I’m fully loaded

It used to be that when I went to the grocery I just had to grab my purse and go. There was no thought as to what other necessities would accompany me on my adventure. Now it seems that I pack as if going on a long trip.

I grab my reusable shopping bags (don’t talk the talk if you can’t walk the walk). Then comes my iPod. As much as I don’t take pleasure in modern technology, I do enjoy having my own play list plugged into the radio jack as I run my weekly errands. It’s always good to start the morning with Brad, Toby, Kenny and Martina. (All country, look them up). Next, I make a travel cup of coffee. I bought this really nifty mug that has a top on it that resembles the ones you get at those high priced coffee shops but has paid for itself in one week’s savings. Sometimes I grab my OSU (OH-IO) tumbler with lid and fill it with soda so I’m not driving through and wasting another couple bucks on a drink I can make at home.

I head to my car, arms full of bags, drinks, music, shirts for the cleaners, and purse. I pack the car. Back seat, shirts and bags. Front, coffee or drink in holder, plug jack in, purse on passenger’s seat. Adjust mirror as the kid had the car last night and nothing is where it should be. Reach to turn on car and remember that the keys are on the counter in the kitchen next to the coffee maker.

Once the keys have been retrieved, I’m out the door. On my way, I think back to those wonderful less complex times when a set of keys and a purse were all I needed for the shopping experience. But as Kenny serenades me with, “Have another beer in Mexico”, it just feels right.

You Too???

I love the new "people connecting" web sites. I’ve been able to catch up with so many friends from the past. People I had known all my life but had somehow allowed to let slip away when I moved 1500 miles south and was caught up in the everyday chaos known as life. We get to chat, play some games and generally enjoy catching up with over 35 years of lost time.

But the thing I love best is when one of them posts a note about something I myself have recently experienced. The last such situation was when a friend commented that she had set the coffee up the night before but was surprised when the pot was full of only hot water in the morning. We’ve all done it, forgotten to add the coffee. Our bodies are in the moment but our minds are on to the next thing. It just so happened that that same night, some two thousand miles away, I had left a gas burner on low on the stove after cleaning up from that night’s dinner. My husband found it when he went out for his evening snack.

“Wendy, is there something you forgot?”

“No,” I said getting out of my chair where I was reading the latest Golf Digest. (It’s winter, nothing is on TV and the magazine was within reach).

“So you meant to leave the stove on?”

This is one of those stupid &$%#^& questions that piss me off. Tell me I did something stupid. Don’t say it like I’m three and need a lesson.

“Yeah, I did. I was trying to see how long I could leave it on before we ran out of gas.” (We don’t have a propane tank... we’re hooked in to the gas line.)

I get the sigh.

“Seriously, I had the beans on so low that when I pulled them off for dinner I didn’t even notice the flame.”

I wanted to say it was better than the time I left the burner on under an empty pot and burnt it so bad I had to throw the pan away, but why give him more ammo?

Later that day, I talked to a good friend in Idaho. She told me the night before she had inadvertently put the fish back in the tank she had just cleaned, but forgot to put in the anti-chlorine drops, killing her grandson’s seven goldfish. (She keeps the fish at her house as her daughter doesn’t like to have pets in the house. A whole other chapter about the crazy kids we raised is coming). I told my husband at least I didn’t kill a living thing.

He just looked at me, smiled and said, “Yet.”

So my friends and I were commiserating. We noticed that it is usually the husband that discovers our little slips or failures.

Haven’t we all left the hose running outside when, in the middle of watering, the phone rings? Run out to pick up something at the grocery only to find that you left the back door open and the lizards have taken over the sun room? Put the washed clothes in the dryer and an hour later you go up only to find you forgot to turn the damn thing on? One friend was halfway to work before she realized she still had on her fuzzy slippers.

There are those things we forget all the time. The curling iron, the hair straightener, the light in the closet. But my kids have done those,too. Just look at the burn marks on their bathroom counter.

Again, I use the "brains too full, I’m too busy" defense. I am always thinking of the next thing that I need to do and sometimes, I SAID SOMETIMES; I forget to finish what I started. But I haven’t burned the house down and the water bill was only really high that ONE time. The things we do right outweigh the other stuff and until such time as the reverse is true, cut us some slack.

You Are Such A Good Friend

Last week my husband and I went to a friend’s house for dinner. I offered to get there early and help out. As I’ve already mentioned I love to arrive early. So she put me in charge of making the salad. I LOVE MAKING salad. I love taking those healthy ingredients, cutting them up and mixing them all together to make a divine, delicious, cacophony of tastes and textures. I put the lettuce in the bottom, not a lot because everyone knows the best things about the salad are the extra ingredients not the lettuce itself. I layered the red, green and yellow peppers, the orange carrots, the crimson radish and cherry tomatoes. I added chopped boiled egg, olives, celery and fresh mushrooms. The knife was chopping away as the salad grew. I tossed it all together layering a small spattering of bacon bits (fresh not the faux stuff you buy prepackaged) and topped the bowl off with grated cheese and garlic( again homemade) croutons.

You may ask what about this story proves this person is a true friend. Well as I was getting ready to put away the leftover veggies I asked where she kept her foil and baggies and such. At my house it’s in a drawer that shares space with doggy treats and batteries and sometimes is so full it catches when you open it so you have to stick your hand through the small opening and push the contents down. I don’t often let anyone in the drawer besides family.

“Middle drawer in the island.” She answered; pointing in the direction where said drawer was located.

I pulled open the drawer and there was the most beautifully organized spectacle I had ever seen. Each package was face up so you could read the contents. They were laid out in order of size. Freezer bag to sandwich bag. Next came the foil, plastic wrap and parchment paper. And the coup de résistance was the drawer was so clean. No bread crumbs lurking in the corners, no toothpicks stuck into the crevices along the sides, no small bags of ketchup or soy sauce from the latest take out.

I glanced over at my friend. This unknown neat freak. How could I have not been aware?

“This is amazing.”

“It’s not that special.”

“Are you kidding me? I should take a picture and send it to Better Homes and Gardens.”

And then she said the thing that made me realize how good a friend she really is, “I cleaned it out yesterday ‘cause I knew you were all coming over tonight.”

You see a real friend is honest even if it might destroy the myth. Anyone else would have pretended the drawer was always in such dazzlingly beautiful order. They would have left you thinking that your somehow substandard drawer would never measure up to their immaculately organized one.

“In fact I had to move the doggy treats out just to make room for the foil that was in the pantry and the parchment paper that was on top of the fridge.”

I almost hugged her. But the next day I organized my drawer. As they say, it’s the little things.

Beer Beer Everywhere

Many of my friends have started drinking wine. My husband and his best friend even keep track of good wines we have tried. When it started they would buy an occasional fairly expensive bottle. Then they challenged each other, who could get the cheapest, best tasting wine. (Can you say two buck Chuck?).

I have tried to learn to like the wine. But it has become evident that I AM A BEER girl. Seriously, give me an ice cold beer and I am happy camper.

Recently my husband and I traveled to Denver and I discovered micro brews. Let me just say this place is a little piece of heaven right here on earth. We tried a different beer every night. And they have these wonderful boards that will give you “Samplers”. That’s right you don’t know what you like? Try a sampling of eight different beers.

Now, you might be wondering why I am writing about this in an over fifty blog. Most people my age were able, legally, to drink beer at eighteen. Yes, it was legal in Ohio, but it was 3.2 percent. If you’re my age you remember the difference between 3.2 and 6 percent beer. It took you twice as many beers to get a good buzz going. And if you remember 3.2 then you remember how we use to buy quart bottles for Friday night after the game. Some of my friends that had a more sophisticated palate drank wine. Boones Farms Wine that is, Strawberry Hill was a favorite among my group of girlfriends. Then we would light up the Switzer Sweets Cigars. Yeah, we were rebels back then.

Show me a wine that "compliments" pizza or a bold red that adds to flavor of a medium cooked burger with all the fixings. I'll match you with a frosted mug from the freezer with ice crystals forming down the outside of the glass while the amber liquid bubbles and swirls.

So you may offer me your Merlot, your Pinot, or your Chianti but don’t be surprised if I respectfully decline in order to hoist up a cold one.

Vice Squad

We all have our vices, those little quirks that have irritated us about ourselves for most of our lives. I bite my nails, tried to stop about a thousand times, couldn’t, moved on. I also twirl my hair, a lot.

I twirl when I’m talking,

I twirl when I’m walking,

I twirl when I’m thinking,

But not when I’m drinking.

I twirl when I drive,

When I’m watching TV,

I twirl most of the time,

It just makes me, me.

Ahhh… a generation raised on Dr. Seuss.

So we have these annoying habits and those closest to us are so used to them that the problems almost disappear. But add a new person into the group and the cute quirky habits immediately become fodder for the masses.

“Gee you really twirl that hair a lot.”

“Yeah, I have since childhood. My parents use to tell me I was so fidgety that it was the only thing that calmed me down.” I don’t tell them that I sucked my thumb until I was like eleven. (Hey maybe the twirling replaced the thumb sucking. A shrink would have a field day with that.)

“Come on try not doing it for like a half hour.”

Really, a challenge to stop the hair twirling? What am I twelve?

So, we’re sitting there playing some stupid domino game someone brought and the fingers of my left hand are taping on the table trying to concentrate on not twirling. I tap the tiles, I tap the glass of club soda and finally I put my hands together in front of me as if in prayer. I glance down at my hands and notice a little piece of nail calling out. I start to put the finger up towards my mouth when the newest member of the group and what I can only assume is some kind of control freak, lifts an eyebrow in my direction. Wait, I can’t twirl or bite?

I’ve rapidly come to the conclusion that this person may not fit in with the group.

“I don’t understand. Does my twirling somehow cause you harm? Do you have some underlying habits of your own that you’ve recently broken and are somewhat afraid I will cross you over into the bad place?”

“It’s just that you’re twirling, the motion, well it makes me lose my concentration.”

“So if I twirl you will play badly?” I smile, I like to win.

“Yes, I can’t concentrate.” The woman stated rather emphatically.

That’s right, I started twirling. Because after all, I am over fifty, I can do what I want.

Apple/Tree

I just got home from spending two weeks with my Mother in Ohio and I was, let’s just say, extremely surprised at the similar traits that have come to light as I get older. There are some major differences. If she sees a small branch from a tree laying in the front yard it will make her crazy if she can’t run out and pick it up immediately. God forbid if it’s raining and she has to wait until the storm abates to retrieve said limb. Imagine an hours’ worth of, “I wish I could get out there and get that branch,” as the storm rages. Me, I call it yard art and move on. Also I love autumn leaves in the yard. The red, yellow and orange foliage delicately wafting to the ground giving us a carpet of brilliance second only to Joseph’s coat. I use to wait until the last minute to sweep them away. But not Mom, she starts mowing them up with the first dropping and doesn’t stop until the last leaf is bagged and sent off to the city municipality where they will mulch it up to use in the parks.

There are other differences as well. I’m a night person. I love the night life I love to boogie…okay maybe not boogie, but I do love the quiet that comes after the sun has set and the young ones are all tucked into bed. When we were first married I would go to bed with my husband, wait until I heard the gentle breathing of sleep coming from his side of the bed and get up. I considered myself the late night marauder. I often would clean the house as there were no little ones under foot to shoo away from my necessary chores. Sometimes I would just get a book and read. It was my special quiet time. But my mother is inflicted with that disease I don’t understand, that of being a morning person. I have never understood this disorder. Getting up before the sun rises is just too far out of my range of understanding. When I visit I’m up late writing or reading while she sleeps. In the morning she’s usually had her coffee and run her daily errands before I pop my head out for coffee around eight.

But on this visit I noticed that when someone would ask us a question we would answer at the same time and more than once we answered the same way. Things that annoyed me seemed to annoy her. The similar mannerisms, the speech pattern, it was evident throughout the whole visit. I remembered someone saying, “You look just like your Mother but you act just like your Father.” Dad was the funny one, the one who always had a good time. But Mom is up for anything. “Want to drive to Amish country?” She’s in the car. “Want to do a tour of gardens in the village?” “When and where?” We’ve become friends looking for the next adventure. And really isn’t that what life is all about?

Oh, Honey. I Love it!

This week is my husband and I’s 31^st wedding anniversary. Through all the years of good times and bad times, we overcame the adversities and worked through. All in all, it’s been a wonderful journey. There are just some things that you learn after being married this long. My wonderful husband when asked, simply states that he is just along for the Wendy ride. I think he means that I am the Lucy to his Ethel, his Hardy to my Laurel. I shudder to think of the times I’ve looked lovingly over in his direction with an uttered, “You know what might be a good idea?” Most of the time things worked out. There were a few disasters along the way, but those too made us stronger.

My husband is an amazing man, who I love dearly. He's generous and kind. He’s just not so great on the gift giving front. He’s great on those big occasions; a diamond tennis bracelet on the fifteenth and diamond earrings on the twentieth. One year, when he couldn't figure out what I wanted, he gave me pictures of items’ he thought I might want. A treadmill, a 35mm camera and I honestly can’t remember the third. To this day, whenever I have a birthday or anniversary or any other gift giving occasion the kids still ask, “What picture did you get this time?”

With that knowledge in the back of mind, I was shopping and I saw a necklace I’ve wanted that was on sale. I’m not into expensive jewelry so the fact that it was on sale for thirty-two dollars added to my excitement. I’ve wanted a silver watch necklace on a long chain to wear with my sweaters. So I had three choices:

A. Call the daughters and tell them where it is and have them run the idea past their Dad. (It’s worked before.)

B. Hint, Hint, Hint and hope that this time it takes. (This has never worked before, but you’re dealing with an eternal optimist.)

C. Do what works after 30 some years of marriage: buy it yourself.

I bought it. It was the last one and I knew A and B were just futile attempts to get exactly what I want.

Flash forward two days. Kirk and I are driving home from Costco and he’s telling me that the only day he could golf with his buddy next week on our vacation was Wednesday, our anniversary. My husband loves his golf. In fact, in order of importance I think it goes Golf, Dog, kids, Wife. He’s feeling a little guilty so it’s the perfect time to tell him about the gift. “Sounds like fun. By the way, do you want to know what you got me for my anniversary present?”

And my husband, that wonderful man who’s been by my side since we were sixteen, doesn’t miss a beat when he says, “Did I do well this year?”

I smile. “You did great!”

The smile I love crosses his face and he says, “Well, then. You’re welcome.”