I’m Too Old For Weekends

Every Thursday the daily newspaper includes a special supplement called Weekend.  It’s full of articles and listings of things to do in and around the city on the weekend.  I used to look forward to opening those pages and seeing what I might be interested in. 
 
Things have changed. 

Last Thursday I opened the Weekend supplement and the first article was about a rapper by the name of Flo Rida (get it?) who would be headlining something called the Jingle Jam on Friday.   Okayyyy…..

Next page is a photo of a middle aged, unsmiling guy with a weathered face and long, and I mean long, stringy hair, scheduled to appear at an establishment called the Abilene Bar and Lounge.  His style is described as “melancholy” and “a self-flaling inward gaze.  Something that he works on deep inside, where no one can see.”  Good.  I don’t plan on seeing it either.

Oh here’s something….The next headline features an artist who “brings obtuse stylings to East End.”  The accompanying photo shows a bearded man with face paint, predominantly featuring big black circles all around his eyes.  And a smudge on his nose.  He is looking directly into the camera as if to say with a straight face, “Yes, I meant to look this way.”  The description, and I kid you not, says, “A devotee of ‘outsider art’ with a passion for creating difficult-to-interpret art objects fashioned from found objects, matched by his wildly obtuse musical compositions.”  Oh goody.  I’m such a fan of obtuse.   NEXT!

Next page….a huge color photo of an apparently renowned DJ whose head is completely shaved except for a row down the center from front to back, which is sculpted into six dangerous looking spikes.  Long ones.  Scary.  Again….NEXT!

Oh I love this one…at the top of another page is a headline which reads,”HOLIDAY JOY WORTH SHARING”.  Underneath are two upcoming shows…’Lewis Black: The Rant is Due”  with an accompanying photo of Black displaying a scary angry grimace on his face. And the other show is Grand Funk Railroad. (BTW I am a big fan of Grand Funk.  But the headline did say HOLIDAY JOY.  What about the Funk in Grand Funk?)

So I don’t know.  I think I’m too old for weekends anymore.  I used to like it when I opened the entertainment supplement of a newspaper and saw photos of top 40 bands appearing at the Holiday Inn lounge.  They usually had matching shirts and vests, or tuxedoes.  Granted, sometimes the matching shirts were that tacky polyester knit with the big collars, but that was actually hip then.  See?  See how unhip I am?  The word ‘hip’ isn’t even hip anymore.  *sigh*.

It’s okay.  Let the young be young.  Let them gyrate on the dance floor to their favorite DJ, dressed in scanty clothing, tossing their hair and doing shots, …..oh wait a minute.    That was us.  Never mind.

 

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Thanksgiving Indeed

So what does a widow have to be thankful for on the first Thanksgiving after her husband's death? 
Lots.
I am thankful for the loving care of friends and family...providing for my physical, emotional, and spiritual needs.
I am grateful for the grace and strength to face each day, finding little treasures of joy amid the rubble of grief. In fact, sometimes big treasures of joy.
I'm grateful that I still love to sing, and singing is aiding the healing process.
I am thankful that all my needs are miraculously met.  Sometimes it's like the fishes and the loaves.  I always have supply from the One whose supply is limitless.
I am grateful for the love my husband and I shared, and thankful that even though he is no longer here, our love will never die.  Ever.

I could go on like this forever.   I am aware - every moment - of something I am grateful for.  

Yeah, the holidays are hard.  Anticipation of the holidays is tough.  Tears happen. 
But every day is a challenge anyway, and I trust God to get me through each one from morning till night.  And He always does.

And..... there are still gorgeous sunsets, and there are still movies that make me laugh out loud, and there are still friendly hugs, and there are still babies that coo and smile at me in the checkout line.

There is still so much.   And for me, every day is still Thanksgiving.

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The Church Ladies

On a recent trip to the supermarket I noticed a bake sale going on just inside the store with smiling church ladies behind the table of packaged cookies and treats.  I decided I would make a contribution on my way out.

So later I stopped by the table and explained that I couldn't eat the sweets but would like to make a donation of a couple dollars, which was the price on most of the little packages of cookies they had on the table. They were very grateful and told me how they were renovating an old church to be their new church home and the bake sale would benefit the building fund.  I wished them good luck and dug into my wallet.  I was embarrassed to find I didn't have any one dollar bills.  Only a twenty in fact.  I apologetically explained my situation and one of the ladies assured me that was no problem. The store had been kind enough to supply them all the change they needed.  So I handed her the twenty.  She went into her change bag and asked again how much I wanted to give. I said "two dollars", so she rooted around in there and handed me back a ten and a bunch of ones.  I smiled and once again wished them well. 

When I got home  and re-organized my wallet, I was horrified to find that she had given me back a ten and ten ones.  The whole twenty dollars!  Thinking back on it, I thought she had a funny look on her face when I stuffed the money in my wallet and waved good-bye.  She must have thought the proper thing to do would be to hand me back the twenty in the appropriate denominations and leave it to me to hand her back the two dollars.  I just thought she would give me back eighteen dollars.  I felt terrible, and vowed to make it right if I got the chance.

The next day I went back to the store but the church ladies were not there.  Oh well. Then a couple weeks later I went to the same store and once again, there was the bake sale and smiling church ladies manning the table!  Here was my chance.  I didn't see any reason to go into a big explanation of  the previous debacle, so I just once again explained that I couldn't eat the sweets but would like to make a donation.  This time I gave them five dollars, just for good measure. I was redeemed! 

They were so very pleased and smiled brightly as one of them said, 'The Shiloh Church thanks you so much!" 

I said "You're so welcome" even as it dawned on me, this wasn't the same church as before.

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Autumn Tree at Sunrise

Taken at Dad's this morning.

A beautiful sight to carry with me back to Florida.



SCARY

What dark and dreary dungeon is this where cobwebs do drape and dangle?

What forsaken fortress doth lie in such forlorn neglect?

What horrors await within this hoary web of......

Wait a minute. This is right here in Dad's cellar.
Never mind.

(We really do sweep them away.  They come back so fast!  Might as well leave them up for Halloween now!)


P.S. Don't tell Dad I posted this. 

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Life With Dad

I am watching my dad out the window.  He is raking leaves.  He is 93.

First he went over the whole yard on his lawn tractor pulling some sort of leaf collecting attachment.  He has dumped several loads of the collected leaves in piles around the yard and now he has to do something with them.  So he has brought out his trusty ‘cardboard sled’ that he invented.  It is a huge piece of heavy cardboard made from a refrigerator shipping box (from his brother’s appliance store), flattened out and fitted with a board across one end with a rope handle attached to it.   He rakes the leaf piles onto the cardboard sled and then pulls the loaded sled with his tractor off toward the back of the property where they end up I don’t know where.  Then he returns to rake more piles onto the sled.   He’s very methodical.  He will do this as long as it takes.  And it’s cold out there.

 I love watching my dad do stuff like this.  Yesterday I watched him harvest his acorn squash out of his garden.  He leaves the winter squashes on the vine as long as he can, because they keep better that way, even though the vine looks dead.  Then finally when the weatherman forecasts the first frost, Dad goes out and harvests the squash.  This is a yearly ritual.  Sometimes the harvest happens in the dark of night because he hasn’t heard about the frost until the evening news, so he goes out there with flashlight and basket and rescues them just in the nick of time.  I am glad he did it in daylight this time.  He is sorely disappointed because he bought seed for butternut squash and instead it came up acorn.  Just not the same.  I love to see those butternut squash all huddled together in the wheelbarrow after he has picked them.  If you can picture these flesh-colored squash all piled up together, you will understand why he calls them his ‘bare naked babies’.  Anyway, no babies this year.  Just these dark green things.  That’s okay.  They taste good too. 

 I imagine when he’s done with his leaf project he’ll come back inside and read the paper for awhile.  He goes to the corner chair next to the window and reads until pretty soon I hear ‘crunch’………’crunch’………..’crunch’………as the paper slowly lowers into his lap and his eyelids close.  He calls this his ‘news snooze’.  But when he comes back fully awake afterward, he will do the word jumble.  He does the word jumble every day to keep his mind from going soft.  (Or words to that effect.)  And just to challenge himself a little more, he doesn’t write anything down.  He does it all in his head.  Holy moly, I gotta tell ya, if he can do THAT, his mind’s a lot firmer than mine. I always know when he’s working on the jumble because I catch him slunked way down in the chair, one leg crossed over the other, staring into space.   Thinkin’.   

 So these are just a few glimpses into life with Dad.  I admire him so much.  He does what needs doing around here, but all in good time.  What’s the rush?  Read a little paper, watch a little TV, eat a little dinner, take a little nap, play a little organ, play a little saxophone, exercise a little, take a little nap…(yeah, I know I already said that).

 I’m ashamed to admit it, but after seeing him do all that work, I think I’m ready for a nap.

Giddy-up

The Three Amigas

Well, in keeping with my new endeavor to keep busy and try new things, I went horseback riding the other day.  In truth, it’s not an entirely new thing.  I used to go riding with my friends Deb and Cindy in high school.  They had their own horses.  How cool was that?  But since I had not hoisted myself onto the back of a horse in over 40 years, it was sort of a new thing all over again.  Once again the ’60 Club’ (I call us that but I’m sure they hate it) of Carol, Chris, Betty Sue and I planned a day together.  Betty Sue had a last-minute family celebration so she couldn’t come, but Carol, Chris and I went on The Great Trail Ride Adventure. 

Okay, ‘adventure’ is not exactly the right word.  Chris’s horse “Freckles” kept falling asleep, and my horse “Dusty” stayed awake but obviously just wanted to get it over with and I swear I could hear him muttering under his breath, "Yeah, whatever."  Still, it was a glorious day and the three of us friends really enjoyed being together in the great outdoors, at one with nature and joined in spirit with our magnificent steeds. 

As you can see in the picture (that’s me on the left) we had to wear those doofy helmets.  I wanted to wear a ten gallon hat, but first of all I didn’t have one, and second of all there are safety issues to consider, as evidenced by the phone book-sized stack of release forms we had to sign prior to mounting up, including a clause (I kid you not) that says the stable is not responsible for the weather.  Yeah, apparently a few customers have actually thrown hissy fits because it rained on the day they picked to go riding, and they felt the stable was somehow responsible. 

As I look at the picture, I see that my horse looks kind of….short.  Carol, the most experienced of the riders, was assigned the tallest horse, so she looks positively regal atop her mount (Carol’s the one in the middle.)  And Carol also has her own helmet.  I was impressed.  (Kind of reminds me of when I was in college and they made me the captain of our intramural bowling team because I was the only one who had her own ball.)  And Chris looks happy and comfortable atop Freckles, who appears to be awake in this picture. 

I will boast a little though, because I was the only one who knew ALL the words to Happy Trails To You, even the middle part that nobody knows.  (Thank you Buddy for singing it at the end of every show.) 

So once again, a good time was had by all, and we parted ways with a fond farewell as Carol heads off to Florida for another season.  
 
Then after that, I went to tap dance class.  But that’s another blog. (That ‘Icy Hot’ stuff really works.)

 

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Yoga

I started taking yoga classes a couple of months ago up in New York state with a friend who had been going for a few years.  Excuse me, I think they say yoga practice.  I'm still practicing, that's for sure.  Anyway, I went the first time just to be polite, fully expecting to hate it.  Imagine my surprise when I actually liked it.  I think it was kind of a modified version of yoga, and it felt good. So I went twice a week for about three weeks.  Then I came back down here to Florida a couple weeks ago, and found that I missed it  So I get this bright idea......I know that the local Senior Friendship Center has all kinds of classes, and activities and stuff so I went to their web site and found out that sure enough, they have a yoga class once a week.  And it's only three dollars!  Yes!  Plus, I figured it was best to find a senior version of yoga since I'm still pretty new and not too flexible and still learning the 'downward facing dog'.  And after all, I am 60 now, so I qualify for the Senior Friendship Center.  So I went this morning.

The instructor is 80 and way more nimble than me.   Two of the ladies were in their  nineties. (I'm not kidding.)  And they were way more nimble than me. I left the room with my legs shaking and my hips screaming at me.  As I waited for the elevator to carry me back down to the main floor, I watched as the two 90-year-olds took the stairs.

I'm gonna go again next week.  These people have inspired me.  I have a whole new outlook.....'Hey, I'm ONLY 60!"  But don't expect me to take the stairs.

My Week In Review...Poo-Poo-Pe-Doo

Just thought I'd do a quick round-up of this week's events. 

1. I'm back in Florida and all my anxieties and fears about the trip which I stupidly suffered all of  last week are behind me and were, of course, groundless. Things went smoothly and all is well.

2. Went to the communal 60th birthday party that we had planned for two weeks earlier (I wrote about that one last time.  See "The Girls At The Lake".)  Four of us recently-turned-60 friends gathered once again at Carol's house at the lake.  Thank you Carol.  It's a really nice house and well, it's on the lake for heaven's sake so it was gorgeous.  This time all four of us came and had a grand time.  Kind of a take-two of the previous get-together.  This time clever Carol had presents for each of us.  The first gift was.....are you ready?.....a package of SPOOLIES.  And if you're reading this and don't know what Spoolies are you are way too young to be reading a baby boomer's blog.  So we each grabbed one and wound a lock of our hair around it and sat there with these pink plastic circles in our hair for the remainder.  I was given Tangee lipstick.  Oh man, haven't seen THAT in years.  And I will forgive you if you don't remember Tangee lipstick because the specific name may be throwing you off.  Here, this description from their web site should jog your memory: "The original orange lipstick that goes on clear and gradually transforms into the perfect shade for you." Huh?  Huh?  You gettin it now??   Sure enough.  The stick is orange, but I put it on and it immediately went DARK PINK.  It's freaky.  Then the next gift was a MADRAS plaid duster, or housecoat, or whatever you want to call it. Perfect. 

Well, since Carol was the one who came up with these, she didn't want us to feel bad, and think she was left out, so she gave herself a gift too.  She unwrapped the package to reveal....EMERAUDE COLOGNE.  Wow.  shades of ninth grade.  I think I alternated between Emeraude and  Ambush.  


Anyway, it was another great gathering of old friends.  And sorry but I do mean old.


3. Watched several old movies with my dad to pass the evening hours.  I actually enjoyed them more than I anticipated.  One in particular starred Fred Astaire and Red Skelton and was called "Three Little Words".  It was the story of two actual songwriters (Burt Kalmar and Harry Ruby) and their successes and feuds and such.  Lots of good dancing by Mr. Astaire so I was all up for that.  One of the songs they wrote that was featured in the movie was "I Wanna Be Loved By You".  ("I wanna be loved by you alo-ne...POO POO PE DOO"  Now you can better understand the formerly puzzling title of this post.)


4. Flew back to Florida, as I mentioned.  Was picked up at the airport by two of my wonderful angel friends who not only drove an hour each way to pick me up, but took me to their house afterward and fed me a delicious meal.  And, oh yes, THREE MARGARITAS.  Which was apparently one margarita too many because I ended up having an unplanned sleepover at their house.  Oooohh, I forgot how the bed could spin like that.  But I had a GREAT time and loved every minute.  


So here I am, settling back in at my condo.  I was wondering how I would feel coming back to an empty house,  but ya know, I'm okay.  Going out to dinner tonight with another friend and planning to curl up with a good book afterward.  


Life is good.

The Girls At The Lake

Got together with a couple of high school class of '70 girlfriends the other night for cookout and conversation.  It was supposed to be a communal 60th birthday party but one of our comrades in sagging arms couldn't make it, so we stashed the cake in the freezer for another day, and just got together to get together. 

It was great.  I mean great in the sense that I perceive it at 60.  It was great because we were totally relaxed with each other, and enjoyed each other's company, and laughed and remembered and talked about today, yesterday and tomorrow.  And had a few glasses of wine of course.  I have found that a glass of wine is an excellent accessory to conversation. After a couple of the aforementioned glasses of wine we were even inspired to get up from the dinner table on the patio and do the stroll when a stroll-worthy song came on the radio.  Well, we tried to do the stroll.  I confess I had forgotten exactly how it went and my version was somewhere between the Electric Slide and the Virginia Reel I think.

I thought about the whole affair later and smiled at the realization that maturity has its benefits when it comes to female friendships.  No adolescent competition or jealousy.  No  inward comparisons of each others' strengths and weaknesses in order to find our footing in the social order.  I felt no social order whatsoever.  It didn't matter who was popular, who was smart, who had the best clothes. Popular isn't even in our grown-up vocabulary any more.  It was just us.  Three friends, still friends.  Survivors of youthful foibles, failed relationships, successes, defeats, jobs, love and loss.  Three friends sitting outside on a balmy evening at the lake, just talking, just enjoying.  It was just nice. 

And that's what really made it great. 

The Lines On My Face

So recently I've been noticing a couple of new crease lines on my cheek.  What the heck?  They're not crows feet, I've got those a little higher up next to my eyes.  At first I thought it was just pillow lines, but I was noticing them lo-n-g  after I got out of bed.  What the...I never saw anyone with lines like these.  Oh well, I'm almost 60, so I guess it's just old age. Figured I'd just have to find some new kind of makeup that would fill them in, like spackle.  Yuck.  Another age thing.

But wait.  One day I was talking on my iPhone and after I got off I looked in the mirror for some reason.  The creases!!  They were really prominent.

DUH!  I've been using only my iPhone recently because I'm travelling and have all my calls forwarded.  It's not old age creases. 

It's iPhace!

P.S. Tomorrow is my 60th birthday. Glad I could make myself laugh. 

Facebook Caper

This is a good one.  I was reading the newspaper the other day and there was an article COMPLETE WITH PHOTO about a young guy who got caught for robbery because he posted a photo of himself on Facebook holding a big wad of cash.  This, after recently posting that he was flat broke and out of work. 

Now, meanwhile, a Dollar General store VERY close to this guy's house had been robbed.   Of a big bunch of cash and some other stuff. 

His own Facebook photo showed him grinning away with this wad of cash in his fist, and also visible in the photo were a few items identifiable from the Dollar General robbery. 

Apparently  the police are now using Facebook as an evidence-gathering resource and they couldn't help but notice the stupid idiot with the cash.  So they arrested him, and sure enough, he did the robbery.

Well, my late husband, who just never could understand the big deal with Facebook, always said somebody should start an Assbook.  I think we just found our first member.

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The Elephant in the Room

Well, I think I only have two options here:  either scrap this blog altogether and shut it down, or acknowledge the elephant in the room and write about it.  So here goes.

My husband died last month on February 25th.  My joined-at-the-hip best friend husband.  He had been feeling poorly but I really thought he'd go to the doctor, find out what was going on, and get it fixed.  But no.  It was cancer.  Again. And this time it attacked with a vengeance and took him fast.  One week in the hospital, that's all.  Of course, I must quickly add that this is exactly the way he would have wanted it.  In fact he said it many times.  When a friend died last year and we were told that he had been feeling perfectly all right, then felt bad, then went into the hospital on a Friday and died the next Friday, Buddy said "He's my hero."  In other words, no hanging on with tubes and treatments, just shuffle on out of here.  And that's the exact thing that happened to Buddy.  We performed a show on a Tuesday, he went in the hospital that Friday, and died the next Friday.   My hero.

God was very good to him.  Merciful.  Took him Home quickly.  Although that hell-week in the hospital seemed like an eternity to me, it was really just the blink of an eye.  So thank you God.  And I mean that.

So for a little over a month I have been living day to day in a new reality.  Friends, neighbors and family are absolutely wonderful to me.  And they are keeping my head above water.  Of course I must add to this that I am lifted up in a most miraculous way by the Presence of God.  Even in my worst pain and my biggest ugly cry, I know He is here with me, holding me.  I admit I can't always feel it.  But still I know it.  And this is the meaning of faith.  "Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see."  God is here, and miracles are everywhere.

I have been talking on the phone with my old college roomie (sorry about the 'old'), who also lost her husband to cancer just a little over six months ago.  This is kind of crazy.  The two of us both lost our husbands within six months of each other.  How did we go from talking about our wild and crazy sworn-to-secrecy college days, to talking about how we're coping without our husbands?  I think there may be a novel or a movie in there, but that's for another time.

So I just had to get it out there.  I had to write that it happened.  I won't always write about it, but probably will write about it sometimes.  Maybe the 'Widows Club' is another whole blog. I don't know. 

But I do know that I will also still write about things that strike me funny, or stuff that strikes me as odd or ironic.  Because I'm still me, and I still laugh, and I still like to write, and I still find humor in life. 

And I still know that God is good, and this life isn't the end of it all.  So why not poke fun at it. 
Hey, you gotta laugh.

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Recycle, Re-use and Don't Stub Your Toe

Don't you just love finding a use for something you would have thrown away or stashed in the back of the closet?  And don't you just love when you figure out how to solve a problem using that thing you were going to throw or stash? 

So here's my story.
Part One:  Several years ago my sister-in-law gave me a pair of Bugs Bunny slippers.  Mostly as a joke because she knew I kind of accumulated bunnies of all types.  I hesitate to say collected because it was mostly unintentional, this accumulation of bunnies.  (Or "fuzzy Americans" as my husband called them.)  Anyhow, I actually wore the slippers for awhile because they were really soft and cushy under my feet.  But we live in Florida, and I hit menopause, and that pretty much put a stop to wearing anything - even on my feet - that might cause me to sweat.  So I retired the slippers to the back of the aforementioned closet.

Part Two:  Buddy and I both had a painful habit of stubbing our toes (more like ramming them full on) on the leg of our bed.  Much hopping around.  Many bad words. 

The Solution:  Well, they say a picture is worth a thousand words.....

YOU JUST KNOW THERE'S A LEG UNDER THERE WAITING IN AMBUSH FOR INNOCENT TOES.

AM I A GENIUS OR WHAT????

No more painful toes.  And Bugs looks so happy.

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The Target

"Squadron, this is Wing Leader.  How y'all doing out there?"

 "A-OK, Wing Leader, we're holding formation, awaiting your orders Sir."

 "Good.  Now listen men,  I want you to keep a tight formation as we approach the target."

"Roger Wing Leader, we're with you."

 "Roger that.  Now heads up everyone.  Target dead ahead, twelve o'clock."

"Roger that, Wing Leader.  Locked on target."

 "All right men, this is it.   Bombs away!"

 *

*

*

*

*

 (As I write this, Buddy's already at the car wash.)

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The Anniversary Dinner

Monday was our 18th wedding anniversary.  It's a little embarrassing to say this, but now we have finally been married for as many years as we lived together before we were married. Can anyone say "commitment issues?"  Anyway, we have now been together for 36 years and we've never been happier together. And it makes me happy to say that.

We decided to celebrate by going out to dinner.  We chose our anniversary restaurant with utmost care.  Which means that in true Florida geezer tradition, we chose the restaurant we had a gift certificate for.  A nice little Italian restaurant nearby.  That's the other Florida geezer rule of thumb.... find a restaurant nearby where you don't have to drive far to get back home afterward.  We did, however, make one exception to the geezer code;  we opted NOT to go for the early bird.  In fact, it was actually almost dark when we entered the restaurant. 

We were greeted by somebody's mother, wearing an apron and a poker face.  As she led us to our table, we immediately noticed that they had "entertainment" in the dining room. There was a man playing the piano and singing, very nicely dressed and somewhere between eighty and a hundred years old.  It was hard to tell.  As we entered the dining room he gave us a friendly wave as he pumped out the last few strains of "My Blue Heaven."  Thankfully we were seated as far away from him as was geographically possible.  But make no mistake, we were still able to enjoy his rendition of "Piano Roll Blues" and several other songs from the post Civil War era.   His playing was sprinkled throughout with the occasional sour note,  or as we say in the vernacular of the music business, clam.  We settled into our seats as they dimmed the lights and Mr. Piano began crooning, "All of me... why not (clam) take all of me.."   It was delightful.

We had a really nice waittress who took very good care of us. She brought us glasses of wine, we ordered appetizers, and we settled in for a fine evening of dining on our anniversary.  As we sat and talked and enjoyed our wine, we must have passed through a time zone of some sort during which Mr. Piano shifted from his cocktail set into his lively numbers.  When he launched into "Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog" it took me so completely by surprise, I thought my Pinot Grigio would come out through my nose.  Oh man, he was really rockin' -  in a dixieland swing kind of way.  The clams came fast and furious then, and I'm not talking about our appetizers.

Well, the evening was lovely, actually.  The food was good, the service was good, and of course there was the gift certificate.  Near the end of our meal, my husband excused himself to use the men's room, and when he came back he told me about this stuff they had in there, some kind of scented scrub, that you work into your hands and then rinse off.  He said it was in a bowl next to the sink, with a spoon in it to scoop some out.  He offered his hand for me to smell.  It smelled of mint.  He said the sign called the stuff "salts of the sea" or something, and today's scent was mint.  Nice.  He insisted that I be sure and go to the ladies room so I could experience this new thing.  So I did.  In the ladies room the scent of the day was pomegranate.  There was the bowl of this orange colored sherbet-looking stuff with the spoon and the sign.  All I could think was I sure hoped no one went in there really drunk and ate a spoonful of the stuff, cause it actually looked kind of appetizing.  Anyway, I used it and it smelled nice. I reported back to him and offered my fruity hand for him to smell.  We were having a grand time.

So we finished our meal, paid the check, tipped the waittress and my husband made a point of walking over and leaving a nice tip in Mr. Piano's tip jar.  After all, that could be us in a few short years. Mr. Piano thanked him and asked if we had a favorite song we'd like to hear.  "Oh no no, thanks, we're just leaving!" he said cheerfully.  We hurried toward the door and out into the night air. 

When we got in the car we agreed what a nice evening it was.  After a few moments he said, boy that mint smell is really strong, huh?  And I said I couldn't tell, all I could smell was pomegranate.  The smell seemed to intensify as we drove home and soon the whole car smelled of pomegranate mint.  Unique.  I finally sat on my hands until we could get home where I tried washing it off.  Uh uh.  Still there.  That's okay, we knew it would go away eventually.

So end of story, we had a really nice anniversary.  We always enjoy each other's company, and that's just the greatest thing. Maybe next year we'll try a different restaurant.  One with a soap dispenser.

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It's Officially a Non-Day

It's January 1st, but I have decided to postpone the new year.  I've decided 2012 will begin tomorrow.

Look, today is just not the day to start a new year.  First of all, it's a holiday - New Year's Day - and it's the day after whoop-dee-doo New Year's Eve.  (Which for me is not nearly as much whoop as it used to be, by the way. Instead of my usual one glass of wine with dinner last night, I had an extra half glass.  Oohhhhh  Whoop.)  But on top of that, it's Sunday.  A day of rest.  I'm sorry, but all those new year's resolutions and eager self-improvement ideas in my head are just going to have to wait a day. I can't pull it off today.  I'm taking the day off.  Suspending time for just a bit. 

Tomorrow, that's when I will begin 2012.  Tomorrow I will start writing that novel.  Tomorrow I will begin taking daily walks.  Tomorrow I will go grocery shopping and fill my cart with healthy food.  Tomorrow I will.....wait a minute.  If today is New Year's Day and it's Sunday, then tomorrow is the legal holiday.  It's another day off. 

Cool.  I guess I'm going to begin 2012 on Tuesday. 

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