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 |  Middle-Age Spread is NOT a Condiment!
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| This is my second attempt at keeping a daily blog. I'm hoping I will be able to enter something everyday, just to keep my creative juices flowing. I plan on writing about my day, and infusing it with my "quirky" way of viewing things. If you read my blog for a few days, you'll see what I'm talking about. I'm in my fifties and see things slightly different than mainstream. Hopefully you will enjoy what you read, and maybe even get a laugh or two along the way. |
| Today is my 15 year wedding anniversary. Fifteen years is a pretty good run by today's standards. However, it's nothing compared to an older couple that lived down the street from us. My husband, Michael and I had just moved into our house, and of course we were all gung-ho about gardening and taking care of the outside of our home. One Sunday morning as we worked in the garden, the elderly couple who lived down the street walked past after church. They walked along holding hands, then stopped to say 'hello' to us. As we talked they told us how long they lived in their house, 63 years, and how long they had been married. I'll never forget the wife's words as she said, "We have been married 64 years, and it's still something new every day with this one," as she nodded her head in her husband's direction. He broke-out into a fit of laughter, and they stood there laughing together. Sadly, the couple no longer lives down the street from us. They both passed away - first the wife, then the husband. But they left me with two images. The first is how they could laugh together after all of those years of marriage. They had a familiarity with each other that only comes with time. You could see the love they had for each other just in the way they looked and talked together. And they were proud of the many years that they had shared. Lastly, I will never forget the way they held hands as they continued on their way down the street. It was to make sure they wouldn't fall - that was part of it, but also because they loved each other. It was a sweet image and my husband and I watched in silence as they made their way home. I'm glad that we had the chance to talk to them that day. And you know, she was right. I learn something new with my husband every day too. It may be something as simple as "I didn't know you couldn't spell that word," or "You saw 'Ghost' how many times?" But it is still a learning experience - a work in progress. Maybe that's the key to a long marriage. You have to find that 'something new' everyday to keep it fresh. You have to laugh together. And you know, holding hands everyday, no matter what your age, isn't such a bad idea either. Have a great day! |
| Why is it just when I'm so fed-up with my hair that I'm forced to make an appointment, it decides to be cooperative? Does that happen to you? Do you look in the mirror and think, "I don't need a hair appointment. My hair is perfect." For the past week, my hair has been unusually tame. It goes left if I want it to go left, lays smooth instead of sticking out, and curls in just the right direction. It knows. It knows that I made an appointment to get a perm. Now it is trying to fool me into thinking I don't need one. I've fallen for this ploy in the past. I get fooled into thinking that I've somehow 'jumped the gun' and don't need the body, volume or control that a perm gives me. My hair has all of that and more. My hair is just the way I like it. I cancel the appointment and the next thing I know, almost instantly, my hair goes back to its evil ways, defiantly showing me who's boss. I'm not falling for it. I refuse to be drawn under its spell. I will not cancel my appointment. However, there is a nice wave to it already. Do I really want to spend the money? Do I need to? Wait a minute . . . it's happening. That's the hair talking not me. I will keep my appointment, I will keep my appointment . . . |
| Since we had a major snowstorm on Friday, I wasn't able to do my grocery shopping early Saturday morning. I had to go Sunday afternoon which is, apparently, the worst time to go. As soon as I pulled into the full parking lot I knew I was in for trouble. The last shopping cart left was the one with the wobbly, squeaky wheel. I pushed this monster around the crowded store envying everyone who had a normal cart. Did you ever walk into the supermarket the same time as someone else and then every aisle that you walked down, there was that person? It's like they are stalking you throughout the store. This happened to me on Sunday. An older gentlemen was in every aisle that I walked down. Finally, since he was staring at me, I said 'hello'. Well, this ended-up being the start of a whole 'friendship'. I soon learned everything about him: where he lived, where he used to work before he retired, why he liked to shop on Sunday afternoons, etc. I couldn't get away from him. Why he even invited me to his home. I somehow managed to get away, then made sure that I checked each aisle before walking down it not wanting to run into him again. After having my weekly chat with Steve, the dairy manager, I headed for check-out. Wouldn't you know it, there he was. Again, the conversation started. He waited for me at the doors and asked if he could help me load-up my car. Since he was a lot older than me, I told him that I should be helping him. This only endeared me to him more. Again, he invited me to his house "whenever I wanted to stop by." I drove home and told my husband about my experience. He looked at me like I was some kind of a freak. "What, do you talk to everyone you meet at the store?" I assured him that 'they' talk to me. "Well, it's your own fault for being so hot." What a great guy. I said it before and I'll say it again, I really did train him right. Anyway, I can go to the local convenience store any morning and hang-out with Coach Bo (that was his name). He would gladly buy me a cup of coffee and introduce me to the coffee club that meets there every morning. I'm reluctant to take him up on his offer, as I don't want him to get the "wrong idea." I'm not sure, because it's been awhile, but I think Coach Bo was trying to pick me up. Where younger men used to try to pick me up, now I have the senior citizen set. And of course, the local dairy managers of every grocery store within a 15 mile radius of my home. It's comforting to know I still got "it". |
| Every morning as I start my day, I have a writing buddy who makes sure that I sit down at the computer and write. Of course I have to feed her first, after all, she can't be expected to start her chores on an empty stomach. And she does like to be appreciated for her hard work which usually requires my brushing her. My writing buddy is our pet cat, Licorice. She is black and white, like a tuxedo, and has a yellow collar with a bell. I often wondered how cats feel about wearing bells around their necks. Do you think the sound of it drives them slightly insane? If it does, that would explain a lot about Licorice. I found her one Saturday morning returning from my weekly grocery shopping. She walked underneath the hedges behind our house and I caught a glimpse of a kitten's butt out of the corner of my eye. Unsure of what I had seen, I parked the car in the driveway and got out, walking over to our old shed. As I looked behind the it, there she was. I turned my head to the left, and cowering behind the row of hedges was her mother and siblings. If I'm remembering correctly, there were about four cats all together. This was the last time I saw the mother and other kittens. I don't know where they went, but apparently, she was just finding a home for Licorice, and then moved on to find homes for the other kittens in her litter. At first. Licorice was afraid of humans. It took a lot for her to trust us enough to let us pet her. We patiently and methodically fed her moving her food dish closer and closer to our kitchen door. Finally, one Saturday morning as my daughter and I watched her eat, I reached out and quickly touched her back. She spun around and meowed at me as if to scold me for petting her, then went back to eating. Again, I reached out and pet her - slower. She was hooked. We could do whatever we wanted to her after that. At first she was an outdoor cat only. My husband didn't want another cat in the house since we already had our cat, Shooey. She was a member of the family for over 15 years and she would not like an intruder, an upstart, entering her realm. She was the queen of the house and liked it that way. My husband didn't want her getting upset or jealous.But, by the fall of the year we allowed Licorice to live in our basement until she was old enough to be spayed. The rest is history. She and Shooey had their encounters, but Licorice always laid down and submitted at Shooey's paws. Shooey tolerated her. Now Licorice is the queen of the house as poor Shooey passed away last September. Licorice is not as smart as Shooey was. She can't open doors, or jump up onto things without a lot of planning, and it took her forever to figure out how to drink out of a water dish. I told my daughter that Licorice plans to get by on looks and not brains. It's worked for her so far. Licorice takes her self-imposed, daily duties seriously. In the morning, she's constantly on patrol, checking one window after another, for any bird that has the nerve to fly too close to our house, or any rabbit or squirrel that wanders onto our property. The perimeter must be checked and watched vigilantly and Licorice is on it. Upon seeing the hillbillies next door, Licorice always musters up a growl or two. Her duties extend to making sure I do my work, like feeding and brushing her, and writing. I don't know how my writing got added to her list, but she checks my work daily. She does this by jumping onto my lap as I type, and plopping down, waiting for me to finish. In fact, you'll have to excuse me for the day as I have a 12 pound cat on my lap, and it is getting harder to type. She knows that I should be getting ready for work. What a taskmaster! |
| Okay, this hormone replacement therapy is not working. They come in a little compact, just like birth control pills. Is this package design supposed to make me feel better about taking them? Is it meant to trick me into thinking I'm not 'that age'? I've decided to stop taking it. Why? Well, there are several things that I've noticed about myself since this therapy began. First of all, I feel like I have gained fifty pounds. The carb cravings, not to mention the sugar cravings, are intense. I don't dare step on a scale for fear the results would send me into cardiac arrest. I stupidly thought these pills would stop the cravings and not make them worse. Next, I got a zit on the underside of my chin that was big, red, and throbbing. I swear it was about to grow a face and start talking to me. The sheer size of it made me think it was becoming a separate entity. Out of fear, I finally popped it and in doing so, I think I created another ocean. This thing drained for, what seemed like, hours. Then there are the stomach or digestive issues. I was told the pills would upset my stomach, so I should take them at bedtime. By doing that, I should sleep through any upset stomach syptoms. Well, guess again. My stomach churns all night long. Loud, unusual sounds come from it. It sounds like there is a monster living in my digestive tract. And finally, this past week while I was driving to work, I heard a commercial on the radio about catfood, or something to do with cats. I've heard this commercial countless times before, it was nothing new to me. However, I started crying because it made me think of our cat of 16 years, who passed away in September. I am way too emotional under the influence of these little white pills. My sister suggested I see the local hippie chicks who have a health/nutrition store. They have all kinds of holistic remedies for anything that ails you. Shes sure they would have something for 'my condition'. So, we are planning to see what they have. I think I would rather live with the hot flashes, night sweats and sleep interruptions rather than take these pills. They are the lowest dose too, so, it boggles my mind to think what would I be like on a bigger dose. Besides, all the symptoms they are supposed to alleviate, they seem to intensify. No thanks. I'll see what the hippie chicks have to offer. |
| My drive home from work yesterday was definitely a 'white knuckle' ride. I held onto the steering wheel and watched the road intently the whole way home. I was driving in the midst of a 'Nor'easter" and the roads were treacherous. I dropped my car into low and went slow - that's my motto. I know that's a corny statement to make, but it's true. I passed cars that slid off of the road and were in ditches. And tractor trailers were having a rough go of it too. I had to go around one that was disabled. I wasn't too happy about that since the other side of the road hadn't been plowed yet. I was driving 20 to 25 miles per hour and finally made it into town an hour and a half later. This is a drive that usually takes me 45 minutes. I picked-up my daughter and pointed the car toward home. At last I made it to our house. Believe me I felt like kissing the ground. However, I couldn't relax until my husband made it home safe too. Even though his is a five minute drive, yesterday, it took him a half hour. A blanket of snow, about six inches deep, is covering the ground. This means one thing: no grocery shopping today. I called my mother yesterday and left a message on her answering machine to warn her that I probably wouldn't be able to do the shopping. My brother will have to do without his Hot Pockets and rice pudding for a few days. As for me, well, I always have a few days worth of food in the house. Yesterday, before the storm increased its intensity, I stopped at the store near my office to get some catfood. This was the only item that I needed. I bought 24 cans last week, and Licorice (our cat) was out of it by Friday morning. What a little hog. I found this cat when she was a kitten living in the hedge row in our backyard. A true 'bush cat'. I'm sure she ate all manner of bugs, mice, birds and grass while living in the wild. Suddenly, she has these refined taste buds. I have tried every brand of catfood on the market, and even tried feeding her dogfood. (That was my mother's idea.) It went over like a lead balloon. Now I buy her Fancy Feast, one of the more expensive brands, and she is finicky with that, too. If she thinks I am going to catch bugs, mice, squirrels and rabbits for her, well, she can think again. Since I won't be making my usual two trips to the supermarket today, I wonder what my 'friends' at the supermarket will think. Will they miss me? What about the dairy manager, Steve? Will he forget about me if I don't make it there? Will he call someone else 'beautiful' today? You know what they say, "out of sight, out of mind". These questions, and more, won't be answered until tomorrow. I think by then we should be shoveled out. Have a great day! |
| My family likes to talk on the phone. They call each other all day and chat about anything and everything. This got me to thinking about the different conversations I have had with several of them. They all have different phone-conversation styles. MY SISTER: Yesterday, I got a call from my sister, who is "a decade" younger than me, as she likes to say. Since she became a mother, almost five years ago, our phone conversations are never boring. Not because we talk about great topics, but because it is always a mystery whether or not we will be able to finish it. From my end I hear, "Vick I was calling to see what you're . . .Alisha will you get down from there? What are you doing this. . .Ashley give your sister that book." She hasn't been able to finish a sentence or complete a thought since having children. MY MOTHER: I'll walk in the door after work and my husband will tell me that my mother called and left a message on the answering machine. "Vick when you get this message, give me a call. I have something to tell you." Her voice always sounds urgent, so I quickly call her back. Nine times out of ten she is calling to tell me that she would like to buy me meat. Yes, meat. For example, my anniversary is in a week and my mother would like to buy us steaks. She equates the purchase of meat with love. MY BROTHER BILL: Whenever Bill calls it is a guaranteed "yawn" of a conversation. He always tells me about things that I have no clue. Even though I tell him I have no idea what he is talking about he continues to talk. One example is how Bill is an avid "Star Trek: Next Generation" fan. He has every video, VHS and DVD, of the complete series. He will call me about the latest video that he watched and asked, "Do you remember seeing that one?" I, once again, remind him that I do not watch "Next Generation" - fans refer to it this way. He will proceed to tell me about the entire episode, who was in it, who was funny in it, and what he liked and disliked about it. Meanwhile, my husband and daughter are laughing because they only hear me saying, "Bill, I don't watch "Next Generation". That means nothing to me," over and over again. MY BROTHER BOB: I rarely get a phone call from Bob. He is an emailer. On those occasions when he does call me, I can sit for hours talking to him. We always end-up talking about Mom, or how Bill tried to talk his ear off with his Star Trek conversations. Apparently, Bill tries to have the same conversations with Bob that he does with me. This never goes too far, as Bob tells him, "I don't care about 'Star Trek', and that somehow ends the conversation. I have tried this with Bill but it doesn't work. I wonder what I am doing wrong? Anyway, conversations with Bob are hilarious. Occasionally, I get calls on my cell phone from my family members while I'm at work Each conversation begins with the words, "What are you doing?" Do they really want to know that I am working on a home equity loan, or opening an account for a customer? No. The answer they are looking for is, "nothing". If, during the course of a conversation, I have to end the call for whatever reason, I always hear, "Oh really. I'm not even done talking to you." This is usually from my Mom. Bill, on the other hand, says, "Okay, I'll call you at home tonight and talk to you then." Great. Something to look forward to while relaxing at home. |
| Have I told you about our neighbors? If not, then there is no better time to do it than now. By the time you finish reading this, you may appreciate your own neighbors more. First I should say that we had wonderful neighbors for over ten years. They were an elderly couple who took great care of their home and yard. They had pride of ownership for their property. Unfortunately the wife died and the husband decided not to live there on his own. He sold the home and is now living in a retirement community with his brother. We miss the both of them. The home was sold at a bargain price to a younger couple with a first grade boy and big black dog. We should have known they were going to be a problem when we first met them and the boy immediately started climbing our Japanese Red Maple tree and the mother yelled at him and slapped him. He slapped back, and kicked too. However the couple seemed friendly enough. It wasn't until they moved in that we realized what we had on our hands - a batch of 'hillbillies'. Whenever we would step-out our back door, the husband, Mr. Hillbilly, would appear out of nowhere and start talking. All we were trying to do is something simple like taking out the trash. But it ended-up being a two hour trip to the garbage can thanks to Mr. Hillbilly's never-ending yakking. It got so bad that we would peek-out our back door to see if the coast was clear before stepping foot on the back porch. We would even leave through the garage, just to avoid him. It's not that we are anti-social, or un-neighborly, it's just who has two hours to take out the trash? Our next hint came when lawn mowers in different state of repair, or ruin, we aren't sure which, were placed by the curb with a hand painted sign that read "For Sale". Our street doesn't see a lot of through traffic, so, we found this to be puzzling. Why would you put them outside of your house when not a lot of traffic goes by? Next, the heat of the summer came and with that, the unsold lawn mowers were put in the backyard and a table was set-up by the curb. The next "items" for sale were cantaloupes - two for a dollar, and corn on the cob. A big mound of cantaloupes and corn was stacked by the table and Mrs. Hillbilly sat there all day, hoping the few cars that went by would stop and buy her cantaloupes and corn. Well, summer soon turned to autumn, and with that, the unsold cantaloupes and ears of corn were piled into the yard and the table was removed. Kerosene heaters were now placed by the "For Sale" sign. They were lined up neatly. As you can imagine, these too went unsold. They now reside in, you guessed it - the backyard. Before we knew it the holiday season came and went. However, Christmas is still in our hearts, and apparently still on the Hillbilly Calendar since the lights are still-up and the used tree is thrown in the backyard. During the Valentine's Day snowstorm, they graciously turned on their Christmas lights for the neighborhood to enjoy. Not that our hillbillies had a great display of lights. No, they just had a few strung around their front door with the trail of lights leading to the hand rail of their porch. I think Martha Stewart would have a problem with their execution of lights. Spring is almost upon us and somehow a pile of tires is now among the lawn mowers, dead grass (from the rotting corn and cantaloupes), and kerosene heaters. Heck, a pile of tires is exactly what their yard was missing. Every yard needs a pile of tires. The once carefully manicured lawn is now a mud-pit since the hillbillies decided to rip-up the shrubberies and allow their dog to run loose. The dog is doing its part by fertilizing the mud, hoping for grass to grow, I guess. There are neat piles of 'manure' peppered throughout the yard. In fact, I have already witnessed the dog at work while looking out my window as I did dishes. I used to see birds, or butterflies flutter past, now I see a dog in the act of 'fertilizing'. Mr. Hillbilly is a man of many talents - a true Renaissance Man. Why he even makes his own wine. I was the recipient of one of his concoctions - homemade apple wine. (Did I mention that apples were for sale during autumn too?) I tried to drink a glass, but I guess I'm just not used to Homemade Hillbilly Wine. I couldn't get the mental image of him stomping the apples with his bare feet out of my mind. I imagined the wine had a stinky feet bouquet. It wasn't palatable, not even with a big chunk of cheese. Instead of 'down the hatch', it went 'down the drain'. This spring there is a new addition to the hillbilly family. "Tater", as we call the first grader, now has a little brother whom we call "Tater Tot". (I'm not sure why we started using these names.) We can't wait until Tater Tot is old enough to start climbing our tree with Tater. I could go on and on. I haven't told you how the 'stink bugs' and horse flies are at swarm-level since our hillbillies moved next door. Or how the dog has rushed at us as if to attack whenever we return to our home. Or how cooking on our grill, a once enjoyable experience, is now marred because Mr. Hillbilly stands there with his motor-mouth talking our ears off. Since they've moved next door we have seen such sights as nine months pregnant Mrs. Hillbilly mowing what's left of their lawn, while Mr. Hillbilly tinkered with, yet another, lawn mower, kerosene heater, or other such gadget. It is time to buy a tall, privacy fence. Granted, I will miss such sights as Tater scooping poop and throwing it at the dog. Or Mr. Hillbilly, all 130 lbs of him, taking a dip in the half-inflated pool. Yes, it is an educational experience, having hillbillies as our neighbors. However, I believe we have learned enough. We are now graduates of Hillbilly U. |
| I have a problem. Not a big problem, where an intervention is required, or an affect your life problem. This is one of those annoying little 'can't stop myself' problems. No, it's not an addiction problem, unless you count my candy addiction, which is only a problem when I run-out of candy. No, this problem began long ago. So long ago, that I'm not sure when, or how, it all began. You see, I can't walk into a bathroom without noticing which way the toilet paper is hanging - forward or back. I have an uncontrollable need to have the paper roll forward - not back toward the wall. To me, this is the correct way the paper should hang. Therefore, I take it upon myself to change the roll around so that it is hanging the 'right' way. Weird, huh? I have changed, I don't know how many, rolls of toilet paper to the correct way. I'm not talking about at home. We are all pretty much on the same page there. Besides, nine times out of ten I am the one changing the roll anyway. No. this problem extends to the outside world and I've noticed it doesn't matter where I am. Although I dislike using public bathrooms, I was forced to use them when my daughter was younger. I also find myself needing them more and more since passing the age of 40. The 'gotta go, gotta go' commercials could be about me. Anyway, I have used bathrooms that I never would have ventured into when I was younger. After all, marathon shopping trips require at least one bathroom stop. Therefore, I changed many a roll of toilet paper. Apparently I have taken it upon myself to be some kind of Crusader of Toilet Paper. My mission is to make the world right again by changing toilet paper so it hangs forward, not back. I have already changed the roll around in such bathrooms as; my sister's bathroom, supermarket, work, school, doctor's office, etc, etc. The list goes on and on. I realize that it is a sickness, but that doesn't stop me. I truly cannot control this reflex. And it is a reflex or knee-jerk reaction. Even as I am changing the rolls around I think to myself, "Why are you doing this? What business is it of yours? Why do you care?" I have made great strides in controlling this obsession, especially since some public bathrooms have those toilet paper locks to prevent customers from stealing their "high quality" toilet paper. (Never mind the fact that I could write my shopping list on this paper, or wrap meat in it. That's a story for another day.) These I can't change, and I leave the bathroom with the uneasy feeling of not correcting a problem. To me, it is an annoyance, a failed mission. I began to consciously tell myself "Don't change the roll" whenever I notice that one is hanging incorrectly. I just make a mental note that the bathrooms at WalMart, or the doctor's office, supermarket, etc., have the toilet paper hanging the wrong way. As I am washing my hands, I shake my head in disapproval. So, if you ever invite me to your house, don't be surprised if you find the roll has been changed around. It means that the urge was too strong for me to fight, and I had to correct the problem. Have a great day! |
| It's Easter time and all of the supermarkets, pharmacies, department stores and every other retail outlet is selling Easter candy. You can see the brightly colored Peeps, chocolate bunnies, pastel Hershey's Kisses and every other delicious variety of candy imaginable. But, there is only one that I really, I mean really, care about. That is the jelly bean. This is the beginning of my annual Jelly Bean Binge. Every year at this time I have this uncontrollable craving for jelly beans. I try my best to walk past them without buying them, but my willpower is conveniently unavailable. I scan the shelves, practically drooling, looking for the right variety. They can't be the spice ones, or the Star Burst brand. The 'classic' fruit jelly beans are the only ones that will do. I know this is contrary to everything you know about me. After all, I am a self-proclaimed chocoholic, and proud of it. However, there is also a seasonal candy demon inside me. The candies that are sold for such holidays as Valentine's Day, Easter, Mother's Day, Halloween, and Christmas always have at least one variety that I can't resist. The demon is awaken and the seasonal candy binge begins. For example, during the Valentine's Day season, it was the little jelly hearts. I went through I don't know how many bags of them. It doesn't help my addiction that they are bargain priced either. During Easter, it's jelly beans; Mother's Day, chocolate anything. Then we come to Halloween and good ol' candy corn. I've eaten candy corn to the point where I can't stand the sight of it. I've eaten it so much that I've made myself sick. My tongue is permanently orange. Most of the time this is well before Halloween arrives. And for Christmas it is a chewy taffy-like peppermint flavored candy. Delicious! So, now I'm living with my jelly bean binge. This morning while brushing my teeth, I noticed my tongue was multi-colored from the jelly beans I ate in the middle of the night. Yes, I actually woke up in the middle of the night to eat jelly beans. Don't worry, I have a plan. I'm hoping I will make myself so sick of them, that I won't be able to eat anymore. Realistically, this hasn't happened in the past three years. Last year, since they are available year-round, I ate them straight through to Halloween. The only thing that saved me then was - you guess it - candy corn. I switched one addiction for another. By the way, these binges are in addition to my usually daily intake of chocolate. A day without chocolate is, well. . . just wrong. At least I switched to sugar-free chocolate. But, when you eat as many pieces as I do, I think it sort of cancels out the sugar-free properties. Perhaps now you can understand why I can't shake those pesky nine pounds that keep haunting me. |
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