nostalgia – It’s All in Your Head

“Won’t take nothin’ but a memory from the house that built me.” ~ Miranda Lambert

So, my sister and I got an offer on ma’s house yesterday which we’re going to accept. The people want to move in around mid-January and this will be the last ‘thing’ we’re going to be letting go of. It’s hitting me like a ton of bricks.

I’ve always been the type to get attached to things so much. I’ve got a bunny I won at our local laundry when I was 4 and I named her ‘Pinky’…she’s pink so I was very creative with the name. Anyhoot, I still have her 52 years later – minus her ears which fell off sometime in the 70’s and a pair of my underwear from the same decade that’s been on her since. No…I’ve never washed this underwear in all of these years…and no, Pinky is pottie-trained so it’s ok. When O saw her for the first time last year when I was rummaging around in my old closet at ma’s, he was horrified. Absolutely horrified. In fact, I’ve never seen my son with such a look of fear on his face…apparently, he likens Pinky to Annabelle. Go figure. 🙄

I have so many other things that I just can’t let go of either: books from when I was a kid…old school papers of my own and of O’s…my teaching supplies from when I taught elementary complete with every drawing my students made for me…cards my college sweeties have given me over the last 26 years…even hankies that are in complete tatters just because ma said they were like Grandpas and you just can’t find them available anymore. I guess I’m just a sucker for nostalgia.

Me and Terri on the porch before a wedding!

Pop and ma built the house when I was in first grade and Terri and I got to pick out our room design: I chose bright yellow wallpaper with huge flowers on it, gold paint, gold carpet and then a red/white/blue ceiling light that went with absolutely nothing. I got the smaller room but bigger closet and pop built bookshelves in it and I’d sit inside the closet and play library with Pinky and my myriad of other stuffed friends. Terri was a bit more stylish since she’s so much older than me 🤨) and her colors of choice were orange wallpaper with bright flowers, orange paint, and orange carpeting. However, her light was much more in keeping with the decor. But we loved our rooms…they were VERY cool!

We used to use our hairbrushes as microphones and sing David Cassidy songs in front of her closet which was our ‘audience’…Terri styled my hair in her room and bopped my nose with the hair dryer each and every time…we each got our own stereo’s and Terri would play her Donna Summer album at bedtime and to this day, I still feel drowsy when I hear MacArthur Park. We’d make brownies when ma was at work and then eat the batter with our fingers. We tanned on our deck and watched our skin turn red and our hair turn orange. We’d pull our bikes out of the garage and ride around the neighborhood for hours. We’d use the pogo stick and stilts Grandpa gave us and would totter around the driveway.

Ma rummaging around in her kitchen in the 80’s!

But with ma’s house, I have mixed feelings – there are a lot of good memories in it…but there are a lot of bad too. And honestly, I think the bad ones are one of the reasons I chose not to live in the house myself.

Richard (that fucking bastard 😡) moved into it when I was a sophomore in high school and it was a weird time. He was nice at first (as most abusers are) but there was still that awkwardness of having this new person around. Then the violence he perpetuated against ma began, and escalated quickly. I would hear him beating her at night when I was in bed and the horror of that was indescribable. Then there were the ‘between’ times when ma and I had to tiptoe around on eggshells so that I was never really comfortable at home when he was around.

Even after moving out, Terri and I were still directly affected by R. EVERY holiday was hellish because he would either be ranting, preaching, demanding, yelling or lashing out and for 28 years, Thanksgiving and Christmas were a trial. Terri and I would dread going over there when he was home and because of this didn’t see ma as much as we’d like, which was exactly what Richard wanted. The less access she had to us…the more he had to her.

But then she divorced him and her transformation began. Not just personally, but in terms of her home too. She wanted a completely fresh start and re-did everything exactly the way she wanted. Paint, window coverings, carpet, furniture, lamps, a complete remodel of her bathrooms, and the list goes on. She even had her bedroom painted a pinkish-rose…one of her very favorite colors! Her home went from a prison to a retreat and she loved it so much. I don’t know how many times she said how comfortable she was…how content…how happy.

And it took on a completely different meaning for us again. I loved going over there and eating lunch at her kitchen island, playing cards in her sunroom, having holidays that were relaxed and fun and opening presents on the living room floor, sewing with her downstairs and rummaging through her fabric stash, watching her quilt on her long-arm, plopping on her bed when she got ready to go somewhere, having family meals…especially chili…in the dining room and laughing our way through it, seeing her sitting on the porch when she knew I was running over and wanted to see me coming up the street, talking to her while I watered her outside plants as she sat on the porch bossing me around. These last 12 years of memories are awesome…and those are the ones I want to remember most.

The last pic O took of ma and me…we’re in her sunroom!

I guess letting go of the house is letting go of her pride and joy. Of the best years of her life. Of her growth. Of her true happiness. Of the time where she could be herself with absolutely no one berating her. Suddenly the house ‘was her’. And it symbolized the best of her that she discovered within herself.

I honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to do a final walk through. It’s completely empty now and I haven’t seen it yet. Terri was the one to take care of the long-arm machine which was the last thing to go. But I think I want to remember it full of her. Seeing her in her jammies and sitting on her chair and cross-stitching and watching American Ninja Warriors, (she had a HUGE crush on The Rock and actually told me something naughty she wanted to do with him…I was a bit taken aback! 😮) while eating a bowl of her Bear Track ice cream.

That’s what I want to take with me. And that’s what she was able to leave Terri and I with.

Love you ma. Love you more.

Kristi xoxo

“Celebrate good times, come on!” ~ Kool and the Gang

So, I came across a speech I made at the Relay for Life some years ago and it was all about celebrating ma. I didn’t want to just focus on her being a breast cancer survivor at the time, but for the person she truly was. As I read it today, something awesome happened…I started to smile and cry and laugh and it felt great. No matter what she endured in her life, she was a wonderful parent and friend, and Terri and I talk often about how proud we always were of her! And…here’s some reasons why!

At Relay for Life after I gave my speech!

Ma was a voracious reader! Even before I could climb up on her lap myself, ma would spend hours reading to me and teaching me to love books and reading just as much as she did. Opening up these ‘worlds’ to me taught my imagination to soar…something that I hope I still have! As adults, ma, Terri and I always recommended books to each other and discussed the merits of various authors. (Me and Terri love Wally Lamb…but ma wouldn’t read him 🙄). One of her biggest fears in life was having an over-due library book and she would never let us borrow her card…just in case we didn’t get the book back in time. Sheesh!

The cake ma made for T’s 3rd birthday. Raggedy Ann’s pockets look like boobs!

Ma was a sucker for holidays! She always wrapped all of our presents perfectly and put so much thought into them. Ma saved all of the glue-y school decorations Terri and I brought home and got them out every year at Christmas. When we were kids, we got to pick our special birthday meal. My go to was Kraft Mac and Cheese and green beans. (I had simple tastes then…but honestly, this sounds pretty fucking good right now 😳)! We also got to pick our cake and we most often chose a frozen concoction called Pistachio Dessert. For the last 10 years, German chocolate was my favorite and no one made the coconut icing like ma did.

Ma was a terrific cook and her chili, minestrone, lasagna, zucchini bread, chocolate chip bars, and the list goes on are going to be missed. She ALWAYS brought broccoli casserole to EVERY family gathering and I’m so happy Terri is taking that task over…beautifully I might add. BUT…ma could NOT make a meat loaf. They were ‘grayish’ (🤢) and hard and crusty and she absolutely hated that my mother in law made the best kick-ass meatloaf in the world! Ma never could get that right!

Ma was also extremely talented and made scores of quilts, intricate cross stitch pictures, knitted items, sequined stockings, and the list could go on and on! Ma passed on her love of sewing to me and Terri and always gave us each a special quilt that she made for us at Christmas. We cherish all of them! A couple of years ago, we made ma a quilt! We each made a side and she quilted it on her long-arm machine…she loved having something that had both of us in it!

At my high school graduation. I wonder why I wasn’t prom queen?

Ma was so supportive of my education! She was always room mom for Terri and me in elementary school and celebrated our successes. She made a big deal of graduations and when Terri graduated with her LPN years ago, ma gave a great party and was so proud! My favorite memory of her in school was in the 3rd grade: she did a craft with my class that consisted of gluing pieces of fabric to flower pots. I felt so special that my ma was craft lady for the day and the best part was that she wore a pink t-shirt pop had gotten her with the words “Foxy Lady” printed on it. Even NOW, if I run into someone from grade school, they still tell me how cool ma was!

All through my growing up years, ma was a self-confessed dog hater! She didn’t like them…wouldn’t pet them…and never once even considered having one in her home. Then I got Scooter when I moved into my own apartment. The first meeting between them did not go well and when I brought him over, she insisted he stay in a crate. Period. The 2nd time, she petted him and said I could hold him but not put him on the floor. Then something amazing happened: she started calling Scooter her ‘grand-dog’ and showered him with love and attention! If he piddled on her carpet, she’d simply smile and grab a paper towel. I was gobsmacked when she did this because if I dare drop a crumb from my Oreos, she’d have a conniption. Dottie may have been her very special dog out of all the ones I’ve had, but Scooter was her break through. And I know, without a doubt, that all 3 cuddle often in heaven.

Ma was great in emergencies. Terri and could call her about anything and she would be there…helping us in whatever way she could. Ma went to surgeries with me, loaned me money when I was struggling to make ends meet, commiserated with me when I had problems at school or work, and always hugged me tight when my heart was broken. Terri and I have always been amazed that such a small woman could have had such strong shoulders.

Ma in her favorite fabric store and made T and I claustrophobic!

Ma was a shopper. A browser. A thrift store lover. And a buyer! I’ll never forget when I was collecting Beanie Babies and ma stood in line with me (in 85 degree weather) for 3 hours to get a bear that is now available on e-bay for a quarter. Ma always took her grandkids shopping for school clothes and O just loves the memory of that. And the best part of shopping with her was when ma said a sentence Terri and I loved: “Oh…go ahead and grab it…I want to get it for you!” She was always so generous with us!

Ma was comforting to me. I specifically remember being in high school and waking up from a terrible dream. I cried out and ma came running in my room and held me close to her. No matter what was going on in my life, I would be comforted just by being close to her.

Ma was so smart! NO one could do word puzzles and games like her and playing Scrabble with her was intense…to say the least. Terri and I dreaded winning…because the look she got on her face when she lost was dreadful. We can both imitate it perfectly! The info she knew was boggling and she did her NYT Crosswords and sudokus in PEN! Now that’s confidence!

You know, as I was writing this and going through a ton of pictures, I was reminded how lucky I was to have ma. I miss her terribly. I’d give about anything to have her back for even a day, and I’d take a year off my life to have another with her. But I know this is impossible so I make do with what I have: knowing that ma was fantastic in so many ways and how very lucky I was to have her for as long as I did.

Love you ma. Love you more.

Kristi xoxo

“It’s dangerous to go alone, take this!” ~ The Old Man (Legend of Zelda)

So, I need to take back something I told my sonshine a long while back because I have now done what I swore I never would. This is a biggie peeps, and I hope that by making this a public confession, I’ll save others from the same fate: I’m now playing an online game where I am spending REAL money to get CARTOON coins to try to move up yet ANOTHER level that consists of me knocking down obstacles to please a ANIMATED king who gives me a thumbs up all while participating in SKY RACES with people I’ve never seen and are probably 8 year olds playing while they’re pooping on the toilet and hiding from their parents while I frantically crush rocks/pots/dishes/tubes, etc. so I can beat these little beasts who want to deprive me of a TREASURE CHEST that has at least 2 TNT bombs in it. Whew. That felt good. 🤨

My son loves gaming and I’m the one that started him on this journey. When I was teaching adjunct and O was a little guy, I worked part-time for a company called “Computer Tots” (which is still going strong today) in which trained teachers took computers to daycare centers, etc. and worked with kids on basic skills. At the time, this was a HUGE deal since we weren’t even using e-mail in our world and Windows was still only something ma had hanging in every room of her house 🙄. Anyhoot, we supplied the computers since most places didn’t have them (does anyone hear the sound of dinosaurs right now?) so I’d lug it back and forth from classes to home. Computers in 1996 were quite cumbersome and the hook-up was a freaking nightmare. But the bonus was that O could use it at home anytime so I’d hook it up and let him at it. One of the games I had was ‘Darby the Dragon’ in which little tykes had to solve puzzle and put together clues to help Darby get his sister Sparkle a ‘magic potion’ to help her grow (I think that’s called ‘vitamins’ now 😳 ). The music was annoying as hell and the song will still resonate through my nightmares at times. Did O ever ‘win’ this and get the potion? Yes. Did it set him on a lifelong course of gaming? Yes.

My journey of video games started in the 80’s. Who can forget Pong? The first game sissy and I ever had where you ‘competed’ against someone to bat a square ball around your TV screen with a rectangle you could only move up and down. Every hit of the ball against any part of the screen resulted in a digital ‘plunk’ sound that could put you in a hypnotic trance in a matter of minutes. Besides this exhilarating competition, the best part was to watch ma or dad hook the damn thing up…almost as fun at witnessing them hanging wallpaper together 😐. Anyhoot, T and I couldn’t believe that you could actually HIT A BALL on a SCREEN! Wow! That’s technology, folks.

Later we got an Atari for Christmas and now had more games to play. Space Invaders was very sophisticated…alien ships were shooting at you and you had to fire back and hide at the same time. In this game, your ship could be destroyed so the pressure was really on. Asteroids was nail biting excitement too: we had to save the world by destroying these monochrome nuggets before they hit you and then catapulted to earth destroying all of mankind. Let’s just suffice it to say that there’s a reason I don’t work for NASA…outside of the fact that majoring in astrophysics would have been about a million levels above what my brain is capable of processing.

More and more games began coming out and spending the afternoon at the video arcade at the mall…with your pockets full of quarters with an extra $5 to buy a slice of Garcia’s Gut-Buster pizza…was the ultimate. Frogger, Centipede, Donkey Kong, Dig-Dug, and Duck Hunt were personal favorites and at one time I worried I might be a bit of a psychopath (shutty 😬) since watching my frog getting run over by a bus didn’t affect me much. {Note to M: I’m so sorry I was Ms. Pac-Man champ at summer music camp in 1984 and that I flaunted it every chance I got. Yes, you were first chair flute out of hundreds of campers and performed solos flawlessly, but I moved that yellow circle around a maze and gobbled up monsters like nobody’s business. Just saying.}.

Mario Brothers changed everything. Not only was this a VERY sophisticated game in terms of graphics and play, but Nintendo consoles were available for purchase and you could start playing these arcade games in your own living room. Wow! Grampa and Gramma spoiled sissy, cousin and I and bought us one for their house. Little did they know we’d be there all of the time while interferring with gramma’s soap operas. She was a champ though and would call her friend Norma for updates.

While we were playing one day, my sister whacked bricks with Mario’s head enough times so that she popped through the ceiling and he was now above the ground! We were all shouting because we thought she had broken the game but as she started running through this new level, we were cheering her on as if she were dismantling a bomb…it was a thrill. And yes, it was one of the most proud moments I’ve ever had with T…despite her being a great mom, grammy, and LPN.

As my boy started playing his own games, I was so impressed. By the age of 4 he could pretty much do all I could (and honestly more…) on a computer and would win 95% of the games we played together. This just goes to show that a Master’s degree isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. When I bought him Zelda, his life changed. It was a story you played out with decisions affecting your progress. It was action/adventure game and O worked so hard to defeat the evil king Ganon…when he did it the first time, he swelled with pride. Zelda is still going strong today and O still plays all new incarnations of it.

And like a good ma, I still give him the newest gaming gadgets every chance I get. Last Christmas, it was VR goggles and we spent the afternoon watching each other put the goggles on and then try to get into VR rooms…juggle clubs…piece together things and if you didn’t know what you were seeing, you’d think we’d all gone mad as we watched each other grapple around the air while turning green from the motion sickness. Nothing says Christmas fun like throwing up after your turn. 😏

But I bitch about these. My mantra from the very beginning was this: “O, you only play AFTER you’ve done your homework or chores!” And now: “O, get off that freaking screen and talk to your mother.” Neither has worked well and I used to get a bit pissy about it…I know, that’s hard to believe.

Much to my chagrin though, the tables have turned. The first time I bought coins to further my ‘lives’, I told O it was only for that particular level (#22) and the $9.99 would be all I’d ever invest. I’m 55…a professor…somewhat frugal…and I know my limits. I have control.

No…I have found out that I really don’t. I’m on level #881 right now and yes, you can pause and work through your enviousness of this accomplishment. I’ll wait.

I never thought I’d be so ‘into’ (young adult vernacular) a game that I’d spend money to make sure I progressed. I also never thought I’d play it while on the toilet (like the little guys I am probably competing against 😳), at the dinner table while Edward waits for his plate to lick, during a zoom meeting (just once…I swear…cough cough) and while telling ma I can’t talk right then because I’m vacuuming. Am I proud of this? No. Will I continue to do this? Most likely.

See, it’s like I have too. Every 50 levels you get to play for coins and use your TNT and disco balls to earn more and more. You can earn cannons and arrows with every few games won and winning a Sky Race where you beat 15 levels before anyone else is exhilarating.

So, I finally get it. I get the excitement and time and energy spent on playing a game. A game. Because that’s all it is, right? But actually, I’m starting to feel differently about it. Living by myself can get downright lonely at times and King’s Cup is a great distraction. Having to figure out moves and puzzles and think ahead a few steps can fire up these old neurons. And building up the King’s rooms in his castle has given me some incredible decorating ideas…such as having a spa in the middle of my living room or building a fountain with dogs spitting out streams of water in my backyard.

And it’s also this: a way to escape from the world of pandemics, threats of war, poverty, violence, and the list goes on. So maybe I was wrong about gaming and it’s ‘uselessness’. It’s actually a way to disconnect from reality for a bit…something we probably all feel like doing from time to time. And of course I know how to play in moderation. I’m a mature, educated, experienced adult who….

WAIT! I have to cut this short…there’s a sale on coins and I can buy some extra sledgehammers! You just never know when they’ll come in handy.

Kristi xoxo

“Are you going to finish that sentence or leave me dangling?” ~ Donna Stone

Dear Donna,

So, you are probably aware that your name is synonymous with being the perfect mother and wife as seen on your TV show (and just so people don’t forget, you were an Oscar winner as well! 🤩) and you were one of the first women on TV to take on a leading role…yea! You know, when I’ve heard people mention ‘The Donna Reed Show’ it’s usually in a somewhat facetious manner though. Because of this, I assumed you were yet another 1950’s mom that always had the answers and always submitted to your hubby and kids when I had never even watched your show. But thanks to Amazon Video (you would love it 😃 ), I have now seen every episode and am gobsmacked by it.

I grew up watching ‘The Brady Bunch’ and ‘The Partridge Family’ (I wanted to be Mrs. David Cassidy badly) and while the shows were great, the problems the families faced were dealt with by using humor and minimizing the seriousness of what these issues were. Most often, they were trivial: for example, Marcia (on the Brady Bunch…I wanted her hair so bad…) getting bonked in the nose and it swelling up before a date. Yes, it was fun to watch but no, the ‘issue’ was pretty silly.

Anyhoot, I figured your show would be the same…trivial issues and perfect parenting. But it’s not! You tackled some really serious things. In ‘The Father’s Image’, Alex (your adorable pediatrician hubby who I have fallen somewhat in love with 🥰) has a young patient who has a chance of dying. It was going to take 4 hours or so of monitoring to see if the child was going to survive and while the surgeon kept an eye on things, Alex went home after an all-nighter with her. You knew something was wrong…you could see it in his behavior. But, when he said he didn’t want to talk about, you accepted that. Mary and Jeff both needed their father that day and demanded his time. He kept checking in with the hospital but put aside his worry to focus on his children and you. He forced himself to be a father and hubby during one of the worst times a doctor can face.

Not only was this a difficult issue to contemplate…the loss of a little girl…but it also showed how parents have to balance so much. Being there for work and then for children can be tricky and the show always handled such situations well.

In fact, I really liked it when you and Alex argued! The arguments were ‘real’ in that they weren’t solved with just a kiss. I really liked “The Merry Month of April” when Alex decides to complete the tax returns on his own. Needless to say, the stress is real. You had already given the papers to your accountant and question why Alex would want to do these forms anyway. The argument ensues over who is best for the task and your decision to use an accountant wins. I love that you win! So many wives on TV acquiesce to the wants of the hubby instead of standing up for what they think is best.

I also loved the episode “Mrs. Stone and Dr. Hyde” when you filled in for Alex’s vacationing office assistant. You quickly found out that hubby is much different in his professional life and his snapping and demands pissed you off! You argued with him about this treatment of you, but after a few spats you realized that he’s a doctor first in his office…it’s not time for the wife. And you quickly learned how important running his office to his standards was when an unconscious boy was brought in and Alex had to use various equipment to diagnose him.

And what I really like about your relationship is that passion. You don’t just see pecks…you guys kiss and flirt and dance and communicate and go out as a couple for that time together. That’s such a great example for relationships.

And as a mom? You rocked there too! You let your kids fail…let them make decisions and try these out without interfering all while understanding that our kids often need to learn their own lessons. Jeff picking up a raffle ticket he saw a woman drop which was the winning ticket for the prize: an awesome sports car. He told you about the ticket and you knew that the right thing to do would be to find the lady in order to give her the car. But, as would be the case with most 16 year olds, Jeff didn’t want too. And who could blame him? The car was amazing and he loved driving it. However, he saw the woman out and about with her little girl and did the right thing.

The point is, you didn’t force him. Make him feel bad. Get angry when he kept the car for a time. You let him make this moral decision himself and the lesson learned had to have been more impactful. Sometimes we have to let our kids fall down…but be there when they get back up.

I also loved how you handled Mary when she wanted to forgo college in order to begin a singing career. You got her a singing job at your alma mater’s open house…the college that you wanted Mary to attend. Instead of going to the campus in a car, you got bus tickets and Mary got a taste of what being on the road was like. You also pushed her into practicing which was realistic. And? Mary sang at the open house and you were stunned by her ability. The tears in your eyes were understandable and you realized that a singing career was a possibility…you were willing to support her in that. Finally, Mary decided singing in college was a great balance. The point? You tried to show your daughter the reality of her choice while also appreciating the talent she had.

In fact, I really liked that your kids could be…well…little mouthy shits. It was much more real that way!

You know, people called you an ‘anti-feminist’ since you were ‘just’ a housewife. WHAT? You loved what you did and being a wife and mom is definitely a job…I worked harder as a wife and mama when my son was a little guy than I do now teaching 9 classes a semester! And after all, if we work outside the home, we pay someone to do this mothering gig for us for hours a day. And they get paid. When we do it ourselves, the respect lessens 🤔. But you took this societal role and transformed it. You were strong, opinionated, compassionate, etc. You don’t have to be a NASA engineer to illustrate the concept of feminism. Women can do that in any capacity…and you chose the home as your domain. Good for you.

In fact, in dissertation by Anne M. Newton she says this regarding you and the feminist movement that Betty Friedan talks about in her book “The Feminine Mystique”:

Although Reed foreshadowed some of Friedan’s argument, the actress did not necessarily seek to overturn societal roles. She focused more on empowering women within those roles, particularly within the home. Reed’s Donna Stone reflected the dissatisfaction with the cultural emphasis on domesticity, but her character clearly values being a wife and mother. By seeking to embolden women to demand more choices within and outside of the home, Reed channeled what scholar Christina Hoff Sommers labels the “maternal feminist movement.”
Anne M. Newton

In other words, you weren’t behind the times…you were progressing through them during the tumultuous era of feminism. Yea!

Anyhoot, I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate your image of a wife and mother; your portrayal began in 1959 but is still something to look up to today. What a great legacy that is. I know I’ll go back and watch your shows again and again…I tend to do that. I’m also going to show clips in my Marriage and Family classes to illustrate a few different things. I’m sure my students will become your fans as well.

Kristi xoxo

P.S. No matter what, you always looked gorgeous and I need to start wearing high heels around the house. 😃

“Not Every Girl wants to be a Princess”

So, I am not a girly girl. At all. In fact, from the time I can remember, I was a tomboy and would revel in getting dirty and sweaty and stinky whenever I could. And that still holds true…even at the young age of 54 (shutty 🙄).

Anyhoot, why am I thinking about this? The other day, sissy called me and said I just had to go to this online shop to get some of their nail wraps because she had a few sets and they are adorbs. So within 5 minutes, I had an account on the site, ordered 4 sets, and signed up for their mailers. I’m not easily influenced at all.

The box came a few days later and was packed so cute with the nail wraps, some tools and other goodies, and I was so excited just looking at them. But then I tried them and luckily, T prepared me for this: “Kristi, these aren’t as easy to use as I thought but I learned some tips and you’ll catch on quickly.” She was right…I caught on after re-reading her messages a dozen times, watching countless YouTube videos, and just winging parts of it I couldn’t figure out. Now mind you, these are nail wraps…not a NASA project. I got a practice set with my order and went through those in 5 minutes…those fuckers are sticky.

After ruining another set, I finally got them on and I felt so WEIRD! I couldn’t stop looking at my hands and was mesmerized by my nails. I was scared to do dishes…type…take out the garbage…and really, just move my hands in any way fearing they would come off. In fact, I was so distracted I don’t remember much about that week save for my flowered nails. If anything else big happened in the world, give me a shout.

It was a relief when the first one fell off…which I’m sure didn’t happen by me constantly picking at them. It was like I could live again…enjoy the scenery and not make my hands the focal point of my life. I think the Grand Poobah was relieved too…he was sick of me saying “Look at my nails!” to him every 5 minutes during our office hours 😳.

This reminds me of when T and I first started experimenting with make-up. This was the early 80’s and cosmetics were kinda icky back then. Foundations came in 3 colors: orange, orangier, and orangiest while lipsticks were slimy and came off if you blew your nose and a tissue touched your lips. Eyeshadows were blue and green (which I loved!) and you had to have a swipe of blush right on your cheekbones without any blending. The first time T got all made up, I thought she was gorgeous! Her skin was the color of an Oompa Loompa and she couldn’t smile for fear of either cracking her foundation or showing the schmears of lipstick on her teeth, but by golly, she was a knock out and I was mesmerized. I couldn’t wait until I could try it myself!

So I started experimenting and to this day…all these years later…I’m still as much of a novice now as I was then. I’ve worn foundation 3 times in my life and as God is my witness, I will never wear it again. I can color match, blend, powder, and rub and still have a line on my jaw that shows where my skin ends and my make-up begins. And eyes? I LOVE the look of eyeliner that curls out from the lid. I’ve tried to do this more times than I care to count and there is no way on this great green earth I will ever get the hang of it.

My hair is the same way. I love messing with it and try to curl it and make it look ‘cute’, but I know I don’t always succeed. As it gets longer, I get more and more bewildered by buns and upsweeps and braids so I usually just get some cut off and then cry and say I’m going to grow it again. It’s a comforting cycle to be in and a pattern I never intend to break.

And clothes? I can count on 1 hand the number of times I’ve worn a dress these past 30 years and 3 of those were at weddings. Mine in particular. I think I once wore a dress to a graduation until I found out that running shorts under your robe feels better, and the other was to a funeral because my black pants had dog hair on them at the time. The chances of me wearing another one soon is about a billion to one.

I can’t walk in a dress…or sit in one…and since they require shoes other than Birkenstocks (which is all I wear now 😐) or my ASICS, I’m screwed in being able to walk. I have never truly figured out high heels. EVERY time I have ever bought any they have either been too big so that I walk out of them or too small so that I get huge blisters on my heel. And before you ask, they always fit perfectly in the store. Go figure.

My outfit of choice? Cargo shorts, t-shirt, Birkies, lip gloss and a smear of mascara. That’s about all you get with me. Charming…right? And colors? I am NOT a pastel type of woman. I am a gray, black, white, and dark green type that has to wear a belt anytime I have on pants or shorts with belt loops. O makes fun of me: “Ma, you don’t need to tuck in a wear a belt all the time.” Ummmm…yes you do. If there are belt loops, I’m going to use them. And, the only time you’ll see me untucked is if I’ve had a big lunch or am a bit gassy from spicy food 🤢.

Oh, I look at ads and social media and see these gorgeous women with the poreless faces and perfect makeup tottering around on 6″ heels while wearing skin tight dresses that show off their ass and I think ‘if only.’ Then, I start to think how I would break my ankle, split my dress while sitting down, and fuck with my make-up so much people would start to stare. So…no red carpet walk for me.

A couple of years ago, ma said I should never ever pierce my nose so I pierced my nose. It was like this ‘feminine’ thing for me and I couldn’t stop messing with it. I stared at my nose for significant stretches of time and whenever I twirled it around or wiggled it to make sure it was in place, it looked like I was picking boogies. Every family member would say this to me countless times: “Kristi, quit playing with your nose.” I think they were relieved when I snagged the damn thing taking off my shirt and never got it re-pierced.

It’s funny because I love being a ma and a daughter and a sissy and a sometimes girlfriend or wife, but I hate being too girly. I have nighties I’ve worn but prefer boxers and tank tops. I’ve bought fancy schmancy undies with lace but prefer my good old cotton Hanes. I’ve bought purses with little buckles and sparkles but prefer shoving my credit card in my back pocket. I’ve bought dangly earrings but prefer the studs I got in high school from my first serious boyfriend.

But, it’s me. Tomboyish me who loves to paint and dig in the yard and wash my car in the drive and mow my lawn and pull up carpet and use my new nail gun and ooo and ahhh over power tools at Harbor Freight and run in the rain and ride motorcycles when I can get my hands on one and get muddy with Eddie when we walk around the neighborhood. And frankly, doing all of this with nail wraps and make-up just doesn’t seem right to me. So that’s my excuse for being so unadorned…and I’m sticking to it.

Kristi xoxo

Stop and Smell the Roses.

So, I’m over all of my COVID symptoms except for 2: I’ve lost all taste and smell. I know this is very common and apparently it could last for a few more days or even a few months. You know, I never realized how much these senses affect our day to day lives until I lost them.

Danny Bonaduce from the Partridge Family

Have you ever played the “Would you rather?” game? For example, would you rather kiss a frog or a rat (I’ve kissed both…remember, I’ve been married 3 times 🙄)? One question that always pops up is “Would you rather lose your sight or your hearing?” Of course, this is a toughie and even contemplating losing these senses makes you realize how dependent you are on them. But I’ve never heard the same question asked about taste or smell…it’s almost like these are the red-headed stepchildren of senses. Right?

I didn’t realize these senses had left me until we were sitting down to ‘dinner’ (a wrap with chips and salsa…I’m a gourmet cook…😳) and I couldn’t taste ANYTHING at all. Nothing. I was chewing and swallowing but the experience was ’empty’…there was no sensation at all. Like I told Bill, “Hells bells…I might as well be eating ma’s meatlump right now.”

It was so strange because I could feel the heat of the salsa on the roof of my mouth, but there was no taste to it…no flavor to anything. Then, I started smelling various things to see if that was gone too…the biggest test was smelling Dottie (who, to use my son’s words, does have a bit of a stench) and I smelled nothing. Nada. Zip.

In order to further test all of this, I got out ketchup, mustard, ranch dressing, poppyseed dressing, and the ‘smooth’ part of salsa. I blindfolded Bill (he was excited at first and then realized what it was actually for 🙄) and put a taste of each of these on his tongue to see if he could figure out what he was tasting. He didn’t recognize any of them!

You know, until you are going without something you’ve had all your life, you don’t realize how much of an impact taste has. How much the flavor of our foods please us. Even flavors that aren’t fancy schmancy…like peanut butter…are missed. Instead of eating and having some enjoyment…you are just ‘eating’. And it tastes like you are eating nothing while your brain is saying: “I remember this…what the hell?” A couple of days ago after we were released from quarantine, I went to Wally-Farts and bought a ton of food. As I was self-scanning it and yacking to the employee who was watching, I told him I didn’t know why I was buying so much ‘good’ stuff since I couldn’t taste anything anyway. Why spend the money on purple grapes (I LOVE grapes), fresh veggies, deli roast beef, etc. ? I literally could have bought crappy substitutes and never would have tasted the difference. Right?

Well, not really. See, even though I theoretically could eat something I hate (prunes and brussels sprouts come to mind 😐), my brain…as fucked up as it is (sorry, ma 🙄)…would still know I didn’t like them and I don’t think I could eat them without barfing. The ‘memory’ of the taste is there…just not the taste.

And then there’s smell. How boring the world seems without this. Smells infiltrate our lives constantly and without them, everything around us is just bland. Just ick. And not being able to smell food is one thing that’s hard for me. After a fiasco of a dinner with ma, pop, and sis when I was younger that involved spoiled milk (ma doesn’t ‘believe’ in expiration dates 🙄), I refuse to eat just about anything without giving it a good sniff. Here’s how this went down:

Little Kristi: “Ma, this milk is spoiled…it tastes funny.” 🤢
Ma: “It does not! I would never serve you spoiled milk!”
Little Kristi: “Ma. The milk is clumpy. Like cottage cheese.”
Ma: “Kristi. For the last time the milk is not spoiled. Just drink it and eat your dinner!”
Pop: “Aaaaagggghhhhh! C, this damn milk is spoiled!”
Ma: “Oh no! I’m so sorry!”

In other words, ma didn’t trust me to know that when milk is clumpy and causing you to make the same face you make when eating a rotten lemon, it’s spoiled! Now when I eat at ma’s, I (and sis) smell EVERYTHING. And…it pisses ma off royally. However, she didn’t get a mouthful of the expired, sour milk so she has no room to complain. For fuck sakes…no wonder I’m dairy free now. 🙄

I miss so many other smells too: just the everyday smells in the house, smelling Eddie when he’s cuddling me, smelling Bill’s hair right after a shower, smelling that ‘fresh’ aroma of snow (yes, I can smell snow), smelling the towels to make sure they’re fresh, smelling the body wash I like to use, smelling Little Dot when I’m holding her, and the list goes on. It’s like the world is now ‘turned down a notch’ because of the lack of smells.

In fact, smells trigger the most powerful memories for me. T and I LOVE the smell of English Leather. It’s that VERY strong aftershave that older men used to use (I don’t even know if they still sell it 😳) and grampa would douse himself in it everyday. T and I loved to hug him and smell that and even now, if I get a whiff of aromatic cologne when I pass by an older gentleman, I get a tug in my heart.

This one is going to sound nuts (go figure 😐), but even cigarette smoke triggers good memories for me. Gramma always smoked a LOT and the house was full of second hand smoke (this was the 70’s and 80’s, grasshoppers…we didn’t know the hell we were doing). It would sometimes get overwhelming for me at holidays when a lot of the family would smoke, but when it was just gramma, it didn’t bother me (although my lungs suffered). Now when I smell a hint of smoke, I think of gramma sitting on the couch, rolling her hair in pin-curls, while a cigarette waits in the ashtray on the old coffee table they had. In a weird way, the smell comforts me.

And kids? After having a sweaty little boy for so many years, that smell is a huge one for me. Boys have a sort of musty, sweet smell to them and after O would play ball or mess around outside with his cousins, his sweaty head would smell so ambrosial…so fragrant. It was the smell of a happy, playful boy and I’ve never forgotten it. In fact, J’s son would smell the same and he brought back so many memories for me.

I think everyone has a smell and I also believe that our attraction to someone is very much related to this. Some people just don’t smell ‘right’ and no matter what they do, it’s just not there. Out of all of my many hubbies (shutty the mouthies please 🤨), #3 smelled the best. Even after working in the garage or coming home from a 2 day weekend motorcycle trip without stopping to shower, he still smelled yummy to me. And yes…Bill does too.

Other smells I love? The smell of school books and supplies like pencils, notebooks, erasers, etc.; in fact, the smell of an elementary classroom is what I’m hoping heaven smells like. I love the smell of laundry in the drier and when I run by a house when this is happening, I can smell the steam and I get a great feeling inside. I love the smell of running gear…after you wear it a few times and sweat your butt off in it, it doesn’t matter how many times you wash it, there is still a smell….mmmmmm. Going into ma’s house with all of its smells always makes me feel at home and this sounds gross, but when I’m really upset and need something to calm me down, I snuggle Little Dottie or Eddie and smell their ears. Believe me…it works.

Anyhoot, I was just surprised at how much a lack of taste and smell would affect me. Life is more humdrum without these senses…I can’t wait until they come back. EXCEPT for this: picking up the dogs’ poop has never been better…I’m actually doing it now without gagging. That’s the only plus I can think of.

Kristi xoxo

“Take me back to the good old days” ~ Tommy Collins

So, with Bill and I being in isolation because we have COVID, we’ve been watching a lot of true crime (very uplifting when you’re sick 🙄) and just finished ‘The Night Stalker’ (Richard Ramirez) on Netflix. As fascinating as it was regarding the investigation of this serial killer and how horrible we felt for all those he victimized, here’s what really got us: how old the film clips, tv’s, clothes, cars, etc. looked. When we started watching this, we both would have sworn that the time period being shown was the 60’s, but alas, we would have been wrong. It was the 80’s.

Heh? The 80’s look OLD to us? Archaic? It was the 80’s…our era, baby! Just a few years ago…right? Well…no. I remember when I was growing up and grandma and grandpa would talk about the 40’s and 50’s and to me, it seemed like a life-time ago (and it was…literally…duh…🙄). Now that we’re in 2021 (the year in which I thought everything pertaining to the Jetson’s would be happening), the 80’s was a life-time ago; after all, my sonshine was born in 1993 and he’s 27. Damn!

So after the show ended, Bill and I started to play the ‘Did you ever imagine…’ game, and we realized how much the world has changed in the decades that followed the cool one we were teenagers in (OK, I was never cool…nerdy/homely would be a better descriptor for me 🤓). Here are some examples:

Didya ever think that we’d hold a phone in our hands…without cords…that had a MUCH bigger computer capacity than the combination of every single computer we ever used in high school had?
Didya ever think that you could ‘send’ a message to someone instantaneously?
Didya ever think the world would be connected and we could access that knowledge every single day without leaving home?
Didya ever think ‘books’ would be read electronically?
Didya ever think you’d be able to take a better pic through a PHONE than you did using the most expensive camera out there when you were a kid?
Didya ever think we’d have electric cars?
Didya ever think there would be a more graphically ‘real’ game than Pac-Man?
Didya ever think there would be something to ‘hold’ your music that was more compact than a Sony Walkman that used cassettes?
Didya ever think you wouldn’t be using VHS tapes someday?

And the list goes on and on.

My first camera! The film just popped in…what could be better than that?

Take cameras: my son is a professional photographer and he is a hybrid shooter in that he uses film and digital cameras. The first time he started shooting in film, he was so excited! You would have thought he discovered an ancient civilization that hadn’t been seen for eons. For the first few months, he would show me every single pic he took on film and he was just gob-smacked by how they looked…they were so ‘vintage’! And, every time he did this, I’d be giggling inside: “Sweetie…what the hell do you think ALL of your baby and childhood pics were taken with?? ”

And the computer stuff really does boggle my mind. I remember sitting in Mr. B’s computer classes in high school and trying to wrap my head around ‘Basic Programming’. In only 1 semester, I learned how to program a computer to scroll my name on the green and black screen! It was quite an accomplishment. Really. If you would have told me that computers would be the size of your palm someday…AND…we would carry them around in our pockets and be obsessed with them…I would have said you might be a tad delusional.

When hubby 2 and I got our first ‘real’ desktop computer, we were a bit afraid of it, and after getting an AOL disc to use in it, we were petrified. The disc said we had like a zillion hours of ‘internet’ time and we couldn’t understand what the hell the internet was and why the hell we’d want ‘on it.’ We popped the disc in after O was in bed for the night…that way, if something horrible happened, he wouldn’t be a witness to it. A funny, screechy, dial-y sound (much like how my voice is described 😐 ) started and we thought the computer was blowing up. After about 5 minutes (SO FAST!), we were ‘online’ and had no idea what to do. Hubby started clicking around on things on the AOL homepage but we closed it out because there was nothing that interested us. Here’s what we said (word for word): “The internet is stupid…I’m never using it.” 🤨 I guess we were sorta wrong on that one.

And movies? Good lord…I remember traipsing to the local ‘video store’ and checking out a VCR and a movie…this would cost about $40! BUT, since VCR’s were around $600-700 in the mid-80’s, this was a steal! My boyfriend and I’d lug this badboy home in the ‘suitcase’ it came in and then spend a grueling hour trying to figure out the fucking wires that needed to be connected while ma was shouting down the stairs: “Don’t mess up the damn TV!” After saying some not-so-nice things to each other during this fiasco, we’d finally get it hooked up, watch the movie (in our house…oooooo…😲) and then unhook it the next day to get it back before we got hit with astronomical fines. Tech at it’s best!

For my son, using Netflix and Hulu is nothing…he’s been doing it since he was a teen. He doesn’t remember a time when movies weren’t at our fingertips! I do though…and I’m still amazed that you can watch about anything you feel like with a few clicks. And I LOVE how you can stop watching something after a few minutes and go on to something else. When I would ‘rent’ VHS tapes, I’d watch the movie even if I hated it…I didn’t want to waste money by not watching it. BTW, I just got my first talking remote for my cable and using it amazes me…I don’t even have to change channels myself anymore!

And social media? I never dreamed…in a million years…that you’d be able to connect with anyone and everyone in the WHOLE world you wanted to with the ‘click of a mouse’. Further, who could ever have seen the effects of doing so? I’ve been off Facebook now for a few weeks and really don’t miss it at all…except for seeing what my sweetie students are up too. I certainly don’t miss the gossip, political fighting, high-school type antics among adults, etc. In fact, my stress level has decreased knowing I can just enjoy something without worrying about having to post it. It’s freeing! 😛 Plus, I just finished a quilt, have kicked ass on getting my classes set up, and am running 4-5 miles a day! Know what? That’s better than clicking on a thumb for hours at a time!

Anyhoot, how weird to think the era I grew up in was as many years ago as when my gramma would talk about the depression. It’s funny how time goes by so fast, but then you sort of get stuck in a time and it stays the same in your mind as if it were just a few days past. Sometimes I miss those good ole days when kids were out riding their bikes all over the city, and were playing tag at night under the street lights, and playgrounds were full and waiting for a swing was your biggest worry at the time. I feel like people were more connected back then…regardless of the social media and technology we have today. We called each other and yapped for hours on the phone. We had slumber parties and would stay up all night telling naughty stories and freezing each other’s bras. If you wanted to date someone, you had to ask them face-to-face…no swiping…and then you’d actually talk and do things together with no phones interrupting your time. You also didn’t have the pressure of ‘having’ to take photos to post to prove to others you were having fun with so and so. You didn’t have to worry about documenting everything…you just lived it and made the memories in your head where they aren’t judged. People felt better about themselves because you weren’t comparing yourself to others on social media and feeling less than because of everyone’s ‘perfect’ pics. If you had an issue with someone, you actually had to talk to them…not see it splattered across an open platform that everyone reads and can judge you by.

As much as it ages me, it’s like it was a more ‘innocent’ time…more laid back…more linked…united. I didn’t take pics of my son 100x every single day…film and developing were expensive! But when I did take pics, they were special and showed a time in his life that I really wanted to capture; then I’d mail copies to the grandparents for them to stick on the fridge. I didn’t force him to pose or stop playing with him to get yet another pic to post because it wasn’t about the pic…it was about us simply being together.

My life was my life…it wasn’t a life that was open for others to criticize publicly. If I wanted to learn about something, I got actual books and read them and studied them and learned from them. I didn’t passively ask Alexa for an answer…I found the answer myself.

So yes, I’m old. Yes, I’m feeling nostalgic about the 80’s. And yes…even though it was far from perfect, there is so much I miss about it. I guess I’m finally one of those people who yearn for the ‘good ole days’…and in fact, I think a lot of us actually do.

Kristi xoxo

“…rolling on the river.” ~ Proud Mary

So, blech. Isn’t that a great way to start? Makes you really want to read more, huh??!! 🙄

Anyhoot, Bill started his new job and guess what he brought home? Wait for it….wait for it…

COVID!

On Sunday morning, I told Bill that I felt ‘warm’ and he put his hand to my head and said I was nice and cool. So what did I do? Take my temp for the first time in years. It was a couple of degrees high and later in the day, we both were coughing and tired and achy…you get the picture (there was also a bit of diarrhea involved, but I’m not going to tell you which one of us had it…just suffice it to say it wasn’t me…😳). We got tested Monday and our results were back Thursday. We are in isolation until Feb. 3rd. I’m not good at isolation.

When I got the test results back, I called ma and said: “Ma, I’m sad because I’m not going to be able to see you for 10 days!” She said: “Kristi, we have gone a lot longer than that without seeing each other.” So I said: “But ma…when I CAN’T do something, I WANT to do something…you know, like when you forbade me to pierce my nose and I pierced my nose.” Ma said: “We’ll facetime.” Here’s the problem with that: ma doesn’t prop her phone up during our screen time and I get nauseated because of the movement…I liken it to being on a boat during a storm.

I am one of these people that get motion sick REALLY REALLY easily. Just watching the words scroll at the bottom of a newscast can make me dizzy and if I ride in the back-seat of a car, watch out. It’s going to get ugly.

When I was a junior in High School, me, ma and her fucking bastard of a husband went camping on Lake Michigan in the Cabin Cruiser they had (he could be fun at times…he got progressively worse through the years and they weren’t even married yet). I have no idea why I didn’t beg off of going except I thought it would be fun. You know…camping on a boat, in Lake Michigan, and not setting foot on land for a week. A couple of days into this nightmare, we decided to boat across Lake Michigan and because I’ve always had such great luck in my life, a storm came up and the boat that always seemed big to me felt like a raft in the ocean. Wave after wave was hitting us and I thought we were going to die. Ma thought we were going to die. R was having the time of his life…I’m assuming he felt like Skipper on the Minnow. 😐

Anyway, did you know Lake Michigan is HUGE? And once you’re in the middle of it, you can’t see land? And when you are in the fucking middle of it during a storm you can’t see land and you have to barf in a minnow bucket because you’re scared if you do it over the side of the boat you are going to fall in? And when you barf in a minnow bucket that smells like dead minnows, it makes you want to barf even more?

So, R was steering, ma was yelling, and I was barfing. Charming. Finally, after what seemed like days but was only about 4 hours, we motored into Chicago. I was REALLY sick by this time and getting dehydrated, plus we hadn’t planned on staying in the city so we had nowhere to dock. R finally spotted a small marina which was labeled “Yacht Club”. The boats were the size of my old snow saucer so the fellows there used the term ‘yacht’ very loosely. In fact, it was a pretty seedy place. But, they let us dock there and we set out to find somewhere I could recover.

We started walking (this was pre-Uber, my sweeties, plus we didn’t have cab fare…no cash and ATM’s weren’t a big thing yet 😐) and we walked and walked and walked. Actually, ma and R walked…I wobbled and teetered and barfed. We were in the Southside of Chicago, it was getting dark, and we had no idea where the hell we were going. We passed a billboard that said “God is watching you” and I said to ma: “I hope!” Finally, we spotted a hotel and R used his last check to book me and ma a room…he wanted to sleep with his boat.

So, ma and I were in a hotel on the Southside…I was moaning and groaning on the bed while she was trying to determine if I needed to go to the hospital or not. Finally, we both fell asleep until we heard someone messing with the door. They were actually trying to break in! Luckily, they left after they heard us scream and we spent the rest of the night with me dry-heaving and ma watching the door like a hawk.

The next day, it was decided that I needed to get home since there was no way in hell I was going to step foot on that Godforsaken boat one more time. The solution? I got to ride a Greyhound home! That was an adventure as well…my first time traveling across the state alone on a bus (actually, it was my last time too…so far…). At first I was excited, that is, until the last words I heard from ma while I was boarding were: “What if she doesn’t make it home?” That was comforting. Ma always has a way of seeing the bright side of things. Well, obviously I made it home and gramma and grampa took care of me and spoiled me to bits…it was heaven.

You know, I realize how lucky Bill and I are that our bout with COVID is mild and we are doing well. I also know how horrible this virus is for so many and my heart goes out to them…truly. Finally, I know that no matter what, ma has always been, and still is, there when I’m sick. Thanks, ma…you’re the best.

Kristi x0x0

“I don’t want to grow up…” ~ The Ramones

So, I was perusing amazon the other day and came across a book called “How Not to Act Old” by Pamela Satran and it really interested me for a couple of reasons. First, what the fuck (sorry ma, I’m already cussing 😳)? Do we really need lessons on how not to ‘act old’ in this day and age? What is ‘acting old’ anyway and why must we shy away from it? Why is ‘acting young’ so much better? Second, why in the name of all that is holy do we fear aging so much in our society that we have to learn to ‘act younger’? Does that seem right to you? Grrrrrrrr.

Actually, this book is really funny and the author is excellent at satire. Plus, if I must be brutally honest with myself, I think I need a few of these ‘lessons’ myself. Let’s take a look see at the ones I apparently need to work on…I may need to leave a few out for the sake of brevity (look up that word, youngsters…it’s not used much anymore 🙄).

One of the tips is to not talk to strangers which is something us old folks do. My son is probably cheering right now because he absolutely hates it when I do this, but what can I say? I’m a talker and baby, this bird likes to chirp! No one is a stranger to me…literally. I’ll talk to anybody and everybody anytime and anywhere. And, while that makes my son very very nervous, ma will laugh after she realizes the person isn’t going to spit in my face.

The other day we were at Wally Farts and I was in the make-up aisle looking for the only lipstick that looks decent on me (Maybelline 24 hour matte…#50 🤨 ) and there was another gal yacking on her phone which kinda pisses me off. Is there anywhere we can go where we can get away from those damn things (I wanted to say ‘fucking’ instead of ‘damn’ but ma might get mad so I resisted 😬)? Anyhoot, she said the word ‘Aunt Linda’ and after she hung up I said: “Was that Linda?” And she tentatively said it was. I said: “Aunt Linda…from Decatur?” And she said YES! Do you actually know her? I said of course I did…I was trying to get some lipstick for her and this gal actually said: “She sent me to do that too!” Then ma and I started cracking up and the gal did too! I could hear her continuing to laugh through the body lotions aisle (note: I need to put that on my shopping list) and it made me happy. If my son had been there? He would have left the store and called an Uber for me. I guarantee it.

Another suggestion is not to wear a watch. Heh?? I grew up wearing watches and since my phone isn’t connected to me via an umbilical cord like I know others have, I need to know the time. My first ‘fancy’ watch was a gold number from a store named “Venture” and it had the red numbers that lit up when you pushed a button. It was awesome and I loved it…very ‘tech’. I actually have a lot of watches I’ve collected over the years: Tweety bird, Hoops and YoYo, Mickey Mouse, various Timex’es and I wear them according to my mood. When O was a little guy, I had an Elmo watch and I’d say: “Elmo says it’s time for a nap!” Worked like a charm.

Another suggestion is to not talk about menopause. Yeah. Right. Look, when I was sweating like a dog every freaking day of the month for 2 years straight, wanted to kick anyone that got in my way, had mood swings far above and beyond anything bipolar can be responsible for, and saw my belly grow day by day because my metabolism was getting shot to hell…I’m going to bitch about it. To everyone. Hello??!! If I’m miserable, I want others to be too. It’s just a quirk of mine.

(NOTE: skip this part, ma). In another part of the book, the author says that although men continue to be randy throughout their lives (tell me about it 😐), women don’t want to really have ‘it’ anymore. OK. Here’s another area where I must be an anomoly because good Lord above, I still like ‘it’. Why is it assumed that older women don’t like to have sex? I hate to blame anyone for this situation but I tend to think that if our men (I’m leaving out women as a partner because I think we’re already OK at this) romanced us like they did when we were young…quit wearing sweatpants around the house all day while carrying a beer…stopped watching the boob tube for hours on end…stopped assuming that going out to dinner is just too much trouble…and not ogle young ladies that are barely old enough to vote then guess what folks? Women might really like it ‘again.’ Hello, men. Ever hear of foreplay? Sweeties, take it from me…that never gets too old for us. K?

This is one badass grammy! From: The Bored Panda

And tattoos? Not for the old? I disagree. What the hell? I’m getting older and fewer and fewer people are going to want to see my bod so why not get it covered in ink? I’ve actually got 6 tattoos and am getting a sun/moon on my right upper arm this fall. Ma doesn’t know about this and she is going to be calling me in 5-4-3-2-1…hold on, I’d better take this. 🙄

And, this brings me to something else ma has told sissy and I since were were 4. Long hair isn’t for older women. In other words, having 2 inch hair is the ONLY style acceptable for ‘cough cough’ women of a certain age. With no disrespect to ma, and I know I speak for sissy as well, bullshit! My longer hair can be used to cover up my face when my wrinkles are a bit more pronounced, look really great when nothing else does, and makes me feel like I’m at least a year younger than I really am. Win win win.

The author also talks about what you shouldn’t wear as an older woman and I agree with them…particularly the bright blue eye shadow which every single 80 year old I know wears (and yes, I live in a very old neighborhood where I’m the youngest resident by about 50 years so I know a lot of 80 year old women 👵). I don’t want to dress in ‘Jr.’ clothes…for fuck (sorry, ma 🙄) sakes, the day I show my midriff in public is the day you need to commit me, but I’m not going to wear these ‘new’ high waist ‘vintage’ jeans either. No way in hell. Look, maybe the ‘young folk’ think having the 80’s back is fun, but these are the jeans that us older people look at in our school pics and laugh at. No way are those boobie-touchers going on this bod. I will continue to wear my boring old Levi’s with the button fronts so when I eat too much dessert, I can unfasten a couple of ’em and shove more cake in. Seriously…what could be better than that?

Last one that made me think a bit? ‘Don’t fear the thong.’ Oh…I don’t know about y’all, but I fear them…a lot. Look, underwear is supposed to cover your underarea and keep you…well…contained. Free from drippies. Protected from chafing jeans. There is no way on God’s green earth I’m going to wear a 3″ swatch of fabric with dental floss holding it together in the back. I tried them. Once. And I spent hours with my hand picking the floss out of my butt crack which I’m sure looked very sexy. Regular panties it is.

So, getting older may not be cool, and yes, there are suggestions on how not to act too old, but here’s how I see it: I’ve gotten to 53 and I’ll be damned if I’m not going to take advantage of it. There are just some things us old folk can take advantage of and be OK…like staring at handsome firefighters while saying something naughty. “I can’t help it…I’m old.” That sort of thing. Pros to getting older? You can act about anyway you want and blame it on age. Cons? Well my sweet peeps…that’s a whole other post.

Kristi xoxo

“Sunday, Monday Happy Days…” ~ Happy Days Theme Song

So, my ma sent sissy and I an e-mail that was literally entitled: “Pictures for Seniors”. Yes. You read that correctly. My ma apparently thinks my sis and I are in the ‘senior’ age category like she is. I think I speak for my sis when I say I was going to e-mail ma a snarky comeback to such an e-mail, but then I opened the damned thing and realized I knew a LOT of what these ‘old pics’ were. Thanks, ma. I now feel elderly. “T? Should we start looking at old age homes together?” 🙄

These 2 pics actually made me laugh out loud. When ma was a fresh divorcee and I was a freshman in high school, she decided she wanted to save some money and asked me to give her a perm. Let me rephrase this in case you don’t get the dramatics of it: Ma asked a freshman high schooler who had absolutely no experience at all with curlers, perming lotion, etc. to give her a perm with the expectation it would look at good as the gal at the beauty parlor used to give her for $50. Now I ask you…what could go wrong?

Well…first off, ma’s hair is not the thickest and after rolling 3 curlers, I was done. I literally got all of her hair into 3 rollers and figured the ‘stragglers’ and short hair underneath that couldn’t fit on a roller would just ‘blend in.’ Ma was skeptical since the beauty parlor used about 30 on her but I told her to trust me…I knew what I was doing. (I had no fucking clue what I was doing…sorry, ma! 🤨). Anyhoot, I drizzled on the very smelly and chemically goop on the curlers and we waited for the magic to happen. After a time, I figured we should wash it out. Now, here’s some life advice for you grasshoppers…please take heed: when you are asked to wash your ma’s hair in the sink with a shitty sprayer, don’t do it. Period. You will inadvertently spray water in her ears, up her nose, and in her eyes. She will get mad at you and say words you never ever thought your ma even knew.

I took out the curlers (didn’t take long) and VOILA! Ma had a perm in 1/20 of her hair with the 3 curls looking fried and crispy. She was not a happy camper…but neither was I! “That’s what you get for trying to save a buck, Ma!”

My grandma also liked curls and after grandpa would shampoo her hair in the sink (she certainly didn’t fuss like ma 🙄) she would sit on the ‘davenport’ (which was always covered with a flowery sofa cover so you never knew what it looked like at all) with a hand mirror between her legs and make her ‘pin curls’. It was quite something to see.

Does anyone play ‘jacks’ anymore? I’m thinking not since they are sharp, metal mini-weapons that you played on concrete to where you scraped your hand with every move. Ahhhhh…those were the days. Anyhoot, I was a jacks champion! I could get to my ‘sixies’ fast but I have to say this: T had the best jack ball of all and I was pea green with envy. Neon orange and pink and bigger than the standard ball…it was a sight to behold.

I know there are still roller rinks around but in the 70’s they were the bomb! The skates that stank of old feet whose laces were always torn so you had to tie little tiny knots you couldn’t untie later in the day. The disco ball rotating above the floor with The Village People singing YMCA in the background while you made the letters with your arms. The ‘moonlight’ skate where you…gasp!…held hands with a crush and skated around to Olivia Newton John. The snack bar where you could buy a plate of nachos with sticky orange cheese globbed on top. The bathroom where your friends would congregate so you could giggle about the guys you skated with. I’ll say this: best $5 you could spend. 😃

And I actually had a ‘Wooly Willy’ and Pic Up Stix. When I think about it though, Wooly Willy was kinda creepy and if I had one now, I’d probably be naughty with where I put the black stuff. But I loved Pic Up Stix…trying to get a stick out of the pile without moving any others. Only for the very talented…that’s for sure.

Now, do you know what these are? They go in the center of 45’s (records, peeps) and you played these singles again and again and again. There was nothing sis and I liked more than to grab our hairbrushes, close her bedroom door (her room was bigger…my closet was bigger…it worked out well), and sing The Partridge Family to our pretend fans who were listening with rapt admiration while we gyrated along on our pretend stage on T’s shag carpet. *T…should we go on America’s Got Talent together? Text me ASAP.

Ahhhhhh…the smell of old classrooms with chalk and crayons and pencil sharpeners and the class hamster no one wanted after the first week. I loved school! Every single classroom I was in from Kindergarten through at least middle school had the green alphabet hanging over the blackboard. Why in the name of all that is holy are some school districts not teaching cursive writing? This just burns me 😠 ! Writing in cursive is an art and doing so can actually boost creative juices…this is why so many authors write in long-hand like Joyce Carol Oates and J.K. Rowling. In fact, Voltaire once said: “Writing is the Painting of the Voice.” Isn’t that a yummy quote?

And ditto machines? Every worksheet was in purple and to be one of the teachers helpers and actually operate this beast was the best. I loved using the machine because not only did you miss class for a bit, your fingers got all purple and the ink smelled so good. Actually… Hmmmm… I think the ink actually made me quite high at times. No wonder I wanted to be a teacher. Go figure.

Whenever I see a flashbulb camera, I think of my grandpa at holidays. His wasn’t as cool as this one but he had a camera with a flashbulb that would literally blind you after it went off. Hells bells…no wonder everyone in my generation wears glasses. Anyhoot, you had to stand ramrod straight so the pic wouldn’t blur, look directly into the lens so gramps could line everything up correctly, and then BOOM! A blue light flashed throughout the room and for the next 10 minutes, you battled a migraine while seeing spots 🤪. Now son, I know you are a professional photographer and are so amazing at what you do. But until you use a flashbulb and everyone’s skin looks transparent and their eyes remind you of someone possessed, you haven’t experienced photography at it’s best. Just sayin’.

So…I just read this over and am kinda thinking ma did right by sending that e-mail even though her daughters are no where near being a ‘senior.’ It’s fun to look back on things that seem so archaic or silly now and it makes me wonder what my son’s future kids will someday say about what he grew up with. Laptops? iPhones? Pokemon? Blue Ray player? What the heck are those? Of course my grandkids will think I’m the hippest grammy ever…and I’ll be right there with them rolling my eyes at my son as he reminisces over his Charmander card one more time.

Kristi xoxo