I Don't Cook

Well, that's not true. I used to not cook.

Here's the story.

When I met my boyfriend a while back I told him I didn't cook. It was true. Fortunately it wasn't a deal breaker. But he asked "Did you ever cook?"

Did I ever cook?

For several decades I cooked daily. I made large inexpensive meals, enough to serve ten people because I didn't know exactly who would be there for dinner. I, literally, knew by heart 25 ways to prepare chicken and ground beef. Some of my family's favorite dinners were

Knockwurst, sauerkraut and mashed potatoes

Porkchops and rice (a casserole with the porkchops on top dripping all of the pork fat into the rice and other ingredients)

Corned beef hash baked with eggs (10) nestled in little valleys.

And always lots of fruits and veggies. Whatever was on sale.

After these nightly dinners there were left overs that were carefully covered and refrigerated. But most times, when I awaken early the next morning they were gone.

I bought bananas each week. The speckled brown ones were put in the freezer where they turned black but were just perfect for making loaves of banana bread.

Six Week Bran Muffins were a semi liquid concoction kept in the frig for making bran muffins in a hurry. Three or two dozen.

On laundry day I baked bread. We let it rise on the warm dryer.

By the time my # 1 daughter was eight years old she was writing out the menus for dinner parties.

A friend of mine told me one day that her mother had quit cooking. I remember not really comprehending how that would be possible.

But then, about eight years ago my life was so stressful that I knew something had to give.

I QUIT COOKING.

And the world did not come to an end. Adjustments were made.

And now things have changed. Tonight my boyfriend and I are having a little dinner party.

I'm cooking.

I Though We Could Save the World

When I was a young adult the country was ready to burst. Voices were shouting. Women, African Americans, war protesters, the hungry and homeless were demanding to be heard.

My Real Husband and I thought we could save the world.

Not only that but we decided we would start a whole new family - a new nation. We would be Sarah and Abraham.

We thought we could save the world.

And in some small ways we did. But mostly we were the ones who were saved.

Today I'm just trying to keep my little place at the table clean.

No Sweat

I don't perspire. This is a good thing because I can work out at the gym and not have to take a shower.

On the other hand, I live in the sub tropics and I have no internal means of cooling off.

The worst thing is that people don't believe me.

When I was growing up my aunt finally quit making me pick vegetables in the hot sun because she got tired of the fainting.

After I was diagnosed and tried to explain the problem the usual reply was "Everybody sweats."

The fact is, there are people who have very few or no sweat glands.

Two weeks ago I was reading a history of my Boyfriend's parents who were missionaries in Malaya. I was amazed to read the following:

"For a while she ( my Boyfriend's mom) had to stop teaching because she ran a fever constantly. A Scottish doctor declared she couldn't get acclimated to the humid, tropical heat because she DIDN'T PERSPIRE. (Perspiring was the natural method for keeping comfortable, as electric fans were scarce.)"

At least I have A/C. So I'm henceforth going to try to put a positive spin on the situation.

This problem, combined with hot flashes, makes me the hottest babe in town!

My Best Work

I had four babies - and I had them early on.

Lots of other things were happening in the country and the world - things that I felt passionately about.

I used to think "When I get rid of these kids I'm going to excel in important writing, work and causes."

And I did.

But, looking back, nothing, and I mean NOTHING compares to raising my children and launching them into the world.

They will be the legacy.

Dear Abby

My boyfriend plays golf. He started when he was twelve years old.

He remembers the first tee of every golf course he played on his high school golf team. He can describe them.

He played golf in college and for the army.

When I read in his golf club's magazine that he's made four holes in one - at that particular club - I said,

"You must be a good golfer."

He said, "I used to be."

He's playing golf right now.

My question is this: I'm already a widow. If we should marry do I just add the word "Golf?"

King of the Cowboys

My mother died when she was 34 years old. Prior to that she was in a T.B. sanitarium for several years. My little brother and I visited her once a month. We couldn't touch her. This was just before the widely accepted use of penicillin and other antibiotics. The way patients were routinely treated was to separate them from society.

Every year Roy Rogers came to the sanitarium. He visited with the patients inside the sanitarium. In the afternoon he performed for the families. But more than that he talked with us. He let us pet Trigger.

Even after he became world famous he continued to make his annual visits to the sanitarium.

In the mid 1990s, fifty years after my mother's death, a man came to our home seeking my Real Husband's counsel. This strange man was an entertainer. In fact, he was a successful Elvis impersonator in Las Vegas.

One evening, after their session, I was trying to make small talk with the person who seemed very different from me. I told him about my experience with Roy Rogers.

A few weeks later there was a knock on my door. There he was with a brown envelope in his outstretched hand. As it turns out he had made an arduous trip from Las Vegas to the Roy Rogers ranch in order to bring me a gift. Inside the envelope were pictures of Roy, Trigger and Dale. They were all signed but one in particular warmed me. It was inscribed with my name (an unusual one) and beneath that it said, "Happy Trails to You, Roy."

Now I'm not naive enough to think that Roy Rogers actually signed the photos. He was old and ill by then. But maybe he did!

The remarkable thing to me in this story is that the Elvis Impersonator listened to my story and did a kind thing.

I never saw him again.

But if he's by any chance reading this let me just give him this personal message:

Happy Trails to You, Elvis!

The Worst Advice

The worst advice I received from a well meaning person after my husband died was this:

"Don't worry, your friends' husbands' will start to die soon and then you can spend more time together so you won't be lonely."

The thing is my friend's husband did die suddenly a year or so later. He was my friend too.

No matter how I spun it, it didn't feel good.

Kevin Beacon Syndrome

A few weeks ago we were cruising in a little boat down the river Seine in France. We met a couple from London in the lounge. Within five minutes the man said:

"I'm an architect and my son's a film editor."

My astonished Boyfriend said, "Same here."

I believe that it doesn't take more than four questions to find something in common with almost anybody in the world.

The New Yorker

I love the New Yorker magazine. I don't subscribe to it. I used to but it comes once a week and I was getting stressed trying to keep up. Reading went from pleasure to pressure.

Now I buy my copies from my local library for ten cents each.

To love the New Yorker it helps if you love New York. I do.

Here are some of the things I like:

- The art work on the cover is often clever, funny and makes a great point.

- Several of my favorite writers (some of whom most people don't even know are writers) write for the New Yorker with no great fanfare. Their names are on the contributors list along with the other writers. People like Nora Epram, Steve Martin, Woody Allen and Garrison Keallor.

-"Shouts & Murmurs"

- The cartoons. They're on almost every page. I especially like the back page Cartoon Caption Contest.

Some things I don't like:

- The length of the articles and fiction. They are LONG. But I read them anyway.

- The poetry. Read it and you'll see why.

When I arrived here at my Boyfriend's house for a summer visit he had saved all of his New Yorkers since my last visit. What a guy!

Hey, Hey, Anybody Listenin'?

One of my favorite guys in the O. T. is Elijah. He and some of those other prophets had serious depression issues but they got the job done anyway.

I like the story where that Jezebel (this was her name, not just a description) was making his life so miserable that he wanted to die. But he couldn't talk with God about it because he was so steamed. He had to get some anger management stuff going before he heard the "Still Small Voice."

Sometimes I'm like that. I need to chill first before I do the responsible thing. So I usually do one of these:

- Walk fast in the mall and hope that when I go through the food court somebody will hand me a sample of orange chicken on a toothpick

- Watch three episodes of MASH reruns that I've seen multiple times before.

- Lie back in a hot tub and read "People" magazine

- Watch three episodes of "Law & Order" that I've seen multiple times before.

- Play 15 hands of computer Solitaire (or until I win - whichever comes first.)

What do you do?

Babies

I like babies. I had four. They're my favorites. Two of them were even planned.

But I am firmly and passionately in favor of birth control. My goal, along with many organizations around the world, would be for females (women and girls) to have babies only when they want to and choose to. And to be encouraged to put off having babies if they want them for the wrong reasons.

And that would be any reason other than being committed to love and care for a child for at least 20 years.

Some people think that those who choose to remain childless are irresponsible. I think just the opposite.

And please don't talk to me about abortion. It's a barbaric form of birth control and should never be needed.

I know that this is not a black and white issue. Hardly anything in life is. But here's the thing. We have millions of unwanted children in the world and they are suffering mightily.

High School Revisited

I went to a huge (largest in the country at that time) downtown high school. After I graduated I turned my back on that life.

Years later, like many other people of a certain age who have computers, I looked up my best friend from H.S. Any assumptions I had about her were wrong. It took me years to discover I was smart. She learned earlier. She had a great career at that very same high school as head of the English Department. She married a brilliant, exciting man who took her all over the world and broke her heart.

We have much in common.

Literature for one. Not all readers love to write - but all writers love to read. We say things to each other no one but a literary nut would understand.

One day I wrote her about having to stop in a very small town while traveling through the south to put my Real Husband in the hospital for a few hours. I described to her how I had breakfast at 6 AM in a restaurant with six men wearing bib overalls.

Her reply: "How Eudora Weltyish of you."

Sausage Gravy

I love sausage gravy - but I never eat it.

A couple of years ago, just before I was getting ready to meet my Boyfriend for the first time, I was having breakfast with the Power Rangers. The restaurant was featuring sausage gravy over home made biscuits. I suggested we order one serving and share it.

The PRs decreed that I was not allowed to eat sausage gravy until after I had dazzled him.

I'm thinking of having some now that the pressure's off.

Civility

I'm a great believer in civility. Yes I realize that there's a difference between good and nice.

I saw the movie "Mr. Brooks" last night. Mr. Brooks was a mass murderer but he was very polite about it.

That's not what I'm talking about.

At this time in my life I want the people I interact with to be civil and polite no matter what kind of difficult problems we're grappling with. That's not to say we don't tease each other or say outrageous things in fun.

It's amazing to me that, at the few important meetings I still attend, a person is allowed by the rest of the group (of strong but civil people) to be loud and insulting.

Not only do I want this in my own life but I believe that the world would be a much safer place if our leaders embraced this concept. Threats and tough talk get us deeper and deeper into treacherous waters. I find our refusal to negotiate with "enemies" to be appalling.

Loud, mean words hurt. They almost never solve the problem.

My Boyfriend is kind to every person he meets. What a guy!

Where Were You?

We can always remember where we were when significant events happen. When Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot we were right in the midst of it. We were crazy civil rights people.

On September 11, 2001 I was putting on my swimsuit to walk down to my swim aerobics class when I saw the plane hit the building. It was shocking but I went swimming.

Later, as we were bobbing up and down in the water, a lady came late and told us about the second plane.

Here is the strange part. None of us left the pool. We continued our exercise. We all knew what this latest news implied - but we stayed. We were silent. We finished our aerobics.

After getting back to my condo and before I took off my wet suit, I called all of my children - in birth order.

Book Clubs

I like book clubs because I'm totally clueless when I walk into a bookstore or library. I suffer severely from over-choice.

I like it when somebody hands me a book and says "read this." (Disclaimer - please don't ask me to read your manuscript unless you're prepared to read mine.)

I used to belong to this really snooty book club. We met at this rich guy's art deco library which is actually a separate structure from his home. In attendance were writers, film makers, professors and other professionals. And there were always several beautiful young women who wanted to impress the rich guy- but, of course, they had not read the book.

We read things like "Invitation to a Beheading" and "Mrs. Dalloway." Some of the books were a stretch for me but the discussion was usually very insightful.

Things change. I could no longer go to this art deco library and sip wine with the literary swells.

Then I was invited to a women's book club at my condo. I was dubious. I wasn't ready for romance novels.

Surprise! These women read excellent books - and they lead fascinating lives. I'm still being stretched. The discussions are still stimulating. And sometimes we sip wine.

But the last good book I read was "She's Come Undone" by Wally Lamb because my # 2 daughter said, "Here, read this."

Turkey Trot

I used to run. No big whoop. No marathons. I have no idea how a human being can run that far. I just liked to run a short way most every day. Just enough to get my heart pumping.

I gave it up a couple of years ago when I fell on the sidewalk. But now I'm exercising at my Boyfriend's club where there is this cool indoor clay track with handrails no less so it's safe. So I run a couple of laps.

Downtown in my city each Thanksgiving morning there is a 5k race called the Turkey Trot. Hundreds of people run. It's festive and fun and allows a person to eat mammoth amounts of Thanksgiving dinner with no guilt.

I ran for several years. Sometimes with family, sometimes with friends.

The last time I ran there were some indications that I should stop. I DID finish the race. But I ran alongside

- a six year old child. He beat me.

- an old man who'd had a stroke and who's family lifted him from a wheelchair and surrounded him for the entire run so that he'd be protected. He beat me.

- a seven months pregnant woman. She beat me.

Did I mention that I finished the race?

Do You Want to Get Well?

Because of the work I used to do a person would occasionally mistake me for a counselor or psychologist. I could never be either one. If I was, the first thing I would say when a patient walked in would be "Do you want to get well?" If there was much hemming. hawing or whining or other negative response I'd just say, "I can't help you. Have a nice day."

A person I know pretty well said this frequently to people who wanted his help and he had a good run as a healer.

Still has.

Oscars

I love my sister in law. We live at opposite ends of the country so we rarely see each other but we communicate often. Despite not ever having been physically close we have much in common. We had similar parenting styles with similar results. We both love words. We both love movies. We both have an outrageous sense of humor.

We both love movies but have different tastes. She likes chick flicks. I get bored. Oh, and I like to sit close to the front in the theater with nobody in front of me. She likes to sit in the back row - with nobody in front of her.

Here are two examples of our movie critiques:

AMERICAN BEAUTY - She loved this movie. I hated it. I tried to explain to her that a movie where the most symbolic scene is where a piece of trash on the sidewalk gets caught up in a little whirlwind is lacking.

It won an Academy Award.

THE DEPARTED - She loved this movie. I hated it. Every person in the movie gets killed. No wait, every person in the movie gets his brains blown out - all over the place. Everybody is bad, cops & crooks. Well except the Martin Sheen character who doesn't get his brains blown out but comes flying off the top of a building. Splat! Since Leonardo Decaprio beefed up I think he and Matt Damon look somewhat alike. Very confusing. The only ones left at the end are the potty mouth (and that's saying something in this movie) former underwear guy and the female police psychologist (what a dope) who is pregnant. Neither she nor we the viewers have a clue as to who the father is.

As you know, this movie won several Academy Awards.

Power Rangers

I have these nine best friends. We work at being best friends. I was invited into this little group about 10 years ago but the rest of them have been together a lot longer.

We meet every Wednesday. Sometimes for hours. We don't gossip. No agenda really. We're just there for each other.

I've described us as a group of powerful women. Occasionally someone will say "Oh, you mean spiritually."

Well, yes.

But then one, or three or all of them will pull off something that has GLOBAL implications.

We're there for each other to celebrate and when trouble comes - but we're there for many, many other people as well.

I love all of them. I'm in awe of every one of them. I'm 1,500 miles away and I miss them.

The Women's Movement

In the 70s I'm proud to say that I was very much a part of the Women's Movement.

A few years back a colleague of my daughter's in law school let everyone know that she had no use for the Women's Movement. I wanted to say "How the (heck) do you think you landed in law school?"

My real husband was even more a part of the movement than I was. He just believed that every person in the world should have an equal chance.

So when I was unable to attend a meeting in our state capital where I was to receive an award for a local group - he went in my place.

But guess what? Paul Newman was on the dais as well. The husband said Paul sat with his arms on his knees, peeled an orange with his pocket knife and slowly ate the sections during the entire proceedings. And, yes, juice ran down his chin.

OK, I know this is all very confusing.

The Last Days

I had some great support after my Real Husband died. Some people where there for me that I never expected and others surprised me by not being there so much.

This is probably due to the persona I like to project as The Most Powerful Woman in the World.

When we loose somebody close - like a husband of 44 years - the last days are usually emblazoned on our brains. I want to say that my situation was particularly horrible - but they all are.

My church helped me heal. Especially a class that I did NOT want to take called "Walking the Mourner's Path."

But the most helpful person has been my Boyfriend. Here's why. His wife of 44 years died as well. So we have shared our last days stories over and over and over again.

Is there anything more healing than having another person lovingly listen to your sad story until you're finished?

Super Heros

Two of my grandsons are heavily into Super Heros. Who knew that they all had extensive histories? Not me.

And, of course, they all have issues. I get that. We all do.

But the one guy I can't handle is Spiderman. Peter Parker is so full of angst. When I was watching Spiderman II and Peter's aunt lost her mortgage and was thrown out of her house - I just wanted to shout at the screen,

PETER, GET A JOB!

Comics

I love the comics. I read every one of them every day. I love to read them when I'm traveling because my local newspaper doesn't print many - and some of them in my paper are pretty lame. But I read them anyway.

On the other hand, some of the newer strips like "Get Fuzzy" and "Pearls Before Swine" are brilliant.

It's interesting how you can read a strip for years and really get to know the characters. In "For Better or For Worse" we know that, despite dating several guys, Elizabeth is going to end up with that old boyfriend with the daughter. (He's even shaved off his mustache for her.)

On the other hand, what exactly is the persona of Cookie Bumstead?

Movies

I love movies. When I was a kid my brother and I went to the movies twice on the weekends. It took us years to figure out that it was a way to get rid of us.

As an adult my Real Husband and I had a standing movie date every Friday night.

I have scores of favorite lines from movies. One of the best is from The "Big Chill" where a young woman is worried that not many people will come to her funeral. Jeff Goldbloom says "I'll come and I'll bring a date."

I've used that line many times.

# 2 son knows the entire "Blazing Saddles" dialogue. But I'll bet this is true of many men.

A few months ago I had a little disagreement with a man at my church over some business issue. I finally said, "Well, I guess we'll have to take it to the mattresses."

He was appalled.

I'm Not One of Them

My Real Husband and I were opposites in many, many, ways. He was described at times as "larger than life" My kids are "larger than life." You may like them or not - but you WILL read about them in the papers.

I hurt my children's feelings once by explaining to them, "I'm not related to your father but you are." I tried not to say it in a "feeling sad for you" way.

A while back when my son was running in a national race the guy beside him had the same last name. They wondered if they might be related. My son said, "Is your family really smart and courageous and 'out there' but sort of crazy at times"?

After a brief conversation they agreed they might be related.

If we ever had family reunions anymore (which we don't to my regret) it might be fun to host a "quiet" room for the non blood relatives. We excel at times too - but we have "off" buttons.

His Reunion

A few years ago my # 2 son got suckered into taking my Real Husband up north to his 50th high school reunion. I knew better. The big secret in our family was that, along with serious physical problems, dementia had come to visit.

Dealing with a person who has an astonishingly high I.Q. along with dementia can only be described sarcastically as "Good Times."

Good times were had in the air port where he wondered off and in the hotel room where they shared a bed so he couldn't escape out into the hall.

(# 2 Son, Welcome to my world!)

But here is the totally exasperating part. When they stepped off the elevator into the reunion, the light turned on. He was charming. He was handsome. As the former president of the graduating class of 1955 he gave a little speech. Women were saying to # 2 Son, "Why isn't your mother here. Is she still living?"

His reply. "YESSSSS!"

On Being Thin

I'm thin. I know that you're bored already. It's much more interesting to talk about being fat.

When my friends used to talk about dieting I would say "I don't believe in diets." They still talk about dieting but I don't say that anymore because they don't want to hear it.

For forty years I watched my Real Husband balloon up, go on a crash diet, lose the weight, gain it back and start all over.

Here is my boring routine for the last forty years. I work out every day. I eat about 1,300 calories. Blah, blah, blah.

My fantasy for doing something totally wild and crazy would be to eat a chicken sandwich from Wendy's along with fries that I'd dip in my frosty.

But not today. I'm taking it one day at a time.

My Favorite Nurse

I'm a "no nonsense - tell it like it is" person. When my Real Husband was ill we had some hard times and some really funny times. It wasn't ever easy for anybody to tell him things he didn't want to hear and even harder for most everybody when he was ill.

One day my favorite Home Health Care nurse arrived. He loved her because she was strong. When she walked in the door he let her know that he was mad at me because I wouldn't take him to his college reunion.

She said, "Honey, you're not going anywhere. You're dying."

He laughed and said, "Oh yeah, I forgot."

A Toddlin' Town

My Boyfriend and I met for the first time in Chicago. This was after many months of being pen pals. My plane arrived at O'Hare 20 minutes before his so I met him as he deplaned. He told me months later that he recognized me immediately despite my orange hair. So much for the expensive highlighting.

It was one of the best three-days-in-a-row in my long and fun filled life. We did about everything you can do in downtown Chicago in three days,

Our first stop was The Museum of Contemporary Art where we had lunch on the patio at Wolfgang Pucks. Our young waiter assumed we were an old married couple until I laid it all out for him. I explained the first date thing and assured him that there was a lot of pressure ON HIM.

We stayed at a great hotel (the Seneca), went on the architectural river tour, rode on the ferris wheel at the Navy Pier, strolled in Millennium Park, had dinner at Shaw's Crab House, viewed the city from the top of the John Hancock Building and shopped at Bloomingdale's. Our last morning we had lunch on the beach. (Who knew that downtown Chicago had a beach?)

But, except for holding hands to cross the streets and a good-bye hug, there was no actual touching on this trip.

Give me a break here. It was the first date either of us had had in 47 years.

Letting Go

Some people have seen me as somewhat of an expert on "Letting Go." Letting problems go, letting children go, etc. They think this because I've done workshops on the subject. I "know" the answers and I'm able to share Professional Expert's information in a somewhat entertaining way.

But boy, do I struggle.

A few years ago when I was seeing a counselor about a couple of serious issues I asked "At what child's age can you really, really just let them go?"

He said, "Usually I would say about 25 but in your case let's say 42."

I wish. I want to let her go. She gives me lots of indications that she wants me to let her go. But no can do.

On Being Fat

I'm not fat. I've never been fat. (Oh, yes, except for the four pregnancies when I gained 50 pounds each.)

My # 2 daughter gains a tremendous amount of weight when she's pregnant. Unlike me she's tall and long waisted so she gets really BIG. And she's so stunningly beautiful and "out there" that I can hardly stand it. Her husband feels the same way. We both look at her with goo goo eyes.

Most of my friends are in varying stages of "heavy" because we're older. My real husband was heavy. His entire life was spent losing weight or gaining weight. It was a constant struggle.

I think a lot of big people look great. I love to see women wear flowing colorful clothes and bright red nail polish. I think Queen Latifah is gorgeous.

I love heavy people even though sometimes they say mean things to me. I once had a sales clerk in an upscale department store say to me after she had graciously special ordered a size two raincoat, "I'm happy I was able to get this for you but I hate you because you can wear it."

Here's another statement I don't like. "You're lucky. You don't gain weight."

My Hand Condition

Recently I saw on the TV a woman in her sixties claiming to be the love child of Frank Sinatra. She'd contacted the Sinatra siblings but they weren't buying it.

Her evidence was the fact that she shares a rare hand condition with The Chairman of the Board called Duputrine's Contracture.

Golly, maybe Frank Sinatra is my dad too!

New Rules

My friend Barbara fell madly in love and married when she was in her sixties. She used to make me nauseous talking about how much she loved this man.

Now I get it. My Boyfriend and I play by all new rules. It's romance all the way. We don't argue about money. He has his, I have mine. We don't argue about grown children. I admire his and he tries to keep up with the massive army I call "family." We don't argue about religion (even though this is a huge item with me.)

We don't argue about health issues.

The last thing I want in this relationship is for us to be screaming at each other "TAKE YOUR MEDICINE!"

Question of the Day

When the kids were growing up we had dinner together every night. Sometimes with guests so there were always at least six or eight of us.

My real husband and I would often require each person at the table to answer a question. This was so that everyone got to speak regardless of age or size and we could hopefully avoid sulking, screaming matches, food fights, etc.

Over the years these questions grew more interesting. They went from "What two things would you want with you on a desert island?" to "How would you end the war in (fill in the blank?)"

It's surprising to see what a ten year old will come up with when given the same respect and opportunity to speak as the adult next to him.

After the children were grown - but still occasionally coming home for family dinners, I switched the game slightly to "Forgiveness Night." You could confess anything you wanted and the others sitting around the table would forgive you.

I gave this up after two nights. Couldn't take it anymore. Not after hearing about dangling a high school coach by the legs out a second story school window (son-in-law) or an eight year old rowing a tiny boat across a mile wide lake (daughter.)

We forgave them but my heart couldn't take anymore confessions. I'm glad I'm not a priest.

The Strongest Woman in the World

My real husband thought I was the strongest woman in the world. This was good in a way because I attempted things I might never have dreamed of if he wasn't there saying "Of course you can do that." On the other hand he wasn't very good at protecting me or letting me be vulnerable. Family crises were all about him.

When he was dying I would tease him occasionally by saying,

"Aren't you worried about how I'll cope when you're gone?'

"Nope."

"Aren't you worried about how I'll survive financially when you're gone?"

"Nope, You're the strongest woman in the world."

My How Things Have Changed

I had a hard life growing up, married young, had babies young, spent 15 years getting through college, had a great career while helping my extremely high maintenance husband with his career, got the kids through college, and cared for my husband during a lengthy final illness.

It was exciting but It was all about keeping my nose to the grindstone pretty much 24-7.

Now it's cushy as can be. Today I went to the gym with my boyfriend then had a romantic lunch in a great restaurant. I'm 1,500 miles away from home. I can do what I want. Whoopee.

So I'm going to have a glass of wine and play some cribbage.