A Child Dies: She Was Hit By a Plane

On July 21st. I wrote “Not funny. Dangerous guy. Take away his plane.”

<blockquote class=”twitter-tweet” lang=”en”>

Pilot Lands Plane On LI Highway Twice In Eight Days http://t.co/c8eCW6bQ7v via @ Not funny. Dangerous guy. Take away his plane.

— Rose Perlmutter (@RosePerlmutter) July 21, 2014


Then I read this today about another small plane. I am sick over this.


Please excuse my technology mess ups. My deepest condolences to the family of the child.

Four Women Drive Together for Eleven Years…Over a Bridge

In 1976, we four women going back to work were the outliers. Most of the other mothers were at home, with their children.

We had no cell phones. Between us, however, we did have husbands, bills to pay, monthly periods and nine kids. When we started our carpool, the oldest kid was seven; the youngest, was learning to walk.

We were returning to full time teaching from maternity leave. We did not know each other before we met on that September day in 1976.  I was the oldest at 31, and Ellen was the youngest at 29.

For the next eleven years, our merry carpool crossed the Tappan Zee Bridge from our homes on one side of the Hudson River to the school where we all taught on the other side. On a good day, it would take us 40 minutes. On a bad day, it could take two hours.

On our daily ride, when we weren’t sleeping, sulking or squabbling, we talked to each other. We became friends.

Things change. Our carpool ended in 1987, and then, we all drove to work separately until each of us retired.

I am writing this because I read that The New Tappan Zee Bridge when it is finished in 2018 is going to probably have only electronic tolls. What fun is that? In 1976, when we carpooled, we paid $1.50 to cross and we actually touched the hand of another human being at the toll!

Technology changed. You may be reading this, now, on your phone or pad or whatever. I can’t keep up. You may also have children, husbands, bills and monthly periods, or not, if you’re old like me.

It’s hard to be a working mother. I know. It’s also hard to be a stay-at-home mother. I know that too. Now, because of technology, some of you can do both at the same time.  How’s that for a change? I think it’s for the better, but I am sure there are those of you who will disagree. Let me know.

When they tear the Old Tap down and replace it with the New Tap, it will be a celebratory event.

I, however, will be remembering those eleven years when I rode to work with my friends…

…even that time when one of us, in a snit, drove over the bridge while furiously pounding her hands on the steering wheel, and screaming in exasperation at me, the one with the fear of driving over the edge into the Hudson below.

But, for now, that’s all water under the bridge.

Ten Reasons Why I Am A Lousy Parker

Photo Credit: Kevin Baird via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: Kevin Baird via Compfight cc

I saw this report on the news about a vandal who calls out poor parkers by writing on their cars.

Well, this makes me very angry…so angry that I must speak out.

I am a woman and proud of it. My sex has NOTHING to do with my parking. I am sure some other blogger is just going to write something with the words “…Because she’s a woman,”  in response to this vandal who thinks it is his duty to shame poor parkers.  Ha Ha —Not!

Here are the REAL reasons why I may have parked badly:

  1. The parking space was on the left side of the street.
  2. Am I supposed to use that right mirror for something?
  3. My neck hurts from too much (never mind) and I can’t turn around.
  4. Just as I found a space, I had to wait to back up for this man to let his dog do his business in the spot. Then I had to wait while the man bagged up the stuff.  Then all the other cars lined up behind me, and they honked, and I got nervous.
  5. The guy parked in front of me parked two feet from the curb and I was trying to match him.
  6. I know I have spatial issues from my cooking. When I have to store leftovers soup from a pot, I always pour the soup into the wrong sized storage container. Then my husband laughs at me.
  7. Parking is like dancing….forward back, cha cha cha, forward back cha cha cha. I knew you were going to do the bump and grind dance if I left enough room for you.  So I didn’t.
  8. There was this little man across the street who stopped gardening in his little plot, and he just stood there with his hands on his hips and watched. No matter where I park, I see that guy.
  9. It was 95 degrees, and I was in a hurry to get my groceries into the fridge, especially the ice cream.
  10. A kind man tried to help me by calling out directions, and then he drank something from his paper bag and started talking to a street sign.

A Wimpy Liberal Mother Talks Life with Her Big-Mouthed Conservative Son

Photo Credit: Yogendra174 via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: Yogendra174 via Compfight cc

“Do not publish this; just draft and send to D.”

That’s how I started to write this blog post because I am a wimp. My son, not only thinks I’m a wimp, he is certain I am a wimpy liberal.

I live in New York, where he says, “The rest of the liberals live.”

He lives in Arizona, where I say, “The rest of the conservatives live.”

He says, “Ma,  you believe that whatever goes on in New York, goes on everywhere.”

I say , “Whatever goes on in Arizona is typical of those  what-do-you-call them states?”

He says, “Flyover.”

I say, “Right.”

Then he says, “That’s your problem, Mom; you and all the rest of your ignorant, narcissistic liberals in New York measure the whole world by your own fogged up lenses. “

We were discussing a political question relative to the day’s news….something that was posted on Facebook that my son was totally shocked and offended by.  Because I am a wimp and afraid to put too much out there, I won’t tell you what the issue was or who posted it. Sorry.

I listened to my son. He said, “How can anyone put such a thing on Facebook? It’s totally narcissistic and indicative of the way people in NY feel.

I said, “Believe it or not, I agree with you.”

My son was not letting me off the hook. “Why don’t you write about the real important things in life instead of fear of driving over bridges, peeling onions,  farmers’ markets, piles of excrement on the sidewalk, etc.,” he said. “Then someone will pay attention to you. “

I said, “Because I am an old lady, and I want to have fun with my blog, and I must write about what I know….as evidenced by the categories listed in this blog.”

There is that part of me that says my real book could be based on these conversations between mother and son…… A Wimpy Liberal Mother Talks Life with Her Big Mouthed Conservative Son, but I’m too chicken to write anything…..for now.



The True Story of Rip Van Winkle, by a Gephyrophobic

Photo Credit: edenpictures via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: edenpictures via Compfight cc

I have a different view on Washington Irving’s beloved tale, Rip Van Winkle.

As you probably know  Rip Van Winkle takes place in the glorious Hudson River Valley. Rip, leaves his shrewish wife at home and sets out for the mountains. There he meets some new friends, some of them very short. They all drink too much and go bowling. Then Rip falls asleep for twenty years. He wakes up and discovers he has slept through the entire American Revolution. Bummer.

Now ponder this, “How can anyone sleep for twenty years?

I believe Rip must have drunk a helluva lot of booze to sleep that long. Or, he probably ingested a powerful herbal similar to, let’s say Xanax?

“But why,” you ask, “would Rip need such an herbal?”

The answer is, “He needed the powerful herbal because he was having a panic attack.”

“Why was he having a panic attack,” you may ask.

The answer is “Because he wanted to go with his new friends to the other side of the Hudson River where he learned that there was even better food, partying and outdoor activities.

You wonder, “Why couldn’t Rip go with his buddies to the other side of the Hudson?”

The answer is “Because he was afraid to cross the bridge his buddies had built.”

“Why was he afraid,” you ask.

My answer is, “Because the bridge was swaying and Rip had gephyrophobia, a fear of bridges.”  My theory is Rip ran down to the shore every day to try to get the nerve to cross that damn bridge. He’d start out, take a step and turn back. Then, he’d try again the next day. Then he’d chomp on some of his herbal remedies and probably practice some deep breathing.

One day, he took too many herbs, and his new friends got disgusted with him. They left him on his side of the bridge, for twenty years. Also, they stole his gun and his dog.

Today there really is a bridge across the Hudson River called the Rip Van Winkle Bridge.

There are a few other bridges too…like the George Washington Bridge and The Tappan Zee Bridge. I live close to The Tappan Zee Bridge….note the use of the word ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ…I think it’s secret code to remember Rip’s snooze.

Somebody must have been snoozing when they built The Tappan Zee Bridge because now they have to build it all over again.

I really feel for Rip Van Winkle and his problems because I am a gephyrophobic too. I do drive to “the other side,” but, I never know when “It” the panic attack is going to hit. When “It” attacks, unlike Rip, I power my way through it and then say, “never again.” But that’s the thing about living in the Hudson River Valley; whether you are on the west side or the east side of the Hudson River, you will need to cross over to the other side at different times in your life. For some of us, that can be a challenge, but we persevere.

No one has more sympathy, empathy, or whatever you call it, for others out there who are afraid of driving over bridges, particularly high ones. As the New Tappan Zee Bridge and other bridges are being built in this great country,  let’s share our stories.





Did You Grow Up in an Apartment House?

Photo Credit: wallyg via Compfight cc

Photo Credit: wallyg via Compfight cc


Let’s play a game. I am going to say a word, and you say the first thing that that person would say?

OK. Here’s the word…


If you said, “Get outta here,” then you are probably a person who grew up in an urban apartment house, like I did. If you are anything like I was, I bet you were always being chased by the super for being in the bike room, laundry room, cellars or just for hanging around in the front of the apartment.

In these days of niche marketing, there’s probably a whole bunch of people, currently living in their own homes in the suburbs, who grew up in urban apartments.  Actually to get the demographics of this group, I started to read a bunch of charts, tables, and graphs. Then I remembered the D I got in college statistics in 1964, (a gift because I was dating a friend of the instructor),   and decided to skip the spreadsheet approach.

Anyway, I don’t need statistics. I am a “grew up in an apartment house” profiler. If you answer “Yes” to these questions, chances are you grew up in an apartment house too.

  1. Do you save quarters in a little jar, just in case you need them for the laundry room?
  2. Now that you live in your own house, do you do laundry in your house at midnight wearing only your underwear?
  3. When you are in a building with an elevator, do you assume a pose of vigilance before the door opens, prepared to kick someone where it hurts?
  4. As a kid, were you able to exit your “building” (an apartment word) by jumping down flights of thirteen steps at a time?
  5. Do you remember your mother or father throwing down money wrapped in a tissue from your third floor apartment when the ice cream man came?
  6. As a kid, were you afraid of some weird guy who used to stay in a little smelly room and be in charge of the garbage? Did you hate to bring the garbage down to the garbage room?
  7. Did you ever steal the wheels off baby carriages in the bike room?
  8. Did you sit on a bench in the laundry room looking at the suds and lint glopping up the drain in the floor?
  9. Did any member of your family get in to a fight with another human over taking the other person’s stuff out of the washer?
  10. Did you ever ring the call bell on the elevator just to make the super crazy?
  11. Did you have a screen door on your third floor apartment door?
  12. Was Halloween trick or treating absolutely the best in an apartment house?

Well, did I out you as a former apartment dweller?

If I did, and you are like me, you will compare every house you have ever lived in with Apartment 33, on the third floor of the B Building.  And, maybe when you have nothing to do, you might just ride over to your old apartment house, and look at it, longingly.