The Sunshine State

I'm so happy I don't live in Seattle. While it's a breathtakingly beautiful place, it rains a lot. I get to feeling a little blue when it rains or is even overcast. My theory is that, since I'm big time claustrophobic, the cloud cover makes me feel closed in.

Thank goodness I live in The Sunshine State. But the thing is, since I returned home from my Boyfriend's house nearly 2 months ago it's rained almost every day.

And not the usual one hour thundershowers we're famous for. It rains all day.

There are mushrooms in the front yard.

When I'm getting dressed for the day I think it's cool (because it's gloomy) but then I walk outside to the 90 degree sauna.

My hair is way kinky.

I feel so sorry for people who have saved their money all year to come to Disney World. Please accept my personal apology.

My Muse

My niece is a professional writer. That is to say, she's paid to write. Not true with most writers. I'm blessed with having so many "larger than life" people in my world. She fits way up there toward the top.

Since she's my children's peer we haven't been in close contact over the years. I keep up with her mother, whom I adore.

Then my niece started a blog. It's gutsy and funny. She makes herself vulnerable - but in doing so all I see is this heroic person choosing to do some really hard stuff with her life - and then blogging about it. It's not always pretty but it's always funny - and real. She's very brave.

I know what it's like to be vulnerable. I've lived in a fishbowl my entire adult life. Danger is always lurking.

But part of being a writer is being real.

My niece helped me get my blog up and running and has been exceedingly encouraging. She's my muse. But if she had a problem with any of it she'd tell me in an entertaining way - because she's gutsy, funny, brave and smart.

Oh, and a professional writer.

Once, several years ago, my niece attended a funeral where she met a couple of men, her age, that she had every reason to dislike - intensely. There was some bad family history. Innocent people whom she loves were hurt.

By the way, she is drop dead gorgeous. And, at that time she was vice president of a large bank. A powerful woman by any measure.

Anyway, these men were coming on to her. (Who wouldn't?) When one of them asked where she worked she said, "I work at XX bank." Most likely thinking she was a teller, they said, "We probably know you. We lay carpet at that bank."

(Let's think about all of the ways she could have crushed them on the spot.)

But she didn't. She was kind. Never told them what she did.

She's a class act.

My Amazing Aunt M

This remarkable woman wasn't even my aunt. She married my uncle. One of the best things she did for me was to tell me everything. She married into a family of secret keepers. My mother died when I was a little child. I grew up not knowing loads of things about myself.

She spilled the beans.

Following are some remarkable things about her.

• Despite having a very hard childhood and no role models she raised two bright children and got them through college.

• Twenty or so years after the first 2 were born she was living with her husband on a farm. She looked like a typical farm wife. Heavy set. When she wasn't feeling well she went to the country doctor. You guessed it. She was very pregnant. Neither she nor the country doctor were sophisticated enough to worry about this pregnancy in her late 40s. He said, "Just go home and do what you normally do."

• So she (successfully) raised another child.

• Meanwhile her husband died. You would think she might throw in the towel. But her life took on new meaning.

• In her late 50s she learned to drive.

• Nobody knew that she had never graduated from high school until she studied and took her GED.

• She traveled with her girlfriends and family members. She went to Europe.

• She became president of her women's club. She was a leader in her church.

• Everybody loved her. Letters addressed to Aunt M and only the name of her medium sized city were delivered to her door.

• She was notoriously thrifty. She bought only necessities. Once, when she was visiting our family my son, who was on the high school track team, needed new running shoes. I balked at the price. She said nothing but purchased a very nice hand towel and presented it to him. I got the message.

Right up until her early 80s she was a delightful, funny, intelligent, gracious force to be reckoned with.

She helped shape my life.

Save the Planet

My Boyfriend and I are taking this class on Wednesdays. It's about saving the planet. I'm into that. Call me crazy, but it just seems like a worthwhile endeavor.

The class if full of really smart and cool people and includes a catered lunch so how can it be anything but fun? Oh yes, and terrifying.

It was suggested by our leader that, instead of using the disposable plates, cups, etc. provided by the caterer, we bring our own utensils from home and reuse them.

I wanted to do this despite the fact that the disposable plates provided are made from corn and are, in fact, edible. We have proof because a young man in the class took a bite.

Didn't want to buy anything new. Finally found some old plates and cups. I'm carrying them back and forth in a plastic bag - but I'm washing all of these things and reusing them.

Here's why we should reuse plastic. In our society we're encouraged to throw it away but it lasts forever!

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Today's Save the Planet tip: Never fertilize your lawn if you live on water.

Sharing

My Boyfriend and I share a lot. We're light eaters so we share lots of meals. There's a really nice seafood restaurant close to my condo. They have a great lunch special consisting of fried fish, baked potato, cole slaw, rolls and butter. It costs $7.95. We share it.

Lately we've noticed that when I can't think of a word he can. And visa versa. So now we're sharing a brain.

Lots of couples, as they get older, share a brain. It's so practical.

Love Letter

I've been accused of not being very lovey dovey. I don't want any flowers or presents. Anniversaries don't mean much to me. In fact, I usually have to be reminded. And, please, no surprises!

But I feel totally lovey dovey and wild about my Fake Parents. As you may remember, they eat in restaurants 3 times a day. If I'm meeting them I get all gooey when I see them walking across the street holding hands.

But he's not feeling well so they've been stuck in their (big, beautiful, high rise) condo for a couple of days.


Yesterday my Boyfriend and I stopped by with dinner. We thought they'd be in bed (when he lies down so does she) but when we arrived they both looked like they'd stepped out of a band box.

Even though he was in serious pain, we had a fun visit and laughed a lot. Just what I needed. I never, ever feel like I'm doing something for them when we're together.

They always brighten my day. They always make me feel gooey.

Have I mentioned that they've been married for 64 years?

Who Are We?

There's a controversy in my state about the manner of applying the death penalty. Lethal injection has been used but malfunctioned a while back resulting in the long, painful death of a convicted killer.

This morning's letters to the editor in the paper advocate even harsher ways to kill these people.

To me, it's not about the murderers. It's about us. Do we really want to be people who get pleasure and relief from torturing others?

My boyfriend and I saw a sobering, thought provoking movie the other night -"In the Valley of Elah" staring Tommy Lee Jones. It's R rated for good reason. Unlike "The Bourne Ultimatum" this is about real life.

It's about sweet, innocent young men who have been trained to protect us -becoming monsters. It's based on fact.

When Jimmy Carter was the governor of Georgia he had a convicted murderer working for him as a trustee in the governor's mansion. She was so outstanding that when Carter became president he took the woman (Mary Prince) to live with him and Rosalynn in the white house. She was later found to be innocent and was pardoned, but that's beside the point.

There are all kinds of ways to deal with human beings.