Runaway Brides: Fazio Fails.

Diana Jones, communication director for the Tanque Verde Valley group against the Fazio wedding business development on Tanque Verde Loop in Northeast Tucson (Pima County), reports today that the County Zoning Inspector decision once again denied the conditional use permit to this 'wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing.'

BACKGROUND: John Fazio and his wife, Debi, purchased a three-acre property in a residentially-zoned area on the East side's Tanque Verde Loop. Their intent was to develop a church and obtain a conditional use permit to do so. This may have been permissible if it weren't for their track record of using two previous "non-profit" and tax-exempt operations for what ultimately appeared to be a cover for a lucrative wedding business operation. 

Fazio was quoted that the Tanque Verde Loop location, "Mesquite Grove Chapel," intended to host some 70 weddings per year. This did not sit well with the residents of this otherwise quiet, horse-friendly neighborhood. This, by the way, is the same neighborhood that successfully fought the Tanque Verde Unified School District's efforts to utilize the $12 million afforded by the Arizona State Facilities Board to build a high school in their midst, on a nearby, Loop-adjacent property formerly known as the MK Ranch. 

Not a group to be taken lightly.

 

The Tanque Verde Valley grows 'em SMART and ACTIVE, and through a vociferous community effort led by neighbor Diana Jones, efforts stopped the Fazios in their tracks not once, but twice.

Per Jones:

“After a (VERY) long Board of Adjustments hearing, the board voted to uphold the Chief Zoning Inspector's decision that Fazio's plan appeared to be more of a business than a church.

A BIG THANK YOU to everyone who wrote letters (about 50), attended (about 90), signed petitions (about 650), and donated in any form! I know everyone who supports us couldn't be there, and some who came couldn't stay for the 4 1/2 hours, but every one of you count!

Please join us this Saturday, June 13th @ 7 pm to hear Kevin's band play & visit with neighbors. More info to follow.

Your neighbor, Diana Jones”

Never underestimate the power of community organization. Congratulations to the Loop neighborhood. May your days continue to be filled with the peace of the Lord.

N, NNNNNNNNNNNNNN! A Thousand Times N!

Mac Laptop Users, I ask you: Which letter on your keyboard is the most worn out?

I ask because I have two Macs made of the most current material. One is a Powerbook G4, which I keep because of some non-transferrable software; and one on which I currently type, a MacBook Pro. This laptop is about 13 months old. And I use it daily. The other one is, uh, older. I don’t know how old exactly, but that’s not important. What’s important for this topic is that on both, the most used (i.e. worn away) key is the N key.

If I were a horse, I’d say: “Nnnnnnnnnneigh.”

What’s UP with the N-key? Is it the N-word of the keyboard world? Is it because for old home row-method typists like myself the N-key is an index-finger key?  We all know the index finger may not be the most expressive, but it’s by far the strongest. And then again I wonder, is it because I’m right handed? Or is it because the N-key is so much more popular than my other right-handed index keys (H,J,Y,U and I).

I had to close my eyes and type those keys. And in doing so, I realized, there’s no way I could recite the letters of a keyboard and/or tell anyone which fingers touch which keys. It’s totally a rote-mind/finger thing.

I wonder, do my daughters feel the same way about their texting fingers touching their cell phone keys as I feel about my laptop keys? Is anyone teaching a texting efficiency class, or do keyboards just come naturally to children born in the mid-Nineteen Nineties???

 

Because I’m a SCRABBLE player, it occurred to me to consider the value of each of the 26 letters of the English alphabet and, of course, it’s no surprise that the oft-used N tile is worth only one point. So are all the vowels. Other consonants worth one point are  L, R, S and T.

So far, my 13-month-old computer is R and T clear . . . however, S is a wee bit worn. The L-key is definitely showing some signs of abuse, but it’s nothing compared to the N. Nope. (Even M—N’s next door neighbor—is looking far shabbier). And each of these cheap Scrabble letters, particularly the S, is ssssssssssorry and sssssssssad on the Powerbook G4.

So what’s the bottom line?

The bottom row of my keyboard has nothing where the N should be. And I have No point. Not really. . .

. . . Nuts.

Local Author Pens Another Winner

By Joyce Laabs
Features Editor

Summer resident Michele Van Ort Cozzens, who with her husband, Mike, owns and operates the Sandy Point Resort in Lac du Flambeau, has written another winner.

It's Not Your Mother's Bridge Club (McKenna Publishing Group) is set in the Rattlesnake Valley, a desert community in southern Arizona. (The Cozzens make their winter home in Tucson).

It’s the story of the members of "The Snake Eyes Dice Club" - eight middle-aged women who try to meet monthly to play Bunko. For many in the club this represents their only social outing.

The members: Sylvia, Brandy, Tootsie, Chloe, Amanda, Blanca, Tara and the narrator of all that happens, Shonah.

Members take turns hosting the monthly meetings, and preparing is quite a production in itself. There are also rules: No men or children allowed; and no drink counters.

The reader sees each woman evolve as they meet the challenges in their lives. We learn of their joys and frustrations through their own words.

Although Cozzens has been a member of a bunko group in Arizona for several years, she insists the ladies of the Snake Eyes Dice Club, are all products of her imagination - and that is good - for most members of the club border on dysfunctional - but perhaps if you dig deep enough in any person's life you will find most dysfunction in some area.

We loved the book, and empathized with each and every member of the club; and what a diverse group - from the very wealthy to just making ends meet - from obsessively scheduled to "living free" - from social drinker to alcoholic - they all had their unique characteristics.

Through their conversations at bunko parties and intimate thoughts on their relationships with members of the club, revealed by Cozzens' pen, the women come alive, and you will probably recognize someone you know.

Shonah, whose childhood friend founded the club, gave up her journalistic dreams when she married, but keeps a piece of it alive as a columnist for the local newspaper. Each chapter begins with a quote from her column titled "The Dice Club Chronicles."

I'm not sure I would have liked to have been a member of this particular bunko club - much too stressful for what is supposed to be a fun night with the girls - but it makes for a really great read.

There is another plus - you learn bunko.

The 240-page soft cover book sells for $19.95, and can be purchased at the gift shop at Sandy Point Resort or through amazon.com.

Five dollars from the sale of each book are donated to "Bunko for Breast Cancer" chapters across America for the Breast Cancer Research Foundation.

Cozzens is a soccer mom, jewelry-designer and resort owner; married to the man of her dreams. They have two daughters, and as we said, divide their time between Northern Wisconsin and Tucson, Ariz.

Joyce Laabs can be reached at
features@lakelandtimes.com

No One Loves Your Dog As Much As YOU!

We have a dog. She’s a six-pound, longhaired Chihuahua. How do you spell A-D-O-R-A-B-L-E? If you’re a dog lover, it’s hard not to adore Cinco at first sight. If she further blesses you with a sniff and offers the opportunity to pet her, the word L-O-V-E may even form in your mind.

If Cinco doesn’t like you—say you’re another four-legged bitch threatening her family, or she just doesn’t fancy the smell of you—you may find her yappy bark quite annoying. We get it. No one loves their dogs more than their owners. Some dog owners love their pets SO much they’re simply blind to anything that may cause others to be annoyed.

 

We used to live in the San Francisco Bay Area. At the time, in the city of Berkeley, there wasn’t a STOP sign in town that didn’t have an additional message spray-painted below it. “STOP War;” “STOP Abuse;” “STOP Racism;” etc. Because of this, I remember not being the least bit surprised about finding graffiti on nearly every public sign in the East Bay. One I remember particularly well was in a public park. The sign read: “ALL DOGS MUST BE ON LEASH.” And the spray paint below it read: “This includes YOUR dog!”

So often people believe the rules don’t apply to them. Specifically in the case of dog owners, many are so sure their dog is the most well trained—the best-behaved dog ever—that a leash isn’t necessary. These are the same owners who simply don’t hear their dog barking incessantly at all hours of the day, whether they’re inside ignoring the barking, or away all day, neglecting the ‘best-behaved dog ever.’

As resort owners who happen to love dogs, we want to provide a facility that allows dogs. We’ve tried. Over the years, 17 to be exact, we’ve had to tweak the dog policy to make it work for us; however, I’ve come to believe no one reads policies in advance. They only read them after they leave, and only if they have a reason.

The reason would be, of course, because we kept the dog deposit.

 We currently don’t charge for dogs. We only charge a deposit. The deposit is refundable, unless there are violations to our policy. I can count the number of times we’ve found it necessary to keep a dog deposit. Most—repeat MOST—owners are highly responsible in picking up after their pets. There is virtually no sign that a dog was on property, indoors or out, after they’ve left.

Unfortunately, there are and will always be exceptions. And it’s the less responsible dog owners that ruin it for the rest. When the offending dog owner further proclaims we are completely unfair or unjustified in keeping the deposit and goes as far as to issue threats such as: We’re never coming back and we’re telling ALL our friends to never go to Sandy Point;” well, we have to put them in our “People Can be Jerks” file and move on.

But it also means we have to change the policy. We simply don’t like being put in the same awkward/difficult situation more than twice and being the kind of people who learn from our experiences, we once again find the need to change our dog policy.

Yesterday I searched for websites of other resorts that allow dogs and nearly every one I found charges a fee. It costs us $150 to fly with Cinco (and there’s NO clean-up required by placing her soft crate under the seat in front of us). Every hotel we stay at for weekend soccer tournaments that actually allows dogs has a fee as well.  So, our research has shown that Sandy Point is unique for two reasons: 1. It still allows pets and 2. It doesn’t charge a fee.

Time to get with the program.

We only allow dogs in the shoulder/off-seasons. This will still be the case. But now there will be a fee in ADDITION to the damage deposit. We don’t want owners to think just because they’re paying for the privilege of bringing their dog that they don’t have to clean up after their best friend as well.

And if we feel the need to keep the cleaning/damage deposit, I guarantee you, we are justified in doing so. If it means you’ll never come back to Sandy Point with your barking, shedding, clawing dogs . . . good.

Showbiz Kidz Danz Bunco Fundraiser

Are you looking for a chance to win $1,000? This is a fun opportunity for bunco enthusiasts to play the game they enjoy, raise money for a talented group of kids, meet new people and have fun!

The nonprofit group ShowBiz Kidz Danz Booster Club is hosting a Bunco Championship in Tucson on Saturday, June 27 at 3:00 p.m. Entry fee is $25 and the grand prize for the dice-rolling champion is $1,000. There will be live entertainment, food and drinks available.

If you don’t know how to play bunco, organizer Kathy Renteria is offering a “Bunco Bootcamp” at 2:45. Since bunco is one of the easiest games to learn, boot camp won’t be a painful experience. If you can count to six, you can play bunco.

The event takes place at the Junior League, 2099 E. River Road, just east of the intersection of River and Campbell.

 

According to Renteria, ShowBiz Kidz Danz is a community dance program offering more than 40 classes in pom, hip-hop, ballet, jazz, technique, break dancing, lyrical, tap and competitive dance teams. "Moms" classes such as strength and conditioning, adult hip hop and “praise” dance classes are also available.

ShowBiz began in 2001 and currently has some 400 students. “The owner, Jennifer Barton, can name every single one of those 400 students,” says Renteria. Mrs. Barton is also the dance instructor at Marana High School and has over 19 years of teaching experience. She prides herself in offering quality instruction at a lower price and provides scholarships to those in need.

“It is our belief that all children who want to dance should have the opportunity,” says Renteria. “It's not just about dance. It's about lifelong friendships, the confidence that dancers build, teamwork, responsibility and dedication.”

Reminds me a bit of what it’s like to be part of a bunco group.

 

Showbiz Kidz Danz is located at 6906 Camino Martin, Tucson, AZ. It has two small lobbies and four rehearsal studios. The main dance studio features over 1,000 square feet of hardwood floors with 8-foot mirrors along one side. Other rooms are available for tap and ballet. There is also a small homework room for the students to study in between dance classes.

According to Renteria, the Bunco Championship fundraiser on June 27 will help with competition fees, costumes and traveling expenses for dancers. They travel to Phoenix and California for monthly competitions and are hoping to travel to Florida, Texas or Las Vegas for other competitions.

Vendor booths at the event include: Avon, Partylite Candles, Gold Canyon Candles, Lia Sophia Jewelry, Sashay Jewelry, Gift Basket Creations, Amparo's jewelry, Pampered Chef, Arbonne Health and Wellness, Natural Health Chair Massages and more.

For more information contact Kathy Renteria at kathyrenteria@comcast.net

The Business Needs Some Botox

We have highway road arrows leading to our business, Sandy Point Resort. They are at least 15 years old. Sporting black and white paint wrinkles and withered lettering, they’ve aged more than I—at least physically. Today, I decided, they needed a few shots of Botox.

We have two sets of road arrows steering State Hwy. 70 traffic to our resort and disc golf course—those facing east and those facing west. Over the years they’ve attracted a phenomenal amount of business. Almost daily during our high season we have wayward travelers coming into the pro shop asking everything from “where’s the DISCOUNT golf course” to “what’s DISCO golf?” Also, on a weekly basis, we find enthusiastic disc golfers at our door, who “never knew” there was a course here and couldn’t believe it when they saw our arrows.

Pretty important signage, don’t you think?


Mike and I made the six-foot arrows ourselves. He sawed the wood and I painted the white background, cut out and traced the letters from type I printed from the computer, and hand-painted with black enamel paint and a very steady hand. Mike would have hung them if the Wisconsin Department of Transportation had allowed it, but mere mortal men aren’t allowed to hang highway signs.

The government required we drive the arrows about 30 miles away to the nearest county hub, drop them off, and have professionals put them in place. It took weeks. But back then, when we lived here year round, we could afford the time. Perhaps it’s not surprising that we didn’t enlist government help for the cosmetic surgery required today.

I woke up this morning knowing today was the day. The sun was shining, all our cabins were clean and ready for the guests, and it was a designated maintenance day. I drove to the arrow site, less than a mile from our house, parked, and painted the west-facing arrows on site. Using a ladder to reach them and sporting what my teenager called “MOM JEANS” and a blaze orange cap, I wasn’t cute. Cars didn’t honk and wave; however, two cars did stop to ask directions while I worked on the arrows exposed to the west.

It was awkward and the conditions were far from perfect. I admit I did a half-assed job. I assured myself, however, that the Sandy Point motto (WHERE GOOD ENOUGH IS) applied.

BTW: The counterpart set of arrows some 400 ft. away on the opposite site of the highway and exposed to the east, were in FAR greater need of repair. There was no way I could give them a proper facelift on site. Without question, they had to be removed and bought back to my workshop for more serious microderm abrasion and Botox injections.

Baby, the morning sun when it’s in your face really shows your age.


Last summer, when we first noticed the arrows had grown tired, we couldn’t dedicate the hours needed to refurbish them. We didn’t want to take them down and miss the business that directed drivers off the Hwy. and into our den of income. For about a minute, I considered driving my golf cart to the highway and making a paint-in-hand house call. Mike even thought it would be good for business if I donned my special red bikini.

Don’t laugh. I gave it some thought.

As is usually the case, the season passed by so quickly, and the road arrows were left on the 2008’s backburner. But upon my 2009 return and like being fed up with too many gray hairs on an otherwise attractive middle-aged head, I simply had to go into makeover mode. I put on the blaze orange cap and the Mom Jeans, and broke out a little Road-Arrow-Loreal.

The business was worth it.

Ultimately, like a good dye job or a few Botox injections, we—the proud owners of the prettiest resort in the Northwoods—are probably the only ones who will notice the improvements.

I Have a Crush on my UPS Man

And I’ve just admitted it. Not only in the headline of this blog, but also to his face.

Does anyone share a similar experience? Have you had the same UPS deliveryman for 17 years? Have you had a guy drive a big, brown truck down your quarter-mile-long driveway on a regular basis, who on some days is your only visitor? Has he seen you through two pregnancies? Has he helped you fix your lawn mower? Have you bet on him to win the annual “who-can-wear-shorts-the-longest-into the-the winter” contest? Has he read every book you’ve ever written and told you about the campfire discussion that ensued about your characters while on his Canadian vacation?

My UPS driver’s name is Robin. And Robin he most certainly is. He may not be the caped-crusader; but he may as well be the Batman of the delivery world. He’s certainly my deliveryman hero. Rhinelander Robin is the skinny-legged, shorts-wearing Brown deliveryman who is so pleasant, he MAKES me want to order things from Internet websites and more civilized places than the Northwoods, just to have them delivered.

 

I encountered Robin today for the first time this season when I happened into the kitchen after being hauled up in my office for two hours. I was taking advantage of generator power to do my paperwork, a daily necessity to run our resort business. This afternoon, one of exaggeratedly high winds, we’ve experienced a lengthy power-outage on property.  The power is still out, and we’re not sure why other than suspecting the wind and the ominous smell of smoke wafting into our windows from the other side of the lake.  Because of the noise of the generator, I didn’t hear the brown truck pull up.

Usually I sense the diesel-fueled wheels like Radar from M*A*S*H sensing choppers. Not this afternoon. I had gone downstairs to get something to drink and before opening the fridge, heard a yell. Given we have no guests in the cabins and only a handful of disc golfers on the course, the yell wasn’t very alarming. But nonetheless, I looked out the kitchen window and saw him.

Glancing to the right of our yard, sure enough, there was the big brown truck. “Robin!” I squealed. I ran to and opened the front door without checking my hair or my teeth—and soon realized I was wearing my schoolmarm glasses. And there he was wearing shorts and a smile. “Hi!” I said with all the fanfare of greeting an American Idol.

His smile was that of a teenager instead of a middle-aged man. “You’re here,” he said. He gave me the once over and flashed an approving grin. “I’ve been walking all around because I need a signature for this package.”  He nodded to my right.

The delivery was stored on the table sitting on our front porch. It was the box of jewelry I had just packaged and shipped from Tucson, and tried to insure for ten grand, but didn’t because it was too expensive. Briefly examining at the well-taped box, I was happy to see it in excellent condition—definitely worth the $160 gamble I didn’t spend to add extra insurance.

As I sighed with relief, Robin took a second to look me up and down again. “Did you just get back?”

“A day or so,” I replied, camouflaging my blush. “I didn’t hear your truck because the generator’s on. We’ve had no power for a while. . . .” I shifted my weight . . . “Hi, Robin. Gosh, it’s good to see you.”

“You too!” he said. And then he hugged me, pulled back and looked me up and down for a third time. “You don’t age a bit, do you?”

From a man who’s known me for 17 years and seen me through two pregnancies, I KNEW that was a compliment. So I paid him one back.

“Oh Robin,” I said, “Am I the only girl in Wisconsin who has a crush on her UPS man?”

With that comment, he handed me the electronic clipboard and requested my signature. “Welcome back,” he said.

Then his skinny, shorts-wearing bottom bounded back to his vehicle and the rumble of a diesel-fueled engine filled our driveway. Hence, Robin and his big brown trunk ambled down Sandy Point Lane.  For tonight.

Holy deliveryman, I know he’ll be back tomorrow.

Fact, Fiction and the Future.

Writing fiction is a freeing exercise. As a trained journalist and working reporter, the concepts of truth and objectivity once took precedence in everything I wrote.  When I became a columnist, truth still mattered, but I got to taste the savory flavor of injecting my own opinion into the content. Except for the occasional hate mail, it was delicious. Still, it doesn’t compare to the sweet sensation of just making shit up. Fiction gives a writer license to lie.

The novel I’m currently writing, Irish Twins, is the story of two sisters born less than twelve months apart. Without doubt, those who know us will see Gayle and me in this tale. When I first started writing it, I relived the past my sister and I shared as I typed. Somewhere around page 80, however, the concept of fiction took hold of my creative powers, and the two main characters, Jenny and Caylie, took on their own identities.  Characteristics were embellished; conversations more dramatic, and certain elements I simply didn’t want to relive were conveniently erased from existence. It’s truly a powerful thing.

 

Having just returned to our summer home, I’m still unpacking and becoming reacquainted with the place we’ve owned for 17 years. It’s filled with furniture and keepsakes, items far more representative of who we are than what we have on display at our desert dwelling.

Back in March, I posted a blog about an old typewriter that once belonged to my mother. (It's Not Your Mother's Typewriter). I waxed nostalgic about using it as a child and recalled a black and white photo of myself in front of it. It’s a photo that was sent by my mother when I was still a working journalist and she wrote a caption on the back indicating the snapshot was prophetic of my future. I knew the photo, processed in Sept., 1964, was in Wisconsin, but I didn’t realize it was in a magnet frame on the fridge.

In my fictional memory, the little girl was sitting in front of the Underwood typewriter featured in my blog. The factual reality is that it’s a child’s typewriter, one with a wheel at the top, used to dial the desired letter.  The caption I quoted in the blog was: “Was there ever a question of this girl’s future career?” Factual evidence shows my memory was close, but not entirely accurate. Here’s my mother’s quote, in tiny, tight handwriting that isn’t the least bit foggy in my memory:

For my mother, who often speaks to me as I write this new novel about the Irish Twins, I will answer her question: This photo tells me a lot about this little girl’s future. Here’s what it says:  She’ll grow up to write fiction based on fact, but she’ll take a lot of pleasure in creating her own reality. Also, she’ll always love and have that hand-hooked rug with the birds and the cats and the rose-colored house. And it’ll always be with her other childhood keepsakes in the place she calls Summer.

In my Wisconsin Bedroom

Good Morning Chemtrails

The earth says hello. The girls and I returned to Wisconsin, arriving at our beautiful Northwoods home around midnight. After a decent night’s sleep in the land of trees and fresh air, we couldn’t wait to say hello to the lake this morning.

I’m sorry to report that loons and mallards didn’t greet us. Instead we got a fresh dose of chemtrails. I looked up into the beautiful sky and X-marked the spot right above our dock. I couldn’t believe it. The sun doesn’t shine here the way it does in Tucson. Is there really a need to patch up the sky with these chemical clouds?

I wish someone would give us the straight dope on these things once and for all. Regardless of what they contain or don’t contain, we didn’t return to the land of sky blue waters to have these artificial clouds cast shadows on our summer.

The Oro Valley Book Club: A Class Act

Last week I had the pleasure of being a guest of the "Book Group Ladies" of Oro Valley, AZ. They chose It's Not Your Mother's Bridge Club as their monthly selection after seeing a review in the Arizona Daily Star. Since this book club is also a bunko group, how could they resist?

It was an hour drive to get there and I was happy to arrive and find out they actually liked the book. I had a feeling they wouldn't have asked me to come if they hated it, right? I was also pleased to meet a woman in the group who went to the same elementary and high schools as I back in the Chicago-area. We were about five years apart, so we didn't attend the schools at the same time; however, we had a lot of fun talking about who we had in common. I thought it was extra fun to have recognized all the names in her mother's bridge club!

The discussion was stimulating and thought-provoking and they spoke about the characters like they knew them. Their questions were insightful and intelligent. It was everything a good book group discussion should be. Their bonus was, however, getting some of the inside scoop about my writing process, and I was delighted to share this information.

Perhaps the funniest thing one of the women said was that her husband rarely if ever pays attention to the books she reads. "But he noticed this one," she said. "It's that book with the big fake boobs on the cover."

Uh, yes. About those boobs. I let them go on for a bit and got the impression they all agreed they were fake. Eventually, I chimed in and delivered the old Seinfeld line: "They're real and they're spectacular." 

I like when this topic comes up because it gives me the opportunity to talk about the fundraising we're doing for Breast Cancer Research. Because of all the comments on the big boobs on this book cover, and because there are eight women in the story (and one of eight women is diagnosed with breast cancer) I have been donating profits from book sales to various Breast Cancer Research organizations, including Bunko for Breast Cancer.

And now the Oro Valley Group has joined this cause. Today I received a lovely note from the ladies of the club:

Dear Michele,
On behalf of the Oro Valley Book Group you visited May 7, we would love to make a donation to Breast Cancer Research or another charity of your choosing. Thank you so much it was a real treat to meet you and we all loved the discussion. Thanks so much for your time.

All the best,
Paige Coghall and "the Book Group Ladies"

Included was a generous check, which I will promptly relay to The Breast Cancer Research Foundation, Bunco For Breast Cancer Bunco group, Tempe, AZ.

Thank you, ladies. Attending your meeting was my pleasure and your donation is truly appreciated. You're a class act.

My Sister was NOT ready for her Close-up: The Oprah Show Follow-up

Oprah wore hot pink. So did Mary. When the show began its Pacific Time Zone broadcast today, I texted my sister just to be sure I knew where to look for her and her friend, Judy.

“We’re on the right side of the stage, second row. Judy’s on the end in yellow. I’m next to her with a hot pink shirt, black sweater and your statement turquoise necklace.”

The show was all about Dr. Oz, a medical doctor who offers advice on everything from how your poop should be shaped to obtaining multiple orgasms. I was a Dr. Oz virgin, so it was hard for me to get excited or sentimental about the show. I watched for a distinct purpose: to try to see my sister and HOPEFULLY, see my necklace.

Mary was busy at work while the show aired here, but took time out to text me. “Probably they’ll show us @ the end when they bring out the Netti Pots.”

To which I replied, “What the HELL is a Netti Pot?”

“It’s a tea pot nose cleaner!”

Who knew?

Sure enough, in the last minutes of the show, Oprah’s crew brought out a slew of gravy boat-shaped Netti Pots for each member of the audience.  And this is when I, indeed, got to see Hot Pink Mary and Yellow Judy. They were shown from a couple angles, but I was primarily interested in the close-up.

 

Now, let me tell you something about my sister. She is definitely one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever known. Not just physically, with her blonde hair, blue eyes, petite figure and excellent sense of style; but also, she has an unquestionable beauty of spirit. She defines the word “kind.” Mary has to be one of the most excitable people alive. No one gets as giddy as she over a present, for example. I used to tease her and send her birthday present weeks in advance with a notation reading: DO NOT OPEN UNTIL YOUR BIRTHDAY.

“Yeah right!” she always said as she ripped open the paper. It became our little joke.

So, it was no surprise to me that Mary appeared to be VERY excited about Oprah’s gift of a Netti Pot. She was so excited, that she gasped for breath. And in doing so, right in the middle of her momentary close-up, she put her hand to her chest and completely covered the necklace.

I’ve got proof:

Oprah doesn’t let people use her name or her show to market their own products or causes, so I wouldn’t have been able to use the “As Seen on Oprah” tagline anyway. But I think it’s far more entertaining that my four-strand turquoise and copper necklace as modeled by the most beautiful woman on earth will forever be known as the piece of jewelry that was NOT seen on Oprah.

She’s Leaving Home, The Sequel

Two kids means two times the joy, two times the heartbreak. One daughter has just returned from eight days on the East Coast and I think we’ve got her caught up on her sleep and recovered from the head cold she brought back as a souvenir. Oh, and by the way, she ♥'s NY now and wants “to move there right after she finishes college.”

Today, daughter number two, Camille, is off to camp. Thank God it’s only three days for her because I don’t think I could take missing my baby for any longer than that. Not right now.

There was some question as to whether or not Camille would be allowed to go to camp and it was all because one day she drew ♥ ♥ ♥'s on a post at school. Her former friend turned her in, and because it was considered “defacing school property,” she received an automatic pink slip. Pink slip = probation. Probation = You might not go to camp.

Her teacher was VERY disappointed in her actions. She, in fact, referred to Camille’s artwork not as “defacing school property” but as an act of “vandalism.” She called me in for a conference on a Friday afternoon and told me Camille had a 50/50 chance of being allowed to go. “And if she doesn’t go and that means your husband won’t come on Monday and do his disc golf demonstration, so be it,” she said.

She assured me the probationary hearing would be “fair,” but gave me “no guarantees.” I believed I couldn’t possibly live in a world where an 11-year-old would be banned from the main event of elementary school for drawing hearts on a post. Nevertheless, we—Camille, her dad and I—were all left to twist in the wind over the weekend as we waited for the meeting to take place the following Monday afternoon.

I met with the school principal on Monday morning to discuss what I thought was an extreme overreaction on behalf of Camille’s teacher, and this principal assured me that she would act as my daughter’s advocate at the probationary hearing, and that Camille would indeed be going to camp. But as far as I was concerned, the unnecessary damage inflicted upon my little girl, who now thought of herself as “the bad girl,” AND my husband, who rearranged his trip to Wisconsin to be available for the disc golf demonstration, was bordering on unforgivable. And what this teacher also failed to take into consideration, was that I ran the blasted silent auction, donating tons of time and merchandise, which was the main fundraiser for the camp experience. All this for hearts on a post.

I could think of something else I’d like to spray on a post outside of a certain classroom. But, of course, I know better and would never do such a juvenile thing. Besides, I have the outlet of spraying my BLOG with this crap instead of defacing someone else’s property.

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Fazio & The Tanque Verde Loop Update

THIS JUST IN FROM THE ORGANIZATION TO PREVENT JOHN and DEBI FAZIO FROM INVADING THE TANQUE VERDE LOOP NEIGHBORHOOD WITH THEIR WEDDING BUSINESS:

Hi Everyone,
Fazio has turned in all of his paperwork and his appeal of PCDSD's decision will be heard by the District 4 Board of Adjustments.

WHAT: DISTRICT 4 BOARD OF ADJUSTMENTS MEETING (RE: FAZIO'S APPEAL)

 

WHEN: JUNE 9TH, 11:00 A.M.

 

WHERE: PUBLIC WORKS BUILDING, 201 N. STONE AVE., BASEMENT, CONFERENCE ROOM C

We need as many of you AND your neighbors as possible to attend. Fazio continues to claim that there are only a few noisemakers resisting this commercial development!

I will have more information next week, so keep watching your email.

Our next meeting will be Wednesday, May 27th @ 7 p.m. in the Board Room @ Lew Sorensen Center on Tanque Verde Road.

For those who remember our (unsuccessful) fight to keep Bob Seal from building 14 condos on the SW corner of TV Road & TV Loop, there is a notice on the construction fence announcing that the parcel will be sold at public auction June 17th @ 11 am. If you or someone you know might want this parcel (particularly if you are not thinking about building 14 condos there), please check it out.

Thanks so much for your continued support, and hope to see you at the meeting!

Diana Jones
784-1625

When Family Holidays are No Longer Holidays

May 7. Siete de Mayo. Thursday. The 127th day of 2009. The Day it hit 100° in Tucson?  May 7 is just one date and it could have hundreds of different meanings for countless people. But for me, May 7 will always jump off the calendar as being my father’s birthday. He would have been 89 today. 

Alas, my dad never saw a birthday beyond 86.

I know the date of his death, but allow that date to lapse without fanfare or significant recognition. It’s recent enough that it hasn’t etched itself into my brain the way May 7 has.  And I didn’t want to take on a whole new set of dates to remember with every passing loved one.  So, I let those days slide. But it’s too hard to let go of the birthdays. I’ve had to walk around all day knowing I can’t pick up the phone and sing to my father.

The good news is, it occurred to me when I started writing this piece that it’s also a friend’s birthday . . . the husband of Wilma Flintsone. So a big yabba-dabba-birthday to you, Fred! 

And this just in, an email with the subject: “Chantal Cozzens turns four.” Chantal is our adorable niece, and the funny thing about her is that we didn't know her actual first name for many, many months after her birth. So, I’m not 100 percent sure today is her birthday. I know it’s in May and I know today was the day her proud Daddy sent around her most recent photos. 

Please let it be May 7. I want back my family holiday.

Hello From the White House

Willow has been good about keeping in touch, although her texts are brief and to the point. Yesterday she ran into two friends from her soccer team at Arlington National Cemetery. It was a nice taste of the "small world" scenario we all experience from time to time when traveling. I'm so glad she's sharing her trip with us. It's hard having her away.

May 3, 4:12 p.m.:

I got my luggage but it rained like crazy at Busch Gardens so everyone is soaking wet. It was so much super fun tho.

May 3, 4:16 p.m.:

They won't let us change and it's a 3 hour bus ride to DC

May 4, 2:28 p.m.:

OMG I just ran into Ariella and Amber at Arlington!

May 4, 2:33 p.m.:

I gave them both a big hug

May 4, 2:39 p.m.:

It's pretty cold but I'm okay.

"Me and Luke right now."

May 5, 10:26 a.m., "I just got out of the Holocaust Museum."

 "Hello from the White House."

The DC Trip Texting Tale

8:00 a.m., first text from Willow:

"Just got to Virginia and guess what? They lost my luggage. I should get it back tonight. Other than that the trip has gone pretty well."

Mom's comment: All that time packing . . . for this?

She’s Leaving Home

All my friends with older children assured me of the following: Even though I was the mother crying in the school parking lot on the first day of kindergarten, by the time the kids were teenagers, I wouldn’t be nearly as sad to see them go.

Willow is 14. She’s a good kid and we’re very proud of her. She was born on her due date, and in the early years, always ranked in the 50th percentile for height and weight. She’s maintained exemplary grades, never gets sick, and she’s chosen really nice friends. She’s definitely a normal girl with typical teenage mood swings, and occasional lapses into unacceptable bouts of selfishness. Fortunately, that’s an easy fix. All we need to do to get her attention AND get her back on track is to take away her cell phone for a few days. Lo and behold, our sweet daughter returns.

So, while I’m not sad to see her leave on an eight-day adventure to Washington DC and New York City with her eighth grade class, I am keenly aware that this will be the longest separation she’s had from us. And it makes me a little nervous. Will she behave? Will she execute everything she’s been taught about being a good and respectful citizen while not under the constant watch of her parents? This is a true rite of passage and I know, with the incredible itinerary the school staff has planned, she will have the experience of a lifetime.

I can’t help but wonder, however, after 14 years of being her mother, can I stop worrying about flippin’ EVERYTHING for just five minutes?

Mostly, for the next eight days, I’m going to miss Willow’s sense of humor. There’s very little about her that doesn’t brighten my world at least once a day.

Thank God for cell phones.