Who Are We For Dad?

All of my children watched sporting events with their father. When they were little every one of them said at some time, "Who are we for dad?" They soon began to make their own decisions about sports, politics and everything else. This is a good thing, something we encouraged.

Who are you for?

I'm getting ready to fully support a presidential candidate. I never take the decision lightly. It's hard to figure out who to be for. I takes work. It takes courage to share a positive opinion about a politician.

On the other hand, it's easy and (apparently for most people) fun to vilify candidates.

I receive horribly negative e-mails about political candidates - sometimes from people I really care about. I receive mail from both major parties. When the letter starts by bashing an opponent, I stop reading and throw it away.

If you see me at a party please don't bore me with Bush, Clinton, Cheney or Obama bashing. Tell me who you're for and why. I want to know.

But I want you to respect what I have to say as well.

I Am Rainman

I'm addicted to numbers.

I can - and usually do - count the number of people in any size room - even a football field. When I'm in a meeting I count ceiling tiles and most everything else that there's more than one of.

I'm addicted to clocks. On the many occasions that I wake up during the night I want to know exactly what time it is. A few years ago I attended a retreat where they confiscated my watch on my arrival. The idea was to relieve stress. It did just the opposite for me. I spent 3 sleepless nights wondering if they would ever end.

I'm addicted to start times and end times. I want to know how long the movie or the play is before I see it. I can sit through anything if it's less than 2 hours.

I'm addicted to the DOW. A good day for me is when my B/P and weight are down and the DOW is up. If you ever see me in some remote part of the world and you want to know what the DOW is doing that day, ask me. I'll know.

I'm addicted to Cribbage. My Boyfriend taught me this numbers game. I love it.

Did I mention that I'm an excellent driver?

Get It in Writing

Bible stories are timeless - and timely. Has this ever happened to you?

When the story of Joseph ends, (you know, the guy with the Technicolor Dream Coat) he's a national hero in Egypt. He and his family and his tribe are on top - even if they aren't Egyptians.

When the next book of the Bible begins the Israelites are in big trouble again. What happened??? Joseph had died and ...

"There arose a king who knew not Joseph." (Exodus 1:8)

I recently had a big problem at my bank. Finally found a VP to straighten out the mess. I said, "What do I do if this happens again." He said, "Just call ME!"

It happened again. I called him. He's no longer at my bank. The new VP is clueless.

"There arose a bank VP who knew not Cess."

Learning to Talk

Isn't it the cutest thing in the world when toddlers use the wrong word or mispronounce words? When my #1 daughter was tiny she confused the word "bottom" with "bonnet."

"I fell on my bonnet!"

Instead of helping her use the correct word we delighted in saying "bonnet" ourselves. But then when she was in the library listening to a story called "The Easter Bonnet" it was very confusing for her.

A couple of years ago I was in Colorado skiing with my #1 son and his family. This is not the King of the World son. This is his boss.

It was snowing. He was driving a new rental car and fiddling with the windshield wipers. He looked at me and said, "I'm having trouble with the whipper whoppers."

I thought my heart would melt.

The Best Books

One of the great things about having children and grandchildren is getting to read the best books. My children arrived on the Dr. Suess cusp. At one time I had memorized several of his books. I'm sure I could still recite every word of "One Fish, Two Fish."

We also loved classic fairy tales and everything in between but now my younger grandkids have some hysterical adaptations of the classics.

A couple of my recent little kid book favorites are:

PIGS APLENTY, PIGS GALORE! (They're everywhere.)

NO! DAVID (That's the only dialogue on every page. You can imagine the pictures.)

JOHN, PAUL, GEORGE & BEN (Not a singing group but some obnoxious little boys who grew up and used their skills to start our country.)

EVERYBODY POOPS! (No explanation needed.)

Mad Girl's Love Song

"Mad Girl's Love Song" is the title of my favorite Sylvia Plath poem. Yes, I was one of those young women who was moved beyond words by Plath's writings. I got over it.

Not to say that she wasn't a great voice for women. She was.

I loved the lines,

"I shut my eyes and the world dropped dead,
I think I made you up inside my head."

I still love those lines but for different reasons than before. Sometimes all of the circuits in my head are jammed and I just need to disappear for a few minutes. I find all sorts of ways to go to my alternate universe - where I can regroup.

I have a friend who can power nap. Wish I could...

Shut my eyes and have the world drop dead - for a few minutes.

Everybody Loves BBQ

One time I worked for several months as a consultant for a man who owned a few sports stores. I know nothing about sports but he needed help dealing with his employees. They were unhappy. He had high turnover.

His heart was in the right place but he was inconsistent. Giving a young manager a Rolex for Christmas one year and nothing the next - for no reason - doesn't make for happy campers.

That same Christmas he had splurged on a Christmas party at a high end restaurant for his warehouse workers - who were making minimum wage or a little more. They resented the party and he didn't know why.

Several times I went to the warehouse in my jeans and tee shirt just to chit chat. Among other things, I asked every person what a dream Christmas party would look like for them.

OVERWHELMINGLY, the answer was BBQ. Served buffet style right there in the warehouse, on company time, with a D. J. and loud music. No dressing up.

Washing Windows

For a while in the 80s I was the education director for a large downtown church in South Florida. Some of the younger women wanted to start an exercise program. We had no budget so I found an old big screen TV for sale cheap ($50.00.) It no longer showed any TV stations but it would show videos.

I bought two Jane Fonda tapes and we were in business.

Do you remember these tapes? Jane must have been pushing 50 at the time. She looked fantastic and she led a great workout with lots of motivating chit chat. It was years later that I finally admitted to myself that it wasn't just the exercise that kept her looking so good.

One of our favorite Jane Fonda routines was "Washing Windows." Mostly big swooping motions with our arms while jumping up and down.

We always laughed. Because we were having fun - and at the absurdity of Jane Fonda washing windows.

First Kiss

It's surprising how many people remember their first kiss. We were discussing this with friends a while back and I was touched by their stories.

Do you remember your first kiss?

I grew up in Indianapolis. My first kiss was on the front porch of my house. I was probably 13 years old. This kid named Tim kissed me. He was a neighbor and we knew his whole family. I later went out with him a couple of times and later, still, I went out with his brother.

Some time after that Tim and his family joined Jim Jones' People's Temple. Tim, along with most of his family members, died in Guyana in 1978, along with 900 or so other mass suicide victims, after drinking cyanide laced kool-aid.

Romantic Valentine Dinner

Last Valentine's Day I talked my Boyfriend into going with me to serve a noon time meal to the homeless. The place I go to do this a few times a year is well run. We just show up and listen to our instructions.

There were 8 of us. First we had to put on plastic aprons, gloves and very attractive hair nets.

Since it was Valentine's Day some friends from my church had made about 150 decorated cupcakes. It was so much fun to add this treat.

The set up is like a cafeteria/assembly line. Each volunteer stands over a tray of food so when the plate comes by we just put that particular food on the plate and pass it to the next volunteer. The last person hands it to the homeless person (guest.) Sounds easy, right?

But the thing is that there are a couple of hundred people lined up. We serve for one hour. At that time this shield rolls down and we're done. So we have to do this really, really fast.

It's the worst feeling in the world to see the people who didn't make it in time.

Baby Dresses

Why do women love to buy baby dresses? I attended a shower a few weeks ago. A dozen pink baby dresses were given to the expectant mom.

When my kids were small we knew mothers who shopped for their little ones at trunk showings. We received many classy hand me downs.

For the record, I have 5 granddaughters and one on the way - and I've NEVER bought any of them a dress. There are plently of other women who love them - and love to buy them dresses. (My fall back gift is always books.)

But, over the years, I have bought a few pink baby dresses for babies and moms who had none.

Nature or Nurture

When my youngest child was 6 or 7 we visited his school counselor. He just wasn't as Full Boar - Out There - I Want to be King of the World - as the other children. (For what it's worth, this has all changed. He IS King of the World.)

For instance if I tried to help his sister put on her coat, she would fight me tooth and nail. "I can do it myself."

If I offered to help my youngest child he smiled and stuck out his arm.

He was sweet at home, sweet in school and never tried to correct his teacher - so I figured maybe there was a problem.

The school counselor confirmed that, yes, there was a problem. While she didn't know him or me, she had just returned from a workshop on "Birth Order." Her assessment was that my fourth child was spoiled and that I wasn't expecting enough from him.

"And he seems to have a passive personality - like yours!"

Face it moms, Nature or nurture - it's still our fault!

The Purple Hat Rule

My #2 son told me about this rule and it's really helped me deal with the frustration of never seeming to get it right with some people.

Example: You're applying for a mortgage. You've filled out all of the paperwork, checked your credit rating and, in general, have done everything right. But then you're turned down for some reason you never heard of. It's like they just made it up. It's the Purple Hat Rule. (You forgot to wear the purple hat.)

I've become an affiliate member at my Boyfriend's health club for the summer. The first few times they rejected my card. Each time it was for some new reason. I didn't get upset. It's the Purple Hat Rule. (I forgot to wear the purple hat.)

"We don't accept those coupons anymore."

"But it's says right here that you do."

"Sorry."

It's the Purple Hat Rule.

I feel sorry for people who belong to these really strict denominations and churches. Ones with very narrow sets of rules and regs. They spend their whole lives trying to OBEY THE LAW so that they'll go to heaven with their super close friends. But what if, when they die, this real loud voice says, "Step aside, you forgot to wear the purple hat."

Tender Memories

My boyfriend's tall, blond beautiful daughter is visiting for a few days. She's taken the time from a non stop busy lifestyle in Chicago to be with us - but she's mostly here to go through her mother's things.

I'm, of course, leaving it totally to the two of them.

Yes, it's for the reasons you think but also because I'm feeling their pain vicariously.

After my Real Husband died (about the same time my Boyfriend's wife died) I spent months sorting through mounds of papers, personal items, medical items and "stuff." My Real Husband was the collector. My condo was crammed.

He was sick for a very long time but I never let go of the things he loved until he was gone. He always kept a map of the world in the glove compartment of his car! I let him know many times how crazy that was but after he stopped driving I still kept it there. And when I bought a new car, one that he never drove, I transferred the map.

But after he was gone I purged. Every article I picked up had an emotion attached to it. Some wonderful and some not. All of the memories were painful. The good and the bad.

I did keep a few things. I still have the navy blue sport coat with maroon stripes that he was wearing the night I met him in 1959.

For years after he became ill and couldn't use the telephone I still used his voice message. Somebody told me a few days after he died that I should change it. "It's too creepy," she said.

Close to a year later I sent out a general e-mail letting friends know that I'd dropped his name from my e-mail address. My son wrote right back letting me know how painful this was for him.

My Boyfriend and his daughter just headed out to "Mom's" storage locker. They asked if I wanted to go. I said, "I'll pass."

She's My Baby

My #2 daughter is having a baby. While I should be overjoyed (and I am) I have reservations about how this will change her life forever, about how it might affect her health and limit her opportunities. I have a right to this concern.

She's my baby.

Did I mention that she's an older mom so she's more vulnerable and well, you know,

She's my baby.

Did I tell you that she's a lawyer and a business woman and one of the brightest, most energetic people I've ever known but I still worry about her because

She's my baby.

Did I say that this is her 4th baby. She has nannies and housecleaners and good friends and a husband who adores her and is the best dad ever - but still

She's my baby.

Let's Talk

It's easy to have great conversation. You need only a variation of the following phrases:

1. How are you?
2. Look at me!

Do you want to scream sometimes when you're with a person who talks endlessly? They NEVER ask a question. They are forever saying in various ways "Look at me." It's more of a performance than conversation.

I used to try to get a word in edgewise but these days I mostly just clam up and go to my happy place.

On the other hand, I'm not comfortable being with people who never expose themselves. Always delving into my personal life - like they're trying to analyze me.

I could (and do) spend hours with people who are skilled at both phrases. People who have plenty to say but also want to hear from me.

But not like the actor who finally says, "Enough about me, how did YOU like my last movie."

The Meaning of Songs

Kids tend to mangle songs. We all know "On top of spaghetti all covered with cheese." There is a beautiful old hymn called "In the Garden." The refrain goes like this:

"And He walks with me, and He talks with me, and He tells me I am His own.
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
No other has ever known."

Generations of young girls have loved this hymn because they have boyfriends named ANDY.

We won't even go into what little boys do with "There is a Balm in Gilead."

Let's Build a House

Many, many years ago when we lived in a large city in South Florida, we knew an African American minister who was the pastor of a small but growing church close to the inner city. He was talented and good things were happening in his congregation and in the community but the problem was that he lived 50 miles away.

One evening my Real Husband, who was quite a visionary, said to me, "I think we should build him a house."

I rolled my eyes. Neither of us knew how to build anything - even a birdhouse.

Before I knew it he was on the phone with a close contractor friend. "Would you be the contractor if I found the property and enough volunteers to build a house?"

To my amazement, he said "Sure."

Every Saturday for many weeks we worked on the house. Everybody who wanted a job had one. Some people played with the children of the workers, some made sandwiches and iced tea. We had fun.

When we were finished the house was given to the church and the minister and his family moved in.

This was well before Habitat for Humanity - but, later on, we helped build many of those houses too.

Perfecting Stand Up

As a consultant I did my share of platform speaking. Being hired by companies to speak at conventions is fun, prestigious and pays well.

Since I wasn't an expert on much of anything, I wasn't a celebrity and I didn't do anything unusual (like sleep with Elvis,) I got hired as a platform speaker because I was entertaining and funny. I could relay important information in a winsome way.

Stand Up isn't easy. I have great admiration for comedians. I taught church classes on a regular basis so I practiced on them. They were kind to let me try out my material and didn't hesitate letting me know when it was bad.

I tried for years to perfect a bit about "Temptation." At that time "The Temptations" were a well know singing group. My question was "Can you resist temptation?" Then I said something like "I try but that guy on the end just gets to me!" No matter how I worded it - it fell flat.

Years ago I was on a cruise and the stand up comedian was as corny as could be. But he'd been steadily employed for 23 years so he knew what he was doing. I went to his afternoon workshop. He said he had a bit in his act that lasted about 5 seconds but that he'd worked on for 2 months. I believed him.

Here's the bit. He had this crazy jacket with geese all over the front and one BIG one on the back. A few minutes into his act he says to the audience "Do you like my jacket?" Then he spins around with his arms and legs spread and says, "Well, get a gander at this!"

The audience loved it.

The Day I Almost Missed My Book Club Meeting

One day about noon I was trying to get my Real Husband into bed so that he'd fall asleep and be safe while I went down the street a little ways to my book club meeting. I'd already made some really cool cucumber sandwiches with the crusts cut off.

While we were struggling he fell on top of me and passed out. I finally reached the phone - but was still pinned. You probably think that I dialed 911. I didn't. I was determined to get to my book club meeting. Besides, I am a problem solver.

I called a friend who has a key to my condo. She let herself in. This friend is an excellent problem solver but, while we were able to extract me from underneath my Real Husband, we could not get him up off the floor.

So I called my #1 son, something I did not want to do. This is because I want him to think that I'm The Strongest Woman in the World.

As it happened he was having lunch in a fancy restaurant not far away. So he was there in about 15 minutes. But the three of us could not get my Real Husband up and into his bed.

Being the excellent problem solver that he is, my #1 son went outside and collected three Mexican yardmen. The four of them were finally able to get my Real Husband up off the floor and into his bed. My son offered the Mexicans $20 each but they refused to take it.

They all left and a couple of hours later, when my Real Husband was safe and asleep I went to my bookclub meeting.

The next day my real husband was feeling better and loved telling the home health nurse how he was saved by our #1 son and his Mexicans.

The Road Less Traveled

I'm sure that when Scott Peck wrote the book "The Road Less Traveled" he didn't realize that it would be the beginning of a cult-like following that he would enjoy (or not) for the rest of his life. The book was #1 on best seller lists for YEARS.

It's one of the few books where most people over the age of 40 know the first line. "Life is difficult." Some therapists have built a career around this line alone.

I've read nearly all of Peck's books. Some I've liked more than others. But the way he changed my life the most was when I attended a 3 day workshop he conducted in the 80s. He said, in passing, that he sat down and read for two hours every morning - and that we should as well. What a concept! Could I do this?

I did. Despite a stress filled life that would amaze you, I began to find two morning hours (the best hours) to read most days. I'm still doing it.

But long before Peck, Robert Frost and I were taking the road less traveled "and that has made all the difference."

Whoops!

When my #1 daughter was home from college one summer she accepted a position as a semi-caregiver for a sick old man who was trying to stay out of a nursing home. He was poor but proud. She found his small place cluttered and dirty. One weekend while he was visiting a relative she gathered up all of his clothes, bedding, towels, etc., stuffed them into two giant garbage bags and brought them home to wash.

Whoops! Unfortunately it was the same night that #2 son fulfilled his obligation to empty the trash. The man's stuff was long gone before we figured it out.

Of course telling the old man was the worst part. We let #1 daughter take care of it. It was a bone crunching hard thing to do.

But here's the happy ending. She and the old man bonded. They spent the rest of the summer going to garage and rummage sales. He ended the summer in better shape all the way around - and so did she.

And she went on to excel in a career that embraces all of the elements of this story.

I Don't Know

When I was in my 30s, just starting my career as a consultant, I was always worried about how much I didn't know.

Then a man came to spend his year's sabbatical amongst us. He was the first real bible scholar I knew up close and personal. A full professor at Boston University, he was one of the editors of "The Interpreter's Bible," a 12 volume expansion of the Book. He told us quite humbly at dinner one night that to be a bible scholar it was necessary to be fluent in at least three ancient languages. He was. His wife, an Egyptian, was a professor at Harvard.

He was an excellent teacher. He never tired of dumb questions and never made anyone feel small.

But what impressed me most about him was that he said this phrase a lot. "I don't know."

If a person asked him something like "Did Moses write the first five books of the Bible?" (A question, by the way, that in some circles, if you get the answer wrong you will be banished to hell) - he would give a long, thoughtful list of interesting theories - but in the end say "I don't know."

My time with him, instead of being intimidating, freed me up. We had something in common. There are lots of things I don't know either.

He freed me to embrace the mystery.

Profit Margin

My #1 son was always good at making money.

When he was barely a teenager we had eight orange trees in our back yard. During the season it was a mess trying to keep the oranges picked up. I tried to bribe the younger kids to do it but they got hot, bored and tired in a hurry.

Finally I went to #1 son and made him an offer he couldn't refuse. Get rid of the oranges! He could do it anyway he wanted. I would not pay him but I would assist him (within reason) and and he could keep any profits.

A few days later he asked me to drive him to a nearby orange juice company. He'd already made arrangements to have my big old Plymouth weighed.

After arriving back home he filled my car to the brim with oranges. We drove back to the company, had the fully loaded car weighed and he was paid for the difference. We did this many times during the season.

He made a bundle.

My Real Husband used to say to him "Son, you've been gifted with the ability to make money. There are other things you need to work on."

He did - along with making the money.

Last Rites

When my #2 daughter was about 10 years old a friend of our family asked her to babysit her parakeet, Tweedy, while she went to Europe.

A few days after the lady left, and while we were out, our cat, Fuzzy, got into the birdcage and a tragic event followed. That night, after dinner, our family of six said our goodbyes to Tweedy. It was a closed casket ceremony.

The next morning my Real Husband took the box containing what was left of Tweedy to work with him. He had a meeting with three people who would eventually become (all three of them) some of the finest theologians in the South.

When they finished their work my Real Husband produced the box and explained what happened. They took Tweedy to the beautiful garden behind the office where they buried him, said some words and sang a little song.

There are no circumstances under which I foresee myself going out in this much style.

Total Misfits

My Boyfriend and I have been going to this restaurant for Sunday brunch. It's downtown in a storefront building. The decor is eclectic and old. It's always jammed. At least half of the people are seriously tattooed and pierced. This morning I was observing a table of five. It was impossible for me to identify the sex of two of them.

Two women sat next to us. The one with her back to me had a message on her shirt with a definition of the word "terrorist" that GWB would not find amusing. It took me a while to read it because she was so animated in her speech (lots of arm waiving.) Her brunch partner was dressed in jeans and bright colors and was wearing very red lipstick. She had to weigh well over 300 lbs.

There was a large table of adults and children, black and white, and every one of them in dreadlocks.

While I spend 80% of my time in jeans and tees - we stop in this place after church. We're 30 years older than the average customer and dressed like dorks.

They're nice to us anyway.

High Finance

My Real Husband went to Harvard Business School but he was a graduate of the GOD WILL TAKE CARE OF US SCHOOL OF FINANCE. He loved to give money away and he loved to spend it. He loved to buy things. Lots of things.

I opened a Tithe Account at the bank. This (strange to him) concept was that we had to actually have the money in the bank before we could give it away.

I don't like labels but I think you could call me a fiscal conservative. I live beneath my means. I like being frugal but generous. I'm a big tipper. I give away 10% of my income.

I don't like giving gifts to rich people. My friends know this but they want the gifts anyway. I don't enjoy shopping but I like bargains. I don't have many clothes or shoes but I love what I have. I sometimes shop at designer secondhand stores. If my closet gets too full I gather up clothes and shoes and give them away.

I have two watches. One for everyday, one for evening.

I've given away most everything else I don't need except for what sentimental things my children might want when I'm gone.

If I all at once became super wealthy I don't think my lifestyle would change much.

Empathy

One of my Power Ranger friends is having a difficult time. Her husband is sick. It's been going on a while. He's had surgery and the recuperation isn't going so well. He's been in constant pain for months.

This sounds trite but I know what she's going through.

I know that there is no routine. Every day is an unknown.

I know that, since she's a strong woman, most people assume she's doing fine. It's him they're worried about.

I know that she is astoundingly grateful that her daughter has flown in from across the country but feels guilty about it as well.

I know that she is astoundingly grateful for friends and family but the thought of having to make one more phone call to explain the situation to someone she barely knows is almost more than she can take at the end of the day.

I know that having medical professionals give daily contradicting reports is crazy making. (I used to think that it was like being in a padded room and having somebody whap you against opposing walls.)

I know that she's beyond exhaustion, is in pain and there's no relief in sight for her. (When my Real Husband would refuse drugs I would say to the nurse "I'll take them" - but I never got any.)

I know that the worst is seeing her strong, handsome, life partner, suffering.

Get well soon Rowing Coach.

Do The Right Thing

We all know that it wasn't until the 1960s that women were freed up to be decision makers.

But a while back when I was finishing up "Reading Lolita in Tehran" I was thinking about how, throughout history, women have risked losing everything in order to do the right thing.

Even in the Old Testament, where the Israelites pretty much invented the patriarchal society, women stepped up.

Take Abigail for instance. She was this beautiful young woman married to some mean old rich guy with a bad temper named Nabel.

David, the future greatest King of Israel, was riding through the area and wanted to camp on Nabel's property but this guy says no way. Abigail gets wind of this and realizes that her husband's a fool and his crazy decision can get them and all of their servants killed. So, unbeknownst to Nabel, she gathers up a bunch of good stuff, takes it out to David and begs him to BLAME HER not her husband- and to accept the gifts.

In other words, she was willing to risk her life in order to do the right thing - even though it flew in the face of acceptable female behavior.

Fortunately for Abigail it worked out for her. She told her husband what she'd done. He had a stroke, died, and she married David.

Sometimes doing the right thing works out - sometimes not. I know.

Escalating Violence

One morning my three year old son came in from the back yard howling. The little three year old girl next door had bitten him on the arm. It was quite a bite. Drew blood. But within 15 minutes I'd cleaned him up, given him a popsicle and we were on our way back out the door - where I had a nice talk with his little friend.

A while later the child's mother was banging on the door. There she was, obviously furious, with her little girl cringing behind her legs.

The woman told me that her child had to learn a lesson so she wanted (demanded) that my son bite her child. I'll never forget these words. "I want him to do it hard. I want him to take out a chunk."

I was appalled. First by her wanting this pain inflicted on her child - but even more that she was demanding that my child do it.

Supper Time

When we were growing up my brother and I spent most of our summers on a farm in southern Indiana. Our aunt and uncle took us in - along with various other family refugees.

My aunt looked and acted more like a man than a woman, her skin all leathery and sunburnt - but she did her best for us. Her husband, our uncle, had a bad temper but it erupted mostly in swearing at the mules or kicking the tractor.

I loved their big old farm house, the garden and orchard. Their money crop was corn. We had many chores to do every day, like gathering eggs and (hand) milking the cows.

Meals were a marvel. As soon as breakfast was finished the biscuit dough was reworked to make noodles or dumplings for dinner (the big meal in the middle of the day.) There were always two or three meats, (ham, fried chicken) five or six cooked vegetables, sliced tomatoes and onions, deviled eggs, potatoes, breads with home churned butter and fresh fruit pies or cobblers for dessert.

I loved the farm and the old farmhouse but even as a child I realized that just the cooking itself was a never ending chore - and didn't really make sense. And after I was grown I realized that farm life was cruel to my aunt and sent her to an early grave.

Years later, when I was a young woman, I had dinner at the home of some (as Kurt Vonnegut would say) "very well to do" friends. There were six of us. Dinner consisted of an elegant casserole and salad. Fruit for dessert.

It was perfect.

Who's Driving the Bus?

My Boyfriend and I live at opposite ends of the country.

When I'm at home I have a big, full life. I love my church and community activities. Love to eat out, go to movies and plays, swim, keep in daily touch with friends and family and spend hours each day working on my computer.

My Boyfriend has a big, full life as well. He plays golf with his friends, belongs to museums, playhouses and the symphony, works out most days, does art work and, in general, is one of the most social guys I know. He's always there to help a friend.

I've lived in my state over 40 years. He's lived in his HOUSE over 40 years.

His house is very contemporary. My condo is very traditional.

How do we make this relationship work?

When I'm his house guest he drives the bus.

When he's my house guest I drive the bus.

Lookin' For Satan in All the Wrong Places

I have a white, soft cotton jacket from Chico's. On the back, in silver stitching, is their logo, a crescent moon and sun. I love this jacket and wear it all the time. Two people, one I know and one I don't, have asked if the stitching on the back is satanic. Seriously.

In John Irving's "The World According to Garp" Garp's grandmother warns him whenever he goes to the beach to look out for the undertow. Garp thinks she's saying "Under Toad." So for the rest of his life he's looking for this green monster to come out of the water and ruin things for him.

It didn't work that way. He ruined things for himself.

It's a lot easier to find evil "out there" than to look inside. But when I do, the good news is that it's fixable once I recognize it.

If you see me out and about in my white cotton jacket, remember this. It's not satanic. It's Chico's.

My Fake Parents

I have had breakfast every Saturday in the same restaurant with the same couple for 16 years. (When I'm in town.) They are exceptional people. I love them. I love every bit of the time I get to spend with them. Everybody in their small, upscale town knows and loves them. Here are some reasons why:

- They've been retired for 25 years and in that time they've eaten out 3 times a day - every day. Every manager thinks his restaurant is their favorite! They're big tippers. They have excellent rapport with the wait-staff.

- They're funny, smart, well traveled and almost always in a good mood.

- They look great. A while back when we were celebrating her birthday my gift to her was a swim cap. His gift was money for a new dress. Then he took her to New York it buy it.

- They're joined at the hip. Always together. Sometimes when they walk down the avenue holding hands he carries her purse.

- When others are in trouble they are the first ones at the door with whatever is needed - and lots of it.

- They were loving and patient with my Real Husband to the very end.

They are old enough to be my parents - but they're not. It's probably just as well. Unlike their real children we have no baggage to work through. No complications or obligations. I get that.

But a while back when a hostess said to me as I arrived late, "Your parents are already here!"

I replied, "I WISH!"

Gun Culture

In 1962 I was married, had a baby, was expecting a baby, living in South Florida and attending college. It was the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis. Everybody was afraid.

Things were so scary that some professors quit and moved north. Some people built safe houses. Many, many people bought guns. There was much conversation about an emanate nuclear attack and what that would look like. It was pretty much agreed on that most people would die but those who didn't would have to defend their homes and supplies from other South Floridians until help arrived.

My Real Husband and I thought and prayed about what to do.

We eventually came up with this plan. If the bomb hit and we lived we would help other people until we died or help showed up.

No guns or safe houses for us. This was one of the most freeing decisions we ever made. We were no longer afraid.

How We Met

Many people have asked me how I met such a remarkable man at this stage of my life. Especially since I had declared to everybody I knew that I was DONE!

"How we met" stories are fun. Today many of them have to do with the Internet. Not ours.

Many months after my Boyfriend's wife died it just came into his head to write the man who had introduced them all those years before. The man left town a few months after getting them together and they never heard from him again.

So couple of years ago (45 years after the introduction) a letter arrived for my Real Husband saying "Are you the one...?"

I wrote back, "Yes, he's the one - but he died within a month of your wife."

We were daily pen pals for a very long time before we decided to meet in Chicago. (See June Blog, "A Toddlin' Town.)

Strawberry Shake

For over eight years my Real Husband went to a dialysis clinic for six hours of treatment every other day.

Some days he was so ill afterwards that the only thing he could keep down was a strawberry shake from Burger King. So we were at the Drive Thru on a regular basis.

The only problem was that the shake machine was down - a lot. I learned that most fast food places don't sell many shakes and therefore don't make a profit on them so when the machines go down - which is often - repairs don't happen fast.

Now you might think I could just go to the next fast food place down the street with no problem. But you might not think that if you were driving with a 230 lb. semi-conscious man who might start spouting blood all over the car any minute.

One frustrating day at the Drive Thru I noticed the little sign that says something like "If you experience a problem e-mail (area, general, global, whatever) manager..." The name listed was the same as a really wild and crazy teenager we'd known 25 years prior to that time.

When I got home I e-mailed this guy with my tale of woe.

Two weeks later there was a knock on the door. There stood a 40ish year old man with two strawberry shakes.

It was the same guy. He stayed a couple of hours catching us up on his life. A good life. He would have come sooner but I had complained about the "Palm Springs" Burger King. He thought we were in California, not our neighborhood in Florida.

We had fewer problems getting the shakes after that.

Aren't people positively amazing?

My Brother

My brother and I rarely see each other. But I have such an intensity of feeling for him that it cannot be expressed. I know he feels the same way.

It's because of the way we grew up. But we both have experienced more than our share of love in our adult lives. We're blessed.

We're very different in lots of ways. He's pretty quiet. I'm full of words. But we do share a healthy sense of humor.

Several years ago we were visiting in my # 1 son's palatial home. Out of the blue my brother, who is bald but beautiful, said to my son, who's beautiful but whose hair was receding a bit,

"Don't worry about your hair. In our family most people don't go bald until their 50s."

Pause.

"But the men lose their hair a lot sooner."

Decision Time

When my Real Husband was in graduate school we had a decision to make. Should we stay in the quiet, country setting with the nice brick house but long commute - or move to the big city to live in cramped quarters on the university campus? The latter choice would require my working full time at the university.

We had two children and our #1 daughter was about to start kindergarten.

One day we visited the sweet farm wife who would also be our daughter's kindergarten teacher. Her television set was on. Ronald Reagan, the former star of movies and TV and the former president of the Screen Actors Guild and, at that time, governor of California, was giving a speech.

I asked, "Do you think Ronald Reagan will ever be president?"

She replied: "Who's Ronald Reagan?"

DECISION MADE! Off to the university.

Cup a Soup

I love Lipton's Cup a Soup. I have one of those special instant boiling water faucets at my kitchen sink so it's easy to make a cup.

Curled up in front of the TV with my hands wrapped around my toasty cup a soup was calming. Or so I thought.

Several years ago I began hanging around dialysis clinics. When the patients finished their treatments many of them couldn't leave due to low blood pressure. They were either too weak or unconscious.

The unconscious ones were given intravenous saline solutions. The ones who could swallow were given Lipton's Cup a Soup.

A couple of gulps and the B/P shot right up there!

I don't drink it so much anymore.

Begin the Beguine

Two or three nights a week my Boyfriend and I go to the lake. It's a five minute drive. There's a band-shell where different orchestras, bands, pops, etc. play every night during the summer. They're all entertaining - and some of them are quite good.

Several nights ago we strolled by to see a group of ancient people on stage. I mean they were old. Unlike every other night these oldies were singers - with only a piano accompaniment. In "There Ain't Nothin' Like a Dame." three old guys in sailor hats got up to sing and three old ladies donned grass skirts over their white pants and hulued around them as they belted it out.

It wasn't very good but they were having great fun - and so were we.

Then a woman well into her 80s got up to sing Cole Porter's "Begin the Beguine." I felt a little embarrassed for her. This is a seriously romantic song full of angst and remembrances.

I was transported from her first note.

When they begin the beguine,
It brings back a night of tropical splendor

She obviously had been a singer at one time. The notes were clear - and she sang as though she was living every word of it.

I'm with you once more under the stars
Down by the shore an orchestra's playing

And then her voice gained strength and tears filled her eyes.

So don't let them begin the beguine
Let the love that was once a fire remain an ember
Let it sleep like the dead desire I only remember
When they begin the beguine."

I was in tears too.

I Don't Sleep

I've had life long insomnia.

I went to a small private elementary school for kids who were at risk for poor health. I took required naps every day until I was 12 years old. How many times did I actually fall asleep. That would be NEVER. (But I did develop a rich fantasy life which is a good thing for a writer.)

I've traveled half way around the world. I've never slept on a plane. I've never slept in a car or any other moving vehicle.

Just last week I read some sleep expert's advice. He said not to worry about missing a night's sleep because you'll fall asleep quickly the next night. All together now HA HA HA HA HA HA! What a joke. Any true insomniac will tell you that the second night is always worse.

Some people say you can't go for more than three nights without sleeping. I've done it many times.

Pills work - but I don't want to take them for the rest of my life. So I save them for emergencies.

After a lifelong struggle I now know what to do most nights to get to sleep - but sometimes there are other priorities. Like snuggling with a grandchild.

The White Housewife and the Black Priest

One night in the 70s I sat in on a seminar dealing with the turbulent times we were having in our big southern city. A prestigious African American scholar told us that what we needed was open dialogue between blacks and whites.

I thought (sarcastically), "Yeah, if the riots would stop long enough."

A year later a brilliant young black Episcopal priest and a white mother of four were facilitating racism seminars across the south.

Ah, those were the days!

The Word

Has God ever spoken to you?

Not to me directly. If that ever happened I'd be afraid that it might not be God but a voice like that of Marshall in the movie "Mr. Brooks", giving me some very bad advice.

After my Real Husband died I was in deep trouble. By keeping up my persona as The Strongest Woman in the World nobody knew this. But it was bad, really bad.

The Christmas morning a few months after his death, my #2 daughter gave me a book of poetry. While people were opening gifts I opened the book and read the first poem.

It was as if God were speaking directly to me. Every word of the *poem was about me. It told me EXACTLY what to do. And I did it.

I've since shared the poem with many friends and family members. Not one of them has had anything near the same experience. God did not speak to them. I guess that's the way it is.

*The Journey by Mary Oliver

Beach Etiquette

A while back my Power Ranger friend was staying at the beach with a very sophisticated friend of hers from Manhattan. She invited the rest of us PRs to come for the day.

Let's see - how could we impress this highly cultured, world traveling educator from Manhattan?

Seven of us arrived at the beach wearing:

- Mismatched shorts and tops

- Big pink bunny slipper flip flops

- Chandelier earrings

- Funny glasses

We took the two of them to a fish camp for lunch. Not a pretend Disney type fish camp but a real one with fish being gutted right outside the unscreened window.

When we entered the bar we received one of the best compliments I've had since I turned 50.

Upon sizing us up - the 20 something, tattooed, Daisy Duke shorts and tank top wearing waitress said, "This group looks like trouble!"

Jazz Hands

I like jazz. To me the instrumentals and vocals sound like everybody working together (very smooth) but letting go of control.

This morning I attended church in a big old downtown cathedral. The entire service was a tribute to Duke Ellington. Not many people know that Duke Ellington wrote spiritual pieces. Just before his death he performed his spiritual work in Westminster Abby. Many years prior to that he performed sacred concerts right where I was this morning.

We could all contemplate the current controversy over the two new best selling books advocating atheism by listening to the Ellington piece, "Ain't Nobody Nothin' Without God."

It was a beautiful morning. It was smooth.

As that wild and crazy Martin Luther once said, "Why should the devil get all the good tunes?"