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Wish I'd thought of this years ago!

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WOOF: The Green Thing

Checking out at the store, the young cashier suggested to a WOOFer that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment. The woman apologized and explained, "We didn't have this green thing back in my earlier days." The clerk responded,
"That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment for future generations."

She was right -- our generation didn't have the green thing in its day. Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled. But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

Grocery stores bagged our groceries in brown paper bags that we reused for numerous things, most memorable besides household garbage bags, was the use of brown paper bags as book covers for our school books. This was to ensure that public property, (the books provided for our use by the school) was not defaced by our scribbling. Then we were able to personalize our books. But too bad we didn't do the green thing back then.

We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks. But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.
Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry our clothes back in our early days. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. But that young lady is right; we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of ontana. In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us. When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used wadded up old newspapers to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap. Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity. But she's right; we didn't have the green thing back then.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water. We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull. But we didn't have the green thing back then.

Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service. We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to
receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest burger joint.

But isn't it sad? The current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then.

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WOOF: A WOOFer's Diary

photo by On The Green

A Wife's Diary:

Tonight, I thought my husband was acting weird. We had made plans to meet at a nice restaurant for dinner. I was shopping with my friends all day long, so I thought he was upset at the fact that I was a bit late, but he made no comment on it. Conversation wasn't flowing, so I suggested that we go somewhere quiet so we could talk. He agreed, but he didn't say much.

I asked him what was wrong; He said, 'Nothing..' I asked him if it was my fault that he was upset He said he wasn't upset, that it had nothing to do with me, and not to worry about it. On the way home, I told him that I loved him. He smiled slightly, and kept driving. I can't explain his behavior. I don't know why he didn't say, 'I love you, too.'

When we got home, I felt as if I had lost him completely, as if he wanted nothing to do with me anymore. He just sat there quietly, and watched TV. He continued to seem distant and absent. Finally, with silence all around us, I decided to go to bed. About 15 minutes later, he came to bed. But I still felt that he was distracted, and his thoughts were somewhere else. He fell asleep; I cried. I don't know what to do. I'm almost sure that his thoughts are with someone else. My life is a disaster.

A Husband's Diary:

A five putt!

Who the hell five putts?!

(Thanks to Hoosier Hoopla for the laugh!)

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WOOF: Carol Burnett

One of WOOF's all-time favorite WOOFers!! "When I was growing up in Hollywood, I thought you had to look like Betty Grable or Tony Curtis to get anywhere in show business. But I never worried about my looks too much. Some people said I looked like Tony Curtis." ~ Carol Burnett (looking at this picture, can't you almost hear her "Tarzan" call?!?! :) 

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WOOF: Britain's Got A Talented Canine!

It took a dog to impress the iracible, Simon Cowell, but Pudsey, the latest winner of Britain's Got Talent, did just that!

Pudsey and owner Ashleigh Butler, 17, picked up a cheque for £500,000 after winning BGT on Saturday.

Both are now headed to Hollywood to launch a career in TV ads and film parts.

Ashleigh, of Wellingborough, Northamptonshire, said: “It would be a dream come true to go to Hollywood and do films with Pudsey.

“He is perfect. If he sees a camera, he poses and holds his position.”

Butler hugged her dog and said: "I love you." She said Pudsey - a border collie, bichon frise and Chinese crested cross - had become "very diva-ish" during the last week, and had been demanding steak dinners.

Asked how she plans to spend her winnings, she added: “Pudsey needs a new lead. I will get him one and a collar. Then I would like to set up my own business getting film work for dogs or animals.”

As to Pudsey's fabulous talent; We're not surprised. Even if  our furry friends can't dance, sing, or act, they make us smile.  That's worth £500,000 any day of the week.

You can also read about some pretty fabulous canines in

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A WOOFer Watching Out for Women Around the World

WOOFER WATCHING OUT FOR WOMEN

"In the past… the United States regularly supported peace talks that left women out of negotiating rooms and treaty documents… As of this spring, with the release of a first-ever secretarial policy directive on gender, advancing the status of women and girls worldwide is officially a requirement in every U.S. diplomat's job description."
Melanne Verveer   US Ambassador-at-Large for Global Women's Issues

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WOOF: Media Monday - The "Old As Dirt" Syndrome

Fess up: How many of us WOOFers buy into the "old as dirt" imagine? In posting thoughts I received in one of those anonymous, supposedly uplifting emails, I added my own interpretation, in red.

As I've aged, I've tried to be kinder and less critical of myself. I've become my own friend. (I'm my own worse enemy! Not buying into this kinder, gentler garbage)

Whose business is it, if I choose to read, or play, on the computer, until 4 AM, or sleep until noon? I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 50, 60 and 70's, and if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love, I will. (Still feelin' guilty about all my Facebook time!)

I will walk the beach, in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body, and will dive into the waves, with abandon, if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the Gen X set. They, too, will get old. (Are you kidding me!! I won't walk through my own house without a coverup!)

I know I am sometimes forgetful. But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten. And, I eventually remember the important things. (Okay. I'll buy into that)

Sure, over the years, my heart has been broken. How can your heart not break, when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car? But, broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding, and compassion. A heart never broken, is pristine, and sterile, and will never know the joy of being imperfect. (Check)

I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray, and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face. (LOL, ROFL, LMAO! Gray hair and wrinkles? Not feeling so blessed)

As you get older, it is easier to be positive. You care less about what other people think. I don't question myself anymore. I've even earned the right to be wrong. (Feeling more positive? About what? Sags and bags? Ever shrinking retirement income? Knees that creak when I walk? You don't agree? Guess what? I don't care!)

So, to answer your question, I like being old. It has set me free. I like the person I have become. I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been, or worrying about what will be. And I shall eat dessert every single day.  (Now, that's more like it!)

And, don't forget: Laughter is the key!

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WOOF: Media Monday - Letter From A Stranger

For all you Barbara Taylor Bradford fans! I became one years ago when I read Woman of Substance. While I haven't read all her books, I was recently sent the audio version of Letter From A Stranger by publicist, Esther Bochner of MacMillan and Co, and was reminded why I'm a fan.

Justine Nolan is a documentary filmmaker who lost her beloved grandmother a decade ago – the person who was the only source of love and comfort in her life. Her own mother, Deborah, has always been distant and uninvolved, following her own agenda in pursuit of her career as an interior designer.

But when Justine inadvertently opens a letter addressed to her mother, she discovers that not only is her grandmother, Gabriele, alive, but that Deborah has deliberately estranged the family from her for all these years. Justine’s search for her grandmother takes her to Istanbul, where she begins to uncover the family’s secrets, which stretch all the way back to World War II. As the layers of deception peel away, Justine begs to understand a woman she never really knew… and she begins to ask questions about the true desires of her own heart.

My Review:

As usual, Barbara Taylor Bradford sucked me, imediately, into this beautiful story of family secrets and intrigue. Vivid descriptions take the reader on a magical journey as Justine Nolan struggles to find answers to troubling questions revealed in a letter that could change all she's believed about her family.

At first, I wasn't sure I'd appreciate Nicola Barber's reading of the audio book, but her soothing voice quickly engaged.

I enjoyed this book every bit as much as other Barbara Taylor Bradford novels, although Woman of Substance remains my all-time favorite.

"Letter..." is captivating from start to finish.

Speaking of captivating! Don't forget about the

fun side of fifty!

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WOOF: Don't Scare The Dog!

Two elderly women were out driving in a large car - both could barely see over the dashboard. As they were cruising along, they came to an intersection. The stoplight was red, but they just went on through. The woman in the passenger seat thought to herself 'I must be losing it. I could have sworn we just went through a red light.'

After a few more minutes, they came to another intersection and the light was red. Again, they went right through. The woman in the passenger seat was almost sure that the light had been red but was really concerned that she was losing it. She was getting nervous.

At the next intersection, sure enough, the light was red and they went on through. So she turned to the other woman and said, 'Mildred, did you know that we just ran through three red lights in a row? You could have killed us both!'

Mildred turned to her and said, 'Oh, crap, am I driving?'

I'm sure Mildred's dog can relate!

For more senior and dog humor,

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WOOF: Put A Little Zest Into Your Life!

The latest thing WOOF's dug up!

Zest NOW: For Women 55 and Forward has some great tips!

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WOOF: Media Monday: Taming Your Alpha B****

Taming Your Alpha Bitch, by Rebecca Grado and Christy Whitman, reinforces what we've known for decades, ladies. Every advancement we've made, every step towards equality in the work force, in politics, even at home, have been hard-fought and well-earned; sometimes at the expense of our emotional and physical well-being.

All too often, our accomplishments leave us with that "glass half-empty" feeling, and we end up pushing too hard, along with assuming the Alpha Bitch mindset which, ironically, takes away our power rather than enriching it.

Enter Taming Your Alpha Bitch!

Whether you're a Forceful, Controlling, Competitive, or Disruptive Alpha, you'll find wonderfully detailed questions and answers to assist you in identifying your particular type in order to soften and improve your approach to life. Helpful Tips on dealing with work, home, or your partner are placed in each chapter along with easy-to-follow exercises.

You can even download a free meditation guide on the website:

If you find yourself barking up the wrong tree, Taming Your Alpha Bitch will teach you how to Wag more and bark less.

Rebecca Grado, MFT is a licensed intuitive psychotherapist, co-founder of the Goddess Retreat– a transformational weekend that awakens the radiance and power within women– and co-author of the upcoming book “Taming Your Alpha Bitch – How to be Fierce and Feminine (and get everything you want)”. A gifted writer, her work is featured with bestselling authors Dr. Wayne Dyer, Michael Beckwith, and Anthony Robbins.

She has been quoted in several news articles including self.com, aol.com, and momlogic.com Rebecca has studied metaphysics since 1985 and is a true visionary in her approach to energy work and healing. For over twenty-five years she has raised awareness on the planet through her books, seminars, and in her private practice. Skillfully blending her intuitive gift with traditional psychotherapy practices, she helps individuals transcend their limitations, discover their innate joy, and awaken their greatest potential.

Christy Whitman: Christy Whitman is an in-demand life coach, transformational leader, CEO and founder of the Quantum Success Coaching AcademyTM, a 12 month Law of Attraction coaching certification program. She has helped thousands of women and men around the world achieve their goals through her empowerment seminars, speeches, and coaching sessions and products. Christy’s life-changing message reaches over 100,000 people a month and she has been quoted in Seventeen, Woman’s World, Woman’s Day, Teen Vogue, The Star Ledger, and Knot Magazine.

As a certified Law of Attraction coach, her work has been promoted by and featured with best-selling authors like Marianne Williamson, Dr. Wayne Dyer, Marci Shimoff, Brian Tracy, Neal Donald Walsch, Abraham-Hicks and Louise Hay. She currently lives in Montreal with her husband, Frederic, and their two boys, Alexander and Maxim. Meet her at http://www.ChristyWhitman.com and http://www.7EssentialLaws.com.

Taming Your Alpha Bitch on Amazon

Video of the authors recent appearance on The Today Show!

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WOOF: Women Over Fifty - Exercise!

WOOFers need weight training! After careful study, we recommend this progressive exercise.

Begin by standing on a comfortable surface, where you have plenty of room at each side.

With a 5-lb potato bag in each hand, extend your arms straight out from your sides and hold them there as long as you can. Try to reach a full minute, and then relax.

Each day you'll find that you can hold this position for just a bit longer. After a couple of weeks, move up to 10-lb potato bags.

Then try 50-lb potato bags and then eventually try to get to where you can lift a 100-lb potato bag in each hand and hold your arms straight for more than a full minute.(I'm at this level)

After you feel confident at that level, put a potato in each bag.

Don't thank us, just FEEL THE BURN!

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WOOF: Media Monday: Remember When?

Remember when your grandmother wore these shoes? Not too different than the granny shoes we wore in one of the previous "ugly clothes" decades.

How about the days when $2.98 could buy a fantastic suit?

What about some old-timey Spanks for $.99!! I could go for that!

If you're not in to clothes, just imagine buying a refridgerater for $11.95! Okay, so this isn't exactly our modern day side-by-side, but cutting edge, in its day.

WOOF question(s) of the week.

How the Sam Hill did things get so disproportionately expensive?? and...

Would you like to go back in time when you could own a pair of shoes called "Goodyear Welts" for $1.98? Imagine the traction you'd have trying to pull on one of those miserable girdles!

Read more fashion ins and outs in WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty

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WOOF: Media Monday-Love In A Nutshell

 

 
Who out there listens to audio books? I have to confess that I don't...unless I'm on a looooong automobile trip. And, my loooooong, I mean 7 hours or so.

After stuffing our faces with breakfast burritos, chugging latte's, and small-talking for an hour or so, my husband and I popped in the the CD version of Love In A Nutshell, by Janet Evanovich and Dorien Kelley, on our way north for Christmas. Although not his "cup of tea," we both enjoyed this lighthearted mystery/romance.  

There is no doubt Kate Appleton was better off when her marriage ended. (In my opinion, her ex was a jerk! After battling Kate for custody of their poodle, he abandoned Stella at the whim of his new girlfriend.) Losing her job, however, as a magazine editor…not so good.

How could she have guessed that moving back to her childhood home in Michigan would lead to a new career and stint as a private investigator for Matt Cullhane, the good-looking owner of Depot Brewery? Even Kate's dislike of beer and allergy to hops didn't slow her down.  

The novel is fast-paced, and the main characters are developed to the point that Kate, Matt, and their canine companions seem like old friends at the end.

The narration by Lorelei King is pleasing, crisp, and easy to follow. My only complaint is that Ms. King's doggy diction borders on silly. Her "woofs" definitely need work. LOL!

That said, Love In A Nutshell is an enjoyable, recommended read.

About The Authors:

Janet Evanovich is the #1 bestselling author of the Stephanie Plum novels, Between the Numbers novels, Wicked Appetite, and How I Write. She lives in Florida. Visit her at www.evanovich.com

Dorien Kelly lives in Michigan with one or more of her three children, a couple of random and crazy rescue dogs, and a very spoiled West Highland White Terrier who is under the mistaken impression that he runs the whole pack. Please visit her at www.dorienkelly.com.

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WOOF: Furry Friends Friday - Christmas Dogs

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays

from the WOOFers!

WOOF is proud to promote pet adoptions and rescues,
but remember:

Pets are not just for Christmas; they're forever.

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WOOF: What's A "Big Boned" WOOFer To Do? Ask Alpha!

Dear Alpha:

After 50, the pounds get harder to shed! What’s a WOOFer to do? 

Signed: Tired of Saying I’m Big Boned!

Dear Tired:

How Alpha does loves this question. A WOOFer is a woman over 50 who is still a puppy at heart. Not a puppy on the scales. Not a puppy in the dress shop. Not a puppy in the buff! Eat wisely and exercise, and let nature take its course. After all, pound for pound, you’re more woman now than ever before!

For more WOOFer fun, check out...
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Ask Alpha! Content & Illustration Copyright Diana Black 2011

Disclaimer: Ask Alpha! is fictional in character and content.

WOOFers Club is not in the business of offering professional advice

nor is this column meant to represent anything but fiction.

Happy WOOFer Thanksgiving!

Photo courtesy of Wag Reflex

Happy Thanksgiving from the WOOFers!

And remember to keep some money from Black Friday to spend at your local stores during

Small Business Saturday!

WOOF: Furry Friends Friday - NOV is Adopt A Senior Dog Month!

WOOF & the ASPCA presents 10 reasons to adopt a senior dog!

1. What You See Is What You Get

Older dogs are open books—from the start, you’ll know important things like their full-grown size, personality and grooming requirements. All this information makes it easier to pick the right dog and forge that instant love connection that will last a lifetime. If you’re not so into surprises, an older dog is for you!

2. Easy to Train

Think you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? Hogwash! Older dogs are great at focusing on you—and on the task at hand—because they’re calmer than youngsters. Plus, all those years of experience reading humans can help them quickly figure out how to do what you’re asking.

3. Seniors are Super-Loving

One of the cool parts of our job is reading stories from people just like you who have opted to adopt. The emails we get from pet parents with senior dogs seem to all contain beautiful, heartfelt descriptions of the love these dogs give you—and those of you who adopted dogs already in their golden years told us how devoted and grateful they are. It's an instant bond that cannot be topped!

4. They’re Not a 24-7 Job

Grownup dogs don’t require the constant monitoring puppies do, leaving you with more freedom to do your own thing. If you have young children, or just value your “me time,” this is definitely a bonus.

5. They Settle in Quickly

Older dogs have been around the block and already learned what it takes to get along with others and become part of a pack. They’ll be part of the family in no time!

6. Fewer Messes

Your floors, shoes and furniture will thank you for adopting a senior pooch! Older dogs are likely to already be housetrained—and even if they’re not, they have the physical and mental abilities to pick it up really fast (unlike puppies). With their teething years far behind them, seniors also are much less likely to be destructive chewers.

7. You Won’t Bite Off More Than You Can Chew

There are those who yearn for a doggie friend of their own, but hold back because they worry what might happen in their lives in the years to come. And they are wise to do so—a puppy or young dog can be anywhere from an 8- to 20-year responsibility, which is not appropriate for the very elderly or those with certain long-term future plans. Providing a loving home for a dog in her golden years is not a less serious commitment, but it can be a shorter one.

8. They Enjoy Easy Livin’

Couch potato, know thyself! Please consider a canine retiree rather than a high-energy young dog who will run you ragged. Not that older dogs don’t require any exercise—they do—but they’re not going to need, or want, to run a marathon every day.

9. Save a Life, Be a Hero

At shelters, older dogs are often the last to be adopted and the first to be euthanized. Saving an animal’s life offers an unparalleled emotional return on your investment, and you’ll feel the rewards every day you spend together.

10. They’re CUTE!

Need we say more?
ASPCA Website
The Senior Dog Project
1 Lucky Dog Rescue
2nd Chance Animal Shelter

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WOOF: Turning Back the Clock With Maxine!

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WOOF: Media Monday - Author, Louise Gaylord

WOOF is thrilled to welcome Louise Gaylord, an acclaimed national award-winning author who established herself with her very first book, a suspenseful murder mystery centering around a young, sharp female Assistant District Attorney. This was the cornerstone of what has become her popular Allie Armington mystery series, the idea for it sparked when Louise herself spent three months on a grand jury panel.

The series has grown to four novels, with stories ranging from the Southwest (Anacacho and Spa Deadly) to New York (Xs), to the most recent (Dark Lake) featuring her beloved Adirondacks. Her next Allie Armington mystery will be set on a cruise ship.

Her first Allie Armington Mystery, Anacacho, won the 2003 National Benjamin Franklin Award for Best Mystery/Suspense sponsored by Publisher’s Marketing Association in Los Angeles. The San Francisco Book Festival awarded Louise with best audio book in 2010 for Spa Deadly. And most recently Recipes from Camp Trillium won the Dan Poynter’s Global eBook Awards, in which Julia Fairchild and Spa Deadly were also finalists.

A world traveler, Louise divides her time between her homes in Houston; Santa Barbara, California; and Old Forge, New York in the Adirondacks.

Read an Excerpt of Dark Lake by Louise Gaylord:

TheDarkLakeBook.com

Chapter 1

My heartbeat quickens as I turn off Route 12 onto Route 28 at Alder Creek and begin the familiar climb toward the Adirondack Park.

It’s been fifteen years since I last made the trip. Fifteen years since I was sent packing, head bowed in shame. Now, as my rental car careens around the bends of Route 28, I can’t help but feel a twinge of excitement in the pit of my stomach. But there’s something else, too. Something I can’t quite identify. Something that makes my hands shake a little as I grip the steering wheel. 

I brush it off. It’s just nerves, I tell myself. Nerves at being back here after so many years. What else could it be?

I force myself to take in the sights flying by outside the window. Despite a crunchy chill in the air, the birch leaves are full blown. White daisies nod their heads at the passing traffic. And occasional clumps of daylilies stand at attention.

I weave through the hamlets of White Lake and Otter Brook and then cross the bridge at the Moose River. After what seems like forever, Thendara and Old Forge, still much the same as I remember, pass quickly and the final part of my journey begins along the north edge of the Fulton Chain of Lakes.

My pulse is now on double time as I slow and turn right to pass between the tall stone columns bearing a small brass plate reading: HOTANAWA.

Meant to sound like a Mohawk Indian name, Hotanawa was cobbled together from the first two letters of four Chicago families’ last names: “Hoh” from Holden, “Tah” from Taylor, “Nay” from Napier, and “Wah” Walton.

The road, brightly dappled with late afternoon sunlight for a hundred or so feet, darkens beneath a thick canopy of tall pines and hemlocks as the descent toward Fourth Lake begins.

At the first plateau, I brake for a second, then drive slowly past the familiar landmarks of my teens. After all this time, I still feel that surge of excitement I first felt when our car traveled down the drive so many years ago. And yet this time, it’s not as light or innocent as it once was. Now there’s a darker edge.

To my right, the fountain comes into view, its faithful artesian well still pulsing water high into the air to arc gracefully and splash into the wide, shallow basin.

Thinking back, I remember the warm days when the gang wasn’t dockside, and how the fountain’s tumbling waters brought us welcome relief following fierce tennis competitions or a prolonged game of Olly Olly Oxen Free.

The fountain was where I got my first kiss. That kiss had been coming ever since Fin Holden finally “discovered” me on the deck overlooking the moonlit lake. I can still hear the boom box blasting that great 5th Dimension song, “Up, Up and Away,” and I can still picture couples, young and old, gyrating to its rhythms.

To my left is the tennis court. It’s empty now—not at all unusual this early in the season. And yet, for some reason, its emptiness seems strangely foreboding as I pass it by.

Though some families come up for weekends in June, the com¬pound will not be filled until just before the Fourth of July when everyone arrives to savor the joys of this magical place until the last sad goodbyes are exchanged on the Tuesday after Labor Day.

I make a sharp turn to the right.

Almost there, almost there.

It’s my childhood voice chanting as I trembled then with excru¬ciating excitement, and tremble even now. And then another voice, older sounding, whispers words of caution that are lost on the wind.

I gun the motor to urge my rental up the steep hill and the cottage perched above the lake.

Holden Cottage is the only one in the compound that is set apart. The parcel of land along the north shore of Fourth Lake had been pur¬chased by the Holden family in the late eighteen hundreds, and they exercised their right to take first option: the high bank overlooking the lake.

The other three cottages are situated on a flat shelf of land halfway from the highway to the boathouse.

Though the cottages are all within a few yards of one another, well-matured stands of birch and blue spruce offer each of the three families complete privacy.

I pull into the parking space next to a silver 1988 Toyota Land Cruiser. Even after fifteen years, seeing that car triggers a grim reminder the accident.

A shudder begins at the top of my spine as I remember the day Uncle Aiden drove my sister Angela and me to Utica and then west on the New York Thruway to the Syracuse airport where we were depos¬ited curbside in disgrace.

Apparently fifteen years hasn’t been long enough. Although Arlene’s original invitation had been for the end of June, my cousin called in late March and asked me to push my visit to mid-June, saying she had a big surprise and couldn’t wait to tell me about it.

The date change was fine by me. For as long as I could remember Aunt Sallie always opened Holden Cottage the week before Memorial Day, and then spent the month of June enjoying the solitude of her aerie perched above Fourth Lake. For as long as I can remember, Uncle Aiden spent June in Wilmette. Why should this summer be any different?

I shift gears into park and stare at the Land Cruiser for a moment. As I do, an eerie feeling starts somewhere in my gut. I can’t shake the nagging feeling that something isn’t right. But nothing seems to be amiss. I shrug off the feeling, pop the trunk, and drag out my roller-bag.

I cross the road and struggle down the steep stone steps to the wooden deck. There is a handrail but it still wobbles. That handrail has been at the top of Uncle Aiden’s summer project list since forever.   

I walk to the kitchen door, a sliding glass door that my dad and his brother installed the first summer we visited. It gave the dark kitchen added light and a pleasant cross-breeze on the rare warm days.

“Hello?”

No answer.

The kitchen, usually filled with the welcoming clang of cooking utensils and ever-enticing aromas, is eerily silent. I choke down my worry, assuring myself that I’m just being silly; that nothing is wrong.

I slide open the screen, step into the darkened room, and stop.

When the small voice at the side of my mind whispers, “Things aren’t right,” I call out: “Arlene?”

“Aunt Sallie?”

“Anybody?”

I stanch my rising panic, take a long breath, and tell myself that the women are probably at the Big M stocking up on groceries for the weekend. But that can’t be. The Toyota is in the parking lot. But then I remind myself that Arlene must have a car. 

I make the quick trip through the kitchen to the back hallway, drop my roller-bag on the bottom stair step, and return to open the refrigerator door to see Aunt Sallie’s signature pitcher of lemonade crammed with lemon and orange slices sitting on the bottom shelf. I’ve been dreaming about that pitcher of lemonade ever since I boarded the plane in Houston and that welcoming “gift” suddenly makes everything all right. 

I pour a glass, take a swig, and make my way outside to the deck.

It’s an unusually warm day for this time of year, and a gentle breeze stirs the budding trees. I flash back to summer afternoons spent with Aunt Sallie long ago, the way she would always ask about, and then praise, my achievements of the past year. She always encouraged me to study harder, play better golf, or pursue any goals I mentioned. I loved her for caring because my mother never bothered to ask me about anything. My mother has never cared enough to bother.  

I move to the railing, recalling how often I had leaned against the warm wood to inhale the sweet air rising from the lake. Then my gaze wanders to the narrow sand beach.

Bitter bile lunges to my throat as black spots spire before my eyes and my treasured glass of lemonade drops from my hand to shatter on the moss-covered outcropping below.

Overcome with horror I push away, take a few deep breaths, and then force myself to look a second time.

Thirty feet below, the upper part of her body face down in the frigid waters of Fourth Lake, lies my beloved Aunt Sallie. 

Louise Gaylord Website

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