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.
Tuesday, August 28, 2018
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!
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