Bfth's Boring Blog

Isn't that the definition of the word gay?  Why shouldn't joyful people get married?  Why shouldn't merry people have the same rights as grumpy? OK, so I'm NOT that dumb.  I know the word "Gay" means something else.  (Although I would like to know how it came about...but I don't have the time or patience to do the research at the moment...anyone else want to share and give me the basics?) I have friends who are homosexual.  I have friends who are heterosexual.  I have friends who are tall.  I have friends who are short.  I have friends who are old.  I have friends who are young.  I have friends who are fair of skin.  I have friends who are dark of skin.  You know what this has made me realize?  I have a lot of friends!!! And I'm thankful for each and every one of them.  Because each and every one of them, in their own way, are kind, caring and loving.  I know that I can count on each and every one of them.  So what else matters? Each and every on

Today is the last day of school in my town.  And in the spirit of my last few posts, I'd like to thank two Franks for making it another wonderful year. First there is Frank the crossing guard.  Yes, I know his last name, but to me and everyone else who crosses Elmwood Road, he is just Frank.  He's the guy who knows every kid, every parent, and every pet by name.  (He always has treats for his four legged friends who are out for a walk).  He keeps our kids safe, not just by crossing them safely across the road (which gets more treacherous every year as more people speed by ignoring the fact that there is a school).  He watches out for them as they walk away.  If a parent isn't there, he knows.  He says hello to all who walk by and quite often, cars will slow down and passengers and drivers will shout out "Hello Frank."  They may be past students or just locals who have come to know Frank as he has been on the same corner for so many years. Is it any wonder that

When there is a death we reach out to family and friends and tell them all good things about the deceased.  But why didn't we take the time to tell the person who died how much he or she meant to us? When someone is retiring or celebrating an anniversary, we may have a party and let that person know how much they mean to us.  But why do we wait for a special occasion? We do we wait? Take a minute to think about all the people who have touched your life in whatever small way it may have been and made it better.  Do they know how you feel?  Would it really hurt to take a minute to email or call and tell that person?  Would it be too embarrassing? I have written posts about people who have made an impact on my life and on my family's life recently.  I'm glad that I finally had the chance to tell (in blog format) Andy Turner, Marilyn Varallo, Jack McEvoy, etc. how much they mean to me.  But there are so many more people out there who I haven't thanked or told them h

Today is NOT my birthday.  It is however, Paul McCartney's 71st birthday.  (If you're reading this...Happy Birthday Paul!  Stop using the hair dye and go gray -- you looked great when you were going salt and pepper in the 1980s and I know you'd look even better now).  I've been a McCartney fan since the 1970s.  (For me McCartney discovery came BEFORE the Beatles.  Backwards, I know, but I've always been a little off kilter!) and the music of Paul McCartney and the Beatles (together and as solo artists) is what brought me and my husband together in a round about kind of way, but that's a whole other LONG story. Believe it or not, today's blog is NOT about Paul McCartney.  Or about Brian Wilson who also has a birthday this week.  It's not even about the fact that two men who are both incredible song writers were born  just days apart but on completely different sides of the globe.  Today's column is about birthday cake.  The best birthday cake EVER!

This Father's Day, I'm grateful that my dad flunked a test 15 years ago. The test he flunked was a stress test.  A test he was "forced" to take by my mom.  (So this Father's Day I'm also grateful that my mom can be "pushy")  She didn't like the way he looked or sounded after he had moved a small boat from one house to another.  Not an easy task, but not one that should have affected his color so much or winded him quite as much. She coerced him into seeing a doctor during the routine stress test he flunked.  This lead to an angiogram, which he also "flunked." None of this seems like a good thing, and yet it is. Very quickly, or so it seems in my memory, he was moved from one hospital to another and scheduled for bypass surgery. My mother, brother and I went to see him early Friday morning before the surgery.  It seems to me that he was scheduled for first thing in the morning, probably around 7.   We didn't stay after we s

This week began with a joyful celebration and today continues with bittersweet news. The joy?  On Sunday, Andy Turner celebrated 50 years of working as custodian at The First Presbyterian Church of Verona.  And on Tuesday came the news that beloved first grade teacher Marilyn Varallo would be retiring after nearly 50 years of dedication to the Verona Public School system. On the surface these two people couldn't seem more different.  Andy is a tall African American man and Ms Varallo is a petite fair woman.  However, in the decades that I have known both, amazingly they both have seemingly not aged.  But more importantly, in all these years, both have gone far beyond their "titles."  They are institutions in the town of Verona.  That's not the only thing they have in common, they are both dedicated to all the children who cross their path and they have both touched and enriched the lives of countless grown ups as well as children. For me, there has been no time th

So I feel like I should write something.  But instead I am sitting here struggling with what I should write or say. I am, as my husband would say, "out of sorts".  I'm a little depressed, a little sad and generally disoriented and not knowing what or how to feel. The Ruttle lyrics, "I feel good, I feel bad; I feel happy, I feel sad..." echo in my brain. It was not so hot last year. I remember it being warm, but not hot.  My in laws and my boys went out to lunch at the Olive Garden.  We went to JCP to find a skirt for me to wear the next day at church.  The Olive Garden food didn't sit to well with me and when my in laws went home, I laid down and tried to rest.  And that's when the call came...First my brother had been taken to the hospital and then a hour or so later we got the call that he was dead. I worried about my parents driving up from the shore.  I called our pastor, Erik Spencer.  I had forgotten that he was doing a wedding that afternoon.