This Independence Day, I thought we should take a look back at the reason why we celebrate this glorious day.

America was discovered by Christopher Columbus in 1492, when he set off on a sailing trip to India and took a wrong turn at Albuquerque.  Columbus, who was not known for his political correctness, called the natives he met “Indians” and ran in to Ponce De Leon, who was looking for the Fountain of Youth.  As history tells us, Oil of Olay was not yet invented, and Ponce would know the disgrace of saggy, wrinkled skin.  Columbus tried to tell him that the key to youthful skin was staying hydrated, but Ponce was a stubborn old goat.  Tragically, he would die an untimely death some years later of chronic crows’ feet.

Some folks in England decided to check out Columbus’s new country for themselves, so they sailed for the Americas and settled in Roanoke, VA.  This colony soon became the first entry in the country’s rich history of urban legends, when all of its inhabitants were wiped out by a particularly aggressive tribe of vampires.

Not willing to accept defeat lightly, the English sent more people to settle this brand new land, armed with better supplies and sharpened stakes.  In 1620, this group crashed in to Plymouth Rock, and a new settlement was born.

Why they picked New England instead of moving further south where, as everyone knows, the climate is more temperate and the taxes are lower, is beyond me.  But they stayed, and that first winter, half of them died of frostbite.  They were certainly an adventurous people, but maybe not particularly bright.

 Once the colonists got settled and learned the value of warm clothing and portable heaters, Parliament decided that the colonists were having a little too much fun in their frat house of a new country.  So they decided to tax their tea.  This was a huge mistake.  The colonists dumped all the tea in Boston Harbor and swore that from that moment on, we would be a nation of coffee drinkers.  This was a very fortunate turn of events for one particular colonist, Sir Duncan Donets.

The King of England responded by sending a bunch of military folk to try and figure out who dumped all the tea, and by – you guessed it – taxing even morestuff.

This is the most important part.  America does NOT like to be told what to do, particularly by a fat old king who had no idea how particularly brutal the winters in New England are without snow tires.  The colonists got their best writer, Thomas Jefferson, to whip up a Declaration of Independence.  They came up with a catchy war slogan – “no taxation without representation” – and picked up their muskets and pitchforks and fought the British.  And even though we were a tiny, newborn nation, with few people and fewer weapons, we won.  While bookies around the world were stunned, America knew we’d had it in us all along.  So they set off fireworks and had a big cookout, a tradition we carry on in this fine nation to this day.

Some of my facts might not be entirely right (and the ones that are stand as a testament to Schoolhouse Rock!) but you get the gist of it – Independence Day is a pretty big deal.  So go out, grill some hot dogs, and take pride in our country – it’s our big day!

Happy Birthday, America!

Author's Note: Many thanks to Linda Orlomoski, who, when I said "Boy, I've got nothing to blog about this week," kindly pointed out "It's Mother's Day, stupid!"

Every time I check my teeth in the mirror of the public bathroom to make sure I don’t have anything caught there, I like to say two words to the image blinking back at me: Hello, Mother.

It’s true.  The very habit I used to mock my mother for manifests itself every time I am out in public and see a mirror.  The urge to flash my teeth to check for stray spinach in my incisors is impossible to resist, despite the fact that I hate spinach and haven't eaten it in decades.

It turns out that Mom had a few good ideas that I initially brushed off as ridiculous.  Now that I’m older, I’m starting to see the soundness of some of Mom’s advice.  Take a look at the following list sage advice learned from my mother, all proven to be true:

• Not all drugs are bad.  Caffeine, for instance, is a very, verygood drug.
• Sure, make fun of me now.  Someday you'll welcome the comfort of elastic-waist pants.
• Exercising is hazardous to your health.  Aerobics have been proven to cause spider veins, jogging can cause heart attacks, and even ironing can cause severe wrist injuries.  If you mustexercise, the safest way to do so is by watching Richard Simmons on YouTube while baking cookies.
• It’s nice to be able to work at a job you love.  It’s also nice to have a roof over your head.  Suck it up and get to work!
• It’s not my fault we automatically gain ten pounds walking by a bakery.  Blame your grandmother.
• Nobody’s reputation was ever ruined hanging out at a Mensa meeting.  Go ask them if you can cater their events.
• Honor thy father and mother.  Especially thy mother.
  
  My mother, over the years, has dispensed invaluable wisdom on such topics as big purses, comfortable shoes, and the marketability of education for career advancement.  She cheered me on when my first short story was published (an article, ironically, about fishing with Dad) and still has a copy of every single humor column that I wrote over a period of more than six years.  She applauded my decision to get divorced and clapped through my first dance at my second wedding.  She listens to me complain about laundry and cautions me when I want to venture in to dangerous activities, like ironing.  When I told Mom that Jason and I were going ice skating back in January, she had three words of advice to pass on to me, patting (or socking, whichever) my arm softly:  
  
              “Are you nuts?”
  
  Three months on crutches and one surgery later, I’ve accepted this one truth to be self-evident: No matter what the situation, Mom is always right.
  
  Happy Mother’s Day, Mom!

We have a tradition in my family.  Every year on Good Friday, we all pile in to our cars and head over to Mom’s house to make koulourakia, a Greek Easter cookie.  It tends to be a little dry, and if you leave it exposed to the air for more than 30 seconds, it turns hard as a rock, but hey, tradition is important.

Okay, maybe tradition isn’t that important.  My mother, over the years, has made a few alterations to the recipe.  The year she dumped cocoa powder into the mixing bowl, for instance, while heralded among my immediate family as genius, earned scorn and general disdain from my great-aunts.  They believed that if it didn’t taste like sawdust and you couldn’t crack a tooth on it, it wasn't really koulourakia.  (Their sister, my grandmother, didn’t have a problem with the chocolate koulourakia.  She was also known as something of a gourmand in our family, and knew progress when she tasted it.)

This year, it was Mom, Dad, my Aunt Joanne, my sister Kim, my two nephews, and I  all gathered around the kitchen table to roll out the dough.  Mom always has high hopes that everyone will help mix up the dough, and every year, it’s her and her sister Joanne in the kitchen stirring and measuring while the rest of us pig out on peanut butter eggs and peeps in front of the television.  Eventually, Mom will announce that the dough is ready to be shaped into cookies, and we’ll scramble to the table to create our masterpieces.  See, I’ve mentioned that Mom is Greek.  My father, however, is Italian.  We Italians, of course, are great artists.

Koulourakia is traditionally shaped with a loop at the top, the two ends twisting together to form a plump stem (see picture below).  But after you roll out three or four of those, however, it gets kind of boring. That’s when we let our creative juices flow.

My nephews started creating remarkable works of art like a basketball, a burrito, poo (wait – that might have been me), and what appeared to be a likeness of President Obama.  Me, I like to dabble in animal portraits.  I fashioned a bunny rabbit, a rattlesnake (let’s face it – snakes are the easiest thing to roll out of dough, but I’ll admit, the rattles were tricky) and a giant chocolate tick.  I made the tick for my Dad since they tend to crawl from miles around just for a chance to chomp in to him.  See?  I’m always thinking of others.

The dough went fast, and soon we had tray upon tray of warm cookies.  The second part of this tradition was upon us.  We all proceeded to stuff our faces until we were sick.  Our Good Friday celebration was complete.  

The boys suckered - whoops! - convinced Auntie Joanne to play broom ball with them, while my sister and I passed out on the couch, fully ensconced in sugar overload.  Dad settled in to the recliner to pop ticks off his leg, and Mom was left to clean up the mess – egg shells in the sink, sesame seeds under the table, and a glob of chocolate cookie dough that had somehow magically gotten stuck to the ceiling.  (It was Kim.)  (Keep in mind, when I was a kid, I used to write “Kim was here” on the walls thinking that my mother would actually believe it.  I spent a lot of time in ‘time out’.)  My knee is still weak, so Mom made Kim stand on a chair and scrape the dough off the ceiling (snicker!)

Eventually, Kim loaded the kids in the car, and Auntie Joanne selected some cookies to bring to my Great-Aunt Demi for Greek Easter.  Won’t she be surprised to see the koulourakia President Obama that the boys made for her? You bet she will.

Some people like to spend Good Friday doing last minute egg shopping, while others spend it in religious reverence.  In our family, we eat.

Happy Easter, everyone!

Still stumped as to what to buy your favorite author forChristmas?  (I’m still waiting for those gifts to start pouring in, folks!)  Here’s a peek at my Christmas Wish List this year:

1. A gift certificate to Zoe’s & Co. Professional Bra Fitters in Westerly.  When you’re baking cookies and frantically doing last minute shopping, it’s important to have a well-fitting bra that lifts and separates.
2. Classes in advanced HTML.  Sure, I can embed the trailer for “Frogs” on my blog, but still can’t get that @!!*%! RSS Feed to work right!
3. Purple cow-print flannel pajamas.  Because the ones I have are starting to fray.
4. Chocolate Chip Cookies.  I sure do enjoy a good chocolate chip cookie.  Who doesn’t, really?
5. Migraine medication.  Funny how these get more and more frequent as the holiday gets closer and closer…
6. A good night’s sleep.  I’m tired of tossing and turning, worrying about finishing the wrapping and addressing the holiday cards.  This gift may need to be accompanied by a bottle of Nyquil.
7. Domino’s Delivery.  With trying to chase down sock monkeys and Chia Pets for stocking stuffers, who has time to cook?
8. “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” with alternate ending – you know, where all the Whos down in Whoville are wailing and screaming because Christmas never came, and the Grinch gets to live happily ever after with a nauseous super naus.
9. Happy Pills.  Every once in a while, my mother likes to say “well, someone forgot to take their happy pill today!” I didn’t forget.  If you have chemically-induced happiness in pill form, hand ‘em over.
10. Answers.  What’s the meaning of life?  Where’s all this global warming that Al Gore promised me?  And why must the only answer to successful weight loss be eating less and exercising more?  

And to all my friends and family, I wish you a happy holiday season.  May it be filled with good food, good company, and a well-fitting bra.

I hate to sound Grinchy, but I’m a little tired of giving this holiday season.
I’ve bought gift baskets to support the National MS Society and candy bars to support the local high school kids.  I’ve donated canned goods to Gemma Moran and shopped for toys on Black Friday for the Stuff an Ambulance Toy Drive.  I’ve donated a dollar to St. Jude’s at the register every time I buy groceries, and bought my Christmas cards through Easter Seals.  So why is it that I can’t look the guy in the Santa hat ringing the bell outside Stop-n-Shop in the eye when I exit the store?
It’s a tough time of year, money-wise, and really, I feel like I’ve already done my part.  Half of my friends and family members are getting homemade papier-mâché ornaments for the holidays because we’re on a really tight budget right now.  We keep our house at 55 degrees and dress the cats in flannel to save on the heating bill.  But every time I pass the bell-ringing Santa with the red pot, I feel bad.
Really I feel bad because I don’t want to give him my spare change.  My cupboards are bare from the canned goods drive and I’ve been struggling to come up with creative dinner ideas using the mustard sauce and beef log from the MS Society baskets.  When a pint of sour cream comes to $2.89 (with the St. Jude donation tacked on), you know our grocery budget has been blown to snowflake-like smithereens.  If I want to hang on to the two measly quarters that I’vegot rubbing together in my pocket, isn’t that my prerogative?
Maybe I want to save that money for something special – maybe as a treat for my nephews.  A cup of coffee on a cold day or an apple pie from McDonalds after a long day at work.
Oh, sure, beady-eyed Santa, you might be looking into my soul and knowing that none of those things cost 50 cents and you could feed a family for a week with my two quarters, but my intentions are good. Okay, no they’re not.  Really.  I. just. want. to. keep. my. change.
Fine, take my money.  Here.  It was burning a hole in my pocket anyway.  But that’s it.  I am DONE giving this holiday season.  I’ve decided to avoid all malls and stores for the rest of the holiday season; that way, the bell-ringing Santa menace can’t guilt me out of any more money.We can survive on beef log casserole in mustard sauce for the next two weeks, right?  

I always think it's important to count one's blessings this time of year.  For one thing, it's humbling to remind oneself of all the good things we have in life.  For another, it really irritates all those Eeyores out there that seem to thrive on being miserable.  I'm always up for aggravating the Eeyores!
My Thanksgiving week started with dinner on Sunday at church with my in-laws.  I was thankful that we were all able to get together before the holiday.  My friend Marilyn was there, and I was thankful she got to see my platinum hair live and in person.  (I would dye my hair later in the week, and while it changed from platinum to dark platinum and not the golden blonde that the box promised, I was thankful it wasn't red and my roots were gone.)
There were a lot of kids running around at church, hopped up on brownies and sugar, and I was thankful that none of them were coming home with me.  (See?  You can find blessings everywhere you look!)
I only had to work three days this week -- you'd better believe I was thankful for that!  My boss took my coworker Jen and I out to lunch, which was, of course, a blessing.  I ate too much, but now that I have my grandmother's saddlebags parked on my hips, I have the perfect place to store all that extra fat.  Thanks, Grandma!
Jason had asked for Thanksgiving off to go hunting with my father.  Dad had a pretty serious health issue earlier this year, so I am eternally thankful that he's still here to go hunting with Jason.  Jason wound up having to go in to work even though he'd requested the day off back in January, and reminded his boss every month since then that he absolutely, positively could NOT work Thanksgiving morning, but thankfully, they were able to work out a compromise.  That compromise involved Jason staying up all night Thanksgiving Eve to go in to work at 1:30 AM, but I'm thankful that he didn't get into a car accident on the way to work and to my parent's house.  And when he started to hallucinate due to sleep deprivation, I'm thankful that he didn't hurt anyone when he shot at the unicorn he swore he saw.
I'm on my way to my parents' house now.  I'm thankful the spinach dip I made came out pretty tasty.  And I'm thankful that my mother, my sister and I all managed to get our hands on a Hartford Courant, so we won't fight over the Black Friday fliers.  Jason is napping now, and I'm thankful he managed to fit a nap in.  And I'm thankful that the grocery store ran out of turnips, which are now off the menu this year. All in all, it looks like were going to have a very blessed holiday.
Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!