Ninety-six degrees of perspiration Or What I did on my summer vacation(?)

Ninety-six degrees of perspiration-Part 1:

A Framptabulous 4th and Urban Camping

I've gotten word through the ranks that my silence is cause for concern. Either that or some of you are missing your quota of surrogate drama. To set the record straight: I have not been kidnapped, sold into slavery to pay for my plumbing issues, fallen in or out of love, or become lost in the federal bureacracy. However, I have been preoccupied. Where to begin? When I last checked in I'd just finished celebrating the boys' and Grandma Pierick's birthdays in Wisconsin. The rest of June was a blurr leading to preparations for an Independence Day weekend visit by Ellen Bernards.

What is there to say about Ellen's visit? She left with an all new Snooty Fox wardrobe, foundation garments, and a pictorial tutorial of how to put all the "thises" and "thats" together to boot (no pun intended). Nervous about the holiday traffic, she bolted before fireworks and a steamy blast to the past.

On the fourth, new friends, the Tanens, and I staked out our claim along with 100, 000 others on the black pavement across from Blue Ash airport in hopes of having a really good seat for the free YES and Peter Frampton Concert. Yes we came two hours early and then did everything we could to distract ourselves from the heat. I have to say, the music was great and the crowd was—mellow. I mean what did you expect from a group of old hippies. Enduring the steam bath was worth it to hear Andrew waxing poetic with his high school-aged son about his "yes" memories of youth and watching Victoria read recipes while we waited. I shot video of "Show Me the Way" for brother, Ken, who was a big PF fan back in the day.

The power of intentions and the downside of getting what you "ask" for.

My friend, Bonnie, told me a long time ago that intentions were powerful things to manage carefully. Just a little seed thought can create a great big fat reality. Long ago I had a demonstration of this power that has given Bonnie one of her favorite anecdotes demonstrating this principle. No, I'm not retelling the painful tale. Suffice it to say that I thought I'd had enough experience at this point to treat intentions with due caution.

But my May trip to Colorado had bewitched me with it's big sky and natural magnificence. I've been fantasizing about what it would be like to live in that environment and, I fear, have unwittingly let some of these thoughts run loose. Lately I've had an uncomfortable feeling that somewhere in the cosmic soup, an antennae in the Universe has picked up some of my errant musings about how wonderful it would be to wake up everyday looking at a majestic mountain range. In my reveries, I imagine that this antennae is connected to a cosmic intelligence who is also benevolent (though not well-connected) and says to itself, "Hey, she's a good egg. Let's deliver on her wish." This is the part where I understand the sad truth that the intelligence is that of an alien who's never come anywhere near Cincinnati or middle class life in America--because the cosmic do gooder delivers a giant rocky ridge to my backyard via the backhoe that the plumber rode that dug up the trail for the new water main that became a necessity after the third "miraculous" occurence of the spring at Lourdes—in my backyard.

Lesson 1: Forgotten big lessons get "retaught" or, if you take a risk that you eventually expect to pay for—expect the bill to come sooner than later.

Don't worry. The second half of this lesson is the one I really believe in. Those of you who have been following the exended tale of plumbing woe at Mt. Muchmore will remember that the first main break brought with it a forecast that at some future time I would be forced to re-lay the poorly installed line through nearly a half acre incline of clay, rock, retaining wall, and concrete drive. I crossed my fingers after the second break in December and started to believe in my good luck when winter had gone and the summer began.

Lesson 2: Never let your guard down.

Sadly I've learned that the moment you stop looking over your shoulder, the big 2x4 appears. As I said, I'd cheated fate until four days after Ellen left...

Next installment —

Ninety-six degrees of perspiration-Part 2:

Friends in the stone fields, Bernadette Peters, and NYC and sights below us (literally)