What would Jesus do, especially, in the current political climate we find ourselves? Sadly, I’m constantly appalled at our country’s leadership. A daily exercise of outrageousness. What to do with that anger? Where to go? Stuck here in one of the reddest places in Florida where none of my representatives truly represent me or care to.
Most parents I know have decent values that they want to impart to their children. Basic values like love one another, trying your best in whatever you endeavor, speaking with respect even with those you might not agree with. How wise was Buddha with the three questions we should ask ourselves before speaking: Is it true? Is it necessary? Is it kind?
Okay, as an aside, I know that’s a fake Buddha quote with no clear idea where it’s from. Some say Rumi, some say Socrates. Beside the point, however. The questions are meaningful and make so much sense, especially, today.
How do parents explain the crudeness of our president? It pains me that these children see Trump as the President of the United States. The man they’re supposed to admire and aspire to. The ultimate bully, which schools and parents across America are on a constant crusade to counter. Even his wife alleges that her first priority is to stand up to bullying children.
And, yet, she’s married to the bully-in-chief! He’s so egomaniacal, he goes after climate activist 16 year old Greta Thunberg, chosen as Time’s Person of the Year. And, this is the person who has access to the nuclear codes.
Yes, he was impeached by the House. We already know he is not going to be convicted by the Senate. There will not even be a trial just a vote down party lines. There will be no witnesses called and the president’s chief apologist, Mitch McConnell, has already stated he is not an impartial juror. It’s pretty much a foregone conclusion. I seriously don’t think any of those Senate Republicans are asking What would Jesus do?
Or are they? I never would’ve given it another thought until a little noticed editorial was published this week in Christianity Today, the evangelical Christian periodical founded in 1956 by Billy Graham. The op-ed written by it’s editor in chief, Mark Galli, wrote the following:
‘Whether Mr. Trump should be removed from office by the Senate or by popular vote next election—that is a matter of prudential judgment That he should be removed, we believe, is not a matter of partisan loyalties but loyalty to the Creator of the Ten Commandments. We believe the impeachment hearings have made it absolutely clear, in a way the Mueller investigations did not, that President Trump has abused his authority for personal gain and betrayed his constitutional oath. The impeachment hearing have illuminated the president’s moral deficiencies for all to see.
None of the president’s positives can balance the moral and political danger we face under a leader of such grossly immoral character. To the many evangelicals who continue to support Mr. Trump in spite of his blackened moral record, we might say this: Remember who you are and whom you serve. Consider how your justification of Mr. Trump influences your witness to your Lord and Savior. Consider what an unbelieving world will say if you continue to brush off Mr. Trump’s immoral words and behavior in the cause of political expediency.”
Naturally, the president dismissed the criticism, calling the publication a “far left magazine.” Hilariously funny, except that we’re dealing with a seriously unhinged individual.
But, I thank Mr. Galli, who’s leaving the magazine in two weeks, unfortunately. At least, he put it on the line. Why did it take this long to reach that conclusion? It's been pretty apparent as long as Trump's been around. He's certainly no Christian.
Do I think he’s going to change the minds of Trump’s base of white evangelists? Probably not too many, but he sure scared the you know what out of Trump.
It’s a glimmer of hope. I welcome that. It’s the season, right? WWJD? We all know the answer to that. Live in love. Live with hope. And keep your kids away from the TV news shows.
Saturday, December 21, 2019
Saturday, December 14, 2019
It's the Most Wonderful Time of Year
I know what you’re thinking. Christmas. The holidays. Winter Break. New Year’s Eve. But, actually, you’d be wrong. At least, for me. I love this time of year because, FINALLY, all the good movies surface to the light.
I’ve always been more a lover of indies, documentaries and foreign films and took for granted The Charles Theatre, that bastion of all the best movies one could ever hope to see, conveniently located in Baltimore. More than a few days I spent going from one fabulous film to another. Sometimes, seeing three movies in a day. In case you’re wondering, yes, I paid for every one.
But, this move to Florida put the kibosh on that! There is one independent film theatre in Sarasota but there only two movie rooms and absolutely no parking. Our theatre in Venice used to show a few indies before it went bankrupt, which resulted in a large percentage of broken chairs, and more than one report of fuzzy rodents scurrying around your feet.
Thankfully, it was bought by some big midwest chain which promised state of the art reclining seating. The promise was that it would be thoroughly renovated by now. That dream has been deferred for at least a year. No indies in sight.
BH is a more eclectic movie goer. He’s primary interested in what the critics write, although he’s not interested in Marvel Comic movies, horror, thrillers, and sequels. More a lover of old movies, he almost panicked when Comcast got rid of the Turner Classic Movie channel. Once free, now we pay.
Up until recently, we hadn’t seen many movies we could recommend. I loved “Booksmart,” but he wasn’t all that impressed. I think it’s more fun for the ladies, especially, those who were nerds in their former lives. “Harriet” was well worth seeing for the acting, the cinematography and its powerful message.
Quentin Tarantino’s “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” was nothing if not hilarious with Leonardo DiCaprio, an aging TV western star, and Brad Pitt, his stunt double. I’m not a big fan of either one but they were both as good as it gets. Usually, I abhor the violence in Tarantino’s films but not only could I stomach this one, but I found myself a devotee.
Now, we come to the most wonderful time of the year! All the best movies bombarding us at once. I am waist deep in movie watching right now. Here are my faves so far in the order that I enjoyed them:
1). “Marriage Story.” Far and away the best writing, acting and directing I’ve seen in years. One of my top 5 for all time. They should win every award. If I had to whittle that down I would hands down give Best Actor to Adam Driver. Who knew? One amazing performance from a former Marine. Best Supporting Actress to Laura Dern who portrayed the witchiest divorce lawyer ever. And Noah Baumbach ….who writes better relationship stories than him?
2). “Ford vs. Ferrari.” I’m not a race car driver nor do I care about NASCAR or any car racing. But I absolutely love Christian Bale. To me, he is his generation’s best. However, Matt Damon is no slouch in F v F either. The movie is just over two and a half hours long and I was never bored for a minute. A first for me. Generally, two hours is my absolute limit.
3). “Knives Out.” Described as a murder mystery with kindness, it’s a laugh out loud experience that is all too rare these days. It’s just a fun who dun it. The only thing I couldn’t wrap my head around was Daniel Craig with an over the top southern accent.
4). “The Irishman.” Thank goodness for Netflix! Really, who can watch a three and a half hour long movie in the theatre? Not me! We watched it over two nights and it’s one helluva of a story and I do mean story, because it’s become increasingly clear we will never know the real Jimmy Hoffa story. Hats off to Scorsese….it’s epic! Out of the three leads, I thought Joe Pesci was the best and Al Pacino the weakest.
Well, that covers it for now. Hoping to see “Farewell” and “Parasite” on Netflix. As usual, we will be debating our Christmas Day movie for the next couple of weeks. My choice? “Little Women,” of course! I am enchanted with Greta Gerwig, its director and screenwriter. Plus, she and Noah Baumbach are quite the creative genius couple! What a year for them!
I’ve always been more a lover of indies, documentaries and foreign films and took for granted The Charles Theatre, that bastion of all the best movies one could ever hope to see, conveniently located in Baltimore. More than a few days I spent going from one fabulous film to another. Sometimes, seeing three movies in a day. In case you’re wondering, yes, I paid for every one.
But, this move to Florida put the kibosh on that! There is one independent film theatre in Sarasota but there only two movie rooms and absolutely no parking. Our theatre in Venice used to show a few indies before it went bankrupt, which resulted in a large percentage of broken chairs, and more than one report of fuzzy rodents scurrying around your feet.
Thankfully, it was bought by some big midwest chain which promised state of the art reclining seating. The promise was that it would be thoroughly renovated by now. That dream has been deferred for at least a year. No indies in sight.
BH is a more eclectic movie goer. He’s primary interested in what the critics write, although he’s not interested in Marvel Comic movies, horror, thrillers, and sequels. More a lover of old movies, he almost panicked when Comcast got rid of the Turner Classic Movie channel. Once free, now we pay.
Up until recently, we hadn’t seen many movies we could recommend. I loved “Booksmart,” but he wasn’t all that impressed. I think it’s more fun for the ladies, especially, those who were nerds in their former lives. “Harriet” was well worth seeing for the acting, the cinematography and its powerful message.
Quentin Tarantino’s “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” was nothing if not hilarious with Leonardo DiCaprio, an aging TV western star, and Brad Pitt, his stunt double. I’m not a big fan of either one but they were both as good as it gets. Usually, I abhor the violence in Tarantino’s films but not only could I stomach this one, but I found myself a devotee.
Now, we come to the most wonderful time of the year! All the best movies bombarding us at once. I am waist deep in movie watching right now. Here are my faves so far in the order that I enjoyed them:
1). “Marriage Story.” Far and away the best writing, acting and directing I’ve seen in years. One of my top 5 for all time. They should win every award. If I had to whittle that down I would hands down give Best Actor to Adam Driver. Who knew? One amazing performance from a former Marine. Best Supporting Actress to Laura Dern who portrayed the witchiest divorce lawyer ever. And Noah Baumbach ….who writes better relationship stories than him?
2). “Ford vs. Ferrari.” I’m not a race car driver nor do I care about NASCAR or any car racing. But I absolutely love Christian Bale. To me, he is his generation’s best. However, Matt Damon is no slouch in F v F either. The movie is just over two and a half hours long and I was never bored for a minute. A first for me. Generally, two hours is my absolute limit.
3). “Knives Out.” Described as a murder mystery with kindness, it’s a laugh out loud experience that is all too rare these days. It’s just a fun who dun it. The only thing I couldn’t wrap my head around was Daniel Craig with an over the top southern accent.
4). “The Irishman.” Thank goodness for Netflix! Really, who can watch a three and a half hour long movie in the theatre? Not me! We watched it over two nights and it’s one helluva of a story and I do mean story, because it’s become increasingly clear we will never know the real Jimmy Hoffa story. Hats off to Scorsese….it’s epic! Out of the three leads, I thought Joe Pesci was the best and Al Pacino the weakest.
Well, that covers it for now. Hoping to see “Farewell” and “Parasite” on Netflix. As usual, we will be debating our Christmas Day movie for the next couple of weeks. My choice? “Little Women,” of course! I am enchanted with Greta Gerwig, its director and screenwriter. Plus, she and Noah Baumbach are quite the creative genius couple! What a year for them!
Saturday, December 7, 2019
Travel Tips?
Travel tips? I’ve got none. Basically, I’m not much of a traveler….one week and I’m done. Get me back home in my own bed. But, how could we miss that bridge cruise in the Caribbean on the Symphony of the Seas….basically, a luxury 18 story hotel with the best food I’ve had in decades.
I had the dreaded flu shot prior to embarking and sanitized my hands five times a day on the ship and yet on the fourth day, there it was. The Sore Throat. Noooo….even wine and pina coladas didn’t knock it out of me. Believe me, I tried but no luck.
As the sore throat subsided, the congestion, cough and sneezes ensued. As soon as we got home, I went to my go-to: DayQuil followed by NyQui. Gotta love that NyQuil. Sleep is imperative and NyQuil is quite the aid.
Then, there’s my mother’s cure for everything: Sun. “Go sit in the sun,” she’d say, “it cures whatever ails you.” Yes, I definitely believe in that but weeks later and sporting a good ole Florida tan, the cough lingers. It didn’t help that we flew to Maryland for Thanksgiving….now both of us are cold bearers chugging NyQuil. Apologies to both of our families.
The plane ride there was uneventful though I had to pay $3 for a very tiny bottled water on Spirit Airlines. Lesson learned. BYO water and snacks. The plane trip back was slightly more turbulent but we landed safely and I thanked God profusely.
Only problem was I couldn’t hear out of my left ear. Even after round-the-clock swallowing, my hearing is still impaired. Hopefully, it’s just a side effect from congestion and I’ll stop asking “What?” after anyone speaks to me.
Truly, I haven’t been sick in about 20 years. That time I caught the flu flying back from St. Maarten’s. That was the worst…couldn’t get out of bed for a week. Of course, it’s all relative. It wasn’t terminal and I returned to my normal energy with about a 10 pound weight loss.
Being a teacher can be hazardous to your health. We are exposed to germs constantly and I always prided myself on having a pretty great immune system, except on winter break. I cannot tell you how many years I was sick during the holidays.
I’m sure it was from trying to get everything ready for Christmas for my family, burning the candle at both ends, wrapping gifts until the wee hours of the morning, hoping the children wouldn’t catch us playing Santa, sipping Bailey’s and listening to the Pope’s midnight mass. There were many late nights leading up to it….going out to late night sales at Toys R Us and the bigger department stores. Going out in freezing cold temps cutting down our tree and desperately trying to keep it standing as the dogs and cats played with the ornaments.
Ahhh….the good ole days pre-Amazon. Who goes out to shop anymore? I am ashamed to admit I rarely do.
I loved those days with all the excitement of the children and the fun we had, but, now our children are doing that with their children. As for us? We order a wreath from LLBean, go out for Christmas Eve dinner and choose a movie to see on Christmas day. Last year, we chose a Will Ferrell movie which, after the fact, was panned as the worst movie of the year. Not the best decision. Not one review was written prior to its release. Note to self: do not select a movie that has not been reviewed!
So, as you can read, I’ve got no good travel tips. All I can say is I’m happy to be home for a few months. You’ll find me out on the lanai soaking up the sun, baking the tail end of this congestion out of me, hoping to restore my hearing!
I had the dreaded flu shot prior to embarking and sanitized my hands five times a day on the ship and yet on the fourth day, there it was. The Sore Throat. Noooo….even wine and pina coladas didn’t knock it out of me. Believe me, I tried but no luck.
As the sore throat subsided, the congestion, cough and sneezes ensued. As soon as we got home, I went to my go-to: DayQuil followed by NyQui. Gotta love that NyQuil. Sleep is imperative and NyQuil is quite the aid.
Then, there’s my mother’s cure for everything: Sun. “Go sit in the sun,” she’d say, “it cures whatever ails you.” Yes, I definitely believe in that but weeks later and sporting a good ole Florida tan, the cough lingers. It didn’t help that we flew to Maryland for Thanksgiving….now both of us are cold bearers chugging NyQuil. Apologies to both of our families.
The plane ride there was uneventful though I had to pay $3 for a very tiny bottled water on Spirit Airlines. Lesson learned. BYO water and snacks. The plane trip back was slightly more turbulent but we landed safely and I thanked God profusely.
Only problem was I couldn’t hear out of my left ear. Even after round-the-clock swallowing, my hearing is still impaired. Hopefully, it’s just a side effect from congestion and I’ll stop asking “What?” after anyone speaks to me.
Truly, I haven’t been sick in about 20 years. That time I caught the flu flying back from St. Maarten’s. That was the worst…couldn’t get out of bed for a week. Of course, it’s all relative. It wasn’t terminal and I returned to my normal energy with about a 10 pound weight loss.
Being a teacher can be hazardous to your health. We are exposed to germs constantly and I always prided myself on having a pretty great immune system, except on winter break. I cannot tell you how many years I was sick during the holidays.
I’m sure it was from trying to get everything ready for Christmas for my family, burning the candle at both ends, wrapping gifts until the wee hours of the morning, hoping the children wouldn’t catch us playing Santa, sipping Bailey’s and listening to the Pope’s midnight mass. There were many late nights leading up to it….going out to late night sales at Toys R Us and the bigger department stores. Going out in freezing cold temps cutting down our tree and desperately trying to keep it standing as the dogs and cats played with the ornaments.
Ahhh….the good ole days pre-Amazon. Who goes out to shop anymore? I am ashamed to admit I rarely do.
I loved those days with all the excitement of the children and the fun we had, but, now our children are doing that with their children. As for us? We order a wreath from LLBean, go out for Christmas Eve dinner and choose a movie to see on Christmas day. Last year, we chose a Will Ferrell movie which, after the fact, was panned as the worst movie of the year. Not the best decision. Not one review was written prior to its release. Note to self: do not select a movie that has not been reviewed!
So, as you can read, I’ve got no good travel tips. All I can say is I’m happy to be home for a few months. You’ll find me out on the lanai soaking up the sun, baking the tail end of this congestion out of me, hoping to restore my hearing!
Saturday, November 9, 2019
November Arrives
The day after Halloween. November 1st. I cannot tell you how relieved I am not to be a teacher facing over 100 students hyped up on their Halloween candy! Tough enough on a “normal” day.
The day after Halloween walking through the neighborhood lie dozens of deflated pumpkins and goblins strewn all over lawns. A testament to the seriousness of holiday decorating in our neck of the woods. We’re the bah humbug neighbors. Our days of decorating ended when we became empty nesters. At least, BH still sits outside with 150 pieces of candy which lasted all of one hour.
The day after Halloween, also known as All Saint’s Day, commemorating all saints whose good works have landed them in heaven, also known as All Hallows’ Day. We dress up on All Hallows’ Eve to ward off all evil spirits. But I’m not a believer in heaven or hell or evil spirits with the exception of the one sitting in the White House.
The day after Halloween also means the snowbirds have landed. Add at least another 15 minutes to get anywhere due to the intense traffic and the fact that every senior citizen has to drive in the left lane even though they have no intention of turning for at least five miles.
Don’t even try to go out to eat unless you’re way more patient than me. A 45 minute wait is usually the minimum. Most restaurants will not take reservations unless you have a party of eight or more. You will notice a lot of Publix salads and Amy’s frozen dinners in my fridge.
November 1st is one fantastic day for us, because that is the day we open up the house after living in air conditioning for seven months. This past September and October has been the hottest and driest months on record. How BH goes out there and bikes every day in that stifling heat and humidity is beyond me! I prefer my indoor exercise in the AC watching Morning Joe!
We are not lovers of AC, although how I ever slept without it growing up in Florida pre-AC is mind boggling. We didn’t even have fans. I know my kids are rolling their eyes right now! Truth, though.
So when that nighttime temp goes below 70 degrees, all the windows go up and the sliding glass doors open and there exists this divine cross breeze flowing through the house. The birds return, waking us up to their happy noise. And, I think to myself, is this what heaven is like if I believed in heaven? I think so.
The day after Halloween walking through the neighborhood lie dozens of deflated pumpkins and goblins strewn all over lawns. A testament to the seriousness of holiday decorating in our neck of the woods. We’re the bah humbug neighbors. Our days of decorating ended when we became empty nesters. At least, BH still sits outside with 150 pieces of candy which lasted all of one hour.
The day after Halloween, also known as All Saint’s Day, commemorating all saints whose good works have landed them in heaven, also known as All Hallows’ Day. We dress up on All Hallows’ Eve to ward off all evil spirits. But I’m not a believer in heaven or hell or evil spirits with the exception of the one sitting in the White House.
The day after Halloween also means the snowbirds have landed. Add at least another 15 minutes to get anywhere due to the intense traffic and the fact that every senior citizen has to drive in the left lane even though they have no intention of turning for at least five miles.
Don’t even try to go out to eat unless you’re way more patient than me. A 45 minute wait is usually the minimum. Most restaurants will not take reservations unless you have a party of eight or more. You will notice a lot of Publix salads and Amy’s frozen dinners in my fridge.
November 1st is one fantastic day for us, because that is the day we open up the house after living in air conditioning for seven months. This past September and October has been the hottest and driest months on record. How BH goes out there and bikes every day in that stifling heat and humidity is beyond me! I prefer my indoor exercise in the AC watching Morning Joe!
We are not lovers of AC, although how I ever slept without it growing up in Florida pre-AC is mind boggling. We didn’t even have fans. I know my kids are rolling their eyes right now! Truth, though.
So when that nighttime temp goes below 70 degrees, all the windows go up and the sliding glass doors open and there exists this divine cross breeze flowing through the house. The birds return, waking us up to their happy noise. And, I think to myself, is this what heaven is like if I believed in heaven? I think so.
Saturday, November 2, 2019
Only 35 Years
That’s how long it took me to actually hit my goal weight. And I am shouting it from the rooftops! That’s how long it’s been since my third and final pregnancy. It’s been a ridiculously long journey and I blame it all on potato chips. Okay, there’s also the wine.
For the first 30 years of my life, I could literally eat anything and not gain a pound. Even in college when I contracted mononucleosis and was down to 87 pounds and had to live in the infirmary, the nutritionists fed me three milkshakes daily and very, very slowly I got back up to 95 pounds.
After my first child was born, I bounced right back. Even the nurses were calling in their colleagues the day after I delivered to gawk at my flat stomach. What did I know? I’d never had a baby before so I was puzzled by all the fuss.
Twelve and fourteen years later, I had my babies 20 months apart in my late 30s and, let me tell you, no nurses were coming to gawk at my fall stomach! No, no, no. I was appalled! What happened to me?
Heaven knows, I tried. I played racketball, took long walks, went on Weight Watchers, and became a huge fan of Jane Fonda’s workouts. There was Jazzercise and high and low impact classes. I tried yoga and water aerobics. I kept a diary of everything I consumed. That dreaded muffin top was going nowhere.
I’m an organizer but never seemed to be able to plan weekly meals. Basically, I was overwhelmed by a stressful job and being a single parent didn’t help. Plus, all of our schedules didn’t make for a Leave It to Beaver dinner time with the family. Sad to say, fast food and Domino’s pizza delivery found its way to our home on way too many nights. Not good for someone trying to lose 15 pounds.
Needless to say, I didn’t. By the time I retired, I weighed the most I had ever weighed. One of my vows when I retired was to workout every day, which definitely helped but it didn’t get me to my goal weight. I recorded my intake and exercise on my Lose It app daily, but, then, I’d get discouraged when I hit a plateau and couldn’t make that scale move in the right direction.
I thought the South Beach diet was the answer. Tried it but wasn’t wild about the no-wine-for-10-days rule. That should’ve told me something right there but I soldiered on reducing my carb and sugar intake drastically. Not enough, though.
And, then, intermittent fasting became the craze. My cousin turned me on to it and he was living proof that it worked. I started it three years ago and it was okay, but it didn’t get it where I wanted to be. In March of this year, BH and I took a Caribbean cruise and, of course, I ate everything in sight….it was just all too delicious. But, when I got off that boat, my whole attitude changed.
This time I was determined. And that is what was missing. I had a goal: get to my goal weight before I get on the next cruise which is coming up on November 16th. It appears I needed more discipline. I got serious about intermittent fasting, eating under 1000 calories daily and only eating between the hours of 10 a.m to 6 p.m. It also helped that my wine intake has been drastically reduced to one glass a week. And, I don’t even miss it. Never thought I’d say that!
On Wednesday, I hit my goal weight of 115. Time to set another goal, maybe 110. But, first, I’m going to reward myself with a delectable piece of key lime pie!!
For the first 30 years of my life, I could literally eat anything and not gain a pound. Even in college when I contracted mononucleosis and was down to 87 pounds and had to live in the infirmary, the nutritionists fed me three milkshakes daily and very, very slowly I got back up to 95 pounds.
After my first child was born, I bounced right back. Even the nurses were calling in their colleagues the day after I delivered to gawk at my flat stomach. What did I know? I’d never had a baby before so I was puzzled by all the fuss.
Twelve and fourteen years later, I had my babies 20 months apart in my late 30s and, let me tell you, no nurses were coming to gawk at my fall stomach! No, no, no. I was appalled! What happened to me?
Heaven knows, I tried. I played racketball, took long walks, went on Weight Watchers, and became a huge fan of Jane Fonda’s workouts. There was Jazzercise and high and low impact classes. I tried yoga and water aerobics. I kept a diary of everything I consumed. That dreaded muffin top was going nowhere.
I’m an organizer but never seemed to be able to plan weekly meals. Basically, I was overwhelmed by a stressful job and being a single parent didn’t help. Plus, all of our schedules didn’t make for a Leave It to Beaver dinner time with the family. Sad to say, fast food and Domino’s pizza delivery found its way to our home on way too many nights. Not good for someone trying to lose 15 pounds.
Needless to say, I didn’t. By the time I retired, I weighed the most I had ever weighed. One of my vows when I retired was to workout every day, which definitely helped but it didn’t get me to my goal weight. I recorded my intake and exercise on my Lose It app daily, but, then, I’d get discouraged when I hit a plateau and couldn’t make that scale move in the right direction.
I thought the South Beach diet was the answer. Tried it but wasn’t wild about the no-wine-for-10-days rule. That should’ve told me something right there but I soldiered on reducing my carb and sugar intake drastically. Not enough, though.
And, then, intermittent fasting became the craze. My cousin turned me on to it and he was living proof that it worked. I started it three years ago and it was okay, but it didn’t get it where I wanted to be. In March of this year, BH and I took a Caribbean cruise and, of course, I ate everything in sight….it was just all too delicious. But, when I got off that boat, my whole attitude changed.
This time I was determined. And that is what was missing. I had a goal: get to my goal weight before I get on the next cruise which is coming up on November 16th. It appears I needed more discipline. I got serious about intermittent fasting, eating under 1000 calories daily and only eating between the hours of 10 a.m to 6 p.m. It also helped that my wine intake has been drastically reduced to one glass a week. And, I don’t even miss it. Never thought I’d say that!
On Wednesday, I hit my goal weight of 115. Time to set another goal, maybe 110. But, first, I’m going to reward myself with a delectable piece of key lime pie!!
Saturday, October 26, 2019
Malaise
Ahhh…that general feeling of discomfort just before all hell breaks loose. That’s what I’m feeling and it’s getting worse. It’s moving toward anxiety which, thankfully, I’ve rarely experienced in my lifetime. I’ve always felt in control. Now? Not so much.
How fortunate are we to have been born into a country that operates under the rule of law. I just always took that for granted. I taught the U.S. Constitution for years and never once did I ever imagine that it may not hold up. That the checks and balances weren’t enough.
Fear is a powerful motivator and, evidently, those Republican senators are terrified of this POS President. So terrified that they looked like a bunch of clowns breaking into a closed chamber, claiming to be locked out of the process that a third of them have unlimited access to. Well, I guess they had to show their allegiance to their leader. He says, ‘Jump’, they respond, ‘How high?’
And, these are the men and women who are going to be the judge and jury for the impeachment trial once it gets to the Senate. Which it undoubtedly will. Regardless of what the facts are, they will ‘stand by their man.’ Having a foreign government tamper in our elections will be just fine. Quid pro quo? Just fine.
They will proclaim that none of these acts rise to the level of high crimes and misdemeanors. In my humble opinion, if this president cannot be impeached, surely, no president can ever be impeached. If this is not high crimes, what is?! These are not American heroes. In fact, they are profoundly un-American.
However, this week we have seen true Americans stand up for our values, even though they have been threatened for doing so. Their testimonies remind us of what true civil servants look like. They are just doing their jobs and, hopefully, saving our country from its leader and his sycophants.
I for one are proud of the calm, steady hand steering the House of Representatives. Thank you, Nancy, for standing up for our country and standing up to Donald Trump and stating, “All roads lead to Putin with you.” Couldn’t be clearer and thank you for stating what so many of us are seeing. We’re aghast.
And, sadly, we lost one of our most eloquent and moral leaders this week. Elijah. Who will fill that hole? The congressman who represented me when I lived in Maryland. No one could’ve done it better.
There is some major drama lurking in our future. Will these men and women who support this lawless president stand up for our Constitution and our country? Or will we dive even deeper into lawlessness? It’s been a lightning speed downhill trajectory since this man was elected. How can this continue? The consequences are overwhelming. Do they even care what kind of country their children and grandchildren will grow up in? I think not.
Hence, the malaise. I have always been the eternal optimist. Tomorrow will be a better day, I say. The youth of today are the hope for tomorrow.
But, then, every how and then, I stay up at night clicking the remote back and forth between CNN and MSNBC, and it’s just gloom and doom over and over. Who can sleep anymore? Gotta get some melatonin gummies. I need my rest.
How fortunate are we to have been born into a country that operates under the rule of law. I just always took that for granted. I taught the U.S. Constitution for years and never once did I ever imagine that it may not hold up. That the checks and balances weren’t enough.
Fear is a powerful motivator and, evidently, those Republican senators are terrified of this POS President. So terrified that they looked like a bunch of clowns breaking into a closed chamber, claiming to be locked out of the process that a third of them have unlimited access to. Well, I guess they had to show their allegiance to their leader. He says, ‘Jump’, they respond, ‘How high?’
And, these are the men and women who are going to be the judge and jury for the impeachment trial once it gets to the Senate. Which it undoubtedly will. Regardless of what the facts are, they will ‘stand by their man.’ Having a foreign government tamper in our elections will be just fine. Quid pro quo? Just fine.
They will proclaim that none of these acts rise to the level of high crimes and misdemeanors. In my humble opinion, if this president cannot be impeached, surely, no president can ever be impeached. If this is not high crimes, what is?! These are not American heroes. In fact, they are profoundly un-American.
However, this week we have seen true Americans stand up for our values, even though they have been threatened for doing so. Their testimonies remind us of what true civil servants look like. They are just doing their jobs and, hopefully, saving our country from its leader and his sycophants.
I for one are proud of the calm, steady hand steering the House of Representatives. Thank you, Nancy, for standing up for our country and standing up to Donald Trump and stating, “All roads lead to Putin with you.” Couldn’t be clearer and thank you for stating what so many of us are seeing. We’re aghast.
And, sadly, we lost one of our most eloquent and moral leaders this week. Elijah. Who will fill that hole? The congressman who represented me when I lived in Maryland. No one could’ve done it better.
There is some major drama lurking in our future. Will these men and women who support this lawless president stand up for our Constitution and our country? Or will we dive even deeper into lawlessness? It’s been a lightning speed downhill trajectory since this man was elected. How can this continue? The consequences are overwhelming. Do they even care what kind of country their children and grandchildren will grow up in? I think not.
Hence, the malaise. I have always been the eternal optimist. Tomorrow will be a better day, I say. The youth of today are the hope for tomorrow.
But, then, every how and then, I stay up at night clicking the remote back and forth between CNN and MSNBC, and it’s just gloom and doom over and over. Who can sleep anymore? Gotta get some melatonin gummies. I need my rest.
Tuesday, October 15, 2019
For the Love of Reading
I don’t know what in the world I did before reading. I cannot even imagine that life. Reading opened up my very narrow world to dreams way beyond my reach. And, besides bridge and gardening, it’s a significant commonality I share with BH.
It probably consumes the majority of our days. We each read or skim three newspapers daily. The Wall Street Journal, USA Today and our local Herald Tribune for him. In addition to the local paper, I peruse the Baltimore Sun and the New York Times. That pretty much covers half the day.
Both of us love our kindles…you can tell by the multiple chargers throughout the house. He loves his John MacDonald crime thrillers set in 50s and 60s Florida. For years, he was one of my faves, but now I’m more into Carl Hiaasen and Randy Wayne White when it comes to Florida crime stories.
My God, who could ask for better material? When I was growing up in central Florida, it seemed to me such a placid and, for lack of a better word, boring existence. I never had a clue about crime. No one ever locked their doors even at night.
But, now? It’s a crime writer’s paradise. Just today in Venice, my home, here is the headline: Husband kills wife in murder-suicide attempt, fails to kill himself when gun malfunctions. And, it occurred in an assisted living senior community!
Then, there were the two Florida men accused of stealing chainsaws caught trying to sell them back to the victim. Every day, you can take to the bank that something crazy is going to happen here. It has totally changed my perspective on living in a gated community which I always thought was absurd. Now, at 72, and not exactly Ronda Rousey anymore, I like the gate.
But, I digress. I consider myself an eclectic fiction reader…mysteries, historical, romance, family sagas, women’s fiction. Love all those fiction genres. Not so much fantasy and sci-fi. Maybe that speaks to my lack of imagination.
I enjoy fiction on the best sellers list but I’m just as happy with beach reads. In this era, I prefer more upbeat reads than dark literature. I have a friend, an even more prolific reader than me, who hasn’t been able to finish a book since Trump was elected. I’m on the opposite end of that spectrum….burying my nose in a book as opposed to watching tv news. It keeps me calmer.
Reading was one of the few things I shared with my mother, although her main source of information was the Bible and any right wing bulletin that supported conspiracy theories. However, we both loved the Miss Julia series by Ann B, Ross, set in a small town in North Carolina. A new book was published annually just before Mother’s Day, so my mom knew she was getting a visit from Miss Julia as her gift.
As a teacher, I have tons of friends, also big readers, who are my go-tos for book recommendations. One of them suggested America’s First Daughter, historical fiction based on Martha Jefferson Randolph, Thomas Jefferson’s older daughter. OMG! Can’t put it down. Love the social history we are never privy to in textbooks.
This was a big week for my kindle…downloaded five books: Olive Again (Elizabeth Strout), A Single Thread (Tracy Chevalier), The Giver of Stars (Jojo Moyes), The Dutch House (Ann Patchett) and #18 in the Duncan Kincaid/Gemma James series, A Bitter Feast (Deborah Crombie).
I’m beside myself…where to start, where to start?!
It probably consumes the majority of our days. We each read or skim three newspapers daily. The Wall Street Journal, USA Today and our local Herald Tribune for him. In addition to the local paper, I peruse the Baltimore Sun and the New York Times. That pretty much covers half the day.
Both of us love our kindles…you can tell by the multiple chargers throughout the house. He loves his John MacDonald crime thrillers set in 50s and 60s Florida. For years, he was one of my faves, but now I’m more into Carl Hiaasen and Randy Wayne White when it comes to Florida crime stories.
My God, who could ask for better material? When I was growing up in central Florida, it seemed to me such a placid and, for lack of a better word, boring existence. I never had a clue about crime. No one ever locked their doors even at night.
But, now? It’s a crime writer’s paradise. Just today in Venice, my home, here is the headline: Husband kills wife in murder-suicide attempt, fails to kill himself when gun malfunctions. And, it occurred in an assisted living senior community!
Then, there were the two Florida men accused of stealing chainsaws caught trying to sell them back to the victim. Every day, you can take to the bank that something crazy is going to happen here. It has totally changed my perspective on living in a gated community which I always thought was absurd. Now, at 72, and not exactly Ronda Rousey anymore, I like the gate.
But, I digress. I consider myself an eclectic fiction reader…mysteries, historical, romance, family sagas, women’s fiction. Love all those fiction genres. Not so much fantasy and sci-fi. Maybe that speaks to my lack of imagination.
I enjoy fiction on the best sellers list but I’m just as happy with beach reads. In this era, I prefer more upbeat reads than dark literature. I have a friend, an even more prolific reader than me, who hasn’t been able to finish a book since Trump was elected. I’m on the opposite end of that spectrum….burying my nose in a book as opposed to watching tv news. It keeps me calmer.
Reading was one of the few things I shared with my mother, although her main source of information was the Bible and any right wing bulletin that supported conspiracy theories. However, we both loved the Miss Julia series by Ann B, Ross, set in a small town in North Carolina. A new book was published annually just before Mother’s Day, so my mom knew she was getting a visit from Miss Julia as her gift.
As a teacher, I have tons of friends, also big readers, who are my go-tos for book recommendations. One of them suggested America’s First Daughter, historical fiction based on Martha Jefferson Randolph, Thomas Jefferson’s older daughter. OMG! Can’t put it down. Love the social history we are never privy to in textbooks.
This was a big week for my kindle…downloaded five books: Olive Again (Elizabeth Strout), A Single Thread (Tracy Chevalier), The Giver of Stars (Jojo Moyes), The Dutch House (Ann Patchett) and #18 in the Duncan Kincaid/Gemma James series, A Bitter Feast (Deborah Crombie).
I’m beside myself…where to start, where to start?!
Tuesday, October 8, 2019
Quit Yer Complainin'
I am very late to this party, evidently. Not that I’m a Negative Nellie based on my very limited self-assessment. But, I noticed a fellow bridge player with a rubber bracelet that I assumed represented some cause but she schooled me that it wasn’t. Inscribed on it were these words, “Complaint Free Challenge.”
Here’s the deal. The goal is to go complaint free for 21 days. The research suggests that’s how long it takes to change a habit. I’m going to challenge that research….I don’t believe that for a minute. But, who am I to question them?
So, if you complain or go negative, you have to move the bracelet to the other wrist and the 21 days starts anew. Evidently, it takes most people between four to eight months to go negative-free. According to the website, complaintfreeworld.org, the average person complains between 15 and 30 times a day. Wow! Who knew? Currently, over 11 million of these bracelets have been sold. Like I said….very late to the party.
Today is my Day One. And I am throwing in one caveat. Yes I will register my disdain for our current state of politics where we have a president that clearly obstructs justice and blatantly invites foreign countries to interfere in our elections. After two years of denying collusion, he unabashedly invites collusion! Of course, he is delusional.
Let Trump Be Trump was the rallying cry. Well, now we have a lunatic who has no idea what is in the Constitution, thinking he is Putin with absolute power. We have a Republican Party who is terrified of this nutcase. All the adults have left the room, only the sycophants remain. The party of law and order now subscribes to the Rule of Trump Law.
We have the religious right, the holier than thou Christians, who openly support a man who is a misogynist, a man who does not support religious freedom, a man who is clearly racist and will stab anyone in the back who is not totally loyal to him. What Would Jesus Do? Support this horrible example for our children? I don’t think so.
So, no, I will not stop being negative about our current state of affairs. To do so would be, in my opinion, un-American. It is our heritage to dissent and if that’s complaining, I’m fine with it.
On the other hand, I am up for the challenge where anything else is concerned. I don’t have the bracelet but I have a journal where I will jot down my lapses into negativity. Basically, I’m very curious to see just how average I am. Am I closer to 15 or 30? Hopefully, I’m well below average.
As I am sure you are well aware, negativity begets negativity. It’s highly contagious and it’s not enjoyable or amusing to live in that environment. Years back as a school administrator, I remember instituting Wonderful Wednesday…the one day a week where staff were asked not to complain. I loved it! Probably no one else did, but that was one day a week I truly looked forward to.
On my first day, everything was going swimmingly until I walked out onto our lanai to read the morning paper with my cup of Joe, sat down and looked over to the screen door. There, in front of God and the rest of the world, was a five foot long snake climbing up the screen. Of course, I screamed my bloody head off, running inside complaining bitterly about the Florida wildlife.
It’s Florida. They live here, too. ‘Nuff said. Quit yer complainin.’
Here’s the deal. The goal is to go complaint free for 21 days. The research suggests that’s how long it takes to change a habit. I’m going to challenge that research….I don’t believe that for a minute. But, who am I to question them?
So, if you complain or go negative, you have to move the bracelet to the other wrist and the 21 days starts anew. Evidently, it takes most people between four to eight months to go negative-free. According to the website, complaintfreeworld.org, the average person complains between 15 and 30 times a day. Wow! Who knew? Currently, over 11 million of these bracelets have been sold. Like I said….very late to the party.
Today is my Day One. And I am throwing in one caveat. Yes I will register my disdain for our current state of politics where we have a president that clearly obstructs justice and blatantly invites foreign countries to interfere in our elections. After two years of denying collusion, he unabashedly invites collusion! Of course, he is delusional.
Let Trump Be Trump was the rallying cry. Well, now we have a lunatic who has no idea what is in the Constitution, thinking he is Putin with absolute power. We have a Republican Party who is terrified of this nutcase. All the adults have left the room, only the sycophants remain. The party of law and order now subscribes to the Rule of Trump Law.
We have the religious right, the holier than thou Christians, who openly support a man who is a misogynist, a man who does not support religious freedom, a man who is clearly racist and will stab anyone in the back who is not totally loyal to him. What Would Jesus Do? Support this horrible example for our children? I don’t think so.
So, no, I will not stop being negative about our current state of affairs. To do so would be, in my opinion, un-American. It is our heritage to dissent and if that’s complaining, I’m fine with it.
On the other hand, I am up for the challenge where anything else is concerned. I don’t have the bracelet but I have a journal where I will jot down my lapses into negativity. Basically, I’m very curious to see just how average I am. Am I closer to 15 or 30? Hopefully, I’m well below average.
As I am sure you are well aware, negativity begets negativity. It’s highly contagious and it’s not enjoyable or amusing to live in that environment. Years back as a school administrator, I remember instituting Wonderful Wednesday…the one day a week where staff were asked not to complain. I loved it! Probably no one else did, but that was one day a week I truly looked forward to.
On my first day, everything was going swimmingly until I walked out onto our lanai to read the morning paper with my cup of Joe, sat down and looked over to the screen door. There, in front of God and the rest of the world, was a five foot long snake climbing up the screen. Of course, I screamed my bloody head off, running inside complaining bitterly about the Florida wildlife.
It’s Florida. They live here, too. ‘Nuff said. Quit yer complainin.’
Tuesday, October 1, 2019
Surprise Surprise
My plane, Southwest, of course, landed about 5:30 p.m. a week ago Saturday. A glorious, smooth two hour flight from Baltimore to Tampa. Blue skies, no turbulence, just like sitting in your living room albeit way too crowded as every seat was taken.
I knew BH would be waiting for me as I was eagerly waiting to see him after being away for almost two weeks. What had he been doing all that time? Well….you can take to the bank that he was playing bridge every day with his multiple partners. (They love it when I go away!)
That covers about 3 hours daily and I know he reads three newspapers and he loves to record anything he wants to see on television to avoid all commercials.
Do you know how much more enjoyable it is to watch Love It or List It or Caribbean Life or My Lottery Dream Home without having to wait through those boring ads to find out which house they chose? Or to watch a basketball game in one hour instead of three?
How fun to reunite after a little break from each other! We had lots to share on our hour and a half ride home. However, I was starving so we stopped at one of our favorite Italian restaurants, Asaro’s, on the way home. It is not his favorite thing to eat out unlike me who could eat out every day of the week. I could tell he was a little disappointed that we didn’t go straight home, Since the days are getting shorter, it was almost dark by the time we drove up to the house.
“Did you notice how white the sidewalk is?” Well, yeah, now that you mention it. It’s practically gleaming, especially, next to our neighbor’s. OMG!!! He hired Marco, the power washer to clean all the pavers in the driveway and on the lanai. Really, it’s the little things in life that light me up!
For the past six years, I have been struggling to attack the mold growing in and around those pavers. It is a never-ending battle. Now, there’s even mold on the cage screens from watering the plants behind the pool. When I awoke the next day and saw those pavers free from mold, I could’ve kissed the ground! There’s one area where the water accumulates under the oleander branches that was literally a black 3 foot square. So lovely at the entrance to the house….such a wonderful first impression. But now, voila! Gone!
Even the screens looked brand new. I cannot tell you how many hours I’ve spent researching the best way to clean moldy screens. I’ve got that bleach and vinegar formula down pat, but did I even get off the couch to attack them? Nope. Marco is my new best friend.
But that was just the beginning. BH fixed my clogged up bathroom sink. He says it’s from my hair but I swear I’m not washing my hair in that sink. He spent over an hour scrubbing our bathtub, which we have never used in over six years! How in the world can a bathtub get so dirty from nonuse? Evidently, there’s a lot of dust in this house.
The toilets were cleaner than they’ve ever been. The floors were Swiffered. The rugs were washed and vacuumed. The outdoor table had been Windexed along with the sliding glass doors. Even the refrigerator and pantry had been cleaned out and reorganized.
Our new recliner couch was in its place awaiting my return. And I wondered what he was doing while I was away. To return to a beautiful, clean house…all that work to surprise me. Truth. I couldn’t have been happier or more grateful.
Years ago, my husband, Kevin, surprised me a couple times after returning from visiting my parents. Generally, those surprises took the form of stray dogs he fell in love with at the local shelter. Noooo…. However, BH and I have a pact….no more animals! K
A clean house with power washed pavers. Oh yeah, now we’re talking!
I knew BH would be waiting for me as I was eagerly waiting to see him after being away for almost two weeks. What had he been doing all that time? Well….you can take to the bank that he was playing bridge every day with his multiple partners. (They love it when I go away!)
That covers about 3 hours daily and I know he reads three newspapers and he loves to record anything he wants to see on television to avoid all commercials.
Do you know how much more enjoyable it is to watch Love It or List It or Caribbean Life or My Lottery Dream Home without having to wait through those boring ads to find out which house they chose? Or to watch a basketball game in one hour instead of three?
How fun to reunite after a little break from each other! We had lots to share on our hour and a half ride home. However, I was starving so we stopped at one of our favorite Italian restaurants, Asaro’s, on the way home. It is not his favorite thing to eat out unlike me who could eat out every day of the week. I could tell he was a little disappointed that we didn’t go straight home, Since the days are getting shorter, it was almost dark by the time we drove up to the house.
“Did you notice how white the sidewalk is?” Well, yeah, now that you mention it. It’s practically gleaming, especially, next to our neighbor’s. OMG!!! He hired Marco, the power washer to clean all the pavers in the driveway and on the lanai. Really, it’s the little things in life that light me up!
For the past six years, I have been struggling to attack the mold growing in and around those pavers. It is a never-ending battle. Now, there’s even mold on the cage screens from watering the plants behind the pool. When I awoke the next day and saw those pavers free from mold, I could’ve kissed the ground! There’s one area where the water accumulates under the oleander branches that was literally a black 3 foot square. So lovely at the entrance to the house….such a wonderful first impression. But now, voila! Gone!
Even the screens looked brand new. I cannot tell you how many hours I’ve spent researching the best way to clean moldy screens. I’ve got that bleach and vinegar formula down pat, but did I even get off the couch to attack them? Nope. Marco is my new best friend.
But that was just the beginning. BH fixed my clogged up bathroom sink. He says it’s from my hair but I swear I’m not washing my hair in that sink. He spent over an hour scrubbing our bathtub, which we have never used in over six years! How in the world can a bathtub get so dirty from nonuse? Evidently, there’s a lot of dust in this house.
The toilets were cleaner than they’ve ever been. The floors were Swiffered. The rugs were washed and vacuumed. The outdoor table had been Windexed along with the sliding glass doors. Even the refrigerator and pantry had been cleaned out and reorganized.
Our new recliner couch was in its place awaiting my return. And I wondered what he was doing while I was away. To return to a beautiful, clean house…all that work to surprise me. Truth. I couldn’t have been happier or more grateful.
Years ago, my husband, Kevin, surprised me a couple times after returning from visiting my parents. Generally, those surprises took the form of stray dogs he fell in love with at the local shelter. Noooo…. However, BH and I have a pact….no more animals! K
A clean house with power washed pavers. Oh yeah, now we’re talking!
Friday, September 20, 2019
Sofa Saga
As I have related here, I have designated our Florida home our “forever home.” Of course, at our age, that’s a bit premature but for the foreseeable future, which I hope is many years, Stoneybrook is it. Occasionally, we look at other homes closer to the beach or downtown Venice, but we always come home and say, “we love it here.”
In April, I began the redo. First, the grandkids room, then the guest room, then the office and now the “great” room….the living, dining, kitchen “open concept” at its finest, opening to the pool and the woods. The view of our little tropical paradise.
Got rid of the counter top dining set and replaced it with a white round table coastal style with six seagrass woven chairs. Check. Now to attack the living room. The white sofa had to go.
The great sofa hunt began on a Sunday afternoon. BH mentioned that Baer’s was having a big sale. That’s all I had to hear. I had my heart set on a leather power reclining sofa. Why? Because his daughter added a movie room in her basement and we had just been there and I fell in love with those movie chairs.
When we were on vacation in South Carolina, the local cinema had re-outfitted its theaters with those marvelous reclining chairs. We loved them so much, we went to see movies we had absolutely no intention of seeing just so we could recline in comfort.
I had visions of installing that kind of luxury in my own living space. A furniture store can be a bit overwhelming to me, but, at least, I had a germ of an idea. For about two hours, we amused ourselves with those recliner buttons seeking the one that was ‘it.’ And find it, we did. But, naturally, it is not in BH’s DNA to buy it. We needed to look around and see if we could find a better bargain online.
Back to Costco online. And, there it was. A savings of $400. BH wanted to pull the trigger. I agreed. Delivery was scheduled for the next week. I am over the moon! So excited! However, there was a catch. The sofa was boxed and weighed 340 pounds and they would only deliver it to the threshold of the front door.
Even BH was worried about the 340 pounds. How to get the box all the way into the living room, then assemble it. Hmmm….reading and following directions are not my strong suits, but he is much better than me. A neighbor was enlisted ….also in our senior category. But, we prevailed. An hour later, we had a power sofa.
I pushed the buttons on the left side. Nothing. I pushed the buttons on the right side. Nothing. The damn thing didn’t work. Not only that, it was the most uncomfortable sofa I had ever sat on. It was as comfortable as a stone bench.
BH called Costco and told them we didn’t want it. “You need to rebox it,” was the reply. The manufacturer would call in a few days to set up a pick up date. Sometimes, you just have to laugh. REBOX THIS THING? Ironically, we were thrilled the sofa had been delivered on recycling day so that box was long gone. He even called UPS who could send us a box but it wouldn’t be there for a week or more. Put a hold on that.
The manufacturer called a couple of days later, arranged a pick up day with a 12 hour window (8 am to 8 pm) and we were clear with them that it wasn’t boxed. “Just take apart the sofa and push it back to the front door.” Of course, we were a bit nervous that we’d push that monstrosity back to the front door and they wouldn’t take it because it wasn’t boxed.
Back to the drawing board. We needed a sofa. By this time, it was Labor Day weekend…furniture sales galore. It was a long day, strolling through furniture store after furniture store looking for a new power reclining sofa, taking pictures of our favorites. The last store we visited was Baer’s. And, there it was. The one I loved from the beginning. BH agreed. The best part of this deal is they moved it all the way into the house and would set it up. These are the little details I neglected to think about originally.
Meanwhile, we still had that monster in our house that we had to get rid of. However, they were true to their word. The pick up guys came, got that thing loaded up and out of our house in three minutes. And, now, our happy sofa has moved in and will be appreciated forever.
Why, I ever agreed to getting that sofa online I will never understand. Who buys a sofa without sitting on it?! One of my dumber moves. But, quite the saga.
In April, I began the redo. First, the grandkids room, then the guest room, then the office and now the “great” room….the living, dining, kitchen “open concept” at its finest, opening to the pool and the woods. The view of our little tropical paradise.
Got rid of the counter top dining set and replaced it with a white round table coastal style with six seagrass woven chairs. Check. Now to attack the living room. The white sofa had to go.
The great sofa hunt began on a Sunday afternoon. BH mentioned that Baer’s was having a big sale. That’s all I had to hear. I had my heart set on a leather power reclining sofa. Why? Because his daughter added a movie room in her basement and we had just been there and I fell in love with those movie chairs.
When we were on vacation in South Carolina, the local cinema had re-outfitted its theaters with those marvelous reclining chairs. We loved them so much, we went to see movies we had absolutely no intention of seeing just so we could recline in comfort.
I had visions of installing that kind of luxury in my own living space. A furniture store can be a bit overwhelming to me, but, at least, I had a germ of an idea. For about two hours, we amused ourselves with those recliner buttons seeking the one that was ‘it.’ And find it, we did. But, naturally, it is not in BH’s DNA to buy it. We needed to look around and see if we could find a better bargain online.
Back to Costco online. And, there it was. A savings of $400. BH wanted to pull the trigger. I agreed. Delivery was scheduled for the next week. I am over the moon! So excited! However, there was a catch. The sofa was boxed and weighed 340 pounds and they would only deliver it to the threshold of the front door.
Even BH was worried about the 340 pounds. How to get the box all the way into the living room, then assemble it. Hmmm….reading and following directions are not my strong suits, but he is much better than me. A neighbor was enlisted ….also in our senior category. But, we prevailed. An hour later, we had a power sofa.
I pushed the buttons on the left side. Nothing. I pushed the buttons on the right side. Nothing. The damn thing didn’t work. Not only that, it was the most uncomfortable sofa I had ever sat on. It was as comfortable as a stone bench.
BH called Costco and told them we didn’t want it. “You need to rebox it,” was the reply. The manufacturer would call in a few days to set up a pick up date. Sometimes, you just have to laugh. REBOX THIS THING? Ironically, we were thrilled the sofa had been delivered on recycling day so that box was long gone. He even called UPS who could send us a box but it wouldn’t be there for a week or more. Put a hold on that.
The manufacturer called a couple of days later, arranged a pick up day with a 12 hour window (8 am to 8 pm) and we were clear with them that it wasn’t boxed. “Just take apart the sofa and push it back to the front door.” Of course, we were a bit nervous that we’d push that monstrosity back to the front door and they wouldn’t take it because it wasn’t boxed.
Back to the drawing board. We needed a sofa. By this time, it was Labor Day weekend…furniture sales galore. It was a long day, strolling through furniture store after furniture store looking for a new power reclining sofa, taking pictures of our favorites. The last store we visited was Baer’s. And, there it was. The one I loved from the beginning. BH agreed. The best part of this deal is they moved it all the way into the house and would set it up. These are the little details I neglected to think about originally.
Meanwhile, we still had that monster in our house that we had to get rid of. However, they were true to their word. The pick up guys came, got that thing loaded up and out of our house in three minutes. And, now, our happy sofa has moved in and will be appreciated forever.
Why, I ever agreed to getting that sofa online I will never understand. Who buys a sofa without sitting on it?! One of my dumber moves. But, quite the saga.
Monday, September 16, 2019
No Good Deed
You know the rest….no good deed goes unpunished. At least, I think that’s the phrasing. Decades when I was down to quarters in my bank account (Truth!), I joined the Southern Poverty Law Center and supported public television. But, I believed in doing that. And, although, my contribution to PBS has elapsed, I still am a stalwart donor to SPLC.
And, there’s the rub. There is not a day that goes by that I am not reminded by them to up my membership. I get countless notices by mail and email. They send me their teaching materials, their books and their newsletters. And, I’m grateful that they exist and do the important work they do. But, I cannot read any of it. Why? Because it depresses the hell out of me.
It just reminds me that the more things change, the more they stay the same. The segregation and violence of my youth back in the 50s has been replaced by the same racist and hateful incidents of today and openly sanctioned by the President of the allegedly Free World.
And, so, I do what I can to make the world a better place. In my case, it’s making contributions to organizations like Oxfam and the League of Women Voters. Causes that support environmental concerns and world hunger. And what happens as a result? More of the same. Every similar cause appears in my mailbox asking for my support, sending me free address labels so I’ll feel guilty every time I use them if I don’t pay up.
Then, there are the online orders. I practically order everything online. I know I’m one of millions responsible for the demise of malls and shopping centers but, because I can’t walk for miles anymore, I have a good excuse. I am a fan of overstock.com and have spent a fair amount on rugs, pillows and other household goods. But, does that give Joss & Main and Wayfair an excuse to clutter up my promotions mailbox?
I bet you’re thinking….just unsubscribe. Oh yeah….sounds so easy. I cannot tell you the number of times I have unsubscribed only to have them continue the onslaught the next week! Not to speak of the unreasonable of sites I need to unsubscribe. Where to begin?!!
And then there are the Democrats. Of which I am one. Yes, I donate monthly to Act Blue. Trust me, I am definitely rethinking that. Now, I am ripe for every “emergency” in every political race in every state in the union. If I contribute that day, it will be matched by 2x, 3x, 5x, 10x. I was a sucker for about a month then I got jaded. Are you kidding me? My monthly contribution isn’t enough? Really? I just don’t trust what you’re sending me! In the time I’ve been writing this, I’ve received 10 requests for ‘mo money ‘mo money!
I have even sent money to some of the candidates, so I am one of the minimum 130,000 for four candidates all of whom ended up on the stage last week. Kamala, Elizabeth, Pete and Beto have all benefitted by my meager support, but, evidently, that wasn’t enough because my new best friends need to reach out to me multiple times a day! It’s just a bit overwhelming. All this love….
Did someone think email was a good idea? I use it, of course, but how often do you actually get an email you actually want to read? Especially, now that I’m retired and not required to read any work related stuff, I can count on one hand any truly important emails I get in a month. The most enjoyable ones are from you, my friends.
This morning, I did a huge dump. Hmmm…maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words. I actually dumped about 300 emails into the trash. And since I’ve been writing this, I’ve received 30 emails that I will never read and will be dumped as well.
All in all, I want to do my part. I want to support causes that make a positive difference in the world. I just don’t want to be punished by a never-ending bombardment of mail and emails for what I think is doing the right thing.
And, there’s the rub. There is not a day that goes by that I am not reminded by them to up my membership. I get countless notices by mail and email. They send me their teaching materials, their books and their newsletters. And, I’m grateful that they exist and do the important work they do. But, I cannot read any of it. Why? Because it depresses the hell out of me.
It just reminds me that the more things change, the more they stay the same. The segregation and violence of my youth back in the 50s has been replaced by the same racist and hateful incidents of today and openly sanctioned by the President of the allegedly Free World.
And, so, I do what I can to make the world a better place. In my case, it’s making contributions to organizations like Oxfam and the League of Women Voters. Causes that support environmental concerns and world hunger. And what happens as a result? More of the same. Every similar cause appears in my mailbox asking for my support, sending me free address labels so I’ll feel guilty every time I use them if I don’t pay up.
Then, there are the online orders. I practically order everything online. I know I’m one of millions responsible for the demise of malls and shopping centers but, because I can’t walk for miles anymore, I have a good excuse. I am a fan of overstock.com and have spent a fair amount on rugs, pillows and other household goods. But, does that give Joss & Main and Wayfair an excuse to clutter up my promotions mailbox?
I bet you’re thinking….just unsubscribe. Oh yeah….sounds so easy. I cannot tell you the number of times I have unsubscribed only to have them continue the onslaught the next week! Not to speak of the unreasonable of sites I need to unsubscribe. Where to begin?!!
And then there are the Democrats. Of which I am one. Yes, I donate monthly to Act Blue. Trust me, I am definitely rethinking that. Now, I am ripe for every “emergency” in every political race in every state in the union. If I contribute that day, it will be matched by 2x, 3x, 5x, 10x. I was a sucker for about a month then I got jaded. Are you kidding me? My monthly contribution isn’t enough? Really? I just don’t trust what you’re sending me! In the time I’ve been writing this, I’ve received 10 requests for ‘mo money ‘mo money!
I have even sent money to some of the candidates, so I am one of the minimum 130,000 for four candidates all of whom ended up on the stage last week. Kamala, Elizabeth, Pete and Beto have all benefitted by my meager support, but, evidently, that wasn’t enough because my new best friends need to reach out to me multiple times a day! It’s just a bit overwhelming. All this love….
Did someone think email was a good idea? I use it, of course, but how often do you actually get an email you actually want to read? Especially, now that I’m retired and not required to read any work related stuff, I can count on one hand any truly important emails I get in a month. The most enjoyable ones are from you, my friends.
This morning, I did a huge dump. Hmmm…maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words. I actually dumped about 300 emails into the trash. And since I’ve been writing this, I’ve received 30 emails that I will never read and will be dumped as well.
All in all, I want to do my part. I want to support causes that make a positive difference in the world. I just don’t want to be punished by a never-ending bombardment of mail and emails for what I think is doing the right thing.
Tuesday, September 3, 2019
Is He or Isn't He?
Well, he certainly is taking his sweet time. Threatening to throw chaos into countless lives, including mine. You know who I’m talking about. That Dorian. Dorian, supposedly a unisex name, although there is no record of any female being named Dorian since 1880. That may change if a baby is conceived during this event. You know how that goes.
Today, I am 72. How the hell did that happen? I guess the important thing is that it did. Grateful for that. Fifty years ago, I thought people in their 70s were all senile and decrepit. Ahhh….youth can be pretty ignorant. What did I know? Not much. And, now, getting out of bed can be a bit of an adventure, but I can’t wait to start a new day!
This was my East Coast Florida week. I couldn’t wait to go back to Neptune Beach, a little north of Jax Beach. I love that place…great food, great music, and best of all the oceanside room. Is there anything better than being lulled to sleep by those waves crashing in rhythm?
Dorian was just sitting there like a bump on a log out in the Caribbean so we were packed and set to go. Just looked like rain and a little wind to me. I called the hotel Sunday to check in only to be told we would be the only guests there. Okay, I’m fine with that. Visions of being pampered and having every need attended to.
Two hours later, I got an urgent phone call and countless emails telling me not to come and if I’m on my way to turn around and find another place to stay. They were being evacuated. OMG! I cannot tell you how bummed BH was. Why? Because he really wanted to experience a hurricane.
A few years ago, we were supposed to go to a destination wedding in Montego Bay with a hurricane threatening to break up the happy party. He went. I stayed home. I do not do hurricanes. The day he got there they shut down the hotel and he got the last seat out on the last flight out. He had really wanted to stay.
Next came the call from Expedia telling me St. Augustine Beach was also evacuated. Dadgummit!! I have not been to St. Augustine in 60 years and really wanted to relish in its history, which, of course, I would not have been able to do this week anyway.
As you are probably well aware, I had already handed over my money to Expedia and even though Dorian had canceled my nights, Expedia was not handing back my money. What to do? What to do? Where else would you like to go, they implored. Hmmm…I’ve always wanted to go back to Marco Island to explore that area. I can always pretend to be a muckety muck.
Are you watching the weather channel? Every three hours, there’s a “new” report. BH thinks
it’s the best job in the world…you can be consistently wrong and keep you job. Me? I would go crazy trying to think of a different way to say the same thing over and over. Especially with this storm which is the slowest moving storm ever. Whoever heard of a storm moving a 1 mile per hour? At this rate, it’ll end up in Boston for Christmas!
So, tomorrow, we leave for Marco for a couple of nights on the water albeit west coast water, whose waves are not going to lull me to sleep. But, we will eat, drink, be merry and love our happy birthday visit!
Today, I am 72. How the hell did that happen? I guess the important thing is that it did. Grateful for that. Fifty years ago, I thought people in their 70s were all senile and decrepit. Ahhh….youth can be pretty ignorant. What did I know? Not much. And, now, getting out of bed can be a bit of an adventure, but I can’t wait to start a new day!
This was my East Coast Florida week. I couldn’t wait to go back to Neptune Beach, a little north of Jax Beach. I love that place…great food, great music, and best of all the oceanside room. Is there anything better than being lulled to sleep by those waves crashing in rhythm?
Dorian was just sitting there like a bump on a log out in the Caribbean so we were packed and set to go. Just looked like rain and a little wind to me. I called the hotel Sunday to check in only to be told we would be the only guests there. Okay, I’m fine with that. Visions of being pampered and having every need attended to.
Two hours later, I got an urgent phone call and countless emails telling me not to come and if I’m on my way to turn around and find another place to stay. They were being evacuated. OMG! I cannot tell you how bummed BH was. Why? Because he really wanted to experience a hurricane.
A few years ago, we were supposed to go to a destination wedding in Montego Bay with a hurricane threatening to break up the happy party. He went. I stayed home. I do not do hurricanes. The day he got there they shut down the hotel and he got the last seat out on the last flight out. He had really wanted to stay.
Next came the call from Expedia telling me St. Augustine Beach was also evacuated. Dadgummit!! I have not been to St. Augustine in 60 years and really wanted to relish in its history, which, of course, I would not have been able to do this week anyway.
As you are probably well aware, I had already handed over my money to Expedia and even though Dorian had canceled my nights, Expedia was not handing back my money. What to do? What to do? Where else would you like to go, they implored. Hmmm…I’ve always wanted to go back to Marco Island to explore that area. I can always pretend to be a muckety muck.
Are you watching the weather channel? Every three hours, there’s a “new” report. BH thinks
it’s the best job in the world…you can be consistently wrong and keep you job. Me? I would go crazy trying to think of a different way to say the same thing over and over. Especially with this storm which is the slowest moving storm ever. Whoever heard of a storm moving a 1 mile per hour? At this rate, it’ll end up in Boston for Christmas!
So, tomorrow, we leave for Marco for a couple of nights on the water albeit west coast water, whose waves are not going to lull me to sleep. But, we will eat, drink, be merry and love our happy birthday visit!
Tuesday, August 27, 2019
Another Full Day
August 27th. It’s a busy day. Up at the crack of dawn, which is a hair past seven these mornings. Gotta sip a cuppa with the newspaper out on the lanai under the fan whirling overhead at full speed. Every day it’s the same at daylight….80 degrees and 80% humidity. Another 80-80 morning.
Naturally, there’s my 40 minute workout followed by another 40 minute recuperation period, usually playing Sudoku or Mahjongg solitaire online. I am addicted and I abhor it. I am having arguments with myself while BH is reading The Wall Street Journal and other sources of intelligence.
But, I move into gear when I hear a beep. Got a message. It’s the Pamaro Furniture Shop. The sideboard will be arriving at 3. This is not as exciting as the birth of my new granddaughter a week ago, but…..I can’t wait!!! It’s part of the Great Makeover. Costco, I love you, and you were there when I needed you six years ago but, now, I want to do it my way.
So that countertop dining set that seats eight left last week and the new coastal set for six arrived. Think white distressed round table and woven seagrass chairs. Of course, there’s a new rug to replace the stained one we could never clean. Never thought to look on its underside where it explicitly stated it had to be dry cleaned. What was I thinking? I have never sent a rug to the cleaners and I’m not in my eighth decade starting now!
Ahhhh….the sideboard. I love how it looks, but I love the storage even more. I am a clean lines kind of girl. I like when everything has its place and I don’t have to look at those cluttered counters and tables. But, first I have to clean.
I hate cleaning but when I’m on a tear, I get ridiculously anal. I’m in a race to get it all done before the furniture guys get here. That means cleaning the baseboards, the window sills, the plantation shutters, changing the rug, vacuuming, washing the floor, measuring the wall where it will be placed. I morph into a cleaning lunatic.
And, then, I am in agony regretting my age and take a few ibuprofen, hoping I’ll be able to move again before the day is over. It is then that I remember another reason today is so special. Louise Penny’s latest in her Detective Gamache series is finally out!! As far as detective series, she is my all time favorite! This is #15. Later, I’ll be hanging out at the village of Three Pines in southern Canada with my old friends, Clara, Merna, Ruth and her duck, Rosa.
Before that can happen, there’s the yard. It’s relentless. It’s a jungle out there and after four weeks on the road, it took me days to gather my courage to attack it. Now, I’ve got a plan. Every evening around 7, I get out there armed with my clippers, trowel and rake. I set a goal like lop the dead fronds off the pygmy palms or dig up the weeds in the beds on one side of the house or trim the bougainvillea which is now higher than the pool cage or power wash the mold off the lanai.
Forty minutes later, I just want to jump in the pool in my clothes. I’m covered with sweat and have no energy to change into a swimsuit. More ibuprofen, please.
You may ask, where’s BH? Well, he is out there cleaning up all the stuff I’ve trimmed which is enough to fill at least three garbage barrels. He’s the one mopping the floors. He’s the one who keeps all the container gardens in perfect order.
And, he’s the one who loves to go to Home Depot or Lowe’s and fill shopping carts full of penta plants, ixoras, scheffleras and a myriad of other plants to add to the jungle we’ve got growing out there. That was his goal today. Get more plants in the ground. Oh, and, of course, get a dozen fresh donuts from our local bakery. We love our plants, and, yes, we’re nuts!
It is exactly six o’clock. I have one hour to return to the village of Three Pines before I put on my gardening gloves. Another beautiful day comes to an end.
Naturally, there’s my 40 minute workout followed by another 40 minute recuperation period, usually playing Sudoku or Mahjongg solitaire online. I am addicted and I abhor it. I am having arguments with myself while BH is reading The Wall Street Journal and other sources of intelligence.
But, I move into gear when I hear a beep. Got a message. It’s the Pamaro Furniture Shop. The sideboard will be arriving at 3. This is not as exciting as the birth of my new granddaughter a week ago, but…..I can’t wait!!! It’s part of the Great Makeover. Costco, I love you, and you were there when I needed you six years ago but, now, I want to do it my way.
So that countertop dining set that seats eight left last week and the new coastal set for six arrived. Think white distressed round table and woven seagrass chairs. Of course, there’s a new rug to replace the stained one we could never clean. Never thought to look on its underside where it explicitly stated it had to be dry cleaned. What was I thinking? I have never sent a rug to the cleaners and I’m not in my eighth decade starting now!
Ahhhh….the sideboard. I love how it looks, but I love the storage even more. I am a clean lines kind of girl. I like when everything has its place and I don’t have to look at those cluttered counters and tables. But, first I have to clean.
I hate cleaning but when I’m on a tear, I get ridiculously anal. I’m in a race to get it all done before the furniture guys get here. That means cleaning the baseboards, the window sills, the plantation shutters, changing the rug, vacuuming, washing the floor, measuring the wall where it will be placed. I morph into a cleaning lunatic.
And, then, I am in agony regretting my age and take a few ibuprofen, hoping I’ll be able to move again before the day is over. It is then that I remember another reason today is so special. Louise Penny’s latest in her Detective Gamache series is finally out!! As far as detective series, she is my all time favorite! This is #15. Later, I’ll be hanging out at the village of Three Pines in southern Canada with my old friends, Clara, Merna, Ruth and her duck, Rosa.
Before that can happen, there’s the yard. It’s relentless. It’s a jungle out there and after four weeks on the road, it took me days to gather my courage to attack it. Now, I’ve got a plan. Every evening around 7, I get out there armed with my clippers, trowel and rake. I set a goal like lop the dead fronds off the pygmy palms or dig up the weeds in the beds on one side of the house or trim the bougainvillea which is now higher than the pool cage or power wash the mold off the lanai.
Forty minutes later, I just want to jump in the pool in my clothes. I’m covered with sweat and have no energy to change into a swimsuit. More ibuprofen, please.
You may ask, where’s BH? Well, he is out there cleaning up all the stuff I’ve trimmed which is enough to fill at least three garbage barrels. He’s the one mopping the floors. He’s the one who keeps all the container gardens in perfect order.
And, he’s the one who loves to go to Home Depot or Lowe’s and fill shopping carts full of penta plants, ixoras, scheffleras and a myriad of other plants to add to the jungle we’ve got growing out there. That was his goal today. Get more plants in the ground. Oh, and, of course, get a dozen fresh donuts from our local bakery. We love our plants, and, yes, we’re nuts!
It is exactly six o’clock. I have one hour to return to the village of Three Pines before I put on my gardening gloves. Another beautiful day comes to an end.
Tuesday, August 20, 2019
Kerry Ann
Just over 18 months ago, I got a call from Kerry, “I’m in the fight of my life. I was just diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.” I’m forcing myself to be calm, not scream about the unfairness of it, just stay in the moment with her as she tells me her story.
She is one of my dearest friends, a former colleague who sat with me through way too many boring principal and assistant principal meetings trying not to crack each other up with the inanity of it all. Of course, we were highly unsuccessful. She always had this mischievous gleam in her eye and a smile that could light up the universe. From the moment we met, we felt like kindred souls thrown together to weather whatever entered our paths.
After 30 years in education, she retired in June of 2017. About six months later after inexplicably losing weight, she got the diagnosis. She was 58 years old. Too young. No family history. Random. My own sense of it is that she was under tremendous stress and had to retire. She just didn’t have the energy to continue. I think she’d been sick a long time but it was hidden deep in her body. Bottom line. It just sucked.
But, this girl was a true warrior and, blessedly, married to a man’s man who turned out to be the most loving and compassionate caregiver I have ever witnessed. They faced all the doctor’s appointments and chemo treatments together as a team.
When she lost her gorgeous blond hair, she got a wig that made her look like she was 20 again. Head scarves? I swear she had one for every outfit. As she lost weight, she went shopping in Bloomingdales or Nordstroms.
Team Kerry set goals. “I just want to be able to live through summer.” “I want to get up to my family’s cabin in Wisconsin one more time.” Two months before she passed, she flew to her daughter’s law school graduation in Orlando and from there to see the birth of her second grandchild in Illinois.
The woman was heroic. Down to only 76 pounds, she dressed to the nines for that graduation and wore high heels that I haven’t been able to wear in about three decades. Even as her health was deteriorating, she maintained that beautiful smile and twinkle in her eye.
In February, she and her Steve flew to the west coast of Florida to visit us and then on to Marco Island where she met her daughters. She was all about the beach. While she was there she texted me pictures of her with her girls, all in their skimpy bathing suits. She just didn’t care about vanity. She didn’t care that people were staring at her. She was thrilled to have a few days on the beach with her girls, knowing that in all probability, it would be their last.
For her, it was all about joy. Grabbing those moments and holding them close. And, yes, she sought out the Mayo Clinic and immunotherapy and other treatments that may have added days, months, even years to her life. But, realistically, she knew the chances were pretty small.
Earlier this year, she said she knew she was living on borrowed time. And, on July 21st, the time ran out. A few days before, she had her daughter call me. She wanted to FaceTime. Stupidly, I protested saying I’d just gotten up and hadn’t brushed my hair.
But, of course, I did and there she was lying in bed at her beloved Shady Side home overlooking the West River, barely able to whisper, “I just want to tell you how much I love you….we’ll always be sisters.” “Oh, yes,” I replied, “we will meet again, my love.”
And she left us. She left a legacy of a life well lived and a legacy of how to face the worst adversity with grace, courage, dignity and honesty. One in a million. I miss you, girlfriend.
She is one of my dearest friends, a former colleague who sat with me through way too many boring principal and assistant principal meetings trying not to crack each other up with the inanity of it all. Of course, we were highly unsuccessful. She always had this mischievous gleam in her eye and a smile that could light up the universe. From the moment we met, we felt like kindred souls thrown together to weather whatever entered our paths.
After 30 years in education, she retired in June of 2017. About six months later after inexplicably losing weight, she got the diagnosis. She was 58 years old. Too young. No family history. Random. My own sense of it is that she was under tremendous stress and had to retire. She just didn’t have the energy to continue. I think she’d been sick a long time but it was hidden deep in her body. Bottom line. It just sucked.
But, this girl was a true warrior and, blessedly, married to a man’s man who turned out to be the most loving and compassionate caregiver I have ever witnessed. They faced all the doctor’s appointments and chemo treatments together as a team.
When she lost her gorgeous blond hair, she got a wig that made her look like she was 20 again. Head scarves? I swear she had one for every outfit. As she lost weight, she went shopping in Bloomingdales or Nordstroms.
Team Kerry set goals. “I just want to be able to live through summer.” “I want to get up to my family’s cabin in Wisconsin one more time.” Two months before she passed, she flew to her daughter’s law school graduation in Orlando and from there to see the birth of her second grandchild in Illinois.
The woman was heroic. Down to only 76 pounds, she dressed to the nines for that graduation and wore high heels that I haven’t been able to wear in about three decades. Even as her health was deteriorating, she maintained that beautiful smile and twinkle in her eye.
In February, she and her Steve flew to the west coast of Florida to visit us and then on to Marco Island where she met her daughters. She was all about the beach. While she was there she texted me pictures of her with her girls, all in their skimpy bathing suits. She just didn’t care about vanity. She didn’t care that people were staring at her. She was thrilled to have a few days on the beach with her girls, knowing that in all probability, it would be their last.
For her, it was all about joy. Grabbing those moments and holding them close. And, yes, she sought out the Mayo Clinic and immunotherapy and other treatments that may have added days, months, even years to her life. But, realistically, she knew the chances were pretty small.
Earlier this year, she said she knew she was living on borrowed time. And, on July 21st, the time ran out. A few days before, she had her daughter call me. She wanted to FaceTime. Stupidly, I protested saying I’d just gotten up and hadn’t brushed my hair.
But, of course, I did and there she was lying in bed at her beloved Shady Side home overlooking the West River, barely able to whisper, “I just want to tell you how much I love you….we’ll always be sisters.” “Oh, yes,” I replied, “we will meet again, my love.”
And she left us. She left a legacy of a life well lived and a legacy of how to face the worst adversity with grace, courage, dignity and honesty. One in a million. I miss you, girlfriend.
Thursday, July 18, 2019
Forever Home
Actually, I’m not talking about the new Property Bros show. In fact, I’ve never watched it, but I can relate. After having given up our schizophrenic life between Maryland and Florida, we’ve gone through a bit of a metamorphosis. Do we stay in our Stoneybrook home or should be move to another home on Venice Island?
Stoneybrook is a ‘gated’ community about 15 miles from the island and, hence, the beach. Gated. Really? I never thought in a million years I’d agree to live in a gated community. It’s a royal pain in the you know where. Not easy for having guests. Not ideal for me, the social butterfly. Perfect for BH, a man of solitude.
I guess the upside of that is it’s Florida. Home of the lunatics, where novelist Carl Hiaasen can get a book idea daily on the six o’clock news. Just this week: Naked Florida man wearing bra burglarizes several cars in New Port Richie parking lot or Sarasota father accused of using zip ties to bind son to a piece of plywood at girlfriend’s home. No wonder the state has mandated mental health classes in public schools starting in the 6th grade.
I love the island, though. The quaint downtown built in the fabulous 1920s era. Mediterranean style architecture, wonderful restaurants, specialty shops, beautiful Royal palms lining the street all the way down to the beach. Oh, yeah, I want to live there.
The hunt commences. Most of the houses were built in the 50s and 60s…choppy rooms, low ceilings, tiny masters, tiny bathrooms, many without pools….such a bargain at $600,000. Or, you can build or get new construction starting at $1,000,000. Yes, we’d like a bigger yard and a bigger lanai and sliders from the master to the pool and a three-car garage and, of course, waterfront.
And, then, I stop and take stock and think, “What are you doing?!!!” We don’t need those things. Go bigger at 70? Dumbest idea ever. Not to speak of the fact that it would cost us at least 5x what we’re paying now. Even dumber. Plus, after seeing dozens of homes, we always liked ours better. At least, enough that we weren’t willing to pull up stakes and move. We have new construction, with high ceilings and all tiled floors and an open floor plan opening up to a pool and hot tub with a view of tropical plants and wildlife.
I could not in my wildest dreams give up new construction to completely renovate a house from top to bottom. Those days are so done. Yes, I loved doing that in New England with turn of the century houses but the thought of work at my age makes me ill. At least, that kind of work. Who am I kidding? I’m not fond of any type of work these days. I have retired and I take that literally.
The decision has been made. Stoneybrook will be our forever home. For the past few months, I have been tackling some of the rooms to make them cozier and more my style. When we furnished this house we had three weeks to move in and we had absolutely nothing, so, basically, our house is Costco chic. Which I am not denigrating because I love the furniture. Besides, it’s the only furniture BH and I could both agree on.
The irony is that he favors bright colors and has a more flamboyant style yet he is very conservative and fairly predictable. After some of the relationships I’ve been in, that is a very good thing. No complaints. And I’m the complete opposite. I favor a style with clean lines and muted colors.
So far, with BH’s blessing, I’ve finished the grandkids’ room and the guest bedroom. Finally, this week, the office is done, done, done. The TV has been mounted on the wall, while the TV stand found a new home at Goodwill. After four backbreaking hours, BH put together a corner bookshelf/storage unit. He was in such pain he actually broke down and saw a chiropractor. This is a man who absolutely refuses to see a doctor for anything!
My final act was to hang pictures with all new frames from Amazon. Fifty years later, we finally framed and hung our degrees. Is that crazy? Really, who cares now? I had this vision of a gallery wall with old family pictures of my grandparents, my parents’ wedding picture, the homestead in Mobile. But, I will tell you I am so intimidated by hanging pictures that I never hung anything on the walls in my Columbia condo and I was there for 10 years.
But, I was rescued by BH’s sister, Sandy, who researched gallery walls and together we laid them out on the floor. With the help of a measuring tape, a level, a pencil and hanging strips, it took three of us to get it right. Those strips are amazing. I will never put another hole in a wall unless the picture weights over 50 pounds.
I admit I tend to be a perfectionist….if the picture is a teeny bit crooked, I can be obsessive. I will say, though, I am loving this gallery wall. It was the finishing touch, and now I get such a sense of satisfaction of seeing those pictures on the wall instead of stacked on the floor. It’s the little things in life, isn’t it?
I have two other rooms that could use a little enhancing but then, again, this is our forever home! Lots of time.
Stoneybrook is a ‘gated’ community about 15 miles from the island and, hence, the beach. Gated. Really? I never thought in a million years I’d agree to live in a gated community. It’s a royal pain in the you know where. Not easy for having guests. Not ideal for me, the social butterfly. Perfect for BH, a man of solitude.
I guess the upside of that is it’s Florida. Home of the lunatics, where novelist Carl Hiaasen can get a book idea daily on the six o’clock news. Just this week: Naked Florida man wearing bra burglarizes several cars in New Port Richie parking lot or Sarasota father accused of using zip ties to bind son to a piece of plywood at girlfriend’s home. No wonder the state has mandated mental health classes in public schools starting in the 6th grade.
I love the island, though. The quaint downtown built in the fabulous 1920s era. Mediterranean style architecture, wonderful restaurants, specialty shops, beautiful Royal palms lining the street all the way down to the beach. Oh, yeah, I want to live there.
The hunt commences. Most of the houses were built in the 50s and 60s…choppy rooms, low ceilings, tiny masters, tiny bathrooms, many without pools….such a bargain at $600,000. Or, you can build or get new construction starting at $1,000,000. Yes, we’d like a bigger yard and a bigger lanai and sliders from the master to the pool and a three-car garage and, of course, waterfront.
And, then, I stop and take stock and think, “What are you doing?!!!” We don’t need those things. Go bigger at 70? Dumbest idea ever. Not to speak of the fact that it would cost us at least 5x what we’re paying now. Even dumber. Plus, after seeing dozens of homes, we always liked ours better. At least, enough that we weren’t willing to pull up stakes and move. We have new construction, with high ceilings and all tiled floors and an open floor plan opening up to a pool and hot tub with a view of tropical plants and wildlife.
I could not in my wildest dreams give up new construction to completely renovate a house from top to bottom. Those days are so done. Yes, I loved doing that in New England with turn of the century houses but the thought of work at my age makes me ill. At least, that kind of work. Who am I kidding? I’m not fond of any type of work these days. I have retired and I take that literally.
The decision has been made. Stoneybrook will be our forever home. For the past few months, I have been tackling some of the rooms to make them cozier and more my style. When we furnished this house we had three weeks to move in and we had absolutely nothing, so, basically, our house is Costco chic. Which I am not denigrating because I love the furniture. Besides, it’s the only furniture BH and I could both agree on.
The irony is that he favors bright colors and has a more flamboyant style yet he is very conservative and fairly predictable. After some of the relationships I’ve been in, that is a very good thing. No complaints. And I’m the complete opposite. I favor a style with clean lines and muted colors.
So far, with BH’s blessing, I’ve finished the grandkids’ room and the guest bedroom. Finally, this week, the office is done, done, done. The TV has been mounted on the wall, while the TV stand found a new home at Goodwill. After four backbreaking hours, BH put together a corner bookshelf/storage unit. He was in such pain he actually broke down and saw a chiropractor. This is a man who absolutely refuses to see a doctor for anything!
My final act was to hang pictures with all new frames from Amazon. Fifty years later, we finally framed and hung our degrees. Is that crazy? Really, who cares now? I had this vision of a gallery wall with old family pictures of my grandparents, my parents’ wedding picture, the homestead in Mobile. But, I will tell you I am so intimidated by hanging pictures that I never hung anything on the walls in my Columbia condo and I was there for 10 years.
But, I was rescued by BH’s sister, Sandy, who researched gallery walls and together we laid them out on the floor. With the help of a measuring tape, a level, a pencil and hanging strips, it took three of us to get it right. Those strips are amazing. I will never put another hole in a wall unless the picture weights over 50 pounds.
I admit I tend to be a perfectionist….if the picture is a teeny bit crooked, I can be obsessive. I will say, though, I am loving this gallery wall. It was the finishing touch, and now I get such a sense of satisfaction of seeing those pictures on the wall instead of stacked on the floor. It’s the little things in life, isn’t it?
I have two other rooms that could use a little enhancing but then, again, this is our forever home! Lots of time.
Thursday, July 11, 2019
The Name Game
“Brenda, Brenda, bo-renda
Banana-fana fo-frenda
Fee-fi-fo-mrenda
Brenda!’
Remember that tune? The Name Game, written and performed by Shirley Ellis back in 1964? Of course, I inserted my name instead of hers but that rhyming name game tune was a huge hit. Anyone alive back then couldn’t forget it.
Why that ever entered my mind is a complete mystery to me. But, I’ve been thinking a lot about names lately. Every now and then, I get on my ancestry.com kick. It’s nothing if not fascinating. Basically, all I can find out are names, birth and death dates and where they lived, and the further you go back, the harder it is to learn even the basic facts.
But, I just enjoy looking at the names. There’s the Irish side, the French side, the Danish side. How interesting it is to see which names have been passed down from generation to generation.
On the Danish side, Andrew has endured five generations, starting with my great grandfather who was actually an Anders, the Danish version of the name. Then came my grandfather, Andrew Christian, followed by my father and brother, both named Andrew Evald, another Danish name. My son is Justin Andrew and I have a cousin and his son who are both Andys.
Nothing survived on the female side, although I like the name Astrid, which was my grandmother’s middle name but, evidently, no one else did.
Remember the Potato Famine in the 1840s? Neither do I, but that inspired the three Kelley sisters to immigrate to New Orleans: Rose, Grace and Mary, all very young. Very Irish names, of course. Mary ended up being my great, great grandmother. She married a man 15 years her senior, Pique Dominique, who was a very well off, retired merchant and they had six children, four girls and two boys. There were no Marys but there was a Grace and a Rose.
Looking at the written Federal Census is a lesson in handwriting and spelling. The handwriting is either absolutely beautiful or unintelligible. The spelling, at least in the Mobile, Alabama, census I saw left a lot to be desired. The Dominiques became the Domonicks. Pique morphed to Piciew. Francois was Franscwa. And, somehow, Grace was Lucretia. But, I’m getting sidetracked here.
Mary’s daughter, Grace, my great grandmother, married Maximo Suck, who claimed to have immigrated from England, but we’re fairly certain he was Jewish and from Germany. They had three daughters, Eulalie, Grace and Lucille. So, that’s three generations of Grace. Only Lucille married and, of course, the first child was named…..you guessed it! Grace. My mother. And, although, she didn’t name my sister or me Grace, my brother named his youngest daughter, Emileigh Grace. So, there you have it….five generations of Grace.
Then, there’s Lucille. Lots of those, too. There’s my grandmother, but there’s also my grandfather’s mother, her mother-in-law: Lucille Elizabeth. That was the merging of the Georgia dirt farmer with the Mobile aristocracy. I don’t recommend it…lol.
My grandmother named her daughter, Helen Lucille. My mother named me Brenda Lucille and now my cousin’s daughter is named Kathryn Lucille. Another five generations name. Heaven knows how many there were before my great grandparents and how many will follow.
I love learning about my family and the names that are passed on. Sometimes, I wish I’d done this years ago but It was a whole lot harder pre ancestry.com. I highly recommend it!
Banana-fana fo-frenda
Fee-fi-fo-mrenda
Brenda!’
Remember that tune? The Name Game, written and performed by Shirley Ellis back in 1964? Of course, I inserted my name instead of hers but that rhyming name game tune was a huge hit. Anyone alive back then couldn’t forget it.
Why that ever entered my mind is a complete mystery to me. But, I’ve been thinking a lot about names lately. Every now and then, I get on my ancestry.com kick. It’s nothing if not fascinating. Basically, all I can find out are names, birth and death dates and where they lived, and the further you go back, the harder it is to learn even the basic facts.
But, I just enjoy looking at the names. There’s the Irish side, the French side, the Danish side. How interesting it is to see which names have been passed down from generation to generation.
On the Danish side, Andrew has endured five generations, starting with my great grandfather who was actually an Anders, the Danish version of the name. Then came my grandfather, Andrew Christian, followed by my father and brother, both named Andrew Evald, another Danish name. My son is Justin Andrew and I have a cousin and his son who are both Andys.
Nothing survived on the female side, although I like the name Astrid, which was my grandmother’s middle name but, evidently, no one else did.
Remember the Potato Famine in the 1840s? Neither do I, but that inspired the three Kelley sisters to immigrate to New Orleans: Rose, Grace and Mary, all very young. Very Irish names, of course. Mary ended up being my great, great grandmother. She married a man 15 years her senior, Pique Dominique, who was a very well off, retired merchant and they had six children, four girls and two boys. There were no Marys but there was a Grace and a Rose.
Looking at the written Federal Census is a lesson in handwriting and spelling. The handwriting is either absolutely beautiful or unintelligible. The spelling, at least in the Mobile, Alabama, census I saw left a lot to be desired. The Dominiques became the Domonicks. Pique morphed to Piciew. Francois was Franscwa. And, somehow, Grace was Lucretia. But, I’m getting sidetracked here.
Mary’s daughter, Grace, my great grandmother, married Maximo Suck, who claimed to have immigrated from England, but we’re fairly certain he was Jewish and from Germany. They had three daughters, Eulalie, Grace and Lucille. So, that’s three generations of Grace. Only Lucille married and, of course, the first child was named…..you guessed it! Grace. My mother. And, although, she didn’t name my sister or me Grace, my brother named his youngest daughter, Emileigh Grace. So, there you have it….five generations of Grace.
Then, there’s Lucille. Lots of those, too. There’s my grandmother, but there’s also my grandfather’s mother, her mother-in-law: Lucille Elizabeth. That was the merging of the Georgia dirt farmer with the Mobile aristocracy. I don’t recommend it…lol.
My grandmother named her daughter, Helen Lucille. My mother named me Brenda Lucille and now my cousin’s daughter is named Kathryn Lucille. Another five generations name. Heaven knows how many there were before my great grandparents and how many will follow.
I love learning about my family and the names that are passed on. Sometimes, I wish I’d done this years ago but It was a whole lot harder pre ancestry.com. I highly recommend it!
Thursday, July 4, 2019
Old Glory Days
It’s Independence Day, the 4th of July, the celebration of the birth of our nation and all I can think about is what it was like in my hometown of Pinecastle, Florida back in the day. In other words, way back when.
I was raised in this small, rural town five miles south of Orlando. First settlers arrived in 1870, including Will Harney, who built his log house to resemble a castle on Lake Conway. Hence, the name, Pine Castle later converted to Pinecastle. Dairy farming was the mainstay at that time.
My grandparents with three children and another one on the way arrived in the early 1930s, shortly after my grandfather lost his job in Orlando. After the glorious Florida development boom in the 20s, the Depression hit hard. Lots of family lore recalled my grandmother ringing a chicken’s neck and plucking the feathers for what they considered a real feast. Their cow, Baby, gave them milk and feed sacks were converted into underwear. I hope that part’s not true but who could make that up?
Downtown consisted of what I considered a huge feed store where the Atlantic Coast Line Railroad stopped daily. I remember my mother buying me a rabbit’s foot in the five and ten cent store, which I swear to this day brought me good luck. There was Miss Quimby’s Hair Salon where my sister and I got perms regularly even though we had natural curly hair. Doc’s Drug Store was the hangout. I can still taste his delicious milkshakes.
Gay’s Apparel sold dresses but it was too expensive for us. My mom made all our clothes except for our underwear and pajamas. Lonnie’s Grocery Store was the only grocer in town. Of course, there was a small post office where we bought stamps for 3 cents. The Methodist and Baptist churches anchored the north and south ends of town.
All major events were held at the Pine Castle Women’s Club. Dave’s Hardware Store was right next to Meloon’s Correct Craft whose motorboats became hugely popular.
The elementary school was built in 1877. By the time I enrolled, there were about 200 children and several of my teachers had also taught the previous generation. It was an everybody knew everybody environment so you couldn’t get away with much, even though I tried my darnedest.
This was still in the day when all the housing was wood framed, and there were still more than a few outhouses in existence. We lived down the road from my grandparents who gifted my parents with a lot. My father, a local GI, along with my uncles built our house out of a barracks from the army base.
Every day the town whistle sounded at noon, which you could hear for miles around. The Dixie Highway, later Orange Avenue, was the main street through town.
And, every fourth of July, there was a small parade followed by games and square dancing at the elementary school. We all dressed up in our red, white, and blue outfits, waving our miniature flags. It seemed like everybody showed up to celebrate the birth of the world’s greatest democracy.
As a child, I just remember how happy everyone seemed. I don’t remember people being rich or poor. I don’t remember anyone overindulging or arguing about the state of the world. I just remember playing with my friends.
Later in the day, there were family BBQs, where we all stuffed ourselves to the gills, followed by slices of fresh watermelon sprinkled with salt. The festivities were capped off with all of us children running around the yard with sparklers. Firecrackers were not allowed...."you'll blow up your hand" declared the adults in charge. It was a simpler way of life.
Not necessarily better. We lacked diversity. There was little or no inclusion. Women were not in the workplace in great numbers. The 50s were the quiet before the storm of the 60s.
You can never go home, say the sages. And they are right. My hometown got enveloped by Disney shortly after I left for college never to be seen again. I love that I grew up in a small town even though I didn’t appreciate it then. I couldn’t wait to leave to broaden my world.
But, every now and then, I love to reminisce. That town still lives in my memories.
I was raised in this small, rural town five miles south of Orlando. First settlers arrived in 1870, including Will Harney, who built his log house to resemble a castle on Lake Conway. Hence, the name, Pine Castle later converted to Pinecastle. Dairy farming was the mainstay at that time.
My grandparents with three children and another one on the way arrived in the early 1930s, shortly after my grandfather lost his job in Orlando. After the glorious Florida development boom in the 20s, the Depression hit hard. Lots of family lore recalled my grandmother ringing a chicken’s neck and plucking the feathers for what they considered a real feast. Their cow, Baby, gave them milk and feed sacks were converted into underwear. I hope that part’s not true but who could make that up?
Downtown consisted of what I considered a huge feed store where the Atlantic Coast Line Railroad stopped daily. I remember my mother buying me a rabbit’s foot in the five and ten cent store, which I swear to this day brought me good luck. There was Miss Quimby’s Hair Salon where my sister and I got perms regularly even though we had natural curly hair. Doc’s Drug Store was the hangout. I can still taste his delicious milkshakes.
Gay’s Apparel sold dresses but it was too expensive for us. My mom made all our clothes except for our underwear and pajamas. Lonnie’s Grocery Store was the only grocer in town. Of course, there was a small post office where we bought stamps for 3 cents. The Methodist and Baptist churches anchored the north and south ends of town.
All major events were held at the Pine Castle Women’s Club. Dave’s Hardware Store was right next to Meloon’s Correct Craft whose motorboats became hugely popular.
The elementary school was built in 1877. By the time I enrolled, there were about 200 children and several of my teachers had also taught the previous generation. It was an everybody knew everybody environment so you couldn’t get away with much, even though I tried my darnedest.
This was still in the day when all the housing was wood framed, and there were still more than a few outhouses in existence. We lived down the road from my grandparents who gifted my parents with a lot. My father, a local GI, along with my uncles built our house out of a barracks from the army base.
Every day the town whistle sounded at noon, which you could hear for miles around. The Dixie Highway, later Orange Avenue, was the main street through town.
And, every fourth of July, there was a small parade followed by games and square dancing at the elementary school. We all dressed up in our red, white, and blue outfits, waving our miniature flags. It seemed like everybody showed up to celebrate the birth of the world’s greatest democracy.
As a child, I just remember how happy everyone seemed. I don’t remember people being rich or poor. I don’t remember anyone overindulging or arguing about the state of the world. I just remember playing with my friends.
Later in the day, there were family BBQs, where we all stuffed ourselves to the gills, followed by slices of fresh watermelon sprinkled with salt. The festivities were capped off with all of us children running around the yard with sparklers. Firecrackers were not allowed...."you'll blow up your hand" declared the adults in charge. It was a simpler way of life.
Not necessarily better. We lacked diversity. There was little or no inclusion. Women were not in the workplace in great numbers. The 50s were the quiet before the storm of the 60s.
You can never go home, say the sages. And they are right. My hometown got enveloped by Disney shortly after I left for college never to be seen again. I love that I grew up in a small town even though I didn’t appreciate it then. I couldn’t wait to leave to broaden my world.
But, every now and then, I love to reminisce. That town still lives in my memories.
Saturday, June 29, 2019
Our Future
Granted, my future isn’t all that long term, but there are loads of people I love who are looking decades ahead. I’ve always been a political junkie starting when I was a child and watching the party conventions on our grainy black and white console television. Oh, the anxiety! Who was going to garner enough votes to be the party’s nominee? Maybe, they already knew who would win, but I was clueless and glued to it until the end.
And, since this president was elected, I cannot watch the national news or cable shows on any kind of regular basis, because if HE comes on, I just want to destroy the television. Every day, he is more disgusting than the last. His chumminess with Putin and the Saudi prince is outrageous. It’s worse than that. He is downright dangerous.
So, of course, I tuned in to the debates on Wednesday and Thursday to see twenty candidates for the Democratic presidential nomination. 20?! And, that’s not all of them. Several I was hearing for the first time. And, truth be known, I was positively impressed. However, how impressive are they if they have one minute to speak? A debate stage with 20 people does not make for a true debate.
The first night erred on the side of civility with few exceptions. Julian went after Beto, but, then, everyone goes after Beto. I’m not sure breaking out in Spanish was the best idea when you only have a minute to get your policies across. But, once Beto opened that door, Julian and Cory were quick to follow. Really? There’s another reason I’m not one of the 20. My Spanish is limited to “hola.”
Elizabeth was great. At least, she didn’t start speaking in Cherokee. Her knowledge is exceptional. She has taken up the Bernie mantle, but sounds more intelligent and a helluva less strident than him. Cory was excellent. Julian was pretty commanding also. I always thought Hilary really missed the boat when she didn’t pick him or Joaquin for her running mate.
Amy just couldn’t get it done. Yes, she is pragmatic and knows what being progressive truly is. It is a progression. It’s a movement, not a revolution. God knows, we’re being subjected to a regression that is hurting our country and our standing in the world. But, sad to say, Amy has no charisma. Nor did Hilary. I hate that it comes down to that, but it does. That is reality. We have to have a ticket that people will get off their butts and campaign and vote for. I don’t think it’s Amy.
That’s pretty much my impression of Wednesday’s candidates and then there was Thursday. The night of the big dogs. The night where civility took a back seat, sad to say. Kamala took off the gloves and went straight for Joe’s jugular. And, now we know why she was an effective prosecutor and attorney general. Obviously, she had, with her staff, practiced that attack for weeks, waiting for the opening. She took it and he was completely blindsided. She pretty much emasculated him. Poor Joe showed his age that night. Where was his staff? How could he or they not have anticipated this?
I’m not sure how this will all play out in the polls. But, I felt for Joe, especially, after his active and unwavering support for her for years. I will say this, however, when it comes to duking it out with Big Baby, I want Kamala in the ring. Not sure good ole Joe is up to this.
The guy I loved the most was Mayor Pete. Just an all around good guy with heart and a command of the issues who was honest enough to know he hadn’t got it all done as Mayor. How refreshing to hear that instead or a candidate ignoring the question or going on the defensive or citing anecdotes that have absolutely nothing to do with the subject at hand.
As I’m writing this, I just got a text asking me how likely I am to vote for Kamala. That’s a no brainer.
I’m so done with Bernie. He needs new writers. It’s the same old script from 2016. Now, it’s like he’s doing a caricature of himself. I will say he appeared to have a whole lot more energy than Joe but he needs to pass the baton. Plus, he’s not even a Democrat. Done, done, done.
Marianne. Where to start. My fellow aging hippie and spiritual practitioner. I have no problem marrying spiritualism and politics, but when they ask you what’s the first thing you would do on day one of your administration, don’t say you’d call the prime minister of New Zealand to tell her the USA is the best place for a child to grow up, not New Zealand. Harnessing love for political purposes is a noble goal, I grant you that. Yet, you were so out of our element up there, you became the darling of the Republican Party, who has called on the troops to contribute ‘bigly’ to your campaign. They want you to stay up there on that stage.
Of course, there’s so much more to write about on this subject, which will keep us glued to our 52” flat screens for months on end. All I can say is that the Democratic Party cannot afford to be fighting between moderates and progressives. This is so much bigger than that. Make your peace, stay unified and take back our democracy!
And, since this president was elected, I cannot watch the national news or cable shows on any kind of regular basis, because if HE comes on, I just want to destroy the television. Every day, he is more disgusting than the last. His chumminess with Putin and the Saudi prince is outrageous. It’s worse than that. He is downright dangerous.
So, of course, I tuned in to the debates on Wednesday and Thursday to see twenty candidates for the Democratic presidential nomination. 20?! And, that’s not all of them. Several I was hearing for the first time. And, truth be known, I was positively impressed. However, how impressive are they if they have one minute to speak? A debate stage with 20 people does not make for a true debate.
The first night erred on the side of civility with few exceptions. Julian went after Beto, but, then, everyone goes after Beto. I’m not sure breaking out in Spanish was the best idea when you only have a minute to get your policies across. But, once Beto opened that door, Julian and Cory were quick to follow. Really? There’s another reason I’m not one of the 20. My Spanish is limited to “hola.”
Elizabeth was great. At least, she didn’t start speaking in Cherokee. Her knowledge is exceptional. She has taken up the Bernie mantle, but sounds more intelligent and a helluva less strident than him. Cory was excellent. Julian was pretty commanding also. I always thought Hilary really missed the boat when she didn’t pick him or Joaquin for her running mate.
Amy just couldn’t get it done. Yes, she is pragmatic and knows what being progressive truly is. It is a progression. It’s a movement, not a revolution. God knows, we’re being subjected to a regression that is hurting our country and our standing in the world. But, sad to say, Amy has no charisma. Nor did Hilary. I hate that it comes down to that, but it does. That is reality. We have to have a ticket that people will get off their butts and campaign and vote for. I don’t think it’s Amy.
That’s pretty much my impression of Wednesday’s candidates and then there was Thursday. The night of the big dogs. The night where civility took a back seat, sad to say. Kamala took off the gloves and went straight for Joe’s jugular. And, now we know why she was an effective prosecutor and attorney general. Obviously, she had, with her staff, practiced that attack for weeks, waiting for the opening. She took it and he was completely blindsided. She pretty much emasculated him. Poor Joe showed his age that night. Where was his staff? How could he or they not have anticipated this?
I’m not sure how this will all play out in the polls. But, I felt for Joe, especially, after his active and unwavering support for her for years. I will say this, however, when it comes to duking it out with Big Baby, I want Kamala in the ring. Not sure good ole Joe is up to this.
The guy I loved the most was Mayor Pete. Just an all around good guy with heart and a command of the issues who was honest enough to know he hadn’t got it all done as Mayor. How refreshing to hear that instead or a candidate ignoring the question or going on the defensive or citing anecdotes that have absolutely nothing to do with the subject at hand.
As I’m writing this, I just got a text asking me how likely I am to vote for Kamala. That’s a no brainer.
I’m so done with Bernie. He needs new writers. It’s the same old script from 2016. Now, it’s like he’s doing a caricature of himself. I will say he appeared to have a whole lot more energy than Joe but he needs to pass the baton. Plus, he’s not even a Democrat. Done, done, done.
Marianne. Where to start. My fellow aging hippie and spiritual practitioner. I have no problem marrying spiritualism and politics, but when they ask you what’s the first thing you would do on day one of your administration, don’t say you’d call the prime minister of New Zealand to tell her the USA is the best place for a child to grow up, not New Zealand. Harnessing love for political purposes is a noble goal, I grant you that. Yet, you were so out of our element up there, you became the darling of the Republican Party, who has called on the troops to contribute ‘bigly’ to your campaign. They want you to stay up there on that stage.
Of course, there’s so much more to write about on this subject, which will keep us glued to our 52” flat screens for months on end. All I can say is that the Democratic Party cannot afford to be fighting between moderates and progressives. This is so much bigger than that. Make your peace, stay unified and take back our democracy!
Thursday, June 20, 2019
You're So Vain
Remember that Carly Simon tune? “You’re so vain, you probably think this song is about you.” Setting off decades of debate about which egomaniac she was referring to….Warren Beatty, Mick Jagger, James Taylor.
I can relate to that song. Yes, I’m so vain. Okay, there it is. I owned it. And I am certain that is one of my life lessons I have yet to master.
I’m not crazy. I know I’m not one of the world’s great beauties. I know I’m over 70 years old. I know I don’t look like I did at 30. But, still, I fight aging every day. I do that daily workout. I use moisturizer. I wouldn’t be caught dead without my eyeliner and mascara. I do that intermittent fasting to get to my goal weight, which I haven’t met yet.
Do you have a phone with facial recognition technology? OMG!! I was completely mortified when I had to look in the phone and move my head in a slow circle to capture my image. Who is that old hag??!!! All I can say is my bathroom mirror gives me a whole lot of slack. I look so much better in that mirror!
Basically, I try to avoid mirrors. Especially, those full body mirrors when you’re exiting the shower. I was a skinny Minnie until after the birth of my second child in my mid-30s. And the another one close behind. Never to recover skinny status again.
I try, though. It is hard work. I weigh myself every morning and when I got off the cruise ship in March, I was horrified. Had to shift into high gear with the fasting and sticking to my no chips, no fries, no booze diet. After two months, I had lost 10 pounds and was two pounds from my goal weight.
I have to admit, I love my red wine. There were times I would drink for hours and play bridge online. Of course, I did this in concert with a bag of Lay’s Classic potato chips. Not smart. I think I am genetically predisposed to alcoholism. One of my very smart cousin’s recognized this over 20 years ago and hasn’t had a drink since.
Now, I’ve finally discovered discipline. Primarily, it’s because I want to lose weight and keep it off. It’s all about vanity. But, truthfully, I don’t miss drinking. Occasionally, I’ll have one 5-ounce glass on a Friday afternoon after bridge and it takes me all night to recover. It begs the question, what’s the point?
Remember when Nora Ephron wrote I Feel Bad About My Neck and Other Thoughts on Being a Woman? I loved that book! I tell you, she was my idol. Her descriptions on aging were hilarious and so right on. I could write a book about how I hate my arms.
I’ve always had skinny arms but now they’re skinny with sagging skin. Not pretty. I do resistance exercises at least three days a week to try to halt the damage but there’s no stopping it. I only wear sleeveless clothing when I’m home and nobody’s on the docket. When I leave the house, I’m wearing sleeves.
How I admire those women who just don’t seem to give a damn. There’s a woman at my bridge club who comes sleeveless every day of the week and my arms are like a bodybuilder’s in comparison. Then, there are the completely uninhibited beach bods. Mentally I’m pleading with them to cover that up but impressed that they seem to be oblivious. Why can’t I take a page from their book?
Fortunately, I don’t obsess with these things, but I’m pretty sure it’s a life lesson I'm still learning. I think the lesson is about acceptance. Just accept the way things are. Yes, I’m going to continue aging, so concentrate less on the exterior and more on the interior. Move inward.
I'm working on it.
I can relate to that song. Yes, I’m so vain. Okay, there it is. I owned it. And I am certain that is one of my life lessons I have yet to master.
I’m not crazy. I know I’m not one of the world’s great beauties. I know I’m over 70 years old. I know I don’t look like I did at 30. But, still, I fight aging every day. I do that daily workout. I use moisturizer. I wouldn’t be caught dead without my eyeliner and mascara. I do that intermittent fasting to get to my goal weight, which I haven’t met yet.
Do you have a phone with facial recognition technology? OMG!! I was completely mortified when I had to look in the phone and move my head in a slow circle to capture my image. Who is that old hag??!!! All I can say is my bathroom mirror gives me a whole lot of slack. I look so much better in that mirror!
Basically, I try to avoid mirrors. Especially, those full body mirrors when you’re exiting the shower. I was a skinny Minnie until after the birth of my second child in my mid-30s. And the another one close behind. Never to recover skinny status again.
I try, though. It is hard work. I weigh myself every morning and when I got off the cruise ship in March, I was horrified. Had to shift into high gear with the fasting and sticking to my no chips, no fries, no booze diet. After two months, I had lost 10 pounds and was two pounds from my goal weight.
I have to admit, I love my red wine. There were times I would drink for hours and play bridge online. Of course, I did this in concert with a bag of Lay’s Classic potato chips. Not smart. I think I am genetically predisposed to alcoholism. One of my very smart cousin’s recognized this over 20 years ago and hasn’t had a drink since.
Now, I’ve finally discovered discipline. Primarily, it’s because I want to lose weight and keep it off. It’s all about vanity. But, truthfully, I don’t miss drinking. Occasionally, I’ll have one 5-ounce glass on a Friday afternoon after bridge and it takes me all night to recover. It begs the question, what’s the point?
Remember when Nora Ephron wrote I Feel Bad About My Neck and Other Thoughts on Being a Woman? I loved that book! I tell you, she was my idol. Her descriptions on aging were hilarious and so right on. I could write a book about how I hate my arms.
I’ve always had skinny arms but now they’re skinny with sagging skin. Not pretty. I do resistance exercises at least three days a week to try to halt the damage but there’s no stopping it. I only wear sleeveless clothing when I’m home and nobody’s on the docket. When I leave the house, I’m wearing sleeves.
How I admire those women who just don’t seem to give a damn. There’s a woman at my bridge club who comes sleeveless every day of the week and my arms are like a bodybuilder’s in comparison. Then, there are the completely uninhibited beach bods. Mentally I’m pleading with them to cover that up but impressed that they seem to be oblivious. Why can’t I take a page from their book?
Fortunately, I don’t obsess with these things, but I’m pretty sure it’s a life lesson I'm still learning. I think the lesson is about acceptance. Just accept the way things are. Yes, I’m going to continue aging, so concentrate less on the exterior and more on the interior. Move inward.
I'm working on it.
Thursday, June 13, 2019
On Religion
In the teeny tiny Florida town I was raised in, you were either Methodist or Baptist. We were Methodist packed into a wood frame building seated with our father, dressed in our Sunday best, while our mother glared at us from the choir loft daring us to misbehave. We were sweating bullets, waving our Jesus Saves hand fans back and forth hoping for a little air to make the atmosphere a little more comfortable.
We were Methodist until the summer, when we attended the Baptist Vacation Bible School. For two weeks, we got on that ramshackle school bus that took us to and from the Pine Castle Baptist Church. Lots of crafts, songs, games, I loved it. On the last day, there was a grand assembly in the Baptist Church which all the parents and assorted townspeople attended. I was only five years old the first time I went and clearly unschooled in Baptist rituals.
Each child was called forward to the altar and the preacher hollered, “ARE YOU SAVED?” Of course, they answered in the affirmative and he dunked their heads in a tank of water. When it was my turn, I looked at him and responded in a puzzled voice, “Saved from what?” The congregation erupted. I was completely confused by the whole scene.
And, thus, began my retreat from religion. I was raised in the Bible Belt which held what most would consider the most racist and misogynistic views in the entire country. How does that jibe with “Love one another” or “Above all, love each other deeply.” Or “Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above ourselves.” What I witnessed was black people dominated by white people and segregated by Jim Crow laws. What I witnessed were men in all the power positions, while ladies were expected to be submissive. The church provided the foundation for this culture.
If you didn’t toe the line, you were going to rot in hell. I could never square the lessons of love with the lessons of hate, hellfire and damnation. It just made no sense to me.
So, I majored in religion and philosophy, where I studied all the world religions and read the works of the greatest theologians, although I think I was way too young to truly assimilate it all.
But it certainly altered my world view. I believed there were many enlightened prophets. And, although there are multiple religions, there are certain tenets that hold true for all of them. They believe in leading an ethical life, being part of a community centered in love and striving to do good works.
Unfortunately, belief in a religion creates tension in the world that can lead to war. It is sadly evident all over the globe today. It is no guarantee against the most egregious abuse toward children and women. What has happened in the Catholic and Southern Baptist communities is reprehensible. How many lives have been upended due to the lack of accountability of these so called spiritual leaders?
And, yet, I did choose to attend the Episcopal Church with my husband and younger children. It did give them a loving community that supported them through the tough days after their father died. Being in the church reinforced the ethical values we espoused. The healing rituals affected me profoundly when I was caring for him as his health faded.
And, yet, it’s so much greater than what we know, my uncle acknowledged in a reading shortly after he passed. He was a devout Catholic. Then, there’s my mother who was the world’s leading authority on religion. Until she passed last year. Now, what does she say? “There is no religion.”
A couple of weeks ago, I came across a writer, Roland Merullo, who I have fallen in love with. I finished Breakfast With Buddha last week. Now, I’m having Lunch With Buddha and, in a week or so, I’ll savor Dinner With Buddha. An editor of food books who lives in New York and a skeptic, reluctantly goes onto a road trip with Volya Rinpoche, a Siberian monk. I haven’t read a book that made me laugh out loud in years and, yet, brought me back to the significance of meditation and tuning in to life’s lessons.
It’s all an evolution, right?
We were Methodist until the summer, when we attended the Baptist Vacation Bible School. For two weeks, we got on that ramshackle school bus that took us to and from the Pine Castle Baptist Church. Lots of crafts, songs, games, I loved it. On the last day, there was a grand assembly in the Baptist Church which all the parents and assorted townspeople attended. I was only five years old the first time I went and clearly unschooled in Baptist rituals.
Each child was called forward to the altar and the preacher hollered, “ARE YOU SAVED?” Of course, they answered in the affirmative and he dunked their heads in a tank of water. When it was my turn, I looked at him and responded in a puzzled voice, “Saved from what?” The congregation erupted. I was completely confused by the whole scene.
And, thus, began my retreat from religion. I was raised in the Bible Belt which held what most would consider the most racist and misogynistic views in the entire country. How does that jibe with “Love one another” or “Above all, love each other deeply.” Or “Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above ourselves.” What I witnessed was black people dominated by white people and segregated by Jim Crow laws. What I witnessed were men in all the power positions, while ladies were expected to be submissive. The church provided the foundation for this culture.
If you didn’t toe the line, you were going to rot in hell. I could never square the lessons of love with the lessons of hate, hellfire and damnation. It just made no sense to me.
So, I majored in religion and philosophy, where I studied all the world religions and read the works of the greatest theologians, although I think I was way too young to truly assimilate it all.
But it certainly altered my world view. I believed there were many enlightened prophets. And, although there are multiple religions, there are certain tenets that hold true for all of them. They believe in leading an ethical life, being part of a community centered in love and striving to do good works.
Unfortunately, belief in a religion creates tension in the world that can lead to war. It is sadly evident all over the globe today. It is no guarantee against the most egregious abuse toward children and women. What has happened in the Catholic and Southern Baptist communities is reprehensible. How many lives have been upended due to the lack of accountability of these so called spiritual leaders?
And, yet, I did choose to attend the Episcopal Church with my husband and younger children. It did give them a loving community that supported them through the tough days after their father died. Being in the church reinforced the ethical values we espoused. The healing rituals affected me profoundly when I was caring for him as his health faded.
And, yet, it’s so much greater than what we know, my uncle acknowledged in a reading shortly after he passed. He was a devout Catholic. Then, there’s my mother who was the world’s leading authority on religion. Until she passed last year. Now, what does she say? “There is no religion.”
A couple of weeks ago, I came across a writer, Roland Merullo, who I have fallen in love with. I finished Breakfast With Buddha last week. Now, I’m having Lunch With Buddha and, in a week or so, I’ll savor Dinner With Buddha. An editor of food books who lives in New York and a skeptic, reluctantly goes onto a road trip with Volya Rinpoche, a Siberian monk. I haven’t read a book that made me laugh out loud in years and, yet, brought me back to the significance of meditation and tuning in to life’s lessons.
It’s all an evolution, right?
Friday, May 31, 2019
My Retreat
I’m currently in the middle of a two week retreat from my self-imposed busy Florida life. The life where I’ve decided to renovate and scour every inch of our house, in addition to weeding, trimming and mulching the tropical beds. Thankfully, I haven’t happened upon that six foot long brown snake my neighbor was elated to point out to us.
Fire ants are my problem. Regrettably, I stepped into a huge mound while mulching and those suckers love me! I felt them before I saw them and when I looked at my legs, it was way too late. I screamed and did the only thing I could do…jumped into the pool fully clothed and shod. Not much help nor was the cortisone cream and the apple cider vinegar. I willed myself not to scratch all 50 bites and, finally, two weeks later, I don’t feel them anymore. Still looks like hell, though.
I’m back in Maryland and Pennsylvania visiting my family and friends, doing all my favorite things that I miss in Florida. Lucky for me, two of my grandchildren were born a week apart, so there are very important parties to attend. More importantly, I try to be part of their lives as much as I can.
How fun to see Kevin, age 5, play baseball and get the game ball for his extraordinary performance! To accompany his family to the pool every afternoon and watch his brother, Brendan, age 4, fearlessly jump in the water, which he has done since he was 6 months old. The water is way too cold for me but he will not get out even though his teeth are chattering and his lips are turning blue.
Currently, I am in Pennsylvania with my other two grandchildren, Will (11) and Reese (8, three days from turning 9). Yesterday, I watched Will being coached on ball handling, footwork and shooting for an hour. Basketball being his first love. Of course, it helps that he towers above his peers and that he’s had a sweet shot since he was 5. Forgive me, I’m the grammy.
This afternoon is a lacrosse playoff game for Will and tomorrow morning is a soccer game for Reese, who runs like the wind. And, Sunday is another birthday party where I get to see my whole family for the second weekend in a row. I don’t take our times together lightly. I cherish every minute I spend with them.
I’m a cinephile who has great difficulty finding movies I actually want to see. How spoiled I was to have The Charles Theatre so close when I lived in Maryland. Every indie and foreign film made its way there and my kids grew to love them as much as I did. It’s a tradition that we continue to this day. This year, we chose to see “Booksmart”….loved it!
The best thing was that there were multiple choices that we would’ve been happy to see as well. Unfortunately, they can’t get to more of them but what do I have to do? Not much so I’m taking advantage of seeing as many of them as I can! Saw “The Biggest Little Farm”, a documentary of a couple who started a back to basics 200 acre farm after being evicted from their apartment in Los Angeles because their dog wouldn’t stop barking. What energy these people have!
Monday, I’m taking in the French film, “Non-Fiction” about a publishing house that faces a bit of a crisis when the publisher turns down his best friend’s manuscript. Of course, it is French which means amorous adventures and witty repartee. Great reviews including one that notes that it is a “bonbon spiked with delicious wit and malice.”
Also, on my to-do list is to continue catching up with friends that I rarely get to spend time with now that my life has moved south. There’s also the last three seasons of “Grace and Frankie” that I’m binge watching in my solo time. In the past week, I finished three books, including “Breakfast with Buddha.”
There’s also a Lunch and a Dinner with Buddha, but I’m doing some light reading right now until I’m ready for Lunch. I was a bit hesitant to tackle Breakfast but it was delightful. Laugh out loud amusing with a profound statement on non-judgement. Naturally, it encourages meditation. Still working on that.
I’m in the second week of my retreat and what have I learned? It’s a treat to come back to family and good friends and to what I love about the home I left behind, but it’s not home anymore. I love Florida but I don’t have the network or my family. BH and I have forged a lovely life there together but there are gaps that, at least for now, have not been filled.
I kind of feel like an ex-pat in reverse. I returned to my native country after living outside it for most of my adult life. What to do? Live in the minute. Love it all to the fullest. That’s where home is.
Maybe I’m ready for Lunch!
Fire ants are my problem. Regrettably, I stepped into a huge mound while mulching and those suckers love me! I felt them before I saw them and when I looked at my legs, it was way too late. I screamed and did the only thing I could do…jumped into the pool fully clothed and shod. Not much help nor was the cortisone cream and the apple cider vinegar. I willed myself not to scratch all 50 bites and, finally, two weeks later, I don’t feel them anymore. Still looks like hell, though.
I’m back in Maryland and Pennsylvania visiting my family and friends, doing all my favorite things that I miss in Florida. Lucky for me, two of my grandchildren were born a week apart, so there are very important parties to attend. More importantly, I try to be part of their lives as much as I can.
How fun to see Kevin, age 5, play baseball and get the game ball for his extraordinary performance! To accompany his family to the pool every afternoon and watch his brother, Brendan, age 4, fearlessly jump in the water, which he has done since he was 6 months old. The water is way too cold for me but he will not get out even though his teeth are chattering and his lips are turning blue.
Currently, I am in Pennsylvania with my other two grandchildren, Will (11) and Reese (8, three days from turning 9). Yesterday, I watched Will being coached on ball handling, footwork and shooting for an hour. Basketball being his first love. Of course, it helps that he towers above his peers and that he’s had a sweet shot since he was 5. Forgive me, I’m the grammy.
This afternoon is a lacrosse playoff game for Will and tomorrow morning is a soccer game for Reese, who runs like the wind. And, Sunday is another birthday party where I get to see my whole family for the second weekend in a row. I don’t take our times together lightly. I cherish every minute I spend with them.
I’m a cinephile who has great difficulty finding movies I actually want to see. How spoiled I was to have The Charles Theatre so close when I lived in Maryland. Every indie and foreign film made its way there and my kids grew to love them as much as I did. It’s a tradition that we continue to this day. This year, we chose to see “Booksmart”….loved it!
The best thing was that there were multiple choices that we would’ve been happy to see as well. Unfortunately, they can’t get to more of them but what do I have to do? Not much so I’m taking advantage of seeing as many of them as I can! Saw “The Biggest Little Farm”, a documentary of a couple who started a back to basics 200 acre farm after being evicted from their apartment in Los Angeles because their dog wouldn’t stop barking. What energy these people have!
Monday, I’m taking in the French film, “Non-Fiction” about a publishing house that faces a bit of a crisis when the publisher turns down his best friend’s manuscript. Of course, it is French which means amorous adventures and witty repartee. Great reviews including one that notes that it is a “bonbon spiked with delicious wit and malice.”
Also, on my to-do list is to continue catching up with friends that I rarely get to spend time with now that my life has moved south. There’s also the last three seasons of “Grace and Frankie” that I’m binge watching in my solo time. In the past week, I finished three books, including “Breakfast with Buddha.”
There’s also a Lunch and a Dinner with Buddha, but I’m doing some light reading right now until I’m ready for Lunch. I was a bit hesitant to tackle Breakfast but it was delightful. Laugh out loud amusing with a profound statement on non-judgement. Naturally, it encourages meditation. Still working on that.
I’m in the second week of my retreat and what have I learned? It’s a treat to come back to family and good friends and to what I love about the home I left behind, but it’s not home anymore. I love Florida but I don’t have the network or my family. BH and I have forged a lovely life there together but there are gaps that, at least for now, have not been filled.
I kind of feel like an ex-pat in reverse. I returned to my native country after living outside it for most of my adult life. What to do? Live in the minute. Love it all to the fullest. That’s where home is.
Maybe I’m ready for Lunch!
Tuesday, May 14, 2019
Not a Girly Girl
Never thought of myself as a girly girl. Of course, my mom, being the southern belle she was, always dressed me in frilly dresses with Mary Jane shoes…oh, and don’t forget the white gloves and matching hat. That’s when we were going to church or a rare dinner out or taking the bus to downtown Orlando for a little shopping.
I don’t remember hating that look, but I was much more comfortable as a barefoot girl running down to the lake or climbing ridiculously tall pine trees. Naturally, I’d climb all the way to the top, only falling once that I remember. But, where was my mom? Seemingly, oblivious to all danger. Never once told me to come down. No doubt, she was on the phone with her friend, Phyllis. This was decades before helicopter moms.
I loved sports. There were no competitive sports for girls, but every year I looked forward to the Orange County Field Day. Usually, I competed in the 50-yard dash and the running broad jump. I never won but I got a couple of red and white ribbons.
Girls could be cheerleaders, which I was for a short period of time. That’s because I blew out my knee at 15, imitating in a mean way the prettiest girl in the school, who was not all that gifted in the coordination department. I never fully recovered from that injury, so before girls could be competitive, I was done. My real life introduction to karma.
I still loved sports but, mainly, as a spectator. My greatest loves are basketball, baseball, tennis and golf. I am amazed that I am glued to TV golf. Years ago, I thought watching golf was like watching paint dry. That was before I played and got the game. Now, I have my favorite teams, players and can bore you to tears with my opinions in all those sports.
For better or worse, I passed along my passion to all three of my children. Fortunately, they all were able to play competitively. My younger daughter met her husband playing in an adult soccer league. My son still plays basketball at least weekly. They’re raising kids who are also active in basketball, soccer, baseball, and lacrosse.
My two daughters are definitely not girly girls. Not enamored with makeup and frilly dresses. Pink is not their color. However, my only granddaughter, at least at age 8, is more girly girl than my girls ever were. Don’t even think about getting her clothes that are not pink! How do these things happen?
I say I’m not a girly girl, but with a few caveats. I’m a Dane, born blonde. Which translates to light eyelashes. It’s a rare day that I leave the house without mascara and eyeliner. Of course, drawing that straight line on my upper eyelid gets more challenging every month! I have quite the supply of that magic pencil…never will I run out.
Then, there are the nails. Belatedly at the age of 50, I discovered the joys of manicures and pedicures. Every week, I kid you not, I am sitting across from Michelle at Tip Top Nails at Jacaranda Square. Now, I even occasionally imbibe in eyebrow, chin and lip waxing. Never ever thought that would be me.
Today was the best, though. In my opinion, there is nothing in the world quite like a facial! I lie down on that massage table, hear that soft music and take in the aroma of eucalyptus and I am immediately in a deep meditation. An hour later, I am so relaxed, I can barely move.
Maybe I’m more girly girl than I thought!
I don’t remember hating that look, but I was much more comfortable as a barefoot girl running down to the lake or climbing ridiculously tall pine trees. Naturally, I’d climb all the way to the top, only falling once that I remember. But, where was my mom? Seemingly, oblivious to all danger. Never once told me to come down. No doubt, she was on the phone with her friend, Phyllis. This was decades before helicopter moms.
I loved sports. There were no competitive sports for girls, but every year I looked forward to the Orange County Field Day. Usually, I competed in the 50-yard dash and the running broad jump. I never won but I got a couple of red and white ribbons.
Girls could be cheerleaders, which I was for a short period of time. That’s because I blew out my knee at 15, imitating in a mean way the prettiest girl in the school, who was not all that gifted in the coordination department. I never fully recovered from that injury, so before girls could be competitive, I was done. My real life introduction to karma.
I still loved sports but, mainly, as a spectator. My greatest loves are basketball, baseball, tennis and golf. I am amazed that I am glued to TV golf. Years ago, I thought watching golf was like watching paint dry. That was before I played and got the game. Now, I have my favorite teams, players and can bore you to tears with my opinions in all those sports.
For better or worse, I passed along my passion to all three of my children. Fortunately, they all were able to play competitively. My younger daughter met her husband playing in an adult soccer league. My son still plays basketball at least weekly. They’re raising kids who are also active in basketball, soccer, baseball, and lacrosse.
My two daughters are definitely not girly girls. Not enamored with makeup and frilly dresses. Pink is not their color. However, my only granddaughter, at least at age 8, is more girly girl than my girls ever were. Don’t even think about getting her clothes that are not pink! How do these things happen?
I say I’m not a girly girl, but with a few caveats. I’m a Dane, born blonde. Which translates to light eyelashes. It’s a rare day that I leave the house without mascara and eyeliner. Of course, drawing that straight line on my upper eyelid gets more challenging every month! I have quite the supply of that magic pencil…never will I run out.
Then, there are the nails. Belatedly at the age of 50, I discovered the joys of manicures and pedicures. Every week, I kid you not, I am sitting across from Michelle at Tip Top Nails at Jacaranda Square. Now, I even occasionally imbibe in eyebrow, chin and lip waxing. Never ever thought that would be me.
Today was the best, though. In my opinion, there is nothing in the world quite like a facial! I lie down on that massage table, hear that soft music and take in the aroma of eucalyptus and I am immediately in a deep meditation. An hour later, I am so relaxed, I can barely move.
Maybe I’m more girly girl than I thought!
Saturday, May 4, 2019
Choosing Joy
It all started after my daughter and grandchildren returned to Pennsylvania. I consulted with Buff Honey in the hot tub under a full moon. “I want to do the kids’ room over.” Meaning, of course, the grandkids’ room.
“I think I want to put twin beds in there and take out the bunk bed.” As long as the bed is perfectly serviceable, why bother is his mantra. Okay, I get that but a little updating can go a long way, and he did agree it could use that. Eventually, I heard the magic words, “Do what you want.” Oh, boy!
Inexplicably, the nautical themed room materialized in a half awake, half asleep state. Couldn’t wait to get to Overstock. Within an hour, I had ordered a rug, sheets, throw pillows, white down alternative comforters, a lamp, a cube bookcase with seagrass baskets. I was in seventh heaven!
However, I decided not to order the twin beds. The size of the room is just a bit larger than a walk in closet, so I decided to paint the bunk bed a semi-gloss ultra white. Unfortunately, the bed was a reddish brown color….not the best for changing to white.
It took me FOUR days to paint that thing!! First, the primer coat followed by three coats of semi-gloss. A nightmare! I never realized how much detail work it entailed…the head and foot boards, the rails on both sides, the ladder, the rungs. More than once, I thought I’d chuck it all and order the twins! But, I stuck it out and love it, especially, now that it’s finished!
The orders started arriving and the transformation was taking shape. The only hiccup was the 6-cube storage bookcase that was next to impossible to put together. BH was a real trouper, because I cannot follow directions to save my life (probably no surprise there).
Of course, I had read all 52 of the reviews, which were primarily 5 stars. About half the reviews said it was easy to assemble and the other half lamented how long it took. Being the optimist that I am, I was hoping for easy to assemble. All I can say is those easy to assemble reviews were written by engineers. Which we are not. It took us a little over two hours! It was all BH…basically, I was the cheerleader as sweat was pouring off his forehead!
I don’t think we’d really cleaned that room in six years…so, I went to town, cleaning the windowsill, washing the window, cleaning the tile floor, washing the baseboards. Basically, I went nuts! Didn’t I just write that we’re lazy people?! I don’t know what’s happened to me. You’d think I was about to give birth…the old nesting syndrome and all that.
Then, I did a thorough cleaning on the guest bedroom and decided to tackle the office. Now, that’s one helluva job! That closet was filled with papers and pictures from our former lives along with a ridiculous number of used gift bags and wrapping paper. We could barely open the closet doors.
I filled three huge garbage bags with stuff we will never use….do you hear me Marie Kondo? I am choosing JOY! I took three boxes of pictures and organized them into albums for each of my three children, something I’ve wanted to do for the past 10 years!
The most meaningful family photos are now gleaming in their new frames, ready to hang somewhere…haven’t figured that out yet. After several decades, we have finally framed our college diplomas. Now, that we’re retired and have absolutely no good reason to display them.
It’s a great feeling to have clean closets! Of course, there’s always more to do…haven’t started on the living room yet. There are always drawers to organize and windows to wash….BH’s response, “Doesn’t the rain do that?”
Seriously, I have no idea what’s happened to me! BH is in shock, mainly, because after six years, I asked him how to turn on the vacuum! I started a project that turned into something way bigger….once I started, I couldn’t stop.
It’s all about choosing joy.
“I think I want to put twin beds in there and take out the bunk bed.” As long as the bed is perfectly serviceable, why bother is his mantra. Okay, I get that but a little updating can go a long way, and he did agree it could use that. Eventually, I heard the magic words, “Do what you want.” Oh, boy!
Inexplicably, the nautical themed room materialized in a half awake, half asleep state. Couldn’t wait to get to Overstock. Within an hour, I had ordered a rug, sheets, throw pillows, white down alternative comforters, a lamp, a cube bookcase with seagrass baskets. I was in seventh heaven!
However, I decided not to order the twin beds. The size of the room is just a bit larger than a walk in closet, so I decided to paint the bunk bed a semi-gloss ultra white. Unfortunately, the bed was a reddish brown color….not the best for changing to white.
It took me FOUR days to paint that thing!! First, the primer coat followed by three coats of semi-gloss. A nightmare! I never realized how much detail work it entailed…the head and foot boards, the rails on both sides, the ladder, the rungs. More than once, I thought I’d chuck it all and order the twins! But, I stuck it out and love it, especially, now that it’s finished!
The orders started arriving and the transformation was taking shape. The only hiccup was the 6-cube storage bookcase that was next to impossible to put together. BH was a real trouper, because I cannot follow directions to save my life (probably no surprise there).
Of course, I had read all 52 of the reviews, which were primarily 5 stars. About half the reviews said it was easy to assemble and the other half lamented how long it took. Being the optimist that I am, I was hoping for easy to assemble. All I can say is those easy to assemble reviews were written by engineers. Which we are not. It took us a little over two hours! It was all BH…basically, I was the cheerleader as sweat was pouring off his forehead!
I don’t think we’d really cleaned that room in six years…so, I went to town, cleaning the windowsill, washing the window, cleaning the tile floor, washing the baseboards. Basically, I went nuts! Didn’t I just write that we’re lazy people?! I don’t know what’s happened to me. You’d think I was about to give birth…the old nesting syndrome and all that.
Then, I did a thorough cleaning on the guest bedroom and decided to tackle the office. Now, that’s one helluva job! That closet was filled with papers and pictures from our former lives along with a ridiculous number of used gift bags and wrapping paper. We could barely open the closet doors.
I filled three huge garbage bags with stuff we will never use….do you hear me Marie Kondo? I am choosing JOY! I took three boxes of pictures and organized them into albums for each of my three children, something I’ve wanted to do for the past 10 years!
The most meaningful family photos are now gleaming in their new frames, ready to hang somewhere…haven’t figured that out yet. After several decades, we have finally framed our college diplomas. Now, that we’re retired and have absolutely no good reason to display them.
It’s a great feeling to have clean closets! Of course, there’s always more to do…haven’t started on the living room yet. There are always drawers to organize and windows to wash….BH’s response, “Doesn’t the rain do that?”
Seriously, I have no idea what’s happened to me! BH is in shock, mainly, because after six years, I asked him how to turn on the vacuum! I started a project that turned into something way bigger….once I started, I couldn’t stop.
It’s all about choosing joy.
Saturday, April 20, 2019
Blues Under the Stars
We have a monthly standing engagement at this place, Blues Under the Stars. Located in the historic part of Englewood, Florida, a mere 15 minutes from our home. Pretty nondescript from the street but enter from the street, walk through the restaurant and bar until you exit to the outdoor courtyard.
Reservations are a must, usually, a month ahead of time if you want to be seated. It could be just BH and me but usually it includes whoever is in town. Our biggest party included 15. The trees are sprinkled with white, fairy lights, tables are candlelit, nights are usually in the mid 70s, and, of course, there are the starry skies. The food is not gourmet but I’ll take their baby back ribs any day.
We come for the music. Not just any music. We come for Mike Imbasciani and the Blues Rockerz. Naturally, there are a lot of other excellent musicians…blues and rock…who make their way to the courtyard. But, we’re die hard Mike groupies….as are many local boomers.
The first time we heard him at a local concert, he was barely 16, still in high school, in 2013. The headliner at that event was another Mike, Michael Allman, Gregg’s oldest. Gregg met Michael’s mother, a go-go dancer at a discotheque near Daytona Beach. At 18, he fathered his first child. Mary Lou’s parents, a bank executive and librarian, were none too happy about it and ran him out of town.
I would venture a guess that Mary Lou was in the throes of a major rebellion. Ya think? I’m guessing they didn’t have much to do with her or little Michael, because when I met him at that concert, he was missing quite a few teeth at the age of 47. However, I will say that didn’t interfere with his amazing voice….he sounded exactly like Gregg, except younger. Listen to him on YouTube, you’ll see what I mean.
But, I digress. At the age of 5, Mike Imbasciani pleaded with his father for guitar lessons. So, they both took it up, but little Mike could run circles around his dad within a few months. The dad quit, but he agreed to continue lessons for Mike as long as he learned “his” music. We’re talking The Band, Rolling Stones, Allman Brothers, Santana, Eric Clapton, Arlo Guthrie and lots of old blues legends. And, wow, did he learn them. Listening to him play is pure joy! No one can sit still….we turn into a whole lotta boomer shakers! As bad as my structural issues can be, I cannot help but get up and dance!!
And, so, last night was no exception. I was sitting next to a very old friend from our Florida State days back in the late 60s. You can’t help but hear that fabulous music (I admit, I am biased) and reminisce. Songs evoke some fairly strong memories and emotions.
Last night, I was back in Northampton, Massachusetts, living with my young husband in a boarding house paying in rent exactly what we were paying for a two bedroom furnished home in Florida. We had graduated from Florida State and threw all our possessions into a VW bug and took off for New England. Two reasons: Jim had gone AWOL in New Haven and Mass voted for McGovern in 1968. Of course, we had no jobs or contacts. We never thought we were risk takers. It was the 70s!!
We exited Interstate 91 at Northampton and drove down Main Street. Hippie types everywhere smoking out in the open and I’m not talking tobacco. No arrests! No one batted an eye. This was 1970!! OMG! I stayed 13 years.
Reservations are a must, usually, a month ahead of time if you want to be seated. It could be just BH and me but usually it includes whoever is in town. Our biggest party included 15. The trees are sprinkled with white, fairy lights, tables are candlelit, nights are usually in the mid 70s, and, of course, there are the starry skies. The food is not gourmet but I’ll take their baby back ribs any day.
We come for the music. Not just any music. We come for Mike Imbasciani and the Blues Rockerz. Naturally, there are a lot of other excellent musicians…blues and rock…who make their way to the courtyard. But, we’re die hard Mike groupies….as are many local boomers.
The first time we heard him at a local concert, he was barely 16, still in high school, in 2013. The headliner at that event was another Mike, Michael Allman, Gregg’s oldest. Gregg met Michael’s mother, a go-go dancer at a discotheque near Daytona Beach. At 18, he fathered his first child. Mary Lou’s parents, a bank executive and librarian, were none too happy about it and ran him out of town.
I would venture a guess that Mary Lou was in the throes of a major rebellion. Ya think? I’m guessing they didn’t have much to do with her or little Michael, because when I met him at that concert, he was missing quite a few teeth at the age of 47. However, I will say that didn’t interfere with his amazing voice….he sounded exactly like Gregg, except younger. Listen to him on YouTube, you’ll see what I mean.
But, I digress. At the age of 5, Mike Imbasciani pleaded with his father for guitar lessons. So, they both took it up, but little Mike could run circles around his dad within a few months. The dad quit, but he agreed to continue lessons for Mike as long as he learned “his” music. We’re talking The Band, Rolling Stones, Allman Brothers, Santana, Eric Clapton, Arlo Guthrie and lots of old blues legends. And, wow, did he learn them. Listening to him play is pure joy! No one can sit still….we turn into a whole lotta boomer shakers! As bad as my structural issues can be, I cannot help but get up and dance!!
And, so, last night was no exception. I was sitting next to a very old friend from our Florida State days back in the late 60s. You can’t help but hear that fabulous music (I admit, I am biased) and reminisce. Songs evoke some fairly strong memories and emotions.
Last night, I was back in Northampton, Massachusetts, living with my young husband in a boarding house paying in rent exactly what we were paying for a two bedroom furnished home in Florida. We had graduated from Florida State and threw all our possessions into a VW bug and took off for New England. Two reasons: Jim had gone AWOL in New Haven and Mass voted for McGovern in 1968. Of course, we had no jobs or contacts. We never thought we were risk takers. It was the 70s!!
We exited Interstate 91 at Northampton and drove down Main Street. Hippie types everywhere smoking out in the open and I’m not talking tobacco. No arrests! No one batted an eye. This was 1970!! OMG! I stayed 13 years.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)