

late night construction

late night construction

autumn in new york

autumn in new york

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Who’s counting YOUR money?

Posted on October 21, 2009 by onesanevoice

Perhaps the thought has crossed your mind as you listen to the ATM sift through its internal supply of crisp bills that it may not dispense the amount you’ve requested.  Maybe it’ll debit your account $200 but only give you $180.  While machines may not err as often as humans, someone must have the job to decide in the end that a mistake has been made.  In other words, who’s minding the machines?

Earlier this week I made a withdrawal at my bank’s automated teller.  I tend to avoid actually going into banks because of the Home Depot Principle, which states that the first person I speak to will not be able to help me.  The second person will just be leaving for lunch so I’ll be directed to a third person who will be on a personal phone call.  The ATM, on the other hand, has nothing else to do in the world but give me my money.

So here’s what happened this last time.  I withdrew $300 from our account, which I knew would arrive in twenties since that’s how our ATM delivers.  Because I always count what comes out of the machine as I’m standing at the machine, I flipped through the twenties, and to my shock, two of them were singles.  As soon as I saw George Washington’s face I knew this was a headache in the making.  I turned around to see if anyone was on line behind me who could verify that I was still holding the bills exactly as they came out of the slot.  No one was there.

I walked into the bank and went directly to a teller and said, “Look at this.  I just used the ATM for a withdrawal and look what came out.”  I handed her the bills and let her discover the singles in the same way I had.  She stopped when she reached them and looked up.

TELLER:  This isn’t possible.

OSV:  Tell me about it.

She called over two other tellers who agreed that this never happens.

OSV:  That you know of.  Not everyone counts the money coming out of an ATM.

They summoned the assistant manager who asked the first teller when she had filled the cash machine.  I didn’t hear her answer since they were walking into the locked room behind the ATM.  The assistant manager said they’d be right back.

Fifteen minutes later the door opened and the teller approached me.

TELLER:  I’m sorry.  We didn’t find any other singles in the stack.

OSV:  Then I guess I’m the only winner.  How does this get rectified?

TELLER:  Well, this never, ever happens.  We’ll have to contact the outside source in charge of the ATM and see what they say.

OSV:  What source?  You filled up the machine.

The assistant manager reappeared.

ASST MGR:  It’s actually another division that supplies the cash for the ATM.

OSV:  My bank farms out the ATM?

ASST MGR:  When we were North Fork we supplied the ATM in house.  But now we’re Capital One and they handle it off premises.

OSV:  So I had $300 deducted from my account, but I’m leaving my bank with $262 because the missing money can’t be accounted for here in this building.  What if it turns out that there’s only a record of the number of bills sent to your ATM?  How does it get verified that they were all twenties?  How can it be determined that two of them were in fact one dollar bills?

She looked at me uneasily and said, “I don’t know, but we’ll call you.”

People I’ve told this story to had their own reactions and suggestions.  More than a couple said they never count their ATM withdrawal but they will from now on.  One said maybe I could have held the bills up to the security camera so at least there’d be a visible record that something had gone wrong.  I wish I’d thought of that.  I will next time.

The assistant manager called two days later and asked me to come in to the bank at the end of the week.  She said it would take that long to process my $38 for release.  I asked her how it came to be determined that I was telling the truth.  She said to just come in and get my money.  So I will.

Timely Thoughts occur in Daughter’s Featured Fotos

go mike

go mike

world peace for eman

world peace for eman

art in odd places

art in odd places

cash and cope truck

cash and cope truck

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All for one and one for all

Posted on October 17, 2009 by onesanevoice

Last weekend Husband and I attended a yearly homeowners’ association meeting for the little upstate community where we have a little condo.  Ours is one of over a hundred units in a sweet riverside hamlet that we always feel like we don’t get up to visit often enough.  Husband has visions of us spending our future retirement puttering around the village and enjoying lazy days watching the boats go by.  When I tell him I need museums and Broadway, he reminds me there’s a Broadway running right through the center of town.  From Village Hall clear down to the Sac-O-Suds.

Village Hall was actually the site of the meeting.  It was just like you’d imagine it with the elected board members sitting at a long table facing a sea of residents drinking Dunkin Donuts coffee and scarfing munchkins.  I personally had twelve.  The Board consists of fellow condo owners working like crazy to benefit the members of our association for absolutely no pay and often no thanks.  They are a terrific, dedicated group of men and women with more patience than a statue covered with pigeons.  This year they were all re-elected to their current positions having run unopposed.  Our community members may be difficult but we’re not stupid.

Every annual meeting has a thorny issue to be painfully dissected until the coffee runs out.  Previous years’ debates have revolved around whether the pool area needs new chairs, where does the snow removal equipment get stored, and do the older buildings without security systems have to share in paying the monthly fee for the newer buildings that have them.  Whoa, that was a hot topic.  People were standing and shouting for that one.  Politely shouting, actually, since it still wasn’t an NYC co-op meeting.  Some of those are like Gladiator.

This year it was all about color.  No, nothing racial.  Paint color.  The exterior of all the buildings is due for a painting and the Board chose a new color for everyone’s approval.  For many years we’ve been kind of a russet color, which was thought to blend harmoniously with our pastoral surroundings.  Well, it seems the people over at the Scenic Hudson organization consider us an eyesore.  We’re highly visible from the river and apparently we look like a bunch of potatoes with trees.

You’d have thought from some of the reactions that Scenic Hudson had called our babies ugly.  People were insulted.  They stood there with hands raised in protest, like, maybe we WANT our babies ugly!  Did Scenic Hudson ever consider that?  Besides, who are they to decide what’s good-looking?  They’re only the most respected non-profit dedicated to the preservation of the river and the integrity of the Hudson Valley.  Shouldn’t they be out saving the snail darter or something?

The Board president graciously allowed part of her unit to be painted with the new color and she invited everyone to come see it for themselves.  Husband and I stopped by her house after the meeting to privately give her our support and take in the new look coming our way this spring.  It’s the most subtle and natural shade of dusky clay, kind of like driftwood.  It will be beautiful.  We will blend.  The president was grateful for our enthusiastic approval and said she was surprised more people hadn’t come by.  We weren’t.  It takes time defending the right to be an eyesore.

All kinds of Artistic Expression inform Daughter’s Featured Fotos

keep moving

keep moving

avoid the tentacles of government

avoid the tentacles of government

adhd

adhd

recycled phoenix rising

recycled phoenix rising

fly away

fly away

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Men of the World

Posted on October 13, 2009 by onesanevoice

I love it when little kids get you so good you remember it years later.  I feel very lucky to still know the young adults who were once the small children my kids played with.  Not only are they still my children’s friends, their parents are still MY friends.  In fact, our family will be attending the wedding of one of those tykes in less than a month.  And before that, I have a date to meet my pal betty in the city for dinner and the theatre.  betty and I have known each other since Daughter and betty’s first son were in preschool.  No wonder endearing memories of all these youngsters keep popping into my head.

Back when Daughter and betty’s son were five years old, I was sitting in the betty living room when her kindergartner hopped up onto the sofa next to me.  He knocked his little Nikes together and grinned up at me.

bettysboy:  Wanna hear a joke?

OSV:  Fire away.

bettysboy:  Why did the chicken cross the road?

OSV:  Oh, come on!  You can do better than that.

bettysboy:  No, really.  Why did the chicken cross the road?

OSV:  (wearily)  He wanted to get to the other side.

bettysboy:  No, he wanted to buy a Chinese newspaper.

OSV:  I don’t get it.

bettysboy:  Neither do I.  I get the Times.

Ba-da-boom

Daughter is a head teacher.  Her assistant this year previously taught early education in another state and told this story.  One day a student came up to her with a drawing in his hand and held it out excitedly. “Look!” he said to Assistant, “I invented a new food!”  Proudly displaying his artwork he explained, “I took a peach and put it together with a corn.  I’m going to call it a porn.”

Oh, boy.  Assistant looked at his picture and said, “This is terrific.  You did a really good job here.  Let’s brainstorm about some other names for your invention.  Like how about keach?  That’s corn and peach, too.”  The kid thought about it for a second and said, “Hmmm, I really like porn.”  Assistant nodded intently and shifted gears.  “Okay, what about this?  If you combine corn and fruit, you get cruit.  That sounds pretty cool, doesn’t it?  Cruit?”

The boy studied his drawing.  “Ummmmmm . . . . nope, it’s gonna be porn.”  And he skipped out of the classroom and onto the bus home so he could announce to his parents at dinner, “I did something new in school today!  I made a porn!”  Oh, yeah, that’s a phone call.

Daughter’s Featured Fotos revisit Bklyn’s Urban Arts Festival

drunk monster by royce

drunk monster by royce

trees in pants

trees in pants

pasta mouths

pasta mouths

outdoor mural in the rain

outdoor mural in the rain

eat healthy

eat healthy

This entry begins my fourth year blogging.  Thank you all once again for stopping by

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