Still Muddling Thru

Sorry for not writing lately but I’ve been dealing with a couple of snow storms and company.  Many of you deal with snow all the time during the winter months, but in my neck of the woods, a dusting is a major news event.  Since I was born and raised in the Midwest, I’m familiar with snow and the unspoken rules of surviving.  However, when you live in an area where people freak out when they see a flake, you quickly realize that winter common sense is on short supply. Clearing parking lots and sidewalks is a must.   In states that are prone to large amounts of snow, it is often enforced or at least expected that everyone clears their sidewalks as soon as possible, if not multiple times.  You shovel a path, connect the path to your neighbor’s path, clear a path to the front door and maybe even a potty path for the poor pooch.   If it snows for several hours or drifts, this might require additional shoveling, along with salt to prevent freezing.  Makes sense, don’t you think?

In addition to the sidewalks, if you are a management company, or a store, you are also expected/required to clear your parking lot for tenants and customers.  Usually, you will hear the private plow trucks working all night, scrapping the lots, and the unforgettable sound of beeping as they back up to clear the next row.  The larger towns often have alternate days when you can park on one side of the road or the other, thus allowing the city time to clear the parking spaces on both sides of the road.  Spaces, lots and roads are cleared as soon as possible and treated with salt to prevent any late night freezing.  After all, who wants to be liable for someone slipping and injuring themselves on your property?  That’s a no brainer!  

However, in states that do not deal with snow and large amounts on a regular basis, winter common sense and snow etiquette are nonexistent.  Perhaps, we need a few of the snow states to create a training video for the less experienced states?  Snow Removal for Dummies.   Recently, my area was hit with 10 inches of snow.  Don’t laugh. The schools and city management shut down with an inch!  I live in a 3 story home where the landlord lives in the upper two levels and myself and another tenant live on the ground floor.  My landlord also owns the house next door with 3 tenants.  Behind my house we are designated one parking spot each.  Next door has ample space for the tenants and overflow for us.  During the recent storm, our parking spaces were inaccessible due to drifting snow.  This caused everyone to park next door.  However, that was not the case and it became a parking war since the lot was not cleared by the owner.   Imagine working 12 hours, coming home late at night only to find no available parking.  You’re tired, you’re cold, and now you’re pissed off.    Sure, I tried to do the right thing. I cleared the spot that my car sat in during the storm only to find my spot now occupied by the owner’s overcompensating double cab truck.  The car shuffle game continued for 10 days until the weather melted away the snow.   Wait long enough and the weather will do the job for you.

Then I heard people complaining about no mail delivery.  “Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds”, isn’t that their motto, I heard some say.  Really? Well, not if you don’t clear your damn sidewalks or parking lots, what do you expect?! Get a clue folks, if you clear it, they will come to you. 

The Christmas that was cancelled is a well known story around our holiday table or over a few beers.  In some ways, I’m almost embarrassed to tell it to people outside my inner circle. Many might judge me as a bad parent or a Scrooge.   Although it was painful at the time, I think my kids look back on it as a classic family tale.  If not, I’m sure they will get their revenge when I’m old and gray and they shove me in a nursing home.  Any hoo, grab a cup of hot chocolate, warm your feet by the fire, sit back and enjoy the adventure.

Many, many years ago when my girls were still young enough to believe in Santa (at least the youngest), we had an unfortunate incident happen a couple of weeks before Christmas.   As a working mom, my time was tight so, as I purchased gifts for the family, I shoved them on top of a cedar chest in my walk in closet.  Now in my defense, the clothes hanging above the chest touched the top of the chest, thus creating a perfect hiding spot for my bagged gifts…or so I thought.  My plan was to wait until the kids were out playing, lock the door and wrap all the presents at once.  After all, I had plenty of time to get them under the tree and time was limited.  Apparently, I wasn’t as clever as I thought. 

  Upon returning home from work one day, I noticed my closet light was on and the door cracked open.  Thinking I must have forgotten to turn out the light and shut the door, I dismissed this error on my part and went about my evening.  However, the next day, when I came home from work, once again the light was on and the door was cracked open.  A pattern was beginning to emerge.  So the next morning, I paid close attention and made sure the light was off and the door was closed.  Would the closet fairy return? We shall see.

To my horror, when I got home from work, the light was once again on and the door cracked open.  Someone was snooping in my closet.  Now what?  Since the items were all in bags, did they see everything?  Is Christmas ruined? Suddenly the answer appeared in front of me in the form of my youngest child.   Although she was a smart child, the emotion of Christmas overwhelmed her and common sense went out the window. Excitement  took control of her like truth serum.  With her big brown eyes and her body twirling to and fro, she blurted out to me, “Mommy, I know I’m not suppose to say anything, but……” as she hesitates to continue, “I just love the slippers you got me for Christmas!” Busted!   Better than a line up in a cop movie, the guilty (or at least one of them) confesses before the questioning begins.  Under further investigation, the little one spills the fact that the oldest found (and I use the word loosely, more like searched) the Christmas stash, and dragged her little sister into the dirty deed.  Mortified, I panicked.  What should we do?  Being an only child and from parents that went through the Great Depression, I never thought of peeking.  Who cares what color my new panties or shoes are?  It certainly wasn’t worth getting into trouble for.  

I asked my husband for advice since he came from a family of 6 children who grew up in a very small house.  Surely, with that many kids, he must have experienced an incident of peeking.  To my dismay, he couldn’t remember any slip ups.  As we huddled in our bedroom in search of a plan of action, we called his father for advice.  Surely, he would tell us a good story and offer some words of wisdom.  After telling him about the closet fairy and the confession, we asked him, “Has this ever happened to you?  What did you do?”  His response, “I can’t give you any advice, it never happened with our kids.  We weren’t dumb enough to store the gifts at our house.  We always kept them at our neighbor’s house a couple of doors down.”  There it was, the cold hard facts, we were dumb parents.  

Trying not to feel defeated, we came up with a plan to teach our girls a lesson.  We would cancel Christmas or at least lead them to think their actions caused them to lose their gifts.  I know, we are mean, but it seemed like a good idea at the time and we were desperate.  Desperate times call for desperate measures. We called the children into the living room and gave them a long lecture on peeking pros and cons 101.  “Do you realize that peeking ruins the surprise of Christmas?  What is the point of having wrapped presents if you know what is inside?  We’re calling Santa and telling him to take all the presents back since there is no point in keeping them.  Your actions have ruined Christmas so don’t expect any presents under the tree this year.”  Yeah, I know, we went overboard.  They cried and whimpered off to their rooms.

The next day, we wrapped all the presents, shoved them into several black large leaf bags and while the kids were outside telling their friends of the horrors of the Christmas Nazi, we shoved them up into the attic space, and out of sight.  Now if we can only keep a straight face, we can fool them.  We agreed to let them sweat it out and to postpone Christmas by one day, thus creating the illusion that all the gifts were indeed sent back to Santa.

The days leading up to Christmas were grim in our household.  Each day they would come home from school and check to see if any presents were under the tree.  When the lack of gifts was questioned, I reminded them that Christmas was cancelled and the gifts were indeed sent back as promised.  Yes, I lied.  Yes, I’m going to hell and I’m driving the bus.  

Tension mounted.  Finally Christmas morning arrived and the tree was bare.  No presents, no stocking stuffers, no joy.  We managed to ruin their Christmas; shame on us.   Later that morning, as all kids do, it was time to go outside, to play and compare gifts with the neighborhood.   The look on their faces was almost too much to bear.    How could they admit their shame and tell their friends they were so bad that they received nothing.  Parent guilt was also becoming unbearable.  How could we make it through another 18 hours? After a long morning of sad faces, the charade was too much and the suffering of our children too great.  We couldn’t stand another minute of disappointment in their eyes.  It’s time to turn it around and bring Christmas back. 

  While the kids continued to sulk outside, we quickly brought down the black bags and loaded the presents under the sad tree.  Calling the kids into the house, we sat them on the steps by the front door and in a final attempt to burn an impression into their minds, we threw at them one more lecture on how their peeking had ruined Christmas for everyone.  With tears in their eyes, and apologies to never do it again, we sternly told them to get into the living room.  Upon entering the room, their little hearts lit up with joy and delight to see that the presents had indeed returned. Christmas was back.  All was well in the household.

Months later, we became friends with some of the neighborhood parents, and over a few beers, this tale of woe was told.  The couple across the street began to laugh and said, “Oh, so you are the parents that didn’t buy any gifts for your kids.”  She proceeded to tell us her own tale of woe. Apparently, her kids came running home on Christmas day upset and distraught their friends had nothing for Christmas. She in turn got upset too.  How terrible of those parents to not get their kids ANYTHING. What kind of parent’s are they?  Something must be done to save Christmas! She proceeded to tell us her plan to borrow the credit card so she could run out and buy those babies a present.  To our shame, we admitted to being those bad parents. 

Some people love Christmas.  It’s all about the shopping, baking cookies, and finding great deals.  Some of us are crazy enough to get up at o’dark thirty the day after Thanksgiving to fight for outrageous deals.  Some shop all year round, collecting presents throughout the year until it builds to this massive celebration of gifts galore.  

However, some of us dread the thought of shopping.  Perhaps it’s because in general we don’t like to shop.  I’ve never been one to spend the day shopping and label it as fun.  I guess that disqualifies me as a potential rich kept woman.  Somehow spending the day shopping, lunch, and spas does not appeal to me.

To complicate the matter, I have several people in my family that are not easy to buy for.  One is the type of person who if they see it, they buy it so they are never lacking for anything in their life.  Finding an item that is clever, useful and something they would use is next to impossible.  The other family member has several hobbies and provides plenty of “would be” awesome gifts, it’s just all those items are specific and requires a lot of recon information.  For example, he likes guns and has several, but that is a very personal thing and purchasing an item that would fit him or his weapons is extremely difficult.  Then there is the person who you want to buy something nice for them, they need everything, but every time they get into a money pinch, they hock the items for cash.  So do you purchase something for them knowing it will probably be taken to Cash Converters?  

Dilemma, dilemma…what to do?  How do I find the perfect gift?  How do I find a gift that brings the joy and excitement we felt as a child?  Sure, for the picky person, I could give them gift card but for family members, that seems so cold and impersonal.  It screams, “Hey, I thought of you briefly while in the Walmart line so here is a gift card, be happy and shut up.”  

I use to be clever when my kids were younger and we all lived at home together.  I would pay attention to the items they looked at whenever we would go shopping together, or pay attention to their conversations at home.  I would make notes to search for the items and to their surprise the item appeared for Christmas.   Now, since they are grown adults and no longer live with me, the task has become increasingly more difficult.   I no longer have my finger on the pulse of their wants and desires.  I am basically clueless.  

Over Thanksgiving, my son-in-law told me he was purchasing a turntable for my youngest daughter.  First of all, why in the hell would she want a turntable?  Turntables were before her time so it’s not like it’s a nostalgic thing so why now?  He suggested that I purchase some albums for her. After all, what is the point of having a turntable with records?  So, I asked for a list of bands so I could search for the albums.  Well, I received the list this past weekend.  I am sad to report that I am official old and out of touch.  Out of seven on the list, I recognize only three of the bands.  Who are these people and where did my child who enjoyed the Backstreet Boys go?  

Another famous person has been exposed for “indecent sexual behavior”.  But what exactly is considered indecent sexual behavior and where do we draw the line?  Has the pendulum swung so far the other way that any unwanted sexual comment or gesture from a man towards a woman will be considered indecent sexual behavior?  (I’m going to go out on a limb here and probably upset a few women but hey, here goes nothing.)

In my opinion (yeah, we know, everyone has an opinion and they are all shitty), there are different degrees or levels of certain bad behaviors/crimes.  For example, I don’t believe all rapes should be lumped together and treated the same.  In my mind, there is a difference between being raped by a person you know and no threat of harm/death is present.  Yes, it is still rape, but there is a HUGE difference when besides dealing with the unwanted sexual act, you are also in fear for your life.  I’ve been raped twice.  I knew both attackers.  In neither situation did I fear for my life.  Was I pissed off? Shocked? Yes, but both attacks took place in setting that was familiar to me. Is it still rape? Yes but nowhere near the level it could have been if I was jumped by a stranger in a back alley with a knife to my throat.  I knew I would live to see another day.  

This brings me to the current situation we are now facing in the news…indecent sexual behavior in the workplace.  Suddenly, all these allegations are coming out of the woodwork.  The flood gates have opened.  Let the hell and damnation begin!  

My concern is that shady line between a flirtation that has gone wrong or is unwanted and true sexual misconduct.  I totally agree if a man is exposing himself, or using his power over you to get a sexual favor, that is wrong.  Women shouldn’t have to be sexual objects just to keep a job or get promoted.  It’s about time that the “good ole boy” mentally is tossed out the door.   Hurray for the women who are finding their voice and are speaking up against this injustice.  Watch out; we are kicking asses and taking names!

My concern is where do we draw the line?  Sure we all know that co-workers should avoid socializing together, especially if drinking is involved but most of us have done it.  A few co-workers meet at the local bar, share a few drinks and bitch about the day.   So what happens if a male co-worker decides to flirt with a female co-worker and she isn’t interested or turned off by the idea?  Does she yell “Indecent sexual behavior”?  What line does the man have to cross before an innocent flirt turns into the death of his career and reputation?

I can hear the women of the world screaming at me now.  Let me just say this, I get it.  There are horrible men in the world that abuse women.  Hang ‘em high and gut them!  Hunt them down with pitchforks in hand!  However, as a women who herself enjoys to flirt with the opposite sex, and enjoys it back in return, don’t prosecute a guy for trying.  Not every man has an “A” game and comes across smooth, or can pick up on clues that a woman is not interested.  Don’t kill a brother for trying.  

Back in the day (you know when kids had to walk 5 miles to school through mounds of snow), there were certain things we can rely on.  For example, the TV season ran from Labor Day through Memorial Day and there were only three channels.  The summer was spent watching reruns or playing outside. There were no winter finales and month long winter breaks, or shows that aired for only a month or two then left you hanging for another year.  Life was simple and predictable.  

   In this world of structure, the holidays were also on a schedule.  Halloween came first.  Once the day was over, the candy and costumes were gone and Thanksgiving decorations would magically appear in the store.   Immediately after turkey day, overnight the stores would switch to the Christmas mode and we would focus on presents and shopping.  Life was simple and predictable. Gone are the days of “putting the horse before the cart” and “first things first”.  We are constantly in a hurry or competition to get to the next holiday before the current holiday is over.  Believe or not, I actually heard my first Christmas song of the season in October! WTF over! We have local radio stations that begin playing around the clock Christmas music as of November 1st.  That’s two solid months of Christmas music! Why?  By the time the holiday comes around, I am sick of the music and feel as if Christmas has been shoved down my throat.    If you really want to listen to Christmas music for two months, go for it but don’t torture the rest of us.

As the holidays spin up, so do people in general.  I spend a lot of time on the road and as the holidays draw near, the rush to get to our destination increases.  People are frazzled, busy looking for that perfect gift or next bargain.  They are often looking for a store, distracted on the phone and always in a hurry.  Tempers and patience are short.  The holiday spirit is forgotten while fighting over parking spots, standing in lines, and arguing with clerks.  It’s a dog eat dog world.  Before we know it the season is gone and so is the moment to connect with others.

The holidays are upon us.  It’s a time to reconnect with loved ones and create memories.  Family gatherings are an opportunity to hear old stories, take pictures, and spoil the new babies.  It’s a celebration of life and loved ones.

This past week, as I was on my way to work, I noticed a familiar site floating in the Chesapeake Bay.  Although others may not have noticed it, I immediately recognized the outline of the sail against the gray sky.  To the delight of my heart strings, I saw a submarine heading out to sea.  It was silently and sleek as it glided through the waters under the mist of the pending storm.  Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with emotion.  The tears rolled down my face and I burst into uncontrollable tears.  For many years, I was married to the Navy and this submarine represented a family bond and long lost love.  As a past military wife, I realized these men probably said goodbye to their wives and children this morning.  As they head out to sea, the thought of missing another turkey day, and Christmas is weighing heavy on their hearts.   Their families would be gathering together for the holidays but without them.  Such is the life in the military, especially submarines.  

Military families are often apart and make great sacrifices to serve their country.  However, one of the perks of being married to the military is the homecoming.  Even after many years of marriage, a homecoming is usually exciting and very emotional.  It is often called the “honeymoon period”.

While at the local airport this past week, I witness a homecoming and like the submarine in the Bay, I felt emotional and caught up in the moment. At first I didn’t notice them, the mother and her three kids since they just blended into the crowd.  However, as a man in uniform cleared the bottom of the escalator and turned towards them, it was obvious that this was a military homecoming.  The two girls immediately squealed in delight and started running to the man screaming, “Daddy, Daddy!”  He fell to one knee and swooped them into his arms covering them with kisses.  Then the boy quickly approached, reached out his arms, and hugged his dad saying “Hey Dad”.  Then as the kids clung to their dad, the wife leaned over the children and gave her husband a welcome home kiss.  The family paused for a moment in a group embraced.   In that second, all the loneliness and heartache of being separated from your loved one is gone.   The family is whole again.

Holidays are about families. The crazy people we don’t see but a few times a year but it feels like we just saw them yesterday when we meet again.  Of course, it’s not a holiday without someone fighting or a sharing a secret around the kitchen table.  Then there are the traditions; the family photo either in a pyramid, on the front steps, or in your new Christmas pajamas.    Our family enjoys board games, especially Scrabble.  For the longest time, my father-in-law was the guru of Scrabble in the family.  Every holiday, time was set aside to challenge the old man in a game of Scrabble in hopes of beating him this year.  Sadly to say he is gone but the tradition lives on in his honor.  

Americans are obsessed with their vehicles.  As the Toyota Research Institute CEO, Gill Pratt said recently in the news, during his job interview with Toyota, they talked mostly about love.  They explained that the relationship between a person and their car is different than a person and their refrigerator.  People tend to love their cars, but people tend to not love their refrigerators.   Many cars are an extension of people’s personality; their personal billboard to the world.  So what does your car say about you and are you exposing too much?

I have to say, as a single gal, if I meet a guy of small stature with a huge over-sized, raised, pickup truck, I immediately think, “Oh, this guy is overcompensating for something.” Then if he has plastic balls hanging from the trailer hitch, a rebel flag sticker in the window, I scream inside “Warning, redneck alert!  Run in the opposite direction fast!”  There is no way, I would be caught died inside that vehicle or with that guy.  True, he might be a really nice guy but judging from the things he says with his vehicle, we can safely say that we are not compatible.

Today, I was on my way to work and as I was traveling on the highway, I noticed out of the corner of my eye, a really nice black pickup truck.  As it slowly passed me, I admired the mirror reflection of the shine, the curves of the truck and the sleekness of the black paint job.  I was thinking to myself, that’s a nice truck.  Then he passed me.  Too my shock and horror, this beautiful truck had this portrait on across the back bumper.

So, what information is this guy sharing with the other patrons of the road?  That he knows where the bodies are buried?  That he’s an asshole and likes to torture women?  That he’s a bad ass in general?  Or maybe that he’s into S&M and here is my handwork?  Not sure but, is this really the first impression you wish to reveal of yourself to others?  All I can say is, I hope this guy is married because any sane female would turn and run if that truck came to pick them up for a first date.    

I can understand the “My kid is an Honor Student” or “Navy Pride” stickers on cars.  I can even accept the stick family on your back window.  I personally have a heart shape sticker with a paw print on the back of my car.  All these stickers represent things we are proud of, or love.  They are an extension of our personal lives.  I love my dog and I’m proud to share that with the world.  No shame there.  However, I’m proud I like to gag and tie women up and put them in the back of my truck?  Somehow I don’t see the connection.  Why would you want to share that information?

Here’s another example, what does a memorial of a deceased loved one say about you?  Personally, I find the RIP stickers a bit morbid.  I have several loved ones who have passed away but I have no desire to share my grief with the world.  Do these people want sympathy for their loss? Do they enjoy walling in the pain?  We’ve all lost people, why the urge to stick it on your car and have to look at it every day?  Talk about picking a scab and rubbing salt into the wound; that would be the way to go.   I understand the need to honor the deceased, so volunteer at a cancer center, or plant a tree but don’t advertise their death on your vehicle. 

If size does matter, can we at least agree on setting a standard by which we measure?  No, I’m not talking about men and their obsession with their penis size.  (However, that’s a good topic that I’ll have to come back to at a later date.) I’m talking about clothing.  Women’s clothing in particular.

I once live in a house which was over 150 years old.  I always had a dream of living in some cool old New England house with all the charm and character.  I got that chance back in 80’s when we were stationed in Connecticut.  However, I quickly learned from the owner of this home that “old” and “charm” is not always what they appears to be.  When I told her of my desire to own a home like hers, she quickly told me, “Don’t do it!  It’s a money pit!”  Then she proceeded to explain that exorbitant cost of up keeping such a home.   “It’s never ending.  You are constantly replacing something in the home which is either rotted or broken.” She then went on to explain that the problem is compounded by the fact that when the house was built, nothing was standardized.  Sinks, doors, windows came in all different sizes unlike today’s building standards.  “It’s impossible for me to go down to Home Depot and pick up a door or a bathroom sink.  Nothing fits.  Everything must be custom made which triples the repairs.”  Needless to say, my desire for an old New England vanished in a second.

My point is this, if building materials can be standardized, why can’t we do the same with women’s clothing?   For example, if I purchase a man’s 32 X 32, then I know my waist should be 32” and my leg inseam should be around 32”.  Sure different brands are cut wider in the crotch or looser in the hips but the basic size is 32”.  How difficult is that?

In women’s clothing, there is no rhyme or reason to the size on the labels.  A size 14 in one brand might be a 16 or 18 in another brand.  It is impossible to figure out which size will fit.  Is it really that difficult for the industry to come up with a standardization of sizes?  Can’t they at least say, if you label a pair of pants a size 14, then the waist must be 36”.  Period.  End of discussion (and guessing).   

Are we considered to be so delicate and sensitive about our size that we’d rather be lied to than know the honest truth?  We expect men to be honest about the size of their Johnson yet we expect the industry to make us feel better by lying to us about the true size of our ass. 

With Halloween around the corner, it is the season of ghost, goblins and things that go bump in the night.  Most of us enjoy dressing up, living out our hidden fantasy of being a slut in public, overindulging in both alcohol and sweets and ransacking the stores the day after Halloween to stock on discounted bags of candy.  Sounds like a perfect Saturday night to me! 

How many of us truly believe in ghost or have seen one though?  Are some people more sensitive and open to seeing them than others or are we just crazy?  Well, I for one have seen my share of ghost and I believe in them.  Call me crazy but if that’s the case, I come from a long line of crazies.

When I was a child, I often heard stories from my mother about past encounters with ghost.  She told a story about my grandfather’s funeral and how he made his appearance known to all.  Apparently, his casket was brought to the local church for viewing.  In the front of the church, at the altar, there was a table to which the casket would sit upon during the memorial service.  Directly above this table was a light; a chandelier of sorts.  The story goes that the minute the casket was brought into the room for viewing; the light began to gently sway.  This apparently was observed by many including my mother.  It was also noted that this light continued to sway until the body was removed from the room. Way to go Grandpa!

Sure, it is possible that the entire crowd had too much moonshine and was swaying themselves and not the lighting from above.  Lots of things are possible.  However, it’s also possible that my grandfather was making his presence known to his family.  One last goodbye, in a dramatic “look at me” way.  

I have to admit, I wasn’t there to see my grandfather mess with this relatives so I can’t vouch for accuracy of this story.  However, I have a few stories of my own.  So turn out the lights, grab your flashlight and listen to this shit….

Throughout my life, I have seen what I consider to be ghost. Perhaps a better word is guardian.  I often catch a quick glimpse of a male sitting in the backseat of my car when I look into my rearview mirror.  I only see him for a couple of seconds but it is enough to know he is with me and that it’s the same man every time.   White male, elderly, clean shaven, modest dressed, with a rugged face but yet somehow kind.   He doesn’t freak me out (well he did at first) because I feel he is there to protect me, not harm me.  The world is right if he is carpooling with me. 

Several years ago, my boyfriend at the time, myself and another couple decided to ring in the New Year outside of Richmond. After we checked into the hotel, we went to a local tavern which was very old with a lot of history.  My friend’s husband use to go to college in Richmond and suggested we all go there for NYE.   After a few drinks, midnight was upon us and it was time to celebrate.  Wanting to capture the moment, my friend and I both handed our cellphones to the bartender and requested some group photos.  Let me just state, that this was a non-smoking bar back then…ahead of the times for Virginia.  The bartender was nice enough to snap a couple of photos on her phone and then on mine.  We continued to party and the photos were tucked away.

   The next day, over breakfast, we pulled out our photos and laughed about the evening.  To my surprise, out of several sequenced group shots, one photo caught my eye.  It was different from the rest; it included a visitor.   Unlike the other photos taken by the bartender, this particular one had a wispy white smoke-looking image surrounding us yet it wasn’t smoke.  As we zoomed in on the image to see what it could be, we noticed the blob of white above my head which had the image of a face.  You could clearly see the eyes and the nose.  Yup, we were photo bombed by a spirit.  As you can see from my cropped photo our drinking buddy, the tavern spirit, was having a good time too.

Recently, though, I had a close encounter with a familiar spirit of my late ex-husband.  He tragically died at the young age of 46 back in 2012.  He was known for a warped sense of humor, for example I’d say, “Hey Hon, can you make me a sandwich while you’re up?” to which he would respond, “Poof, you’re a sandwich!” He had that corny warped humor …always.  So, it is no surprise that he would want to get the last laugh.

After his funeral, we went back to the funeral home a couple days later to pick up his ashes.  In the office sat my oldest daughter, me and his youngest sister.   The director proceeded to present us with the large urn which held most of his ashes and then the smaller keepsake urns which both daughters and his sister had ordered.  Since we had to transport his ashes back to Virginia, I asked if there was a box that the urn could be place inside to protect it from breaking during the trip.  He said yes, and left the office to retrieve the box.  

As we sat around the desk, we were all admiring the pretty little keepsake urns before us.   My sister-in-law’s keepsake had a different design and as she picked it up for a closer look, we discussed the pretty oriental design. Upon setting the miniature urn back down on the desk, a wisp of smoke emerged from the top of the tiny urn.  Stopped midway in conversation, she looked at me and I looked at her and she asked, “Did you just see that?”  I was flabbergasted but had to admit yes, I too had seen the smoke.  Surely, they seal these things and that can’t be his ashes escaping from the urn.  She picked it up and attempted to unscrew the top.  Nope, it was sealed shut.  She sat it down again with a thud.  Swoosh, another thin ribbon of smoke emerged from the urn.  Wholly crap.  It did it again.  What the hell is going on?  This time, I picked it up and checked the seal.  Like a magician’s assistant, I confirmed that the top was indeed tight and that I had no clue what we could be witnessing.  

Then the thought ran across my mind….it’s my ex; he is messing with us.  So, as I held the tiny urn in my hand, I looked up and said out loud, “Ok, Jim, very funny.  You got us on that one.  Now knock it off.”   We all chuckled.  I then proceeded to place the tiny urn down for the third and final time. Nothing happened; the smoke was gone.   I looked around and said, “I guess he was playing a trick on us and he got my message loud and clear.”   From that moment on, the urn never smoked again.  

Let’s talk open and honestly for a moment.  I will be the first to admit that I enjoy watching amateur porn from time to time. Yup, I said that out loud.  Don’t you dare judge me!  You know you enjoy it too. However, over the years, I have some objective criticism on some common mistakes of our amateur exhibitionist.  I’d like to take a moment to offer some friendly advice the next time you and your significant other decide to get your freak on and share on the internet.

Mistake #1:

Please turn off the TV in the background.  Although you might be having hot sex, our minds will drift to the background and not your awesome sex position. Wonder what they are watching?  Isn’t that the one with so and so in it? I think I’ve seen that one, or maybe not, I can’t tell for sure.  Suddenly the action is over, the moment is gone and we are left wondering...what was playing on TV. What is even more sad, we’ll watch it again, just to figure out what was on TV, not to see you.

Mistake #2:

Ladies, ladies, ladies...stop trying to act like porn queens. Please moan within reason. Too often the ladies are so loud and it becomes a distraction (like the TV).  If I wanted to hear a cat in heat, I’d open up my bedroom window. I find myself at times yelling at the screen, telling the male to stuff a sock in her mouth (or other things) just to shut the bitch up. Getting excited is one thing but moaning and repeating “Oh God” a million times, is a bit much and overkill. Tone it down ladies.  If the guy needs that much encourage, he’s not worth it. Trust me on this one.

Mistake #3:

Finally, I come to my number one complaint...socks.  Perhaps I should be more specific and say...feet.   The next time you are bored and have nothing to do, search for some interracial porn and pay close attention to the feet.  If the male is black, do you notice anything in particular? I do! Chances are, he is butt ass naked with either his shoes on, or at least has his socks on. Why is that?  What are they hiding? What is his fixation with shoes?

 Opinion #1:

During a party once, I had the opportunity and enough drinks in me, to ask this question among a group of middle age black ladies.  One particular female was more than happy to share her wisdom on black men and the purpose of the mysterious shoes/socks fetish.  Her observation of this common practice was in her words, “Cause their feet are nasty!”   From her experience the men had unkempt feet, nails and ashy skin and therefore were uncomfortable in exposing them. Thus the purpose of the cover up. (Makes sense) 

Opinion #2:

When I asked the same question to a young black male, he quickly dismissed the previous explanation and proudly stated, “It’s for traction!  You need to grip the floor so you don’t slip while pounding it! You know what I mean?” Yeah, got it. Thanks for the male insight to the mystery.

Opinion #3: 

When I asked a group of young black females, I was told it was just a thing since they don’t like their bare feet touching the ground.  She went on to explain that when her husband steps out of the shower and dries off, he immediately puts on socks.  A bare foot on any surface was just a no-go.  Well, that’s a very reasonable answer but I’m not buying it.

Clearly, we all have our own theories to this burning question and we may never know the real answer. What’s worse, now that I’ve pointed out the obvious, you’ll never be able to watch interracial porn video without checking out the guy’s feet.  Yup, that barn door is open and there is no going back. Sorry for ruining your fun but it had to be said. Am I right?

Last month, I spent a lovely day with a group of girls. We met down in NC for a girl’s weekend of drinking wine, listening to music and kicking back.  We started out Saturday morning and met on the western side of the state at a gorgeous vineyard.  The main building looked like a log cabin, and the grounds were breathtaking.  Blue skies, good company and a bottle of wine; a perfect day!  The vineyard had an acoustic guitar player serenading us on the terrace.  We brought along with us an array of meat, cheese, olives and other yummy snacks in an attempt to dilute the wine.  After a leisurely afternoon in the rolling hills of this heavenly vineyard, we moved on to our next adventure.

Now in all honesty, we would have never gone to this particular location had it not been for the insistence of my cousin.  Although she won’t admit it, she is a groupie of a local Eagle’s cover band and to her delight they were playing not far from the vineyard that night. The town was hosting a wine festival that weekend and this particular band was set to perform as their headliner. Upon arrival, we checked into our hotel, changed into warmer clothes and headed out.

After we grabbed dinner at one of the local restaurants, we finally headed to the festival.  Now I have to confess, I’ve been a city girl for many years now and apparently out of touch with the real world. In my mind, when I think wine festival, I image hundreds of people, most of them from middle to upper class backgrounds, in a well groomed city park, drinking wine, listening to bands and sitting at corporate reserved tables. However, when we arrived in this small town, I could tell I was in Kansas anymore.

I suddenly had flashbacks to my childhood in Ohio.  Every fall, a small village next to me held a Pumpkin Festival.  The main street of this town was filled with various food booths, local crafts, a few games and tons of locals from the surrounding towns. The majority of those attending were farmers and it was more of a social event for the teenagers.  The highlight of the festival was purchasing brown paper bags of confetti and throwing handfuls at the crowd. Mom would always make us strip our clothes on the back porch in order to confine all the confetti outside and not inside the house.  The pumpkin festival and trick-or-treating were the highlights of the fall season back then.

So, here I was in the middle of nowhere on a back road of NC in this small town, on a Saturday night just to hear an Eagle’s cover band.  The five of us strolled from our car to the stage at the far end of the main street.  Was it my imagination or did we stick out like sore thumb? Could anyone tell we were not locals?  As I glanced around the crowd, I noticed hard working people that were probably struggling from pay check to pay check.  Gone were the familiar bistro, taphouses and wineries from my current life in the city.  In front of me was the cold reality of small town living.  

We setup our lawn chairs, grabbed a beer and waited for the show.  As the band started, the excitement was obvious. We sat in the middle of the crowd and watched as the crowd yelled and applauded after each song.  Yeah, the band was good; I’ll give you that but the crowd’s reaction was more like they were seeing the real band.  Then it dawned on me....how many of these folks have been to sellout concerts with huge headliners?  And if they’ve never been to a concert, what other things have they never done?  Have they ever been overseas? Hell, how many of them have traveled out of the state? 

I have to admit, at that moment, I was feeling pretty good about myself and my fabulous life. (hold that thought!)  I went through a check list in my mind....Lived overseas? Check.  Been to major concerts? Check. Traveled all over the US?  Check, check. Yup, in my mind, my life was awesome.

Suddenly, I noticed a young couple standing on the side of the street.  They were both young, early twenties and they were caught up in the moment. He was tall and lanky, and stood behind the female.  She was much shorter, plain but nonetheless pretty.  Strapped to her front was a baby boy of about 9 months old and he was fast asleep.  As the music played, they swayed to the beat with her gently rocking the baby in her arms.  My first instinct was to question the quality of their young life together. Did she work at the local market earning a minimum wage and him at the local plant?  Are they doomed to struggle and have little to show for it? Gee, how tough their life must be.

As I continued to watch them, my concern on what they were lacking in their lives, was replaced with envy on what they possessed in their life.  The sweetness of the moment as he softly brushed a stray hair out of her face while swaying to the music together.  He bending over her and gently kissing the baby on the forehead while he slept cradled in his mother’s arms.  The look of joy on both their faces as they enjoyed a warm summer night together under the stars as a family. They were happy and in love and for that moment with no care in the world.  Bliss.

Our country today seems to be consumed by violence. As my momma once said, when meeting a new guy’s family, avoid talking about religion, politics and sex. Sure we all have trigger points (no pun intended). Yet what triggers a person to take their anger one step further and harm another? Are acts of violence gender specific? Can words alone be reason enough to get physical with another person?  Or are some people just fucking nuts?

This past week a male friend of mine was attached by a woman he had been dating for a few months. Those that know him would describe him as a teddy bear, passive and a very likely person.  For the past couple of months, he proudly posted pictures of himself and his new found love.  Beaming from ear to ear, he was smack dab in the middle of new love bliss and life seemed perfect.  He had a good job, good health and now was in a good relationship.  Or so he thought.  

To the surprise of his friends, he commented several days ago about his recent injuries and a brief hospital visit.  He reassured us that he was ok. However, he was reluctant to mention who the female was and was vague at first.  He received a broken nose, scratches and his shirt was ripped.  His post date snapshot looked more like a mug shot taken after a bar brawl than a date with a loved one.  

What really surprised me were some of the comments by other women.  What did he do to provoke her anger? He must have done something to deserve her fury.  Are you kidding me?  What could a person possibly say to another that justifies a physical attack? Sure you might say something that really pisses me off, make me go into a verbal rant, but never would I consider attacking them for their words. 

Many years ago, I lived in Navy housing in CT.  One night while my husband was out to sea, I suddenly heard loud voices and an apparent argument taking place next door.  In the unit next to me was a young couple with a six month old baby and a toddler. Within minutes the voices were getting louder and the fight more intense.  I listened from my kitchen to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. I was ready to call the police if he dared harm her!  I heard items breaking, banging and her voice clearly screaming, “Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!”  I thought, oh my gosh, he is hitting her... do I call? How do I stop it? 

Suddenly, there was a knock on my door.  I opened the door and was mortified to see the husband from next door standing in front of me.  My mind was racing. Do I let him in?  I’m alone and with my children.  Before I could react, he calmly said to me, “Could I please use your phone?  I need to call for assistance with my wife.”  Stunned and confused, I allowed him to come inside and use my phone (this was before cellphones folks).  As I listened to his conversation,(damn right I listened) I was shocked to learn that the “incident” I heard through the walls was her attacking him.  It was her throwing things at him, yanking the phone out of the wall, and locking herself inside the bathroom and threatening harm to herself.   It was him that was trying to save her and keep her from harming herself, the children. He was trying to be a good husband. Immediately, I felt like an ass for assuming the worse of him.

Shortly afterwards, an ambulance arrived and I saw her leave on a stretcher, strapped down and apparently sedated.  Later, I discovered that his wife suffered from mental issues and had gone off her medication.  The fight was unprovoked and this was not her first time of flipping out.  Sadly, because of this being a repeat incident, the children were put in temporary care of Child Services with the understanding that the only way he could get his children back was to not allow her back into the household.  She returned several weeks later... the kids did not.  

Back in the day, dating was so much easier (or maybe I was). Dating is now a sterile environment and all the instant chemistry is dead. Gone are the days of drive-in movie theaters, hanging out at the local pizza palace, or chatting a guy up under the bleachers during a football game. Yes, I’m that old. 

Growing up in a small  town in Ohio, the dating pool was small, and there was no internet to provide you with more options.  You met someone at the local bar or hometown event and nature took over.  Now days, I get exhausted from all the choices....  Which way do I swipe? Do I broaden my search radius to find Mr. Wonderful in the next county or state? Why would such a great guy be on this site? (Even a serial killer can look and sound normal in a profile).  

Next time you’re bored take a look at the local police wanted profiles?  I think I’ve dated a few of those guys or at least chatted them up for a drink.  Actually some of the guys in the police files look more normal than the photos you find on the dating websites.  Really?  Do you think looking like a axe murderer is attractive?  How’s that working for you?  True, some girls like that “bad boy” image but we have our limits!

My issue with online dating is getting to the first date and beyond.  Maybe I’m too jaded but if a guy only wants to chat and never meet...the red flag starts waving. ( Danger wife alert! )  Then if the guy  can only chat with you during work hours or very late at night? Warning!  Possible wife or jealous GF in the area. 

If I’m lucky enough to meet the warm body behind the text message, it rarely goes to round two. Not sure why I’m failing in today’s dating world and why I keep going back for more rejection. 

Maybe it’s my looks?  But my pictures are not from 10 years ago or pre-baby weight. It’s really me.  Maybe I’m very photogenic and reality adds 10 years and 10 pounds to my face. Or perhaps men today are weak and can’t handle a real woman, fluff and all (yeah, let’s go with that answer!).  No matter what the reason, with hundreds of men at my fingertips, dating lacks the fun it use to give me back in my 20s.  I don’t want dating to be another job or chore. 

So, let’s cut through the bullshit and get down to business...