Horoscope for Today

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

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

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

When Cosmetic Surgery Goes Awry

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

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

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

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

She Went That Way!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gobble Gobble

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

Gobble Gobble and Happy Thanksgiving!

If I Were a Boy

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

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

And ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adjustments

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

In a few short days, I have managed to:

Disrupt their household and routines.

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

Completely traumatize their little dogs with my little pony.

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

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

Puddles

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

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

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

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

Bad Boys, Bad Boys

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

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

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

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

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

Doggie Dynamics

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

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

Here's a couple of other reasons I wept:

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

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

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

A Belated Apology to the Captain and the Belle

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

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

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

Dear Mom & Pop,

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

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

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

Self Esteem

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

Welcome to bottomville!

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

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

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

Define Journalist

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

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

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

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

A Moment in Time

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

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

Those were the days.

Partners

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

Is it a business partner?

Is it a sexual partner?

Is it a life partner?

Is it a partner in a club or association?

Is it a partner in crime?

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

Look it Up

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

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

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

True or False?

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

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

I don't take people for granted.

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

I apologize easily and sincerely.

I abide by my moral code.

I say "I love you" often.

I don't raise my voice in anger.

I laugh with abandon.

I pay my bills on time.

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

I'm not afraid to bargain.

I'm not afraid to don a swimsuit.

I treat my health and my body with respect.

I do not let bad experiences harden my heart.

I try to learn something new every day.

I treasure tradition and am also open to new adventures.

I speak, or am learning, a second language.

I cry when I feel like it.

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

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

A glimpse

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Jewish Woman in the United Methodist Church

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Note from the Dog

Unfortunately for Houseboy, the nickname has stuck.

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

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

Thank a Veteran

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He said, "Black people?"

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

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

Olan Mills

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

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

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

Domain Names

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

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

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

Animal

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

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

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

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

What am I Supposed to Learn?

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

I'm asking myself this question these days.

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

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

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

Move to Town and Take the Paper

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

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

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

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

Things I don't know

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

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

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

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

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

Steps

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

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

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

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

Who?

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

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

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

He replied, "Sheri who?"

Miranda Rights

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

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

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