God's Gift

The recent report telling us that seniors are sexy (duh!) has had over the top press. The other night on Letterman's top 10 list of senior pick up lines: No. 1 was "Hi, I'm Dave Letterman."

As long as my kids were living at home I talked with them about sex - and, for the most part, they hated the conversations. What I used to say to them was "Don't ever deny your sexuality."

My denomination does a good job of helping young people deal realistically and responsibly with their budding sexuality. I wish we did the same kind of thing for every decade of our lives.

We could start with our political and religious leaders. It seems like there's always that power thing mixed up with that sex thing. But it's a lot more complicated than that.

How important is it? It's life and death.

In my opinion, God gave us a beautiful gift. But like many of God's gifts we tend to screw it up.

Needs More Study

In our political and social arenas we want fast answers to complicated questions.

In the late 70s and early 80s I was active in the League of Women Voters. Every issue was studied to death. But this was a good thing. In order to voice an opinion you had to have the facts.

In my state I was the spokesperson for the LWV opposing the lottery and casino gambling. The league's opposition at that time had nothing to do with morality. Our stance was:

The lottery and casino gambling are not a viable means of alternative tax revenue.

I was interviewed on radio, TV and in the press. Lots of hostile radio talk show guys sized me up as some little housewife (not that there's anything wrong with that) but I pretty much blew them out of the water - because we had the facts. Primarily about Las Vegas and Atlantic City.

Now, after years of having the state lottery, I still agree with the League's stance at that time.

A Beautiful Mouth

A number of people I know have really white teeth. A few, including some of my family members, have teeth that are so radiant you could read the news by them - wearing sunglasses.

Since I had a $4.00 coupon I decided to buy my first box of teeth whitening strips. It's a new brand, actually a very old brand name, and easy as pie to apply.

Last night I followed the instructions to the letter. This morning I woke up with swollen lips.

I know you're thinking: This is good. She looks like Pam Anderson.

But it's really just my upper lip so think instead Marge Simpson.

My Power Rangers would be arriving at my house at 9:00 A.M. so I applied ice for about an hour prior to then. I still had a fat lip but they were nice about it.

I'm not sure what I should do next. I could apply the WWJD principle. But I doubt that Jesus would apply teeth whitening strips in the first place.

Spilled Soup

Years ago we had a friend who was a judge and then a legislator. He was also African American. We had a special bond because he grew up in my community (long before we moved here.) His parents were servants in the winter home of a very wealthy and prominent family.

By the way, only one of those homes still exists. It's down the street from me but it houses a commercial developer's office so it's lost it's charm.

Now my friend can afford his own servants. But we call them staff.

By the way, I have no staff.

One time, at a big fancy dinner, I was honored by being seated next to my friend. Not many people in that city knew who he was. So it was surprising that, while serving the many courses to my friend, the blond waitress seemed to be angry or in pain or something.

And then she spilled a bowl of soup all over him.

He was gracious and kind to her. After she left I expressed my concern. He laughed and said,

"It happens to me all the time."

I wonder if it's still happening. I sure hope not. I hope we've come further than that.

The Dog House

My Boyfriend and I have this in common. We both used to speak occasionally to elementary school classes. We were sometimes invited to speak to "gifted" children. His goal was to interest them in architecture. My goal was to interest them in poetry.

This was long before we met each other.

If you're not skilled in communicating with gifted children, which neither of us were, it can sometimes be a challenge.

Once he visited a classroom full of second graders. He instructed them to design a dog house. Lots of questions followed. Is it in the back yard? Front yard? On a hill? Soft dirt? Slopping lawn?

One little boy asked if the area could flood. My Boyfriend said,

"Let's assume it doesn't flood."

This seven year old replied,

"Sir, we don't make assumptions in this class!"

Making Assumptions

I attended a really fun party the other night. I took my fake parents. My friend offered her house for the party as she does so graciously for many gatherings.

It's a great house.

I answered the door when one couple arrived and tried to pretend that it was my house - but, since they live right down the street from me - they didn't go for it.

Two men, who didn't know my friend well asked me, "What does her husband do?"

I said, "Wrong question. But here's the answer."

"It's her house. She's the man!"

Compromise

My Real Husband and I had "heavy discussions" about a number of things. I'll have to admit it wasn't always his fault.

When he was in seminary and I was working full time at the university he would occasionally wake me up at 1:00 A.M. to type a paper he'd just finished - and, of course, was due the next morning.

I'd drag myself to the typewriter and begin. Then stop. Because I didn't agree with what he'd written - and I didn't think he believed it either. That preceded a "heavy theological discussion."

Naming the children was a contest of wills. When we were expecting our 4th we agreed on the first name but I didn't like his middle name choice.

And I was ready to put a permanent stop to the baby business. He wasn't so sure. Despite not being a real hands on father (he was called to other things) he loved having babies.

I had a perfectly logical reason for not wanting his choice for the baby's middle name. Even though it was a biblical name (of a good guy in the Bible) I had some issues with this New Testament character.

So when our baby was two days old and still unnamed, my Real Husband arrived at the hospital with a gift. A silver charm for my bracelet. On one side the baby's full name (with the middle name he wanted) was engraved. On the other side of the hexagonal shaped charm, in large square print, was the word STOP.

I accepted the compromise.

There's More to Memphis

About ten years ago my Real Husband and I went to Memphis for a kidney convention held at the great Peabody Hotel. There is a Peabody in Florida but Memphis has the original.

The duck parade is a Peabody tradition. In Memphis the ducks arrive via the elevator and walk the red carpet to the lobby's fountain. In Florida the ducks arrive in a limo (stretch) and are escorted to the lobby's fountain by the Duckmaster.

In light of all of the troubles in the world, this may seem ridiculous to you, as it does to me, but hundreds of people line up each day to wait for the ducks to waddle into the fountain.

Our group was offered two tours. Of the 200 people who signed up, 198 of them opted for Graceland and 2 for Downtown Memphis.

My Real Husband and I enjoyed the downtown tour on the big air conditioned bus accompanied by only the driver and tour guide. The highlight was seeing the Lorraine Hotel on Mulberry Street where Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot while standing outside his room on the second floor. Our African American guide knew all the details.

During his lifetime Martin Luther King, Jr. had greatly affected our lives and was a part of life changing decisions when we were young. So this private tour was particularly moving for us.

But prior to our tour we had to drop off about 60 people at Graceland. So we got a glimpse of the "Lisa Marie," Elvis's private plane with the round bed.

High Alert

How do you handle crises? I go on high alert. But I'm not good at making snap decisions. I'm a slow reactor. I need time to process.

Early this morning my good friend called to say he felt "funny." I jumped into a pair of jeans and hurried to his house. He was sweating profusely and clutching his chest.

DO I CALL 911 OR GET HIM TO THE HOSPITAL THAT'S FIVE MINUTES AWAY?

I got him into the car and then called 911 so they'd be ready for us.

As they were working on him I called his wife, who is one of my Power Rangers. She hadn't yet reached her office. I asked her assistant to run outside, flag her down and send her to the hospital.

Five minutes later they were packing him up to air lift him to another hospital.

DO I GO WITH HIM IN THE HELICOPTER OR WAIT FOR HIS WIFE?

I waited. When she and I arrived at the new hospital he was already well into surgery. I was so pumped that I could have performed it myself.

Other good friends arrived. We waited and prayed. He did well. When I kissed his suntanned head goodbye this afternoon he was alert and talking.

Now I'm a mess.

And besides that, at least 100 special people got to see me without make up and bra less today.

My Alter Ego

Do you ever fantasize about living some other life? One that's totally opposite from the path you're on?

Several years ago I was talking with one of my Power Ranger friends and - guess what? - out of all of the role models in the world, we had the same one.

Christiane Amanpour.

If you're thinkin' "Who?" She's CNN's Chief International Correspondent. Bill Clinton calls her "The Voice of Humanity."

I've fantasized about living Christiane's life for a very long time. She really caught my imagination during the first Gulf War when she reported nightly while bombs rained down all around her.

She's not beautiful and she's not cute. Doesn't have a great hair do. Usually dresses in fatigues. She's very "no nonsense."

Even her worst critics would describe her as brave.

This week she's doing a 6 hour series on Religious Zealotry featuring the Big Three: Jews, Christians and Muslims.

I used to dream about being Christiane while emptying the diswasher for the third time in one day.

Home Again

Yes, I miss my boyfriend - but it's good to be home. I usually unpack my bags and start the washer first thing after a trip but this time I hit the ground running. I'm still dressing out of my suitcase and, after being away for 10 weeks, I'm still finding dead bugs on the floor.

The trip home (via trains, planes, cabs, etc.) took four days because I stopped mid way to see family.

Here are some travel memories:

-The Ethiopian cab driver/college student who told me the same brutal story that we hear about so many African countries. I hope he heads home when he gets his degree. He intends to. But this country/culture is so seductive.

-The really cool water fight I had with my grandchildren. I heard that it was very hot where they live so I took squirt guns. We were all drenched. Including the toddler.

-The conversation I had with my son in law about his work. Work that has saved lives and has the potential for saving thousands of lives.

-The sad newly divorced man on the train who bragged to me about his constant travel then, after a lengthy conversation, admitted that he had nothing to go home to.

-Arriving home in the middle of the night to my cool, comfy and well lit condo due to my thoughtful neighbors.

Don't worry. I'll do laundry and run the vacuum soon.

Hospitality

One summer my Real Husband and I left for an overnight trip. #1 son was home from collage for the summer and in charge of the little ones. At the time we were living in a parsonage/manse that, well, let me put it this way. It was our least favorite. The house had issues. Not the least of which was the A/C not working most of the time.

That afternoon, after we left, a "well to do" couple was traveling across the state and made a surprise visit to the parsonage. They were business people but the husband also helped lead mission trips to Central and South America for the UMC. #1 son knew and respected him.

It's important to know this because what he did was so out of character for him that we were shaking our heads about it for months.

First, he invited them to stay for dinner. They did.

What did they have to eat? I DON'T KNOW. But the younger kids loved this son's famous spaghetti casserole. It consisted of torn up pieces of baloney, raw onions and other stuff. I hope he didn't fix that.

Next he invited them to spend the night. They did.

Where did they sleep? In our bed.

When were those sheets last washed? I DON'T KNOW.

In what condition did we leave that tiny bathroom? I DON'T KNOW.

When he told us about it later he acted like it was no big deal.

Hair

Most women are ga ga about their hair. In Nora Ephram's latest book she tells about throwing a welcome home party for a friend just one day out of prison. Despite all of them being in their 60s, the former inmate was the only one with white hair.

For the first time in 20 years my hair is its natural color. It's still highlighted but the highlights are white. Why? I color my own hair and it's just seemed like too much trouble and a dangerous thing to do in my Boyfriend's pure white guest bathroom.

I've had many mishaps in my own bathroom. (Hint - don't stand on a cream colored rug to dye your hair.)

Why do I dye it myself? Because I can't afford to have it done. I get my hair cut at Great Clips for the same reason - and because they do an excellent job. A new friend noticed the other day that I'd had a haircut and, with a surprised look, said, "Oh, you found someone up here to cut your hair?"

I said, "Yes."

But I was thinking "Yeah, Great Clips is on almost as many corners as McDonald's."

One of my Power Ranger friends has hair sorta like mine. I know that she spends big money on her hair. One time I looked closely at her style, went home, applied styling gel, and pulled off approximately the same look.

I like to give money away - and spend it on things that are important to me. In order to do that I have to give up some things. It works out OK. When I had my hair cut last week I had a coupon so paid only $6.99. But I still tipped the guy $4.00.

The Day Elvis Helped Me

One day I was asked to go to the hospital to sit with parents whom I had never met - who had just witnessed their daughter's terrible accident - and were now waiting while surgery was being performed that, as it turned out, would not save her life.

Here's what happened: The young adult daughter was driving alone in her car. The parents were following in theirs. They were headed from South Florida to Memphis when the accident happened before their eyes. They knew nobody in my city.

Am I an expert in this sort of thing? Absolutely not. But there I was. We ended up spending six hours together.

Whenever the conversation died down the dad would say, "please, let's talk about something. I can't stand the silence." The last time he said it, I looked up, saw his belt buckle and knew immediately why they were going to Memphis. I said, "Were you folks headed for Graceland?"

Elvis people have always interested me. Many years ago the great Florida writer and band member, Dave Barry, went to Memphis to make fun of the Dead Elvis Followers but ended up writing a powerful and poignant story of how sincere they were.

We ended up in that hospital waiting room talking about every bit of Elvis trivia imaginable. I learned a lot.

When the doctors finally came in, it was bad. Really bad. But for the hours prior to that Elvis helped us out.

Ode To My Sock*

I'm getting packed up and ready to leave soon - and I've discovered that I've lost one of my favorite socks. Where could it be?

My daughter in law is/was a fine actress. She's doing other things now. But a few years ago she was in a short "fringe" movie called "Alice in Laundroland." A young woman takes her clothes to the laundromat. When she pulls them out of the big industrial sized dryer she reaches way back to grab her sock. Suddenly she's sucked into the dryer. Then into many strange and scary rooms. One of them is "The Room of Lost Socks."

I hope that's not where my sock is. Even though I like it a lot I don't want to go to that much trouble to find it.

(* This title is in honor of Pablo Neruda's remarkable poem "Ode to My Socks.")

As The Days Dwindle Down

What a summer! I've been my Boyfriend's house guest for more than two months. I'm going home next week. Real life awaits. Appointments have been made.

The summer was filled with friends, hiking, movies, plays, (my favorite was "Spamalot") concerts, books and cribbage. The two of us are very much alike. We were just discussing how we both like to buy the exact same athletic shoes we've always worn - on sale. I've worn white leather Original Keds for 30 years. (Despite lots of criticism, I've run many miles in them.)

We talked about this while having an Arby's roast beef sandwich - with horsey sauce - at the mall. A treat that neither of us allows more than once a year. Yum, yum.

But we're not just alike. He's very outdoorsy. He told me today about when he and his Real Wife were newly married and out for a drive deep in the woods. They happened upon a breathtaking view - and spontaneously decided to spend the night under the stars in their sleeping bags!!!

I'm glad he got this out of his system.

Drama Queens

I'm not a drama queen but there are many in my life. I love most of them. One of my favorite "over the top" friends was always supportive of me - but she constantly pressed me to step it up a notch.

Every year at Christmas time I prepared dinner for my Real Husband's staff. I liked doing this. I liked making it beautiful as well as tasty.

Every year my friend offered many suggestions and then, in frustration, offered to do the dinner herself. I always declined. Then one year, in order to get her off my back, I told her she could decorate the tables.

When I looked in the room, a couples of hours before dinner, there they were. ICE SCULPTURES! Huge magnificent ice sculptures. Many of them. They covered the tables. There was no room for place settings.

Her heart was in the right place - I guess.

Mr. Black

In the 1980s Mr. Black moved to my city. He was 96 years old. No longer able to live alone in his home state, he moved in with his son who was in his mid 70s.

Mr. Black was a bit frail but his mind was sharp. He still had a great interest in his surroundings and in the world in general. Several times I offered to write down some of his experiences. He just laughed and said "I'll be around for a while yet."

Then one day he called me on the phone. " I feel strange. Like I might die today. Will you come over and write down my stories?" I grabbed my tape recorder and drove over.

Although Mr. Black was lying on the couch, he had on a crisp white dress shirt and black trousers. He looked sharp.

For me it was a most amazing afternoon. Mr. Black talked about many things but the one I remember most was his fascination with the Wright brothers, Orville and Wilbur.

He was a grown man when they took their first successful flight in 1903. He was there at Kitty Hawk. He was rooting for them during the three years of frustration prior to that when they couldn't get anything off the ground.

Mr. Black reminded me that Orville and Wilbur were P.K.s (preacher's kids like mine) and that they grew up in a house full of books and imagination.

He didn't die that day. He died a year later when he was 100 years old.

They say that when an old person dies it's like a library has burned down. I wish we did a better job of saving the books.

Make Up

I put on makeup every day. But not much. It take me 5 minutes. Not many people see me without makeup but I usually remind those who do that they are very special.

For 8 years my Real Husband was on hemodialysis. As you may know, this is a process that cleanses the blood of those folks who no longer have kidney function. Every other day we left the house at 5:30 A.M. Early on, when he was able to get himself ready, I hopped out of bed at 5:25 A.M. slid into gym clothes and was behind the wheel of the car. Five minutes flat.

Most of the patients for that shift were in the waiting room. I always greeted each one and, of course, reminded them of how special they were to get to see me sans makeup and my hair going every which way.

Five or so hours later I arrived back at the dialysis center looking remarkably better. Sometimes the patients laughed and kidded me about how grateful they were that I'd combed my hair.

I loved this little game because most of them were dying.

The Gift Lady

Our family used to have a friend who loved to give us gifts. They weren't necessarily expensive but they were always clever and well thought out.

Once, on the morning the six of us were piling into the car for a long trip, she arrived with many brown paper bags - and an old alarm clock. She instructed the children to set the alarm for 30 minutes after we left - at which time they were to open bag # 1. Inside were balloons to be blown up and given to people at our first rest stop. And so on. Each bag had it's own instructions. That was an entertaining trip.

Later on she gave us an expensive dinner plate along with a diary. We were to use the plate to honor any person in the family who deserved it. And that person was to write about the event in the diary. We used the plate for years - for birthdays, good grades, you name it.

She liked to call us the Brady Bunch. I guess I was Carol.

Once, years after we moved from her city, she arrived for a Christmas visit. All of the children were grown. Some had their own children. She gave the same gift to each of us. A beautiful little red pocket knife.

At that time we became your worst nightmare. The Brady Bunch with knives!

Osmosis

A friend whom I've known for only a year or so said this to me:

"How do you know so much about the Bible? Is it because your husband was a minister?"

Yes,

- Like Diana Krall does jazz because she's married to that other Elvis.

- Like Christo drapes that silk cloth all over the world because he's married to Jeanne-Claude.

- Like Joan Didion writes pretty well because she's the widow of John Gregory Dunn.

- Like Hillary knows the law because Bill's a lawyer.

I wonder if I could finagle a flirtation with Stephen Hawking?

I Was Gypped

When I was having my babies in the 60s and 70s breast feeding was highly discouraged. Despite having a gift basket of formula waiting for me after my delivery, I did breast feed my first child for several weeks but just couldn't get the hang of it. And my doctor told me that only poor people breast fed. I learned too late that I should have stuck it out.

Later on, I'm proud to say that I was part of a world wide women's group that brought a multinational company to it's knees for pushing baby formula in third world countries.

Another international militant breast feeding group, the Laleche League, has made a huge difference.

While there are still women who, for good reasons, can't breast feed, there are also women who don't want their professional or social lives (or their breasts) to suffer.

I mourn not breast feeding. Both of my daughters, both professionals, breast fed their babies until my Real Husband was afraid that they would accompany their children to kindergarten.

I held each one of my babies in my arms while I bottle fed them. Still, it's not the same. I mourn not breast feeding my babies.

I know they would have had fewer health issues as children.

But on the other hand, they might have been even smarter. And I don't think any of us want that.

Friday Night at the Movies

My Boyfriend and I saw "The Boune Ultimatum" last night. Yes, that's right. We saw it on opening night. At night. Not a matinee.

Unlike "The Departed," there was much about the movie I liked. In many ways it's a beautiful movie. It was filmed all over the world. Magnificent downtowns. The editing is terrific. Lots of interesting detail.

But needs more action and less dialogue. Of course I'm kidding! Matt Damon is cute as the dickens but he has very little to say.

Many fans of this third movie in the trilogy are wondering if Jason Bourne is killed in the end. I will answer that question without spoiling the movie for you.

Yes, he's killed many times.

In the last five minutes (just after he's killed in the police car chase where about 500 cars are crashed) he's killed when:

- he crashes through a plate glass window
- he jumps over a railing and falls ten stories
- he plunges deep into the river

Enjoy the movie.

Woo Woo

When my Boyfriend visited me last winter we took a class together. This class was taught by my extraordinarily gifted friend, who is about as Woo Woo as you can get, and her boyfriend who is a singer/song writer. He's Woo Woo as well.

We loved the six week class. Mostly because it was SO creative and incorporated both writing (for me) and art (for him.)

One night 16 of us stood around 2 long tables covered with paper. Paint jars lined down the middle. She led us in a complicated way of group painting while he sang. Fun, Fun, Fun

Then she gave the 1 minute warning at which time we would be done and have to compare our group painting to the other one.

My Boyfriend grabbed a jar of paint and said, "Let's make it a Pollack." He and another person began dribbling away while the song continued.

We had, by far, the better mass painting that night. It was quite Woo Woo too.

We're Different

Right now my #1 son is on a hunting trip in Bolivia. His teenaged son is with him.

I'm not a hunter. I'm an anti-gun person. I've never held a gun. Until I saw a revolver in my daughter's evidence box when she was a prosecutor, I'd never seen a gun.

My #1 son loves the outdoors. Me, not so much.

One of the hardest decisions I've ever had to make was when he was 16 and wanted to take a three day trip through the everglades in a canoe. With only one friend accompanying him.

I did not want him to go. I didn't understand the attraction. But I had to tell myself that we were - and probably always would be - different.

He went. He was in my prayers every hour of those three days. My greatest fear wasn't alligators, or bears or snakes. Although these fears were justified. My greatest fear was people. There are some strange people in the Everglades.

They had a wonderful adventure. They pulled up and docked at fish camps for the night. While I was wide awake worrying and praying, they were safe and sound.

My #1 son has hunted all over the world. It's his passion. We're different - but I guess that's OK.

Ray Stevens

I've been to a fair only once since I was a child. I'm a big city girl.

About 20 years ago Ray Stevens was performing at a small, local fair in West Palm Beach. I've always liked Ray Stevens. If you don't know who he is, I'm sorry. I can't describe him except to say that he's a country/novelty singer - a folksy guy. Do you remember "The Streak?"

We went to the fair to see Ray Stevens.

Ray performed in a small TENT. No A/C. But he was good and sang all of his hits. When he finished we walked around the outside of the tent to try to say hello and maybe even interview him. He's such a friendly, folksy guy.

A burley man stopped us at the tent flap. When I told him what I wanted he laughed,

"Lady, his limo was sitting here with the motor running for the entire performance. He's back in his hotel room having a martini by now."

Attitude Adjustment

In 1979 the deposed Shah of Iran was in the US for cancer treatment. Some bad guys in the middle east took a bunch of American hostages. They wanted the Shah back in exchange for the hostages.

The hostages were an obsession for Jimmy Carter - and for the nation. A few of them were released but 52 hostages were held for 444 days, until January of 1981 - the day Ronald Reagan was inaugurated.

In January of 1981 I was escorting a small study group in the middle east. My Real Husband had a larger group. The itinerary was a little different because my trip was shorter. We met up from time to time.

But on this day I was in Jerusalem with my group. We were staying in a Jewish hotel that had once been a cloister for nuns. It was an ancient building. There was no heat and it was bitter cold. We Floridians wore all of our clothes every day. Sorry to say that some in my group were a little surly due to exhaustion, the cold and the frustration of the hotel having a kosher kitchen.

We were having lunch in the dining room. Maybe a third of the people in the room were Americans. All at once a man ducked in and said "The hostages have been released!"

There was spontaneous screaming and hugging. Then a person started singing "God Bless America." Soon the other Americans were singing - and then every person in the dining room was singing. We must have sung it over and over for at least five minutes. Most everybody was crying.

My group's attitude changed instantly. That day we got our priorities straight.