Who'll Stop the Rain?

Before I moved to Ohio, I had no idea how much it rains up here. (I say "up here," you understand, because I was born in Florida and have spent the bulk of my adult life in DC and Arizona.)

I love being in a house with open windows and gentle breezes flitting through. I loved living in Tucson, and hated that day each year (approximately May 15) when I knew the air-conditioner had to go on and would not be turned off until–probably–October.

I hated the Ohio winter of 2014. I grumbled, I complained, I added five pounds to my physique. But I lived through it.

One can always layer on more sweaters.

But this interminable wetness. Ugh!

Today I am envying all my friends and acquaintances who have central A/C. (We have two window units we bought last summer. But one has to leave the bedroom/family room at some point during the day. Window ain't Central!)

Everything I own is damp. My clothes. The sheets on my bed. All the furniture, hard or soft.

Even the basement–my hidey-hole to which I escape when it's too hot or too cold upstairs. The dehumidifier is running constantly and cannot keep up with all this moisture.

The upside? The high temperature today will only be 74°. Sure, the humidity is 92% and it's going to rain all day. (Oh, look. I'm writing this on the back porch and I just noticed it's raining now.) But it could be 99° and 99% humidity.

This ain't all bad.

New Kid in Town

While running errands the other day, I noticed the location of a favorite restaurant that closed a couple of years ago was sporting a new tenant. What was Harry & Jean's on Ironwood Blvd. in Canfield is now Whitefire Grille|Spirits. When my errands were complete, I treated myself to lunch.

The interior doesn't appear to have been changed from the Harry & Jean's configuration. There's a feel of understated elegance. It's not white tablecloth, but the tables have a dark wood finish that is quite lovely. The wait staff is attired in all black, with ankle-length white aprons.

When I sat down at my table, I noticed large wine glasses with the logo etched into one side. Nice. And then I saw the large wooden pepper grinder and the—are you kidding me?!—Morton's Sea Salt Shaker. I have that same shaker at home IN MY CUPBOARD. I pull it out to season my cooking. I do NOT place it on the table when serving a meal!! Not nice.

The feel of elegance continued when the menu arrived. This is a "scratch kitchen" and "chef-inspired". Of course, one has to pay for that elegance. Lunch entrées were in the $10-$15 range. I ordered the Lobster Macaroni and Cheese, which is accompanied by a house salad. I asked for balsamic vinegar dressing, which my server, Kayleigh, stated was a white balsamic. The salad portion was generous, and the dressing was delicious. However, on Thursday at 12:30 with a not-packed house, I had to wait 15-20 minutes for my salad to arrive. Kayleigh apologized for the wait, but really, what does it take to quickly put a salad on a plate? You don't need the chef to do that task!

When the entrée arrived, I noticed that it was the standard oversized entrée, meaning I'd have half for lunch the next day. The lobster seemed a little chewy or rubbery to me, but I don't have lobster very often, so maybe that's how it's supposed to be. The mac/cheese was a little runny; there was a liquid at the bottom of the bowl. To me, that's a dish that's normally baked solid, or has a fairly solid consistency. Where did this liquid come from? The dish included fresh chopped tomatoes and pea pods, which were tasty and added a nice texture to the dish.

Kayleigh asked if she could bring a box for my leftovers. When she did, she had affixed a label to the front of the black styrofoam container. The label was marked with the name of the dish and the date it had been served. I love that practice, which I have only experienced once before, at Pomodori Italian Eatery on Hilton Head Island.

I wanted to try their desserts. Kayleigh had to recite the list to me and—of course—didn't give me any prices. I hate asking the prices—it makes me feel cheap. (I'm sure I'm not alone, and that restauranteurs take advantage of that idiosyncracy). Therefore I like being given a dessert menu so I can make an informed decision. Alas, there is no dessert menu. I chose the carrot cake, which has almonds, walnuts, and pecans—and a wonderful texture. It was a large portion, and cost $6.00. (Why is Cheddar's the only restaurant in town that offers a selection of small, inexpensive desserts?)

As I was finishing my meal, I asked Kayleigh if they were on "soft open". In my long wait for my salad, I was searching the Internet to view their website. I could find no website and no Facebook page, so thought maybe they hadn't had their grand opening yet. She told me that they opened four weeks ago. I expressed surprise about the lack of social media and Internet presence. She said the wait staff had all been telling the manager that they needed this and that they needed advertising. But the Whitefire management doesn't seem to think any of that is important.

Is this going to be yet another Youngstown-area restaurant that is doomed to failure? I hope not, but unless they change some of their habits and get their name out and their reputation secured, that's exactly what will happen.

By the way, on the label on the take-out container, their website URL was prominently listed. When I opened my iPhone's browser and navigated to that URL, I saw "This Page Is Under Construction - Coming Soon!" Not even a placeholder page with their logo and information. Nothing.

To the management: you can't make money if no one knows about you.

The Daffs Are Coming! the Daffs Are Coming!

I love daffodils. I don't love winter. I can endure a couple of months of cold weather, but after too many below-freezing days in a row, I start moaning and groaning and annoying everyone around me. But once the spring bulbs start picking their green shoots through the ground, I sense that I can make it through the cold; I can stand to don a coat for a few more days.

April 9 was the day. I was backing out of the driveway to head to my aqua exercise class at the gym when I saw them: three little daffodils adjacent to the basement window.

And every day since, a few more have popped up and out.

Yellow abounds. I will live through another winter!

Me, as Activist

Oh, stop laughing! I am well aware that I'm probably the most non-confrontational person you've ever known. But Jo-Ann's has pushed me over the edge, and I'm fighting back the only way I can.

A while back I discovered the iPhone app for Jo-Ann's. I was thrilled. The app would present the Jo-Ann's coupons to me and let me choose which ones I wanted to use and save them to my phone. Then, when checking out at Jo-Ann's, I could just show the cashier the code, which would be entered into the register and I'd get the discount on my purchase.

<Rant On>
Let me just say that Jo-Ann's coupons are frequently useless or good only for a small amount. The coupons state that they cannot be used on sale merchandise, so Jo-Ann's keeps most everything on sale, even for just 50 cents off, so the coupons are no good. It's a crock, really! Why can't all retailers just set a reasonable price and quit spending money on all the stupid coupons?!
<Rant Off>

I'm on Jo-Ann's hardcopy mail list, and their stinking flyers arrive in my mailbox once or twice a week. I don't care about the flyer itself, I just want the coupon. And I was so thrilled to find the app so I could get off their stinking mail list. I never can remember to take the flyers with me, or I'll pop in on a whim and not have a coupon with me.

So the app meant I didn't have to worry about that.

A flyer arrived last week offering 40% off a purchase, and I needed a hem marker, which cost about $35.00. When I was near Jo-Ann's running errands, I ran in, grabbed the only hem marker that was on the shelf, and proceeded to check-out. I pulled up the app and looked at the coupons, and the 40%-off coupon wasn't there!!!

There was a coupon for $5 off a purchase over $25. I opened it, and the dates on it said it was good from (for example) 9/15/2010-9/15/2011. Yea, I could use it. So I clicked on the coupon to bring it to the page where the cashier could see the code, and the date on it said it was good from 9/15/2011-9/15/2011. Huh?! (The date was the day after I was in the store.) I showed the cashier that discrepancy, but she said the only date that mattered was the one displayed on the final screen.

So I sighed and grumbled and paid the full price for the notion and went home. The next day I found an excuse to be in that area again (about 12 miles away from my home), grabbed the 40%-off coupon, took the notion back, returned it, then rebought it with the coupon.

And made a major life-changing resolution. I'm never going into Jo-Ann's again. NEVER.

Here are the issues:

• They have several sets of coupons;


• they insist on killing lots of trees to send these flyers to my physical mailbox;


• the crap they advertise in the flyers is of no interest to me, only the coupons;


• they have paid to have an app created, which includes coupons and the ability to save the coupons;


• they have the ability to include all coupons in the app, and refuse to do so.

I'm sick of their crap and I'm not going to stand for it any more.

The pattern companies and patternreview.com offer pattern sales that are better than Jo-Ann's coupons. I can shop on their sites and will have the pattern in three days or less.

I almost never buy fabric at Jo-Ann's anyway, as I prefer natural fabrics, and the only natural fabrics they offer are quilting cottons (that are, as a rule, of lower quality than the quilting cottons offered at Sew Much More, a mile down the street.

The primary reason I go to Jo-Ann's is for notions — zippers, thread, fasteners, and so on. But there are other suppliers. There's a dry cleaner's supply that offers zippers at ridiculously low prices. I can wait a few days, and pay $.32 for a zipper instead of $2.39. And Nancy's Notions has every other notion I could want, at competitive prices, and with selection bar none.

For years my sons and I talked about "delayed gratification" versus "instant gratification". Put off buying something that you don't really need today. It's all about planning ahead.

So if I know I have a project ahead, I simply need to plan a few days ahead, order my supplies from an online source, and to hell with the insane marketing practices of Jo-Ann's. I'm not going to play their silly game any more.

Now I will admit that my activistic decision flies in the face of my other resolution: buy local. When I can't buy local, I try to buy at the local bricks-and-mortar of a national chain. In this way, I'm supporting the job of a local worker.

But I feel I can no longer support Jo-Ann's or the local workers in their stores. Would I go back? Would their putting all available coupons on my app cause me to renege and shop at Jo-Ann's again? I don't know.

Probably, by the time they get around to wising up about the amount of money they're wasting on ink and paper, I'll be sewing in my columbarium chamber!

I rarely rant. I rarely speak out about things that really upset me, as I'm always afraid of hurting someone's feelings. But this time, Jo-Ann's has gone too far for me.

One less place I have to waste gas driving to.

On having totally lost my mind.

It cannot possibly have been two-and-a-half weeks since the last time I posted on this site!

Let's see—there was a four-day incredibly stressful period in North Carolina, then a Saturday party to attend, then the Mt. Carmel Italian Festival, then a week of crazy shopping and sewing to get ready for a Saturday night wedding, then a Sunday baseball game, then a week filled with work. And through it all, the weather has been MIZ.ER.UH.BULL. Hot, humid, miserable.

I'll tell you about all that stuff another time. Right now I want to share that I have totally lost my mind.

Last Monday afternoon I met up with my boss down at the Lemon Grove to discuss a couple of projects. If you don't hang out in these parts, the Lemon Grove is an eclectic little café/restaurant/bar that's situated on West Federal in the heart of downtown Youngstown. It's the go-to place for air conditioning and free wi-fi, accompanied by a cup of whatever.

At the conclusion of our meeting, I walked out the front door and turned left to walk back to my car, parked a block away. And suddenly I heard a whacking sound. I couldn't imagine what was making such a whacking sound so, ever curious, I glanced around. Across the street I saw a 20-something or 30-something man in a white T-shirt and a black cap of some sort (were those really sequins?!). Nearby stood a younger-looking woman in a purple shirt. The man was holding what appeared to be a bullwhip, with which he was whacking away at the lush plants in one of the beautiful planters that line West Federal. (See the gorgeous planter on the left of the photo above? Those are the planters that have been installed on West Federal.)

I was instantly irate. So many people are working so hard to make and keep Youngstown beautiful. How dare he destroy public property like that. And, without a second thought, I started yelling at him. "Hey!" I used my loudest, most stage-projection voice. "What do you think you're doing?" "QUIT IT!!"

I had paused for a moment, and when I saw him glance across the street at me (and cease whipping the beautiful plant), I continued walking back toward my car. As I approached the side street, I started chiding myself. "Are you out of your ever-loving mind?" What was going to prevent this man for following me and using his bullwhip on me?

I scurried back to my car as quickly as possible, looking all around me, surreptitiously glancing over my shoulder to see if he was coming after me. He wasn't, and he had not resumed his whacking.

I quickly opened my car door, got in and relocked the door. Then I picked up my phone and started searching for the police non-emergency number—which was, by the way, not easy to find! I started driving down the street, toward where I last saw him, so I could sic the police on him. I saw him turn, cross West Federal, then begin walking north on the side street I had earlier crossed. He was followed at a short distance by the young woman.

I went to the next block, circled around that block to the south so I could come up the side street behind him. All the while, I was trying to watch for a police cruiser and trying to search for the phone number. I noticed him turn left and walk across the parking lot toward the DeYor Center. Now, as I watched him walk, it was clear—even to naive little me—that he was drunk or high out of his mind. He could hardly walk.

I pulled into the parking lot of the jail, turned around and drove back toward the DeYor. I pulled over to go onto the city's website to find the phone number. Once I had it, I dialed, as I pulled out and continued driving, turning to go past the DeYor Center and in front of the bus station, where he now was standing. The bullwhip turned out to be a belt, but still a device capable of whipping a poor unsuspecting plant, or my naive butt!

I finally got ahold of someone at the police department, told them what I had observed and where he was, and asked them to follow up.

Then I drove home. As I drove up Fifth Avenue, I kept just shaking my head. I've never done anything so outrageous in my entire life! What has come over me, in my old age, that I would burst out of my non-confrontational shell and yell at someone with the ability (and maybe the gun tucked in his back pocket) to do serious bodily harm to me?!

I don't think there's a moral to this story.

However, I did store the police non-emergency number in my contacts, for the next time I pop out of my shell and need to rat out some other drunk careening around West Federal!

The First Day of December

…and Northeast Ohio woke to snow.

I'm in my toasty office with the new, well-insulated windows. Angel is lying curled up in the cat basket, looking at all the birds in the tree just outside the window, dreaming of lunch (were he ever allowed outside!).

All is well with the world.

Look at those ears! Don't tell me that boy's not thinkin' about hunting!

The Future of the Symphony Orchestra

When the Cleveland Orchestra Chorus performed last month with the Youngstown Symphony under the baton of Maestro Randall Craig Fleischer, I had a blast. I had only seen Maestro Fleischer in action twice before. To be looking at his face rather than his back, to witness the joy and excitement and enthusiasm in his facial expressions and body language was an absolute delight!

And wait until you see what he's bringing to Youngstown this Saturday night! Fleischer the conductor will present Fleischer the composer in a unique concert/show.

Here's a video interview about the performance.

Maestro Fleischer is obviously attuned to what every orchestra governing board and management team is talking about today: The orchestra audience is aging. We must program differently to bring in younger audiences or we will cease to exist.

It's a simple but very challenging concept. The under-40s are accustomed to multitasking, to watching videos, to light and sound and action all at once. They're used to tweeting their every move and thought to all their friends. They're used to instantaneity! They're loathe to just sit and listen to some guys and gals in formal dress sitting and sawing or beating.

Orchestras are having to learn how to use social media and how to think ahead—think forward. When Wolf Trap stages summer operas, they now tweet the plot as it happens so the audience can know what's going. Cleveland Orchestra now offers Friday night concerts that start earlier, exclude the intermission, and close with cocktails, jazz, and dancing.

We must innovate!

And innovate is what Randall Craig Fleischer is doing with Echoes. If you miss this concert, you will miss seeing the future.

Buy tickets here.

(And, no, I am not affiliated with the Youngstown Symphony Orchestra. I just know a good thing when I see it!)

Garage Sale as Social Media

I had a garage sale today.

I had a garage sale once before. The previous garage sale was in 1999. Tyler and Jaci had moved in with me after my husband died; nine months had passed, and we were getting ready to move to new abodes. We posted signs, set our stuff on tables in the front yard, and watched as the sky opened up. It poured! We quickly moved all our stuff to the small front porch, where shoppers had to suck their respective guts in to get around each other while viewing our valuable goodies without getting soaked by the rain.

Shortly after I set up my wares, I was hit with a migraine. A big, full aura, pain dripping out my ears migraine. My girlfriend had come over to check out the goods for sale, bringing her three-year-old nonstop-movement daughter. I sat in a dark room, listening while she chatted, and holding my aching head in my hands.

Tyler and Jaci held down the fort on the front porch, answering questions and taking money. All I wanted was to be left alone.

"What are these?" "How to you use this?" "How much do you want for these sunglasses?"

They carefully answered all the questions as well as they could given the fact that they were monitoring my goods as well as their own.

After a couple of hours, my girlfriend took her young daughter and prepared to leave. She looked around, dug through her purse, and asked, "Where are my Prada sunglasses?" After retracing her steps through the house, she decided she just had to go without her sunglasses. I promised to return them as soon as I found them.

A few days later, Tyler and Jaci looked at me during dinner and said, "You remember those glasses your friend was looking for?" I nodded. They laughed self-conciously and said, "We sold them. We didn't know they were hers. Someone wanted them and we sold them."

We've been laughing about those sunglasses for years now!

Today the garage sale became a good opportunity for me to meet neighbors I had never met in the 21 months I've been living here.

I do hate garage sales, but I welcomed the opportunity to make some new friends today.

Music on West Federal

Tuesday night I had the distinct pleasure of experiencing "Pearl and the Beard" at the Lemon Grove in downtown Youngstown. I had been given a heads-up from my dear friend Mary in Tucson, whose daughter, Molly, shares an apartment in NYC with one of the band members.

I didn't do research. I didn't determine what genre of music the band plays or how loud the evening was going to be. I just said, "I'm going", and kept pasting the band's info on my Facebook page to try to get more people to attend.

I was not pleased with the attendance. But once the band started playing, the crowd few locals seated at tables, observing the band, were all wearing face-wide smiles. The music presented by this band was a treat!

The band consists of Jeremy Styles on guitar, Emily Hope Price on cello, and Jocelyn Mackenzie on all other instruments. And they all sing. These kids rock! The music was: a) musical; b) humorous; c) clever; d) extremely enjoyable. These musicians are very talented and totally into what they're doing.

As I hugged Jocelyn goodbye after the show, I told her I would look forward to watching their future success.

These are kids who can make it!

And I'll also admit here that I'm ashamed I assumed all music at Lemon Grove was loud and unenjoyable to Old People. I'll be keeping my eye on Jacob's schedule of performers to find more mid-week treats like Pearl and the Beard!

(Mary, thanks so much for the heads-up.)

P.S. As I proofread this post and look at the pictures again, I have to tell you what a visual treat it was to see the flashing "Open" sign in the front door over their head. I love that sign. It just felt so urban and heart-warming. Trust me!

Obama Comes to Youngstown [Again!]

Busy day today, so I'll cop out by directing you to the White House blog, where there's a post featuring President Obama's visit yesterday to the Mahoning Valley.


Photo credit: WKBN.com

Beauty in the Valley

My new job requires me to research and think and write marketing materials for clients, which I greatly enjoy doing. I feels much more like exercise for my brain than the technical writing I've been doing for the past two years. It's much more like the writing I was doing at IBM in Tucson, which I loved. In doing my research and preparation, sometimes I come across bits of media that are simply irresistible.

In that vein, I share with you a video narrated by photographer Greg Miller. Miller is a photographer who came to Youngstown in April to shoot the images that would accompany the Inc. magazine article Sempre Youngstown. I posted several weeks ago about this article.

I loved Miller's script in this video. He found in Youngstown some of the beauty that we get to see on a daily basis.

Greg, I hope you'll come back and visit us again to meet more of our friendly, upbeat people and see more of our beauty, both man-made and natural.



Photo credit: Greg Miller

Shouting About Youngstown

There's much excitement in our family and our city over the May issue of Inc. Magazine. My son and daughter-in-law are interviewed, reported upon, and pictured in front of their beautiful 1927 Tudor-style home.

Tyler and Jaci's decision three-and-a-half years ago to return to Youngstown and, specifically, to return to the kind of community and friendships that they had made nowhere else they lived was life affirming and transformational. I cannot imagine their having the kind of personal and business success they have here had we stayed in Washington, DC or Tucson, AZ.

Their feet are more firmly planted on this midwest soil than could have happened for them in Washington or Reston or Tucson.

So today I'm going to be succinct and share with you what some other bloggers are saying about this article and the good things that are happening in Youngstown. I'm so lucky to be here!

The article: Inc. Magazine's Semper Youngstown

Burgh Diaspora - Economic Development From Geographic Mobility

i will shout youngstown: let's "inc" a new want ad for Youngstown

And to further emphasize what can happen for entrepreneurs in Youngstown, read Jaci's post about her new studio. Or spend a few minutes on Tyler's blog to see multiple examples of his successes here.

Enjoy!

Regional Idiosyncracies

I have been struck by many language idiosyncrasies since moving to Ohio. Things like "pop" were not new to me, as I've had an Ohio-born daughter-in-law for twelve years, and she regularly uses that word instead of my "soda." However, living here brings to ear many more phrases that are totally foreign to me.

One I noticed in the workplace very early on after moving here was the eliding of "to be". "That text needs proofed." "That car needs washed." "That bill needs passed." It would drive me crazy. Now that my grandson is in third grade, I hear him making this mistake. And I correct him. If he says, "My fingernails need cut", I gently repeat "My fingernails need cutting," or "My fingernails need to be cut."

Alas, two nights ago, suffering from a day-long headache, I turned to the Jazzman, directing him to the knot on the left side of my neck, and said, "My neck needs rubbed." Argh! How did this happen? Someone who pays loads of attention to her speaking and writing mannerisms has begun, after a two-year residence, to speak like an Ohioan.

A more obscure term came to my ears and eyes twice within a 24-hour period over the weekend. On Friday, my colleague posted on Facebook that he had installed a "man door." Huh? Who knew doors had genders? Then on Saturday afternoon, the Jazzman asked me who had installed the light over my man door. Really?! There are a lot of places you could go with the phrase, "my man door!"

Okay, so if you're reading from afar and wondering what on earth a "man door" is, think about your garage. You have a door that cars drive through, and a door that people walk through. The door that people walk through is a "man door." (I'm reminded of old-time IBM, when an employee ID number was called a "man number".) In our more politically-correct day and age, it probably should be a people door. Some call it a utility door. But to Loren and the Jazzman (and, evidently, many other Ohioans), it's a "man door."

Now here's your test for the day: What's a "devil strip?" That's another regional speech idiosyncrasy that I never heard before moving here. I've got two of them that need lots of attention. So what are they? (Here's the answer.)

Eating Local

Last night was Dinner with Grandma night. I took the babes to Cafe Cimmento in downtown Youngstown. I was upset by something that happened in my day, and my latest go-to food for soothing is caprese. Truthfully, I'll go to caprese anytime I see it on the menu, but when I'm upset, I seek it out! (My soothing food used to be pizza or cheese grits. Caprese is much more healthful, don't you think?)

Ridley can be picky in her food choices, but if you can find food she likes, she'll eat a double portion. Boston, on the other hand, lacerates, slashes, dissects, and mangles his food. Hands are always involved.

He likes spaghetti, and I thought he would just order some spaghetti and sauce and be perfectly happy. But when he looked at the kids' menu, he ordered the grilled cheese sandwich with fries. Ridley, first drawn to her fave mac-and-cheese, followed suit. We engaged in interesting conversation until their meals came, when Boston set out to destroy his dinner. He initially liked the look of the thick-cut fries, but after one bite, shunned them. There was too much potato. "I only like McDonald's fries." We talked about it a little, and I figured out he likes the fried crust, but not the potatoes. He looked at his fries and started methodically picking up each one and biting off one end and then the other, and replacing the fry in a stack on his plate. Argh! And the grilled cheese sandwich? He pulled the two slices apart and picked at the bread. When I asked him why he couldn't just eat it like a sandwich, he said they made it with American cheese and he doesn't like American cheese. I asked what he did like, he responded, "Swiss. Provolone." If you want to know, I think I was 20 before I knew what Provolone was! I promised him that next time we'll ask if they can make his sandwich with Swiss or Provolone.

The lovely Mary took Ridley's and my plate away and asked Boston if he was finished. He said, "Yes", but Ridley piped up, giving a shy little grin, and said, "I'll finish his." Sure enough, she reassembled his sandwich and soon it was gone.

They asked for a dish of vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce, and the kitchen sent out adult portions with three scoops of ice cream. I groaned. Mary asked, "Are you going home with Grandma or back to your house?" When I said I had to take them back home to their parents, Mary said, parentally, "Sugar." Oh well. I enjoyed our dinner there, and I think I learned my lessons in how to manage the next visit.

As we were walking back to my car, I asked how they liked Cafe Cimmento. Ridley said, "I like it every time I go there." "But", she continued, "Rosetta Stone is my favorite." Why Rosetta Stone? Because the last time she was there, they had a band she could dance to. And she got to help put up the Christmas decorations. It's not all about the food!

I love supporting local restaurants. I love the fact that my grandchildren know and love the local restaurants. This is one of the keys to the renaissance of Youngstown, in my opinion.

What's your favorite local restaurant?

Enunciation!

Last night I had an incredible musical experience. I heard the Cleveland Orchestra Chorus in a performance of the Bernstein Chichester Psalms and Vaughan Williams A Sea Symphony.

Oh! My! Gosh! All I could think of during the performance was how badly I want to sing with this chorus. Miles don't matter. Hours don't matter. The apex of my musical career would be singing with this fabulous chorus.

The enunciation was incredible. The closing consonants of words were there, crisply, precisely. Their "s"es didn't sound like they were snakes without a pit to hiss in (as Bruce Chamberlain loves to say). Intonation was perfect. Rhythm was perfect. At the end of each movement of both works, I found myself saying "wow" under my breath.

This morning Tyler asked how I enjoyed the concert. I told him I *must* audition for this chorus. He and Jaci both looked at me like I was crazy. "Mom," he chided, "it's an hour-and-a-half drive. Can't you just be happy singing with the Akron Symphony Chorus?" When I told him I was thinking of doing both, he seemed to seriously believe I had lost my mind.

Maybe I'll just sing with Cleveland this summer at Blossom in Carmina Burana. But I must audition for this chorus, and now while I've got my courage up. If I don't pass the audition, fine. But if I don't audition, I'll never know if I could have gotten in.

The other portion of my evening was an elegant dinner in the restaurant at Severance Hall, sitting at the bar, reading my book for the next book club.

Then the preconcert talk was given by our dear friend Hugh Ferguson Floyd, who is like a mid-generation son to me (as dear to me as my sons, but not young enough to be my son).

And the hall. Oh my gosh, Severance Hall. For someone used to singing in the Kennedy Center or, more recently, the Tucson Music Hall, this hall feels so intimate. And the decoration! It's a Jane Sassaman quilt done entirely in ivory and gold, or an elegant sheath worn by a mature bride.

The evening was just incredible. I was proud of myself for getting out all alone for this amazing adventure. And I plan to do it again and again.

Brouhaha?!

Who uses the word "brouhaha"? I think this is the second time in as many weeks that I've seen it in the press. Is it a regional thing?

This morning I sat in the lunchroom with my Subway breakfast sandwich for five post-gym minutes, flipping through the West Side Leader. I noticed this report of an incident outside a West Market Street drive-in, listed in the Neighborhood Watch column:

The male suspect reportedly started the brouhaha by throwing a gallon of ice cream into the parking lot from an adjacent lot, causing it to strike a vehicle belonging to a male victim, who threw it back. . . .

This takes the phrase "food fight" to a whole new level, dontcha think?

Queen of the Back Roads

I cut five minutes off my commute coming home tonight!

My kids know me as the Queen of the Back Roads, and it's a sobriquet I don proudly. It is very common for me, when stuck in traffic or lost, to think, "I know that roads goes east. I think I'll try that." When I take a road trip, I'll frequently scour the map for roads marked with that dotted red "scenic route" marker, and follow that road, even though it might take me miles out of my way. I have an excellent sense of direction and enjoy exercising it.

I love exploring new areas and dreaming about what living in that location might feel like.



Since starting my job five weeks ago, I've stuck pretty close to my GPS system's suggestions of how to get to work. It's pretty straightforward, really. I hook up with I-80, then I-76, then I-77 to Route 18 on the west side of Akron. Exit west, go to the second light and turn left for half a mile. Piece o' cake.

The only variable to the route is how to get from the house on 5th Ave to I-80. For the first two weeks I drove down 5th, then turned right on the access road, dropped down on 422, then followed the signs to 680. Then on our trip to the airport three weeks ago, Jaci said I should take Bradley from 5th to Belmont, right to Gypsy, left to 711 to 680 to 80. I wasn't sure it was so much better, but defer to her knowledge of the area.

But the coming home part was still challenging. The section of road that connects 680 to 422 is miserable, full of potholes and rough pavement. I've tried staying on 80 to Belmont, but that puts a lot of traffic lights in between me and home. Tonight as I was on 680, I suddenly noticed the exit for MLK - 711, and it hit me that that was exactly the road I'd been looking for, trying to figure out where it was. The road is too new to be on my GPS. Hey hey. New would probably equal fewer potholes, right? Right!




Zip. Zip. Turn. Stop. Turn. Zip. Home.

Queen of the Back Roads still rules, even in Ohio!

Oh, you're probably wondering what my other titles are. Goddess of Google and Database Diva.

Daffs!

As I was approaching Akron this morning on I-76/I-77, I noticed daffodils on the right bank of the interstate. Daffodils! My move is complete!

All of my Tucson friends know I've said for eight years that the thing I missed the most about the East Coast is the daffodils and the fall leaves. And now I'm back. The quick pic above was taken through the window of the Virtual Hold lunchroom at the bank of daffodils blooming just outside. They were buds on Friday. Today they're blooming.

I've waited eight years for this day and now Spring is well and truly here!