Flo at her 87th birthday party!

Everything stopped on Flo’s birthday and everyone celebrated the day. It had to be the day… March 9th. If you stopped over the day before, the day after, or anywhere around the day, it simply didn’t count. I think Flo loved her day because it was a day for her. It wasn’t that Flo didn’t do all the cooking and baking and party-making that day. She did. Flo was a party-girl… and she loved the preparation as much as the celebration. She loved lots of decorations, lots of food, and especially her family. And everyone knew that Flo loved lots of the color yellow.

Yesterday was Flo’s birthday. March 9th. She would have been 91. Flo did not make her 90th birthday here on earth, but Barry and I decided last year to celebrate her birthday each year with our family. With Flo as our guest, last night, we went to one of her most favorite restaurants of all, Tweet’s Balzano’s in Bristol, and we celebrated. We shared stories of Flo, we toasted Flo, we laughed and we celebrated her birthday. All of our children and grandchildren were there and this means the world to us. We know what it means to Flo.

Each day, I wear one special piece of jewelry that belonged to Flo. Some days it’s a pair of earrings. Some days its a necklace or a bracelet. Yesterday, I wore her rhinestone F pin… and it sparkled like sun on the beautiful day that seemed made just for Florence Dorothy Bicho Couto.

But what amazed me almost speechless at our little birthday dinner last night was a little gift to Barry and me from our oldest grandchild, Taylor. It is a lovely glass egg with lovely yellow “grass” inside, and inside the yellow grass are lovely bubbles. I know Taylor has a special bond with NanaFlo. Taylor is NanaFlo’s first great-grandchild and Nana longed for this gift of children of children of children. (Little did NanaFlo know that within 7 years of Taylor she would gather a little brood of 15 marvelous gifts of great-grandchildren… 3 girls and then 12 boys in a row!) But what I didn’t think Taylor was old enough to remember is that Flo often came to a party, a dinner, an event or a holiday… and especially at her own birthday celebration… with gifts for everyone else. These gifts were things that Flo loved… things like teapots and trinkets and costume jewelry and photographs and photo albums filled with wonderful photos. Gifts. Gifts that I came to cherish. Gifts from her home and from her heart. Taylor had taken the time to write a lovely message and poem to NanaFlo, and to find something on this 91st birthday of NanaFlo’s to make Barry and me happy. Flo came to that little party right through Taylor, with her gift and her gift of yellow.

It is said that when I give, I give myself. That being true, that little Birthday Egg, as I will always call it, is a timeless reminder that Flo is still giving… and her beautiful tradition of giving has touched yet another generation. Flo’s manner of giving just keeps on giving!

WE KNOW THERE WAS A GIANT PAH-TY IN HEAVEN YESTERDAY, MOM… but look what wonder and love you’ve made here on earth. WE LOVE YOU… and we hope your 91st birthday was your best ever! We will always remember this day through THE BIRTHDAY EGG, and it will be at every birthday to come!

The event itself honored the work of Phyllis Rabinowitz, Co-founder of R Baby Foundation. The mission of R Baby Foundation is focused to save babies’ lives through improving pediatric emergency care. In its own words, R Baby Foundation is dedicated to ensuring that babies, including those in the first month of life suffering from viral infections and other infectious diseases, receive the highest quality of care and service through supporting life-saving pediatric training, education, research, treatment and equipment. It is Phyllis’s story, and her family’s story, that turned the tragedy of losing their beautiful newborn baby girl, Rebecca, at 9 days old, to a misdiagnosis at a hospital emergency room, into a life’s mission. It is Phyllis herself whom I see as the face of R Baby Foundation, whose goal is to save as many babies’ lives as possible… yet I feel the presence of baby Rebecca in each word that Phyllis says.

I am reminded of my Nana and her story of losing her baby girl… a loss that I know she felt every moment of her life. I remember, as a child… I was maybe 8 or 9 years old… talking to my Nana at her big kitchen table early one summer morning. My Nana was cooking breakfast, slinging giant cast iron skillets from the stove to the table to the sink. She was talking about how she used to cook for 6 children… way back when. My Nana was a 4′ 7″ lady with a big, big heart, and she loved her children and grandchildren beyond all measure. And she showed her love through her big, big hugs and her food. I was asking her all about my Mom when she was a little girl… and about my uncles and aunts. Nana was telling me all about how she got married very young, so in love with the “most handsome young man in all of Brighton, Massachusetts”, and a little boy who came along quickly after, my Uncle Ed. My Nana and grandfather (who died very young, and whom I never met) waited for another baby to come along, but when 4 years passed, thought maybe their one little boy was their one blessing. Not so. My Mom would come along next, after all those years… and she became their second blessing from God. Nana and my grandfather thought their lives were complete, but very soon after my Mom was born, Nana found that she was carrying her 3rd child. This was, to her, another miracle. As my Nana told her story about her second baby girl, I was a confused because I knew that my Uncle Bob was the next child after my Mom.

As I sat at the kitchen table on that sunny summer morning, my Nana put down her skillets and rested in a chair. My Nana never seemed to sit. She did that morning. Her eyes were far, far away. I now know that her eyes were searching heaven. My Nana told me about her 3rd baby, a baby girl named Dorothea… a baby whom she had for only a very short time. A few weeks. My Nana told me that Dorothea got sick… and she died in her arms. My Nana told me the heartache. The struggle. The going-on for my Uncle Ed and my Mom… who were very young and who needed her and my grandfather so very much. Nana talked about feeling alone and empty in her world, trying to put the pieces back together. I never have forgotten that morning I had with my Nana. I felt so close to my Aunt Dorothea, a woman I never met… through the words and love and longing of my Nana. I asked my Mom later about her baby sister, and my Mom was very, very surprised that Nana had told me about Dorothea, explaining that Nana never talked about that tragic time in her life.

But I never forgot that morning. Even decades later, watching my Nana hold my children… and when I held my own children and now my grandchildren… I think of Dorothea and I pray to her to watch over my family. I know my Nana is with her baby girl in heaven now, and I see them together. I thought of Dorothea and my Nana when I heard the story of Rebecca. I could see Phyllis’s eyes searching heaven… and Rebecca seeing her Mommy honoring her life.

What Phyllis and her husband Andrew have done is to take the unthinkable pain of losing a child away from another mother. Another father. Another family. Their passion and power to save babies’ lives has given their baby girl Rebecca an immeasurable legacy. A legacy of life. There is nothing bigger than this.

Please visit R Baby Foundation and do what you can to promote and help this most important mission. Perhaps participate in the Mother’s Day Run/Walk 2010 in NYC!! I have already registered to run, and I am building my own TeamCouto to honor the work of one of most inspirational women I have ever met. Words cannot begin to describe the love I still have for my Nana, who has been an angel for almost 28 years… but each time I meet someone like Phyllis, I see my Nana and her great love for the children of this world and beyond. And, by the way, my Nana and grandfather went on to have Uncle Bob, Aunt Jean, Aunt Joan and Aunt Ruth. 7 children in all. My Nana once told me that her arms and heart were always full, always blessed with her children, her grandchildren and her great-grandchildren… but always with the thoughts of her angel Dorothea.

My Nana and my daughter Audrey, June 1978

Phyllis Rabinowitz is the embodiment of saving babies. She may never know how many arms and hearts she has filled.

Many, many of my life’s moments have happened while watching my children play. Quiet play. Noisy play. Play that seamlessly passes time and play that once-in-awhile changes everything. Play that combines the ideals of the individual with the ideals of humanity.

Recently, my daughter Audrey honored me with blog she wrote, telling how she felt about my love and commitment as she dreamed of becoming an Olympian swimmer. Audrey’s words filled my heart as she wrote about the Core Values of the U.S. Olympic Movement: Excellence, Respect & Friendship. While reading Audrey’s beautiful post, memories of her swimming years and days and hours and minutes swelled in my mind like the waves she made while soaring through the water. Audrey was blessed to have had a stellar swimming career, doing something she loved so very much. I still have the hundreds of ribbons and trophies and medals and newspaper clippings and college recruitment letters that tell the story of her swimming successes. But there is one moment… one moment… that stands out above all the rest. A moment that transformed playing a sport into the ideal of humanity. A moment of excellence, respect & friendship that made an imprint on my very soul.

This is the story of that one moment…

Audrey learned to swim when she was 3, but didn’t join her first summer swim team until she was 6. And if you know anything about Audrey, you won’t be surprised to learn that the team swim suit itself was the big draw. She loved the color and style and fashion of the suit… green with vertical white stripes. And she loved that the swim team coach nicknamed the littlest swimmers “pickles” because they looked like, well… pickles in those green suits. Audrey also liked being a fast pickle and worked very hard at being fast.

Summer teams turned into winter teams. Club teams turned into United States Swimming Teams. Jane had joined Audrey in this swimming endeavor and was acquiring a formidable collection of awards of her own… and Barry and I went along for the ride. Moments became years, and Audrey’s love of swimming brought her to swim for both her Swim Club Team and her high school swim team. Swimming for both was a major time commitment, but Audrey felt ready for both.

It was at a Girls’ Swimming Rhode Island High School Championship Meet that Audrey demonstrated a moment of Excellence, Respect & Friendship that has become one of my most cherished moments of parenthood. Audrey was a sophomore, but was seeded first in both the 100 Freestyle and 100 Breaststroke. As a matter of fact, Audrey had a chance to break the Girls’ High School record in the 100 Breast. She felt prepared. Her practices had been outstanding and she was wearing a suit… called a “paper suit”… that she had never worn before. A “paper suit” is a suit as light as a piece of paper, and the theory is that this weight differentiation from a “regular suit” will allow the swimmer to swim faster. The suit did not come cheap. Even way back then, the “paper suit” was, as I recall, $60.00… and because of it’s delicate fabric, should only be worn once. Once. The suit was also so tight that it literally had to be rolled onto the body. And then rolled off. I had seen paper suits tear in half as they rolled on and off girls’ bodies. We had purchased Audrey’s paper suit for both of her races. In other words, once on… it had to stay on until the meet was over!

Audrey swam her 100 Free and won her race. As she came up to me in the stands, all out of breath and excited, I thought her enthusiasm was about the race. It wasn’t. She said to me, in quick breaths, “Mom, I need to lend my paper suit to Tammy. Can you help me get it off?”

I thought, “WHAT?” I think I even said aloud, “WHAT?”

But Audrey was insistent. “Mom, she’s a senior, and she wants to win her race. Please come help me.”

Yes, Tammy was a senior. She and Audrey were friends from their Club Team. But Tammy was about 8 inches taller than Audrey and she swam for another high school. Not to mention that once that paper suit was off (and cost $60!)… who knew what would happen to it. And Audrey had her potential record-breaking Breaststroke in, like, soon.

Maybe I even mentioned these things to Audrey.

Audrey looked at me. I could see in her eyes that helping her friend swim her very best last race of her high school career meant more to Audrey than just about anything in the world. I didn’t hesitate one more moment. We flew into the locker room. Tammy and I rolled the paper suit off Audrey’s body in meticulous movements. Synchronized. Audrey held her breath. Then Audrey and I rolled the paper suit onto Tammy. Quickly. Her race was being called from the pool deck. Up and over her long body to her shoulders. Holding my breath that it would rip before my eyes. It didn’t. Audrey and Tammy raced to the deck. I raced to the stands. Tammy swam her race and did swim her fastest time ever. She was beaming.

No time to think. I saw Audrey and Tammy race back into the locker room. I raced down to meet them. Same thing. Hold your breath, Tammy… ‘cuz this isn’t gonna be easy. But we did it. Rolled off Tammy. Rolled back on Audrey.

Audrey did swim her 100 Breaststroke that day. She did break the high school record. It was a record that would stand for 14 years, until Olympian Laura Sogar from Prout High School in Rhode Island shattered Audrey’s record. (It’s not too bad to have your record broken by an Olympian, by the way!)

The swims that day. The record-breaking that day. The 2 relays that Audrey crushed on that day, also breaking the high school records. None of this meant more to me than my daughter’s value of FRIENDSHIP… and RESPECT of the dreams of another. Yes, it was a day of complete and awesome EXCELLENCE… and EXCELLENCE in moments that change everything. It is a moment that will always be Close to My Heart.

Look at me, I’m Sandra Dee!

OK. I stole that from Grease. But Sandra Dee did star as Gidget in the late 1950’s movie, Gidget. And I remember, as a young girl, wanting to be Gidget so much. Gidget had all the fun. Gidget went to Hawaii and Rome. Gidget went Parisienne. Of course, Gidget went surfing. Gidget even went to Sally Field in the 60’s. And I “went” everywhere Gidget went…

In my imagination, that is.

I won’t say that my 57 and a half years have been a complete and total ick. After all, I have my own Moondoggie in Barry. And I have 4 totally boss kids and 9 killer grandkids. But I had never gone surfing. Jazzed the glass. Hung loose. Been in synch… you know,with the glide.

Well, all that changed yesterday.

A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting in a hairdressing chair, all calm and 57 and a half, when I read these words in a Rhode Island publication: Winter Surfing separates the men from the boys (or the women from the girls). You’ve got 2 chances left to see if local pro Peter Pan thinks you’ve got what it takes.

I thought, “Got what it takes to what? Freeze my backside air?”

But then I thought, “Holy hot-doggin’! This is my chance to be Sandra Dee. Sally Field. Gidget, for heaven’s sake! Why be the old mole in the hole when I can be a bitchin’ surfer boomer?” Did I have what it takes?

I registered for the Winter Surfing lesson that afternoon. The class was supposed to be this past Saturday, but on Thursday I got an email from instructor Peter Pan (yes, that’s his name) that the surf was going to be too gnarly (yes, this was the word), so the lesson would be held on Sunday. Unfortunately for everyone else, but very fortunate for me, I was the only one who could make the switch… so the class with the legendary Peter Pan would be a private one. For me. And let me tell you something here, folks… Peter Pan is a legend. He’s been competing since 1967 at local, regional, national and international levels and was inducted into the East Coast Surfing Hall of Fame in 1996. Yep. I got myself a legend as a surfing instructor at Peter Pan Surfing Academy.

So back to yesterday. I showed up at Peter’s Gansett Juice, Narragansett Surf & Skate Shop at 11:00 am. By 11:15, this schooly was wearing a full body armor dry suit… guaranteed to keep me warm in the water on that balmy 35 degree afternoon in Little Rhody. Peter immediately went into a dry land training, telling me things like I had to approach waves at a 90 degree angle. Lay on the board with total balance. Paddle fast. Keep the tip of the board an inch over the top of an approaching wave. Sit back on the board like this. Turn fast. Listen to every word he said as he called directions to me. Raise up on my board when catching a wave. Phew! Then Peter said that I would most likely not be attempting any standing on the board during this lesson. No. If I caught a good wave laying down on my belly… that would be awesome. But if I did get the opportunity to stand, do it like this. Fast. 2 seconds is all you have.

OK. I was ready. Barry and I hopped into our truck and followed Peter to a remote beach a couple of miles away. It looked kinda rocky to me… and I asked Peter about that. You know, being 57 and a half and all. But he said that I would not be smashing my head on those rocks. OK. Then he took 2 surfboards from the back of his truck and the rest was pretty much up to me to listen.

I carried my board, on my head as directed, to the shore. We did a bit of stretching as Peter showed me where we’d be heading. Way out. OK. It was time for my go-out. Then we were in the water. There were 2 other surfers out there. OK. Peter kicked into high octane.

“Paddle, Sharon. Faster. Faster,” he called to me.

But. But. That first wave hit me like a ton of bricks and I went blind with salt water. I immediately discovered that my thick rubber-kind-of mittens didn’t wipe water from eyes all that well.

“SHARON. Get out here. Fast. C’mon. Faster.”

I paddled like a maniac. Not fast enough. I tried to get my board that 1-inch over the next crazy wave as I paddled over it. All I got was a mouthful of salt water. A Neptune Cocktail, so to speak.

“SHARON. FASTER. The waves are not going to wait for you.”

I convinced myself… I’m gonna do this. I’m freakin’ Gidget, for God’s sake. No wiggin’ out for me. And then I was out there. Way out there. Where you wait for the waves. I was so proud. Kickin’ awesome. Whoops. No time to revel in my righteousness.

“SHARON. Now listen to me. Sit up.”

I did.

“NO. Back further. You’re not balanced. Back. BACK. TURN THE BOARD.”

Tryin’. I’m gonna fall right off the back of this board if I back up any more.

“LAY DOWN. GET READY. PADDLE. FAST. FASTER.”

I did. But I ate it. That is not a good thing. I went flying off the board. The rope connecting the board to my ankle got wrapped around both ankles. I’m thinking… well, you probably don’t want to know what I was thinking way out there all tangled in rope. But through all the water lodged in my ears, I could hear Peter…

“WHAT WAS THAT? YOU STOPPED PADDLING. C’MON.”

I paddled. I honestly did.

“NOW LET’S GET IT RIGHT THIS TIME. YOU THINK YOU’RE GONNA DO A TRIATHLON WITH ARMS LIKE THAT?”

I reached Peter. Again. Way out. I said, “You’re a hard ass, you know.”

“I know,” he said. “You wanna learn how to do this? LISTEN TO ME.”

I listened. I wiped out. I listened. I wiped out. For an hour.

Then. Then. Peter was telling me to SIT. TURN. LAY DOWN. PADDLE FASTER. FASTER. DON’T LOOK BACK. PADDLE…

And suddenly I could feel the wave underneath my board. I picked up my chest and hung on for dear life. I’ve never felt anything like it in my life and I was feeling my Chi, Bruddah. I honestly, honestly have never felt such a surge of power… out of my control, yet totally within my control. Maybe to an experienced surfer this would be considered small air… baby air even, but to me, I felt… well, like Gidget herself.

That wave seemed to go on forever as it blended with wave after wave after wave. And then I was back at the shore. The ride was totally gnarmax.

I knew Peter would have stayed there for hours if I wanted my lesson to continue, but I was so happy with my wave that I wanted to end on that high note. He came to the shore and I thanked him for the most awesome lesson. Incredible experience. I knew then that Peter’s hard ass instructions were for this very experience. This Chi. This Karma. I got it.

This Winter Surfing will be included in my 57 in 52 for sure, dude.

And I will be back for more lessons. Surfing is a soul-touching experience and I’m gonna get me some more! Yep. I’m stoked.

Harnessed. Safely roped. Ready to go.

And I thought roller skating for the first time in, oh… 25+ years or so, would be challenging. Turns out that in the couple and a half dozens of decades that have passed since my last roller skating excursion, a rock climbing wall grew right up in the center of the rink. And that formidable sight was just too tempting for the girls to pass up after we all “got” our skating legs (with feet stuffed into mismatched rentals) and managed several cycles around the rink. Taylor, Maddie and I were drawn to the towering challenge of that great big wall with all of its odd looking hand and foot holds. We took off our skates and let our socked feet and bare hands do the work. And work it was. The objective was to reach the top and ring the little bell that looked both 2 feet and 2,000 feet above us. We didn’t reach the top, but it didn’t matter… because there were arcade games to play, hundreds of tickets to win, funny little prizes to redeem with those hundreds of tickets, dance when the skating music stopped… and, of course, roller skate some more.

The entire afternoon was a like a dazzlingly colorful disco ball… of sights and sounds and motion and movement. Magic, actually.

Yes, magical movement at a roller skating rink/rock climbing wall/arcade/dance arena/ with two beautiful and magical young ladies!

It began on November 28, 2009, after I completed a 5-mile race that Janie had encouraged me to run. OK. 5 miles. I did it. But how about 13.1? I thought and thought and thought. Then I went online and found the Half at the Hamptons. February 21, 2010. Hmmmmm. I spent many years at Hampton Beach as a kid. I had lived in North Hampton. This race would take me back. Back to my childhood. It seemed perfect. Barry sat next to me as I clicked my information and registered for this adventure. Done. Then I panicked maybe just a little lot and found, online, Hal Higdon’s Novice Half Marathon Training Program. Note the word NOVICE. I didn’t tell anyone but Barry. I guess maybe I didn’t really, really know if I could accomplish this great big goal.

I posted my training calendar near my computer table and began the following Monday. 3 miles was my first run. Sundays were always my long run. My first Sunday was a 4-mile run. I did it. I couldn’t help peeking ahead to those 9 and 10 mile runs toward the end of the training schedule. I did wonder seriously if I would ever achieve those miles. And I kept going. I ran mostly in the late afternoon, and often I would come back home to Barry waiting for me on our front steps or looking for me out our front room windows. I can’t even explain the feeling of his smile and hugs and high fives and “Good job, Honey” as I came trudging home. He is, truly, my great inspiration. He believes in me.

Then… I got the flu. An awful, horrible, bad, bad, bad flu. I sat on my couch for an entire week thinking about nothing but trying to walk from the couch to bed. From my bed to the couch. I didn’t feel that I would ever run again, never mind continue my training. But I did recover, and I began from the beginning. Then my Mom got sick and I was spending every day, hours at a time, with her in the hospital. My Mom is the exercise queen of the entire world, so one afternoon I told her about my Half Marathon… and that it would be in Hampton, New Hampshire. She was so happy for me and my super-ambition, and each subsequent day she would ask me, “Are you going to get your run in today?” I would leave the hospital, and then the rehab center, run… and come back and basically report my progress to my Mom.

Then… Barry was hospitalized for a week with his little run-in with a colonoscopy. Barry’s message was the same as my Mom’s… “Are you going to run today?” I had to. I couldn’t let them down. When I think back, I really don’t know how I did squeeze in those runs.

I told Janie and Brian about my goal over breakfast one Saturday morning in January when Janie questioned why I was running so early that morning. Janie’s eyes lit up with such happiness, and Janie and Brian gave me such encouragement and tips to accomplish this endeavor. The weekend before the Half Marathon, I told our other children about the race… and I had confided in my good blogging buddy, Bacardi Mama, who was amazing with her encouragement to a fellow boomer! By then, I felt good enough to know that I would give it my all. Everyone was so happy for me…

Barry and I stayed overnight Saturday night at the Ashworth Hotel right on the Hampton Beach Boardwalk… exactly where the race began and ended. To say I was nervous would be an understatement. I began to wonder if I could really run 13.1 miles. I had run 11 miles in training, but never the entire 13.1. Sunday morning came with a beautiful sunrise, lots of runners (a maxed out race of 1300 runners) and fans, and that feeling of, “OK. This is it!” When Barry and I pressed the elevator button to head down to the race, the doors opened to Dick Hoyt and his son Rick in that very elevator. It was a tiny, tiny elevator… and the woman with them said, “Come on in. There is plenty of room.” It just so happens that Dick and Rick Hoyt are heroes to me… and I told them so. That little ride down two floors sealed the deal for me to run my race with every ounce of my being.

I felt so happy. Then the race began. The course took me past so many places I had spent so much time… so many, many years ago. There were little motels with little pools along the ocean front. My friends and I used to ride our bikes to these little motels in the summer… and the owners would let us swim in the pools for 25 cents each. Then there were the big, gorgeous homes right on the water that my friends and I used to jump the fences and swim in their pools… for free! (Ah, what I would have done to my own kids if they ever did something like that!) I passed North Hampton Beach, where my Mom and Dad took us for little beach cookouts in the summer. I thought a lot about my Dad during the race. I thought about my Uncle Ed and Aunt Jean, both deceased, who lived down the street from my family. I thought about old childhood friends and wondered where their paths had taken them. I thought about my mother-in-law Flo and how she would have loved to have seen me run this race. I thought about my Mom, who was waiting for my call at home… she knew she could not stand outside in the cold and wind for such a long time. I ran past Little Jack’s, the most awesome seafood place in world… where Barry and I used to take our own kids every Labor Day for $5.00 lobsters. I ran with such happiness and such peace on that beautiful journey… then, a little past mile 3.5, I heard the most wonderful sounds in the world… “Grandma! Grandma!” It was the joyful voices of my grandchildren Taylor and Andrew, with Keith and Nicole and Barry. They had driven the 2.5 hour or so journey north to see me run. They found Barry at the beginning of the race and found me at miles 3.5, 6, 9 and then at the race end. Taylor and Andrew had motivational signs for me! I was so overjoyed and inspired by the sight of them all, cheering and smiling and waving from the sidelines!

I ran the entire race. I ran with the energy of everyone around me… and everyone supporting me. When I saw that FINISH line, I must say that I was elated. I had added Chariots of Fire to my iPod. Yes, I did. Then I heard Taylor and Andrew, Keith and Nicole… and Barry. They were right at the FINISH, cheering and excited and smiling and waving. I sailed over that FINISH line as the announcer said my name.

It was awesome!

As I came around the gated area, Taylor was waiting for me with 2 beautiful shells that she had selected from the sand at Hampton Beach… mementos, she explained, from my run. The shells are priceless gems to me. We ate lunch afterward at the Ashworth Hotel. Taylor and Andrew couldn’t wait to give me a gift they had for me… a Pandora Bracelet with a little silver sneaker… to always remember my first Half Marathon. I will treasure this gift forever and think of them at mile 3.5 with their smiles and cheers and signs! Keith checked the times, and my official time was 2 hours, 12 minutes, 40 seconds. It just so happens that the Hoyts came in at 2 hours, 12 minutes, 38 seconds. I am honored that my name appears next to theirs on the official time sheet. I placed 864 of 1300 runners. On the way home yesterday afternoon, Barry and I picked up my Mom and celebrated with a monstrous chocolate ice cream sundae… and I wore my official t-shirt, hat and medal. My Mom was so proud (and look how great she looks after her “set-back”!).

When we arrived home, we discovered a roomful of purple balloons that Audrey and the boys surprised me with! What a perfect ending to a perfect day. Or, more accurately, a very interesting and challenging and exhilarating 3 months of training!

This is most DEFINITELY going down as a 57 in 52!

From now til February 20th, if you head over to Kelly-Confidential, you can cast your vote for your favorite cake from Kelly’s Cake Off. For every vote cast, Electrolux will donate $1 to the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund as part of its $500,000 commitment to help fight ovarian cancer. You can also check it out at the Facebook page or follow them on Twitter (hashtag #CakeOff).

You can also get into some virtual cake decorating, too, and get tips/tricks from Buddy himself! I’ve been creating a cake every day! All visitors to Kelly-Confidential.com can decorate and send virtual cakes to friends and family. Each day you send a cake, Electrolux will donate another $11 to OCRF and YOU’LL be entered to win a new induction range, every baker’s dream!

Everyone has the ability to truly play a huge role in this effort.

So helps us spread the word! Every $1 helps in the fight against Ovarian Cancer. If you mention this information on your blog, please email me (Audrey@MomGenerations.com) with the link. Everyone who blogs about this amazing cause will be entered to win a new a brand NEW Induction Range from Electrolux! Please let me know if you blogged about it because I want to make sure you’re entered to win! You need to do it by Saturday! Please help me spread the word… even if just on Facebook and/or Twitter!

About OCRF:
The mission of the Ovarian Cancer Research Fund is to fund research to find a method of early detection and ultimately a cure for ovarian cancer. In support of our mission, we help patients and their loved ones understand the disease and its treatment, and provide outreach programs to raise public awareness. The Ovarian Cancer Research Fund is a 501(c) 3 not-for-profit organization. For more information, visit www.ocrf.org.

Ah. Driving to NYC. Not easy. Driving in NYC. Crazy.

But parking in New York City is another topic all together. It’s expensive. It’s frustrating. It’s virtually impossible. Each time I enter the City, I think of every scheme imaginable to beat the parking mania. Parking illegally is out of the question. There are about 10 million parking police people who appear, like magic, from every corner and crevice… and they are heartless. Trust me. Case in point… last summer I drove Janie to the City for a job interview, and after dropping her off, I could not get back to the location we had decided upon meeting. There was a series of NO RIGHT TURN signs that went on for street after street after street. In my frustration to find my way, I stopped my car at an intersection where I saw what I thought was a police officer. Wrong. It was a PARKING POLICE officer with a little pad of tickets and a big ego. As I asked him where I could make a legal turn, he was writing a parking ticket. “What??” I said, “What is this? I stopped my car to ask you a question. I didn’t turn my car off or get out of it.” He laughed at me and told me to show up in court if I wanted to protest it. $200.00. No, that is not a typo.

Parking in a parking garage is anyone’s guess. It may be $45.00. It may be $145.00. It may be anything in-between. Depends upon the small print. I could buy a vacation home with the money I’ve spent on parking garages. I did get a nice break at the parking garage near Audrey’s apartment on 57th. I got to know the guys who worked there… and they loved seeing pregnant Audrey pushing William in his little stroller coming to greet me… so that was nice.

Well, yesterday and today, I managed to get 21 hours of parking for the grand total of $2.25. And this is so exciting and so extraordinary that I’m counting it as one of my 57 in 52.

This is how it happened.

I drove Janie to the City yesterday afternoon. There was still lots of snow on the streets. Janie and I drove around her area for about 10 minutes, but every parking space was taken. I had a feeling… you know, just one more drive around the block… and suddenly I saw this guy get into a Toyota. Ah! But he kept spinning his tires in the snow and basically had no idea how to get his car out of that prime spot one street from Janie’s apartment. I was patient. This was parking war. There were 10 or so cars behind me who couldn’t get by, but I waited patiently for that guy to figure out what to do. Soon, I was parked. And HAPPY. Next, we had to read the signs that told me when I had to move my car. If you’ve driven in NYC, you know all those random signs… the crossed out P with times and days for NO PARKING. Yesterday’s parking no-no sign was NO PARKING 9-10:30 am Tuesdays and Fridays.

OK. I knew I had to move my car Tuesday morning before 9 am.

Janie and I then took a cab downtown to meet Audrey, who was there for Fashion Week. We ate. We walked. We had cupcakes at Magnolia Bakery. Oh, my! We all stayed in Audrey’s hotel and had a wonderful girls’ night in! I loved being with my 2 girls! This morning, we ate a great breakfast… then Janie and I took a cab back uptown. Janie got out where she works and I headed, in the cab, several more blocks to my car. It was 8:35. I got in my car with all intentions of finding a parking garage for the day… because I was driving back home with Audrey later… when my competitive spirit kicked in. Big time. I drove around several blocks looking for spaces on the side of the street where I could park, but no spaces were to be found. None. So I jumped to Plan 2… parking meter. I drove around for 5 minutes or so and found a prime meter spot about 2 minutes from Janie’s apartment. One hour = $1.50. 6 quarters. I dropped those quarters in the meter and made note of the time. It was 8:45 am. I knew I had to move my car within an hour… before the parking police tagged my tire and sent my checkbook into a frenzy.

I cleaned and organized Janie’s apartment. I folded laundry. I got a HUGE splinter while dusting an antique table (that belonged to me at one time). I looked for a pin to go in for the splinter digging, but there were none to be found. I kept cleaning. For one hour. Then I got my car, drove around again looking for a legal spot, but found none again. But I did find another metered spot close to the other one. It was 9:45 am. I dropped in 3 quarters. I figured I would get my car in 30 minutes and then park illegally for 15 minutes, in my car… waiting for 10:30 am. I went back to Janie’s apartment and organized her kitchen cabinets. I then got my car… drove directly to Janie’s street and found a parking spot… right across the street from her apartment. There were several cars all lined up on the left side of the street, all with the same idea. I worried about the parking police, so I kept a vigilant eye on all corners and crevices.

None came. It was 10:30 am.

I parked right there for 3 more hours.

$2.25. For 21 hours of parking in NYC.

I feel vindicated. I feel valiant. I feel victorious. I feel adventurous. (And I don’t even care how much work I had to do to accomplish the impossible.)

Yes. I’m adding this to my list.

(And I did get the splinter out. That is a story all by itself.)

Costumes.

And masks.

I’ve never been to a Mardi Gras celebration before, but Saturday night Barry and I headed to The 18th Annual Cajun & Zydeco Mardi Gras Ball at Rhodes-on-the-Pawtuxet with our wonderful cousin/closest friends. Oh, we had our beads and masks… but the party revelers were, for the most part, decked in the most colorful, clever, creative costumes. Fabulous fun costumes fit for the grand celebrations of eating, dancing and partying before the obligatory fasting and customs of the Lenten season. The costumes were not Halloweenish… rather, more fun and festive with feathers, beads and bells. Glitter, sequins and lace. There was big hair, hats/crowns of all kinds and, of course, the focal point of Mardi Gras – the masks.

The masks were not frightening. They were intricately detailed and elegant. They were beautifully mysterious. They were masks without that frightening anomynity that often comes with the Halloween mask.

I can’t remember having as much fun. Dancing. Eating. Drinking. Dancing, eating and drinking some more.

I already have next year’s Mardi Gras planned… and it will include a fabulous costume and even more fabulous mask. The celebration certainly brings an air of great festivity and warmth to a cold New England night.

I loved my Uggs from the very beginning. They were so cool and hip. They were incredibly warm. They were comfortable. They were my go-to foot attire all winter long… on walks, to the mall, out to dinner. And back then, we used to ski… often. My Uggs were my perfect piece of ski apparel, both to the slopes and apres-ski!

Little did I know way back then that these boots were really made for… GRANDCHILDREN. Yep. These same boots have me sliding down hills and pulling sleds back up. These same boots have me catching little guys sliding down slides on a cold but sunny day in the middle of a New England winter. These same boots have me carving adventurous paths in fresh now.

Still without socks. Still warm. Still cozy.

Still so cool and hip? Isn’t it funny that grandchildren only know about fun. And these boots are made for it!