"L" is for .....

I'm in turmoil and the other night I thought it was funny to make the loser symbol across my forehead. One of my besties thought it was appropriate to pinch me in response. It hurt but she made her point. She is probably the only person I would allow to get away with this.

Making that "L" across your forehead is not necessarily a bad thing.

"L" is for:

Love. Past, present and future.
Loss. What was and what could have been.
Laughter. If you don't experience belly laughter on a regular basis, you should live with my oldies for a while.
Leaving. Sometimes you just have to go.

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.

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.

Spontaneous Combustion

Before I tell you this story, I must state very clearly that there was no alcohol involved.

I attended a party last night. The intent was a networking event for a mixed group of women. Different backgrounds, different ages, different races. I knew our hostess and two other people.

Do you remember the Mary Tyler Moore episode where she lost it at Chuckles The Clown's funeral. This is how I behaved. I could not help myself. When I'm in that weird place, there is no "off" switch. In fact, I start to crack myself up. I am not subtle. I try to pretend it's just a little cough or something and then I end up screeching. (My mother has the same problem.) Once I go there, it's impossible to find my way back to appropriate behavior.

We went around the room to introduce ourselves -- this took hours! I am used to corporate meetings. You make it relevant to the situation. You don't introduce yourself by going through your entire childhood, your marriages and divorces, your children and pets. Nobody cares!

Our hostess went to a lot of trouble. Her home is lovely and she had obviously put a lot of thought into her guest list. Guess she'll be rethinking that.

Here are some things that came out in the introduction session:

Women described killing a goat or a chicken.
One woman explained how energy is sold across this country.
I learned a lot more than I ever wanted to know about some of their family lives.
Several of them tried to "out poor" each other. My parents were far from wealthy but I didn't see how this was relevant.

Jan and I have been friends for decades. There's a reason we used to be separated in school. If someone was talking too long last night, she would lean over and say, "Ding!" Like "Hello, your time is up."

Then, our hostess announced we were going to move outside for two activities. One was a cheer. I am not kidding. I found this absurd but hey, I'm here and I've partaken of the food and soft drinks. I'll go with the flow. Plus, I was kind of excited to go outside. I did a cheer and had a cigarette. Yep, I'm a multi-tasker.

The second activity was to go around the circle and tell the group something that brings us joy. Jan and I both looked at each other and said, "You!" Every one else said something boring like:

My children and grandchildren
My church and my Lord

There is nothing wrong with these answers and they are a significant part of my life also. But it kind of reminded me of beauty pageants where the standard answer is "World Peace." I wanted to say:
Friendships

Getting my nails done
Pants that fit
Napping on the dog pillow
Seeing the name "Dad" when my cell phone is ringing
Getting on a plane
Autumn leaves and Houseboy bringing me apples
Knowing someone I love has passed the bar exam

That's probably why they didn't let me talk. I would've turned into one of those women with a goat story.

Jan and I rode together. We figured we could catch up on the way there and rip people on the way home -- my favorite post-party activity.

Truthfully, I did not want to attend this event but I'm glad I did. I'm pretty sure I won't be invited back.

Oh, I Could Never Tell My Parents That!

In my childhood, my mother was the Sergeant and I was the private-in-training. She took this job seriously and I am grateful. We tangled, we fussed and we certainly had our years of tussles.

I'm not sure how she did it. She let me go from the child she was responsible for to a friend. To his credit, my father was and is a great buffer.

Lots of my friends are close with their parents. They love them and care for them. I try to do the same and I know I make them crazy sometimes. My mother still falls into drill Sergeant mode and I still become the rebellious child. (This is usually when one of us hangs up.)

We have our own version of communication. If I do something stupid or embarrassing, I tell my mother and she tells my father. If I'm scared, I do not hesitate to tell them. If I'm angry, I like to tell my mother because I'm convinced she has some magical powers and maybe she can put the whammy on them.

We're all clued in that we talk about each other. If I'm with my father, my mother is certain we are dissecting her. When she says to me, "your father and I were talking last night." I get a little nervous. My father gave up long ago -- he knows we discuss him.

I've tried to figure out how this works and I think it comes down to brutal honesty and wacky humor. When my father had a bad reaction (not life-threatening) to a medication last week, my mother described it to me in detail. I laughed so hard the husband was considering CPR.

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.

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!

With Abandon

Someone once said to me, "You are so lucky that your family knows how to laugh."

Laughter doesn't do it justice. It's shrieking. It's being doubled over in belly pain. It can often become a "Depends" moment.

Last weekend, we had a lovely dinner and then played cards with some relatives. The husband does a great impression of Aunt Ann. Patty's laugh is so contagious that I get the giggles just thinking about it. Aunt Judy's facial expressions crack me up. I would swear Wild Bill was in the room. Peggy can hoot and holler with the best of them and she would win. My mother and I could laugh watching paint dry.

Our men were there. They played some games with us and then watched tv. No offense to them but the girls had more fun.

I combed my hair for Uncle Harry. He griped about it anyway. Then, I beat him at cards.

We laugh out loud. We cry at funerals. Sometimes we cry for no reason other than it feels good to get it out. We're kind to each other and we forgive the occasional emotional outburst.

Actually, we embrace it.

The husband and his brothers had a running punchline during the Belle's and Hangdog's funerals. They would introduce themselves and then say, "I'm the emotional one." They were telling the truth and once again I realized why we fit.

The Holly Mean Face

The husband and I had a dog that I adored. (Notice I didn't say "we.") But to his credit, he tolerated her, cared for her, etc. Once she passed the puppy stage -- that's two-years old for Labs -- she was an agreeable dog.

Then she got old. During her last year, she developed what we affectionately called, "The Holly Mean Face." It's a cross between a snarl and a grimmace. It didn't take a genius to figure out the meaning -- you're bugging me and I'm not in the mood.

Hangdog occasionally makes this face. I stop myself from saying "Hello Holly."

I can do a pretty strong impression of the expression. I save it for times when laughter needs to come into the situation.

Going Home

We referred to the Belle's funeral as her homecoming. Her heart and soul belonged to the people and the land of Mississippi. I don't know what I believe about the afterlife, i.e. what the deceased can see or experience of the rest of us still left on earth. I hope she could feel the love.

Yesterday, I went home. I haven't lived there for many years (or decades) but somehow, it's still home. That pesky guilt troll lands on my shoulder and reminds me that I don't go there enough. There is no excuse. But I've spent an awful lot of time with oldies issues.

We had a game day. I think it's called "The Joker" and I highly recommend it. It's a lot like Aggravation but you use playing cards and it's more strategic. My aunt, my parents and I played it for hours. I made lots of mistakes but the most horrible one was telling my father of my latest quirk. He made fun of me for the rest of the day. (Don't tell people your weaknesses.) I belly laughed. I avoided the biting dog and played with the fun one.

I grew up playing board games. I can still picture Wild Bill playing Aggravation or Yatzee with us and he would get irritated. I'm not sure if his frustration was in losing or the fact that my friend was eating all of his treats while we played. He used to ask her, "Do they feed you at home?" She would gigle and grab another handful.

Mental games are not my strength. With me, you will know where you stand. I would be horrible at Poker.

I think of myself as a non-competitive person but I wanted to win.

The laughter and memories give me strength. I walk in their door and feel my stress ease. I am home.

Play Dates

When the children are little, play dates are a way to socialize them and catch up with friends. The children run and romp. They throw sand in each other's faces. You wipe tears and you wipe noses. In a small way, you relive your own childhood.

Then, they grow up. They drive. They go to college. They move to a different city. They are VERY BUSY people who sometimes look at you like you're an idiot. They know it all. And in our smug little way, we enjoy their cockiness. We had a hand in this madness.

Some of us redirect this energy to our pets. My dog had two play dates over the weekend. Unfortunately, every time I put her in the car for more than 10 minutes, she thinks we're going to the lake. Bummer Baby, lake time is over for the season. But, this weekend was filled with play and friends. All of her doggie pals met us at the park and the dogs ran, swam in the creek and romped around. I got to visit with friends and get out of the house for a few hours.

I have adult play dates too. In the summer, Cocktail Corner at the pool is a standing weekend play date. On Monday nights, many of us meet at a local establishment (owned by a friend of ours) and we solve the problems of the world. I don't dread Mondays the way I used to. I look forward to the play date and the laughter.

Timmy's in the Well

Most of you are too young to remember the TV series, "Lassie." It was convaluted, yet entertaining for the time. Lassie always saved the day. The best part was Lassie running up to a person and doing the "Woof Woof!" Then, the person would say, "What?! Oh my Gosh! Timmy's in the well?"

Of course, they always saved Timmy. (Was Roddy McDowell the original Timmy?)

This is an ongoing joke with our friends. We all have dogs. They can be vocal. If we're sitting around someone's patio or lake cottage and the dogs go nuts, the husband or his friend will say, "What? Timmy's in the well?" We've heard it a million times and we still laugh.

We sat on the patio with the oldies last night. The puppy was prowling the back yard and occasionally conversing with other neighborhood dogs. Big Daddy said, "Oh no, Timmy's in the well!" and I belly laughed. Even after he explained the reference, the oldies looked at us like we've gone psycho. Then, they went inside.

A belly laugh is good for you. It releases endorphins and it is just plain fun. I don't think I've ever heard either of the oldies crack up laughing. Thanks to surrounding myself with funny people, I usually manage a good belly laugh almost every day.