Wasn't He Famous Once?

More snippets from the land of Temp Hell ...

First of all, there have been no more prizes since the day I blew everyone else away. I have continued to sit in my stall like a veal and work like a dog but alas, no prizes! Those of you vying for the coffee mug might have to wait until next week. I need to keep my current one handy as a possible weapon.

When my little herd was hired to join the team, there were four of us who went through training (and I use that word lightly) at the same time. Of the four, Danny (not his real name but close to it) was born to be a pep squad leader. I found him annoying but chalked him up as someone who would be great at sales. Instead, Danny did not make a single sale on the first day we worked and then he never returned. I guess he was banished to the temp afterlife.

Jimmy (also roughly 12-years old) was very nervous. Once we were assigned to our stalls -- I leapt over someone to get the one in the corner -- Jimmy chose the one next to me. We can all hear each other and Jimmy used to give himself little pep talks before he picked up the phone.

"Be the man! You can close it!"

Jimmy lasted a day and a half. He made one sale and left after lunch on the second day.

Cindy (I chose this name because she has a slight speech impediment like Cindy on the Brady Bunch) is still with us. She is a single mother. She's very friendly and curious. When someone mentioned the Jerry Lewis telethon, she actually said:

"I know he was famous for something. Was he an actor?"

Cindy also asked me about my family. I was slightly evasive and just said our children are grown. Then, as if I didn't already feel older than dirt, she asked me how many grandchildren I have.

I'll have to fill you in on the rest of the herd later. Off to my stall I go, ready to defend myself in the parking lot and ready to close that sale!

"Never get into fights with ugly people. They have nothing to lose."
Unknown

Bathing Suits

I was going to save this one for later. I'm sure you are so very tired of hearing about my clothing and my closet purge -- I am even sick of it. But, since the swimsuit story was brought up in a recent comment, I thought I'd go ahead and share.

The visual is just thrown in for comic relief. I don't know these people but they sure remind me of some swimsuits I've owned.

When I came to the swimsuit section of my closet purge, I was once again reminded of every vacation and every summer for the last 20 years. I used to buy one or two suits a year. Some years I would splurge at an end-of-season sale and buy several. I've bought a few on vacation. For someone who does not enjoy shopping or trying on swimsuits, I have always had many and seemed to be on an endless pursuit of new ones. I have worn them all and apparently, I've kept them all.

They even have little categories in my mind:

Two-piece suits. Only to be worn on vacations. Never to be worn on any kind of business trip or to the husband's club.

Comfortable one-piece suits. Usually older and great for lake weekends.

Wild patterns and colors. Usually bought on a whim while vacationing somewhere tropical. Often with matching sarong, which seemed important at the time. Lived at the bottom of the pile until next trip.

Trusted standbys. Love them. Worn them for years. My regulars for cocktail corner. All of my friends have seen them but I will continue to wear them until they are worn out or I am.

Dressy suits. (I am not making this up.) I bought a couple of suits that were shimmery and not anything you would wear off a diving board. These were for ski trips that might end with a dip in the hot tub or other such occasions.

My friend Lynn helped me sort through them. Remember, we only recently reconnected and she had no idea that I had amassed this ridiculous amount of clothing. I think the swimsuit collection put her over the edge.

She made lots of politically-incorrect statements about the women who would line up to get my vibrant and glitzy suits. She made a tough clean-up job a whole lot easier with the laughter we shared.

The majority of the suits are gone now. I will have to make do with my trusted standbys. They were always my favorites anyway and I haven't been in a hot tub in years.

A Closet Tale

This (of course) is not my actual closet. But it's pretty darn close. (I don't think I've ever taken a cake in there.) Cleaning it out was daunting.

When you have a large closet, it's very easy to fill. Clothing and accessories add up. Even though I'm not a shopper, I am also not very good at getting rid of things. The luxury of lots of space quickly became a dumping ground. Even I had to admit it was ridiculous. Tons of outdated clothing or items I would never wear again were squished against each other. Accessories and miles of shoes were on top of each other. Old business suits were neighbors with bad resort/vacation clothes. In the middle of the mess, I was able to identify a few items I actually wear.

Also, we used to keep boxed photos in the basement. After a pipe leak or some other disaster we re-boxed thousands of photos (without any organization or cleaning out the duplicates) and stored them in one of the guest room closets. When the Captain and the Belle moved in, we moved all of the boxes to my closet.

I also found miles of yarn and semi-completed knitting and crocheting projects. I rarely do either of these activities any more. And to top it off, excess wrapping paper, miscellaneous cards and ribbons, and wrapping supplies were crammed in a corner.

Sounds like a pretty picture, doesn't it?

I have completed about 90% of the clean up. Since I am emotionally attached to many items -- even ones I will never use or wear -- it has been difficult. I find myself thinking, "Oh, I wore that when we ..." At that moment, I want to hang on to it. Instead I am training myself to hang on to the memory.

An Unintentional Blog Vacation

Many comments have come my way about my infrequent posting of late. It is very flattering to be missed.

Some new curves have been thrown at me lately and as I navigate my way through them, I have had to let some other things slide. But not for long! The opinions have not stopped and I have many postings festering in my little brain.

If you care to check back in a couple of days, I should be back on track. In the meantime, I must celebrate a wonderful oldie's birthday (my father) and enjoy some of the birthday dessert prepared by his favorite oldie (my mother.) I get to crash the party just by being here.

Cleaning

It is true that for most of my adult life, I have had someone clean my house. Single, divorced, married ... it didn't matter. As long as I could afford it, I did it. Truthfully, I did it even when I really couldn't afford it but I was spoiled. (In my defense, I still did some cleaning!) Anyway, the whole cleaning thing changed about a year ago.

While living with my oldies, I try to help out. The comedian Steven Wright (who reminds me a lot of George Carlin) used to say, "It's a small world ... but I wouldn't want to paint it." I would change that sentence to: It's a small world but I wouldn't want to dust it.

Earlier this week, I pitched in with my oldies and another couple to help clean our church. (Remember one of my resolutions was to volunteer more.) It was rewarding.

I may not always clean my house but I felt a great joy in helping to clean God's house.

Snow Days

We're still digging out from the 15-plus inches of snow we received Tuesday night and Wednesday. The city is slowly coming back to life but the first day was a nightmare for many.

The kindness of neighbors continues to amaze me. My father is no longer on the sick pillow but still recovering from pneumonia. Twice he's gone outside to shovel and neighbors run over to send him in the house. Even I have done some shoveling but when I told a friend, he didn't believe me.

Do you remember the feeling of waiting to hear if school was cancelled for the day? I swear a collective cheer could be heard throughout my childhood neighborhood once we knew it was a snow day. It was too dangerous to tromp to the bus stop or walk to school but we could be suited up and out to play in minutes. Sledding, making snow angels, building snowmen or just romping. It was all such fun. Although I will admit to being a weenie about sledding. High speed was never my goal and I always feared hitting a tree. Life can't be all fun -- I recall being knocked off a sled or two. Then it's take a break, have some cocoa, then bundle up for round two.

Snow days for adults have less appeal. We worry about straining our back while shoveling. Frankly, I worry about the old bird across the street who reshovels the end of her driveway. Is this really worth the risk at her age? When my prior oldies (the Belle and the Captain) lived with us, they could fall for no reason at all. Walking through the house was a fall waiting to happen. Yet this neighbor who is older than they were is out there on a mission.

We worry about the condition of the roads. We worry about other drivers. I am always certain I will get stuck and I usually do. Hot chocolate doesn't seem like enough of a reward for risking my life behind the wheel. Nine layers of clothing make most of us look and feel like the Goodyear blimp -- never my fashion goal.

I don't wish to be a child again but I wouldn't mind having a moment of the pure ecstasy associated with snow days.

Do Too Many Cooks Spoil the Broth?

My mother is an amazing cook. She's especially incredible with candies and desserts which is probably why I've never bothered much with those items. She does them to perfection and she shares.

I like to cook, especially when it's my idea. I like to try new things but like most of us, I rely on certain stand-by menus that I've made for years. I've also adapted many recipes over the years to make them easier. For instance, I refuse to boil a whole chicken, skin and debone it, etc. when I can poach a couple of chicken breasts and voila! .. on with the recipe.

Since living with my oldies recently, I have tried to help out. My mother works long and odd hours. She's picking up her nightly tapes around the time I used to start trying to figure out what to make for dinner. My offers of help are well received but it is also very clear that I do not do things her way. (It's a funny look on her face that gives me vivid flashbacks of my childhood.)

I also like really exotic things like mushrooms, which is repeatedly pointed out to me that I did not grow up eating. I steam vegetables and eat them crisp. Well, I used to. I do not like Miracle Whip. Ever. In Anything. Ever. I'm used to different spices that she swears I could not possibly like. If I use oil, it's usually olive oil. I don't think I've ever used that congealed Crisco in a can. (Of course, I'll eat whatever is cooked in it.)

As I said before, she is an amazing cook so no one in this house will ever be hungry. I'm still trying to help out but I'm paying attention to how it should be done.

We seem to have it down. She's happy to have help in the kitchen and I like to do it. In our case, two cooks in the kitchen make a tasty broth ... or whatever we decide to whip up.

No Privacy

I'm watching two news people discuss the Caylee Anthony case, which continues to get more bizarre. Now they've discovered a heart sticker on the child's remains. The reporter is discussing the dream team of attorneys and forensic experts assembled for the defense and throws into the mix, " ... the Anthonys are deeply in debt." Probably the death of their granddaughter and the charges facing their daughter are top of mind. When the dust settles, will it really be necessary for the general public to know this factoid about their finances?

If you've ever made a late payment or missed a debt, you know what it's like to be tracked down like a dog. If you've been married before, creditors call anyone and everyone remotely associated with you, your exes, their exes, parents, etc. I recently received some junk mail for -- get this -- my husband's exwife's exhusband. This was just a stupid leaflet but I'm sure we've all received calls and mail for each other. Once a name or address changes on a document, anyone with access to your credit report can look up all kinds of information.

Remember the childhood threat of "Don't do that -- it will go on your permanent record." It's true; it just wasn't explained very well.

Facebook and other social networking sites allow us to connect but they also steal a bit of our privacy. I belong to some but I'm leery. I cringe at some of the things I see while browsing these sites. I'm a little "out there" with this blog but it's nothing incriminating to me or others. So what if you learn that I've lived my entire 40s with oldies. It's true and it's part of my permanent record.

Speaking of privacy, there is none for my oldies either. I know who's up in the middle of the night. I know all medical issues and medications partly because I"m nosy and partly because we discuss everything incessantly. I know when it's naptime because I walk around by myself, look at the clock and think, "Seriously?" (It's kind of like kindergarten when you could be happily coloring or playing a game and the teacher would announce, "Get your sleepy mat -- it's time to lie down." That always annoyed me.) Now I get frustrated because I never learned to nap. I can barely sleep at night.

Of course, my oldies know far more about me than they would like.

Forty-Seven Years

As I sit here, separated from my husband and living with my oldies, it is not lost on me that I have not excelled at marriage.

My oldies (my incredible parents) were married 47 years ago today. They continue to be living examples of what a marriage should look like. It's not all roses and sweetness. It's a quiet devotion and respect of each other. It's love and concern that truly wants the best for each other. It's snapping in frustration and snapping out of the mood or the attitude before ugly things are said. It's Honor with a capital H.

Sometimes I watch them ... I've been doing it for years. I was born 17 months after their marriage and I've been studying them my entire life. Of course they have had their struggles and rocky times. Even in those circumstances, they somehow remain steadfast in their union.

We all know it takes two people to make a strong marriage just like it takes two people to screw it up. We're supposed to believe that no problems are insurmountable. Sorry, I don't believe that anymore.

I do believe shining examples of strong and healthy marriages are all around us. I live here. I see it every day.

Drugged Out

Just one of the many fun things about returning to live in my childhood home is running across relics from the past. The book above is just one of the many I have discovered. I remember reading it in the early 70s and I remember my oldies discussing it with me. In fact they continued to have the good drug v. bad drug discussion with me through my college days.

My father is still on the sick pillow. The doctor said he may continue to feel lousy while his body recovers. So, even though the antibiotic pills (usually a good drug) are done for now, he still has trouble sleeping which he needs for his recovery.

For sleep aid, the doctor prescribed something heavy duty. The kind that the pharmacist scans your eyes and your face trying to judge if you plan to sell these on the street. The kind that would not just make you forget to feed your baby -- you would forget that you had a baby.

This may be a good drug for some people but it was a bad drug for my father. He was hallucinating and having horrible nightmares. He had trouble breathing from the panic. One pill did not a good night make.

Obviously he requested a different medication and it seems to be working. Good drug! He slept well last night and has been dozing all day. He already looks better thanks to some well-needed rest. The only side effect from the new drug (other than he might not stop sleeping for the next week) is he's grasping for the proper word. He asked my mother what one of the dog's name is. When he's awake, he's grinning a lot. I attended a gathering for a friend's mother's recent death. When I came home, my father asked me, "How was the furniture?"

Then he gave me a hug and said, "See you at dinner." My mother's theory is as long as his appetite remains constant, she's not worried.

Holiday Parties

For someone with a life in shambles, I've still managed to attend quite a few Christmas functions including lunches with friends and card parties. You can take the party out of your life but you can't take the party out of this girl. I still have several get-togethers to go. My low-key Christmas has been a wonderful balance of relaxation and festivities.

Last night we went to my sister's house. I find most holiday decorations magical but it's even more so in homes with young children. (She and her husband have three.) I love asking the children which ornaments are their favorites and seeing the pride in their little faces.

My oldies hosted Christmas Eve for many years. When my sister and her real siblings were children, spending Christmas Eve at my parents gave Santa a chance to finish some last minute details away from prying eyes. All three children remember these gatherings and speak of them often.

As usual, life comes full circle. Although it wasn't Christmas Eve and we were missing a few people, the night was quite similar to those from years past. The menu had many of the favorites we've shared over time. Some decorations were familiar. The laughter was spontaneous and frequent. And three little children danced around in the true spirit of the season.

Afeared of Fire

I love a roaring fire in the fireplace or a bonfire at a weinie roast. But other than that, I have an obsessive fear of fire. Twice I have had my hair singed. Once was at an REO concert and the person behind me got a little carried away waving her lighter. The other time a friend had a lit candle on the back of her toilet and my big hair got in the way.

When the Belle and the Captain lived with us, my firewoman patrol was on active duty, 24/7. More than once:

I found evidence of the Belle smoking in bed.
I found burning candles in the bedroom and/or bath after they left the house.
She caught both ovens on fire.
She left the house with the gas stove top blazing.
She caught bacon wrappers, paper towels and various other counter items on fire.

I considered strapping a fire extinguisher to my person, along with my glasses, cell phone, pens, etc. Instead I became a maniac about checking the batteries in the smoke detectors and checking each room on a regular basis.

The oldies are gone but my fear lingers. Now that I live with my oldies, I'm on needless patrol but it doesn't stop me. If anyone starts roasting chestnuts on an open fire during this season, I'm running in the opposite direction.

The Biter

My oldies have two dogs. One is sweet and playful. Meet the other one, Ashley the Biter. She will bite anyone except my father. She routinely bites my mother and she's caught me a couple of times since I've been here.

Now I will only pick her up when she is wearing a sweater.

Volunteering for Others

Our minister has quite a sense of humor. I love it that he can make me laugh and still move me in a sermon. My mother once made the mistake of telling him that she does not enjoy the "meet and greet" during the service. She's done her meetin' and greetin' before entering the sanctuary or she will catch them afterwards. Yesterday he announced, "Just for Sandy, let's get up and greet our neighbors." He found this funny and so did I. Of course, she was the first person he walked toward.

She has a running joke with our pastor that she will do a lot for the church but she does not like to be front and center; she prefers to be behind the scenes. He's constantly threatening to call her during the week and assign her to be liturgist for the next Sunday.

We're in the season of Advent and like many churches, we light the appropriate candles each Sunday. It may be a single person, a couple, a family -- whomever. As we were leaving church yesterday morning, he said to the three of us, "We still need someone for the Advent candle next Sunday." Before she could kill me (and she would never do that in church) I said, "Sure, we'll do it."

Now I have been assigned the family duty of deciding who lights the candles and who recites which lines.

Later we went to an open house and I think our minister had a little smirk on his face. As usual, I'm in trouble.

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?"

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.

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.

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.