Nothing Like Family

God knows, I am one rich girl.  Not the moneyed variety.  But, in blessings, I am overflowing. Just look at my family.

What a happy gathering we had Thanksgiving Day!  For the first time in many years, all three of my children and their families and significant others came to celebrate each other.

All of us love sports so we gather for the first football game.  Woo hoo, let the party begin!  My responsibility is to provide the ‘horse douvers’ and to put the turkey in the oven.  The kids bring the sides, desserts, wine and beer.  Buff Honey, the guy who has a hard time throwing anything away, has a gazillion toys in the basement and a trampoline in the backyard much to the sheer delight of the grandkids!

And how thrilling to have our newest baby to cuddle and stare at!  Luckily, he loves the stimulation and the crowd.  He couldn’t get enough of it.  No nap that day!

There’s no drama with my family.  No scenes, no left over malevolent feelings, no drunkenness.  Well....there was a little drama.  My niece brought her new boyfriend to dinner...no problem there except when we sat down to dinner, I learned he was a chef!  No pressure there...lol.

We took some strolls down memory lane....”Remember when we all used to go to the farmhouse on the mountaintop in western Massachusetts for Thanksgiving?”  We did that for several years after Kevin passed away, basking in the comfortableness of close friends and the children’s godparents.

And there were good times many years ago when we all went to Kevin’s family reunions.  All of his father’s 10 siblings gathered for Thanksgiving in Maryland or North Carolina.  There were easily over 70 relatives eating turkey.  Please don’t ask me to name names!  Sadly, most of the siblings are gone.

One really great thing about our family is the clean up routine.  Everybody pitches in and it’s over in minutes!  I read Dear Amy today in the Tampa Tribune about this woman who helped her late mother-in-law with the holiday gatherings for years.  Now, the family still wants to have the big get-togethers but don’t lift a finger to help her.  Really??  Forget about it....done...over.  Terrible situation, but I know that would never happen in my family.  Another blessing!

Last week, I was in Tallahassee, the state capital of Florida.  Also, the home of Florida State University where I graduated in 1969 and got married in 1970.  It had been 43 years since I lived in Dorman Hall and hung out daily at The Sweet Shop....best hamburgers ever!

I was there for my cousin’s designation as president of the Florida Senate.  A Republican.  Unlike me, a dedicated Democrat.  I’m the eldest cousin, he’s the youngest...22 years difference.  My family doesn’t talk politics, generally.  We may not understand each other’s political choices, but we are respectful of them.  Of course, I’m definitely in the minority, but shouldn’t family transcend these differences anyway?

What I wanted to hear was his acceptance speech.  What kind of Republican was he?  I didn’t live here when he was first elected in 2002.  An election he was never expected to win at age 32.  He won against 3 primary opponents in a tight race.  He did it the old fashioned way....no media, no negativity.  He and his wife and my family went door to door for him all over Orlando.

When he spoke, it was clearly from the heart.  His issues were rights for the handicapped and the preservation of this dear state that has been stripped of so much of its natural beauty.  When Disney surreptitiously moved into central Florida, no zoning laws were apparent....grease a palm and voila! fast food joints, parking lots, apartment buildings, highways, big box stores appeared.  It was what my friends called “the rape of Florida.”

Of course, he also spoke of conservative spending but so did Bill Clinton.  To me, it seemed that we had much more in common than I had imagined.  Clearly, he was no tea party zealot.  His colleagues repeatedly praised his compassion and his ability to bring opposing sides together.  Now, this is a guy I could vote for!

Being the emotional soul I am, I cried through the entire speech....as did his father, my uncle.  He spoke a good 30 minutes.  Who knew???  For over 40 years, we’ve had family gatherings...most of them a bit rambunctious at times.  For the most part, we’re a pretty gregarious group.

I swear I have never heard him utter two sentences.  But, I’m here to tell you that he was nothing if not impressive.  Passionate and humorous in his very low key way.  I was beyond proud of him.  That’s my cousin!

And, here again, we’re in the holiday season which started in October at the malls.  I’m tired of the commercials.  Even the holiday music gets annoying when you hear it over and over again, especially in the stores.  The flashing lights on the house decorations do nothing for me.

I just want an understated Christmas this year.  My son will be celebrating with BH and me on the lanai where the presents will be arranged around the Christmas cactus.

And I’ll reflect on what an amazing and loving family I have.  Very blessed indeed.

And Baby Makes Three

On August 11th, my youngest had her first baby. My third grandchild.  Weeks of anticipation...lots of Braxton Hicks contractions.  Every day I thought would be the day.  She was ready.  I was ready.  The baby’s daddy was ready.  But, the baby wasn’t.

Last year on Christmas Day, we gathered at my home for brunch...the usual biscuits, ham, bacon, eggs, pancakes.  When my youngest descended, she couldn’t wait to start scarfing down bacon.  Very strange for a committed vegetarian.

“Bacon?!" I gasped.  We gathered around the old oak table and she quietly announced she was preggers.  She started crying, I was crying.  We’re all hugging each other.  It was quite a moment.  “I can’t get enough meat,” she laughed.

She’s always been a naturalist, an environmentalist.  She’s strong willed with good values.  She’s reserved but you’ll never have to guess about how she feels about something.  She broke off one relationship because he didn’t support gay marriage.

In high school, her homecoming date broke the date because his parents threatened to leave him out of their will if he took her.  There was nothing romantic; just good friends.  A bonding of geeks, I would call it really.

She’s biracial; he’s Jewish.  They were both raised in Columbia, Maryland:  the most integrated, multi-ethnic, multi-racial community in this country.  It was deliberately founded by developer Jim Rouse to accomplish this very unusual goal back in 1970.

Whatever esteem she had for him was diminished considerably after that.  “Why not stand up to your parents?  They’re obviously wrong.”  Yep, I’m with you, girl.

About seven years ago, she found her soulmate.  My medium swears they’ve been together in many lifetimes.  Of course, I have no idea if this is true or not, but it would not surprise me in the least.

My two youngest graduated within months of each other from University of Maryland and moved into Canton, one of those upcoming yuppie neighborhoods in Baltimore.  They joined a coed adult soccer league and there he was, her soulmate.

Fast forward to getting engaged in 2010 on the beach in Phuket, Thailand followed by a family wedding weekend at a charming country inn in western Vermont in 2011.  No Vera Wang dress or cathedral with 13 bridesmaids.  A weekend dedicated to families bonding and celebrating the union of two beloved people.

With the impending birth announcement on Christmas Day, she also made it clear they had no plans to find out the gender and would not announce the chosen names before the birth.

Of course, I was the total opposite.  I knew what the gender was and called the baby by name in utero for months before the birth.  But it’s not about me...right?

When she was a teenager, she had a female doctor whose parents had named her Kevin.  Chelsea thought this was rather different and she would consider naming a daughter that since that was also the name of the father she adored.  She was barely 11 when he passed.

She and I talked or emailed practically every day for months.  She sent names she was considering, going through the alphabet, a letter a day.  She wanted to know what I thought of her choices, but also stated she was not vetoing a name if I didn’t like it.

Ask anyone in education....especially, someone who has been a teacher for years...if they like a certain name and you’ll get an earful.  Please don’t name him Marcus, his family got evicted because he crawled through the heating ducts to spy on the neighbors.  Or Cynthia, who got drunk on vodka in the school bathroom and threw up in the cafeteria.

Naturally, the name can’t be too popular or trendy.  Possibly, it could be old school.  What, like Mabel or Malcolm?  Truly, I thought they would name it Soren, after her Danish heritage, or Brunhilda, his German heritage.  I don’t know.  I braced myself and knew even if I hated the name, I would adore this child.

And then there were the questions about what kind of birthing process I went through.  Total Hell for the first one...a 26 hour labor with way too many drugs.  Epidural for #2 and totally natural for #3.  The totally natural one was by default since she was crowning when I asked for drugs.

She opted for a totally natural water birth with a midwife at a local hospital.  First baby.  Wow....very brave, very determined.  One trait she has is resolve of steel.  Must be her dad's genes.

The medium told me over a year ago that it would be a girl.  When I mentioned that, my daughter looked at me like I had two heads.

On a Sunday morning, I got a call from her soulmate.  “We’re on our way to the hospital.”

I quickly gathered a few things and headed out for the 40 minute ride to Baltimore, rushing upon arrival to the front desk where I reluctantly gave up my driver’s license and went up to her room.  I expected to be waiting with her for hours during the labor.  I was prepared with the Sunday paper and my Kindle.

I gently knock on the door, open it slightly and there is my girl, holding her tiny bundle, just minutes old.

“Oh, my God!” I exclaim. Her eyes fill with tears.  “It’s a boy.  Come meet Kevin.”

We both sob with joy.  I am ecstatic they gave life to that name again.  His first grandchild, his namesake.

I’m thinking to myself....the medium was WRONG!!??

Lost in Transition

I have been a neglectful blog writer.  I’m not proud of it.  You would think that anyone who enjoys blogging could set aside two hours a week.  But, guilt is something I don’t subscribe to, so let’s move on.

Just over three months ago I was lamenting the ridiculous work that goes into getting my house ready to sell and cleaning out the one I was moving into....no small feat since my roommate, Buff Honey, is not one to purge on any regular basis.

I truly hate cleaning....I make myself do it.  But, God knows, I feel GREAT after making those trips to the Thrift Shop and the dump.

It’s like every one of the 15 moves I’ve already made.  I absolutely dread it.  Cleaning out closets, drawers, bookshelves.  Packing it all up in boxes.  Even moving old boxes I never opened from the preceding move.

But, once I’ve moved and everything’s in its new place, I feel like I’ve achieved Nirvana!  Serene in the order of it all, vowing to keep it that way.

This move, however, is totally different.  I’m not moving into an empty house.  I’m moving into an already crowded one.  Nothing if not challenging.

This involved serious reflection.  What could I not live without?  Of course, these are material things....objects.  Truly no need for much of anything.

Before, I could get to that, however, the house had to be staged.  Furniture moved, pictures rehung...hundreds of dollars on the stager, the cleaners, the painters, the floor sanders.  Not to speak of the slave labor I was contributing.

My back, my hips, my knees were killing me!  My thirty minute daily workout was kaput.  Done.  Had to save my energy for the house.  Ibuprofen was my best friend.

Finally, it went on the market in early July after two months of emptying my wallet and my energy.  It sold about six weeks later.  Against the advice of my agent, I told the kids to take whatever they wanted.

My son had already moved into an apartment in Baltimore and needed furniture desperately.  He took most of the living room.  Others took shelves, beds, tables, lamps.

I incurred the services of an estate seller.  I confined what I wanted to one room and told him to sell the rest.  The sale would be two weeks before the closing at the end of September.

BH and I took off to Florida in late August to celebrate my birthday at an Allman Brothers concert in Charlotte on the way.  God only knows how long Gregg will last after the liver transplant.  But that’s another blog.  Gotta get there...

The home inspection is coming up.  Two days later, a terse email appears from my agent.  “The buyer has serious concerns about the property.”

Really???  All new appliances, everything’s in working order, never any water issues.  But, if you pay $500 for an inspection, he better find something.  The buyer decided she didn’t want the property unless I replaced the heating and cooling system.

Yes, it’s original to the house...25 years young...but it works great.  It’s two zoned so they’re never on at the same time.  Plus, the home inspector found nothing wrong with them.  But, she’d had to replace hers for her buyer so she wanted me to do the same.

No dice.  Put it back on the market.

But, now, I had to put it back on empty.  The estate sale took place.  Tons of stuff left.  Good stuff, too.  Antiques I had collected for years, good china, Longaberger basket collection.  The estate sellers got an auction house to come and take what they wanted and they totally cleared out the rest.

So strange to walk into the house you loved completely bereft of the warmth you created.  Nothing on the walls, no curtains.  No family pictures.  No evidence that we ever lived there.

It’s been on the market for a month now.  Not a good time of year to be selling but there are showings on a somewhat regular basis.

It was brutal throwing out champagne glasses from my mother and father’s wedding, a beautiful cut glass bowl I made my first ambrosia in, the china my late husband and I collected.

I walked away with my mattress, two bookshelves, some clothes, my everyday Le Cadeaux melamine dishes, and eight boxes of pictures, paintings, books and a few keepsakes I couldn’t part with.

My dream of redoing BH’s house has been deferred to next year.  When you’re still paying a mortgage on a house you’re not living in, it depletes your resources.

Yes, I’ve been lost in this transition....crazy busy, getting rid of things I surrounded myself with for decades. Objects I thought defined me.

And, now, it’s done.  I’ve moved.  I’m starting to make this my new home.

I’m not lost anymore.  On the bookshelf, there are the two elephants for good luck my daughter brought me from Thailand.  When I’m baking, I smile at the potholder with my son’s toddler handprints.  And the chipped mug he gave me 22 years ago that says “You can do anything, you’re a mom.”

These are the keepsakes I can’t live without.

In the Moment

That’s where I have to be right now...in the moment.  I’m a bit unsettled right now.  I just ordered mailing labels with three addresses...no mistake...three!  Yes, I’m living with Buff Honey in Maryland aka BH but all my stuff is at my Columbia address.  And, yet, Florida is my official residence.  Go figure.

I just reread a few of my readings with my revered medium.  Two years ago, she predicted I would be moving out of my house albeit with reluctance.  Why?  Because I like my house and my twig furniture and my golden oak antiques and my Thai silk curtains.  It’s been my community for over 25 years where I raised my children, taught with my closest friends and, sadly, lost my beloved husband.

Even more intriguing was the fact that she predicted that the move would be for a relationship.  Two years ago I was seeing the polyamorous hoarder so moving into that filthy nest was not an option for me.  Instead, I pooh-poohed that prediction but, in subsequent readings, she insisted that he was coming, I was moving and, in one reading, she stated we would be living together in two states.

My reaction?  “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

Of course, what she did NOT say is that moving out of my place and into his would be utterly all-consuming and exhausting!  Hence, the “live in the moment” philosophy.  I cannot fathom having everything done.

Every piece of furniture moved, every box packed, all clothes in their rightful places.  Every closet cleaned out to practically nothing, agreements on whose dishes and pots will be used.  The 40 year old appliances replaced and new ceramic tile floors and granite countertops installed.  All extraneous books donated to libraries.

That’s the short list!

So, every morning I wake up and nurse that cup of coffee while reading the Washington Post, then move on to my required 30 minutes of exercise followed by granola cereal and fruit.  Then, I ask BH, “What’s our goal today?”

Meaning....what closet are we attacking?  Or what bookshelf can we clean off?  He’s really pretty good about it.  I measure that by the number of bags I take to the Thrift Shop.

He can’t let go of everything yet.  When our parents pass, we end up with tons of pictures or things that had meaning for them and for us.  What to do with it all?  Generally, we don’t have room for them and our kids don’t want them.

If we get rid of them, it’s almost impossible not to feel guilty!!  OMG, I just threw away my mother’s favorite pot holder!  NOOOOO!  I think this is one of the reasons I’ve become such a minimalist....I hate guilt and I don’t want my kids to have to clean out my stuff.

You’ll probably disagree with me but, in my meager, experience, I find that men have a harder time ridding themselves of their parents’ stuff.  So, that’s why, I just let BH choose what he can let go of.

There’s another reason I’m trying to live in the moment these days.  I’m overdue to become a grandmother for the third time.  It’s my younger daughter’s first and we are all anxiously awaiting this joyous event.  She and her husband have no idea if it’s a girl or a boy and we have no idea what they’re going to name it.  Presently, they call it Gizmo....really.

I don’t blame them for not sharing the name ahead of time.  Everyone will ring in on whether or not they like it.  I was an educator for over 30 years....there are a LOT of names I have a negative association with.  But, even if they name the baby one of those, I will instantly lose my negativity because this baby will be absolutely perfect in every way!  

My medium predicted the gender a year ago and I keep saying it’s a girl but, there’s always a possibility that it’s not.  Actually, no one really cares what it is.

I just cannot wait for the baby to get here!!!  Soooo exciting!  All the other stuff like cleaning and moving are minor inconveniences in the scheme of things.

The baby was supposed to be here already!  She was having contractions two days ago.  I keep calling and texting....no change...ugh!

I know, I know. I’m, unsuccessfully, trying to live “in the moment.”

Gypsy Life

Two months, working everyday, cleaning out closets, drawers, scrubbing tile floors, sealing cement cracks, spackling cracks, spot painting, replanting container gardens, paying a stager to move furniture....that’s a fraction of what the past two months have entailed.

But, it’s on the market.  And, so is the house next door.  Yep!  Went on one day after mine.  How damn lucky can you get?

The truth is, I just don’t care.  It’s on and that’s it.  I’m afraid it will sell and I’m afraid it won’t.  I am so sick of cleaning out the place, I just need a respite from it all.  I lay awake at nights worrying about what I’m going to do with all my furniture.

I’m already living with Buff Honey but it’s full to overflowing with all his man cave stuff.  Plus, my youngest is one week away from her due date with her first child!!!  I absolutely cannot be thinking about moving issues!

Occasionally, I feel like a baby boomer gypsy....living six months in the Florida house, owning the house in Columbia and living in the house in Olney.  Like I said before, I’m a minimalist.  Of course, that’s after spending a lifetime accumulating things I am now more than ready to give away or dump at the landfill.

In Olney, I have three drawers, a quarter of a closet plus a few bookshelves.  I’m actually perfectly happy but I also know that’s temporary....a tsunami is approaching right after the closing date.

Actually, I did live the gypsy life for a long time.  After I graduated from Florida State circa 1970, I left in a VW bug with a husband, a dog, our hippie clothes and beads, and a surfboard (don’t ask).  We were on our way to New England where he’d gone AWOL, landing in New Haven.  He evidently had fond memories as we were on the return trip.

When we cruised the streets of Northampton, Massachusetts, it was fairly obvious that cops were not interested in busting marijuana users as they were apparent everywhere in broad daylight.  We got a room in a boarding house and cooked on two burners checking out concerts, poetry readings and consciousness raising groups in our spare time.

No jobs.  I think we had about $100 and the room was $25 a week so my husband, thank God, found one working in a minimum security prison as a drug counselor not too long after we arrived.  I know....the irony.  Hey, it was the 70s.

And then, the moves started.  We left Northampton, moved to a lake cottage in Southwick, then on to South Windsor, Connecticut....all this within 8 months.  I remember this because my oldest was born a week after we moved the last time.

Over the next ten years, I had ten different addresses...stability was not my forte back then.  I got swept up in communal living, the women’s movement, civil rights and politics.

I lost my husband....a very good guy...to my need to experience a life I could’ve never lived in Pine Castle, Florida or in an earlier era.

But, I digress.

I’m making baby steps progress on the man cave I now call home.  Last weekend, we totally cleaned out his daughter’s room (she hasn’t lived there in over five years).  She happily took her treasures to her apartment.

Today, we tackled the coat closet.  While he was running, I took everything out.  18 jackets, 11 umbrellas, 3 remotes, cords and cables to god knows what....12 rolls of wrapping paper, vacuum cleaner, dust buster, gloves, hats, plates (?).  There’s more.
But, now it’s less.  Down to three jackets, four umbrellas, vacuum and dust buster.
Ahhhh...progress!  I love that thrift store down the street!

I have to keep a perspective here.  It’s not easy for him to part with his stuff but, at least, he makes the effort and knows it needs to go.

Not so for my last boyfriend.  He could sign up for the Hoarder Show.  Seriously.  One day, he asked me to help him reduce the number of pants he had.  Okay, I’ll bite.  How hard could that be?  Just pants?

We started putting them in piles....jeans, khakis, dress pants, shorts.....the piles took up every space available in three rooms.  When the last pair finally emerged, I had counted over 300 pairs of pants.  No exaggeration.  Hoarder.  He didn’t throw away one pair.

LIke I said....PERSPECTIVE!  Hmmmm....18 jackets vs 300 pants?!  I think I can deal with Buff Honey's man cave!

The Dreaded Return

To Reality, that is.  When Buff Honey and I left Florida a month ago, I was in mourning, leaving that pristine brand spanking new home with the heaven sent pool and spa, albeit with an occasional slithering uninvited pet.

Before my kids, grandkids and friends get indignant, I have to temper my sadness at returning with the thrill of being with family, hanging out at my favorite local haunts with friends and cheering those fabulous Baltimore Orioles!

In Florida, we decided I would sell my townhouse and move in with my guy.  I don’t love his house....it’s a man cave ranch in need of beyond serious updating.  His claim to fame?  He has a 40 year old refrigerator covered with rust but....it’s still working!  Okay, throw in the stove, washing machine, central heat and air.  Voila!  Well over 150 years of appliance wear.  No couch in the living room....two lazy boys and a 55 inch flat screen TV.  Getting the picture?

Contrast that with my house which I have updated with granite kitchen countertops, ceramic tile kitchen and bathroom floors, hardwoods sanded and sealed, new paint in most of the rooms, and a stove, dishwasher and washing machine less than a year old.
By the way, I do have a couch in the living room.

My claim to fame?  Three televisions each well over 15 years old....the huge ones that probably weigh 100 pounds each.  Can you tell I’m not a big TV viewer?  Only sports and public television.  I used to watch news shows.  Now, I absolutely can’t tolerate them.  What happened to balanced reporting?  No wonder there’s so much hatred in Washington.  We elect people who only want to diss their enemies in the other political party.  The good of the country???  Gone.

Okay.  I’m off my soapbox now.

What I was dreading upon our return was all the frigging work that accompanies putting your house on the market.  HATE IT!!!  I’ve done it numerous times the last time being 2005 when I sold my house to move to a townhouse.  Kids in college or launched.  Just me...whee!!  Before that it was 1988.  Pregnant with two kids.  Before that I was a gypsy moving practically every year.

The last move out of a four bedroom house with minimal help and 18 years of accumulating stuff.  Okay, some good stuff like family mementos, favorite books, boxes of kids’ artwork and school papers.  But, really, what do you need?

I made 18 trips to the landfill aka dump, more to Goodwill, sold or gave away furniture.  I had learned my lesson.  I am now a minimalist, tossing out unneeded clothes every year and seriously reducing my consumption.

Or so it seemed until I started getting ready to put this one on the market.  Already multiple Goodwill receipts, donations of boxes of books to the county library...I cannot throw out a book....there’s just something sacriligious about that.  I have reduced my two walk-in bedroom closets to one.  I look in boxes and say to myself...”I haven’t looked in this box for 8 years, why do I still have this?”

My first landfill run was a memorable one.  Home Depot had no trucks to rent so I called my ace-in-the-hole friend who has a 1989 Ford pickup truck.  Of course, the truck’s not in use....it’s 24 years old, isn’t that an antique?  He says to come over and he’ll show us how to drive it.  It stalls at stops or around corners and the power steering goes off; the trailer hatch doesn’t work all that well and the passenger door might swing open going around corners.  Oh, and don’t drive it over 55.  Is that all???  Okay, we’re in business.

It only stalls once on the way home.  Loading those 100 pound gorilla TVs was the worst....rolling them down my 15 front steps almost killed my relationship...just kidding.  We had to make two trips, there was so much stuff.  We lost a port-a-crib on a major highway...flew out and lucky for me it didn’t hit anyone!  I feel like I’m on a first name basis with the landfill guy.  “Oh, you’re back!” he greets me with a toothless grin, “You know what to do.”

All in all, the truck worked out great...only stalled four times, once around a corner getting onto a highway...that was a little scary.  But, we did it and all I felt was this tremendous relief.  More stuff gone.

Now, the major cleaners are coming in next and then I’ll interview some real estate agents or just put the house on the market myself....I was a realtor once another lifetime ago.

But, I’m exhausted.  Transitions are backbreaking.  I’m seeing light at the end of that tunnel.

Then, I start on the man cave.  HELP!!!

Homegoing

No, not like the dying kind and going home to Jeez-us....this is the going home to Maryland, my home for the past 30 years.  Although I am now officially a Florida residence and a Florida voter...can’t wait to see how that unfolds....it is now time to return to Maryland and my life there.

My better half and I have never done this.  Close up a home for six months and hope it’s  there when you return.  We have less than one week and we are in panic mode.

Last night, we hit the hot tub at 10:30, eating a couple of dark chocolates with orange cream filling...decadent but delicious.  Exhausted and crawling out of the spa, totally relaxed and ready for sleep.  He tossed and turned for over an hour and finally got up and read all the new homeowner instructions AGAIN, fretting over every detail.

We’ve engaged a pool service, a lawn service, a hurricane shutter service and the worst part is we have to leave the air conditioning on all summer.  We don’t even use air!!!  Supposedly, if we don’t, we’ll return to an overwhelmingly moldy house that will cost us way more than the air.  Trust me, we’re not happy about it, but.....ohhh, the hidden costs.

My panic involves the plants.  Will they die or thrive?  One of the pony tail palms still doesn’t look all that happy.  The Christmas palm has brown spot fungus.  There’s no one to spray the fungicide or insecticide for six months.  I painstakingly pluck off every dead leaf of every plant, dead head them as the blossoms fade, dig up every weed that grows through the mulch, spray weed killer between the driveway pavers.  They’re all in bloom now......waaaaahhh, I hate to leave them!

Gotta stop the newspapers, change the mailing address, close up the condo we rented and didn’t use, throw out the garbage and recycling, empty the refrigerator and pantry.
Definitely not the fun part.

But, it’s not all bad.  We got all these new homeowner coupons we have to use before we leave so our cars are clean...thank you, Eager Beaver Car Wash!  We hit Brew Burger for Happy Hour, got the free app and $2 beers. Ate our free gelatos at Ciao Gelato.  Last night was a decidedly cheap night at Daiquiri Deck....2 for 1 daiquiris and a pizza and with our $10 coupon, that came to $7!

After bridge yesterday, we walked West Venice Avenue, our equivalent of Main Street.  Our best find?  Wine tasting at Bonnell’s Boutique & Winery....trust me, I didn’t need the daiquiri afterwards.  While the guy is tasting the wines, the gal can be getting a facial.  Really!  This gal was tasting the wines....tried to talk Buff Honey into the facial but he wasn’t having any part of it.  Walked out with six bottles and an Albert Wine-Stein tee shirt.  The best wines???  Made in St. Pete, Florida....all citrus, no grapes, 10% alcohol.  Amazing stuff.

Now, we’re hitting the beach almost daily.  Gotta see our last sunsets on the Gulf, ride with the top down on Manasota Beach Road, hit Scoops, our favorite ice cream store.  Can’t miss another outing at Snook Haven, traveling down a long sand road ending on the Mayakka River, ordering fried pickles and grouper sandwiches, listening to live bluegrass under the oaks.

Every night, we follow the Baltimore Orioles on my Sports Tap app.  We watched the Orioles-Dodgers game on TBS and I was horrified to see the fans in Baltimore dressed in jackets, hats and gloves.  Noooo.....I’m not liking that but my guy reminds me it will be much warmer when we return next week.

There’s the annual Derby Day party at my daughter’s next weekend, a grandson’s 3rd birthday celebration, a bridge gala and tournament.  Family milestones coming...my son’s 30th.  A new grandchild being born in August...currently referred to as Gizmo on Facebook....I’m hoping for a more endearing moniker than that after birth.

I’m selling my house and you can imagine I’m really looking forward to all the work that goes along with that!  But, life is change. Life is renewal.

I think I’m ready for this Home Going!

Finally Floridian

Of course, I was born in Florida so I really am a native Floridian.  But, now I am a legit Floridian.  Not easy...not cheap!

I’ve been living in the state since January 1st.  Happy New Year to me!!!  It was always my intent to change my residence status.  Living here for six months and a day...essentially becoming a snowbird...was the plan.

The first week in January was filled with sunny, 80 degree beach days.  Buff Honey and I spent hours languishing in our beach chairs poring over newspapers and Randy Wayne White mysteries.  The perfect life.

Then, all hell broke loose!  He bought a house and we were propelled into hours of research on furniture, dishes, rugs, cooking utensils, garden tools....you name it, we didn’t have it.  We are now experts in “Cheap.”  We are Executive members of Costco.  We are known at Walmart, Big Lots, Goodwill, Home Goods and every other discount or consignment store within a 20 mile radius of Venice.

It wasn’t until March that I actually went online to see what I had to do to get a Florida driver’s license and to change my car registration.  The first red flag was all this had to be done within the first 10 days of moving.  Oh dear, I’ve broken the law already.

Then, I looked at the requirements.  I needed a social security card.  I don’t think I’ve had one since I was 20 years old.  Ahhhh....but I could bring my 1099 from the Feds which shows my SS number.  Check.

I also needed to bring two pieces of mail with my new residence on it.  Okay, fine.  I could bring my bank statement and my Maryland Retirement statement.  But, within 10 days of moving???  Plus, I moved twice within six weeks.  I have no rental agreement or utility bill.  This is not going to be easy.

Maybe, registering the car would be easier.  Nope.  No deal until I get a Florida license.  What else do I have to do?  I have to get car insurance in Florida.  My Maryland insurance will not transfer.  What???  Like I said, ‘not easy, not cheap.’  I swallow hard and lay out the cash for new car insurance.

I call the old insurance company.  No, they will not change my policy until I return the plates.  But, of course.  Now, I’m paying for two policies.  Great.

I need the title to the car.  I drag myself out to the car to see if it’s out there.  I have two rather distinct personalities.  Sometimes, I am incredibly organized.  I clean out my closet every year, sometimes twice a year.  I do not hang onto things I don’t use.  I really try to have order in my life.

My other personality is, sad to say, just clueless.  I have lost my cell phone countless times, once in a toilet bowl....don’t ask.  I lose keys, papers, books.  I don’t know what happens.  They just get swallowed up in a black hole.
With great trepidation, I look in the glove department to see which Brenda was in charge the day the title came in.  Woohoo!!!  Under all the Jiffy Lube receipts and roadmaps, I found it!  Thank God!  One less hoop to jump through.

I’m running out of time here.  Only two weeks until my return to Maryland.  I gather up all my papers and take them to the Sarasota County Tax Office.

The clerk asks me for my driver’s license, which I proudly hand over.  Then, she asks me for my birth certificate or passport.  WHAT???!!!  How did I miss that on the website? She hands me the blue flyer that lists the requirements and right there at the very top is Certified U.S. birth certificate or U.S passport.

Back to the drawing board.  Naturally, I have neither one of those things with me.  I immediately text my son...you know your kids are not going to the answer a phone call...”Call me ASAP.”  I know he’s teaching his math class, but he calls me in a great panic because he thinks I’m lying half dead at the side of a road or some other catastrophic scenario.

Okay, I know I scared him but sometimes that’s the only way you can get their attention, right??  Anyway, after he calms down, I tell him what I need.  I call him again after he gets home and he finds it exactly where I left it....again, the organized personality prevails!!

 I ask him what the expiration date is.  He says it’s expired.  NOOOOO!!!!  “Just kidding,” he says.  I want to kill him.  But, I need him to FedEx it to me....which he does.

I gather all my documents and return.  I’ve been thinking, “How am I going to explain that it’s April 18th and I’ve been here since January 1st?”  Not even close to the 10 day mark.  But, she doesn’t ask.  I hand her my license, my passport and my two pieces of mail.  Everything’s in order.

“Have you looked at the address from your Maryland Retirement statement?”  I look and there it is addressed to me at:  1988 Hammock Road, Venice, MD 34292.  I don’t even see it at first.  OMG!!!  It says Maryland, not Florida.

“Sorry, I have to get this approved by my supervisor.  You know how strict Florida is about issuing licenses to new residents.”

I’m dying here.  I can hear them talking in low tones about the address.  Finally, she reappears.  “You’re all set,” she says.

They take the required horrible photo; somehow, I pass the vision test, I pay them an exorbitant amount of money and I walk out of there with my Florida license and car registration.

Finally, I’m LEGIT!!!

Boston Massacre Redux

I can’t believe it....Boston.  Our country’s seat of liberty.  Home to Paul Revere, John Hancock, Sam Adams and his lesser known cousin, John.  Where the first cries came for freedom from the oppressors, the British.

It was in Boston that my love for American History was born...so much so that I returned to school to get certified to teach it.  I came of age when the teaching of history consisted of memorization of dates and events.  Basically, I dreaded the subject....until I visited Boston.

I walked the Freedom Trail; I fancied myself at Concord...home of the transcendentalist community.  Who can imagine anything more delicious than being in the company of Nathaniel Hawthorne, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry Thoreau and Amos Bronson Alcott, father of Louisa May and her delightful independent mother and sisters?

The first time I visited Boston I saw my first traffic circle, which terrified me as I had no idea what direction to go or where to get off.  Boston is not laid out in a grid like Washington or New York.  It’s nothing if not haphazard, at least to a small town girl like me.

I saw my first Hare Krishnas, chanting for a simpler, more natural and spiritual way of life.  I was attracted to their peaceful living but I was not interested in such an austerity.

Cambridge just lifted me to a higher place.  I could wear my Harvard sweatshirt and head to the street theatre or watch the brainiacs play chess in the Square.  When I learned my dear friend, Annie, was the daughter of a prominent Cambridge politician back in the day of “Honey Fitz” Fitzgerald, I was enthralled.  John Fitzgerald was the mayor of Boston and the father of Rose and the grandfather of his namesake, John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

Boston was magical in so many respects but also, unfortunately, known for the massive divide between the races.  I was puzzled by the lack of true integration that I took for granted in the North.  My God, I was from the South...Boston was home of the abolitionist movement.  How could this be?  It just seemed impossible.  But, biases linger for generations.

My first visit to Boston was in 1970...on the 200th anniversary of the Boston Massacre...where Crispus Attucks was the first African American sacrificed for the American Revolution.  And, now, Massachusetts led the way to enfranchise same-sex marriage, becoming the first state to recognize it on November 18th, 2003.

The Boston Marathon is an institution onto itself.  My former husband ran in it for years.  My three grown “kids” have run marathons albeit half-marathons.  They are all runners, I was a sprinter until I was 15 and had knee surgery and two more subsequently.  I never ran again.

Plus, they all have discipline.  They’re more focused than me.  But, I absolutely love supporting them.  I am there on the sidelines screaming out their names, clapping for all the runners.

I’ll never forget the look on my oldest daughter’s face when she passed me running a half marathon in Washington, D.C. two years ago.  She was running less than a year after giving birth to her second child.  Where she found the time and energy to train is totally beyond me.  Daily, she took the train to New York City, an hour and a half ride each way, working beyond the requisite eight hours.  After she returned home, she morphed into the quality time mommy, fixing meals, giving baths and reading stories at bedtime.

Pure Joy!  That’s the only way I can describe how she looked at me.  She was running her race and she was going to finish.  She was beaming.

And, I think of yesterday....all the runners, the hours of training, running their races.  I think of their friends and families, clapping and yelling their names, eagerly anticipating their finish.  And then the bombs start exploding....turning joy to horror.

Boston becoming Baghdad, where car bombings killed 31 people yesterday.  Did anyone know that???

I’m sick.  Heartsick.  The violence.  We need to step forward.  It needs to stop.

And, yet, the people we elect cannot find any agreement on stronger gun control.  They can’t even agree to ban semi-automatic assault weapons!  Minimal expectation, folks.  How these legislators can even look at the parents who lost their children at Sandy Hook Elementary is beyond my comprehension.

We are lost.

Florida's Underbelly

You’re probably thinking I’m going to write about the fact that there are more transients in Florida than anywhere else.  Or that the crime rate here is one of the worst in the country.  The Institute for Economics and Peace found that Florida was ranked the 4th most violent state after Louisiana, Tennessee and Nevada.  Not comforting is the fact that Maryland, my other home, was ranked 10th.

But, no, I’m talking about critters like snakes and gators and the dreaded bugs.  It’s April and they’re waking up!  I know that in parts of the country the word ‘spring’ is just that...a word.  April showers?  Nope.  April blizzards.

Not here, of course.  Yes, there have been sporadic showers but, mainly, there’s humidity.  Near 90 degrees and high humidity.  Still, I am determined NOT to turn on the air conditioning.  The windows are open, the ceiling fans are going day and night.  The pool is 83 degrees....perfectly refreshing.

When Buff Honey and I moved into this house, the builder had done the minimum landscaping in the front yard...two palms, one magnolia tree, one oak, one ti plant, and 50 ugly little juniper plants.....hated it!  Okay, I’ll keep the palms and the magnolia...everything else had to go.  My grandmother had a nursery, my brother and cousin are landscapers...in fact, my whole family loves have green thumbs.

How can anyone hate an oak tree?  Trust me, I have never seen such an ugly tree in my life...scrawny branches, sporadic leaves....I think Charlie Brown would’ve even rejected it.  Threw out every juniper...they tear up your skin and they just have no personality.

We wanted color...flowers that would bloom all winter long.  Fast growers, medium growers, slow growers.  Native plants to Florida.  We wanted it all.  And, we wanted it now because we had only a few months and then we were off and they were on their own.

And, the prices were insane to a Marylander!  Cheap, cheap, cheap!  Even the mulch was ridiculous.  I was determined to get rid of that hideous red mulch...sorry to offend any reader that loves it.  You know it’s bad when they’re selling it for 50 cents for 2 cubic feet!  I like the brown, which was almost 4 times as much.  Worth it.

The backyard was worse than the front...it had two of those ugly oaks, which I promptly replaced with Pony Tail Palms, a Christmas Palm and two Pygmy Palms....not to speak of shrubs that should grow tall enough to give us some privacy around the pool and lanai.  You ask, “Why do they need privacy?”  Think about it....mmmm....we’re not dead yet!  

We went nuts at Home Depot, Lowe’s and various nurseries....filling our cars with hibiscus plants, plumbagos, bougainvilleas, boxwoods, gardenias, oleanders, allamandas.  Color???  Oh, yeah....we got pink, red, salmon, blue, yellow, white...we are blooming!

Truth be known, I hate yard work.  It kills my back but it is soooo worth the effort!  And, now, I have this partner who loves transforming the yard.

All was just peachy until this week.  Some neighbor informed us that you can’t change the landscaping without getting it approved.  Another told us the covenants state you have to have at least two other kinds of trees besides palms.  Generally, I just ignore this stuff.  Can you really fine people for improving the landscape?  Come get me.

During my daily inspection, I noticed brown spots all over the Christmas Palm leaves....
noooooo.....a fungus is among us!  One of the hibiscus is getting leggy with half eaten leaves.  Uh oh....I see mealy bugs all over another one.

My windshield has fornicating love bugs all over it.

Okay, I’m staying cool.  I’m looking on the bright side.  The pool is finally warm enough for me to do my 50 minute water aerobics workout.  Woohoo!  I’m loving it.

“Sugar, I think you should come over here.”

“I’m doing my exercise.”

“I think you’re going to want to see this.”

Reluctantly, I go over to where he’s standing and he points to a snake swimming in our pool.

I scream my bloody head off!!!!

Never mind that it’s a black snake about 7 inches long....it’s a SNAKE!!!  I run into the house and slam the sliding glass doors.

So much for the wafting breezes, the gorgeous sunsets, the pristine beaches, the lazy days....when are we going home???!!!

Awkward Age

I bet you’re thinking....adolescence!  Yep, that’s awkward, all right.  Can’t deny that.  I spent most of my career teaching middle school and all I can tell you is that you better have an usual and very good sense of humor or you’re going to be an extremely frustrated human.

It used to slay me when teachers would yell at their students, “Act your age!!!”
Hello?!  That’s exactly what they’re doing.  My advice to teachers?  Be the adult in the room...never raise your voice or goad your students.  Find joy in the moment no matter how minute.

That may be the most obvious awkward age but not the only one.  Remember how difficult it was to launch into a career path from high school or college?  At least, that’s the way it was for me.  There are those individuals who have a Life Plan.  They know exactly what they want to be when they grow up and doggedly pursue those goals.

Not me.  No clue.  The women I saw were stay-at-home moms or teachers.  I saw nurses at the doctor’s office but they gave me shots.  I dreaded them.  The only other women I saw working were secretaries.  I really didn’t cotton to teaching, even though I was fond of reading to my paper dolls from the age of 5.  I was the fastest typist in my class, but being a secretary was never appealing.

Majoring in Religion and Philosophy didn’t assist me in my career search, although I swear it broadened my very narrow Southern perspective.  The day after I graduated from college, I married and started a family.  Eventually, I worked as a secretary and substitute teacher, returning to get my certifications in teaching and school administration.  Thus, launching my career in education at the age of 30....way behind my peers.

I dabbled in writing, acting, real estate sales, flower arranging, politics, but teaching gave me great health benefits and hours that allowed me more quality time with my children.  Besides, every year I fell in love with my students.  What could be better?

Now, I’ve reached another awkward stage...the stage that follows retirement.  What to do?  Many of my peers put off retirement because they’re conflicted.  Their lives have revolved around their jobs.  They get up to that alarm, trot off to work, put in their eight hours and go out to dinner (does anyone cook anymore?).

There’s a lot of time ahead of us.  Boomers are expected to live well beyond retirement age....the operative phrase being “Live Well.”  Most of us have lived very full lives.  Or maybe I should say we’ve filled our lives....with work schedules, our kids’ schedules, our workout schedules, our TV schedules, our social schedules.

And, now, we’re done with that.  For me, it’s time for Reflection....not something most of us have allowed ourselves to sink into.  I’m done with the Busy-ness.  It’s time to go inward.  Go on a journey.  Who knows where it will lead?

I want to wake up to the bobwhite who serenades me every morning.  I want to take my daily walk, clearing my head and readying myself for meditation.  I want to face my inner demons head on, daring them to take over my life.  I want to live in the moment, not regretting the past or fretting about the future.  I want to be grateful for life’s triumphs and even more grateful for life’s struggles.  I want to live in Joy.

This is my time to confront the Who, What, Where, When and How of Living Well.  Yes, sometimes it may be awkward, but could it be any more exciting?!

Bridge World

I’m writing this from the Marina Hilton in Ft. Lauderdale, site of this week’s regional bridge tournament.  Early April, temperature in the low 80’s, easy breezes, passing yachts to die for....although boats, in my opinion, are way too much work to ever be worth it.  Unless, of course, you’re rich enough to hire that out.  It appears to me they’re all over the top rich here...no one’s working on their boats.

There are thousands of people competing this week.  The American Contract Bridge League has over 150,000 members....most of them over the age of 50.  Bill Gates, an avid player, and Warren Buffett, one of his bridge partners, have ponied up God knows how much money to teach young people the game, since it’s just not a major part of our culture anymore.

I grew up in the South where women generally didn’t work outside the home and played ‘party’ bridge regularly.  My mother didn’t play but my grandmother and aunt did.  In fact, my grandparents hosted bridge weekly when they were young marrieds.  I learned how to play with my boyfriend at our youth minister’s home in Orlando.  I was 16 and from that point on, it was a passion for me.  I have no idea how I graduated from college, playing bridge far more frequently than attending classes.

And, then, life happened.  Career, raising kids...who has time to play cards?  I had a husband who had no interest in learning....nor did my kids, who are math whizzes, a plus for any bridge player.  I didn’t play for almost 25 years.

Life changed.  The kids grew up; I became a widow.  I was introduced to duplicate bridge which morphed into tournaments, playing with multiple partners until I found the perfect match...my guy, Buff Honey.

The Bridge World is dominated by men at the top of the game, and by women in the middle to lower ranks.  Many of them are single...either widowed or divorced.  And they’re looking to change their status.  It’s true.  I know because I was one of them.

You can find a great guy in this world.  They’re smart, nerdy and, occasionally, fun and good looking.  I hit the mother lode with my partner.

When we play two women, often they come to the table and size my partner up immediately.  They’re extra friendly to him, they look at my ring finger and his ring finger and carry on like I’m not even sitting there.  I’m just waiting for the inevitable.

“Are you two married?”

Happened yesterday and has happened several times before.  He is just absolutely clueless.  He has no idea they’ve been flirting with him for twenty minutes.  I kid you not.

“Why do you ask,?” I respond.

“Just wondering.”

Really???  You’re wondering if he’s available?  He’s not.  He’s the truest, bluest guy on the planet and he’s perfectly happy where he’s sitting.  Now, he’s thinking you’re rude  to ask that question and he’s inspired to beat your bridge butt.

And, I’m thinking...”What did they look like before they had all that work done?”

Gallivanting Grammy

I’m making a public apology to my kids right here.  You drew the short straw.  At least, when it comes to being the regular babysitter for the grandkids.

My mom wasn’t exactly keen on the babysitting thing either.  But, then, I was not exactly keen on her babysitting them.  Walking through the door and seeing her laying hands on them trying to exorcise the demons didn’t make me feel all warm and fuzzy.

We lived hundreds of miles apart....for good reason.

The fact is I love my two grandkids and I know I’ll adore the one coming in August.  As every grandparent can attest, they are the smartest, cutest, funniest, most precious little people in the world.  Not everybody is fortunate to be a grandparent.  I consider myself blessed.

I was thinking the other day about how many years of my adult life I have been married.  Out of 45 years, I’ve been married twice for a total of 17 years.  I’ve raised three children primarily on my own for over 44 of those years.  The question there is when does parenting officially end???  NEVER!  

I probably should consider that parenting never ceases; but ending financial support should bring independence that transforms the adult-child relationship into an adult-adult relationship.  What a rich experience.  I missed having that with my own parents even though I never depended on them for a dime but that’s a whole other ball of wax.

My adult life revolved around raising children and working...just like most people.  Except that I did a lot of it solo and my traveling was primarily to visit family and friends.  My choice.  I don’t regret any of it.

Now, I want the freedom to travel to bridge tournaments all over the country or to travel to Ireland or Italy or lay out on a Caribbean beach.  I want to be able to love my winter life in Florida sans guilt.  I want to write with abandon about what life is really like at my age.

A few weeks ago, my daughter and grandson flew to Florida to spend a few days with us.  How he’d changed in just three months!  A five year old you can converse with, especially, if it’s related to superheroes or sports.  A whirlwind of activity that included Siesta Key on a windy, cool day...no problem for him, though...running in an out of the water chasing seagulls, hunting for shells and building castles.

A day at Disney World was preceded by him throwing up in the backseat...should we go or turn around and go home?  Nope, gotta go, he insisted.  Maybe he was just excited.  My Disney exec cousin got us fast lane tickets....I will forever be indebted!!!  At the end of the day, he met his great aunts, uncles, second and third cousins...for the first time.  On the way home, we asked him what his favorite thing was about the day.  “Everything,” was his immediate response.

The next day, we went to see the Orioles play Toronto at a spring training game in Sarasota.  One of the best games I ever saw....O’s down by three runs in the bottom of the ninth, two outs, three men on and Ryan Flaherty hits the home run that wins the game.  A storybook ending?  Ya think?  It got even better when one of the O’s gave him a game ball as we were leaving.  

On his last night, we set him up to watch college basketball....University of Massachusetts against Butler.  He has to have a team to root for so his mom told him we wanted UMass to win because that’s where Grandpa Jim lives.  “Good,” he says, “ I couldn’t cheer for a team that has ‘butt’ in it.”  Five year old humor, except that he was dead serious.

Yeah...I admit it, I’m a Gallivanting Grammy who loves to travel to tournaments and concerts, especially, if there’s an Allman headliner.  I’ll never forget those wine tastings in Sonoma or the Heritage Fest in New Orleans.  I want to keep doing it as long as I can.

Hmmm...you need me to babysit this weekend?  Of course, I’ll be there!!



 

Who Knew?

Who knew being an ancient adolescent would turn out to be one of the best times in life?  When I was in my 20s or 30s, it always seemed like being a senior was years and years away...and I really dreaded being OLD.  Bur, now, I think...what defines OLD?

I don’t feel old.  I feel pretty damn good really.  I have plenty of energy and my mind hasn’t decided to vacate yet...hoping that sudoku and playing bridge save my marbles for a few years.  One side of my family is rampant with dementia, the other side has stayed pretty with it well into their 80s.

Is 80 old?  My aunt is as funny and delightful at 80 as she was at 20 so I don’t see her as old.  I’m sure if I make it to 80, I won’t see myself as old either.  It’s funny how no matter how I age, I still feel like I’m so much younger...like in my 30s.

Believe it or not, there are huge perks to being a senior.  I know, unlike many boomers, I was lucky enough to opt for a career that still has a pension.  Tons of boomers started in careers that held the promise of pensions but that promise eroded over the years.  Pubic service, however, has maintained its promise to its workers.  Although I never had a huge salary as a teacher and later a principal, my pension is decent and can support a modest lifestyle.

I have been able to retire.  Retirement opens a world of freedom I have never experienced.  I go to bed when I want, I get up when I want.  I can play bridge or go to the beach or landscape the yard or read a book or go to a movie.  I have the freedom to do the things I could never do when I was working.

If you like the movies, go to AMC on Tuesday.  Seniors only pay $6.  For an extra $5, there’s a Senior Special here in Venice where you get a very small popcorn and soda.
I can’t watch a movie without eating popcorn but the sizes are way too big for someone who eschews American portion sizes. The caveat is finding a movie you actually want to see.  Our last movie was Oz and next week we’ll see Dustin Hoffman’s directing debut, Quartet.  Pretty cheap date, right?

Have you ever tried Great Clips?  It’s a walk-in hair salon that features a $9 cut for seniors on Tuesdays.  For years, I went to chic salons and paid through the nose for a haircut....like $75 including tip.  Really!  I had to have highlights to hide the gray...another $200.  Then, there were years when I was doing the Japanese straightening process to get rid of those natural waves.  I won’t even tell you how much that was!  Now, I just find someone I like at Great Clips and voila!  Done, at a fraction of the cost!  Hey, it’s hair.  It’ll grow out if you don’t like it!

We love to go out to eat but that can destroy a budget, so we try to only go out twice a week and...duh....for the Early Bird Specials.  I love those things!  I actually like to eat between 5 and 6, so it works for me!  We usually split a dinner....again, portions are way too much for one person!  Plus, we’re cheap.  Ya think??!!

OMG!  The Happy Hours here are CRAZY!  Believe it or not, some of these places have happy hours from 3 to 7!  Half price, all you can eat appetizers.  Not kidding...you could get real happy here!

When we travel, we always take advantage of the senior rate.  Here’s my plan.  First, I go to Hotels.com or some other travel website to see what their rates are.  I find the hotel then go on their website to see if the senior rate is cheaper.  It usually is.  Booked!

So far, the greatest perk for me is being healthy and active!  I’ve got my quirks like high cholesterol, so I take my minimum Lipitor daily dosage.  I’ve got osteoarthritis,which I fight everyday with 200 milligrams of ibuprofen and a daily 55 minute workout.  It’s a battle but I do it, because I could turn into a slug in a heartbeat!

Besides, would Buff Honey want a sloppy slug?  Would I?  No!

Time is a luxury I never had.  How fun it is to visit friends I rarely get to see!  How sweet it is to have someone in my life I love after 17 years without it!

I hope this ancient adolescent lasts a long, long time!  Who knew??

A New Life

Life is invariably imbued with twists.  On January 1st, I met my honey in Venice to begin our four month winter stay in a condo overlooking a golf course that was home to Sandhill cranes, a protected species.  I quickly learned why they are protected.

They have the most obnoxious sound I’ve ever heard....not the little sweet tweet tweet associated with birds.  Oh no, they squawk and honk at the top of their lungs, startling us out of a deep sleep at the crack of dawn accompanying the daily lawnmowers manicuring the greens.  And they are HUGE!  About four feet tall and they walk like they own the streets.  So much for the idyllic state I had imagined living on a golf course.

Buff Man was considering buying a home in Florida and living there half the year. Naturally, that was fine with me...returning to my home state after 40 plus years was more than appealing.  But, what did we know about the market?  We’re both planners and thought the most intelligent way to approach this was to spend the next four months figuring out the southwest Florida market and then to make a decision.

The first week in January was so warm, we were trying out different beaches practically everyday, watching the electric sunsets, playing bridge, experimenting with local food and music.  Basically, just kicking back and loving our new life in the South.

Simultaneously, we were rabidly reading the real estate ads and attending open houses.  We narrowed our search, eliminating Sarasota, St. Pete, Tampa....way too overdeveloped.  We longed for less traffic, more of the old, natural Florida....short of entertaining snakes and alligators in our backyard.

We wanted a pool and lanai, enough bedrooms so our children and grandchildren could visit, an open floor plan...no formal dining room or formal living room...no wasted space.  We didn’t want to back to houses and, most importantly, it had to have a southwestern exposure so we could have great natural light.  Not too much to ask, right?

I have no idea how many homes we saw....definitely more than two dozen.  Evidently, there’s a real shortage of inventory down here, especially, for all of our high maintenance requirements.  And, especially, in our price range.  The Tampa Tribune was writing daily stories about how the boomers are loosening their pocketbooks and buying up the market.  Hmmm...sounds familiar.

On one of our drives around Venice, we found a new home development building its last stage.  We walked into the model.  Perfect for us.  They were in the final stage of building the same model as a spec home and it was two weeks from closing.  We went to see it....backs to woods, met the neighbors...another retired couple like us from Michigan.  Cheerleaders for Stoneybrook.  Loved it from the day they moved in.

Who wouldn’t like the spa and pool and the beautiful tiled floors throughout the house?  No carpet.  Yes!  The master bedroom and bath were great size with two walk in closets.  The other bedrooms and baths were on the opposite end of the house.  The great room encompassed the kitchen....best kitchen I’ve ever seen.

It was not a 55 and over development....lots of families, schools nearby.  The community center had a great fitness room, huge junior olympic sized pool, tot lots, tennis courts, basketball courts.  It was replete with preserved, natural areas with ponds, herons, egrets, gators and....yes, Sandhill cranes.  Haven’t seen the gators yet but the neighbor showed me a picture of two that she named Ed and Fred.

And, yes, it faced southwest.  My love had never owned a new house in his life and it was clear that he was smitten.  The negotiations commenced, ending in a contract closing two and a half weeks later.  Ten days after we got here, we had a house.

All that careful planning....renting a condo for four months, learning the market, taking our time to make a decision....done.  We could’ve furnished the house for what the condo cost us for four months.  Oh well....too late for that.  So, if you’re coming this way and you need a place to stay, we have a condo to share for a little while longer.

So, on January 10th, life took a major turn.  We came here with a few clothes for a Florida winter and in two weeks, we were moving into a house.  OMG!!!  Where to start?  Practically every waking minute was spent looking for furniture, buying stuff online, heading out to Bed, Bath & Beyond sales.  I became a huge fan of Costco, Walmart and Big Lots!

We rented the Home Depot truck to load boxes of furniture from Costco...dining room table and eight chairs, sofa, lounger, king bed, end tables, bureau.  We had stuff stored in our condo, our agent’s garage and a storage locker.  Moving day came on January 31st and for $9 an hour, we rented the truck at Value Storage and started our new life.

I reflect fondly on our first week of beach walks and sunsets...I’m hoping to get back there...maybe, next week.

I Am Resolved

Ahhhh, the onset of a new year, a new beginning, time to start over again.  Did you write any New Year’s Resolutions?  I have done them my entire adult life.  I read that eighty five percent of the population write resolutions.  However, about 0% actually keep them.

And, don’t we always resolve to do the same things?  Eat better, exercise more, pay off credit card bills.  We start out so gung-ho then somewhere along the way....generally, by mid-January, our enthusiasm wanes and our first of the year priorities get lost in the frenzy of our day to day lives.

I’m determined this year will be different.  Did you hear Dr. Oz tell Piers Morgan the other night that your waist size should be less than half your height?  I guess that sounds obvious but then I got out the measuring tape.  OMG!  I’m barely within that guideline.  Of course, I’m only 61” tall but I am now humiliated into dieting!

It seems like I’m always dieting (as is half the country unless you live in the Land of Fried Chicken and Sweet Tea).  Last year was a nightmare for me.  I started living with a very buff man who eschews veggies and adores anything with sugar in it, especially, chocolate peanut M&Ms, pastries from Publix, and desserts from Cracker Barrel.  When a barrel of truffles arrived in the living room during the holidays, I just gave up.

So, what’s my #1 resolution?  Lose 10 pounds.  I know you weren’t expecting that..lol.
My cousin and my son have been praising the Mediterranean Diet for the last year and telling me to try it.  However, you should see them.  They looked like my buff man before they ever even started the diet, so I wasn’t sold.  But, I keep hearing how much more energy they have and how healthy it is...blah, blah, blah.

But, then over the holidays I was walking through Barnes and Noble looking for a book to spend my gift certificate on and ran across The New Sonoma Diet by Connie Guttersen.  It was on sale for $7.99 but the cover grabbed me:  “Trimmer Waist, More Energy in Just 10 Days.”

I perused it...sounded a whole lot like the Mediterranean Diet and you could drink a glass of red wine with dinner.  There were recipes for desserts even.  Mango Basil Granita...whatever the hell that is!  Very high on the protein, very low on the carbs.
“It lets you drop pounds quickly and feel better than ever while indulging in meals hat are all about celebration, not deprivation!”  Oh, yeah, baby....I’m in.

I start reading.  It’s not about points, calorie tracking.  It’s about eating healthfully with
smaller portions.  Snacking smart.  You’ll immediately shed pounds, you’ll notice a difference almost immediately in how your clothes fit.

There are the 12 Sonoma Power Foods:  almonds, beans, bell peppers, blueberries broccoli, citrus, grapes, olive oil, spinach, strawberries, tomatoes, whole grains.  I love them all except the bell peppers...no way am I eating those.

We moved in to the Florida condo January 1st.  I brought my trail mix bars.  Buff Honey brought all his leftover holiday candy, potato chips, kettle corn and Cheerios.  He gets the top shelf in the pantry.  I stock up on everything Sonoma.  No sugar, no processed foods.  Check.

Then, I read there are three waves.  Obviously, I’m Wave One.  For 10 days, you must limit your intake to certain acceptable foods.  And, certain acceptable beverages.  Which include black coffee, tea and water.  WHAT???!!!  What happened to the red wine with dinner????  Hey! That’s one of the main appeals for this diet.

I’ll tell you it’s been tough for two reasons.  One, here we are on the gulf coast watching gorgeous sunsets....can you not drink a wee glass of wine in all this beauty???  It ain’t easy.  Two, my partner cannot exist without burgers and pizzas and a good pub.

I’m trying to string together 10 days without red wine but so far, my best effort has been three.  I try to get a salad when we go to a pub but that is not their specialty.  Who orders salad at a bar?  No wonder the leaves are limp and brown at the edges.

But, I found a great place on the water that has fabulous black bean burgers.  Did I just say that?  I never thought I would “love” black bean burgers.  I may even try to make them.  Last night I made teriyaki chicken, wild rice and salad with celery and strawberries.  Now, that was a Sonoma dinner.

Along with the Sonoma diet, I resolved to give up coffee.  Me??  I have stumbled out of bed to the coffeemaker for almost 50 years.  I’ve done it before but soon developed a huge headache I assumed was from withdrawal.  Now, I’m drinking my decaf tea in the morning and have had no headaches at all.  Go figure!  I haven’t missed it really and now I’m sleeping a little better.  Maybe, that’s why I’m exhausted by 8 in the evening.

But, give up wine?  Okay, it’s Day Two.  I resolve to be strong.

I Am In Love

And you’re thinking, yeah....what’s new?  We all know that but you are wrong!  I am in love with Florida, my home state.  I left here 43 years ago and I never dreamed it would take me this long to return.

Yes, it’s got a ridiculously high crime rate and the overdevelopment merits the saying, “the rape of Florida.” But, to me, it’s still home.  I think I’ll always be a Florida girl.

Steve and I arrived in Venice on the 1st of January.  Happy New Year to us!  We settled into our two bedroom condo with a golf course view from our screened-in back porch and headed to the pool.  It was nearly 80 degrees!  This is when I think global warming is perfectly suited for me.

I hate winter and every year I get worse.  Three years ago I escaped the Maryland winter that mirrored Buffalo, New York.  I ended up in Hilton Head, South Carolina freezing my buns off!  Seriously, it snowed in Hilton Head.  I was there for six weeks and could bear walking on the beach only one day.  Obviously, I needed to head further south.

I remember growing up in Orlando, where seasons were scant at best.  I was a huge reader as a child and pictured New England seasons.  It all seemed so idyllic until I moved there.  My first winter the snow fell on October 13th and I saw the ground again six months later.  SIX MONTHS!!!  I arrived with no coat, no boots, absolutely no sense when it came to driving in snow.  I didn’t even know where the defroster was in our new 1970 Honda Civic.  And, I was preggers with my first child.

No friends, no family.  Plenty of nausea and nostalgia.  I stayed 13 years and saw many pristine snowfalls and brilliant falls.  And, eventually, I made some of the best friends I will ever have in life and gave birth to a perfect little girl.  I started a career in education, became active in Democratic politics.

Often, we went to Cape Cod or the Long Island Sound to swim in the summer.  I even occasionally frequented Moonstone Beach, which was infamous for its daring nudity.  Once, I saw my neighbor two doors down.  I was horrified.  That was my last trip.  But, did you ever swim in that water???  It’s like jumping into a bathtub filled with ice cubes and I’m talking about the height of summer.  I really missed those Florida beaches on those days!

Every life has a yin and a yang...my husband and I parted and I began my own path, with plenty of bumps and bruises along the way that eventually took me to Maryland.
What a difference in the mid-Atlantic states!  Seasons still existed but the winters were shorter and milder and I could deal with it.

That was 1984.  Twenty eight years ago.  I hate the winters even in Maryland now.

We’re living in Florida for four months, through the end of April.  I am so glad to have a kindred spirit with me who loves this climate as I do.  The worst part of this experiment is leaving our combined eight children and nine grandchildren...soon to be 10 behind.  Every day we miss them.

But, in the morning, when we hear the squawks of the Sandhill cranes and the waterfall on the golf course, we pull on our shorts and tee-shirts and ask with a grateful heart, “What’s on the agenda today?”