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.

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.

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.

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?"

When is it ok to tell?

When someone tells me something in confidence, I keep the secret. Oh, I've messed up a few times but mainly because I didn't realize it was supposed to be private. I have hung onto some nuggets with my tongue clamped between my teeth and a serious need for duct tape.

I usually ask if it's OK to share with the husband. If the answer is no, I don't do it. If the secret is coming from the husband, I usually ask if I can tell my parents. (I have to have someone to talk to.) I also ask, "Who else knows?" I'm big on perspective of the whole picture.

My one rule about secrets is this:
If someone is endangering his or her life, health or sanity, all bets are off.

I don't keep a lot of secrets about myself. But, if something is really festering, I may choose not to talk about it for awhile. People know to let me brood -- I will tell them in due time.

I was talking to a friend the other day and she made an off-hand remark: "That's why I never disclose anything." She doesn't. I understand the fear of getting hurt or embarrassed but sometimes sharing is the quickest road to recovery -- even when the advice isn't what you want to hear.

It's What Moms Do Best

The husband had surgery yesterday and he is fine. Well, he's in pain and cranky but all went according to plan.

My mom was there. I know she had genuine concern for the husband but she was mainly there to hold my hand and make sure I was okay.

We sat together and did the crossword puzzle. We read our books. When I started getting antsy, she held my hand again. As she pointed out, "If the Belle was still with us, she would be here."

Sometimes it frightens me how much I depend on the emotional support of my parents.

Salmon, Mushrooms and Sushi

For someone who is pretty cautious about portions, there are very few foods I won't eat. In fact, I can't think of one.

Like most of you, I was raised with home cookin'. I loved it and I still love it. But I grew up and was lucky enough to travel a bit. I married a man who is adventuresome with food. I found out that I absolutely love foods that were never part of my childhood:

Salmon -- I could eat it every day. Blackened, poached, grilled -- doesn't matter.
Mushrooms -- Skip the steak, give me the mushrooms.
Seafood -- I love oysters, mussels, clams and almost all sushi. Ahi tuna is one of my favorite meals.

Many years ago, the husband and I were in NYC with my parents. My father (who would get the certificate for "Best Eater") took risks and ate whatever the husband recommended. My mother did a great imitation of Samantha on "Bewitched" and wrinkled her nose. I perplex her. I've been doing it for 45 years.

The baby went through a phase when he was young where he would announce foods he didn't eat. Today this grown-up kid eats whatever is put in front of him. Plus, he could eat his weight in sushi.

The Party

The husband is out of town and I am so sorry he will miss the party of the season. It's not black tie. In fact, most participants (including me) will be in jeans and t-shirts.

Other than paying for fried chicken, I'm pretty sure no one will ask anyone for money.

This weekend, we will gather in my childhood neighborhood. I will greet people who helped raise me and I will see people who have been there my entire life. I will laugh with people that I have played tag, hide and seek and spin the bottle. I will see children -- now grown -- that I used to babysit.

I love tradition. I am comforted by routine. I love it that my parents still live in my childhood home. It looks completely different and my room is no longer my room but the heart warming feeling of walking in there is still there. I love it that the same neighbors still live next door and across the street.

I attend lots of parties. Everything from black tie fundraisers to simple dinner parties with friends and I know what to wear and which persona to present. Tomorrow, I'm going to the party of the season and I get to just be me.

Big Butt Judy

My parents frequent the same restaurants and are familiar with many waitresses. The other day, I was killing time before a lunch meeting so I hung out with them while they ate. My mother filled me in on their waitress and some of her many life trials. Then she said, "Your dad calls her Big Butt Judy.'" (Not to her face -- or her butt.)

They have a communication style that I envy. They speak in code and they get each other. I'm a little piece of it because I do get their humor. I also get the logic. If he refers to Big Butt Judy, my mother immediately knows to whom he is referring, instead of maybe her sister or anyone else they know named Judy.

They call me names too but they do it with great humor and a lot of love.

I have met Big Butt Judy and the nickname is appropriate.

Maniac

I rarely gripe about my dad. He's my hero. Plus, he accepts me while my mom is still trying to control me. She's always right but it's annoying at this age to admit I still need her advice and counsel. It's even more scary that I seem to need it more as I age.

The other day my dog jumped on my dad. Repeatedly. She is not a small dog. It hurts. I have been on the receiving end.

Here comes the big, sassy mouth part. When he said, "You need to get that dog under control before she hurts someone," I said, "So your dog that bites everyone in her path is ok?"

Later, I was reflecting. First of all, I should not have said that to him. It was disrespectful. I am working on my mouth but I have not conquered my need to have a comeback. Will I ever learn?

We went in the back yard and I threw the tennis ball until I wore her out.

My friend Patsy used to say (about her husband,) "He may be an a******, but he's mine." I feel that way about everyone I love. The husband can truly annoy people, including me. He's still mine. My friends can hurt me but they're still my friends. My aunts, uncles and cousins put up with my quirkiness.

The maniac dog is mine. I may never control her. Sort of like the way that the husband may not control me, my parents may not control their biting dog, my friends might have to accept the person I am instead of the person I want to be.

Finding Stuff Everywhere

My church bazaar is coming up. This is our big event of the year. I may or may not attend this year because the husband will be recovering from surgery. He's a pretty strong guy so maybe if I drop him at the club, I can pop over there for a while.

I've filled up my dad's truck with donations and I still have more to come. I've requested boxes from my local drug store and taken them to church. (I'm sure the church appreciates that they're all liquor boxes but hey, they are the sturdiest ones.)

Yesterday, I ran into a friend in the parking lot. Our cars were parked side by side. I commented on the stuff in the back of her SUV. She said, "I'm headed to get rid of it at Goodwill." I have no problem with Goodwill -- I give them tons. But now, I'm in bazaar mode. She gave it all to me to add to the bazaar.

A couple of the things are so cute that I may have to try them on before I decide if they go to the church. I'm trying to be a good steward but I am not a saint. If those pants she bought in Rome fit me, I'm keeping them.

My drug store manager friend is saving more boxes for me. I have been accumulating piles of more stuff to add. I'm trying to do my part.

I've been doing this for many years and one of the biggest hits seems to be my books. Some church members go through them before the bazaar and pick what they want. (They pay for them.)

I walk for charities. I donate to various causes. In honor of my oldies, I support many veteran organizations. For the next ten days or so, I'm all about the bazaar.

I hope I get to go.

NFL Record

If you had told me 20 years ago that I would be a crazy football fan, I would've told you, "Never going to happen."

Never say never.

Yesterday my team, The Indianapolis Colts, broke an NFL record with a comeback score in the last few minutes. I was home alone and I was screaming. My dad was here for a while and when it looked hopeless, he decided to go home. I kept calling my mother with updates and finally she said, "Your dad is sitting in his truck listening to the end of the game."

I knew he left too early. Never say never.

Baby Ballerina

Years and years of my youth were spent in ballet classes, recitals and miscellaneous productions. I still can't believe my parents went through endless rehearsals and driving me around.

I was not talented enough to really be a ballerina. I was marginally talented -- enough that let it me dance in some big venues in our town.

My friend, Lucy Burk, is in dance classes. I see her pose. I see her working it. She'll probably grow up to be a neurosurgeon but for this moment in time, she is a ballerina.

Ten Commandments of Dogs

I like this quote:

"The gift I am sending you is a dog, and is in fact the most precious and valuable possession of mankind." Theodorus Gaza

The other day, I had a visit with my dad while we were sitting in a doctor's office. He was lamenting their little, aging and aggressive dog's tendency to bite everyone in her path. He said (and I am not kidding,) "It makes me feel like I'm not a good parent."

As his only child, I thought about reminding him that he was and is a pretty phenomenal parent for me. But we were in dog mode; if I started talking about people stuff, he would not have paid attention.

My dad is the dog lover, although I must give my mother credit. For someone who was afraid of dogs, she let me get one early in my childhood and she has indulged my dad with his need to care for them. The joke is on her because she is now the one that announces to me, "They can't sleep without us." To borrow a phrase from Oprah, my parents do not consider these beings as pets -- they are little people with fur.

A friend sent me the Ten Commandments of Dogs:

1. My life is likely to last 10-15 years. Any separation from you is likely to be painful.
2. Give me time to understand what you want of me.
3. Place your trust in me. It is crucial for my well-being.
4. Don't be angry with me for long and don't lock me up as punishment. You have your work, your friends, your entertainment, but I have only you.
5. Talk to me. Even if I don't understand your words, I do understand your voice when speaking to me.
6. Be aware that however you treat me, I will never forget it.
7. Before you hit me, before you strike me, remember that I could hurt you, and yet, I choose not to bite you.
8. Before you scold me for being lazy or uncooperative, ask yourself if something might be bothering me. Perhaps I'm not getting the right food, I have been in the sun too long, or my heart might be getting old or weak.
9. Please take care of me when I grow old. You too, will grow old.
10. On the ultimate difficult journey, go with me please. Never say you can't bear to watch. Don't make me face this alone. Everything is easier for me if you are there, because I love you so.

Their dog still bites me. My mother avoids my dog because she is big and jumps. Somehow in the mix, we all own dogs and love them so.

Different Times; Different Places

This is only a few of my college girlfriends and I'm sad to admit that I have no idea who is in the middle. But I'm thinking about them. Not only because the baby is in college but for where we are in life.

One of the friends in this photo is a widow and now raising two girls without her beloved. Another is getting married for the first time next month and about to become a step mom -- a position I highly recommend.

We're all roughly the same age and we're all in different places. Some have young children; some have grown children. Some have fabulous careers; others have picked and chosen, whether right or wrong.

There are several friends missing from this picture but the essence is there. Young women embarking on it all ... careers, marriage, motherhood.

I hope we were toasting our parents for giving us this opportunity but I doubt that's what was going through our minds.

Respect

I was taught to respect my elders and those in positions of authority. Some people think this means total wimping out. I disagree. It means you clamp your sassy tongue and speak your mind in a respectful way. If you disagree with your parents, you make your case calmly and honoring their position. If you get pulled over by a policeman, it's a good idea to call him "Sir." He's putting his life on the line every day; I think he's earned it.

Labor Day is a big, big day at our club pool. Everyone seems to want a last breath of summer fun before the pool closes. This year, I planted myself in Cocktail Corner for the weekend. (I went home to sleep.)

I am way over the fashion statement of boy's pants below the equator. I don't want to see their underwear.

Most of the children/teens are taught at a young age to obey the rules, abide by the dress code, etc.

But there was this young man ...

He had a skateboard directly behind the lifeguard chair. Lots of little kids were running around so I asked the lifeguard to have him to move it out of the pool area.

Later, his pants kept swimming lower and lower. Not only was he not wearing swim trunks -- his Ralph Lauren whities were on full display, along with half of his behind. I politely asked him to pull his pants up. I believe I said something like this:

"You may not realize it but this is a private club and we have a dress code. There are tons of children running around."

In a way that I would've never imagined, he got in my face.

"I don't see a dress code posted anywhere, Bi***." (Cute, huh?)

I decided to ignore him but our club manager showed up and asked to know whose guest he was. The young crowd he was with became extremely respectful. He was asked to leave. As he exited the pool, he pulled his pants all the way down.

This is a young man who is going places. (Maybe prison?) His parents must be so proud.

I Love You but I Don't Like You Right Now

Do you experience this feeling? I do. A lot. I also tend to zoom in on one occasion, one comment, one offense and fret about it. The other day, one of my friends told me to "let it go." Good advice but I'm not skilled at it. I prefer to beat it to death. I'm convinced it's a genetic disease.

Anyone who's been in a marriage or a relationship for longer than six months knows this feeling. I don't trust people who won't admit to it. They may be kidding themselves but they're not kidding me.

You might think I'm only referring to marital relationships but that is not true. I've been in this place with friends, children and parents. Okay, truthfully, with the parent thing, it's only my mother because my father lets her do the dirty work. This does not make him weak; it makes him smart. I could not hang up on him but my mother and I have moved it to an art form. It's not an offense -- one of us immediately calls back.

I think this is one of the greatest gifts you can give a child. The ability to speak his or her mind, the ability to apologize, the ability to stand back and realize where the fault may be. The ability to argue a position and make the case.

In my childhood, I was allowed to disagree. I was allowed to make my case. Sometimes I won and sometimes I lost but I learned to do it respectfully.

Neither of my parents are attorneys, nor am I. But, they would've served our judicial system well.

Having a Spell

Last week, I met with several friends -- the workout girls. We were celebrating three birthdays and catching up on the various things in our lives. Just because my oldies are gone doesn't mean I'm not in touch with Oldieville. Some are facing surgery, some are hanging on in homes, some are waiting for the next shoe to drop. I look around at this girlfriend group and I'm certain they are willing to pick up the pieces.

We're all good friends, good daughters, good wives, good mothers/stepmothers. We all put on the chameleon suit and rise to the occasion. I looked around the table and realized that all of these women spend their days asking clients, friends, children, parents and friends: "What do you need; how can I help?" Then, she digs in and does it.

Big Sal's husband was hospitalized. Our doctor (saint-in-training) ran a battery of tests. He's probably healthier than 90 percent of the population.

She called us and said, "Pour me a margarita. He's just having a spell."

Smart women know when to stop coddling. They know when the coast is clear, your best course of action might be some laughter and a margarita with some friends.