My Friend Heather

"Send a birthday greeting to Heather" was in my inbox this morning. Damn those people over Birthday Reminders - don't they realize Heather died three years ago?

While I'm saddened that I lost my friend - the reminder made me smile. Heather was my very first friend as a Marine Corps bride and I think of her often. We were newlyweds together on Topsail Island, NC. She had a month of marriage on her when I met her - so she was my mentor of sorts. She was adorable. Cute. Petite. Used the word "wicked" and said "idear" instead of "idea."

We had mirror image homes on the beach with these super small kitchens. (Hey, it's the beach - who's cooking?) There was a bar extending from the kitchen counter - probably a couple of inches higher than a table. She came home all excited one day because she bought bar stools so she and hubs could eat at the bar and not have to walk the extra foot to the table. The seat to the bar stool was higher than the actual bar - but she was so proud of her purchase!

Being newlyweds as well as new to the Marine Corps - neither of us had any idea most of the time what was going on. She and hubs were invited to a beach barbecue and she agonized for weeks over what to wear to this thing. A couple of decades later - it certainly seems like a no brainer - it's a barbecue on the beach for God's sake! But, this was a command function, hub's boss was hosting and they were expected to be there. And everyone knows officers' wives are snobby witches with a huge stipend for clothes. She ended up wearing this cute cotton dress with a jacket and high heals. It really was pretty and she looked stunning. An hour later she came barrelling up the drive, sand flying, words cursing and taking clothes off as she running in the house. Apparently a Tshirt and cut offs would have sufficed. Oooh, she was mad - and that New England accent turned on like nothing I'd ever heard before. We just sat back and watched the show!

We had fun setting up house side by side. We admired and laughed at each other's wedding gifts. We helped each other decorate. We tried recipes on each other. We learned we knew nothing about this new way of life. We both eventually got jobs and moved on base - but our friendship remained in tact. Our husbands deployed both together and separately. We went to dinner. Met for walks. Shopped. Cried at movies. Tackled projects with our glue guns. Looking back - what an innocent life. So young and carefree.

In the military - someone has to move - and this time it was me. We were headed for exotic Louisville, KY. She was my last stop before we left. She gave me a video cassette of a movie we had seen together. I cried all the way home at the loss of not having her part of my everyday life. This was a good decade before cell phones and email.

Life continued for both of us. We didn't have daily or weekly calls - but we did write letters. The Marine Corps took them to Panama and us to Japan. We never managed to be stationed together again - but we did see her hubs from time to time. For a couple of tours we seemed to follow each other. Email brought us close again - she would just write funny things although I think most were unintentional. "I saw three dolphins today. One in the front. One in the back and one in the middle." So simple and pure. One night I saw her hubs on CBS news. I immediately called her - "I knew you'd call" she laughed.

Heather was diagnosed with some kind of hideous, insidious brain cancer. She remained her upbeat self even having to know what the future held. Towards the end she would simply forward emails. I think that was her way of staying in touch. I'm not going to pretend to even know what her family went through. She left a wonderful husband and two teenagers.

I think back to the last time I saw her in person in 1989. The video she gave me was Beaches... a movie about two young girls that meet on a beach.

The morning after....

I don't sing. I don't dance. And I sure as hell don't shop the day after Thanksgiving!

Nope. Never. Although the thought of listening to a football game (s) for the 72 hours is forcing me to reconsider this idea. And I say listen to football - because no matter where I am in the house - a tv is on a football game. And it is blaring. And we all know....what do I hate more than shopping the day after Thanksgiving? You got it. FOOTBALL.

I'm very mission oriented. I like to get up early and do what I need to do. I admit I'm a little Rainmanish when it comes to certain activities. If I am not at the grocery/commissary by 9:00 a.m. - I won't go. I get irate when it gets near the holidays and the commissary is always busy. This is my time! You've got the rest of the day to shop like you do the rest of the year. Why are you infringing on my time???

I'm like that with all kinds of shopping - be it Wal Mart, Costco or a mall. I get there when it opens, get what I need - and go. If I need a silver engraved ice bucket with a diamond studded lid - I get it - and go. The display of gold engraved ice buckets complete with diamond studded lids and a $100 gift certificate holds no interest for me - as that is not what I am there for. I am not a fun person to mission shop with. I admit that.

However - when I shop with no purpose - it is a lot of fun. We can take all day and look at Agent Provocateur lingerie if you want.

But the thought of getting up early and rubbing shoulders with people who never see the light of day before noon and only a partial list of things I need - I don't think I can do it. My suburban is too big to fit in most parking spots - especially when Mr Iminabighurry spots my backing lights and insists on waiting for me to back out instead of looking for another spot.

But this inane football noise complete with yelling and fist pounding may force the issue.

Do they have drive through counselors?

Thanksgiving.....

This morning as I was removing my wedding and engagement rings to prepare for Thanksgiving, I realized I am such a cynic - I can truly find the bad in any situation, motive or idea. I can't imagine anyone's jaw hit the table upon reading that confession....so I am going to shock you by reliving happy Thanksgiving memories.

Growing up, we never went anywhere for the Thanksgiving holiday. All of my dad's family lived in town - but my dad being the youngest of 8 kids with a 20 year difference from the oldest sibling - our cousins were all about 10-15 years older than us, so relatives celebrated with their extended families - and we stayed home. That was fine with me - and I think rooted my tradition of staying home for all major holidays. My mom cooked a turkey and all the fixins. We lived in Ohio - so good hearty food - and if Mom got really fancy - we might have marshmallows on the sweet potatoes! We ate and my dad and brothers watched football. That that is about all I can remember for the first 18 years of my life. Still my favorite tradition - staying home and eating!


My first married Thanksgiving was spent on the beach at Topsail Island, North Carolina. Hubby's company commander invited us to their home for dinner. Egads! A captain, his wife and two kids! I was tasked with an appetizer. I can't remember what I took - but I do remember the dish I presented it in. A crystal heart shaped platter we received as a wedding gift. What it had to do with Thanksgiving - I'm not sure - but I was proud to use it! We were dining with another couple - from California. Talk about intimidating.....Wendy was tasked with sweet potatoes. She whispered to me she used her mom's Citrus Yam recipe. I was scared. What the heck do oranges have to do with yams - or sweet potatoes where I come from! I was pleasantly surprised. A light orange zest really does bring out the flavor in an orange vegetable! Who knew? The next day I prepared my first Thanksgiving dinner for my groom and me. With the help of a shower gift cookbook - it was a wonderful meal. His birthday was in two days so we had birthday cake for dessert. Then we took a walk on the beach. Perfect!

Fast forward five years to Okinawa, Japan. We had literally just moved to this tiny island in the Pacific. By just moved - I mean we arrived Monday afternoon of Thanksgiving week. Thanksgiving was the last thing on my mind as we deboarded the plane with a 6 month old and every possible thing we could hand carry 10,000 miles! This was the November I realized the Marine Corps is truly one family. Our sponsor on the island invited us to a potluck Thanksgiving dinner at a place called the Eagles Nest. I don't know what I took, if anything - and I'm pretty sure I just showed up jet lagged beyond belief not knowing a soul. These wonderful people took us in and gave us a reason to be Thankful. Alone on an island without a family in sight we became each other's family. As I type this - I am thinking of the people there we are still in contact with - some are even neighbors now here in Northern Virginia.

The next year in Okinawa I remember buying celery for $8 at the commisary. Ouch! But, I digress!


Several years later, for reasons still not clear - we drove back to Ohio from Cherry Point, North Carolina. We had never done this before - and we have not done it since! I seem to remember trying eat carb free at Thanksgiving. Hmm. Potatos. Bread. Pumpkin pie. Yeah. Didn't go over so well! We ate everywhere we went. Actually, the reason we went back to Ohio is that hubby had Stealer tickets for that weekend. Someone had the brilliant idea that he could go to Pittsburgh with my brother and then just fly back to NC and I could pick him up in Raleigh on Monday. I must have been in a no-carb induced coma - because I agreed to this. The kids and I drove back to NC by ourselves. A regular trip takes about 8 hours. This took 12 and we were only in Wythville, VA. So, making the command decision - we stayed in Raleigh for the night and picked up hubs at the airport as scheduled the next day. We enjoyed free warm cookies at 10 p.m. Carbs for everyone!


My favorite part about this trip happened in West Virginia. Son #2 was probably 7 or 8 at the time. We stopped to get gas and he came out of the rest room just absolutely disgusted. I asked what was wrong. He reported someone had written "my balls are humongous" on the bathroom wall. BUT - they had spelled humongous wrong. Lesson learned and we still live by this rule...if you are going to deface property - the least you can do is spell it correctly.


One year we ate at the chow hall with the Marines. Boy, talk about a throw down! Not only did they have turkey and dressing - but steak and lobster, too! By a happy coincidence - my cousin and her family lived at the same base - and my fondest memory is her husband eating at least 4 different kinds of pie. Pie. And you know how I feel about a pie!

This year my inlaws are visiting. Our first born is home from college. It's chilly outside. No citrus yams - but I am making a pecan cinnamon yam. Yum! I don't have much use for my crystal heart shaped dish except at Valentine's Day - but I am using my new turkey platter I won at Bunko. But one thing remains the same - the same wonderful cookbooks I received at a wedding shower all those years ago. Pan Gravy on page 62 is stained with flour, oil and other foods - but I rely on it every year. "More gravy, please," is music to my ears!"

As I put my wedding and engagement ring back on after doing the dishes, I take a few minutes to remember a cold Thanksgiving weekend 24 years ago. It was the year I said "yes" to all of this.

My Thoughts on Port o John Sharing

Because I'm fully aware of many of the pressing issues of the world - it is finally time for the reading public to hear my thoughts on the most important debate of modern times - Two Huge Events in Washington, DC sharing Port o Johns.

In a word. NO. In two words. HELL NO. In three words. OH, HELL NO.

I was fortunate enough to attend the Marine Corps Marathon on Sunday. I was unfortunate enough to be one of the last people to leave the Marine Corps Marathon late Sunday afternoon (and not because of my performance - so save your jokes!) The port of johns were locked until early Sunday morning - and I take a great deal of pleasure of probably being the first person in the VIP port o johns. (What can I say? I know the right people.) While I wouldn't say the VIP port o john was the Cadillac of portable restrooms - I didn't see any faux marble or bidets - I would say it was at least a 4 door sedan. However, by the time the day was over - there was absolutely nothing VIP about the accommodations. I mean - you go in, you do your business, you leave. Or you would think. And the VIP accommodations ran out of water - so that was no longer an option.

Anyway, when you gotta go - you gotta go - so I stepped out of my comfort VIP zone - and if I thought those accommodations had gone to hell - I sure as hell wasn't ready for what awaited on the other side. As I refused cubicle after cubicle while shaking my head - one of the operation officers jokingly (I think) commented "Do they not meet your standards, Miss Kate?" And the funny thing is - I don't even have standards. But no way. I ended up driving to a Shell station in Woodbridge.

My point, and I do have one, the facilities were used for about 10 hours on Sunday. I can't imagine if they had been open the day before to share with another event. I mean, there are people in my house for whom I would lovingly take a bullet - but I won't share a bathroom with them. So share a port o john with 30,ooo strangers on a two day event? I think you know my views.

40 Years of Motherhood

Last week my dad would have been 74 years old. That is simply unfathomable to me to even consider him an older man because he died when he was 46 years old. But that isn't the saddest part of this post.

I was talking to my aunt, my dad's sister, who happens to share the same birthday as my dad. We were talking about a distant relative that just had a baby - and her eldest daughter was 15. Yikes! Talk about starting over! She then went on to say that my grandmother - her mother, had eight children - and 20 years and 17 days separated the oldest (my uncle) to the youngest - my dad. That's almost 40 years of raising kids!

Why is this so sad? I never knew my grandmother. My dad never knew his mother. She died when he was 7 years old. She didn't live long enough to received the pure gift of being a mother for 40 years. I feel sad for everyone involved. My uncle, the first born - the child that new her the longest. I feel sad for the children in between - 3 aunts and 3 uncles. Their mother may not have been around for graduations, weddings, births of grandchildren. I feel especially sad for my dad who only had his mother for 7 short years.

While I was growing up, we had a picture of my dad standing in front of an old style car. He's wearing jeans that are cuffed, a puffy style coat and some kind of silly hat. He has a slight grin on his face and is staring at the camera. The back of the photo reads he is 7 years old. I always knew that the picture was taken the day his mother died. Even as a little girl I thought that was weird - why would anyone think to take a picture that day? One day I asked my dad why they took his picture. He explained that he was sent outside and someone thought a great way to occupy his time would be to take his picture. 40 years later I think that is an incredibly sensitive way to handle the situation - someone certainly was caring for him and trying to keep him occupied. But, he didn't remember who took the picture. I have it in my living room now. I don't have many pictures of my dad as a child - I would imagine it is because his mother died so young, his father was a farmer, and his siblings were so much older than he.

As few pictures I have of my dad as a child - I have only two of my grandmother. One is her wedding picture. It was probably taken around 1915 or so. She is wearing a high collared lacy dress and her hair is pulled up. We share the same widow's peak - which is precisely why I always have bangs. For years this is the only picture I ever saw of her. A couple of years ago a distant cousin sent me some pictures of her family during the 20's, 30's and 40's. My own daughter was probably 7 or 8 at the time and she was looking at them before I had the chance to examine them closely. She held one picture up of a of a man and a woman holding a baby and a couple of kids standing in a field. She asked why I was dressed in old time clothes and who was the baby? My heart skipped a beat. It certainly did look like me in a 1930's frock. Eerily so. It was my grandmother. And she was holding my father.

Things I Used to Think

I like to think I lead a pretty simplistic life. Good is good. Bad is bad. Not a lot of gray areas. Apparently this all started at a young age as I recall what I am lovingly titling "Things I Used to Think." Generally there is no basis for any of these thoughts - I just think they are funny now.

1. All bad kids are given to Indians. I do not have any idea where this idea came from. But if a kid is acting up and being a brat - I still think to myself "He's going to have to go live with the Indians." I can also remember thinking that the Indians took the children somewhere along the Muskingum River near Terry's Tavern in Zanesville, Ohio. Really. No earthly reason anyone would ever tell me this. But I suspect my sister.

2. People with the same last name are related. My friend Kelly Carpenter not only shared the last name with The Carpenters - she also had every one of their albums. They had to be cousins or something! Fortunately, this idea turned out good for me in the end - as I do not want to be related to Nazi war criminals.

3. Everyone knows how to swim. Hmmm. Turns out they don't.

4. Anyone older than me is infinitely smarter and cooler than me. Except for the Rosecrans Class of 1979 - I'd have to go with false on this one, too.

5. Long melodious names are much better than short ones. They sound prettier to the ear - but think of how long Victoria Franchesca Mussolini has to spend filling in the bubbles on her SATs than Ann Clark. But Victoria probably aced the history portion.

Wives Can Suffer From It, Too

****This is in no way making light of any ailments.



I think I may be suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.

I heard a song yesterday that stopped me cold in my tracks and by the end of the song I was in tears. I immediately googled the lyrics to the song - and then continued to cry for another 20 minutes. Fortunately, I had the strength to get on with the rest of the day but the song continues to haunt me. Even this morning, I, fool that I am, wanted to see if it had the same affect on me. Guess what - it sure did.



The song is Meet Me Halfway by the Black Eyed Peas. I love the Black Eyed Peas! If there is a band that can get you moving and having fun - it is certainly them! I secretly dance to them when I think no one is looking and I've been caught on more than one occasion singing along with them. So you can imagine my surprise when this song caught me off guard.



Then it occurred to me why I got so emotional. The Black Eyed Peas managed to capture my exact feelings while my husband was deployed to Iraq. But, this is where it gets crazy. It's been a while since he deployed....but the song made all the feelings I felt while he was deployed very fresh. It is not an overstatement to say I was totally blindsided by the song and the feelings it refreshed.



Here is a link to the song with the lyrics. I like this link because there is no visual - which might have been a bad thing - I was alone with my thoughts.



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lllNepYe2z8&feature=related



What you need to know about me - most people think I am not an emotional person. I may be opinionated. I may be loud. I may be cynical - but most people will never know how deep my emotions run. I am a closeted emotional wreck most of the time. Give me a good movie and the tears will flow. Probably not related to the movie in any way - just a good reason to cry over everything I am thinking about. I don't think this is a good thing - but this is just how it is.



Back to the song...it captures the exact mood of every day my Marine was gone. I'm guessing only other military wives can understand the depth of feelings a deployment conjures - but I'm sure there are spouses feeling the same depth of emotions if their husband is gone overnight or a week. But, people, 7 months is a long time. A year is a long time. I should be lucky I only had the 7 months.



He had deployed many times before - but never for that long - and certainly not leaving me with three pre-teens. And this was different - it was a war zone. He was a commander. I had people that needed to be taken care of.



During the day I was spot on with all my duties, obligations and responsibilities. I was a little Marsha Brady - I was a member of everything from clubs, to school groups to team mom. It kept me occupied and only a little amount of time each day was reserved for thinking about Iraq.



But after the meetings were adjourned, games played, dinner fed and the kids off to bed - I would find myself with about 10 hours before the routine started again. And if I remember correctly, each and every second of those 10 hours was reserved for missing my husband and best friend.



It's not like I could pack the kids and fly to the dessert. Would it be - I would have done it. I just wanted to see him. Talk about stupid things. Laugh.



Sometimes if we timed it just right - he would log on to his account and we could email back and forth in real time. I would pray for these nights and sometimes not go to bed until 2 or 3 in the morning just hoping he might be there. On the nights we did connect - it was usually for about 10 minutes. So while I lived for these 10 minutes - we had to eventually say goodbye so he could start his day and I could end mine. I still don't know which was worse - missing our online conversations or saying goodbye.



"I can't go any further than this" Wow. What a profound statement in just 7 words. Literally, I couldn't go any further than the Internet to be close to him - that was as close as I could be to him. The kids and I went to Caroline Beach for Spring Break during this time- and staring at the ocean while having a 10 minute midnight email tag was probably the closest I ever felt to him while he was gone. Take those same 7 words to another level - and this is very uncomfortable. If I didn't stop myself from obsessing about him - I believe I might have fallen into some chasm of crazy. I had to stop watching the news. Reading papers. Talking about it. Our midnight dalliances were as far as I could take the relationship. So it wasn't as if I didn't care. I cared too much. About me. My family. My sanity.

I don't mean to make light of of post trauma - it is a real medical condition and true heroes suffer from the syndrome, but I do think it might be possible for those left behind to suffer from it, too. Why not? I certainly never thought I'd have a reaction to a song like that. The squadron returned on a September day a few years ago.

Maybe I'll just stick to my Earth Wind and Fire CD. It kept me going while things were tough. One song in particular I would blare from my car stereo and sing along at the top of my lungs. I would always take the CD with me when we had squadron functions and invariably the song would get people on their feet. The song? September.

These are the lyrics in red -



I can't go any further than this

I want you so badly, it's my biggest wish

Cool, I spent my time just thinkin' thinkin' thinkin' bout you

Every single day, ´cause I'm really missin' missin' you

And all those things we use to, use to, use to, use to do





Hey girl what's up yo... what's up, what's up, what's up

Can you meet me halfway, right at the borderline

That's where I'm gonna wait, for you

I'll be lookin' out, night n'day

Took my heart to the limit, and this is where I'll stay

Oh oh oh oh oh I can't go any further than this



Oh oh oh oh oh I want you so bad it's my only wish

Girl,

I travel round the world and even sail the seven seas

Across the universe I'll go to other galaxies

Just tell me where to go,

just tell me where you wanna meet

I navigate myself myself to take me where you be Cause girl I want I,

I... I want you right nowI travel uptown (town) I travel downtown

Wanna have you around (round) like every single day I love you alway, way

(I'll meet you halfway

Can you meet me half way)

Right at the borderline

That's where I'm gonna wait, for you

I'll be lookin' out, night n'day

Took my heart to the limit, and this is where I'll stay



I can't go any further than this



I want you so bad it's my only wish

I can't go any further than this

I want you so bad it's my only wish



Let's walk the bridge, to the other side Just you and I (just you and I)

I will fly, fly the skies, for you and I (for you and I)

I will try, until I die, for you and I, for you and I, for for for you and I,

For for for you and I, for for you and I, for you and I



Can you meet me half way Can you meet me half way

Can you meet me half way Can you meet me half waaaay!

Meet me half way, right at the borderline

There's where I'm gonna wait, for you



I'll be lookin' out, night n'day

Took my heart to the limit, and this is where I'll stay

I can't go any further than this

I want you so bad it's my only wish

I can't go any further than this

I want you so bad it's my only wish

Memories and Reality

Yesterday Mr Spartan and I had the opportunity to visit a place we used to live. We lived aboard Cherry Point for three years and moved from there in 2006. (We've since moved 3 times - but that's another post.) Driving around the base there had been a lot of changes - some good, some not to my liking - but it is funny how skewed your memory can be.

It got me thinking about my favorite house ever. It is located in Zanesville, Ohio. My friend lived in the house until we were probably in 5th or 6th grade.

I adored this house. For starters, every time we took the Maple Avenue exit - you could see the house. That, in an 8 year-old-mind - is the tops. I would beg whatever parent was driving to honk at the family if they were outside.

The house was located on a cul-du-sac within and within walking distance of Tom's Ice Cream Bowl - a favorite Zanesville spot for over 50 years. If I spent the night - we could walk to Toms and get ice cream. There were no Ice Cream parlors anywhere in my neighborhood - except I guess you could get a coke at the gas station down the street.

The house itself was like none I had ever been in. It was part stone, had sloping roofs, and green shutters with little heart cutouts. It had three livable stories and a basement. We lived in a ranch style house - so to me - the thought of stairs were a dream come true. I guess the front of the house was actually sideways - and from the highway you were looking at the side of the house. But this made no difference - because on the side of the house was a little terrace accessible through the living room window. I had only seen a terrace like this in various books I had read and movies I had seen that took place in Paris. Oh, how glorious it would be to open the door and stand on a terrace with room only for me!

The front of the house - actually the side - had a front door and a grand foyer that led to a sweeping staircase. The thought of having to walk up all those steps to a bedroom -- I would pray a silent prayer upon entering "please ask me to spend the night, please ask me to spend the night!"

But the most spectacular thing about the front of the house - it had a huge deck/terrace on the 2nd level leading out from the master bedroom! Oh, this was high living! Just the thought of such glamour - and in little Zanesville! Surely this home was built for a movie star.

The main floor had the kitchen, dining room, grand foyer, some type of parlor and living room. Oh, the living room...not only did it have the terraced window - it had french doors. FRENCH DOORS! Doors within a room. High style, indeed!

After climbing the grande staircase (there was a landing in the middle of the stairs...to die for!) you would enter the floor of bedrooms. We had the master bedroom - previously mentioned with the deck. I believe there was also a fireplace - but if it wasn't a fireplace - it was a shelf . There was another bedroom - but I don't remember much about it. A rather large bathroom - with two doors. Two doors! The 2nd door led to the bedroom of my friend. No one I knew had a bathroom attached to their own bedroom! Oh, dream of not having to walk into the hall to use the bathroom. This girl had it made.

At the end of the hall - and or some reason - my mind remembers the hallway as circular - was a door leading to another set of steps. I hesitate to call this an attic - because it was two rather large rooms. One room to to the left had been a bedroom - and probably could still be used as one - but we used it as a play room/office/school room. How grand this house must be to have extra rooms for our use only! Across the hall was another room. In my mind, both rooms are huge - as big as ballrooms. This room held a portable clothing rack filled with dance costumes. A couple of the older daughters were talented dancers - and this is where the old costumes went. I loved to look at them - just to see the spangles and glitter. Such glamour. And it could be mine for the night.

The family moved to South Zanesville in mid elementary school for reasons I don't know. I loved their new home, too. I have not been in the house off Maple Avenue since probably 1975 - but I pass it every day when I'm in Zanesville. Perhaps because it sits within spitting distance of the Maple Avenue Exit off I-70! Maybe because you could walk to Tom's which even though the ice cream is still out of this world - I don't even like parking in that neighborhood.

It's still stone. It's still green and has the cute shutters. It's kind of now surrounded by large houses that have been converted into apartment units, but it is still single family. I have no idea if the family knows how much I loved that house. I would love to go through it again to see if it is as grand as I remember. But, I think I'll just be content with my memories of the glitz and spangles of the 3rd floor costume room and the convenience of thinking the ultimate convenience to an 8 year old girl was not having to go in the hallway to use the bathroom.

My Thoughts on Hell (I'm Guessing)

I've had a lot of time to think about hell lately. I used to think hell was quite possibly the worst of everything. A proverbial assault of your senses. Such as repeatedly watching a horrid scene and unable to do anything about it. The shrillest sound whirling in your ears. The worst pain imaginable (I thought a kidney stone was pretty bad.) A horrid putrid smell.

But I was wrong. I know this now because I've had a glimpse of my own personal hell.

I was way off on the scenery. While there is something to see - you are unable to make out much of it because it is so dark. Not pitch dark - but dark enough that you can see words and shapes - but dim enough not to make any of them out.

The worst noise is still there - but it is not like a siren, or an alarm, rap music or even a baby screaming. It is an endless montage of radio play by play of a football. IS THERE ANYTHING WORSE than radio coverage of any sport? No, there is not. But football is the worst.

What's worse than Limburger cheese mixed with sewage? I'll tell you. 50 different sweet smelling perfumes all mixed together. You can't even breath after that!

And while a kidney stone is a horrible pain where if someone would have opted to stick a needle in my eye I would have done it - I have to say an ice cream headache is much worse. It only lasts 10 seconds - but it seems like a year. Yes, I have to say a perpetual ice cream headache would be an appropriate hell trait.

And where did I get my glimpse of Hell? A store called Hollister. I'll take the blame for the ice cream headache - I didn't need the double chocolate chip mint frappacino - and as punishment God granted me an ice cream headache as we were standing in line to purchase a shirt. Is it too much to ask to turn up the lights so we can see what were doing prior to purchasing a $26 Tee shirt that looks like it belongs in a rag bag? And turn down the inane play by play and for the love of god - does perfume have to permeate every inch of this store? Oh, my head hurt as I pounded the ice cream headache with my fist.

As we left the store with every sense assaulted - my darling sweet daughter knew I was discombobulated and suggested we go to Macy's. "They've got stuff in there even grandmas can wear."

Ouch. You check your pride at the door of Hell, too.