Burying It and Digging it Up

Our maniac dog is obsessed with taking a bone or a treat and burying it. The backyard is her favorite but she also likes to hide things in a sofa or household plants. I have tried to explain to her that she is the only dog here and it's safe to leave it out. She's not buying it.

The husband thinks I adopted a dog with my personality. We do have some similar traits:

She's very vocal. She hates to hear "No."
She's affectionate. Probably more than necessary.
She loves music. Lying under the piano and playing her squeaky ball is big fun.
She's loyal.
She likes to bend the rules.

I'm also good at burying things. I bury them inside to fester. I convince myself that I have moved on. But sometimes someone will push me to the wall. I dig it up.

Groups and Memberships

I'm not a big joiner. I'm a tagging alonger. But it occurred to me recently, I belong to a lot of groups:

My church -- I don't go often enough. But I'm still a member of that group.

My parents -- The three of us are a group. We let other people in but we're a united circle all of our own.

My family -- Children grown and a husband with a busy life. We're still an entity.

My Aunts/Uncles/Cousins -- We have a relationship that transcends bloodlines.

My goldies -- We all have our own lives and different friends. When the three of us are together, we are a united team. (I was told this weekend that I am the leader. Huh?!)

My workout girls: We're a team whether we work out or not.

My childhood neighborhood: Friends, parents of friends ... lots of them form a group and I consider myself a member.

The Club: I gave up golf and since we lost the oldies, I rarely go there. But I have many friendships that originated there. As long as we are members, I will be part of Cocktail Corner.

I'm also a member of the "I don't want to be here" group. The older I get, the easier it is to walk away.

Sex and The City

Yesterday, as part of our goldies weekend, we went to the movies. This is a huge treat for me. I generally go to the theater two or three times a year. The husband doesn't enjoy it and I always feel a little guilty about all the things that need my attention.

I used to go to the movies all the time so I guess it was my lifestyle changes in the past few years that changed that habit.

But, during our girls' weekend, guilt is not allowed. So we went to see "Sex and the City." One friend had already seen it but she was gung-ho to see it again. Another had never seen the series so she was afraid she wouldn't get it. Like a trouper, she went along. We loved it.

I did watch the series and although it occasionally made me squirm, I loved so many things:

The fifth lady -- New York City -- my favorite!

The clothing and accessories -- I do not aspire to own Blanik shoes but it's fun to watch others who do.

Their dates -- I have been married the entire time this series was on the air so I could live vicariously through their escapades and usually was very grateful to not be in that situation.

Their sense of empowerment: Whether it was jobs or men, these women were not looking for someone to save them.

Their age: These women are roughly my age. Even with their different lifestyles, I still identified with them.

Their friendship: They weren't afraid to confess failures and quirks. With all the juggling, if a girlfriend needs something -- it jumps high on the list.

It was fun to watch. It was especially touching to see it with two women who have seen me through it all.

Health Scares

I don't like health-related scares. I realize that is a ridiculous sentence -- no one does. Although, Hangdog used to love to dream up symptoms and find any excuse to go to the doctor or the emergency room. Some were real and some were imaginary but I often wondered if this is an old person's version of a social life.

The goldies weekend is in full swing and a lot of our questions seem to come back to health and body: ours, our spouses, our parents, etc. Some of our parents are alarmists, others are secret keepers until the crisis is over. My parents are not secret keepers but they often don't give me full disclosure. I see and talk to my parents A LOT more than the other girls. It's kind of hard for us to keep too much from each other.

But my parents also know, I go immediately to "Jump in and fix it" mode. If there's a medical issue at hand, I have my doctor on speed dial. I will call every person I know in the medical field. I will have a list of the best specialist and the quacks that you shouldn't take your bird to. And if it's necessary, I WILL get you in to see the right person. (I'm very polite about it.)

We're not obsessed with it but I admit to some comfort in knowing my body is not doing anything that they are not also experiencing. There's a sisterhood in knowing that they also lose sleep when their husband is stressed or their parents have a scare.

Plus, our wacky senses of humor come through. One of us can be describing some non-life- threatening but disgusting ailment or disease. Instead of getting somber and sympathetic, we tend to burst into laughter.

Every little bit helps.

Not Disappointed

Yesterday was the beginning of my goldies weekend. You now how sometimes you look forward to something with such anticipation that you feel let down because it didn't live up to your expectations? This is not the case. So far it's even better than I dared to hope.

Yes, I did cry in the airport.

We all had our questions but Jan kept calling to remind us not to start them without her. We had enough food and drinks for an army. Once the three of us were in the same room, any sane person would've had a head spin. We couldn't talk fast enough. My goddaughters came over and I noticed some eye rolling at how silly the three of us can become.

Did I mention that Jan needed to have her dogs out of her house for a couple of hours so at one point, we had my maniac dog and her three dogs running around. Gabby thought this was a big party just for her!

Other than our husbands and children, we know each other better than anyone else in the world. Yet, we still keep learning about each other. Within the first hour, we had cried and then laughed until we cried our make-up off. All of our quirks and mannerisms came out in full force. We listened to music and interrupted each other to say, "This song reminds me of the time ..." My stomach muscles actually ached from laughing.

And the weekend has just begun!

Airports

Forget about the hassles, the lines through security and the over-priced food. There are several things I love about airports:

People watching. There are some weird ducks out there.

Seeing someone embrace. Maybe it's a father returning from a business trip or a person serving our country returning home.

The anticipation of getting on a plane and going somewhere fun.

Picking up someone you love.

In less than two hours, I am going to the airport. I'm going to pick up someone I love who I have not seen in a year and a half -- just wrong! I am certain I will burst into tears the moment I see her.

My parents do not spontaneously combust every time something touches them emotionally. I have no idea where I got this gene. It does kind of freak people out.

In some undefinable way, the airport allows us to explore all kinds of feelings and emotions. It may be:

Relief: Bye Bye
Sadness: Bye Bye
Fear: Did I leave the coffee pot on?
Love: Welcome home
Jealousy: No one's here to greet me.
Envy: I want that luggage.
Gossip: She's wearing that on a plane?
Stubbornness: I will take my seat and half of yours.

The airport is a sociology experiment brought to life every day.

Continuity & Things that Don't Make Sense

One of my friends is a retired filmmaker. He would let me visit the set and I was always struck by the attention to detail. If you shoot a scene four times or fifty times, the crew is responsible to make sure little things like the position of the plates or the clothing is exactly as it was before.

Watching the same movies over and over helps me relax. I have no idea why. If I'm really jittery, I start to notice the continuity problems. For instance:

One of the opening scenes in Erin Brockovich shows her crushing a cigarette with her CFM shoes. You never see her with a cigarette for the rest of the movie. I want that plan.

Toward the end of Sleepless in Seattle, Meg Ryan's character checks into The Plaza with her fiance and then ends up holding hands with Tom Hanks at the top of the Empire State Building. Do they stroll back to The Plaza, arm in arm, to collect her belongings?

When Baby steps in for the dancer in Dirty Dancing, all of a sudden she has tights and rehearsal wear. (Plus silver dancing shoes.) How did she know to pack these items? She and the other girl are not the same size.

Other times, when I see a movie for the first time, I get so distracted with the clothing and house decor that I forget to follow the plot. Just another quirk of mine. Whenever I watch A Perfect Murder, I want to steal Gwyneth Paltrow's wardrobe. I lose sight of the fact that she's married to a murderer; I want that coat.

A Cooking Fool

I try to go all out during the holidays and other special occasions. Sometimes the baby will come home from college and ask for a favorite meal -- usually chicken pot pie. The daughter has a favorite meal (pork tenderloin and fettuccine Alfredo) and the husband has perfected it.

Other times, I'm a simple eater. Since we lost the oldies, the husband and I are quite content with a piece of meat or fish and some veges. We often have hor
d'oerves and skip dinner.

But, my goldies are coming. We want to nosh. Jan had a couple of requests. I made them. Deb swears she'll never get out of her stretchy pants. I made some other appetizers too and now I've become a cooking fool. I have ingredients for two more and I will make them today. It's pure joy to cook for people who request things and relish them.

Chicken Tortilla Soup is the easiest (and one of the tastiest) soups. If you give me a recipe, I usually amend it. I make it easier. So, I will share this easy recipe, courtesy of Big Sal, with hopes that you will enjoy it.

Chicken Tortilla Soup

Your choice: Buy a rotisserie chicken and pluck the meat off. Or, use two packages of southwestern chicken strips. Cut into chunks.
2 cans or most of one box of chicken stock.
1 cup water.
Salsa Verdi (green) -- I use most or all of one jar.
1 tbsp Cumin
2 cans of Cannelloni beans (white kidney beans,) drained and rinsed.
1 can of corn, drained.

Put everything in a pot or dutch oven and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and let simmer for a bit. Put in the frig and reheat the next day.

Serve with the following sides: minced green onions, sour cream, crumbled tortilla chips, shredded cheese.

Kids love this soup. I think they like making their own combination.

So, you dump everything in a pot and then YUM! I must go cook now.

Bad Pick Up and Date Lines

When the England sons were teenagers, their father and my husband used to tease them by giving dating advice. Of course, the baby was there too and soaking it all in.

This was major entertainment for the grown men and the teenage boys. There were scores of bad lines. A few of my favorites:

You don't sweat much for a fat girl.
Wow, your acne is really clearing up.
Is that your real hair?

Thankfully, I don't think any of these young men have used the lines. They seem to treat women with respect. I'm giving credit to the moms.

A Good Week

Everyone likes something to look forward to. As a teenager, it drove Jan crazy that I would leave new items of clothing hanging in my closet with the tags on them. The anticipation was fun for me. Now she has a daughter who does the same thing.

Today I had lunch with my parents (and miraculously escaped without my ankles being attacked.) I have been looking forward to it for days and the anticipation was worth it. My mother always teases that I've forgotten the route to their home. I left a trail of breadcrumbs but I found it.

In less than 48 hours, I will head to the airport and pick up Deb. Then the goldies will hole up, talk, sing, laugh and cry until we're practically hoarse. We're going for pedicures. We'll watch movies and listen to music. Of course, we will do our questions. Deb bought a new box for the question slips. Are we weird or what?

It's my birthday week and I have been showered with cards and fun wishes. All in all, more good stuff than bad. That makes for a very fine week.

Housekeeping

I have a couple of great aunts that take house cleaning to the stratosphere. I got out of line when they were assigning this gene. It does not interest me except when the husband leaves me notes through the dust on the piano.

The Belle took a bizarre interest in cleaning this home. While the oldies were with us, I was the little cheerleader: "You go girl!" Some people would be embarrassed to have their mother-in-law clean their/our grunge. Not me. I was thinking, "Whew!"

We Will Not Be On the Smucker's Jar

Willard Scott does this cheesy tribute to oldies -- you must be 100 or married 75 years -- on The Today Show. I like how their advice contradicts each other. One person will say, "The secret to a long life is never drinking or smoking and going to church every Sunday." The next person's advice is, "A glass of sherry before dinner and two cigars a week."

In the movie, On Golden Pond, Katherine Hepburn refers to her and her husband (Henry Fonda) as middle aged. He reminds her that people don't live to be 150-years old.

Yesterday, my mother asked me to stop referring to myself as old. I don't feel old. I'm quite comfortable with my age. I'm certainly blessed for my experiences. Although I don't do it often, I can still manage a cartwheel or a handstand. I can still flip and dive off the board at the pool. I can balance a baby on my hip while tossing a salad. I can get knocked down by a big dog and get back up.

On both sides of my family, the lucky gene people make it to about 80-years old. That makes me on the far edge of middle age but I'm sticking to it.

Forceful Personalities

I am married to a man with a forceful personality. I know I did this on purpose. Doormats and wishy-washy people tend to bore me. Smart and provocative folks inspire me.

You're welcome to remind me of this the next time I want to shoot the husband or I'm complaining because someone hurt my feelings.

My life is filled with fierce personalities. A mother who defines strong. A father who uses his quiet strength in his own way. (He can still shut me up with a look.) Friends who have weathered storms and shown me the way to survive. Friends who get in your face when they have something important to say. Aunts and uncles and cousins who led me and love me.

I think of the Belle and the Captain every day. I still expect them to meander in the kitchen and fry something up. They were two of the strongest personalities I've ever known. Well, she was. He tried but he was no match for her.

The daughter is a little (she's tiny) whirlwind. "Forceful" doesn't do her justice. The baby reminds me of my father. He may be quiet. He may not say everything on his mind.

All it takes is a look.

The "Get Me Out of Here" Window

Remember being pre-teen or early teens? In my day, you did not have the option of cell phones and texting. You were at the mercy of your parents and what they chose as family entertainment.

For a while, my parents chose square dancing -- complete with the full outfits.

Ok, I admit I enjoyed the dancing part but most of the time I felt like a dork. I've always loved dancing but this was not my fave. Part of it felt like I landed on the set of Hee Haw. When you go to school and someone asks, "What did you do this weekend?" Trust me, you don't want to say, "I went square dancing."

We dragged others along. One of my first crushes was Greg Davis and that kind boy accompanied me to many square dances. What was he thinking?

I used to count the days until Jan would get her driver's license. She didn't need my help but I would've taken the test for her. Just get it and let's get out of here!

The Belle would be proud that I was wearing pearls.

Bittersweet

Today is Jan's birthday! I hope she listens to Lynrd Skynrd. I hope she knows that she is one of the most treasured people in my life.

On her birthday eve, I was listening to music and the husband was trying to figure out chords on the piano. Time flew by and the next thing I knew, it was 11:15 or so. At night! (I am the Queen of early to bed, early to rise.) Then it became a mission -- I will stay awake until midnight so I can call Jan.

I have my own special ring tone on her phone. She always knows it's me. Here I'm thinking I'll just leave her a sweet birthday message but SHE SLEEPS WITH THE PHONE AT HER EAR! Instead of voicemail, I hear, "Hi Sheri, What's wrong? You never call me at midnight." I felt kind of stupid saying, "I just wanted to be the first one to wish you a happy birthday."

The bittersweet part is that today is also Patsy's birthday. I still miss her. It's one of those aches that will never go away, although the pain has changed from stabbing to a dull throb.

The photo above was taken at the beginning of my sophomore year of college. We're not discussing how many years ago that was. We're upbeat. It's our birthday week.

Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys

As I mentioned the other day, (post: Dads) I grew up with Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson, George Jones and Patsy Cline. Tammy Wynette and Loretta Lynn sang about worlds and experiences I could not fathom. Mickey Gilley or Garth Brooks can inspire a counter dance.

Even though he dresses like GQ, I married a cowboy. He's not afraid to be a little rough around the edges. He's good at it. Occasionally, he ropes me in.

I'm not quite a cowgirl but I own the boots. They've seen some dance floors and tabletops. If you run into me in Texas or Arizona, I will be doing my best cowgirl impression.

The baby is almost grown. I watch him with an inquisitive eye and it's all I can do to keep from taking notes.

The daughter lives in Texas. Cowboys abound. Her relationship is sound but a few cowboys do help with the scenery. She lives very close to Willie Nelson. Coincidence? I think not.

The baby does not have the experience of being a cowboy. But he has a sister who lives in Texas and a father who embodies some cowboy characters. He's subjected to country music every time I am in control.

The song says, "Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys." The baby will become a lawyer or an engineer or some other professional. I will watch with pride. I will also hope he takes after his dad and has a little bit of cowboy in him.

Sloppy Drinkers

We all know them. It's the guy who'll slosh you with red wine when you're wearing a white linen blouse. It's the woman who will tell you every dirty detail of her sex life and then will be mortified the next day. It's the teenager who swears he or she has never touched a drop but spends an inordinate amount of time cleaning the car the next morning.

I am not passing judgement. Wild Bill taught me that drunk dialing is one of the most fun activities. I have done it. I usually call my mother and she is mortified. Like all activities, drunk dialing has some rules:

You must call someone you love. You must tell them over and over again that you love them.
You must call at a weird time. Waking them is preferable.
You must pass the phone around so they can talk to total strangers.

I don't do this any more. My mother is probably relieved.

But, I still live with a sloppy drinker. She wears a collar and embodies destruction on steroids. You won't find her with a glass of red wine but I highly recommend not wearing white or anything linen if you come to my house.

Stopping at McDonald's

Many times after a charity event or a band gig, the husband and I are headed home and realize we're hungry. Whether he's been playing in the band or we've both been working the room, we didn't eat very much. Suddenly, White Castles or McDonald's seems like a grand idea.

We had a Father's Day dinner here last night. I knew my mother would hate the menu -- I warned her in advance and tried to compensate. I also knew the Ahi tuna, shrimp and mussels would be a big hit with my father, Big Daddy and the baby. Veges and pasta rounded it out. I tried to please all. Plus, we had strawberries, ice cream and brownies for dessert. Yum.

My father said, "Oh shoot, we just had this last night."

My mother does not have a poker face. Her expression at the mussels and the rare tuna ... well, "Yum" was not the word floating through her mind. I may not be a big eater but I am open to (almost) anything. She always marvels at my love of crisp veges, any kind of seafood and especially mushrooms. We did not eat these things in my childhood.

We had a small storm so I called to make sure they were home safely. She swears they didn't stop but I would've bet something like a hamburger was in order.

Is It Miss, Ms. or Mrs.?

You know those forms where you have to check: married, single, or divorced? I like to check them all. I've been them all so I'm not lying. Do you think transgender people check male and female? When they give you the option of temporary address and permanent address, I like to put my current street address under temporary and then write, "Heaven, I hope" in the permanent box.


How about the salutation box? Your choices are Mr., Miss, Ms., or Mrs. Again, I have often checked all the female options. If you're a man, checking that box tells no one anything. As a woman, checking Miss says, "I'm single." Checking Ms. says, "I'm hanging onto my own identity." Checking Mrs. says, "I'm married." This is way too much information for a woman to provide when a man only has to check Mister.


I must write Miss Manners because I am very confused about the use of the term, "Mrs." My simple, but adequate, education taught me that the term literally meant "wife of..." So in those terms, this would be right:

Mrs. John Smith, (wife of John Smith)
Mrs. John Smith, (widow of John Smith)

This would be wrong:

Mrs. Susan Smith (Is she married to herself?)
Mrs. Smith (when she and John divorced eons ago.)

During our years of living with the oldies, there were two Mrs. Romans in this house and we both carried the title with pride. Callers were often confused but we got a giggle out of it. The Belle used to inspect me before a big event for the husband and say, "Remember, you are Mrs. Roman."


I won't even tell you how much I hate those boxes where you have to declare your age bracket.

Dads

The Captain had many reasons to be proud: WWII pilot, engineering career, an enduring marriage with a wife who adored him and more. I wish I had captured the gleam in his eyes when he spoke of his boys.

Today is Father’s Day and I am remembering the Captain/Hangdog/Unabomber. I’m thinking about last year and the absolute joy on his face when his sons or grandchildren called to acknowledge the holiday. We had a dinner, complete with three Roman generations of men. We’ll do the same today but there will be an empty chair.

My father did not get sons. He got stuck with me. Boy, have I put him through the wringer! Yet, he’s always made me feel like the smartest, the most talented daughter in the world.

We’ve all heard the stories and read the statistics. Children who grow up without a father are more likely to:

Abuse drugs and alcohol
Suffer in poverty
Drop out of school
Join a gang
Repeat the cycle

I’ve always heard that men want sons. It may be about carrying on the lineage and the family name. (You will have to kill me before I stop using the Riley name.)I watched this magician the other day. His trick was to put a bunch of people on a mat and then cover them in a bubble. I thought, “Hah! My dad has put me in a bubble for years.” One of his few quirks is when he’s mad or disappointed in me, he leaves it to my mother to tell me.

Here are a few things about my dad you may not know:

His childhood was beyond unfair. It makes me cry. He survived.

He describes his first date with my mother as, “Love at first sight.” I think they still like each other.

When my mother got bored with my ineptness, he continued to help me learn how to skip.

As an adult, I’ve never lived anywhere without my father painting, repairing, building.

His word is a bond. It’s ironclad. He’s the strongest (and I don’t mean just physical) person I know.

He doesn’t have to have the last word.

His quiet sense of humor is raw and hysterical.

His hearing may be diminished but he always hears us when we call.

He would get the certificate for “Best Eater.” He’s fun to cook for.

George Jones, George Strait, Willie Nelson and many other country singers will never know the passion of this fan. He forced me to listen to country music as a child and now I find myself comparing songs with him. Many of our father/daughter dates have been country music concerts.

Almost 45 years ago, Paul Riley met a little girl. She had colic and frog legs. She often spent time trying his patience. To this day, she takes him for granted. But, at least she knows it.

My father did not grow up with a great father. I did.

A Fallen Hero (of Mine)

If you have no interest in politics or journalism, this will bore you. If you have the tiniest inkling of curiosity about the machinery of government or political candidates or what's going on in the Senate ... we all lost an ally yesterday.

As a news junkie, I often struggle to understand what I'm reading or hearing. "Meet the Press" is must-see TV for me. If I have other plans, I TIVO it.

About 3pm yesterday, I heard that Tim Russert had collapsed and died. I cried. I felt like I lost a friend and mentor. More than that, I lost a hero. I knew he was a great family man. I knew he was a superb journalist. I had no idea of the sense of loss I would experience. I did not know this man personally. But he sure knew me. He knew what questions to ask to get to the heart of the matter. He knew what this middle-aged, Midwestern woman wanted to know and that was usually his next question. He knew how to take the polls and the stats, reduce them to something real, and make me understand.

His dad advised him years ago, and I'm paraphrasing, "Don't talk the lingo. Don't try to sound smart. Talk to me."

I've watched far more of the coverage than any normal person would do. As a self-diagnosed, mildly autistic person, I like to see things over and over.

Like me, he had nicknames for everyone. It was clear this man was adored. Everyone from the President of the United States to movers and shakers in Washington to fellow journalists have paid tribute. I hope he knows how much this Midwestern woman admired him too.

Please Write it Down

I am never at a loss for a pen or pencil.  There are usually several living in my hair.  If you start to give me information that may prove important, I immediately write it down.People are catching on to me.  I selected the Father's Day menu and called the fish market.  As soon as I said, "Do you have a pen?." he said, "Hi Mrs. Roman."

Standing in line in the grocery while the cashier and the bagging person discuss their various sex lives is not my idea of a good time.  If they ask me, "Paper or plastic?" more than one time, I feel the need to write it down and send them a note.

I also like to ask people to repeat information back to me.  It doesn't matter if I'm ordering a pizza or scheduling a charity event.  You would not believe how many people get offended at this.  I figure I'm saving us all a bunch of time and money if we just get it right the first time.I went to pick up my order at the fish market.  The nice young man behind the counter asked me if I remembered what I ordered.  Voila!  My list.  His boss (who is younger than most of my towels) came out and said, "You must be Mrs. Roman."

Well, I'm one of them.  I'm the anal one.

Friday the 13th

My crazy grandmother would not leave her house on Friday the 13th. She believed in many curses and superstitions. I tell myself that I'm not superstitious. But there's a little paranoia that creeps in.

I don't walk under ladders and I don't open an umbrella indoors. I like black cats but I get a little nervous when they cross my path. Birds are creepy to me; a bird in the house makes something fire in my brain -- someone is going to die. Thanks Grandma.

You can talk yourself into anything. I'm a prime example but that's a different post.

Singing and Dancing

I have never met a microphone I didn't like. I'm not great at public speaking but other than that, I have a freakish attraction to microphones. Maybe it's because the husband is in a band. Maybe it's because my mother was honest enough to tell me decades ago that I can't carry a tune and at some point I decided I don't care. I sing in my house and my car. I sing whenever I feel like it.

Years ago, I was on a girl trip with my Goldies. I think we were in Nashville, TN. Lots of musical entertainment on street corners. To their horror, I liked to join in. I know this song!

Another time, a musician was performing in our hotel lobby. He was singing Patsy Cline and I was participating so heartily that he invited me on stage. Do you think I went up there? Deb and Jan were slightly proud and partially mortified.

Dancing is another release for me. Sorry Mom, but you started it. I used to watch my mother dance around the house. I have danced on counter tops and table tops. Some gene takes over and I must move. (I have never pole danced or pranced in a cage.) As a band widow, I often attend their performances. I dance with my friends and sometimes a total stranger will ask me to dance. I usually do it and I point out my husband up on stage. It's not a dating ritual; I just like to dance.

Plus, I know all the songs so I get to sing along.

Drugs and Needles

This is floating around the Internet. I couldn't resist.

If you are young and someone says, "I have a fun idea," my advice is to run like the wind. Drugs and needles can only get you in trouble.

This woman had a little too much fun in the 60s.

Impromptu Parties

If you're with the right group of people, a party can break out at any time. I live with an "out there" person. A lot of my friends can turn any occasion into a party. I used to think I was a victim of circumstance but now I accept that I am often the instigator.

Jan has a routine that cracks me up. She will call twice on the home phone. If I do not answer, she will call twice on my cell phone. If I do not answer, she will walk into my kitchen. When a girl needs her girlfriend, the barriers go away. Strong people just knock them out of the way. The message is, "I will find you." I am always relieved to be found.

Houseboy came in for a cold drink after spending many hours loading the fallen tree and many limbs into the chipper. (Abby calls him Poolboy, although I do not have a pool.) My next door neighbor's daughter, and my friend, came over with her puppy. We passed him around like old women do with an infant. I played referee with my maniac dog.

The iPod was rocking. We discussed children and dogs and storm damage. It was an impromptu party and the most fun I've had in weeks.

A Cool Pad

In the 70s, I aspired to own a cool pad. I was enthralled with Mary Richard's cute place on "The Mary Tyler Moore Show" It was small but charming.

Did you know if you use your laptop as your primary computer, you need a cool pad? I did not. I had a flashback to the 70s when "cool pad" had a completely different meaning. Computer guy did not understand my hysterical giggles.

So now I own a cool pad. It's just not the one I had in mind.

Will I Ever Learn?

I have been married to the husband for umpteen years. He is one of the most social men on the planet. We have always welcomed people into our home -- no invitation necessary. As long as I don't have to wait on you, come on in.

Between tromping around in the yard to assess storm damage and taking the dog for a walk through a fog of humidity, I felt pretty grungy yesterday evening. After I put dinner together (which I knew would shock the husband,) I took a shower. It was after 7pm so I opted for pjs and my ratty bathrobe.

Picture this: Dripping hair, scrubbed face and an ultra-cute outfit. The back door opens and the husband says, "Look who's here."

I tried to be nonchalant. (Like I always eat dinner in my bathrobe.) So I tossed the salad and served the pasta. Some women would've run to get appropriately dressed. I did not. I decided to go with the drowned rat look.

Sick of Rain; Sick of Storms

I sound like a petulant child. Especially when I realize that many parts of our state have been declared disaster areas. Many, many people are homeless due to these sweeping storms. Many others will spend countless hours and countless dollars cleaning up water damage.

Yet, I lost a major tree yesterday that is now plopped across my circular drive. With every storm, I lose electricity and/or cable for a while. My yard is a muddy mess, with limbs everywhere.

I woke this morning to another torrential rain. Every county is under a flood warning. It's supposed to be sunny for the rest of the day. I hope so; otherwise, I might just go back to bed.

As I write this, I hear a chainsaw. Houseboy must be out there dismembering my fallen tree. I wonder if this is the day I can convince him to loan me the chainsaw.

Walking Into a Memory

On Saturday, the husband and I went to a friend's home for dinner. He and his girlfriend prepared a fabulous meal and could not have been more gracious. It was a roller coaster of laughs, food, music ... and tears.

My friend, Patsy, was his wife. The last time I stepped in this house, I was visiting her after surgery. I knew he had remodeled/recedorated and I was anxious to see it. I was also just plain anxious. I used to be able to drive to this place in my sleep. We have had girlfriend sleepovers and SuperBowl parties there. We sat in the kitchen and solved the problems of the world.

Crossing the threshold was like walking through foam. I expected her to walk up to me, cup my face with her little hands and kiss me in greeting. (Then she would tell me what was wrong with my life.)

I didn't exactly boo-hoo; I just couldn't escape the memories. I really like the girlfriend but I'm sure she wanted to slap me: Just stop it!

Although she was Jewish, Patsy's final days were spent in a Catholic hospital. Crucifixes everywhere. My super-funny husband would walk into the room and say, "Love your decorations." She was in a coma but her machines would go crazy.

The house has changed and although it was beautiful before, it better suits her husband now. Plus, his girlfriend must appreciate the changes.

One thing he kept was a large frame filled with friends and family. She inspired me to do this myself and it's a tedious yet worthwhile project. People get enthralled with the search. Am I in there? The husband couldn't find himself. I pointed out: she didn't like you.

The truth is she did like him but she enjoyed the dance of poking and prodding, as does he. They disagreed on so many things that it made my head spin. I learned many years ago to get out of the way.

So, I went to Patsy's house. I loved it. Patsy wanted nothing more for her husband and children than to be happy and I felt nothing but love in the house. Could anyone ask for a better legacy?

Please Stand Up Straight

My parents were pretty big on posture. In my years of ballet, I learned that you can't perform any of the steps without your spine in alignment. As a result, I prefer straight-back chairs. I rarely recline on a plane. The seat position in my car could be classified as military straight.

I continue to torture the baby. He's an adult (sort of) and he probably doesn't appreciate my poking. To his credit, he does respond.

There seems to be an inordinate amount of young people who have settled into slumping. They also like to wear hoodie sweatshirts with the hood up -- regardless of the weather. I can't guess if they're cold, trying to be incognito or getting ready to rob a convenience store. Since we lost the Captain and his Unabomber costume, I no longer allow this in my house. Again, we bent the rules for the Captain and allowed him to wear a baseball cap in the house. Those days are over; the husband goes a little crazy over this one.

Yes, I am sounding like an oldie. Yes, these are minor things in the general scheme of things. But, if we start with the little things and take it one step at a time, maybe the bigger things won't seem so difficult.

That's When I Learned

When I was seven years old, I had a sleepover birthday party. My favorite gift was a Barbie Pool. One of my friends threw up in it. That's when I learned that I liked my friends more than material things.

I had a few babysitters. One of them used to serve her husband Club Crackers and a Pepsi when he came home from work. We were not allowed these items and I coveted them. That's when I learned there are different rules for grown-ups.

Once I pined for a neighbor's son. I mean serious angst. Unfortunately, I carried this little spark for years... to the point of almost obsession. We went on a date once. I loved the movie; he hated it. That's when I learned there's a gift in letting go of a fantasy.

I've admitted it before but I've stood on top of Jan's shoulders (literally and figuratively) more times than I can count. That's when I learned a friend will catch you if she can.

College. That's when I learned a lot of stuff.

I had a six-pound dog that could eat quadruple her weight in carpeting, door frames, and anything in the path. That's when I learned about dog crates.

Another friend has lived in different towns for almost thirty years. That's when I learned friendship has no boundaries.

The oldies embodied grace and southern charm. Living with them taught me I have more to learn.

Little Pink Bellies

I like to tease the maniac dog and remind her that I too had a little pink belly once.

So did a lot of other people.

I have no desire to go back in time but I'd love to experience the feeling of wearing a two-piece suit with no reservations.

Leave it to Beaver

Question: What's the first sexual line uttered on commercial television?

Answer: Ward, I think you're being too hard on the beaver.

It's an old joke but it still makes me laugh. It's one of those where you only have to say the punchline. Everyone over 40 gets it.

I've been accused of looking at my childhood through rose-colored glasses. That's probably true. Still, it's more fun to remember the good times. My worst times would be considered insignificant and lame compared to what many children experience.

It wasn't exactly Beaverland. For instance, my mother never vacuumed while wearing a dress and pearls. She was more likely to put on lively music and dance around. My father didn't sit around in a suit and tie while reading the paper. He was more likely to take me to dance rehearsal or roll on the floor with the dog.

They didn't go to business dinners or evening affairs. We ate dinner together. This doesn't mean they didn't have a social life. While we rugrats were running around the neighborhood, they gathered on a porch. (We didn't care what they were doing as long as they left us alone.)

My parents still gather with the neighbors. I don't know if they sit on the porch but I know they have a standing game night. I'm a little jealous.

So, here I go again with rose-colored glasses...

'Tis the Season

It's wedding and graduation season. We've reached the point in our lives where most of these ceremonies are for children of our friends.

Folklore tells us that all brides are beautiful. I'm not buying it. I've been to some weddings where the bride was uggo and the dress did nothing to flatter her. It's kind of like saying all babies are beautiful. Maybe they are beautiful to the parents but some of them look like Mikhail Gorbachev.

The White House released photos a few weeks ago of Jenna Bush and her new husband. She was a beautiful bride and I liked it that they chose an intimate setting on the Crawford, TX ranch rather than a full-blown, media-infused White House wedding. I'm paraphrasing a quote that was attributed to Laura Bush: We will be leaving the White House but Jenna and her husband can always walk this land and enjoy the memories of their wedding.

The Belle was a gorgeous bride. I find myself browsing through their wedding photos every time I am looking for a particular picture.

Graduation parties have gone the way of childhood birthday parties. Parents (usually the mother) spend hours or weeks assembling photos for scrapbooks or videos. Scheduling becomes a project worthy of NASA attention.

"Tis the season to wish a lot of young people well as they embark on new chapters. "Tis the season to write a lot of checks. 'Tis the season to keep some tissues handy.

The Voice of Reason

Between normal seasonal growth and the storms that have swept our state, we're all dealing with our stages of disarray.

People who work in landscaping, plumbing, roofing, electrical, etc. are overwhelmed.

Houseboy stopped by yesterday to check on our minuscule plantation. I pointed out limbs close to wires, overgrown trees and hedges, etc. I thought I had the perfect solution: While you're working with other clients, loan me your chainsaw.

Well, I wish a had a photo of his look of horror. Although I made the girl scout promise to stay away from power lines and keep both feet on the ground, he would have none of it.

Instead, I went out today with my big manual clippers and chopped for a while. It made me feel better. I know we have an axe around here somewhere.

Gas Prices

The whole country is up in arms over fuel prices. Rightly so. It impacts every area of our lives.

I am lucky that I have a fuel-efficient car and since I work from home, my gas consumption is far below the norm.

Wouldn't it be nice if people took this challenge and made some changes? Instead of bopping to the mall or running around town, what if they ate in and played board games? Instead of plotting and planning a family vacation, what if they camped out in the family room or the back yard?

What if? Maybe instead of the resort, the kids could catch fireflies or teach the dog a new trick. How about hide and seek or tag? Do kids play this anymore? Instead of driving to endless destinations, maybe a book might be a fun diversion.

In every struggle, there's supposed to be a silver lining. Maybe the silver lining is learning that happiness is not in driving or flying somewhere. Maybe it's right there in your home. Maybe it's a dog that learns to shake your hand. Maybe it's a spirited board game. Maybe it's a DVD that crosses generations. Maybe it's going through photo albums and saying, "Look at you!"

This is easy for me to say because the children of this house are grown. However, we did have them both in the same room last Sunday. We did not use a bunch of gas. We threw a tenderloin on the grill and played board games. I highly recommend it.

Dating

No, I have no plans to start dating. But, between the data transfer needed and some issues from our latest round of storms, I'm starting to feel like I'm going steady with the computer guy. He's the perfect date: he's pleasant and polite; he's patient with my questions. He doesn't touch me and I don't touch him. He fixes things and generally does what I ask him to do.

Of course, it stops feeling like a date the moment I get out my checkbook.

Most women will list traits like kindness or sense of humor as qualities they want in their ideal mate. Yes, they are important but they're not enough. I think you should aspire to a well-rounded person who can fix or do things, including:

Fix the computer, fax machine, printer and scanner;
Remove the overgrown trees and bushes, plus the rampant poison ivy;
Prepare your taxes;
Manage your finances;
Advise about real estate;
Understand investing and the markets;
Answer your legal questions;
Fix the plumbing and/or electrical problems;
Fix a leak in the roof;
Understand politics and explain its historical context.

I realize it's a pipe dream for all of these talents to come wrapped in a single package. Especially if you expect a sense of humor too.

The husband has many of these talents so I'm not complaining about him. But, his passions are music and golf. I don't tend to have a lot of emergencies or urgent needs in those areas.

At least he's not the jealous type. He doesn't mind that I'm spending more time with the computer guy than with him.

Cleaning Up

Do you ever read those magazine articles that encourage you to scatter rose petals in the effort to be romantic? (They tend to do this a lot in movies.) My immediate reaction is: Someone has to clean that up.

Over the years, I've tried to control my temper and my mouth. When hateful things are said, someone may clean it up but the stain remains.

As a child, I got myself in a pickle more than once. My parents always told me, "Clean it up."

I've cleaned up after the husband, the baby and the daughter. I've cleaned up after dogs. I've cleaned up after my own bad choices. I've spent many hours cleaning up after the oldies.

My current favorite tip is satin sheets, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, etc. I don't own satin sheets. If I did, I would not want them covered in chocolate and cream. Call me a fuddy duddy, but I figured out long ago who gets to clean up.

A Matter of Public Record

I am a huge fan of the Freedom of Information Act. I believe journalists and the public-at-large should have access to court documents, legislation or any information that impacts our country and world. I am one of the people who actually watches C-Span when there's a bill I'm concerned about.

On the flip side, I believe in privacy. It's a pretty tough dance when it becomes personal.

There are different rules for different people. Public figures are fair game. I think that keeps a lot of talented people out of politics, which I find scary. We've scared some of our brightest and brilliant people away from public office because who knows what the opponent might dig up.

Here's the flaw in the system:

If you got married, it's a matter of public record. If you lived with a bunch of people, it's not.
If you got divorced, it's a matter of public record. If you fathered a few illegitimate children, it's not.
If you got arrested in college or later, it's a matter of public record. If you shot heroine between your toes but told no one, it's not.
If your credit is lousy and you file for bankruptcy, it's a matter of public record. If you're cleaning it up, nobody cares.

There are people who live life and obey the rules. I try to be this person but I have broken many of society's rules. I don't know these people who have done it all perfectly but I hear that they are out there.

Work Weirdness

My friend Jan, in response to my post about Clowns, reminded me that she once had a job where she had to dress and act clownish. Not her idea of a good time.

When I graduated from college, I worked in a small ad agency and did a lot of things that they did not prepare me for during my education. Then I moved to the corporate world at the entry level. Yeah! I am a baby executive and I'll earn my stripes. I was hired in the marketing department to do mainly copy writing and some account service. This was the 80s and bank marketing involved a lot of branch openings. So, you coordinate the ribbon cutting ceremony, you arrange the coffee and danish, you get the proper city officials to appear, you coordinate the contests.

At the time, we had a children's savings account, "The Squirrel Account." It had lots of fun things for kids to help them learn about money management, savings and a coloring book that helped them learn some terminology. The Squirrel Account's mascot was Filbert the Squirrel. He showed up at branch openings and charmed the children.

At least twice, I had someone bail on me and I became Filbert at the last moment. I tried very hard not to imagine how many people had worn this heavy, sweaty, disgusting suit.

They did not train me for this in journalism school. But, I did it.

When my maniac dog barks at squirrels, I bark too. I've been a squirrel; I don't want to do it again.

Clowns

Clowns are creepy. I was afeared (crossword term) of them as a child and I have avoided them as an adult. It’s that big, painted-on fake smile. It’s that icky act of trying to be charming but instead it gives me the willies. It’s a bunch of them crawling out of a little car. I did this with girlfriends but none of us put on a wig and big shoes.

When I worked downtown in the corporate world, the circus would come to town at least once a year. It was about 2 blocks from my office so I could watch the elephant and tiger parade as they unloaded. The clowns lead various sections of the spectacle. I looked away.

I actually know people who have clown pictures hanging in their homes and/or in their children’s bedrooms. Don’t be surprised if these children grow up afraid of clowns or become serial killers.

The three-ring circus is not my fave. I get confused with the three rings. Is she going to fall off the trapeze? Is the elephant going to trample someone? Is the tiger going to strike his trainer? Is the kid next to me going to slop some more cotton candy on my lap? Did I truly pay to be this stressed out? My brain is not equipped to keep track of this many things at once.

Once they start bringing in the clowns, I am out of there.

Stormy Weather & Addictions

Stormy, scary weather swept through my city Friday night. I was downtown, enjoying the husband's band in an outdoor venue. I drove home through the storm, watching tree limbs fall and cars hydroplane around me. It was only 6 miles or so but it was frightening.

Our power was on but evidently had been hit during the storm. I ran around resetting clocks because I'm obsessed with knowing the time.

Saturday morning brought calm and clear weather. Unlike lots of people, we had electricity. We did not have cable. I get a little sweaty with the loss of my favorite companion, the television, but I get downright cranky when I can't get on the computer. My cable company is my Internet service provider. Panic attack is the kindest way I can describe it. Manic might be a better word.

I'm the first to admit that I have an addictive personality. Some good; some bad. During my meltdown, I realized that I would rather have my car break down, my telephone service disrupted and my iPod malfunction. Anything other than the inability to get online.

Young People and Music

When our niece was visiting, we spent some time in the car. I tend to go between our country station and the station that plays oldies. In either case, she knew the words and sang along.

My goddaughters know most of the songs from my generation. That's because they've been forced to listen to their mother and me sing loudly and often.

The daughter and the baby are both musically attuned. They come by it honestly. I love it that they can skip around different genres, know every word to the Beatles or the Rolling Stones or Garth Brooks and then introduce us to some group we've never heard of. Correction: I've never heard of it. The husband knows it all.

I was once one of those young people. My aunts exposed me to a little country and a lot of Leslie Gore. My father exposed me to a lot of country. My mother shared her love of Elvis. The oldies reminded me of my passion for hymns, big band music and jazz. I filled their CD collection and they let me share them.

Music transcends time and generations. If you don't agree with me, put a teenager in your car and play some Motown music. They'll sing along.