I'm Ferally female

Wow! Went riding with my son this evening and I am hooked. I am a huge fan of wind, as some of you may know, and what better wind than on a motor scooter? The heat was bearable as long as we were moving, and the smells... If you've never ridden on a cycle, in a convertible, or in the back of a pickup truck, you have no idea the things you smell. 

There are the smells people make, and they are varied. Everything from gasoline, exhaust fumes, and lawn chemicals to burning wood, freshly mown grass, and food being grilled.


Then nature assails the nose. Bogs smell putrid. Places dense with trees smell woody. Patches of wildflowers would make the best perfume on earth, if the scent could be drawn from the air.


The temperature changes as the landscape changes. Areas without trees feel hot and dry. Where trees arched over the road like a canopy, the air was cooler and damp. Temperature varies even in stretches of the same vegetation, but I think hills and valleys sweep currents of air around me.


Lots of odors gave me a snippet of a childhood memory. The best one was something that smelled like freshly picked green beans. It reminded me of a summer when I was about 7 years of age or so, but the scent was very quickly replaced with another.


The extra nice thing about this evening's ride is the friends I got to see. There's something entirely informal (in my mind) with pulling up in front of of the house, wallerin up off my scooter, and moseying up to the porch. The first stop was at my positively delish friend Larry's house. We caught up on the latest gossip and just had a good time. My poor son bore it all with patience!

We cruised by Rhonda's house, another bestie, and she even fed me a slab of watermelon while my dear old son watched some cooking show on television. Bless his heart.


Now, I have the grace of a ballerina. Well the grace of a 2-year-old ballerina, but grace nonetheless! For some reason, my takeoff is a wee bit shaky, and my stops abrupt. I guess that's why they permit you to ride solo with a permit for a while before you take your test. What fool would want to get on the bike with me? 


I'm proud to be the geekiest grandma on a scooter. I know at least one grandchild is embarrassed, and I can only assume the others have the potential to be humiliated by me. I know if they come to understand how much I enjoy it, they might forgive me the embarrassment. As we wound up the homestretch, I giggled aloud. I really, sincerely enjoyed the ride, and hope I can find time to do this often!

Pollyanna? Who'd have thunk?

As hard-nosed as I come across sometimes, I'm secretly a Pollyanna. When I engage in political debate, all I want to do is bring people to a place of love when dealing with each other. I believe, with all my heart, if we focused on helping our fellow occupants of this place we call earth, politics would be so easy. 


Those who are unable to work should be taken care of. That's what a compassionate society does. No, this does not mean we should let people cheat the system. There should be big punishment for those who abuse it. 


Those who are forced to live that way are not making a killing, I promise you. Please, have some compassion! If you know someone who is on welfare, take a moment to hear them. Perhaps you can encourage them to find a better way of life. I know I've done it for more than one person. 


We should help with healing the sick. Again, that is what a compassionate society does. Can you turn your back on a person who needs a doctor? I sometimes feel there are way too many in our society who agree with Ebenezer Scrooge, "Let them die, and decrease the surplus population!"


Do not turn a deaf ear and a blind eye to the suffering of those around you. If you have not a penny, give a word of comfort, if you have extra, support a loving charity, and give a word of comfort too. 


Pollyanna, signing off for now. I love you!

We will never pass this way again...

Death is part of life. Our society turns focus to the start of life, the births, birthdays and activities of the young. First words, steps and tumbles are anticipated like a blockbuster movie. 


Childhood is simple and pleasant for most children. Their lives have some difficulties, sure, but they learn to deal with things little by little.


So spins the earth, and the years tick by. Puberty, adolescence, adulthood. We make it to the goal, adulthood! Then graduation, marriage, children... that's a common path for people. There's divorce a lot of times. We use all these experiences to grow and become wiser. 


By the time we go to the 30th reunion from our high school graduation, we've lost some classmates. Some we were aware had passed, and some we discover while we are there. Rather a bittersweet time, that reunion. We know we are not immortal now.


Many of us have another realization around the half-century mark. Our parents are not immortal, either. For me, I realized my own mortality before I realized that of my parents. Yes, indeed some of us came to know that before getting near the half-century mark, There's been a recent escalation in my friends losing their parents, and most are 50 years of age, give or take a couple years.


I lost my father May of 2008. It hurt a lot, but I muddled through. I reflect on him now and again.


However, my Dad is sick now. The Dad who saved me from myself. 


I smoked, drank, and toked a little weed. Yes, at the age of 12. Everything I lived with and through, made me doubt I had anything worth protecting in me, so I didn't even try. My father, though I loved him, was sometimes cruel. My Mom, who adored me was so busy trying to protect us, she couldn't take time to get close to me. She ended up protecting us by divorcing him.


I was 12 when my Mom met Dad. His children distanced themselves from him when their mom divorced him. My dad distanced himself from me when Mom divorced him. So, we both had a vacuum where we once had family. We knew the hurt of being thrown away.


We became family to each other, even before Mom and Dad got married. He scolded me when I was out of line, and showered me with protection and love. I mattered to him, and that's what I needed.


He thought highly of me, and I strove to be as good as he thought I was. I rarely drank or smoked pot, though cigarettes had me in their grip. I did not ever want to disappoint him.


I brook no disrespect of my Dad. Not from anyone. He has a reputation of being bull-headed and stubborn, and he is. I get through that wall, the wall he's put up to protect himself, by being open, too. My sister, our children and grandchildren do the same thing. When he's rough, we remind  him we love him, no matter what. 


As is usual, I don't know the number of days my Dad has remaining on this earth. I want to spend as many of those days as I can with him. When he passes, I'll become stronger and wiser. 


Then I will spend the rest of my life still trying not to disappoint him.

Ob-gyn visit

This is for my girls. You know who you are. 


I get ready to go for the annual exam and I pay more attention to my  hygiene at that time than I do the rest of the year put together.


I bathe, use body wash, bubble bath, exfoliate, shampoo  and condition my hair, shave, shave again, lotion, body spray, perfume, powder and anything else I can think of.  I cleanse so thoroughly, there is no odor of human being left on my body


THEN, I do my hair, spray a ton of hairspray on to further mask  natural odors. I dress with my newest, prettiest panties and bra, put a ton of perfume on, and head to the appointment. The aim is to be at the Dr. one second before I get called back. If, by an awful stroke of fate, I am require to go to the potty before I am seen, I use the wipes I have stashed in my handbag, and clean until I've nearly sanded all the skin off.


Once in the exam room, the nurse gives me a tissue paper gown and tissue paper sheet and tells me to remove everything.  The gown is secured by a belt made of the same plastic as the cheapest trash bag. The clothes fly off, and I fold my blouse and pants neater than I ever do at home. In spite of wearing my best unmentionables, they are hidden in the folds of the outer garments. If I allow the unmentionables to be viewed by an ob-gyn, the garments will spontaneously combust. 


So, I climb up on the doggone table, and wait. And wait. Then we wait. Nurse comes in and says the Dr. will be there soon, because they are stuck delivering a baby. I get to sit there nekkid as a jaybird except for socks. If I keep my socks on, I'm not truly nekkid. Sometimes the wait is minutes, sometimes hours. Can't move because the gown will disintegrate. Once the Dr. comes in, I discover I am sitting in a small puddle of anxiety-induced perspiration.


A good gyno's eyes never break eye contact. (only applies if the gyno is a guy.  a gal is less awkward.) Each gyno has their own style. Some of `em check your mammaries first. They ask all kinds of questions about the girls while they prod about looking for anomalies. 


When it's time to get to the business end of business, the tools come out of the deep freeze while I try to get in position. My ample bottom half hangs off the table while the feet are in frigid metal stirrups. The Dr shines a beam of light akin to fire onto my bottom and tells me to relax. Tools are used to pry open things best left closed, while the Dr takes another tool, perhaps a wrecking bar, and scrapes cells outta the vajayjay. This process is not fun. 


Then comes palpation of the whole lower guts from more directions than I approve of. I don't know what the Dr. can tell from the whole palpation gig, but it's incredibly awkward. 


It's all over. The Doc leaves the room, and I throw my clothes on in 1.6 seconds flat. It's a great fear the Doc will walk back in and catch me with my dignity compromised. Oh wait, that's what was happening all along!

Fits and starts

Began this blog over a year ago. I seem unable to stay at anything consistently. That might be my biggest gripe with myself, an utter lack of self-motivation. I envy those who have a routine, and the ability to set out to do a task and follow through! I lose track of my goal in the middle of getting up to do it. 

I wonder if there's a way to change that aspect of myself? If you're instinct is to tell me to "Just do it", or something asinine like that, I'd rather not hear it! If you've got something insightful to say, do tell!

Glorious and Grim: Lesser of evils

Glorious and Grim: Lesser of evils