Does your furniture have a hold on you?

Have I written about this before? How women of a certain age have a penchant for wanting to hold onto all of their furniture. I am talking all of the good stuff they have accumulated throughout their lifetimes. Take my mother for example.She lives in a 3,700 square foot home and is seriously contemplating staying put 1,000 miles from family because she wants to keep ALL of her furniture. Say what? She expressed some such notion this way: I waited my whole life for this. . . Not me. I feel like I could move into one room easy. Downsize me to a monk’s cell and I could be happy. The simplification and the shedding of possessions would make me very light. Very light indeed.

Somy mother is contemplating staying ALONE where she is - in her dream home surrounded by her beautiful things that she has waited her whole life for.

But I’ve got my eye on a 1,100+ square foot little place for her less than a 10 minute walk from the house. This would be perfect and cozy for one but she worries about the lawn, snow etc. and wants a condo – even though she’s not in a condo now. She is obsessed with the pricey condos at Wakefield Meadows because, you guessed it, she can keep all of her furniture in the 2,200 square feet. The cozy cottage I’ve got my eye on has a nice brick fireplace and hardwoods, it’s one level, with a nice yard. I think there’s even a sunroom of sorts. Practical –yes. Dream home – no. And there are three boys within a ten minute walk or a three minute bike ride who can move her lawn and shovel her walk. Also, we can conveniently pick her up to drive her places rather than travelling across town to get her. Note: she will not be driving herself much longer.

This is not a furniture survey of one mind you. I have witnessed this recurring theme with two other older ladies. My poll of three has all living in houses far toobig for them. And in my mother-in-law’s case – she has two houses. One is for furniture and one is for living (I am not kidding).

This (waste) wouldn’t be an issue if multiple generations still lived together.

A friend said he had one word for my mother: IKEA.

I have one word for my friend: YES.

Things are just things but when you are in your 80s apparently not.

Unrelatedthoughts

• I think John Travolta probably did offer reverse massages to the masseurs.Supposedly lots of Hollywood stars are gay and pretend not to be. Who knew?
• I think the odds are high that I will be the one to find my boss (80) dead in his office. Confession: I periodically think about this when I see him cough or gasp for breath.
• How to get your teenage son to hate you more? Tell him you are taking him for a phone upgrade and detour to the barber for a haircut. Note: I have not actually done this.
• Poor Matt has had a high fever for 5 days – probably just the flu but blood work may tell a different tale. I told my boss if I get what he has I’ll be out all next week. I told Matt that this illness could kill an elderly person. . . .but I did not tell my boss this.

Lottery dreams

Like many of you, I have been fantasizing about the MegaMillions jackpot. In fact, I bought my first ever lottery tickets today. Two of the tickets were random combinations of numbers but for one I picked the numbers myself. As I read out the six numbers to the clerk, 201101 – another customer began laughing. Silly me. There are no zeros. I told the clerk I better fill out the card. So I did and picked 01 02 10 11 20 02. What I was trying to do was use some combination of these numbers: 201 1010 2011 as my father died at 2:01 p.m. on Oct. 10, 2011. The more I looked at the sequence the more I noticed a pattern and thought this might be my key to the abundance I desire – 2011 010 2011 does not seem like a random sequence to me. Perhaps it was a sign. (This is what boredom at work can lead to). Well, 01 02 10 11 20 02 was about as close as I could get to the death numbers and when I arrived at the counter with my card – again the customer was laughing at me. I almost said something about this being my first time but decided to ignore him. Ha, just wait until I win. Meanwhile, the clerk was very nice and asked me if I would like to keep the card. “Why?” I wondered. “In case you want to play it again,” he said. “No.” This was my one and only chance. All or nothing.

Daniel wants to go to Costa Rica if I win. I explained we will go to Costa Rica if I win but it’s pretty hard – something like one in 175 million. But that number is changing every second as 1,200 tickets are sold per minute. Matt chimed in from the other room and told me to be positive. Well I am very positive. So positive – these thoughts of abundance have had me smiling all day long. I feel adrenalin and endorphins surging through my body.

What would I do with a cool $300 million? I would do the same things I want to do now but don’t have the money for. Make sense?

-Stay in Matunuck all summer and/or buy a house there.

-Take annual trips with family – but first Costa Rica.

-Donate 10 percent to charity and set up a philanthropy (for the disadvantaged).

-Retire and manage my philanthropy/philanthropic pursuits.

-Fix up house - new walkway, new rug/or wood floor, convert garage to family room, build new garage, repave driveway, paint, new appliances including a gas stove (stainless) – you get the idea.

-Buy an investment property that would generate monthly income.

-Buy Doug a new car.

-Consider giving some money to family/friends/church.

-Play tennis three times a week.

They say money doesn't make you happy. Well I am already relatively happy so that's not an issue for me. And I'll have lots of time to blog about the hapiness effect of all this money when I win. Stay tuned.

The Golden Years

You can just see the head or hump of the camel.

When you are staying for a week in Florida in an over-55 complex, there are many rules to adhere to, especially if you have children who are under 16. Children are not allowed in the pools before 10 a.m. or between the hours of 2 to 4 p.m. Children under 14 are not allowed in the pool without supervision. There is no jumping, splashing, rough play in the pools. In fact, there is no nothing in the pools – there is a whole list. And the old people will glare at you when you walk in or when you reach your hand through the ‘security’ fence to undo the gate instead of swiping the pass card.

But if you are creative, you can find a way to have a little fun in an over-55 community. You can be like Daniel, and puff your swim shirt up like a Portuguese Man-o-War and float on your back by the old people – working hard to get a reaction. (I think he received a startled look or two.) Or you can secretly race the old lady swimming laps back and forth and again try to get a reaction. You can also imagine what it would be like to bomb off the side of the pool into a cadre of old people, complete with floatable noodles under their arms and dry hair, your giant cannonball cascading water all over and spoiling the serenity. Ahhhhh, this is the life. Except until your 16 you can’t use the pool tables either.

In an aside, our elderly neighbor told us about hoop snakes in Appalacia. These snakes nip onto their tails and roll down the hills. She told us this tale as if she found it completely believable.

Unrelated thoughts

I returned home and realized that our house sitter/my good friend had been staring at my bra all week, hanging prominently off the knob of my dresser. Sorry to spoil the view Nan.

After waking at 3:00 a.m. for our flight home, I was in near hysterics on the leg from Atlanta to Providence when I saw a woman in front of me stroking a large, wooden camel that rested in her lap. At first I thought this was a Chihuahua but it was too large. She put the camel away at one point but brought it out again for the landing.

Books to read: City of Thieves (must) and The Devil In the White City (not finished yet but awesome). These are both non-fiction but read like novels – the best of both worlds.

I can’t think of anything else that’s funny because that camel is overpowering.

The power of prayer

We were flying from Providence to North Carolina to see my mother and all was going according to plan. Daniel, 8, woke on his own before I had to wake him and once in Providence we caught the bus from the parking to the terminal no problem. We zipped through security and sat at our gate for a relaxing hour drinking tea, eating muffins, and reading the comics. And then the worrying began.

The man at the gate asked for volunteers to check their bags for free. I volunteered thinking I wouldn’t have to load my bag and Daniel’s bag into the overhead bins. It would be easier. Daniel was protesting. He didn’t want to do it. Daniel must have asked 10 times if our bags were going to arrive in New Bern – before, after, and during takeoff. “Yes, of course the bags will make it,” I replied knowing full well anything can happen.

Once we thought we were on our way, we proceeded to park on the runway for an hour due to heavy incoming traffic to Charlotte. Then the worrying began. We could easily miss our connection in Charlotte to New Bern and we would have NO bags. I wasn’t feeling hopeful about a later flight to New Bern as it is a very small airport and one flight a day was probably it.

“Are we going to make our connection?” Daniel asked over and over. “I don’t know. I don’t know.” Well into the flight, the captain came on and explained that connections to New Bern were doubtful. Now Daniel was very worried. He decided to pray. “Dear God, I pray we make our flight to New Bern and Meemaw’s today. Amen.”

I am not kidding, shortly thereafter the captain came on the intercom and said the New Bern flight had been delayed and we might just make our connection after all. We high fived each other from our adjoining seats.

Still, we were still quite late and we had no idea how long the delay was. So once in Charlotte, we sprinted the mile from A terminal to E terminal (a good mile) and were surprised when we arrived at our gate. They were not even boarding yet. A nearby passenger couldn’t help but notice our huffing and puffing and asked what our name was. When I told her “McGovern” she said “I think the attendant is looking for you.”

Turns out her seat and our seats 4 A, B were broken and that was the reason for the delay. We needed new seat assignments. Well, Daniel was convinced that prayer works and later that weekend he said he would pray for the Patriots to win their game. I said, “I don’t think God cares about a football game.” His reply: “I'm gonna try it.” Because you never know, you never know.

Unrelated thoughts

-It's time for new glasses when you think the dog has snow on his back and he is simply wet and what you are seeing is his white skin.

-It's time for new glasses when an OLD man in the graveyard is walking a dog you know. The next day you see the same dog with it's regular owner. "I saw your father walking your dog yesterday," I said by way of greeting. The woman said, "Oh that was my husband, he's a little gray." I still think he looked at least 70 while she could be in her 30s.

-When my boss, 80, told me an elderly man came up to him - I asked "What's elderly." He explained that he was all stooped over.

-I found an escaped darkling beetle in the hallway. This is Daniel's pet beetle.

-When the piano teacher calls he always says, "This is Dennis, the piano teacher."

-What do allergies, autism and hyperactivity have in common? They were not nearly as prevalent 30 years ago.

-Kids are so tuned into allergies these days that when Michael had friends over for breakfast Daniel said, "You should ask them if they have allergies." I told him I would just sprinkle peanuts in their pancakes." NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I got it bad, you got it good . . . .

Daniel is in the habit of saying “Is that bad?” or alternatively “Is that good?” when Mom or Dad say something. I think it is his way of learning values and developing his own bullshit barometer.

“Oh look at the sky . . . red sky in morn, sailors be warned.”

“Is that bad?” he’ll ask.

Sometimes I just say, “It just is” and then I’ll explain because not everything is bad or good, black or white.

Like this job for instance. There are things I hate and things I like but I digress . . .

Toto attacked Buster a few weeks ago and Daniel asked, “Is that bad?” Yes, it’s bad because now he bites people and dogs, I helpfully explained. The attacks are all about establishing dominance and usually involve food, so (knock on wood) I think the attacks are subsiding.

“Gingivitis”

“Is that bad?”

“Yes, it is. It’s gum disease.”

Bruises and bit marks from getting in the middle of a dominance, dog attack.

“Is that bad?”

“Yes it is.”

“Is it good to be the smallest state?”

I think so, because it makes us unique.

“Are worms (in dogs) bad?”

“Yes, they are.”

“What are carbohydrates? Are they bad?”

“If you eat too much of them, they are. You gotta have some fruits and veggies."

You get the idea. The bad and good continues and perhaps I should mix it up a little and when he asks me if something is bad, I’ll be really sarcastic and say it is good and then after he kind of looks confused and smiles I’ll say “Is that bad?”

Unrelated thoughts

• I inadvertently scammed the drive thru woman out of a muffin when she handed me my tea and change. “What ?” she wondered. “My muffin?” I wondered back. She scurried around clearly annoyed and put a muffin in a bag herself. This clearly was not part of the Dunkin Donuts system. As I drove off, I noticed two muffins on the seat beside me. And the thing is that I didn’t even remember her handing me the first muffin.

• On the holiday party front, my mother doesn’t ask people to bring anything to her parties because all anyone brings is dip and then all you have is lots of dip to throw away.
  
• 
  Addendum to why I might start smoking column:

• I can forget about the $1.4 million I need to accumulate to live at 85% of my current income in retirement – because I will die sooner.

• I can meet new people as I smoke outside restaurants and other establishments.

Children's Sermon

Well, let’s see we had Halloween, Thanksgiving and there is another big holiday coming up on Monday (Nov. 28^th). Does anyone know what that is?

It’s a very special day. It’s my birthday.

Some people hate birthdays. There are women who are 39 forever . . . but I love them.

What do you love about them? Cake, presents, ice cream, love . . . .

I love them because it’s your special day and you have people who love and care about you saying “You are special.” I wanna feel like that every day.

The only thing I don’t like about birthdays is the song. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear . . . .Happy birthday to you. Perhaps we could revise the words. We love you so much. We care about you. You look like a . . . . And you smell like one too. Just kidding about that last part.

The other thing I don’t like about birthdays is when my boys were little and the one with the birthday was getting all the attention and presents, the other one would get jealous and sad. When I was little, my grandmother had a solution for that. They were called love gifts. She would bring little gifts for everyone who didn’t have a birthday that day. Just some little thing but it made you feel good.

That to me is the whole idea. Love.

Dear God: Please help us remember how special we are and that we have people who love and care about us. Amen

Nightmares

Courtesy of Buster

I have a recurring nightmare (among those dealing with pregnancy at age 46 and exams/graduate thesis I forgot about) about walking through the halls of a nameless, faceless high school and being late/lost on my way to class. Well, that nightmare became a reality at the high school Back To School Night. When my son handed me his schedule – he offered to draw me a basic map. “What entrance will you start from?” he asked helpfully. “The auditorium . . . “ That was the last I heard of a map that never materialized.

As Iooked over his schedule with room numbers 102, 208, 307 and the like I said “How hard could it be – first floor, second floor, third floor.” “You’ll see,” he smiled.

Well, the hallways were extremely crowded and I was a bit claustrophobic. But I did find all of the classrooms, albeit, some of them later rather than sooner. I just took a stab at where I should go and in most cases ended up in the right place. That is except for one door that read “To Music Room, Room 218.” This door led to a sort of dead end room/stairway that was clearly not room 218. Also, sometimes the room numbers were not in sequence. Shouldn’t room 209 be near room 208? Sometimes consecutive numbers were at opposite ends of the hallway. So see some of my nightmare did come true.

On the upside, the teachers all seemed nice and fairly outgoing, or they were odd. There were a couple of odd ones. But that makes life interesting. Only one teacher seemed more quiet – the English teacher. Perhaps she is more cerebral.

It was like old home week walking through those halls and seeing many old friends from around town. I noticed that I felt a lot more confident that I did walking around in high school some 30 years ago and that was a good feeling. Progress, ain’t it grand?!

As the bells rang to switch classes, something else was not the same. The bells were fake, a recording piped in over the PA. How disappointing. Perhaps the bells don’t work anymore. Perhaps they did this because we weren’t on the normal bells schedule (5 minute classes). Perhaps no one else noticed but me. Odd. That’s what makes life interesting.

Still, I hope they have real bells.

Unrelated Thoughts

• In the joy department, we had one oblong, odd, oval shaped egg from our chickens. It turned out to have a double yolk. That was our thrill for the day.
  



• I’ve decided to be less stressed. Just this simple declaration seems to help.
  



• In the I told you so department, Buster literally trashed the house on recent rainy day. I warned Doug before I left that day that he would likely do some damage as he has been surreptitiously taking apart the dog house when outside.
  



• Love: Your Own Personal Blog Entry
  
  I had a good friend who died a while back who epitomized love. She was always so supportive and would give me a gift it seemed like everytime we got together. The thing is when she was dying and I spoke to her for the last time on the phone I didn't want to say "Thank you for being such a great friend" because that would suggest her ultimate demise. I said something lame like, "Well.........................." The point is I really appreciate you, our friendship, laughter and love. I feel like if I was really in need you would help me and I know if you were really in need I would help you. And that my friend is love. So I love you. Not in a lesbian kind of way but in a love kind of way. And I have guy friends I love too but wouldn't likelytell them for fear they would get the wrong idea. For the record: I am not a lesbian. I feel blessed and lucky to have you as a friend. And I know I was blessed and lucky to have Helen as a friend - though I didn't really tell her because I didn't want to suggest it was the end.