The Lift Trucks Gallery sent me this short video that they made of last night’s reading. If you don’t blink, at the very end, you will see me up at the mike. But as the others have said, the most fun was (for me) before the event, and (for them) afterward.

I arrived at our designated meeting spot, Tazza Cafe, and as one of the others stated, within minutes, our screeching and cackling and guffawing had driven the other patrons away. Most had arrived before me and Tracy very graciously offered to buy me a cup of tea and then we all got to gabbing, and honestly, it felt like I was with family.

Here’s stuff I learned about the people who went, that I hadn’t already known:

Barbara teaches at an inner-city school and she loves her students and some of them have gone on to compete on a state (national?) level in an academic competition, with her as the coach. They are “Team Sorenson!” She sent me a photo of the team with their trophies but it’s quite blurry. Hoping she’ll send another.

Aislinn’s parents are from Ireland and she’s used to a lot of swearing and foul language and sang a song for us involving brass cleaner and bollocks! It was funny, because she’s soft-spoken and feminine.

Bev’s brother (cousin? Oh, how I wish I was taking notes) is a famous footballer in the UK. Bev’s husband Mark was a very good sport for coming along.

Colleen is thoughtful and kind and recommended my friend Dani Shapiro’s book, highly. She had just finished it.

Tracy was quieter than I expected, but her laugh is booming and infectious.

Alan explained that “putz” and “schmuck” are even nastier words than most of us had thought. Oh yes, we got right down to some vulgarities, even bandying about the c-word at one point (It was me, sorry. It was a joke).

Wonderful Arliss and her husband Bruce live quite near me and Bruce is the published author of a cook book!

Lisa is funny and pretty and thinks she doesn’t photograph well, which she does. Lisa’s Tom, also a great sport.

KC (Ms. Brunch) and her husband Matt met us at the gallery and then went on to dinner with the rest of the gang. I met KC years ago when she was a kid. SHe’s not a kid anymore! Gorgeous.

Here’s a group photo, taken by Tracy:

Here I am at the mike. As you can see, I decided to convert my story into song and sing it for the group.

Well the group has been sending each other photos from past night and perhaps they will put them up on their Facebook pages. Thanks to all who attended, you were wonderful!

I hesitate to interrupt all the introductions with a new blog but I encourage people to keep coming out! I don’t want to say welcome, because many of you have been reading all along, but, it’s lovely to hear all the new voices.

I have been insanely busy, this week and so have many people I know. First, my friend Dani Shapiro has a new book coming out on Monday. The book is called Devotion and it’s a beautiful examination of her spiritual journey in what she calls “the afternoon of life.” Click on her link and have a look at her books and blog and introduce yourselves while you’re there.  I’ve already read Devotion and recommend it highly!

I have also been researching animal rescue organizations for my book and would like to call your attention to a wonderful contest that is going on at The Animal Rescue Site.  You can vote for your favorite  rescue organization and the group that receives the most votes will receive lots of $$$$$$$.  But you don’t have to give a penny.  I know everybody is giving whatever they can spare to Haiti relief organizations now, so this is a way you can help by just, literally lifting a finger and clicking on the “vote” link.  If you don’t have a favorite rescue organization, please vote for Hot Water Rescue New England.  This group has saved some of the neediest dogs in New England and could really use the support.  Here’s a gorgeous pup that they have saved and are trying to place:

So get out your vote!  You can vote once a day, every day.

I consulted two very good friends, one of whom is now in the spiritual world (but still reads my blog, God bless him) about some of the bad vibes that we’ve had here during the past few days.  They knew exactly what they must do. They had a “bed-in” for us.

That’s me, on the phone with John at 1:47. “Together!” he said.

Now everyone, time for a big group (((((((((((((((awkward stiffness))))))))))))))))).

The dogs and I think the idea of a bed-in is a splendid one. It’s actually a philosophy that we practice every day.

Today, I decided to start off the new year by doing something I never do.  I decided to take a dance/exercise class.  A friend had told me how much fun this “Zumba” class is.

 ”You just dance around to great music and the hour just flies by and at the end you’re drenched in sweat and laughing,” said she.  
“I love to dance!” said I, and I recalled many hours at nightclubs, busting out my moves, being drenched in sweat and laughing away. The part I overlooked, in these rosy recollections, is that I was a) a teenager, b) drunk and c) dancing to the Ramones.  Dancing to the Ramones is pretty basic stuff.  Just a lot of jumping up and down and slamming your head from side-to-side so hard that your neck is sprained and the next day you have to have your boyfriend help you lift it off your pillow.  Ahhhhh. Good times.

So today, I headed off to the gym in my little sweat pants and tank and I met the instructor, who was also wearing little sweats and a tank, but she had a 20-year-old body that was muscular and sexy (that’s not her in the photo above, but you get the idea), while mine somehow manages to be both skinny and flabby.  Fleshy, I guess you’d say. Well, not really fleshy. Flappy.  There’s extra flesh that you don’t notice until I start waving my arms around.  Then you notice.

So we introduced ourselves and waited for the others to show up, and soon learned that there were going to be no others.  Just me and Miss Sexy Body.  Mrs. Flappy and Miss Sexy Body (let’s call her SB).  Together. Live.

“This is actually great, since it’s your first time,” SB said.  And then she turned the music on and immediately started moving her hips and arms and head in a rapid series of moves that had me at first wonder if she was having some sort of orgasmic seizure, until she told me, stomping and gyrating away, to just follow her moves.

“Feel free to lip-sync!” she said, “It helps you keep time!”  I don’t really know the words to songs by Shakira and was going to ask if she had any Etta James, because I really can lip-sync to old Etta.  You’d think I was her.  Really.  All I can say is thank goodness there were no others in the room as somebody could have been seriously injured by my staggering about; my knees flying up near my chin, my arms flailing from side to side. And my crazy pelvis that just moves in a circular series of hitches and tics. Of course, there was some tripping. I never actually hit the floor though. I’m pretty good at recovering my balance.

After the class, I went online to see what Zumba is really supposed to look like and I found this great video which features a dancer who emulates the Ann Leary technique.  She’s the one in the knee-length green pants.  Sort of to the left of the screen:

I hope Green Pants doesn’t sue me for pointing her out. It’s just uncanny, the way we dance alike. We could actually work out a routine and take our show on the road.

I also found this Zumba video and personally want to hunt down the chick with her tank top flipped up over her bra, and wrestle that shirt back over her boobs where it belongs.

Tomorrow: Salsa!

The other day, my athletic friend Helen asked me if I’d be interested in running in a “mini-marathon” with her this spring.  She asked me this at the gym, where I go a few times a week to plod along the treadmill and occasionally take a workout class and where I get so bored and frustrated with my terminal birdlegs and mutton arms, that I end up sort of slinking back to my car after about 15 minutes.  The minute Helen mentioned the marathon,though,  it was crystal clear what I must do. I must condition for a mini-marathon!  Then I will work my way up to a real marathon and, dear internet, someday, you just might see me chugging across the finish line at the New York marathon, my family waiting tearfully with open arms; strangers exclaiming aloud at my pluck;  small children running after me, laughing with joy …

This is what I do.  It drives my family insane.  The big plans.

But I really think I can do this. Helen gave me all the details.  The marathon is 10K, but you can do half of it, which is what I’m planning to do.  5K isn’t so far, right?  Do any of you run?  Seriously, my only experience running outdoors took place about three years ago.  It was a beautiful spring afternoon and I thought I’d just go for a little jog.  I used to see all these moms I knew, running all over the countryside and looking incredibly fit, so I decided that I might just take it up.  I wanted to exercise outdoors, without a horse doing all the work.  So I set off, down our long driveway and then headed south on the main road.  I ran and I ran and I ran.  I ran until my kneecaps felt like they might shatter, my shins were shooting white-hot arrows of pain all the way down to my feet, and there was a cramp in my side so severe that I had to stand for several moments, doubled over in the middle of the road.  I was huffing and gasping for air at this point,  so I ended up walking most of the way home.  Later, I had to pick up one of the kids from school so I decided to drive the route I had run and clock it on the odometer. I wanted to know how many miles I had run.  So I headed south on the main road, in my car, and drove to where I had stopped running.

I had run 3/10 of a mile. Yes, that’s right.  When I included my exhausting walk home, and near crawl up the driveway, I had covered just over a half-mile.

So, I can’t say that I have a lot of stamina, but I will.  That’s the point.  I now have a goal.  I’m going to start trying to run a mile a day and then work my way up from there.

Tomorrow, my first mile.

Somebody asked in a recent comment whether Uncle Sull is into dogs and indeed he is.  I realize that I haven’t properly introduced my Uncle Sull to you all, though you’ve all come to know him here, through his comments, so please allow me to do so now.  I think some of you are under the misconception that my Uncle Sull is some tweedy old pipe-smoking Republican, and he’s nothing like that at all (except for the Republican part).

Uncle Sull is my uncle, Thomas Sullivan.  Tom is my mother’s half-brother from my grandfather’s second marriage and he is much closer to my age than to my mother’s age.  When we were kids, Tommy used to come stay with us during our summers in Michigan and Wisconsin.  Tommy was a city kid, born and raised  in Staten Island, and we lived in leafy suburban areas and so he would come and spend some time with us each summer.  He was a kid, and so were we, so it was funny to call him “Uncle Tom,” but I believe we did.  Uncle Tom?  Did we?  He was cool and citified and always about two years ahead of the fashion wherever we lived.  For example, he visited us in bell-bottoms when we were little, and all wearing regular jeans, then a few years later, we were wearing these giant bell-bottom jeans and he was wearing skinny jeans and hightop Keds.  We must have seemed like such hillbillies to him.

Now I hope Uncle Sull won’t mind if I reveal that he wasn’t always an ultra-conservative. No, Tommy was a bit of a hippy in the 60s,  I so wish I had photos of him.  He had long hair and was into all sorts of counter-culture stuff of the times that drove my very conservative grandfather crazy.  Not sure when he pulled the old switcheroo on us liberals, but we have many people in my family with all sorts of diverse political viewpoints and because of this, I try to never discount a person based on their political views.  I have to say that I believe liberals are a little more close-minded in many ways than some conservatives I know, when it comes to judging others’ political viewpoints. I have friends that insist that they cannot be friends with Republicans or conservatives and that makes me feel sorry for them and their very constricted perspectives, as some of my smartest and nicest friends are Republicans.  Really!  We just don’t talk about politics very much.

But back to Uncle Sull.  I asked him to send me a photo of him and his beloved Newfoundland dog, Buckley and he sent me these.  The first is Buckley eyeing a smokin’ hot actor on a bus stop sign:

And here is Buckley with Uncle Sull, himself.  They don’t always walk around waving the American flag. It was Memorial Day:

Devin and I visited Charlotte yesterday to check on the puppies.  They’ve really grown in the past week and it’s clear that their father(s) outsized their dear little mother, Peanut.  They’re almost half her size already and they’re only four weeks old.

The puppies need names.  I’ll introduce you to each and we can help Charlotte think of appropriate names.  Also, all five four puppies are still available for adoption.  Charlotte will only consider very good homes. She’s asking for a $50 adoption fee which she will then turn around and use to pay the adoption fee at the kill shelter where she finds dogs to rehome.  So, for each of Peanut’s puppies that finds a new home, an older, perhaps needier dog will be rescued.

Now,  let’s meet the puppies.  First, Male Number One:

Male 1

This bold fellow has a lovely white bib and likes to greet new friends with a gregarious “high-five.”  He thinks it’s cool.  We won’t tell him how dated it is (plus, puppies can’t make a fist for the fist bump). His coat is black now, but it has brown highlights and will probably lighten up a little as he matures.

And this is his only brother, Male Number Two:

Male 2

This wrinkly-nosed snuggler seems to have a bit of hound in him.  He will likely be short-coated, and, like the others, on the small size.  It’s impossible to hold him without smiling, as Devin is demonstrating.

Now allow me to introduce the girls:

Female 1

Yes, she’s a blonde bombshell and the eye-catcher of the crew.  This chubby love-bug might have to watch her figure as she matures.  She loves her meals.  Charlotte thinks she’s the smartest of the litter, so take that blonde-mockers.

Her sister, Female Number Two, has a pretty white bib and two little mittens, and a white beauty spot under her chin. Like her sisters, she shows signs of having a whiskery terrier face and coat:

Female 2

And finally, my personal favorite, darling little Female Number Three:

Female 3

Devin and I fell for her.  Hard.  Can’t really explain why.

Yes, we have a new feature here at the blog. If you scroll down a little, you’ll see it on the right.  It’s called “On the Nightstand”.

Originally I was going to just display the books I am reading, but now I have decided to show one book a month, give everybody a chance to read it as well, and at the end of the month, we’ll have a discussion.  Here.  On the blog.  It’s not going to be a live chat. I’ll just start the discussion and you all can weigh in throughout the day, commenting as often as you wish.  I think that’ll work best as we all have different work schedules and live in different time zones.

The first book I have chosen is Muriel Spark’s The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie.  It has been brought to my attention that this title is not on Kindle, but it should be available at any library, or you can order it here.

I have marked December 1st on my calendar as the book discussion day.

I would love to hear any suggestions you all might have for future books.

Yes, that’s my sleek nightstand pictured above.  There’s my beautiful bed where I recline in my organic pajamas and read, whilst my hired man Batman massages my feet.

Okay, this is what my nightstand really looks like.  I have photographed it exactly as I found it this morning.

Photo by Phil Holland

I can’t bear to have that depressing grey photo in the previous entry appear at the top of my page.  Not with that depressing grey header. Fortunately, my friend, poet/professor Phil Holland has just emailed me these beautiful photographs from Greece.

He wrote, “On a warm day like this you can almost hear the pomegranates slowly ripping apart to expose their seeds like the baskets of rubies in the Sultan’s old palace in Istanbul.”

Very nice.

Photo by Phil Holland