Hard Rock Button Swap

A friend asked me if I could go back and do something different in my life, what would it have been. I thought a few seconds and then answered that I wish that I lived in Italy for a while as a writer. But that would have been in my real life. Now, in my dream life, I would have been a Rock-and-Roll groupie or roadie and followed the music.

Since I am a writer, and not living in Italy or busy being a groupie or roadie, I recently found myself attending 'Rockin' the Rivers Pin Collectors' swap at Pittsburgh's Hard Rock Cafe at Station Square. The group meets every second Sunday of the month.

I didn't know what to expect but the day started out with a delicious breakfast. There were about 50 pin collectors in attendance. After breakfast, the people set out their pins on the tables. The pins were in vinyl cases or in some type of container. Others had their pins in plastic bags organized by the Hard Rock Cafes located in different States, Canada and in Europe.


There were guitar pins, animal and flowered pins, bikini clad women pins, motorcycle pins, and pins for different holidays, and a whole lot of other types of pins. I talked with one man who was wearing a jean jacket without sleeves. He had pins all over the front of his jacket. He told me that he had between 1200 to 1500 pins, and his wife had between 200 to 300 pins. He kept his inventory on his laptop that was prominently in use.

Some people, like a lady named Kim, who is head of the group, collects the Hard Rock motorcycle pins, while my two friends are interested in pins with flowers and animals. My one friend gave me a few pins to swap. She pointed out that you swap or trade for pins. If you purchase any, it should never be for a lot of money.

I walked around looking through some pins, found one that I liked and bought if for $5.00. It was an old fashioned record player from Cleveland's Hard Rock. I told the man that it was my first pin, and he congratulated me. I then said I was kind of disappointed because I thought balloons and streamers should come down from the ceiling because of this purchase. He laughed and clapped and congratulated me again. But I settled for the man's genuine delight at my buying this pin. Then I traded the Pittsburgh Iron-man Football Player pin, the one that my friend gave me to trade, for a blue guitar with the words, Orlando.

The people were friendly and enthusiastic. I could tell that they knew each other and were friends, brought together by their mutual affinity for Hard Rock pins. Some of the people came armed with a list of what they were looking for, even with a photo of the pin that they desired.

The day included a Chinese Auction and Silent Auction. I walked away with an autographed hat by country music singer, Kenny Chesney, and my friends gave me a set of drumsticks that had Cleveland inscribed on them. The proceeds went to Make-a-Wish-Foundation.

It was an interesting time and I finally came out of the closet when I told one of the collectors that I had a number of Grateful Dead Stamps that I used to collect. His response was, "Bring those in with you, when you come the next time."

"Yeah, maybe I will," I replied.

It felt good to be with people who who were excited about a small pin, being at the Hard Rock Cafe and listening to the Rock-and-Roll music in the background. Yeah - maybe I will go back.

Anyone have any nostalgic interests in Rock-and-Roll, or in any types of collections?

Or better yet, if you had a chance to go back in time...what would you have done differently in your life?

Dream Realized

As an adventure this is a big one. For more than twenty years my husband and I have been dreaming of owning a vacation home in Door County, Wisconsin. From the very first visit, we fell in love with the small villages that dot the peninsula some harbored by Lake Michigan, others by Green Bay, as well as the inland rolling farm fields and cherry orchards. It’s a place where people line the beaches in the summer to applaud the sunsets, where you can hop on a ferry and spend a day on an island small enough to bike in a few hours. Visuals artists, musicians, writers abound there, taken with the landscape, and a way of life that nurtures the creative spirit.

And it’s the little things that have the biggest impact. When my husband and I drive west toward Egg Harbor on County E near sunset, as we crest the hill, we hold our breath in anticipation, knowing what we’ll see—the sun blazing color across the bay and Egg Harbor nestled against the water. Some places do that to you, take you somewhere beyond yourself, that is Door County for us.

About three years ago we bought a few acres in Egg Harbor after years of searching for the right house, which we never found. We sat on the land not sure what we wanted to do with it--build on it, keep it for our kids, or sell it. That decision never seemed clear until the housing market crashed and a local builder made us an offer it was hard to refuse. We’d toyed round with building a 1800 square foot chalet but it seemed too expensive, too much of a commitment to a place, I wasn’t sure I wanted to live permanently. The winters are bleak and lonely. And I didn’t want to be that far away from my grandkids and kids. So when the builder said he could build a smaller home, 1300 square feet, and at a much lower price, we flung caution to the wind. As impractical as it was to build a house requiring us to take on a mortgage, as well as upkeep two homes when we were so close to retirement, in my heart it seemed the right thing to do. As the old cliché says, “You only live once.” And if you do it right, that’s all you need. Plus I kept telling myself I could rent the house to summer vacationers and recoup at least the mortgage payment. So late last fall we signed the contract and crossed our fingers.

We also decided not to tell our kids about the house until it was finished. That was the hardest part of the whole building process, keeping it a secret. We wanted to do the big reveal when my son and his family were back from the Philippines and we could give each kid an invitation to our dream.

When each kid opened the invitation, there was stunned silence. Not because we’d built this house, as they explained later, but because we’d kept it a secret. That was a fun moment. We still had the ability to stun our kids.

So last week when we drove up the long gravel drive, Jerry driving the rental truck with our furniture and me following in our SUV loaded with linen, dishes, pots and pans—all the things to make a home, I felt like I was living someone else’s life. It was the same feeling I had when I held my first published book in my hand. Is this real?

Let me share with you the glories of the house first and save the less glorious moments for my next blog. Though we’re not on the water, from the great room windows before the trees leaf out, you can see the bay glistening in the distance. Every window holds trees. Standing on the long front porch the quiet is intense broken only by birds, the rustling of wild life through the woods. Yet within five minutes I can be in town where there are shops and restaurants and plenty of things to do like concerts and plays and gallery shows.

The minute I opened the dark red door and stepped inside the great room, with the sun streaming in painting everything golden, I was overcome with what we’d finally had the courage to do—realize a dream.

Have there been dreams you’ve seen realized? Moments when you felt you were living someone else’s life?

Pitfalls of Online Dating

I have been divorced for over two years, and without a spouse for over nine. As the old saying goes, "You can get used to anything." But I would like to add, "Sort of."

When I started this blog, I decided to try a few different adventures, and one of them was to take the plunge and join an online dating service. Up until now, I had no desire to go out or date. When I started the blog, I thought that this might be a good adventure to pursue. It was fun seeing flirts, hits, and smiley faces from unknown men saying that I was cute. Some of the men on the site were from other states, and I thought that I was safe.

Then my son said, "This will be good for you, Mom,, but you should try to actually respond to their flirts and send them an email." That seemed easy and harmless. Eventually, there was one man that looked nice enough and he kept sending me flirts. He was in his mid 50s and he looked cute. I thought, okay, I'm interested. I sent out my first flirt. Two weeks went by before I heard anything. Then he sent me his email address and said to contact him that way because every time he would try to send me an email, it wouldn't go through. I took a deep breath, and send out an email by using my generic email address and not my personal one.

The next day when I checked my email...Bingo! I received a long email, which went something like you are beautiful, you are my special someone, your eyes are shining diamonds, and you look like an angel. Whoa! Was he on drugs, or blind, or what? He told me a little bit about himself, along with his likes and dislikes, and that he was a widower with a child. Then he added that he would be moving to my area! Well so much for my feeling safe.

I actually know people that have used various dating sites. A few of my friends have shared their stories about their friends dating and getting married, and how they seemed quite happy. One close friend related the story about how one guy hit her up for money to invest in a 'Drive In Movie Theater.' Like those are really thriving! Another friend told me the story of how her friend met a guy on online dating, who just got out of prison, and another potential date admitted to accidentally killing his wife. Another person told me how a colleague corresponded and met a man who was in prison. When he was released, he stayed with her, and emptied out her saving. It took a long time before she ever got that money back.

Before I received that first email, I felt flushed with excitement that someone would find me interesting. After receiving the email, I felt vulnerable. The man's email made me wonder, am I a target? How many other women received this same email? Was I a potential mother image for a man with a child? Or, was he just a lonely man looking for someone? There was just too much information in his email. I guess I am not that special someone. My trust level is pretty low, maybe even gone. I have been there (married once), and I don't ever want to go back to a place where you love someone, only to have him leave, and you have to pick up the pieces and heal yourself.

My dating email, filled with flirts, winks, smiles, and hits are now directed to my junk mail. I don't want to know every detail of a stranger's life. I guess I am just not ready for online dating.

Does anyone else have any experiences, good or bad, about online dating? Would you be willing to share them?

Traveling Solo with My Husband's Playlist

Last week I made an importune trip to Door County, Wisconsin to do research for the next book in my Leigh Girard mystery series. It’s a 4-½ hour drive one way to the Door County Peninsula, which if you haven’t been there is often described as the “Cape Cod of the Midwest.” I took the quicker route on the way up, but on the way back I decided to take the scenic route, 42, which meanders through a series of harbor towns that hug Lake Michigan.

Since radio stations flickered into static as I drove, I plugged in Jerry’s IPod and began listening to his playlist. Jerry and I have been married for over forty-two years. We met at a John Carroll sock hop when he was a freshman and I was a senior in high school. I’m mentioning this because with so much history between us I thought I really knew him. But as I listened to his music, I realized that I did and didn’t know him, and that after so many years this guy can still surprise me.

His predominate group was the Rolling Stones—no surprise there. We’d both been Stones fans from the start of our relationship. We’d even attended a concert in Cleveland when the Stones were first starting out, sitting close enough to see them sweat. Very cool. And there were the expected tunes of our turbulent generation, Neil Young’s “Ohio,” Credence Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate One,” some Bruce Springsteen, the Eagles, the Beatles.

So as I drove through Algoma, Kewanee, and toward Two Rivers past the nuclear power plant that still had the large boulders out front to deter terrorists, hauled there right after 9/11, my mind journeyed through our lives together, moments we shared because a certain song was playing and we were together.

Then suddenly Willie Nelson started singing “You Were Always on my Mind.” Great song, but I’d never put it on my playlist. But it meant something to Jerry. Was I seeing a different, more sentimental side of my husband? Or did he just like Willie Nelson? Maybe I shouldn’t read too much into one song. A few more songs played, I kept driving, my eyes drawn to Lake Michigan as it curled light toward the shore ceaselessly.

As I neared Two Rivers, a song I’d never heard before started playing. The song had such poignancy and spoke about an enduring love that it took my breath away. “Hold me till I die, / Meet you on the other side.” A few more songs played; I stopped for lunch in Two Rivers, home of the first ice cream sundae, the song still with me.

After lunch I could have turned on the radio, but I didn’t. Instead I kept listening to Jerry’s playlist, cycling through a second time waiting for that song. This time listening more closely to the words, trying to decipher why my husband had put it on his list, a man who kept his emotions in check. The song said everything I felt about our years together. “Stay with Me/You’re all I see.” Maybe we do find each other in song, I thought, as I hurled past farms and rolling fields, the music another journey, another destination.

When I hit Milwaukee the traffic picked up and Bob Seeger started singing “Roll Me Away”--the best traveling song ever, all about freedom of the road, freedom of the self, America’s restless spirit of individualism. I hit the repeat button and let him take me with careless abandon through the snarl of city traffic. “I could go east, I could west; it was all up to me to decide,” I sang along. I didn’t see a young hawk flying but like the girl in the song I headed home.

When I got home, I asked Jerry about the mysterious song. He grinned and said, “Yeah. It’s ‘Just Breathe’ by Eddie Vetter of Pearl Jam.

“Why’d you put it on your IPod,” I asked.

“I like it.”

“Me too,” I said, “me too.”