I've
read that
one of
biggest
pitfalls
to having
kids is
that couples
tend to
forget
who they
were prior
to breeding
(though
I personally
think
the the
loss of
perky
breasts
is high
on the
list).
As a Gypsy
Nester,
one who
is looking
forward
to life
after
kids,
I thought
I'd share
a secret.
David
and I
offset
this pitfall
with "date
nights".
Admittedly,
most of
our date
nights
were spent
talking
about
the kids,
ordering
soda water
to get
the baby
puke off
my little
black
dress
and worrying
that the
nanny
cam
may have malfunctioned.
Difficult as it
was to apply lipstick
while avoiding
chocolate covered
toddlers
...continue
reading > >
After
an all day
tour of the
missions of
San Antonio
that ended
with a proper
remembrance
of The Alamo,
we had biked
up quite an
appetite.
Good thing
that the famed
Riverwalk
was only a
block or two
away.
Restaurants
of every variety,
along with
nightclubs,
hotels, bars and
shops, line the
banks of The San
Antonio River as
it runs through
downtown. The riverside
is beautifully landscaped
with plants, trees,
walkways and bridges
that are romantically
lit with twinkling
lights after dark.
It's almost like
it was designed
with a GypsyNester
appy crawl in mind.
In an interesting
twist, this all
happens below street
level.
The
Riverwalk,
or Paseo Del
Rio, was the
brainchild
of Robert
H. H. Hugman,
who hatched
the idea after
a devastating
flood in 1921.
Hugman's vision
was to emulate
a visit to
Venice. He
convinced
city officials
and business
leaders that
the plan would
be financially
beneficial,
got their
backing, and
the
dream began to take
shape.
It
was less than
an immediate
success. For
decades businesses
struggled
to make a
go of it as
visitors were
scarce and
crime was
rampant. David's
father, who
was stationed
at nearby
Fort Sam Houston
back in the
fifties, explained
to us how
The Riverwalk
was so
rough
that it was off
limits to Army personnel.
Getting caught down
there would earn
a soldier a trip
to...continue
reading > >
Today's
column was just
plain disturbing.
It involved
a mother who
is a newly retired
homeowner with
an outstanding
mortgage. Unless
she was the
CEO of a major
publicly traded
corporation,
this lady is
on a whopper
of a fixed income.
Now get this—she
has two butthole
sons, aged 22
and 24, living
in her home
and she has
asked them to
pitch in and
pay $30 a week.
“Stressed-Out
Mom” says
that they are
now “ranting
and raving and
calling her
a bad...continue
reading >
>
6:00
PM Pulling
into The Windy
City to wrap
it up. Eleven
states (those
big western
ones and several
twice) in two
weeks equals
a couple of
fried GypsyNesters.
Need. Sleep.
The Dome Car We moved in to
the Dome Car and set
up camp for this leg
of the trip. The sides
and ceiling of the
car are covered in
ginormous windows,
providing the best
sightseeing on the
train. Add in the
stacked rocks of the
Colorado canyons -
bliss.
Folks on the Train
We
asked a wonderful lady -- traveling with
a group of Red Hatters -- what happened
when she was 5 hours late getting into
Chicago. Did they have to sleep on the
train station floor?
Out
the Window
12:15
PM First view of the Pacific! Caught
a glimpse of the pier where we first met
almost thirty years ago. (Yeah, we stole
a kiss as we sped by!)
Top
Ten Ways to Scare Your Boomerang Kid Out of
the House
10.
Greet him at the door naked with a bottle
of Viagra and a can of whipped cream
and shout "Honey, I guess we can't
use the kitchen, our baby's home."
9.
Set his computer so all his porn and
poker sites go to GoArmy.com.
8.
Invite your friends over to have a
party in his room, trash it and smoke
all of...continue
reading > >
There
are two things we've known about San
Antone since childhood. Davy Crockett,
whether played by Fess Parker or John
Wayne fought at the Alamo there, and
Charley Pride wanted to know if anybody
was goin' there. Seemed like we should
learn more about Texas' second-largest
city, so we had our mission, should
we decide to accept it.
And mission is the right word. San
Antonio wouldn't even exist if not
for missions. The most famous being
the San Antonio de Valero Mission,
better known as the Alamo, but four
others follow the river south through
the city.
Built in the early 1700s as Spain began
to expand colonization northward, these
were lonely outposts in an often hostile
wilderness. Each mission was much more
than just a church though, they were
self contained little cities.
Spain's expansion was both political
and religious, as the two were completely
intertwined back then. While the Franciscan
friars were attempting to convert the
Tejas
natives,
the military was using the compounds as fortifications
and hoping to discourage France from expanding
westward from Louisiana.
Communities
sprung up around the missions as they
were completed, with hundreds, sometimes
thousands, of natives farming, trading
and converting. Many lived within the
walls, the others could seek safety
inside should danger approach. The settlements
flourished for the better part of a
century, but by ...continue
reading > >
This
is how many people I dealt with while
getting my annual mammogram. How did
something so personal turn into an assembly
line? As if getting my boobs pancaked
and my skin yanked so tight that I felt
it all the way up to my ears isn’t
bad enough. I get to be treated like
a cow in a roundup.
Before I go off on a complete diatribe,
I want to be fair. I’m ALWAYS a
wreck at mammogram time. My mother died
of
breast
cancer. The final ten years of her life were
hell as the cancer spread to her lymph nodes,
her spine and her brain. I learned to administer
shots. I watched as her brain fluid was removed
from a shunt in her head to make room for the
chemo to go in. I know too well the consequences
of a mammogram that reveals something bad.
To
add insult to injury -- in a brilliantly stupid
move -- I booked my mammogram the day after
I went to roller derby
camp. My breasts were the only part of
my body that didn’t hurt. I guess I didn’t
want them to feel left out.
My
first visit wasn’t terrible, just very
impersonal. It felt a whole lot like a bureaucrat’s
idea of the quickest, most efficient way to
herd women through their yearly indignity.
The person I made the appointment with was
not the person I checked in with. Once checked
in, I was sent to a phone booth in the lobby
to call a centralized area of the hospital
that dealt with insurance before moving on
down the line.
I
was given a fluffy robe and a locker. After
a quick stop in an interior waiting room,
the boob smashing was performed by a really
nice technician. In the end, I was told that
a doctor would take a look at the results
and I would receive a phone call in a few
days. In, out, done.
A
week later, I get the call. Something was
wrong. I must...continue
reading > >
The
"healing waters" of Hot Springs,
Arkansas have been attracting the ailing
and agile alike for centuries. And Veronica
was one of them, chomping at the bit
for a bit of pampering, a massage and
an inside look at one of the world-famous
bathhouses. But first, a stop at one
of those cheesy tourist diversions we're
so fond of.
Hot
Springs is not exactly the big city, but
I wouldn't call it tiny either. It is
however, home to Tiny Town. More than
just a town, Tiny Town is its own little
world, all made out of cast off scraps,
odds and ends, whatchamacallits and whatnot
gathered by Frank Moshinskie over decades,
then
recycled
into a wondrous miniature landscape. Frank began
building the scenes as a teenager and never
stopped.
Tucked
away in an old residential corner of Hot Springs,
we found Tiny Town well off the beaten path.
Since Frank has passed on to his reward --
to the not-so-tiny town in the sky -- the
presentation is carried on by his son and
daughter-in-law, Charles and Barbara Moshinskie.
Barbara was there to greet us and... continue
reading > >
Subscribe
in another reader
Honey,
Who Are We Again?
