“Blogging Idol” Contest Entry/My Eulogy, Written by My Killer

The funny and talented, Don from 


who has by the way, won many contests – no fair – encouraged his followers to enter this “Blogger Idol” contest of the week, just for the heck of it.  This week’s challenge is, “Write your own eulogy” on, http://blogger-idol.com/category/writing-prompts-2/.

I thought to myself, why the heck not enter? Contestants are to post the entry on their own blogs and then on the blogger idol site. 

I decided to write my eulogy from the words of my killer:  

My Eulogy

morguefile photo

morguefile photo

As her killer, I would like to talk about Maria and her short time on this earth.  I did not have the privilege of attacking her when she was a child, but based on what she was like when I met her, she must have been an inquisitive, brave, kind and stubborn little girl.

 She did not see me coming, but boy was she a fighter from day one.  She boldly rejected the moves I was making on her.  I of course, like a challenge, so her indifference and disdain for me made me want her more.  She was angry with me; they all are.  But you see, Maria’s loved ones, that is what I do best.  I assault innocent, often young and healthy people and destroy their bodies and their lives.  I am unstoppable and have no predator to fear.  There are some attempts at slowing me down, but there is no cure for what I am and what I do. 

I have fond memories of the first time I attacked Maria.  She was in her mid 20s, full of life and working downtown Boston, at the time.  My M.O is always to start slow so as to confuse my victims and make them believe something else is responsible for their pain.  She was engaged to be married to her now grieving husband, whom I would like to take a minute to address.

 “Maria’s husband, I am not sorry for your terrible loss.  You tried to help her fight me but neither of you were even close to being a match for my ruthless, destructive, damaging and crippling qualities.”

 Going back to the first time I attacked her.  I started off by making her feel intense fatigue.  The type of fatigue that is debilitating.  She was having difficulty working and living her active life.  Then, I moved on to her platelets.  I destroyed those babies pretty badly.  It was great!   She ended up needing a splenectomy (for those of you who do not know what that is, it is the surgical removal of your spleen which then makes you more compromised and susceptible to illnesses and a couple of steps closer to death.)

 Things only got worse from there, as you know.  You were all there for her.  Bringing her meals, taking her to doctor’s appointments, giving her chemotherapy in hopes that I would just die.  But I did not.  She did. 

At the tender age of 50, her body could no longer fight me.  Her joints were all damaged and I was deeply embedded in her internal organs.  I was creating deadly inflammation and compromising her immune system ‘till the very end.

 I know you are all saddened by her absence and you wish this was only a dream, but my dear friends, you must face the facts.  Maria is gone and is not coming back.

 God Bless.

By the way, for those of you who don’t know me, my name is Rheumatoid Arthritis.

It keeps coming…



I am having a conversation with a friend.  Suddenly, I feel something gummy and gooey inside my mouth.  I open my mouth and try to pull it out.  I start pulling.  And pulling.  And pulling.

It feels like a huge wad of gum stuck in my mouth and in my teeth.  I keep pulling.  It keeps coming.  I use my index finger to scoop a larger amount out of my mouth.  I succeed, only to find there is more to take out.  

My friend watches in horror.  I assure her that I am almost done taking it out.  I am embarrassed and beyond anxious.   I keep pulling it out but it becomes increasingly heavy and resistant. I need both my hands to yank it out.  It won’t stop.  It keeps coming. 

Then, I wake up.

Dream interpreters suggest that mouth dreams have to do with communication and that an object in your mouth represents an obstacle.  

Another interpretation is that the item in your mouth, represents a foreign or toxic substance in your body that needs to come out.

This is a recurring dream.  It is time I do some searching and analysis to figure out what this dream is telling me.

What recurring dreams do you have?

{Take a look at this funny video of a man pulling a string out of his mouth.}

Cha-Chis & Nighties & Husbands, Oh My!


The lovely, Lily from


 was blogging about being trapped in her new shirt after trying it on and not being able to take it off and the lack of consideration from clothes-makers regarding elasticity!  I mean, really!  Poor Lily struggled and suffered emotional distress while trying to remove her clothing! 

Well, she reminded me of an incident that I felt I must share with you (my friends), because after all, I am a very private person.

It was 2003, precisely 10 years ago and I was celebrating my 40th birthday.  I know, you are thinking to yourself, “For the Love of God, she won’t shut up about her 50th and now is talking about her 40th?”  I know…I know.

My kids were 9 & 7 and my husband 41 – but who’s counting?  I took off for Spain for two whole weeks with the same crazy Latina cousins I partied with for my 50th.  We were meeting my other cousin there who was also celebrating her 40th. 

As you can imagine, it was the most wonderful two weeks sans kids or husband, with all girls – eating, drinking and touring. Oh, the stories…  But, that’s for another post.

In order to leave my family in relatively good shape before the trip,  I had to practically write, edit & publish a book transcript with detailed instructions for my husband.  It consisted of minute by minute, day by day lists of activities, pick up times, upcoming homework assignments, sports schedules, pending doctor’s appointments, labeled meals in the freezer, etc, etc and more etceteras.

As the trip was coming to an end and I looked at all the souvenirs (cha-chis) I had bought to bring back, I realized that I had nothing (zilch) for my husband!  Now, in my defense, he hates cha-chis and knick knacks and I knew he would not appreciate a Spanish bull key chain, a fridge magnet or a flamenco dancer bobble-head.



I was at a loss.  

During our return and after numerous connections and a long lay over at the Miami airport, I saw the bright light bulb popping up in my in my head.  IDEA



I left my cousins comfortably sitting at the gate and told them that I needed to buy something and that I would be back in a bit.

Off I went from store to store around the huge airport looking for what I knew would be the best present ever. My husband was going to absolutely LOVE it – even if it had not come from Spain.

I saw the small boutique and rushed right in.  There were a few other women inside in addition to the sales person.  I went through the racks and found the perfect item.  They did not have it in my exact size, but I had walked a lot in Spain and surely, I had lost many lbs.

I went into the dressing room filled with excitement at the thought of seeing my husband’s face.  I undressed and very carefully slipped on the soft, silky and delicate nightie over my head.  

The dressing room consisted of a tiny room blocked by saloon style swinging doors that only covered my mid-section but left my legs and arms visible to all.


After realizing that “slipping” it on me was proving to be more difficult than anticipated, I decided I better not force the item over my well-endowed chest.  I began to reverse my actions by attempting to remove the silky and delicate damn thingy, back over my head.

It was not moving.  No give, whatsoever.  No elasticity, no nothing.  I. Was. Stuck.  There would be no going up and no going down.   

Panic set in.  Oh shit, now what?  Sweat began to pour down my forehead and into my trapped chest.  I tried once more to tug only to hear the dreaded sound of,  RIP… Ay, Dios Mio.

As I stood there with my arms trapped up in the air above the dressing room door,  I had no other choice but to get on my tippy toes so I could peek out over the doors to summon the sales woman. Help Me…  

After shimmying the nightie up above my arms and looking straight at my soon to be bare breasts, the sales woman succeeded.  She set me free.  As I stood naked and blushing profusely, I expressed my anger over the incorrect sizing that had taken place on that nightie.  Obviously, someone sized it wrong and thus being the cause of my unpleasant experience!

I quickly exited the boutique.  She had yet to notice the rip on the nightie and I was not going to stick around for that discovery.

I was going to arrive back home, empty-handed.  Nada for my husband who had barely survived two whole weeks by himself with the kids.

However, all was not lost.  Right before boarding our plane, us gals decided to get some gum and water at the gate store.  As I was paying for my items I noticed the rack of magazines.  There were the usual suspects (People Magazine , Us Weekly, Cosmopolitan Magazine, Time Magazine ), but what caught my attention was a different one.

Right in front of my eyes lay my saving grace. Aha! (another light bulb moment), a  PLAYBOY Magazine.  Of course!  Why had I not thought of it before?  What could the next best present (after cha-chis and a nighty) for my or anyone else’s husband possibly be?  Why, Playboy, of course.

You see, when in a bind, Playboy is there to find!  

Needless to say, my husband was happy to have me back home. 

First and Ten – Do it Again!



I don’t hate football, I just don’t get it.  

Never mind that I was a football cheerleader in high school and had no idea what this cheer meant, “First and Ten – Do it again!”  Do what?  First and Ten? Huh?

I know these statements above don’t make me appear very intelligent but it’s mostly about the lack of interest.  Contrary to what you may believe, I am kind of smart, you know.

I just choose not to be smart when it comes to football.

In spite of this flaw, I have become somewhat of a Patriots fan (thanks to Tom Brady, I mean Tommy Baby.)  I will actually sit down and watch his “backside” as well as that of his teammates.  You know, the tight pants and the bending over… and I even know to clap when there is a touchdown.

My favorite part of the game of course, is the eating of junk food while “watching”.  Such a great excuse to eat greasy, salty and fatty foods.  The GLUTEN kind of food.  Word has it that it is completely acceptable to eat a whole bag of chips with onion dip, when watching football.  Nobody judges you (cuz nobody is watching you because they are watching the game.)



I know there are a lot of XX chromosomes out there that love the game – and if you are one of them, good for you.  

This leads me to my not so favorite part of game watching.  Listening to the XY chromosomes in the room reacting to every single play.  

It makes it for a very stressful experience.  There is often a lot of yelling, swearing, screaming, scolding, arguing, standing up, knee slapping, fist clenching, pointing and swearing some more.  Even during the commercials.

They automatically become football experts/coaches who criticize the plays that didn’t work and argue about how they would have handled it differently.

They analyze everything to death.  They analyze the morning of the game, during the pre-game, during the game, during the commercials, after the game, the morning after, the afternoon after and into the next evening.

These are the same XY’s who claim not to be capable of understanding or engaging in a conversation with the XX’s to analyze their relationships.  They suddenly forget how to speak, what to say or how to describe their thoughts or feelings.  Even though, they have just solved all the NFL problems and have come up with new ideas, resolutions and strategies.

Remind me to wear this, the next time I want to “talk” to my XY:


Over The Fence


Over the fence –

Strawberries – grow –

Over the fence –

I could climb – if I tried, I know –

Berries are nice!

But – if I stained my Apron –

God would certainly scold!

Oh, dear – I guess if He were a Boy –

He’d – climb – if He could!

 Emily Dickinson

One of the many advantages of living in this small but richly cultured New England town, is the pride we feel for the historical and notable individuals who made a mark in this community and in the world.

From Robert Frost who taught at Amherst College and retired here; to Noah Webster from our handy dictionary; to the oscar nominated,  Uma Thurman; to Richard Gere who attended Umass; to the 1st Baron Amherst, Lord Jeffrey Amherst who the town is named after; to being the home of the Eric Carle Museum and the home of the only Frank Lloyd Wright design in Massachusetts; home to Running with Scissors author, Augusten Burroughs; to the town being named the most progressively liberal region in the United States; and most famous for hosting the Dickinson Homestead, home of the famous poet and her family.  

A few weeks ago, my husband took me on somewhat of a “romantic stroll” through this wonderful town where we reside.  Next thing I know, I am walking through a cemetery.  Not just any cemetery, but the infamous West Cemetery, where Ms. Dickinson and her family eternally rest.

It turns out that on this day, the historical and original fencing constructed in the mid 19th century surrounding the Dickinson family plot, was in the finishing stages of being restored.  The Historical Commission had received Community Preservation Act funds for this project.

Our timing could not have been better.  The new shiny and restored fence was complete and stood proud and erect,  its freshly coat of paint glistening against the hot August sun, dutifully doing its job of protecting the Dickinson’s final resting place. 

I got chills as I stood in silence staring at the plot and taking in all the history that lay in this cemetery.

Old eroded fencing. googlemaps

Old eroded fencing. googlemaps

New fencing:

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Proud to be living in this unique little town.

Too Much Birthday



I hear you, Sister Bear Berenstain!

You were just watching as Papa cut down a tree in the woods of Bear Country with Mama and Brother, when you noticed the peculiar rings around the tree stump.  After asking Papa what the rings were, he went into a long explanation about the meaning of the rings and how they tell us the age of the tree.  


All your Bear friends showed up and even some of Brother’s friends.  Then, while playing spin the bottle (which by the way, is a little too risqué for a 6-year-old, don’t ya think?), the bottle pointed at you and you only kissed Brother because you were too shy (as a 6-year-old should be) and so his friends made fun of you!

And, not to mention the big surprise Papa had for you outside!  A carousel?  What the heck was Papa thinking?  He didn’t even check with Mama who is obviously the boss, before booking it!

Of course you were wailing, Oh Sister Bear!  It was way too overwhelming.  Simply,

Too Much Birthday!

The truth is I am overwhelmed with the outpouring of love and attention I received for my birthday!  I didn’t wail like Sister did, but I cried many tears of joy.

I also became quite tired of myself.  That’s when you know you have had too much birthday – when you can’t even stand yourself any longer.  Not to mention how many cakes I have eaten. 🙂

The all-girls week at the beach was incredible as was the party my friend had for me last weekend!  Unbelievable!  The only way to tell you about it is through pictures.  I hope they capture how much fun I had and how very fortunate I am.


Beautiful day at the beach mid-Sept with the cousins.



Brother in Law’s beautiful home  which hosted the cousin’s reunion.



Mimosas Galore!


I was treated to this amazing dinner – those are fried oysters! Thank you to all my cousins – Marias

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37th cake eaten

We would have eaten these two turkeys that walked through our yard also it we weren't so full!

We would have eaten these two turkeys that walked through the yard had we not been so “stuffed”!

Then, there was the other party.

Invitation Cover made by my friend's daughter

Invitation cover made by my friend’s daughter

One of my great friends had the idea to have all the ladies put on red lipstick in my honor (since I never leave home without mine on), so when I walked in the door this is what I was greeted by:

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A little freaky I know, but I am only authorized to show feet and lips on this post (and a few hands).

Delish food and champagne

Delish Food and Champagne

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Then my dear readers, there were the presents!

Beautiful Roses & Wine

Beautiful Roses & Wine

The most beautiful Rosary bead I have ever seen!

The most eclectic Rosary Beads I have ever seen! Thanks Mami (If only it came with directions…)

Coach & More Alex & Ani, thanks to my Sis

Chocolates, Coach bags & More Alex & Ani (thanks Sis)

Beautiful cheetah-print sweater. ROAR!

Beautiful cheetah-print sweater. ROAR!

Products all the way from the Blue Lagoon, Iceland. Thanks cuz.

Products all the way from the Blue Lagoon, Iceland. Thanks, Cuz.

A donation to the Arthritis Foundation on my behalf! Wow!  Thanks, Mama.

A donation to the Arthritis Foundation in my honor! Wow! Thanks, “Mama”.

Grapefruit Vodka with grapefruit seltzer from my fav Gremlin Food Mamahttp://gremlinfoodmom.blogspot.com/  check out her blog!

Grapefruit Vodka with grapefruit seltzer from my fav Gremlin Food Mama http://gremlinfoodmom.blogspot.com/ check out her blog!

A framed copy of one of my blog posts, which was published in the newspaper, what a thoughtful gift! 

And the most amazing present EVERY 50 year-old chick MUST have, given to me by my awesome “sweats as much as I do twin”!  

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We are talking, Hot Girl’s Pearls.  “Global Cooling, One Woman at a Time”!

I kid you not.  You place these wonderful pearls (I like to call them my balls) in the freezer and then put them on and voila!  Your hot flashes – or just hotness will freeze away!  Swish!  Not your hotness as in you are “hot”, but your miserable type of hotness.  And, I even got the black and white polka dot “sac” for my balls – so I can travel with them.  Hello???!!

Here I am "modeling" the pearls. LOL

Here I am “modeling” the pearls. LOL

So as you can see, I had way Too Much Birthday (as per  my hubby when he said, “Ok, your birthday needs to end, now”.)  But boy what a ride it has been!  Almost as good as riding in Sister’s carousel!

I guess 50 does Rock!

I guess 50 does Rock!