Oh What A Night

Last night was amazing. Not your once in a lifetime amazing, one of those, damn I should do this more often kind of things.

It started out like this. During the day I helped my daughter Brooke paint the doors for the cabinets at her new house. Bending over caused me to get a kink in my neck. (It’s the age thing. I never know exactly which part of my body will hurt at any particular moment.) When I got home I made dinner and after cleaning up the kitchen I decided it would be a great night for a good long soak.

I poured a glass of Bordeaux as it goes with everything. I filled the tub; hot water, maximum amounts of suds. I turned the lights down low, lit a vanilla candle and slipped in. The water, wine and candles did their trick. I was relaxed and the muscles were slowly beginning to loosen up.

I sipped my wine.

Half hour later I exited the bath and moved to the shower. It’s a crazy habit. I always rinse off and wash my hair in the shower after a bath. I took time to wash and did the full three minutes conditioning suggested on the bottle. I wrapped the towel around and stood in front of the fogged mirror. After using the blow drier to clear the fog, I put on a facial mask and then brushed, water picked and flossed my teeth. When the mask was good and hard I pulled it off and moisturized.

Next I blew and straightened my hair. I know I was going to bed in less than an hour, but I wanted to look good for me.

Lastly, I put on my red plaid flannel pajamas and walked out of the bathroom. It was a good hour of pampering myself and it was glorious.

I heard the TV on downstairs and heard Kirk and the girl’s talking. But tonight was “ALL ABOUT ME!”

I closed the bedroom door and shut out the noise from below, curled up on the chase in the corner of my room and read.

I sipped some wine. (It’s okay I can brush my teeth again later).

It was the perfect end to my evening.

Per-fect

You have all experienced it. That one brief moment when nature grabs you and holds you and nothing else seems to matter.

It could be as simple as a rainbow on a rainy day. You know. It’s pouring down rain but the sun is shining and you start looking. Then you find it, the myriad of colors painting the incredible arch across the sky.

It could be driving down the road and coming over the ridge and seeing an autumnal landscape. Bits of golds, reds, greens and browns splashed across the country side that in that one sweet moment takes your breath away.

It could be sitting at the beach and watching the storm clouds sweep across the Atlantic. White, billowing, balls of cotton with the steel grey skies as its backdrop. The long threads of water reaching from the sky to the sea in a curtain of black rain, back lit with flashes of lightening, turning into foam as it hits the sea.

Today for me it was sitting on the back porch as a soft rain fell. I looked up in the corner and noticed a spider’s web. The rain was running down the back of the house and a small drip ran down the corner and was saturating the cob web. I watched as tiny crystals formed on the delicate threads. It was quiet and I sat mesmerized as the droplets followed the intricate labyrinth left behind by the spider. As the sun came out the droplets came alive, prisms of light caught in the web.

The whole scene lasted only moments, but I have come to cherish these gifts, these wondrous moments only nature can provide.

My Day Sucked

The day started at 6:30 in the morning like this.

Husband -“Honey there’s a leak in the garage under the AC unit.”

Me - Yawn. “What? Where?”

“It started in the attic under the AC unit. Didn’t they just fix that?”

“Yeah.” Stretch.

“Can you call them?”

“They don’t open until 8. I’ll take care of it.”

Move the 35 boxes of cra*, I mean stuff we’re storing for the kids and wipe up the water in attic. Go down to garage under the leak and sigh at the amount of popcorn ceiling that has fallen. Decide to wait to shopvac later after it dries.Husband leaves. I grab a coffee and wait the fifteen minutes to call my friend the AC guy. (My friend as he’s been here 6 times in the last two months.) “Sure,” he says, “I’ll have a guy out at nine.”

Call the groomer. Back nine o’clock appointment to 10 and then call the car dealer to move the oil change and tire rotation until 11.

AC guy comes and fixes the AC. No charge. Check.

Dog to groomers. Check.

Pull into car dealership and all goes according to plan.

“Will you wait?”

“Sure how long?”

“Forty-five minutes.”

Get my book out and sit in the corner. Several of the people are waiting at the same time and I watch as all of them are helped and leave. I’m reading. I look at my watch and notice I have been there for three hours. It’s 2:05. I wander out and the guy that checked me in notices me.

“Why are you still here?”

“Nobody came to get me.”

“I sent ______ to get you two hours ago.” He looks at his watch for verification. “Your papers are in the office. Just pay through there.”

I walk in to pay. The girl says, “$34.20.”

Since I missed the step were a worker goes over the bill with you I say, “Okay,” and hand her my credit card without looking at the invoice.

She hands me back a receipt.

“Wait, I bought the tires here so you are supposed to rotate them for free.”

She takes the paper back.

“So you want me to credit the 13.99?”

“Um Yeah.”

Fifteen minutes later she has tried three times to credit my account. The line is out the door.

“I can’t get the computer to credit your account. I’ll be right back.”

People in line that have been there for the 45 minutes, start sighing. A woman with a small child in a stroller sighs and under her breath says, “This is ridiculous.”

The girl comes back. “The manager wants to give you a free oil change instead of the refund.”

“Great. Wonderful. Thanks so much.”

Phone rings. Dog’s done.

I head towards the groomers and the pharmacy calls with a prescription my Doctor was to call in yesterday. No biggie. It’s on the way to the groomers.

“Wendy Pottinger. My doctor called in a prescription and you called to say it was in.”

“Here you go. No charge.”

I look in the bag. “Wait. I’m allergic to an ingredient in this.”

The cashier hands the bag back to the pharmacist. “Yes, I see it here in your notes. But your Doctor called it in. Doesn’t she know about your allergies?”

“She was the one that discovered it. And we discussed it yesterday. This isn’t what she told me I was going to take.”

“You’ll need to have her call in a new prescription. And since its Friday afternoon we probably won’t have it until Monday.”

Sigh.

Construction on the main road to the groomers is taking three lanes down to one. I wait in traffic and wonder why I feel like I am on the verge of crying.

On to pick up Bailey dog. My one bright point of the day. I walk through the door and his whining greets me. He’s happy to see me.

“I just wanted to let you know that when we did his ears they looked a little pink. You may need to take him next door to Doc’s to get some ointment.”

I get the ointment from the vet. Put Bailey back in the car and we head to McDonalds. For him, not me. He gets his treat and we head home.

But I make one last stop. The corner gas station. I pick up a Powerball Lottery ticket, because after today, I think I deserve the 105 million dollars.

Hummmmm

It started out the way most misunderstandings begin. A simple statement taken out of context that escalates into a full-fledged argument.

My husband came home for lunch today, as he does every day, for his turkey over salad, crackers, fruit and protein bar. I was in the kitchen preparing his lunch, as I do most days and he says, “You look nice, are you going out somewhere?” Boom!!!!!

“No I’m not going out somewhere, why?”

“You just look really nice.”

I had curled my hair and put on a little makeup, mascara and lip gloss. And I did have on a pair of Khaki shorts and a pressed white button down shirt. But the comment said to me that I didn’t always look nice when he came home for lunch.

“I didn’t mean you don’t usually look nice,” he started in that, I know I’m not going to win this one fashion.

“After I got done scrubbing the toilets and baths this morning I decided to spend the afternoon writing. And sometimes, if I’m dressed nicer, I feel more professional.”

“So you admit, you are dressed nicer.”

“Nicer than what? Nicer than the man’s boxers and your old football jersey’s I wear in the morning when I’m cleaning? Or nicer than the baggy button ups and yoga pants I wear in the afternoon when I am cooking a three course dinner?”

“I get it. I’m sorry. You look great.”

“Would it have been soooo hard to say that to begin with?”

“No honey you’re right.”

At least that’s how it should have gone.

Instead it was- “I don’t know why you’re so defensive, I said you look nice.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey, where are you going?”

“Shopping. It seems I need some better looking clothes to wear when I’m cleaning the house. And since I’m dressed nice I can leave now.”

In the end there was no argument, no loud disagreement, but I do love my new shorts and tees.

Again??

Dear Patrick Swayze and Kevin Bacon,

I would like to take this time to apologize for the bad judgment Hollywood made in REMAKING your films. It seems the powers that be have run out of new ideas for films, so they feel the need to take classics and regurgitate them into a new, more modern spin (meaning less talent and unknown names).

But what about the timeliness of the original movies? How can the new films compete with the costuming and brilliant hairstyles? In Footloose, the 80’s-tastic high waist jeans and white tee shirts, or the burgundy prom jacket with those pants cut a couple inches short to allow the camera man to zoom in on the impressive foot work. Kevin Bacon’s lightly tipped spiky hair style still makes me smile. In Dirty Dancing, the 60’s came alive with the women’s Capri’s, starched blouses and shirt waist dresses. The men in their plaid sport coats were in sharp contrast to Patrick Swayze's tight black jeans, black shirt and black leather jacket. And Swayze’s almost mullet made the bad boy in black role complete.

Then there was the music. Footloose had a myriad of top 10 songs-Kenny Loggins Footloose, Shalamar Dancing In The Sheets, Deniece Williams Let's Hear It For The Boy, Bonnie Tyler Holding Out for A Hero, and the Footloose love theme, Almost Paradise. And with Dirty Dancing the hits just kept coming; (I've Had) The Time Of My Life, Hungry Eyes, Be My Baby, You Don’t Own Me, In The Still Of The Night and the ever popular She’s Like The Wind sung by none other than the main character himself, Patrick Swayze. You can’t hear these songs without thinking about those wonderful movies.

Both shows held an innocence of the times. Both showed a hero and heroine who stand together against an established way of life.

Recently there was talk of remaking Philadelphia Story and White Christmas. The comedic brilliance of Jimmy Stewart, Cary Grant and Katharine Hepburn in Philadelphia Story would be impossible to replicate. And White Christmas without Bing Crosby, Rosemary Clooney, Danny Kaye or Vera-Ellen, well let’s just say, NO!!!!! Leave them alone. Come up with some new stories for the next generation and allow them to watch these originals and learn about the time.

I was reading a story in the paper the other day that quoted a Hollywood producer that said if people didn’t go to them we would stop remaking the movies.

Some movies I feel never needed to be remade….

Brian’s Song, The Blob, Cape Fear, The Day The Earth Stood Still, Death At A Funeral, Heaven Can Wait, Fame, Father of The Bride, Fright Night, Freaky Friday, The In Laws, any and all It’s a Wonderful Life Rip Offs…. I just read that they are planning on remaking Harvey, the extraordinary story of a man, Jimmy Stewart and his six foot invisible rabbit. It was as a child of ten that I first heard the word Pooka (a mischievous creature from Celtic Mythology). For weeks after seeing the movie I pretended to have a friend just like Harvey. His name was Thomas.

I have to stop. It’s too depressing. Just goggle movie remakes and look at the list. And remember next time you go to the movies, somewhere in the Netflix lineup you can find the original and it is s-o-o-o-o-o worth watching. I watched quite a few lately and, honestly, I had the time of my life.

The Difference

“Honey,” I say to my husband. “If anything ever happened to me, would you change anything around the house?”

“Not gonna answer.”

“No seriously, it’s for my article this week.”

“Wendy this is one of those, I can’t win moments.”

“I promise not to get mad.”

“And I promise that I don’t believe you.”

“Please, pretty please. When you watch golf all day Sunday I won’t complain.”

Sigh, sigh, and sigh. “I guarantee you, this will not end well.”

“Go. What would you change?”

“First, you seem to have a thing for pillows. On the bed, on the couch, in the chairs. I would do away with all the decorative pillows.”

“Good start. Next.”

“Drapes. You have drapes and sheers on all the windows when we already have blinds. They really aren’t necessary are they?”

“Okay,” I’m now a little unsure about this inquiry.

“And your lasagna. I like it with ricotta not cottage.”

“But I only do that if I’m out of ricotta.”

“You asked.”

“Go on.”

“I like my khaki shorts folded along the front seam, not in half.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“It’s okay, not a big deal.”

“Anything else?”

“You do seem to like all those Yankee Candles. Once they burn down I probably wouldn’t replace them. (Like he could live without the hazelnut coffee smell permeating the kitchen.) And the flowered furniture in the sitting room, that would have to go.” (The fact that he called it a sitting room tells me the flowered furniture might stay.)

“Is that it?”

“That’s all I can think of.”

Kirk gets up out of the chair and I remark that I am not finished with the article.

“Do you want to know what I would change?” I ask.

“I don’t care. I’ll be dead.”

And therein lies the difference between men and women.

What’s This

I was going through my closet today. A task I must admit I put off as long as possible. But something happened recently that made me decide it was the right time. Once you read this posting you might agree.

It started like this. A friend of mine’s mother recently passed away. My friend happens to be the only child living in the area so it was up to her to take care of the belongings left behind by her mother.

I offered to help.

We entered the condo and even though her mother was a clean freak, we were both a little overwhelmed by the sight that greeted us. It seems her mother was a collector. Hundreds of teacup and saucer sets sat lovingly displayed throughout the living and dining spaces.

“Don’t worry,” my friend smiled. “The girl’s from church are packing up the china.”

We headed to the bedroom, boxes in tow.

“Everything goes to Goodwill. Mom was so tiny none of us would fit into them anyway.”

She started in the closet and I took the drawers. It was a strange feeling going through someone else’s clothes. Packing the sweaters and shirts, the slacks and shorts and probably twenty nightgowns that still had the tags on them. I was half way through when it hit me. Someday, someone would have to go through my things. And although I hope it’s no time in the near future, it will happen.

That thought stayed with me when later that evening, I entered my closet and looked up and down the long procession of hanging clothes. (I have to put in a note here. I have lived in this house for over twenty years. That’s my excuse!!!) I decided to organize and clean out so that when my children have to pack my things away, they’ll think, “Boy was she organized.”

SO - I started at the back. First were baggy pants, size eight, I laughed out loud. Then came my High School letter jacket and several sweaters I had when we use to ski in Ohio, thirty-five years ago. I noted that as I made my way down the line the numbers grew; 8,10,12,14, I’ll just stop there. I also realized I obviously had a love affair with flannel. I have to be honest though, several of the flannel and corduroy shirts were from my father and both my grandfather’s closets. Those will be with me until the end. But in Florida, a girl only needs so many heavy shirts and sweaters. I use to keep them because I went to Ohio every winter, but the ones I bought on a yearly basis have eventually gone out of style. Who knew shoulder pads wouldn’t last?

I trudged on. Four bags later the closet was better organized and I felt proud of my accomplishment. Then I looked at Kirk’s side. Dress shirts, dress pants hung with coordinating colors. Long sleeve tees, black, blue, grey, white followed by short sleeve tees in the same order. On the opposite wall hung his golf pants. You guessed it black, grey, blue, Khaki, next to golf shirts, golf sweaters and wind and rain jackets. All flowed, dark to light and all the same medium shirt, 32 x 32 size pant he’s had since high school.

I looked at my end and then his. I came to this conclusion. If anything ever happens to us both at the same time, my kids will be flipping the coin to see who gets the “Good” side.