I'm Glad Elvis Never Met Her

Prepubescent and teenage years are tough. Hormones, weight fluctuations, braces, etc. Come to think of it, it's kind of like mid-life without the braces.

This is going to come out wrong. I mean it as a compliment but I also want it to be a lesson to young girls and a tribute to the older ones.

For the young ones: You may never live up to your mother's beauty and that is OK.
For the older ones: You are as beautiful today as you were then.

In the late 60s and early 70s, we were divided. It wasn't Democrat v. Republican. It was a worship fest for Elvis or the Beatles. (That is my memory -- don't mess with me.) The Beatles had split. Elvis had gotten fat and drugged out. My mother used to tell me stories about lying on her bed as a teenager and listening to Elvis. She was certain that if they had met, he would have chosen her over Priscilla. Trust me on this one -- she's right.

The oldie's home in Mississippi was less than an hour from Graceland. In every visit I can remember, the daughter took the opportunity to go there.

Priscilla Presley looks a little odd these days. Meanwhile, my mother has managed to age gracefully.

Dotted Swiss and Other Bad Fashion Ideas

It could be rickrack. It might be dotted swiss, ruffles or just the general Gunny Sax look. It comes back to haunt us. Beware friends of mine!! I have lots of photos. Here are just a few.

The Belle loved to buy dresses for me. I was in my 40s while they lived with us, yet she would primp and fuss over me like I was going to a prom.

I was looking for a particular photo and stumbled across every bad dress I wore to a dance or prom. My dates' attires were even worse: baby blue tux, etc. One date brought a top hat and a cane. We didn't date long.

There are no photos of me with a bad perm. The good news is that I never needed one. The bad news is my hair looked weird enough on its own.

Isn't it funny how a photo (or a song) can transport you in time? I like to look at them and ask, "What was I thinking?" I do remember. Mostly I wonder what my parents were thinking.

I wonder if the grown daughter feels that way about her Madonna stage. I wonder if the baby will regret dressing like the boyz in the hood. Or will they embrace it as just a stage?

Paying Attention

Even when I seem to be ignoring advice coming my way, I am paying attention.

The experts say that children learn by example. They're paying attention to your actions far more than your words. We don't have young children anymore but I could definitely list our mistakes. Still, they managed to become good human beings. Like me, they've spent their entire lives surrounded in love. It's frightening to recognize how many children don't have that in their lives.

That tight wire act where you try to help someone without offending them is tricky business. When they're children, you have a captive audience. They cannot escape. As adults, whether it's parent to child, friend to friend or something else, the safety net is not quite as reliable. I know people who do not speak to their siblings. I know people who see or talk to their parents a couple of times each year. This is as foreign to me as living on Mars.

I'm no expert but I have a lot of experience with unsolicited advice. I let it run through my head as I try to fall asleep. My eyes may have glazed over and I may pretend to be ignoring you but trust me, I heard you and I was paying attention.

Some people get annoyed. I get encouraged. I may not heed it immediately but I heard you.

A Different Obit

I wish I knew who wrote this. It spoke to me and I hope it speaks to you. The oldies lived their lives with this philosophy, as do my parents. I try too.

“COMMON SENSE HAS DIED”

My parents told me about Mr. Common Sense early in my
life and told me I would do well to call on him when making decisions.
It seems he was always around in my early years but less and less as
time passed until today I read his obituary.


Obituary - Common Sense
Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend, Common Sense, who
has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was
since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.
He will be remembered as having cultivated such valuable lessons as
knowing when to come in out of the rain, why the early bird gets the
worm, life isn't always fair, and maybe it was my fault. Common Sense
lived by simple, sound financial policies (don't spend more than you
earn) and reliable parenting strategies (adults, not children are in
charge).


His health began to deteriorate rapidly when well intentioned but
overbearing regulations were set in place. Reports of a six-year-old boy
charged with sexual harassment for kissing a classmate; teens suspended
from school for using mouthwash after lunch; and a teacher fired for
reprimanding an unruly student, only worsened his condition.


Common Sense lost ground when parents attacked teachers for doing the
job they themselves failed to do in disciplining their unruly children.
It declined even further when schools were required to get parental
consent to administer Aspirin, sun lotion or a sticky plaster to a
student; but could not inform the parents when a student became pregnant
and wanted to have an abortion.


Common Sense lost the will to live as the Ten Commandments became
contraband; churches became businesses; and criminals received better
treatment than their victims. Common Sense took a beating when you
couldn't defend yourself from a burglar in your own home and the burglar
can sue you for assault.


Common Sense finally gave up the will to live, after a woman failed to
realize that a steaming cup of coffee was hot. She spilled a little in
her lap, and was promptly awarded a huge settlement. Common Sense was
preceded in death by his parents, Truth and Trust; his wife, Discretion;
his daughter, Responsibility; and his son, Reason.


He is survived by three stepbrothers; I Know my Rights, Someone Else is
to Blame, and I'm a Victim.


Not many attended his funeral because so few realized he was gone. If
you still remember him pass this on. If not, join the majority and do
nothing.


Author unknown

Dressing for the Doc

I am compulsively on time for most meetings. Usually, I'm early. It shows a respect for the other person's time and it gives me time to freak out.

I had a doctor's appt. this morning and I was so early that I had time to kill. I try to do cosmetics and dress appropriately for clients and friends but I do not dress for my doctors. Dermatology is all about seeing your skin in its natural state. So, clean face and no make-up. I sat in my car and was cracking myself up remembering the many times I helped the Belle dress for various medical appointments. I was constantly griping, "Why are we doing this? You're just going to have to take all of this off." She made Hangdog wear a tie for a doctor's visit. I wear jeans or sweats.

I do not wear slips and girdles. I rarely wear pantyhose. I like some fun tights in the winter but that's about it. My docs know to expect me "as is."

Get that Needle Away from Me

The Belle was a nurse. Needles were a constant companion in her life. Her only fear of needles was that the incompetent nurse or tech would stab her repeatedly trying to find a viable vein. We used to joke that the only person we could trust was the nurse in our doctor's office. She was a miracle worker when it came to finding a vein for the Belle.

I'm thinking of the Belle today because it seems to be a medical week. A girlfriend had a procedure yesterday. When they use words like "punch" or "puncture," I want to run. She's brave and stuck it out. When they use the word "biopsy," I want to run like the wind.

I had a teensy procedure this morning. When I asked my doctor, "Will it hurt?" She said "Yes, but not much." If the Belle were here, she would've insisted on going with me and that's one more battle we would have endured.

Hangdog never went to the doctor without her at his side. Of course, he could not drive himself. Even if the husband or I took him, she went along.

Their dentist did this really cool thing. He would schedule side-by-side appointments so the Belle and the Captain could get their cleanings and exams at the same time. Isn't is nice when professional people are accommodating?

Our primary care physician (saint-in-training) would often examine them at home or fit them in for a last minute office visit. He also held our hands and guided us through the maze of hospitals, hospice, VA care, assisted living and more.

That little needle headed my way isn't quite the problem it used to be.

Rotting

Something is rotting here.

This is our latest adventure with this money pit of a house. It began two days ago. Every time I opened the refrigerator, water would squirt from the ice maker on the freezer side. I tried to ignore it, thinking it was a random ice cube or something. The next morning I was greeted by a puddle on the kitchen floor. I let the dog lick it up and then mopped the rest. I had to run out for a meeting so by the time I returned, it was not even on my radar screen.

This morning I returned from an early appointment and noticed a distinct odor. It's not the freezer on the fritz; it's the whole darn appliance. They can't get here until tomorrow to repair it so I will be tossing a bunch of rotting stuff. Yes, it smells pretty yummy in here. I suspect we will go out to dinner.

I'm sure this would not have gotten by the Belle. There are people who are in tune with their homes. I am not one of them. I want things to work the way they are supposed to and I don't want to have to think about it.

The bright side is that we're not loaded with butter, bacon and eggs. There's not much to worry about and if they fix it tomorrow, I'll start with a clean slate.