LOSERS NEVER WIN, NOT EVEN IN HAPPY VALLEY

WE ARE…PENN STATE. OK, ya, ya, ya. I went there and I get the camaraderie. No, not the main campus, but a branch campus that still had that Nittany Lion pride strong and wide. And, of course when all of my friends went onto Happy Valley and I transferred to Temple, I still made trips to see them at PSU. I will never forget my first football game there. It was exciting, overwhelming, and pure fun. Joe Paterno was the king of the hill and treated like a GOD. The crowd was doing the wave and chanting that famous chant, WE…ARE…in a sea of blue and white. These are college memories you never forget.

But, since all of sexual abuse scandal has rocked this state, country, and students at this college, I can’t help but think this is just another act of big business not having morals. Yes, I’m referring to college as big business because that’s exactly what it is. Money first, football second, and education last. Not for everyone, but for the school’s agenda it’s all about the dollar bills.

What I can’t understand is why nobody went to the police. Oh, wait a minute, yes I can. They didn’t go because God forbid they shame the name of PENN STATE. Forget about the lives of the victims, why would they want to lose money for a small percentage of the wounded? Mothers and fathers surely wouldn’t send their children to a university with a tarnished reputation, and one of sexual abuse by mentors, nonetheless. Spare a few so the millions and millions of dollars keep coming.

Pure losers. Life is not a game. It’s for real.

I can just imagine the scene of stuffed shirts in an office talking about Sandusky’s unthinkable acts of sexual abuse.

“If this gets out we are all fired!”

“Our school will fold.”

“We will have no football team and no leverage to bring students here to study.”

“God, I hope they don’t find out that I’m guilty too.”

I’m not poking fun at the severity of this horrible situation. Let me make that MORE THAN CLEAR. I’m writing what I think is truth. I’m sure that someone on the board of trustees had to know about this. One lie covers another and so forth and so on. They are far from innocent as they sit on their mighty throwns.

It’s beyond my comprehension why nobody went to the police with this life altering information. You mean to tell me, that not one person’s morals kicked in and pressured them to report it and follow up on it even further? It sickens my soul.

You can bet if it were Spanier’s, Paterno’s, McQueary’s, or any one of the trustee’s children, something would have been done to stop this monster like behavior. Nobody would be worried about the outcome or their reputations. And, Jerry would have gone straight to jail not just have his key privilege to the locker room revoked.

The thing that gets me about McQueary is that he was such a wimp. He had to call his daddy first? Are you kidding me? He should have beat the “you know what” out of Sandusky. At the very least call 911.

Our country has been making idols of athletes and sports figures for far too long. They make more money than they will ever spend while lots of Americans are struggling to put food on the table and clothes on their backs. They act out like a spoiled child when their new contracts don’t have enough zero’s attached. We give them too much power. It’s pathetic. Real heroes and mentors are taken for granted everyday. They serve their countries, families, schools, and communities without thinking twice or expecting undying admiration from anyone.

JoePa is not a GOD, even though he was treated that way for running a football team forever. I’m not sure why McQueary hasn’t been fired yet, but he’s the eyewitness that did nothing. We could do the blame game all day long, but the biggest issue is that it’s too damn late for the victims. The damage is done and they are forever mentally harmed by people they thought they could trust. People they should have been able to trust.

Happy Valley is not so happy right now. The men in charge have brought shame upon the campus and the country all in the name of money.

Haven’t they ever heard that “It all comes out in the wash?” Children don’t stay little for long.

This entire scandal comes down to the almighty dollar…if you are Penn State, make that millions and millions of dollars.

The King of the Hill has fallen, but he’s not the only one who should take the hit. Every person that sat in that white collar stuffed room and chose to do nothing should get a little Sandusky friendly treatment. An eye for an eye, boys!

Mr. Sandusky will surely have his time to feel the love he has so desperately and apparently been missing.

Sometimes you get exactly what you give. Be careful Jerry, friends are waiting for you, not at Penn State, at the State Penn.

Good luck, when prison guards don’t come to your rescue and mum is the word.

Nick’s Garden of Love

On a recent day trip antiquing in Adamstown, Pennsylvania, I found myself desperate to find my grandparents old home in nearby Elverson. It’s right outside of Reading and for those of you that don’t know, it’s a slower life there in farm country.

I was racking my brain to think of my grandparent’s old address, but it’s been twenty-two years since I have walked on the land and slept in the house. Too many years have gone by.

They had a rancher and lots of land to play. Not to mention a huge lake behind their home to swim, fish, and ice skate on. They had fields of green and corn rows popping up all around them.

My brother and I thought it was pure heaven visiting “The House.” We loved life on those lazy summer days. We stayed for weeks at a time. When day turned to dusk we would run across the busy road they lived on to the tennis courts. They were situated right next to a church…the only two things for miles. I tried to play while my brother tormented the hell out of me. But, it was still fun and most importantly, it was our time together to be young.

One of my favorite things to do while visiting was tending the garden with my grandfather. I can see him now with his overalls on, work boots, a white t-shirt, and cigar hanging out of his mouth. He was probably just chewing on it and singing some random song.

He was a burly, strong man but when he was in his garden he was different. He was proud of this overgrown huge grapefruits, tomatoes, cucumbers, and zucchini’s. He would sit at the dinner table at night and make you try whatever he picked that day.

Sometimes we would fight him, and other times we just tried it to make him happy. Either way he had a smile on his face that beamed from ear to ear.




I called my father and asked him where in the world the house was. All he remembered was that it was on Route 82. I just followed along with the GPS and before long I found it. I immediately recognized the church and the tennis courts.

So, my boyfriend and I pulled over into the church lot and I waved down a man on a tractor cutting the grass. I ran across that busy road like I was ten again. I told him that I was the granddaughter of the people who lived here twenty-two years ago. He was kind and generous to let me reminisce for a while. I asked if a man named Bob still lived next door and he said, “Yes, he’s one house down.” To that I replied, “Then this is not my grandparent’s old house.” We all laughed for a minute and then walked a few feet over to the right house.

I would have never recognized it. Huge Spruce trees lined the front of the home along with all kinds of other greenery. The house was a different color and the garage was bigger. It shocked me. Wow, time changes everything I thought to myself.

I mentioned to this lovely neighbor that they had a red deck and he was delighted to let me know it was still standing.

I slowly walked down the side of this stranger’s lawn that once felt the running, dancing, and skipping soles of my shoes. It looked like a jungle out there but I saw the weathered red deck peeking through the bushes.

I felt overwhelmed. Then, I saw the garden that I loved so much. That big garden that took up the back of the property right before the lake. It was still there! He kept it after all these years. Huge sunflowers were towering above the other crops and I couldn’t believe my eyes.

But, some things were different. The township filled in the shallow end of the lake and grew crops everywhere. You couldn’t see the lake from the backyard anymore. Corn fields replaced memories, and life was different here in Elverson.

More people have moved into the area and the stillness isn’t so still.
As I walked back up the backyard I found a beautiful feather. I crept down to get it and I looked up to say, “Thanks, Poppop.” I just knew in that moment we were both there like old times.

Time changes everything and we lose the ones we love. I guess nothing stays the same.

I was comforted knowing that the church, the tennis courts, and the house were still there for me to come back to from time to time.

But, I was deeply touched and consoled that this stranger who occupies the walls of the home I once loved so much, has kept my poppop’s garden growing. He changed so much about the house but he left that rectangular shaped veggie and fruit plot there to pass time and people.

Ahh, If only who knew how happy he made someone’s grand-daughter twenty –two years later.

Poppop would be proud, I know I was.

The new owner could have filled it in with dirt and grown grass, but instead he spread some more seeds and helped the garden of love continue to grow.

I got into the car and realized that you never can say goodbye to yesterday and why would you if it the past was so good?

One man that I loved so much left his mark in his garden and in our hearts, and a man that I didn’t even know kept the pride and hard work going.

If that’s not part of the circle of life, then I don’t know what is.

BIG MOUTH

I think the title says it all. It’s about me. If you know me…well you already know that. But, if you don’t me just keep reading.

Recently, I guess you could say I have been reflecting about that hole below my nose that doesn’t stop. There have been a few situations where maybe I should have curbed my words, my tone, or just kept my damn opinion to myself. There have even been a few times that I have been told that I just can’t leave well enough alone. I don’t think before I speak, or that I am just too honest.

Burn bridges? Yeah some.

Make enemies? Yeah some.

I’ve got an opinion about everything under the sun…just ask me. Oh wait, you don’t have to because I give it unsolicited. What can I say? It’s part of my incredible charm.

So, I think and I think and think some more and I have finally come up with an answer for my not so guilty conscience.

(Drum Roll Please)

I’m not changing. There’s no need to. And, here’s why…

If I hurt someone I have no problem saying “I’m Sorry.”

There’s a stipulation to the above…You CANNOT try to punish me or make me feel bad if you held in your feelings for YEARS. It’s like shoving your new pup’s nose in his personal present five hours later. Do you really think me or the dog will know what’s going on if you let your anger marinate over time?

If you ask me for my opinion I will certainly give it honestly because you asked…remember?

If you don’t want my two cents and I give it anyway I must feel strongly about the matter at hand.

If I stick my foot in my mouth I will apologize…yet again.

I always try to speak from the heart and not an angry mind. But, I guess either one is legitimate if it’s how I feel in the moment.

AND, last but not least, if I care enough to tell you what’s on my mind, I must care about you.

Now, now, before you go and get ahead of yourselves, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t express myself to random strangers. I just don’t get into serious thought provoking or advice seeking conversations in the freezer section of Acme.

I have an opinion about almost everything and anything because I think too much. Everyone has opinions they just don’t share them. I do. I think sometimes I say what other people wouldn’t dare say in their wildest dreams.

It would be a much better world if we all did. Then, you wouldn’t be wondering if the group over in the corner is laughing at you or talking about you when you walk by. You aren’t paranoid. You probably are the topic of conversation. You know why? People would rather talk about you then be honest with you.

I too will indulge in the occasional gossip, who doesn’t? I do like to hear and talk about the latest greatest in my social world. It’s normal.

And, I really do call it “The Latest Greatest” because, what’s important today will become forgotten history in a week’s time.

I’m impulsive at times. I will give my family credit for this observation. But, I do think before I speak.

Sometimes I blow up. Sometimes I’m very serious. Other times I am joking, sarcastic, or yelling with conviction. But, I promise you the truth.

If you don’t like my opinion or the way I am just tell me. I’m not sure I can change but I am sure I can try to be more sensitive.

Having a big mouth is a good thing. You will never get walked on unless you zip your lip and honestly, how often will that happen? You will always have loyal loving friends because they will respect and value that characteristic that they may have once found rude and obnoxious. And, you will always be able to look yourself in the mirror knowing you haven’t lied to anyone.

I personally appreciate my opinionated strong friends and family. They help me grow and we live in the real world not candy land.

Sugar tastes sweet and it makes you feel good for the moment. It’s just like the lies that everyone tells just to be nice. Then once you digest it you realize its pure poison. And, being the loyal, loving, big mouth that I am…I will never sugar coat anything because I will never poison the ones I love.

A big mouth can cause big problems but only if you are full of big opinions and very little honesty.

“Baseball Blood”

It’s the official start of Baseball season in the USA! America’s favorite national pastime is in full swing. Batter up! Somewhere between love of family and good old American and Italian values comes our crazy love for baseball. It’s a close second to the love of family and on most days higher than our beloved religion. Not God Almighty, but the church. I can’t remember the last time we willingly went to mass on Sunday. But, if Mickey Mantle or Babe Ruth were preaching I’m sure we would have had front pew seats.

My father’s Uncle Carl Furillo played for the Brooklyn Dodgers. You might know him as the “Reading Rifle” Or “The Arm” Or “Skoonj.” He was on the 1955 World Series team with such greats as Pee Wee Reese, Gil Hodges, Jackie Robinson, and Duke Snyder. He was surely one of my father’s heroes and it didn’t hurt his ego that it was his uncle.

My grandfather Nick Furillo played in the minor leagues before he got the call for duty in World War II. Like so many talented men of his generation his dreams got cut short due to the war. He traded in his baseball bat and glove for a rifle and a prayer. Before he left he taught his younger brother, Carl, how to play ball!

On Saturday’s and Sunday’s I was sure to hear Harry Kalas on the tube and see Mike Schmidt on third. Tug McGraw was my favorite and I guess it’s no wonder that his country music singing son, Tim, is my favorite singer. That’s a double hitter of success for you.

Right smack dab in the middle of “It’s outta here!” and “Janine can you come change the channel for me?” was my father lying on the couch enjoying the game. I was the remote and at times the gofer. That’s what little girls with curls were for their adoring father’s in the eighties.

There’s just something about baseball that always brings a smile to my dad’s face. He coached my brother’s baseball teams for years. And, every year I would throw on my helmet and fetch the bats! I loved the boys like every other girl. But, being in the dugout made me a stand out. I was the best they ever had!

My Poppop Nick would come to the field with a cigar dangling from his mouth and throw fast balls and curves like no young kid had ever seen before. The Diamond is where my family loved to be. The men played and the women cheered them on.

Those hot summer days were special to me and my family. So much so, that I have some of my happiest memories when I think about family and baseball. Whenever my dad brings out the baseballs signed by the 1955 World Series Dodgers and Carl Furillo cards I can’t help but feel proud. I had nothing to do with it, but it’s still part of my family history. It’s my name.

Just seeing my dad light up when he coached little league is a highlight in my memory reel. My brother was an excellent player until he got injured and couldn’t play anymore.

To this day the kids I grew up still talk about Mr. Furillo and what a great coach he was to them. To me, he was just my baseball loving dad. And, don’t argue with him because he knows everything about the game. Just ask him.

In 1989 I sat at my grandfather’s funeral. He was only seventy years old. I sat next to Carl, his brother, at the viewing waiting for the long line of admiration, respect, family and friends to end. They were both husky big boned men. They had hands that made the baseballs look like marbles. They were country boys with parents who spoke broken English and came from Naples, Italy. They just wanted to give their kids the American dream. And, what better way then a baseball legend and a brother who taught him the game that he couldn’t play for himself.

Every single time I watch “Field of Dreams” and Kevin Costner is pitching to “Shoeless” Joe Jackson, I can’t help but wonder if that’s the kind of reunion my family will have. Carl died only two weeks after his big brother, Nick. It ignites a surge of emotion in my soul. Baseball isn’t always about winning it’s about the love of the game. Sometimes it’s just about the love of family.

I played baseball with my brother so many times on the grass behind my grandparent’s house between the deck and my Poppop’s garden that I can’t remember how many times he struck me out. Right there in Old Baseballtown we created some more family history. It was our time to dream and my Poppop’s time to teach us.

There’s nothing more American than this dream and nothing more family to me than baseball.

It’s in the ball, the bat, and the blood.

"A Simple Wish"

I sat with my arms folded on the kitchen table. There were crumbs of plenty from the bread we broke and pasta piled high. The fresh mozzarella melted in our mouths. The meal was good, the conversation was interesting, and the company was great. It was a dinner celebration for my Poppop’s 87th birthday.

It was spur of the moment. Getting everyone in the family together is hard. So, I kept it simple and just invited my grandparents. At dinner my Poppop pulled out his own cheese. Yes, his very own Locatelli. Mine wasn’t good enough. He got his from the House of Cheese in South Philly in the Italian Market. Well, one could still call it that, but there are only a few good stores left. Just a little authenticity along the fish, fruit, and Japanese fan filled sidewalks.

He joked that my cheese was not as good. Not as sharp and tasty as his. I laughed and let it go because whatever makes him happy makes me happy. He’s probably right anyway.

We shared stories about my great grandparents. Poppop’s father froze to death out on the family farm. Nobody knew he was out there for a couple of days. He must have hit his head in a bad fall. He was only seventy-five. Nobody should die like that.

“He was strong as an ox.” Poppop said.

“He was a gentle giant.” Nana chimed in.

His mother lived till she was ninety-six. A long life for sure, but beat by her older sister who made it to the ripe old age of one hundred and one.

And, my great grandmother's healthy diet consisted of killing the pigs and draining the blood. You know what she did with that blood? She fried it and ate it.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing, that’s gross!” I shouted!!!!

But, she did. They all did. It was different times. But, they lived long. Who says pork is bad for you?

I think I have some good genes. Here’s for hoping. Oh, and I won’t be eating any blood, or killing any chickens in my backyard.

Dinner served! The plates were hitting the table and the forks were in hand. The family history class would have to resume in a little while.

After Poppop sprinkled on his beloved grated magic, we all sat in silence. That’s a good sign when everyone is eating and not talking. At least for the cook! In this case, that was me. I haven’t been making spaghetti and meatballs for sixty some years like Nana but I did well and got the thumbs up. Mission completed.

After we ate we were onto the desert. Cannoli’s! That put a smile on everyone’s face. Halfway through desert I realized that I forgot a cake and forgot to sing “Happy Birthday” to my lovely guest of honor! I had no time to leave and come back so I rummaged through my kitchen junk drawer and found some candles! Voila! I stuck one in my Poppop’s half eaten cannoli and we sang Happy Birthday in harmony!

“Make a wish, Pop!” I shouted.

“I wish for one more year.” He said.

"You better wish for breaking the family record and hitting 102 because I'm not even close to done with you yet." I declared.

I felt my eyes well up with tears. Here sits the man that always bought me chocolate treats, yelled at me to let up on my lead foot, and poked fun at me (in a loving way) my entire life. And, he’s wishing for just one more year?

While he was wishing…I was praying.

Dark Horse

Somewhere deep in the heart of Chester, Pennsylvania there is a boy that can jump higher, run faster, and shoot from the foul line even better than the great Michael Jordan.

Somewhere deep in the heart of New York, New York there is an iron chef that can set Bobby Flay and his grill on flames.

Somewhere in Italy there’s a master of creation, a young man that wants to be the next Michelangelo. He paints and sculpts from his home and may always remain an unknown.

Somewhere out there a young woman has the voice of an angel that would rival Whitney, Barbara, and Celine. The only microphone she has right now is her ratty old hairbrush.

Somewhere in Los Angeles a fashion designer has sewn the most glamorous red carpet gowns. He puts modern twists on old classics. His next project is sketched and thrown away because he never made it to Project Runway.

Somewhere deep in Summit, New Jersey a young girl practices her craft in the mirror. She memorizes and recites her lines beautifully. She’s almost as captivating and creative as her idol, Meryl Streep.

Somewhere in the heart of Kentucky a man is racing against time and himself. He’s lightning fast like Carl Lewis.

Somewhere deep in the mind of a writer a young woman sits and types the next best selling book. She’s an eloquent story teller. She believes, prays, and hopes to be as inspiring as Elizabeth Gilbert.

Somewhere out there and deep in the heart of every city, town, and village a prodigy is born.

Somewhere out there the little unknowns of the world emerge with prominence.

“Soldier On”

Hallmark Hall of Fame movies make my heart melt every single time. The announcement of my night wrapped in a blanket crying and tissues next to me goes something like this.

My phone rings and it’s my mother on the line.

“There’s gonna be a good Hallmark movie on tonight. It’s gonna be a tear jerker.” My mom informs me.

“Oh yeah, why?” I ask her (as if they all don’t make me cry like a baby).

“It’s the story of a woman who waits at the train station every Valentine’s Day for the past sixty-five years waiting for her husband to return from World War II, but he never comes home.”

So, a few hours later I turn on the TV to watch what I know will turn out sad, happy, and totally thought provoking. It never fails.

Hallmark delivered again. “The Lost Valentine” was wonderfully done and the acting by the eighty-nine year old Betty White was inspiring.

This love story centered on World War II made me think of our heroes and our service men and women of today. Do we show enough respect for our soldiers? I am not so sure we do. I can only speak for myself, but I can personally do better.

I am a diligent person by nature. Every night I say my prayers and in them I pray for the soldiers at war and hope they are safe. I donate, drop money in boxes with slots, and I hand out dollars to the homeless holding up signs that read, “Former US Vet.” Maybe I’m a sucker, but I do it anyway.

I’m the daughter and grand-daughter of war veterans. I certainly respect anyone that serves our beautiful country. But, it saddens me that I don’t see more active support. Men and women are coming home with physical and mental wounds. Some are damaged for life. Many are protesting that the government doesn’t pay them enough or help them after they return from war.

Some soldiers are held captive by the demons that attack their minds and find there way into their lives, yet the government can’t help free our former heroes from this horror. All too often this is a battle they must fight alone.

The fight doesn’t end just because they come home.

It’s not just about the war and the efforts that are or aren’t being put into motion for the soldiers, it’s about brotherhood. Have we lost it?

As a country I feel like we only come together when there’s devastating loss, tragedy, or for Super Bowl Sunday. This is clearly not good enough.

Two weeks ago I was coming home from a fun filled vacation. While I was in the airport US soldiers were being happily greeted by their loving family members. Nobody around me could muster up the words, “Thank You.”

I went up to the young man and looked him right in the eyes and said with heartfelt appreciation, “Welcome home and thanks for all you do.”

It’s the least I could do. But, clearly on that night I was the only stranger wearing my red, white, and blue heart on my sleeve.

“United we stand, divided we fall…” feels more like divided we stand, divided we fall, united we screw up our brotherly bond.

The compassion to help mankind comes from within and starts at home. Don’t be afraid to get involved in the lives of others. Be afraid to NOT make a difference.

Let’s pitch in and give to the men and women that serve for our rights. Let’s start with each other. Simple tasks will make bold statements and maybe, just maybe, we can all serve our country in some way, without leaving it all on the shoulders and minds of soldiers in uniform.

First, we must serve each other. And, in the words of President Obama, “We can do better!”

“Coming to America”

The other night I was driving home from seeing my eighty-nine year old grandmother in the hospital. On the way home I could sense my father’s concern about his mother. You only get one and if you get a good one, you are lucky. He loves her whole heartedly. On this night we all realized that life is fragile and precious. Memories make a life. So, we talked about the years gone by.

As we drove home my parents started reminiscing about the “Good Ole Days.” As I sat there with my boyfriend in the backseat listening I couldn’t help but smile. They were like two young sweethearts gushing about a time in their lives that meant so much to them. I learned some very admirable things about my family.

My father, the storyteller, was going a mile a minute but one story just blew me away. So, naturally, I have to share it because it makes me proud to come from the family that I do. I’ve got good genes and I am never going to shame the family or the name.

My great grandparents, Felipe and Alessandra, came to America by way of boat. If you watched the Titanic, it was much like that, they were below deck and it was a long journey to the “Promise Land.” They had two little babies with them on the ship and they had only eight dollars to their name. That’s not a typo, again, only eight dollars could be found in Felipe’s pocket. But, it didn’t matter to them because they were leaving behind Italy for brighter, bigger things and the promise of a better tomorrow.

My great grandparents were tiny people. They were four foot nine and four foot ten. They were not grand in stature, but they were grand in heart. To leave the only life you have ever known and take a risk in America is admirable to say the least. They also had two baby boys and their futures in their hands.

“What did he do when he got here?” I asked my father. To this his famous response, “He worked hard like everyone should.” Indeed he did. Felipe, worked on the railroads when he got here. He hammered away on the tracks day after day never complaining about the hard physical labor. He was a real man and wanted nothing for free. He only wanted what he deserved after a long hard day’s work- his pay.

Why complain about it? He was living the life he only once dreamed about as a child in Italy. They went on to have five more children and keep a happy home. We often here that life was simpler back then, but not really. Every generation faces their challenges and having only eight dollars to start out with in a new country with nothing promised to you other than your individual courage can’t be easy or simpler.

I like to think my ancestors had the heart of a lion and the eye of the tiger. They left behind loved ones like so many other Europeans did back then. They weren’t welcomed with open arms all the time. Being Italian was not good enough for some people. They got called ethnic slurs and endured ridicule, but they survived. They made it. They had no choice and they wouldn’t back down despite the odds stacked against them.

Felipe and Alessandra made it to their America. They made it for themselves and their children, but they made it for my parents and me. They made it for the entire family. They took the first big step and for that I am eternally grateful and my respect is immense.

Now, in 2011 one of their last two children is laying in a hospital bed…my mommom. She just got a pacemaker for her heart and she’s going to need some therapy, but she’s going to be just fine. In four months she turns ninety years old. She’s a fighter because she comes from the “Little People” with big hearts and brave souls.

My great grandparents are watching from somewhere. Maybe they are sitting next to my mommom in the hospital right now tending to her needs. They are no doubt with her in spirit and memory all the days of her blessed life.

I hope when they look at the family from up above they say to each other, “Look where only eight dollars, a prayer, and a promise got us.”

When I think about my lineage I’m proud of the people. I’d say without question my great grandparents helped give us a better life and the promise of a brighter tomorrow. But, most importantly, they gave us family…and a great one that I love unconditionally.

“Somewhere Out There”

Las Vegas was officially checked off my list of places to see. Now, I was headed to Sedona, Arizona for some spiritual healing and beautiful natural surroundings. My very good friend, Stacy, recommended this part of the trip. It’s one of her favorite places and she is a well rounded traveler. How could I resist?

Well, “Next” was something to see. It wasn’t a large area of square footage with loud patterned floors, clouds of smoke, and no clocks to be found. There were no Mexicans handing out cards with every different prostitute for every different price. No big fake breasts and no flashy neon lights. It was different…to say the least. I was in a place I only saw in old Western movies. I was in a place that quite frankly I didn’t know still existed in America.

Somewhere on the way to the Grand Canyon Skywalk my boyfriend and I ended up in Dolan Springs, Arizona. A long, dirt road lead us to a serious time warp. You could see cacti as far as the eye could see and every now and then you would catch a glimpse of some human life.

Then, with great surprise we saw a few trailers (that look a thousand years old) and a few little stores. I noticed the pink church that was the size of a South Philadelphia row home’s first floor appropriately named, Our Lady of the Desert. I saw a few modern day thugs walking on this lonely road. But, the tumbleweed is what made me roar uncontrollably! “We aren’t in Kansas anymore!” I told my honey as he drove the car with his jaw to floor.

As we laughed and mocked this one road town of maybe twenty people, I saw the flashing lights go off. The one and only cop in Dolan Springs was pulling us over. Yes, that’s right, Oscar, the officer on day shift nabbed my man for speeding. As the burly man approached our vehicle I had to fight back my laughter and keep a straight face. My boyfriend was certain the sirens weren’t for him until I screamed with great force and energy to pull over before we get killed out here in the desert. “I’m sure they don’t love city slickers like us!!!!”

In the deepest voice with dust kicking up from his heels you could hear, “Son, you know why I stopped you?” In all seriousness we didn’t have a clue what we did wrong. “No, Sir.” The seconds seemed like an eternity. “Well, here we don’t speed and you were doing forty-five in a twenty-five.”

To this my sweetheart of a boyfriend could only apologize and make Oscar feel respected. But, to this…I could only ask in my nicest voice, “Could you please give us a warning, Sir? We lost all of our money in Vegas and we are now headed to the Skywalk.” I was sure I got us off the hook and maybe even a little chuckle from “Oscar the Grouch.”

As we waited for the town’s Robocop to run the license and tags we sat there trying not to laugh at the hilarious scene we found ourselves in. He came back and to our surprise he let us go. “I’m gonna give you a warning this time, not because you lost your money in Vegas, but because my shift ends in ten minutes and I don’t feel like doing the work. And, by the way slow down it’s free range on these roads. Cattle and wild horses run free and they have the rights here. They should have told you to stay out of Vegas in Philadelphia.”

We drove off, again laughing. I was slightly annoyed that Mike only got
a warning and that I always get a ticket no matter the circumstance. I found it funnier that he was going to give us a warning “THIS” time as if we will ever be back in Dolan Springs in our lives. But, it wasn’t funny when we got to the top of the Grand Canyon Skywalk and it had just closed. The joke was on us.

The long dirt road that led us to the top was one of the scariest drives I have ever been on. Since I am the control freak I wanted no parts of this insanity once the sun went down. I saw teepees and skulls on the side of the road. They could have been big rocks but I know I saw a skull. There were wild animals, Indians, and magnificent mountains. All that was missing was good old John Wayne. I needed some cowboys. I wasn’t feeling too safe.

On our way back down the mountain after a very mild mannered American Indian man turned down my monetary bribes to take us to the Skywalk, the sun starting setting. And, my fear kicked into high gear. We also saw a car full of young Asian women lose control of their car and do a one-eighty just missing the cliff’s edge. That was enough for me. I wanted out of the sacred canyon and into civilization as we know it.

Down the dirt road and a few more turns and we were smooth sailing on flat land. I was never so happy to see fields of green. For an hour and a half we were the only car in sight. Good thing we got gas and already ate. There was no cell phone reception and no lights in the distance. The only life was us and the cattle roaming around.

We were on our way to Flagstaff, Arizona and the night was pitch black. The stars were so bright and beautiful. I was feeling a little unnerved and out of control. Our compass was our GPS. I was hoping it didn’t fail us now. We made it through that and we finally stopped off for some goodies on Route 66.

Route 66 only existed to me as a Kmart clothing line since I was little. We stopped off at a gas station; a Chevron to be exact. It was a ghost town. A few dilapidated trailers and tiny homes lined the road. We were greeted by an old woman stuck in the 1950’s with her crooked beehive and some serious make-up. It felt like we were “The Outsiders” and everyone was staring at us city folk. We asked if we were on track to Sedona and the woman reassured us that we were and that Sedona was another world, one can only hope I thought to myself.

We left Route 66 a little scared and called our parents to let them know we were still alive and well on our short, but strange road trip. We were finally twenty minutes from Sedona driving down 89A a well known scary road to the locals. We drove through forests and then we were on switchback, mountain roads with 6000 feet drop offs. Did I mention they had no guard rails? I thought the dirt road to the Skywalk was scary, well, I was wrong. I had my first official panic attack.

I was the passenger on this frightful journey. Did I mention I was a control freak? I was trembling with fear. I kept seeing signs that read, “Donate to Ropes that Save Lives.” That was not soothing my soul. I was actually weak in the knees, and white knuckled gripping the cross around my neck. I’ve always been close to God, but I called on him more than a few times on that drive. I was certain I wasn’t making it to Sedona alive.

We made it alive…but freaked out. On our way to the hotel we got lost because that too was hidden behind mountains. We sadly saw a dog get killed by a driver that didn’t stop. If that’s not a bad omen, what is? I was sick to my stomach for quite some time. I wanted to hightail it out of this place. My vibes were wrong…all wrong. But, we made it to the hotel because we didn’t have too many other options at this point.

The Inn keeper was definitely high on life, actually weed. She suggested that she never drives the road we came in on and that no locals never really do either. It’s way too dangerous. Yeah, I found out. Good to know now that I braved it and was scared to leave Sedona. “Is that the only way out to Phoenix?” I anxiously asked our motorcycle mama Inn Keeper. She showed us another route. I could now officially breathe again.

We went to the one and only diner that was Alien themed and weird…The Red Planet Diner. UFO sightings happen in Sedona and this diner was very proud of it. One man said, “I swear they have someone waving a flashlight and taking your money.” It was interesting to say the least. The town closes down at eight. “Slowdona” goes to bed early.

We decided that it was a bad day and we would take Slowdona’s lead and hit the sack too. From neon lights in Vegas to UFO’s and aliens. It’s safe to say we were Somewhere Out There.

Our journey ended at the New Age Psychic Center. Getting your fortune told and cards read are what you do for fun in this town. It’s a spiritual healing vortex. I figured someone might truly have some psychic ability. So, I paid my forty dollars for twenty minutes and got asked questions instead of being told my fate. When in Rome do what the “Crystal Crunchers” do.

Sedona is beautiful. It’s spiritual because if you don’t believe in a higher being after seeing natural beauty like this, you never will. It’s hard to explain unless you feel it for yourself.

America the Beautiful is one big place. You never know where four wheels and some courage will take you. And, I’m happy to report that places with a population of twenty people still exist. There’s land as far as the eye can see and then some. Mountains and valleys and rivers and oceans are plentiful. Nature sure is nurturing and we don’t always see God’s artwork like this.

Simplicity is a beautiful thing. And, I promise simple is what you will find “Somewhere Out There.”

Happy Birthday, Vegas Style

My suitcase was packed and ready to go. All three, actually. I was going on a trip to Sin City then headed to Sedona, Arizona. I needed to be prepared for crazy nightlife and wild extravaganzas that happen only in Vegas. If that were not enough I needed the appropriate attire for walking, hiking, and relaxing with the Red Rock scenery. A girl has to be ready for any occasion.

I got to Vegas and instantly I felt a little let down. It is January and it was a Monday but still, it wasn’t packed with people. Maybe it was the long flight and time change, but the action was lacking. I could get this in Atlantic City anytime.

I decided to give it a chance. Caesar’s hotel and Casino was marvelous. We certainly got a room with a killer view and it was paid for already. Compliments of Caesar’s since my parents like to spend their money there…often. I also got free Cher tickets. Happy Birthday to me! Let the festivities begin.

Now, before I go any further let me tell you how much I love Cher. I think she is the epitome of cool. Other than the real people I know and love that rank right up there. She has an “I don’t Care” attitude and a badass demeanor. She’s been going strong for forty-six years in showbiz. Give her credit whether you like her or not.

I see and meet a ton of celebrities at my job, but Cher, I would die. I would kiss the tattoo on her ass. I’m just saying. And, I was seeing her in Las Vegas. I’ve seen her before and she rocked it out in Atlantic City on New Year’s 2000. This was going to be one of my happiest birthdays yet.

We got settled and hit up every casino we possibly could before dinner. We walked the strip and took pictures like happy tourists. The neon lights were bright and beautiful. A little cheesy at times, but hey, it’s Vegas. I felt like I was in a Disney World for grown ups. I must admit my first day I would have rather been hanging out with Mickey. I know, I know.

That night we went out to dinner, gambled a little and could barely drag our behinds back to the room. Who sleeps in Vegas? We tried. I had a beautiful view of the Eiffel Tower. The bed was fit for a king and his queen. But, again, who sleeps in the city that stays up all night?

The next day I was psyched for Cher and her last shows. I mean she’s retired before, but this time might really be it. She’s sixty-four years old and still packing the house. We walked around all day and ate at Emeril’s in the Venetian. We took a gondola ride in the hotel since I missed that on my real trip to Venice. We ate gelato and window shopped at some of the most expensive stores around. The time was coming. Cher was waiting for me, I could feel it.

It was here. I put on my sexiest black dress, my over the knee knockout boots, lined the eyes, and glossed the lips. If I had a headdress made by Bob Mackie I would have worn that too. I see him at QVC all the time I should have asked for one. Talk about missed opportunities.

I was “Cher” ready. It was a sold out show. She came out and my eyes were glued to the stage. She looked amazing. Yeah, she gets plastic surgery (not a huge fan) but she admits it and doesn’t act like her skin is smooth like butter with no help. She’s gritty and down to earth. She has earned her spot in Hollywood and defends it well. Her body is still slamming and she skipped across stage like a twenty year old.

She wore outfits from her days of “The Sonny and Cher Show”, and yes, she wore her famous headdresses, all bright and beautiful. She got into her original costumes from the 1960’s and if that ain’t remarkable…what is?

She spoke to the crowd and was effortlessly cool. “I know what you guys are thinking right now. You told your wives and girlfriends that I will bring you to see the old naked bitch to shut you up then I’m gambling all night…don’t bother me.” The crowd roared with laughter. She was on the money. Most men probably did think that she was an old bitch, until she turned around and showed off her self declared “cute ass.”

That a girl! I love you, Cher! She opened with “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” To this song I ask, has anyone? It was perfect. She changed her outfit for every song. It was a little annoying for me, the biggest Cher fan, but I still loved the show. She’s in her sixties; I’ll give her a break. A minute to catch her breath is the least I could do.

She ended with “If I Could Turn Back Time” and the crowd danced and sang along. You could feel the energy building. If I could turn back time I might have done a few things differently. We all might. That’s just life. But, at this time, in this moment I was pretty damn happy. I was ringing in my thirty-fourth birthday in style. Vegas style; celebrating with Cher and my honey.

Thirty years from now I can say I saw Cher’s show in Vegas. I will remember the feeling of being young and excited. I will sit back and tell my stories. I’ll talk about the drive-in at the Little White Chapel, the Rat Pack impersonators in Old Vegas at the Golden Nugget, and the light from the Luxor that can be seen in outter space.

We had a taxi driver that was a run down wiped out comedian. But, he sure gave us a good laugh while we drove around town and he stopped everywhere to take some pictures for us. He wanted a good tip and he got one. He kept telling us to say, “Sex” instead of “Smile.” That would make anyone flash a big grin!

I can say that I went to a topless show, Crazy Horse at MGM, where all the women are the same height and have the same sized everything. I can say that I had delicious die for fun. I stopped by the Playboy club and some unmentionables. I can’t tell you everything I did. But, I got a little crazy and let the control go a little bit. Just a little.

I danced to the 60, 000 sprinklers outside the Belagio. I won a little money and lost a little. I had a frrrozen Hot Chocolate from Serendipity. My all time favorite New York City spot…now in Vegas of course.

Day one: not super impressed.

Day two: way better, Cher got the party started.

Birthday on day three: Vegas style all the way.

I didn’t want to leave Sin City. I finally woke up the last day of the trip and was ready for more. I found the hottest spots for me and had fun. I wasn’t ready to bid adieu to Vegas.

I saw a legend, partied where legends partied, and became a legend, even if it was only in my mind.

This town is full of Gypsy’s, Tramps, and Thieves. Be careful you don’t become one of the above on your trip. Pack some self control in that suitcase if you know what’s good for you.

I gotta tell you, I never knew the desert could be so juicy.