What A Handy Thing To Take On A Picnic!

So, I was driving home from school the other afternoon and I saw this guy peeing by the side of the road. Just standing there, peeing against a tree. I was appalled. I just couldn't believe it. It wasn't like he had even stepped into the trees. He was just standing there by the side of the road, facing into the trees. Peeing.

And you know how those thoughts go whizzing through your brain at like ten million miles an hour, one right after the other?


Well, that's just...rude.

I can't believe it.

Right by the road.

Anyone could see him.

Anyone.

Oooooh, I can't believe it.

What?

What...is that?

Wait a minute.

I could have sworn that branch was a...

Heh. That's a bush.

Looked JUST like a guy standing there.



Oh. Never mind.

Just Like A Pair Of Old Blue Jeans

Today is the first day of school AND my 30th wedding anniversary. Needless to say, we won't be indulging in a wild, drunken celebration this evening. Like we TOTALLY do that all the time. (She snorts with laughter, possibly snorting a little Caffeine-Free Diet Mountain Dew out her nose.) I'll probably collapse on the couch when I get home and maybe manage to summon enough energy to, just possibly, pick up the phone and order some dinner. Then we will probably watch us some Stargate. Another exciting evening at the home of Mrs. Who.


30 years. Wow. That's a lot of time. And it has FLOWN by. It really has. Life has a way of doing that. Just flying by so fast. Sometimes you wish it would slow down for just a moment, so you can enjoy and just relish that special moment a little longer. But there's always another one of those coming along if you are patient.


I have done some thinking about marriage with the arrival of this 30th anniversary. And here's what I have decided.


Marriage is like a pair of blue jeans. Bear with me.

When we were first married, marriage was like a brand new pair of jeans. Kinda stiff, kinda uncomfortable, kinda...annoying. They didn't fit quite right yet. We had to bend and stretch and wash them hundreds of times and wear them and train them to fit our butts just right. But now they do. They fit just right. Just perfect. I would not want a new pair of jeans. I love my jeans. They are, quite simply, the best pair of jeans I have ever had.


And I think I'll wear them for another 30 years.



Happy Anniversary, Baby. I love you.

I See A Biiiiiird...

Flash Back Friday

Y'all already know how crazy I am about clothes so can you imagine how I felt when I LOST ALL MY CLOTHES? No, I'm not just talking about the clothes off my back. I mean ALL MY CLOTHES.


It happened when I was sixteen. We lived in New Jersey but never considered ourselves Damn Yankees. My dad was from Kentucky, still owned a farm there and most of our family still lived in Kentucky. So we were Southerners to the bone. A couple years later, I went to the University of Kentucky, my family moved back to Kentucky and I never returned to New Jersey. And good riddance. And I am so sorry if y'all live in New Jersey. But come to Kentucky and you may never go back either. Anyway. I was sixteen and I lived for clothes. You may be asking how that is different from now and my answer is...well, it's not that different. I had a job at Mason's department store in the stockroom and every penny I made went towards buying new clothes. So, I had a lot of clothes. Darling clothes. Darling, I tell you.

Well, the time came for our summer vacation. Summer vacation for us normally consisted of either visiting family in Kentucky or my grandmother in Pensacola and this was a Kentucky summer. I had a boyfriend at the time and the thought of being separated from him for a week was just more anguish than my teenage heart could bear and my parents, taking pity on me and tired of hearing me whine, allowed Arthur to go on vacation with us. I packed up my suitcase with practically every stitch of clothing I owned (I still overpack.) and we got the car packed up. Arthur volunteered to tie our suitcases on the roof of the car. Carefully, he put them up there and looped the rope around and around, tying several tight knots.

And we set out for Kentucky.

Arthur and I were lying in the back and my two brothers were (fighting) sitting in the backseat. It was early and dark but as it got lighter and lighter and I got drowsy, looking out the back window, I noticed two birds fly by. Or I thought they were birds. I thought drowsily "Biiiiiirds..." and never thought another thing about it.

A couple of hours later, we stopped for a rest. And the suitcases were gone. GONE. They had blown off the top of the car. They were the two birds I had seen. You have never heard such weeping and wailing as I gave out when I realized my clothes were gone. My dad actually turned around and drove back for a couple of hours, looking for the suitcases. We stopped at a state police station and they assured us they would let us know if anyone turned them in. We headed back for Kentucky and I spent half the trip with my nose pressed against the window, looking for my precious clothes. But alas. They were never seen again.

Y'all. I had the clothes on my back. That was all. My darling gold culotte dress with the cunning little brown leather belt. My cocoa brown culottes (shut up, culottes were the RAGE) with the matching pink, brown and white striped sweater with the darling little cap sleeves. All my precious Bonnie Belle makeup. My many, many pairs of fabulous wedgie sandals. Gone. Gone. Gone.

It was probably the worst fashion experience of my life. Even worse than the time I got the blue jean skirt stuck on my hips in the dressing room and couldn't get it off and Liz had to help me. I still think about some of those clothes. And the person who must have picked up my suitcase. And kept my lovely clothes.


Curse them. May they get a blue jean skirt stuck on their hips in a dressing room and have nobody to help them and so they have to get someone to cut it off. Maybe even taking just a little tiny bit of skin with it.

If You Give The Librarian A Bagel (With Apologies to Laura Numeroff)

If you give a librarian a bagel, she is going to want some cream cheese.



If you put cream cheese on the bagel, she's going to want a plate.



If you take the bagel with cream cheese on a plate to eat in the car on the way to work, she will want to balance it on top of the glass container of salad you are taking to work to share for lunch.



If you go around a corner JUST a little too sharply, the bagel plate will begin to slide towards the passenger door.



If you try to catch the bagel on a plate with one hand while driving with the other, your fingers will just catch the edge of the plate, but then it will sliiiiiiide off the salad container and plop down between the seat and the passenger door.



If you pull over and open the passenger door to try to rescue your breakfast, the plate will tip over and dump the bagel neatly onto the pavement at your feet.



If you feel very, very annoyed that your raisin cinnamon bagel with cream cheese is now bird food, cheer up.



School has not started yet. You can be a little late. You can get a cinnamon roll with icing on your way to work. You immediately cheer up.



If you give a librarian a cinnamon roll. Well...she's pretty happy. And she won't want that old bagel.



But if you give a librarian a bagel with cream cheese. Put it on a napkin. Maybe it won't make an escape that way.

“Grandchildren are God's way of compensating us for growing old.”

-Mary H. Waldrip

I thought I understood how the other grandmother felt. How it must be so difficult for her, being so far away from her only grandchild. Only seeing him a few times a year. I put myself in her position and felt her pain and sorrow and my heart hurt for her. Or so I thought.

This weekend, she was in town for a visit. We didn't get to see Wes at all. Liz posted some photos on her blog yesterday. The other grandmother with the perfect boy. I have spent a lot of time with him this summer, so I feel especially close to him right now. Even more so than usual. And when I saw her holding him in her lap, I felt...sad is not a strong enough word. Anguish. Pain. My heart literally hurt in my chest. It HURT. I don't feel jealous. It's not that kind of pain. I am willing to share him. I know it's good for him to have lots of people who think he is the most perfect child on earth. But I missed him. I wanted to touch his face. Kiss his cheek and his neck. Hear him laugh. And it hurt that I couldn't.

And that's how she feels. Every day. Every single day.

I thought I understood how the other grandmother felt. But I was stupid. Stupid. I was smug in my understanding of her pain. I realize now I had no idea. I'm so sorry, Alice.

You Spent HOW MUCH On Shoes?

I am FAR from an expert on investing. These are just the things I have learned and thought I would share with y'all. If any one bit of advice helps someone, I'll feel that this was worth writing.

I had lunch with one of my good friends the other day and, since it had been several months since we had a chance to talk, it was a four-hour lunch. Yep. Four hours. And we talked non-stop the whole time. The one thing that really stayed with me about our conversation was our talk about money and investments. She is helping her parents manage their estate and, since Tom and I have been through that fairly recently with his mom passing away, I gave her what little advice I could, based on what we have learned in the last few years. I was pretty impressed with myself when she made me stop talking so she could get a pen and paper from her purse and write down the advice I was giving her. So, I thought I'd write down some financial advice for y'all. So you don't have to get out pen and paper.



1. One of the teachers at my school and a good friend recommended to me years ago that I get disability insurance. I had never heard of it, knew nothing about it and was completely uninterested. But she opened my eyes about the possibility of something happening to me, all my sick days being used up and the bills still waiting to be paid. So, I got disability insurance for me and for Tom. We have not yet had to use it. But I'm still glad I have it.



2. Are you saving any money? What's that? You think you don't make enough to save? You have too many bills? Yeah, that's what I said for years and years and years. When Tom and I first got married, his parents recommended that we live on one salary and save the other. As soon as we left their house, we rolled our eyes at each other and chortled. We had way too many bills to pay and any extra money - well, we NEEDED that new stereo system with the reel-to-reel setup, right? No. We did not. We should have listened. Or, at the very least, paid a savings account before we paid ourselves. Ideally, have it taken out of our check before we ever got it. That's the best way to save. $10 out of each check may not seem like much, but it adds up fast and the interest compounds. That means (I'm at kindergarten level here - forgive me if you have millions invested in the stock market.) you make interest on your interest.



3. If your company offers a 401k, sign up now. Today. For teachers, this is a 403b. Some companies will match what you put in up to a certain amount. That is like found money. Teachers are laughing aloud here since that is never going to happen for us, but you can still have money put automatically into a 403b. That is TAX-FREE MONEY. Technically, it's tax-deferred because, until you take it out, you do not have to pay tax on it. So, not only are your compounding your interest, you are not paying tax on it. If you do not have a 401k or a 403b, set one up today. Today.



4. If you do not have a Roth IRA, go to the bank today and set one up. Today. Let me repeat that. Today. You can put up to $4,000 in if you are under 50 and $5,000 if you are over 50 for 2007. That does not mean you HAVE to put that much in. You can put in $50. Just start one. Because, people! This money is ALWAYS TAX-FREE. You will never, ever, ever have to pay tax on that money. Ever. This is the only investment vehicle that can say that. That's why the government only lets you put in such a comparatively small amount.



5. Once you get a pretty good amount of money in your savings account, you need to get some invested in the stock market. You want to be diversified, or have money in several different accounts with varying levels of risk, so you don't want ALL your money in the stock market. And you don't want to think in the short term when you invest in the stock market. In the long term, it's a good investment. Don't try to go out and pick stocks for yourself. Just go to a bank where you feel comfortable and know some people and use their free investment advice. Most banks have this, some offer more services than others. Look for one that actually has investment people who do that full-time. Now, let them advise you about setting up a mutual fund. A mutual fund is a fund that will contain various stocks and, sometimes, bonds, if you set it up that way. The fund will have a manager that will do all your investing for you. They will make the decisions about what to invest in and when to buy and sell. You just sit back and let your money grow and try not to have a stroke when you lose money one week. (I'm talking to you, Tom.)



6. If you have kids and think they might someday go to college, set up a 529 account with that same investment advisor. This is an account where you savings can grow for those college expenses and it is also tax-free, until you take the money out.



7. However. I have read several articles lately that emphasize you should plan for retirement BEFORE you plan for college, so plan accordingly. It is much more important that you have a comfortable retirement than your kids having money for college. That may sound very selfish, but look at this way. There are college loans available for students. There are no retirement loans. And how would you pay it back if there was? You won't be working! Your kids have plenty of time to pay back those college loans and they will certainly be glad they don't have to support you when you are retired. Or you could think about paying for part of their college, getting loans for part and letting them work (gasp!) for their spending money. These decisions will vary from family to family.



So, the bottom line is, save. Save now. Invest now. Even if you think you can't afford it.

Did you just buy a new pair of shoes? You can afford it.

"A Balanced Diet Is A Cookie In Each Hand."

Diet? Oh, yeah...I kinda forgot about that. I don't know why, every summer, I think I'm going to exercise and lose weight. I'm going to have all this time! I'm going to get up and exercise EVERY MORNING and then I'm going to eat healthy and swim and walk and eat some more healthy food and the pounds will just FALL OFF! But I never learn. It never happens. Because I am too lazy. And the refrigerator is RIGHT THERE. You get the idea. It's actually harder to lose weight in the summer than when I am working. And last week? Fuggedaboutit.



Tom sometimes complains that I don't cook enough. Bless his little heart. I cooked at home exactly one night last week. I had plans to go out to dinner every other night last week. I didn't plan it that way. (Oh, if only I could.) It just happened. Dinner with my sister and sister-in-law when my sister comes into town, dinner with a couple we have known for years, dinner with friends...it just happened. So, no cooking last week. And that means forget the diet. I know that, theoretically, you can eat healthy when you eat out. There actually are salads and vegetables and grilled meats on that menu. It is possible. But everything fried and crispy and covered with gravy and buttery and cheesy and lip-smackin' good is the stuff that is bad for you. Sigh. It's a conundrum. Eat healthy or eat delicious. Yeah, I know what you are going to say. It IS possible to do both. But I don't think most restaurants have come to the same conclusion. Have you ordered the vegetable side at most restaurants? It's that plastic broccoli, carrot and snap pea or green bean combination that is revolting.



You know what someone should do? Someone should open a Weight Watchers restaurant. Where everything is labeled on the menu with the points and everything is delicious and fresh and there are lots of vegetables and fresh fruit choices. It IS possible to have good, healthy diet food when you eat out. It's just not easy.



So, I'll try. I'll carefully check the menus and try to order something both good AND healthy. And now that I'm back at school? I'm sure I'm going to be able to exercise and diet. Not because I say that EVERY SINGLE YEAR. Because this year is going to be different.



Because I have that Yoga DVD. And that's going to make all the difference in the world.



Or maybe I can just wait and start next summer. I'm SURE it will be different next summer.

Neatest Girl In 8th Grade

Flash Back Friday

So, I was reading this post about her daughter's obsession with clothes over at Big Mama the other day and it got me to thinkin'. You know how obsessed I am with clothes, shoes, earrings and all the accoutrement's which go along with projecting my image as a hot, middle-aged librarian with a poochy tummy that I cleverly conceal by never, ever, under pain of death, tucking anything in. But what you may not realize is that I have always been this way. Always.


One of my fondest memories involves being selected and denoted as such in the junior high year book as the neatest girl in the 8th grade. Now, you might be a little confused about the definition of "neatest" unless you are a baby boomer, like me. Back then, neat did not mean neat as in "You have such a neat desk!" but neat as in cool and groovy. Yes, we actually said groovy back then. And we often said things were neat. I sometimes find myself saying something is neat even now. Not groovy so much, though. That would really date me. I might have had stick legs and bangs in junior high as my husband often reminds me when I find myself getting just a little cocky, but I was dressed to the nines. And that expression dates me so much that I guess I don't have to worry about ever saying groovy again.


I had dozens of little mini skirts and matching sweaters and - here's the important part - my knee socks ALWAYS matched my sweaters. I even remember someone commenting on that one time. "Wow, your knee socks always match your sweaters." Seriously. I'm not making that up. That someone actually said that or that I remember it. I can't remember 99% of my childhood, but I remember someone commenting on my knee socks. And I wore those Mary Jane shoes that everyone was wearing back then. In hindsight, they were incredibly ugly and looked ridiculous on junior high girls, but they were in style, they were cool and groovy and neat and, damn, we had to have them!


So, basically, I was the be-all and end-all of fashion in my junior high. And I was voted accordingly. It's all in my permanent record. I can show you the yearbook if you don't believe me.

Just A Little Pinch

So, I had a breast biopsy yesterday. For those of you who love me (and it is so very nice that there are SEVERAL of you), you don't have to gasp and grab your chest to quiet your faltering heart, it wasn't that kind of biopsy - it was a biopsy of a mole on my breast. My dermatologist found it during my yearly checkup with her. She asked me how long it had been there and if it had changed, because she had not made a note about it last year. I hesitated, then told her I thought it had been there for years and years and had never changed but, honestly? I wasn't really sure. I am very aware that one of the rolls on my stomach has gotten bigger this summer (damn you, iced sugar cookies from the bakery!) and I'm sure I have more cellulite dimples on my thighs, but that mole on my breast? That's just not an area I look at closely in the mirror that often.


She assured me that she thought it was fine, but it was a little irregularly shaped and a little red, so she wanted to do a biopsy just to make sure. I'm fine with making sure. I'm absolutely fine with it. I just wasn't too sure about a biopsy. The nurse reclined my table and pulled out the bottom part where your legs go and set up this little table with a clean white cloth and...a needle (A NEEDLE) and a small scalpel (A SCALPEL). The doctor came in and I wanted to ask if it would hurt but I felt like a baby asking that so I didn't. She picked up something from the table - I don't know what, I wasn't about to watch what she was doing to my breast - and said "Little pinch, little sting". And that's all it was. Then she touched me gently with one finger and said softly "Can you feel that at all?" And I said no and I guess she picked up the scalpel and cut a piece out of me because I just felt a little pressure and it was over. She put a little round band aid over it and they told me to keep it clean and covered and they will let me know the results next week but they are sure it is nothing.


So, here's the point of this post. I'm sure it's nothing. I trust her when she said it was nothing. But, if it was something? They will have found it very early and we will take care of it. And they found it early because I see a dermatologist every year for a checkup. Do you?


I actually went for the first time a couple of years ago because I was annoyed (not concerned, just annoyed) by this sun damage spot on my face. I was very surprised when the nurse told me to undress completely, down to my panties and put on a gown. I guess I thought she would look at my face and that would be it. But when you have a checkup with a dermatologist, they check you from head to toe. Every mole, every mark, everything. And they ask questions about them. And then they burn off whatever they don't like. Actually, I guess it's technically freezing it off but it burns like 1,000 suns directed through a magnifying glass onto my skin, so it seems like burning to me. The last time I was there, she burned off this rather large mole that had developed in my hairline (it wasn't actually a mole, but I forget what she called it. Something not dangerous, but large and annoying.) and when the frozen stuff hit that mole, it went right through my skin and into my brain and I think it burned a few brain cells because it hurt like holy hell. But then the mole peeled right off in a few days and it was worth it. And she told me I should have a checkup every year and my insurance would cover it. This time, she burned off that sun damage place on my face so now I have a lovely, swollen, mutant brown spot on the left cheek, just in time to go out for dinner with some friends.


So, the important thing is, if I have anything strange developing on my skin on any part of my body, she will find it. And take care of it. And that's very reassuring. I would be much more reassured if I knew that all my friends and family saw a dermatologist once a year for a checkup.


Do you? Then make an appointment right now. Right now.

Hello, My Name Is...

I have recently come to the conclusion that you never really know someone. Anyone. Even that person you are the closest to, your best friend, your sibling, your lover, your spouse. If you disagree, just try getting into a discussion with someone about something you feel strongly about, like a right to an abortion or gay marriage. You may find you don't really know them at all. Or even just making conversation with someone, you may find out something about their life you didn't know. Some private agony they are suffering that you never dreamed about. You can't tell that kind of thing by a hi, how are you? kind of conversation.

I say my prayers every night. Do you? It's surprising how many people do. This came up in a conversation with one of my friends recently and I was surprised to find that she prayed every night. That she was praying for some of the same people I was praying for. Maybe surprised isn't the right word, because she is a good person, but...slightly taken aback. Like maybe I thought I was the only person who did that. Which is dumb, I know. I pray every night. It's kind of silly because I say the same prayer I have been saying since I was a little girl...Now I lay me down to sleep. Then, I pray for my family and friends and for anyone who seems to need some extra help. I don't know if it helps. I know it makes me feel better.

But here's the thing. Just in idle conversation with my husband the other day, I asked him if he prayed. Now, we are not what you would call really religious people. We haven't been to church in years. Years. But you know what he said? Yes. Yes, he prays. He has been praying for our son to find a job just recently, since this has been a big issue for Mark. But the point I am trying to make is this. I didn't know Tom prayed. If someone had asked me, I would have said no. Definitely no. But he does.

So here's all I'm saying. I know Tom. I know I can count on him. I know he loves me. I know we are not going to get a divorce. But, apparently, I don't really know him.

Even when you think you know someone. You never really know someone. And I guess sometimes that can be a good thing. Because my husband prays. And I like that he does.

I like that he does.