Sensitive

My entire life has been filled with people trying to toughen me up. When kids on the school bus threatened to hit me and I told my mother about it, she told me to hit them back HARD or she would hit me. For the record, she didn't hit me but her point was well taken.

I'm tougher than I used to be -- it's only taken 45 years. But, I'm still a weenie. Music makes me cry. Commercials can make me weepy. I can burst into tears with an old note or photo.

Yesterday, my goddaughter had her wisdom teeth removed. When I talked to her, the conversation ended with her saying, "I wuv ooh." I remember when the baby had his wisdom teeth removed. I kept talking to him (as he came out of the anesthesia) and I was mean. I was doing little impressions of him. He kept saying, "Op it, Op it."

I have also been through this surgery. My dad and my fiance took me. When I woke up in the recovery room, they would only allow one person to come back and they asked me who to send back.

"I want my Dad!"

I may be a weenie but I'm not stupid.

Show Your ID

I keep reading about these parties where teenagers steal medication and put it all in bowl, like M&Ms. Pretty scary stuff.

These same children can go between WalMart and the hardware store and buy all the ingredients to start a meth lab or make a bomb. They can go to a gun show and buy a gun or a knife with no background check.

Meanwhile, I have to show my driver's licence and sign my name to buy simple sinus medication.

Car Rides

My goldies get car sick. There's something about the backseat that does in people with motion sickness. They bargain with each other for shotgun. This is one of the few afflictions that doesn't affect me. I can read or bop to the music and the motion doesn't bother me. Plus, it distracts me from the husband's driving.

Lots of people have learned that a crying baby can be calmed in a car. To this day, I can count back from 60 and the baby will be sound asleep.

I feel safer with the dog in the car. When I run errands, I usually take her with me. Yesterday, I met my mother, ran a few errands and did the normal daily stuff, but I didn't have the dog. At one point, I was cleaning out the car. Maniac dog had planted herself in the passenger seat (she called Shotgun!) and was looking at me with great expectations.

We went for a long drive.

Ladies Who Lunch

This is a running joke in my household. The husband has a false impression that I run around shopping every day -- only stopping to lunch with girlfriends or my mother. Nothing could be further from the truth. I rarely shop. My typical lunch is leftovers from whatever we had for dinner the night before, eaten at the kitchen table while I go through the mail. If I go really crazy, I might grab a to-go sandwich from the deli next to my dry cleaners.

Yesterday was an exception. My mother and I had lunch in honor of her birthday. We went super crazy. Instead of champagne and caviar, we each had a salad and a slice of pizza. (And I kept the leftovers for my dinner.) We skipped champagne and each had a soda. We are party animals.

I have been accused of being "out to lunch" and occasionally that is true. I'm more likely to be in for lunch.

People Who Don't Age

Some people got out of line when God was passing out the aging gene. I'm not talking about those with a standing date for Botox or plastic surgery. I'm talking about those people who manage to look the same (or better!) with age. They are freaks of nature and somehow I've managed to surround myself with them. They are my friends, my aunts, my cousins.

Aging is on my mind because it's my mother's birthday week. She's definitely in the "freak of nature" category. She won't stand next to me for a photograph because I'm thinner. I won't stand next to her because she's starting to look younger than me and I don't need the comparison.

George Carlin, one of my favorite comedians, died recently. My dad and I used to watch his specials and howl.

Here's what he had to say about aging:

Do you realize that the only time in our lives when we like to get old is when we're kids? If you're less than 10 years old, you're so excited about aging that you think in fractions.

'How old are you?' 'I'm four and a half!' You're never thirty-six and a half. You're four and a half, going on five! That's the key

You get into your teens, now they can't hold you back. You jump to the next number, or even a few ahead.

'How old are you?' 'I'm gonna be 16!' You could be 13, but hey, you're gonna be 16! And then the greatest day of your life ... You become 21. Even the words sound like a ceremony YOU BECOME 21. YESSSS!!!

But then you turn 30. Oooohh, what happened there? Makes you sound like bad milk! He TURNED; we had to throw him out. There's no fun now, you're Just a sour-dumpling. What's wrong? What's changed?

You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you're PUSHING 40. Whoa! Put on the brakes, it's all slipping away. Before you know it, you REACH 50 and your dreams are gone.

But wait!!! You MAKE it to 60. You didn't think you would!

So you BECOME 21, TURN 30, PUSH 40, REACH 50 and MAKE it to 60.

You've built up so much speed that you HIT 70! After that it's a day-by-day thing; you HIT Wednesday!

You get into your 80's and every day is a complete cycle; you HIT lunch; you TURN 4:30; you REACH bedtime. And it doesn't end there. Into the 90s, you start going backwards; 'I Was JUST 92..'

Then a strange thing happens. If you make it over 100, you become a little kid again. 'I'm 100 and a half!'
May you all make it to a healthy 100 and a half!!

HOW TO STAY YOUNG:

1. Throw out nonessential numbers.. This includes age, weight and height. Let the doctors worry about them. That is why you pay 'them.'

2. Keep only cheerful friends. The grouches pull you down.

3. Keep learning. Learn more about the computer, crafts, gardening, whatever Never let the brain idle. 'An idle mind is the devil's workshop.' And the devil's name is Alzheimer's.

4. Enjoy the simple things.

5 Laugh often, long and loud. Laugh until you gasp for breath.

6. The tears happen. Endure, grieve, and move on. The only person, who is with us our entire life, is ourselves. Be ALIVE while you are alive.

7. Surround yourself with what you love, whether it's family, pets, keepsakes, music, plants, hobbies, whatever. Your home is your refuge.

8. Cherish your health: If it is good, preserve it. If it is unstable, improve it. If it is beyond what you can improve, get help.

9. Don't take guilt trips. Take a trip to the mall, even to the next county; to a foreign country but NOT to where the guilt is.

10. Tell the people you love that you love them, at every opportunity.

I have never been hung up on looks -- mine or other people's. I'm more focused on brains and a sense of humor. But lately, I've been doing that thing in the mirror where you pull your face up to where it used to be. (Never going to happen.)

I'm going to skip the improvements on my looks and concentrate on making me a better me.

Baby Oil, Iodine, Tin Foil and More

I come from a long line of tanning people. My grandfather seriously resembled Uncle Remus. We have a skin tone that tans easily. My mother and my aunts used to slather ourselves and lie in the sun for hours. For the record, they don't do this any more.

The other day I went to the pool for a bit and then headed over to the golf course to watch the husband compete in a shoot-out. (I was hoping the description of this activity was accurate but no, it was just golf.) As luck would have it, I ran into my dermatologist. She frowns on that pool. She also puts up with me questioning every spot on my body.

In college, we used to use those tin foil blankets. Sometimes, we made a convoluted fire hazard that involved numerous extension cords and electric blankets stretching from our dorm room to the roof. For extra fire fun, we put foil on top.

I'm always attracted to the pool, the lake, the ocean. I'm on top of the sunscreen thing but I still get a tan.

People With Influence -- Part Two

So many people impact me, even when they have no idea.

That first person, that boy or girl who you dreamt about and pined for ...

Your first love. We all define it differently but I know who mine was and he was definitely an influence.

The aunts and uncles who took you on dates, bought cute clothes for you and put up with you when your parents needed a break. Their influence in my life cannot be calculated. I still call or email and ask, "Will you help me?"

The cousins who forget that you're not a sibling. They drop what they're doing and say, "What can I do?" I have a cousin who occasionally sends emails to his family. It's his wife, mother and siblings. Somehow, I made the list and I get a little giddy whenever I see my name on the family list. Another cousin with an extremely busy life manages to make me feel important and relevant. She confides in me. And, she lets her daughter visit -- knowing I'm probably a bad influence.

The animals (okay -- technically, not people) who run to you, slather you with kisses, do the "I'm so happy you're here" dance.

Neighbors. We've all gotten so wrapped up in ourselves that we can forget to be good neighbors. I like it when a neighbor calls to say, "There's someone in your yard, is he supposed to be there?" I grew up in an environment where neighbors looked out for each other.

The children. Busy with their own lives and their own struggles. Yet, they manage to find time to email, phone or text. Somewhere in there is a message of love.

Grandparents. If you're lucky enough to still have them: hug them. call them. Soak up their love and their knowledge. (Ask them for money.)

In-laws. I miss the Captain and the Belle. They influenced me in a great and profound way.

Oldies. Take a lesson from me. Help that old woman with her groceries. Ask that man if he needs help across the street. Listen to their stories. You're not doing them a favor -- you're getting an education.

The husband. Maybe you have one of those marriages where you never disagree, you never get on each other's nerves and you never break a promise. I don't. I have a marriage that keeps me on my toes. (I tried it the other way -- I got bored.) I like learning from my spouse. If nothing else, he keeps me interested.

Hat People

My Aunt Cess has educated me that hats with feathers are wrong. She doesn't wear hats. She doesn't wear fur. So far I've avoided feathers and out of respect for her, I will not go there. But she will not break me of my love for hats.

Crazy Grandma is to blame. She plopped a hat on my head and I've never stopped. I've worn Easter bonnets and I occasionally wear hats to weddings and funerals. I wear beach hats and visors. These days, you're most likely to find me in a baseball cap with a funny saying or a town I have visited.

The husband (correct as usual) thinks we should be weeding some things out. The closet is a good place to start but I immediately shouted, "Don't touch my hats!"

People Don't Know Their Influence -- Part One

There's an old saying about children ... "they don't do what you say, they do what you do." Sad, but probably true.

I think it's possible for many people to go through life without realizing they are being watched. I've had great bosses, great ministers, great friends. I'm watching. I'm learning.

Nick Seats allowed me to follow him around in his agency while I was in high school and college. (Like a Labrador Retriever with her tongue hanging out.) He inspired me.

The mean, mean teacher I had in my freshman year of college told me I would never cut it. She thought I wasn't tough enough. Wanna Bet?

Several years ago, a daughter of my friend had to write a paper about someone she admires. When she chose me, I was honored. Another friend brought me back to earth by saying, "She probably likes the way you smoke."

The Pasadena gang of my childhood still influences me. (Both the children and the parents.)

The obvious one is my parents. Love abounded in our household, along with a strong dose of morals and responsibility. But my favorite influence is that they both know how to laugh with abandon.

My goldies (bestest friends in the whole wide world) taught me what friendships can be. They can span decades. They can survive hard times. They can transport you in time and allow the inner child to emerge. They can hold you hostage with photos or notes they have kept.

Syd Cook taught me what a boss is supposed to be. He spoiled me for anyone else. He exemplifies traits I aspire to have. He also taught me that when your plane is sliding on an icy runway, headed for Lake Michigan, it's ok to grab hands and say, "This is not how I planned to f+++ing die." (We obviously survived.)

My girlfriend group has no idea how much I study them. I learn everything from style to parenting (or grandparenting) tips. I am the perpetual student at their feet.

There are many more. That will be Part Two. Stay tuned.

Good Luck Charms

Some people carry a four-leaf clover or a rabbit's foot. I would tell you I'm not superstitious but if you've read previous posts, you know it's not true. I also carry something with me or have it nearby.

The picture above is my good luck charm. It's my mother on the beach. It's the size of a postage stamp and it's weathered and time worn. Sometimes I pull it out of my pocket or my nightstand and ask, "What should I do?" Sometimes I make faces at it and say, "Ha Ha -- You can't make me!" Sometimes I forget to look at her; I just look at the water and understand why I tie my love of the water with my mother's love.

Sometimes I can crack up noticing that our bodies may have changed but yes, those are our legs in that swimsuit.

I like to think that I invented "Birthday Week." All it means is that you can do or say whatever you want. When I was talking to my mother the other day, she said, "Don't mess with me. It's my birthday week."

Yes, Mom, it is. You may not like the attention but I could line up scores of people who adore you. I could name child after child that you have influenced.

From a simple child who carries this photo as her good luck charm, Happy Birthday week and thank you.

My Home Town

For many years, the husband's agency handled Indiana tourism. We used to joke that "Indiana Tourism" is an oxymoron.

While my niece Kelly was here, we visited many of our city's attractions. It's very easy to forget all the arts, culture and sports available here. I was invigorated to show off our city.

The husband says Indianapolis lulls you. It is known for hospitality and sports but we don't get enough credit for our love of the arts. We don't have an ocean and we don't have mountains but we have a lot. In some ways, we're the most southern town of the Midwest. Hospitality is our game. We do it well.

As a young person, I had big plans. I was going to go to NY to dance. Didn't do it. I was going to either coast and make something of myself. Didn't do it.

The husband has lived in many cities. I have not. The daughter has spread her wings and flown to Texas. The baby will probably do the same, with a city that he chooses.

As you know, I love to travel. I also love it when the plane lands and I'm back home again.

Kleptos

In college, I had an acquaintance who prided himself on his ability to steal and get away with it. I commented on a clock that I liked in a restaurant and later that day it showed up in my dorm room.

As an adult, my friend's sister used to love to visit. She was a Down's Syndrome child so although she was an adult, she often spoke with the brutal honesty of a child. (Once I borrowed her bike, complete with white basket and horn. I didn't ride it very far. She informed me that I needed to get in better shape.) She always took something from my place. It became a running joke to call her sister and say, "Please check her bag. I'm missing a lamp and a watch."

I'm a klepto too. I steal ideas all the time.

Sometimes You Do Want It

The daughter gave me a wonderful calendar and this photo is copied from it. The caption reads, "I don't really want it. It's just the principle of the thing."

That's true sometimes. But I'm also guilty of the struggle to prove I can win.

Life Wisdom (from Bill Gates)

This is attributed to Bill Gates. I have no idea if that is true.

He talks about how feel-good, politically correct teachings created a generation of kids with no concept of reality and how this concept set them up for failure in the real world.

Rule 1: Life is not fair - get used to it!

Rule 2 : The world won't care about your self-esteem. The world will expect you to accomplish something BEFORE you feel good about yourself.

Rule 3 : You will NOT make $60,000 a year right out of high school. You won't be a vice president with an expense account until you earn both.

Rule 4 : If you think your teacher is tough, wait until you get a boss.

Rule 5 : Flipping burgers is not beneath your dignity. Your Grandparents had a different word for burger flipping: they called it opportunity.

Rule 6: If you mess up, it's not your parents' fault, so don't whine about your mistakes, learn from them.

Rule 7: Before you were born, your parents weren't as boring as they are n! ow. They got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes and listening to you talk about how cool you thought you were. So before you save the rain forest from the parasites of your parent's generation, try delousing the closet in your own room.

Rule 8: Your school may have done away with winners and losers, but life HAS NOT. In some schools, they have abolished failing grades and they'll give you as MANY TIMES as you want to get the right answer. This doesn't bear the slightest resemblance to ANYTHING in real life.

Rule 9: Life is not divided into semesters. You don't get summers off and very few employers are interested in helping you FIND YOURSELF. Do that on your own time..

Rule 10: Television is NOT real life. In real life people actually have to leave the coffee shop and go to jobs.

Rule 11: Be nice to nerds. Chances are you'll end up working for one.

Bill Gates is my age. I'm a fleck of sand compared to his accomplishments. But I like it that we agree on these things.

Garanimals

Do you remember Garanimals? It was a clothing line that helped children learn to dress themselves yet still match. A top with a monkey tag could be paired with shorts or pants with a monkey tag. I have no idea if this product still exists but I thought it was brilliant.

Yesterday I went to the bank and the grocery store. Some adult people in this town need Garanimals.

I fantasize about Garanimal tags with the X through it. That would mean: Never wear this again!

Since I work from home, I am guilty of choosing comfort over fashion. When I leave home, I try to step it up a notch but I often fall into my rut. Black pants and white t-shirt. White pants and black t-shirt. Jeans and a black or white t-shirt. Adding kicky shoes or accessories is about as far as I go.

I was meant to live in New York.

Angry at You

It's amazing to me the number of people in this world who don't understand that anger is an appropriate emotion. Yes, anger is a feeling -- like jealousy, loneliness, fright or dread -- but it's an insight into a deeper relationship.

People can annoy me or hurt my feelings for the moment. True anger comes from a deeper place. It pulls on love, friendship, trust ... and someone letting it go or letting you down.

I refuse to participate in an angry discussion that includes name calling or how I might have let you down 20 years ago. (They just escalate to tit for tat.) I have no desire to go on Oprah or Dr. Phil to resolve personal relationships gone awry.

One of my observations about love and friendship is that the true, part-of-my-heart relationships withstand this. It's expected. If I've let you in to my experiences and feelings, chances are we will disagree at some point. Another observation is men don't do this very well. Women say, "I can't talk to you right now but I'll get over it."

Supposedly, hate is the opposite of love. Anger is a partner of love. It says, "I care enough about you to express my feelings and I think our relationship can handle it."

The iPod Switch-Out

We (the husband and I) spend an inordinate amount of time on our patio. This is our favorite time of year. He likes to tell me about his golf game; I like to make gagging noises. Music is always involved.

We have a new competition and it doesn't involve the crossword puzzle.

We laugh and sing along. Then, one of us will go in the house for something and come back to find a different iPod on the speaker system. His is loaded with Santana and other songs I'm bored with. Mine is loaded with country songs. He gets annoyed.

We struggle over the remote.

Many years ago, before we were married, we had a dinner party. A guest walked through our home and asked, "Is that yours or Dan's" We had already merged so I found this offensive but we laugh about it today.

The iPod speaker system is mine.

He Got Me

We have a new minister in our church. I had never met him but I have the best reporter (my mother) on the case. Some people, like the husband, have serious issues with organized religion. Others, like me, tend to float in and out. I am comfortable in many churches.

I love The Garden. It's a service that is so casual you will get nervous. People are eating donuts and drinking coffee during the message. Video clips involve movies and music videos. They bring in speakers. It may not be your cup of tea but it makes me think.

On Good Friday and other days that I feel the need to go to church, I often go to the BIG Methodist church near my home. I know many people in the congregation and I feel comfortable there.

Sometimes I just stop in a random church. I need to be in a sanctuary and say a prayer. I did this a lot while the oldies were with us.

Thanks to the Pasadena gang of my childhood and then my college experiences, I am quite comfortable in the Catholic church. Good thing since my goddaughters and their parents are Catholic.

I am Methodist but I do love the rituals of Catholicism.

My on-the-scene reporter informed me that our new minister has instructed the congregation to say, "Thanks Be To God" after the bible reading portion of the service. That's something most Methodist congregations don't do.

He got me. I went to church this morning to meet my new minister. I'm pretty excited because I found him to be charming, funny, smart and someone I could talk to. Expectations run high with a new minister and I understand this is a tricky position. I've had the blessing of some really great ministers (& priests.)

Dr. Ken Crossman who answered my endless and annoying questions, kept me on his prayer list and performed a blessing of marriage ceremony when the husband and I married. He was also my uncle so he couldn't escape me.

Dr. Charles Ballard who baptized me, helped me through confirmation, counseled me, and performed the service at my first wedding. My mother still makes divinity (Ironic!) for them.

Rev. Gwen Roberts who could simultaneously laugh, cry and inspire. There's a fire in her that lit me up. I'm very grateful the Baby went through confirmation classes with her.

I have a good feeling about Pastor Cameron.

Patriotism

Wearing a flag pin does not automatically make you a proud American. I'm a little sick of people berating Obama when he forgets to wear it. I'm sicker when he actually does it. I'm convinced he's just appeasing the media and the critics. We had this congresswoman whose entire wardrobe was flag attire. I thought it was fake and disrespectful.

In my Leave It To Beaver childhood, we said the pledge of allegiance every morning. There was a flag in the classroom and we put our palm over our heart as we recited. We were taught to stand for the national anthem. No hats were allowed.

Maybe I've spent too much time around military people. It is my right to criticize or question the actions of my government. It is also my duty to respect this country and all who have fought for our freedoms. I have been known to jab a complete stranger at a ball game. "Quit fiddling with your beer. Stand up. Take your hat off."

Most people oblige but occasionally I wonder why no one has slapped me.

Don't You Hate It When ...

I try very hard to never use the word "hate" toward people. I have no problem using it according to a situation or a dilemma.

I hate it when ...

An advertised product is out of stock.

Every traffic light turns red as I approach.

Someone I love is hurting.

I put my foot in my mouth.

I can't remember a person's name.

My checkbook doesn't jive with the bank.

I spend time on my hair only to get caught in a downpour.

My favorite glasses go AWOL.

I overhear someone make a disparaging comment about a person I care about.

The phone or the doorbell knocks out my train of thought.

I hurt someone's feelings or let them down.

The dog eats my favorite slippers.

The power goes out and I have to reset every clock.

My To Do List overwhelms me.

I can't track down my parents. They are supposed to be available to me 24/7.

Clothes I love don't fit.

A date night is interrupted by a screaming child. (I think if they are allowed to bring a bratty child, I should be allowed to bring my dog and her squeaky ball.

Clutter becomes acceptable.

People don't understand how beautiful and powerful they are.

People don't stand for the Star Spangled Banner, And for Heaven's sakes, take off your hat.

People wear sandals without bothering to groom their feet. Ick!

Grown men wear Speedos.

Men date and marry women younger than their daughters.

Looks are more valued than brains.

This could go on forever so I'll stop now. What do you hate?

Pedicures

I do not have a foot fetish. But I do like it when feet are well groomed.

I used to give pedicures to the oldies. I've given them to my mother and friends.

The other night the husband and I were sitting on the patio, listening to music. I was annoying him and he was cranky. He planted a big ol' foot in my lap and I ran for my kit. Clip and chop. I really like the times when I say, "This might hurt a little bit."

Oldies Lessons

It's not exactly haunting but I still feel the oldies. I dream of them. I think of them as I look at butter. I must be moving on because I'm able to eat fried foods again -- as long as they aren't cooked in my kitchen.

Our supplies of paper products are dwindling. The Belle would be on the case. She would march out with Hangdog -- she did not walk, she marched -- and restock. I think she's tapping me on the shoulder.

I've tried to figure out the lessons I was supposed to learn through the oldies experience. Here's what I think so far:

Families who get along all the time don't know each other very well.
Honor thy father and mother.
The verbal jab is not as harsh if you start it with, "Love, I need to tell you ..."
Your children, whether 6 or 60, will always be your children.
Sometimes it's okay to admit that you don't like your family.
There's a delicate balance between dependency and independence. No one knows the formula.
Don't shame the family name.
Accessorize.
Work that you love is a gift.
Learn to make a couple of dishes and make them your specialty.
Never forget a grandchild's birthday.
A deal is a deal.
Music is a salve.
Sometimes you have to choose between being right and being happy.

What did she learn from me? Probably things like:

Relaxing on the patio takes the stress away.
Wearing comfortable clothing to the doctor is okay.
Home cooking doesn't have to happen three times a day.
Some foods taste better when they're not fried or boiled to death.

The Belle is tapping me. Some lessons came along too late for her to abide by but she still imparted the wisdom to others.

Sharing

People always assume that the only child is spoiled rotten. I will light the way and show you the truth. Children with jillions of siblings are the selfish ones. They grow up fighting and finagling for their fair share of affection, quality time, new shoes and sometimes food. As adults, they tend to hang on tightly to what is rightfully theirs.

I find only children to be the opposite. We didn't have to share in our childhood so our parents drilled the importance of giving and sharing into us. Need a car? Borrow mine. Need some books? I'll put a box together for you. Need a shoulder to cry on? I always have time. Are you in trouble or scared? I'll put clean sheets on the guest bed and tuck you in.

Being an only child is supposedly very lonely but that's not reality. I have this posse of friends, aunts, cousins who make me feel like siblings. Plus, I have my pseudo sister and especially my goldies.

Great Signage

Our route to our friends' lake cottage takes us through many small towns. Lots of lawn ornaments and the outdoor signs are hysterical.

My personal favorite is the two Baptist churches side by side. The new one has a big, fancy sign that says something like, "New Faith Baptist Church." The one next door has a sign that says, "Old Regular Baptist Church."

A few years ago we were driving up with friends and someone had painted in their window, "Meery Christmas." During the holidays, we still say, "Meery Christmas."

With gas prices going through the roof, one of the local liquor stores put up a sign that said, "Drinks are cheaper. Drink instead of driving."

My Love for George Foreman

I'm obsessed with George Foreman -- the grill, not the man. Although I'm mighty impressed with him for bringing it to me. In my little pea brain, I don't understand how people live without it. (Sort of how I feel about my iPod.)

Now that we have lost the oldies and the children have grown, I'm mainly concerned with cooking for two people. I'm quite capable with the grill but why would I want to deal with the cover, light it, stand over it in a sweat and run back and forth to the kitchen?

Especially in the summer, our idea of dinner is some piece of grilled meat, veges and a salad. Two of these three are accomplished quickly, thanks to my George Foreman.

I use it for other things. We make little egg sandwiches when the baby's here. Sometimes I make a grilled sandwich for lunch.

But my favorite part is this. If you make the salad ahead of time, you can have dinner on the table in 4 to 7 minutes.

Water Heaven

We just returned from our friends' lake cottage. It's a lot of packing and driving for less than two days but I don't care. We have a system and I can pack in 10 minutes as long as someone as done the laundry. Ooops! That would be me. We haul the dog, her crate, her bag, nine million toys and tennis balls. It would've been easier to adopt a baby and take his or her stuff along. (Of course, Child Protective Services probably frowns when you get tired of them and throw them in a crate for a break. -- Wait a minute! In my childhood, those were called playpens.

The weather forecast was lousy. I didn't care. After driving through some rain Friday night, we arrived to friends sitting on the patio. Saturday morning was gray, rainy, etc. The women of the cottage took the dogs for a romping walk in the rain, mud and muck. They had a darn good time.

Then, the skies cleared. The sun came out. I did my best to stay outside. Oh, I slept inside, went in to make a sandwich, etc. but soaked it in. Wet dogs shaking off after a swim. Little children on neighboring piers learning to flip and dive. Sunsets over the water. This is the womb for me.

We had six adults, one teenager plus dogs: two golden retrievers, one yellow Lab and our maniac black Lab. They could all get a job at Walmart because they are excellent greeters. Gabby plants herself on the stairs between the house and the pier in case anyone needs to go up or down. There are many dogs on both sides but somehow, they all get along.

Today, we took a long boat ride, courtesy of some friends, and enjoyed a leisurely lunch. Then we packed it all up and headed home. The husband headed to the driving range and I headed to the laundry room.

Body Parts

Men used to announce, "I'm a leg man." Or, "I'm a breast man." I have no idea if young men still do this -- I'll have to ask the baby -- but it always stuck with me.

Many body parts betray us as we age. Some parts get wrinkly and droopy. Others just diminish, like eyesight or hearing.

I am not a young person but I'm not an oldie either. One of my favorite things about the Belle was her absolute refusal to be old. Kicky clothes and kicky shoes made her happy. She was the Queen of Accessories. I was taking notes.

My mother asked me to stop writing about our weird legs. Sorry! You can't tell me what to write. I have been fighting these legs my entire life. Throw in a major dose of middle age and suddenly, they're not just weird shaped. Now they have wrinkly knees (too much sun) for added fun.

When I was a child, my friends Kim and Angel had beautiful legs. I haven't seen Angel in years but Kim still has them. Jan has gorgeous legs. My friends Mickey and Cynthia have serious gams. I've made the mistake, more than once, of being photographed next to one or all of them in a swimsuit.

Lately I am surrounded by young women with these gazelle-type legs. My goddaughters, my neighbors, my niece Kelly and daughters of friends. I stare. I drool. I know it's a sin but I covet them.

I still wear shorts and skirts. Leg men would run away. Deal with it.

Is there such a thing as men who are attracted to arms?

I See Me

Most parents look at their children and see a part of themselves. I look a lot like my mother but I've decided lately that my predominate physical traits come from my father's side of the family. (Other than the legs.)

It's not just DNA.

I watch the daughter push herself in a challenging situation. I see me. I watch the baby make mistakes and have to figure it out. I see me. Plus, he's the most helpful person you will ever meet.

My goddaughters are these amazing young people. Both are beautiful and I don't envy them for that. They will be judged first on their looks which is unfair. People who bother to look below the surface will find some really smart women. When their good and bad traits come out in full force, I see me.

My maniac dog hates the word "No." She will get in your face and bark herself silly. I see me.

Not the Man Purse!

The husband is quite global, unlike me. He can fit in on either coast or overseas. I would be the one with my tongue clamped between my teeth. He has a man bag which I love to refer to as his purse. I like to announce very loudly, "Don't forget your purse!"

We're experiencing a rash of break-ins at our club. My friend and several others had this happen on the 4th of July. Today was our turn. Three people had their windows shattered and possessions taken. Big Daddy is one of them and he is not amused.

Our home phone is still out due to the latest storms but I try to keep my cell phone with me. I forgot to take it with me while I showered. Big Daddy is not amused.

Date night turned into phone calls -- we've cancelled things and notified our banker. We've talked to the insurance company. His passport was in there so now we need to tend to that. We know they have our address so we will be diligent about setting the alarm.

Lots of the oldies paperwork was there too. You go thief! Have a good time with that.

We are missing nothing that can't be found, copied or recreated. Yes, it's a hassle. But, I'm a little giddy that the man bag went away.

In My Father's Arms

When I was poring through photos, looking for appropriate pictures to use on the CD cover for my Dad's Father's Day gift, I noticed that most of the photos of just the two of us involved a hug or his arm around me.

We're touchy people. I find his affection especially amazing since his mother died when he was very young and his father was a cold man, incapable of showing affection.

I spent several hours with my Dad yesterday. We're still touchy. We hug. We pat each other's arms or knees. We still link arms. I don't think we've ever gone through a conversation without the words, "I love you." Even when he doesn't agree with my decisions or I get on his nerves, he's on my side. Or, at least there to pick up the pieces.

No offense to the husband, my mother or the many other people who hug me. But, I breathe a little better in my father's arms.

Making Cds

If you have a computer that's less than five years old, you have a CD burner. Of course, I had to ask Big Sal to help. She is my CD-burning Queen.

My gift to the goldies was a double CD with songs that meant something to us or represented our friendship. It included:

High Hopes (The Ant Song) -- Frank Sinatra
This One's For the Girls -- Martina McBride
You've Got a Friend -- Carole King
Thank You for Being a Friend -- Golden Girls theme song
I'll Be Around -- The Spinners

There are about 36 more but I won't bore you with them. I went through photo albums and made little CD covers with photos of us at various stages of life.

I made a similar gift for my father to celebrate Father's Day. Different songs and different photos but the same concept. I want my father to play these CDs and know that this woman adores him. In case he forgets, I included a couple of songs that have the name "Sherry" in them. I also added:

I Loved Her First -- Heartland
Because You Loved Me -- Celine Dion
My Girl -- The Temptations
Like a Rock -- Bob Seger

Like the other one, there are about 35 other songs. There's something about music. Some of us are lyrics people and others get absorbed in the drum or guitar solo.

Big Sal made me a CD about aging. It's called, "You're An Old B**** Now." Just reading the titles makes me laugh. Some of the songs:

You're as Cold as Ice -- Foreigner
I Keep Forgetting -- Michael McDonald
Heartache Tonight -- Eagles
Doctor My Eyes -- Jackson Browne
I Go Crazy -- Paul Davis
I'm Still Standing -- Elton John

This is the CD in my car at the moment.

Jan was driving home the other day, listening to her goldies CD. She called me and said, "I want this played at my funeral." Then she called me this morning to tell me that she is getting strength during tough times by listening to the CD. She feels surrounded by us and our friendship.

Not that I ever doubted it but it's a strong reminder of the power of music.

Marital Strife

The Belle told me that the sex organs are the last ones to go. I tried to wipe that image out of my head.

On the "Today Show" the other morning, they featured two couples. Both had written books and both had to do with their sex lives. One couple chronicled their experiment to recommit to their sex life over 101 days. The other couple vowed to have sex every day for 30 days. Maybe you have to understand my sense of humor but I found this intriguing and hysterically funny.

Marital issues usually come down to:

Money
Children
Exes, if you have them
Parents
Household chores
Sex

We don't fight about household chores. I do as many as I can stand. My dad pitches in with projects. Houseboy does the bulk of it. I've never mowed a lawn in my life and I plan to keep it that way. I'm pretty good at weed pulling.

We don't fight about sex either. We prefer to annihilate each other over more mundane things.

Then, it's the middle of the night and your legs are intertwined. Or, you decide to clean your wedding ring and you read the inscription inside for the millionth time. Or, you dance on the patio and fight about who gets to lead.

Or, you go to a wedding and hold hands and then say quietly to each other, (like you're speaking to the bride and groom,) "Don't do it!" This cracks us up.

Forget that list above. I'm convinced a sense of humor will see you through.

Second Opinions

Anger is not a bad thing. Sometimes it spurs you into action.

You know, anger is an alternate of scared. It's the same emotion, just spun in a different direction.

My doctor (saint-in-training) welcomes second opinions. He often refers us to someone else with additional expertise in a particular area. Depending what ailment was plaguing the oldies, he would make sure we saw the right person.

My computer guy welcomes another opinion. Houseboy does not get offended if I call in someone else for a tree problem. When Dr. Gwen was my minister, she often encouraged me to talk to another minister for guidance.

People who are secure do not get offended when someone requests a second opinion. If my attorney didn't feel comfortable with a second opinion, I'd get mighty suspicious.

I'm pushy and often overstep my boundaries. If I love you, you need to accept this about me. I'm forcing someone I love to get a second opinion. When I hear, "Well, I don't want to offend Dr. So and So...." I want to scream.

Instead, I make the appointment anyway. They can get mad at me later.

Thieves

A couple of times in college, I was called "Thief of Hearts" or the less desirable nickname, "Maneater." This cracks me up because I was neither.

Friday, during what should have been a pleasant and low-key celebration of Independence Day, my friend had her window smashed and her purse stolen. Nowhere is safe these days.

Thieves are cowards. I don't own a gun but if I did, I might plant myself in the parking lot and shoot bullets at their feet. "Dance Thief! Dance!"

Then I might put some fireworks in various orifices and light them.

Independence Day

Today is the 4th of July. Along with the BBQs and parties, I try to respect the history of this holiday. I cry easily and patriotic songs can make me weep. It's therapeutic and it reminds me of the many things I should be grateful for. In case I'm not feeling mushy enough, I like to remind myself:

There are millions of people in this country, let alone the world, who do not have enough to eat.
There are women who give birth and watch their babies die due to lack of food or medicine.
People live under bridges and overpasses. I have a roof over my head.
Diseases can rum rampant and many millions of people have no access to health care. I have my doctor on speed dial.

There's an old saying: "You come into this world alone and you leave it alone." I don't find it true. If you're lucky, as I am, you get some pretty great parents who you meet right out of the birth canal. I've watched my mother hold lots of parents' hands when it was their time to go. They may have made the journey alone but someone was right there at the beginning and the end.

I used to think of myself as independent. I'm not. Oh, I could make it on my own but I like the dependence on my friends and family. I'm even dependent on the maniac dog -- I'm guaranteed a laugh.

I'm trying to find the balance.

Divorce Parties

Have you heard of these? I have not attended one but I was aware that they exist. There seem to be two types:

Women who have some cocktails, put his photos on a pinata and take turns bashing his face in; or

A couple who chooses to throw a party to celebrate their years together right before they go their separate ways.

I'm sounding like an oldie but both versions of this party give me the creeps. I hear the Belle in my head, "That is not proper behavior." I'm trying to imagine the invitation. Is it:

Bring your favorite baseball bat, or
Bring your favorite memory?

As much as I hate the idea, there is a little logic to it. You invite your friends and family to watch you join as a union. They celebrate your accomplishments and your family over the years. When you end it, it extends far beyond the two innocents who said, "I do." It changes lives. It makes friends question their own relationships. It is not fair to children. Parents on both sides wonder where they went wrong. Traditions get changed and rearranged.

I picked up a small book called, The Divorce Party by Laura Dave. I believe it is her first novel. The concept is simple: one woman at the beginning of her marriage and one woman at the end of hers. Their intertwining struggles made me laugh and cry. It's a quick read: a few hours on the beach or an evening alone. I hope you'll read it.

I have no plans to get divorced. If, Heaven Forbid, that were to happen. I will not have a party.

Are You a Prude?

Prude: (noun) a person of extreme or exaggerated propriety concerning behavior or speech, one who is easily shocked by sexual matters.

I'm trying to decide if I am one. As usual, I'm in the middle.

I think whatever happens in your bedroom or your sex life is your business. Unless I've known you for several decades, I will be uncomfortable discussing it. Sex scenes in movies or tv shows don't bother me nearly as much as violence, blood and gore -- but sometimes it's too much.

It may be the "in thing" to have a dancing pole or some other apparatus in the bedroom. I have a basket with dog toys. We do not have a stash of X-rated movies. If one of us has muscle pain, Ben Gay might come into play but it's not an aphrodisiac. It's soothing and comforting. It's a spouse saying, "I want to help you feel better."

Dirty jokes don't shock me. I will giggle, even if it's a shaggy dog story that lasts forever. I am a prude about religious or ethnic jokes -- they're not funny to me and I am militant enough to take a stand. Even if it means simply applying my mean face.

Betrayal and Forgiveness

Lots of people have self-imposed rules of behavior. I suppose I fall in that camp, although I seem to have much higher expectations of myself than others.

Here's the kicker. I have been betrayed. I have betrayed others. I can be just flighty enough to awaken at 3:00 AM and realize that I told a story -- one that was shared in confidence to only me. Talk about feeling like a fool. Flowers don't quite cut it when you've just exposed someone else's deepest worry or fear.

My mother thinks I am way too "out there" with my life. I disagree but I will give her this little bit of wiggle room. If the husband or the children hurt me, the people who were on the end of this sad, weepy story immediately want to buy guns and a wood chipper.

This is why I believe in forgiveness. I forget the last day I was perfect. Perhaps it was my birth and I know my perfection didn't last very long. (A howling infant with frog legs was not what my parents had in mind.) Girlfriends who have crushed me are still my great friends. The husband and I have struggled for umpteen years to come to grips with our Type A personalities and choices we've made. Still, I want to roll over and find him there.

I am not a doormat. Forgiveness is a huge part of my heart and soul. It's selfish: it's for me.

But I do have a mean memory.

Are You Happy?

During our goldies weekend, we did our traditional questions in a box. We all write our questions individually and dump them in. It's not unusual to draw a duplicate question. In some way it's a validation that we're all on the same page.

Asking "Are You Happy?" is a great conversation starter. We're not going for euphoria -- just more good things than bad. Turns out we all have a bunch of unhappy stuff in our lives but it's manageable. The outlets we choose (like this girlfriend weekend) help us cope.

I'm suspicious of people who are always happy. Are they drugged? Are they in denial?

Lots of our questions made me think. Some of them have been repeated but every year brings new challenges and opportunities to remind each other that we are not alone in our various struggles.

We go from whimsical to morose. Here are a few of my favorites:

Do you wish you'd had more children?
When your marriage gets tough, what makes you stay?
What worries you the most about your kids?
Are you trying to live a greener, eco-friendly life?
Are you becoming your mother?
Shoot me if ...

It probably helps to have 30+ years under our belt. We're a safety zone.