This blog spends a lot of time looking back, but I’ve still got to live in the present which is not always an easy task. On the mornings I’m not at Starbucks, I’m the one who gets up at 6:00 a.m. to get the kids off to school. I usually give myself a fifteen-minute advantage so I can shake off the sleep. Got to be alert and upbeat with these two on a Monday morning. Neither of them enjoy school, and Monday mornings are the absolute worst.

Anyway, I had two thoughts this morning that I want to share with you. First, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have: Gas is creeping up again. Now, I’m paying $2.23. That would be less a problem if I were not traveling 72 miles a day, but I am. So, I was thinking how great it would be if I had a Port Key on my patio. All you Harry Potter fans know what I’m talkin’ ’bout. You know like the boot that took them to the Quiddich World Cup. That kind of Port Key. For those who don’t really know what a port key is, click here. All will be explained.

Now, I’m sure it would be embarrassing at the beginning. You know, the sight of me making a thudding entrance in the Walkers Brook parking lot would be entertaining to be sure. But I’m sure with time I’d be able to make one of those more dignified walking-style landings like Mr. Weasley. People would hardly notice me coming out of thin air.

I don’t have problems with motion sickness. I was always the master of the roller coaster and the round-up at Nantasket Beach. I can handle the spinning thing okay. And just think of the gas and time I’d save. I’d be able to hang around here and write longer (faster transport time than a car), and absolutely no need for gas. I’ll take it.

It was after this initial thought that things got wierd. I happened to be watching Death on the Nile on Beth’s computer while I write on mine. The nastiest character in the movie (and also the victim because of her shitty attitude) is named Lynette. For some crazy fucking reason, Lynette “Squeaky” Fromme came into my head. Anybody but me remember her? I was thinking what a three-time loser she is. Think about it for just a minute.

First, good old “Squeaky” was once a member of a dance group called the Westchester Lariats, and she appeared on the Lawrence Welk Show and at the White House. If that isn’t enough, she’s also a former member of The Manson Family. If Lawrence Welk doesn’t make you a loser, hanging out with Charlie Manson definitely does. You’d have to be short on gray matter to pay homage to that weasly little rat-faced git. Life in suburbia and membership in the Lariats must have really sucked and she had to be desperate for something, although I’m not quite sure what.

The ‘third’ part of the three-time loser thing is not just that she failed to kill Gerald Ford, but that she chose Gerald Ford at all. Gerald Ford? Why, man? Yeah, okay, it was infuriating that he pardoned Tricky. That didn’t make me happy either, but the important thing is that we got rid of Tricky. We held him accountable and he paid the price. (We don’t bother to do that anymore, by the way.) It wasn’t necessary for old “Squeaky” to take it to that extreme.

After this last thought, the kids took over and all thoughts left. I know there was another messed up thought coming over the horizon, but maybe it will make it later. We’ll see. Until then, I’m going to prepare myself mentally to serve coffee and various treats to the entitled masses. Have yourselves a good day.

Yes, it’s Easter. I just got back home from Easter dinner at my sister’s house. It’s days like these when you realize just how dysfunctional families can be.  But that’s a different story for a different day. I should say that I really do not celebrate Easter from a religious perspective.  I was born Catholic, but I’m Buddhist by choice.  The folks on my mom’s side of the family are traditional Catholic. However, I’ve found a much more eclectic mix on my dad’s side.

I have a Facebook account and I have “101 friends.” Of course, some are truly friends but most are people you meet electronically. I enjoy it. I’ve got friends from many other countries. I have a group of friends from Starbucks 9269.  But I’ve been fortunate in that I’ve been able to connect with people from my dad’s side of the family, a part of the family I’ve not really been exposed to. They’ve branched out more. They are different, and they are not all practicing Catholics.

My parents were older when I was born. I never met my grandparents on my dad’s side. I only met his brother, Angelo, and his sister, Phyllis. I never had exposure to the rest of the family, but we’ve managed to find each other on FB. It’s been fun because we’re all trying to figure out how we’re related. We’re not quite sure yet, but I hope we get there.

Now, let’s talk a bit about Easter at my house. I sometimes feel that I am the master of what I call fringe parenting, and today was a very close call.

Last night my son, Aaron, and I colored eggs and then we put them in a bowl in the fridge for the Easter Bunny. I was up late writing and didn’t hit the hay until the early morning hours. At 6:00 a.m. my alarm went off. It was planned that way because I wanted to get up and hide the eggs. I woke up and looked at the clock and rolled back over. The egg hiding didn’t hit me at all. Then, at 8:30 a.m., Aaron ran up to wake me up. I told him to wait downstairs and I’d be there in a few. Then, it hit me. Easter Sunday. The eggs are still in the fridge. Shit. That was all I could think.

When I got downstairs, Aaron was curled up under the blanket, leaving me the opportunity to really be sneaky, grab the bowl out of the fridge, and hide the eggs. It was pretty pathetic, the sight of me running around the house hiding eggs. I managed to pull it off this time, but I may not be so lucky next time. No issues for my daughter around the Easter Bunny. Nope. The bunny isn’t real. Neither is Santa or the tooth fairy.  She’s done with that stuff, and she is chomping at the bit to announce her findings to her brother. She refrains only under the penalty of death.