From the BBQ’s to the fireworks, I enjoy the Fourth of July. And while I think there are a million reasons to treasure our freedoms daily, we all get wrapped up in life and take them for granted.  This holiday is the one day to celebrate the founding of this country and give thanks for our many freedoms. This Fourth I decided to re-read the Amendments to the Constitution and I have a few favorites I’d like to share. 

I love this one because it allows me to come here and speak my mind. How can I not dig it?

Amendment 1 - Freedom of Religion, Press, Expression Ratified 12/15/1791.

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

The next two just rock.

Amendment 15 - Race No Bar to Vote. Ratified 2/3/1870.

1. The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude.
2. The Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

Amendment 19 - Women’s Suffrage. Ratified 8/18/1920.

The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex.
Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.

And finally, bring on the booze!

Amendment 21 - Amendment 18 Repealed. Ratified 12/5/1933.

1. The eighteenth article of amendment to the Constitution of the United States is hereby repealed.
2. The transportation or importation into any State, Territory, or possession of the United States for delivery or use therein of intoxicating liquors, in violation of the laws thereof, is hereby prohibited.
3. The article shall be inoperative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by conventions in the several States, as provided in the Constitution, within seven years from the date of the submission hereof to the States by the Congress.

What Amendment(s) do you like the most? Which truly speak to you?

Finally, here’s a fun little quiz sent along by Burger Bob yesterday. Thanks for this! Test yourself. Let me know how you do. I got 21. I was SOOOO close; as it says, I just need a little refresher.

Independence Day Quiz
 

The first word my daughter ever said was “ball.” The first word my daughter ever said, with prompting from Mommy, was “ball”.

She had the Mama, Dada and Wow words down pat. So, I started asking her to say whatever popped into my mind. Say doggie, say kitty, say Cuisanart, the list went on. But one afternoon, I asked, “Can you say ball?” And suddenly she did.

This feat was immediately followed by a shower of celebratory hugs and kisses. What I took away from this moment was that she was learning. What she took away from it was ball = hugs and kisses. Now, whenever she wants affection from me, my husband or any of our family members, she says the word. It doesn’t matter where we are, in the privacy of our home or the middle of the grocery store. I’m not sure which is crazier that she says it or that we respond – no matter where we are. To an outsider it must be hilarious to watch a little girl say, “Ball” and then a person or two run after her yelling, “I’m gonna give you kisses!”

My favorite thing is when she uses it after she’s done something wrong. She dumps a plate of fruit and cereal on the floor and immediately looks at me and says, “Ball.” Ah, if only life worked that way. Wouldn’t it be great it if you could screw up and then say a word to try to erase it all?

I started to wonder what word I would chose as my affection code word.  Ronkonkoma. I would say, “Ronkonkoma” because for absolutely no reason, I’ve always loved saying that word; I like the way it tumbles around inside my mouth. I would only share it with one or two people like my husband or cousin, people who wouldn’t mind looking downright insane tackling me with kisses and hugs. No PDA fear here. And I would want to say it at the craziest time like in the middle of my husband’s holiday work party or in the middle of a dinner with friends. I picture it going something like this:

“I heard the most interesting tip about bananas today,” a co-worker would say to my husband.

“Really, what was it?” he would ask.

“Ronkonkoma,” I’d say in a normal voice.

Suddenly he would tackle me, my head thrown back, wildly laughing while he covered me in kisses. It would be a commotion and then, just as quickly as it started, it would stop. Without any explanation, and acting as though nothing had happened, we would resume our former positions.

“So, the banana tip?” my husband would say to his speechless coworker.

What would your word be? Who would you want to say it too and what kind of hullabaloo would you like to cause?
 

A rhesus monkey grooming - Photo by Shane Moore/Animal Animals - Earth Scenes

NationalGeographic.com

This weekend I attended a friend’s shower in Long Island. That morning as we climbed into the car, I was flying high on the feeling that comes from being dressed up and not covered in the snot, puke or general dirt that little children wear like badges of honor. Mid-trip, I looked down and noticed that I had missed an entire strip of skin while shaving; it looked like a hairy airport runway. So, when we stopped for some million dollar gas, my husband grabbed a pack of razors. Finally we arrived and as I gave my daughter and her father a kiss goodbye - they were headed to the beach while I attended the event - she picked a small piece of pretzel off my arm. I thanked her for trying to keep Mommy clean and then dissuaded her from eating the crumb.

It had taken longer than anticipated but walking into the shower I finally felt put together. After hugging friends I hadn’t seen in awhile, including one I’d lost touch with fifteen years ago, I scouted out a seat. Just as I was about to sit, a friend came up behind me and fixed the tag sticking out of the back of my dress. As she winked and walked away, I couldn’t help but feel like one of those monkeys, you know the ones who pick stuff off one another. Only I wasn’t the cool one who keeps everyone else clean, I was the messy one who rolls around on the jungle floor; the one the other monkeys spend hours combing over removing small bugs, twigs and various others things. Good thing I’ve accepted the fact that I’m not perfect because there’s clearly no mistaking that here. Then, just as I was contemplating whether or not I would ever feel more than semi-put together, I noticed my friend’s bra strap was showing.

Suddenly, I was a monkey with the ability to help someone else. I strolled over to her and discreetly fixed it. After she thanked me, I said, “Do you ever feel like one of those monkeys, the ones that groom each other?”

She got hysterical. “Absolutely, I do it to my daughter and now, she does it to me. That’s who we are.”

And just like that, I felt normal. I am always going to be a monkey in need of a little help. I’m thankful for that because without these assistants in my life, I’d forget who I am. They remind me that I’m very human, in a monkey-like way; they accept the mess that I am and help me to be the best I can be in my everyday life.

On the flip side, whether it’s shifting a knot in my husband’s tie, picking the remains of strawberries from my daughter’s hair, editing a sentence for the excess words in a friend’s work or organizing a list of people to thank for a friend during a shower, I am a cleaner, groomer, and helper monkey too.

Without monkeys to tell you when your fly is down, that there’s a booger on your nose or that the project you’ve been working on needs more work, life wouldn’t be half as rich. This is who we are.

Who are your monkeys? Have you had a monkey save you from an awkward situation or vice versa?

A Nacho Note: It has come to my attention that some Nacho readers were not sure what to click on in order to leave a comment. If you scroll down a bit below these words, you will see a little icon that looks like a speech bubble and written next to it will be No Responses So Far or X Number of Responses So Far. Please click on that and feel free to share. All the Nachos would love to hear from you!

The one food you love has suddenly disappeared from the planet. You will never be able to enjoy it again and you wonder if you will go mad in its absence. What food could cause such a response?

I tried to pick just one but I simply could not do it. I love French fries as much as I love chocolate. It’s a deep, passionate, all-encompassing kind of love. The two bring me comfort when I am having an off day and make me happier on my happy days. Every part of my being - especially my thighs - would miss these pieces of yummy wonderfulness if they were lost forever.

And you?

Photo by Natasha Reilly

As I watched this relaxed penguin enjoying a food coma at the zoo, I could not help but wonder, if I were given a choice, what sea creature would I want to be and where would I want to live. While it would be nice to have room service, aka feedings at the zoo, I fear I may be bored with the same routine day after day. If I were a wounded creature living in a rescue facility, that would be a whole different situation. Then I would happily live in one place hanging out with the same crew day in and day out because I’d probably just be psyched to be alive.

However, I think I would either like to be a dolphin or a turtle. I know vastly different right? But I dig them both. The dolphin’s ability to use echolocation and swim with incredible speed is a huge draw. Yet, the turtle has a cool shell and lives a laid back life I could seriously enjoy. Maybe I would be some cool looking new creature called a turtlolphin.

My husband just decided he could never be a fish because they all get eaten. He’s contemplating the condor.

When you visit the zoo, what animal do you rush to see first? If you could work with any type of wildlife what would it be? AND if you could be any animal that lives on land, in the sea or both, what would you be? And where would you live?

Photo by Natasha Reilly

Although I am a city kid, my life makes the most sense to me when I am at the ocean. I have a million ocean stories ranging from discovering the beauty of starfish and coral to diving through waves with friends. However, my favorite beach story from now on will be the day my husband and I took my daughter to the ocean for the first time.

As we walked up the ramp to the boardwalk, she babbled away, as usual these days, trying her hardest to talk. But when she saw the stretch of beach extending a warm hand to the cool, blue ocean, she was rendered speechless. We crossed the boardwalk filled with people strolling along, the pressures of the workweek long forgotten, and descended the ramp to the sand. Small, excited screams escaped from her lips and one hand was extended toward the ocean, one tiny finger pointing forward; I imagined her yelling, “Charge!” When we finally reached the shoreline, she wrapped her arms tight around my neck and, filled with a mixture of fear and excitement, she squealed. She wanted to jump into the unknown and, at the same time, she wanted the safety of knowing I was there. I sang and danced while slowly lowering her to the sand. Holding my hand, she let the water tickle her toes before rising up around her ankles. She tried to hold her balance but the sand was whisked out from under her and she fell backward with a splash. Yet, there were no tears; instead, there was a resolve to get back up and do it again. A few moments later, she let go of my hand, ready to brave the waves herself.

Although several knocked her down she got right back up waiting for what was to come next. And then, the wave came that did not rattle her; she stood tall. There was a new bounce in her step. Her ability to remain standing despite a shifting floor, gave her wings, new wings, larger than the ones she found when she first learned to crawl and then walk. With such determination, I believe she could have touched the setting sun if she tried.

At one point, she held the hands of her father, leaning against his legs and watched the oncoming waves, letting them sway her, a look of wonder and respect on her face. I held out a seashell, it was the first she’d ever seen and surprisingly, she did not try to eat it. Instead she cradled it in her hands, the light and dark purple colors on the tips of the shell sticking out between her thumb and forefinger, and began to dance, stomping the sand beneath her feet.

My favorite moment was when she ran toward the ocean, chasing after her new friend and waving. Isn’t that how we feel when those we love come to play? We laugh and dance and throw ourselves into the moment.

As I watched my daughter, my heart felt exceptionally full. She fell in love for the first time, well, at least for the first time since she fell in love with her Dora doll. After seeing it through her eyes, I, too, fell in love all over again.

The ocean has always filled me with hope. When my world feels too small, the ocean reminds me just how large the planet truly is; it gives me perspective. Everyday we wake to an unknown. We give ourselves the false idea that we know or we control what our day will hold but we don’t. We never know what’s around the next corner, much like the ocean. Its secrets hidden amid its depths and mysteries lying beyond the crest of each wave, remind me how unexpected, beautiful, frightening and humbling this life is; it is to be treasured and loved. My daughter has just discovered this love; I am so honored to have been there to witness its birth in her.

Do you love the ocean? Do you have a favorite ocean tale? Has anyone helped you to fall in love with something all over again?

I don’t talk politics. Once upon a time, I refused to talk politics. To my mind, all it did was start needless wars. Now, I sometimes discuss it with my husband, brother and friends but, well, I’d never talk politics here.

But what I will say is, as a woman, I was interested to see how deeply Hillary could penetrate the old boy’s club on Capital Hill. That, combined with a friend’s recent blog post, got me thinking about what it would take for a woman in this country to become President, aside from growing a penis. I think it should start with a fight about an issue I KNOW all of you ladies have faced at one time or another. It starts in the bathroom. 

Recently, I attended a large scale event. Midway through it, a friend and I made our way to the bathroom only to find a 45 minute line waiting for us. Forty-five minutes! So, we did what any other rational women would do, we headed for the men’s room.  Why? Because men’s bathrooms always have more stalls (can someone please tell me why?). Granted, they have a mixture of stalls and urinals but still, it’s always more than you find in the ladies room. 

My friend and I marched into the men’s room with our eyes facing straight ahead so as not to make those at the urinals uncomfortable. Also, we’re grown women. We’ve seen it. It’s pretty standard equipment, no need to gawk. And I’ve been in restaurants were men have used the ladies room which is fine as long as the seat is raised. So, we thought this would be fine. However, a young lad started shouting.

“This is f-bleeping bull-bleep. Women in the men’s room??”

Suddenly, an older gentleman steps back from the sink where he was washing his hands and says, “Watch your mouth!”

A moment later, another older gentleman standing ahead of us moves to the side and gestures to take the next available stalls.

“Ladies first,” he said.

There are some men on our side who are willing to let us enter the boy’s room; we still need more men and women.

If we stand together, develop a new, creative strategy and proudly march into places to take what we need and fight even harder for what we deserve, we can accomplish anything. It starts with more stalls but who knows it might end with women running this country. “Might”? Oh, I meant “will” because that day is coming. 

So, who’s with me?

 Photo Courtesy of Fashion-Era.com

Yesterday, I stepped out of my building and into a movie moment. I was the picture of multi-tasking gone awry. I was shoving a book, phone and keys into my bag while simultaneously trying to untangle my iPod earphones when I was stopped in my tracks. Remember the scene in the opening of Titanic where the camera glides over Rose’s (Kate Winslett’s) enormous hat and we see her for the first time? Well, as I looked up from my head phones, a woman lifted her impressive straw hat to reveal the most striking face. This woman, who I would have guessed to be sixty-five or seventy, had facial features and brilliant blue-green eyes that called to mind Vivian Leigh. In her emerald green jacket with broad shoulders and black pencil skirt, she was wrapped in elegance reminiscent of the 1940’s.  Living in an age where men can be found wearing pants that look like they might fall off their bodies and women wear thongs that stick out above the tops of their pants, this woman’s sophisticated style was a welcome difference.

Moments after we passed one another, a man wearing a green seersucker suit and polished brown wingtips, the kind my grandfather once wore, caught my eye. He was probably sixty with a sprinkling of gray in his light beard and slight smile, that made one think he’d just kissed the love of his life. In his right hand, he carried a panama straw hat. From the way he ran his fingertips along the brim, I imagined that he played the saxophone or trumpet, had been inspired by Bo Diddley and played with folks like Ritchie Valens and Buddy Holly. He was a throwback to the 1950’s.

Although this was simply their everyday style, I could not help but admire the way they brought retro fashion to life. I started to think about fashion throughout different periods in history. Personally, I have always been partial to the 1920’s. I would have loved to dance the night away in a shimmering silver flapper dress with fabulous silver shoes. I think flapper dresses are the bees knees. 

What period of time would you like to travel back to?  What is it that attracts you to it? If you could wear one outfit from that period of time, what would it be?

“Hand in Hand”

Photo by Brian Moynihan

On a recent trip to the sprinklers with my daughter and her Uncle, I met a rather unusual fellow. My brother and I were fascinated by the rainbows that appeared and disappeared as children ran through the water, amused by shouts of “No fair, I called time out before you tagged me” and entertained by my daughter who was trying to make friends with a little girl in a Little Mermaid bathing suit by repeatedly waving at her. Suddenly, a young boy who was probably three and a half sat down next to me.

“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Natasha, and who might you be?”
“Andrew,” he said, with a shoulder shrug and giggle.
“Well, hello Andrew.”
Then, turning to my daughter, I said, “Say hi.”
I was trying to encourage her to stop waving at the little girl she longed to be friends with - she’d been doing it for at least five minutes - and say hello. However, the little boy thought I was asking him to say hi. So, he put down the blue cup and purple shovel he’d been carrying, walked over to my daughter and took one of her hands. Just as I imagine one of King Arthur’s knights might have done upon encountering a lady, he kissed the top of her hand and then took the other and kissed that one as well. My fourteen-month-old daughter watched him, then looked him in the eye, giggled a shy giggle and ran toward me. Yet, he did not let go of her hand. Instead, he ran along after her like a kite following on a string. When she reached me, she made a sound that meant, “Get this guy off me.” So, I removed her hand from his and explained that while she appreciated the kisses she simply didn’t want to hold hands. I could not help but laugh; it was an adorable scene.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked. He was laughing as well and clearly wanted me to explain what we both found so amusing.

“I’m just silly like that. I just laugh sometimes.” This made him laugh even harder.

My daughter climbed onto my knee, wrapped one arm around me and sat there, half hugging me and half smiling at the boy. A moment later, he climbed onto the seat next to me, wrapped his arms around my neck and tried to sit on me like my daughter.

“Woooo honey, I’m sorry. Thank you for the hug but right now I only have room for one monkey on my lap. Ok, everyone in the water,” I said, trying to get out of this situation.

It was clear he wanted to be hugged but I had no idea who he was or where his Mom was and I was not about to do anything that could be interpreted as inappropriate. So, I picked up my daughter and ran through the sprinklers. He followed for us for awhile and then on the last loop through the water, he ran out of the sprinklers. When we sat down again, my brother said, “Wow, that little boy had a lot of love to give.”

“And it felt like no one to give it to,” I said. We spotted him whizzing in and around groups of children and then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, he was gone.

Later, as I pushed my daughter on the swings, I saw him leaving with his caretaker. As he walked along beside his carriage, he was all but invisible to her. When he asked her something, she spoke to him in an inappropriately angry tone. His shoulders seemed to sag as he walked behind her. A moment later, he waved to a little kid who was entering the park. When that child waved back, the little boy began to skip. We watched him skip ahead of his caretaker, and out through the park gates. I wish I could have given him more time, attention and hugs.

Have you met anyone like this or had a similar experience? Have you helped someone share? Have you been the person who has been longing to share? If so, how have you given?

Regardless of age, we all have a ton of love to give. Problem is we sometimes get shut down when we try to share it. When that happens, some of us stop giving, others persevere. Either way, we all have so much to give. It literally takes one minute to shut someone down; it’s so easy to do. One thoughtless comment, one moment of ridicule can stop someone from being who they are and giving what’s in their heart. Luckily, it takes one minute to accept the love and encourage them to keep giving to help someone grow and, in turn, make this world just a little better.

Today, I invite you to really listen to all those around you. I guarantee you will come into contact with one person who has so much to share and if you let them, they’ll change your life in a second by simply, generously sharing of themselves. Or maybe you’ll find that the person yearning to give is you.

Grand Central Station, NYC

Photo by Bernard Reilly

I had to travel to Midtown Manhattan the other day which required that I take three, NYC subway trains. On the first train, I buried my nose in a book till I reached my stop, Grand Central. As I made my way up the steps with the rest of the pack, I heard The Eagles song, Hotel California. Two men, one on guitar and the other on this box-like drum, were performing the most original rendition of the song I’d ever heard. But I did not stop. I hurried along, busy, busy. Midway through the tunnel that leads to the Shuttle train, I heard a woman singing; goose bumps covered my body as I rushed past. Then, right before the Shuttle, a man played classical guitar while talking with a suit (aka - a business guy) but I could not stop to listen. I was in a hurry. In the Times Square station, a group of men played country music; I spotted a young boy standing before them as I raced by.

Suddenly, I stopped short almost crashing into a young couple ahead of me who were apparently taking a Sunday stroll. They’re continual motioning and animated expressions made it clear they were fascinated by the music and the boy but that did not change the fact that they were impeding the flow of the herd. “Move it, this is NYC on a weekday, we’re all very busy, hurry up”, I began to yell and scream– all within the confines of my own head, of course – when I noticed their hands; they were deaf.

That’s when my pace slowed and I fell in step behind them. There was such beauty in the movement of their hands, each gesture signifying a word, a thought. I watched their eyes glide over each other’s hands and then explore one another’s facial expressions. When they reached the stairs that descended to the platform, they held hands. Wrapped together as one, their hands continued to communicate. I watched them till trains pulled in and we went our separate ways.

These two people that do not hear the music the way I do stopped to take in the beauty of it and the effect it had on that boy while I almost missed it all in my hurry to get nowhere fast. I replayed the moments I’d encountered on my train journey filling in details I wasn’t even aware I’d taken in. Though the two men playing Hotel California hoped to make a few dollars while playing they wore smiles that were less about the show and more about the genuine happiness they felt while playing. I wanted to wear a smile like that. The singing woman sang with such ease; she should be on Broadway.  How fortunate I felt to hear her beautiful voice; it was a small gift. The classical guitarist had clearly touched and perhaps inspired the suit. And that little boy let the music move him. I, too, was moved but not just by the music, but by all of it, the people, the art.

Out of all the thousands of people rushing around in this city, the suit, the young boy and this deaf couple are the ones who stopped for a moment to bask in the beauty of the art being created right there, right in that moment by men and women of all colors and ethnicities. Thing is, art is being created around us all the time we just need to “see” it. It took time but eventually I stopped to look around. Ferris Bueller would have been proud. And it made a world of difference to the rest of my day. It inspired me to walk just a little slower, look around a little longer, and appreciate the dreams we all have; some of us are living them right out loud. It’s a beautiful thing. 

Today, I invite you to stop and look around. Tell me you see. 

Art takes many, many forms. Have you seen stumbled across art in random places and/or people creating art? Have you had any eye-opening moments recently that taught you something, took your breath away, made you laugh or changed your perspective?