on death and dying

every time I hear the word “death” I automatically think of that book. Every Catholic school kid in this area had to read it. I’m not Catholic but I once coached a boys softball team for a Catholic school. My then brother-in-law couldn’t play on a team if they didn’t find a coach. Me, a two year old Burg,  and a herd of sixth grade boys. Obviously I was much dumber back then. Not a horrible team but more like Bad News Bears than my Yankees. We took second. By disqualification.  During the Championship game our third baseman took the Lord’s, and the umpire’s, name in vain in a very descriptive way.  We were o-u-t of there! I offered to bench the boy, he apologized in a shuffle your feet and not really mean it kind of way. The other coach even asked that the game be continued, the Umpire chose otherwise. The poor lad didn’t get smited but we did get disqualified. I have no idea if we could have won it but it sure would’ve made a great Disney movie if we had. 

 They were all reading ‘On Death and Dying’ and if you know me you know I’ll take any excuse to read a book.  I decided to read it too. It was interesting, the first time I’d read about the five stages. 

If only it were that easy.

I don’t put a lot of thought into dying.  It’ll happen when it happens. My parents phone calls are like death watches. They don’t go by events, they first cover the deaths.  They mark their memories by “that was around the time Mertyl died” or “that was right before Ed passed”, death is their focus. Who’s dying, who’s going to die, who died.  I don’t want to be that way.  

I also don’t want to be so afraid of dying that I put all my effort into being alive longer by being miserable now. I don’t want to be so caught up in preserving myself that I don’t enojy now a little too.  I want to enjoy a medium rare steak from the grill and a beef steak tomato with real salt. I want real creamer and real sugar in my coffee and I want it strong. I want to have flavor in my food and I want to enjoy the trip. Death’s going to happen when it happens and when it does ..it does. 

I have friends who don’t eat a lot of tasty stuff because they “want to live longer by eating healthy” That’s nice and all but you have to throw in something tasty once in a while.  I have friends who don’t touch caffine or alcohol. Again, that’s swell but there’s nothing wrong with enjoying a cup of coffee or having a glass of wine every now and again. It’s about moderation. Why prolong life if you aren’t enjoying the here and now.

That said, I’m not a big believer in the afterlife anyway. Not saying it can’t exist, the only people who can tell me aren’t talking to me in dreams and I’m not having visions of Great Uncle Max telling me about the light in the tunnel. I just believe in God and my personal faith tells me that I can’t really control death. I also believe that the majority of our reward for good things done and said, is the ability to really appreciate the people and things around us. Most people who I know who are rude, cold, and selfish don’t seem to appreciate the people and things they have. I also know people who are kind, good hearted, and nice and they seem to take such joy in their lives and savor each blessing.

I don’t know if I buy into the who “heaven” concept. I’ve never been completely sure it exists. I do tend to think that the occasional thinking of others helps our own eyes open to the life we have. To me death is just God finishing my chapter. I’m not sure how, why, or when, I’ll find out soon enough.  Until then I plan to enjoy the people who care about me, the blessings I have, and the occasional medium rare steak with a side of onion rings and a mug of coffee… caffinated not that nasty decaf stuff.

spare change

not the kind of change you’re thinking about although I have added quite a bit of that kind to my granddaughter’s piggy bank. The first thing I did when I found out I was a gramma-to-be  (and once the buzzing in my head stopped and I’d talked it over with a good egg) was buy a piggy bank with remove able cork. Believe it or not none of the new ones come with corks, it’s a plastic stopper now. I had to search high and low to find a cork for her piggy. It just seems like they should have them. I’m sure the plastic stoppers are cheaper to make though.

I put the piggy on the bookcase right by the front door and we all throw our spare change in it. It adds up quickly, piggy’s been emptied twice now and all the money from her will go into an savings account/ cert. for her future. Hopefully college, possibly not, she’ll live it as she goes and make her own choices in time. She’s not even born yet but a pre-gramma can daydream

edob is 56.5 days away….not that I’m counting 

The change I’m talking about is a little pattern I have when I hit speed bumps in life. I’m not going to do anything about it, it’s not important enough.

I have been working hard on two other things: cutting out cursing and stopping interupting people when they talk. One of my spare kids does it and I’m trying to get him to stop…not good if the teacher does it too. I’ve pulled in the big guns to help me, I’ve asked them to please tell me when I do it. It’s the only way I’ll stop. Neither son has any problem chastising me. They’ve gotten quite creative with it. Yesterday my older one told me “this is a one way conversation right now Mom”. 

 

We were picking up more paint. I’m painting my bedroom. It’s looking pretty good if I say so myself, and I do. 

When something in my life changes and I’m living on, I tend to change something with it. That’s the little pattern I was talking about. I had my ears pierced a second time after a divorce <bad move>, gone way too blond <super bad move> over another divorce (yup, that’s two… life happens), even cut off/grew out my hair over breakups, but this time I decided to just repaint my bedroom.

It’s been a hell of a year and I kind of like my hair long. So I’ve sanded and patched and spackled and now all I have left is one wall. It’s drying now and then I’m painting it.

What a difference. It went from drab fingerprinty walls, with thumbtacks and scuff marks to soothing and clean. And my mind’s done the same.  I was heading into a self induced funk over my sons. The one I’m pushing out of the nest with both feet on his butt and the one who is appx. 56.5 away from going from ’son’ to ‘Dad’. That’s the biggie.

He’ll always be ’son’ but Dad will be first as it should be. Once he becomes Dad we hit the last step in our relationship. We’re both going to be adults and parents. We’ll share a new bond. I love this kid. Hyperactive little frustrating charmer that he was.  And I can’t stop myself from having little memories come to mind.  Those get to me a little. I’m sure someone’s thinking “then don’t think about it” but I can’t.  It’s not in my nature to be able to stop, it’s part of my process. I’m lucky enough that they want me involved and they ask my opinions. They’re sharing this with us and I’m glad. It feels good to be included and I know that the little mind burps go along with it. When they chose their baby book, my mind flashed to the first time I wrote in his. So I’m fighting the self-induced funk and painting my room.

I knew this semifunk I’m heading into is common, maybe even expected but I’m not in a wallowing mood so I decided to accomplish something. If I’m going to think anyway, might as well get something done.  My room looks good. It’s been a lot of work but that was on purpose. I needed to make somekind of change and it’s working fine. Saves me a hair cut. Although the dog and I have both gotten trims. The end of my pony tail and the end of her doggy tail. She painted my dresser and bedtable before I caught up to her. 

I did find some spare change and I put it in baby’s piggy. She may have been a surprise but already she has a family who loves her. I’ve even caught the boy stuffing folded bills into her piggy, but I didn’t tell him I saw.

I’m off to paint my last wall. Like my room, one by one the sides of my life have changed. And with the big one coming a fresh coat of paint makes a difference and along with the change will come a whole new type of joy.  

And to keep my busy, I’m going to stencil a garden onto one wall. I have a feeling I’m going to need busy work every once in a while. I still have 56.5 days

my graduation graduation

tomorrow’s my last graduation party. I started them at the begining of the month and it’s gone downhill from there. Every cousin I see only around Christmas and every friend-ish person I’ve had the past ten years sends out an invite when their child graduates. People who can’t pick up the phone to say hi seem to remember your address come June.  I got invited to two parties by e-mail. I’m not too sure I like that. It makes me wonder if I should bother since they couldn’t bother to buy a stamp. 

After the first couple of graduation parties I start judging by the spread they put out. The last one I attended served the best yet. There were hot dips  and cold dips, little pizzas, three spicy multilayered dips, all kinds of deep fried goodies.. 

I go by the unspoken rule for graduation parties and wedding receptions: eat what you want, it doesn’t count. It’s an automatic ‘get out of your diet free’ card. Non transferrable, not allowed in some states

After the snacks were eaten, the tables were cleared and a caterer brought in a full meal. Then there was cake, cookies, and these little cream puffs. I was fat and happy. It was the perfect party except for one thing .. Katie’s Dad has a popcorn cart and apparently he thinks it’s fun to use it. I was downwind.

It was a nice enough party as parties go. A whole bunch of people who don’t know each other all congregating by the food and making idle chatter about nothing. A gaggle of grandparents under a tent, small children whining, herds of teen girls giggling and squealing. A line of teen boys looking bored and then looking around to make sure people saw them looking bored.  Add in some balloons and matching plastic tablecloths and anyone driving by would automatically know it’s a Grad. party. One couple stopped in on their way to the next. They had four in one afternoon. I learned this in front of the stuffed mushrooms, where we met.

Tomorrow’s graduation party is for the only child I know who ran into a basketball pole           twice                in one day. 

Start the bangos folks this will be the kind of party that you see on an episode of COPS.  I’ll bow out before dark.  I’m not that welcome once the drinking starts and the stupid become stupider. They don’t like me sober, drunk makes them not like me and try to speak.  I like to use big words and watch the sparks but I”m a little afraid of some of them so I never hang out when they’re all drinking. I’ll leave with the wave of people who have kids to put to bed.  

I’ll be there for the food and as always it will range from venison jerky (delicious) to potato skins full of rice (mind boggling huh) and more JELLO than you can think about. I think my Mother handed out her JELLO recipes behind my back.  I’ve known the mother of the graduate for 44 years. Our Father’s shared an office at work and they both worked there their entire careers.  We only became friends in our twenties. I’m not sure you can call us friends though. When I moved here I went from a marriage to a solo parent in less than four hours. She was a good friend then but as I regained my balance and found my footing she cooled off. She seemed to like me better when I was pi-tia-ble.  We speak maybe once a year now, usually not on purpose. But her son invited me to his party and I’m looking forward to seeing their kin.  I may not like the parent but I adore the extended family.

I do need updates on the story lines. I can never keep up. I want to hear about who’s engaged or married, who’s had a child, a promotion, a divorce, who moved where, etc.  Pretty mundane stuff mostly. There’s actually a family going that includes a son, his father, and the son’s exgirlfriend who cheated on him with his dad and is now his stepmom. Top that! I’m not a snob but funny is funny. 

I only have a few more graduations coming up. Most of my son’s friends and my friend’s sons have graduated. I know of two in the next two years, one girl, one boy. That’s pretty much it. All those little kids I knew are adults now.  A few have children, two more will this August. My son and the boy from the cult. It makes me a little sad but more and more I’m becoming okay with it all. Life happens all I have to do is live it. And celebrate it in pieces with good food, bad food, and really big words.

 

 

 

school’s out for summer….

Well we got no choice
All the girls and boys
Makin all that noise
‘Cause they found new toys
Well we can’t salute ya
Can’t find a flag
If that don’t suit ya
That’s a dragSchool’s out for summer
School’s out forever
School’s been blown to pieces

No more pencils
No more books
No more teacher’s dirty looks

Well we got no class
And we got no principles
And we got no innocence
We can’t even think of a word that rhymes

School’s out for summer
School’s out forever
School’s been blown to pieces

No more pencils
No more books
No more teacher’s dirty looks

Out for summer
Out till fall
We might not go back at all

School’s out forever
School’s out for summer
School’s out with fever
School’s out completely

 

 

 

No offense to Mr Cooper but I was never a big fan of his or of that song. The rest of my generation seemed to like it a lot though. Alice Cooper got overplayed in my hood so I got sick of it quick. I will confess that I do know all the words to School’s Out. I can even do the head shake thing although the older I get the more it gives me a neck ache.  

I just smiled when I typed “hood”, I’ve been amusing myself and horrifying my sons by spicing up my vocabulary with deliberately old or mis-said hip words. That’ll teach em for calling me old.  

I wonder if my kids would enjoy the head shake   We have a road trip to Syracuse tomorrow, I could try it out on them in the car and threaten to do it in pub-lic.

I have a feeling we’ll be listening to some classic Carlin on our ride. For a few years We were on the road quite a bit. Tourneys, camps, schools, clubs, meets.. we had to drive to get there so we listened to all the classic comedians. Our favorite is Carlin.

RIP George Carlin, you made us laugh more times than I can count.

 

My friend’s sons are asleep in my living room. Today’s their last full day of school. Tomorrow’s a half day and at this point they’re done learning. Every day for the past week they’ve gone off with empty bookbags and returned loaded down with all sorts of crap.

I remember hitting that point in grade school. Tests were done, desks were cleaned out, concerts were all suffered through, and Field Day was either a glorious success or a day we wanted to forget. It depended on which homeroom class you were.  The younger boy  who I watch did not have a good Field Day this year. He was a bit grumpity on Friday.

All we did in class the last week of school was clean the classrooms for the teachers. Free labor was easier than trying to keep the attention of one eight year old, let alone twenty eight.  Maybe my teachers weren’t so dumb after all.

We knew we were home free when all the papers from the past year were in piles on the teacher’s desk, waiting to be taken. School was officially done. We each grabbed our’s to bring home. Then we’d start bringing everything home. Crayons, empty paste containers, pencil boxes, art shirts, things with macaroni and spray paint**. 

By the time the school bus got to my stop the floor was lined in dropped school papers. I have no idea why I took it all home, it went from my desk to my locker, to the bus, to the garbage, although sometimes it skipped the middle steps. It depended on whether I thought it would be good to remind my parents of my year long grades. Some years it seemed wiser to throw them away in the big wheely garbage can by the lockers.  

The very last day the teacher would treat us all to paper cups of Hawiian Punch and cookies and she’d hand out mimeographed** certificates with our name written on the ‘name line’ and if she wasn’t too cheap, a sticker or two. 

We got pencils one year. They said ‘remember to read’.  Those were keepers.  I know I kept mine until High School when I threw away a lot of my mementos and memories in an attempt to grow up.  

As we got older we showed less excitement. For us school officially ended with WCMF playing ‘School’s out’ Then we knew we were set to be as bored at home as we had claimed to be in school. 

This morning when I woke up the kids to send them off they were both excited about having the summer off.  They can’t wait to be out.  They claim to hate school and want it to be done forever.

 

I’m willing to bet anyone $5 that by this time Friday one of them will have said “I’m bored”..

any takers?

 

** For you younger readers <coughRenecough> they used to let us play with spray paint, model car paint, and all sorts of lethal glues. We also got to sniff fresh mimeographed sheets… that explains a lot doesn’t it?    

 

too realistic

A good friend of mine just told me I’m too realistic. I’m not exactly sure what she meant. I considered calling her back and asking but I’m afraid I won’t like what she says.
We were discussing her marriage and it’s weakening state and I know I’m not the right person to give relationship advice since my track record speaks for itself but she asked and I answered. I don’t think she liked my answer and that may be why she snapped at me and said “your problem is you’re too realistic”.

I know I have lots of problems: insecurity, a deep need to be told that I matter every once in a while, a sarcastic tongue, I tend to read a lot, and I’m pretty laid back and lazy. I could list all my faults but it might put me into a funk so I won’t. I just never saw being too realistic as one of my problems.

I think she asked me for my opinion on the state of her marriage and whether it could be repaired because she thought I’d say what she wanted to hear. I’m not smart enough to figure out when people do that. Ask without really wanting an answer. I tend to do the opposite, I don’t ask because I don’t want to hear the answer.
I wasn’t going to lie to her, she’s my friend. If she’d asked and kept on talking I’d have figured she was just blowing steam but she stopped and waited for an answer. So I gave it and she replied.
She hurt my feelings with her comment and now I’m sitting here thinking about it. Obsessing I guess but that’s who I am.
I guess I am realistic. Only because daydreaming tends to end up poorly for me and I get tired of being let down. I’d rather face life head on and live it than hide from the realities of it. Life is tough enough, hiding from problems only makes it worse.
I don’t predict good things for my friend. I’m actually more her husband’s friend but I like her and she and I have been friends for a couple years now. I hope she starts to see what can happen and she gets a bit more realistic. It’d be a shame for her to lose what she has.

I know now that she wanted me to tell her she was 100% right and her husband was 100% wrong. I didn’t do that and I think it hurt her so she hurt me back. She succeeded and it sucked.
but if she asked me again I’d probably answer the same way. Maybe I am too realistic.

Mom vs Son MLB version, a Father’s Day tribute

My Tink’s Revenge is playing my son’s estos nueces this week in our fantasy league. It’s going to be a long week. Especially since I’m in 3rd place and he’s in 4th.  I checked my e-mail while he was fiddling with his line up this morning and got accused of tampering. Like I need to cheat to beat him. We bond over baseball. Other parents bond over music, or painting, or Star Trek, my son and I have our baseball. 

He and I are going to a Yankees game this summer. We’re doing a tour package. Just him and me since Katie and baby aren’t supposed to be over-doing it. She’s been to Yankee Stadium once, we’ve never been so it’s okay. An end of an era for the stadium and for us. Next year this time, he’ll be a parent too.

We’ll share a love of baseball. He can quote stats and players names and positions. I’m lucky if I can remember who’s on my fantasy teams. He joined both my leagues this year. The pay league and the free league. We’re head to head in our free league this week. The other, more serious league, it’s season totals that count. He’s taken to it with a florish. He loves to compete. I know who he got that from.

He’s going to be a Dad by summer’s end. This kid of mine who couldn’t enter a room quietly or sit still for five minutes. He had more energy than anyone I know. He still does, he’s just learned to keep it under control. He skateboards once a week. It keeps him and the rest of us sane. No outlet for his energy makes him go something, something.

He’s going to be a Father, it doesn’t seem right but it feels right.

He still has glimmers of my little kid. The one with the Paddington the Bear jams, hightops, and a mullet ..for which I am eternally sorry.  The odd child who spent more time on his hair than I spent on mine.  Chad never met a mirror he didn’t like. We used to joke that he was his own biggest fan. Now he’s not thinking of himself. Selfish Chad is gone. He’s stepped up to the plate and he’s making wise decisions. He’s thinking ahead and scared poopless all at the same time.

So in between “I’m going to knock you into forth place” and “I have to beat my Mom or the boy’ll take my mancard again” I heard “whenever I talk to the belly I get kicked” and about how scared he is of being in the delivery room. I told him Katie will be scared too so they can get each other through it. It’s worth it in the end. The memory of the labor pains fades fast, mine faded about a year ago.

I was kidding of course.  I told him it’s okay to be scared and reminded him he’d never want her to go through it without him. He agreed. He’s grown up a lot. We talked a bit about parenting and how he might’ve made it a bit difficult on me at times. I told him that was then, this is now. WE’ve talked about the most important parent lessons. That it’s okay to say “no” and it’s good to say it often. Teach them NO! early and they listen to it when they’re older.

I told him it was that it’s okay to tell your child that you screwed up/mis-spoke/over reacted/made a mistake/etc. It’s okay to let them know you made  a mistake and you’re sorry. They need to know we all make mistakes and when we make one we need to apologize to the people we might’ve hurt and try to never repeat it again. Everyone messes up, parents too. It’s what we do after that matters the most.  

I was going to write about Father’s Day yesterday but I decided it wouldn’t be good for me so I played poker instead. I was going to focus on the Father who raised me. I changed my mind,  I’m going to focus the one about to start his journey. Being a parent was the best thing I’ve ever done in my life, no doubts about it. I loved it. And I can tell already, that he’s going to love it too.  Which is good because it will give him something to think about after his Mom kicks his butt in Fantasty baseball.. twice.

 

 

A belated Happy Father’s Day to all my Dad readers.  Especially Terry who is the type of Father I hope my son turns out to be.

If any of you parents are up for the challenge, how about sharing an important parenting lesson you learned.  I’ll pass them along to the soon-to-be-parents.

you’re a grand old flag, you’re a high flying flag..

No one really celebrates Flag Day any more. I don’t think the world should stop moving, or we should add on yet another reason to have a mattress or used car sale, but I think we take the flag for granted now-a-days. We don’t associate our flag with the honor of it’s history and the symbol of freedom and equality as we should. We aren’t perfect. The US has it’s issues but we do have basic freedoms and those are our rights. That’s pretty great when you consider the alternatives. The flag lost it’s value, maybe we over-used it. You can buy American flag blankets, table clothes, shoes, and sun glasses… there’re even American Flag Speedos but I beg every man to pass on that look, please. I think we’ve blinded ourselves to the flag instead of respecting it. We take it for granted because we’ve over commercialized it.

I’d probably be just like everyone else if it weren’t for my Father. One of the few good things I associate with him is his love of this country. I’ll probably write a tribute to fatherhood tomorrow. I’m sure someone won’t like it, but that’s their problem just like it was after my tribute to dear old Mom. It wouldn’t be fair to not give his his good points and his love of this country is a very good thing.

My Father respected the flag. He went far from home and fought with it as a symbol of what was important to him. His love of this country is also the reason I will always revere our Veterans and I will always cast my vote.
We always flew a flag on our house. He put it up most mornings and took it down at night. If it got tattered and old he took it in to be destroyed with dignity and respect. If we were at the cottage, he flew a flag. And I know that today, on his house, he’s flying a flag. It’s the one we took all over this country. Every summer we took our dysfunction on the road and went off with a trailer attached to the station wagon. You know the stereotypical tourist couple? meet my folks.

We’d hit campgrounds and friend’s driveways from coast to coast and if we were parked for a day the flag was in it’s holder. It seemed natural to us. In all those years and all those places no one ever harmed or took our flags. A year or two back I found the trailer flag in a box of things I snagged from the cottage. I sent it to Dad for a chuckle and he decided to start using it. I don’t know who will last longer, my Dad or that flag but as long as he can I guarantee that he’ll fly it as long as he can. It’s part of who he is. He never talks about war. He did, however, give my younger son his medals a few years back. And I got a bracelet of coins he made for his mother. This is the second time recently I’ve thought of it. That’s odd.

I know he hated fighting but we don’t know much more than that. I think it’s pretty great that after that his love of this country never faltered. And the flag is his way of showing it.

Most of us now, myself included, look right through the flag. We fly one today if we have one. I don’t, mine bit it a couple years ago and I keep meaning to replace it but it always slips my mind. It makes me feel a little better to know my Dad’s got it covered. It’s something I need to work on I think.
Happy Flag day. As you blow out your Flag day candles and exchange your Flag Day gifts I hope you consider what Flag Day really is and how lucky we really are. I know it will cross my mind too.

help needed.

how do I put my slide show on my blog so it’s set to the site not to a blog entry? (like this one)

 

how much is that doggy…

why get a frickin pet if you aren’t going to bond with it? I’m on a tear today over irresponsible and downright stupid pet owners. Let the ranting begin!

I have two glaring examples but I’m going to skip names so I can pretend I’m not talking about people behind their backs. If one of them should read this and wonder then “yes! I mean you.”
I have a couple of good friends. I spend way too much time with two of their kids. There are very few faces I want to see at 6am Monday - Friday but their parents are my friends and friends help each other out.. so I see these two a lot. And because the younger one is a town crier I know lots of things about the family. This family has had pets out the wazoo. I’ll estimate 4 dogs, 4 cats, 2 goats, a flock of little birds, and enough fish to stock a small lake. They get a pet and are all excited about it for about a month. Then they ignore it until it either dies or acts up or poops in non-pooping areas. At that point they give it away. It really grinds my gears when people do that. Give away animals like they’re smiley face stickers at the Walmart.
Every pet has a personality, every pet depends on us to be there for them and they’re there for us in return. If we can’t or won’t do that then we shouldn’t have pets.

My animals are part of my family. They have quirks like the rest of us and like I do with the humans, I accept them quirks and all. When we vote in a pet it becomes our’s. I’m down to my last three. To-Be and Yoda and Mrs Puppy. The cats have been with us for about 6 years, the dog a lot longer. When they got their own Christmas stockings it was a guarantee that they are family.
I could no more have given one of them away as I could’ve a son. Although there were times I wondered if I could give them all away

but they’re family and I love them. Even my dumb old dog. She may be dumber than a box of rocks but she’s mine and I love her.
Not only do these friends of mine give away pets after a short stay, what adds injury to insult is that they’re teaching their kids this behavior. They’re teaching them that pets are as disposible as a chair you dislike or a shirt that gets stained. Just get rid of it and get another. Some people should get their pet privileges revoked.

Sadly, they aren’t the only example of poor pet parenting, in my world. Can you imagine living in a cage for 22 of 24 hours a day? We do that to our prisioners when their crimes warrant the harshest of punishments. I know someone who does it to a dog. This poor thing sees life through a cage. It is an older dog but that’s no justification. Dogs should be allowed to walk around and sniff stuff. They shouldn’t be caged up, they’ve done nothing wrong. Why get a dog if you are only going to cage it and never be with it? They make stuffed dogs that do the same thing, sit and look cute. You can even get ones that bark a little. It breaks my heart every time I see that little dog’s tail wag or it’s big brown eyes on me. I know I’m a big old crybaby girl but I think even the manliest of manly men would agree that it’s horrible to treat animals like they don’t matter. Some people don’t deserve to have any pets at all.

discombobulation

I just got back from a nice trip. I won’t call it vacation because everyday life went on around me and there were no rides. I just plopped myself down in the middle of other people’s lives.  I got to spend ten days with a houseful of people I care a lot about. One of my top three people on this planet lives there and shared his couch, books, and closet space with me. I called it going to ‘The Land of the Giants’. Ten days is much shorter than you’d think. It was a wonderful time and I miss it already.

I’m back home now and I have to catch up a little.  My older son missed me, my younger son probably did but he’ll never let on that he did. He’s mad at me right now, I’m pretty sure I bear some blame.

We were enjoying a comfortable silence until last night.  We’d just eaten dinner when I asked him if he wanted to play poker for dishes. He declined so I told him “fine then you do the dishes” … he was not amused by me pointing out that if he’d agreed to play at least he’d have had a 50% chance of not doing them. By declining he bumped it to 100% chance of doing them. 

I love poker. It’s official. My love affair with the game is solidified. I got to play for chores and for cash on my trip.  I loved them both, I even loved watching it on tv. It’s more fun to watch it on tv with someone to talk to about it.  

The cash tourneys were more exciting but those few ‘no dishes’ nights were priceless. Sometimes it’s not about winning every time, it’s more about savoring those few times I did. I’m still savoring it. 

My first “real” poker experience I took third, how cool is that. There were only ten players in the sit-n-go but that’s seven I beat out.  Not bad considering my hands shook the whole time, I was so nervous. I knew I’d make mistakes. I just wanted to keep them at few and far between.  The last time I played at the poker place there was one hell of a storm brewing outside. There’d already been a few storms and tornado watches. We don’t get a lot of tornadoes or tornado warnings around here, I went into weather junkie mode. 

The first time the sirens went off I was kind of giddy. Like a kid after an ice storm that got us a few days off of school.  I was checking the weather online every sixty seconds and looking out the doors and windows.  By the time we were playing poker on Sunday I’d gone from excited newbie to old hand.  Until the sky went black. We even lost power for a few minutes. It came back on and we resumed playing. I got third again but I got to have my shoulders rubbed a couple times while I was playing and that made it worth it :) 

After getting back to the house the power went out there. Not a good thing. There were disgruntled people all around the area. We were originally told that power would be restored by 4pm Tuesday. Ut oh! 

When the going gets tough, the tough get going …. outside with a football and a soccer ball. I had a great trip (I think I might’ve said that already huh?) this time, outside with all five of us tossing the football and kicking the soccer ball, it is one of my favorite memories. It was fun. We cracked wise, made comments about us older ones breaking a hip or the lazier among us pulling muscles. We teased, taunted, laughed, and chatted. For me it was as comfortable as home.  It got dark quickly and we headed in for some poker under the warm glow of a flashlight hung from a hook in the ceiling. We didn’t play for chores or money, we played for insults and bragging rights.  The power returned late the next day and tvs went on and computers were booted and the washing machine and dryer were turned back on.  It was still warm and friendly, although a little sad as I was leaving the next morning. That time without power ranks up there with my fondest mental postcards.

To quote a couple of someones I like a whole lot “it was awesome!”  

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I’d gotten a couple messages asking me why I haven’t been blogging. That’s why. I was off on adventure, enjoying myself. Life was too much fun to even think of blogging and that’s really not a bad thing. I got to spend ten days with my best friend… I’m a very lucky woman.