Pieces of Paradise: Norman Love Confections

Chocolate.

Even back to the Aztec days, when the priests presented cocoa seeds as offerings to their gods, people knew that there was something special about chocolate.

I've ALWAYS known there's something special about chocolate. Yup, I'm pretty sure that even in the womb, I was nudging my mom through the umbilical cord with urges for chocolate.

Yum.

Back in January, I wrote a blog post entitled, "Living in Paradise" - and it was about a recent Consumer Reports article that ranked the best chocolate in the country.

The #1 chocolatier in the country is Norman Love Confections...and it's located right here in Ft. Myers.

Here's an article about Norman Love getting #1. Apparently, for the SIXTH time. SIX times. It must be pretty darn good!

Norman Love is located about a quarter mile from Fenway South, which is where we spent the afternoon yesterday, watching a bit of baseball...so it was only a logical procession to leave the game and head straight to Norman's.

Because I swear to you, I could smell that chocolate while at the ballpark. Really.

Baseball and chocolate within 1000 feet of each other...how good can it get?

So, we went first to the actual chocolate & pastry shop, where we were greeted by these little heavenly delights:



Oh, the decisions...I really wanted to say, "One of each, please!" - but that would have been gluttonous. Right?


What to choose? What to choose? TOO MANY CHOICES!!!

So, I settled for an even dozen...and oh, the joy of picking & choosing & pointing, while saying, "Oh, that one, please! And THAT one, too!"

There were also some delectable pastries in the window, and I apologize for my poor camera skills, as it was hard to get the perfect photo that did these babies justice:


Are these not beautiful???




After reluctantly leaving the chocolate & pastry shop, we walked next door to Norman's Artisan Gelato Shop, where we indulged in a little gelato:




What made this visit even more special (besides the wonderful, creamy gelato, of course) was meeting Norman Love himself. He was there, behind the counter, and he talked with us for about 10 minutes about his background, his passion and how it all came together for him.



My kids and I felt like we were in the presence of royalty - and in fact, I gushingly said to him, "You're like a rock star! In chocolate!"

As I gushed, Norman blushed. Maybe I did pour it on a bit thick - but how could I not, as I was savoring the Cannoli-flavored gelato?

Eventually, it was time to go - and Hubby pulled me, kicking and screaming, from the shop.

But I'll be back. Oh yes. I'll be back.

In the meantime, always keep a smile on your face, a rainbow in your heart, and some chocolate on hand.

Peace.

Barefoot in the Grass

Note to self:

When a ticket says "Lawn Seating" - that usually means that yes, you will be sitting on grass. Which could mean wet grass, freshly-mowed grass, tickly grass, grass with critters - in any of the aforementioned combinations.

We found this out the hard way today when we ventured out on another Spring Training baseball odyssey...in this case, we had tickets to see the Boston Red Sox play against the defending World Series Champions, the St. Louis Cardinals, here in our home-away-from-home, Ft. Myers, FL.

Now...in my defense...I attempted to snag tickets to this game months ago. Seriously.

Back in December, I began perusing online to see what the Red Sox Spring Training schedule looked like, and the minute the schedule was posted, I immediately began attempting to snag tickets for today's game.

I had a better chance of scoring a private audience with the Pope and Bruce Springsteen and the President. At the same time. In the same room.

It's bad enough that Boston is passionate about their team - and I do mean PASSIONATE - but they have a brand, spanking-new stadium that just opened, and everyone in a 1000-mile radius wants to see this new stadium. Including us.

"Regular" tickets were only available to regular-season ticket holders, so that left us out. Anyway, I finally managed to score four tickets that were stamped, "Lawn Seating." And thus begins our odyssey.

We began by leaving 2 1/2 hours before the game...for normally an 8-mile drive to the stadium. If you think I'm exaggerating here, I am not. We had been warned to leave early, and they were not kidding. We found ourselves in an 8-mile traffic jam that slowly, inch-by-inch, creeped towards JetBlue Park, the new stadium:



Upon arriving - 90 minutes after our drive began, we were directed to park in Georgia - or was it Tennessee? - and we began hiking towards Fenway South, as the new stadium is referred to:



This stadium is a thing of beauty...all of the dimensions are EXACTLY the same as the "real" Fenway Park in Boston...and it even has the infamous "Green Monster" in left field:



Included in the wall is a restored version of the manual scoreboard that was housed at Fenway for over 30 years:



And, in case you STILL didn't realize you were at Fenway South, there was this little gem of a concession stand. I got all excited, thinking I could have Boston Baked Beans along with Boston Cream Pie - but I had to settle for a hot dog.



Our seats were waaaaaaaaaaaaay out in center field - in the grass. And I do mean in the grass. You literally find a spot of green, drop your blanket (if you were smart enough to bring one...which we weren't - bad Mommy) - and take in the game.



If we squinted really hard, we could just take in the action on the field. Well. I could somewhat make out the pitcher. And a batter. I could never see what call the umpire was making.

So, I did what anyone would do in this situation. I began to look around - closer to home, to to speak - to see what else could amuse me. First, I realized that the stadium itself was beautiful to look at...the roof line is somewhat unique - I guess it's supposed to symbolize "flying" - since the park is sponsored by a major airline. I kept waiting for the park to just lift off in the air:



Second, we could hear the flags "flapping" in the breeze during the national anthem, which was pretty cool:


And then there's the free sunscreen machines...this was interesting, because all of us in the "cheap seats" were loading up on this free crap. It was like, "By golly - if I can't see the game - I'm going to at LEAST get some free sunscreen out of the deal!"



The bullpen was literally RIGHT in front of us...so that amused me for awhile, watching the guys warm up:



My daughter asked to borrow my camera at one point, and hoping to encourage her photographic instincts, I handed it over. Her way to entertain herself? She saw a billboard in the outfield that said, "Giant Glass." However, she waited for juuuuuust the right moment and caught this beauty:



Yup. That's a middle-schooler for you. She did that on purpose. The photo won't be winning any Pulitzer prizes, I'm sure.

Although it did give us some amusement for awhile...talking about sitting our "giant asses" in the "grasses." Hee.

Actually, we enjoyed our time in the grass. You could stretch out, lay down, chit-chat with your fellow grassers (everyone around us turned out to be from Missouri - go figure!), and just enjoy the atmosphere.

And except for all of the ticklish grass, it was a pretty great day.

Peace.

Boys of Summer

The year was 1969...and I was all of seven years old. There was a brand new baseball team in town - the Kansas City Royals - and I got caught up in the city-wide excitement of watching a young, exciting team take on the big boys in the majors.

Every single night, my bedside radio would be tuned to "the game" - and I would listen as Buddy Blattner and Denny Matthews brought the game to life, painting pictures for me as I lay in bed, slowly falling to sleep in the later innings. More often than not, I'd have to read the newspaper the next morning to see if we had been victorious the night before - or not.

Thus began my lifelong love affair with baseball...and even after all these years, it's still as strong as ever.

Yesterday, we headed to Hammond Stadium, located here in Ft. Myers, Florida, to take in a spring training game between the Minnesota Twins and the New York Yankees. Don't ask me what hoops I had to jump through and what magic I had to perform to snag these tickets - but I managed it.



Approaching the stadium from the parking lot...



Sometimes they actually get along with each other....


Built in 1991, Hammond Stadium is the spring home of the Twins...and the parking rows all feature street signs named after some of the Twins' former great players. It didn't take me long to find one of my all time favorites, Harmon Killebrew.


Killebrew played 22 years with the Twins...but retired after playing a final year for the KC Royals...


The stadium holds all of 7,500 people - and it was a full house to take in the afternoon game.


About an hour before game time...the stands are filling up...


We were in Row 14...and it felt like you could reach out and touch the batter...a very small, intimate feeling. I think this is one reason I love spring training games...there's an intimacy & casualness about it, that makes for a very fun afternoon.

Refreshments were the usual ballpark variety...however, they did offer a Sweet Potato Fry Sundae - sweet potato fries, ice cream and caramel. I passed on it. Ew. However, I did snag this delicious Killebrew Root Beer, and it was DELICIOUS!


Seriously...this was probably the best darn root beer I've ever had....

The first time a foul ball went into the stands, the fan bobbled it and dropped it...and the crowd immediately erupted into a loud & long chorus of boo's. My son and I looked at each other and said, "Tough crowd." Really - if that had happened in Kansas City, the crowd would politely applaud and shout, "Awww....good effort. Better luck next time." I guess that's the difference between KC fans and Yankee fans.

It was a great game - and a great way to spend the afternoon with the kids while we enjoy Spring Break.


Self-portrait...

And it's always fun to hate on the Yankees. No matter where in the world you are. :)

Peace.

Close Encounters of the Pissed & Perverted

“I’m not a child molester, “ the man was insisting, ”even though I’ve been accused of being one.”

Well.

Isn’t that reassuring? And isn’t that what everyone wants to hear?

Let me back up.

On Sunday afternoon, my partner and I had finished up our Disaster Services volunteer work with the American Red Cross in Harveyville, KS, and it was time to head back home to Kansas City. We were looking at an almost two-hour drive, and our ERV was low on gas.

Our ERV drinks diesel, and we were in a very remote area of north-central Kansas – so it was a high priority to find a gas station that could accommodate us, and soon. Neither one of us wanted to be stranded on a deserted Kansas highway with no gas.

We eventually rolled into Osage City, Kansas, a little town with a short and sweet Main Street, and spotted a BP station, with a posted price for diesel. We were in luck – our ERV would not run dry. Yay!

I pulled the ERV up to the green-handled pump, while Lu got out to begin the process of filling the tank.

As she put the green-handled pump into the nozzle, and then began walking inside to the station to pay, I was fiddling with our GPS – hoping to load better coordinates so we could get home even faster than planned.

And this is when the fun began.

As Lu was walking towards the station’s entrance, a man in a truck hollers to her, “Hey! Are you with the Red Cross?” (Lu recounted this conversation to me later, so I’m posting it based on what she said. I was too far away to hear any of this.)

“Yes,” she answered.

To her surprise, the man began a long tirade of how he can’t stand the Red Cross and their volunteers…while Lu was standing there, dumbfounded. He went on for a full five minutes, listing every transgression (in his mind) that the ARC has committed over the years.

“How do you respond to someone like that?” she asked me, later. She said she just nodded politely, and let the guy spout off…why try to argue with someone who’s got his mind made up?

While she was getting chewed out in the parking lot, another man walked up to my open driver’s window, and thus began my own interesting conversation.

“Hey! Are you with the Red Cross?” he asked…as I’m sitting in a giant Red Cross truck, wearing a bright crimson-red Red Cross vest.

“Yes, I am,” I replied.

He then asked where I was going – or where I’d been, and I told him a bit about Harveyville.

He says, “Wow. I’ve never been there – but I know where it is.”

And as I was nodding, it was then that he dropped his bombshell on me.

“I’m not a child molester, “ he says, in the next breath, ”even though I’ve been accused of being one.”

The sound of crickets could now be heard, as I was digesting this bit of news.

“Oh.” I finally managed to squeak out. That was my brilliant, witty response.

“Yeah,” he said, “My girlfriend’s sister keeps telling her that I’m a molester, but I swear, I’m NOT a pervert! I babysit my grandkids all the time!”

He’s leaning in my open driver’s window, and I’m pulling back a bit, frantically looking for Lu with a silent plea of, “Hurry up! I want to get out of here!” He’s so close, that I can see the faint dribble of tobacco juice down his chin.

Lu’s still in the parking lot, with Mr. Irate Guy, in her own little bit of shock.

I start looking around to see if there are "Punk'd" cameras nearby.

He then continues, “I’m not normally dressed like this. But I’m heading to my daughter’s house, and she’ll probably want me to do some work, so I put on my grubby clothes. I normally look nicer.” Yes...he was pretty grubby, all right, but at least we now had an explanation for it.

My response? “Oh. Okay.”

(Yes, I’m just the sparkling conversationalist, aren’t I?!)

About that time, Lu was coming back to the truck, so we finished up our business, and quickly sped off down the highway. Thinking that disaster was now far behind us, little did we know what loomed ahead.

We were both telling our unbelievable conversations to each other, when suddenly, the ERV just…quit. One minute, I’m cruising along at 70 mph, and the next, it just dropped in speed and rolled to a stop. Like air coming out of a balloon, the acceleration just…disappeared.

I floored the gas pedal, and I got the ERV up to a blazing fast speed of…10 mph.

What the heck??! I managed to pull over on the shoulder, flip on the hazards, and assess the situation.

“Um, Lu…” I said…”I’m thinking we must have got bad gas back there...or else something’s wrong with the fuel line.” (Hey – I don’t claim to be an auto mechanic.)

Well…after calling for a tow truck driver, and calling the BP gas station that we had just left (what a great thing Google is on a cell phone!), we learned the hard way that the green-handled pump at a BP is NOT diesel. Oy vey.

Our poor ERV drank the wrong gasoline. And she was NOT happy about it.

We sat for a few hours, on a deserted stretch of highway in the middle of the Kansas boonies, with nothing but soybean fields and an occasional passing car for company. The good news was that we had an entire case of bottled water in the back of the ERV; the bad news was that there wasn’t a tree or even a bush for miles around, so that water was our worst enemy. We avoided it like the plague.


It kinda' looked like this...but with no mountains...cuz' we were in Kansas.

Eventually, we were rescued, and managed to get transportation back to KC, as our poor ERV headed to the dealership to get its stomach pumped.

I’d like to blame our mistake on our Close Encounters of the Pissed & Perverted, but unfortunately, we had already began pumping the wrong fuel when this all unfolded.

So – it’s our own stupidity.

Just another adventure on this road called, “Life.”

My Weekend in Harveyville

Friday started out like any other Friday...I was scheduled to go on-call at 9:00 a.m. with the American Red Cross for local house fires...if a fire were to erupt in the KC metro area, I would get the call to head out and assist the residents.

When my phone rang at 8:20 a.m., and I saw it was the American Red Cross, I answered the phone with the intention of giving my dispatcher a bit of grief for calling me 40 minutes before my shift, but knowing that I would respond quickly, anyway.

Much to my surprise, it wasn't the dispatcher who was calling, but our Director of Emergency Services...I was even more surprised when he began by asking, "Hey - want to go to Harveyville, KS for the weekend?"


A house in Harveyville...after the tornado
Image Source

Harveyville, KS was hit by an EF-2 tornado on the evening of February 28th, destroying 40% of the town. It's about an hour and 45 minutes away from Kansas City, so very quickly, I packed up a few things and headed to our headquarters. There, I hopped in the ERV and began the snowy drive to Harveyville.


Me and my partner, Lu, getting ready to leave KC

After arriving in Harveyville, we checked in, got our security badges, and went to work. We had arrived in time to serve lunch, so we loaded up sandwiches, snacks and drinks, and began driving around the small town.


My security badge...they could scan this to log my hours on the jobsite.

Through the weekend, we served breakfast, lunch and dinner to not only the 240 residents of Harveyville, but the hundreds of law enforcement officers, utility workers, demolition crews, tree trimmers, bulldozer operators, and spontaneous volunteers who were on-scene.


There were two ERV's in town - this is the Topeka ERV

In a small town, you can quickly get to know the people who you're serving...everyone has a story - whether it's the story of the residents who survived the storm, or the story of the volunteer who came all the way in from New York to help with clean-up.

There was Frankie, a 21-year old resident of Harveyville, who took a wild ride in his trailer during the storm, along with his fiance and her two young children. They all miraculously survived, despite their trailer being smashed to smithereens around them - although Frankie ended up with a huge gash in his head from embedded glass. Every day, we'd check on Frankie's condition, as he was still a bit dazed, days after his ordeal.


A typical scene in the streets of town...

There was 71-year old Otis, who goes by "Dawg" to his friends...a weather-beaten farmer who lives in his overalls and tootles around his collected treasures in his yard. Dawg, or "Grandpa Dawg", as I called him, broke down crying one day at our ERV window, as he stated that he was overwhelmed with all of the outpouring of support coming his way. We'd check on Grandpa Dawg three times a day, making sure he was taking care of himself as he slowly recovered from the psychological damage from the storm.

Grandpa Dawg lived down a long, dead-end road that was named 'Frog Hollow'. As I was the driver, I was also the navigator - getting to choose which of the 8 streets in town I'd drive down next...I loved nothing more than announcing to my crew in the back of the ERV that we would now be "goin' down Frog Hollow to visit Grandpa Dawg." How fun is THAT?! And how many times in your lifetime do you get to make that announcement? I'm bettin....never.

We never learned the names of some of our clients - but we gave them nicknames...there was "Coffee Guy", who would stop us in the streets several times a day to have us fill up his thermos. He thought our coffee was the best he'd ever tasted - all I know, it was hot on a chilly, windy day.

There was the "Roofing Crew" - a team of 10 big, strapping men who had come in to volunteer and roof a friend's house. These guys were tough, not minding the elements of a cold, windy day in the Kansas plains...nothing was going to stop them from getting that roof DONE. I would chuckle, though, when all it took was an announcement on my intercom that I had hot, delicious chicken breast sandwiches - and those guys would scamper like lemmings down the ladder as they swarmed our truck for some refreshments.

There were "The Kids" - a group of 16 college kids from a nearby town, who were dressed in their proud purple college hoodies, doing anything and everything that the town officials asked them to do...we kept them well-supplied with chips and pop, as their boundless energy kept them going all day long.


The only church in town - Harveyville Methodist Church - destroyed

"New York" was a guy who had come all the way from...you guessed it - New York to help assist in clean-up. He was somewhat in a state of shock, though, from what he was seeing. I asked him one day, "Are you doing okay, New York?" He said, "I've just never seen a tornado before. Being from the midwest, you're probably used to them." I told him that no, one never gets used to them...or to the damage they can do. I've just learned to not focus on the destruction, but to focus on the people...where the hearts and souls are.

None of the people we served ever knew our names...and that's okay. They just called us the "crazy funny Red Cross ladies from Kansas City" - and that was just fine with us. That's what it was all about. The crazy Kansas City ladies giving them smiles, hugs, words of encouragement, words of support, along with hot food, snacks and drinks.

We not only fed their tummies...we fed their spirits.

I'd like to think so, at least.