A afternoon with Dr. Christiane Northrup

How I got to be in the third row to hear Dr. Christiane Northrup, New York Times best-selling author and today’s leading expert on women health issues, was pure luck.  Or was it?  I was one of over one thousand women who poured into the Penntop Ballroom on the eighteenth floor of the New York Hotel Pennsylvania on Seventh Ave. at 33rd  on Saturday, November 10, 2007, to hear Dr. Northrup give a talk on Menopause and Beyond: New Wisdom for Women.

Back in August is when I purchased my ticket as a gift to myself.  Dr. Northrup had been featured on Oprah, The View, Good Morning America, and PBS and I missed them all.  But, when I receiveda brochure about her tour coming to my area, I knew immediately this was something special that I did not want to miss and I called that very day.

In Northern Bergen County where I live, just across the Hudson River from New York City, you can easily commute during the week into the city by train, bus, or vehicle.  Once again, luck was on my side as the Pascack Valley train line weekend train service from my area to NYC that had been suspended for sixty years, just started again.  So, when I realized that New York’s Hotel Pennsylvania was directly across the street from Penn Station at Madison Square Garden, where the train line ends, I knew that my decision to take the newly restarted Pascack Valley train line was the right decision. 

Once I boarded and was settled in the red leather seat, I thought to myself, I wonder whom I will see that I know? It was a far-fetched notion but I couldn’t help feeling that I would run into someone that I knew.  Sure enough, while departing from the train at Penn Station, I ran into Susan, the librarian for my local Library.  Susan had saved the day for me many times when I was working my monthly newspaper column, A Slice of Life, for The Rockland Review, and needed help with research.  Pleasantly surprised to run into each other, we a friendly greeting and then proceeded to accompany one another as we wound our way up the stairs and out onto 7th Ave.

Susan was headed to West 42nd St. to see Pygmalion, one of the remaining plays not affected by the Broadway stagehands strike, and I was only headed across the street.  However, since we both had time before our respective events started we joined the throngs of people, and while making our way across 34th St. to Macy’s, we caught a glimpse of the stately Empire State Building. 

Once inside the historic store where “Miracle on 34th St.”, the story about a Macy’s department store Santa Claus was set, we were able warm up a bit while passing aisle after aisle of Christmas wreaths and bows and red and silver glittering decorations draped everywhere with salespeople spraying samples of perfume and cologne among perfectly styled Calvin Klein mannequins.  And, then it was back outside to view the famous Macy's Christmas windows wit scenes from "Miracle on 34th St.  Macy’s had once again created an enticing holiday environment for shopping, but we had more important things to do and soon headed back outside to say our parting good-byes and extend good wishes to each other for the rest of the afternoon.

It was only a short walk to New York’s Hotel Pennsylvania and once inside there was a buzz of activity.  Crowds of people were in long lines to check in, and other folks were sitting on the circular lounge just below a magnificent center crystal chandelier that offset the entire foyer.  Digging out my ticket I found my way to the elevators and after a fairly short ride considering how high we went, I stepped out onto the eighteenth floor to throngs of women already gathered.  The force was electrifying, as everyone seemed to exude the same essence of anticipation for a wonderful afternoon with Dr. Northrup. 

I was lucky enough … let me rephrase that because where I once may have thought it all luck, I now believe a force greater than mere serendipity is at work.  I believe that every step of the way my day was ordained by Divine intervention to remind me that God still has a plan for my life…even after menopause.  In fact, I feel like I’m just beginning.  After hearing Dr. Northrup explain how I’m not alone in that feeling, that many post-menopausal women are reinventing themselves and are the best they’ve ever been, I headed back to Penn Station for my train ride home with a new spring in my step. 

How did I end up in the 3rd row with hundreds of women in back of me?   Arriving early may have helped.  Deciding to position myself in line rather than wandering around like I may have done in the past and then ended up in the back row…may have helped too. 

You decide.  But, when Dr. Northrup suddenly appeared right in front of me in the hallway and I had the opportunity to stand right next to her, I flung my coat to the floor and quickly asked a passing lady who I’d never met and haven’t seen since, to snap a photo.  And then came a bonus.  Dr. Northrup complimented me on my new jacket and made my day!

         And then, for the next two hours with a short break in between, we were educated and entertained about important women's issues and our health.  Dr. Northrup even ended her program with us all standing and moving to some dance steps.   

         When the afternoon came to an end, I left armed with Dr. Northrups wisdom for women and coupled with God’s truths with no doubt in my mind that the best is yet to come.   

         Until next time…Top Blonde taking the day!

Christiane Northrup, M.D. Web Site (with personal permission from Dr. Northrup)

"Heavenly Delights!"

As I was walking by the candy store window, the various bins of brightly colored confections called out to me.  Temptation won and I soon found myself pushing through the clear glass door with the name Heavenly Delights artfully inscribed in white. 

I wasn’t hungry, and I wasn’t experiencing the need for a sugar fix.  No, my susceptibility to the mix of candy pumpkins with green stem, crazy corn, miniature corn, black licorice jellybeans, and other delights didn’t stem from gastric juices flowing.  My pull into the diminutive shop on 3rd Avenue in New York City, between 35th & 36th, stemmed purely from the retro recollections of Halloween festivity from my youth.  In those days of innocence, neither the calorie content nor nutritional value, or lack therein, dictated my adeptness at popping pumpkins one after the other into my mouth.

Life is different now from those carefree days.  With my own children grown and residing out of state, Halloween can come and go without any of the typical fanfare at my house of shopping for costumes, rushing to Halloween parades at the local mall, or creating ghoulish getups to wear at work.  No, Halloween festivity has never been my thing.  I don’t liked masks of any kind and haven’t yet out grown my skepticism of those scary, obnoxious, and ugly masks that seem to delight and thrill Halloween revelers.    

Truth be told that while Ishy away from the world of make-believe horror, blood dripping Dracula’s, and haunted houses surrounded by grave yards and ghosts, the warmer hues of autumn are the aspects of October that spark my endorphins flowing.  Those aspects include gobbling up the fall mix of plump soft chewy pumpkins and crazy corn candy.  For me, it’s the economically priced bag of candy that you can buy at the local A& P, that delights and thrills me. 

So, why did I spend $12.78 on my bag of “Heavenly Delight!”?  Only a lover of crisp falls days under the gray/bue of a late October sky would fully understand.  Not only do the warm hues of autumn spark endorphins, they also spark the intrinsic turn toward family and home as longer days bring us inside to warm by the fire.

As a child, I remember the fun that my brother and me had carving pumpkins and pulling out the slimy seeds entangled inside.  Once we felt we had given Mr. Pumpkin a perfect Halloween face, we stood back and admired our work. 

Each year, as an adult, I can’t wait to begin my tradition of tucking away summer and bringing out my fall decorations the week after Labor Day weekend.  My next step in setting autumn ablaze is lighting my cinnamonspice candle.  And, the final phase of my tradition is waiting for that perfect autumn day of dipping temperatures, and baking an old-fashioned apple pie like mother used todo, that fills my apartment with the aroma of home.   

            I spent $12.78 on a bag of Heavenly Delights! because that moment of indulgence reminded me of a lifetime of investment.  The memories I hold and cherish for making my apartment inviting to my friends and family, enriches my spirit.  And, to recapture a bit of those care free days. 

After getting home with my mix of Halloween candy, I tore off the Heavenly Delights! sticker that held the bag closed and started popping pumpkins in my mouth.  I have to admit that after eating a few, plump pumpkins and devouring a handful of crazy corn, I started to feel like a lump of sugar.  This was followed by the guilt of gluttonous consumption.  I can’t possibly eat all this!  What am I going to do with the rest?

A phrase came to mind that it’s more blessed to give than to receive, and I thought of two friends I was seeing over the next few days.  Suddenly, I had my answer. 

Remembering I still had two miniature Chinese take out containers left over from Christmas last year, I divided the remaining confections and filled the two containers.  Next, I curled some ribbon with the blade of a pair of scissors and placed them on top of each container.  This was helping to replace my self-incrimination with a renewed sense of warmth. 

Meeting one friend for breakfast at the Ridge Diner, and meeting another friend at DePiero’s for tea would surely bring me my own heavenly delight.

 

 

City Girl for a Day

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            The awaited weekend arrived.

            On Friday morning, I picked up my long time friend, Mary Jane, and her twenty -something year-old daughter, Mary, at Newark International Airport, who had just arrived from Buffalo.  Former residents of Bergen County, they had come for the weekend and our plan was to spend Saturday in New York City and specifically, journey through Central Park.  After fetching their luggage and making our way out of the airport maize, we hit the Parkway North back to the tree lined, winding roads, and rich heritage of our Pascack Valley. 

We hadn’t seen each other in five years and began our celebration of friendship and catching up over a leisure lunch at The Cheesecake Factory at the Palisades Center.

            Later, Mary’s friend, Francesca, also in her twenties and with her toddler son, Aidan, picked up Mary to spend the night with them, and then Mary Jane and I met mutual friends for dinner at a favored family pub, Peppercorns. 

Saturday arrived amid much excitement and with the anticipation of our transportation mode; a train trip into the city.  It sounded so cosmopolitan as I usually either drove in or took the bus from the Montvale Park & Ride and used the senior discount ticket that I barely qualify for.  And now, with Aidan with daddy for our girls day out, and with the promise of a fun day and the bright sun at our backs, we headed to the Ramsey train station with a transfer in Secaucus, for our final destination; Penn Station.

After maneuvering the maze madness of the station, we made our way out to the daylight of Eighth Avenue and a few blocks up trod over to Broadway and to the place with the fastest pulse on the planet; Times Square. 

As you would imagine, we first needed to revive ourselves in preparation for our trek up to Central Park so rather than trying to squeeze into TGIF’s or other trendy eatery along the Great White Way, we opted for the quieter and less crowded Times Square restaurant, Rosie O’ Grady’s, a few doors down and just off Broadway on 46th. 

Once we finished our repast and were refreshed, we made our way over to 5th Avenue and became part of the human mass heading toward Midtown East.

The lure of glitz and glamour and reverence grabbed at our senses and we were pulled into St. Patrick’s, Saks Fifth Avenue, Tiffany’s and Bergdorf Goodman.  Walking past the The Plaza in all its newly renovated glory, we came upon a long line of folks trailing after a guide and heading toward a bus.  I was curious and asked a passerby where they were all going.  The answer that was exubertently shot back at me was, “Sex and the City, the movie”.  Ah, yes!  If we looked closely, I chimed to our party; we might catch a glimpse of Mr. Big or Sarah.   But, not today, for we were on a mission and our next stop was finding Strawberry Fields, the Ladies Pavilion, and The Boathouse Cafe.

On the way to the entrance to Central Park by The Pond, we passed a group of break-dancers surrounded by a thick crowd and then a figure on stilts with green face paint waving a flag while portraying the Statue of Liberty.  I don’t know which was aching more; my feet from walking or my neck from turning this way and that for fear I’d miss some quintessential New York City experience.

We walked up a hill, then down a hill, we stepped over rocky paths, and when we came to a fairly narrow and steep stairwell my friend turned back reaching for my hand to steady me in descending the steps.

Even the twenty-something year-olds were now getting tired, but we bravely continued.  We were city girls for a day, and we weren’t going to allow sore feet or anything else to halt our pilgrimage.  Well, nothing that is except my bad heart telling my body that I’d reached my max for the day. 

Mary Jane, aware of my prostration, called for a colloquy at which time it was decided she and I would hail a bike buggy driver and we’d meet the girls at Strawberry Fields.  Soon, we were climbing into our carriage and being whisked past the walkers and bicyclists up to 72nd and Central Park West, the entrance to Strawberry Fields, where we both collapsed on the bench among the crowd while waiting for our youthful companions to arrive.

We snapped photos of the Imagine mosaic in honor of John Lennon and then moseyed our way on down the path toward the Ladies Pavilion.  The only other time I’d seen the pavilion was when I visited The Gates, by Christo and Jeanne –Claude, on a bitterly cold winter day in February 2005.  This time, boaters were enjoying an autumn afternoon against the backdrop of a magnificent New York City skyline.

 From the Ladies Pavilion, we wound our way through the woods and reached our final destination The Boathouse Café on Park Drive North.  We now had completed our pilgrimage and sat a spell to ponder our passage. 

Eventually, we hailed a taxi only to endure the most hurried and harried taxicab ride of my lifetime.  The driver was darting between cars and busses at a high speed all the way down Park Ave, which left me even more breathless than traipsing through Central Park! 

Once we boarded the return train, we all literally flopped in our seats.  I knew then that, in spite of the wonderful day and renewing of friendship, I could never be more than a city girl for a day. 

Until next time…Top Blonde taking the day.           

Life's playgrounds

            I’m not positive when the moment occurred that made me think any acrobatic ability remained in my bones.  Through a measure of agility shows up from time to time, it is usually slated for the most mundane of daily movements; walking, climbing into and out of bed, and the acrobatics you sometimes find yourself trying to master when trying to pick up an item that has fallen to the floor.  Not while on vacation and you have the hair-brained idea to see if you can still do a cartwheel. 

            Maybe it was the clean air and the crystal clear sky of Petersham in rural Western Massachusetts, the first leg of my vacation with friends that inspired such fantasy.  Whatever the inspiration, the gentle morning breeze began clearing out the city cockles of my mind and unleashing just enough voltage to trick me into believing that maybe I could pull this off.

            Within moments, I found myself kicking off my shoes, rolling upmy sleeves, and padding around a lush green lawn in contemplation. 

            I think I can, I think I can.

            Just what made me think I could is not something explanatory.  Maybe I just wanted to be a kid again.  Maybe I just wanted to ensure that the woman child residing in me was still alive and well.

            Would I break something?  Or, pull something?  Could I walk away and be content that the cartwheel I somewhat successfully pulled off slightly over ten years ago in a Montana meadowwould be my last?  It was serious decision-making time.  My fellow vacationers were out in front loading the car for the second leg of our vacation; Cape Cod and Nantucket Island. 

            And so, on a grassy knoll under the shade of a large beech tree, it was time to discover just how much, if any, acrobatic agility remained in my bones. 

            After a few deep breaths to muster courage, stretches for limbering, and visualization for success, I took the plunge.

            Disaster.

            Not one to give up easily, I tried again.  Visualizing helped, but I knew I’d need more than a technique to help this seasoned frame turn a cartwheel.  After several practice attempts it was time to step into sunny center stage of my backyard playground.

            Sometimes, you just have to give it what you’ve got, do the best you can, and see what happens.  A couple attempts weren’t half-bad, but nowhere near what would qualify as a bona-fide cartwheel.  Still, a semblence of reason won, and I knew it was time to stop.  Departing from center stage, I left with a sense of satisfaction and delight at the feel of the cool green grass under my feet.

            You would think walking with a slight limp the next day would cure anyone of silly antics on grassy knolls.  You would think.  If it weren’t for a playground next to The Church of the Redeemer, that my special friend, Harrison, and I happened upon during our time in Chatham, that might be the case.  We’d come out of the church and after walking through the gardens noticed the swings and slides off to the side. 

            Doesn’t everyone take a detour while on vacation to hop into a swing or zip down a slide?  Thankfully, neither requires major acrobatic agility.  All you need is a healthy dose of free spiritedness and the willingness to take advantage of life’s playgrounds.

            Untill next time...top blonde taking the day...

Never ready to say good-bye

The day started out like any other.  The ordinary daily life events that fill up all our lives were beckoning; starting the coffee pot, checking email, getting correspondence together for mailing, and a mid-afternoon doctor’s appointment. 

I’d wanted to call my mom, Helen, just to say “hello”, but in light of a full morning I pushed making that phone call back until that afternoon.  It wasn’t that my mom wouldn’t be up.  She lived on the West coast and even with the three-hour time change she’d be up and about scurrying around like the energizer bunny.  Her day and my step-dad’s always started early.  Early for them meant 6 to 6:30 AM.  “Pop”, as my sister Lezlie and me affectionately referred to him, was always showered and dressed by then and ready at mom’s call when it was time to implement their routine for that day. 

Given my mom’s age, 83, and that she lived with mild Parkinson’s disease; I liked to check up on a regular basis on she and “Pop”.  After thirty-four years together, they had built a life of quiet strength and persevering faith that sustained and encouraged our family.  “Pop” as a hardy ninety-three-year-old, has been in my life longer than my own father who passed away when I was twenty-four. 

     Mom and “Pop” were far from sedentary seniors.  On visits home I found I could hardly keep up with mom’s pace.  They went to a weekly, 7 AM Bible and Breakfast fellowship, a gathering of over 200 interesting and lively senior citizens from their church.  Mom was very social and enjoyed lunching with her sorority friends and also her classmate’s lunches from her graduating class of 1941. 

After my morning tasks were completed and my doctor’s appointment was in back of me, I set about to tackle my errands.  The only trouble was, I’d stopped at Shop-Rite first and now had a couple cartons of milk along with a few other perishable items.  Having perishable goods inside your car on a hot, humid day in the northeast has a way of dictating your next stop.  After making the left on Broadway past the new Woodcliff Lake time clock, I headed over the causeway toward home.

Rain was predicted and sure enough, like clockwork, as soon as I hopped out of my Jeep, Madame Merlot II, and ran around to the passenger side to retrieve my groceries, raindrops were falling on my head.  My neighbor, Joyce, had surprised me a few months back with a nifty cart for transporting belongings and bags.  While bending over to open the cart, my cell phone began ringing. 

Typically, I get excited when someone is calling.  But, with ducking inside my Jeep from the rain while gathering grocery bags, and trying to unfold the carrying cart that Joyce gave me, I seriously contemplated letting my voice mail pick up the call. 

The contemplation, however, was short lived as curiosity won and I dug in my handbag to reach for my phone.

Flipping it open, I figured it was one of my three daughters.  It wasn’t.  The voice I heard on the other end of the line was not one I readily recognized.  Though it sounded like my niece, Merri Elizabeth, her tone was alarming and I sensed that something was terribly wrong.  That’s when I learned that my mom had passed away that morning. 

Complete shock and disbelief followed.  I was sure I was having a bad dream and struggled with what I was hearing.  Why, I’d just talked with my mom on the phone on Monday.  I’d called her from New York City when I was in Grand Central Station.  She told me how she and “Pop” had eaten at one of the restaurants there in 1987 when they were on a church tour of the East coast.  I’d also just spoken with her the day before when I called to ask about a recipe exchange. Could I use buttermilk in my whole-wheat banana nut, wheat germ waffles instead of milk?  <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" />

Within moments I realized the new reality for our family.  We’d lost my belovedmom, a dear and wonderful grandmother, a devoted sister, a loyal friend, a compassionate neighbor, an adoring wife, and a Scrabble-playing sister in law.

I had so many more questions, more stories about her life that I wanted to hear, more times to unsettle the frozen expression on her face that can come from Parkinson’s, by making her laugh.  And, laugh, goodness me.  She made me laugh.  She got funnier without even trying as the years rolled by.  I remember one trip home when she was in her bedroom and I’d called her because I needed her for something in another room.  When I walked in to see if she was coming, she simply dropped the clothing she was holding onto the floor.  As my mouth flew open at her spunk, she said with a sweet smile and a quick giggle, “Well, dear, you’ve heard of drop what you’re doing haven’t you?”

I simply wasn’t ready to tell my beloved mom good-bye.

Top Blonde…on the run…

Friendship reflections

Aging can be such a speculative proposition.  How many of us truly embrace our age reality with authentic eagerness?  It seems if you’re turning an authentic thirty-nine, perhaps.  But, for the rest of us, we may not always be forthcoming with the digits for our birth date and claim the Jack Benny mantra of turning thirty-nine ... every year.

            It doesn’t usually take much for me to have an excuse for celebrating life in general.  Perhaps it goes back to my childhood and the excitement and anticipation of being invited to my first birthday party.  I was in kindergarten when Robby Shore invited me to his birthday party.  Robby’s parents were both doctors.  They lived on a corner in a house that was big and grand and one that everyone studied when they drove past. 

Whoever said, girls just want to have fun, much have been a girl, but from my recall of Robby’s party, boys want to have fun too.  And, we did.  We were all caught up in the festivity of the day with giggles and smiles coming from everyone.  We proudly wore our birthday hats, blew horns, drank punch, and basically had the time of our lives. 

            So, just maybe Robby’s party set a precedent that continues today.  Like I mentioned above…it doesn’t take much for me to put a party spin on the celebratory circumstance of the day. 

            In light of my “sweet sixtyish something” birthday approaching, and then the subsequent dismay that my age reality did not quite equate to thirty-nine, I made a decision.  I called my friend, Marie, kind of based on that philosophy that if you want flowers on your table, perhaps you should plant a garden.  Thus, while we were talking, we collectively made another decision.  It was slightly spontaneous, I admit, but by the time we hung up, we had planned a soiree!

            What made it so amazing is that I’d had that idea tucked in my head for a few days but thought, how could I call my friend and plan my own birthday party at her house!  But, that’s exactly what happened.  My idea included baking myself a birthday cake and taking it over to Marie’s to share with my friends and help me celebrate my birthday.  How fun is that?

            I promptly pulled up my card-making program on my computer and created fun colorful post-card invitations to get in the mail.  The RSVP was to Marie and within a few days, the calls started coming in with replies.  Before we knew it, we had hors d'oeuvres, wine, a birthday cake, a few presents, and lots of regalement brewing.

            My idea was to have Marie tell the ladies who responded to our GNO (girls night out), no presents.  I didn’t want to put people on the spot.  Instead, what I thought might be meaningful was if everyone brought a hand written expression of what our friendship meant.  Perhaps, recalling a special moment of compassion, or a time of needed encouragement, or even a hilarious happening that made for a positive memory.  I’d had fun picking up and wrapping party favors to send everyone home with.  Our summer soiree was going to be a hit!

            Between putting the famous cream cheese frosting on the carrot cake I’d made from scratch, and then figuring out how to pack up the cake and get it into the car to take to Marie’s, in the middle of a torrential down pour, I was back at my computer.  This time, I was creating a design to tape on the front of a pink and purple-stripped notebook I’d gotten to hold the sentiments.  I titled it, “Friendship Reflections” and added in different scripts; loyalty, giggles, trust, laughter, and fun.  All timeless hallmarks of female friendships that help us face another year. 

            Who would only want to stay thirty-nine?

            Until next time…Top Blonde taking the day...

The fruit of forebearance

    My propensity to become separated from possessions looks like it's here to stay.  Either I lose something forever, or, my conviction is that the missing item is in the general vicinity. 

     Last month I had a visit from my oldest daughter, Nicole, who lives in Montana.  She is a 911 operator and having a relaxing and fun vacation was paramount.    

     On the day of her arrival I could hardly wait to greet her smiling face and give her a really big hug.  I had a beautiful bouquet of spring flowers tied up with a pink bow to add to her welcome.

     Her flight was landing late afternoon at Newark Liberty International Airport.  I didn’t have time to check for any arrival time discrepancies before leaving home to pick her up.  But, once Madame Merlot II (my Jeep) and I were on the New Jersey Turnpike, I called the airlines on my cell phone.  The recorded information said her plane was arriving early!  Not good.  It was really important to me to be standing ready at attention at the arrival gate when Nicole came off the plane .  With traffic down to two lanes, the likelihood of fulfilling my, from a mother's heart, airport scenario began to fade.  

     Once I arrived at Newark, found the right terminal, and pulled into the parking lot, I decided I needed guidance.  I wanted to know where to park to lessen my steps to the entrance to the terminal. 

     An airport security vehicle was parked on the outskirts of the parking lot.  I drove his way and hurriedly hoped out of Madame Merlot leaving my Jeep door wide open to seek input.  “Louie” directed me, and off I went.

     There must have been a recording glitch because I arrived in perfect time to enjoy a wonderful greeting with my daughter.  She had received a personal escort off the plane by her pilot, David.  After thanking him for safely getting her to New Jesey, it didn’t take us long to retrieve her luggage and make the trek through the airport back to my Jeep. 

     Once we were settled inside, I began searching for the parking ticket to get out of the parking lot.  It was nowhere to be found.  I even schlepped back into the airport.  I had thrown a piece of paper away on my way inside.  Had I inadvertently threw away the ticket?  “Mom, you didn’t go through the trash, did you?” Nicole said incredulously.  “Well, dear”, I offered, with a confident,  “I wanted to find that ticket”.  

     We continued searching between the seats, behind the seats, through my handbag, and still no ticket.  By now, our patience was waning and we were getting anxious to be on our way.  Nicole, kindly offered to pay the full price which was $30.  I wasn’t about to let her pop for that when I knew that ticket was somewhere in the vacinity.  I could feel it.  I just knew it was right under my nose but for some reason, it wasn't showing itself.

     Then, along came Louie in his shiny, white, security Jeep.  After hailing him down, I explained the situation.  Louie said to drive over to the ticket booth, and he’d meet us there to see what he could do.  Just then, a light went off in my head.

     “Louie”, I said excitedly, “Maybe the ticket fell on the ground when I jumped out to ask you where to park.”  He motioned us to stay parked and went to check.  Shortly, Louie came back with the illusive ticket in hand. 

Sometimes, you just have to trust your heart and belive beyond all doubt.  Nicole and I were quite happy we didn't waste our money.  We later put it to good use for dinner in Nyack!

     Until next time…Top Blonde ... taking the day...