What an awful bit of avian irony. I filled the bird feeder attached to the window in the den and, as usual, it took about ten seconds for the first of the birds in the yard to land on it and start to peck away at the seeds in the feeder. In the colder months, when the natural food sources are scarce, they patiently wait on a snow covered globe of an evergreen bush for a turn at perching on the feeder for some sustenance. Today, I fill the feeder, hang it on the window and take my paper and cup of tea out to the back porch where I listen to the birds in the morning fly and call to each other in the tall trees that loom over the yard and some birds fly down and land on the edge of the pool as if it is one giant bird bath.
I sort through the pages of the newspaper preparing to read the utterly depressing updates of the damage caused by the hemorrhaging oil rig in the waters off the shores of the gulf coast as the morning sun begins to warm the wooden planks of the deck. I've been reading the tragic results of the spill on the innocent sea creatures and it makes you feel angry and hopeless all at once that something like this could happen and on such a grand scale.
But today the front page news includes some flocks of birds closer to home in the form of wildlife that peacefully coexist with the hum of city life. Canadian geese and their tiny offspring had become a familiar sight to the visitors and park rangers of Prospect Park and when one of the birds was discovered to have an arrow that had pierced its neck the rangers did what they could to help the bird. But as of a hot Thursday in July recently nearly all four hundred of the geese were gone. A group of wildlife biologists had swooped in and crated the geese and taken them to a neighborhood building to be gassed with lethal amounts of carbon dioxide.
Since that fateful day in January of last year that a group of geese flew into the engines of flight 1549 there have been efforts made to thin the population of geese in the areas surrounding the major metropolitan airports although the Smithsonian confirmed that the remains of those geese were not "residential" birds from the area as the Prospect Park birds were. The timing of the round up was intentionally timed to coincide with when the geese are molting and as a result can't fly. You would think that wildlife biologists could come up with a better plan. The pictures from the gulf coast are of technicians in lab coats and hair nets hand washing birds laden with oil on their feathers and morning visitors to a Brooklyn park discover flocks of birds that have become a familiar sight have vanished and wiry plastic zip ties lie beside a pile of fluffy gosling feathers?
British Petroleum has finally put a cap on the flow of oil into the water and yet it seems a Pyrrhic victory at best. It sort of feels like the man who screwed up in an astounding way who sends you a colossal spray of flowers to apologize. The flowers put you on better ground but the focus is on everything you do from now on.

Day 60. It has become an ominous tally of days since a reckless British Petroleum oil rig started to spew gallon after gallon of oil into the open sea. The world got to meet a company executive in the form of Tony Hayward, a man in charge of so much, and if he is to be believed, a man aware of so little of his corporate information and their procedures. It was a stroke of unfortunate timing that the makers of Dawn, the dishwashing liquid, had run a series of advertisements for Earth Day showing oil slicked animals being washed in tubs of water with their wings and legs covered in soapy bubbles and bottles of Dove on the tables before them. Now British Petroleum has brought us the worst oil spill to date harming defenseless animals and reaking havoc on ecosystems far into the future. The makers of Dawn are sending thousands of bottles on a daily basis to help in the rescue and clean up efforts. The estimate is that the workers cleaning the animals that come in to the rescue centers use a bottle of cleaning liquid for each gallon of water and as many as three bottles are used to clean one pelican.

Tony "I Want My Life Back Hayward" is in desperate need of some better Public Relations people or a somewhat capable acting coach to teach him how to put in a valiant effort to at least feign sympathy and contrition. Somehow this man's prickly attitude conveys that he doesn't fully comprehend or care that he is at the helm of one of the greatest assaults on the environment. As one columnist pointed out where is Al Gore in the midst of all this? Some people just don't get the fact that in giving a smug answer to a question they inevitably shine the light on themselves even brighter as in Mr. Hayward's defense as to why he wasn't aware of the dangers and concern with this drill off the coast of New Orleans, a place so close to being able to see progress come full circle after Hurricane Katrina. Tony Hayward's flippant answer was they he is in charge of overseeing many of these rigs in an effort to paint a portrait of himself as a distracted and overwhelmed corporate executive. "With respect sir," Mr. Hayward said "We drill hundreds of wells around the world." A Texas Representative, Michael C. Burgess, who was conducting the line of questioning pointedly shot back with "That's what's scaring me now."

Attorney General Richard Blumenthal of Connecticut and Andrew Wheeler. Two guys who won't be working as fact checkers any time soon. One aligns himself with veterans of war without ever having been a part of any military action and one duped the most prestigious education institutions in the country with phony credentials and plagiarized letters. Richard Blumenthal has been in politics for many years, fabricated war status and all, but the theory is that it is only when he stepped up to run for a national senate seat that the light was more focused on him and his claims of being mistreated by his fellow Americans when returning home as a veteran is a heart wrenching story he has shared with crowds. Andrew Wheeler had his imagined academic career mapped out to include top tier schools and a 'life of deception' according to one newspaper and a transcript with egregious inaccuracies.

In his teachings Thomas Aquinas presented the philosophy that a lie is something that is a purposefully stated untruth making the intention behind the lie more offensive than the wrongful statement. The prevarications of these two men in their respectful situations are very much the same and yet all together different in their overall scenarios.

Did Blumenthal think he would never be questioned about his distorted perceptions he put forth as a veteran? Of course he would be taken to task by the press. It has forever been the relation ship of the press and politicians to operate on the assumption that most politicians are not telling the whole truth. It is the topic of every late night talk show host and their nightly monologues sometimes giving writers the task of simply getting it down on paper and transferred to cue cards as is. People have claimed to be a part of groups of which they were not members, privy to conversations with people they haven't met and earned degrees or awards that they had not received. Whatever side of the aisle you are on most people would most likely think that claiming to be a part you never served in as pretty reprehensible. Perhaps that was the idea that Blumenthal was counting on to try and weave this patriotic tale on the campaign trail.

That belief is how Andrew Wheeler got as far as he did with his armful of creative credentials. An ivy league school is operating on the belief system that if you state that you are a straight A student from MIT that you are in fact that impressive student. This was one of the flags that were raised in the unraveling of his imaginary academic career. Even someone as duplicitous as Wheeler missed the fact that MIT does not give letter grades for the first semester of freshmen year as he had taken credit for. A representative from Harvard's admission office explained that they are not in the frame of mind of trying to disprove the impressive achievements of their applicants. In wheeler's case he took advantage of that theory not to pad a resume but to become a straight A transfer student from MIT instead of the Maine college student he actually was.

In Wheeler's case what he did will surely catch the eye of a Gordon Gecko somewhere and probably end up with a more lucrative career than some of the Harvard graduates who would have been a part of his fictional graduation class. Don't just dream. Dream big. Don't lie. Lie big.

When I was considering adopting a dog I was amazed at how many people suggested that I could always give the animal back to the shelter if the situation did not work out . Really? What kind of a half-hearted commitment is that? What is your measure of success or failure?

It makes you wonder what an American woman, who adopted a seven year old boy from Russia, was thinking (or not thinking) when she put him on a flight back to Russia alone with a note pinned to his sweater. He had been in her home for a total of four days. We will never know what her "that's it, he's going back" moment was and it doesn't matter. The damage to the soul of this child has been done.

The media kept referring to this woman as a 'mother.' Would she have been able to return a baby she had given birth to because she found the situation to be just too overwhelming? There isn't a more selfless job than being a mother. Mothers are exhausted with newborn babies because of a lack of sleep as well as taking care of a helpless baby who is completely dependant on her for every physical need. As the child gets older a mother is there to guide you through the journey of learning to walk and talk and read and provide the kisses and hugs that allow a child to gain independence and a feeling of confidence.

In this instance the woman said that the Russian adoption agency had failed to disclose the emotional problems that the boy arrived with. She knew that this boy had been taken away from his biological mother because of her struggles with alcohol and was being adopted at the tender age of seven. How much more information do you need to determine that this was going to be a challenge at the very least? What is worse? The fact that she broke the agreement after a mere four days or that she sent him back on a plane all alone? She did what was best for her and not the well being of a child. The only good thing she did was to show that she was not 'mother material' as soon as she did. It is an insult to mothers everywhere that the media kept referring to her as the 'mother' who returned her adopted son to the orphanage that he came from. A mother put the needs of her child in front of everything else.

What kind of work do you put into a commitment if you have an escape clause of any kind? The motto of NASA is one of relentless determination. The words of inspiration between mission control to Apollo 13 are words of advice that everyone should heed when entering into what seems like a daunting task. "Failure is not an option."

Everyone has their inner clock for the passing of time. The beginning of a new calendar year, the September back to school rush or a birthday. Mine is rooted, literally, outside the bedroom window. It is around the third week of March that the bare limbs of the magnolia tree start to wink little slivers of cotton candy pink from the heavy buds that have carried the weight of winter snow and frost. Someone who was my introduction to gardening and the strength of perennials once commented when I was talking about what I would do differently for the next growing season. "It's in your soul now," she said. "People who really love their gardens in their souls are always looking ahead at ways to improve or plan differently." March is the month of seed and garden catalogues, trays and garden magazines and it feels like a new beginning every year.

When we moved into our house on an unseasonably warm day in November ten years ago a friend of mine stopped by with her three small children. One of her boys had the classic Elmer Fudd 'r'and pointed up at the magnolia which had dropped most of its leaves by then and said "I have one of those 'twees.' They are 'pwetty twees' but they are 'vewy, vewy' messy!" He sure knew what he was talking about. I love the magnolia but each season, aside from winter, has a different clean up assignment that comes with the changing season. There are enormous leaves that drop, candle shaped parts of the flower pod that bounce off the car and eventually all the delicate pink pedals will come down, leaving the tree bare once more, before the leaves fill in.

For a stretch of about two weeks the magnolia tree will start its journey from its winter rest with what seem like tiny pink light bulbs that get a bit brighter every day. The buds are all out of their protective cocoons now and the timing of warm weather arriving in the next few days will be the perfect combination for the perfume of the magnolia's flowers to fill the yard. The magnolia flowers mingle with the intoxicating scent of the hyacinths that sprout at the tree's roots along with daffodils and later the tulips. When the tree drops its leaves in the fall it feels like the awning that we ate outdoor candlelit meals under has been retracted for the season revealing the bird nests that were hidden among the tallest branches. That is the time we retreat indoors and on those chilly days when it feels like spring will never arrive the first bit of pink in the buds of the magnolia tree says it is indeed on the way.

There is something so restorative about this time of year. The first garden growth of the season emerge from the crown of plants and the delicate snowdrops dangling buds on arching stems signal the first signs of spring. It is the time of year to see signs of life start to burst forth in the buds of flowering trees and tiny clusters of leaves that appear on rose bushes that looked winter weary just a short time ago. The resilliance of perennials never fail to make amaze any gardener at their ability to come back to life, year after year, after a winter slumber.

March is the annual riddle of 'in like a lion and out like a lamb' that moves us forward to longer days of warm sunshine and outdoor activity. The reference of lion and lamb describes the beginning and the end of the month of March and the dance of weather patterns that it offers to tease and madden all of us who are ready to shake off the last signs of the winter season.

This month we got a drastic swing in weather systems in a few week's time. Winter's last wallop of a snowstorm had the neighborhood humming with snow blowers the first blustery week end of the month and the sound of leaf blowers and scraping rakes for spring clean up the next. Within a week we went from drying out our damp gloves, hats and scarves on the radiators to working in the yard without jackets.

It turns out the March weather surprises weren't satisfied with the juxtaposition of two back to back opposing weather scenarios. We are at the midway mark on the calendar and there has been a snowstorm, followed by a fling with spring and then a storm that Dorothy Gale and Toto would have taken pause. Howling winds shook the trees and tossed trash cans around the streets while the sky took on an eerie glow and the relentless rain pounded the streets creating lakes at intersections and swallowing small cars who dared to pass. Sirens wailed as fire engines went from one downed tree to the next blocking off streets with streamers of yellow caution tape. Huge trees that had stood for years in yards and parks were ripped from their bases taking squares of cement up with the roots. In a few hours massive trees were laying across lawns or tangled in power cords that left neighborhoods in darkness.

The strength of winds that rattle your windows with such force reminds you just how powerful nature's forces can be. The day after the sixty mile hour winds blew through the streets were littered with broken limbs of trees and mangled umbrellas turned inside out. A Brooklyn parish lost their pine tree that is decorated each holiday season for Christmas. The tree was planted thirty years ago to protect the church's stained glass windows from the footballs the kids like to toss around on the lawn. Here today, gone tomorrow. No amount of 'reality' tv could put on such a spectacle.

For the second time in a month we have had an honest to goodness can't-get-the-back-door-open-because-of-the-snow-drifts blizzard. We haven't had many significant snowfalls the past few years so it was a reminder of what winter weather can do that we had two major storms that dumped snow within a few weeks of each other making February a busy month of clean up. Recently, a school age boy offered his perspective of the winter season before the first big storm roared in and closed the schools. At that time he pointed out that we had only had what he decreed as 'week-end snow.' 'Week-end snow' does not bring the magical day reprieve of all duties related to reading, writing and arithmetic so therefore it shouldn't bother to blow through at all according to this second grade meteorologist. As long as I don't need to be anywhere I like a good snowfall as it slowly transforms the landscape outside. Sometimes, it is just the restorative break that you didn't know you needed so much until you got it.

The mountains of snow also provided the perfect backdrop for the Winter Olympics. I can't sit back and relax and watch Olympic athletes on display in their respective sports. It makes me very tense knowing how much time and dedication comes down to a fraction of a second or the slightest wobble of a missed step. I know that is the very essence of the Olympic intensity but it simply rattles me too much to be entertaining. There are always tales of insurmountable obstacles that have been overcome and heartbreaking near misses that stun the athlete and the supporters in the crowd. The images of skiers crashing into banks of snow or the figure skater who lands a jump seated on the ice. How do you shake that off? The thought of carrying that through the years after all the dedication and work that was invested is numbing.

At the Calgary Olympics in 1998 Gerard Kemkers, a speed skater in the 10,000 meter race, fell on the fifth lap of his race and his time of twelve minutes 54.50 seconds was stricken from the records. A South Korean whose time was 12:58.55 was awarded the Gold medal earning him an Olympic record, a Russian who trailed Kremkers by 7.57 seconds got the silver and a fellow countryman took home the Bronze. Last week, Kemkers, who now coaches a Dutch skater who has dominated the sport since the 2006 Olympics, Sven Kramer, mistakenly yelled for Kramer to take the inside lane which ended with Kramer being disqualified from the race. The mistake was made in an instant and Gerard Kemkers had to deliver the news during Kramer's cool down lap, unaware that his coach had made such an error. Now, Kemkers has two bungled Olympic mishaps to haunt him. One that happened to him and one he was the cause of for someone else. I felt bad enough for Kemkers, the coach, as his mistake came to light, only to find out about his own personal speed skating Waterloo back in Calgary. I wish I had never heard about that now.

"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth."
Holden Caulfield's opening statement in J.D. Salinger's Catcher in the Rye. I can vividly recall the chair I was sitting in when I started to read these words. There is nothing better than being gripped by something you start to read that you instinctively know that you are going to get lost in.
Much of what was written about J.D. Salinger in his lifetime referred to him as a 'recluse' when, in fact, he was leading a simple life in a quiet town on the Connecticut River. Perhaps, in an effort to explain why anyone at the peak of his career would do something as unthinkable as to walk away from it all, his story wrote itself for those who didn't understand. Obviously he liked his neighbors and the town of Corshing's residents as they treated him like a person and not a literary icon who lived in their midst. It wasn't a conspiracy of any sort that his neighbors not only respected his privacy but helped protect it when strangers inquired about where his residence was from the proprietor of the local general store. The story goes that the ruder the request of the nosy stranger the more inaccurate the details provided were. In this self confessional world we live in, with the infamous '15 minutes of fame' that seems to have stretched to at least an hour now, it is a testament to the residents of Corshing that they still have not revealed anything more about Salinger after his death. He was allowed to live his corduroy pants and sweater existence in a town he was fond of and attend church suppers just like anyone else. He was the guy who got his paper every day at the general store, had a favorite diner where he liked to eat his lunch alone and he was the guy who scribbled in his notebook and sat at the end of the table where they kept the pies at the church suppers.
Holden Caulfield, Salinger's protagonist in The Catcher in the Rye, longed to find a 'quiet and peaceful place.' It seems that Salinger was able to do just that. He wasn't the mysterious figure in the window that some made him out to be but the man who wanted his privacy. Being alone doesn't necessarily mean lonely. He tipped the children serving at the church suppers and said yes to neighborhood children who wanted to use his hill for an adventurous trip on a sled on a snowy day. It seems that there was a mutual respect between Salinger and his neighbors and not some contractual binding agreement that demanded their loyalty to his wishes. In this day of eroding respect for others this town is an example of the human spirit of common courtesy and decency. We could all take a page from their book. The letters of correspondence between J.D. Salinger and a friend are being reviewed and disected and one has to wonder why the friend parted with them. There is some speculation that it is perhaps due to Salinger not sending him an autographed copy of Catcher in the Rye. In the letter he offers the explanation "Most stuff that is genuine is better left unsaid."

Man's best friend. That is until he barks in a New York city apartment. The same week that the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Adm. Mike Mullen, calls for the end of the sixteen year old 'don't ask, don't tell' law which would bring an end to what he refers to as "a policy which forces young men and women to lie about who they are in order to defend their fellow citizens" in the United States military word comes of Nestle, a daschund-terrier mix residing on the Upper East Side with his human companions, who had his vocal cords cut in order to reduce his bark to nothing more than a raspy whisper. Someone in Nestle's building threatened to go to the co-op board. It seems that it is a common practice for dogs living in private homes, on the show-dog circuit and with drug dealers who want their attack dogs silent to conduct business in the shadows. The procedure of 'debarking' has been around for decades but those veterinarians who perform the surgery don't often advertise that they do so.
Animal rights advocates denounce the practice as robbing a dog of the very essence of what is natural for the animal to communicate. In an article that I read it states the list of situations and things that Nestle would bark at, one of them being the new puppy. So, the owner doesn't do any type of behavior modification or call in a trainer and has the dog's vocal cords cut in order to comply with noise regulations set in their co-op building and they have another puppy? A puppy who according to the owner who was interviewed may be headed for a similar fate. In addition to the veterinarians who don't advertise that they perform the procedure there is also a dog breeder and handler mentioned who wouldn't give his last name after being interviewed. If you are going to subject an animal to such a practice own up to it.
My dog barks at the mailman every day. Every day. The mailman joked to me one day "is it just me he doesn't like or does he bark like that at everyone?" Dogs bark at mailmen for a reason. In their loyal minds they are protecting their home and that pesky mailman is the one guy who hasn't gotten the message and keeps coming back! When we lived in an apartment building years ago with our first dog I remember someone saying that when your dog barks at the front door you have no idea if he barked at someone passing by in the hall or if he just sent someone suspicious away from your door. How many times have you heard the story that had a happy ending about the burning building or the person who slipped through the frozen lake because the dog was barking? Sometimes, when I read stories like that it makes me like the dogs more than the people. Where's the Dog Whisperer when you need him? I have a plaque over my back door that reads 'Be the kind of person your dog thinks you are.' I try.

Turn on, tune in, drop out. Timothy Leary would be proud. The kids gather in groups most afternoons outside Starbucks. Their heads are bowed to their phones furiously text messaging and they barely speak to each other. One day I just may do it. Walk up to them, take their phones out of their busy hands and make them talk to each other. Is your BFF here? Then have a conversation with her in person. An entirely different language structure has emerged in this rushed world.
There have been many articles about texting slowly eroding children's vocabulary and linguistic abilities but now there is an actual estimate given. According to Jean Gross, England's first children's communication czar, (how's that for a title?) children are communicating in abbreviated text speak and only utilize a vocabulary of 800 words on a daily basis. With fewer words at their disposal it is going to have far reaching repercussions later in life. Nothing to LOL at. Perhaps it was inevitable that people would start to communicate in acronyms. The internet itself spawned 'www' which is the only acronym that takes more time to articulate than the words the letters stand for.
A friend of mine lamented that children aren't focusing on penmanship in school. Who is writing letters anymore that penmanship needs to be mastered? It's not just children though. An e mail I received from another adult's phone was littered with so many shortened words and acronyms that it actually took me longer to read because I am not proficient in the new text speak that is masquerading as language. "R u going 2 b thr? C u l8r!" What? I eventually figured it out but in this multi tasking world does it really save people that much precious time to not spell out an entire word? Are you so pressed to shave seconds off your day that the word 'to' needs to be abbreviated? The old PBS show Zoom had a made up language that we all tried to master when we were kids. "Hub I frub ends. Dub oo yub oo knub oo whub ut thub is ub is?" The idea was to insert 'ub' in front of vowels to 'Zoom speak.' The previous statement would be "Hi friends. Do you know what this is?" At least Zoom's tongue twisters required some creative thinking.
The young adults who are only using their arsenal of 800 words are supposedly doomed when they enter the workforce according to these studies that have estimated young people can't string an acceptable sentence together with adjectives and adverbs. But if their parents are adopting the same clipped communication won't everyone meet somewhere in the middle eventually?
Years ago Kentucky Fried Chicken came up with their 'new and improved' KFC Express. Faster fast food. Is it more important to do something quickly or do something well?

The Christmas tree stands illuminated in the same corner location in the living room year after year. That's right. Not the politically correct 'holiday tree.' That's what it was called in our house when I grew up and that is what I continue to call it. If there is some gnarly branch or bare spot that I didn't notice when we purchased the tree I can just turn the unsightly side to the corner. Problem solved. The tree's corner location also affords me the opportunity to end the season with a ceremonial shove out the window. It has an extremely cathartic effect.

January brings some dreary days with the first month of the calendar year. Sorry to anyone who has a January 24 birthday since a British survey deemed it the 'most depressing day of the year.' The argument is that it coincides with when all the holiday bills fill the mailbox to capacity. It is the equivalent of a financial holiday hangover.

The turn of events of last January has changed the way that I will forever look at Canadian geese. The birds have always been the pesky nuisance of many a park keeper and they occasionally fly in a squawking triangle over the house. But last January 15 they were enough of a force to accidentally fly into the motor of an airliner and take it out of the skies with an emergency landing in the icy waters of the Hudson river. It was immediately dubbed the 'miracle of the Hudson' but after word of the quick thinking pilot and his calm instructions and manuevers it seemed as if we should give more credit to Captain Chesley B Sullenberg III for pulling off a miracle. His response to the situation meant that that that Flight 1549 became many stories to many people but they all had the same happy endings. It was a miracle that the plane floated but it was the quick thinking and response of Captain Sullenberg that had the plane come to its safe resting spot in the river. 'Mastery of the Hudson' perhaps.

On January 15th of this year the passengers gathered on the anniversary to reconnect and share stories of the last year. They sailed out to the very spot where that plane became the common thread in their lives and they toasted each other with champagne and the intentionally ironic choice of Grey Goose. After the events in the Hudson last year the jokes sprouted about ordering 'two shots of Grey Goose and a splash of water' but now the King of Cocktails, Don De Groff, has delivered 'The Sully' in a recipe in The New York Times which is essentially a Manhattan with a float of champagne on top. To mark the anniversary someone chartered a small prop plane to fly over the Hudson to mark the anniversary as the passengers celebrated on their boat out on the water. Early into the flight though the plane was forced to, wait for it, make an emergency landing in the nearby Staten Island landfill. the banner the plane intended to display read "If you dies today would you go to heaven or hell? John 14:16.' Pull out your best shaker and stirrer, mix your self a 'Sully' and ponder that thought.

Here it comes. 'Start your diet.' 'Drop the holiday pounds in the new year.' Does everyone really lose all sense of control at the end of the year when it comes to indulgences? Or does it happen all year with many things? A new year and a time to reflect. There is a debate over whether this year, 2010, is the last year of the decade or the first year of the next decade. Either way time is moving forward and it is always a time to look back and take stock of lessons learned. Did you discover a new author, find a great vacation destination or master a new recipe? What will you remember about '09? Let's review all that was surprising, not so surprising, ridiculous and creepy about the last calendar year.

10. Ex senator John Edwars taught us that if your wife is terminally ill and there is a woman that you supposedly had an affair with who has a child who looks exactly like you it is probably best to admit paternity sooner rather than later. The pro bono lawyer turned out to be a snakeoil salesman in disguise. Maybe his scorned wife could heal the family and move on by practicing 'resilience' instead of making it the title of her new book and hitting the talk show circuit.



9. Thank you to former governor Eliot Spitzer for introducing the world to Ashley Dupre. Those of us who don't know how to keep our husbands happy now have her 'advice' column in The New York Post to turn to for guidance. We finally have all the answers to our burning questions now that Robert Murdoch's newest employee is on the beat.



8. Ex Governor Rob Blagojevich showed us that if you keep stating something as a belief long enough you may be able make it become true. And if your credibility is still on shaky ground it is a good idea to try and get on a reality television show like 'I am a celebrity.....get me out of here.' When a federal judge informs you that you can't leave the country to participate it's always handy to have one of those supportive political spouses to take your place.



7. Senator John Ensign of Nevada demonstrated that if you have an affair with your best friend's wife, both of whom work for you, it is perfectly acceptable to continue to pursue her after the friend confronts you. And confronts you again. No, really you have to stop now.



6. South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford's 'soul mate' was in a more geographically desirable locale in order to hide all the way in Argentina. When the relationship was exposed he apologized in a speech where he states "I am sorry for hurting her, my children and my wife." the mistress should never have top billing in the heartfelt statement to your constituents. Did he run that past anybody before making a public apology?



5. Bernie Madoff showed us what a human being looks like who has no moral compass whatsoever. When he wasn't cheating little old ladies and entire families out of their life savings he was cheating in the old fashioned sense of the word on his wife.



4. David Letterman found out what it was like to become the one on the receiving end of late night jokes in regard to your personal life. What could it have been like to be a woman in that working environment if you weren't one of the many women involved? How was it that he was praised for having 'class' for addressing the issue so quickly?



3. Michael Jackson's sad, strange life came to an end at the hands of a doctor who administered powerful narcotics for the star to get some sleep. A stunning example of having enough money and no one to say no to you ever.



2. We learned a new term this year. 'Octomom.' All the people out there who are struggling to finance the birth of one child, whose insurance doesn't cover the costly procedures, collectively thank this delusional woman and reckless doctor. Do the math. 1 seemingly unstable, unemployed, single mother + 1 irresponsible 'doctor' + 6 children + eight babies = millions of people who may never

Wrapping paper, food and everything eggnog. Now that the end of the year is quickly approaching the endless lists appear to close out the year, and at the end of this week, a decade. No one seems to have coined the right catch phrase for the last ten years yet. Think of what has changed since the ball dropped in Times Square and people waited for the year 2000 to cause mayhem with computers and ATMs. People horded food and money in anticipation for Y2K to cripple systems that wouldn't recognize a year that did not begin with '19.'

What did the word google mean in 2000? It certainly didn't earn a capital letter yet. 'Text' referred to words in a book and not something that could fatally damage a relationship. I and M were two letters that only appeared together with an apostrophe sandwiched between them and not yet another way to stay in constant contact with someone. Now try this. Google the word kindle and see what you get. Not the definition of a word that involves emotion but an electronic device to read without the hassle of an actual book. Advancements? Depends on who you ask.

I have a picture of a group of friends who came over for the first season finale of American Idol in May 2002. We had wine and panini and a huge tossed salad with the first bit of lettuce from the garden. There were different opinions on who we thought would win and if we could have put our younger selves through such intense scrutiny as entertainment. The picture was taken with a camera that had film that was developed at the drop-off kiosk at Costco that disappeared several years ago when I looked to develop my latest rolls and was informed by some surly woman that "everyone uses digital cameras now." I wrote on the back of the picture 'Sam, Di and me watching American Idol.' Apparently, I had the forethought to scribble 'reality tv' in parentheses because I might not remember what the genre was. Now the television listings are filled with anyone willing to let the cameras roll and capture the range of behavior for their fifteen minutes of fame. A father in Colorado led the local police to believe that his son was accidentally carried away in a balloon in the hope of recharging the family's chance at a reality show and a lovely looking woman in a sari, along with her husband, crashed a White House dinner. Why? She was being considered for 'The Real Housewives of DC.' At this rate kids are probably going to question Santa, the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny earlier in childhood because none of these characters have their own reality shows so they can't be 'real.' "Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. Did you catch his show last week when Mariah Carey visited him in the North Pole and let everyone know when her new album would drop?" Take a trip back through the last ten years. Think back to when the Food Network had food and MTV had music. Really.

I am paranoid every time the tree branches scrape against the window. The reason is because I had not one, but two crafty squirrels find their way into the house last month. I was standing at the kitchen sink watering and pruning some plants when I heard scratching noises which seemed to be coming from inside the wall. I shut the water off and stood there following the sound as it made its way further along what seemed like an endless Habitrail in my moss colored walls. I was trying to figure out if I was indeed hearing what I thought was an animal tunneling through the walls of the kitchen when the dog wandered in and tilted his head to one side. Then he reared up on his back legs and let out a bark like only a seventy five pound mutt can give when protecting his damsel in distress. That's my boy. Once the husband was home there were no noises anymore and he tried to reassure me by selling the 'it was probably the trees against the window' story but my faithful friend and I knew better. That night and the following morning I kept thinking that I was periodically hearing the scamper of something in the walls. Edgar Allen Poe couldn't have crafted the scene any better.

Calling exterminators was like trying to close a real estate deal. "We will come at night but you'll have to pay double." "We'll set a trap but no one can come to check it until Monday" because my squirrel showed up on Friday. "We'll come if it is in the attic but not a wall." One of the exterminators nonchalantly suggested simply taking down the wall.

The next day Alvin the chipmunk, or whoever was in there, was back and now it sounded like it was actually in the cabinets. Or maybe it spent the night and was just now making a late start to the morning. Either way it was 'check out' time.

I woke up the dog who was curled up in his favorite barrel chair and got him to reluctantly come with me to the other side of the house. He was curled up in a room adjacent to the dining room and kitchen and this had the potential, after chasing many a squirrel up a tree in the yard, to be the one that didn't get away. I closed the wooden and glass paned door to the dining room and placed the call to the husband at work to get the ball rolling with the exterminator and he assured me once again that there was no way this persistent critter was going to get into the house. As he spoke I got to see who was making all the racket as a squirrel appeared to look through the glass paneled door. It took one look at me and then frantically started to dart about the dining room. This is when it pays off to have nice neighbors as I got mine to stop raking leaves and come and help me show this bushy tailed intruder the door.

Squirrel number two came in through a hole in the drain pipe above the windows in the den. Fortunately, when he was out gathering nuts we were able to plug the hole and we have not heard any more suspect scratching. As I rounded our corner in the car yesterday I passed a squirrel who never made it to the other side of the street. I wonder if it was one of the guests in the walls? Well, he won't be going anywhere now. The complete opposite series of events of an Edgar Allen Poe classic.

'Tis the season for the ubiquitous 'hey, if I don't see you have a great holiday.' There are some people that I want to point out the fact that we both know we won't see each other again before the holidays so let's go ahead and commit to the good wishes here and now. Holiday decorations can reflect much about the resident dwellers. Some people favor simple boughs of greens and some haul out the holly and then some for the biggest and brightest display they can pull together. There is a mammoth house on my route home that had a truck of workers milling about taking Christmas decorations bigger than the workers themselves down a wooden ramp on the back of a delivery truck last week. There were displays of lights being strung in tall pine trees, dancing ballerinas twirling on their bases, battery operated figures skating and a sled that could easily accommodate the portliest of Santas. There's no place like home for the holidays and the bill for the workers to create the festival of decorations outside. I pulled in the driveway and I could hear my dog barking at my neighbor who was on his roof hanging sparkling lights from the porch with his aluminum ladder leaning against the house. Just the way it ought to be.

The file for 'you can't make this stuff up' just got another entry. It does the work for you. Tiger Woods' clean living image was forever tarnished when word of the dreaded 'other woman' surfaced after his wife's heroic attempts to extricate her husband from the driver's seat of his crumpled SUV by smashing the back window of the vehicle with one of his golf clubs. Before you could say 'fore' the affair to remember became something else all together with the 19th letter of the alphabet. "Affair' became 'affairs'. Plural. Millions of dollars from NIKE rode on Mr Woods' perceived perfect image and their three word slogan of Just Do It. He certainly lived up to that part of the contract. Maybe a better slogan for the kids would be Just Do It; Or Not.

Another Thanksgiving come and gone. It is a holiday I enjoy because it is simply about taking a moment and giving thanks for who you are with and what you have. It is an idea that everyone might benefit from more than once a year. The Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade is the official kick off of the holiday season and the day can be drastically different from one year to the next. One year the parade participants are bundled in layers to fight the biting chill and the next year they almost have to fake being cold on the floats dressed in hats and scarves sailing down the parade route and balmy breezes.
The parade took a turn this year and headed down Seventh Avenue instead of Broadway. It had something to do with the balloons and the handlers. All the characters seemed to do well all these years minus one unfortunate year with the Cat and the Hat and a lamppost gone wrong. But time marches on and I noticed that one of the teeny bopper boy band heart throbs was texting as his float passed by. These times they are 'a changing.

Sesame Street was a favorite of mine as a child. Now, I read that the original street has had some subtle makeovers of the residents and their dwellings. Over the years, Oscar apparently received a citation or two and had to clean up his garbage can act and Cookie realized the dreaded food police were onto his food pyramid and its lopsided leanings to all things bakery related. Talk about taking the wind out of someone's sails. He's the Cookie Monster. If I could, I would tell him about the article I read about Mr Mayor of NYC and his mission to rid every adult of their individual decision to indulge in trans fats or not. It seems that the king himself has some of the worst dietary habits and likes to put salt on his saltine crackers according to the always available to quote 'unidentified staffer.' It seems that Sesame has struggled to keep their foothold in children's interests in order to keep up with the Joneses. You know the Joneses. They're the ones who never have dirty garbage cans and treat cookies for their children like contraban. Next, Bert and Ernie get seperate places and the next character introduced on the street is Cougar Cathy.

The dog and I spent some quality time in the park this morning since we have been given the gift of another unseasonably warm day. The rain pounded the windows in the den last night and the constant droan of the ships' horns in the harbor started to make it diffucult to hear the dialogue of a movie I was watching. A storm like that makes you savor such a clear morning that much more. Some people dress to the calendar I guess. We passed a woman in an anorak, hat and gloves. Is she not experiencing the same morning the rest of us are? This time next week people will be walking off their turkey feasts or waking to the bugle to celebrate the true meaning of the holiday season. Scoring the best deal on a flat screen t.v. One radio station became all Christmas music all the time today. Slow down, you move too fast.

Here's another entry for the 'you just can't make this stuff up.' It is a clear Autumn afternoon in the park with the season's brightly colored leaves floating down on warm breezes. I am speaking to a couple about a recent gathering I attended. We realize that there is a person I had a conversation with at this function who knew these people before they were a couple. The wife mentions the woman that I had spoken with and says that she is this woman's 'Facebook friend.' "Really?" says the husband and asks about her life. The wife eagerly shares all of this woman's information about her husband, children, where she lives and on and on. She tells her husband that she has, in turn, filled this woman in on all their personal family information.

As fate is known to do, a few minutes later the woman from the event happens upon the scene and we are all in each other's little corner of the world. I bring the women together and say nothing more than 'look who is here.' They look at each other,confused and then me. After what seems the right amount of time and puzzlement I say their names and introduce the 'Facebook friends' to each other in a park in the light of day.

It is Veteran's Day. A salute to those who have served us and those who are doing so now. It is my sincere hope that all the parents who didn't send their children to school last week so that they could take the kids to the parade for the World Series Yankees take advantage of a school holiday and return to the 'canyon of heroes' today to honor the veterans. They are most likely hitting the sales at Macy's though. The kids saw 'history being made' with the World Series champions last week.

Filed under you just can't make this stuff up.

A mother is having a casual conversation with another mother as two small children, pacifiers firmly in place, start playing the hand challenge. Poke. Poke back. Poke again. The action escalates into a shove from one boy and the other goes down. Mom does a triple take and now is aware of what is going on. She takes both boys by an arm and brings them face to binky face for the required negotiations. Hunched over, she demands from the pusher the following:

'Did you push your brother? Did you? Did you push him? Say you're sorry. We don't push. Say you're sorry. Do you hear me? Say it. Tell your brother you're sorry. Now. Say you're sorry or you're going to get a smack!'

See what I mean?

Ah, Mother Nature. She never lets us become complacent. Just when we think we have her all figured out she surprises us with what we don't expect. I had given in to the cooler forces that blew through a few days ago and then it all changed to a relaxed warmth that embraced once again. It took me back to the day we moved into our house and filled it with what reflects who we are and made a house a home. The moving truck backed in our driveway with the slant of a November sun and the leaves crunching at our feet. It was a day of importance coupled with something as mundane as carrying boxes and potted plants. All I wanted at the end of that day was an outlet to plug in a tv to tell us who the leader of the country would be. That evening I realized that perhaps I may have hung out with a guy named Chad, no not really, we would all learn the meaning of a 'hanging chad.' November 7, 2000.