YOU'RE ON MY LIST - INCONSIDERATE DRIVERS

This might be the first of many posts about things that annoy me. But, to be fair, I have to say something nice at the end. Hmmph.

Thank you elderly lady in the Honda. Thank you average-looking guy in the Ford. You both managed to make my drive on an otherwise beautiful, bucolic, 2-lane, undivided byway MISERABLE. Neither one of you could manage to squeeze out those last few miles per hour to even GET TO THE SPEED LIMIT?

Really?

I confess, I am impatient when driving somewhere with a time deadline. But even with buckets of time, AT LEAST I GO THE SPEED LIMIT!!

The NICE thing to do? If you can't go the speed limit & it's obvious someone behind you wants to go faster (and there were precious few passing zones on all those hills), PULL OVER! And while we're on the subject, even if there are multiple lanes, if you're going to go slow, GET OUT OF THE LEFT LANE!

Sorry for the yelling. I've been wanting to do that all afternoon.

*breathe.......

 

Inconsiderate drivers come in many guises. The tailgater, the weaver, the leadfoot who NEVER gets pulled, the road rager, the timid & overly cautious, the brake-rider, the brake-for-no-reasoner, the I'm-not-paying-any-attentioner, the litterer, the cut-you-offer, the crooked parker. Did I miss any?

I, of course, never do any of those things. Ever. That's my story & I'm sticking to it.

http://www.cartoonstock.com/directory/d/driving_badly.asp

That car in the left lane in the picture above? That is, of course, me.

Something nice: when you have the opportunity & time, get off the interstate ("Get off the interstate Ben Stone" - obscure movie reference). Explore the byways & drink in nature. Virginia has some truly beautiful back roads.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

A little over a year ago, I took a new job at the Home, part of my reinvention.

This position came with a lot of opportunities for travel throughout Virginia.

Oh my gosh, this was great - ROAD TRIP!!

Adding to that happiness, I can find sprinklings of family and friends to see all over the state. 

 This isn't Virginia, but it's a road.

I was happier than a puppy with two peters.

(obscure movie reference - who knows it?.............hint? Billy Crystal)

Got to see more of BS, BNs (beloved nieces), BBS (beloved big sister) & BC (beloved cousin).

I was content. Life was good again. Then the added bonus...

A mere weeks into the new job, M&M entered my life again after a hiatus of 38ish years.

After a few months, he was becoming indispensable.

And now, even though I still love the travel, I get lonely for him when I'm gone.

The upside is that, not only do I usually get to see beloved people when I'm away

(since I can often stay with them),

but I have a beloved person waiting for me when I come home.

Don't that make the homecoming sweet! Much better than coming home to an empty house.

The traveling will continue.

It's a good thing, though.

If he didn't get a break from me every once in awhile,

he would soon realize that I don't really have anything all that interesting to say.

RELATIVE ROULETTE

I had forgotten.
Forgotten the fine art & tact of parent juggling.


http://mikestokamer.com/what-do-we-do-with-the-house

One thing I remember about being married was the dance we had to do with the families,
all of whom lived nearby. There was my mom in Virginia Beach, my dad in Kitty Hawk,
and his mom in Chesapeake, not to mention some assorted siblings.
Holidays were a confusion of 3 households. Figuring out whose turn,
where do we go in the morning, who do we see in the afternoon, what about dinner...
I can't remember when we woke up on Christmas morning in our own house.
But, for the past 25 years, I only had to shuffle my parents. 2 are much easier than 3.

Now, I am part of a twosome again. M&M's parents live here too. And so the dance begins anew.
Sometimes we'll luck out & one or more of them will be out of town. It happens.
My dad & stepmother are prone to go bike riding in Europe on occasion, as they did this Easter.
(Oh, and my father is 82. I want to be biking in Belgium when I'm 82.)
His parents may go out of town to see the other kids & grandkids, as they did at Christmas.

We did insist on Christmas morning at home this year. It will be perfect when BS is here too.

I may grumble, but I'm very glad they are all still here, and relatively healthy.
I'd rather contend with the juggling than the alternative.

I love them all.

REINVENTION REBELLION

Today, I am rebelling against Vogue, Jimmy Choos, and Cover Girl, and all other purveyors of making women feel like they aren't good enough without thin bodies, high heels & painted faces. But first, a little back story.

I have always been rebellious, though not always in a good way. If someone told me I had to do something, or I really should do something, and they didn't give me a good reason, or the reason was "That's how it has always been done", I was bound & determined not to do it. These usually had to with two things: gender roles and worrying about how something "looks" (the "What will people think?" type of comments). Trouble is, some of those things I really should have done, and sometimes there were consequences.

So, in the process of reinventing myself, it's not that I am suddenly rebelling, I've just reached the point in my life where, if someone doesn't like what I do or how I look, that's their problem, not mine. Mostly, anyway. The "reinvention" part is that, in doing this, I am fighting myself and a lifetime of cultural & familial brainwashing.

I'm talking about these:

http://www.beautyandmakeup.net/cosmetics

The unique combination of the four essential nucleotides that came together to form my DNA was somewhat unfortunate in one teeny weeny area. At least, in the grand scheme of things, it is teeny weeny, but it has caused me a lifetime of insecurities. I refer to certain aspects of my appearance, namely:

• Pale, freckly skin

• Spaces in my teeth.

• Bad eyesight.

• Frizzy/curly red hair.

• Eyebrows & eyelashes that are blonde, hence, invisible.

Ah, thank you. I can feel your "awwww" of sympathy way over here.

Some of these I have dealt with, but during those awkward years, especially when I wore horn-rimmed glasses & braces, I bore the brunt of a lot of not-so-goodnatured teasing. Seriously. Remember these pictures?

BUT...

Freckles aren't considered so bad anymore.
Braces & laser surgery took care of the teeth & eyesight.
Now my curly red hair seems to be the envy of a lot of female types, ALTHOUGH, as I get older & a lot more white creeps in, I have been called a blonde by more than one idiot. Damn.

The only thing that stumps me is the blonde eyebrows & eyelashes. If not for regular cosmetic shenanigans, it looks like I don't have any. Really, people look kind of odd without eyebrows, doncha think? So, I have been taught to think that I have to wear eye makeup to look normal. If I don't, I get comments like "Are you sick?" or "Gee, you look tired." Thanks a lot. To avoid making small children recoil in fear, I dye my eyebrows every other week or so. I lip gloss. I mascara & eye line. I do all those things culture told me I had to do to look acceptable. All to keep me from looking pale, sickly & wan.

Enter M&M. Bless his heart, since day 1, he has told me that I don't need makeup. That I am beautiful without it. That he prefers me without the "false advertising"*. Have I ever said I love this man? And the best part is, I'm starting to believe him.

So, the rebellion is that I no longer wear makeup every day. I even go to work sometimes without it, and, oddly enough, no one has run away screaming or passed out from the shock. I get really brave on occasion and leave it off when I go see my mother. I kind of look forward to hearing the sigh of sad resignation (part of the rebellion). And the deliciousness of being able to rub my eyes whenever I want is indescribable. I kind of like this rebellion, although I will continue to dye my eyebrows. I have my limits. Next, maybe I'll make my hair red again. What do you think?

Oh, and what caused me to think about all this. My good friend Russ, to raise money for cancer, participated in a drag pageant and was enlightened by the beauty regimens women put themselves through. He wrote a terrific article about it here. Go read it.

*false advertising - wearing cosmetics and looking lovely, but then taking them off and making people go "Aaack!"

RIDE THE TIDE

The Tide is AWESOME!


http://www.metrojacksonville.com/assets/thumbs/image.1049.feature.jpg

Oh my gosh, did I just say that? Me, who was pretty skeptical of the whole light rail thing?
Let me look... yes I did.

I succumbed because I wanted to pay a visit to my favorite almost-17-year-old boy,
who just happens to have gotten himself sick & landed in the hospital.

(I've written about him numerous times. Just search "Brandon" and the screen will fill up.)

He is in Children's Hospital of the King's Daughters,
part of the medical complex that is the end of the line for the Tide.
The stop near St. Mary's is at the other end, and parking is plentiful and FREE.
"Self," I said, "let's just give this thing a try and see if it was worth all the delays,
budget overruns & controversy"
So, I drove all of three blocks to the FREE parking lot (did I say that parking is free?)
and bought myself a ticket.



I figure that for the $3 I spent on the ticket, which would have let me ride the Tide all day,
saving on gas, wear & tear on my engine/oil/tires, parking at the hospital
(which is NOT free, except for parents of the kiddies that are there),
and the aggravation of rush hour traffic getting out of the city, I was ahead of the game.
It might not be as fast as driving, but the difference was not worth worrying about.
Yes, it has stops along the way, but it doesn't stay at any of them any longer than
I would have sat at any of the numerous stop lights there & back.

Here's the deal. It is pretty much convenient to everything downtown.
It either puts you off by the door of, or within a little bitty walk of,
Norfolk State,
Harbor Park,
the Norfolk city offices,
MacArthur Mall,
Scope/Chrysler Hall,
the Norva & the Roper,
all the funky restaurants on Granby,
TCC,
the YMCA & surrounding buildings,
and the medical complex at the end of the line.



And it was FUN! And relaxing, not having to drive.
The trains are clean, quiet, and go at a pretty good clip along the highway.
They run often, so there isn't much of a wait.



This is the second time I have posted something good about Hampton Roads Transit.
Long ago, I wrote about how good the Handi-Ride service has been for us (and our parents)
to take our kids out into the community.
Now the Tide. They should pay me.
Seriously.

Now, if they would only extend it to, say, to ODU, the Navy base, the Zoo,
that would be even more awesome.

And, Virginia Beach?
Get with the program.
Run it to Town Center, Princess Anne Plaza, Lynnhaven Mall, Hilltop, the oceanfront.
Can you imagine the ridership it would have, especially in the summer, if it went to the beach?
Really, that's what keeps a lot of locals away in the summer -
trying to park may actually make your brains explode.

But, here's what I don't understand.
I bought a ticket. I boarded the train.
No one asked for my ticket. Nowhere was there a machine to insert my ticket.
The young lady sitting by me said that they will do random ticket checks.
If you don't have one, it is a $250 fine.
Still, it seems risky. There are a lot of dishonest people who would take that chance.

Friday is my brother's birthday, and he will celebrate, as he always does,
with a gathering of his friends at the Monastery downtown.
Parking will be a nightmare on Friday night, so, I'm thinkin', maybe.....
RIDE THE TIDE!
It will only be a walk of a block or 2 from the Monticello stop to the restaurant.
Of course, I am taking the liberty of speaking for M&M, but he'll go along.
Maybe.
Huh, sweetie?

Oh, I almost forgot the best part. When you insert money to buy a ticket,
it gives you change in dollar coins!



I LOVE dollar coins!
There are a few missing though. Some of them got Brandon a happy get well balloon and
tipped the nice people at the local non-chain pizzeria.
The rest went to our coin jar. Makes us feel rich :-)

UN-WIRED

A friend's computer was recently infected with the computer version of Ebola.
Caused it to crash & burn.
I think there were actually flames shooting out of it's dual high-speed USB ports.
It's the stuff of nightmares, I tell ya.

But it got me to thinking how dependent I am on this blasted machine.
Email, Facebook, word games, my daily jigsaw, Wikipedia,
Google, You Tube, online banking, online shopping.

Need I go on?

But, pretty soon, M&M & I will be venturing out to the high country.

There will be mountains involved.


But not these.

Woods.


But not these.

Mountain lakes.


But not this one.

Remote trails. Crisp, clean air.
I can feel the cares of daily life lifting already.

There will be lodging with no phones, no TV, no internet, no cell reception.
I can feel the potential for the shakes starting already.

So, this reinvention isn't really about going forward.
These boomers are going back in time.
Back to childhood pursuits.
Before all this technology that has us hooked.

Remember when we:

Played outside?
Looked for bugs, bunnies & butterflies?
Read books....made of paper & cardboard?
Weren't convinced we had to post every random thought that crossed our minds on Facebook?
Or that our friends & acquaintances really cared?

A weekend without technology. It will take awhile to prepare.
A weekend of bathing in mountain air and woods. I can't wait.

GIVING UP SOME INDEPENDENCE

By "independence", I'm not talking about being able to go out with friends anytime I want to or staying out all night if I want to or eating cheesecake for dinner. Not that I ever did those things all that often anyway. I'm talking about letting someone else share the load.

How long is it going to take to sink in? A man lives in my house. A man that knows how to do man things, like fixing stuff, lifting heavy objects, building things, and taking things apart then putting them back together. For 25 years, I was the one doing the man chores, and I'm not used to the fact that I don't need to be so independent anymore.

I don't always have to be the one with the screwdrivers & wrenches when the box says "Some Assembly Required".

I don't have to haul 40 lb. bags of salt home from the hardware store by myself because I'm too stubborn to connect to city water.

Someone here knows how to do wiring & plumbing & construction & assembly & guy stuff!

And he does these things for me because he WANTS to. He LIKES that kind of stuff. He roams around the tool section of Lowe's with the blissful look of Fat Albert at the Golden Corral.

(There's a Tim Taylor in there somewhere.)

Having a hard time getting used to that. I've never really had someone to help with that kind of stuff because they wanted to, so I learned to do it all myself. Well, not all. A lot of things just didn't get done, because I have a hard time asking for help. Anyway, back last summer, he crawled under the house to check out the bathroom pipes. 'Bout did me in. I figured that, because it was such an unpleasant task, he would wipe the dirt off his shirt and say, "Yeah, you know, I don't think this is going to work out. Have a nice life."

But, no. His manly soul was being fed. He stayed.
Oh, and he opens doors for me. Be still my heart.

FLATUS

http://qilma.files.wordpress.com/2010/10/kitty_fart_by_murphysk8.jpg?w=510

A friend recently posted on Facebook about farting, or rather,
the odoriferous vapors emanating from the general direction of her husband
after a meal of bean soup.
Shortly after that, we had a get-together at her house,
whereupon she was presented with a gas mask & a bottle of Beano.

http://rlv.zcache.com/who_farted_sticker-p217160848871532325z8j38_400.jpg

Got me to thinking. BS has no problem whatsoever about... uh... releasing the pressure, so to speak.
And the silence of the valve opening (sometimes) is remarkable.
Suddenly, I am surrounded by a cloud of his digestive processes that seemed to come out of nowhere.
He is particularly fond of doing this when we are in the car and the windows are closed.
This is followed either by looks of complete innocence or a maniacal laugh,
depending on his whim.
I have actually had to pull over to the side of the road until the miasma cleared.
Really.

What is it about men and their misplaced pride in their bodily emanations?
Just don't get it.
"Dude, I let one rip that was so bad it killed the hamster."
"Man, that's nuthin'. I took a dump that looked just like a dachshund. Shoulda sold it on eBay."

My beloved sister (not sayin' which one) is particularly fond of letting one go when we are out together,
then looking at me with horror & shame,
letting anyone around us know, in no uncertain terms,
that I was the one with no social graces whatsoever.

Me? I have never been able to be so free with the after-effects of my digestion.
Never.
No one will like me anymore.
Seriously, this is what the demons whisper in my ear.
So, I suffer until I can get to a place where such things are permissible,
like my own bathroom,
or the great outdoors,
where there is sufficient space between me and any other humanity.
Until then, the pressure builds, sometimes with visible & painful swelling....

During all those years when I was living alone and had the whole house to myself,
this was not a problem.
I could toot away to my heart's content and no one would think I was gross. Or human.

Now, however, M&M is in close proximity,
and we have developed an ease & comfort level between us
that allows me to let him see me with dirty hair and no makeup.
Oh, believe me, that's a big deal, let me tell you.
But smelly gasses?
Umm, well, no.
It's a small house & he is usually within smelling distance.
I just. can't. do. it.
Don't know if I will ever be comfortable enough around him to make him aware that
my intestines work just like everyone else's.

Here's a handy guide to let you know when to reveal your bodily functions in front of your man:

http://hellobeautiful.com/sex-love/the-venus-files/von-anise-mccoy/how-soon-can-a-woman-fart-in-front-of-her-man/

HEARTS & FLOWERS & SMOOCHES & CHOCOLATE

Last year, because I was lazy, I just reposted my Valentine's Day post from the year before.
Here it is.

I was not very complimentary to Cupid, the annoying little fart.

So, regarding my disdain for the chubby, arrow-wielding, diaper-clad brat,
look at the picture below.


http://groovyfoody.files.wordpress.com/2011/10/liquid_chocolate.jpg

I have to again eat my words.
Not all of them, mind you.
Just a couple, but this time they will be dipped in chocolate to make them taste a little better,
although I still have to hold on to my previously uttered opinion that when you are alone,
Valentine's Day brings nothing but a little sadness, a little envy, a little wishful thinking.
And, for me, now it brings sympathy, because I remember those days.

I still maintain my opinion that Valentine's Day is for sweethearts.
Not for parents,
Not for children.
Not for teachers,
Not for classmates.
Not for bosses, siblings, cousins, or BFFs.

Besides, we don't really even know who we are honoring today.
There are a bunch of early Christian martyrs named "Valentine",
none of whom had anything to do with lovey-dovey,
and no one knows which one got the day named after him.

M&M is under orders NOT to get me any chocolate.
(I'm fat enough.)
No roses.
(They just wither & die.)

Hmmm, I wonder if he knows women don't really mean it when they say
"You don't have to get me anything."
??

(Just kidding, dear.)

We will go to Carrabba's for lasagna.
I will drink sangria like it's punch.
I will look in wonder at his lovely face
and wonder anew how I got so lucky.
I will make him brownies with drizzle.
And a good time will be had by all.

So, to those for whom Valentine's Day is still a day to be endured with false cheer,
please feel free to use this, with my best wishes...


http://images.zwani.com/graphics/antivalentines_day/images/90slapcupid.jpg

CHANNELING JUNE CLEAVER

On second thought, it's not really channeling. That implies a willing participation on my part. An invitation for her to live in my brain.

Au contraire, mes amis.

She invaded me. She is possessing me. She is digging up the memories that my lack of, and indifference to, domestic skills caused me great problems in my past life. The bee-yoch whispers in my ear that I better not let that happen again. So, here I am, after years of living alone, being accountable to only myself, and, after vowing never to do it again, worrying about things like planning meals, keeping the laundry done, cleaning (but not very well). After all, M&M works a whole lot more hours each week than I do, so I should those things, right?

See what I do to myself? These expectations are all self-imposed, self-inflicted. He has assured me many times that he doesn't expect those things. In fact, I get a puzzled look and the question "Why would I expect you to take care of me. I know how to take care of myself." He really is blessedly low maintenance, good-natured, and accommodating. So why don't I pay attention? Why do I sit at my desk wondering what I should fix for dinner? Why do I continue to worry about being the "good little woman"?

HA! Not that I'm any better at it now anyway. I'm thinking that, once I clear out some more STUFF, I might be making a periodic investment in Merry Maids. It's for my health. Really. Decreased stress levels mean a longer life. Right?

TIME CHANGES ALL THINGS

I was awfully young & stupid when I got married just 1 month shy of my 21st birthday. Did I say stupid? Let's add 'naive', 'wimpy', 'spineless', 'timid'. Get the picture? I am noticing a world of difference between now & then. Then, I couldn't have brought myself to use body part terms as part of a normal conversation with the spouse. I wouldn't have wanted to disagree for fear that, I don't know, his affections might diminish? I want to be the kind of person he wanted. I didn't assert my own personality too much, not that I had much of one anyway.

Okay, maybe I exaggerate, but not much.

But with HS, time and a boatload of life experiences have made all the difference in the world. I'm not the same person I was all those years ago, and neither is he. I was still in the whole 'image', 'fitting in', acceptance', 'wanting to be liked' phase of my life. Of course, I still want those things. Who doesn't, but they are not the focus of my life anymore. It's odd to remember that, back in high school, neither of us looked at the other with much interest. And if we could go back in time & tell our high school selves that we'd be together in 35 years, we'd probably have said "No way, nuh uh!" And now, I don't want to think about life without him.

One of the best things is the easiness of the time we spend together. Silences can be comfortable. I don't have to worry about him seeing me without makeup. I don't have to be self-conscious about the wrinkles or rolls. I can belch. Still can't fart, but that's another post. I can disagree with him. Haven't really come across a subject that is too embarrassing. Heck, I even used the word (male appendage)** in a pretty entertaining conversation the other day.

Isn't getting old GREAT?
Oh stop, I can hear you snorting from here.

**Can't use the real word here or I get hits from perverts coming to my blog after googling some nasty stuff.

MAKE YOUR WORDS SWEET.....

... for you may have to eat them.


http://www.softwarenewsdaily.com/2009/12/eat-your-words-americans-consume-over-100000-words-a-day

I have been munching away with great relish, amazement & just a bit of
trepidation for the last few months.

The time is 7 or so years ago.
The place is my old office at the college.
The conversation partner is my dear friend and colleague.
The topic is men.
We are both divorced and dateless.

"I don't care if I ever get married again. I'm getting old & crotchety & set in my ways."

"I know. I'm fine the way I am. I can eat when I want, sleep when I want,
go where I want, whenever I want. I don't have to answer to anyone."

"And my house is too full of crap as it is. I don't want anyone else's stuff in here."

"But, you know, it would be nice to have someone to do things with."

"Yeah, someone to go to dinner & the movies with."

"But not someone here all the time."

"I kind of like being on my own. Don't have to answer to anyone but myself."

And on and on... sour grapes... ad nauseum.
But it was true.
After many years of being on my own, especially now that BS is grown & out of the nest,
I had fallen into a rut of complacency.
Wouldn't use the word 'contentment', because I was lonely a lot.
I'm not a social butterfly. I don't go to bars,
so most evenings I was at home, by myself.
Me & my laptop.
Me & my television.
Me & my books.
Hadn't had a date in more years than I want to admit.

(Please take a moment to wipe away the tears of sympathy rolling down your face. I'll wait...)

Don't get me wrong. I have family in the area. I have friends.
But no friends that I could call on the spur of the moment and say

"Let's go get something to eat",
or
"You wanna go to a movie?"

They are either married or non-local or not very good about returning calls.

But, in April, all that changed. Because of Facebook.
I'm part of an 'us' instead of just 'me'.
And now, my house is full of more stuff.
I cook dinner... occasionally.
Some mornings I even pack his lunch.
I check with him before I make plans.
I greet him at the door... usually... when he comes home.
(fully clothed - don't want to scare him away - and no, I don't wear pearls.)
And I'm very happy about all this.

But, you know, after 20+ years of being on my own and stubbornly independent,
this will take some getting used to, and I'm thinking it may be a comedy of errors on my part...

...navigating the waters of couplehood again.

MAKING ROOM

BS was home recently & his momma rejoiced with song & dance.

One of the tasks he set for himself was to shovel out his room & sort & toss & pack. Well, that's what he SAID he was going to do, and he KINDA succeeded.

A little more than 3 years ago, I posted about cleaning out the house. Didn't work very well.

You see, over the years, more stuff has crept into my house during the night & when I'm at work, because I swear it all wasn't there when I went to bed. When my beloved aunt died, some of her stuff snuck in. Then when my mother downsized her big ol' house for an apartment, it happened again. When BS came home from college, he brought several years worth of independent living with him. When he moved to the big city, he found (what to him were) plausible reasons that he couldn't take it all with him, so here it stayed. Add to that, I have found concrete and tangible examples that inanimate objects are capable of spontaneous generation, occurring in various hidden corners of the house.

I swear.

This could make the science journals. Add to that my almost-complete lack of domestic skills. As a result, my little house was stuffed to the gills with STUFF.

Enter HS & more STUFF. And not even all of his stuff, because most of his stuff is still in a storage unit. I have a storage unit full of stuff too, but I don't want to talk about it.

Right now, HS's stuff resides in the dining room. At least, I think it's a dining room. Can't really tell anymore, not that we ever did much dining in there. We're more the 'eat-on-the-sofa-and-watch-tv' kind of people, but nevertheless, the room is there. And it even has a table. And chairs. And what's a table for but to use as a receptacle for STUFF?

So, I take bags into St. Mary's for our semi-annual yard sale. I wade through piles of paper. I even tossed out a whole lot of my old college materials - handouts, lecture notes, old class notes. That was hard, as I have also posted about how much I wanted to teach again (here, here & here). But, no. Have I even looked at it in the last 2 years? No? Out it goes! Anything valuable is on the computer anyway. HS is demonstrating great patience as I try to turn from a pack rat into a minimalist. Good luck with THAT!

Baby steps, folks. Baby steps.

ANNOUNCEMENT:
The gentleman who was originally known as BB (Beloved Boyfriend), who then changed to HS (House Stud) at the suggestion of one of our twisted classmates, decided that he liked BB better after all, but then I proposed another that he likes best of all. Since he loves the mountains, used to live in them, and wants to again, he is going to be the Mountain Man, or M&M (since he loves chocolate too). So.... ANOTHER NAME CHANGE! Hopefully, this will be the last one.

HERE'S TO FACEBOOK

This is my old high school:


http://www.kellamhs.vbschools.com/

Spent 3 years there.
At the time, it was the only high school serving the entire southern half of the city.
We had so many students, we had to go to school in shifts, 8-2 and 10-4.
There were all the usual cliques - jocks, cheerleaders, nerds, ROTC, brains...
you know, because you had them too.
We were all overly concerned with image, with being liked, with being cool, with fitting in.
What idiots.

What does this have to do with Facebook?
Up until a few years ago, I saw all my old classmates only at the reunions,
secretly glad I didn't look THAT old.
Up until a few years ago, I had kept in touch with only a couple of them,
and those were cherished friendships.
Up until a few years ago, I remembered them as they were in school.
But then, something happened.
Technology crept into my world.
It really started with BS (beloved son) begging me to join Facebook so I could do the farm game with him.

"Oh puh-leez! No way."
"Come on Momma. You'll like it."
"I don't wanna. Facebook is stupid."
"It'll be something we can do together.

(Good grief, did he have to go and put it THAT way?)

And back & forth it went.
I resisted for a few months, but apparently I have the spine of a jellyfish.
So, there we would sit, at least when he came home for visits, mother & son,
side by side on the sofa, each with our laptop, tending our farms.
Quality time, doncha know.
If any of you are considering playing the Facebook games, DON'T!
STEP AWAY FROM THE ZYNGA!!!

But while I was glued to my cows and chickens, harvesting my crops, a funny thing happened.
I started hearing from some of my old classmates from school.
Some of them were farming buddies, others intermittent chat buddies.
We even planned some casual get-togethers.

And you know what?

Well, other than discovering some will-power to 12-step my way away from the farms,
I discovered something about all those classmates.
Time becomes the great equalizer.
35 years later, the cliques are gone.
Our image is pretty much the same - wrinkles, bags, sags, gray hair, no hair, bulges and rolls.
No one really gives a flying hoot what the others think any more.

Granted, some of these classmates were virtual strangers to me.
I hadn't known them well in school, but since the masquerades of youth had melted off,
so did the foolish blinders fall away.
I discovered a treasure trove of wonderful people.
People I might not have wanted to be friends with in school,
being the spineless twit that I was,
ended up being people of humor, intelligence, wit, kindness, generosity...
What is it about youth that prevents us from seeing those qualities before?

Maybe because those qualities take time and life experiences to refine?
Maybe because it's hard to recognize qualities in others when they are
sadly underdeveloped in ourselves?

Life does that, I guess.
Reinforces the truth that youth is wasted on the young.

For whatever reason, we can be friends now.
There is little awkwardness.
There is an instant connection of shared history,
shared people,
shared teachers,
shared experiences.
It creates a bond; a fellowship; a camaraderie.

I can cherish these people now.
One in particular, especially.
Facebook brought me together with the love of my life.
(I mentioned him in my last post.)
I knew him in school, but didn't really know him all that well.
Our separate lives have brought us each to a place and time that,
where we probably would have scoffed at the thought back in school days,
now I see the utter beauty of the man I couldn't have seen in the boy.
And I look forward to being able to appreciate that for years to come.

A Girl Thing

I have had a couple of facts reinforced recently:

1. Beloved Boyfriend (BB) is an incredibly good sport.
   
2. There are huge differences between men & women. And no, I'm not referring to THAT! Get your minds out of the gutter.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and I remembered that I was invited to a christening the next day. Oops, forgot about that, and I hadn't gotten a gift yet. This means I need to make a trip to that fortress of female delight, that bastion of baby-rufflyness - Babies-R-Us.

You girly types know what I'm talking about. Most people that have sufficient estrogen love this place. Baby clothes, baby furniture, baby accessories, baby toys, baby blankies. OMG! Especially yours truly, since I have a hankering for a grandchild (but no pressure, BS, hear?). So BB nicely says he will go with me. Huh? What's that? Did I hear him right? He'll go with me into the black hole of powdery, Pamper-y, pastel-y plentitude? Now, in my book, that's akin to volunteering to go to a Tupperware party or get a root canal. Did I mention he was a good sport?

The drive over showed his deceptively calm exterior, but as we approached the front door, a heavily pregnant woman and her whiny toddler-appendaged friend were exiting. Out the corner of my eye, I noted the start of an ever-so-slight slight twitch.

Inside the vast cavern, a look of pained resignation settled on his whiskery face as he followed me on my quest. Every now and then, he couldn't resist belting out a falsetto "oooh, it's so cuuuute!", but otherwise he soldiered on, forcing himself to smile, or maybe I should say 'show his teeth', whenever I held up an ever-so-cute frou frou to consider. I could see the thought bubble over his head that read "When will this END?"

Coming out into the sunshine of a world that had men & testosterone in it, I saw my atonement. Next door to the Babies-R-Us was........a Best Buy.......................