All I knew about Claire was that she was Dan's friend's, Scott's, mother, Lauri's mother-in-law, and one of the nicest people I'd ever known. Claire, 62, died yesterday, giving credence to the saying that only the good die young. Scott found her. He thought she was sleeping, until he couldn't awaken her, and realized her skin was cold.

More than a dozen years ago, Dan's car was stolen from work by the company custodian. After hearing the news, Claire called to offer assistance--rides anywhere, anytime, shopping, whatever we needed. When she overheard some men bad-mouthing our son, Brad, she flew into a rage and tore them a new asshole, threatening to beat the shit out of both of them if she ever heard them disparaging this fine young man again.

You've got to love a woman like that.

Claire warned Scott and Lauri that she would come back and haunt them if:

1. She died anywhere but her own bed in their home. They had taken her in when she became sickly three years ago, and they were very happy to have her (and her dog). Scott and Lauri are, like us, dog lovers. Claire passed away in her sleep, in her own bed, no where near a hospital.

2. They cried over her death instead of celebrating her life. Her will states that no matter what her date of death, she wants to be cremated in a plain pine box and her ashes brought to a raucous Christmas party at Sidekicks, her favorite restaurant (and where we always dine on two-fer Tuesdays).

Believe me, we don't want Claire to return to haunt us, so her every request will be carried out. I tried not to cry as I remembered Claire's many kindnesses over the years, because I knew tears would piss her off. So I held my sorrow in check, gazed up to the sky, and whispered, "Godspeed, Claire. You will be more missed than you can possibly imagine."

Love, Robin

What a terrific weekend! Dan and I got up earlier than usual Saturday and followed our regular routine--breakfast, then gym. From there, we headed to a Plainview church holding a flea market and antique show. It was a gorgeous day, sunny and warm, but walking from one table to another with the sun beating down on me bothered me after a while. I bought a silver O necklace, a pair of headphones (must have had a flash of intuition, since Dan stepped on my really good ones last night and broke them, blast him), a ceramic cat for Nancy, a tweezer set and a temperature/barometer/humidity piece that we hung on the wall. I love getting good bargains, so I had a blast.

We rushed back to our town to help celebrate the 75th anniversary of its founding. Johnny Maestro and the Brooklyn Bridge were giving us a free concert in honor of the great event right on Park Blvd., which was closed to all traffic. They were preceded by another, a capella, band, whose name I forget, but they were excellent. They entertained us about half an hour, warming us up for the main event.

Johnny Maestro hasn't lost one iota of his marvelous voice. It's just unfortunate that the group itself and their music have such negative connotations for me. In 1990, my friend Dawn interviewed the group for 516, a magazine I was writing for. I was annoyed because I felt Dawn had weasled her way in with my editor to get the assignment. Unknown to me at the time, I was going to lose Dawn to lung and brain cancer (damn cigarettes) within six months. I felt awful begrudging her having her article published, but when she was undergoing her chemo, vomiting, losing her hair, my son was hit by a car and I was too busy visiting HIM in the hospital to see her too often. When I heard she had died. . .guilt, much? Lots!

Johnny Maestro and his group sent a magnificent floral arrangement to Dawn's funeral. So to me, the Brooklyn Bridge and my guilt over Dawn's death are inextricably mixed.

"The Worst That Could Happen," Brooklyn Bridge's biggest hit, reflected my mother's tough situation: she dated a married man for 20 years, but he never divorced his wife. The song provided fantasies of Mom telling him she'd found someone else, and his sorrow over losing her. She played that 45 over and over and over, driving me crazy. Shit, how I hated that song! She listened to it and cried.

By the way, the son of a bitch finally did divorce his wife--but married ANOTHER woman! That's right, Mom invested 20 years of her life in that prick, and he never put a ring on her finger!

However, I listened to most of the concert with great enjoyment. Dan and I held hands, tickled each other and had such a fantastic time just being together. Something about Johnny's plaintive voice just made me love my husband a whole lot. When they sang "Worst That Could Happen" as their final song, I just closed my eyes and blocked it out as much as I could. Music soothes the savage breast, but sometimes it can rile it, too.

Sunday, another glorious gift of a day, we went to the Bellmore street fair. Since it was Sharon's birthday, we stopped at the Mauro house to show Sharon and Tom our new car and give her my gift. Sharon is getting a new Camry herself soon, and examined ours with just a little jealousy. She was upset because she'd had an accident with their current Camry; she popped a hole in the back bumper when she backed down the dark driveway into her daughter's boyfriend's black truck. Now she's afraid they're going to devalue her car further on the trade-in, and she's upset by that--and by the fact that no one warned her about Chris' car being in the driveway when she said she was leaving.

Dan and I walked and ate lunch at the street fair, but it was too huge to check out everything. It was also pretty warm and very sunny, which really wipes you out. We collected free pens, a free light bulb from Keyspan, lots of political paperwork and other trash. (LOL!) Between us, Dan and I won $25 on lottery tickets, which was nice.

Afternoon found us at Fruit Tree, where we learned cherries are out of season (damn!) and their prices weren't as good as last time we were there. The store was much less crowded, too. Look at all the hue and cry over tainted spinach we're having! E-coli, leave me alone! Popeye doesn't know everything. Man, was I disappointed when I tasted spinach the first time! My cartoon hero got stronger eating THAT? Gross!

Dan and Mike rented a Pay Per View wrestling event last night. (what a waste of money!) I watched TV upstairs with the dogs. That's when Dan came upstairs and confessed to breaking my headphones. Grrrr!

I'm going to sign off now. Hope you enjoyed this rundown of my weekend as much as I enjoyed living it.

Love, Robin

Sometimes, the same days of the week bore me. I'd like to change the names, or add one, just for something different.

I wish that I could get up the balls to go to open mike night at a comedy club and put on an impromptu standup act. I think I'd be terrific, and very funny. But since I can't get up the cojones to do it, I will never know.

I saw a new Fox 5 TV show--JUSTICE. I like it. I missed the first episode or two, but I plan to DVR or tape this one. I wonder how many shows I'm going to want to put on tape this year? I still have 3 VCRs at my disposal, aside from the DVR. I guess it's not so great being such a TV whore, but I've been this way as long as I can remember. While we don't subscribe to TV GUIDE anymore, I still remember the nearly orgasmic feeling I used to get when it arrived in the mailbox, and I confess, I STILL get that tween-the-legs tickle when I see it in the stores. It used to be pocketbook size; now it's the size of a regular mag, like GLAMOUR or GOOD HOUSEKEEPING.

I'm SO glad it's Friday (I know, tell you something you don't know). Last week I went home early, sick. I'm much better, now. For a few nights, every time I put my head on the pillow, I was getting that maddening tickle in my throat that kept me coughing. That's finally gone, as is the phlegm (I so hate that word, almost as much as pus) that gave me the hoarse voice.

A local story: A terrible, horrible, should-be-put-to-death person put a cat in a carrier, weighted it down with rocks and dropped it into a lake. They found the cat also had broken ribs and other injuries. They're offering a reward for the identity of this dreadful soul, and I hope they find him or her so we can stone the soulless asshole to death. An eye for an eye in a case like this. No more, no less.

Then there's another awful local story about a young, drunken man who drove the wrong way on a parkway and struck a limo that had just left a wedding, killing the limo driver and beheading a 7 year old girl. The prosecutors keep thrusting into the jury's minds the vision of the injured mother cradling her daughter's decapitated head in her arms. The defense keeps asking them to stop doing it; it's making the defendant look really terrible. See how weird justice is? What appears justified for one side is prejudiced for the other. Weird, huh?

Tomorrow is the 75th anniversary celebration for Massapequa Park, our town. We're also going to Bellmore's street fair, where Brad is putting in 2 mandatory-volunteer hours on behalf of his school. I know I had something planned to do Sunday, too, but can't remember what it was. Hope something sparks my memory.

Enjoy your weekend, my friends. Treat people and animals with love.

Love, Robin

With John R off, I'm staying two hours OT today, first time in a while. Extra money is always nice, especially after the huge chunk of change we put on the Mastercard during our vacation (not to mention the $3,000+ for Dan's new Camry).

I feel badly about letting the dogs wait to go out any additional time, but that can't be helped. Brad's been staying until after 5 PM most days, so I can't count on him. Besides, it's raining, which means I'll have to leash up Bugs and Snaps and walk them outside. It was no fun doing that this morning, especially when, my vision blocked by the hood I had covering my face, I walked right through a neighbor's running sprinkler. Why, you wonder, didn't I hear it and walk around it? I think a loud passing car was the culprit, and let's face it, I'm just so friggin' tired, I'm half-asleep anyway. My jeans got drenched and it took a long time for them to dry.

I'm tired. Aren't I always? I really should ask Dr, Jacob to test my thyroid. I suspect it's off-kilter again.

Poor Brad. He's working his ass off. I bet he misses the days when all he had homework, then his easy job at the mall! Last night, he worked until 9:30 PM. That's when Ali called; I heard Brad tell her it was his first free moment all day. I know he expected to be busy, but I think this is more than even he bargained for. I hope it slows down, gets easier. I realize the first year is going to be the hardest, but he looks so harried and disbelieving. I keep reminding him that they don't pay you that kind of money to just sit on your ass; they expect PRODUCTION, and PAPERWORK! And lots of both, naturally!

Dan met me at the gym last night around 6 PM. I got there about half an hour before him and gave myself a good workout, racing from one machine to another. When he arrived, I was already seated on the rowing machine, heading for the Red Sea. His shoulder (the one in which he had the cortisone shot) was bothering him after five minutes, so he stopped, worked his abs, then soaked in the whirlpool, in which the heater had finally been fixed. I swam a few laps and joined Dan in the jacuzzi, which temporarily eased my own body aches.

Dan's MRI results came in the mail, along with a referral to a gastroenterologist. The description was technical, describing Dan as having four cysts, two on his liver, two on his kidneys. He was freaked out, reading it, but I urged him to check the terms in the internet and/or wait until he sees the other doctor (not until October!), but he says he's afraid it will upset him more. Jeez, what's worse--the devil you do know or the devil you don't? I'd rather do research and know. They're not sending him for surgery and not referring to these things as tumors, so I'd count my blessings. I think Dan would rather think something is wrong than believe everything is OK--he's a drama king, like his mother is a drama queen. Sigh. I guess I can be quite the drama princess myself, so I should just shut up, right?

The phones are getting quite busy now, so I'm going to post this and give them my full attention. Until later, this is Robin, wishing you love and writing about her whackadoodle life. . .

Love, Me!

I wanted to write yesterday, something to commemorate the anniversary of 9/11, but found myself unable to. I tried. I was surrounded by it--newspapers, newscasts, flags flying half-mast, sad eyes, moments of silence--but I turned away from all of it.

I couldn't watch UNITED 93 or WORLD TRADE CENTER. I figured I could see the latter because it was a movie about a rescue, about two men who survived the toppling of the two great buildings, but the point is, thousands didn't.

I don't know if I mentioned this before, but I was in one of those buildings just a few weeks before the attacks, attending a DARK SHADOWS convention. I stayed at the Marriott there, ate at Krispy Kreme, had lunches and dinners in the bowels of the World Trade Center that was to be nothing but ash and dead bodies reduced to ash two and a half weeks later.

I remember watching it unfold on television, thinking how timing was everything in this life, and how all those people had gone to work not knowing that was to be their very last day alive. It shakes me to my very viscera, thinking these things, and I fear if I go to see WORLD TRADE CENTER, I will start to cry the moment the movie begins and won't be able to stop. I will not be able to stifle my sobs, as I usually do, and I will be escorted out of the theater because I am annoying others. If it's possible to cry oneself to death, I will do so, then and there, because even though I didn't lose anyone close to me on that terrible day, in some way, I lost the very closest person to my heart--myself. The terrorists stole the child inside her, the innocent Robin, forced her on one of those planes, and flew her into those buildings. She was incinerated when towers 1 and 2 collapsed. She died on 9/11 as surely as those 3000+ others did.

Love, Robin