red head assets.rebelmouse.io | I love the new The Eyewall newsletter that keeps an eye (pun intended) on tropical activity in the Atlantic Ocean, Caribbean Sea, and Gulf of Mexico. |
Black assets.rebelmouse.io | You definitely watch the weather more than I do. But, I know that is because you have an extreme “fear” (or however you want to describe it) of driving in heavy rain and potentially facing road flooding. |
red head assets.rebelmouse.io | Borderline terror. Thanks to you. |
Black assets.rebelmouse.io | Me? I thought I was the one who taught you what to do when encountering high water. |
red head assets.rebelmouse.io | Yes, you did, but only after you got me into the situation in the first place. It had already been raining heavily when we each arrived at that meeting near my house. Afterward, although I preferred to go straight home, you thought it’d be ok for us to keep to the original plan of me following you into Houston. |
Black assets.rebelmouse.io | At the time, it didn’t seem that bad, just rain. |
red head assets.rebelmouse.io | Says the woman in the Mercedes G-Wagon who sits high above cars and even other SUVs. Anyway, I can still remember it like it was yesterday … the rain’s pounding down, you’re behind me, we’re talking on the phone about the meeting, and suddenly you go from your normal conversational tone to sounding what I imagine an air traffic controller would be like – very measured, very direct, very non-emotional. |
Black assets.rebelmouse.io | I needed you to pay attention. I could see that you were about to hit high water, and I knew my instructions would go against your natural instincts. You needed to keep giving the car gas, but ease up on the accelerator and, no matter what, not brake. |
red head assets.rebelmouse.io | And gently “steer” around the cars you could see were stalled out in front of me. Then, you told me to keep saying these words out loud ... “keep it going, keep it going, keep it going.” And then you hung up on me. |
Black assets.rebelmouse.io | I knew there was nowhere for you to pull over, and you were frightened. But, by giving you a “mantra” to say out loud, I hoped to focus you on the most critical thing you needed to do. I did not have the time to explain that keeping your foot on the gas, even if just a little, kept you moving forward and prevented water from entering the engine through the exhaust (tail) pipe. I could see past the water, and knew you just needed to get through it so you could get to higher ground. |
red head assets.rebelmouse.io | I felt like I was driving a bumper car at a carnival, trying to avoid all the other cars. Finally, a few minutes later, although it felt like an eternity, I was able to park on high ground. Where I stayed for hours, waiting for the water to recede so I could get home. Ever since, whenever I’m on the road during storms, I feel like I have a form of PTSD. Although I probably shouldn’t say that because it’s unfair to those, especially veterans, who truly have PTSD. |
Black assets.rebelmouse.io | I understand you do not want to seem like you are diminishing the seriousness of PTSD, but you may have a mild form of it. However, I am not qualified to diagnose it. Nor do I know enough about it to speak intelligently. |
red head assets.rebelmouse.io | Just the thought of high water is traumatic and causes me extreme stress. It’s an overwhelming feeling of not having control of a situation that could quickly become a life-or-death scenario. I can’t even imagine what soldiers must feel after seeing combat. They have to face battle day and day, month after month. And, often, year after year. And then they come home and often must fight an entirely different battle. |
Black assets.rebelmouse.io | Not all people exposed to traumatic events develop PTSD, but they are more susceptible. In addition to combat exposure, events such as physical abuse or assault, sexual violence, mass shootings, natural disasters … it is a long list. |
red head assets.rebelmouse.io | Wow, I never thought about it that way. Even more reason that we all need to be more sympathetic. And while I appreciate that we may not know the details of their story or situation, it shouldn’t stop us from trying to be kind and understanding first rather than immediately judging someone. |
Black assets.rebelmouse.io | Technically, I think you mean empathetic. Regardless, we can all learn more about PTSD. And, mental illness. No one should ever have to suffer alone. We should let family and friends know it is ok to not always be ok. And, that we are there if they need us. But, remember to always ask for permission before offering help or advice, and respect their wishes if they decline. |
red head assets.rebelmouse.io | For someone whose default is being sarcastic, that was very warm and fuzzy. And calming. Similar to when you got me through that high water. And now, I know to recognize my fear, do my best to avoid situations that will trigger me, and, if unavoidable, find a mantra and try to stay calm. |
Black assets.rebelmouse.io | Oh, and trust your instincts. Your gut told you not to go to Houston with me. |
red head assets.rebelmouse.io | Now you tell me! |
‘Tis the season for joyous celebrations – of whatever holiday you may celebrate. And fond memories. Even though Red wasn’t born when this happened, it’s still one of her holiday favorites (yes, she initially thought Black must have been on the “naughty list”) and a reminder of what the holidays are truly all about.
BLACK: I do not know at what age my Christmas memories began, but I do remember being very young and in awe of a very large – and very well decorated – Christmas tree in our family room. I even remember peeking down the stairs late one evening and seeing my mother standing extremely close to Santa Claus. OK, you might not find that an unusual memory, except my family is Jewish.
Apparently, my parents thought it was easier to decorate and give gifts for both Chanukah and Christmas than to try and explain why religiously they only celebrated the "smaller" holiday, although I must have sensed that. (Children usually do.)
And, I remember exactly when I came to the realization that Santa was not real. I was five years old and in the hospital with pneumonia and in the middle of the night, a Santa came by giving out Christmas gifts. I must have sensed his presence because when he arrived at the foot of my bed, I sat up and immediately told him that I could not have any Christmas gifts. He questioned why not (maybe thinking I was going to state I had not been good all year, which probably would have been an accurate statement), and I told him it was because I was Jewish.
He leaned over my bed, pulled away his fake beard, and whispered in my ear, "It's ok – so am I." And, without his beard, I immediately recognized him as one of the doctors who had checked on me several times during my stay. We smiled at each other, knowing that we had a special bond, and he left me a gift.
Now, older and wiser, I have come to the conclusion … Santa does exist. You just have to believe …
For those of you who have followed us for years, you know what’s coming … a naked turkey story. Because as soon as Black wrote it, it became a Thanksgiving tradition.
Black typically doesn’t reminisce, so her memories of a perfect turkey that made for a perfect Thanksgiving (for her) have become the perfect way for us to wish you a very Happy Thanksgiving. May your day be filled with family and friends and create memories that will last a lifetime.
Today is Thanksgiving, and I cannot help but wonder why we are online. However, everyone has their own way of celebrating. I know that Red is in the kitchen cooking – and watching a marathon of "The Godfather" movies. Which is perfect as turkeys take such a long time to cook and patience is important when you want it perfectly browned. So inviting, so appetizing, so … naked?
Growing up, our house used to be where everyone congregated for the holidays. Not because my mother was a good cook, or even liked to entertain, but because my parents bought a house on Long Island while the rest of her family continued to live in apartments in Brooklyn and the Bronx. In other words, they had the most room.
Thanksgiving was always a house full of people and everyone always gathered in the kitchen, which made food preparation a challenge. Especially as everyone loved to nibble on ingredients during the process. For the most part, Mom was a good sport about it. But, the closer we got to the turkey being ready, the more food she would move into the dining room, hoping we would follow the food.
I remember one year when the turkey cooling on the counter looked like something from a magazine – it was perfectly browned. Normally, it was splotchy, although you never knew it once my father was done carving it. (Although an engineer, he had dreamed of being a surgeon and every year as I watched him carve the turkey, I would think he missed his true calling.) Anyway, my mother was so proud of this perfectly browned turkey that she would not let anyone near it, and was delaying the inevitable carving.
However, she made the mistake of taking the balance of the side dishes into the dining room and my father must have been helping as my cousin and I snuck back into the kitchen. In a matter of seconds, we had striped that turkey naked. Enjoying the crispy skin (ok, this was well before the days we were told it was "bad" for you) and laughing until my parents returned to see what was causing the commotion.
Mom was less than pleased, while Daddy tried to hide his amusement. My cousin ran to the safety of his parents, while I stood there defiantly asking if could have a wing. To this day, I cannot see a perfectly browned turkey without remembering that Thanksgiving. And, I venture to guess it has become a favorite memory of my Mom's, as well.
So today, at the risk of being warm and fuzzy (which is Red's area of responsibility),
I want to wish you a Happy Thanksgiving … filled with memories that will last a lifetime.
It was one of those mindless questions, “What was your favorite childhood book?” And although I couldn’t answer the question, it brought back wonderful memories of my favorite book while I was still living at home. Which recently turned into a new tradition … and maybe the highlight of my summer …
I can remember it as if it was yesterday – I’d be sitting up in bed late at night, reading (well, more like devouring) a biography of Winston Churchill by William Manchester. At almost 1,000 pages (and weighing in at over three pounds), you’d have thought it a college reading assignment, not something for pleasure.
Although more of a Tudor history fan, I found the biography of Churchill (a larger-than-life, literally and figuratively, character, but I won’t bore you with the details) difficult to put down. And it had my complete attention right up to the last word. But then, I felt disappointed. And a little cheated.Because not only was I going to miss my nightly “date” with Winston, but the book left off in 1932. Now, anyone who knows Winston Churchill knows he’s most famous for his extraordinary role in World War II (1939-1945). But then I was relieved to learn,
I had read the first book in what was a planned trilogy. I couldn’t wait for the second one to be released, and five years later, I devoured that book, too (it was a mere 750 pages), and couldn’t wait for the third and final book. But then the author died. And I thought, well, that’s it.
Fast forward decades later. When Black asked her question, I couldn’t remember the book title, which drove me crazy. Rather than go upstairs and find the books, I got online and discovered the most unexpected, but great, news …
William Manchester had started the third book and, knowing he was going to die before being able to complete it, asked author Paul Reid to finish it. Apparently, it was released in 2012, when I was in the midst of being a single mom with two young children and working on Red & Black, so no time for reading. I immediately ordered it, but I wasn’t prepared for what happened,
Even before “Defender of the Realm” arrived (this one’s over 1,000 pages), I decided this would be my summer project. I’d start over Memorial Day weekend with the goal of finishing by Labor Day. But once I curled up on the couch, after office hours and on weekends, often with a Dunkin’ iced coffee beside me, I was transported back almost forty years. Once again, I couldn’t put it down. But this time, I had a companion. As Moo, my beloved labradoodle, decided that she loved having this “quiet time” with me.
I finished the book shortly after July 4 and realized it would be far more than a wonderful summer memory. It was the beginning of a new “tradition” … making time to get back to being a bookworm. It reminded me of the importance of escaping and recharging my batteries. And spending time with Moo. And based on Moo’s excitement the minute I’d pick up the book, including immediately jumping on the couch to join me, I think it might have been the highlight of Moo’s summer too.