He claims to be a simple man….Buff Honey. Definitely eschews being the center of attention. Freezes up in crowds. A shy man who, if called upon, can be personable if not charming. He would be mortified if he knew he was the object of today’s post.
He requires routine. He’s borderline obsessive compulsive. Every morning he rises and starts his calisthenics….40 crunches, 40 sit-ups. He throws in body twists and a few planks then he’s off to run for 45 minutes. Some days he stops by the gym to work the machines or does strength training on the bench in the garage. He’s been doing this for decades. And, he looks like it!
His diet? Terrible. Basically, it includes meat, starches, and sugar. Lots of sugar. He loves his rugula for breakfast….chocolate, raspberry, cherry. The pantry is filled with chocolate covered raisins. There are little dishes filled with candy all over the house. For special occasions, he orders chocolate cream pies from Dee Ziner Bakery. Our home is never without Publix blueberry or cherry pies. Mango key lime pie….another favorite. Pretty much nightly, he makes a run to Scoop’s, his favorite ice cream shop for a triple scoop black cherry cone.
His size hasn’t changed in 40 years. Me? I’ve morphed from a size 2 to 8. I exercise daily like a mad woman and count every single calorie on my Lose It app. My diet love affair is rooted in salt not sugar. I can’t touch chips or fries. I do take a teaspoon of raw sugar in my morning coffee and have an occasional sliver of pie. BH gave me a fabulous double decker box of chocolate candy for Valentine’s Day. Who do you think is eating most of it?
His musical tastes? Country and Classical. Yep. He loves his Dwight Yoakum and Johann Bach. Now, there’s a yin and yang for you. Revs up with country and cools down with the longhairs.
PDA r not BH. Public displays of affection? Not kosher. Okay, he’ll hold my hand walking down Venice Avenue but he’s definitely not going to plant a wet one on me in front of the universe. He’s not one to daily profess his undying love for me.
Last week was one of those crazy busy weeks here….family visiting followed by hours of playing bridge in a local tournament. All rush, rush. Trying to fit in our daily workout requirements, packing lunches, traveling an hour each way.
On Saturday morning, I’m race walking to the car for the daily drive. I opened the door and there was a jewelry box on my seat. “What’s this??!” I ask. BH reminds me it’s our anniversary. OMG! February 22nd. The day we committed to each other two years ago. No formal vows. Just a verbal agreement we made in Williamsburg.
Our vow to be faithful, love each other fully and be totally honest as only best friends can do.
“Anniversaries should be acknowledged,” he explained as I opened his gift of a necklace and earrings.
Sad to say, I had totally forgotten. So, who’s the romantic in this relationship? And, that’s why H is for Honey.
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Let's Hear It For Misery!
My whole life I’ve been a glass half-full kind of girl. I remember going to Doc’s, my small town’s drug store, when I was about 8 years old and Doc asking my mother, ‘Why is that child always smiling?’
I would agree that I could be labeled ‘pollyanna-ish.’ No doubt I see the world through rose-colored glasses. No matter how tough the journey seems, I’m always convinced things will get better. When I arise in the morning, I have a light heart…especially, after my first cup of coffee.
Of course, life is filled with highs and lows. I’m learning to be grateful for the lows…isn’t that where our greatest growth happens?
So, over that cup of coffee, I had to chuckle when I read Marilyn Preston’s article: “8 Easy Steps to Making Yourself Miserable.” Why be the life of the party when you can be a party pooper and make everyone miserable? You know that old adage, “misery loves company.” Yeah….bring everyone down!
Then, I read her steps.
Blame your parents. What??? I shouldn’t blame my mother??? OMG! Gotta grow up?
2. Practice sustained boredom. Tell everybody how bored you are….people love to hear that?Go for drama….have an affair, start meaningless fights. Oh, so fun.
3. Don’t enjoy life’s pleasures. Forget that beautiful sunset. No museums, movies or plays. Put that book down. Get focused on the world’s ills. Okay. I can’t really relate to this, since I’m all about life’s pleasures!
4. Ruminate. Focus totally on yourself. Especially, your flaws and faults. Turn molehills into mountains.
5. Be critical. Develop a negative attitude about everything and anything! Don’t let anyone catch you being positive. Be a traffic-hater, an Obamacare-hater. Point out the flaws in anyone you come into contact with. “What made you think that dress is attractive?”
6. Avoid gratitude. Never count your blessings. What blessings? Just know you have been given a terrible life and suffer.
7. Give yourself a negative identity. Think you’re depressed? Read all you can about it and take on that persona. Maybe you could be socially anxious. No matter what, don’t smile.
8. Whatever you do, do it for personal gain. Life is all about you. Don’t volunteer or donate to charity. Take care of numero uno, even if you hate yourself.
I admit I had to laugh out loud when I read this. Of course, it’s all tongue in cheek but don’t you know people like this? Maybe they’re not practicing all of the steps but there are lots of glass half-empty people out there.
They have to be pretty miserable, and what kind of people are they attracting? More miserables.
Personally? I’d rather keep my own company. Sunset, anyone? Life is just too short.
I would agree that I could be labeled ‘pollyanna-ish.’ No doubt I see the world through rose-colored glasses. No matter how tough the journey seems, I’m always convinced things will get better. When I arise in the morning, I have a light heart…especially, after my first cup of coffee.
Of course, life is filled with highs and lows. I’m learning to be grateful for the lows…isn’t that where our greatest growth happens?
So, over that cup of coffee, I had to chuckle when I read Marilyn Preston’s article: “8 Easy Steps to Making Yourself Miserable.” Why be the life of the party when you can be a party pooper and make everyone miserable? You know that old adage, “misery loves company.” Yeah….bring everyone down!
Then, I read her steps.
Blame your parents. What??? I shouldn’t blame my mother??? OMG! Gotta grow up?
2. Practice sustained boredom. Tell everybody how bored you are….people love to hear that?Go for drama….have an affair, start meaningless fights. Oh, so fun.
3. Don’t enjoy life’s pleasures. Forget that beautiful sunset. No museums, movies or plays. Put that book down. Get focused on the world’s ills. Okay. I can’t really relate to this, since I’m all about life’s pleasures!
4. Ruminate. Focus totally on yourself. Especially, your flaws and faults. Turn molehills into mountains.
5. Be critical. Develop a negative attitude about everything and anything! Don’t let anyone catch you being positive. Be a traffic-hater, an Obamacare-hater. Point out the flaws in anyone you come into contact with. “What made you think that dress is attractive?”
6. Avoid gratitude. Never count your blessings. What blessings? Just know you have been given a terrible life and suffer.
7. Give yourself a negative identity. Think you’re depressed? Read all you can about it and take on that persona. Maybe you could be socially anxious. No matter what, don’t smile.
8. Whatever you do, do it for personal gain. Life is all about you. Don’t volunteer or donate to charity. Take care of numero uno, even if you hate yourself.
I admit I had to laugh out loud when I read this. Of course, it’s all tongue in cheek but don’t you know people like this? Maybe they’re not practicing all of the steps but there are lots of glass half-empty people out there.
They have to be pretty miserable, and what kind of people are they attracting? More miserables.
Personally? I’d rather keep my own company. Sunset, anyone? Life is just too short.
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
Sound the Alarms
I woke up Saturday morning to what sounded like a feeble alarm. Buff Honey scrambled to turn it off.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing.”
“Yes, it was. Sounded like an alarm.”
In most households in America, this would not be earth shattering news. In our house, however, it had never happened in over two years. We are retired people. I know even retired people get up before dawn. Not us. And, especially, not BH.
For decades, he rose before 6 to get on that Harley and ride into the ridiculous Washington traffic in rain, sleet, snow, fog. I swear that’s why he’s immune to cold weather. Supporting five children on one income, he found a myriad of ways to save money. And, thanks to his discipline, we’re enjoying a delightful life.
But, my heavens, it was 7 o’clock in the morning….light barely peeping through the blinds. “Why are you getting up?” He reminded me he was going to pick up trash in the community. This activity was sponsored by the homeowners’ association and he was determined to do his part. Definitely, admirable, I’d say.
“What time are you meeting them?”
“9 o’clock.”
“Really, it’s going to take you two hours to get ready to pick up trash?”
Ahhh….but there’s the Saturday morning workout routine….calisthenics, bench presses, 40 minute run. Between bench press reps, he’s cooking bacon and scrambled eggs. That’s the Saturday breakfast. Sunday breakfast is waffles.
He is set in his ways. When he does arise between 9 and 11, he is an exercise maniac! He would not think of taking a day off. He does it all before he eats.
Of course, I’m set in my ways, too. I wake up around 8, almost always before he’s even stirring. I make my coffee, pick up the paper from the driveway and sit. I opt to slowly move into the day. As long as I can remember, I read the paper and drank my coffee before uttering a word. Oh, and I must do the Sudoku puzzle….in pen on Monday through Wednesday, pencil later in the week as they inevitably get harder.
And, then and only then, do I think about exercising. I’m now up to four or five miles walking in the morning with scattered toning using bands and bar bells. I used to be a true couch potato, exercising intermittently. Stress from work just overwhelmed my desire to move. I couldn’t wait to get home and be a vegetable.
When I retired five years ago, I vowed to exercise everyday. And, I’ve been pretty good about it. Not perfect…especially, when we’re traveling. Actually, the truth is I hate exercising. I hate going to a gym, surrounded by all the perfect bodies. I prefer my in-home DVDs. Usually, I exercise 45 minutes to an hour. My favorite way to accomplish this feat is to put on the DVD without sound and turn on the Dr. Phil Show or The View or some sporting event I can get into.
Yep….crazy but it works for me. Before I know it, my routine is over and I’m smugly satisfied that that marriage Dr. Phil claims he can fix is going to hell in a hand basket.
We live in a gated community. Absurd, but true. Way more trouble than it’s worth since the gate is slower than watching the little hand on a clock. Or the fact that the process for admitting guests changes every two weeks.
You should read the emails that come from the president of the community. You would think we were living in a hell hole. OMG, the landscaping needs to be completely overhauled. OMG, the renters are ruining the community. OMG, we had to send out 400 letters to owners to fix up their lawns (that’s half the houses).
We love it here. We think the landscaping is beautiful. When you naively say something positive, you get an earful about how wonderful is was a couple of years ago but now it’s on a serious downhill slide. Hmmmm….hard not to take that personally!
God bless the people who take on these roles. Would you ever want to be president of a homeowners’ association? The only reason I would be interested in it is to keep the fees low. But, I don’t have enough patience in the world.
It’s like they take on this little power trip. I think they’re retired police sergeants or military. I think they’re just a little regimented.
I bet they started by going to the community trash day. Uh oh…do you think BH has higher ambitions? I absolutely do not want to be First Lady.
“What was that?” I asked.
“Oh, nothing.”
“Yes, it was. Sounded like an alarm.”
In most households in America, this would not be earth shattering news. In our house, however, it had never happened in over two years. We are retired people. I know even retired people get up before dawn. Not us. And, especially, not BH.
For decades, he rose before 6 to get on that Harley and ride into the ridiculous Washington traffic in rain, sleet, snow, fog. I swear that’s why he’s immune to cold weather. Supporting five children on one income, he found a myriad of ways to save money. And, thanks to his discipline, we’re enjoying a delightful life.
But, my heavens, it was 7 o’clock in the morning….light barely peeping through the blinds. “Why are you getting up?” He reminded me he was going to pick up trash in the community. This activity was sponsored by the homeowners’ association and he was determined to do his part. Definitely, admirable, I’d say.
“What time are you meeting them?”
“9 o’clock.”
“Really, it’s going to take you two hours to get ready to pick up trash?”
Ahhh….but there’s the Saturday morning workout routine….calisthenics, bench presses, 40 minute run. Between bench press reps, he’s cooking bacon and scrambled eggs. That’s the Saturday breakfast. Sunday breakfast is waffles.
He is set in his ways. When he does arise between 9 and 11, he is an exercise maniac! He would not think of taking a day off. He does it all before he eats.
Of course, I’m set in my ways, too. I wake up around 8, almost always before he’s even stirring. I make my coffee, pick up the paper from the driveway and sit. I opt to slowly move into the day. As long as I can remember, I read the paper and drank my coffee before uttering a word. Oh, and I must do the Sudoku puzzle….in pen on Monday through Wednesday, pencil later in the week as they inevitably get harder.
And, then and only then, do I think about exercising. I’m now up to four or five miles walking in the morning with scattered toning using bands and bar bells. I used to be a true couch potato, exercising intermittently. Stress from work just overwhelmed my desire to move. I couldn’t wait to get home and be a vegetable.
When I retired five years ago, I vowed to exercise everyday. And, I’ve been pretty good about it. Not perfect…especially, when we’re traveling. Actually, the truth is I hate exercising. I hate going to a gym, surrounded by all the perfect bodies. I prefer my in-home DVDs. Usually, I exercise 45 minutes to an hour. My favorite way to accomplish this feat is to put on the DVD without sound and turn on the Dr. Phil Show or The View or some sporting event I can get into.
Yep….crazy but it works for me. Before I know it, my routine is over and I’m smugly satisfied that that marriage Dr. Phil claims he can fix is going to hell in a hand basket.
We live in a gated community. Absurd, but true. Way more trouble than it’s worth since the gate is slower than watching the little hand on a clock. Or the fact that the process for admitting guests changes every two weeks.
You should read the emails that come from the president of the community. You would think we were living in a hell hole. OMG, the landscaping needs to be completely overhauled. OMG, the renters are ruining the community. OMG, we had to send out 400 letters to owners to fix up their lawns (that’s half the houses).
We love it here. We think the landscaping is beautiful. When you naively say something positive, you get an earful about how wonderful is was a couple of years ago but now it’s on a serious downhill slide. Hmmmm….hard not to take that personally!
God bless the people who take on these roles. Would you ever want to be president of a homeowners’ association? The only reason I would be interested in it is to keep the fees low. But, I don’t have enough patience in the world.
It’s like they take on this little power trip. I think they’re retired police sergeants or military. I think they’re just a little regimented.
I bet they started by going to the community trash day. Uh oh…do you think BH has higher ambitions? I absolutely do not want to be First Lady.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
Who Was PSH Anyway?
It’s over. Just like that. He’s gone. Vanished. Late to meet his three young children in Central Park. Found with a needle in his arm in his apartment filled with baggies of white stuff and pills.
One of America’s most revered actors. Philip Seymour Hoffman. Died of a heroin overdose at age 46.
We are bombarded daily with death reports….war, car accidents, shootings, obituaries (Yes, I read them religiously every single day). It seems like we have to encapsulate our hearts in steel to lessen the effect.
There’s so much of it that I rarely have a visceral reaction. Nora Ephron’s passing truly got to me. One of my heroines. The self-deprecating humor. Her horrible marriage to Carl Bernstein depicted in Heartburn….where she describes her husband as “capable of having sex with a Venetian blind.” In I Feel Bad About My Neck and I Remember Nothing , aging women such as myself laugh out loud at her observations as we reflect on our changing bodies and minds.
And, now. PSH. Heroin overdose?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!! At least, Nora died with dignity….leukemia. At least, her family and friends could have some closure in her last days. A drug overdose…so cruel to the survivors.
I’m sure it’s complicated why this happened. But, I don’t see it that way….at least, not now. I’m angry about it….even as I know that’s not my higher self talking. I’m haunted by this death. I think about it when I close my eyes at night and try to get myself into some of peaceful slumber.
For the past two nights, I haven’t been able to do it. So many unanswered questions. What the hell was he thinking? How could he leave his beautiful children with this legacy? One of our most gifted artists, an intellectual, a talented and loving partner who by all accounts is a devoted mother. He supposedly was a doting father. Plenty of resources to lead a comfortable and satisfying life.
And, yet, he still stuck that needle in his arm…just like any junkie. No thoughts of leaving behind his children….only seeking the next high.
He ended his life….and he ended the lives of his children and his partner. Nothing will ever be the same for them. Ever.
PSH had ended his addictions 23 years ago….until last spring when prescription pills for pain restarted his quest for the perfect high. He even checked in to rehab and checked himself out after 10 days. That worked. And now his apartment is filled with baggies.
His demons were clearly in control. We all have them. I know I do. I’ve struggled with cigarettes and occasional binge drinking forever.
Hypnosis helped me get rid of the cigarettes. Done with the binge drinking. I had to face my fears about loneliness and anxiety and just love who I am warts and all. I decided I wanted to stay alive as long as I could to be with my family. It was then that I found Buff Honey and my joy grew exponentially.
Quite frankly, I never had the out of control drug experience. Yes, I liked that morphine for pain after my hip surgery, but I knew I had to get off that stuff immediately!
I’m beyond fortunate that my children weren’t popping oxycontin or snorting cocaine or using crack or heroin. Alcohol? Yes, but they lived through there teens and twenties and are way more mature than me.
Many parents go through hell and back to save their children from drugs. A teacher friend of mine moved to one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Maryland, sent her kids to the top high school and she even worked in the school. Her oldest child, her only son, died of a heroin overdose the night of his high school graduation. Is it any wonder she had a double mastectomy the following year?
I do think that probably addictive behavior runs in families. I know it’s in mine. I have a cousin that was addicted to drugs and alcohol early in high school and, after many harrowing years, gave it all up with the help of AA and whatever he calls a higher power. It’s been almost 20 years now. He did it right. He didn’t marry or have children until he was whole. Sobriety has brought him the most fulfilling life he could’ve ever imagined.
Living alone is not a good thing for me. Being part of a family unit or partnership promotes a healthier lifestyle….unless, you’re both in the cups.
I wonder about Philip Seymour Hoffman. Why was he not living with his kids? God knows, it’s more difficult to shoot up when you’re rooted in busy family life.
I also know it’s not that easy. There’s no simple explanation. The demons came back. They were in control. Explain that to a 3 year old who will never see her daddy again.
Only her daddy could answer the questions.
One of America’s most revered actors. Philip Seymour Hoffman. Died of a heroin overdose at age 46.
We are bombarded daily with death reports….war, car accidents, shootings, obituaries (Yes, I read them religiously every single day). It seems like we have to encapsulate our hearts in steel to lessen the effect.
There’s so much of it that I rarely have a visceral reaction. Nora Ephron’s passing truly got to me. One of my heroines. The self-deprecating humor. Her horrible marriage to Carl Bernstein depicted in Heartburn….where she describes her husband as “capable of having sex with a Venetian blind.” In I Feel Bad About My Neck and I Remember Nothing , aging women such as myself laugh out loud at her observations as we reflect on our changing bodies and minds.
And, now. PSH. Heroin overdose?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME??!! At least, Nora died with dignity….leukemia. At least, her family and friends could have some closure in her last days. A drug overdose…so cruel to the survivors.
I’m sure it’s complicated why this happened. But, I don’t see it that way….at least, not now. I’m angry about it….even as I know that’s not my higher self talking. I’m haunted by this death. I think about it when I close my eyes at night and try to get myself into some of peaceful slumber.
For the past two nights, I haven’t been able to do it. So many unanswered questions. What the hell was he thinking? How could he leave his beautiful children with this legacy? One of our most gifted artists, an intellectual, a talented and loving partner who by all accounts is a devoted mother. He supposedly was a doting father. Plenty of resources to lead a comfortable and satisfying life.
And, yet, he still stuck that needle in his arm…just like any junkie. No thoughts of leaving behind his children….only seeking the next high.
He ended his life….and he ended the lives of his children and his partner. Nothing will ever be the same for them. Ever.
PSH had ended his addictions 23 years ago….until last spring when prescription pills for pain restarted his quest for the perfect high. He even checked in to rehab and checked himself out after 10 days. That worked. And now his apartment is filled with baggies.
His demons were clearly in control. We all have them. I know I do. I’ve struggled with cigarettes and occasional binge drinking forever.
Hypnosis helped me get rid of the cigarettes. Done with the binge drinking. I had to face my fears about loneliness and anxiety and just love who I am warts and all. I decided I wanted to stay alive as long as I could to be with my family. It was then that I found Buff Honey and my joy grew exponentially.
Quite frankly, I never had the out of control drug experience. Yes, I liked that morphine for pain after my hip surgery, but I knew I had to get off that stuff immediately!
I’m beyond fortunate that my children weren’t popping oxycontin or snorting cocaine or using crack or heroin. Alcohol? Yes, but they lived through there teens and twenties and are way more mature than me.
Many parents go through hell and back to save their children from drugs. A teacher friend of mine moved to one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in Maryland, sent her kids to the top high school and she even worked in the school. Her oldest child, her only son, died of a heroin overdose the night of his high school graduation. Is it any wonder she had a double mastectomy the following year?
I do think that probably addictive behavior runs in families. I know it’s in mine. I have a cousin that was addicted to drugs and alcohol early in high school and, after many harrowing years, gave it all up with the help of AA and whatever he calls a higher power. It’s been almost 20 years now. He did it right. He didn’t marry or have children until he was whole. Sobriety has brought him the most fulfilling life he could’ve ever imagined.
Living alone is not a good thing for me. Being part of a family unit or partnership promotes a healthier lifestyle….unless, you’re both in the cups.
I wonder about Philip Seymour Hoffman. Why was he not living with his kids? God knows, it’s more difficult to shoot up when you’re rooted in busy family life.
I also know it’s not that easy. There’s no simple explanation. The demons came back. They were in control. Explain that to a 3 year old who will never see her daddy again.
Only her daddy could answer the questions.
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