An Anniversary of Sorts

Today is sort of an anniversary. "Sort of" comes into play for a couple of reasons:

Technically, the husband and I got married right after midnight so our real anniversary is January 1st but since the ceremony was at our friends' home during a New Year's celebration, I think of New Year's Eve as the actual anniversary.

Although we will probably both acknowledge this evening in our own way, we will not be doing it as a couple.

It's sort of sad. (OK, really sad.) Yet, it's sort of a relief. It's also sort of mind boggling and scary. It's sort of lonely. It's definitely different than any NYE I've celebrated in the last 18 years.

I'm looking forward to 2009 and I'm sort of ready for this holiday to be over.

Libraries and Bookstores

I own and have read an obscene number of books.  I share and I donate many to my church for our annual bazaar but I still have too many.  Another weeding-out project awaiting me in the new year.

As habits go, it's not a bad one but I must be frugal.  No more strolling through the bookstore and buying whatever strikes my fancy.  So, today I dusted off my library card.  Did you know that you can practically check out an unlimited number of books?  Seriously, I asked.  The limit for one visit is something like 125 books.  I want to interview the person who does that.

It's not the same as cracking open a brand new book and enjoying the tactile experience.  But it's pretty darn close.  (And free.)  I found several titles in my favorite categories.  My nightstand stack is full.

Now I must learn not to dog-ear the pages or write in the margins.  I can't afford to have them revoke my privileges.

For Dog Lovers

I realize there are people who do not like dogs. There are others who may like them but choose not to own a dog due to extensive travel, allergies or other issues. I would willingly give myself a daily allergy shot (and you know how much I love needles) than live without a dog. With the exception of a couple of periods here and there, I have always had one. As long as I am able, I always will.

My dogs have seen me through many rough patches in my life. The Gabster is no exception. Her big brown eyes see my soul -- yes, I believe that. She is loyal and that is a characteristic I admire in people and in animals. She is huge yet she will gently crawl on my lap and lick my tears.

For my fellow dog lovers, here are a few of my favorite dog quotes:

Whoever said "let sleeping dogs lie" didn't sleep with dogs.
-- Unknown

The reason a dog has so many friends is that he wags his tail instead of his tongue.
-- Anonymous

The more I see of men, the more I admire dogs.
-- Jeanne-Marie Roland

If your dog doesn't like someone you probably shouldn't either.
-- Unknown

When you feel dog tired at night, it may be because you've growled all day.
-- Unknown

To err is human, to forgive, canine.
-- Unknown

The dog, in life the firmest friend. The first to welcome, foremost to defend.
-- Lord Byron

You think dogs will not be in heaven? I tell you, they will be there long before any of us.
-- Robert Louis Stevenson

If a dog will not come to you after having looked you in the face, you should go home and examine your conscience.
-- Woodrow Wilson

Histories are more full of examples of the fidelity of dogs than of friends.
-- Alexander Pope

He is your friend, your partner, your defender, your dog. You are his life, his love, his leader. He will be yours, faithful and true, to the last beat of his heart. You owe it to him to be worthy of such devotion.
-- Unknown

Relatives and Memories

These are my grandparents, Bobbie and Pa. Those were my names for them and I miss them terribly. I think of them every day and now I think of them every time I walk into my mother's office where she keeps this photo on her desk. This photo was taken at my first wedding in 1984. They have both been gone for many years but they do live on in our hearts.

Today would've been Bobbie's birthday. I'm not big on visiting people's gravesites. I'd rather visit the memories in my mind. I can still picture her overly-stuffed house with a feast on the table for every holiday or family meal. I still don't understand how she managed it on her meager budget. I treasure every bowl or platter she gave me. For the rest of my life, any entertaining I do will include some of Bobbie's dishes. When dividing our household items, I have no interest (or moral right) to the silver we inherited from the Captain and the Belle. I will fight to the finish for my dimestore and garage sale glass items that my grandmother gave me with love.

On another note, we just concluded a visit with my aunt and her boyfriend. We only had a couple of days and they went way too fast. But, more memories were visited and more memories were made.

Rudeness

This will not shock you. I despise rudeness. I think it should be the eighth deadly sin. Rude children make me understand corporal punishment. (I am kidding!) Rude adults, especially those in customer service, make me crazy.

On Christmas Eve, I accompanied my mother to WalMart. Not my favorite store but she legitimately needed a few things and I legitimately needed to relieve being stir crazy.

I have worked retail. I did it in high school and college. I did it when we actually had to do math and count change. I did it when we were expected to know the merchandise and where to find it. I did it when our performance reviews were a daily reminder because managers paid attention to customer service.

At WalMart, I experienced three incidents of rudeness:

1. We were looking for a specific cleaning product while wandering through the housewares section. I asked an employee, "Excuse me, may I ask you a question?" She responded, "I don't work in this department." I said, "That is not my question." I proceeded to ask my question and she answered it. Why couldn't she have done that in the first place?

2. One of the items we picked up was stocked in two areas on the same aisle. The price difference for the same item was about $6. I pointed this out to my mother so we could pay attention at check out. I have a mean memory and I knew the rough cost of every item we were buying. Of course, two of them rang up at the higher price. The cashier was rude as she let us know she would have to wait for a price check. Fine with me. When the equally-rude, yet higher-on-the-totem-pole person arrived, I offered to go with her to show her exactly where I found these items. She proceeded to weave and run through the store with the cart as her taser. To borrow a line from Christmas Vacation, "Let's burn some dust. Eat my rubber." We purchased our items at the price listed on the shelf. Saved close to $20 versus what rang up on the register. I was persistent but I was not rude.

3. In the parking lot, we unloaded and I took the basket to the cart corral. On the other side was a woman who could've walked three feet to secure the cart from damaging cars. Instead, she left it rolling toward another car as she backed away. I grabbed it and put it away. If this were football, I would throw my little yellow flag and scream, "Unnecessary Rudeness!"

Today we went to run some other errands. We experienced rude clerks -- the kind who stand and converse with each other and act like you are not standing right there. We witnessed rude fellow shoppers. I may not venture out again for a while.

Trying to Be Tough

Yes, this is how we amuse ourselves. We force three helpless animals to pose together for their Christmas photo. Gabby, my black lab, thinks life is a big game and she would've participated for hours. Harriett can't decide if she trusts Gabby or not but she seeks her out more and more. They never growl or bark at each other.

Ashley the biter thinks that she is Queen of the manor. She runs under furniture or tries to commit suicide by jumping off the bed if she sees Gabby headed her way. She can bark herself hoarse. It must be a little demeaning to demand respect as top dog when you're wearing a diaper.

Please note that Gabby is the dog in this household who does not have a wardrobe.

Christmas Musings

'Tis the season and all that. I've spent the season being even more reflective than usual. From the frivolous to the serious, here are a few of the things I've pondered:

The Tree
There is a fir/evergreen tree outside the bedroom window in my previous home. I could sit up in bed and view it. This would've been my 12th Christmas in that home and for a dozen years I have said to myself, "I should put lights on that tree so I could wake up to that vision." I never did it and now I wish I had.

Eyes are Everywhere
I was taught to look at the front and rear view of myself before I left the house. I'm sure this was intended to save me from some disaster like walking into a meeting with the back of my skirt tucked into my pantyhose. Everyone does not learn this lesson (or chooses not to heed it.) I listened to a solo last night by a young woman who truly has the voice of an angel but was dressed as if she were running late for a street-walking gig. Yes, I am showing my age but I am constantly amazed at young girls who flaunt their assets, including posting them for all the world to see, as their parents remain silent.

Eyes are also everywhere in terms of choices you make. You may be an adult and it may be your right to make your own decisions but I'm learning (better late than never) to stop and ask myself, "What do they see that I don't see and how does that reflect on my character?"

Never Underestimate Rice Krispie Treats
My mother and my sister spend countless hours making homemade candies for the holidays. They are always popular and I've eaten my fair share. But, sometimes you can also be a big hit, especially with children, with sticky, crunchy Rice Krispie treats. I made a batch, shaped it into a wreath and took it to a party. The kids ate it with gusto and it left more of the grown-up goodies for the adults.

Nobody Wants another Knickknack
Unless you are a serious collector of something, chances are you do not need or desire more stuff. (If you are a serious collector, chances are that most people cannot afford to add to your collection.) Unless someone requests something very specific, I try to buy only consumed or used and thrown away. I didn't buy gifts this year but I plan to keep this rule for future occasions. Most of us already have an embarrassing amount of unnecessary riches.

Necessary Riches
It's trite and sappy but the riches that fill my life (and hopefully yours) did not arrive via sleigh last night. They weren't slipped under the tree while we slept. They weren't purchased in any store. They were sleeping beside us or right down the hall. They were those we included in our Christmas Eve prayers. They were in the tears we shed for those we miss and in our hearts and we reflected on sweet memories.

Beware of Lifetime Movies
Substitute your favorite cable channel. You can lose an entire day if they run a marathon. Last Sunday, I started watching one Christmas movie on Lifetime and ended up watching four back to back. I have seen others do this with the True Crime channels especially if they're rerunning Cops.

Christmas Miracles
I believe they happen all year long.

Merry Christmas to all.

Holiday Parties

For someone with a life in shambles, I've still managed to attend quite a few Christmas functions including lunches with friends and card parties. You can take the party out of your life but you can't take the party out of this girl. I still have several get-togethers to go. My low-key Christmas has been a wonderful balance of relaxation and festivities.

Last night we went to my sister's house. I find most holiday decorations magical but it's even more so in homes with young children. (She and her husband have three.) I love asking the children which ornaments are their favorites and seeing the pride in their little faces.

My oldies hosted Christmas Eve for many years. When my sister and her real siblings were children, spending Christmas Eve at my parents gave Santa a chance to finish some last minute details away from prying eyes. All three children remember these gatherings and speak of them often.

As usual, life comes full circle. Although it wasn't Christmas Eve and we were missing a few people, the night was quite similar to those from years past. The menu had many of the favorites we've shared over time. Some decorations were familiar. The laughter was spontaneous and frequent. And three little children danced around in the true spirit of the season.

Defining The Successful Life

An attorney I know recently recommended a book to me. He's familiar enough with many of the issues in my life so I took his recommendation to heart and checked it out of the library. The book is "Living A Life That Matters," by Harold S. Kushner. The subtitle is "Resolving the Conflict between Conscience and Success." This is the same author who wrote, "When Bad Things Happen to Good People," which I also read.

I wholeheartedly recommend this book. It is an interesting mix of history, biblical tales, psychology and human interest stories. Anyone who struggles with the angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other will identify with many of the examples. (If you are not one of these people, please let me know your secret.)

It is a great testament to the impact our lives have on others, even when we are unaware of it.

Sibling Love and Respect

Today is Cecily Crossman's birthday. She is someone I fiercely love and admire with an almost stalker-like zeal. She is also my aunt -- my father's only living sibling. They are crazy about each other and their devotion is admirable on many levels.

As an only child, my experience with siblings is through observation and of course, the siblings I have chosen.

Anyone who thinks it is easier for two sisters to be close would learn quite a bit from the brother/sister duo above.

Happy birthday Aunt Cess and thanks for always being there for my dad.

Afeared of Fire

I love a roaring fire in the fireplace or a bonfire at a weinie roast. But other than that, I have an obsessive fear of fire. Twice I have had my hair singed. Once was at an REO concert and the person behind me got a little carried away waving her lighter. The other time a friend had a lit candle on the back of her toilet and my big hair got in the way.

When the Belle and the Captain lived with us, my firewoman patrol was on active duty, 24/7. More than once:

I found evidence of the Belle smoking in bed.
I found burning candles in the bedroom and/or bath after they left the house.
She caught both ovens on fire.
She left the house with the gas stove top blazing.
She caught bacon wrappers, paper towels and various other counter items on fire.

I considered strapping a fire extinguisher to my person, along with my glasses, cell phone, pens, etc. Instead I became a maniac about checking the batteries in the smoke detectors and checking each room on a regular basis.

The oldies are gone but my fear lingers. Now that I live with my oldies, I'm on needless patrol but it doesn't stop me. If anyone starts roasting chestnuts on an open fire during this season, I'm running in the opposite direction.

Happiness Guilt

How weird is this? I am beating myself up for being happy. My life is in shambles yet, I have peace of mind and joy in my heart.

Then I feel guilty for not being miserable.

Many people who know a portion or even all of my current problems ask me, "How are you?" with that Oh-You-Poor-Dear tone of voice. I probably sound ridiculous when I answer, "Great!"

For the first time in years, I like the person in my mirror. I am truly excited about the choices before me -- even the dreadfully difficult ones. I am strong and I like it. I just need to work on the guilt part.

Fun with Testicles

I found the image above through an Internet search. Now, I don't normally google words like "testicles" but a friend sent me an email about this trend and I had to check it out for myself.

The story goes something like this: My friend was driving and talking to his sister on the phone. She happens to be in the car industry. At a stoplight, he noticed a truck in front of him with fake testicles hanging off the trailer hitch. His sister was surprised that he had not seen this before.

Neither have I and I don't want to.

Apparently, this is a very popular thing to do, especially for those who take extra pride in being a redneck.

Several states have now introduced legislation to ban this particular form of expression which leaves me with some questions:

Are state governments running out of serious issues and have this kind of free time on their hands? Are these the issues they were elected to resolve?
Would feminist groups, i.e. NOW, be involved if the fake body parts were female?
Aren't children going to ask about this?
Would this be considered pornography or freedom of expression?

If anyone has run out of gift ideas, I found numerous websites where these little goodies can be ordered for the redneck in your life.

Mr. Pam Needs a Grocery Gift Certificate

Do you remember Pat on Saturday Night Live? Is it a man or a woman? Does he/she have a life?

In my childhood neighborhood, we had this girl who was that androgynous type. Maybe asexual is a better word. We knew she was female because her name was Pam. She lived with her parents through childhood and adulthood. At some point, my father started referring to her as "Mr. Pam" and unfortunately it caught on.

Once again, I am trying to watch Jeopardy and there is an interruption. My father is speaking to the dogs as if I were not in the room:

"Mr. Pam is eating again -- Stay out of her way."

"Married -- Divorced; Married -- Divorced -- Mr. Pam can't make up her mind."

"No Christmas presents for the doggies -- Mr. Pam is eating us out of house and home."

As if I needed another nickname, I have now become the neighborhood's new Mr. Pam. We have laughed ourselves stupid over it.

Sexting

When I was a young girl, our way of letting a boy know we had a crush on him was to:

Pass a note to a girlfriend hoping she would let someone know who could pass the information along to him.
Or, call his house and hang up. This usually happened during sleepovers.

We did not have caller ID. Many of us still had party lines. Even so, teenagers are usually pretty transparent and it's not hard to figure out who has a crush on whom.

Technology has given us many gifts but it has also opened Pandora's box. A survey discussed on morning television today cited that one in five teenage girls admits to sending nude or semi-nude photos of herself to a boy. Apparently, boys are also photographing and posting their private parts.

I can be self-righteous about this because I have never done it and will never do it. But even in my carefree, pre-Internet, pre-social networking and naive days, I NEVER would have allowed a nude photo of myself. Even I was smart enough to realize there would still be negatives that could be redeveloped. There would still be break-ups where people forgot to gather the incriminating evidence.

What seems like a joke, a funny stunt or a dare can become life altering. I would hate to see a loved one denied law school admission because of some slutty photos on My Space. I would hate to see the look on the groom's face when his "friends" show him the wild and reckless days of the bride. I would hate to sit in a job interview and realize the person I am asking to hire me has seen me nude because he's linked in. This all happens. Seemingly, every day.

I've only recently learned to text. Once again, I'm way behind. Once again, I'm glad.

The Heady Lure of Power and Greed

Is Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich related to O.J. Simpson? They appear to share the same delusion of being untouchable and above the law.

Gov Blag was arrested in his Chicago home yesterday while his family slept. He had been under federal investigation for at least three years. On many occasions, he has taunted the investigators during press conferences. The most recent time was the day before his arrest. He is charged with conspiracy to commit fraud for allegedly trying to sell off the senate seat vacated by Obama. He wanted cash and perks, including a better job for his wife.

The headiness of power sends some people off their rocker. I've known some of these people. Greed can often do the same.

If the governor is convicted, his sentence could be up to 20 years in prison. Meanwhile, until he resigns or is impeached, he still holds the power to name a person to the senate. (Highly unlikely.)

What are they eating in Illinois? I heard this little tidbit last night: Illinois has had four different governors in four years. Also, on average, one Illinois governor goes to prison roughly every 10 years.

I'm guessing the only state with more corrupt politicians is Louisiana.

The Biter

My oldies have two dogs. One is sweet and playful. Meet the other one, Ashley the Biter. She will bite anyone except my father. She routinely bites my mother and she's caught me a couple of times since I've been here.

Now I will only pick her up when she is wearing a sweater.

Volunteering for Others

Our minister has quite a sense of humor. I love it that he can make me laugh and still move me in a sermon. My mother once made the mistake of telling him that she does not enjoy the "meet and greet" during the service. She's done her meetin' and greetin' before entering the sanctuary or she will catch them afterwards. Yesterday he announced, "Just for Sandy, let's get up and greet our neighbors." He found this funny and so did I. Of course, she was the first person he walked toward.

She has a running joke with our pastor that she will do a lot for the church but she does not like to be front and center; she prefers to be behind the scenes. He's constantly threatening to call her during the week and assign her to be liturgist for the next Sunday.

We're in the season of Advent and like many churches, we light the appropriate candles each Sunday. It may be a single person, a couple, a family -- whomever. As we were leaving church yesterday morning, he said to the three of us, "We still need someone for the Advent candle next Sunday." Before she could kill me (and she would never do that in church) I said, "Sure, we'll do it."

Now I have been assigned the family duty of deciding who lights the candles and who recites which lines.

Later we went to an open house and I think our minister had a little smirk on his face. As usual, I'm in trouble.

Warm and Toasty

"I like winter because I can stay indoors without feeling guilty." Teressa Skelton

I have no idea who Teressa Skelton is (or was) but I ran across this quote and it summed up my day yesterday. After finishing my elf duties, I headed home in the snow. It was slow going and lots of reckless drivers were sliding around. I was very relieved to walk into the warm house.

Warmth comes in many forms beyond the toasty air from the heater. It's a smile that greets you and a welcoming embrace. It's a look of relief and you realize someone has been concerned about the road conditions. It's snuggling in and knowing you are safe and warm.

I threw beef stew ingredients in the crock pot. Voila! Dinner will be ready in a few hours. Then we put on Christmas music and I watched my mother and sister make candy. I could pretend I participated but truthfully it's their ritual and my joy was watching their teamwork. Then a neighbor and friend came over and we sat in front of the fire and watched two movies.

After dinner, I snuggled with my dog. All in all, it was a day filled with warmth, love and friendship. We should all be so lucky.

Breakfast With Santa

Yesterday, I went with my friend Lynn to her nephews' school for Breakfast with Santa. We were volunteer elves to take the photos, although most parents and grandparents brought their own cameras.

We gave ourselves elf nicknames. Lynn's was Booger and mine was Depression. It was 7:30 in the morning -- we found everything funny.

The party was quite the todo! Breakfast included sausage and pancakes. Besides visiting with Santa, there were booths with many other things for the children to do. There was also a live reindeer that the children could pet. Lynn knocked a few children out of the way to take this picture of me and the reindeer. I decided to forego sitting on Santa's lap. Even he couldn't handle my wish list this year.

The O.J. Verdict

Yes, I actually cheered when the judge sentenced O.J. Simpson for last year's armed robbery and related crimes in Las Vegas. I especially liked the part where the judge said that (I'm paraphrasing) at first, she couldn't decide if he was simply arrogant or ignorant but now she knows the answer. He's both.

The judge made it clear that both the jury that convicted him in this felony trial and her decisions in regard to sentencing had nothing to do with carry-over feelings from his murder acquittal 13 years ago. Maybe that is true. For the sake of our judicial system, I hope it is. All people deserve a fair trial.

When it comes to O.J., I've lost all reason and sense of fairness. I think he is a thug and a murderer. He has lived a life that includes sports hero worship, phenomenal financial riches, beautiful women and children. Yet, he is a destroyer --he destroyed families, including his own.

Shackled and smug at the same time, he asked the court for mercy. In some ways, he received it. He will serve a minimum of 9 years before chance of parole. He could serve up to 30-plus years.

I'm betting Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman begged for mercy too.

Handy People

My father is the ultimate handy person. I have never lived anywhere that he didn't build or remodel something. I am 45-years old and the trend continues.

The closet in my childhood bedroom is about 1/8 the size of the closet in the home I shared with the husband. Needless to say, I haven't moved all my clothes here (and I need to get rid of a lot) but for this transition period, I need enough to get through various situations including appropriate items to wear to job interviews and to church.

We bought one of those portable, snap-it-together clothes racks on wheels. Flimsy and useless. I hung a few things on it and it fell over. My dad and I picked it up and later it snapped. I'm not talking coats or anything heavy -- just a few sweaters, etc.

Yesterday, he went up in the garage loft and hauled down some spare lumber. (Doesn't everyone have a stash of timber ready to go?) Plus, it was about 10 degrees outside. He made this super-sturdy closet rod and mounted it in the laundry room. It's very large.

If he had surprised me with a Mercedes, I would not have been as happy.

Farm Girl

"Early to bed and early to rise makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise." Benjamin Franklin

My normal body clock awakens me between 4:00 AM and 5:00 AM. I force myself to stay in bed until 5:00. I used to envy people who could sleep late but I've learned to appreciate this quirk. In many ways, it is my favorite part of the day. I relax with coffee and the newspaper. I watch the local news. I relax and plan my day before the hyperactivity kicks in.

I like to go to bed early. My oldies tease me about a curfew and we laugh about how ridiculous this is since I usually go to bed around 9:00 PM. Don't be jealous of my exciting habits!

My sleep cycle is a lot like farmers. I might have made a good farm girl except for that pesky part about working the farm.

"L" is for .....

I'm in turmoil and the other night I thought it was funny to make the loser symbol across my forehead. One of my besties thought it was appropriate to pinch me in response. It hurt but she made her point. She is probably the only person I would allow to get away with this.

Making that "L" across your forehead is not necessarily a bad thing.

"L" is for:

Love. Past, present and future.
Loss. What was and what could have been.
Laughter. If you don't experience belly laughter on a regular basis, you should live with my oldies for a while.
Leaving. Sometimes you just have to go.

Please Don't Interrupt Jeopardy

I'm addicted to Jeopardy. I shout out the answers even when I am alone. I get increasingly louder as the show progresses.

Usually, I do not answer the phone while it is on. I enjoy that 30 minutes.

Last night, my mother felt the need to tell me something IMMEDIATELY. Of course, this was right before the Final Jeopardy question.

I found the nerve this morning to ask her to please not do it again.

A Simplified Christmas

For the first time in at least 18 years, I will not be celebrating Christmas in my usual fashion. I will not be organizing a family photo, addressing and mailing hundreds of cards, decorating every room, trimming a live tree or hosting any parties. I will not be buying gifts and wrapping for hours. (Ok, I might buy the dog a new toy.) I will not be coordinating schedules to accommodate other people. I enjoy doing most of these things but this is not the year for it.

I am not skipping Christmas. I'm already listening to holiday music. I will help my oldies trim a small tree. I will keep my mother and sister company while they do their annual candy making. I will help my mother prepare a holiday meal. I will enjoy the children's Christmas show and the choir's cantata at church.

Tradition and rituals are important to me. This will be my first Christmas making some new ones.

Can You Bench Press Your Car?

The only reality show I watch is "Dancing with the Stars." My parents tried to get me to watch "Survivor" the other night but I pulled myself up to my full height of 5',3 1/2" and said, "I don't want to and you can't make me." (This spine of steel crap only goes so far when they're bailing you out but they let it slide.)

I got to watch the semi-finals and the grand finale of "Dancing with the Stars" with my father. Here are a few areas where the generation gap comes into play:

He thinks Samantha Harris (the co-host) has arms that are too muscular. He makes running comments about not wanting to face her in a fight or how she must go out every morning and bench press her car. I think her arms are amazing. She has muscle definition and no underarm flapping. I know you're not supposed to covet things but secretly I covet her arms.

He thinks her voice is too deep and sounds like a man. He does a mean impression of her which sends me into a fit of giggles. I think her voice is sultry in a Lauren Bacall kind of way.

Too bad the show is over for now. My dad and I will have to find someone else to critique and/or admire.

Horoscope for Today

"It feels as though there was only one decision to make, and you made it."

This was my horoscope in today's paper. Hmmmm.

I don't really believe in horoscopes but I continue to read it every day. Usually, I think they're so vague that you can twist the message to fit almost any circumstances. But every once in a while it hits home.

When Cosmetic Surgery Goes Awry

In the last few days I've caught glimpses of two men who I used to consider very handsome. They now look like caricatures of their former selves. I don't know the names of Tony Curtis' or Tom Jones' plastic surgeons but don't go to him or her. I also used to think Meg Ryan was positively darling and she's had some freaky stuff done to her face also. And we can't forget the resident Queen of Plastic Surgery Freakland -- Joan Rivers.

Many years ago, a friend told me the optimum age to begin "refreshing" your face was right around age 40. (A deadline that blew by me several years ago.) I think she still gets annual tweaks because she continues to look fresh and younger than her years. Andrea Mitchell, the NBC correspondent, must have a great surgeon. She looks rested and natural instead of stretched and perpetually alarmed.

Like most women, I am just vain enough to wish to appear younger than my years. Lotions and potions are going to have to do the trick for me.

I thought the late actress Jessica Tandy (Driving Miss Daisy) was beautiful well into her 80s. Same with Katharine Hepburn. If they managed to age gracefully, I can attempt it too.

She Went That Way!

Once again, life has come full circle. I am living with my parents in the neighborhood I grew up in. It is a temporary arrangement so I'm soaking up every second of it. Many of my childhood neighbors still live here. Most of the children that I ran around with still come over to visit their parents so I get to see them too.

I've always had good neighbors and the house I shared with the husband was no exception. It was just a different kind of neighborly. In that house, I could walk on the patio and no one could see me. Here, I am regularly greeted by one of the next-door neighbors across the fence.

The other day I forgot to put Gabby's invisible fence collar on her and I also left the gate open. As she darted, the friend across the street opened her front door and yelled, "She went that way!"

Someone backed out of her driveway and hit a neighbor's car parked on the street. How do I know this? I saw neighbors gathering out front so I grabbed my glass of wine and ventured over to find out what was going on. That's how we do it here.

The lady across the street has watched me grow up and I have been attending the same church with her for many years. She has noticed my car so the other day during the meet and greet portion of the service, she gave me a hug and said, "Welcome back neighbor."

I'm comforted here. Not just by the obvious love and support from my oldies but from neighbors and friends who look out for each other and have been doing it for decades.

Gobble Gobble

Here's a really cool thing when your doctor tells you to gain some weight. We are headed into prime, over-the-top eating season. This usually gags me beyond repair but for the first time in years, I want it all.

Gobble Gobble and Happy Thanksgiving!

If I Were a Boy

I was watching Beyonce perform on The Today Show this morning. I know who she is because I see her picture in People Magazine all the time. But, I admit to an unfamiliarity with her music. One of the songs she sang was "If I Were a Boy." It was as if someone knocked me over. Here are a few snippets of the lyrics:

If I were a boy
I think I could understand
How it feels to love a girl
I swear I'd be a better man.

And ...

You don't listen to her
You don't care how it hurts
Until you lose the one you wanted
Cause you've taken her for granted.

At this point you're probably thinking that I'm reflecting on my own personal relationships. Of course that's a factor but it goes much beyond that.

I know some amazing and honorable men. Men who don't cheat, don't verbally or physically abuse anyone. Men who treat their wives, mothers, daughters, friends and employees with kindness and respect -- even if the women are stupid enough to provoke them.

I also know some cads. Some of them are lovable cads and frankly, since I'm not married to them, I don't really care what they do as long as they treat me with respect.

A few times I have been accused of wanting to be a man. I've never quite grasped that. Does that mean I want to be paid the same as a male colleague doing the same job? Guilty. Does that mean I feel my opinion should carry as much weight as the men in the room? Guilty.

I don't want to be a man. I'm pretty strong but I'm still a girly-girl at heart. To paraphrase Beyonce:

You're just a boy.
I would be a better man.

Adjustments

Before I get all gushy and goofy about the kindness of my oldies, I will share this with you. I'm convinced they lie in bed at night and say to each other, "And exactly why did we decide to have this child?"

In a few short days, I have managed to:

Disrupt their household and routines.

Rearrange furniture and wag my finger at things. The motion means, "That's gotta go."

Completely traumatize their little dogs with my little pony.

Lock myself out because it took me a while to understand the Ft. Knox system. That includes setting off the alarm.

Maybe I'm adjusting too well. The other night they had plans with friends. Although I was invited, I chose to stay and continue digging through paperwork and have them bring me a sandwich. I have adjusted to eating dinner at 5:00 so around 5:30, I started thinking, "Where is my sandwich?"

Puddles

Yesterday was one of those gray, rainy days. I was irritated because rain or any kind of moisture does weird things to my hair. Hey, your life can be in shambles but in certain moments it all comes down to your hair.

Then, the sun came out and we had a few puddles around. As a child, I was not the splash-through-the-muddy-water kind of girl. Too bad for me. It might have taught me that life if full of muddy waters. Instead of pretending the puddle isn't there, maybe I would've learned to jump right in and deal with the dirt and muck.

Forgive this horrible analogy: I am now the puddle. For my entire life I have been able to be reduced to a puddle of laughter or a puddle of tears. (Isn't the earth 90% water? I am also.)

Puddles force you to choose. You can walk around. You can splash through. You can step over. Call me "Puddles" because no one is pushing through or stepping over.

Bad Boys, Bad Boys

Do you ever watch "Cops?" I must admit that this particular show has never made it to my must-see TV schedule. But last night my oldies were preparing to eat a little ice cream (I'm in!) and watch a little TV. I stretched out across the end of their bed hoarding my ice cream from the little dogs. "Cops" is apparently a Saturday night ritual. I pretended to work on the crossword puzzle but I got sucked in too.

Then I got the giggles. The alleged criminals are so stupid! Between my laughter and my mother's running commentary, my father started saying, "Shut up, please!" Of course, this only made me laugh harder. At one point he said, "Third warning! Shut up, please!" (He says this with a great deal of charm but the annoyance on his face is apparent.)

My father is my hero and he tolerates oh so much from me. He would never admit it but I think he's a little freaked out for reasons that are obvious to me. It's not my presence and it's not my dog. It's not the emotional cesspool I am swimming in.

It's very simple: My mother and I never shut up. And when the laughter starts to roll, any attempt to contain it makes it worse. We just screech louder.

It feels good to laugh loud and often. The bad boy of this house is going to have to get over it.

Doggie Dynamics

Houseboy brought the maniac dog to me yesterday. Sorry to be ridiculous but I wept. Perhaps the reason I am so crazy about the maniac is she has been my bright spot. I didn't realize how much until the last few days.

My current oldies (although they are not very old) have been kind enough to let me live with them, mooch off them, etc. I run around rearranging their furniture, interrupting their well-oiled routine, making coffee at 5:00am, etc. The dog has always been an issue with female oldie. She's slightly afeared of big dogs (bad episode in her childhood) but she's also aware that the Gabster can be a tornado, i.e. "Hope you didn't like all that glass stuff on the table because I just wiped it out with my tail."

Here's a couple of other reasons I wept:

I was reminded, repeatedly, that there are still people who value something other than material possessions.
I stood in awe as my oldies said, "We would never ask you to go without your dog. We'll figure it out."

They have two little dogs -- a sweetie and a biter (although she's growing on me.) The biter thinks she is the alpha dog; Gabby has no desire to be the alpha dog but she freaks them out. We're all getting acclimated. Gabby slept with me last night and she keeps looking at me like, "You never told me this was an option."

I don't think the little dogs are having a barking good time but who knows? Sometimes it's good to have your world shaken a bit. Trust me. I know.

A Belated Apology to the Captain and the Belle

When my world was rocked several years ago by the realization that we were going to move the husband's parents into our home, I was nervous but I hope I was also welcoming. As one of my favorite songs goes, "Life was changed, rearranged."

Once again, life is imitating that song's lyrics.

And I realized that I used them as a scapegoat for many things. So, this is my letter to them:

Dear Mom & Pop,

If anyone had told me three years ago that I would miss you as much as I do, I might have rolled my eyes. No, I don't miss the falling and the illnesses. I don't miss the frying. I miss the Belle at the piano and modeling new clothes. I miss the woman who was tough as steel and gentle as a dove. I miss the Captain's stories.

You both showed me love and concern. should've listened more often. I should've said thank you more often. I should've recognized the gift of you.

Stress comes in many forms and from many places. I apologize for often placing the blame on you.

Self Esteem

Life everyting else that requires nurturing, if neglected or allowed to happen. your self esteem will erode. It's bit by bit, a process so slight (and slightly devious) that you don't realize it until the bottom falls out from under you.

Welcome to bottomville!

In the last couple of days I found a piece of my self-esteem and I'm holding on to it for dear life. I've looked in the mirror and seen the woman that can laugh, cherish and love. I've also experienced kindness that is above and beyond the call of duty.

I will spare you the gory details out of respect for others but needless to say, I have a rocky road ahead. I forgot that you should get out of bed and look forward to the day ahead instead of dreading what may lie before you.

I vow to never forget again. The blog is not ending, just taking a turn in a new direction. At least the title makes sense again -- I am living with my oldies -- just not the same ones.

Define Journalist

Define "journalist." Or, define "public figure." Do you realize that these are not only descriptive titles -- they are often legal definitions.

Our legal system is woefully behind, especially as it pertains to the explosion of the Internet. Now they are scrambling to define titles, protection, etc. In this day and age, any person who contributes to a blog, writes to the editor or wields a microphone may or may not be defined (in our legal system) as a journalist.

Am I a journalist? I went to college and I have the journalism degree in my office. Yet, I've never worked for the traditional media. I write a blog and contribute to others. Yet, I wouldn't compare that to investigative reporting. I've written things where my name is front and center. I've also written thousands of things where you will never see my name.

I don't plan on getting in trouble with the law, at least as it pertains to my writing. Still, it's a question to ponder when I get into controversial subjects.

A Moment in Time

Both of these people are now responsible adults. But for that moment in time, there was no job. There were no children. There was no one asking, "What time will you be home?"

I keep trying to explain this to the baby and I think I just frustrate him. He doesn't get it and I shouldn't force it.

Those were the days.

Partners

Now here is a word that completely confounds me. I cannot tell you how many people choose to introduce me to someone with, "This is my partner." And my brain goes:

Is it a business partner?

Is it a sexual partner?

Is it a life partner?

Is it a partner in a club or association?

Is it a partner in crime?

Usually the conversation will shed some light eventually. Bur for a while, I'm cracking myself up imagining different scenarios.

Look it Up

I suppose I should rephrase the title. Instead of looking it up, most people I know Google it or another version of an online search. The important thing is to claritfy a word, a date or an era. I was raised before the Internet -- we actually went to library! I like to balance the scholastic and educational stories with people who can share their experiences.

Not that they should know it all but I get a little terrified about some of our young people and what they don't know. Someone recently referred to her grandfather in the Civil War. Sorry, I don't think so.

Lady Webster has trained me and it is ingrained. Sometimes we discuss word definitions. Yes, this is fun for us; we are that dorky.

True or False?

I am one of those weird people who loved tests in school. When I was in journalism school, we were required to read five newspapers a day and on any given day, there would be a pop quiz. I still read the newspaper as if there might be a quiz.

Here's a little true or false quiz for the day:

I don't take people for granted.

I don't treat strangers with more kindness than my own family.

I apologize easily and sincerely.

I abide by my moral code.

I say "I love you" often.

I don't raise my voice in anger.

I laugh with abandon.

I pay my bills on time.

I treasure my friends and make sure that they know it.

I'm not afraid to bargain.

I'm not afraid to don a swimsuit.

I treat my health and my body with respect.

I do not let bad experiences harden my heart.

I try to learn something new every day.

I treasure tradition and am also open to new adventures.

I speak, or am learning, a second language.

I cry when I feel like it.

I wish I could tell you I answered "true" to all of these. That would be false. For instance, I speak a mean version of Pig Spanish -- a combination of Spanish, Portuguese and English.

Now I'm not sure if this is a quiz or a guide to things I want to do better.

A glimpse

I've recently had a glimpse of a few things:

I broke my toe and then yesterday managed to mangle the rest of my left foot. Handicap bars have become very important to me. I am glimpsing oldieville and I don't like it.

The husband is working on some different assignments. This involves asking me to type things, set up computer documents and being prepared for him to bop in and out during the day. I am not emotionally equipped for this. The oldies were together 24/7. This is not my plan with any person on the planet.

My father had a health scare and thankfully it has been resolved. For a moment, I saw the little girl who reaches for her daddy's hand and experienced the fear of him not reaching back. We sat in church yesterday and we held hands.

My aunt, who sings in the choir, began rolling her eyes when someone was speaking too long. I had a glimpse of Wild Bill.

I took a long, hard look in the mirror yesterday. (It was easy to do because I was crawling in my closet and could not escape.) I did not see my mother's beauty, but I caught a glimpse. I did not see my Aunt Connie's artistic talent, but there was a blip. I did not identify with Aunt Judy's ability to make us all laugh, but occasionally that comes through in me. I do not have my Aunt Cess' talent for tolerance. I do not have her writing talents. But, I see her in me.

Inspiration comes in all forms. You might need a nudge, a blip or a reminder. Or, you might need to look in the mirror and see a glimpse of what you could be.

The Jewish Woman in the United Methodist Church

There's a woman in my church and to say she is involved is to do her a disservice. We've been acquaintances for years -- we've both been involved in media and marketing, we have some mutual friends, etc. Our paths have crossed often.

She's on church committees. She might be handing out the bulletin one week and passing the collection plate the next. (I have never done these things.)

When she began showing up in church a few years ago, I was mildly shocked. She was dating a man who attended our church and whose family has been there a lot longer than my family. I said to my mother, "I thought she was Jewish."

She is. But she has embraced this little church. She works for it. In some ways, she married into it. Lots of couples who have different religions go their separate ways. Instead, she chose to be inclusive and included.

The reporter in me is curious. Does it feel funny when we take communion? Do you feel embraced? (I hope she does.) Do you go to Temple and pray for guidance or do you pray for forgiveness for having a foot in both camps?

I have no preconceived notions. I have a lot of admiration.

A Note from the Dog

Unfortunately for Houseboy, the nickname has stuck.

But lucky for me, I don't even have to call him. I know when he's in the neighborhood. The maniac dog starts moaning and groaning. She destroys window sills trying to find him and wishing for him to come over.

Today is Houseboy's birthday. Gabby is wishing him happy 29th! Or whatever.

Thank a Veteran

The oldies served in WWII. The husband and his brother served in Vietnam. I think we forget to remind children and grandchildren of this sacrifice.

If you were able to go to your house of worship without government intervention, you should thank a veteran.

If you cast your vote in the election last week without fear of repercussion, thank a veteran.

If you feel free to fly a flag or burn a flag without going to prison, thank a veteran.

If you own a gun or would spend your life trying to rid the world of guns -- that is your right. Thank a veteran.

If you get into a political conversation over lunch or in a taxi, you need not fear. You're entitled to your opinion. Someone fought and many died for your right to free speech. Thank a veteran.

On election day, I voted and then started my routine errands. In my usual hurry, I nearly collided with an African American man trying to maneuver his cane and the shopping cart. (I'm a sucker for oldies) We were both wearing our "I Vote, I Count" stickers. Somehow, we ventured into a conversation about military experience. Turns out he was in the army during WWII. He whipped out his wallet to show me photos.

I said, "I have many people in my family who are like you."

He said, "Black people?"

I said, "Probably ... but I really meant people who have served our country."

Tuesday is Veteran's Day. I salute all of those who fought for our rights.

Olan Mills

Do you remember when everyone had their photo taken at Olan Mills? It was like buying jeans at Sears -- a given. It seems kind of quaint in this digital age.

I'm struck by the fact that they allowed you to bring your pet -- that's my childhood dog, Candy, in 1975. They allowed you to bring your signs -- that's part of my college gang circa 1982.

A few years ago, the baby and I had our photo taken at church. You guessed correctly -- Olan Mills.

Domain Names

I like to own things, especially anything that has my name attached to it. I own my domain name for my personal name and my company name. Frankly, I think everyone should. A couple of years ago I considered buying domain names for my parents and immediate family as a Christmas gift. It proved impractical but now I wish I had done it. Many that I investigated are no longer available.

Occasionally, you'll read a story about some person who buys up domain names that have the potential to be very lucrative. It's like an Internet hedge fund. They're betting that someone will want that domain enough to buy them out -- for big bucks. I wonder how many people tried to buy Obama.com (or .net or .org) a couple of years ago.

I've shared a couple of logos and email boxes which makes me incredibly nervous. I used to say I'm not good at sharing. The startling revelation to me is that I am excellent at it. If you ask it of me and it's within my power, I will give it.

Animal

What do people do in college? With the baby in midst of his sophomore year, I'm balancing asking about grades and asking about the fraternity. I remember the days and I'm trying to avoid being intrusive. He's grown. His morals are set. But he will push the limit, as most of us did. Frankly, I don't trust anybody who has never tried to get away with something.

The photo above is Animal. My boyfriend and first husband lived with him. I knew him first and he was introduced to me with this name. He used to talk us into insane stuff -- let's all go to Skinema West! He would walk through our dorm floor and shout "Taco Bell!" Some of us climbed out of our lofts and said "Yes, I could use a taco."

Lately I've been thinking about my college friends. I've lost touch with him but I get occasional updates from others.

His name is Steve. I did not know this for many years. He's always Animal to me.

What am I Supposed to Learn?

When life throws curves, I was taught to pay attention. It may not be fun but there should be a lesson there. My parents didn't tell me what to do. They would ask, "What are you going to do?"

I'm asking myself this question these days.

In 6th grade, I shared the spelling answers with the student who sat next to me. I was trying to be nice but my report card had "CHEATED" written across it. It was humiliating and although it was 35 years ago, it still gives me shivers.

I've done the corporate thing, the small agency thing and owning my own business. All have provided valuable experience but I'm still not sure what I learned and if I learned enough.

I can maneuver through basic computer programs and I can find my way on the Internet. I can download songs, photos and other images. I can text. I still find myself way behind the learning curve.

Move to Town and Take the Paper

This phrase is one of the husband's favorites. It's applicable in many situations and conversations.

Very little shocks me anymore but I am blown away by the number of people who have recently told me that they don't take the paper. Yes, I realize that many people choose to get their news from television or the Internet. I do too. Yes, I know that many people do not share my compulsion for the printed word. But, I'm talking about people of my own generation and older.

Few people have endless hours of free time. What's going on in your school system? What issues are before the city/county council? Did your team win? The answers about local issues should be found in your local paper.

A hot cup of coffee and reading the paper is my favorite part of the day.

Things I don't know

I still don't know what tomato gravy is. My assumption is that it is some sort of stewed tomatoes. Do you put it over potatoes? Rice? Noodles? Biscutis? All I know is that my cousin keeps threatening to come here and force feed it to me. I can vomit on command with the words "tomato" and "gravy" in the same sentence.

I don't know why people are mean to each other.

I don't know why that woman on the Smucker's jar stopped smoking at 97-years old and now we're saluting her 106th birthday. Meanwhile, we're mourning a 2-year old victim of abuse or neglect.

I don't know why some 45-year old women are starting their families and others are raising their grandchildren.

I don't know why our ears, noses and feet are the parts of our bodies that continue to grow as we age. I would pick some different parts.

Steps

When someone asks if I have children, I say yes. Although I am a stepmother (a term I loathe and avoid,) I choose to focus on the second half of the word. Mothering comes in many forms. It may be a secondary relationship in the eyes of some people but that’s a waste of a lot of love.

Odds are that you will deal with it. Even if you are one of the lucky people who marry for life and raise your biological children, you are not immune. One of those children may date or marry someone with a child. Or, your sibling will show up at the next gathering with a ready-made family.

I was introduced to this concept early. Neither of my parents was raised by their birth mother. One was blessed with a woman who considered it an honor. The other spent his childhood feeling secondary.

If you’re a step-anything, don’t show favoritism to the real children versus the stepchildren. Make a choice to step it up.

Who?

Unlike me, my mother stresses and over exerts herself when she is having company. She spends more time scrubbing in one day than I do in a month. Okay, a year. I chase the biggest dust bunnies, clean bathrooms and hope people will consume enough wine to not notice the rest.

Over the weekend, she was preparing for some guests and I could tell she was getting stressed. I offered to come over and help her clean. (My sister, of course, routinely makes this offer.)

Later she was telling my father about our conversation, "Sheri said she would come over and help me clean."

He replied, "Sheri who?"

Miranda Rights

As careful as I am, somehow I still manage to annoy with my writing. There's a little secret part of me that revels in knowing that you might recognize yourself or pull up a memory.

This article was in one of my writer's magazines. To paraphrase: If we shared an experience, I'm allowed to write about it. If you told me about it, I'm allowed to write about it. If I overheard you talking about it, it's free game. Of course, this does not mean I can use your name.

But I am starting to make people nervous with my pen and cocktail napkin.

Giving Up the Keys

I'm convinced this was the breaking point for the Belle. When she started mowing over the mailbox and parking the car in the front yard, we had to act.

Driving is a privilege, not a right. I've given this lecture to teenagers and I've given it to oldies.

I admire people who can say, "You are driving. Here are my keys"

China and crystal

If there is a fire or a natural disaster, what would you grab? Other than the obvious of getting your family and pets to safety, most people choose photos or other collectibles.

I want my china and crystal. I want the bowls my grandmother and Aunt Judy gave me. I have an obscene and bizarre attachment to my dishes. The Old Country Roses collection is my favorite. Second to that would be my Lenox Christmas collection. I also have a 12-days of Christmas dessert collection. I have a set of plain white china rimmed in gold that I got at Pottery Barn. I have a set of plain white china rimmed in silver that I use whenever somebody feels like polishing the flatware.

As I learned this weekend, lots of people have duplicate photos of our family and friends.

I would go for my dishes. And, of course, my laptop.

I do realize someone is now going to think I am obsessed with possessions. Not really -- just dishes.

Clean Up on Aisle Four

When you're in the grocery store and you hear over the loud speaker, "Clean up in aisle four," you probably think it's some toddler running wild. No. It's probably me.

I'm renaming my life. I'm Aisle Four.

I used to be organized but now a clean-up is needed. I've got to stop looking for vital information on scraps of paper.

I've got to clean up my attitude. Right now, people are avoiding Aisle Four.

I've got to gain some weight. (I know that is irritating to those of you who struggle with losing pounds. Trust me, a struggle is a struggle on either end of the spectrum.)

I've got to declutter this house. Aisle four has permeated every room. I used to blame a lot of this on the oldies but lately the husband has developed a bizarre attachment to the shredder and I'm shuffling little scraps of paper from room to room. Truthfully, I don't mind. It makes me think of the oldies. But I tend to run around with a broom or a vacuum.

Rolling the Dice

It's easier to get into trouble than to get out of it.

Weren't we all taught this as children? I was. Of course, it didn't stop me from occasionally rolling the dice and risking the repercussions. This is one of those lessons we were supposed to learn early.

Many households are in trouble -- so much trouble that they may not have a household. Banks are holding onto money like a squirrel that found the last walnut. The $750 billion, trillion, gazillion government bailout is shaky and not working yet. At some point, these numbers stop making sense to me.

I'm over self-indulgent children and I include myself. I'm over leveraging my future and yours because our government chose to roll the dice.

My Editor

In another attempt at blatant self-promotion, I will share that I have been invited to join the blog staff of our local newspaper. (www.indystar.com/intouch)

When I was in journalism school, editing was a dose of empowerment and a dose of fear. I could glide through the day on a compliment of a well composed sentence. I could put my head in the pillowcase over a typo.

I love having an editor. I'm trying not to drive her crazy. I will learn when to make my case and when to shut my mouth. She will learn when to ignore me.

As they said in Casablanca, "This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

I've had teachers, editors, bosses and more. My favorite editor is the one I call and say, "Hi Mom. What do you think?"

Horoscopes

I don't believe in horoscopes any more than I believe in Nostradamus' ability to predict the future. Yet, I read them and I often go "Whoa!" I also read the husband's.

Today my horoscope was:
You can mourn over recent losses, but you're starting to realize that there is too much living to do and you simply don't have the time.

This was jarring to me on several levels. First of all, I've been enjoying quite the pity party for myself. Then, I will admit to some startling opportunities in my mix. They may pan out-- they may not, but they are there for the plucking.

Time is something we all juggle.

I'll stick with prayer and some hard work. But, I'll still glimpse at my horoscope.

Missing Halloween

My neighborhood is filled with people similar to us -- empty nesters. Almost all the children of this small circle have grown. In our old house, we used to get oodles of trick-or-treaters. In this house, we usually get one or two.

We used to attend Halloween parties and/or golf outings. I can't count the many costumes I've made or adapted.

I miss Halloween. Maybe this year I'll don a hooded sweatshirt and sit at the kitchen table eating my bag of candy. I'll be Hangdog a/k/a the Unabomber.

Blank

Some writers admit to writer's block. This rarely happens to me. My brain is wired in a different way and I'm the one you see writing on cocktail napkins. I'm the one with pen and paper on every surface of this house. I think of the blank computer screen as an invitation.

Today, I am blank. My mind is racing and if I wrote about everything soaring through it, I would have to sit here through Christmas.

Shut My Mouth

This is me in college. Apparently, I'm channelling Wild Bill. I have not done it well. I have not learned to shut my mouth.

Aging is supposed to bring wisdom. I'm definitely wiser but I'm also balancing when to tackle the issue and when to let it go.

I'm still learning that lesson.

Dogs on Meds

Apparently, it's a new trend to put your pet on daily tranquilizers. Maybe they jump or bark too much. Maybe they suffer from "separation anxiety."

Maybe we're all getting lazy.

Some people have legitimate needs for mood-altering substances. In college, we called this, "Friday night." Some children may have autism, ADD or ADHD. But what if we tried some alternatives before drugging them for life?

My maniac dog could probably do well with some drugs. Meanwhile, we've got a generation of children who can't face a test, a job interview or a nervous situation without a pharmacy.

Do You Wait?

When I was in college. the standard rule was to wait 15 minutes. If the prof didn't show up, you were free to leave. (This was before mass texting and the invention of cell phones.)

I am compulsively punctual. Unless there is a disaster, I will be on time or early. I will sit in the parking lot. I will sit in the waiting room. And yes, I will get antsy. I will get an attitude -- "So your time is more important than mine?" That's probably not the best attitude so I squelch it and say, "Oh, it's okay." The other day, I waited more than 30 minutes for a scheduled meeting.

It is definitely not fine with me.

Sometimes you have no choice. You are at the mercy of the person in control. This can be a job interview or a plumber. Maybe it's waiting for a return phone call or test results. Waiting is painful. People who do it as a control mechanism turn me off.

Water and Fire

You know my obsession with water. Give me a lake, a pool, an ocean, a bathtub ... I'll take a swim. Now it's autumn and there's a chill in the air. It's time for fires.

If I like something, I want "two of 'em." It's a trait I was born with. Selfish? Yes. But the giving part of my personality wants everyone else to have one too.

We bought a fireplace for the oldie's room. Our bedroom also has a gas fireplace. Our living room has an old fashioned, wood-burning fireplace that I enjoy hauling wood to keep it going. I consider it two minutes of camping.

I grew up without a fireplace in my home. I was very confused about how Santa was going to shimmy down the chimney when we didn't have one. Lucky for my parents, I was gullible enough to buy whatever story they told me. Even when they broke the bad news, I knew I was lucky. I don't need some fat man at the North Pole -- I lucked out with them. (I still like the fantasy.)

We also have one of those fire pits on our patio. On my best days I can sit in front of a fire and then swim in the tub.

My Girl

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day.
When it's cold outside I've got the month of May.
I guess you'd say
What can make me feel this way?
My girl (my girl, my girl)
Talkin' 'bout my girl (my girl).

I've got so much honey the bees envy me.
I've got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees.
I guess you'd say
What can make me feel this way?
My girl (my girl, my girl)
Talkin' 'bout my girl (my girl).

I don't need no money, fortune, or fame.
I've got all the riches baby one man can claim.
I guess you'd say
What can make me feel this way?
My girl (my girl, my girl)
Talkin' 'bout my girl (my girl).

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day
with my girl.
I've even got the month of May
with my girl.

This is an old Temptations song that we all know. I'm sure it's meant to be a love song between a man and a woman but I'm dedicating it to my girl.

She's the one who has a separate ring tone for me. She's the one who answers my phone calls in the middle of the night. She's the one that I can say "to the grave" and she knows I am serious. She's the one that can make fun of my middle-aged pooch and still make me laugh.

She's the one that's allowed to open my mail.

We both have bad days and this has not been a great year for either of us. In the midst, we've swapped some clothes, swapped some stories and laughed. just like old times.

I called her this morning and said, "I have to tell you something horrible I did." Without missing a beat, she said, "Tell me. It's to the grave."

I'm still standing on her shoulders.

Pressed Jeans

There was a period where pressed jeans were "in." Probably the 70s.

Now jeans run the gamut from skinny to "in the hood" look. The husband and I both own many pairs of jeans. I have a huge bias about men in pressed jeans. I think they look stupid. I think it shouts, "I'm trying too hard."

This is a running joke with us. I do laundry and smooth them out. I hang them up. The husband comments, "There isn't a crease in them."

There won't be unless he follows the breadcrumbs to the ironing board or the dry cleaners.

The Cane

This photo was taken at our friend Mome's 90th birthday party. I'm sorry the oldies didn't get to have a 90th birthday.

On good days, the Belle did not need her cane. Toward the end, the Captain used a walker but we knew it was a good day when all he wanted was the cane. Just like their personalities, her cane was bright and festive. His was solid wood -- no flash.

Do you remember the end of the movie "Miracle on 34th Street?" Natalie Wood finds Kris Kringle's cane in the house he has directed her to see.

This morning I was in the garage and I looked up to see the Captain's cane propped against the wall. It has to have been there for at least eight months.

There are miracles everywhere and sometimes they are simple enough to jar you. I don't think the Captain/Unabomber/Hangdog was Kris Kringle. I do think I was reminded to spend some time thinking about him today.

Weight and Mothers

This is an observation and most definitely NOT a dig at mothers.

During my childhood, several of my friend's mothers struggled with their weight, including my own mother.

There's an old saying, "If you want to know what your wife will look like in 20 years, look at her mother." I wish that were true. I would be beautiful.

But I stood next to two friends last weekend while we celebrated our childhood and it struck me that we were the smallest women in the yard. One has birthed two children, one has birthed three. One of my mother's best jokes is she's still trying to lose her pregnancy weight -- I'm 45.

Sometimes we choose to emulate our mothers. I try. Right after, "What would Jesus do?," I ask myself, "What would my mother tell me to do?" Other times, we go to the opposite extreme. It's a little like saying, "I'm not you and you can't make me."

A Doctor in the House

We've had a few brave visitors during the husband's surgery incarceration. Last night, I came out of another room to find our doctor in the kitchen. (Not the surgeon, the internist.) And to think there are people who don't believe in answered prayers.

Since I don't have "M.D." after my name, my opinions about medical and surgical expectations are met with a certain amount of skepticism. It's nice to have some back up.

Plus, the golf talk was a great distraction and I'm not good at it.

Unplugged

I am married to a very tough guy. (He was an Army Ranger after all.) But having his sinuses packed is driving him nuts. He's handled it like a trooper but he is ready for the unplugging.

Today is the day. He has asked me five times about his appointment time. Our appointment isn't for about five hours but he wants to go now. We have the first appointment after our doctor gets out of surgery so we are not going early but this logic does not seem to register.

He doesn't want logic; he wants relief. Plus, he's been trapped with me for days. I'm pretty sure he wants relief from that too.

Matzo Ball Soup

In preparation for the husband's surgery, I reminded him that he will need to keep something in his stomach to avoid any side effects from pain meds. Crazy me, I asked what he might want us to have on hand.

"Patsy would've brought me matzo ball soup."

Yes, she would have. It would've been on our front porch before we returned home.

They had a very cantankerous relationship so it cracks me up that he wants her soup. Of course, I don't know how to make it. I can make chicken noodle soup or chicken and dumplings. I can make a mean chicken pot pie.

I called her husband. "Did you save any of Patsy's recipes?" Of course not, they were all in her head. I called her daughter. She talked me through it but ultimately, she is as clueless as we all are -- add this to taste, season to taste, etc.

I made the soup. It's not as good as Patsy's but we're enjoying it.

I used to make meals for her too. The last thing I made her was chicken enchiladas.

Food connects us all.

When is it ok to tell?

When someone tells me something in confidence, I keep the secret. Oh, I've messed up a few times but mainly because I didn't realize it was supposed to be private. I have hung onto some nuggets with my tongue clamped between my teeth and a serious need for duct tape.

I usually ask if it's OK to share with the husband. If the answer is no, I don't do it. If the secret is coming from the husband, I usually ask if I can tell my parents. (I have to have someone to talk to.) I also ask, "Who else knows?" I'm big on perspective of the whole picture.

My one rule about secrets is this:
If someone is endangering his or her life, health or sanity, all bets are off.

I don't keep a lot of secrets about myself. But, if something is really festering, I may choose not to talk about it for awhile. People know to let me brood -- I will tell them in due time.

I was talking to a friend the other day and she made an off-hand remark: "That's why I never disclose anything." She doesn't. I understand the fear of getting hurt or embarrassed but sometimes sharing is the quickest road to recovery -- even when the advice isn't what you want to hear.

Big Girl Panties

Every once in a while, some negative comments come on the blog. They usually have to do with me being self-involved. Guilty. Last time I checked, this is the only life I get and if I'm not involved in myself, who's going to be?

The comments don't bother me. I like it that someone has bothered to read the blog and disagree. It does crack me up when the troops rally in my defense.

Like the saying goes, "Put on your Big Girl Panties and Deal with It." I do.

If you live a life with no fears and no worries, we do not occupy the same planet.

If you've never had an evil thought or lashed out with mean words, you are better than I.

If you are interested in a glimpse of an ordinary life that deals with aging, children, marriage, childhood and various topical issues, please keep reading.

If you are living in some Utopia, you might want to Google "Saints" or "Eden" or "Perfection." I'm sure there are blogs for you people. I hope you will still read this one to see how the rest of us live.

Back to Fantasyland

The doctor who performed the husband's surgery yesterday is a friend of ours. In fact, he and the husband were on a golf trip last week and managed to win a trophy as partners.

Obsession does not begin to describe the husband's passion for golf. During their trip, he kept asking the surgeon, "I can play the weekend after surgery, can't I?" Prior to surgery (no drugs yet,) he told me he had booked a golf game for the weekend. Trying to remain calm -- the man is headed to surgery -- I explained that he is nuts. And not just a little.

About that time, the nurse came in to check vitals or whatever and he started talking to her about playing golf this weekend.

Her response was, "Well I'm going to dim these lights so you can go back to fantasyland."

It's What Moms Do Best

The husband had surgery yesterday and he is fine. Well, he's in pain and cranky but all went according to plan.

My mom was there. I know she had genuine concern for the husband but she was mainly there to hold my hand and make sure I was okay.

We sat together and did the crossword puzzle. We read our books. When I started getting antsy, she held my hand again. As she pointed out, "If the Belle was still with us, she would be here."

Sometimes it frightens me how much I depend on the emotional support of my parents.

Nervous Times

The economy is a mess. I realize this is not news to you but it's scary. All of us are feeling the pinch in different ways.

The election is less than a month away. I try to be an independent thinker and study the candidates and the issues that I care about. I'm still nervous about both teams.

The husband is having surgery tomorrow. I am not worried about the actual surgery; I'm worried that he will be trapped with me for at least three days. We are used to coffee and crosswords in the morning and evenings together. Even when we go on vacation, he plays golf and I go to the beach.

Some years are better than others. We lost the Belle in January and the Captain in March.

I don't need to get on a treadmill; I'm pacing enough to get my workout done.

Quips and Quotes

With due respect, I will not use any names. But I fell asleep last night thinking of someone saying:


"That was the night he got her pregnant."
"They were nice enough to cuff me in front."
"I jumped off that roof."
"I never used the fire extinguisher, I was just in the car."
"Now I have to pay for that hair."
"The eastside girl came out and I was not taking any more."
"I punched you in the stomach."

I hope the children of that neighborhood and the grandchildren who visit regularly have a safe and healthy childhood. I also hope they get to experience the magic.

Homecomings

My sister and I went through the Christmas decorations yesterday. No blood was shed. In fact, we didn't even have to arm wrestle. We were in unison on several items as we turned to my mother and said, "You have to keep this." I took a few things. Like I really need more decorations.

Then I started getting antsy. I wanted to shout, "It's time to go to the neighborhood party!" I did not want to miss a minute.

Everyone should have an occasional day that includes hours and hours of laugh-out-loud fun. I think I've filled my quota for the year. Even my mother stayed until the bitter end. She must have been enjoying our antics and I know she enjoyed the stories. I liked it best when she would say, "Sheri, do you remember so and so?" With complete disrespect, I said, "No Mom, I only went to grade school, middle school and high school with this person. Why don't you introduce us?"

Then the photos started circulating. The stories got a lot more interesting. (That's the great thing about this age --what are they going to do, ground us?)

The neighborhood is right behind a naval plant. Well, I don't know what they make there now but when I was growing up (Cold War Years,) it was all very hush-hush. As far as I know, none of us are radioactive. The military underestimated a group of kids who ran along that strip. As we sat behind my friends' homes last night, the fence (with barbed wire) is still there. Many of us said, "I've scaled that fence." One said, "I could still do it." Thankfully, level heads prevailed.

We danced. We sang. We ate well. We told stories that no parent should ever have to hear.

I could write forever about this. Trust me, there's more to come. But I have another homecoming. The husband comes back today. He missed a great party.

Salmon, Mushrooms and Sushi

For someone who is pretty cautious about portions, there are very few foods I won't eat. In fact, I can't think of one.

Like most of you, I was raised with home cookin'. I loved it and I still love it. But I grew up and was lucky enough to travel a bit. I married a man who is adventuresome with food. I found out that I absolutely love foods that were never part of my childhood:

Salmon -- I could eat it every day. Blackened, poached, grilled -- doesn't matter.
Mushrooms -- Skip the steak, give me the mushrooms.
Seafood -- I love oysters, mussels, clams and almost all sushi. Ahi tuna is one of my favorite meals.

Many years ago, the husband and I were in NYC with my parents. My father (who would get the certificate for "Best Eater") took risks and ate whatever the husband recommended. My mother did a great imitation of Samantha on "Bewitched" and wrinkled her nose. I perplex her. I've been doing it for 45 years.

The baby went through a phase when he was young where he would announce foods he didn't eat. Today this grown-up kid eats whatever is put in front of him. Plus, he could eat his weight in sushi.

The Party

The husband is out of town and I am so sorry he will miss the party of the season. It's not black tie. In fact, most participants (including me) will be in jeans and t-shirts.

Other than paying for fried chicken, I'm pretty sure no one will ask anyone for money.

This weekend, we will gather in my childhood neighborhood. I will greet people who helped raise me and I will see people who have been there my entire life. I will laugh with people that I have played tag, hide and seek and spin the bottle. I will see children -- now grown -- that I used to babysit.

I love tradition. I am comforted by routine. I love it that my parents still live in my childhood home. It looks completely different and my room is no longer my room but the heart warming feeling of walking in there is still there. I love it that the same neighbors still live next door and across the street.

I attend lots of parties. Everything from black tie fundraisers to simple dinner parties with friends and I know what to wear and which persona to present. Tomorrow, I'm going to the party of the season and I get to just be me.

Big Butt Judy

My parents frequent the same restaurants and are familiar with many waitresses. The other day, I was killing time before a lunch meeting so I hung out with them while they ate. My mother filled me in on their waitress and some of her many life trials. Then she said, "Your dad calls her Big Butt Judy.'" (Not to her face -- or her butt.)

They have a communication style that I envy. They speak in code and they get each other. I'm a little piece of it because I do get their humor. I also get the logic. If he refers to Big Butt Judy, my mother immediately knows to whom he is referring, instead of maybe her sister or anyone else they know named Judy.

They call me names too but they do it with great humor and a lot of love.

I have met Big Butt Judy and the nickname is appropriate.

Pastor Appreciation Month

Someone in our church reminded the congregation that October is "Pastor Appreciation Month." Here I thought it was just Breast Cancer Awareness month and Stock Market Crash month.

But, I am well trained. I sent him a note acknowledging his contributions and my gratitude.

Considering my spotty attendance in church since he became our minister, I'm pretty sure he'll open it and ask around, "Does anyone know who she is?"

Tests for Oldies

Dave Barry (The Miami Herald) is one of my favorite comical writers. In fact, if I need a giggle, I reread "The Book of Bad Songs."

I hate those segments the morning shows constantly do about health. I'm having coffee and cereal -- I don't want to discuss lumps and tests. I hate these "awareness months." Aren't we all aware of breast cancer, colon cancer, heart disease all year? Is there someone who has not had this touch his or her life?

But, a friend sent this to me and it is worth sharing.

Dave Barry's Colonoscopy Journal:>
> ... I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to make an
> appointment for a colonoscopy. A few days later, in his office, Andy
> showed me a color diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears
> to go all over the place, at one point passing briefly through
> Minneapolis .
>
> Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough,
> reassuring and patient manner. I nodded thoughtfully, but I didn't
> really hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, quote,
> 'HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!'
>
> I left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a
> prescription for a product called 'MoviPrep,' which comes in a box
> large enough to hold a microwave oven. I will discuss MoviPrep in
> detail later; for now suffice it to say that we must never allow it
> to fall into the hands of America 's enemies.
>
> I spent the next several days productively sitting around being
> nervous.. Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my
> preparation. In accordance with my instructions, I didn't eat any
> solid food that day; all I had was chicken broth, which is basically
> water, only with less flavor.
>
> Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep. You mix two packets of
> powder together in a one-liter plastic jug, then you fill it with
lukewarm
> water. For those unfamiliar with the metric system, a liter is about 32
> gallons.)
>
> Then you have to drink the whole jug. This takes about an hour,
> because MoviPrep tastes - and here I am being kind - like a mixture of
> goat
> spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.
>
> The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a
> great sense of humor, state that after you drink it, 'a loose watery
bowel
> movement may result.' This is kind of like saying that after you
> jump off your roof, you may experience contact with the ground.
>
> MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to be too graphic,
> here, but: Have you ever seen a space-shuttle launch? This is
> pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with you as the shuttle. There are
> times when you wish
> the commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined

> to the
> bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And then,
> when you figure you mus t be totally empty, you have to drink
> another liter of MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell,
> your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food that you
> have not even eaten yet.
>
> After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep. The next
> morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous. Not only
> was I worried about the procedure, but I had been experiencing
> occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, 'What
> if I spurt on Andy?' How do you apologize to a friend for something
> like that? Flowers would not be enough.
>
> At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I
> understood and totally agreed with whatever the heck the forms said..
> Then they led me to a room full of other colonoscopy people, where I
> went inside a little curtained space and took off my clothes and put
> on one of those hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the
> kind that, when you put it on, makes you feel even more naked than
> when you are actually naked.
>
> Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left
> hand. Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie was very good, and
> I was already lying down. Eddie also told me that some people put
> vodka in their MoviPrep.
>
> At first I was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this, but then I
> pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make it
> to the bathroom, so you were staggering around in full Fire Hose
> Mode. You would have no choice but to burn your house.
>
> When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room,
> where Andy was waiting with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did
> not see the 17,000-foot tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there
> somewhere. I was seriously nervous at this point. Andy had me roll
> over on my left side, and the anesthesiologist began hooking
> something up to the needle in my hand. There was music playing in
> the room, and I realized that the song was 'Dancing Queen' by Abba.
> I remarked to Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing
> during this particular procedure, 'Dancing Queen' has to be the
> least appropriate. 'You want me to turn it up?' said Andy, from
> somewhere behind me.
>
> 'Ha ha,' I said. And then it was time,the moment I had been dreading
> for more than a decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself,
> because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail, exactly what it
> was like.
>
> I have no idea. Really. I slept through it. One moment, Abba was
> shrieking 'Dancing Queen! Feel the beat from the tambourine ...' and
> the next moment, I was back in the other room, waking up in a very
> mellow mood. Andy was looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I
> felt excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me that it
> was all over, and that my colon had passed with flying colors. I
> have never been prouder of an internal organ.
>
> ABOUT THE WRITER
> Dave Barry is a Pulitzer Prize-winning humor columnist for the Miami
> Herald.
>
> Colonoscopies are no joke, but these comments during exams were
> quite humorous...... A physician claimed that the following are
> actual comments made by his patients (predominately male) before or
> after their colonoscopies:
>
> 1. 'Take it easy, Doc. You're boldly going where no man has gone
> before!
>
> 2. 'Find Amelia Earhart yet?'
>
> 3. 'Can you hear me NOW?'
>
> 4. 'Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?'
>
> 5. 'You know, in Arkansas , we're now legally married.'
>
> 6. 'Any sign of the trapped miners, Chief?'
>
> 7. 'You put your left hand in, you take your left hand out...'
>
> 8. 'Hey! Now I know how a Muppet feels!'
>
> 9. 'If your hand doesn't fit, you must quit!'>
>
> 10. 'Hey Doc, let me know if you find my dignity.'
>
> 11. 'You used to be an executive at Enron, didn't you?'
>
> 12. 'God, now I know why I am not gay.'
>
> 13. 'How far up did you go? I now have a sore throat.'
>
> And the best one of all..
>
> 14. 'Could you write a note for my wife saying that my head is not
> up there?