Momma, You Were Born This Way
This was originally written 11 years ago when my mother was 85. She left this world on 12/04/2020 at 94, saying, “Be kind to others no matter what.” It’s not always an easy task to fulfill, but if nothing else, my mother reminded me to at least give it a shot daily.
On this Mother’s Day weekend, I decided to pay homage to my mother … Venita. My mother is the oldest of three children born to her Italian immigrant parents, Vincenzo Torcini and Maria/Mary Landini, in 1926.
Vincenzo left her life at 4 years old, shortly after the Great Depression entered. This left her mother with the burden of raising her young children alone, without any means to do so. After this abandonment, she suffered from what would most likely be considered a nervous breakdown today. No welfare, free housing, or valium for Maria.
Years later, my mother was told that the apartment they were living in had caught fire, and her mother was under the impression that the children perished. That pushed her over the edge and led her to the breakdown.
Scenarios like this were common, especially amongst immigrant families during the Great 
Depression. Many could not find work to support their families because they could not speak English. This frustration, piled on top of economic pressures, led to abandonment and, in some cases, suicide.
This tragic set of circumstances left my mother and her sibling in the care of Catholic Charities in Philadelphia. They were placed in an orphanage, followed by a Shelter. This emergency lodging was set up to accommodate all families that had become homeless following the Depression. Some were run privately and were set up to serve cases like that of my mother’s family. These children needed homes until their parents were able to support them again.
My mother and her brother, who were only 14 months apart, were separately placed into homes. The children were taken to several homes before settling into somewhat permanent residences. My uncle was raised by an Italian family in South Philadelphia, while my mother was raised by an Irish woman in North Philadelphia. My mother still calls her “the Irish woman who raised me.” She rarely refers to her by name, which was Ellen O’Malley. Ellen was a widow at a very young age, never had children of her own, and never re-married. Her single lifestyle allowed her to open her home to these children. Giving children to single women..now that’s a switch.
Ellen O’Malley, or “Auntie,” cared for my mother from when she was 7 years old until she was 16. Other children were placed during her time with “Auntie”; however, they had parents who remained in their lives with weekly visitations. These children were just waiting for their parents to get work to rebuild their lives, but this was not the case for my Mom. Her father never did return, and her mother remained at the hospital until her death. This left my mother to just wait, wonder and hope.
Auntie did the best she could to raise her. However, she did not maternally express herself. This is understandable since the other children had mothers in their lives, and she most likely didn’t want to impose.
Mom “Venita” enjoying lunch prepared
by Evan, one of her 8 remarkable
grandchildren.
When my mother talks to me about her own mother, I can hear the yearning for unanswered questions in her tone.
At 85 years old, she is still left to wonder if her face resembles that of her mother or father. No pictures, trinkets, memories of her own, and surprisingly…not one ounce of resentment.
What is her secret? How did my mother raise (4) children of her own without ever experiencing the love and nurturing of her own mother?
I have to conclude … Momma, you were born this way. She is a humble and loving person who gained strength from her hardship, which resonates with her enormous love for her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
The reason I chose the title of this Blog is that my mother, Venita enjoys Lady Gaga.
You heard me…the same day the photo above was taken, “Just Dance” came on the radio. My Mom asked, “Is this Lady Gaga? I saw her on The View in the cutest black and white outfit. If I were young, I would have that dress.” This was followed by “She’s a smart girl.” I was so grateful she wasn’t referring to the Meat Dress.
At 85, she is a hip, hat-wearing, organic-eating, interesting, funny, strong Lady Gaga-loving Democrat who enjoys going to the movies, solving crossword puzzles, dropping hilarious one-liners, and LOVING her family with all her heart. But most of all … she is my Mom. Enjoy the Ride!
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Growth ans Fireflies
My sister is in the process of moving, most likely a plane ride away. Over the past two years, we’ve endlessly talked about her plans while I was processing my own.
A lot of significant changes were on the table. Relationship status, home sales, employment, and aging into a new decade.
Along the way, there were ups and downs, and all around with it, but in the end, everything fell into place as intended.
Now that we’re in the final stretch, the reality of getting on a plane to visit is sinking in on my end.
At 15 months apart, we were raised like twins dressing alike and doing everything together until our teenage years when we had different circles. As we grew into ourselves, we were back together again, having our children together and, most recently, becoming grandmothers.
We’ve been so busy cheering each other on that I haven’t thought about the enormity of this potential distance apart. Yes, I’m happy, proud, and excited about her future ventures, but suddenly I feel nostalgic about what was.
These feelings showed up in my dream last night. I dreamt I was approached by someone requesting I write a passage for their book. It was based on a missing woman, and I was to write it as if I knew the character when we were children. This is how it went.
We were two little girls with big imaginations playing in the basement of our rowhome. We always had each other, never needing outside playmates. As the younger of the duo, I would pretend to be a mother of 4 at the tender age of 9, providing our dolls with the nurturing they deserved. At the same time, my sister, who loved school, bypassed the teacher and went directly to playing a principal, making policy changes, and firing the Barbie and Dawn doll staff members.
On hot Summer nights, fresh from the bath and dressed in matching babydoll pajamas, we would grab our Maxwell House coffee cans with holes punched in the lids to catch fireflies in our yard. We went as far as adding grass to eat while they were being held captive, then, after counting our inventory, we let them go before heading to bed.
I woke up with mixed emotions as I wrote everything down not to forget a signal detail. It shook me on some level. The passages were vivid, and the memories were something I hadn’t thought about in decades. Why now?
Laying in bed, eyes wide open, I thought about those two little girls in the basement. Those roles now look more like survivor skills. Me providing the nurturing, I hungered while my sister did her best to gain control that was nowhere to be found in our house, both happening as we were still playful little girls catching fireflies.
Like us, our parents did the best they could with the knowledge they had at the time. I’m grateful for the consciousness to recognize this for what it is without casting blame on myself or my parents.
Now, off to work where things won’t be so deep ❤
Enjoy the Ride!
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Hallmark, Are You Listening?
Here we are, a week away from celebrating our first Christmas in our new home, and when I decorated the tree, I reflected on the 30 that preceded this one. My tree truly tells the story of a life lived well. Time flies.
I took a stroll down Candy Cane Lane to reminisce on the many phases of Christmas we experienced over the years. Whew, that was a journey.
Our first together was nothing short of a corny Hallmark movie. We shopped for the perfect tree and decorated it together, sipping cocoa while Christmas music played in the background. It’s not corny when you wear a new pair of love goggles.
Then we added back-to-back children, and that Hallmark movie quickly turned into a comedy. Early on, the kids didn’t get the concept, and there was no enthusiasm in the room unless you count mine. Hey, someone had to do it.
When they were 3 and 4 and aware of everything about Santa, mainly how that naughty and nice list worked, giving Mr. and Mrs. Claus permission to threaten their young for a good two months, things turned around. We didn’t make the rules; we just played along.
I enjoyed the Santa years. The wonder and excitement on their faces can always make me smile, along with the homemade ornaments that adorn my tree today. Even the one-eyed reindeer and faded baby Jesus make the cut.
My favorite years were when the kids wanted something so badly that they were willing to sacrifice everything. Nothing else in the world mattered to them at that moment. It was a pink Razor flip phone for my daughter, and for my son, it was an ATV. Let the games begin!
Santa and the Mrs. correction, mostly Mrs., made these dreams come true. The strategic planning that this required was on another level, all while doing everything else life needed. The search for the item, working the numbers, the deadline, pulling off the delivery to make a dream come true, and then, during the presentation, pretending like it was a piece of cake. Forget college degrees; hire a mother.
The teenage years transitioned into the smaller boxes, more significant price tags, or cash-only please phase of Christmas, which felt more like a transaction than a holiday. It was tough for this Cristine Cringle, so the dogs were often dressed as reindeer. Hey, someone had to keep the spirit going.
When significant others entered the picture for a stretch, the spirit resurfaced. The excitement of surprising a mate and the joy of finding “just the right gift” ignited some of that old wonder. Things were merrier.
Then the necessary years rolled in, aka the return from college. There was something special about having two self-proclaimed adults back in the house asking Mrs. Claus for gift cards for food, gas, or beer. No worries, I also included socks, underwear, and laundry detergent to add some cheer.
The independent adult stretch has been long and all over the place. It’s all about family, friends, living spaces, or traveling, leaving Mrs. Claus with the option of home decor or travel bags to fill the sleigh. Does Mrs. Claus have a retirement age?
This year we’re entering another new phase of firsts-first Christmas in our new home. First Christmas as grandparents, First Christmas for our granddaughter, and first time in 31 years, it’s just the two of us again.
We didn’t shop for the perfect tree; our old one is already perfect. The “we” in decorating became I many moons ago, and the sipping hot cocoa was replaced with meeting my daily water intake. However, the Christmas music still played in the background, and the love goggles were still in place, sporting a few scratches on the lenses. Now that’s how Hallmark should do it.
Enjoy the Sleigh Ride!
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Hold My Halo, I Got This
Many moons ago, I started this blog because of significant changes in my personal life.
My kids were growing into independent beings. My husband rolled up in a convertible wanting to re-light the flame we had when we were dating, leaving me wondering, “what the hell is happening?”
I often referred to my children moving on with their lives as being fired from the best job I’ve ever had, and I stand by that statement today. I quit a high-powered job where I worked endless hours for a big salary to raise my kids for endless hours, years, days, minutes, an eternity for FREE. Hey, wait a minute!
Regrets? Eh, not while I was in full swing of rearing young lives, but there were some questionable moments after I was abruptly let go. Not even a goodbye lunch?
No worries, I wasn’t unemployed for long as I jumped directly from the pot into the fire of caring for my mother for the next 14 years. Until this moment, I did not realize it had been 14 years. I need to let that settle for a second.
The changes following my mothers passing two years ago came so quickly that I barely had time to think. Is this how it feels when you’re shot out of a cannon? I’m going with, yes, yes, it is.
There is no question in my mind that this happened at the hands of a higher power. The Creator, Universe, God, or another term you want to use to describe something bigger than yourself.
I had been asking the Creator to help me grow, and I see now that it wouldn’t happen without being physically transported to another state. So, considering I’m writing this from a new home, in a new state, with a new job, new friends, and a new title, “grandmother,” all happening in the last 365 days says a lot. The Creator doesn’t play around.
As soon as this higher power got the memo that I would soon be a grandmother, there is no doubt that it was a “hold my halo, I got this” all hands on deck moment in the higher realm. No one knows you better than the Creator.
My anchor, also known as people-pleasing, needed to end fast, especially with a grandchild entering the mix. The ultimate pleasing opportunity for this girl.
It left me wondering if this was a test. I’m finally free of responsibilities that diverted my attention from myself forever, and this is when I’m presented with a grandchild? Come on!
For too long, I had been stagnant in my career, friend circle, living situation, and life with one common denominator preventing movement … me. I was getting something from all of these situations, but it wasn’t growth; it was comfort.
Fear of change wasn’t holding me back; I needed to please people. God forbid I disappointed someone other than myself, of course.
It’s essential to break free from what we have been trained to do our whole lives, so saying no and setting boundaries can sometimes be challenging for me, actually, a lot of the time.
There is a quote from my favorite poet, Maya Angelo, that I have truly embraced as a mantra for many avenues in my life, but especially when I fall off of the people-pleasing wagon, “Do the best you can until you know better. Then when you know better, do better.” It’s like a big ole hug.
I’m inundated with statements like, “Are you upset you’re not near your granddaughter?” Are you going to move back?” “Awe, you’re never going to see her?” I remind myself that I am a 2-hour car ride away with a healthier mindset, living a happy, active life for myself.
I can’t think of a better gift for my granddaughter than this improved version of myself, who continues to grow as 59 peers in her window.
Enjoy the Ride!
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Today, The World Is A Better Place
We’ve been waiting most of the year for this! Oh no, not the day spent enjoying delicious food in the company of those we love most in the world. Not to say this isn’t nice.
I’m talking about the birth of my very first grandchild. Drum roll, please …
Little Miss. Olivia Marie arrived on 11-23-22 at 4:00 a.m., weighing 7lbs 12 oz and 20 inches long. Immediately making this world a better place. Yesterday, If you thought, wow, the sun seems just a little brighter, you know why.
Mommy, Daddy, and Olivia are all happy, healthy, and anxiously waiting to go home to big brother Calvin. He has paws.
I did learn quite a bit more about my son over the past few days. The most evident is he did not, I repeat, did not pay attention in any form of a health education class. Ever.
Whew! His ADHD was front and center on Monday night when I inquired if mommy was dilated, and he responded, “what does that mean?” I can hear your gasps.
I made the mistake of asking again on Tuesday afternoon when he informed me she had contractions and received an epidural.
Me: Any word on how dilated she is?
Daddy: I told you, I don’t know.
Me: I know, but that was yesterday, and now she’s having contractions.
Daddy: I’m not asking. I was already yelled at for yawning.
That seems about right.
Me: Have you heard the words 2, 3, or 4 centimeters come out of the mouth of any medical professionals in the room?
Daddy: Oh yeah, she was 2 centimeters a few hours ago.
Still giving me gray hairs.
The rest of the day was spent jumping every time my phone notified me of a message. I am officially a trained rat.
Hours passed without a word. So, this soon-to-be grandmother, and not a pushy mother, assumed the silence meant things were progressing nicely and I would hear any minute. What’s that saying about assuming? Yeah.
I finally received a text around 9:00 p.m. that went like this:
Daddy: Every movie ever made with a birth scene is a LIE.
Me: For the record, so are the death scenes and crime solving.
Daddy: My back is killing me from this chair. The food is awful, and I can’t sleep.
Someone, hold my glass; it’s about to go down.
Me: Have you said any of this out loud in the room?
Daddy: I’m not on a death wish.
Me: How is mommy?
Daddy: She’s doing good, uncomfortable, but good.
Me: Great! Be patient; I know it’s difficult for you. Once Olivia arrives, you’ll forget about all of this.
Daddy: I will never forget this concrete slab they call a bed. I love you!
Me: I love you too!
I don’t have a concrete slab for a bed and still didn’t sleep wondering how things were progressing. I woke up at 4:30, jumping out of my skin to send a text.
Me: Is everything ok?
Daddy: Yes, her water broke at 1:30, and Olivia arrived at 4:00 a.m.
My phone rang with a Facetime call, and by 4:34, I was looking at my wide-eyed granddaughter after just 34 minutes of entering this world. She was nestled in her mother’s arms while my son gushed with joy. Clueless at how lucky he is lucky to be alive.
I have a lot to be grateful for each and every day. Including this Thanksgiving that looks much different than the ones pre Covid when my house was busting at the seams, with loved ones, food, and laughter.
This year it’s the hubby and me going for a morning walk, maybe on the beach, enjoying an early dinner at our table for two, and heading out to meet our first grandchild for the first time. The bar has risen!
Enjoy the Ride like it’s Thanksgiving every day.
Gobble Gobble.
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Spirited Boys
I just finished a book at record speed. Why? Well, because it grabbed my attention from page one, and I couldn’t get enough. The title is “The Day John Died” by Christopher Anderson. John, as in, John Kennedy, Jr.
First, the story grabbed me because I, and anyone with eyes in my age group, had a crush on John. He was like your forbidden best friend’s older brother crush. You don’t have a chance, but it’s fun to gaze.
Secondly, I had no idea that John was “a spirited boy” or in today’s terms probably had a little ADHD going on. I prefer spirited boy.
Oh, how do I know this? Well, because I raised one as well, just not in the public eye.
John’s early days in the White House were described as “active” and “curious.” Running the halls like he owned the place and asking any adult, including Secret Service agents, every question a toddler could wrangle up. Yup, he’s spirited all right.
I’m not going to lie here. I was getting envious thinking of Jackie’s help in handling her handful. I know I could have used a couple of agents and a Nanny during those primitive years.
I imagined meeting Jackie at a parent-teacher conference, realizing we were in the same boat. FYI: My boat is a raft and hers a yacht.
Throughout my son’s education, it was obvious that the mothers of these little spirits also magnetize towards each other, and remain lifelong friends. The cry for help must be written all over our faces.
There are two scenarios: Jackie and I would have been best friends, or I would have been served with a restraining order. It could go either way, but I’m leaning towards friends. I know me, and I know I would be starstruck, so there are no guarantees.
On one of our many playdates at the park, we could discuss the need to have our colorist on speed dial to touch up the never-ending grays caused by the shenanigans of our little overactive, curious but lovable boys. A girl can dream.
As everyone knows, Jackie was very protective over John, and rightfully so, considering the circumstances surrounding him at every corner. Still, her protection from the many, many Mrs. Kennedy wannabes had me dreaming of landlines. You go, Jackie!
One of the perks in raising a child in the ’70s was the ability to screen their calls, and Jackie had no problem telling an unfamiliar female voice, “I’m sorry he’s not here right now.”
Unfortunately for me, my little spirit was born into a world of cell phones and the knowledge to press charges for invasion of privacy if I even tried such a move.
Of course, this story is all in jest. I would never have been in the same circle as my girl Jackie, nor would I ever be screening my son’s calls, hmm, well maybe, but I found it very interesting through the words of Christopher Anderson that our sons, had such similar spirit and curiosity. Just another reason for me to love Jackie.
Enjoy the Ride!
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Suddenly Is Sneaky Daily Prompt: Suddenly
Me & Mom 1968
The word suddenly indeed takes center stage with what is on my mind. Friday, like every Friday, is spent with my mom. Due to the nor’easter that hit the east coast this week, we decided to ditch our outside plans. Mother Nature had another idea for me.
Our usual Friday consists of errands. Bank, bakery, Trader Joe’s, and Whole Foods, which means we are in and out of the car a lot. Well, I am. At 91 getting in and out of a vehicle is not an easy task, now add Macular degeneration to the mix, and it’s downright difficult. Not that this stops mom from giving it her best, but knowing her limits.
So, with our change in plans, I was able to spend some quality one-on-one outside of the car. This is where the magic happened.
Suddenly I felt our roles had reversed. Not that V hasn’t given me the opportunity to play worried mother with her in the past. Like the time she didn’t answer her phone, did not let my sisters where she was going or me, which led us to frantically drive to her apartment only to see her laughing around a table with her friends. We all looked surprised as she asked: “what are you doing here?”
My NERVES!
Macular degeneration is something that little by little, but suddenly leaves you without full use of your eyes, something that has taken a toll on my mom physically & mentally. Just imagine having your independence pulled out from under your feet.
Now, my once never asking for help independent mother before it was fashionable, suddenly has to have her daughters read her mail. Along with everything else in print.
After reading the mail on Friday, I had the pleasure of reading a letter to my mom. Not just any letter, a letter from a friend, who just happens to be an avid reader and recently read an incredible book about Jackie O., her sister Lee and mother Janet. Knowing my mom shares the same love for Jackie O, she created a CliffsNotes version for me to share. The highlight of the day!
Over the next few hours, we not only discussed the story in the letter, but it also opened the door to discuss all sorts of subjects, including, but not limited to the fact that very wealthy people are weird. Money does not prevent weirdness, but it can pay someone to brush it under the rug.
My mom insisted on making my lunch. Considering cooking and serving are the two things she can do independently I said yes. What was on the menu you ask? A grilled cheese cut into four squares, veggie chips, and applesauce. Suddenly, feeling five years old again felt terrific!
As we were eating my mom suddenly got serious. Not the norm. Mom began explaining to me that she has been having more bad days than good ones, along with a lecture on the fact that people shouldn’t live this long. What?!
I’m not naive. I understand that at 91 life has an expiration date, but for whatever reason, it suddenly became very evident. Maybe there was something in the cheese?
Suddenly I realized that my days of eating grilled cheese cut into four squares are limited.
Suddenly I realized the promise I made to marry my mom when I was 3 was not going to be fulfilled.
Suddenly I realized that my daily phone chats on the way home from work won’t be around forever.
Suddenly I realized I’m not young anymore and neither is the one person in this world who loves me the most.
Suddenly has a way a sneaking up on you, so make sure you Enjoy the Ride!
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Honk If You Like Boobies
DAILY PROMPT: Express Yourself
Imagine receiving a call from a potential employer, who decided to conduct an impromptu phone interview right in the middle of a summer day when your two overzealous boys are home. Are you sweating?
Well, this is exactly what happened to my sister. She was on the phone putting her best professional voice forward, while waving her hands; talking through her teeth and giving an evil eye to her two laughing boys, whom she decided to keep after this day. They have no idea how lucky they are … really.
Mothers of boys know that the laughter only escalates when her face begins turning all 
sorts of colors and she appears on the verge of exploding. In their eyes this is the best thing since double stuffed Oreos.
While she found herself trapped between motherhood, corporate America and a full-blown circus right in her own living room, she slithered up the steps to the sanctuary of her bedroom, shut the door and continued the interview. Just when you think you’re safe…
Suddenly she heard some sort of commotion outside, which wasn’t too unusual since she lived on a main road, but this noise just didn’t seem normal. At times like this you just want to smother your inner curious cat.
While still on the damn phone she looked out the window only to see her two boys, one in his boxer shorts, holding a sign that read:
Honk If You Like Boobies
Unfortunately for her the neighbors really, really liked boobies!
Express yourself. Never be afraid to find the humor in life and always Enjoy the Ride!
Yes, she got the job!
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By Hand Isn’t Always Dirty
Todays Daily Post Pens and Pencils asks the following:
When was the last time you wrote something substantive — a letter, a story, a journal entry, etc. — by hand? Could you ever imagine returning to a pre-keyboard era?
Well, considering I was born and raised in the “pre-keyboard era” it’s safe to say that I will continue to keep the art of handwriting alive and well in my circle. I love pens and pencils!
Just this week I wrote a note of well wishes to a sick friend and good luck wishes to friends who are starting a new chapter in their lives. I would consider both of these notes substantive, because they had the personal touch of the written word …. my words.
As a matter of fact, I can’t return from the pre-keyboard era because I never really left. I love giving and receiving a written note. I don’t care if it’s a simple “Pick up milk” on a post-it or a loving reminder inside a card that someone out there in the world is thinking of me on a special occasion. Handwriting Rocks!
Let me toot my handwriting horn now. My handwriting truly rocks because I went to Catholic school where penmanship was far more important than anything else on the planet. You haven’t lived until you completed an entire copybook of the handwritten alphabet!
My children, ages 20 and 21, will never ever master this craft. There are chickens in barnyards across America with better writing skills! Although my daughter had a brief stint with penmanship, my son had less.
He has voiced his dislike for my hand written notes claiming he struggles to read cursive, while insisting I print. I refuse to resort to wall drawings on his behalf!
At work I still have the pleasure of using a sharpened wood pencil, along with a date book that has real paper pages. Don’t faint.
I use these old school tools to schedule the doctor’s surgeries and I love it! Sharpened pencils make me smile, erasers … well, they make me smile even wider. Trust me, when you’re dealing with the public erasers are a dream come true.
Honestly though the pen and pencil people of the world have to have some empathy for this keyboard era. What are they going to do save a text message from their lovers on their phones? Ugh … that is just depressing.
I guess if they don’t know any different they’re really not missing anything. Ok, now that’s even more depressing.
I am grateful to have the skills to write a note; the ability to 
appreciate a written note; and the sense to frame a note written by my husband on our first anniversary. Husband and writing are rarely used in the same sentence.
This little beauty has acted as a reminder over the past 24 years on more than one occasion and I cherish its existence. It has also acted as a life saving tool more than once as well … just saying.
Doing things “by hand” isn’t as dirty as it sounds. So take a moment today to write a note and as always … Enjoy the Ride!
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Save The Dust Bunnies
The Daily Post has a great subject line No Time To Waste.
Fill in the blank: “Life is too short to _____.” Now, write a post telling us how you’ve come to that conclusion.
Over the years I’ve heard this wonderful “Life is too short” line many times. But it’s not every day that a seasoned life liver crosses your path and hits you up with valuable words to live by. This happened back in my crazed mother of young children trying to “do it all” days. Ugh …. I think I just got a chill.
I was at the playground with my little angels when a grandmotherly type woman approached me. Apparently she recognized that I was dressed in stress from head to toe when she started a very important conversation. She obviously recognized this look.
This lovely woman began asking me about my children and motherhood in general. After listening to my ramblings about the pressures of having an endless messy house, she calmly stated: “Life is too short to worry about dust bunnies, you’ll have plenty of time to clean when your kids are grown.” Who was this woman of wisdom dressed in grandmother clothing? Gandhi? …. Yoda?
I often think about her wise words and pass them along to other young mothers on the brink of exploding from trying to DO IT ALL. She was so right!
Now that my kids are at an age were my needs no longer include pushing strollers, holding hands or driving from A to B and back again, I do have plenty of time to worry about those dust bunnies. But guess what? Now I’m at an age where a heard of full-grown dust kangaroos could hop over me and I wouldn’t care. Talk about a silver lining!
How would you fill in the blank: “Life is too short to _____.”
Save the Dust Bunnies and Enjoy the Ride!
Life With The Top Down 
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