Sometimes I get jealous of the husband and the many places he has lived. Other than college, I have lived in this city my entire life.
The daughter now lives in Texas. The baby is still in his first year of college but I have no doubt he will venture off. One part of my heart applauds this; the other part dreads it. We encourage them to have their adventures but the white underbelly part of me is always thinking, "Please come home."
The husband and I have made choices. Some right; some wrong. We've both turned down promotions because the caveat was relocating. Eventually we may choose to downsize and the husband may get his condo in a warm weather city.
But I am parochial and a creature of habit. This is my village.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Chasing Things
This morning I spent more than 30 minutes chasing the maniac dog through the neighborhood. I did not realize her battery had expired on her wireless fence system. Of course, this is her favorite game and I am reminded that I am not the boss of her; I'm a litter mate.
Then, I chased down some information for a client.
Phone calls were made and documents were sent to chase down some closure on the Belle's paperwork.
Yesterday the husband and I visited Hangdog in the Home. I chased down his clean laundry and put it away.
Lots of conversations involve describing a situation to my mother. And vice versa. Often, we will ask each other, "Is that the right word?" If we don't know, we chase it down.
Then, I chased down some information for a client.
Phone calls were made and documents were sent to chase down some closure on the Belle's paperwork.
Yesterday the husband and I visited Hangdog in the Home. I chased down his clean laundry and put it away.
Lots of conversations involve describing a situation to my mother. And vice versa. Often, we will ask each other, "Is that the right word?" If we don't know, we chase it down.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Spay and Neuter Day
I get a little tired of the "Cause of the day/month." Right now it's Black History Month. Next will be Colon Cancer Month, Lung Cancer Month, etc. These are all good causes; I just don't need it shoved down my throat.
Yet, here I go ...
Today is Spay and Neuter day. I feel a little like Bob Barker. "Spay and neuter your pets!" He used to end his sign off on The Price is Right with this saying.
Pedigree dog food is running a series of TV commercials that send me over the edge. Homeless dogs, abandoned pets, etc. They give a portion of their proceeds to appropriate kennels and humane societies. I've been involved in marketing for most of my adult life so I know how difficult it is to get someone to change brands or change behavior.
My spoiled rotten dog doesn't know it but we're changing dog foods.
Yet, here I go ...
Today is Spay and Neuter day. I feel a little like Bob Barker. "Spay and neuter your pets!" He used to end his sign off on The Price is Right with this saying.
Pedigree dog food is running a series of TV commercials that send me over the edge. Homeless dogs, abandoned pets, etc. They give a portion of their proceeds to appropriate kennels and humane societies. I've been involved in marketing for most of my adult life so I know how difficult it is to get someone to change brands or change behavior.
My spoiled rotten dog doesn't know it but we're changing dog foods.
A Trained Killer
Until the Belle died, I lived with three military people. The military regimen is about as foreign to me as getting a tattoo or jumping out of an airplane.
Military stories make me weepy. I can hardly watch or read them.
My cousin, John, was in town a few years ago. The husband, the parents and I all went out to dinner. (This was before we had possession of the oldies.)
During our conversation, the husband talked about his military experience and his training as an Army Ranger. (It's like the equivalent of a Navy Seal.) John is a keen communicator so he kept the questions and stories flowing. Later, my parents commented that they knew about his military history but had not heard the embellishments of his Ranger days.
So I asked Big Daddy, "Why didn't you tell my parents about being a Ranger?"
He said, "I wasn't sure how to word it. I'm a trained killer and I plan to marry your daughter."
For the record, he never killed anyone. Even though he could snap me like a twig, I think he's occasionally afraid of me. The mind can be mightier than brawn. And my mind is twisted like a twig.
Military stories make me weepy. I can hardly watch or read them.
My cousin, John, was in town a few years ago. The husband, the parents and I all went out to dinner. (This was before we had possession of the oldies.)
During our conversation, the husband talked about his military experience and his training as an Army Ranger. (It's like the equivalent of a Navy Seal.) John is a keen communicator so he kept the questions and stories flowing. Later, my parents commented that they knew about his military history but had not heard the embellishments of his Ranger days.
So I asked Big Daddy, "Why didn't you tell my parents about being a Ranger?"
He said, "I wasn't sure how to word it. I'm a trained killer and I plan to marry your daughter."
For the record, he never killed anyone. Even though he could snap me like a twig, I think he's occasionally afraid of me. The mind can be mightier than brawn. And my mind is twisted like a twig.
The Belle Smell
The Belle was a big believer in expensive creams, potions and cosmetics. I feel like I need to call Nordstrom's to apologize for their lack of revenue.
When I bother, my cosmetics and potions come from the drugstore. Usually, my facial cleansing routine is hot water and a washcloth. I have the skin to prove it. If I get really glamorous, I pull out Oil of Olay.
During the dungeon purge, I kept one bottle of expensive face cream of the Belle's. It's working on a couple of levels: my skin looks a little better and it's bringing back memories because every time I put it on, I smell like the Belle.
When I bother, my cosmetics and potions come from the drugstore. Usually, my facial cleansing routine is hot water and a washcloth. I have the skin to prove it. If I get really glamorous, I pull out Oil of Olay.
During the dungeon purge, I kept one bottle of expensive face cream of the Belle's. It's working on a couple of levels: my skin looks a little better and it's bringing back memories because every time I put it on, I smell like the Belle.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Confession
The Washington Post recently reported that 44 percent of Americans have switched or dropped their religious affiliations.
Methodist is my background but I am equally comfortable in the Catholic church, an Episcopalian church or a Lutheran church. The Baptists freak me out a bit but I understand we're all worshiping the same God.
I need to correct an earlier post. The Belle got annoyed with the Catholic church and joined an Episcopalian church. (I said Presbyterian; I was wrong.)
In high school, I ran around with kids from the neighborhood. Some were Catholic and sometimes I went to church with them. In college, most of my friends were Catholic. So, I used to go to confession and mass on Saturday night. (That way your soul was pure and you could still go to the party.) The priest understood that I was not a member but he still took my confessions and gave me the instructions to do better.
Eventually I married a FARC. (Fallen Away Roman Catholic.) My friend and mother of my goddaughters converted to Catholicism and I do my best to attend any service for them.
There is something about unloading your guilt and sins that is purifying and provides a deep breath of relief. I try to do this with Big Daddy but he refuses to put a screen between us and tell me how to handle it. I don't understand why he won't just play along.
The Belle and I used to discuss this. Her father was a Baptist minister and she converted to Catholicism to marry her love. Her boys went through parochial schools and once they were grown, she made a change. She became Episcopalian.
I will be a Methodist for the rest of my life but I do miss confession.
Methodist is my background but I am equally comfortable in the Catholic church, an Episcopalian church or a Lutheran church. The Baptists freak me out a bit but I understand we're all worshiping the same God.
I need to correct an earlier post. The Belle got annoyed with the Catholic church and joined an Episcopalian church. (I said Presbyterian; I was wrong.)
In high school, I ran around with kids from the neighborhood. Some were Catholic and sometimes I went to church with them. In college, most of my friends were Catholic. So, I used to go to confession and mass on Saturday night. (That way your soul was pure and you could still go to the party.) The priest understood that I was not a member but he still took my confessions and gave me the instructions to do better.
Eventually I married a FARC. (Fallen Away Roman Catholic.) My friend and mother of my goddaughters converted to Catholicism and I do my best to attend any service for them.
There is something about unloading your guilt and sins that is purifying and provides a deep breath of relief. I try to do this with Big Daddy but he refuses to put a screen between us and tell me how to handle it. I don't understand why he won't just play along.
The Belle and I used to discuss this. Her father was a Baptist minister and she converted to Catholicism to marry her love. Her boys went through parochial schools and once they were grown, she made a change. She became Episcopalian.
I will be a Methodist for the rest of my life but I do miss confession.
A Deer in the Headlights
This phrase is a pretty accurate description of many people in a panic situation, myself included. Others, like the husband, go into action mode.
After I left my job in the jewelry stand, I moved on to a great job in a drugstore. Sometimes I worked as a cashier but my favorite part was working in the pharmacy. They sent me to classes to become a Pharmacy Tech. (I've never really understood what that means.) We had a very cranky pharmacist but for whatever reason, he liked working with me. I just liked wearing the white coat.
Our drugstore was connected to a grocery store which is not uncommon. The pharmacist discovered that someone was stealing narcotics. I would suspect the oldies but they didn't know me at the time. (I'm kidding!) So, an undercover cop appeared on the scene. As a trained professional, he figured out what was happening -- someone was crawling through the ducts between the grocery store and the drugstore, dropping down and stealing drugs. They (cops) set up a sting operation. I had no clue.
One day I was running to the front of the store to get cash and the criminal was meandering through the store. Undercover cop spotted him and began chasing him through the aisles.
Here's what I remember: Gun drawn by policeman. Yelling to "Get down!" Something registered in my brain that I was between the two of them and one of them was waving a gun. I froze.
After the criminal was apprehended, the undercover cop came up to me and said, "Sheri, I was trying to tell you to get out of the way."
I have tremendous admiration for people who can react appropriately in a scary situation. I am not one of them but someday I plan to join the club.
After I left my job in the jewelry stand, I moved on to a great job in a drugstore. Sometimes I worked as a cashier but my favorite part was working in the pharmacy. They sent me to classes to become a Pharmacy Tech. (I've never really understood what that means.) We had a very cranky pharmacist but for whatever reason, he liked working with me. I just liked wearing the white coat.
Our drugstore was connected to a grocery store which is not uncommon. The pharmacist discovered that someone was stealing narcotics. I would suspect the oldies but they didn't know me at the time. (I'm kidding!) So, an undercover cop appeared on the scene. As a trained professional, he figured out what was happening -- someone was crawling through the ducts between the grocery store and the drugstore, dropping down and stealing drugs. They (cops) set up a sting operation. I had no clue.
One day I was running to the front of the store to get cash and the criminal was meandering through the store. Undercover cop spotted him and began chasing him through the aisles.
Here's what I remember: Gun drawn by policeman. Yelling to "Get down!" Something registered in my brain that I was between the two of them and one of them was waving a gun. I froze.
After the criminal was apprehended, the undercover cop came up to me and said, "Sheri, I was trying to tell you to get out of the way."
I have tremendous admiration for people who can react appropriately in a scary situation. I am not one of them but someday I plan to join the club.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Visiting
Big Daddy and I had a date tonight. We visited Hangdog in the Home. He is still adjusting but we came loaded with candy and stuff for his little dorm frig. I mentioned that today is my father's birthday so I suggested he visit his father and I would go visit mine. To his credit, he said, "Let's do both."
After a visit with hangdog, the husband is in a funny mood. This is a good match with my parents.
We had brownies and coffee. We shared stories, some laughs and some gossip. But my parents are way too healthy and sane for Big Daddy. On the way home he asked me, "Isn't there a hospital, a hospice or an orphanage we need to stop by?"
After a visit with hangdog, the husband is in a funny mood. This is a good match with my parents.
We had brownies and coffee. We shared stories, some laughs and some gossip. But my parents are way too healthy and sane for Big Daddy. On the way home he asked me, "Isn't there a hospital, a hospice or an orphanage we need to stop by?"
Monday, February 25, 2008
Piercings and Tattoos
Considering my fear of unnecessary use of needles, even I'm amazed that I have pierced ears. My mom and I did this little venture together and held each other's hands. (This was back in the day when they stuck a cork behind your earlobe and jabbed it in.) I tried to flee after the first one was done but she was stronger than me. Plus, the whole adventure was my idea.
Needless to say, I do not have a tattoo. It's never going to happen.
I am not a teenager but I seem to know an awful lot of people who have chosen this version of self expression. I can't pick up People Magazine without some 20-year old, 40-year old, 60-year old wearing a gorgeous dress and showing the world her ink work. I turn the page quickly.
I worked in one of those middle-of-the-mall jewelry stands when I was about 15-years old. The only reason I got the job was it required a steady hand with the engraving pen and the owner liked my handwriting.
By then, that ear-piercing gun contraption had been invented and he informed me that I would also be required to perform that task. There was an exchange student at our school and some of my friends brought her in after hours so I could pierce her ears. She said, "Now I am like cow." (For you non-farm people, that's how they used to identify cows -- tag them in the ear.")
I'm very relieved that no one was into tattoos during that time.
Needless to say, I do not have a tattoo. It's never going to happen.
I am not a teenager but I seem to know an awful lot of people who have chosen this version of self expression. I can't pick up People Magazine without some 20-year old, 40-year old, 60-year old wearing a gorgeous dress and showing the world her ink work. I turn the page quickly.
I worked in one of those middle-of-the-mall jewelry stands when I was about 15-years old. The only reason I got the job was it required a steady hand with the engraving pen and the owner liked my handwriting.
By then, that ear-piercing gun contraption had been invented and he informed me that I would also be required to perform that task. There was an exchange student at our school and some of my friends brought her in after hours so I could pierce her ears. She said, "Now I am like cow." (For you non-farm people, that's how they used to identify cows -- tag them in the ear.")
I'm very relieved that no one was into tattoos during that time.
Flaws and All
Growing up, my parents were very appropriate about conversations intended to be between the two adults and conversations that were okay to have with me. But, they did not pretend to be the King and Queen of the Universe. I was allowed to see some flaws and I was encouraged to watch how they were handled.
If you've lived with a spouse for any length of time, you know the flaws and the hot buttons. One of the truest tests and best rewards of marriage is maneuvering the land mines. Or piecing it back together because you can.
If you've lived with oldies, you've seen their flaws. And, they've seen yours. These make for interesting conversations.
If you've raised children, you made decisions every day about how much to divulge and exactly what lesson you might be teaching. And, you've probably tangoed between tough love and coddling. Does anyone ever figure this out?
The Belle was a coddler, even with middle-aged children. But, she could rant and rave. I liked to remind her of how much she coddled Hangdog. That brought out the 'tude. Sometimes the husband is a coddler and I support it. I understand his need to do it.
Lots of people are terrified of revealing their flaws. It's normal; it's humiliating to say, "Here are my disasters." Yet, some of the best lessons are learned from watching someone you love find the bootstraps and pick himself or herself up. It also feels pretty good when someone gives you a hand.
If you've lived with a spouse for any length of time, you know the flaws and the hot buttons. One of the truest tests and best rewards of marriage is maneuvering the land mines. Or piecing it back together because you can.
If you've lived with oldies, you've seen their flaws. And, they've seen yours. These make for interesting conversations.
If you've raised children, you made decisions every day about how much to divulge and exactly what lesson you might be teaching. And, you've probably tangoed between tough love and coddling. Does anyone ever figure this out?
The Belle was a coddler, even with middle-aged children. But, she could rant and rave. I liked to remind her of how much she coddled Hangdog. That brought out the 'tude. Sometimes the husband is a coddler and I support it. I understand his need to do it.
Lots of people are terrified of revealing their flaws. It's normal; it's humiliating to say, "Here are my disasters." Yet, some of the best lessons are learned from watching someone you love find the bootstraps and pick himself or herself up. It also feels pretty good when someone gives you a hand.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Crafts for Grown-Ups
I know girlfriends who have broken up with boyfriends (or husbands) and had a wine and scissor night. You might be able to alter the photos but you cannot alter the past.
I can laugh about it but I could never do it. It doesn't change anything; it doesn't solve anything. It just leaves a big hole.
I can laugh about it but I could never do it. It doesn't change anything; it doesn't solve anything. It just leaves a big hole.
The Love of Music
Before the oldies left for their Christmas vacation in Texas, we discussed gifts. I suggested no gifts. It didn't fly. She wanted to buy the husband a jacket that he would never wear. I spent quite a bit of time trying to talk her out of it.
As you know, they returned from Texas and she went almost immediately to the hospital, then the rehab center, then the hospice. And finally, home to Mississippi.
One of our last conversations was about music. She was about as technologically-savvy as any 84-year old you could meet. In two and one-half years, she amassed a freakishly large CD collection. She might wander in my office as I was downloading something on my iPod. The number of songs it can hold blew her away. The idea of plugging it in a speaker system and using a remote control made her pretty darn excited.
I planned to buy her an iPod for our post-Christmas exchange. I planned to download all of her CDs. Instead, I will probably put them on eBay.
As you know, they returned from Texas and she went almost immediately to the hospital, then the rehab center, then the hospice. And finally, home to Mississippi.
One of our last conversations was about music. She was about as technologically-savvy as any 84-year old you could meet. In two and one-half years, she amassed a freakishly large CD collection. She might wander in my office as I was downloading something on my iPod. The number of songs it can hold blew her away. The idea of plugging it in a speaker system and using a remote control made her pretty darn excited.
I planned to buy her an iPod for our post-Christmas exchange. I planned to download all of her CDs. Instead, I will probably put them on eBay.
Going Through Their Stuff
No one wants to die but I'm pretty sure we're going to face it. I don't mean to be flip but the people who are left behind get the tough part.
Even though we spent tons of time going through the oldies' belongings when we sold the house in Mississippi, it just put a dent in it.
I have an irrational fear of someone going through my paperwork and notes. There's only one person I trust with it; maybe because I know she won't judge me. When my friend Patsy bacame ill, she developed an obsession with getting all things in order. As usual, she wanted to spare her husband any further frustration in the midst of grief.
So, we're in constant pursuit of paperwork and documents. It feels intrusive but it's necessary.
The dungeon is back in order but the 90 pounds of paperwork is not.
Even though we spent tons of time going through the oldies' belongings when we sold the house in Mississippi, it just put a dent in it.
I have an irrational fear of someone going through my paperwork and notes. There's only one person I trust with it; maybe because I know she won't judge me. When my friend Patsy bacame ill, she developed an obsession with getting all things in order. As usual, she wanted to spare her husband any further frustration in the midst of grief.
So, we're in constant pursuit of paperwork and documents. It feels intrusive but it's necessary.
The dungeon is back in order but the 90 pounds of paperwork is not.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
When We Were Young
Although I am blah, blah, blah about my own life, Big Daddy and the oldies, I try very hard to respect the privacy of others.
My parents, the daughter and the baby may beg to differ.
This blog has allowed me to connect or reconnect with people. It's allowed me to meet new people and welcome their perspectives. It's a venue where people tell me things that they may not have said to my face. Complete strangers comment and I love it.
So, I hope these two people will forgive me but I got very nostalgic today. Childhood games and the neighborhood swirled through my mind. If anyone gets nasty with me, I'll dig out the really old ones.
Circa 1979
Ring Tones
When I call my girlfriend, her cell phone ring is REO Speedwagon's "Time For Me to Fly." (We were listening to it on 8 track in high school.) That was one of our favorite groups and one of our favorite songs. Her phone could be buried in the bottom of her handbag but she knows instantly that it's me. I'm impressed and jealous. She programmed my phone so when Big Daddy calls, instead of his phone number, it says, "Husband."
The baby has different ring tones for different people. I have no idea what mine is but we've joked that maybe it should be that old song, "The Bitch is Back." Yet, he still answers.
Big Daddy and the daughter text each other. Learning text messaging is next on my technology agenda but I'm not sure I have the dexterity. How did I get so far behind?
The baby has different ring tones for different people. I have no idea what mine is but we've joked that maybe it should be that old song, "The Bitch is Back." Yet, he still answers.
Big Daddy and the daughter text each other. Learning text messaging is next on my technology agenda but I'm not sure I have the dexterity. How did I get so far behind?
Time Flies
Last night I was supposed to meet a few of the golf widows. Their husbands are on the same trip as Big Daddy. I was iffy about it because the weather was crummy and I get nervous driving on sleet and snow. Idiot Sheri came into play and said, "Go." So, I went and I'm glad I did.
While I was trying to find these friends, I ran into at least five people that I know. (Yes, one of them was probably your ex.) I ran into one of my wives-in-law. Why are all these people out on such a crazy weather night?
One person who I had not seen in years gave me a gigantic hug and then had to take a call from his daughter. I know his ex-wife. I remember when they called with the news that they were expecting twins. I have vivid memories of her baby shower and visiting when the babies were newborns. Their babies are now 12-years old. Time flies.
Do you ever hear a song on the radio and then the DJ will tell you the name of the group and the year? If I'm singing along, chances are it's an oldie. But when they announce the year, I'm usually taken aback. Time flies.
It's been a month since the Belle died. Time flies whether you're having fun or not.
While I was trying to find these friends, I ran into at least five people that I know. (Yes, one of them was probably your ex.) I ran into one of my wives-in-law. Why are all these people out on such a crazy weather night?
One person who I had not seen in years gave me a gigantic hug and then had to take a call from his daughter. I know his ex-wife. I remember when they called with the news that they were expecting twins. I have vivid memories of her baby shower and visiting when the babies were newborns. Their babies are now 12-years old. Time flies.
Do you ever hear a song on the radio and then the DJ will tell you the name of the group and the year? If I'm singing along, chances are it's an oldie. But when they announce the year, I'm usually taken aback. Time flies.
It's been a month since the Belle died. Time flies whether you're having fun or not.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Good Cop/Bad Cop
If I push it, I can keep a secret from my parents for about 24 hours. When anything is bothering me, I am itching to call them. Yet, I know what's in store. Bad Cop will let me cry and complain. (There might be an "I told you so" lecture.) Advice will be plentiful and helpful.
Good Cop will understand that Bad Cop has already taken care of the necessary details. Good Cop gets to hear the daughter and lend an ear. No judgment needed; the cops will discuss it later.
My parents are not angels but they are an amazing unit. I could marry as often as Elizabeth Taylor and never find a union as fitting as theirs.
I called today with a problem. Bad Cop said, "Face it and figure it out." Good Cop said, "Kick 'em." Good advice from both sides.
Good Cop will understand that Bad Cop has already taken care of the necessary details. Good Cop gets to hear the daughter and lend an ear. No judgment needed; the cops will discuss it later.
My parents are not angels but they are an amazing unit. I could marry as often as Elizabeth Taylor and never find a union as fitting as theirs.
I called today with a problem. Bad Cop said, "Face it and figure it out." Good Cop said, "Kick 'em." Good advice from both sides.
Exes
If you live in my city and I have known you for any length of time, chances are that I run into your ex.
It doesn't have to be an ex-spouse. Many times it's someone you dated. And trust me, that person wants to ask about you.
Big Daddy's exes are my wives-in-law so running into each other is not a problem. We plan it. We look forward to it.
People slip into a comfortable vocabulary, i.e. "my ex-husband or my ex-boyfriend." Does that negate the rest of the relations? Are they ex-stepchildren? Do brothers and sisters-in-laws become exes? It can get quirky. I need the relationship with my first in-laws. Big Daddy is still very close to his brother-in-law from his first marriage. The legal status may change but the love does not.
Several years ago, we went to hear my (ex)brother-in-law perform. We do this several times a year. I was standing in line for the restroom and a lady asked me how I knew the family. I answered, "I am family." It completely freaked her out. Some people live a much more sheltered life than I do.
It doesn't have to be an ex-spouse. Many times it's someone you dated. And trust me, that person wants to ask about you.
Big Daddy's exes are my wives-in-law so running into each other is not a problem. We plan it. We look forward to it.
People slip into a comfortable vocabulary, i.e. "my ex-husband or my ex-boyfriend." Does that negate the rest of the relations? Are they ex-stepchildren? Do brothers and sisters-in-laws become exes? It can get quirky. I need the relationship with my first in-laws. Big Daddy is still very close to his brother-in-law from his first marriage. The legal status may change but the love does not.
Several years ago, we went to hear my (ex)brother-in-law perform. We do this several times a year. I was standing in line for the restroom and a lady asked me how I knew the family. I answered, "I am family." It completely freaked her out. Some people live a much more sheltered life than I do.
I Take it Back
Other than the classic orgasm scene, one of my favorite moments in the movie "When Harry Met Sally." is this exchange:
"I take it back"
"You can't take it back; it's already out there."
I don't spend a lot of time with regrets. What's the point? What's done is done. But wouldn't it be nice if you could take it back?
Of the million lessons I learned from the Belle, several of them include:
"I take it back"
"You can't take it back; it's already out there."
I don't spend a lot of time with regrets. What's the point? What's done is done. But wouldn't it be nice if you could take it back?
Of the million lessons I learned from the Belle, several of them include:
Any complaint is easier to swallow if you start the sentence with, "Love ..."
Marriage will continue to throw curves. Take it or go take a dodge ball lesson.
Spousses are allowed to bark at each other. No one else is allowed in the dog park.
Children will disappoint you. It doesn't change the love.
Laughter may not cure it all but it's a pretty good salve.
Going Green
On certain days the only thing green about me is the ability to be green with envy.
My heart and my gut (and Al Gore) tell me I should be more responsible about the planet and our limited resources. As Pigpen, I seem to generate more trash than a family of eight. I'm a periodic recycler but I need to get better.
I'm not great with green things. If you send me a plant, I am guaranteed to kill it in record time. That's probably why I love fake plants. Every Spring, I put pretty flowers in the beds around our home. (Okay, Houseboy does it. I just watch.) Every year he gives me watering instructions. I do it for a while and then I:
The Belle took this plant/flower situation to new heights. Last year she conferred with Houseboy about the type of flowers and the plants she wanted. Then her son sent her an enormous basket of multiple flowers for Mother's Day. I would've killed it in 10 days. She kept it flourishing for at least six months. I remember asking her, "What kind of weirdo are you? How do you do that?" She also had Houseboy buy us ferns. She loved them and tended to them. But once the crisp air of Fall arrives, you have to bring them inside where they wilt and shed. Two years in a row we had ferns. Two years in a row they were brought into the house. Two years in a row, I killed them. But, just for fun memories, I have these gigantic hooks in my sunroom where the ferns are supposed to be. I don't miss the ferns but I do miss the Belle.
My heart and my gut (and Al Gore) tell me I should be more responsible about the planet and our limited resources. As Pigpen, I seem to generate more trash than a family of eight. I'm a periodic recycler but I need to get better.
I'm not great with green things. If you send me a plant, I am guaranteed to kill it in record time. That's probably why I love fake plants. Every Spring, I put pretty flowers in the beds around our home. (Okay, Houseboy does it. I just watch.) Every year he gives me watering instructions. I do it for a while and then I:
Get busyAnd then, they die. One year they made it until September. I thought I was a miracle worker until I realized Houseboy was stopping by on a regular basis and doing my watering chore.
Get bored
Forget
Get lazy
The Belle took this plant/flower situation to new heights. Last year she conferred with Houseboy about the type of flowers and the plants she wanted. Then her son sent her an enormous basket of multiple flowers for Mother's Day. I would've killed it in 10 days. She kept it flourishing for at least six months. I remember asking her, "What kind of weirdo are you? How do you do that?" She also had Houseboy buy us ferns. She loved them and tended to them. But once the crisp air of Fall arrives, you have to bring them inside where they wilt and shed. Two years in a row we had ferns. Two years in a row they were brought into the house. Two years in a row, I killed them. But, just for fun memories, I have these gigantic hooks in my sunroom where the ferns are supposed to be. I don't miss the ferns but I do miss the Belle.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Pay Attention
My cousin-in-law and I had a long conversation last night. We talked about Hangdog. We enjoyed memories of the Belle. I love her on many levels but lately I love her for her bluntness. She is one of the minister's wives I wrote about previously. She does it her way and she cracks me up.
When her husband first heard the calling, she told him, "Maybe he just wants you to join the choir." That didn't fly. So, she tried, "Maybe he wants you to teach Sunday school." He did but it wasn't enough. To his credit, he went for it and continues to follow his calling. I have a special spot of admiration for people who follow their calling. I also have a great respect for those who turn themselves inside out and give wings to their spouse. I'm usually the one running around with clippers.
God speaks to me but it's in a different way. He does not want me to join the ministry. (If I'm hearing correctly, he's saying "Please No!") But he does want me to pay attention to the rocks, stones and boulders he's tossing my direction.
When her husband first heard the calling, she told him, "Maybe he just wants you to join the choir." That didn't fly. So, she tried, "Maybe he wants you to teach Sunday school." He did but it wasn't enough. To his credit, he went for it and continues to follow his calling. I have a special spot of admiration for people who follow their calling. I also have a great respect for those who turn themselves inside out and give wings to their spouse. I'm usually the one running around with clippers.
God speaks to me but it's in a different way. He does not want me to join the ministry. (If I'm hearing correctly, he's saying "Please No!") But he does want me to pay attention to the rocks, stones and boulders he's tossing my direction.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Lies and Pedicures
I'm not very good at listening. I get wrapped up in the puzzle of my mind, trying to figure out my response.
Today, I was the postman -- through rain, sleet, snow -- no measly weather situation is going to stop me. I was on a mission: Hangdog needed toothpaste and lightbulbs. (Ok, secretly, I just needed to see him.) Some warped part of me looks forward to his lies:
The Belle would've put up with this for a nanoseond. Then she would've shoved a pill in his mouth and taken him for a danish and a pedicure.
Today, I was the postman -- through rain, sleet, snow -- no measly weather situation is going to stop me. I was on a mission: Hangdog needed toothpaste and lightbulbs. (Ok, secretly, I just needed to see him.) Some warped part of me looks forward to his lies:
They made me walk ten miles today.
No one has given me any pills.
I never sleep.
The Belle would've put up with this for a nanoseond. Then she would've shoved a pill in his mouth and taken him for a danish and a pedicure.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
The Holly Mean Face
The husband and I had a dog that I adored. (Notice I didn't say "we.") But to his credit, he tolerated her, cared for her, etc. Once she passed the puppy stage -- that's two-years old for Labs -- she was an agreeable dog.
Then she got old. During her last year, she developed what we affectionately called, "The Holly Mean Face." It's a cross between a snarl and a grimmace. It didn't take a genius to figure out the meaning -- you're bugging me and I'm not in the mood.
Hangdog occasionally makes this face. I stop myself from saying "Hello Holly."
I can do a pretty strong impression of the expression. I save it for times when laughter needs to come into the situation.
Then she got old. During her last year, she developed what we affectionately called, "The Holly Mean Face." It's a cross between a snarl and a grimmace. It didn't take a genius to figure out the meaning -- you're bugging me and I'm not in the mood.
Hangdog occasionally makes this face. I stop myself from saying "Hello Holly."
I can do a pretty strong impression of the expression. I save it for times when laughter needs to come into the situation.
We Can Still Date
The husband hates cold weather. Winter in Indiana makes him a little nuts. We're not exactly Seattle but the gray skies and the snow and the cold temperatures can really mess with a golf game. So far, we've had a mild winter. It doesn't matter. It's a mindset.
He's in Florida now. It's an annual trip that sounds dreadful to me but they enjoy it. Who plays 36 holes of golf every day for seven days? Who would find that fun? Here's the answer: The husband and 15 of his friends.
It may be my job as a spouse to support his dreams. And I do. I have to find the compromise. He wants a condo here and a second place somewhere warm. Since neither one of us lacks for invitations to warm places, this perplexes me.
Yesterday he reminded me that he would love to have a place in Florida. Super supportive Sheri said, "Great! Gabby and I will drive down occasionally. We'll have a date."
He's in Florida now. It's an annual trip that sounds dreadful to me but they enjoy it. Who plays 36 holes of golf every day for seven days? Who would find that fun? Here's the answer: The husband and 15 of his friends.
It may be my job as a spouse to support his dreams. And I do. I have to find the compromise. He wants a condo here and a second place somewhere warm. Since neither one of us lacks for invitations to warm places, this perplexes me.
Yesterday he reminded me that he would love to have a place in Florida. Super supportive Sheri said, "Great! Gabby and I will drive down occasionally. We'll have a date."
Monday, February 18, 2008
Snap Crackle Pop
Workout is an important part of my routine. If I'm being lofty, I'll tell you that I do it for my health. Arthritis runs in my family. I am a prime (Mega prime) candidate for osteoporosis. My workout girls provide comraderie. I would not bother if it were not for them. There's peer support and the laughter helps. The workout is often pure frustration for me. My body won't get in that position. I hear "Snap, crackle pop" while I attempt to find it.
I have these little reflective moments when I try to do a particular exercise or stretch and my body won't go there. As a young girl, I was a dancer. (Ballet -- not Go Go or Pole dancing.) I used to sit on the ground and wrap my legs around my neck. My father would jokingly say, "You are going to be so popular on dates!" My mother would whack him.
As many people have commented, aging is not for wimps. When I'm tempted to complain about my creaks and aches, I remind myself of all the Belle endured. I think about the many pieces of metal in Hangdog's body. (It doesn't completely nullify my frustrations but it helps.)
I will continue to lift my weights and get my heart rate moving. I will attempt to contort my body into positions that it no longer welcomes. But, I will have one eye on the clock and at 7:30 A.M., I will be the first to announce, "I all done."
I have these little reflective moments when I try to do a particular exercise or stretch and my body won't go there. As a young girl, I was a dancer. (Ballet -- not Go Go or Pole dancing.) I used to sit on the ground and wrap my legs around my neck. My father would jokingly say, "You are going to be so popular on dates!" My mother would whack him.
As many people have commented, aging is not for wimps. When I'm tempted to complain about my creaks and aches, I remind myself of all the Belle endured. I think about the many pieces of metal in Hangdog's body. (It doesn't completely nullify my frustrations but it helps.)
I will continue to lift my weights and get my heart rate moving. I will attempt to contort my body into positions that it no longer welcomes. But, I will have one eye on the clock and at 7:30 A.M., I will be the first to announce, "I all done."
A New Perspective on an Old Movie
My grandmother (the sane one,) my mother and I went to see "On Golden Pond" in the theater. It was 1981 or 1982, We all loved it, although I do remember my grandmother saying, "Oh the language!" If memory serves, they said, "Bulls**t" and "Damn."
Three generations of women watching a multi-generational movie. Hmmm. Wonder why that's a memory that sticks with me?
Jane Fonda was about 40-years old in the movie. I wanted to look like her in that two-piece swimsuit. It was Henry Fonda's last movie and the touching scenes between the real father and daughter acting as father and daughter were heart breaking.
It was on the other night and I couldn't sleep so I watched it for the umpteenth time. This used to be a charming movie to me ... filled with warm memories and interesting family dynamics. That feeling has changed.
Now I see Henry Fonda as a crotchety old man who seems intent on alienating everyone. I see Hangdog. I see Katharine Hepburn as a woman who has taken "protect and defend" to new heights. I see the Belle. I wish I could ask her if she confused the marriage vows with the U.S. Army swearing-in ceremony.
In my nicer moments, I can make kind comparisons. Both characters in the movie were well educated and crazy in love. That's a wonderful thing but I won't be watching this movie for a while.
Three generations of women watching a multi-generational movie. Hmmm. Wonder why that's a memory that sticks with me?
Jane Fonda was about 40-years old in the movie. I wanted to look like her in that two-piece swimsuit. It was Henry Fonda's last movie and the touching scenes between the real father and daughter acting as father and daughter were heart breaking.
It was on the other night and I couldn't sleep so I watched it for the umpteenth time. This used to be a charming movie to me ... filled with warm memories and interesting family dynamics. That feeling has changed.
Now I see Henry Fonda as a crotchety old man who seems intent on alienating everyone. I see Hangdog. I see Katharine Hepburn as a woman who has taken "protect and defend" to new heights. I see the Belle. I wish I could ask her if she confused the marriage vows with the U.S. Army swearing-in ceremony.
In my nicer moments, I can make kind comparisons. Both characters in the movie were well educated and crazy in love. That's a wonderful thing but I won't be watching this movie for a while.
Going Home
We referred to the Belle's funeral as her homecoming. Her heart and soul belonged to the people and the land of Mississippi. I don't know what I believe about the afterlife, i.e. what the deceased can see or experience of the rest of us still left on earth. I hope she could feel the love.
Yesterday, I went home. I haven't lived there for many years (or decades) but somehow, it's still home. That pesky guilt troll lands on my shoulder and reminds me that I don't go there enough. There is no excuse. But I've spent an awful lot of time with oldies issues.
We had a game day. I think it's called "The Joker" and I highly recommend it. It's a lot like Aggravation but you use playing cards and it's more strategic. My aunt, my parents and I played it for hours. I made lots of mistakes but the most horrible one was telling my father of my latest quirk. He made fun of me for the rest of the day. (Don't tell people your weaknesses.) I belly laughed. I avoided the biting dog and played with the fun one.
I grew up playing board games. I can still picture Wild Bill playing Aggravation or Yatzee with us and he would get irritated. I'm not sure if his frustration was in losing or the fact that my friend was eating all of his treats while we played. He used to ask her, "Do they feed you at home?" She would gigle and grab another handful.
Mental games are not my strength. With me, you will know where you stand. I would be horrible at Poker.
I think of myself as a non-competitive person but I wanted to win.
The laughter and memories give me strength. I walk in their door and feel my stress ease. I am home.
Yesterday, I went home. I haven't lived there for many years (or decades) but somehow, it's still home. That pesky guilt troll lands on my shoulder and reminds me that I don't go there enough. There is no excuse. But I've spent an awful lot of time with oldies issues.
We had a game day. I think it's called "The Joker" and I highly recommend it. It's a lot like Aggravation but you use playing cards and it's more strategic. My aunt, my parents and I played it for hours. I made lots of mistakes but the most horrible one was telling my father of my latest quirk. He made fun of me for the rest of the day. (Don't tell people your weaknesses.) I belly laughed. I avoided the biting dog and played with the fun one.
I grew up playing board games. I can still picture Wild Bill playing Aggravation or Yatzee with us and he would get irritated. I'm not sure if his frustration was in losing or the fact that my friend was eating all of his treats while we played. He used to ask her, "Do they feed you at home?" She would gigle and grab another handful.
Mental games are not my strength. With me, you will know where you stand. I would be horrible at Poker.
I think of myself as a non-competitive person but I wanted to win.
The laughter and memories give me strength. I walk in their door and feel my stress ease. I am home.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
The Poster Child for Good Behavior
Obviously, I am not referring to myself.
I get a little nervous when someone I love has a doctor's appointment or medical tests. Within the last 10 days or so, my father has had both. Both days, I waited for the phone call so I could exhale. Thankfully, all is well.
His doctor called him, "The Poster Child for Good Behavior." He follows instructions and manages his conditions. He manages to do it cheerfully, although he has made many lifestyle changes that would shake or break a weaker man.
Yes, this is blatant daughter worship.
When I had lunch with my doctor this week, I had a cheeseburger and onion rings. He made a crack about keeping him in business. But this is the man who literally has all my numbers (cholesterol, weight, etc.) so he said it with a smile.
Today I will visit Hangdog, who is not even in the running for Poster Child for Good Behavior. Then I will go to my parents and visit people I don't spend enough time with. Maybe my father will rub off on me and I'll start being better behaved.
I get a little nervous when someone I love has a doctor's appointment or medical tests. Within the last 10 days or so, my father has had both. Both days, I waited for the phone call so I could exhale. Thankfully, all is well.
His doctor called him, "The Poster Child for Good Behavior." He follows instructions and manages his conditions. He manages to do it cheerfully, although he has made many lifestyle changes that would shake or break a weaker man.
Yes, this is blatant daughter worship.
When I had lunch with my doctor this week, I had a cheeseburger and onion rings. He made a crack about keeping him in business. But this is the man who literally has all my numbers (cholesterol, weight, etc.) so he said it with a smile.
Today I will visit Hangdog, who is not even in the running for Poster Child for Good Behavior. Then I will go to my parents and visit people I don't spend enough time with. Maybe my father will rub off on me and I'll start being better behaved.
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Taco Night
A friend of mine used to tape her favorite shows during the week. (This was before Tivo and similar contraptions.) Then Friday night became Taco and Tape Night. I tried it and it failed on a couple of levels:
I tried it once with the oldies. The Belle had great fun. Hangdog hated it. So, I gave up.
The husband landed in Florida this morning and is enjoying 70+ degree temperatures. I'm sure there's a golf club in his hand. I am headed for a mad dash to the grocery for various things. Then I will have my own personal Taco and movie night. Later, I might read a bit. I might curl up with the dog. I might listen to music. I'm giddy with options.
And the husband thinks he's on vacation!
Homemade tacos don't appeal to the husband. He'd rather go out and his choice is never tacos.
We rarely agree on TV shows or movies (although we do enjoy the ones where one spouse tries to off the other one.)
I tried it once with the oldies. The Belle had great fun. Hangdog hated it. So, I gave up.
The husband landed in Florida this morning and is enjoying 70+ degree temperatures. I'm sure there's a golf club in his hand. I am headed for a mad dash to the grocery for various things. Then I will have my own personal Taco and movie night. Later, I might read a bit. I might curl up with the dog. I might listen to music. I'm giddy with options.
And the husband thinks he's on vacation!
Answering to a Higher Power
Lots of surveys show us that most Americans consider themselves religious or at the very least, spiritual. They believe in a higher power, however they choose to define it.
I respect the right for others to have different beliefs than I do. I enjoy the discussions; I always learn something. Many years ago I was on a girl trip and we had some religious conversations. One of the ladies was Jewish. Another is a devout Christian. My favorite memory of that talk is when the Christian said to the Jewish person, "I'd just feel better if you'd believe in Jesus a little bit."
Of course, every time I refer to my responsibility to answer to a higher power, the husband thinks I am referring to him.
I respect the right for others to have different beliefs than I do. I enjoy the discussions; I always learn something. Many years ago I was on a girl trip and we had some religious conversations. One of the ladies was Jewish. Another is a devout Christian. My favorite memory of that talk is when the Christian said to the Jewish person, "I'd just feel better if you'd believe in Jesus a little bit."
Of course, every time I refer to my responsibility to answer to a higher power, the husband thinks I am referring to him.
Friday, February 15, 2008
She Blowed Up
My limited history in community theater has paid off. I know how to take a cue.
Sometimes the husband and I watch television together. Some actress or celebrity from our younger days will be on The Today Show or Larry King Live. For whatever reason, he lets me have the punch line:
He says, "What happened to her?"
I steal his line and say, "She blowed up."
Our plumbimg and a couple of appliances are acting strange. Our coffee maker died. The husband asked me about it. You guessed it, my only answer is "She blowed up."
Hangdog and I did not have a pleasant visit today. His expectations are unreasonable and his demands are exhausting. (I wanted to run like the wind.) I kept my tongue and emotions in check but then I got to my car. She (me) blowed up.
Sometimes the husband and I watch television together. Some actress or celebrity from our younger days will be on The Today Show or Larry King Live. For whatever reason, he lets me have the punch line:
He says, "What happened to her?"
I steal his line and say, "She blowed up."
Our plumbimg and a couple of appliances are acting strange. Our coffee maker died. The husband asked me about it. You guessed it, my only answer is "She blowed up."
Hangdog and I did not have a pleasant visit today. His expectations are unreasonable and his demands are exhausting. (I wanted to run like the wind.) I kept my tongue and emotions in check but then I got to my car. She (me) blowed up.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Out to Lunch
Today, I am going out to lunch. I'm meeting a friend who will advise me about a couple of things and then she will admonish me. Then she will help me, as she always does.
Yesterday, I went out to lunch. I tried to visit Hangdog in the hospital but he had been taken for a test. My doctor (saint-in-training) and his wife took me to lunch. (Why don't they run when they see me coming?) I want to say to them, "Run Fast! Run Like the Wind!" But instead, they are kind.
Hangdog told my mother that most of my visits only last 5 minutes. He does not count the times he's sleeping. He does not count the times I am crawling in bed with him or waiting for him from the bathroom or tests. He doesn't count the phone calls.
I've been accused of being mentally "Out to Lunch" on numerous occasions. Guilty as charged.
Yesterday, I went out to lunch. I tried to visit Hangdog in the hospital but he had been taken for a test. My doctor (saint-in-training) and his wife took me to lunch. (Why don't they run when they see me coming?) I want to say to them, "Run Fast! Run Like the Wind!" But instead, they are kind.
Hangdog told my mother that most of my visits only last 5 minutes. He does not count the times he's sleeping. He does not count the times I am crawling in bed with him or waiting for him from the bathroom or tests. He doesn't count the phone calls.
I've been accused of being mentally "Out to Lunch" on numerous occasions. Guilty as charged.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
60 Excess Pounds
Remember when Oprah lost a ton of weight on that liquid diet? Then she carted a wheelbarrel of fat on the stage to show the significance. Like several million other lemmings, I was watching and I was enthralled.
I've never needed to lose gobs of weight. Occasionally a few pounds here and there. Nothing extreme because my vices are different. Not right; just different.
But, I do know what it's like to carry 60 extra pounds. See mine above. (Yes, this is the dog pillow I drag from room to room.)
My office chair is on wheels and I've been scurried around. I've put a leash on her and been dragged through the neighborhood.
The Belle loved her. They used to play ball and of course, I was constantly terrified that she might knock her down. Hangdog has no use for her. (Maybe that's why he isn't living here.) My dad likes her. My mom is in constant fear that she'll bang into her bad knee. And trust me, she will. I like to freak my mom out and say, "I'm coming over and I'm bringing the dog."
My girlfriends are very loving with her. Most of them have big dogs and they have lived through the puppy stage. I think Houseboy might want to adopt her. His wife and sons have taken incredible care of her.
The husband pretends to hate her but he's not fooling me.
Idiots and Dummies
I'm a huge fan of the books that simplify things: The Idiot's Guide to (Put subject here) or (Put Subject Here) for Dummies. You know I like things explained to me like I'm a 5-year old.
Hangdog is in the hospital. Nothing urgent or life-threatening, just some tests to hopefully resolve some ongoing stomach issues. (Enough said or you might lose whatever is in your stomach.)
Headaches and stomachaches have not made his index finger immoble. He can dial that phone.
If I could stop answering the phone, running to the Home, running to the hospital, etc., I might put a book proposal together. I'd have to go through the proper channels because they own the copyright. I'm considering:
I have more but you'll have to wait. Maybe I'll see you in the bookstore.
Hangdog is in the hospital. Nothing urgent or life-threatening, just some tests to hopefully resolve some ongoing stomach issues. (Enough said or you might lose whatever is in your stomach.)
Headaches and stomachaches have not made his index finger immoble. He can dial that phone.
If I could stop answering the phone, running to the Home, running to the hospital, etc., I might put a book proposal together. I'd have to go through the proper channels because they own the copyright. I'm considering:
The Idiot's Guide to Oldies
Conquering Oldies for Dummies
The Idiot's Guide to Homes, Hospitals and Healthcare
The Sandwich Generation for Dummies
The Idiot's Guide to Cooking Like an Oldie
I have more but you'll have to wait. Maybe I'll see you in the bookstore.
McNicknames
This writer's strike has really messed with my schedule. I only have a couple of favorite primetime network shows and I'm missing them.
Grey's Anatomy is my favorite. I miss McDreamy and McSteamy. They're both cads but they're fun to watch. I like shows that can make me laugh, cry and swoon. (Oprah makes me laugh and cry but she also gets on my nerves so I can only handle it in small doses.)
I used to watch Grey's Anatomy with the Belle. She could never keep the characters straight so I spent a lot of time answering questions. Hmmm... maybe the writer's strike is a ploy. Instead, maybe they're just grieving for the Belle.
Their creative nicknames make me smile. I thought about asking the husband to give me a McNickname. Then I decided against it. This week he would call me "McMeany."
Grey's Anatomy is my favorite. I miss McDreamy and McSteamy. They're both cads but they're fun to watch. I like shows that can make me laugh, cry and swoon. (Oprah makes me laugh and cry but she also gets on my nerves so I can only handle it in small doses.)
I used to watch Grey's Anatomy with the Belle. She could never keep the characters straight so I spent a lot of time answering questions. Hmmm... maybe the writer's strike is a ploy. Instead, maybe they're just grieving for the Belle.
Their creative nicknames make me smile. I thought about asking the husband to give me a McNickname. Then I decided against it. This week he would call me "McMeany."
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
A Minister's Wife
I have been privileged to know many wives of ministers. I realize that women can also be ministers but in my life experience, most of my ministers have been men.
Minister's wife looks a lot like the role of First Lady. No pay but a lot of work.
The chances of me in the position of minister's wife are slim and none. (And Slim left town.)
My aunt was a Methodist minister's wife for several decades. She managed to support her husband and the interests of his many congregations while keeping her own interests, opinions and career goals. Oh, somewhere in the middle she birthed and raised four children. When she married this man, he was a successful salesman. The calling to the ministry came later. She didn't sign up for it but like most successful people, she adapted and did it with aplomb. Now, he has passed away. She continues to support her church, his charities and interests. She does it her way.
Many, many years ago, I was in college and they were visiting my parents. I was in a phase where I liked to ask provocative questions. (I've never really outgrown that stage.) She answered my questions but she prefaced her response with, "My answers may surprise you." She was not afraid to have an opinion.
My cousin (in-law) was our angel during the funeral/travel arrangements for the Belle. The husband refers to her as his honorary sister. She is a minister's wife. She is also a mother and works full-time. While she is extremely supportive of her husband, she does not hesitate to exert her influence or share her opinion.
Women like this take traditional roles and break the mold. They show the rest of us how to do it with dignity. I'm taking notes.
Minister's wife looks a lot like the role of First Lady. No pay but a lot of work.
The chances of me in the position of minister's wife are slim and none. (And Slim left town.)
My aunt was a Methodist minister's wife for several decades. She managed to support her husband and the interests of his many congregations while keeping her own interests, opinions and career goals. Oh, somewhere in the middle she birthed and raised four children. When she married this man, he was a successful salesman. The calling to the ministry came later. She didn't sign up for it but like most successful people, she adapted and did it with aplomb. Now, he has passed away. She continues to support her church, his charities and interests. She does it her way.
Many, many years ago, I was in college and they were visiting my parents. I was in a phase where I liked to ask provocative questions. (I've never really outgrown that stage.) She answered my questions but she prefaced her response with, "My answers may surprise you." She was not afraid to have an opinion.
My cousin (in-law) was our angel during the funeral/travel arrangements for the Belle. The husband refers to her as his honorary sister. She is a minister's wife. She is also a mother and works full-time. While she is extremely supportive of her husband, she does not hesitate to exert her influence or share her opinion.
Women like this take traditional roles and break the mold. They show the rest of us how to do it with dignity. I'm taking notes.
Monday, February 11, 2008
The Keeper
Every marriage or relationship goes through spells where you just don't want to talk to one another. And then you have to because one of you is the keeper of information.
Even when the husband and I are not feeling super friendly, we have these conversations:
I am the keeper of information. I know where the files are kept. But it's a risky venture. I am Pigpen. It's kind of like asking the dog to be in charge of one particular twig.
Even when the husband and I are not feeling super friendly, we have these conversations:
Where is the tuition bill?
What is my dad/mom's social security number?
Did you mail that paperwork in?
Did he call today?
Did you talk to the nurse today?
I am the keeper of information. I know where the files are kept. But it's a risky venture. I am Pigpen. It's kind of like asking the dog to be in charge of one particular twig.
Significant Days
Today is the Belle's birthday. She would've been 85. I'm not sure if Hangdog has made the connection and I don't think we will bring it up.
Society has programmed us to celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, etc. Throw in Arbor Day and a bunch of other useless holidays. Not my birthday of course, I need the week.
It's almost Valentine's Day. Since I screwed up on Christmas, I have this Valentine's Day planned out. Gifts? Check. Cute card? Check. Maybe I can redeem myself.
Society has programmed us to celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, etc. Throw in Arbor Day and a bunch of other useless holidays. Not my birthday of course, I need the week.
It's almost Valentine's Day. Since I screwed up on Christmas, I have this Valentine's Day planned out. Gifts? Check. Cute card? Check. Maybe I can redeem myself.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
The Only Man I Love
One of my teenage friends recently said to me, "He's the only man I love."
After I stopped rolling my eyes and holding my side, I explained my perspective: You will love many men.
If you're lucky, your first male love was and continues to be your father.
The Belle had four sons and loved them all with a passion. She also loved the Captain. Movies and books simplify love and life. It's not simple; it's extremely messy. But love abounds and like her, I love a lot of men.
After I stopped rolling my eyes and holding my side, I explained my perspective: You will love many men.
If you're lucky, your first male love was and continues to be your father.
Grandfathers make some pretty great loves. Plus, they let you get away with a lot.
I've never had a brother but I've always wanted one and I understand their love is a bond that no one should mess with.
Uncles are one of life's greatest gifts.
Male friends will protect and honor you.
You never know when a brother-in-law will turn out to save you.
You will have a first love, maybe some middle loves and hopefully, a forever love.
Someday you might have a son. Tell me then about only loving one man.
The Belle had four sons and loved them all with a passion. She also loved the Captain. Movies and books simplify love and life. It's not simple; it's extremely messy. But love abounds and like her, I love a lot of men.
The High Road
One of the things I am struggling to do is take the high road. It sounds like an easy choice but for a vocal and opinionated person like me, it is a struggle. I have many good qualities. I also can shoot from the hip. If I am cornered, I will come out with my dukes raised. It's not my most attractive trait.
The other day I was reading an editorial. It ended with this statement: "Take the high road. It's less crowded."
I'm chanting it. I'm trying.
The other day I was reading an editorial. It ended with this statement: "Take the high road. It's less crowded."
I'm chanting it. I'm trying.
House of Cards
When I was a child, several of my friends used to play that game where you built a structure out of playing cards. Sometimes the house would get pretty tall but it only takes one slip up for it all to come crumbling down.
The oldies were heartbroken when they had to sell their home in Holly Springs, MS. They understood the logic and they were grateful to us but it was hard. From Indiana, the husband coordinated with various repair people, as well as constant conversations with the Realtor. We (along with his brother and sister-in-law) made numerous trips to Mississippi to pack, clean, haul, etc. (I've told you how much stuff she packed into the dungeon. Imagine 30-plus years of stuff in this house. Now double it.)
Still, I was sympathetic to the loss of their home, their town, their beloved neighbors and friends. One of the gifts I bought for the mother-in-law this Christmas was the book, "Home to Holly Springs" by Jan Karon. She never got to read it.
The reason I'm thinking of this today is we are pushing mid-February. About 8 months ago, the oldies took a trip to visit friends and relatives in Mississippi. They returned and requested a family meeting -- never a good sign. They informed us that they had signed a contract to build a house in a new subdivision in Sumrall, MS. (Very close to Hattiesburg, where she was from.)
The Belle was strong willed but the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. The husband went a little crazy. In addition to the financial risks and the lack of a nearby VA facility, his constant argument was this: "It's a house of cards. It's one fall or one car accident or one medical emergency away from complete disaster." Somehow, he managed to convince her that this real estate deal was an extremely bad idea. Somehow, he let her believe it was her decision. Then he got to deal with the builder, more attorneys, etc. and unravel this disastrous deal. Plus, get their money back.
If the deal had proceeded, this is the week the house was supposed to be done.
She did go home to Mississippi. Just not the way she planned.
The oldies were heartbroken when they had to sell their home in Holly Springs, MS. They understood the logic and they were grateful to us but it was hard. From Indiana, the husband coordinated with various repair people, as well as constant conversations with the Realtor. We (along with his brother and sister-in-law) made numerous trips to Mississippi to pack, clean, haul, etc. (I've told you how much stuff she packed into the dungeon. Imagine 30-plus years of stuff in this house. Now double it.)
Still, I was sympathetic to the loss of their home, their town, their beloved neighbors and friends. One of the gifts I bought for the mother-in-law this Christmas was the book, "Home to Holly Springs" by Jan Karon. She never got to read it.
The reason I'm thinking of this today is we are pushing mid-February. About 8 months ago, the oldies took a trip to visit friends and relatives in Mississippi. They returned and requested a family meeting -- never a good sign. They informed us that they had signed a contract to build a house in a new subdivision in Sumrall, MS. (Very close to Hattiesburg, where she was from.)
The Belle was strong willed but the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. The husband went a little crazy. In addition to the financial risks and the lack of a nearby VA facility, his constant argument was this: "It's a house of cards. It's one fall or one car accident or one medical emergency away from complete disaster." Somehow, he managed to convince her that this real estate deal was an extremely bad idea. Somehow, he let her believe it was her decision. Then he got to deal with the builder, more attorneys, etc. and unravel this disastrous deal. Plus, get their money back.
If the deal had proceeded, this is the week the house was supposed to be done.
She did go home to Mississippi. Just not the way she planned.
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Convertible People
I will never own a convertible. I'm not one of those people. On some peripheral level, I understand the appeal. It's probably like motorcycle enthusiasts: the wind in your hair ... the sun beating down on you ...
If I want to feel the sun, I'll go to the pool or I'll go on vacation. Don't get me started on the wind in my hair. I don't have convertible-friendly hair. The wind can mess with it on a good day. After a ride in a convertible, I bear a strong resemblance to Gilda Radner playing Rosanne Rosannadanna on SNL.
My friend and neighbor just bought a new convertible. I think it's her third. She is kind and will often let me ride with her to a mutual destination. She laughs at me because I spend the entire trip holding my hair.
If I want to feel the sun, I'll go to the pool or I'll go on vacation. Don't get me started on the wind in my hair. I don't have convertible-friendly hair. The wind can mess with it on a good day. After a ride in a convertible, I bear a strong resemblance to Gilda Radner playing Rosanne Rosannadanna on SNL.
My friend and neighbor just bought a new convertible. I think it's her third. She is kind and will often let me ride with her to a mutual destination. She laughs at me because I spend the entire trip holding my hair.
VIP
Everyone likes to feel important. It could be the grand opening of a dog park but if someone hands me a badge or some kind of credential that says, "VIP," I'm immediately walking a little taller.
(I realize I'm not a VIP; I'm a hanger-on. It's still fun.)
The husband attended an event the other night and his name badge had "VIP" in huge letters. I was a little jealous. He took it off immediately.
I, on the other hand, have saved a very cheesy necklace we received years ago at a charity function. It's blue, it says "VIP" and it beams with blinking lights.
Sometimes I just wear it around the house.
(I realize I'm not a VIP; I'm a hanger-on. It's still fun.)
The husband attended an event the other night and his name badge had "VIP" in huge letters. I was a little jealous. He took it off immediately.
I, on the other hand, have saved a very cheesy necklace we received years ago at a charity function. It's blue, it says "VIP" and it beams with blinking lights.
Sometimes I just wear it around the house.
Fix It
The oldies believed I could fix almost anything. If I couldn't do it personally, I knew the person to call. (This is a nice counterbalance to the people in my life who think I cannot fix a thing.)
Last night, the rock & roll person that shares my last name had a band gig. I did not attend -- mainly because I couldn't stop sneezing. I planned a hot bath, some play time with the dog and watching a goofy movie in bed.
Never make plans.
Hangdog had a headache. I know this because he called me repeatedly and begged me to fix it. I don't doubt that he was hurting but I do doubt it was "The Worst Headache Ever!" I spoke with the nurse and reviewed the medication he had been given. I spoke with the nurse later, after she had spoken with two doctors. I called to check on him. Then, I looked up and it was almost midnight.
I didn't fix a thing. I gave him a little peace of mind and hopefully, some comfort.
His headache is the least of his health issues. Mainly, it's a broken heart and I can't fix it.
Last night, the rock & roll person that shares my last name had a band gig. I did not attend -- mainly because I couldn't stop sneezing. I planned a hot bath, some play time with the dog and watching a goofy movie in bed.
Never make plans.
Hangdog had a headache. I know this because he called me repeatedly and begged me to fix it. I don't doubt that he was hurting but I do doubt it was "The Worst Headache Ever!" I spoke with the nurse and reviewed the medication he had been given. I spoke with the nurse later, after she had spoken with two doctors. I called to check on him. Then, I looked up and it was almost midnight.
I didn't fix a thing. I gave him a little peace of mind and hopefully, some comfort.
His headache is the least of his health issues. Mainly, it's a broken heart and I can't fix it.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
What Do You Do?
As the wife of a man about town who has a certain amount of name recognition, I am greeted warmly and most of the time, I can predict the next question.
"What do you do?"
I used to answer honestly. I would say things like, "I dress people, schlep them around and today I cleaned up vomit and changed sheets." This did not please the husband so I changed my approach.
I tried, "I used to be Director of Marketing for a large banking corporation. I used to run a successful small business." I used to have some sense of organization. This is all true but no one wants to hear about the past.
You are who you think you are. Some days, that's the only identity you cling to. My small business is still one of my priorities. But lately, the answer to the never-ending question is crystal clear.
I am a writer.
"What do you do?"
I used to answer honestly. I would say things like, "I dress people, schlep them around and today I cleaned up vomit and changed sheets." This did not please the husband so I changed my approach.
I tried, "I used to be Director of Marketing for a large banking corporation. I used to run a successful small business." I used to have some sense of organization. This is all true but no one wants to hear about the past.
You are who you think you are. Some days, that's the only identity you cling to. My small business is still one of my priorities. But lately, the answer to the never-ending question is crystal clear.
I am a writer.
Slippers
I have a bizarre fondness for slippers. The first thing I do when I come home is change out of my shoes and put on some slippers. I have found myself in the grocery store or the drug store wearing slippers because I forgot to change.
The dog shares my love for slippers. She's constantly going into my closet and running around with a slipper like she's won a great prize.
The husband and I were going through the mother-in-law's clothing items this weekend. I kept one turtleneck sweater.
I also kept most of her slippers. My supply was running low and I'm pretty sure she wanted me to have them.
The dog shares my love for slippers. She's constantly going into my closet and running around with a slipper like she's won a great prize.
The husband and I were going through the mother-in-law's clothing items this weekend. I kept one turtleneck sweater.
I also kept most of her slippers. My supply was running low and I'm pretty sure she wanted me to have them.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Ash Wednesday
The husband spent most of the day taking his dad to previously scheduled doctor's appointments.
This afternoon, I decided to take the framed photos and pay my own visit. He loves the photos and we had many laughs and tears as we went through some memories.
He was wearing his Unabomber outfit. It made me smile.
Today is Ash Wednesday so I offered to take him to church. He did not feel up to it. So, I offered to smoke a cigarette and smear some ashes on his forehead. (For whatever reason, he finds my humor engaging.) We knelt and said our prayers.
My car must be programmed. It pulled into the nearest Methodist church. It was the middle of the afternoon and the only people were the frantic office people. I have never been in this church in my life but it felt like home. Shouldn't all churches feel that way? I went to the altar, did my business and was leaving when a minister showed up at the door.
(Can't you imagine those office people? 911 to the minister! Solo, crying woman in the sanctuary!)
The very nice minister put the ashes on my forehead. Then he walked me to my car.
This afternoon, I decided to take the framed photos and pay my own visit. He loves the photos and we had many laughs and tears as we went through some memories.
He was wearing his Unabomber outfit. It made me smile.
Today is Ash Wednesday so I offered to take him to church. He did not feel up to it. So, I offered to smoke a cigarette and smear some ashes on his forehead. (For whatever reason, he finds my humor engaging.) We knelt and said our prayers.
My car must be programmed. It pulled into the nearest Methodist church. It was the middle of the afternoon and the only people were the frantic office people. I have never been in this church in my life but it felt like home. Shouldn't all churches feel that way? I went to the altar, did my business and was leaving when a minister showed up at the door.
(Can't you imagine those office people? 911 to the minister! Solo, crying woman in the sanctuary!)
The very nice minister put the ashes on my forehead. Then he walked me to my car.
A Different Kind of High Maintenance
When the oldies first came to live with us, I wanted them to feel welcome and comfortable. They were on the road to recovery from various ailments (cancer) and surgeries like a few hip replacements. I showed them the town, our favorite markets, etc. I also took her to the hair salon and the manicure/pedicure people. Once they had their bearings and strength back, the manicure and pedicure became a ritual for them. (Of course, she had to include Hangdog.)
I have created a monster.
In a lucrative year, I have three pedicures. The oldies went every two weeks. Now Hangdog (in the Home) is a little incensed that pedicures aren't on the list of services provided. He's starting to panic.
I used to be squeamish but living with the oldies cured that affliction quickly. I offered to trim his toenails. After all, I gave him a manicure before the Belle's funeral. No! He wants the entire pedicure experience.
I have a new mission. I will find someone to go to the Home and give him a pedicure. Or, I will haul him to a nail salon. I'm wondering how many 84-year old men think a regular pedicure, or lack thereof, is a significant worry.
I have created a monster.
In a lucrative year, I have three pedicures. The oldies went every two weeks. Now Hangdog (in the Home) is a little incensed that pedicures aren't on the list of services provided. He's starting to panic.
I used to be squeamish but living with the oldies cured that affliction quickly. I offered to trim his toenails. After all, I gave him a manicure before the Belle's funeral. No! He wants the entire pedicure experience.
I have a new mission. I will find someone to go to the Home and give him a pedicure. Or, I will haul him to a nail salon. I'm wondering how many 84-year old men think a regular pedicure, or lack thereof, is a significant worry.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Surrounded in Love
Many of my girlfriends are creative with decorating. I am not. I rely heavily on their advice.
My favorite decoration is photographs. There is not a room in my home without a ton of them. I will be the first to admit it's a little over the top.
Suddenly I realized why Hangdog's room seems so stark to me. Beyond the obvious absence of his wife, there is nothing personal in his room.
They always said, "Sheri will fix it." I'm on a mission. I'm framing a few photos of their younger years, their wedding, their sons and their grandchildren. He may not be able to see them but I want every visitor and every caregiver to know that this man has a family, has a history and is surrounded by people who love him.
My favorite decoration is photographs. There is not a room in my home without a ton of them. I will be the first to admit it's a little over the top.
Suddenly I realized why Hangdog's room seems so stark to me. Beyond the obvious absence of his wife, there is nothing personal in his room.
They always said, "Sheri will fix it." I'm on a mission. I'm framing a few photos of their younger years, their wedding, their sons and their grandchildren. He may not be able to see them but I want every visitor and every caregiver to know that this man has a family, has a history and is surrounded by people who love him.
The Old Man and The Sea
I am no Hemmingway. But, I do know and love an old man. He has a lot of experience with the sea.
Did you know that fire can still surround you even if you're under water? The Captain experienced this being shot down during WWII. (I think the Belle was his reward.)
Just in case anyone is confused about how young these men and women are when we send them off to defend our country, meet the Captain.
A License
It's amazing how many things you are supposed to hold a license.
My dog has a license. I have no idea why or what it could possibly be used for.
I've been married more than once. I got a license.
I have a driver's licence. Ok, makes sense.
I did a bartending gig a few months ago; I now have a bartender's license.
I don't have a permit/license to carry a gun (and I do not have a gun) but that's another thing you need to get a license.
My dad has a fishing license.
Here are a few things that I wish you had to obtain a license:
I could go out tomorrow and I could adopt a pet, shoot off fireworks, buy a gun and have a baby (ok, that's a stretch.) All of my licenses are in order.
My dog has a license. I have no idea why or what it could possibly be used for.
I've been married more than once. I got a license.
I have a driver's licence. Ok, makes sense.
I did a bartending gig a few months ago; I now have a bartender's license.
I don't have a permit/license to carry a gun (and I do not have a gun) but that's another thing you need to get a license.
My dad has a fishing license.
Here are a few things that I wish you had to obtain a license:
Adopt a pet
Become a parent
Get a divorce
Shoot off fireworks
I could go out tomorrow and I could adopt a pet, shoot off fireworks, buy a gun and have a baby (ok, that's a stretch.) All of my licenses are in order.
Getting Some ZZZZs
The husband and I are not good sleepers. He stays up much later than I do but I usually get up much earlier than he does.
Since the Belle died, we seem to have exhausted our minds and bodies. I believe it's normal for your body to say, "ENOUGH!"
This morning I rolled over and said, "Oh My Gosh! It's 8:30!" For people who usually get up between 5:00 AM and 6:00 AM, this was a little bizarre. We both feel as if we've been hit by a train. Sleep never comes easily to me but in the past week, it's been very therapeutic.
It's not just any train. We've been hit by the Midnight Express.
Since the Belle died, we seem to have exhausted our minds and bodies. I believe it's normal for your body to say, "ENOUGH!"
This morning I rolled over and said, "Oh My Gosh! It's 8:30!" For people who usually get up between 5:00 AM and 6:00 AM, this was a little bizarre. We both feel as if we've been hit by a train. Sleep never comes easily to me but in the past week, it's been very therapeutic.
It's not just any train. We've been hit by the Midnight Express.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Super Bowl
The husband and I attended a fabulous Super Bowl party. Great food and great friends. Plus, the team we were cheering for actually won. (It wasn't our local team but the next best thing.)
At one point I caught myself with a plate of incredible food, surrounded by people having a wonderful time and I felt guilty for my laughter.
Ah, the stages of grief.
At one point I caught myself with a plate of incredible food, surrounded by people having a wonderful time and I felt guilty for my laughter.
Ah, the stages of grief.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
The Wedding Dress
For many young women, the wedding dress is the ultimate outfit. It represents one of the most important days of your life. You want to be well dressed.
I've taken more than one stroll down the aisle.
The mother-in-law once confided in me that she was terrified she would never meet "Mr. Right." When she did and they decided to marry, she went all out:
I have a friend who wore her mother's wedding dress when she got married 23+ years ago. Daughters don't do that as often anymore. My mother married my father in a borrowed dress from a friend. I married the husband in a red dress. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
I wish I knew what happened to this gorgeous dress. It's not just a dress; it's a symbol.
I've taken more than one stroll down the aisle.
The mother-in-law once confided in me that she was terrified she would never meet "Mr. Right." When she did and they decided to marry, she went all out:
I have a friend who wore her mother's wedding dress when she got married 23+ years ago. Daughters don't do that as often anymore. My mother married my father in a borrowed dress from a friend. I married the husband in a red dress. It seemed like a good idea at the time.
I wish I knew what happened to this gorgeous dress. It's not just a dress; it's a symbol.
Proud of You
Maya Angelou says one of the greatest gift you can give a child is to have your eyes light up when they enter a room. I agree. There are other ways you can tell a child or a friend or a parent that they're touching your heart.
"I love you" is the obvious. It never loses impact. I can say "I love you" over and over again and whomever I am speaking to will never get how strong that emotion is raging through me.
When you say, "I'm proud of you," you're usually speaking to your child or someone's child who is important in your life. Most adults don't swap this phrase with each other. I wish we would.
"I love you" is the obvious. It never loses impact. I can say "I love you" over and over again and whomever I am speaking to will never get how strong that emotion is raging through me.
When you say, "I'm proud of you," you're usually speaking to your child or someone's child who is important in your life. Most adults don't swap this phrase with each other. I wish we would.
Let the Sunshine In
It is very important to the husband that we make some progress every day. Going through paperwork, sorting through the dungeon and making donations gives him a sense of accomplishment.
This is when I am certain we are a good match -- I would still be dragging the dog pillow from room to room and wallowing in my sadness. He needs action and it is helpful.
So, after countless hours, we have reorganized the father-in-law's things. We have sorted through most of the Belle's things. We've restored that bedroom and bathroom (it's still Hangdog's but it's also our guest room) to something other than a dungeon.
The draperies have been closed for more than two years. As a final touch, we opened the curtains and let a little sunshine in through the sheers.
It added some sun through the tears too.
This is when I am certain we are a good match -- I would still be dragging the dog pillow from room to room and wallowing in my sadness. He needs action and it is helpful.
So, after countless hours, we have reorganized the father-in-law's things. We have sorted through most of the Belle's things. We've restored that bedroom and bathroom (it's still Hangdog's but it's also our guest room) to something other than a dungeon.
The draperies have been closed for more than two years. As a final touch, we opened the curtains and let a little sunshine in through the sheers.
It added some sun through the tears too.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Painful Packing
Packing is usually fun for me. I'm going on a trip! (Cross check and call forward!)
Today is a different kind of packing. We're taking small bites of clearing out the Belle's things. It's awful.
It's an oldies thing but every single thing seems to be wrapped in plastic or tissues or both. Plus, she was a stasher, so you might find receipts or a strand of pearls in any given pocket or handbag. Then on come the emotions. I remember the last time she wore that. I remember how many compliments she received on that outfit. A couple of times the husband said, "This is nice, you might like this." My response was, "It's mine. I loaned it to her."
She was the Anti-Sheri. I hate shopping. Shopping was a huge adventure to her. We are giving away glorious clothes and multiple things.
My friend, Big Sal, is out of town. If she were here, she would be checking out the Goodwill. She's the ultimate bargain hunter. I had a dream last night about Big Sal walking into my kitchen saying, "Look what I found." Of course, it would be something that used to belong to the Belle.
Today is a different kind of packing. We're taking small bites of clearing out the Belle's things. It's awful.
It's an oldies thing but every single thing seems to be wrapped in plastic or tissues or both. Plus, she was a stasher, so you might find receipts or a strand of pearls in any given pocket or handbag. Then on come the emotions. I remember the last time she wore that. I remember how many compliments she received on that outfit. A couple of times the husband said, "This is nice, you might like this." My response was, "It's mine. I loaned it to her."
She was the Anti-Sheri. I hate shopping. Shopping was a huge adventure to her. We are giving away glorious clothes and multiple things.
My friend, Big Sal, is out of town. If she were here, she would be checking out the Goodwill. She's the ultimate bargain hunter. I had a dream last night about Big Sal walking into my kitchen saying, "Look what I found." Of course, it would be something that used to belong to the Belle.
Car Dates
In my childhood household, the rule was I had to be 16-years old before I could car date with a boy. My parents allowed me to fudge it a bit once or twice.
Last night I had a car date. The husband had a new CD that a friend burned for him. Lots of his favorites and songs that hold special meaning to him. Instead of bringing it in the house, he wanted to sit in his car and share it with me.
We (Gabby-the-dog and me) shared the passenger seat. The husband went through every single song and explained why he loved it. Yes, we sat in his car, in our garage for the entire CD.
When we finally came back in the house, he bounced between my iPod (Where is it? Bring that speaker system out here!) and the piano. The dog got her squeaky ball and played along. He pretends he doesn't like her but he kept telling her she was off key. When I offered to put her to bed, he said, "Leave her alone, she is fine."
As usual, we played our little competition games. Which artist is this? Can you name the year? What is the song really about?
Certain rules were instilled in me as a child. I'm sure my parents were terrified that a boy and a girl, alone in a car, was a recipe for disaster.
Last night, there was a man, a woman and a dog alone in a car. It wasn't disastrous; it was fun.
Last night I had a car date. The husband had a new CD that a friend burned for him. Lots of his favorites and songs that hold special meaning to him. Instead of bringing it in the house, he wanted to sit in his car and share it with me.
We (Gabby-the-dog and me) shared the passenger seat. The husband went through every single song and explained why he loved it. Yes, we sat in his car, in our garage for the entire CD.
When we finally came back in the house, he bounced between my iPod (Where is it? Bring that speaker system out here!) and the piano. The dog got her squeaky ball and played along. He pretends he doesn't like her but he kept telling her she was off key. When I offered to put her to bed, he said, "Leave her alone, she is fine."
As usual, we played our little competition games. Which artist is this? Can you name the year? What is the song really about?
Certain rules were instilled in me as a child. I'm sure my parents were terrified that a boy and a girl, alone in a car, was a recipe for disaster.
Last night, there was a man, a woman and a dog alone in a car. It wasn't disastrous; it was fun.
Friday, February 1, 2008
The Must Call List
Remember when we all signed up for the "Do Not Call" list? Anything to stop those pesky telemarketing calls. For the most part, it worked.
We all have a "Must Call" list. It may be to share great joy; it might be a potential tragedy. It might not be an actual phone call -- maybe it's an email or some other form of communication. But, it's a must do.
There's comfort in sharing, whether it's joy or grief.
We all have a "Must Call" list. It may be to share great joy; it might be a potential tragedy. It might not be an actual phone call -- maybe it's an email or some other form of communication. But, it's a must do.
There's comfort in sharing, whether it's joy or grief.
He's Got My Number
Hangdog is being transported from one hospital, where he checked out ok, to the VA hospital for the necessary evaluation before he can go back to the Home.
I answered the phone a few minutes ago and it was an EMT, traveling with my father-in-law in an ambulance. Pop needed to talk to me. The EMT is probably taking an oxygen moment. Good plan.
A while ago, I made these big flash cards for him with phone numbers. I forgot the engineering mind and the memory ability.
Meanwhile, the husband is pacing the VA facility. I've let him know that his father is safe and on the way.
The doctors call our home, our various cell phones, etc. We are well informed. Pop has memorized a couple of numbers. Unless he's hampered by a medical situation, I know the numbers he will call.
I answered the phone a few minutes ago and it was an EMT, traveling with my father-in-law in an ambulance. Pop needed to talk to me. The EMT is probably taking an oxygen moment. Good plan.
A while ago, I made these big flash cards for him with phone numbers. I forgot the engineering mind and the memory ability.
Meanwhile, the husband is pacing the VA facility. I've let him know that his father is safe and on the way.
The doctors call our home, our various cell phones, etc. We are well informed. Pop has memorized a couple of numbers. Unless he's hampered by a medical situation, I know the numbers he will call.
Dying of a Broken Heart
Growing up in the neighborhood, there was the cutest old couple. Mr. and Mrs. Fox kept their lawn and home immaculate. They were extremely kind to each other and all of us. They put up with the neighborhood kids and genuinely seemed to like us. She was the epitome of the grandmotherly image -- handing out cookies and compliments. They died within a few days of each other.
My own maternal grandparents, who claimed ultimate disdain for each other, had a surreal fascination with the other. They died within a few days of each other.
I know many people who have lost a spouse, grieved, picked up the pieces and found joy again. I've witnessed many people who cannot do it. Is it sheer will for those who find the strength? Is it weakness or simply dying of a broken heart for those who cannot?
We were informed this morning that Hangdog is being transported from the Home to the hospital. His blood pressure is too low and his pulse is too high. Deja Vu. I know this road. I've traveled it before.
My own maternal grandparents, who claimed ultimate disdain for each other, had a surreal fascination with the other. They died within a few days of each other.
I know many people who have lost a spouse, grieved, picked up the pieces and found joy again. I've witnessed many people who cannot do it. Is it sheer will for those who find the strength? Is it weakness or simply dying of a broken heart for those who cannot?
We were informed this morning that Hangdog is being transported from the Home to the hospital. His blood pressure is too low and his pulse is too high. Deja Vu. I know this road. I've traveled it before.
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