Every morning, I rise and shuffle to the scale to check my weight…not sure that’s smart; certainly, it’s a bit obsessive but I’m fighting to keep off those extra pounds. I still do the intermittent fasting twice a week and try to limit the other days to 1000 calories. You’d think I’d be a skinny Minnie but, alas, I’m not.
Next, I head to the coffee maker to make my allotted coffee intake with raw sugar and almond milk and sit down with my mug. The same mug I’ve used for about twenty years now. It has a new age-y heart on it and it says, “The Grateful Heart.” You probably think that sounds cheesy and maybe it is, but it speaks to me.
I found this mug in a shop in Rhode Island amidst a myriad of crystals and spiritual books and angel pins. Twenty years ago, I was newly widowed, raising teenagers and struggling to be an effective school principal. It’s not a job I recommend for anyone who ever wants to hear good news.
That mug became a symbol for me….remember the positives, don’t let your heart get bogged down, lift yourself up. I’m not one to write in a grateful journal daily, but when I lay my head down, I focus on the beauty of the day.
“Tis the season, isn’t it? The season of giving thanks and, heaven knows, my blessings are countless. So, I thought I might share a few.
Thankful that I can travel to spend a few days with those beautiful grandchildren and add to our treasure trove of family memories. How heartwarming to see my son, Justin, giving chess lessons to two of his nephews, ages 5 and 11. Will (11) and Reese (8), the two older grandchildren, entertained their two younger cousins, Kevin (5) and Brendan (3) for two days, never tiring, never complaining, thinking up new games and even turning away friends so they could play with them.
Thankful that four of my high school girlfriends get together every other year for a beach reunion for a few days. This year we met up on Captiva Island, south of Sanibel Island in southwest Florida. Our entertainment included seeing the Florida Repertory Theatre production of “Steel Magnolias,” which, of course, we all consider ourselves. There were dolphins entertaining us on the beach for a few hours….literally, we could’ve walked out to swim with them.
There was a boat trip to Cabbage Key for lunch at the old inn there. Now, that was seriously old Florida! Cabbage Key, a small island, purchased for $2500 is now still almost completely undeveloped. The original house and several cottages were built in the '30s and the current owners have taken great care to preserve its unique charm. Breakfast, lunch and dinner are served in the old inn daily. You can only get there by boat or water taxi. No cars allowed, only a few golf carts for transportation.
One of those friends, I’ve known since I was seven years old…we were both raised in very conservative families in rural Florida but, somehow, we managed to become very independent women and true flaming liberals. Her son-in-law is on Nancy Pelosi’s staff. I kid you not.
In fact, four out of five are liberals with a capital L, but who could not wear that L proudly in the age of Trump.
The best part of these reunions are the conversations on the screened in porches or rooftop decks with our glasses of wine. There’s a lot to talk about after two years! No noses buried in cell phones.
One thing I am most grateful for is that my friend, Kerry, has been accepted to the Mayo Clinic for treatment and surgery for pancreatic cancer. There is a doctor there who has been very successful in treating Stage III pan-can, including performing highly complicated surgery. I had lunch with her a few weeks ago. Now, that is a conversation not for sissies. When we talk, we go there. Yes, we cry, but it’s also uplifting. I adore that woman!
Thankful for my family, overflowing with warmth and love. Thankful for overall good health. Thankful for my mind, which thanks to reading, writing, playing bridge and good genes continues to function pretty well. Thankful to my partner, BH, who keeps me close, safe and entertained.
Thankful to this country that sent a clear message on election day that honesty, decency, and democratic values are not dead. Thank you. My heart overflows.
Thursday, November 15, 2018
Thursday, October 18, 2018
Cruisin'
Just what the doctor ordered…a week long cruise in the Caribbean. Of course, BH & I had planned this long before my mom’s sudden passing. Can you call it a sudden passing if she was practically 93? Anyway, I cannot tell you how perfectly timed this trip was, especially, after all the drama associated with my mother’s estate.
Yes, she named my niece as the executor. My niece has seen her exactly once in her life. But, she orchestrated that “Christian” card to a tee (she’s Jewish). My mom’s house is now a “Christian” retreat for the next seven years….no smoking and drinking allowed. Control from the grave. That’s my mom!
Anyway, taking off on that Royal Caribbean floating hotel/city was the perfect antidote to this chaos. Both of us had been on exactly one previous cruise and I can tell you it was nothing like this! Harmony of the Seas is the Cadillac of cruise ships. Early on, we signed up for an ocean view room with a balcony. Heaven.
Did I mention it was a regional bridge tournament? Of course, that’s why we originally enrolled. We could get lessons, play three times a day and still have time to enjoy the amazing amenities.
There were over 20 restaurants, many of which were “free.” There were also high end options, which we did not take advantage of. On the Boardwalk, there was a Johnny Rockets, which you had to pay extra for. WHAT??!! Pay extra?! Hey, I love hamburgers, hot dogs, and fries but I am NOT playing extra for that, when I can get fresh salads, fabulous entrees like salmon, filet mignon, and chicken cordon bleu for free! I was pleasantly surprised at how many healthy choices there were….if I could’ve just stuck to that, but those desserts were soooo tempting!
Needless to say, I ingested way more than my allotted 1000 calories per day. That’s just the food. The drinks were another thing. When we first got on board, people were lining up in droves for the “drink package.” We had no clue what was going on. You cannot get a soda on board unless you get the package. Neither of us drink sodas so we weren’t fazed by that. But, if you wanted soda and alcohol, well, that was a whopping $60 a day! I admit, I like my glass of red wine, but I’d have to drink at least 5 glasses to break even. Good thing, we’d carried a bottle on board in the suitcase.
Speaking of suitcases, I had never in my life seen the amount of luggage these cruisers were bringing on board. We’re light travelers. One week. Both of our clothes and toiletries fit into one small suitcase, including the wine. There are formal dress nights, which people take very seriously! One of the Royal Theatre nights required everybody to dress up in white. Our wardrobes were a bit more simple….casual shirts, shorts and sandals.
Most nights, we’d relax in the Jazz Club after our night games with a glass of wine and amazing entertainment. The Aqua Show was good, not great but the Comedy Club was hilarious. Best Trump imitation I’ve ever seen….the voice was perfect!
Our stop in St. Maarten’s didn’t last long….it took us almost an hour to get off the boat and by then, our tour and trip to Pinel Island was long gone. Oh well….what to do? Get back on, get our money back and play bridge. The land and sea tour of San Juan was well worth it….informative and entertaining. Got to walk on the beach and got a pineapple coconut smoothie. Delicious. Never got off the ship at the Royal Caribbean private beach at Labadee, Haiti. Decided to let everyone else get off so we could enjoy some hot tub time without the hordes.
The logistics of this ship are overwhelming! Over 7000 passengers and 2000 employees! Not one glitch….everything was “smooth sailing” the entire week. I would love to see a documentary on a cruise line. We were in awe.
And was it worth it? Well, we didn’t get to any of the bridge lessons which were offered daily at 9 in the morning. Too early for us lazy bumpkins who stayed up late to enjoy a nightcap on our balcony. However, we did win three events which added 60 master points to our totals. Those are the most master points we’ve ever won at any tournament.
So, yeah, it was definitely worth it….so worth it we’ve signed up for two more regionals at sea in 2019! We’re a little late to this party…gotta make up for lost time!
Yes, she named my niece as the executor. My niece has seen her exactly once in her life. But, she orchestrated that “Christian” card to a tee (she’s Jewish). My mom’s house is now a “Christian” retreat for the next seven years….no smoking and drinking allowed. Control from the grave. That’s my mom!
Anyway, taking off on that Royal Caribbean floating hotel/city was the perfect antidote to this chaos. Both of us had been on exactly one previous cruise and I can tell you it was nothing like this! Harmony of the Seas is the Cadillac of cruise ships. Early on, we signed up for an ocean view room with a balcony. Heaven.
Did I mention it was a regional bridge tournament? Of course, that’s why we originally enrolled. We could get lessons, play three times a day and still have time to enjoy the amazing amenities.
There were over 20 restaurants, many of which were “free.” There were also high end options, which we did not take advantage of. On the Boardwalk, there was a Johnny Rockets, which you had to pay extra for. WHAT??!! Pay extra?! Hey, I love hamburgers, hot dogs, and fries but I am NOT playing extra for that, when I can get fresh salads, fabulous entrees like salmon, filet mignon, and chicken cordon bleu for free! I was pleasantly surprised at how many healthy choices there were….if I could’ve just stuck to that, but those desserts were soooo tempting!
Needless to say, I ingested way more than my allotted 1000 calories per day. That’s just the food. The drinks were another thing. When we first got on board, people were lining up in droves for the “drink package.” We had no clue what was going on. You cannot get a soda on board unless you get the package. Neither of us drink sodas so we weren’t fazed by that. But, if you wanted soda and alcohol, well, that was a whopping $60 a day! I admit, I like my glass of red wine, but I’d have to drink at least 5 glasses to break even. Good thing, we’d carried a bottle on board in the suitcase.
Speaking of suitcases, I had never in my life seen the amount of luggage these cruisers were bringing on board. We’re light travelers. One week. Both of our clothes and toiletries fit into one small suitcase, including the wine. There are formal dress nights, which people take very seriously! One of the Royal Theatre nights required everybody to dress up in white. Our wardrobes were a bit more simple….casual shirts, shorts and sandals.
Most nights, we’d relax in the Jazz Club after our night games with a glass of wine and amazing entertainment. The Aqua Show was good, not great but the Comedy Club was hilarious. Best Trump imitation I’ve ever seen….the voice was perfect!
Our stop in St. Maarten’s didn’t last long….it took us almost an hour to get off the boat and by then, our tour and trip to Pinel Island was long gone. Oh well….what to do? Get back on, get our money back and play bridge. The land and sea tour of San Juan was well worth it….informative and entertaining. Got to walk on the beach and got a pineapple coconut smoothie. Delicious. Never got off the ship at the Royal Caribbean private beach at Labadee, Haiti. Decided to let everyone else get off so we could enjoy some hot tub time without the hordes.
The logistics of this ship are overwhelming! Over 7000 passengers and 2000 employees! Not one glitch….everything was “smooth sailing” the entire week. I would love to see a documentary on a cruise line. We were in awe.
And was it worth it? Well, we didn’t get to any of the bridge lessons which were offered daily at 9 in the morning. Too early for us lazy bumpkins who stayed up late to enjoy a nightcap on our balcony. However, we did win three events which added 60 master points to our totals. Those are the most master points we’ve ever won at any tournament.
So, yeah, it was definitely worth it….so worth it we’ve signed up for two more regionals at sea in 2019! We’re a little late to this party…gotta make up for lost time!
Thursday, October 4, 2018
Moving On
I know losing your mom, even if she was less than three weeks from turning 93, can be a tumultuous experience. And, I will say I was pretty stunned when her friend and neighbor called me two weeks ago to say she couldn’t get my mom to answer the door or phone.
When I got that call and saw the area code, I immediately said to BH, “This can’t be good.” And it wasn’t. Giving my permission to the deputy sheriff to break into the house, I waited for what seemed like an eternity to hear what I already knew. She was gone.
My mom outlived my father by three years and her father by six months. There’s a lot of longevity in our family. My aunt and I were convinced she’d live to be 100. The woman allegedly never had an ache, which goes to show you I definitely didn’t get that gene. Nor did my sister, since we’re both having structural issues due to childhood scoliosis.
My mom never had a serious illness like cancer or diabetes. A doctor performed annual checkups mainly to monitor her blood pressure…the only prescription drug she ever took. She was never overweight, maintained social contacts such as they were since she outlived all of her peers.
She drove a PT Cruiser which she kept in immaculate condition. Her mechanic told my brother that she brought the car in once because she kept hearing a ‘ping’ noise. It was her cell phone, which she kept in the glove compartment but never used. My mom hated technology. But, amazingly, she was a really good driver, Her last solo trip to Florida was only two years ago.
The past 30+ years, she lived in a very small town and that’s a generous assessment. Basically, there was the Asbury Methodist Church, the cemetery, the fire department, a community center, a Mexican restaurant and the post office. Everything else has gone out of business.
But, she was definitely well known there. Miss Grace. She met her neighbors at the Cupboard for breakfast every Wednesday morning, taught piano lessons a couple of days a week, sent birthday cards to literally every member of the family even those living in Pakistan. She kept a running log of who called daily and brief notes about the day’s events.
Mostly, she prayed and read the Bible, noting names next to passages she read on their birthdays. She considered herself ‘born again’ and was very dogmatic in her beliefs about who was a ‘real’ Christian. (I was not.)
She had been a faithful subscriber to the American Free Press, the paper that uplifts white nationalists and antisemitic beliefs. It supports innumerable conspiracy theories and she believed every one. She considered that paper to be the “real news.’
She considered herself to believe in the importance of families, but she played her three children against one another for years. She changed her will numerous times depending on
who was the favored child. I was out of the running a long time ago. Once, I told her I’d been on the phone with my brother and she said, “What are you talking to him for?” I refused to hear family gossip.
It took me decades to accept the fact that I was never going to have the unconditional love a child expects from a parent. I had to accept she was never going to apologize for her abusive treatment of her children. My brother once confronted her about that and her response was “I don’t have to apologize. The Lord knows my heart.”
So, I learned to swallow my instinct to confront her, after I had tried many times to explain my side of things. All attempts were dismissed out of hand so I moved on. When I visited her, which was much more often than my siblings, we did things we enjoyed together….picnicking on top of Black Rock Mountain, shopping in Highlands, dining at Mountain Man Barbecue, and devoting ice cream sundaes at the Creamery.
Of course, there is a sadness that she is gone. This was the most difficult relationship of my entire lifetime. I struggled for years to find peace with it and I did. Not everyone is blessed with the milk and cookies kind of mom.
What I do know is that I found my inner strength and resolved to love her the best way I could. Her failures as a mom inspired me to be a better mom for my own beautiful children. God knows, I missed the mark many times, but I was determined to allow them to grow up to be their own people.
What I do know is that I adore my family and we support and love each other without reservation and conditions. There is no drama….ever.
So, now, my mom has moved on to the afterlife and I have moved on with my life. Wonder what she’ll say when I visit my medium at Cassadaga? Now, that ought to be interesting!
When I got that call and saw the area code, I immediately said to BH, “This can’t be good.” And it wasn’t. Giving my permission to the deputy sheriff to break into the house, I waited for what seemed like an eternity to hear what I already knew. She was gone.
My mom outlived my father by three years and her father by six months. There’s a lot of longevity in our family. My aunt and I were convinced she’d live to be 100. The woman allegedly never had an ache, which goes to show you I definitely didn’t get that gene. Nor did my sister, since we’re both having structural issues due to childhood scoliosis.
My mom never had a serious illness like cancer or diabetes. A doctor performed annual checkups mainly to monitor her blood pressure…the only prescription drug she ever took. She was never overweight, maintained social contacts such as they were since she outlived all of her peers.
She drove a PT Cruiser which she kept in immaculate condition. Her mechanic told my brother that she brought the car in once because she kept hearing a ‘ping’ noise. It was her cell phone, which she kept in the glove compartment but never used. My mom hated technology. But, amazingly, she was a really good driver, Her last solo trip to Florida was only two years ago.
The past 30+ years, she lived in a very small town and that’s a generous assessment. Basically, there was the Asbury Methodist Church, the cemetery, the fire department, a community center, a Mexican restaurant and the post office. Everything else has gone out of business.
But, she was definitely well known there. Miss Grace. She met her neighbors at the Cupboard for breakfast every Wednesday morning, taught piano lessons a couple of days a week, sent birthday cards to literally every member of the family even those living in Pakistan. She kept a running log of who called daily and brief notes about the day’s events.
Mostly, she prayed and read the Bible, noting names next to passages she read on their birthdays. She considered herself ‘born again’ and was very dogmatic in her beliefs about who was a ‘real’ Christian. (I was not.)
She had been a faithful subscriber to the American Free Press, the paper that uplifts white nationalists and antisemitic beliefs. It supports innumerable conspiracy theories and she believed every one. She considered that paper to be the “real news.’
She considered herself to believe in the importance of families, but she played her three children against one another for years. She changed her will numerous times depending on
who was the favored child. I was out of the running a long time ago. Once, I told her I’d been on the phone with my brother and she said, “What are you talking to him for?” I refused to hear family gossip.
It took me decades to accept the fact that I was never going to have the unconditional love a child expects from a parent. I had to accept she was never going to apologize for her abusive treatment of her children. My brother once confronted her about that and her response was “I don’t have to apologize. The Lord knows my heart.”
So, I learned to swallow my instinct to confront her, after I had tried many times to explain my side of things. All attempts were dismissed out of hand so I moved on. When I visited her, which was much more often than my siblings, we did things we enjoyed together….picnicking on top of Black Rock Mountain, shopping in Highlands, dining at Mountain Man Barbecue, and devoting ice cream sundaes at the Creamery.
Of course, there is a sadness that she is gone. This was the most difficult relationship of my entire lifetime. I struggled for years to find peace with it and I did. Not everyone is blessed with the milk and cookies kind of mom.
What I do know is that I found my inner strength and resolved to love her the best way I could. Her failures as a mom inspired me to be a better mom for my own beautiful children. God knows, I missed the mark many times, but I was determined to allow them to grow up to be their own people.
What I do know is that I adore my family and we support and love each other without reservation and conditions. There is no drama….ever.
So, now, my mom has moved on to the afterlife and I have moved on with my life. Wonder what she’ll say when I visit my medium at Cassadaga? Now, that ought to be interesting!
Thursday, September 13, 2018
Coping
In the Age of Trump, aren’t we all seeking coping mechanisms for dealing with Crazytown? Buff Honey can’t watch any news shows, including the local news, which, in Florida is regularly so nuts, it often turns up in a Carl Hiaasen novel. Remember Razor Girl?
Merry Mansfield, the con artist protagonist in the novel, is based on Megan Barnes, who crashed her car on Florida’s Overseas Highway in March, 2010. Megan instructed her ex-husband to take the wheel as she shaved her bikini zone. Megan claimed she was on her way to meet her boyfriend in Key West. Can’t make these things up.
I try to watch PBS Newshour but usually can’t get through an entire hour. Sometimes, I watch MSNBC but every hour is basically the same news, same outrage, same result. Overwhelming frustration.
I read. A Lot. Sometimes, I read two or three books a week. My friend, Harriette, is one of the most prolific readers I’ve ever known, but, since Trump’s election, she can’t focus long enough to read a book. Instead, she joined Liberal Ladies of the Lowcountry, based on Hilton Head Island. What started seven years ago as four women meeting for monthly lunch discussions has now mushroomed to a couple hundred members. There’s even a Liberal Men of the Lowcountry now. This is happening in South Carolina….gives me hope.
I have read every single one of Louise Penny’s 13 Chief Inspector Armand Gamache series and can’t wait for the next installment in November. I love these people….seriously, I want to live in that little village in southern Quebec on the Vermont border. Not only is that a fantasy, but it’s way too cold for me.
Then there’s The Crazy Rich Asians trilogy which I devoured in two weeks. Had to finish before the movie debuted. The books are much more entertaining than the movie, but who can argue with being #1 three weeks in a row and grossing $117 million as of September 4th? Its satirical slant on over the top wealth is perfect in the golden age of all things Trump.
Lately, I’ve been burying my nose in Beatriz Williams’ historical novels and Debbie Macomber’s latest bestseller, Cottage by the Sea. Best memoir in a long time was Educated by Tara Westover….an amazing story of a young girl raised by a survivalist family not allowed to go to school who fought her way to earn a PhD from Cambridge University. I will never complain about my own parents’ limitations after reading that….well, maybe not.
Where do I find hope? Basically, in the rise of people who are running for office who would never have considered it before. Before meaning before Trump and the Republican Party that is now the Trump Party. Generally, these are decent, honest, well meaning, ethical people who have decided not to wait for someone to rise up. It is up to them. It is up to us. It is time to rise up to greed.
Yes, I am a Liberal and a Progressive and I am tired of apologizing for my beliefs. I am also fiscally conservative and believe in accountability. I abhor the NRA but I am not hellbent on taking away responsible people’s guns. However, why anyone would need a semiautomatic weapon is lost on me? I do not apologize for being politically correct. I remember all too well when my grandfather used the N word constantly. I don’t find name calling or bullying appropriate ever.
The truth of the matter is I have voted for Republicans many times in my life, because I was voting for the person, not the party. Now, it’s the party first above all other considerations. Now, the Republican Party is the Trump Party. As long as this is the case, I will never entertain voting for a Republican. It is not the party of Lincoln and hasn’t been for decades. It is also not the party of Reagan or of other moral men with conservative principles.
So, how do I cope? Besides reading and playing bridge and going out to eat and listening to live southern rock and roll, I send money to people I believe in. The best story I ever heard was from a Liberal Lady of the Lowcountry. Every time her husband, disparaged a liberal politician, she sent the politician $1,000 of her husband’s money. That’s my kind of justice!
My best coping mechanism, however, is binge watching The Office most nights. BH had never seen it and there are many episodes I missed or don’t remember. Laughter is the best medicine as we all know. Are Jim and Pam ever going to get together? How can Angela be swept off her feet by Dwight? Will Angela ever smile? Will Michael ever do the right thing? What does Jan see in him?
As serious as things are in the world right now, find your laughter.
Merry Mansfield, the con artist protagonist in the novel, is based on Megan Barnes, who crashed her car on Florida’s Overseas Highway in March, 2010. Megan instructed her ex-husband to take the wheel as she shaved her bikini zone. Megan claimed she was on her way to meet her boyfriend in Key West. Can’t make these things up.
I try to watch PBS Newshour but usually can’t get through an entire hour. Sometimes, I watch MSNBC but every hour is basically the same news, same outrage, same result. Overwhelming frustration.
I read. A Lot. Sometimes, I read two or three books a week. My friend, Harriette, is one of the most prolific readers I’ve ever known, but, since Trump’s election, she can’t focus long enough to read a book. Instead, she joined Liberal Ladies of the Lowcountry, based on Hilton Head Island. What started seven years ago as four women meeting for monthly lunch discussions has now mushroomed to a couple hundred members. There’s even a Liberal Men of the Lowcountry now. This is happening in South Carolina….gives me hope.
I have read every single one of Louise Penny’s 13 Chief Inspector Armand Gamache series and can’t wait for the next installment in November. I love these people….seriously, I want to live in that little village in southern Quebec on the Vermont border. Not only is that a fantasy, but it’s way too cold for me.
Then there’s The Crazy Rich Asians trilogy which I devoured in two weeks. Had to finish before the movie debuted. The books are much more entertaining than the movie, but who can argue with being #1 three weeks in a row and grossing $117 million as of September 4th? Its satirical slant on over the top wealth is perfect in the golden age of all things Trump.
Lately, I’ve been burying my nose in Beatriz Williams’ historical novels and Debbie Macomber’s latest bestseller, Cottage by the Sea. Best memoir in a long time was Educated by Tara Westover….an amazing story of a young girl raised by a survivalist family not allowed to go to school who fought her way to earn a PhD from Cambridge University. I will never complain about my own parents’ limitations after reading that….well, maybe not.
Where do I find hope? Basically, in the rise of people who are running for office who would never have considered it before. Before meaning before Trump and the Republican Party that is now the Trump Party. Generally, these are decent, honest, well meaning, ethical people who have decided not to wait for someone to rise up. It is up to them. It is up to us. It is time to rise up to greed.
Yes, I am a Liberal and a Progressive and I am tired of apologizing for my beliefs. I am also fiscally conservative and believe in accountability. I abhor the NRA but I am not hellbent on taking away responsible people’s guns. However, why anyone would need a semiautomatic weapon is lost on me? I do not apologize for being politically correct. I remember all too well when my grandfather used the N word constantly. I don’t find name calling or bullying appropriate ever.
The truth of the matter is I have voted for Republicans many times in my life, because I was voting for the person, not the party. Now, it’s the party first above all other considerations. Now, the Republican Party is the Trump Party. As long as this is the case, I will never entertain voting for a Republican. It is not the party of Lincoln and hasn’t been for decades. It is also not the party of Reagan or of other moral men with conservative principles.
So, how do I cope? Besides reading and playing bridge and going out to eat and listening to live southern rock and roll, I send money to people I believe in. The best story I ever heard was from a Liberal Lady of the Lowcountry. Every time her husband, disparaged a liberal politician, she sent the politician $1,000 of her husband’s money. That’s my kind of justice!
My best coping mechanism, however, is binge watching The Office most nights. BH had never seen it and there are many episodes I missed or don’t remember. Laughter is the best medicine as we all know. Are Jim and Pam ever going to get together? How can Angela be swept off her feet by Dwight? Will Angela ever smile? Will Michael ever do the right thing? What does Jan see in him?
As serious as things are in the world right now, find your laughter.
Thursday, September 6, 2018
My Girl, KT
Those who know me understand that I am a sports junkie. Not all sports just baseball, tennis, golf, basketball, soccer. I’m less and less enamored with football which may have something to do with our white supremacist leader. But, also, the violence and damage done to practically any player who plays the sport long enough, which probably amounts to 10 minutes.
Never been a NASCAR or hockey fan, although when the Washington Caps went to the playoffs and WON, I celebrated with the best of them!
The sad thing is I never played any sport. I probably would’ve loved it but Title IX was not around. There were countywide Field Days in elementary school and I competed in the 50 yard dash and the broad jump. I was quite the sprinter but long distance running was beyond boring.
The most athletic thing a girl could do in high school was be a cheerleader. And, so I learned the cheers and did my jumps and got on the squad when I was a sophomore. But, I quickly got my comeuppance.
I blame Claudia Peterson. She was one gorgeous, southern bell type with the greenest contact lenses you can imagine. However, she had limited athletic ability. She did not make the cheerleading squad. It’s probably the only thing she failed in during her entire life. And, I took great pleasure in imitating her cloddish cheerleading tryout in my living room and, unfortunately, landed badly, which resulted in a torn cartilage in my left knee which plagued me for the rest of my life.
That’s karma for you. So, although my athletic prowess was thwarted, I love being a spectator whenever and wherever I can.
I got totally hooked on women’s basketball in 2006, when the University of Maryland won a championship with a very young and untested team against that goliath, Duke University. The Lady Terps’ starting lineup consisted of one junior, two sophomores and two freshmen. The game was tied 75-75, when their freshman point guard hit a 3-pointer over a 6 foot 2 defender. That was KT, Kristi Tolliver, who I have followed ever since.
For the next three years, I bought season tickets so my kids, new Maryland graduates, and I could see this exciting squad play. It was a blast! We even traveled to Raleigh to see them play in the Atlantic Coast Conference tournament.
My daughter, Chelsea, bears a striking resemblance to Kristi. They could easily be sisters. In fact, we were staying at a hotel in Raleigh and came down to breakfast and Chelsea was reading a book and one of Kristi’s aunts couldn’t stop staring at her. I laughed and started talking to her. “I did a double take. I thought Kristi would be at the gym by now.” And, of course, she was.
KT went third in the first round WNBA draft in 2009, following one of her teammates who was second. In fact, three members of the championship team are playing in the WNBA, one is playing for an Israeli professional team and one is a college basketball coach.
Fast forward to present day. Kristi plays point for the Washington Mystics who have never gone to the WNBA finals in their history until Tuesday. At last, they have an great team with conceivably the best women’s player in the world, Elena Della Donne, who asked to leave her Chicago team to be closer to her family in Delaware. Kristi left Los Angeles, where she led her team to a championship, to come back to the Washington area to be coached by Mike Thibault, the winningest coach in WNBA history.
Their opponents are the Seattle Storm, which also has some of the best players in the world…
Sue Bird and Breanna Steward, former UConn greats and one of Kristi’s former teammates from Maryland, Crystal Langhorne who was also on that 2006 championship team. Of course, I will be watching and cheering for the Mystics who might bring another championship to the Washington area.
What absolutely kills me, however, is that the WNBA games are rarely available on television and the news coverage is pathetic. Not one word in the Tampa Tribune. Not even the scores. Thankfully, I subscribe to the Baltimore Sun and Washington Post online.
Yes, Title IX has made a huge difference in the lives of thousands of women and girls. If only, we could watch them.
Never been a NASCAR or hockey fan, although when the Washington Caps went to the playoffs and WON, I celebrated with the best of them!
The sad thing is I never played any sport. I probably would’ve loved it but Title IX was not around. There were countywide Field Days in elementary school and I competed in the 50 yard dash and the broad jump. I was quite the sprinter but long distance running was beyond boring.
The most athletic thing a girl could do in high school was be a cheerleader. And, so I learned the cheers and did my jumps and got on the squad when I was a sophomore. But, I quickly got my comeuppance.
I blame Claudia Peterson. She was one gorgeous, southern bell type with the greenest contact lenses you can imagine. However, she had limited athletic ability. She did not make the cheerleading squad. It’s probably the only thing she failed in during her entire life. And, I took great pleasure in imitating her cloddish cheerleading tryout in my living room and, unfortunately, landed badly, which resulted in a torn cartilage in my left knee which plagued me for the rest of my life.
That’s karma for you. So, although my athletic prowess was thwarted, I love being a spectator whenever and wherever I can.
I got totally hooked on women’s basketball in 2006, when the University of Maryland won a championship with a very young and untested team against that goliath, Duke University. The Lady Terps’ starting lineup consisted of one junior, two sophomores and two freshmen. The game was tied 75-75, when their freshman point guard hit a 3-pointer over a 6 foot 2 defender. That was KT, Kristi Tolliver, who I have followed ever since.
For the next three years, I bought season tickets so my kids, new Maryland graduates, and I could see this exciting squad play. It was a blast! We even traveled to Raleigh to see them play in the Atlantic Coast Conference tournament.
My daughter, Chelsea, bears a striking resemblance to Kristi. They could easily be sisters. In fact, we were staying at a hotel in Raleigh and came down to breakfast and Chelsea was reading a book and one of Kristi’s aunts couldn’t stop staring at her. I laughed and started talking to her. “I did a double take. I thought Kristi would be at the gym by now.” And, of course, she was.
KT went third in the first round WNBA draft in 2009, following one of her teammates who was second. In fact, three members of the championship team are playing in the WNBA, one is playing for an Israeli professional team and one is a college basketball coach.
Fast forward to present day. Kristi plays point for the Washington Mystics who have never gone to the WNBA finals in their history until Tuesday. At last, they have an great team with conceivably the best women’s player in the world, Elena Della Donne, who asked to leave her Chicago team to be closer to her family in Delaware. Kristi left Los Angeles, where she led her team to a championship, to come back to the Washington area to be coached by Mike Thibault, the winningest coach in WNBA history.
Their opponents are the Seattle Storm, which also has some of the best players in the world…
Sue Bird and Breanna Steward, former UConn greats and one of Kristi’s former teammates from Maryland, Crystal Langhorne who was also on that 2006 championship team. Of course, I will be watching and cheering for the Mystics who might bring another championship to the Washington area.
What absolutely kills me, however, is that the WNBA games are rarely available on television and the news coverage is pathetic. Not one word in the Tampa Tribune. Not even the scores. Thankfully, I subscribe to the Baltimore Sun and Washington Post online.
Yes, Title IX has made a huge difference in the lives of thousands of women and girls. If only, we could watch them.
Tuesday, August 28, 2018
Peace Interrupted
We all have our morning routines. Buff Honey opens his eyes, stretches in bed, washes up and is out the door for his morning run or bike ride. Not me. I lazily stroll to the coffee pot and nurse my cup, while reading the local paper cover to cover, ending with the daily sudoku. Then and only then, do I start moving to my 30 minute exercise routine.
Basically, I hate exercising but I took a vow when I retired. The only way I can get through it is to tune in to HGTV or MSNBC. Thirty minutes later, I’m eating my hearty breakfast of Chopani coconut or coffee yogurt. Yum….then I’m so riled up by the latest Trump Nazi simulation that I have to peace out.
A couple of months ago, I started reading, Wherever You Go There You Are by Jon Kabat-Zinn. It’s all about mindfulness meditation. I’ve never been a daily meditator but when I have done it, I’ve wondered when the inner voices are going to go away or give me some profound insight into living. But, this book recognizes all that and helps you move into deeper meditative states.
I downloaded this app, Headspace, to start my morning with a daily 10 minute meditation. Got up early, 7ish, pre-coffee, sat on the lanai listening to the newly awakening bird sounds which were beautiful but I couldn’t get past the guy’s annoying British accent and the constant hums of air conditioning units.
I don’t give up, though. I improvise. His tips help me to get into a meditation on my own so I decide to get into my pool lounge after breakfast and float around the pool in deep relaxation. It actually helped me to de-Trump.
Until one morning as I was floating around with my eyes closed, blissfully loving life, I felt something crawling over my belly. I pulled myself out of my deep state and looked down to see a SNAKE CRAWLING OVER ME!!!! Of course, I screamed my head off beseeching BH to come out to get this thing.
I jumped out of the float and flew out of the water. Bear in mind, I’m still screaming my head off. Not a whisper of Buff Honey. I run into the house as he’s calmly dressing after his shower.
“Didn’t you hear me?!” I ask not so calmly.
“Yeah, I thought I heard something. Was that you?”
“A snake just crawled over me in the pool!!!”
Being well aware of my aversion to snakes, he grabs the pool net and attempts to nab the cause of my rising blood pressure. It’s a wriggly thing but he eventually rescues it and throws it outside. I’m loathe to admit the thing was barely a foot long and skinnier that a pencil with a yellow ring around it neck. Now, I know it was a ringneck snake that is no threat to anybody.
Snakes are a very common topic on our local version of Nextdoor, the app that allows neighbors to discuss all kinds of issues. One of my neighbors wrote that two snakes were found in her garage. You wouldn’t believe the responses to that. Here’s my favorite: “I do not kill any snakes, even poisonous, they all have a purpose.” OMG!! Intellectually, I may get that but tell that to my gut.
I’m a Florida native. One of my earliest memories was sitting in shallow water with my mother and little sister. I was about 5 and, suddenly, my mother shouts, “FREEZE!” Thank God, I had the sense to listen…my rebel stage hadn’t kicked in yet. Four cottonmouth moccasins swam right between us. Terrifying.
A few years later, I have this enduring image of my mother hacking a coral snake to death with a garden hoe in our back yard.
My uncles loved to catch snakes and hang them from a tree at my grandmother’s house. I think the longest one they ever caught was about six feet. Now, we’ve got pythons roaming the Everglades and they can grow up to 30 feet long!!!
It took awhile, but I’m back to meditating in my pool float for about 30 minutes every morning, deep breathing into some serious relaxing. Of course, now I check for snakes first.
Basically, I hate exercising but I took a vow when I retired. The only way I can get through it is to tune in to HGTV or MSNBC. Thirty minutes later, I’m eating my hearty breakfast of Chopani coconut or coffee yogurt. Yum….then I’m so riled up by the latest Trump Nazi simulation that I have to peace out.
A couple of months ago, I started reading, Wherever You Go There You Are by Jon Kabat-Zinn. It’s all about mindfulness meditation. I’ve never been a daily meditator but when I have done it, I’ve wondered when the inner voices are going to go away or give me some profound insight into living. But, this book recognizes all that and helps you move into deeper meditative states.
I downloaded this app, Headspace, to start my morning with a daily 10 minute meditation. Got up early, 7ish, pre-coffee, sat on the lanai listening to the newly awakening bird sounds which were beautiful but I couldn’t get past the guy’s annoying British accent and the constant hums of air conditioning units.
I don’t give up, though. I improvise. His tips help me to get into a meditation on my own so I decide to get into my pool lounge after breakfast and float around the pool in deep relaxation. It actually helped me to de-Trump.
Until one morning as I was floating around with my eyes closed, blissfully loving life, I felt something crawling over my belly. I pulled myself out of my deep state and looked down to see a SNAKE CRAWLING OVER ME!!!! Of course, I screamed my head off beseeching BH to come out to get this thing.
I jumped out of the float and flew out of the water. Bear in mind, I’m still screaming my head off. Not a whisper of Buff Honey. I run into the house as he’s calmly dressing after his shower.
“Didn’t you hear me?!” I ask not so calmly.
“Yeah, I thought I heard something. Was that you?”
“A snake just crawled over me in the pool!!!”
Being well aware of my aversion to snakes, he grabs the pool net and attempts to nab the cause of my rising blood pressure. It’s a wriggly thing but he eventually rescues it and throws it outside. I’m loathe to admit the thing was barely a foot long and skinnier that a pencil with a yellow ring around it neck. Now, I know it was a ringneck snake that is no threat to anybody.
Snakes are a very common topic on our local version of Nextdoor, the app that allows neighbors to discuss all kinds of issues. One of my neighbors wrote that two snakes were found in her garage. You wouldn’t believe the responses to that. Here’s my favorite: “I do not kill any snakes, even poisonous, they all have a purpose.” OMG!! Intellectually, I may get that but tell that to my gut.
I’m a Florida native. One of my earliest memories was sitting in shallow water with my mother and little sister. I was about 5 and, suddenly, my mother shouts, “FREEZE!” Thank God, I had the sense to listen…my rebel stage hadn’t kicked in yet. Four cottonmouth moccasins swam right between us. Terrifying.
A few years later, I have this enduring image of my mother hacking a coral snake to death with a garden hoe in our back yard.
My uncles loved to catch snakes and hang them from a tree at my grandmother’s house. I think the longest one they ever caught was about six feet. Now, we’ve got pythons roaming the Everglades and they can grow up to 30 feet long!!!
It took awhile, but I’m back to meditating in my pool float for about 30 minutes every morning, deep breathing into some serious relaxing. Of course, now I check for snakes first.
Tuesday, August 21, 2018
OMG!!
I feel like we’re constantly traveling….maybe, because we are. July was Hilton Head then a week in Atlanta at a national bridge tournament. Then, a week at home. Next stop. Baltimore to see our kids and grandkids plus play in the annual Hunt Valley regional that we’ve played in fr the past 10 years.
And, now, we’re back in Venice basking in the red tide glow. Seven tons of dead fish makes for a very unpleasant aroma. No end in sight. Even the most popular waterfront restaurants are shut down.
Enough of that. What a great time we had in Baltimore seeing our old (and I do mean OLD) fellow bridge addicts. No matter what, bridge addicts will not give up the game. They come in their walkers, ride in on their scooters. They pull their oxygen around with them. Seeing eye dogs lay nearby as assistants read out the bidding cards to the blind players. Even the Alzheimer’s crowd will fight it to the end before they concede defeat.
One afternoon, I sauntered into the hotel restaurant for lunch, lining up with the hordes at the salad bar. Quietly, eating my greens, my serenity was interrupted by several people shouting, “Doctor! Is there a doctor here? Doctor!!”
One of the more senior players was choking at the salad bar. No doctor appeared but this huge guy started the Heimlich maneuver….grabbing him around the chest and pulling him upward well over 10 times. If he has a rib left, I’d be shocked.
Finally, whatever was in his throat dislodged. And, with that, he vomited all over the salad bar. I am not kidding. Of course, there was the collective GASP! It was quite the sight and I know he was completely humiliated but, bottom line, he was alive!
At this point, the hotel manager appears.
“Is everything okay?” He inquires of one of my compatriots.
“Yeah, he’s dead.” There are a whole host of smart asses in the bridge world.
“Oh, good,” replies the manager and walks away.
True story. Every word. I don’t have a clue what the manager thought he heard, but it was pretty obvious he wasn’t listening! Just goes to show you, people hear what they want to hear. I’ve never seen a clearer example of that in my life!
After that incident, the rest of the tournament was pretty tame, although I did catch a pretty strong whiff of weed from the balcony where the younger players were staying. Ahhh….the good old days!
Now, I’m trying to hang on to every decent brain cell I’ve got left. God knows, what the future holds. Ten years from now I could be scooter girl carrying around my oxygen!
And, now, we’re back in Venice basking in the red tide glow. Seven tons of dead fish makes for a very unpleasant aroma. No end in sight. Even the most popular waterfront restaurants are shut down.
Enough of that. What a great time we had in Baltimore seeing our old (and I do mean OLD) fellow bridge addicts. No matter what, bridge addicts will not give up the game. They come in their walkers, ride in on their scooters. They pull their oxygen around with them. Seeing eye dogs lay nearby as assistants read out the bidding cards to the blind players. Even the Alzheimer’s crowd will fight it to the end before they concede defeat.
One afternoon, I sauntered into the hotel restaurant for lunch, lining up with the hordes at the salad bar. Quietly, eating my greens, my serenity was interrupted by several people shouting, “Doctor! Is there a doctor here? Doctor!!”
One of the more senior players was choking at the salad bar. No doctor appeared but this huge guy started the Heimlich maneuver….grabbing him around the chest and pulling him upward well over 10 times. If he has a rib left, I’d be shocked.
Finally, whatever was in his throat dislodged. And, with that, he vomited all over the salad bar. I am not kidding. Of course, there was the collective GASP! It was quite the sight and I know he was completely humiliated but, bottom line, he was alive!
At this point, the hotel manager appears.
“Is everything okay?” He inquires of one of my compatriots.
“Yeah, he’s dead.” There are a whole host of smart asses in the bridge world.
“Oh, good,” replies the manager and walks away.
True story. Every word. I don’t have a clue what the manager thought he heard, but it was pretty obvious he wasn’t listening! Just goes to show you, people hear what they want to hear. I’ve never seen a clearer example of that in my life!
After that incident, the rest of the tournament was pretty tame, although I did catch a pretty strong whiff of weed from the balcony where the younger players were staying. Ahhh….the good old days!
Now, I’m trying to hang on to every decent brain cell I’ve got left. God knows, what the future holds. Ten years from now I could be scooter girl carrying around my oxygen!
Thursday, August 9, 2018
Going Rogue
In the Era of Trump, lunacy has no boundaries. God knows, he sets a high bar. I rarely watch the “news.” Really, don’t we all know it’s going to be more insane than the previous day?!
But, I do read the paper and there are times that I just have to shake my head.
Case in point. Today’s headline in Florida: “Bovine Herd Helps Police Corral Suspect.” Yep. A herd of 16 cows helped police officers apprehend a fleeing suspect who bailed out of a car and ran through a pasture.
A sheriff’s helicopter happened to capture the incident on video. A crew passed along this choice nugget to the pursuing officers: “If you see a large group of cows, they’re literally following her.” Eventually, the cows ran the woman into a fence where the arresting officers nabbed her. Carl Hiaasen? Remember Razor Girl? Bet he could spin one helluva tale on our Cow Girl.
Then, there’s today’s headline in Bluffton, South Carolina. Literally, 20 minutes from Hilton Head. “Woman Tells Police She’s a ‘Clean, Thoroughbred, White Girl”. Really? Sounds a bit white trashy to me. This 32 year old with her glassy and bloodshot eyes was caught speeding through a stop sign.
She told the officer she shouldn’t be jailed because she was a cheerleader, a dancer and a sorority girl who graduated from a “high accredited university.” Taken to the police station in handcuffs, she described herself as a white “thoroughbred” and “I’m a white, clean girl,” according to the officer’s report.
Only in the Era of Trump. Makes me want to see Blackkklansman as soon as possible. How proud could that “highly accredited university” be of their infamous alumna!?
But, I must admit I had a few crazy adventures in my younger days. One of the craziest happened on my way to the Watkins Glen Concert in July, 1973. I was living in Connecticut and had missed Woodstock so I was determined to get to the Watkins Glen Raceway in upstate New York. My favorite band, The Allman Brothers, was the headliner. Not missing this.
My friend, Carl, agreed to drive his VW….what else would he drive in the early 70s? We started out early morning, getting into heavy traffic in New York state. Everybody else evidently decided this was the thing to do. I obviously had no idea what the traffic would be like when 600,000 people are descending on the same little town.
The traffic is barely moving so I had the bright idea to drive on the shoulder. Carl was only too happy to comply and we drove up this hill and on the other side was this larger than life local cop. Think Jackie Gleason as Sheriff Buford in Smokey and the Bandit.
“YOU!” (pointing at us) “OVER HERE” (right next to him). This is definitely not a good development. He ambles over to Carl’s driver side and asks for his license and registration. As he’s getting his license, he whispers to me: “green card under the dope.” You didn’t this we were sober, did you?
In less than a second, I open up the glove box, grab the registration and slam it shut. He looks them over and asks, “Where you goin’?
I look up at the exit ramp sign. “Oh, we were just getting off here to go to Wappingers Falls.”
“Oh, yeah, I live in Wappingers Falls. So, where you goin’?”
“We’re goin’ to your house, “ I counter.
“Gotcha!!” Well, duh….of course, he knew exactly where we were going, but we all got a laugh as he wrote up our ticket. Phew….that was a close one. A ticket trumps an arrest any day.
All in all, I shake my head when these nutty stories make the news, but I’ve gone rogue a few times back in the day. Never claimed to be a “thoroughbred, clean, white girl.” I know I’m a mutt!
But, I do read the paper and there are times that I just have to shake my head.
Case in point. Today’s headline in Florida: “Bovine Herd Helps Police Corral Suspect.” Yep. A herd of 16 cows helped police officers apprehend a fleeing suspect who bailed out of a car and ran through a pasture.
A sheriff’s helicopter happened to capture the incident on video. A crew passed along this choice nugget to the pursuing officers: “If you see a large group of cows, they’re literally following her.” Eventually, the cows ran the woman into a fence where the arresting officers nabbed her. Carl Hiaasen? Remember Razor Girl? Bet he could spin one helluva tale on our Cow Girl.
Then, there’s today’s headline in Bluffton, South Carolina. Literally, 20 minutes from Hilton Head. “Woman Tells Police She’s a ‘Clean, Thoroughbred, White Girl”. Really? Sounds a bit white trashy to me. This 32 year old with her glassy and bloodshot eyes was caught speeding through a stop sign.
She told the officer she shouldn’t be jailed because she was a cheerleader, a dancer and a sorority girl who graduated from a “high accredited university.” Taken to the police station in handcuffs, she described herself as a white “thoroughbred” and “I’m a white, clean girl,” according to the officer’s report.
Only in the Era of Trump. Makes me want to see Blackkklansman as soon as possible. How proud could that “highly accredited university” be of their infamous alumna!?
But, I must admit I had a few crazy adventures in my younger days. One of the craziest happened on my way to the Watkins Glen Concert in July, 1973. I was living in Connecticut and had missed Woodstock so I was determined to get to the Watkins Glen Raceway in upstate New York. My favorite band, The Allman Brothers, was the headliner. Not missing this.
My friend, Carl, agreed to drive his VW….what else would he drive in the early 70s? We started out early morning, getting into heavy traffic in New York state. Everybody else evidently decided this was the thing to do. I obviously had no idea what the traffic would be like when 600,000 people are descending on the same little town.
The traffic is barely moving so I had the bright idea to drive on the shoulder. Carl was only too happy to comply and we drove up this hill and on the other side was this larger than life local cop. Think Jackie Gleason as Sheriff Buford in Smokey and the Bandit.
“YOU!” (pointing at us) “OVER HERE” (right next to him). This is definitely not a good development. He ambles over to Carl’s driver side and asks for his license and registration. As he’s getting his license, he whispers to me: “green card under the dope.” You didn’t this we were sober, did you?
In less than a second, I open up the glove box, grab the registration and slam it shut. He looks them over and asks, “Where you goin’?
I look up at the exit ramp sign. “Oh, we were just getting off here to go to Wappingers Falls.”
“Oh, yeah, I live in Wappingers Falls. So, where you goin’?”
“We’re goin’ to your house, “ I counter.
“Gotcha!!” Well, duh….of course, he knew exactly where we were going, but we all got a laugh as he wrote up our ticket. Phew….that was a close one. A ticket trumps an arrest any day.
All in all, I shake my head when these nutty stories make the news, but I’ve gone rogue a few times back in the day. Never claimed to be a “thoroughbred, clean, white girl.” I know I’m a mutt!
Thursday, August 2, 2018
Hotlanta
Here we are in Atlanta playing bridge (what else!?) at one of our umpteenth national tournaments. Trust me, it’s no great achievement to play in a national. Anyone can play regardless of whether you have no masterpoints or thousands of them.
In order to be a life master in bridge, you have to accumulate hundreds of masterpoints. I’m sure it would be a whole lot more appealing if you earned prize money, especially to the younger generation who can allegedly make a living playing online poker. Personally, I don’t buy that. The players I know brag about their winnings, but seem to have amnesia when it comes to their losses..
Thousands upon thousands of bridge players are here….median age probably around 80. Yes, sad to say, bridge, the greatest card game ever invented, is teetering on extinction. I admit I am hopelessly addicted to accumulating those masterpoints several times a week. We travel to multiple local, regional and national tournaments annually.
Let me tell you, it is not easy to get even one point! In Venice, we can beat everybody in the room and only get one point. If we place (‘scratch’ in bridge lingo), we get .22 or .34 or some itty bitty ridiculous fraction of a point. That’s why we travel….the bigger the field the better the payoff. If you beat the best players, you get yoooge points.
We used to do pretty well at these tournaments until we got so many points we had to play with the big dogs. In the bridge world, there are a lot of big dogs! Most of them live in Florida or Las Vegas (so they can play poker).
Our tournament goal used to be 25 masterpoints. Now, we’re lucky if we walk away with half that. Pathetic. But, this tournament has paid off well for us. In just one event, we got almost 30 points. Okay…time to call it quits and go home. You know, quit while you’re ahead and all that.
Noooo….we’re feeling like we’re the cocks of the walk and can play with the best of them. Today, we hit rock bottom ….had the worst games we’ve had in ages. Karma is a true master.
There’s always tomorrow.
I like to play a lot of different people, people I haven’t played against before. However, it’s truly intimidating when we play against young people. They still have in tact brains. Most of them are brilliant, can tell you where every card is after playing three tricks. Scary.
When I used to play in Baltimore in 2010, there was a young girl there, Sylvia Shi, who was kibitzing one of my friends. Another bridge term…she was watching him play. She was about 21, in grad school at Johns Hopkins. After a couple of weeks, she started playing. Turns out, the girl is a bridge prodigy.
Today, she is the highest ranked woman in the world!! She plays at the highest levels and walks out of these tournaments with hundreds of points. I’m thrilled because we got 30!!
See what I mean? Those young brainiacs. Scary. Two more days here to focus, use good sense and stay cool as a cucumber. Here’s hoping my bridge guardian angel channels some of that my way!
In order to be a life master in bridge, you have to accumulate hundreds of masterpoints. I’m sure it would be a whole lot more appealing if you earned prize money, especially to the younger generation who can allegedly make a living playing online poker. Personally, I don’t buy that. The players I know brag about their winnings, but seem to have amnesia when it comes to their losses..
Thousands upon thousands of bridge players are here….median age probably around 80. Yes, sad to say, bridge, the greatest card game ever invented, is teetering on extinction. I admit I am hopelessly addicted to accumulating those masterpoints several times a week. We travel to multiple local, regional and national tournaments annually.
Let me tell you, it is not easy to get even one point! In Venice, we can beat everybody in the room and only get one point. If we place (‘scratch’ in bridge lingo), we get .22 or .34 or some itty bitty ridiculous fraction of a point. That’s why we travel….the bigger the field the better the payoff. If you beat the best players, you get yoooge points.
We used to do pretty well at these tournaments until we got so many points we had to play with the big dogs. In the bridge world, there are a lot of big dogs! Most of them live in Florida or Las Vegas (so they can play poker).
Our tournament goal used to be 25 masterpoints. Now, we’re lucky if we walk away with half that. Pathetic. But, this tournament has paid off well for us. In just one event, we got almost 30 points. Okay…time to call it quits and go home. You know, quit while you’re ahead and all that.
Noooo….we’re feeling like we’re the cocks of the walk and can play with the best of them. Today, we hit rock bottom ….had the worst games we’ve had in ages. Karma is a true master.
There’s always tomorrow.
I like to play a lot of different people, people I haven’t played against before. However, it’s truly intimidating when we play against young people. They still have in tact brains. Most of them are brilliant, can tell you where every card is after playing three tricks. Scary.
When I used to play in Baltimore in 2010, there was a young girl there, Sylvia Shi, who was kibitzing one of my friends. Another bridge term…she was watching him play. She was about 21, in grad school at Johns Hopkins. After a couple of weeks, she started playing. Turns out, the girl is a bridge prodigy.
Today, she is the highest ranked woman in the world!! She plays at the highest levels and walks out of these tournaments with hundreds of points. I’m thrilled because we got 30!!
See what I mean? Those young brainiacs. Scary. Two more days here to focus, use good sense and stay cool as a cucumber. Here’s hoping my bridge guardian angel channels some of that my way!
Thursday, July 26, 2018
My Favorite Things
I do not have a Bucket List. I think it would be way too long and I could never complete it. My long distance traveling days are behind me. I missed that opportunity when I was younger, being committed to visiting family. Plus, I never had the money. I was busy raising my children and saving for retirement. I think I assumed I’d travel later….like now…but, unfortunately, I just don’t have the stamina. Can’t walk long distances. Can’t stand for long periods of time. I have structural issues. There are worse things.
So, there are lots of things I won’t do before I kick the bucket. I’m fine with that. I have My Favorite Things. Meditating, reading, writing, playing bridge, day tripping (you can take that any way you want!).
One of my favorite things is staying in Hilton Head Island….call me elitist or a one percenter. Fine. I love it here. I bought a couple of summer timeshares here sight unseen about 20 years ago and I’m still coming. Probably, one of the stupidest financial decisions I’ve ever made. I’m not an advocate and I have tried to get rid of them. Not gonna happen probably ’til I die. But, the hell with it.
This island is tailor made for golfers and tennis players, neither of which I am. I used to “play” golf, but never more than 9 holes and always with friends who cared as much as I did about keeping score. Most of the time, we played best ball….rarely was my ball the best ball. My short game was a lot better than my long game even though I took lessons about nine times. What I liked was the setting. Golf courses are beautiful albeit hellishly hot in the summer.
My timeshares are on a golf course bordered by a lagoon, where lots of herons, turtles and an alligator reside. I love my morning coffee and newspaper on the back deck overlooking this beauty. Fluffy, the gator, awaits my arrival then stares me down determined to get some morsel from me. NEVER FEED THE GATORS!! Duh….I know that, but people come down here from the midwest or wherever and think it’s okay even though there are a gazillion warnings. That’s why Fluffy waits. And waits. Sorry, Dude.
Then, there’s the beach. When I lived in Maryland and New England, we trekked to Cape Cod most summers for my beach fix. Yes, the beaches are lovely, the towns quaint and the local artists fabulous. But the water was FREEZING even in the dog days of summer. My heavens, I was raised in Florida …. bath water, baby!! That’s how I like it….warm and warmer. Hilton Head checked all those boxes.
Every time I come, I do the same things. Breakfast at Harold’s, lunch at Market Square Cafe, early bird special at Alexander’s. Harold’s is a hole in the wall, about the size of a large closet, owned by a guy from Boston who loves the Red Sox. There is not a square inch of wall space not covered by some bizarre saying like “Politicians and babies need changing—-often for the same reason” or “I don’t discriminate I hate everybody” or “Where the hell is Easy Street?”
I always order the same thing for lunch….a small Greek salad….hold the onions, and pepperoncinis, dressing on the side. Basically, I want lettuce, black olives and feta. Is that still a Greek salad? I feel like Sally in When Harry Met Sally….the waitress looks at me like I’m nuts.
Can’t beat Alexander’s….on the water….a lagoon, actually. I had never ordered anything but shrimp and grits until yesterday. Went with the blackened swordfish special. Amazing.
Went on the Wildlife and Gator boat tour … lots of gators, especially, mean mama gators
guarding their nests. The guide was a native Hilton Header….loves to get up close and personal….so close I almost jumped into Buff Honey’s lap!
Ending our week with a sunset dinner cruise Friday night. Never done that….never had someone I wanted to do it with…I love a little romance now and then.
Of course, there’s bridge…a competitive club that gives out a lot of master points. We’re racking up some points readying ourselves for the national tournament in Atlanta next week….gotta stay in shape!
The most striking feature here is that all the development has been built into the landscape as opposed to the Florida model. Raze all the natural beauty to the ground, build cookie cutter concrete block houses on postage stamp lots, plant a few flax lillies, a palm and call it a day.
The natural beauty here is stunning….primarily, pines and palmettos. A labyrinth of lagoons throughout the neighborhoods. The beach? Perfect. Wide, white sand and light waves in wonderfully warm water. I love that a couple of my good friends retired here….I may only see them once a year, but it’s like we never skipped a beat.
BH loves the fact that there’s so much shade….he was running at 7 this morning. Much easier than Florida. Yesterday, he was inquiring about the cost of houses. Of course, I’m sure that’s all pie in the sky. Not exactly the most impulsive soul I’ve ever known.
Two more days. Heading outside for coffee with Fluffy then off to the beach for some very light reading, Crazy Rich Asians. Very light reading, another favorite thing.
So, there are lots of things I won’t do before I kick the bucket. I’m fine with that. I have My Favorite Things. Meditating, reading, writing, playing bridge, day tripping (you can take that any way you want!).
One of my favorite things is staying in Hilton Head Island….call me elitist or a one percenter. Fine. I love it here. I bought a couple of summer timeshares here sight unseen about 20 years ago and I’m still coming. Probably, one of the stupidest financial decisions I’ve ever made. I’m not an advocate and I have tried to get rid of them. Not gonna happen probably ’til I die. But, the hell with it.
This island is tailor made for golfers and tennis players, neither of which I am. I used to “play” golf, but never more than 9 holes and always with friends who cared as much as I did about keeping score. Most of the time, we played best ball….rarely was my ball the best ball. My short game was a lot better than my long game even though I took lessons about nine times. What I liked was the setting. Golf courses are beautiful albeit hellishly hot in the summer.
My timeshares are on a golf course bordered by a lagoon, where lots of herons, turtles and an alligator reside. I love my morning coffee and newspaper on the back deck overlooking this beauty. Fluffy, the gator, awaits my arrival then stares me down determined to get some morsel from me. NEVER FEED THE GATORS!! Duh….I know that, but people come down here from the midwest or wherever and think it’s okay even though there are a gazillion warnings. That’s why Fluffy waits. And waits. Sorry, Dude.
Then, there’s the beach. When I lived in Maryland and New England, we trekked to Cape Cod most summers for my beach fix. Yes, the beaches are lovely, the towns quaint and the local artists fabulous. But the water was FREEZING even in the dog days of summer. My heavens, I was raised in Florida …. bath water, baby!! That’s how I like it….warm and warmer. Hilton Head checked all those boxes.
Every time I come, I do the same things. Breakfast at Harold’s, lunch at Market Square Cafe, early bird special at Alexander’s. Harold’s is a hole in the wall, about the size of a large closet, owned by a guy from Boston who loves the Red Sox. There is not a square inch of wall space not covered by some bizarre saying like “Politicians and babies need changing—-often for the same reason” or “I don’t discriminate I hate everybody” or “Where the hell is Easy Street?”
I always order the same thing for lunch….a small Greek salad….hold the onions, and pepperoncinis, dressing on the side. Basically, I want lettuce, black olives and feta. Is that still a Greek salad? I feel like Sally in When Harry Met Sally….the waitress looks at me like I’m nuts.
Can’t beat Alexander’s….on the water….a lagoon, actually. I had never ordered anything but shrimp and grits until yesterday. Went with the blackened swordfish special. Amazing.
Went on the Wildlife and Gator boat tour … lots of gators, especially, mean mama gators
guarding their nests. The guide was a native Hilton Header….loves to get up close and personal….so close I almost jumped into Buff Honey’s lap!
Ending our week with a sunset dinner cruise Friday night. Never done that….never had someone I wanted to do it with…I love a little romance now and then.
Of course, there’s bridge…a competitive club that gives out a lot of master points. We’re racking up some points readying ourselves for the national tournament in Atlanta next week….gotta stay in shape!
The most striking feature here is that all the development has been built into the landscape as opposed to the Florida model. Raze all the natural beauty to the ground, build cookie cutter concrete block houses on postage stamp lots, plant a few flax lillies, a palm and call it a day.
The natural beauty here is stunning….primarily, pines and palmettos. A labyrinth of lagoons throughout the neighborhoods. The beach? Perfect. Wide, white sand and light waves in wonderfully warm water. I love that a couple of my good friends retired here….I may only see them once a year, but it’s like we never skipped a beat.
BH loves the fact that there’s so much shade….he was running at 7 this morning. Much easier than Florida. Yesterday, he was inquiring about the cost of houses. Of course, I’m sure that’s all pie in the sky. Not exactly the most impulsive soul I’ve ever known.
Two more days. Heading outside for coffee with Fluffy then off to the beach for some very light reading, Crazy Rich Asians. Very light reading, another favorite thing.
Tuesday, July 17, 2018
NIMBY
Five years ago, BH and I dared to take the Snowbird flight to Venice. Why Venice? Because spring training is in Sarasota where the Baltimore Orioles spend February and March. Why not Sarasota? Not one for planning, the only hotel rooms BH could find were in Venice.
Serendipitous, I might add. Venice is one beautiful, historic town, developed in the mid 1920s, designed in Mediterranean architecture style. Unfortunately, the town went under during the Great Depression, but was saved by the Kentucky Military Institute, which wintered in its hotels.
Miraculously, the town is 80% preserved. I say miraculous because Florida never met a developer it didn’t sleep with. Those local commissioners just roll over and look the other way, as bulldozers raze every shred of natural beauty and replace them with cookie cutter gated and not so gated communities.
I should know. I live in one. And, I love it here. This development, however, has preserved areas for the gators, birds, armadillos, panthers, boars and bunnies to coexist peacefully. That comes at a price. These wonders of nature are completely surrounded by crazy humans, who get incensed if one blade of grass on their perfectly manicured lawn is disturbed.
Just ask the poor mother boar who had the nerve to walk her eight babies around the pond in front of the community center. Every day she’d come out and every day, a few of those baby boars disappeared. And, then, there were none.
But, I digress. The second year we came, five more local developments were in progress and the next year, 10 more. And, next year, the Atlanta Braves are moving their spring training camp three miles down the road from us. NOOOOO! STOP!!!
This area has become the fastest growing area for retirees in the country. I can’t stand it. Does it impact my quality of life? Well, yeah…the traffic during the winter rivals the Washington Beltway, the wait times for the early bird specials are ridiculous, and the happy hour reduced rates conveniently disappear. I am a bonafide NIMBY….not in my backyard, PUHLEEZE. But, it’s Florida where every commissioner has a open wallet for developers.
I remember the Real Florida. Actually, the Real Old Florida. My grandparents moved to Orlando in 1926 way before concrete houses and before anyone owned cars. My granddaddy walked five miles from the country into Orlando to sell shoes.
My parents married in 1945 and my granddaddy gifted them a lot down the road, where my uncles and Daddy built a two bedroom house out of a barracks from the local air force base.
It was completed just before I arrived. The front porch was added for my sister’s birth and the back porch two years later for my brother.
Our house was on a paved road but most of the houses were on sand roads. Not all of them had indoor plumbing. I remember walking a lot….down to my grandparents, to the lake, to our little town of Pinecastle. The whistle blew at noon every day loud enough for the entire state to hear. The railroad traveled though our town, stopping at a little depot next to the feed store.
It was a dairy farming community.
There was a five and dime store where I remembered my mom buying me a lucky rabbit’s foot. I carried it everywhere. I remember getting my hair permed at Miss Quimby’s beauty salon. Why? I have no idea. I was born with curly hair. I remember getting chocolate malts at Doc’s drug store. There was Lonnie’s grocery store that we frequented every single day because my mom wasn’t a dinner planner. Nor could she cook. I grew up on Chef-Boy-R-Dee spaghetti. ‘Nuff said.
There was no air conditioning. Yep. NO AC!!! We depended on fans and lake breezes and shuttered windows. Sleeping was brutal….it wasn’t enough that it was boiling but there was always a mosquito or two feasting on you. Once, I got bitten on the lip by a spider, went to the bathroom and started screaming my head off. My lip was the size of a heirloom tomato. It was grotesque. But, the swelling soon disappeared and I survived.
Much of Florida was still a jungle back then. We were country kids, roaming freely to friends’ houses and playing tag, Mother May I, and games created on the spur of the moment. Of course, we ran into possums, raccoons and snakes. One of my earliest memories is watching my mom hacking a coral snake to death with a hoe.
The only time I remember wearing shoes was to school and to church. Obviously, the reason I have wide feet today. My mom made all my clothes with the exception of underwear, socks and pajamas. At the time I was embarrassed by it because so many of my friends wore store bought dresses. But, now, I’m really proud of her. Some of my best memories are of us going to fabric stores and picking out patterns and fabrics.
Naturally, this was all pre-Disney. OMG! What did we do for family entertainment before Disney? Endless possibilities. Gatorland on Orange Blossom Trail. Cypress Gardens and the waterskiing show. Glass bottom boats at Silver Springs. Sanlando Springs with the huge slide that I never ever got up the nerve to go down. The one movie showing at the Beacham Theatre on Orange Avenue. Many nights, we played the piano and sang songs or listened to the radio shows, like The Lone Ranger and I Remember Mama.
This was back when Orlando truly was the City Beautiful. Now, I’m nauseated by the overdevelopment and overwhelming traffic in my hometown. But, there’s no stopping “progress,” especially, when “progress” equates to greed.
So, yes, I have my little piece of paradise here in Venice, and, no, I’m not thrilled at the pace of new construction. I got mine and, now, I want to shut the door. Yes, I admit I’m a true hypocrit, but, after all, I’ve seen up close and personal what happens.
Serendipitous, I might add. Venice is one beautiful, historic town, developed in the mid 1920s, designed in Mediterranean architecture style. Unfortunately, the town went under during the Great Depression, but was saved by the Kentucky Military Institute, which wintered in its hotels.
Miraculously, the town is 80% preserved. I say miraculous because Florida never met a developer it didn’t sleep with. Those local commissioners just roll over and look the other way, as bulldozers raze every shred of natural beauty and replace them with cookie cutter gated and not so gated communities.
I should know. I live in one. And, I love it here. This development, however, has preserved areas for the gators, birds, armadillos, panthers, boars and bunnies to coexist peacefully. That comes at a price. These wonders of nature are completely surrounded by crazy humans, who get incensed if one blade of grass on their perfectly manicured lawn is disturbed.
Just ask the poor mother boar who had the nerve to walk her eight babies around the pond in front of the community center. Every day she’d come out and every day, a few of those baby boars disappeared. And, then, there were none.
But, I digress. The second year we came, five more local developments were in progress and the next year, 10 more. And, next year, the Atlanta Braves are moving their spring training camp three miles down the road from us. NOOOOO! STOP!!!
This area has become the fastest growing area for retirees in the country. I can’t stand it. Does it impact my quality of life? Well, yeah…the traffic during the winter rivals the Washington Beltway, the wait times for the early bird specials are ridiculous, and the happy hour reduced rates conveniently disappear. I am a bonafide NIMBY….not in my backyard, PUHLEEZE. But, it’s Florida where every commissioner has a open wallet for developers.
I remember the Real Florida. Actually, the Real Old Florida. My grandparents moved to Orlando in 1926 way before concrete houses and before anyone owned cars. My granddaddy walked five miles from the country into Orlando to sell shoes.
My parents married in 1945 and my granddaddy gifted them a lot down the road, where my uncles and Daddy built a two bedroom house out of a barracks from the local air force base.
It was completed just before I arrived. The front porch was added for my sister’s birth and the back porch two years later for my brother.
Our house was on a paved road but most of the houses were on sand roads. Not all of them had indoor plumbing. I remember walking a lot….down to my grandparents, to the lake, to our little town of Pinecastle. The whistle blew at noon every day loud enough for the entire state to hear. The railroad traveled though our town, stopping at a little depot next to the feed store.
It was a dairy farming community.
There was a five and dime store where I remembered my mom buying me a lucky rabbit’s foot. I carried it everywhere. I remember getting my hair permed at Miss Quimby’s beauty salon. Why? I have no idea. I was born with curly hair. I remember getting chocolate malts at Doc’s drug store. There was Lonnie’s grocery store that we frequented every single day because my mom wasn’t a dinner planner. Nor could she cook. I grew up on Chef-Boy-R-Dee spaghetti. ‘Nuff said.
There was no air conditioning. Yep. NO AC!!! We depended on fans and lake breezes and shuttered windows. Sleeping was brutal….it wasn’t enough that it was boiling but there was always a mosquito or two feasting on you. Once, I got bitten on the lip by a spider, went to the bathroom and started screaming my head off. My lip was the size of a heirloom tomato. It was grotesque. But, the swelling soon disappeared and I survived.
Much of Florida was still a jungle back then. We were country kids, roaming freely to friends’ houses and playing tag, Mother May I, and games created on the spur of the moment. Of course, we ran into possums, raccoons and snakes. One of my earliest memories is watching my mom hacking a coral snake to death with a hoe.
The only time I remember wearing shoes was to school and to church. Obviously, the reason I have wide feet today. My mom made all my clothes with the exception of underwear, socks and pajamas. At the time I was embarrassed by it because so many of my friends wore store bought dresses. But, now, I’m really proud of her. Some of my best memories are of us going to fabric stores and picking out patterns and fabrics.
Naturally, this was all pre-Disney. OMG! What did we do for family entertainment before Disney? Endless possibilities. Gatorland on Orange Blossom Trail. Cypress Gardens and the waterskiing show. Glass bottom boats at Silver Springs. Sanlando Springs with the huge slide that I never ever got up the nerve to go down. The one movie showing at the Beacham Theatre on Orange Avenue. Many nights, we played the piano and sang songs or listened to the radio shows, like The Lone Ranger and I Remember Mama.
This was back when Orlando truly was the City Beautiful. Now, I’m nauseated by the overdevelopment and overwhelming traffic in my hometown. But, there’s no stopping “progress,” especially, when “progress” equates to greed.
So, yes, I have my little piece of paradise here in Venice, and, no, I’m not thrilled at the pace of new construction. I got mine and, now, I want to shut the door. Yes, I admit I’m a true hypocrit, but, after all, I’ve seen up close and personal what happens.
Tuesday, July 10, 2018
Home Sweet Home
Schlepped to Florida in November driving both cars, leaving 40 degree weather for the low 80s…..ahhhh….perfect for late afternoon sunset meditations. Of course, all is not sweetness and light. The yard and plants have gone to hell in a hand basket.
Weeds growing up through the brick pavers around the pool are about a foot high. The Mexican petunias have spread like wildfire. Any plant you can buy for $1.99 should be a tip off that this is no deal. Invasive? Ya think? The root structure rivals downtown Manhattan.
Hurricane Irma was good to us….no damage to the house or the pool cage. But, several of the hibiscus plants remind me of downward dog pose…. except, they’re never ever gonna straighten up. The oleander tree by the front door is infested with hairy caterpillars, who are fattening up on the leaves. The weeds are in their happy place oblivious to the fact that we are going to battle. I will win even if it kills me….which it won’t, just my back.
I won’t bore you with the details, but it took six weeks working a couple of hours a day then jumping in the pool for an immediate cool down. I am the queen of trimming plants to practically nothing, which breaks Buff Honey’s heart but they always come back fuller than ever. We’ve had a complete yard makeover, HGTV worthy.
What a delightful winter! Never turned on the heat. Closed the windows two days, the rest of the time was glorious with soft breezes floating through the house. January through March are busy with our snowbird friends who flock down here ….a few parties, treks to Tightwad Tuesdays at the Venice movie theatre, day trips to state parks and old Florida habitats. Of course, there are sunsets on the beach and a happy hour for every day of the week, if you’re so inclined.
Playing bridge is our mutual interest so we invest four afternoons a week to challenging ourselves against a whole lot of other good players. Florida happens to be a Mecca for the best players in the world. Not sure that’s a good thing.
BH started looking for a new car to replace his 2002 Solara convertible. Only a convertible will do. No more Toyota convertibles being manufactured but he's not buying a BMW or Mercedes. What to do? Go to Maaco and get a new paint job! No more dents or scratches. The car is gorgeous! Now, it’s time for new leather upholstery. Four more years and it will be a classic!
Toward the end of March, he announces, “Sugar, I’m going to sell the Olney house.” WHAT?!!
“I’m tired of paying bills on two houses. I just want to settle here.” OMG! I was completely blindsided. It’s not like we ever really discussed it.
I loved being back in Florida that first year we were down here in 2013. Truly, I’d forgotten how much I missed it. The winters were fabulous! Sunbathing on Caspersen Beach the first week in January!? Amazing. Then, April rolled around and BH was chomping at the bit to get back to Maryland. I never loved the Olney house….so much work to be done. Overwhelming but we tackled it. Never finished it, but, really, is a house ever finished? Not on my budget!
Each year was harder for him to go back to Maryland and each year was easier for me. I couldn’t wait to get back for Mother’s Day and birthday parties and summer gatherings. But, I should’ve had a clue when he started cleaning like a mad man a couple of summers ago. Countless trips to the landfill, the local thrift shop, Goodwill. We were on a first name basis there.
When he had the roof replaced last spring, I definitely should’ve known. My God, he had spent the last three summers interviewing 14 roofing companies! Bear in mind, these were all companies who just happened to be driving around the neighborhood and noticed how bad the roof looked. Why 14 companies?! He was curious to compare their sales pitches. I really wanted to warn these guys but tuned out and excused myself to the office to read. I never thought for a minute he was going to replace the roof until he absolutely had to….which meant he wasn’t going to do it until he put the house on the market.
And what about the weeks he spent cleaning up the backyard? And having 12 trees trimmed? We could even see the park from the deck. For years, I didn’t even know there was a park in
back of the house, it was so overgrown.
What prompted the move this year? Well, all eight of our kids and married and have their own homes. They’re all very healthy and, certainly, reasonable happy. But, I think the deciding factor was that the bridge game in Florida starts at one o’clock in the afternoon rather than 10 in the morning. The man rises at dawn and runs or bikes like a maniac and requires a few hours to recover. He needs his morning down time to read the USA Today, the Wall Street Journal and the local Herald Tribune.
So, the house went on the market. It’s in one of the most family-friendly neighborhoods I’ve ever lived in. Schools within walking distance, parks scattered throughout the area, no crime. He hired a realtor, who hired a stager, who contracted workers to do a myriad of things to the house we were too lazy to do.
It sold in two days. And closed in three weeks. We returned to Maryland, and in four days, the house was completely empty. Cleaning out that house was a living nightmare. Don’t know what we would’ve done without family and friends and the Salvation Army! The ordeal was exhausting yet exhilarating. Frustrating, at times; hilarious, at others.
Now, we are both Floridians. I am sweltering through my first Florida summer since 1970. Still battling those weeds and Mexican petunias, but I’ll take it over snow, sleet and ice any day! Naturally, I miss my family so, this year, I’ll be making six trips back to Maryland. Probably, a bit excessive, but, hey, I’m the mom/grammy.
Bottom line. I love my life with BH and our home sweet home.
Weeds growing up through the brick pavers around the pool are about a foot high. The Mexican petunias have spread like wildfire. Any plant you can buy for $1.99 should be a tip off that this is no deal. Invasive? Ya think? The root structure rivals downtown Manhattan.
Hurricane Irma was good to us….no damage to the house or the pool cage. But, several of the hibiscus plants remind me of downward dog pose…. except, they’re never ever gonna straighten up. The oleander tree by the front door is infested with hairy caterpillars, who are fattening up on the leaves. The weeds are in their happy place oblivious to the fact that we are going to battle. I will win even if it kills me….which it won’t, just my back.
I won’t bore you with the details, but it took six weeks working a couple of hours a day then jumping in the pool for an immediate cool down. I am the queen of trimming plants to practically nothing, which breaks Buff Honey’s heart but they always come back fuller than ever. We’ve had a complete yard makeover, HGTV worthy.
What a delightful winter! Never turned on the heat. Closed the windows two days, the rest of the time was glorious with soft breezes floating through the house. January through March are busy with our snowbird friends who flock down here ….a few parties, treks to Tightwad Tuesdays at the Venice movie theatre, day trips to state parks and old Florida habitats. Of course, there are sunsets on the beach and a happy hour for every day of the week, if you’re so inclined.
Playing bridge is our mutual interest so we invest four afternoons a week to challenging ourselves against a whole lot of other good players. Florida happens to be a Mecca for the best players in the world. Not sure that’s a good thing.
BH started looking for a new car to replace his 2002 Solara convertible. Only a convertible will do. No more Toyota convertibles being manufactured but he's not buying a BMW or Mercedes. What to do? Go to Maaco and get a new paint job! No more dents or scratches. The car is gorgeous! Now, it’s time for new leather upholstery. Four more years and it will be a classic!
Toward the end of March, he announces, “Sugar, I’m going to sell the Olney house.” WHAT?!!
“I’m tired of paying bills on two houses. I just want to settle here.” OMG! I was completely blindsided. It’s not like we ever really discussed it.
I loved being back in Florida that first year we were down here in 2013. Truly, I’d forgotten how much I missed it. The winters were fabulous! Sunbathing on Caspersen Beach the first week in January!? Amazing. Then, April rolled around and BH was chomping at the bit to get back to Maryland. I never loved the Olney house….so much work to be done. Overwhelming but we tackled it. Never finished it, but, really, is a house ever finished? Not on my budget!
Each year was harder for him to go back to Maryland and each year was easier for me. I couldn’t wait to get back for Mother’s Day and birthday parties and summer gatherings. But, I should’ve had a clue when he started cleaning like a mad man a couple of summers ago. Countless trips to the landfill, the local thrift shop, Goodwill. We were on a first name basis there.
When he had the roof replaced last spring, I definitely should’ve known. My God, he had spent the last three summers interviewing 14 roofing companies! Bear in mind, these were all companies who just happened to be driving around the neighborhood and noticed how bad the roof looked. Why 14 companies?! He was curious to compare their sales pitches. I really wanted to warn these guys but tuned out and excused myself to the office to read. I never thought for a minute he was going to replace the roof until he absolutely had to….which meant he wasn’t going to do it until he put the house on the market.
And what about the weeks he spent cleaning up the backyard? And having 12 trees trimmed? We could even see the park from the deck. For years, I didn’t even know there was a park in
back of the house, it was so overgrown.
What prompted the move this year? Well, all eight of our kids and married and have their own homes. They’re all very healthy and, certainly, reasonable happy. But, I think the deciding factor was that the bridge game in Florida starts at one o’clock in the afternoon rather than 10 in the morning. The man rises at dawn and runs or bikes like a maniac and requires a few hours to recover. He needs his morning down time to read the USA Today, the Wall Street Journal and the local Herald Tribune.
So, the house went on the market. It’s in one of the most family-friendly neighborhoods I’ve ever lived in. Schools within walking distance, parks scattered throughout the area, no crime. He hired a realtor, who hired a stager, who contracted workers to do a myriad of things to the house we were too lazy to do.
It sold in two days. And closed in three weeks. We returned to Maryland, and in four days, the house was completely empty. Cleaning out that house was a living nightmare. Don’t know what we would’ve done without family and friends and the Salvation Army! The ordeal was exhausting yet exhilarating. Frustrating, at times; hilarious, at others.
Now, we are both Floridians. I am sweltering through my first Florida summer since 1970. Still battling those weeds and Mexican petunias, but I’ll take it over snow, sleet and ice any day! Naturally, I miss my family so, this year, I’ll be making six trips back to Maryland. Probably, a bit excessive, but, hey, I’m the mom/grammy.
Bottom line. I love my life with BH and our home sweet home.
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