The husband and I planned to have a dinner date last night. It didn't happen. He was caught up at work and by the time he came home, we got into an endless (and pointless) discussion with the oldies. I'm being kind by using the word "discussion." At 10:00 P.M., I'm lying on the sofa and he asks, "So what's for dinner?" I pointed toward the kitchen and said, "Knock yourself out."
We steal our moments. We go for walks and we definitely meet up with friends on a regular basis. The hardest part about living with the oldies is the lack of privacy. They are completely kind about it but you can't start a discussion without someone walking into the room. They hide out from us; I know they are trying to stay out of the way and that makes me sad. But, I get a little antsy when I can't have a conversation with the husband. Lots of nights, we sit in the garage or spend hours on the patio. Sometimes, we go in my closet. How bizarre is that?
He needed some routine blood work done and we both needed a flu shot. We went this morning. We had car time together and a couple of quick discussions. It wasn't the date I had in mind but in some weird way, it was still fun.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Rules that Stick
I grew up with LOTS of rules. I managed to break most of them during my teenage years. But at 4 or 5 years old, my mother's rule about crossing the street was drilled into me. That one stuck. I still obey it to this day:
Every child on Pasadena Street knew this rule. I would grab their hand and say, "Wait! We don't have time to fall down and get back up."
I was in a little neighborhood near my home the other day. We were waiting to cross a busy street. Jan and her daughter both knew the rule.
I suspect there's an entire generation of children out there learning Sandy's Rule.
Never cross the street unless you have enough time to fall down and get back up!
Every child on Pasadena Street knew this rule. I would grab their hand and say, "Wait! We don't have time to fall down and get back up."
I was in a little neighborhood near my home the other day. We were waiting to cross a busy street. Jan and her daughter both knew the rule.
I suspect there's an entire generation of children out there learning Sandy's Rule.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Eight Pounds of Butter
Another excursion for the oldies. Off to the Walmart! I made a sarcastic comment about the venture and quickly got the "Nip it!" sign from the husband.
I wrenched my shoulder and my elbow hauling and unloading the trunk.
We have this garage cooler. It's not a regular refrigerator; it's an actual cooler like you would find in a convenience store. (We know people.) This frig is meant for drinks and I reloaded the stash. The oldies put half sandwiches and other leftovers in there. It makes Big Daddy crazy.
He paces in the morning. In my mind, he's checking the weather. Can I play golf today? He prowls around the garage. Then, he looks in the garage cooler. After the Walmart trip, he noticed a new addition.
"Why do we have eight pounds of butter?"
He was not exaggerating.
I wrenched my shoulder and my elbow hauling and unloading the trunk.
We have this garage cooler. It's not a regular refrigerator; it's an actual cooler like you would find in a convenience store. (We know people.) This frig is meant for drinks and I reloaded the stash. The oldies put half sandwiches and other leftovers in there. It makes Big Daddy crazy.
He paces in the morning. In my mind, he's checking the weather. Can I play golf today? He prowls around the garage. Then, he looks in the garage cooler. After the Walmart trip, he noticed a new addition.
"Why do we have eight pounds of butter?"
He was not exaggerating.
I Want to Hold Your Hand
It's cold and flu season. According to the experts, the best way to protect yourself is constant hand-washing, get a flu shot and avoid hand-to-hand contact. I'm about as likely to do that as I am to sell a kidney on eBay.
Holding hands gives me comfort. It makes me feel loved and safe.
I've had doctor's appointments that frightened me. My mother or Mickey held my hand. I've had biopsies and minor surgeries. My parents or Big Sal held my hand. When I put my old dog to sleep, Abby held my hand. When Pam's daughter and the baby both headed off for college, we shared some laughs and tears. We held hands and walked down memory lane. I've been to funerals and memorials where I held hands with lots of people. It's comforting and I need it.
Cynthia has let me weep uncontrollably. She reaches for my hand.
Jan used to grab my hand in public. She knew I was horrified so she found this very funny. Today, I would find it an honor. She's held my hand through an awful lot of things in my life.
When the baby was little, we would kneel and say our prayers. I put my hands over his during this ritual. When we say grace in our home, we hold hands. When the husband and I go for a walk, we hold hands. Sometimes I watch my parents meander into a restaurant or some other function. They still hold hands. When I go to church with my parents, I hold their hands.
If I'm sharing a memory or a laugh with you, I will probably hold your hand. In some ways, it's complete intimacy. It's raw, honest and vulnerable. It says, "I trust you. I need you. Let's help each other."
Lots of other people have held my hand or let me reach for theirs. I remember. I'm going to get my flu shot tomorrow. But I won't stop holding hands.
Holding hands gives me comfort. It makes me feel loved and safe.
I've had doctor's appointments that frightened me. My mother or Mickey held my hand. I've had biopsies and minor surgeries. My parents or Big Sal held my hand. When I put my old dog to sleep, Abby held my hand. When Pam's daughter and the baby both headed off for college, we shared some laughs and tears. We held hands and walked down memory lane. I've been to funerals and memorials where I held hands with lots of people. It's comforting and I need it.
Cynthia has let me weep uncontrollably. She reaches for my hand.
Jan used to grab my hand in public. She knew I was horrified so she found this very funny. Today, I would find it an honor. She's held my hand through an awful lot of things in my life.
When the baby was little, we would kneel and say our prayers. I put my hands over his during this ritual. When we say grace in our home, we hold hands. When the husband and I go for a walk, we hold hands. Sometimes I watch my parents meander into a restaurant or some other function. They still hold hands. When I go to church with my parents, I hold their hands.
If I'm sharing a memory or a laugh with you, I will probably hold your hand. In some ways, it's complete intimacy. It's raw, honest and vulnerable. It says, "I trust you. I need you. Let's help each other."
Lots of other people have held my hand or let me reach for theirs. I remember. I'm going to get my flu shot tomorrow. But I won't stop holding hands.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Remembering 17
My Annie is 17 today.
Technically, she's not really mine but I'm not hung up on the technicalities.
Sunrise, sunset. Wasn't it yesterday when she was born? Wasn't it a year ago when I stood at the altar and took a vow to be her Godmother?
With both of my goddaughters, I was on the short list to hold them right after birth. I completely respect the right of the parents to hold them first. Then, I start knocking people out of my way.
Long, tall, and gorgeous doesn't begin to describe her. She looks like her mother but some of her father's genes are also apparent.
At 17, her mom and I had a lot of fun and participated in some mischief. I suspect she does the same.
You will notice her beauty before you talk to her. And then you will engage in conversation and see that she is smart and creative.
She's interested in writing and journalism. Guess how that makes me feel.
She doesn't recognize her powers yet and that is a good thing.
Technically, she's not really mine but I'm not hung up on the technicalities.
Sunrise, sunset. Wasn't it yesterday when she was born? Wasn't it a year ago when I stood at the altar and took a vow to be her Godmother?
With both of my goddaughters, I was on the short list to hold them right after birth. I completely respect the right of the parents to hold them first. Then, I start knocking people out of my way.
Long, tall, and gorgeous doesn't begin to describe her. She looks like her mother but some of her father's genes are also apparent.
At 17, her mom and I had a lot of fun and participated in some mischief. I suspect she does the same.
You will notice her beauty before you talk to her. And then you will engage in conversation and see that she is smart and creative.
She's interested in writing and journalism. Guess how that makes me feel.
She doesn't recognize her powers yet and that is a good thing.
Did You Turn On the Heat?
Our house is cold. We like it that way. With our various ailments (thyroid issues, menopause, etc.,) the husband and I are always warm. The oldies are always cold. That's how the father-in-law earned the nickname, the Unabomber. Winter, Spring, Summer and Fall, he has that hooded sweatshirt tied around his head.
Yesterday, there was a little nip in the air. We had some friends over and one of the young ones asked me turn on the heat. I did, but I only left it on for 15 minutes or so.
Big Daddy came home and said, "Did you turn on the heat? Turn it off."
I cut 3-plus inches off my hair and he didn't notice. He had been in the house for about 30 seconds and the heat got his attention.
Yesterday, there was a little nip in the air. We had some friends over and one of the young ones asked me turn on the heat. I did, but I only left it on for 15 minutes or so.
Big Daddy came home and said, "Did you turn on the heat? Turn it off."
I cut 3-plus inches off my hair and he didn't notice. He had been in the house for about 30 seconds and the heat got his attention.
Let Me Check with My Husband
Have you ever tried to master a new language? I took Spanish in high school and college but I learned very quickly that I did not master it. At best, I can do Pig Spanish.
I'm trying to learn a new language and behavior. It's called, "Ask the husband." This is as foreign to me as you asking me to speak Latin. My brain doesn't go there. The good news is this -- neither does his. We're not permission seekers; we're announcers:
On Saturday, I made an impromptu decision to invite some friends over on Sunday to watch our local football team. Chili and sandwiches. Easy enough. I started calling a few friends and they each said, "Let me check with the husband and I'll call you back." The husband in this house did not have a clue that I was planning this little shindig. I knew he wouldn't care and I was right. He thought it was a great idea.
The husband likes it this way. He keeps track of his office appointments and band gigs. I keep track of the rest. Like clockwork, he asks me every morning, "Do we have anything on the schedule for tonight?" Or he announces, "I have band practice." Sometimes it's dinner with a client or some other function. He has never asked, "Do you mind ...?"
But, sometimes our schedules are not in sync. Or one of us will make a decision that the other disagrees with. It's frustrating and I don't like it. So, I decided to try a new behavior. I'll check with the husband. I've only done it twice and both times, he looked at me like I'd just flown in from Pluto.
"Why are you asking me? I don't care."
The oldies discuss everything to death. It's futile and slightly ridiculous. She's going to do it her way. Still, it's probably more polite than our way. So, I'm going to take baby steps in learning this new behavior. I'm not sure I have the stamina. Plus, when the husband gives me that puzzled look, I want to whack him.
I'm trying to learn a new language and behavior. It's called, "Ask the husband." This is as foreign to me as you asking me to speak Latin. My brain doesn't go there. The good news is this -- neither does his. We're not permission seekers; we're announcers:
Oh, by the way, I'm going on a golf trip next week.
Oh, by the way, the girlfriends are going to the lake and I'm going too.
Oh, by the way, I need you to show up for this dinner or XYZ event.
Oh, by the way, the oldies have this appointment and it's your turn.
On Saturday, I made an impromptu decision to invite some friends over on Sunday to watch our local football team. Chili and sandwiches. Easy enough. I started calling a few friends and they each said, "Let me check with the husband and I'll call you back." The husband in this house did not have a clue that I was planning this little shindig. I knew he wouldn't care and I was right. He thought it was a great idea.
The husband likes it this way. He keeps track of his office appointments and band gigs. I keep track of the rest. Like clockwork, he asks me every morning, "Do we have anything on the schedule for tonight?" Or he announces, "I have band practice." Sometimes it's dinner with a client or some other function. He has never asked, "Do you mind ...?"
But, sometimes our schedules are not in sync. Or one of us will make a decision that the other disagrees with. It's frustrating and I don't like it. So, I decided to try a new behavior. I'll check with the husband. I've only done it twice and both times, he looked at me like I'd just flown in from Pluto.
"Why are you asking me? I don't care."
The oldies discuss everything to death. It's futile and slightly ridiculous. She's going to do it her way. Still, it's probably more polite than our way. So, I'm going to take baby steps in learning this new behavior. I'm not sure I have the stamina. Plus, when the husband gives me that puzzled look, I want to whack him.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
The Master Manipulator
I'm sort of an "out there person," to borrow a phrase from my Aunt Cess. What you see is what you get. You will know my mood in one minute. Experience has taught the husband to figure it out in five seconds. He reacts accordingly. Well, most of the time. Sometimes he just says, "Get over yourself." I'm not a schemer. I'm stubborn and I want things my way but I will be in up front and honest about it. Yet, I'm pretty good at compromise or negotiations.
I live with the Master Manipulator. I watch and I vacillate between awe and repulsion. She's good. She's damn good.
She somehow gets her way every time. She does it with the Unabomber. She does it with children and grandchildren. Every once in a while, Big Daddy will say to me, "Do you think she's manipulating me?" Float there for a minute. "Yes, and she's doing it well."
Manipulation is not something I aspire to. I prefer to duke it out. I prefer to walk out of the room or grab a whacker and thump the offending party on the head. I don't like to guess when you're angry with me or what I could do differently. Just tell me. Let me defend myself or ask your forgiveness.
I had an email from the daughter this morning. No pretense -- just something that's bugging her. I will fix it. She is right; I am wrong. It's so refreshing to deal with an issue and tackle it head on. Thank God, she missed the gene of manipulation.
I live with the Master Manipulator. I watch and I vacillate between awe and repulsion. She's good. She's damn good.
She somehow gets her way every time. She does it with the Unabomber. She does it with children and grandchildren. Every once in a while, Big Daddy will say to me, "Do you think she's manipulating me?" Float there for a minute. "Yes, and she's doing it well."
Manipulation is not something I aspire to. I prefer to duke it out. I prefer to walk out of the room or grab a whacker and thump the offending party on the head. I don't like to guess when you're angry with me or what I could do differently. Just tell me. Let me defend myself or ask your forgiveness.
I had an email from the daughter this morning. No pretense -- just something that's bugging her. I will fix it. She is right; I am wrong. It's so refreshing to deal with an issue and tackle it head on. Thank God, she missed the gene of manipulation.
An Open Book
Sometimes a friend or family member will say to me, "I need to tell you something but you can't tell anyone." That's clear enough. That's fair. And, I don't. I am a great keeper of secrets. Every once in a while, I will ask, "Can I tell the husband?" If they say "no," I don't.
Sometimes there's just normal banter and conversation. Then, someone will say to me, "You can't write about that." I usually respect this but I have been known to say to my mother or the husband, "You are not my editor. Don't tell me what I can write."
There are a few times when all deals are off. If your life is in danger, etc. Those are rare but they do happen.
The irony is not lost on me. I write every day about the husband, the children, the oldies and some of my quirkiest and weirdest experiences. I invite the comments.
I am an open book. But, I keep a few secrets up my sleeve.
Sometimes there's just normal banter and conversation. Then, someone will say to me, "You can't write about that." I usually respect this but I have been known to say to my mother or the husband, "You are not my editor. Don't tell me what I can write."
There are a few times when all deals are off. If your life is in danger, etc. Those are rare but they do happen.
The irony is not lost on me. I write every day about the husband, the children, the oldies and some of my quirkiest and weirdest experiences. I invite the comments.
I am an open book. But, I keep a few secrets up my sleeve.
Friday, October 26, 2007
The Road Trip to See the Mansion
A friend of mine just moved. She and her husband have done very well for themselves and they just built a new house. It's not a house -- it's a mansion. I haven't seen it yet but I get regular emails about the progress and the stats. It sounds fabulous and I can't wait to see it. When I visit, I get my own wing.
I have known this friend forever. She's one of my Golden Girls. Her mom used to tell me a story of her 5th or 6th birthday party. Apparently, I cried because I didn't get the pink balloon. Go figure! I can still be reduced to tears if I don't get what I want.
Visiting will require an 8-plus hour road trip. I like to get on a plane, cross check and call forward, and simply get to my destination. The other Golden Girl insists that we drive. (By the way, we're not that old but they are my oldest friends and that qualifies them as Golden.) It's a lot of driving for a long weekend but we'll do it.
This is one of the most down-to-earth people I know. Plus, she has a gigantic heart. Their old house was only about 40 minutes from where the oldies used to live. Once we got the oldies settled here (1 year, 11 months and 2 weeks ago,) the mother-in-law had a freak out of things left in their old house. My friend took the time to go there, dig through cabinets and go through closets. She found everything on their list and shipped it here. This was way beyond the call of duty. At one point, she kept calling me to say, "I'm under the bed. Here's what I found. Do you think this is what they're searching for?" Eternal gratitude is not enough.
I don't like road trips beyond three hours. I get tired. My limbs start to ache. Two women alone makes my mother nervous so therefore, I get nervous. I'm a little more comfortable with my Big, Black Dog in the car. She's a sweetie but maybe it would deter someone from messing with us.
Thank Goodness, this wonderful woman is also a dog lover. She said, "Pick your dates and bring the Gabster." Her husband agreed to this. I'm pretty sure Big Daddy would not have done so.
So, there's a road trip in my future. She sent me an email this morning with various escapades about her dogs. Gabby will fit right in.
I have known this friend forever. She's one of my Golden Girls. Her mom used to tell me a story of her 5th or 6th birthday party. Apparently, I cried because I didn't get the pink balloon. Go figure! I can still be reduced to tears if I don't get what I want.
Visiting will require an 8-plus hour road trip. I like to get on a plane, cross check and call forward, and simply get to my destination. The other Golden Girl insists that we drive. (By the way, we're not that old but they are my oldest friends and that qualifies them as Golden.) It's a lot of driving for a long weekend but we'll do it.
This is one of the most down-to-earth people I know. Plus, she has a gigantic heart. Their old house was only about 40 minutes from where the oldies used to live. Once we got the oldies settled here (1 year, 11 months and 2 weeks ago,) the mother-in-law had a freak out of things left in their old house. My friend took the time to go there, dig through cabinets and go through closets. She found everything on their list and shipped it here. This was way beyond the call of duty. At one point, she kept calling me to say, "I'm under the bed. Here's what I found. Do you think this is what they're searching for?" Eternal gratitude is not enough.
I don't like road trips beyond three hours. I get tired. My limbs start to ache. Two women alone makes my mother nervous so therefore, I get nervous. I'm a little more comfortable with my Big, Black Dog in the car. She's a sweetie but maybe it would deter someone from messing with us.
Thank Goodness, this wonderful woman is also a dog lover. She said, "Pick your dates and bring the Gabster." Her husband agreed to this. I'm pretty sure Big Daddy would not have done so.
So, there's a road trip in my future. She sent me an email this morning with various escapades about her dogs. Gabby will fit right in.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
So Alive with Children
When the oldies went on their trip to Mississippi, they stopped in Nashville, TN to visit their youngest son and his family. A quick visit turned into a few days. They stopped again on their way back here.
I will be the first to admit that this is an impressive family. They have five (FIVE!) talented and incredibly well-mannered children. I enjoy being around them. I'm sort of in awe of the way they make it seem easy.
I'm flashing back to Thanksgiving of 1991. We invited the family for the long weekend. The oldies came from Mississippi. This brother and his wife arrived with two toddlers and a newborn. (The baby in our house was a toddler too.) The daughter was in that teenage mood that could go from laughter to crankiness in a nanosecond. There were other family members in and out but here's what truly sticks out in my mind from that visit:
We've moved forward a few years now. The other day, I sat eating my lunch while the mother-in-law whipped up the Unabomber's breakfast. Out of the blue, he said, "It was nice in Nashville -- their house is so alive with children."
He meant no offense but it still stung a bit. Yes, the children associated with this house have grown and moved on to new stages in their lives. Isn't that what they're supposed to do?
I kept my mouth shut but I wanted to say, "I know they're an amazing family. Why don't you go live with them?"
I will be the first to admit that this is an impressive family. They have five (FIVE!) talented and incredibly well-mannered children. I enjoy being around them. I'm sort of in awe of the way they make it seem easy.
I'm flashing back to Thanksgiving of 1991. We invited the family for the long weekend. The oldies came from Mississippi. This brother and his wife arrived with two toddlers and a newborn. (The baby in our house was a toddler too.) The daughter was in that teenage mood that could go from laughter to crankiness in a nanosecond. There were other family members in and out but here's what truly sticks out in my mind from that visit:
A truly God-awful rum cake (provided by the mother-in-law) that the daughter and I took turns cutting, wadding up and finding unique ways to dispose of it. All the while, making faces behind each other's back when one of us was forced to take a bite.
My sister-in-law, nursing a newborn and keeping tabs on the toddlers. Every once in a while, things would start to get rowdy. She would say (in that sweet, gentle southern way,) "You boys play sweet now." And, THEY DID.
We've moved forward a few years now. The other day, I sat eating my lunch while the mother-in-law whipped up the Unabomber's breakfast. Out of the blue, he said, "It was nice in Nashville -- their house is so alive with children."
He meant no offense but it still stung a bit. Yes, the children associated with this house have grown and moved on to new stages in their lives. Isn't that what they're supposed to do?
I kept my mouth shut but I wanted to say, "I know they're an amazing family. Why don't you go live with them?"
Guest Bartending
One of our local establishments -- one we happen to frequent often -- invited my friend Cynthia and I to pose as guest bartenders. Our husbands did it about a month ago and somehow during that evening, there was a challenge thrown out. Cynthia gave me "the look." I know that look; it means WE CAN DO THIS. Suddenly, I'm 10-years old and of course, we'll take the dare. We actually got bartender's licenses.
They call it "Celebrity Bartending." We are about as far away from being celebrities as we are likely to go camping.
Our initial instructions were to show up for training. (I'm anal; I was way early.) And, we were told to wear black. If you've ever met either one of us, black clothing is not a problem. We're both prepared to go to a funeral at a moment's notice or move to New York where our wardrobes would fit right in.
Some people went out of their way to rearrange their schedules. How kind is that?
When someone complimented our hair, I could say, "The person who does both of our hair is right over there." When someone commented on friendships, I pointed across the bar and said, "I have known that girl and her mother since I was 4 or 5-years old."
Even though we were "pretend" bartenders, we worked. I think we worked pretty hard. We pulled in a good crowd and we managed to avoid spilling a drink on anyone. Lest anyone think we were just fooling around -- let me set the record straight. We tracked you as you moved around the bar. We schlepped empty glasses and made drinks. I can't speak for Cynthia but when you're in my home, you know where the drinks are -- make it yourself. We tried to master the computer system but I didn't do that very well. Cynthia was on top of it. Some of the liquor is on a high shelf -- I stretched myself like Gumby to reach it.
We were told to turn off our cell phones. Why don't you suggest that we cut off our right arm? We went through little tests on the "proper pour." We learned where most beers, wines, liquors were easily accessible. We learned to say, "I'm behind you," as we made our circuit.
Rob McGuire and Scott Brady (our two heroes) make it look easy. It's not. People and drink orders come in waves. It's insane. Someone is always shouting your name. Meanwhile, you're trying to remember to enter the correct info on the computer system, track the people who move around and make the two drinks someone just ordered.
Here's the reward. The American Heart Association received a nice donation. Lots of friends (some I see every day and some I haven't seen in ages) showed up in support -- maybe they just wanted us to serve them.) At 7:45, we started counting down to the time when we could be a customer again. When we got to 5 minutes, I almost did the happy dance.
After our shift, we each had a glass of wine and settled with some friends to have dinner. What a relief!
As I finally relaxed, the husband said, "Are the oldies coming?" He was kidding.
I have always been a fair and gracious tipper. After this experience, I may just throw my wallet on the table. They've earned it.
They call it "Celebrity Bartending." We are about as far away from being celebrities as we are likely to go camping.
Our initial instructions were to show up for training. (I'm anal; I was way early.) And, we were told to wear black. If you've ever met either one of us, black clothing is not a problem. We're both prepared to go to a funeral at a moment's notice or move to New York where our wardrobes would fit right in.
Some people went out of their way to rearrange their schedules. How kind is that?
When someone complimented our hair, I could say, "The person who does both of our hair is right over there." When someone commented on friendships, I pointed across the bar and said, "I have known that girl and her mother since I was 4 or 5-years old."
Even though we were "pretend" bartenders, we worked. I think we worked pretty hard. We pulled in a good crowd and we managed to avoid spilling a drink on anyone. Lest anyone think we were just fooling around -- let me set the record straight. We tracked you as you moved around the bar. We schlepped empty glasses and made drinks. I can't speak for Cynthia but when you're in my home, you know where the drinks are -- make it yourself. We tried to master the computer system but I didn't do that very well. Cynthia was on top of it. Some of the liquor is on a high shelf -- I stretched myself like Gumby to reach it.
We were told to turn off our cell phones. Why don't you suggest that we cut off our right arm? We went through little tests on the "proper pour." We learned where most beers, wines, liquors were easily accessible. We learned to say, "I'm behind you," as we made our circuit.
Rob McGuire and Scott Brady (our two heroes) make it look easy. It's not. People and drink orders come in waves. It's insane. Someone is always shouting your name. Meanwhile, you're trying to remember to enter the correct info on the computer system, track the people who move around and make the two drinks someone just ordered.
Here's the reward. The American Heart Association received a nice donation. Lots of friends (some I see every day and some I haven't seen in ages) showed up in support -- maybe they just wanted us to serve them.) At 7:45, we started counting down to the time when we could be a customer again. When we got to 5 minutes, I almost did the happy dance.
After our shift, we each had a glass of wine and settled with some friends to have dinner. What a relief!
As I finally relaxed, the husband said, "Are the oldies coming?" He was kidding.
I have always been a fair and gracious tipper. After this experience, I may just throw my wallet on the table. They've earned it.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
You Have No Right
I'm pretty laid back about most things. Every once in a while, something will cause my hackles to rise. Here's my latest list:
You Have No Right:
I hereby give permission to everyone in my world to:
One caveat. If I love you, all the rules go flying out the window. You can do whatever you want. And, you have every right to do so.
You Have No Right:
To touch me in a way that might be uncomfortable for me, unless you are a VERY good friend or I've taken vows with you. (I've been thrown around and dragged under tables.)
To make fun of my husband or family, unless you love them almost as much as I do. (Then it's okay.)
To take advantage of my hospitality while making comments about my housekeeping.
To think your politics supersede mine. (But, I love the conversation.)
I hereby give permission to everyone in my world to:
Correct my grammar and punctuation.
Tell me my dog is obnoxious.
Kiss me hello and goodbye. Hug me repeatedly.
Kindly tell me when I'm REALLY screwing something up.
Tell me kindred spirit stories when I'm flipping out.
Plan a trip and invite me.
One caveat. If I love you, all the rules go flying out the window. You can do whatever you want. And, you have every right to do so.
Here She Comes Again
We went to a party the other night. I had a question for my dermatologist. So I worked the room until I could get her alone and say, "Am I candidate for XXX?" She pulled me into a corner and gave me her opinion.
Earlier that week, I had a legal question about the oldies. I ran into an attorney and later a judge that I know. I asked them both.
Sometimes I meet the husband at the club for dinner. He is often playing cards with my Internist. He treats the oldies too so I can ask my questions.
There have been homes I'm curious about. I have friends who are Realtors. They look up the stats and even take me through them, knowing full well that I have no intention of buying.
I try to return the favor. If someone asks my opinion about their writing or a marketing project (especially if they have my medical or legal records,) I am there.
Still, I wonder. When I walk in a room, do these people think, "Oh no, here she comes again."
Earlier that week, I had a legal question about the oldies. I ran into an attorney and later a judge that I know. I asked them both.
Sometimes I meet the husband at the club for dinner. He is often playing cards with my Internist. He treats the oldies too so I can ask my questions.
There have been homes I'm curious about. I have friends who are Realtors. They look up the stats and even take me through them, knowing full well that I have no intention of buying.
I try to return the favor. If someone asks my opinion about their writing or a marketing project (especially if they have my medical or legal records,) I am there.
Still, I wonder. When I walk in a room, do these people think, "Oh no, here she comes again."
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
The Mood Lifter
It is guaranteed that life will throw curves. Some days can be absolutely crummy. Little bumps can be cured by a belly laugh, a good meal, or a bubble bath. Some people lift their spirits by shopping. Some men I know (no need to mention names) can distract themselves by playing golf or playing cards.
When the bumps get bumpier, I like to have other options. Something to look forward to -- something to make me smile. When we were young, Jan used to make fun of me because I would buy a new item of clothing and let it hang it the closet. I liked knowing I had something to look forward to. I liked seeing the tags that told me it was a virgin item. Her daughter is trapped in the same disease.
That's probably why I enjoy the build-up to Christmas (or almost any holiday) more than the actual holiday. I thrive on the anticipation.
I LOVE to travel. I like to peruse my calendar to contemplate upcoming trips. The anticipation is fabulous and usually (except for that one disastrous Florida girlfriend trip) the trips are wonderful.
Things are a little crazy around here. Lots of decisions being made and I'm trying to stay out of the way. The girlfriends are planning our annual trip to Phoenix. Cross check and call forward. I'm booked.
When the bumps get bumpier, I like to have other options. Something to look forward to -- something to make me smile. When we were young, Jan used to make fun of me because I would buy a new item of clothing and let it hang it the closet. I liked knowing I had something to look forward to. I liked seeing the tags that told me it was a virgin item. Her daughter is trapped in the same disease.
That's probably why I enjoy the build-up to Christmas (or almost any holiday) more than the actual holiday. I thrive on the anticipation.
I LOVE to travel. I like to peruse my calendar to contemplate upcoming trips. The anticipation is fabulous and usually (except for that one disastrous Florida girlfriend trip) the trips are wonderful.
Things are a little crazy around here. Lots of decisions being made and I'm trying to stay out of the way. The girlfriends are planning our annual trip to Phoenix. Cross check and call forward. I'm booked.
Chop Chop
I worked downtown for many years. Every few weeks I went to a nail/hair salon on the next block for a manicure. Occasionally a meeting would come up and I would have to cancel. Nail person was overbooked. She was very kind but I didn't have time to mess with the scheduling. I went to the chop/chop shop by my house. (Her description -- not mine.)
When my business changed, the chop/chop shop became way more convenient. Then, the oldies came to live with us. She visits the same chop/chop shop. They speak a different language there but yelling at each other is yelling at each other in any language. I pretend not to notice. The mother-in-law camps there and asks questions. She's southern and she charms them. They are there for the long haul -- manicures and pedicures for both of them. Then, she gets the scoop. We know way too much about the lives of our Chop/Chop people.
Sometimes I try to pinch a few pennies with my hair stylist so I'll have my roots done but no haircut. This can go on for a while but then I start looking a little Pentecostal. I have to bite the bullet and go whole hog: Do the roots, do the foils, wax my brows and chop chop away with the hair.
We were watching television the other night and Big Daddy made a comment about women who don't "keep themselves up." (I don't know what that means but I got a little paranoid that he was staring at my roots.) Coincidentally, I had a hair appointment the next day. I did it all, including chopping about 3 1/2 inches off my mane.
He didn't comment. I truly believe he hasn't noticed. Nor did the oldies. All of my girlfriends noticed immediately.
When my business changed, the chop/chop shop became way more convenient. Then, the oldies came to live with us. She visits the same chop/chop shop. They speak a different language there but yelling at each other is yelling at each other in any language. I pretend not to notice. The mother-in-law camps there and asks questions. She's southern and she charms them. They are there for the long haul -- manicures and pedicures for both of them. Then, she gets the scoop. We know way too much about the lives of our Chop/Chop people.
Sometimes I try to pinch a few pennies with my hair stylist so I'll have my roots done but no haircut. This can go on for a while but then I start looking a little Pentecostal. I have to bite the bullet and go whole hog: Do the roots, do the foils, wax my brows and chop chop away with the hair.
We were watching television the other night and Big Daddy made a comment about women who don't "keep themselves up." (I don't know what that means but I got a little paranoid that he was staring at my roots.) Coincidentally, I had a hair appointment the next day. I did it all, including chopping about 3 1/2 inches off my mane.
He didn't comment. I truly believe he hasn't noticed. Nor did the oldies. All of my girlfriends noticed immediately.
Play Dates
When the children are little, play dates are a way to socialize them and catch up with friends. The children run and romp. They throw sand in each other's faces. You wipe tears and you wipe noses. In a small way, you relive your own childhood.
Then, they grow up. They drive. They go to college. They move to a different city. They are VERY BUSY people who sometimes look at you like you're an idiot. They know it all. And in our smug little way, we enjoy their cockiness. We had a hand in this madness.
Some of us redirect this energy to our pets. My dog had two play dates over the weekend. Unfortunately, every time I put her in the car for more than 10 minutes, she thinks we're going to the lake. Bummer Baby, lake time is over for the season. But, this weekend was filled with play and friends. All of her doggie pals met us at the park and the dogs ran, swam in the creek and romped around. I got to visit with friends and get out of the house for a few hours.
I have adult play dates too. In the summer, Cocktail Corner at the pool is a standing weekend play date. On Monday nights, many of us meet at a local establishment (owned by a friend of ours) and we solve the problems of the world. I don't dread Mondays the way I used to. I look forward to the play date and the laughter.
Then, they grow up. They drive. They go to college. They move to a different city. They are VERY BUSY people who sometimes look at you like you're an idiot. They know it all. And in our smug little way, we enjoy their cockiness. We had a hand in this madness.
Some of us redirect this energy to our pets. My dog had two play dates over the weekend. Unfortunately, every time I put her in the car for more than 10 minutes, she thinks we're going to the lake. Bummer Baby, lake time is over for the season. But, this weekend was filled with play and friends. All of her doggie pals met us at the park and the dogs ran, swam in the creek and romped around. I got to visit with friends and get out of the house for a few hours.
I have adult play dates too. In the summer, Cocktail Corner at the pool is a standing weekend play date. On Monday nights, many of us meet at a local establishment (owned by a friend of ours) and we solve the problems of the world. I don't dread Mondays the way I used to. I look forward to the play date and the laughter.
Monday, October 22, 2007
The Dungeon
One of my thousands of quirks is giving everything and almost everyone a nickname. I have named the oldies' bedroom "The Dungeon." What used to be a bright and airy room is usually dark and depressing. The room has a huge window but I don't think sunlight has hit that room in two years. When the daughter lived with us, she made it cheerful and alive. Now it is the opposite. When it was a guest room, our friend Billy used to just disappear. It was comfortable and inviting. He would decide (in the middle of a party) that it was time to go to bed. So, he did.
Big Daddy got a little annoyed with the oldies a few months ago. Nothing new. He was frustrated with the Unabomber so he announced to me, "I'm not going in there any more. If he wants to see me or talk to me, he can come out here." He's not 100 percent on this oath, but he's close.
I find myself saying:
He asked me to stop calling it the dungeon but I can't help myself. Last night we ordered a pizza. How gourmet are we? I went back to tell them they were welcome to get out of bed and join us. (They didn't.) We ate our little dinner and had some patio time. The husband asked if the oldies were coming out and I explained that I did invite them.
He said, "You went into the dungeon?"
Big Daddy got a little annoyed with the oldies a few months ago. Nothing new. He was frustrated with the Unabomber so he announced to me, "I'm not going in there any more. If he wants to see me or talk to me, he can come out here." He's not 100 percent on this oath, but he's close.
I find myself saying:
Please go in the dungeon and tell them dinner is in 20 minutes.
Please go in the dungeon and see if they're okay.
Please go in the dungeon and see if they would like to order Chinese food.
Please go in the dungeon and tell them the phone is for her.
Please go in the dungeon and make sure there are no candles burning.
He asked me to stop calling it the dungeon but I can't help myself. Last night we ordered a pizza. How gourmet are we? I went back to tell them they were welcome to get out of bed and join us. (They didn't.) We ate our little dinner and had some patio time. The husband asked if the oldies were coming out and I explained that I did invite them.
He said, "You went into the dungeon?"
Sunday, October 21, 2007
My Personal Chef and Courier Service
It started innocently enough. My mother said to me, "If I have time, I'll make an apple pie to send over."
Apparently the apple does fall far from the tree. I often say (even if it's just to myself,) "If I have time, I'll ..."
It has NEVER crossed my mind to add, "Bake a pie" to this list.
But, I am grateful it crosses hers. We all love pie and if capable, I knew the Unabomber would turn cartwheels at the suggestion of a homemade apple pie. (Just that vision in my mind makes me giggle.)
Later, she called and said, "I have an extra meatloaf if you want it. All you have to do is bake it." Well, duh! Bring it on.
I added a couple of side dishes and Abracadabra .... dinner!
These items were delivered to me by my favorite courier -- my father. He might be semi-retired but my mother and I keep him hopping by running back and forth between our homes with various deliveries. I think he enjoys it because it gives us time for a visit. He fills me in on their lives. This is never new information; I've heard the news during one of the twelve conversations I've had with my mother on any particular day but I like getting his perspective.
Lest you think I am completely and totally spoiled, the courier truck does carry things both ways. I've even sent food to their house although not nearly enough. Usually, it's books or magazines.
Okay, I admit it. I am totally spoiled. I'm hoping that my mother continues to think, "If I have time, I'll cook a double recipe of .... and send some to Sheri." Then I get food and I get to see my favorite courier.
Apparently the apple does fall far from the tree. I often say (even if it's just to myself,) "If I have time, I'll ..."
Read one of my fun books
Take the dog to the park
Update my iPod
Sit on the patio
Catch up on correspondence
Watch some of the shows I've recorded
It has NEVER crossed my mind to add, "Bake a pie" to this list.
But, I am grateful it crosses hers. We all love pie and if capable, I knew the Unabomber would turn cartwheels at the suggestion of a homemade apple pie. (Just that vision in my mind makes me giggle.)
Later, she called and said, "I have an extra meatloaf if you want it. All you have to do is bake it." Well, duh! Bring it on.
I added a couple of side dishes and Abracadabra .... dinner!
These items were delivered to me by my favorite courier -- my father. He might be semi-retired but my mother and I keep him hopping by running back and forth between our homes with various deliveries. I think he enjoys it because it gives us time for a visit. He fills me in on their lives. This is never new information; I've heard the news during one of the twelve conversations I've had with my mother on any particular day but I like getting his perspective.
Lest you think I am completely and totally spoiled, the courier truck does carry things both ways. I've even sent food to their house although not nearly enough. Usually, it's books or magazines.
Okay, I admit it. I am totally spoiled. I'm hoping that my mother continues to think, "If I have time, I'll cook a double recipe of .... and send some to Sheri." Then I get food and I get to see my favorite courier.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
This Little Piggy Went to Market
If you've raised or been around children, chances are that you have said this Mother Goose nursery rhyme:
I used to chant this to the baby. I spent countless hours babysitting in my youth and I used it a lot. Sometimes Big Daddy will convince me to help with a pedicure. I can't help myself. I start chanting, "This little piggy ..." Usually, he grabs a whacker.
Our little piggies are off to the market. This little piggy stayed home. I made an off-the-cuff remark that there is enough food in our pantry to feed us for two years. She did not agree. (Nor did she appreciate the comment.)
So, I'll wait for the garage door to open and I'll unload the haul. And I'll be thinking, "Wee wee wee" as I bring it all home.
This little piggy went to market,
This little piggy stayed home,
This little piggy had roast beef,
This little piggy had none.
And this little piggy went ...
"Wee wee wee" all the way home.
I used to chant this to the baby. I spent countless hours babysitting in my youth and I used it a lot. Sometimes Big Daddy will convince me to help with a pedicure. I can't help myself. I start chanting, "This little piggy ..." Usually, he grabs a whacker.
Our little piggies are off to the market. This little piggy stayed home. I made an off-the-cuff remark that there is enough food in our pantry to feed us for two years. She did not agree. (Nor did she appreciate the comment.)
So, I'll wait for the garage door to open and I'll unload the haul. And I'll be thinking, "Wee wee wee" as I bring it all home.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Writers are Needy People
I've worked as a writer and a marketing person for more than 22 years. If you throw in my time in journalism school and even my time in high school (yearbook staff, etc.) and various other writing pursuits, you've added another 8 years. That's a long time.
It doesn't get any easier. And, I love to write. But there's a point where the paper leaves your hand or you hit "send" on the email and it's terrifying.
Marketing gives you a buffer. There's a team involved. If the client hates it, you can tell yourself that the design needs to be better or the account liaison could have presented it with more enthusiasm. When it's just words and someone has hired you to compose them, it's a little like saying, "Don't you think my baby is cute?" If you're going to continue, some thick skin needs to grow.
Personal writing is equally scary. There's no editor or client. It's throwing caution to the wind -- thoughts, emotions, and opinions are sent out for anyone and everyone to agree/disagree or maybe laugh at you.
I write every single day of my life. I am rarely without a notebook. In that unusual occasion, I have written ideas on ATM receipts, cocktail napkins, deposit slips, etc. Some of my copy is written for clients and a lot shows up on this blog. Other things get tucked in a notebook for future reference. Some items go in a journal that (hopefully) allows me to go back and achieve perspective.
So, I send copy to a client or I send a blog posting into cyberspace. Then I pace around, check email, and hope they thought the baby was cute.
When the oldies first joined us (23 months and two weeks ago,) she would ask me, "What do you do on the computer all day?"
I'm writing. That's who I am.
It doesn't get any easier. And, I love to write. But there's a point where the paper leaves your hand or you hit "send" on the email and it's terrifying.
Marketing gives you a buffer. There's a team involved. If the client hates it, you can tell yourself that the design needs to be better or the account liaison could have presented it with more enthusiasm. When it's just words and someone has hired you to compose them, it's a little like saying, "Don't you think my baby is cute?" If you're going to continue, some thick skin needs to grow.
Personal writing is equally scary. There's no editor or client. It's throwing caution to the wind -- thoughts, emotions, and opinions are sent out for anyone and everyone to agree/disagree or maybe laugh at you.
I write every single day of my life. I am rarely without a notebook. In that unusual occasion, I have written ideas on ATM receipts, cocktail napkins, deposit slips, etc. Some of my copy is written for clients and a lot shows up on this blog. Other things get tucked in a notebook for future reference. Some items go in a journal that (hopefully) allows me to go back and achieve perspective.
So, I send copy to a client or I send a blog posting into cyberspace. Then I pace around, check email, and hope they thought the baby was cute.
When the oldies first joined us (23 months and two weeks ago,) she would ask me, "What do you do on the computer all day?"
I'm writing. That's who I am.
Reprogram it, Unplug it or Kick it
In addition to the oldies' conspiracy to make me crazy, all electronics in this home have decided to turn against me as well. One issue or problem, I can handle. A wave of them is too much.
We have a newfangled, highly electronic washing machine which I usually love. The husband and the oldies have recently returned from traveling so there's lots of laundry to be done. The other day it just stopped. Lights were blinking but the door wouldn't open and the cycle wouldn't progress. Like most electronically-challenged people, I stood there punching buttons in frustration. No luck. I asked the husband to look at it. He punched some buttons and then decided he needed to go to the club to ponder it. (He probably wanted advice from his golf and card buddies.) Finally, I moved it out enough that I could crawl atop the sink, reach behind it and unplug it. (Hello Hernia!) Plugging and unplugging is the best option and it worked. All the electronics restarted and now it's working like a dream.
A client mentioned that she could not fax to me. I played with it and punched some buttons. Still no dial tone. So I moved the heavy (and full) file cabinets out from the wall so I could check all the various connections. (Hello Hernia!) I called the phone company. Eventually the mystery was solved. The phone cord had been severed; it looked like someone bit it. Logic tells me it was Gabby but I'm not ruling out the oldies because they will eat anything.
The cable company had to reprogram some of our cable boxes. Thankfully, that one was not my fault. There are still far too many remote controls around but I can work them all.
Now I'm told that I may be having email problems. I'm ready to throw the computer out the window. But, I would have to go pick it up and reprogram it.
I've courted enough hernias this week. I guess I'll just pick up the phone.
We have a newfangled, highly electronic washing machine which I usually love. The husband and the oldies have recently returned from traveling so there's lots of laundry to be done. The other day it just stopped. Lights were blinking but the door wouldn't open and the cycle wouldn't progress. Like most electronically-challenged people, I stood there punching buttons in frustration. No luck. I asked the husband to look at it. He punched some buttons and then decided he needed to go to the club to ponder it. (He probably wanted advice from his golf and card buddies.) Finally, I moved it out enough that I could crawl atop the sink, reach behind it and unplug it. (Hello Hernia!) Plugging and unplugging is the best option and it worked. All the electronics restarted and now it's working like a dream.
A client mentioned that she could not fax to me. I played with it and punched some buttons. Still no dial tone. So I moved the heavy (and full) file cabinets out from the wall so I could check all the various connections. (Hello Hernia!) I called the phone company. Eventually the mystery was solved. The phone cord had been severed; it looked like someone bit it. Logic tells me it was Gabby but I'm not ruling out the oldies because they will eat anything.
The cable company had to reprogram some of our cable boxes. Thankfully, that one was not my fault. There are still far too many remote controls around but I can work them all.
Now I'm told that I may be having email problems. I'm ready to throw the computer out the window. But, I would have to go pick it up and reprogram it.
I've courted enough hernias this week. I guess I'll just pick up the phone.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Roots
Lots of people are tracing their roots. The Internet has opened a new world of information and made it accessible in a way that was never available before. I have no desire to trace my roots. I have the family albums. I know the family stories. My wildly imaginative mind can fill in the rest.
Big Daddy's family lives forever. Longevity is on their side. We will all see Willard Scott salute them on a Smucker's jar.
Are you cracking up that Lynne Cheney was doing research for a book and discovered that her husband, our Republican vice president, is an eighth cousin of Democratic presidential candidate, Barack Obama? Well, I am. Instead of making some long and lofty speech, the Obama spokesman released this statement: "Every family has a black sheep." Funny and classy.
I care about roots. Mine have grown out about an inch. I'm sparkling like a Christmas tree. So, you go track your family history. I'm going to go get my roots touched up.
Big Daddy's family lives forever. Longevity is on their side. We will all see Willard Scott salute them on a Smucker's jar.
Are you cracking up that Lynne Cheney was doing research for a book and discovered that her husband, our Republican vice president, is an eighth cousin of Democratic presidential candidate, Barack Obama? Well, I am. Instead of making some long and lofty speech, the Obama spokesman released this statement: "Every family has a black sheep." Funny and classy.
I care about roots. Mine have grown out about an inch. I'm sparkling like a Christmas tree. So, you go track your family history. I'm going to go get my roots touched up.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
The Water Is Running
Cooking seems to be a thing of my past, except for the holidays. Oh, I round up the occasional meal but planning, shopping and stewing about it seems futile when the husband would prefer to go out and the oldies eat on a completely different schedule. Every once in a while, we hit some of our favorite carry-out places. I always try to include the oldies. Tonight we're going for BBQ.
So, I took the menu into the dungeon and asked if they would like to partake. Weird sound... what is it? I'm looking around ... are they listening to one of those CDs with water sounds?
No. Someone forgot to turn the faucet off in the bathroom. It's been running for hours.
So, I took the menu into the dungeon and asked if they would like to partake. Weird sound... what is it? I'm looking around ... are they listening to one of those CDs with water sounds?
No. Someone forgot to turn the faucet off in the bathroom. It's been running for hours.
It Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time
I try not to wallow in the should have, could have phases of my life. Occasionally, someone will remind you of some stupid decision you made and you have to either laugh or cry.
Actually, I have more regrets about things I didn't do than the ones I did.
What is going on with this week or this month? All around me, people are making decisions that I think are short-sighted and wrong. I am very close to super-gluing my mouth shut. No one is asking my opinion -- but they will.
I am never the smartest person in the room. (Well, at the moment I am the only person in this room so I guess technically I am.) But, if they gave out prizes for the most opinionated, I would win that competition or come in second to Big Daddy.
So, I'm watching this flurry of activity within my household and with some of my friends. Even when I disagree with their choices, I remind myself that some of my missteps seemed like a good idea at the time.
Actually, I have more regrets about things I didn't do than the ones I did.
What is going on with this week or this month? All around me, people are making decisions that I think are short-sighted and wrong. I am very close to super-gluing my mouth shut. No one is asking my opinion -- but they will.
I am never the smartest person in the room. (Well, at the moment I am the only person in this room so I guess technically I am.) But, if they gave out prizes for the most opinionated, I would win that competition or come in second to Big Daddy.
So, I'm watching this flurry of activity within my household and with some of my friends. Even when I disagree with their choices, I remind myself that some of my missteps seemed like a good idea at the time.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
I Have a Bullet Too
During The Andy Griffith Show, Barney Fife was a buffoon. He was allowed to carry a bullet, but only in his pocket. Every time he broke the rule he ended up shooting the floor or the ceiling. Even though I am anti-guns, I laugh out loud at these escapades.
I come from a long line of hunters and gatherers. My aunt went (or tried to go) through airport security with bullets in her pocket. Hello federal officers!
My cousin sent me some photos today from his recent trip to Africa. He's a big hunter and an adventure hound. I'm impressed with the pictures but I don't think this is something I will ever experience.
Houseboy and I have an ongoing debate about the right to bear arms, whether you're safer or not with a gun in the home, whether hunting is a sport or a cruel activity.
He made me laugh today. He brought me a bullet. I don't have a gun so I'm going to put it in my pocket. If anyone annoys me, I won't shoot them. I'll just launch the bullet toward them.
I come from a long line of hunters and gatherers. My aunt went (or tried to go) through airport security with bullets in her pocket. Hello federal officers!
My cousin sent me some photos today from his recent trip to Africa. He's a big hunter and an adventure hound. I'm impressed with the pictures but I don't think this is something I will ever experience.
Houseboy and I have an ongoing debate about the right to bear arms, whether you're safer or not with a gun in the home, whether hunting is a sport or a cruel activity.
He made me laugh today. He brought me a bullet. I don't have a gun so I'm going to put it in my pocket. If anyone annoys me, I won't shoot them. I'll just launch the bullet toward them.
That Thick Head of Yours
Last night, the husband and I ended up on a triple date. It was great fun. Witty conversation, plus catching up on their oldies and our oldies, all of our children and their grandchildren. New jokes were shared and old ones were repeated. They're still funny. People interrupt each other and then feel free to say, "Well, I didn't think you were ever going to stop talking."
I've noticed that several of my friends are starting to refer to their husbands as "Big Daddy."
Well, in the spirit of the moment -- we were talking about childhood things -- I told a story about my mother thumping me on the head. I was a stubborn and saucy child. Occasionally, I could push her to the limits. In that rare instance, she would thump my head and say, "When am I going to get through that thick head of yours?" Not abuse; just trying to get my attention.
Big Daddy was over the moon with this story. He belly laughed. Then, he spent the entire evening pretending to thump me on the head and repeat the mantra. Oh, what have I done? I experienced it in my childhood and now I will face it again at my age. Probably for the rest of my life. Like a dog with a bone, the husband will not let this one go. When we went to bed last night, I tried to grab the remote. He thumped my head and said, "When am I going to get through that thick head of yours?"
I don't think the oldies thump each other on the head but I should recommend it. I might take the cue (because it does get your attention) and start doing my own thumping. Imagine the business meeting... I've made a presentation and everyone is pondering. I could walk around the room, thumping people on their heads and say, "When am I going to get through that thick head of yours?"
I'll either get a lot of new business or I'll go to prison.
I've noticed that several of my friends are starting to refer to their husbands as "Big Daddy."
Well, in the spirit of the moment -- we were talking about childhood things -- I told a story about my mother thumping me on the head. I was a stubborn and saucy child. Occasionally, I could push her to the limits. In that rare instance, she would thump my head and say, "When am I going to get through that thick head of yours?" Not abuse; just trying to get my attention.
Big Daddy was over the moon with this story. He belly laughed. Then, he spent the entire evening pretending to thump me on the head and repeat the mantra. Oh, what have I done? I experienced it in my childhood and now I will face it again at my age. Probably for the rest of my life. Like a dog with a bone, the husband will not let this one go. When we went to bed last night, I tried to grab the remote. He thumped my head and said, "When am I going to get through that thick head of yours?"
I don't think the oldies thump each other on the head but I should recommend it. I might take the cue (because it does get your attention) and start doing my own thumping. Imagine the business meeting... I've made a presentation and everyone is pondering. I could walk around the room, thumping people on their heads and say, "When am I going to get through that thick head of yours?"
I'll either get a lot of new business or I'll go to prison.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Theme Dressing
It's that time of year. The ridiculous sweaters and sweatshirts are coming out of the mothballs. Pumpkins and other Halloween things are adorning various articles of clothing. I ran a couple of errands yesterday and they were everywhere. Sunglasses are recommended.
Next up: The Christmas sweaters. Some are gaudy. Some are quite beautiful. Some are stupid. Some have bells on them so the person jingles when she walks. Ear plugs are recommended.
In the interest of full disclosure, I admit it. I own some of these items. I have a black jacket with pumpkins, witches, bright-colored leaves, etc. on it. A few years ago, I wore it to church and when I came home, Big Daddy said to me, "Don't you think it's wrong to wear a jacket with witches on it to a worship service?" Ooops!
I still own a couple of Christmas sweaters. They're in my cedar chest and they haven't participated in the holidays for a while. I have a couple of Christmas sweatshirts and I usually unearth them when I'm decorating the tree or wrapping gifts. They don't get to go out of the house but they do make me a little cheery. It's a ritual. Kind of like Brenda Lee's, Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree.
I own a pair of jingle bell earrings. They give me a headache but I think they're funny so I wear them once a season. Grab your ear plugs if you see me headed toward you.
Beyond dressing a person, some people have theme costumes for their pets. Okay, okay, Gabby has a Santa hat. She only wears it on Christmas Eve. She does not own a Halloween costume.
I also own a sweater set (black, of course) that has a repetitive theme of champagne toasts. I wear it every New Year's Eve. I think it's tasteful but I suspect some of my friends are laughing behind my back.
It's okay to make fun of these costumes. I'm still a (closet) member of the club.
Next up: The Christmas sweaters. Some are gaudy. Some are quite beautiful. Some are stupid. Some have bells on them so the person jingles when she walks. Ear plugs are recommended.
In the interest of full disclosure, I admit it. I own some of these items. I have a black jacket with pumpkins, witches, bright-colored leaves, etc. on it. A few years ago, I wore it to church and when I came home, Big Daddy said to me, "Don't you think it's wrong to wear a jacket with witches on it to a worship service?" Ooops!
I still own a couple of Christmas sweaters. They're in my cedar chest and they haven't participated in the holidays for a while. I have a couple of Christmas sweatshirts and I usually unearth them when I'm decorating the tree or wrapping gifts. They don't get to go out of the house but they do make me a little cheery. It's a ritual. Kind of like Brenda Lee's, Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree.
I own a pair of jingle bell earrings. They give me a headache but I think they're funny so I wear them once a season. Grab your ear plugs if you see me headed toward you.
Beyond dressing a person, some people have theme costumes for their pets. Okay, okay, Gabby has a Santa hat. She only wears it on Christmas Eve. She does not own a Halloween costume.
I also own a sweater set (black, of course) that has a repetitive theme of champagne toasts. I wear it every New Year's Eve. I think it's tasteful but I suspect some of my friends are laughing behind my back.
It's okay to make fun of these costumes. I'm still a (closet) member of the club.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Who Would Call at This Hour?
I woke at my usual 4:00 A.M. and I got up at 5:00 A.M. this morning. No use flopping around. My first phone call came at 5:30 A.M.
I have amassed this group of people who are all awake and they know I'm up too. When the husband is sleeping, he gets a little cranky about it. "Who would call at this hour?"
During the 2000 elections when Bush was our president, then Gore was our president, then Bush was our president, I was obsessed. I knew my friend Dean was up and watching. I knew I could call him and I did. Often.
When we went through 9/11, I knew who I could call. I had lots of middle of the night calls. "Switch the channel. Watch this..." So I did.
The early morning phone calls work for me. I'm up. I'm ready.
Most nights, I take my bath and don my pjs. I settle in by 9:00 P.M. I go through my pre-sleep rituals (they don't work.) Then, the phone rings -- usually for the husband. And I get to say, "Who would call at this hour?"
I have amassed this group of people who are all awake and they know I'm up too. When the husband is sleeping, he gets a little cranky about it. "Who would call at this hour?"
During the 2000 elections when Bush was our president, then Gore was our president, then Bush was our president, I was obsessed. I knew my friend Dean was up and watching. I knew I could call him and I did. Often.
When we went through 9/11, I knew who I could call. I had lots of middle of the night calls. "Switch the channel. Watch this..." So I did.
The early morning phone calls work for me. I'm up. I'm ready.
Most nights, I take my bath and don my pjs. I settle in by 9:00 P.M. I go through my pre-sleep rituals (they don't work.) Then, the phone rings -- usually for the husband. And I get to say, "Who would call at this hour?"
Comfort in Your Own Body
There's a lot of hoopla about the obesity problem in this country. It leads to dreadful things, diabetes and heart disease at the top of the list.
There's a lot of concern about anorexia and bulimia. Opposite end of the spectrum but equally scary. When I was in college, a girl in my dorm got so sick with anorexia that the fatty pads on her feet dissolved. Her parents took her home. Too late. She died.
Thankfully, I've never been overweight and I've never been anorexic. Like every other part of my life, I'm muddling through the middle.
As a teenager, being overweight must be awful. Other teens can be so cruel. Adults can be judgmental -- I'm ashamed to say, I've done it. The husband's favorite expression to yell at someone on the television is, "Stop eating!"
My mother once told me that she's self-conscious around my girlfriends. "You're all skinny girls." We are. But, it doesn't mean we don't have body image issues.
Some of my friends are too thin. I've been accused of that myself. There is no middle ground. Once you get to middle age, your body can be thin but your face is going to show it. Or, your face looks great but your body is a little plump.
Why don't men struggle with this?
Most men I know will whip off their shirts in a moment's notice and then strut around like they've just been named Body Builder of the Year. Meanwhile, the skinny women are tying scarves around their hips to cover their thighs.
Sometimes I watch the oldies. They have no body issues. She's lost significant weight since they've lived with us. (It's probably because I rarely cook.) I've been to numerous doctor's appointments, emergency rooms, or I've just wandered down the hall when they forget to close the door. I've seen a lot of nakedness.
They are totally fine with it. Occasionally, I get a little uncomfortable.
There's a lot of concern about anorexia and bulimia. Opposite end of the spectrum but equally scary. When I was in college, a girl in my dorm got so sick with anorexia that the fatty pads on her feet dissolved. Her parents took her home. Too late. She died.
Thankfully, I've never been overweight and I've never been anorexic. Like every other part of my life, I'm muddling through the middle.
As a teenager, being overweight must be awful. Other teens can be so cruel. Adults can be judgmental -- I'm ashamed to say, I've done it. The husband's favorite expression to yell at someone on the television is, "Stop eating!"
My mother once told me that she's self-conscious around my girlfriends. "You're all skinny girls." We are. But, it doesn't mean we don't have body image issues.
Some of my friends are too thin. I've been accused of that myself. There is no middle ground. Once you get to middle age, your body can be thin but your face is going to show it. Or, your face looks great but your body is a little plump.
Why don't men struggle with this?
Most men I know will whip off their shirts in a moment's notice and then strut around like they've just been named Body Builder of the Year. Meanwhile, the skinny women are tying scarves around their hips to cover their thighs.
Sometimes I watch the oldies. They have no body issues. She's lost significant weight since they've lived with us. (It's probably because I rarely cook.) I've been to numerous doctor's appointments, emergency rooms, or I've just wandered down the hall when they forget to close the door. I've seen a lot of nakedness.
They are totally fine with it. Occasionally, I get a little uncomfortable.
When I Don't Answer
Writing is generally a solitary pursuit. That's probably part of the appeal for me. I like being alone with my thoughts. Sometimes I crack myself up; sometimes I let the tears flow. (Please put the strait jackets away -- I come back to the real world.)
During these periods, I try diligently to avoid my instinctual reaction to answer the phone. I have been accused of screening calls. It's pretty untrue. Those of you who think this are giving me way too much credit. You're assuming I can actually see the caller ID screen. I'm not avoiding you; I'm avoiding the phone. But I fail. I usually take a break and listen to voicemail. I do call back.
When we're in group conversations, there are a couple of reasons I don't answer. I'm either gathering my thoughts or I'm working on my resolution to keep my big, fat mouth shut. Usually I fail but I'm still working on it.
When I don't answer the door, it's probably because I don't recognize you and I'm positive I do not want to buy your magazines or hear about your church. Anyone who knows me probably has a key to this house. If they were genuinely concerned about my health or well-being, they would let themselves in.
This was my week alone. Twice I heard someone tap on my office window. They both have keys but they're respectful. They're also diligent. I didn't answer the phone and I didn't answer the door. So, they stand in the back yard and get my attention. It made me laugh.
The husband called last night. He's flying home as I write this. He asked, "How was your week alone?"
Alone?
The carpets were cleaned. The computer guy was here. The cable guy was here. Friends were here (Yeah!) The workout girls were here. I had a couple of business meetings here. The postman/UPS/FedEx man needed my signature. My dad stopped by. All of these people were here at my request or invitation. Hmmm ... maybe when I'm done writing, I don't want to be alone after all.
The oldies are on their way home. I'm busy today. Maybe I won't answer.
But, like everyone else, they have a key.
During these periods, I try diligently to avoid my instinctual reaction to answer the phone. I have been accused of screening calls. It's pretty untrue. Those of you who think this are giving me way too much credit. You're assuming I can actually see the caller ID screen. I'm not avoiding you; I'm avoiding the phone. But I fail. I usually take a break and listen to voicemail. I do call back.
When we're in group conversations, there are a couple of reasons I don't answer. I'm either gathering my thoughts or I'm working on my resolution to keep my big, fat mouth shut. Usually I fail but I'm still working on it.
When I don't answer the door, it's probably because I don't recognize you and I'm positive I do not want to buy your magazines or hear about your church. Anyone who knows me probably has a key to this house. If they were genuinely concerned about my health or well-being, they would let themselves in.
This was my week alone. Twice I heard someone tap on my office window. They both have keys but they're respectful. They're also diligent. I didn't answer the phone and I didn't answer the door. So, they stand in the back yard and get my attention. It made me laugh.
The husband called last night. He's flying home as I write this. He asked, "How was your week alone?"
Alone?
The carpets were cleaned. The computer guy was here. The cable guy was here. Friends were here (Yeah!) The workout girls were here. I had a couple of business meetings here. The postman/UPS/FedEx man needed my signature. My dad stopped by. All of these people were here at my request or invitation. Hmmm ... maybe when I'm done writing, I don't want to be alone after all.
The oldies are on their way home. I'm busy today. Maybe I won't answer.
But, like everyone else, they have a key.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
I Say a Little Prayer
Sometimes I morph into Dionne Warwick. I say a little prayer for you. Sometimes, I'm goofy and I even sing it. I figure God could use a little entertainment during all those people begging for help.
My Uncle Ken kept a prayer list of people he prayed for every day. I'm not that organized.
Do you still pray when you get to heaven? Or, do you just tap God on the shoulder and say, "I know you're busy but please pay attention to this one."
I get a little grief when I've avoided church for a while. But make no mistake, I'm still talking to God.
If I know you and love you, I've knelt and asked God to watch over you. Now it's out of my hands.
My Uncle Ken kept a prayer list of people he prayed for every day. I'm not that organized.
Do you still pray when you get to heaven? Or, do you just tap God on the shoulder and say, "I know you're busy but please pay attention to this one."
I get a little grief when I've avoided church for a while. But make no mistake, I'm still talking to God.
If I know you and love you, I've knelt and asked God to watch over you. Now it's out of my hands.
The moment I wake up ... before I put on my makeup
I say a little prayer for you.
Nine Pairs of Shoes
I was reading an article the other day. Not anything to increase my knowledge of middle eastern politics or why civilizations fail. This was more important. It was about fashion. The article said the average man owns five pairs of shoes and the average woman owns nine pairs. I went back to re-read that sentence.
Who is this average woman? Certainly, no one I know. Were they just counting flip flops? Were they just counting black shoes? Maybe it was a typo and they meant to say this average woman owns nine pairs of boots or nine pairs of sandals.
I did a little survey in my head.
The husband owns more than five pairs of shoes. Are we shoe gluttons? The difference is that the husband is a shoe snob and his are all quite expensive. He likes name brands and Italian leather. My shoes run the gamut from $2 flip flops to the occasional splurge.
Several years ago, the husband worked with a man who put those rubber shoe condoms over his shoes before he went outside. The husband said to me, "Why he feels the need to protect those $20 shoes is beyond me."
Who is this average woman? Certainly, no one I know. Were they just counting flip flops? Were they just counting black shoes? Maybe it was a typo and they meant to say this average woman owns nine pairs of boots or nine pairs of sandals.
I did a little survey in my head.
Work heels: More than nine
Flats: Multiply by 3
Flip/Flops and shoes to wear with swim suits: More than nine
Boots (Dressy, casual, tall, short, snow and rain appropriate:) Multiply by 3
Black Tie/Cocktail shoes: More than nine
Slippers: LESS than nine (Whew!)
Athletic shoes: Exactly nine
The husband owns more than five pairs of shoes. Are we shoe gluttons? The difference is that the husband is a shoe snob and his are all quite expensive. He likes name brands and Italian leather. My shoes run the gamut from $2 flip flops to the occasional splurge.
Several years ago, the husband worked with a man who put those rubber shoe condoms over his shoes before he went outside. The husband said to me, "Why he feels the need to protect those $20 shoes is beyond me."
One More Day
Tomorrow is D-Day.
The husband returns from his trip tomorrow. The baby will join us for brunch or lunch tomorrow before heading back to campus.
And, the oldies will be back.
I called the other day to wish the Unabomber a happy birthday. Then I talked to the mother-in-law. At the end of our conversation she said, "We'll see you on Sunday!" Thanks for the warning.
I'm anxious to see the husband although he will gripe about the piles and clutter. Even though he kicks me, I still sleep better when he's here. I can't wait to see the baby and give him a hug.
The kitchen is aired out -- it no longer smells like bacon or fried stuff. The refrigerator is clean. Bye bye herring in REAL sour cream and other foods that gag me. I've made a dent in the pantry.
I've had a good run. This time tomorrow, life will return to our version of normal. I should probably plan a meal but there's a very good chance that won't happen.
On Monday, it's guaranteed she will restock the frig and the pantry.
The husband returns from his trip tomorrow. The baby will join us for brunch or lunch tomorrow before heading back to campus.
And, the oldies will be back.
I called the other day to wish the Unabomber a happy birthday. Then I talked to the mother-in-law. At the end of our conversation she said, "We'll see you on Sunday!" Thanks for the warning.
I'm anxious to see the husband although he will gripe about the piles and clutter. Even though he kicks me, I still sleep better when he's here. I can't wait to see the baby and give him a hug.
The kitchen is aired out -- it no longer smells like bacon or fried stuff. The refrigerator is clean. Bye bye herring in REAL sour cream and other foods that gag me. I've made a dent in the pantry.
I've had a good run. This time tomorrow, life will return to our version of normal. I should probably plan a meal but there's a very good chance that won't happen.
On Monday, it's guaranteed she will restock the frig and the pantry.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Big Hair People
One of my goddaughters is a freshman in college. Her mom always teases me that she got my DNA. I tease back that I injected some while my friend was pregnant.
We share some scary traits.
She has my humor. She has my lack of patience with stupid people or stupid situations. But most of all, she has my hair. Like me, she has spent her lifetime trying to tame it. I don't have the heart to tell her it's not going to happen.
The running joke in my life is that my hair arrives on the scene about 5 minutes before I do. It's slightly true.
(Oh Emily, I'm sorry. I held you within seconds when you were brought into this world. I rubbed your little head. Did I do this to you?)
So, she called me the other day. The party she was attending had an 80s theme. I loved the 80s. Big hair was IN in a big way. I perfected the Farrah flip. I said, "Go with the big hair. Work it girl, Work it!"
She was skeptical but I think I convinced her. I asked for pictures.
Her parents were kind enough to take my first name and give it to her as her middle name. Her fate was sealed in that moment.
We share some scary traits.
She has my humor. She has my lack of patience with stupid people or stupid situations. But most of all, she has my hair. Like me, she has spent her lifetime trying to tame it. I don't have the heart to tell her it's not going to happen.
The running joke in my life is that my hair arrives on the scene about 5 minutes before I do. It's slightly true.
(Oh Emily, I'm sorry. I held you within seconds when you were brought into this world. I rubbed your little head. Did I do this to you?)
So, she called me the other day. The party she was attending had an 80s theme. I loved the 80s. Big hair was IN in a big way. I perfected the Farrah flip. I said, "Go with the big hair. Work it girl, Work it!"
She was skeptical but I think I convinced her. I asked for pictures.
Her parents were kind enough to take my first name and give it to her as her middle name. Her fate was sealed in that moment.
I Worked There Too
One more story about my bizarre competitive streak...
Sometimes the husband and I will be in the car with the oldies (a situation I like about as much as I would like to go to a bird sanctuary) and we can see his office building from many points in the city. He always says, "That's my office building."
I worked there too.
I used to work for a local bank. It was the 80s when the country went through many bank mergers and acquisitions. We became a regional bank.
Our chairman and CEO was a stoic and somber man. If I saw him headed for the elevator, I waited for the next one. If I had to meet with him or (Oh No!) make a presentation to him, I spent some serious time in the restroom psyching myself up. He was terribly accomplished in business and he won Olympic medals in swimming. But, he never smiled and I was terrified of him.
In the midst of all the industry changes, my company was building a new skyscraper. The CEO referred to it as, "A monument to management." It was his brainchild and his monument to a city he loved. He died years later on a mission for our city. A tragic but fitting end for a person who took his civic duties very seriously. It was a private plane crash while he was traveling to another city to discuss possible civic improvements.
Just a little history... Our city has grown and changed tremendously in the last few decades. The Monument to Management changed our baby skyline. The building is beautiful inside and out. How do I know?
I worked there too.
While the building process was going on, I was Director of Advertising. I coordinated press conferences and media events. I donned many a hard hat and led people through tours. I could spout statistics about the architects, the builders, the amount of steel, the construction timetable, etc. I memorized it all.
Now the husband works in that building. He moved his company there a few years ago. I rarely go to the husband's office. (I think people who hang out in their spouses' offices need to get a life.) But, occasionally I will meet him for lunch or at the end of the day. Sometimes I have business with someone in his company so I have a reason to be there. I do love going in that building. I'm flooded with nostalgia.
The husband might consider it his building.
I worked there first.
Sometimes the husband and I will be in the car with the oldies (a situation I like about as much as I would like to go to a bird sanctuary) and we can see his office building from many points in the city. He always says, "That's my office building."
I worked there too.
I used to work for a local bank. It was the 80s when the country went through many bank mergers and acquisitions. We became a regional bank.
Our chairman and CEO was a stoic and somber man. If I saw him headed for the elevator, I waited for the next one. If I had to meet with him or (Oh No!) make a presentation to him, I spent some serious time in the restroom psyching myself up. He was terribly accomplished in business and he won Olympic medals in swimming. But, he never smiled and I was terrified of him.
In the midst of all the industry changes, my company was building a new skyscraper. The CEO referred to it as, "A monument to management." It was his brainchild and his monument to a city he loved. He died years later on a mission for our city. A tragic but fitting end for a person who took his civic duties very seriously. It was a private plane crash while he was traveling to another city to discuss possible civic improvements.
Just a little history... Our city has grown and changed tremendously in the last few decades. The Monument to Management changed our baby skyline. The building is beautiful inside and out. How do I know?
I worked there too.
While the building process was going on, I was Director of Advertising. I coordinated press conferences and media events. I donned many a hard hat and led people through tours. I could spout statistics about the architects, the builders, the amount of steel, the construction timetable, etc. I memorized it all.
Now the husband works in that building. He moved his company there a few years ago. I rarely go to the husband's office. (I think people who hang out in their spouses' offices need to get a life.) But, occasionally I will meet him for lunch or at the end of the day. Sometimes I have business with someone in his company so I have a reason to be there. I do love going in that building. I'm flooded with nostalgia.
The husband might consider it his building.
I worked there first.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
The Little Black Book
People used to joke about single men's Little Black Book. They kept girlfriends' or dates' phone numbers at the ready. Some men put little stars or their own rating system in there. I think that's weird but Que Sera Sera.
Speaking of Doris Day ... in Pillow Talk, Rock Hudson went through his little black book and called every women to say "bye" so they could get married.
Everything is electronic now. People keep their calendars on their computer, their Blackberry or whatever the latest gizmo allows. If they need to reach someone, they scroll through their cell phone to find the number.
Not Me.
I am a dinosaur. Oh, I'm technical enough. I spend an incredible time on the computer. I email a ton. I do all of my research online. But if you need to ask me about something on the calendar, I will go pick up my trusty datebook. It's the same style and format that I've used for the last 20 years. It ain't broke so I'm not changing.
And then there's my little black book! It's magical. If I know you, you're in there (but I don't rate people with little stars.) It rarely leaves my possession. I have been on a beach (out of this country) and someone needs a phone number. I've been in a number of social situations and phone/fax/cell/email information was needed. Got it! It's in my book. My friend Cynthia thinks this makes me the perpetual Girl Scout.
Once I loaned the little black book to the mother-in-law -- just for a minute to jot down some phone numbers. She lost it for a bit. I sort of had a heart attack. (Kidding!) But, I was manic. She does every correspondence in bed so I was crawling around under the bed with no luck. Then, I started flipping the Unabomber around like a grilled cheese sandwich. Found it!
The dog took it off the counter once and I had to chase her around. I'm freaking out and she thinks this is A GREAT BIG FUN GAME. Well, I won. But, I had to tape parts of it back together.
I may not know what the husband or the children are up to at any given moment. I may forget to return a call. There are a lot of little details in life that escape me.
I know where my little black book is hiding.
Speaking of Doris Day ... in Pillow Talk, Rock Hudson went through his little black book and called every women to say "bye" so they could get married.
Everything is electronic now. People keep their calendars on their computer, their Blackberry or whatever the latest gizmo allows. If they need to reach someone, they scroll through their cell phone to find the number.
Not Me.
I am a dinosaur. Oh, I'm technical enough. I spend an incredible time on the computer. I email a ton. I do all of my research online. But if you need to ask me about something on the calendar, I will go pick up my trusty datebook. It's the same style and format that I've used for the last 20 years. It ain't broke so I'm not changing.
And then there's my little black book! It's magical. If I know you, you're in there (but I don't rate people with little stars.) It rarely leaves my possession. I have been on a beach (out of this country) and someone needs a phone number. I've been in a number of social situations and phone/fax/cell/email information was needed. Got it! It's in my book. My friend Cynthia thinks this makes me the perpetual Girl Scout.
Once I loaned the little black book to the mother-in-law -- just for a minute to jot down some phone numbers. She lost it for a bit. I sort of had a heart attack. (Kidding!) But, I was manic. She does every correspondence in bed so I was crawling around under the bed with no luck. Then, I started flipping the Unabomber around like a grilled cheese sandwich. Found it!
The dog took it off the counter once and I had to chase her around. I'm freaking out and she thinks this is A GREAT BIG FUN GAME. Well, I won. But, I had to tape parts of it back together.
I may not know what the husband or the children are up to at any given moment. I may forget to return a call. There are a lot of little details in life that escape me.
I know where my little black book is hiding.
Without A Net
I like knowing how to reach people. I can become a little obsessive.
When the oldies are here, I call my/our doctor at least twice a week. (He tolerates me.)
I don't have a lot of legal issues but I like knowing that I can walk next door and get my attorney's advice.
The husband is my sounding board and my touchstone. I need his opinion, even if I don't agree.
The husband is on a trip this week. I have no problem with that. But, he's going with my doctor and my attorney. Some business; some golf.
You know how the president and the vice president are not allowed to travel together? Heirs to the throne are not allowed to be on the same plane (although Princess Diana broke this rule.)
I don't think the husband, my attorney and my physician should leave me like this. The oldies will roll in and I'll be left without my support network.
But, I have faith. If disaster strikes, the girlfriends will save me.
The good news is I have ALL of their cell phone numbers.
When the oldies are here, I call my/our doctor at least twice a week. (He tolerates me.)
I don't have a lot of legal issues but I like knowing that I can walk next door and get my attorney's advice.
The husband is my sounding board and my touchstone. I need his opinion, even if I don't agree.
The husband is on a trip this week. I have no problem with that. But, he's going with my doctor and my attorney. Some business; some golf.
You know how the president and the vice president are not allowed to travel together? Heirs to the throne are not allowed to be on the same plane (although Princess Diana broke this rule.)
I don't think the husband, my attorney and my physician should leave me like this. The oldies will roll in and I'll be left without my support network.
But, I have faith. If disaster strikes, the girlfriends will save me.
The good news is I have ALL of their cell phone numbers.
Dear Mr. or Ms. Anonymous
This blog has been up and running about six months. It's not attached to a website or any other web vehicle so people who read it have either:
Been told about it
Been begged to read it
Stumbled on it
Met my mother
I'm still figuring it out. I'm not very good with links and some of the other bells and whistles. But, I'm diligent and determined -- doesn't that count for something?
One of the crucial decisions you make with a blog is whether or not to allow anonymous comments. I said yes. I said, "Bring it on!."
Sometimes people are freakishly honest. Sometimes they unearth a memory. Sometimes they spark an idea. Sometimes they put me in my place or slap me back to reality. It can be brutal but it always makes me think.
Blogger can occasionally be difficult to maneuver. Lots of people have figured out that they can go in as "Anonymous" and then they sign it. That makes me smile. They didn't want to be anonymous but skipping the hoops allowed the comment to still be posted.
I read every comment. I sit on my hands sometimes so I'm not tempted to go back and respond.
Thank you Mr. or Ms. Anonymous. Please keep commenting.
Been told about it
Been begged to read it
Stumbled on it
Met my mother
I'm still figuring it out. I'm not very good with links and some of the other bells and whistles. But, I'm diligent and determined -- doesn't that count for something?
One of the crucial decisions you make with a blog is whether or not to allow anonymous comments. I said yes. I said, "Bring it on!."
Sometimes people are freakishly honest. Sometimes they unearth a memory. Sometimes they spark an idea. Sometimes they put me in my place or slap me back to reality. It can be brutal but it always makes me think.
Blogger can occasionally be difficult to maneuver. Lots of people have figured out that they can go in as "Anonymous" and then they sign it. That makes me smile. They didn't want to be anonymous but skipping the hoops allowed the comment to still be posted.
I read every comment. I sit on my hands sometimes so I'm not tempted to go back and respond.
Thank you Mr. or Ms. Anonymous. Please keep commenting.
While You Are Sleeping
Some people sleep all night -- you lucky people!
Here are some of the things I do while you are sleeping:
Say lots of prayers.
Wash a load of clothing and fold it.
Make writing or business notes.
Plan menus, even though I don't cook very often.
Fret and pace.
Watch episodes of I Love Lucy or The Andy Griffith Show.
Unload the dishwasher.
Re-read the last People Magazine.
Wake the dog up so we can both be miserably awake together.
Make to-do lists of things that will never get done.
Watch movies that I've seen over and over and over.
Go through emails and respond/delete.
Tackle the stack of mail and catalogs.
Sneak in the oldies' room to see if any new ghosts have come to visit.
Sit in the baby's room and wallow in the memories.
Call people who might be up. I know who you are.
Eventually, I crawl into bed and (as I'm told,) start to snore. It's the husband's time to get up and escape. I'll grab two hours and then get up to work out.
By the way, he paces and snores too.
Here are some of the things I do while you are sleeping:
Say lots of prayers.
Wash a load of clothing and fold it.
Make writing or business notes.
Plan menus, even though I don't cook very often.
Fret and pace.
Watch episodes of I Love Lucy or The Andy Griffith Show.
Unload the dishwasher.
Re-read the last People Magazine.
Wake the dog up so we can both be miserably awake together.
Make to-do lists of things that will never get done.
Watch movies that I've seen over and over and over.
Go through emails and respond/delete.
Tackle the stack of mail and catalogs.
Sneak in the oldies' room to see if any new ghosts have come to visit.
Sit in the baby's room and wallow in the memories.
Call people who might be up. I know who you are.
Eventually, I crawl into bed and (as I'm told,) start to snore. It's the husband's time to get up and escape. I'll grab two hours and then get up to work out.
By the way, he paces and snores too.
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Pizza: The Perfect Food
This is how old I am. Many years ago, they combined gym with some health and nutrition classes -- they may have even thrown in sex ed. This is way before the food pyramids or HIV/AIDS. These were the Leave It To Beaver years.
You were supposed to get some of each of the four food groups: bread, veggies, dairy and protein. Our teacher made it clear to us that pizza met the criteria and was therefore, the perfect food. Lesson learned! I got through college waiting for Sunday night when we ordered pizza.
If we haven't planned dinner and the oldies are hungry, I'll order a pizza. If I'm alone, I often order a pizza.
And, they bring it to your door! Is this a great country or what?
But, I am a health nut so I only eat one slice.
You were supposed to get some of each of the four food groups: bread, veggies, dairy and protein. Our teacher made it clear to us that pizza met the criteria and was therefore, the perfect food. Lesson learned! I got through college waiting for Sunday night when we ordered pizza.
If we haven't planned dinner and the oldies are hungry, I'll order a pizza. If I'm alone, I often order a pizza.
And, they bring it to your door! Is this a great country or what?
But, I am a health nut so I only eat one slice.
The Real Wife
Some of us have been married more than once. It may not be something to be proud of but in my case (and the husband's) it's built a little character. There were lessons to be learned and I tried to pay attention.
Many years ago, a bunch of my college friends got together. People flew in from all over the country because this was our group. People were sharing photos of new children and spouses we'd never met. The man I married first was there and he and his wife had just married. Someone asked her, "Is this your first marriage?" Her husband, (my ex) said, "This is her only marriage."
It did not hurt my feelings. I thought it was classy. I wanted to pull her in a corner and say, "Aren't you blessed?"
I still keep in touch with his parents. Occasionally, I call or email him if something has happened to one of our college friends. His mother celebrated a big birthday last year; the husband and I were included. They took a huge family photo out on the porch and insisted that we were included.
She is his real wife. I was the starter package.
Many years ago, a bunch of my college friends got together. People flew in from all over the country because this was our group. People were sharing photos of new children and spouses we'd never met. The man I married first was there and he and his wife had just married. Someone asked her, "Is this your first marriage?" Her husband, (my ex) said, "This is her only marriage."
It did not hurt my feelings. I thought it was classy. I wanted to pull her in a corner and say, "Aren't you blessed?"
I still keep in touch with his parents. Occasionally, I call or email him if something has happened to one of our college friends. His mother celebrated a big birthday last year; the husband and I were included. They took a huge family photo out on the porch and insisted that we were included.
She is his real wife. I was the starter package.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
The Lamp Light and the Vodka
We had two bedside lamps in the oldie's room. When they retrieved some of their stuff from storage, they chose to use their very ornate lamps instead. As they should -- it's their room. But these are not like flipping a light switch -- if you have these on, it's intentional. I went in the other day to put some mail on the desk and the bedside light was on. They are out of town.
I took a bottle of vodka to the lake. We never opened it. So, I brought it home. The other day the husband noticed that it had been opened and used for at least one drink.
Maybe Pa is turning on lights in the oldie's room (looking for his photo) and Wild Bill is mixing up cocktails in my kitchen.
I took a bottle of vodka to the lake. We never opened it. So, I brought it home. The other day the husband noticed that it had been opened and used for at least one drink.
Maybe Pa is turning on lights in the oldie's room (looking for his photo) and Wild Bill is mixing up cocktails in my kitchen.
Traveling Times
I'm starting to get a little worried about the oldies. I seem to have to have something to fret about.
They're on their trip and they check in every few days or so ... mainly so I can take care of mail or hear updates on the relatives. The tide has turned. Now, it's usually me calling her.
The other day I called her cell phone and I got the father-in-law. At some point in the conversation he mentioned the beautiful properties they've seen. Well, this sent my brain into overload.
He can't see (although he fakes it very well.)
Are these relatives' and friends' properties or are they scoping out properties to purchase?
They're 84-years old. They certainly don't need our permission to decide the next stage in their lives. Maybe I've misinterpreted the entire conversation. When I mentioned it to the husband, he said, "Let it go -- we'll be dealing with it soon enough."
This is probably much ado about nothing but at what point do you say, "No!" At what point do you take the car keys away? (We're nowhere close to that.) At what point do the decisions change hands? A power-of-attorney isn't enough when you all live under one roof.
At what point do you just let the guilt wash over you?
The husband has a trip next week and I am freakishly excited at the prospect of some time alone.
But, I'm guessing I'll get two hours and then the oldies will roll in.
They're on their trip and they check in every few days or so ... mainly so I can take care of mail or hear updates on the relatives. The tide has turned. Now, it's usually me calling her.
The other day I called her cell phone and I got the father-in-law. At some point in the conversation he mentioned the beautiful properties they've seen. Well, this sent my brain into overload.
He can't see (although he fakes it very well.)
Are these relatives' and friends' properties or are they scoping out properties to purchase?
They're 84-years old. They certainly don't need our permission to decide the next stage in their lives. Maybe I've misinterpreted the entire conversation. When I mentioned it to the husband, he said, "Let it go -- we'll be dealing with it soon enough."
This is probably much ado about nothing but at what point do you say, "No!" At what point do you take the car keys away? (We're nowhere close to that.) At what point do the decisions change hands? A power-of-attorney isn't enough when you all live under one roof.
At what point do you just let the guilt wash over you?
The husband has a trip next week and I am freakishly excited at the prospect of some time alone.
But, I'm guessing I'll get two hours and then the oldies will roll in.
Friday, October 5, 2007
I Forgot to have Babies
I am 44-years old. I have come to terms with the fact that I will never birth a baby. Even if my body would allow it (which it wouldn't,) I don't want to be one of those women who attends her child's high school graduation at 65 or 70-years old. Science has allowed many new fertility options but I am slightly repulsed when I read about women going to gigantic lengths to have a baby in their 50s or 60s. Joan Lunden having two -- TWO -- sets of twins at her age is wrong, wrong, wrong.
I have been blessed with my husband's two children in my life. They are my greatest blessings. All of my friends have shared their children. My goddaughters ... oooh! I cannot explain the passion I feel for them.
Actually, I'm being facecious. I didn't forget. It was a conscious decision. I've been in other relationships and maybe I would've done it but the timing wasn't right. When I fell in love with the husband, there were already two children involved. I have been allowed to be actively involved in their lives. The good, the bad and the ugly.
I was 27 when the husband and I started dating and 29 when we married. The oldies lived in Mississippi and the first exposure I had to the mother-in-law's personality was when the husband said, "I told my mother about you." As the story goes, she said, "Get rid of her -- she'll trick you into having a baby." (I love to remind her of this story because she had never even met me.)
Tricking is not in my nature and obviously, that little prediction didn't come true. The other day she said to me, "You would've been a wonderful mother." Well, well! I'm a little psycho about certain things but it is always done out of love.
Others may not agree with me but I did get to experience motherhood, or at least a piece of it. I'm a nurturer by nature. I may not have birthed a baby but I've nurtured a few children. Still do.
I have been blessed with my husband's two children in my life. They are my greatest blessings. All of my friends have shared their children. My goddaughters ... oooh! I cannot explain the passion I feel for them.
Actually, I'm being facecious. I didn't forget. It was a conscious decision. I've been in other relationships and maybe I would've done it but the timing wasn't right. When I fell in love with the husband, there were already two children involved. I have been allowed to be actively involved in their lives. The good, the bad and the ugly.
I was 27 when the husband and I started dating and 29 when we married. The oldies lived in Mississippi and the first exposure I had to the mother-in-law's personality was when the husband said, "I told my mother about you." As the story goes, she said, "Get rid of her -- she'll trick you into having a baby." (I love to remind her of this story because she had never even met me.)
Tricking is not in my nature and obviously, that little prediction didn't come true. The other day she said to me, "You would've been a wonderful mother." Well, well! I'm a little psycho about certain things but it is always done out of love.
Others may not agree with me but I did get to experience motherhood, or at least a piece of it. I'm a nurturer by nature. I may not have birthed a baby but I've nurtured a few children. Still do.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Aren't the Comics Supposed to Make You Laugh?
I love to read the paper. It's my favorite routine of the day. Read the news of the city, state and world while working my way to the section that includes the puzzles and the comics.
I'm partial to the older comics like Peanuts or Family Circus. I enjoy Zits because there is still a teenage boy in my life. Bizarro makes me laugh out loud almost every day. That's the reaction I want to have when I'm reading the funnies. My local paper moved Dilbert to the business section and Doonesbury to the editorials.
So what is up with Funky Winkerbean? Cancer, rehab, hospice, finding a child given up for adoption... The ill woman in the strip died this morning. This is not appropriate for the comics page -- we can all find this reality in daily life.
I have no idea what's going on in this writer's head. I can only imagine it's personal and tragic. But, it doesn't belong in the comics.
I'm partial to the older comics like Peanuts or Family Circus. I enjoy Zits because there is still a teenage boy in my life. Bizarro makes me laugh out loud almost every day. That's the reaction I want to have when I'm reading the funnies. My local paper moved Dilbert to the business section and Doonesbury to the editorials.
So what is up with Funky Winkerbean? Cancer, rehab, hospice, finding a child given up for adoption... The ill woman in the strip died this morning. This is not appropriate for the comics page -- we can all find this reality in daily life.
I have no idea what's going on in this writer's head. I can only imagine it's personal and tragic. But, it doesn't belong in the comics.
One of Those Mean Girls
Recently, I sat with two friends and a gaggle of dogs, enjoying the last summer days. I made a saucy comment, which my friend Cynthia found witty. My other friend said with a straight face, "Oh, you were those mean girls in high school."
Was I?
I remember doing some mean things -- mainly when someone was taking advantage of Jan. She didn't need me to protect her but there I was! If you're going to mess with her, you have to go through me. It's almost 30 years later and I feel the same.
I remember saying some mean things. Ok, let's stop kidding. I say mean things every day -- usually to the husband or the oldies. But, I don't remember saying a lot of mean things in high school. I don't think I had the mental capacity.
My mom and I can say mean things to each other. We're just screwy enoungh to find it funny later. We are extremely honest: "You hurt my feelings," or we make unwelcome comments about each other's lives. The worst is, "I'm just disappointed."
Young girls can be cruel. I remember it from my childhood, I've witnessed it with the daughter and I've watched it with my friends' daughters. I'm oversimplifying but boys just punch something or someone -- girls get verbally vicious. They turn partially Amish and shun someone.
The good news is they grow up and (usually) become nice and kind people. If I was a mean girl in high school, I had a good reason. I'm not a mean girl today. I would never intentially be cruel. If I come across that way, it just means my mouth got ahead of my brain.
Was I?
I remember doing some mean things -- mainly when someone was taking advantage of Jan. She didn't need me to protect her but there I was! If you're going to mess with her, you have to go through me. It's almost 30 years later and I feel the same.
I remember saying some mean things. Ok, let's stop kidding. I say mean things every day -- usually to the husband or the oldies. But, I don't remember saying a lot of mean things in high school. I don't think I had the mental capacity.
My mom and I can say mean things to each other. We're just screwy enoungh to find it funny later. We are extremely honest: "You hurt my feelings," or we make unwelcome comments about each other's lives. The worst is, "I'm just disappointed."
Young girls can be cruel. I remember it from my childhood, I've witnessed it with the daughter and I've watched it with my friends' daughters. I'm oversimplifying but boys just punch something or someone -- girls get verbally vicious. They turn partially Amish and shun someone.
The good news is they grow up and (usually) become nice and kind people. If I was a mean girl in high school, I had a good reason. I'm not a mean girl today. I would never intentially be cruel. If I come across that way, it just means my mouth got ahead of my brain.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Going to the Dogs
Dog love is part of my genetic makeup. I can’t help it. I am crazy about them and there have been very few periods in my life where I didn’t own a dog.
When I was a very little girt (5) I begged my parents for a dog. My mother had a bad experience in her childhood and was definitely not interested in becoming a dog owner. She made a deal with me: If I could find a dog (not a puppy) that was already housebroken, reasonably small and well behaved, I could have it. There was a stray in my grandmother’s neighborhood who met all the criteria. I won! She was probably the best dog ever. She lived until I was in college and by then, my mother was converted. (At one point my parents owned four dogs but now they’re down to two.)
The husband didn’t want a dog when we first got married. He wanted the freedom and flexibility of a pet-free life. So, I sort of tricked him. One day I asked him, “If we were to ever get a dog, what would you get?” He answered and we had a Black Lab puppy within the week. Surprise!
We had her for 12 great years. We spent countless dollars on her. When she died, my friend Abby had to scoop me off the floor of the Vet’s office and take me home.
I let the husband have his way for about a year. I hated every minute of it. I missed walking in the door and being greeted by a big sloppy dog kiss. The house just seemed too clean without dog hair to sweep up. We had many discussions about it. He loved that year – I was miserable. So, once again, I broke the rules. I started investigating new dogs. I corralled the children. “Wouldn’t it be fun to have a new dog?” They (of course) were with me on that, even though they don’t live here anymore.
The husband was adamant that our life is already too full. We’ve got jobs. We’ve have a lot of activity in this house. The oldies don’t like big dogs. A puppy will knock them down. We’ll have to rearrange our schedules to take care of the dog. We can’t afford it. Why would we want to do this? All of my friends have dogs. Whenever possible, we include them. At the lake last week, you couldn't move from one room to another without a pack of four dogs under your feet. When the workout girls go to Phoenix, Big Sal's dogs are there and we happily snuggle with them. We move out of the way so Rudy can have his favorite spot on the sofa.
I got Gabby when she was 7 weeks old. She turned a year old in August. She is crazy about Big Daddy. She annoys the oldies but the mother-in-law spends an inordinate amount of time throwing the tennis ball. The Unabomber just says, “Go away dog!”
Lots of people have expressed feelings about dogs better than I ever could. Here are some of my favorite dog quotes:
My mother thinks I have become one of those weird dog people. You know the type. Sort of like Shirley McClaine's character in Steel Magnolia's. Unfortunately, she's right. I drag my crazy dog everywhere. I'm happiest when she's lying on her pillow in my office or riding shotgun in my car. This is what happens when the children leave home...
When I was a very little girt (5) I begged my parents for a dog. My mother had a bad experience in her childhood and was definitely not interested in becoming a dog owner. She made a deal with me: If I could find a dog (not a puppy) that was already housebroken, reasonably small and well behaved, I could have it. There was a stray in my grandmother’s neighborhood who met all the criteria. I won! She was probably the best dog ever. She lived until I was in college and by then, my mother was converted. (At one point my parents owned four dogs but now they’re down to two.)
The husband didn’t want a dog when we first got married. He wanted the freedom and flexibility of a pet-free life. So, I sort of tricked him. One day I asked him, “If we were to ever get a dog, what would you get?” He answered and we had a Black Lab puppy within the week. Surprise!
We had her for 12 great years. We spent countless dollars on her. When she died, my friend Abby had to scoop me off the floor of the Vet’s office and take me home.
I let the husband have his way for about a year. I hated every minute of it. I missed walking in the door and being greeted by a big sloppy dog kiss. The house just seemed too clean without dog hair to sweep up. We had many discussions about it. He loved that year – I was miserable. So, once again, I broke the rules. I started investigating new dogs. I corralled the children. “Wouldn’t it be fun to have a new dog?” They (of course) were with me on that, even though they don’t live here anymore.
The husband was adamant that our life is already too full. We’ve got jobs. We’ve have a lot of activity in this house. The oldies don’t like big dogs. A puppy will knock them down. We’ll have to rearrange our schedules to take care of the dog. We can’t afford it. Why would we want to do this? All of my friends have dogs. Whenever possible, we include them. At the lake last week, you couldn't move from one room to another without a pack of four dogs under your feet. When the workout girls go to Phoenix, Big Sal's dogs are there and we happily snuggle with them. We move out of the way so Rudy can have his favorite spot on the sofa.
I got Gabby when she was 7 weeks old. She turned a year old in August. She is crazy about Big Daddy. She annoys the oldies but the mother-in-law spends an inordinate amount of time throwing the tennis ball. The Unabomber just says, “Go away dog!”
Lots of people have expressed feelings about dogs better than I ever could. Here are some of my favorite dog quotes:
"If there is no heaven for dogs, then I want to go where they go when I die."
Anonymous
"Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole."
Roger Caras
"I've seen a look in dogs’ eyes, a quickly vanishing look of amazed contempt, and I am convinced that basically dogs think humans are nuts."
John Steinbeck
"The reason a dog has so many friends, is that he wags his tail instead of his tongue"
Anonymous
"A watchdog is a dog kept to guard your home, usually by sleeping where a burglar would awaken the household by falling over him."
Anonymous
"The greatest pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself too."
Samuel Butler
"My husband and I are either going to buy a dog or have a child. We can't decide whether to ruin our carpets or ruin our lives."
Rita Rudner
"A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself."
Billings
"The average dog is a nicer person than the average person."
Andrew A. Rooney
"If your dog doesn't like someone you probably shouldn't either."
Unknown
"In order to really enjoy a dog, one doesn't merely try to train him to be semi human. The point of it is to open oneself to the possibility of becoming partly a dog."
Edward Hoagland
"No matter how little money and how few possessions you own, having a dog makes you rich."
Louis Sabin
"Dogs feel very strongly that they should always go with you in the car, in case the need should arise for them to bark violently at nothing right in your ear."
Dave Barry
"Don't accept your dog's admiration as conclusive evidence that you are wonderful."
Ann Landers
"Dogs have given us their absolute all. We are the center of their universe, we are the focus of their love and faith and trust. They serve us in return for scraps. It is without a doubt the best deal man has ever made."
Roger Caras
"A dog is one of the remaining reasons why some people can be persuaded to go for a walk."
O. A. Battista
"A dog is man's best friend, and vice versa."
Anonymous
"There's just something about dogs that makes you feel good. You come home, they're thrilled to see you. They're good for the ego."
Janet Schnellman
"A dog can express more with his tail in minutes than his owner can express with his tongue in hours."
Anonymous
"It's no coincidence that man's best friend cannot talk."
Anonymous
"A dog's bark may be worse than his bite, but it's never quite so personal"
Anonymous
"I can train any dog in 5 minutes. It's training the owner that takes longer."
Barbara Woodhouse
"You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you, they will be there long before any of us."
Robert Louis Stevenson
"You can’t keep a good man down -- or an over-affectionate dog."
Anonymous
"I wonder if other dogs think poodles are members of a weird religious cult."
Rita Rudner
"No animal I know of can consistently be more of a friend and companion than a dog."
Stanley Leinwoll
"When most of us talk to our dogs, we tend to forget they're not people."
Julia Glass
"Any time you think you have influence, try ordering around someone else's dog."
The Cockle Bur
"I have caught more ills from people sneezing over me and giving me virus infections than from kissing dogs."
Barbara Woodhouse
My mother thinks I have become one of those weird dog people. You know the type. Sort of like Shirley McClaine's character in Steel Magnolia's. Unfortunately, she's right. I drag my crazy dog everywhere. I'm happiest when she's lying on her pillow in my office or riding shotgun in my car. This is what happens when the children leave home...
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Looking in the Mirror
I can't figure out when I started avoiding the mirror. It's been several years. I can actually do my hair and put on a slight bit of make-up without ever seeing my reflection. If eye liner is required, I can do it in 5 seconds, minimizing the mirror time.
I'm not fat and I'm reasonably toned for my age. Those three-way mirrors in the department stores are depression on a cracker. That's probably why I don't shop. I have a full-length mirror in my closet and I avoid it like I avoid birds. It gives me the creeps.
I'm not afraid of aging -- I just don't want to watch. I've earned every line. I laugh and cry often and those are the lines I'm most proud of. I could pack a lunch in my forehead but I tell myself that it just means I'm expressive.
God willing, I've got some time to go. I'm terrified of needles so I don't see any plastic surgery in my future.
Some people tell me I look exactly like my mom. They're wrong but I'll take the compliment. Sometimes, people tell me I am the female version of my dad. Ok, he's darn cute so I'll take the compliment. Once I took my Uncle Ken and Aunt Cess to the husband's office. She's my dad's sister. Everyone said, "You look so much alike. This must be your mother." I'll take the compliment.
The oldies have one of those magnifying mirrors. Can you imagine?
I'm not fat and I'm reasonably toned for my age. Those three-way mirrors in the department stores are depression on a cracker. That's probably why I don't shop. I have a full-length mirror in my closet and I avoid it like I avoid birds. It gives me the creeps.
I'm not afraid of aging -- I just don't want to watch. I've earned every line. I laugh and cry often and those are the lines I'm most proud of. I could pack a lunch in my forehead but I tell myself that it just means I'm expressive.
God willing, I've got some time to go. I'm terrified of needles so I don't see any plastic surgery in my future.
Some people tell me I look exactly like my mom. They're wrong but I'll take the compliment. Sometimes, people tell me I am the female version of my dad. Ok, he's darn cute so I'll take the compliment. Once I took my Uncle Ken and Aunt Cess to the husband's office. She's my dad's sister. Everyone said, "You look so much alike. This must be your mother." I'll take the compliment.
The oldies have one of those magnifying mirrors. Can you imagine?
Shocking!
The other day, the husband and I watched our local football team from the comfort of our den. After the game, I offered to go to McDonald's. (Yes, we're health nuts.) I didn't plan to leave the car so I took the dog with me.
Well, I was brain dead and I forgot that she was wearing her invisible fence collar. She started shrieking as she was getting shocked. I was trying to get the collar off and therefore, I was getting shocked. I managed to get it off but I spent the entire trip apologizing to her. Considering the unnecessary trauma I put her through, I thought a couple of bites of my hamburger was a justified reward.
Well, I was brain dead and I forgot that she was wearing her invisible fence collar. She started shrieking as she was getting shocked. I was trying to get the collar off and therefore, I was getting shocked. I managed to get it off but I spent the entire trip apologizing to her. Considering the unnecessary trauma I put her through, I thought a couple of bites of my hamburger was a justified reward.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Television
Ok, I admit it. I love television. My day is a little off if I don't start it with The Today Show. It doesn't matter what's on during the day -- it's just background noise -- although my friend Abby has convinced me that the cooking channel is fun to have on for ambience. I think it's supposed to make you hungry or make you want to cook. It has the opposite effect on me. If the food starts to gag me, I switch to CNN or MSNBC.
I'm an "early to bed, early to rise" person so I can't get into those shows that start at 10pm. Even if I Tivo them, I don't find the time to watch them. (But my local news comes on at 4:30 A.M. amd most of the time, I'm there watching.)
This week started the new season. I must limit myself to a few shows. I'll test some of the new ones and I'll stick with my faves:
Grey's Anatomy (but I'm also going to give Private Practice a chance.)
Desperate Housewives (It's lame, but I'm addicted.)
Brothers & Sisters
Dancing with the Stars
Dancing with the Stars is one of the few shows the husband and I enjoy together. (Well, except for those Court TV docudramas where someone murders a spouse and tries to get away with it.)
The mother-in-law loves it too. She's on her trip and probably not watching it. I miss her running commentary. I wish she could be like Endora on Bewitched and just pop in when I want her here. She loves the dancing and gets riled up at the skimpy costumes.
The husband accuses me of watching soap operas. Not true. But I do love it when I can take a break at 4:00P.M. and watch Oprah. Sometimes the mother-in-law watches it with me. She gets riled up over some of the topics. It's a show within a show.
I'm an "early to bed, early to rise" person so I can't get into those shows that start at 10pm. Even if I Tivo them, I don't find the time to watch them. (But my local news comes on at 4:30 A.M. amd most of the time, I'm there watching.)
This week started the new season. I must limit myself to a few shows. I'll test some of the new ones and I'll stick with my faves:
Grey's Anatomy (but I'm also going to give Private Practice a chance.)
Desperate Housewives (It's lame, but I'm addicted.)
Brothers & Sisters
Dancing with the Stars
Dancing with the Stars is one of the few shows the husband and I enjoy together. (Well, except for those Court TV docudramas where someone murders a spouse and tries to get away with it.)
The mother-in-law loves it too. She's on her trip and probably not watching it. I miss her running commentary. I wish she could be like Endora on Bewitched and just pop in when I want her here. She loves the dancing and gets riled up at the skimpy costumes.
The husband accuses me of watching soap operas. Not true. But I do love it when I can take a break at 4:00P.M. and watch Oprah. Sometimes the mother-in-law watches it with me. She gets riled up over some of the topics. It's a show within a show.
And Then They Are Grown
The daughter is grown. I'm happy for her but I hate it. She lives in another city and I miss her. She's very smart but I am certain that she could use my advice more often than she asks.
The baby is off at college. Sort of grown. I'm proud of both of them but I hate it.
Most of my friends' children are grown or on the cusp. Yes, I hate it. I want their little giggles and snugly bodies. I would even take back the teenage years when some things got dicey. I keep telling my friend Debbie (who still has young children,) "Don't Blink!"
One of my favorite people in the world is celebrating a birthday. I was honored to be invited to join him and his parents on Saturday. We sat outside on a beautiful evening and enjoyed a great Italian meal. He lives in Chicago now. He's all grown up. (I hate it.) But, in my mind, he's that little boy I met many years ago. He's the teenager who got in occasional trouble. He's the one who confided in me about various escapades.
I walked into the restaurant on Saturday and was immediately embraced. I said, "Benny Bear, the Birthday Boy!" He said, "You are the only person I would allow to get away with that."
He's all grown up. I hate it.
The baby is off at college. Sort of grown. I'm proud of both of them but I hate it.
Most of my friends' children are grown or on the cusp. Yes, I hate it. I want their little giggles and snugly bodies. I would even take back the teenage years when some things got dicey. I keep telling my friend Debbie (who still has young children,) "Don't Blink!"
One of my favorite people in the world is celebrating a birthday. I was honored to be invited to join him and his parents on Saturday. We sat outside on a beautiful evening and enjoyed a great Italian meal. He lives in Chicago now. He's all grown up. (I hate it.) But, in my mind, he's that little boy I met many years ago. He's the teenager who got in occasional trouble. He's the one who confided in me about various escapades.
I walked into the restaurant on Saturday and was immediately embraced. I said, "Benny Bear, the Birthday Boy!" He said, "You are the only person I would allow to get away with that."
He's all grown up. I hate it.
My Little Corner
I will start this story by admitting that I am very spoiled. I like it that way.
There's a retail center very near my home. A small grocery, a dry cleaners, a meat market, a drug store, jewelry stores, a bank, a deli, a gas station. This is not a mall. It is truly an old-fashioned, neighborhood hub. I have some reason to frequent at least one of these establishments every day.
It's a little like Cheers,-- "Where everybody knows your name."
Last week, I dropped off a watch in the jewelry store. This is not a Rolex. It's a department store, medium-priced basic watch. I didn't feel like standing in line so I wrote my phone numbers on a napkin (from my handbag) and handed it to someone. They called 30 minutes later but I was headed out of town so I just picked it up today. No charge! I cannot believe how many times they have done that for me and the oldies. If I ever make any real money, I must go in there and buy some jewelry.
The husband bought me a beautiful platter for our anniversary a few years ago. The first time I destroyed it, the silver was dented. So, they sent it off to Italy to be repaired. The other day, I knocked it over and cracked the porcelain. I dropped it off today. Yep, they're sending it off to Italy. I'll get a new one -- no charge.
I popped in the meat market and left a list of things I'd like to pick up tomorrow. They'll have it all packaged and call me when it's ready to go.
The liquor store and the dry cleaners do not offer delivery service but they've both delivered to my home on more than one occasion.
I had to pick up a prescription for the husband and line was long, long, long. The pharmacist motioned to me and opened a new register.
I ran in the deli and told the owner I need a couple of quiches for later this week. She'll call me. She offered to deliver them but how spoiled can I be? I'll pick them up.
After all, I'm over in my little corner every day.
There's a retail center very near my home. A small grocery, a dry cleaners, a meat market, a drug store, jewelry stores, a bank, a deli, a gas station. This is not a mall. It is truly an old-fashioned, neighborhood hub. I have some reason to frequent at least one of these establishments every day.
It's a little like Cheers,-- "Where everybody knows your name."
Last week, I dropped off a watch in the jewelry store. This is not a Rolex. It's a department store, medium-priced basic watch. I didn't feel like standing in line so I wrote my phone numbers on a napkin (from my handbag) and handed it to someone. They called 30 minutes later but I was headed out of town so I just picked it up today. No charge! I cannot believe how many times they have done that for me and the oldies. If I ever make any real money, I must go in there and buy some jewelry.
The husband bought me a beautiful platter for our anniversary a few years ago. The first time I destroyed it, the silver was dented. So, they sent it off to Italy to be repaired. The other day, I knocked it over and cracked the porcelain. I dropped it off today. Yep, they're sending it off to Italy. I'll get a new one -- no charge.
I popped in the meat market and left a list of things I'd like to pick up tomorrow. They'll have it all packaged and call me when it's ready to go.
The liquor store and the dry cleaners do not offer delivery service but they've both delivered to my home on more than one occasion.
I had to pick up a prescription for the husband and line was long, long, long. The pharmacist motioned to me and opened a new register.
I ran in the deli and told the owner I need a couple of quiches for later this week. She'll call me. She offered to deliver them but how spoiled can I be? I'll pick them up.
After all, I'm over in my little corner every day.
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