Open up your monthly calendars for April, May, and June. Have a few bridal showers and graduation parties to attend? If so, and you’re heading to Northeast Pennsylvania to ski Camelback one last time or you’re attempting to win your next car payment in the casinos at Mt. Airy or Pocono Downs, consider a slight detour to stock up on kitchen staples any bride or college grad would be happy to receive.
I always get incredibly sad on Super Sunday because, as the pre-game shows drag on, I gradually come to grips with the realization that another season has ended and I won’t be getting my weekly football fix for another 6 months. Thank heavens we have an Olympics this year to help fill the void. I forget how much I enjoy speed skating until it returns to television.
My Saturday volunteer shift in Times Square was a wee bit busier than Wednesday night. The dense crowds shuffled down Broadway between exhibits like extras in The Walking Dead. But everyone was in a very festive mood, enjoying the day and the excitement leading up to the game.
Not the kind of question I ask myself on a regular Tuesday. But when I’m traveling, questions like these arise fairly regularly, usually when I’m lost, having made two or three misguided attempts to find my destination.
Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade was #7 on my family’s bucket list, sandwiched between Alaska Cruise (completed) and Wimbledon (not yet). We decided a trip to the biggest parade in the world would be an appropriate (if hardly adequate) celebration for my parents’ 50th wedding anniversary last November.
Defying the mid-day sear, the women of Sevilla shoot down Calle Sierpes. They don’t walk, meander or stroll. Stacked heels attack the pavement with the same ferocity they use to verbally barrage their lovers in the cafés at night. “Why don’t they sweat?” I wonder, rolling an iced bottle of Barbadillo across my forehead, attempting to stave off hyperthermia.