Commuter Marriages

The oldies died when they were both 84-years old. If my math is correct, he retired roughly 30 years ago. Although the Belle continued to work for several years, the rest of their time was spent together. Once she took a weekend trip with her sisters but other than that, they did everything together.

If she didn't feel well, he stayed in bed next to her. If she had a hair appointment, he went with her. If she was frying up breakfast, lunch or dinner, he watched. Sometimes she would go into the baby's room to play cards on the computer or listen to music the baby had downloaded for her. Hangdog would follow behind and stretch out on the bed in that room. He had to be near her. Sometimes you could witness a flash of annoyance but for the most part, I think she considered it a compliment.

I, of course, cannot comprehend this. It's sweet to watch but if I were living it, I would have an immediate attack of claustrophobia. (Sometimes I'm obsessed with the clock and counting down the hours until he will leave. It's not lack of love; I just need my own time and space.)

We have reached the stage in life that most of our friends are empty nesters. After the initial shock and reality that your little chickens have actually flown the coop, people start to make decisions. Some travel more. Some decide they didn't really like each other after all and they get divorced. Others (who have the financial means to do so) invest in second and third homes.

I'm both intrigued by the thought and exhausted for those people who manage it.

Last night, the husband and I caught up with a friend for dinner. He wasn't alone because he's single; he's alone because his wife is in their Colorado home. He will join her this weekend. Their Indiana place is home base, probably because he can run his business and it's centrally located. Later, they'll go to their home in Florida. Do I sound jealous? (Maybe I am -- just a wee bit.)

More of my friends are choosing this option. My friend, Big S, spends the majority of the winter in her Arizona home. Her husband flies in every 10 days or so. Another friend spends her winters in Florida and her summers at her lake home. They also have a home in Indianapolis. She and her husband probably spend as much quality time together as the husband and I do.

Which saying is true? "Absence makes the heart grow fonder" or "Out of sight, out of mind." It's a little Pollyanna but I think it is the first expression.

Silver Linings -- A New Friendship

We buried the Belle and Hangdog within 60 days of each other. I still can't believe it.

As depressing as it is, there are times when I can take comfort in blessings. The oldies are no longer in pain or in peril. I believe they are together again.

Another personal blessing has been an unexpected friendship with my cousin-in-law. She's beautiful, talented and accomplished. She has the biggest heart of anyone I've met in years. She is extremely interesting and gracious enough to express interest in everyone else. She asked me repeatedly, "Are you ok?" I was afraid I was growing horns or something else so I ran to the restroom. No horns, just more wrinkles and frown lines.

This friendship is relatively new so I don't know all of her stories. I know she's experienced quite a bit of loss and she handles it with class. It's like I'm in kindergarten during story hour -- I am enthralled.

She also has a delightful and slightly devilish sense of humor. At Hangdog's funeral, she stood in front of the husband and me. Sharing memories of the oldies, she said, "They loved to come to my house because I would let her fry or cook whatever she wanted as long as she made me tomato gravy."

I definitely do not want the recipe for tomato gravy.

When I left Mississippi, she gave me a book, "Girlfriends are Forevah." I've always known that but I didn't expect to find a new girlfriend through this ordeal.

An added bonus is every time she says my name she sounds like the Belle.

The Spray Bottle

In my never-ending quest to control the maniac dog, I am open to any and all suggestions. I find her funny and delightful but apparently, I am the only one who holds this opinion.

I've tried the clicker, the whacker and the mean voice.

My mother suggested the spray bottle. I thought this was a little absurd since Labs love the water but as usual, my mother was right. Today was our first day with this experiment and she stopped jumping on people and counters within minutes. If I reach for the bottle, she becomes docile. Why didn't anyone tell me this secret?

Do you think this would've worked with the oldies? "Sit up, Hangdog or I'll spritz you!" Or, "If you fry one more thing in this kitchen, I'll blast you with my spray bottle!" We'll never know.

The only problem with the spray bottle plan is it has now become one more item attached to my person. Two pairs of glasses on my head or buried in my hair, cell phone clipped to a pocket, pen stuck behind the ear ... and now the spray bottle strung through a belt loop. I'm a freak but I'm prepared.

Lucky Number

Do you have a favorite or lucky number? Mine is three.

Except for today. Today, I am watching the clock and if all goes according to my carefully orchestrated travel schedule, the oldies will be back in three hours.

In order to preserve my sanity and restore my favorite number to its rightful place, I've made three new rules:

1. I am unavailable between the hours of 9am and 5pm. My work and my writing has to come first.
2. IF the car is repaired and IF the husband agrees to let her drive on occasion, I reserve the right to make the judgement call of instability and take the keys away.
3. Assisted-living decisions will be made and executed within three months.

I'm feeling better but the oldies won't know what hit them.

That little declaration of independence felt so good, I made three more:

1. If there's somewhere they need to go, they can call a cab or investigate senior transportation options.
2. Frying will be kept to a minimum.
3. Any new food added to the pantry is only allowed after they've eaten all the junk that's already in there. If not, I will follow the husband's lead and just throw stuff away.

Welcome back oldies. It's a whole new day.

Numbers

I love numbers. (Self-diagnosis: Mildly autistic.) I count constantly, especially when I'm trying to get my brain to stop spinning so I can go to sleep.

Newspaper headlines or magazine cover lines immediately get my attention if they include a number:

10 Steps to a Healthier You.
One Out of 12 Live in Poverty.
Five Legal Documents You Should Complete.
20 Simple Ways to De clutter Your Life.
Six Sex Tips No One Ever Told You.
Eight Ways to Update Your Little Black Dress.
Seven Dinners in Seven Minutes or Less.

I'm thinking about writing my own series. Here are some of the headlines I'm considering:

Fifteen things the Dog Ate or Destroyed.
Only Six random pills discovered on the Floor -- When You know it's a Good Day.
Disaster Alert! When You Get Down to Five Pounds of Butter.
Ten Fun Ways to Celebrate Your 10th Fire.
18 Things You Never Knew You Could Bleach.
25 Things You Never Considered Frying.
150 Things You Forgot to Worry About.
Four Ways to Wear the Unabomber Hood.
Five Different Ways to Fall.
Seven New Guilt Trips You've Never Tried.

I'm not sure to whom I'll pitch this. I'll have to get my sources in order. Lucky for me, they're all around me.

He Has To Eat

The mother-in-law has been successfully treated for bladder cancer. Quarterly visits with her Urologist are mandatory.

This morning was a little crazy. I reminded her of the appointment. She was frying up breakfast and I lost it a bit ... "You don't have time to do this."

With a steel spine and a strong voice, she informed me, "He has to eat."

This is southern and/or farm hand mentality. Of course he has to eat. But, he could eat a bowl of cereal and a banana. Have some fruit.

He doesn't care what is put in front of him. He has been well trained and with every meal, he tells her it was "excellent." He says this no less than 10 times. If she ignores him and rolls her eyes (from living with me too long,) he says it more often and louder. "THANK YOU LOVE, THAT WAS EXCELLENT!" It could be a piece of toast on a paper plate and it would be the most excellent meal he's ever had, as long as dessert and coffee were on the docket.

Yesterday, I caught her loading up the garage refrigerator with butter. I'm not kidding -- at least 5 cartons with 4 sticks each. We are in butter abundance.

At their age, I cannot change their eating habits. Truly, it's none of my business.

She never sits down for breakfast. She eats over the sink and looks out the window. She makes sure he is taken care of and rolls her eyes. I know she loves him with every fiber of her being.

I am crossing my fingers, saying a prayer and knocking on wood. I don't care what he had for breakfast -- I just want a good report from the Urologist.