Pump Boys and Dinettes ... or the global travels of one pair of Brooks Brothers patent leather formal pumps with grosgrain bows

Lesson learned. UPS is better, faster, more reliable (hands down) than its closest competitor who coined the generic overnight delivery term. But noooooooooo. Not this time. Took nearly a week for the white package with the blue and red logo to wend its way from our nation's capitol through Newark to southern Maine. Boo hoo on them. Yay, UPS!!

But the shoes. Charlie's precious shoes. The ones ordered from Brooks Brothers in November made it in time. The nick of time, I might add. But in time. Thanks in part to the diligence of his lovely chestnut haired Mama (c'est moi) and the ubiquitous brown trucks and planes that fly through her hometown in the deep blue grass and whoosh ... across the earth. Made a special compensatory nod to Charlie's dilemma, and delivered them with hours to spare. Around the world in a nano-second. So he could dance, Fred Astair had nothing on my boy, into 2011.

Santa's route, indeed.

The jolly bearded man in the red suit belted with a wide black cinch belt and spiffy high top black well polished boots looking oh so courant could make the trip around the circumference of the globe in the twinkle of his eye and a twitch of his pug nose.

But not the FedEx-express. Nope. It's UPS all the way from here on out. No choice. Not unless requested specifically by the recipient.

I should be so lucky. To travel from the east coast of the United States, through the rolling hills of Kentucky, pop up to Alaska, over the Pole and then wend my way to southern China and the new Hong Kong home of my darling son.

But ... ah ... I am. Fortunate. I, too, will be following that route through Newark, over the pole (hey there Santa, pooped ol' man) and into the booming island metropolis where my sweet Charlie has taken up residence.

In February! In celebration of my 60th. Wahoo!

Cheers to safe travels ... to me ... dancing shoes ... and the new year!

Knocking the Doors Down

Curled up and leaning on the trapunto stitched blue and white toile headboard on a lazy Friday night, my darling Grandma Alice, for whom I was named, would rub my back and tell me that all good things were in store for me.

We spoke of boundaryless travel and thousand-count boudoir linens and entertaining at home ... and of course, romance.

She was a restless romantic.

I inherited that from her.

We wear our hearts on our sleeves and turn a blind eye to faults and warning bells and red flags. And, flames. Wow, have the Alices been burned. But rub on the salve, cover the wound with cotton gauze and with a flip of the head race in for more.

I'd listen intently, soaking up her glamour. Her femininity. Her siren songs. Lost in the Rodeo Drive and I. Magnin wonderment of what was to come my way. The gold cigarette holders dangling gracefully from a turned hand while men in Packards sped me to a candlelight supper where the Los Angeles (that's a hard 'g') lights twinkled through the windows onto her dreamy world.

Ooops. Did I say me? I wanted, with every fibre of my being, her word would portend my future. That my darling Grandma Alice was a soothsayer about my future love life. The deep, dark and alluring matinee-idol eyes which would peer into my hazel green eyes glistening with wonderment ... and who would wine and dine me and line up down the block waiting to take me ... oui moi ... out on the town.

Ha!

Not on match.com ... nor jdate ... nor baddate.com. Sadly, not in the Harvard personals or an exotic airport lounge halfway around the globe ... nor the boardrooms of Manhattan ... a friend's dinner party. Nope. No line of eligible, drama-free, emotionally healthy males waiting for little ol' me. Much less clamoring and teetering to get past the butler through the portal to my lair.

But I know in my heart. I truly do. Every time it flutters with hope and knowledge. That my guy is out there. The one who will make my spirit sing and my soul giggle. Who gets me in a way that is natural. Who lets me be me. And, I him.

That we will connect inspires me. Motivates me. Ignites the fuel that will connect the two of us in some unimaginable way.

Cheers to my lover ... I am getting better with age ... and so is he!