A SIMPLER TIME

I have been laboring over a post that will express my political opinion questions. It's just not coming together like I want it to. So instead of writing like I should be I was reading and I came upon a charming post about house guests. It brought back so many fond memories of my childhood that I decided to drop the political piece (for now) and write about something that doesn't make me so damn mad feel so frustrated.

I grew up in a small town in Indiana. My father's family had lived there for years. It was the kind of place where when you went to a friend's house and met their parents, they would tell you stories of how they knew your dad, uncle, grandma, aunt, cousin and on and on. It was a great way to grow up. It gave you a sense of who you are and where you came from. You knew your roots and felt grounded by them.

We never locked the doors to our house or our cars. Keys to the cars were left in an obvious place. My father wanted to be sure that if a friend or relative needed anything and we weren't home, they would be able to help themselves to whatever was needed. This resulted many times in my father needing something and having to drive all around town to find his borrowed tools, household items, etc…. Even so, the rule stood firm, you DON'T lock the doors.

Or course, the same open-door policy applied while we were home. People were always dropping in. When I think about how hectic my life is today, I think that is what I miss the most; the memories of an unplanned visit with a friend, chatting on the back porch with relatives, and unexpected guests for any meal, be it breakfast, dinner (aka lunch) and supper. (aka dinner)

You never came down to the table in the morning half-dressed because you never knew who was joining us for breakfast. My mother always prepared more food than we needed for just this reason. If for some reason she didn't have enough when a friend stopped by, she would subtly whisper to us, "FHB". This meant "Family hold back." and we knew to make sure we left enough food so that the guest would feel welcome and would get enough to eat.

Many periods of my childhood were spent with short or long-term house guests. Once, my brother's girlfriend, her sister and her sister's toddler son came to live with us for awhile. My cousin came to live with us during her senior year in high school for reasons that were never explained to me nor did I question them. It was the norm. And I loved it!

During a blizzard that brought the Midwest to a halt in 1977, I was a teenager. It was common in our area at that time for everyone to have a CB radio in their home and in their cars. I guess maybe the CB was a precursor to the internet? I don't know, I guess I've never thought about it that way. But I digress. During the blizzard, many stranded travelers were brought from the nearby interstate and highways into our school's gymnasium. There were pleas on the radio for volunteers to take families into their homes until the roads were cleared. My cousins got a great family of four and they all remained friends, visiting back and forth, long after the blizzard. I remember being so disappointed that by the time my dad went to the school, there was no one left. That was the kind of town it was. We never met a stranger. Everyone was a friend.

Most of my immediate family has moved from there but we still go back to visit on a fairly regular basis and I'm happy to say that not much has changed. Visitors still come a-callin'.

I have tried to create that same sort of feeling in my own home. Friends tell me that I've succeeded but I don't really think it's the same. Over the years, we've had many, many houseguests and I love it. Afterall, when you move to Florida, they will come. But I miss the drop-ins, the unexpected visit. I guess it doesn't help that we live in a rural area about ten miles from the nearest town. But what I miss most of all is just the time to sit and visit with friends and family. I have a friend in Orlando that invites me for the weekend to "porch sit". Porch sitting involves consuming massive amounts of wine and snacks while sitting on her patio talk, talk, talking until we can do it no more. These are times I cherish. They just don't happen often enough. How did we get to this place where every waking moment of our lives is scheduled? Tell me, do you long for the simpler life too? How do we get back there?

A Political Funny for Your Entertainment

I'm working hard or is it hardly working on my next post but My Harley Stud wants me to join him for a business luncheon so off I go but in case you stop by and can't believe I still haven't posted something new, (Midlife Slices) here is a little something for your entertainment. Enjoy!

Click here: http://www.peteyandpetunia.com/VoteHere/VoteHere.htm

EMBARRASSING MOMENTS

I sing. I sing in the shower. I sing in the car. I sing along with the radio. I sing loud, I sing proud and I have no talent whatsoever. In fact, the first time D1 put two words together in a sentence, it was to say, “no sing”, as she put her hand over my mouth when I was singing her to sleep. (D2 thinks I sing beautifully by the way. She is a darling, sweet child OR she could be tone deaf OR she just knows on which side her bread is buttered.)

A few days ago, I was driving into town by myself. The CD player was blasting out some of my favorite tunes. I had the volume cranked up the way you do when you are in the car alone. I’m singing my heart out to Ain’t No Mountain High Enough. (The best one - Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell) As I’m slowing to a stop at a red light, I hear someone honking their horn. At first I didn’t think the horn was directed at me and I proceeded. Once stopped, I’m still singing and again I hear this horn. I look for the source of this interruption and find a big ole SUV beside me with a man behind the wheel waiving to me. I’m sure I had that “what the….” look on my face until I finally realized that it was my friend, who I will call the rocket scientist. (because he really is one) I smiled and waived back with that sheepish grin you get when you’ve been caught red-handed. I don’t know why I was so embarrassed but I was. I mean, everybody sings in the car, right?

Now, if my friend, RS, pays any attention to the drivel that his spouse, who I will call The Trophy Wife, and I dish out, he will know that I am famous for singing in the car with my daughters and usually have a hairbrush or a wire whisk as my substitute microphone. The Trophy Wife even bought me my very own travelling microphone just for this purpose. But I don’t think he pays that much attention to our chatter. So I’m left feeling embarrassed and wondering if I was the topic of conversation at the dinner table that evening.

Referring to my friend as The Trophy Wife is done with tongue in cheek. She is in fact beautiful and in great shape and looks like a trophy wife . And I hate her for it. Did I say that out loud? But seriously, she is a brilliant woman who is actually a mechanical engineer (perfect match for the rocket scientist)

So, friends, don’t leave me out here twisting in the wind. Tell me your embarrassing moments in your car. Come on, don’t be shy. I won’t tell a soul. Just between you and me. I promise.

THE ONGOING QUEST FOR FITNESS

I overslept this morning. Without an alarm clock, I usually will wake between 6:00 and 7:00am on weekends. I don't always get my lazy butt out of bed then but I'm awake. Last night before going to bed, I decided that I would once again try try to make the IRON BODIES class at 8:30am. I didn't bother to set my alarm. I knew that I would wake in time to make it there. Best laid plans.... So when I awoke at 8:10am (it's a 15-20 minute drive to the gym depending on traffic lights), I decided I would try the 9:30am spinning class.

Some of my friends and D1 have all told me that I should try the spinning class but to date, I've been intimidated. I am often trudging along on the elliptical machine which is located just outside of the spinning room. It's dark in there. It's loud. People come out of there looking like roadkill. I guess I was feeling a little adventurous today. Or maybe I just lost my mind!

I arrived a few minutes late. I checked with the very friendly woman at the front desk to see if the instructor is OK with late comers. She said, "oh, yeah, she's fine. Just go on in." With water bottle and towel in hand, I entered the classroom. Class was already in progress so it was dark. In my rush to get out of the house, I neglected to put in my contacts. (No animals or Palm Beachers were harmed on my journey to the gym. My eyesight isn't that bad. It's just the little compact cars that I have trouble seeing.) As I looked around my eyes began to adjust to the darkness. There were several stationery bikes (obviously), a disco ball, mirrors on the walls and the instructor was on a platform shouting out commands into her headset. I was able to make out a few empty bikes and immediately saw that the class was divided into groups. The Palm Beach Barbies were all in front with short shorts and sports bras showing off their beautiful bodies and even in the darkness, I could see they had great tans. The young and athletic group was in the middle. They looked very intense. The old broads were in the back. I quickly determined my place in the class, walked right up to the front, stripped off my tshirt, showing off my 6pack (ok, 12pack) abs and began to peddle like nobody's business. Just call me Barbie's friend, Midge. NOT!

I chose the bike in the back closest to me so that I could make a quick exit if necessary. A voice in the dark told me that bike was fine but the one on the other side of her had a cupholder for my waterbottle. Cupholders are a big thing with me. I will buy a car based on how many cupholders it has. Where was I, again? Oh yeah. Obviously I chose the bike with the cupholder but was quick to notice it was near the fire exit in case things got rough. Now, I don't know if you've ever been to a spinning class before but it is WOW! Like I said the class was already in progress so I just jumped on the bike and tried to keep up. I always wondered what the big deal was just riding a bike. Well, you stand up, sit down, do push ups, punch, row, dance all while you are peddling. The music is very motivating. It was a great mix of hits from the 70s, 80s and 90s. At one point, there was an AC/DC song that's chorus sounded a lot like "f___ you, f___ you?" I didn't think that was really necessary. Afterall, I was doing my best. We went on to peddle with one leg at a time, then went back to the stand up, sit down, pushup only faster and in a combo. I like choreography. I can work with that.

The instructor, Robin, was great. I think she is near my age, give or take a few years but she looks FABULOUS! She is my new fitness role model! It was a great work-out. I think I actually enjoyed it. I worked really hard and really hope that I can walk tomorrow. I didn't keep up with the Barbies. I didn't keep up with the young athletes. I didn't really even keep up with the old broads (but it wasn't their first class) But I stayed to the end and worked my tail off. (I hope) I almost had fun. I thanked Robin for the class and walked out feeling like a new woman.

I DO NOT LIKE IKE

As I sit here at my desk today, it’s hard to get motivated. It’s Friday and I work from home on Fridays. A perk that makes my job much more bearable on days that make me question my career choice. My home office window looks out to my pool (which needs to be cleaned) and beyond that to my backyard (which needs to be mowed but is partially under water) and my citrus grove. (three cute little trees which need to be fertilized) What? Three trees do not make a grove? Hmm?

I’m usually a pretty cheap date, easily entertained and enjoy these simple pleasures in life. Having a window near my desk is important to me. But today the view is not so serene. Besides the reminder of chores listed that the view brings, it’s dark. It’s dreary. It’s raining. Not a lot but still raining. I was born and raised in the Midwest and as strange as it seems, this sort of day is usually a comfort to me. It’s my version of a snow day. The kind that makes you want to curl up with a great book, a cup of tea , get cozy and snuggle in. But not today. The television, radio and internet are all making it their business to inform me that there is storm out in the Atlantic and by most accounts is coming right for ME! OK, well not me personally. But that is how it feels. We’ve weathered these storms before. It’s not so bad. In fact, I have fond memories of coming out after a bad storm to meet my neighbors and making the decision to have a breakfast party, complete with eggs, bacon, toast, grits, cranberry juice and VODKA. No power, no problem. I cook with gas. Flushing a toilet, washing hands and taking a shower however, that’s a different story. We live in a rural area and our well pump is electric. But once the generator is up and going, no worries.

We are very fortunate and for that I am very grateful. We’ve never lost anything more than some roof shingles and our pool enclosure. The problem for me is not the storm itself, but the anxiety I feel before the storm about the possibilities of devastation. I feel guilty knowing that so many have lost so much during storms in the past and here I am feeling sorry for myself. I can’t help it. Logic plays no part in anxiety. The fear gets me in its clutches and won’t release me. I normally stay in denial until that is no longer a possibility. Shutters go up. Supplies must be purchased. Decisions to evacuate or stay put must be made. And the list goes on. This is the time when a margarita sounds really good but do I really want to be trashed when I might need to have my wits about me in a possible crisis. I’ll have to think about that one a bit……

I’m not alone. The anxiety affects all ages. I remember when we were preparing to evacuate for Francis a few years ago, D2 was insisting that she be able to take ALL her STUFF with her. We repeated numerous times that was NOT a possibility and so she refused to leave. Both MHS and BrainBuckets had to carry her to my car when it came time to leave. She sat beside me in the front seat with tears in her eyes, looked at me and said, “I hope you took a good look around because there’s going to be nothing left.” Once a drama queen, always a drama queen. Of course, that is not what happened and our home weathered that storm and many others since with minimal damage. But that fear still gets me every time.

I do NOT like IKE!