Mothers (Dog) Day!

Slept in this morning! Awoke to beautiful sunshine (the mark of a good day ahead). Shuffled downstairs, half-eaten pizza on top of stove, three piles of doggie doo on the throw carpet. Thought, "This is not going to ruin my mood or interfere with my state of mind today!" I put the three dogs (who were mistakenly fed twice yesterday) outside. The known fence-jumper securely hooked to the dog line. I turned to go back into the house and Fence-Jumper took off in a rush down the steps of the deck! It gave me some sadistic pleasure knowing he would reach the end of the dog-line and be jerked back to his reality (evil laugh). Then, as I shut the sliding door, I heard barking that would drown out a train whistle or Fire house alarm. I ran back outside. Kids, screaming, grown ups yelling, dogs barking. I'm on my deck with bed head; still in my jammies. The fence-jumper has apparently taught my nice, mannerly, non-fence jumper to be a fence-jumper and she was running toward a lovely family walking the trail. Meanwhile, Fence-Jumper I is sounding out the alarm for everyone in Kent County to hear. His bark is ear piercingly loud anyway, now add ten more decibels! I'm trying to get down the steep hill incline in my yard to the gate to get our new fence-jumper back to our yard. I forgot there was a holly tree at the gate entrance from the trail and I didn't have shoes on. So I am walking on hot coals (okay, dried holly leaves with prickers), my anxiety level rising because I'm in my pajamas with wild hair and it was like opening day at the ball park on Brecknock's wooded trail this morning~ people coming by one after the other in both directions. Well, NEW Fence-Jumper comes when I call her (Good dog!) and she runs up to the gate, which has been secured with a chain and lock due to prior escapes offered by SMART dogs (Golden Retreivers and Labs) walking on the trail who know how to use their noses to open the gate for my stupid fence-jumpers who never figured that out. I digress... So, I know have my hand on a firm grip of Fence-jumper II's collar. Fence-Jumper 1 is STILL sounding the alarm, my blood pressure is rising and my embarrassment unsurpassed. I try to get Fence-Jumper II to jump BACK over the fence to the yard. Yeah...you already know how that went. Why would she look at me like I was the crazy one when she jumped OVER it to get out?? Then, I see a black shiny patent-leather leash hanging on our fence. WHAT??! I am SO thankful it's there I could care less how it came to be there. I grab it and hook Fence-Jumper II's collar to it and hook it over the post top of the fence. She's stuck there, people are still scared to walk by her and kids are squealing, people doing their best to keep their dogs from instigating another free-for-all alarm! So, I teeter back up the steep incline, aware now that I have dried holly tree leaves stuck in my feet. I grab F-J I with much more force than I should have and bring him back into the house. I go upstairs and wake up my husband who jumps into action before I can get this whole story out to him. Meanwhile, I am following him back downstairs to the deck and he is on his way out the door. "WAIT!!!" I yell and he freezes, "You have to put PANTS on!" He's so annoyed by the fence-jumping duo, he doesn't care and is going out anyway. I shout again, "WAIT!!" I tell him he CAN'T go out there because he will get arrested. Really, he had on boxers and I was the only one who cared (more than likely), but I was already mortified by all the drama and I didn't want anyone to see my husband in his underwear/ He goes back up to get his pants (and shoes~ smart man!) thank God. I go outside to see F-J II sitting quietly next to the fence gate with a beautiful patent leather leash attached to her and the gate. I wonder now, where did that leash come from? But, I say a silent thank you to my guardian angel for having it there. Now, husband safely makes it down the steep hill and to the fence. F-J I is now sounding the alarm again, but from inside the house. So, now the sound level is similar to how loud it would be if you lived a block away from the train tracks or fire house rather than right next door. My head is pounding from the noise, the frustration and embarrassment. My husband begins to curse as a result of discovering that the chain lock on the gate is not a pad lock with a combination, it has a key lock and... I don't know where the key is. He then tried all the coaxing and lifting that I tried to do with F-J II; yielding the same results. F-J II will not budge back over the fence. So now, I have added a very ticked off husband to the mix of drama and the pounding in my head is more severe. Meanwhile, we are like a reverse-parade for the walkers, runners and bikers on the trail. They couldn't help but watch us because we were definitely a train-wreck. Finally, my almost 50 year old mind snaps back to logic and I think I may know where my grown son might have put the key. I run back into the house and VOILA! Again, I thank my guardian angel! I toss the key down to my husband who gets the dog back into our yard and re-locks the gate. (??) He follow F-J II into the house and without another word walks straight back upstairs to bed. I quickly get busy cleaning up the three piles of dog-doo on the throw rug (thanks to my old pug, who was an innocent bystander of the great escape earlier; however, he is solely responsible for the doo). F-J I and F-J II are keeping a safe distance from me at this point and time (not as stupid as I've thought they were). A false-sense of peace has fallen over my house as I type this, drink a cup of coffee and begin to feel the effects of three Advil work on my headache. I sincerely apologize to my neighbors and all of the children on the trail who may have heard strange words being shouted by my husband that their parents will have to explain to them "later". Note to self: Always install a tall fence! Always...

Vacations are fun, but...

Everyone's family has gone on a vacation together, even if it was just a short trip to visit a grandparent. It is the long ride in the car that brings out the best and the worst in your parent's relationship and in your brothers or sisters. Oh the torment of listening to your parent's argue, "Just read the G__ damn map!!" Your sister curled up on the seat next to you with her feet barely touching you. You pull away and she moves them closer to you...just enough so they are still barely touching you. You look at her and she has that evil grin on her face. So you shout out, "She won't keep her feet off me!" only to get bombarded with "Oh, shut up!!" in stereophonic sound.

My family went on many vacations, but none of them exotic or adventures to foreign lands. My parents were middle-class, hard-working and we went to places we could drive to, stay a few days and drive home. Colonial Williamsburg was always one of my favorite places to go. I also enjoyed Niagara Falls, Skyline Drive and North Carolina. My parents went to Intercourse, Pennsylvania alone.

Mostly, we hung out at the golf club swimming all day or we went to the beach. On my mother's days off we would go to Rehoboth Beach; when my father had off, we went 4-wheeling to Assateague, Cape Henlopen or Lewes to surf fish. Surf fishing was the ultimate in fun as a child, but when I got old enough to stop dragging my Barbies with me, I wanted to go to the beach where the life guards were!

Still surf fishing is a fond memory for me. The fishing poles were gigantic and very difficult for a young girl to handle, so my Dad would help. He wore waist-high waders with suspenders. After he adhered the bait to the hook and added several silver weights to the line, he would walk into the ocean almost chest-high and cast the line. Then he would walk the pole back to me and let me stick it in a pole-holder secured in the sand. He propped up a beach chair for me and from that point on my job was to sit next to the pole and watch the tip of it intently. When it bent over in a U-shape I was instructed to pull the pole from the holder, secure the base of it in my leather fishing belt, yank it back as hard and fast as possible to "hook" the fish and start reeling it in. It took forever for me to pull in a fish, looking back on it I'm sure the fish were thinking, "Come on! Let's just get this over with!"

Pulling the fish from the water was as exciting as getting a prize from a box of Cracker Jacks! You never knew what the surprise was going to be. My father would cuss when he pulled in certain things; skate, shark, blowfish, etc. I loved catching anything and I particularly loved the blowfish! My grandfather taught me how to tickle their bellies and watch them blow up like a balloon; great fun. I also enjoyed catching skate. If you turned a skate over, their undersides were smooth, white and their mouths were kind of human-like, small and cute. We would always release the skate and the blowfish back into the ocean, after we played with them almost to death. I like to think they survived the trauma of a ten year old child though.

Sharks on the other hand were a totally different story. I will date myself now, but JAWS (the movie) didn't come out until I was fourteen, so my childhood didn't involve horror or fear at the beach. However, my father and grandfather taught me what to do with certain fish. Sharks were not to be handled by me, one of them would cut the line (losing a perfectly good hook). Then, they would throw the shark up on the beach for the seagulls to eat. I learned quickly that sharks had little value to the surf fisherman. Still, they were fun to catch and drag up from the water. They had teeth and would bite you in self-defense; yes, even the sand sharks. They had amazing eyes that looked like certain kinds of marbles I had in my huge collection as a child (I lost my marbles a long time ago). Bluefish was another type of nasty little biter. My dad showed me their teeth...once. After that, he got to take them off the line for me every time. Trout and flounder were fish I would handle. Flounder were just as fascinating to me as blow-fish; flat fish with their faces on one side of their body, how cool is that?!

After a day of baking in the sun, a bathing suit full of sand and hopefully, a cooler full of fish, we would head home. The jeep was not air conditioned, so when we reached the long patch of shade trees on South State Street Extension (close to home) it was like reaching a little piece of heaven! Once home, my mother would unpack and my father would head to the back yard to start cleaning the fish. When I was really young I would trail after him and watch. He used a fish scaler, a nasty little bugger that scrapes the scales off the fish. Then he used a knife to remove the insides, the head and tail and finally, he would fillet them. He could complete a cooler of fish in less than a half hour. My dad tried to convince me to clean the fish, but I was wise enough at ten to know this was a skill I didn't want to master. In my house, once your mastered something it became your permanent job. Um...no thanks. Could I do it if I were a contestant on "Survivor"? Yes, but I only if I had to.

While he was cleaning, filleting and wrapping the fish, my mother was unpacking and cleaning up, somewhere in there she showered as well. After my mother, showers were taken in birth order; oldest, middle, youngest. It is amazing to me how efficient we were. While Dad finished his job Mom would pull out a big chef salad she'd made in the morning before we left, make her own Good Seasonings salad dressing. For dessert we would have strawberry shortcake. Whoever was done showering helped out by setting the table, filling the glasses with ice and tea and refilling water in the ice trays. Then my Dad had his turn in the shower and when he was done we all sat down to eat together.

Finally, with all showered, fed and comfy in the air conditioning (and the fish stocked away in the freezer). My father would fall asleep in his chair, my mother would be on the couch with her feet up watching television; the dog laying beside her and I would run to the neighbor's house for an evening of more fun. When I think of vacations, this is what I remember.

Note to self: Family fun and adventures don't have to be expensive! :)

XBox is making teenagers weird...

My son plays Rock Band on XBox, we have a virtual band called "Momma's Boyz", cute huh? You should see me in my virtual world, I have a tiny waist, cute little butt, good legs and boobs that sit up high on my chest~you know, where their s'pose to. I am slammin' as the saying goes. Oh, if I only looked like this in real life! On the other hand, that might not be such a good idea.

After creating my alter-ego avatar on Rock Band, my son summoned me to the basement to "jam" with him. I was shocked at how many songs from my g-g-generation were on the game. I couldn't help but remember being his age and riding with my mother in the car. We would listen to AM radio; she was a fan of Englebert Humperdink, Lou Rawls, Eddie Arnold, Frank Sinatra and Charlie Rich. After five minutes with her in the car I'd literally want to smash the radio (or my head) in if I had to listen to that crap one more minute! It was "old people" music and I wanted no parts of it.

On the other hand, my father liked country music. If you road with him you listened to Willie Nelson, Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash, Hank Williams (uh...SENIOR) and other "twangers" I used to call them. Again, I would get frustrated after a time and since I couldn't whine, piss and moan to my father in the same manner I would my mother, I would make fun of the music by singing along with an exaggerated southern drawl until he shouted to me to "Be quiet!" It didn't matter which parent I rode with, all their musical favorites bugged me. It was supposed to be that way; all teenagers hated their parent's music, right?

So...how come my music doesn't bug my kids? How come my sons actually like my music? Seriously, what the hell? Furthermore, why does it bug me that my kids aren't bugged by my music? I feel something is off-kilter about that and XBox is to blame. My twenty-something and my 'tween love my music! We don't have any problems riding in the car together. If "Walk This Way" comes on the radio, we crank it up and sing along as if it were a version of "Row, Row, Row Your Boat". I know if my mother had known the actual lyrics to "Walk This Way" it would've been banned from our house. But, there I am singin' it, loud and proud; with my sons no less. Am I a bad mother? I never pretended to be Mother of the Year material.

There are times when I cringe and hope my youngest doesn't understand the lyrics, but I know I'm delusional. I strategically cough or think of something important I have to say like, "You okay back there?" which requires me to turn down the sound during the more obnoxious or suggestive stuff~ "you ain't seen nothing 'til your down on a..." Yeah, you know the words,I know the words and I'm sure my son knows the words too.

Still, I do find it odd that we don't argue over the radio when we're in the car together. When I was a teenager the biggest family battles in the car were over what radio station we were going to listen to. My sons could care less. If this is a sign of the times, what does it all mean?

Okay, I'll admit I did like my mother's Elvis and Bobby Darren records and preferred to listen to Lou Rawls while we cleaned the house. I went with my mother to see Englebert Humperdink a few years ago and realized I knew every word to his songs; yep, all of them. The only time I ever liked my Dad's twangy country music was when he would get out his guitar and play. He'd sing, "Hey, Hey Good Lookin'" to my mother and she would smile. He would play Johnny Cash songs too; I must've liked them because I would sing along. I recall many other songs he would perform and our reactions to them; "Little Green Apples" made us cry. "Behind Closed Doors" would make my mother blush and my sisters and I smile to see them flirting with one another.

Today there isn't a whole lot of music that I don't like. If you listened to my iPod, you would hear Green Day, The Gypsy Kings, Pink, Dave Matthews, Aerosmith, Billy Joel, AC DC and so on. Then, sprinkled in the mix you would hear Dean Martin, Johnny Cash, Elvis, Lou Rawls, Englebert Humperdink... you get the idea. Did I say I hated my parents music? Hmm, I sure thought I did at the time. Maybe I just thought I was supposed to.

Note to self: It is a blessing to see my sons enjoy the music I do and to teach them the value of all styles of music. Maybe I'll get that Mother of the Year award yet! "Back stroke lover always hidin' 'neath the covers...," okay probably not gonna happen. :)

Recently both my parents become seriously ill; each requiring hospital and extended care afterward. All this "mortality" smacked me in the face like a wet dish towel! At first I walked around in a daze and felt shell-shocked. Then I was amazed to discover I have an automatic pilot mode and I like it; I like it a lot! Now, I'm convinced we all have one. It isn't when we have an emotional breakdown or when we are stretched to our limit and crazy busy, it is that dimension that goes one inch further between madness and clarity when your mind and body are so twisted up in knots that it really doesn't know what to do with itself, so you enter the alternate reality zone.

The funny thing about being in the alternate reality zone is the certainty with which you know you were once there; afterwards of course. While there, I was able to function; I got my classroom ready for the school year, fed the dogs, fed my sons, paid the bills, took a shower, brushed my teeth, did laundry, told all my friends I was fine and didn't need anything, etc. I noticed I didn't care about things like dusty furniture, dirty dishes, weeds, or over-ripe tomatoes hanging on the vines in the garden or the over-full trash can, etc. Whatever could wait until later did and it was my alternate reality zone that knew what must be dealt with and what could wait.

The first moment I entered the zone was when I went with my father to have a heart cathederization done at the hospital. My mother wasn't feeling well and had been struggling with illness for awhile. So I said I would take him because I didn't want him to cancel the test. I didn't think there would be much to it. I'd drive him there, he'd get his test and I'd drive him home. Piece of cake, right? uh...no.

Dad is seventy-eight years old. He is a curmudgeonly, right-wing conservative with radical views on politics, religion, race and any another other boogedy, taboo subject you can think of. He is impatient, a tough guy who will still throw a punch at someone who uses the "F" word in front of mixed company. My father will step up on the soap box long after the filibuster ends just to keep the argument going!

All my life I've viewed my father as being as sentimental and loving as sandpaper. Don't misunderstand me, he took care of his family as he was taught to do. He worked very hard, took care of the house, yard and disciplined when my mother needed a boost of support from him. He was the kind of father you would expect John Wayne to be, no frills. He was honest, generous with others and took pride in being moral. He was also extremely intelligent; an avid reader and could retain everything he read no matter how mundane the subject or techinical the article.

I thought I knew my father well so I never really paid too much attention to him, but this day in the hospital all that came to a screeching halt. I first noticed how old he was looking. He couldn't get in and out of the car very well and everything took three times longer to do than normal. At the hospital, I realized the procedure was pretty involved and he would be knocked out. I stood behind the curtain as he undressed and put on his hospital gown. Then I helped him fold his clothes and put them in the bag the nurse provided. My father seemed like a fish out of water without my mother there. It felt odd, to be the one helping him. It felt odd that he needed help; I was getting uncomfortable. I was feeling my father's mortality along with him. We were very quiet with one another as we waited to get the call that the doctor was ready for him.

As we waited he joked with the nurse who put in his IV. He was being charming. We waited a bit longer and he talked to me about my mother. His face showed sincere worry and that caused me pain, I hadn't really thought she was that ill, but he had serious concerns and now I had them too. The nurse returned and after I kissed him and told him I loved him, she wheeled him away to surgery. He didn't look well and I felt my breath catch in my chest;I wanted to cry, but didn't dare.

After what seemed an eternity, I was summoned from the waiting room and taken to be with him in the recovery area. We were in a private area so the doctor could talk with us about the results of the test. It was very quiet, he was awake now and I asked if he was okay; he was. I asked if he had been asleep for the whole procedure; he said he had. I asked if he were comfortable now; he was. I was uncomfortable...I had never been around my father when he was vulnerable. He was always the strong man, capable and proud. This was not the case right now. Soon the doctor came in and delivered the news. He needs triple bypass surgery, as soon as possible. My father's hand reached for mine and he curled our fingers together and pressed tightly.

That is when I entered the zone. I knew he would not be able to comprehend anything else the doctor said after that announcement, so I listened for him. I was there~ on task, my wits sharper than they'd ever been. I heard every word, memorized the heart diagram the doctor showed us and noticed everything about the doctor from the shape of his face, to the way he smelled and the stubble on his face from not shaving that morning. I missed nothing and still, I held tight to my Dad's hand. The doctor was going to send us to recovery and a cardiac surgeon would be there to talk to us about options before we were released to go home. When the doctor left I stood looking at the space he once occupied hoping for another distraction, not sure what to do. I wanted to cry. Did he expect me to cry? Should I cry? I left the zone and become insecure and unsure of myself again.

I turned to look at my father and tears were running from his eyes down the sides of his head onto the pillow beneath him. I was back in the zone again. I told him everything was going to be all right, he had an excellent doctor, he was strong, etc. Then I said, "If you need surgery, we'll do it. I'll take care of you." My Dad became more emotional than I'd ever seen him, but pulled himself together quickly. "I'm not doing anything until we get your Mom straightened out." I slipped from the zone again and wished someone, anyone else was there with me. I felt I was saying all the wrong things. I was unsure of myself and my ability to be what my father needed at this time.

We waited for hours for the cardiac surgeon to come in. Finally, he arrived and told my father he was a good candidate for the surgery, giving us the necessary details. The doctor told him to call his office tomorrow to schedule the surgery as soon as possible. My Dad told him that wouldn't be happening because, "My wife is very sick right now and we don't know what's wrong. When she gets better, I will call to schedule the appointment." The doctor looked at me with surprise. I looked back practically begging him to keep talking. Thankfully, he did. He went on to tell my father he could suffer a debilitating stroke or massive heart attack at any moment. He was not to walk more than so many feet at a time, lift anything over five pounds, etc. After all the instructions were given and Dad promised to call as soon as possible to schedule the surgery, we were allowed to leave. I got ready to step to the other side of the curtain for privacy as he dressed and he called me over to his bed.

"Promise me something, will you?" he said, "You promise me that if anything happens to me you will take care of your mother." He began to cry and I promised him I would. I didn't bullshit around with him and tell him he was going to be all right and nothing bad was going to happen because the doctor clearly just told us something different. I had to promise to take care of Mom, do whatever I could to find out what was wrong with her and my final promise to him was that I would not put her in a nursing home.

Good to my word, my sisters and I moved into high gear in a frantic scramble to help my mother so Dad would agree to the surgery. I operated in the zone for five weeks; sonograms, ultrasounds, blood tests, biopsies, hospitals, rehabilitation centers for physical therapy, medical supplies equipment, emails, phone calls, texts. My mother came home late Friday afternoon, healthier than she'd been in ages. The following Wednesday my father was admitted for open heart surgery. He pulled through a nine hour surgery and is now on the mend.

My father and I have come through these past weeks with a new understanding and admiration for one another. It has been wonderful to get to know him as a person and not just as my father. He has renewed my faith in men by showing me what true dedication is. He loves my mother more than his own life; that is seriously impressive after fifty nine years of marriage. I also learned there is another state of being; one that isn't overwhelmed, frantic and troublesome. It is purposeful, alert and productive. It is a zone that lets you survive and weed out what's necessary and what's not in a time of crucial need. I think of the "Footprints" poem and now I understand the part where the person questions God, "Why did you leave me in my deepest hour of need? I only see one set of footprints." God replies, "It is then that I carried you."

Note to self: My "zone" is enabled by a force greater than my own will or ability. Is is God? I don't know, but I won't rule that out. I do know it is free from fear, despair and sadness. It is purposeful, calm, centered; what a most fabulous discovery!

The Loop da Loop Adventure

A good friend recently published an absolutely hyterical blog posting about a trip to Great Adventure. If you'd like to read it (and I suggest you do) here is the link; you'll be so glad you did, it's funny stuff!

http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.phpsid=102891614221&h=5pxaw&u=BI63M&ref=mf

After reading his post I shared a personal story of my own with him and his reaction made me decide to post it here for you.

As a teenager I worked part time for an upscale clothing store in my hometown. I had a ball working there! There was a deep sense of camaraderie at the store and the people working there often socialized after hours and on weekends. Some of these people are still dear friends today. One summer our boss hired a coach bus and took us all to Great Adventure for the day.

Since we were going as a group from the store, we had to look good. Stressing over what to wear was nothing new, young girls love to worry and over-analyze every aspect of how they look. We knew is wasn't a fashion show, still none of us wanted to be outdone by another. We showed up in the latest summer fashions with our hair done just so. I wore a cute little Gunny Sack sundress and cute little strappy sandals, my hair was just so and looking cute; curled and up on the sides with hair combs. I was there to be seen, not the least bit worried about comfort.

The big attraction at Great Adventure that year was the Loop da Loop roller coaster, it was the first coaster in this area that went upside down. Several of us were very excited to ride it, so we headed for the ride right away. We stood in line for our turn and soon I was boarding the coaster. I flirted with the college boy working the controls as he pushed the harness into place around me. He smiled in that, "You're cute" kinda way as he checked my harness extra-carefully. I was feeling happy and very glad I had good tan lines. ;) After securing all the passengers, College Boy stepped back from the tracks and up on the platform; flashing his Trident-white smile at me.

The roller coaster jerked forward in a violent way and snapped me out of my moment. It took me up, up, up, up slowly. I could feel my anxiety mounting and I looked around to make sure the tracks were still there, generally trying to reassure myself that I would survive. For a brief moment I could see the entire park as we reached the top. Then the coaster shot straight down and we winded around for awhile, bobbling from side to side as we bumped and swerved. Then I saw the loop coming up. My heart rose in my throat and I knew if I just watched everything and didn't scream, I would be okay. We reached the bottom of the loop and it felt like the coaster slowed down a great deal as we traveled straight up. When we rounded the top, my rear came up out of the seat about two inches and my shoulders went down against the harness; it was exhilarating and scary as hell! Then everything went black; did I pass out? I was completely blinded; couldn't see a thing! Before I completely had a panic attack, I realized my cute little Gunny Sack dress had flown up and over my head! The harness held my arms in a way that prevented me from repositioning my dress appropriately over my...ehem... personal space for the duration of the ride. So the dress stayed there~ over my head.

I was blind as a bat and started to imagine people pointing and laughing at me as the cars pulled in to the loading area at the end of the ride. Soon, the coaster slowed down to what seemed like a crawl. I tried shaking my head to remove the dress, but to no avail; the hem was now hooked over my head. The harness prevented my fingers from grabbing a large enough piece of fabric in order to pull it down. It was as if the dress were pasted to my head, face and the ride's harness.

We eventually squeaked to a stop and the ride's harness lock was broken. I grabbed the dress as quickly as I could and pulled it down, my hair combs coming loose in the rush to cover myself. Throngs of people waiting in line were either laughing or looking at me with deep empathy. Then I realized I had on a pair of "Days of the Week" panties. Yep, there, for all the world to see were my black panties with a red embroidered, cursive Saturday on them! I was doubly mortified because no one my age had worn "Days of the Week" panties since Junior High School! I did have the presence of mind to be thankful I was wearing the correct day's panties, I mean how skeevy would I have seemed if I was wearing Wednesday's panties on a Saturday?! Gross...

Anyway, College Boy chuckled as he helped me out of the seat and I scrambled to adjust my dress further, fix my hair and generally compose myself. He was smiling even more now and was way too personal in his tone and conversation. To say I was mortified would be an understatement. The whole experience left me feeling...well, less than dignified.

Note to self: Never wear a dress to an amusement park. Oh! And don't wear "Days of the Week" panties past the age of fourteen!

Never put things up your nose....

My mother used to work in a doctor's office. He was a family practice doctor and was perhaps one of the nicest men known to mankind. Part of the wonderful perks of working for a doctor was she could share with us all the horribly excruciating and disgusting ailments of the patients who had done something foolish to themselves. Through her fifteen or so year employment with the doctor I learned many things.

1. Don't wear cheap earrings or your ears will get infected.
2. Don't take too much vitamin C or you will get mouth ulcers.
3. Don't drink lemonade while eating ice cream.
4. Don't jump off the boardwalk onto the sand.
5. Never french kiss a boy or your tongue will grow hair, turn blue and fall off.

Okay, maybe some things she made up in order to keep her daughters in line while they passed through puberty and young adulthood. Still, a lot of it was true. A recurring theme to her tales was about putting things up your nose. Children have a habit of putting the strangest items up there, anything from lima beans to cigarette butts. My question was always, why? Why would anyone do that? There is no pleasure from ramming things up your nose, is there? I've never heard of anything. Maybe drugs, but people risk getting AIDS and Hepatitis C by injected it with shared needles rather than snorting it. Why? Because putting things up your nose is gross and even junkies have enough sense to know that.

The only pleasurable thing about the nose is its ability to smell nice things and that comes in quite handy. Other than that, pleasure occurs when things come out of the nose. Tissues are wonderful products that help when someone has a stuffy nose; there's nothing better than getting relief from a stuffy nose. Hence my discovery of nose spray. When I was nineteen or twenty I became a nose spray addict. My allergies were very bad at the time and nose spray was my best friend. I didn't go anywhere without it. Eventually I learned (from my mother) about how addictive these sprays were, so I managed to stop using them. However, during allergy season or a bad cold or sinus infection my resolve would falter and I would fall off the nose spray wagon.

Then, several years ago my doctor told me about an allergy medicine I could...spray up my nose! It can't be all that bad because nose spray had also provided pleasurable results for years. So I filled the prescription and began using it; two squirts in each nostril every morning. Miraculously, I didn't get any colds, sinus infections or stuffy noses that allergy season. I loved the stuff! I swore by this stuff!! I still use the stuff!!! But, alas...this is not meant to be a commercial for allergy meds, it is only the back story for my latest "Note to self" learning experience.

I decided that I would go on a diet to lose the weight I've put on in the past ten years. I don't like dieting and exercising is something I truly abhor, so what is one to do? There are ads everywhere helping people like me. You can take a pill right before you eat and it will make all the calories and excess fat from the food pass through your system without you gaining a pound. Not true, all you get from those pills is diarrhea. There is another pill that curbs your appetite; it works, but if you eat things like chocolate or chips when you're not hungry then you have a whole other problem called emotional eating and there is only one cure for that~ behavior modification. I'm not a big fan of change and I love a good Heath bar once in awhile. So again I ask, what is one to do?

The exercise guru on television with the really white teeth and fake boobs said if I run five to ten miles per day I can eat whatever I want. Really?! I liked the sound of that. So I got myself a pair of running shoes and I hit the trail...it was like being water-boarded. I found no pleasure in my heart pounding out of my chest or smelly sweat running down every crack and crevice and I won't even talk about what happened to my feet and knees while running. I heard noises I hadn't heard since the last time I ate a bowl of Rice Krispies! So, anybody interested in buying a nice pair of running shoes, like new, size 8?

This brings me to the Woman's World Magazine I recently found. An article inside the magazine stated there were three foolproof methods that helped women lose lots of weight. One was a product you sprinkle on your food; it helps you feel full longer. Another was a nose spray product (I love nose spray!); you just squirt it up there and~ ala kazaam! No more overeating. I forget what the third things was, but it was probably too expensive or I'd already tried it. I ordered the sprinkles and the spray; the spray arrived first.

I pulled the package from the mailbox and ran into the kitchen. I could tell by the feel of the package it was the nose spray. Anxious to have the weight melt off, I tore into the package and the box. My oldest son was upstairs with a friend and the dogs were running around my feet excitedly feeling my joy and energy. Quickly I opened the box, pulled of the plastic seal and squirted it up in the air a couple of times to prime the sprayer. Then, boom boom~ two shots up my right nostril and moved it to my left nostril...I dropped to the floor in excruciating pain! My brain began melting inside my head and strange, slimey water began to pour from both my eyes. Snot began to emit from my right nostril; I panicked and began to cry while rocking back and forth holding my face in a vice grip! I called to my son for help. I needed an ambulance and quick!

He knew something was wrong and came right away, his friend hurrying right behind him. He panicked seeing me rocking back and forth on the kitchen floor with tears and snot oozing through my fingers. "What's the matter?! What's wrong?!" he shouted and came toward me. I couldn't speak. The pain still searing through my sinuses and brain like a hot poker. I pointed to the bottle which I'd thrown across the floor. He picked it up. "Weight Loss Spray?! What the hell?" I was still rocking and holding my face, snot oozing out of my nose like a Play Doh machine. He grabbed some paper towels, handed them to me and asked, "Did you spray this up your nose?" I nodded pathetically. "What the hell?!" he said again. He looked at his friend who I could see had genuine concern on his face.
"What's in that stuff?" his friend asked. My son was quiet as he read the label. Then he asked me if I'd read the label before I used it. I shook my head, my pain subsiding from a 10 to a 9 (on a pain scale of 1-10). I blew my nose and the pain stirred again as it was just as painful coming out as it was going in. The friend asked again, "What's in it?"

My son was annoyed now and held the bottle down to my face. "What is this a picture of, Mom?! Here on the front of the label...what is that?!" My vision was blurry and I couldn't see. So, I shrugged and continued to make a pathetic moaning sound. Again the friend asked with urgency now, "What is it?" My son held it closer to my face and pointed to the bottle and said, "It's a picture of hot peppers for heaven's sakes!" He turned to his friend, "It says, capsicum!" The two started to giggle and it quickly escalated to complete hysteria on their part. Somehow I knew at that moment that no ambulance would come to put me out of my misery.

"But...but...it's a white and purple label! Peppers aren't purple!" I shouted trying to justify my ignorance. My pain level was lowering more quickly as my embarrassment rose. I stood up and snatched the bottle from his hands; both of them were now bent over with laughter. "What the hell is capsicum anyway??" I asked. My son choked out it was a hot pepper extract.

I left the room, taking my embarrassment with me to the bathroom and blew my nose in private. Then I washed my face and re-entered the kitchen. Both boys stood there grinning at me, trying not to laugh. It only took one chuckle from me to send them back into gales of laughter, this time I went right there with them.

Note to self: Never put hot pepper extract up your nose; even if it says it will help you lose weight. I will be keeping the bottle in my purse in case I ever need to use it in self-defense...watch out muggers, rapists or just generally ill-mannered people; I will squirt this up your nose. Lol

Blind dates at my age...

Many of life's most difficult lessons I've had to learn over again as time passed. Others are quick lessons that you never forget. I like to call these moments of learning my "Note to self..." moments.

"Note to self..." Entry number two:


I went on a blind date. As I sat in my family room waiting to be picked up by a total stranger, I realized what a peculiar phenomenon dating is and how much I dislike the experience. I forced myself to focus on the moment and either enjoy it or learn from it.

From the moment my date picked me up, his energy level was off the charts. He talked a lot and was literally vibrating energy which I had only ever seen on non-medicated children with severe ADHD. He confided he hadn't dated in years, so I believed his over-active chatter and jumpy mannerisms stemmed from a really bad case of nerves. I tried to put him at ease by saying I was pretty easy going; no pressure, no expectations.

He drove me to a restaurant where the waitress went through a well-rehearsed list of dinner specials and handed us four menus: a drink menu, a dessert menu, another menu with the dinner specials and another one I never quite got the chance to read. After returning to take our order, my date informs her that we will just be having coffee. She left the menus, just in case we changed our minds. My date settled in and began talking; I listened. Then, he talked some more and I listened more, we both drank more coffee. I noticed that in addition to talking non-stop, he never made eye contact with me. He looked at the television in the corner of the room, at people walking by, out in the parking lot or at the coffee cup in front of him, but never at me. He moved his body quickly and readjusted himself in the seat constantly, first leaning forward, then back, then forward again. After the fourth visit to our table the waitress asked if we were sure we "didn't want to order something to eat?" I squirmed uncomfortably. "No, no, no" he said, "we'll have another cup of coffee though." The waitress looked at me to make certain and I smiled an apology; we were taking up a table in her section and there would be no large tip involved. Somewhere between the third and fourth cup o' joe, I realized that he wasn't going to stop talking and he had no idea whether I was engaged in active listening or not. At that very moment, I had an out of body experience. I completely zoned; I saw his mouth moving but no longer absorbed the words. I looked around the restaurant to find something interesting.

Voila! Across the aisle from us was a couple who seemed to be connecting very well. He was eating ribs and she reached across their table to wipe his face with her napkin (I didn't know people really did that) . He was a big guy, muscular and very tall. She was plus-size and was dressed to impress. She had on gold lace ankle straps sandals with four inch heels. She also wore a white halter dress; things were spilling out every which way but loose. Her hair was done up high (really high) on top of her head and she had the longest nail tips I'd ever seen with little scenes painted on them, but of what I couldn't make out.

Her date was loving every moment with her as she was him. They were seducing one another as they ate their barbecue riblets~ "Slurp, slurp, slurp. Mmmmm, Baby, these are sooo good..." I smiled and then pulled my eyes from the scene when I realized I was intruding on a very personal moment. Still, I wanted to snatch a riblet off their plate; I was starving! About fifteen minutes later they stood to leave. Immediately I noticed her white dress (a very mini, mini-dress) had ridden up as she sat in the booth during their meal. It was hiked all the way up to her.... well, too far up for human eyes to see! She needed to adjust herself in the aisle before walking out or everyone else other than me would know she was wearing an animal print thong.

All I could see was boobs, butt and thighs wiggle and jiggle around as she jerked and pulled on the much too small halter dress. Her date was a gentleman and pretended not to notice and waited patiently beside her. She was twisting, hiking and tugging less than four inches from my left elbow; completely impossible to ignore! I felt the twinge of a giggle coming on, but I didn't dare laugh. I was certain she had a rather large can of "whoop-ass" secured in a garter. So with wide-eyes, I looked at my date who, to my surprise is still talking, oblivious to the to the R rated scene taking place right before his eyes; exactly how is that possible?! My thoughts were struggling with one another and I broke out in a sweat in order to suppress a hyena-like laugh that surely would've ended in a snort, which would only make me laugh harder (and pee a little too).

I looked around to see if anyone else witnessed the gyrating, wiggle monster to my left. There was an older couple to my right who watched the scene in horror, their faces priceless! The bartender across the room was smiling as if he just heard a joke, but he was too far away for me to be sure he shared my amusement. Finally, the wiggling and tugging came to a huffing and puffing end and the couple exited the restaurant. It was safe to laugh now. I interrupted my date, "Can you believe that?!" I said softly and pointed to the empty table across the aisle. He never heard me and no eye contact was made...yep, still talking. I leaned back in my chair and smiled to myself. I wondered if perhaps someone else in the restaurant was watching me and finding my situation hysterical as well~ the bartender perhaps?

Eventually, I was returned home where I very politely said, "Good bye, forever." Despite my best efforts I continued to hear his voice chattering away, like the ringing in my ears after an AC/DC concert back in the day. It took me awhile to stop vibrating from his energy and chatter, I was operating on an energy level ten times greater than my own, by osmosis alone! I ate a peanut butter sandwich, drank a glass of Malibu and Diet Pepsi and pondered the evening...

I knew I hadn't really enjoyed myself, so what had I learned from this experience? It took awhile because all the obvious thoughts came into mind: don't wear a mini-halter dress if you're plus-size, don't make orgasmic sounds over your riblets in public, if you have ADHD take medicine for it, etc. However, the real lesson I learned is what I want from a relationship today is a lot different from what I wanted ten or more years ago. Years ago I wanted macho, handsome, knee-knocking gorgeousness. Today, I want someone who will talk with me (eye contact and all) and someone who will laugh at the same things I think are a riot, of course someone who thinks my snort is kinda cute...oh, and someone who won't mind stopping for me to use the restroom when traveling....

and, maybe someone who is gainfully employed...

and definitely divorced...

and maybe kinda cute...

and definitely has to be a good kisser...

and ....

Note to self: I still want it all, but maturity is knowing what I can live with and what I can't live without.