Me and My Best Pal Al

Me and My Best Pal Al

Friday, January 11, 2013

Chin...chin...chin. So now I am growing more hair on my chin than on my head. And since my eyes are dimming and my fingers stiffen up I can't find these little suckers long enough to pluck them from
my face. That and the fact they've become harder to get since I now possess a neck very similar to
the guy we slaughter every year to put on the Thanksgiving table. Sobble. Sobble.Sobble.

I asked Al to pluck them out and he almost took off my entire face as he has hands like a gorrilla.
Reminded me of the time I had hurt my rotator cuff and couldn't fix my hair. He pulled my hair
into a pony tail as if he were hitching a trailer to the back of a moving pickup truck. I went for several months with my nose closer to my head and had a brow lift that cost me nothing but a few screams and excruciating pain.

Thankfully my friend Sue who is an ER nurse kindly said she would remove them for me. Nice to have a young friend who can see and knows how to work a tweezer without leaving scars.

Monday, January 7, 2013

My 2013 resolution:

I will become more eccentric with time and embrace
my eccentricities with fervor.

I will remain curious and seek new paths that will enrich my life.

I will not fall into an apathetic state and become a boring old lady.

I will forever march to the beat of an obscure drummer.

I will always sing along with Willie Nelson.

I will NEVER wear purple.

I will be a better listener.

"A little bit of magic. A little bit of Tragic."

Would you believe I am so old I had forgotten I started this blog.  It's not easy being me I'm telling you.

I went to look at my daughter's blog and saw me as a follower then followed the link and low and behold there I was. Only I was two years older.

Well,  a lot has happened in the past two years. "A little bit of magic. And a little bit of tragic" as the Jimmy Buffet song goes.

Tragically, my dear, beautiful daughter died at age 44.

Her father and I adopted her when she was a wee girl at 9 months. She had been in a foster home until then. She was a perfectly formed little girl with an ever present smile and the longest legs I've ever seen on a baby girl. I adored her.

To make a very long, sad story short, she was born to an alcoholic mother and lived her life tormented by genetic alcoholism and bipolar disease. As her mother I loved her with all my heart
to the day she died. I never gave up on her. But on June 1st, 20012, she gave up on herself and took a
bottle of vodka and all her bipolar medications simultaneously while writing notes and listening to music in the front seat of her 2003 silver volkswagon. She just couldn't do it anymore.

I was torn up, cried every day for weeks, wondered if I could have done
anything differently, made a memorial garden, lost my hair, ate everything in sight, banned all my
friends from Facebook who were constantly posting photos of their "complete" families, got
constipated, had diarrhea, didn't wash my hair for a week, never put on makeup, didn't exercise,
painted lots of dumb pictures, tore them up, went through ever photo that was taken since she was born, wanted to go to a third world country and hold black, starving babies, aged ten years in two months (and you know how I feel about that), didn't even like my husband (whom I adore and was there for me
every moment), hid when the door bell rang, wouldn't answer the phone and on and on and on.

I had the greatest support a mother could have after losing her child. And it was not enough.

Until, this Christmas. It all changed.

We live six months in western New York. A beautiful, quaint area called Chautauqua County an hour south of Buffalo. And six months in Fort Myers, Florida.

We have always spent the holidays in Florida and we'd give the kids tickets for Christmas if they
wanted to come and visit. But right after Amy died I told my husband I wanted to come home for the
holidays. He said " if that's what you want to do, we'll do it." Settled.

We arrived back in New York on December 22nd. My sweet husband dragged every living and
non living Christmas thing out of the basement and decorated the entire house. Outside lights and
all. I had planned on putting up the tree with lights sans ornaments. Just enough to get by as we
would be there for only ten days and you know what a pain it is to take it all down after you've
gained ten pounds, and are exhausted from all the holiday parties and rituals. But he wanted to do
it and I was grateful. The house looked beautiful.

As I went up to bed that night I switched on the hall light that guided me up the backstairs to
our bedroom. But it wouldn't go on. I switched it off thinking it must need a new bulb and would
tend to it in the morning. As I was half way up the stairs it went on. Just like that. I knew it was
Amy. I knew she was there.

I felt her presence every day. I felt her sitting next to me on the bed, on the sofa. She was in the
kitchen as I prepared Christmas dinner. Guiding me at every moment. And she was always so
peaceful and smiling and happy.

Then a few days later as our little shih tzu dog Rocky and I were napping we heard a door slam

in one of the guest rooms. We both jumped out of bed. We were the only ones in the house and
it was 30 degrees so there were no windows open. I knew it was her.

As I  was sorting through some of my jewelry I came across my Cartier watch that was given to me
on my 50th birthday.  I had it repaired four years ago but it stopped working
almost immediately and the jeweler said it would be over a $1,000 to repair it. No thanks. It could
outlive me and it didn't matter that much to me anymore so I tucked it away in a drawer.

This Cartier watch was always Amy's favorite piece of jewelry of mine and I promised it would be hers after I was gone. I knew since she was totally fiscally irresponsible she would pay the $1,000 to have it fixed and enjoy it. This day as I put the watch in the palm of my hand it was running. Perfectly. And I have worn it ever since. She couldn't have it so she wanted me to have it back. I believe that.

She may be gone physically but her spirit shows up frequently and she is always there to help me out when I lose my keys or glasses. She has lots of folks to watch over so she's a busy angel. But she's always there when I need her most. I know she is at peace and having a really grand time out there so I don't worry about her a moment. And that's all I did when she was here.

I left New York filled with great joy and peace. My son and his girlfriend had come down from Brooklyn and spent the entire week. The house was filled with family, friends, laughter, and a
peace I had not know since that first day in June. Both my kids were there. And they were happy. I have not felt a moment's sadness since I returned to Florida.

Monday, January 11, 2010

I'll Remember You, Maybe.

One of my worst nightmares is to run into someone at a party, on a walk, in the supermarket who approachs me with a huge grin and all the communication techniques one would display greeting her best friend or at least an intimate one.
My brain searches for every possible clue to assist me in identifying this stranger. Did we meet on the golf course? Tennis court? I scan every inch of her body for something that would give me a hint of who she is; birthmarks, scars, clothing, disabilities. Nothing. I get nothing. I do not have a clue who this personable person is who is making me crazy.
I dredge up every possible means of appropriate dialogue to make her think I know her.
"Your hair looks great, love your sweater, is it new?" "Gosh, it's so great to see you." (Who the heck are you? ) Maybe I will remember you...but maybe not.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Exercise. Exorcise.

"I must....I must... I must develop my bust." Remember that little ditty we recited when we were about age 15 while pushing our palms together attempting to build up our blossoming bosoms?" Well, it's time we do it again. But not for that particular part of our anatomy. Think
those babies are long gone. Now we must do it just so we can walk and talk long term. We must take revenge and exorcise the evil powers of gravity from our aging bodies. Of course, it could be dangerous. Everything we do physically at our age could be a matter of life or death or a few broken bones. I have a friend who fell off her bike and broke her hip; another broke her wrist playing tennis; another broke her finger rolling on that stupid, big, rubber ball; and yet another broke her leg dancing the salsa. I ended up having knee surgery after too much wine and shaking my hips and every other part of my torso to "Play That Funky Music White Boy." We will do almost anything to feel young again even if we know we could become disabled. Do you think we get stupid as we age? When I say exercise I am talking walking at a moderate pace, doubles tennis, golf, stretching, yoga, Tai Chi...
not spinning, skiing moguls or speed racing on your bike. Soduko is good.

Sunday, January 3, 2010

Even my dog is Old.

Our little dog pal McGee is getting old too. He is going to be twelve and he's not liking it. I can tell. He can't chase the ball as much, he struggles going up the stairs when the weather is cold and damp. And he doesn't always know when he has to pee so he has to wear a d iaper when he's in the house. We know it is degrading for him so we always give him a treat and praise him for enduring the humiliation. But if he didn't wear his diaper he would pee on the furniture.
I will never wear a diaper come hell or high water. I remember the hospice nurse telling me my mother should have a diaper on during the last two days of her life. I told the nurse she would never go in that diaper and she never did. Four hours before she died she got up and sat on that portable potty thing they gave her and emptied her bladder for the last time. She then fell deep asleep and left this life with an empty bladder and a peaceful countenance. I am my mother's daughter. I will never wear a diaper. And I promise to never pee on the furniture.

Saturday, January 2, 2010

Love and Sex

Love makes the world go around and also keeps you on your toes instead of your butt. Even though my husband who is the light of my life can be really annoying I can't imagine what life would be without him . I think we need someone to challenge us on a regular basis or we'd get bored to death. I need to think about someone besides myself or I'd become a self-centered old bitch and I know some of those. Not pretty. . Give me a guy who loves me tender, cooks, shops, knows how to run a vaccum and won't live his life on "my terms" and I'm a happy woman filled with gratitude.

I believe orgasm is the secret to good, ageless skin. Whether you have to do it yourself or you're fortunate to have someone help you out..doesn't matter. Just do it. Me, I have a handsome, old guy who still rocks my world and we still create romance regularly although our methods have been altered a bit. In our younger years we were quite creative with out lovemaking. Now we have our limitations. I can't get on top because my knees won't let me. He can't get on top because he's gained a few pounds and if he ever had a heart attack I would be smushed like an ant under an elephants foot never to get out alive. So here we would be. Two old dead people that would be found days later by our next door neighbor coming over for their weekly cocktails and dinner. What a vision. Humiliated even in death. So, to avoid that scenario we always have sex on our side. Not too much can go wrong if you have sex on your side. You can always get out if you need to and it doesn't put too much strain on your knees or back. But whatever you have to not give up sex. It will keep you young, keep you smiling, keep you
from pruning out. It is a must have...if at all possible. If not....drink.