How to Deliver Bad News That Sounds Good

My daughter and I have gone to see traveling Broadway plays for years. We know that when get our program pamphlet we need to open it over our laps so that we don't have to bend down to the floor to pick up all of the white pieces of paper that are bound to fall out. These are lists of substitutes who will be in the play. It makes me wonder what the main actors were doing the night before to cause them to miss the show. I am guessing they were partying together somewhere because there is never only one substitute. It's not like John woke up with a cold; it's like John, Peter, Mary and Jesse all went to an "All you can drink in 4 hours for $5.00" bar. None make it to our performance. Last weekend was a first. No white papers fell out of our program. I could hardly suppress my excitement. We will finally see the best of the best. But when I looked at the list of characters, beside the main character, it stated: "Little Pete will be played by Mark, Blake, Sheldon, Luke, or Kingston." OK, I can deal with that. At least their names were important enough to print in the program. Then just before the performance, a woman came on stage. She said she was the "assistant choreographer". The "assistant"? Hmmm. She started to tell us that we were in for an exciting, special night. The lead character wasn't going to be played by Mark, Blake, Sheldon, Luke or Kingston. No, we were the very lucky and special audience that got to see the premiere performance (ie, never on the stage before) of a new lead. And, the other exciting thing was that his family was there to cheer him on! Yipee! So, his name wasn't even pre-printed on a piece of paper stuffed into our program. He was that new! Oh, the crowd cheered. The family was even there! Next the "assistant" started going through the rest of the list of substitutions. Even the Tree had a substitute. I wonder if they found a person dressed in some shade of green as they were coming in the theater and offered them the job? After she finished the long list of substitutes, I was waiting for more: "And the orchestra will be played by a cassette player." "And the theater will be played by the parking garage across the street". Make your way over there and "Enjoy the show!"

Hobbling In Las Vegas

I just got back from a trip to Las Vegas with my sister. I planned for five days of walking, slots, eating and viewing. I was going to see the free things, like seeing the ship sink, the volcano erupt, and the water dance. Since walking is the best way to get around, I was also planning on getting a little fitter and thinner. Oh, what a time I was going to have. Notice the "past tense" in the paragraph above? The first night I was there, my sister and I walked to a casino, sat and played some slots and then headed out to do some site seeing. As I started walking, I felt a severe charlie horse in my calf and then heard a "pop". I knew that wasn't a good sign. We shortened our evening - well, we didn't actually "shorten" it in time, since it took me about 30 minutes to walk a couple of blocks. When we got back to our hotel, I googled my symptoms and found that I probably had strained my calf muscle and that depending on the severity, it could take 2-4 weeks or longer to heal. This injury seems to be most common with runners, not with older woman who meander from slot maching to slot machine. But I had 5 days in Vegas and that wasn't going to slow me down - yeah, right. My sister was working so I had all day to do what I wanted and go where I wanted. I found that where I wanted to go depended mainly on crossing streets. And crossing streets was not as simple when one is hobbling and shuffling. I began to watch when lights were going to change so I could get a head start. Those streets are wide and the time they give you to get across them is minimal. If someone set down one of those monkey with cymbals wind-up toy next to me and started us both walking at the same time the "walk" light came on to cross the street, I know that monkey would beat me. I would get to the middle of the street and the "19 second" sign would start to flash and I would try to limp faster. Limp and fast don't go together. When I did finally get across a street I looked for the nearest casino. Casinos there are a good 2 blocks long and the entrances were usually at the end of those blocks. So basically by the time I got out of my casino, figured out which street gave me the longest time to cross and then hobbled to the closest casino, I had about 45 minutes before I had to do it all again so I could get back to the hotel before my sister finished work. I'm glad my eyesight was still intact so I could look at the cool places I couldn't get to. It's good to have a positive attitude. I envied people with crutches and canes; I even looked around to see if someone needed help crossing the street so I could lean on them and do a good deed. But I was like the old car going 35 mph on the freeway. People passed me on both sides of the sidewalk while giving me looks of disgust and pity. I wanted to shout "I have a runners injury, give me a break", but hobbling in the heat takes too much lung power. When the week was finally over, I hadn't physically seen everything I wanted to see. But I found that I did lose a little weight, since I think that limping and hobbling uses more calories than just walking. Maybe it was my lucky week.

Memories of a Dear Friend

I lost my special friend Betty recently and wanted to share some memories. We met while walking our dogs. I had just moved to the neighborhood after living in a house in the middle of the woods for 10 years, where my only neighbors were raccoons, deer and wild turkeys. Sure, that sounds ideal when you think of some of your own neighbors, but I had started to miss a little human contact.

It's amazing that she even started talking to me. I mean, I was perfecting the art of rolling out of bed and walking my dog in the clothes I slept in. Take time to brush teeth or hair - naaahhh. She was more than "put together". She wore colorful jackets, wide brimmed hats, and I was pretty sure she was fully groomed, no matter what ungodly time we insomniacs passed each other in the morning. Small talk turned into a close friendship. She was a number of years older than me, but her mental attitude and mine were about the same age. And her style - artist chic!

When I met her, she was planning a photo safari trip to Africa with a friend and I was planning my first solo trip to Europe. It ended up that we were leaving on the same day and were staying in hotels side by side near the airport so we could catch early flights. I was seeing many commonalities between us.

We were both sticklers for being on time. If I said I would pick her up at 8:30, she would be waiting outside at 8:29 knowing I would be exactly on time. Once, for fun, I told her I'd be there at 5:17 and there she was, waiting.

We had a favorite Mexican restaurant we would go to about once a month and would both order the same meals each time - with the same beer. I have to admit that I usually had her order the beer because I sometimes, OK often, forgot the name of it - and she never did. What a memory she had! She said that every morning she went on to the AARP website and did all of the daily puzzles. Hmmm, maybe I would have remembered the name of "our" beer if I had not spent my morning reading the celeb mags.

She did start me on the road to addiction - addiction to Hidden Object games! It started with her giving me one to try (doesn't it always?) and ended with a full blown obsession to those games. And she remembered the names of just about all of the hundreds of games she played. Just before she passed, I told her I had just purchased a number of new games, but of course I couldn't remember their names. A short time later she emailed me to remind me to tell her the names of those games. When I finally looked them all up she wrote back quickly to tell me how many stars they had been rated and that I made good choices. She probably had played them all long ago.

My friend was an artist and I admired her paintings, amazing quilts, and found object pieces. I am a quasi writer but she read my blogs and gave me positive feedback regularly. I was recently in Italy for 3 months with my dog and wrote a daily blog about my adventures. She couldn't figure out how to write a comment on my blog, but often wrote me an email with comments specifically about what I had written. She said every morning she got up, got her coffee and read my blog. She checked it again before she went to bed. That gave me motivation to keep writing, and to make sure my writing was worthy of her attention. I loved to make her laugh.

When I got home from Italy, I was eager to go to our favorite Mexican restaurant with her. But when I saw her I could see she was in poor health. She wasn't able to leave the house. Over the next few months her health started to slowly improve and finally about 2 months ago, we were able to start going out and have some fun again.

Whether it was going out to eat, shopping, going to a doctor's appointment or me coming over to fix some little problem she was having, the visits were always filled with smiles, intimate conversation and ended with us both saying "I love you".

On February 29, I thought we needed to so something special since that day only comes once every 4 years. She and our friend Carol were up for anything. We ended up going thrift store shopping, going to eat at that favorite Mexican restaurant and going to a psychic. We had planned to all go to the Psychic Fair at the end of the month, but Betty thought that it was OK if we went this time, since it was a month before that Fair.

We crazy ladies decided to all stay in the room when each was having their reading for support and to be able to help each other remember what was said; three brains equals just a little better memory than Betty's alone!

Before the reading, the lady told us that with all of us in the room, sometimes the feelings she would get about one person were really related to someone else in the room. I guess we were just too cozy to be able to separate our auras. A few times, that did happen. One in particular stood out to me.

She asked how Betty and I met and we gave our story. She looked at Betty and said something like (no, I can't remember it exactly) "You needed to meet her. You were in need of her as a friend. You were feeling down". I saw Betty nod her head a little. But as I sat there quietly, I know she was reading me. That chance meeting walking our dogs in the wee hours of the morning gave me over four years of an intimate friendship with a beautiful, loving and insightful woman. When she was ill I told her that she needed to get better because I couldn't bear not having her in my life. She said "We were meant to be friends. We were friends in a past life and will be friends in our next life." I am counting on it.

Deer Me!

Deer are big, fast, some have antlers, some have babies, and they eat most everything in the yard. Although almost as many deer as people live in my neighborhood, that is the extent of what I know about deer. Well, that was the extent of what I knew about deer until this week.

I came home from walking the dogs and noticed what appeared to be a mound in my front yard next to the fence. My old eyes first thought it was a large mound of dirt - we do have fire ants here. Then I thought it might be a large plastic bag that blew against the fence - a much more acceptable option. But as I walked a little closer, I saw that is was a deer laying on the ground. It had a big belly and I was pretty sure it was close to birthing season. I had no idea what to do about it.

I called a neighbor who said that most of the time the deer give birth standing up but if they are having problems, they often lay down. Great, what do I do about a pregnant deer who is having problems in my front yard? Do I call a vet?

Deciding to get another opinion I called another neighbor who is pretty knowledgable about wildlife. I asked if he could just come by and see what he thought. He asked if it was breathing, and from my distant view - I wasn't going close - I couldn't tell. What if it jumped up and ran at me? Do deer have rabies? I could google, but I decided to wait for the expert opinion.

Soon my neighbor showed up and as gently as possible said "that deer is dead." I could see my IQ level going down in his estimation when he slowed his speech and enunciated his words when saying "Deer around here don't give birth for another two or three months. That swelling is from it being dead for at least a day or two." How did I not see it before? Now what do I do?

"You have a few options. We can drag it to the back of your truck and you can drive out to the country and dump it. You can call around to see if someone will take it away. Or you can bury it". I asked a rancher once what they did with a dead horse. He said they buried it. I couldn't imagine digging a hole big enough to bury a horse! Especially in rocky Texas!. Now I find that is one of my options. And in my opinion, it was the best. I just couldn't see myself driving around town with a dead deer in my truck. And how could I "fling" it out the back when I found a good place to do it? I didn't even want to get close to it in my yard. He said he would come back the next day to help me dig the hole.

After he left, another neighbor, a single "get-it-done" lady came over and offered to help me drag it down the street to her vacant lot and put it in the burn pile. Now, she lives about 1/2 a block away. "Yuck" was my first thought. Then I wondered what the other neighbors would think when they saw 2 older ladies dragging a deer down the road? I think there is a fine for killing a deer and I would not want to try to prove that it just up and keeled over in my yard. Besides, that thing would be heavy - and smelly. She then came up with the idea of bringing a wagon over and us hoisting the deer into the wagon to get it to her house. Now, the wagon is about 1/4 the size of the deer, and how would we lift the deer off of the ground enough to get it in to the wagon? And, how would we do it without getting too close to it? Maybe it's just me, but I couldn't even disect a frog in biology. I have to use a paper towel to pick up a dead insect. Carrying or even dragging a dead deer on to my truck or down my road did not appeal to me. So, it was back to the burying plan.

I got on Facebook to ask "how big of a hole do you dig to bury a deer". Responses were "Oh that poor deer", and "I'm so sorry for both of you." I would say "poor deer" also, if it hasn't chosen my front yard as it's last resting place. But no one gave me dimensions for a deer burial plot.

Deciding not to wait for my neighbor, I started gathering all of my digging tools and then looked for a place to start working. I just couldn't bring myself to get too close to the "poor" deer - sorry I lost my compassion for the deer hours ago and was feeling sorry for myself. I finally decided to dig close but not where I would have to look at it with each shovel full of dirt. I am not the most physically fit person - but I was on a mission. To reward myself for my hard work, I took a break every 15 minutes or so to get my strengh back. Cookies help. Every time I was sure I got the hole big enough, I would eyeball the deer, sigh in disgust, and dig wider and deeper. I think the deer in our neighborhood are overfed.

The next day, my neighbor came over and finished the job for me. I will leave out the gory details but suffice to say I could not have done what he did. I let him know how much I appreciated his help with this and was thankful that the ordeal was over when he commented as he was leaving "Just watch that dogs or coyotes don't dig it up". Ahhh, crap. I run to my computer to google "how to keep a deer buried".

I Hate Resealable Food Bags

I know those are strong words, but has anyone ever really been able to open those bags and reseal them? It is not possible. It doesn't matter which food you get in those bags, they all must have been invented by the same drunk inventor - who is related to the head of the big food companies.

I have tried sliced cheese resealable bags, sliced luncheon meats, salad mix and guacamole, and none of those bags reseal. Some make you think they are different because they give you a little groove to help you start opening the bag. But when you tear along that groove, it doesn't even open the bag enough to get to your food, so you still have to find another way to open it. If you aren't at home, and may have bought the food for a relaxing picnic in the park, you have the challenge of how to open the bag without the benefit of sharp tools. I try a plastic knife - no luck. I try the little blade or little scissors that come on a pen knife, if I remember to bring one. As precisely as possible, I cut or tear just above the sealing part and I still can't get to the food.

Finally I just stab the bag below the seal with a plastic fork or pen and pull the meat or cheese out - because I'm getting hungry. Now I have no chance to keep my food fresh by zipping that sucker closed but I have gotten rid of some of my frustration.

Depending on where I am, I can do one of three things. I can find a bigger zip lock bag or a plastic bag to put the food back in and hope it keeps for a few days. I can look for a paper clip or bobby pin to reseal the bag as best I can. Or I can eat the remaining food in the bag and throw away that "convenient" resealable bag. Depending on my hunger, I make my choice.

I think there should be a "truth in advertising" label on these products. "This item will most likely not reseal, so don't count on it. Always have a pair of scissors or knife handy when opening. Do not put the plastic bag over your head."

I Need To Remember My Toothbrush When I Walk My Dogs

I am now the proud owner of two dogs. I thought that Seymour needed a companion and my life was getting a little too predictable. Zooey is our new rescue - cute as a walking 3 pound mop - but fearful of everything, including walking on a leash. Seymour had knee surgery 2 weeks ago, so has been practicing walking on 3 legs. Actually he is also learning to walk on only his 2 front legs when he wants to pee on something that is located on his bad side. Yes, the normal dog would just turn around, but no one who knows Seymour would ever call him "normal".

Back to our walk. Our neighborhood walk is a circle that is about a mile around. Both dogs get excited when I say "Let's go for a walk" after dinner. When I get them ready with their harnesses and right leashes, Zooey realizes what "walk" means and she runs for her bed, still leashed. Seymour, on the other hand, runs toward the door while attached to his leash. My arms are stretched like I am getting ready to fly. I pull Seymour toward Zooey, pick her up and open the door for Seymour so at least he he can enjoy his 3 legged walk.

As we start around the circle, I put Zooey down to see if she will get the hang of walking. I noticed that if she is facing any way but toward me, she doesn't seem to be able to move. She is like a little hot wheels car. The wheels/legs only go one direction so you have to physically pick it up and face it in the direction you want it to go. So as Seymour is straining to go one direction, I have to try not to pull him over as I go back to Zooey to head her in our direction. Then sometimes she will start walking, and sometimes she won't.

In the meantime, Seymour is playing his "poor me" surgery card by walking slowly, sniffing at every blade of grass, weed or tree he passes, and periodically circling round and round to get in the best position to pee a few drops. Fifteen minutes and about 50 feet away from our front door, I am unable to coax either dog to go back to the house. I am wondering if we will get around the circle before the sun sets.

Zooey decides she is ready to walk and Seymour decides he is ready to be carried - but not home, mind you. He wants to smell the air and look for deer from his perch in my arms. After a short time, he cranes his neck toward the ground; he is ready to walk again. It is now about 30 minutes into the walk and we have gone about 1/8 of a mile. Zooey periodically flops down on the street, content to sleep there for awhile. Seymour decides that he has to explore to the end of his leash, the direction opposite from where Zooey is snoozing. I finally stretch as far as i can toward Zooey so i won't topple Seymour over, and pick her up. I let Seymour continue his exploring, poor boy.

One hour and about 1/2 mile into our walk, the sun is starting to set. It will be pitch dark soon. No matter which way we go, it is still the same distance home. I can either carry both dogs or ask one of the neighbors if we can bed down in their yard until morning. But I forgot my toothbrush.

Am I Tasteless or Timeless?

I am starting to see a pattern and it appears to be telling me that I may not be as cool and hip as I thought I was. I regularly and avidly read the section of popular magazines called "who wore it better?". I always cover the answer while I study the picture with the eye of a frequent "Project Runway" and "America's Next Top Model" viewer. So you can see I am pretty well trained. I select my choice and look at the answer - 95% of the time I'm wrong. Maybe not "wrong" in my book, but "wrong" according to whatever low class people they survey to get their answers. I think that I can put myself together quite nicely, when needed. I can mix and match things in my wardrobe with items that even surprise me. But I can't seem to tell "who wore it better". That in itself didn't mean I wasn't cool.

Then I started reviewing things I bought through Amazon. I love writing comments about all of the cool things I now own. I take it very seriously but try to add a little humor to brighten people's days. I'm considerate that way. After a few weeks, I went back to my reviews to see if people gave me "helpful votes". Yes, I certainly got a few but not the big numbers I have seen on some reviews. Then I noticed that many of my cool products were no longer available. Unfortunately I don't think it was because they were so popular that they ran out of them. I think that most people just never knew they needed them. So my "anti theft strap" or as I call it now "a long plastic strap with a "thingy" on the end" and my cool folding dog dish are no more - unavailable.

Could my taste be in question or am I just ahead of the rest of the population? Am I style-innovative or style-less? Did I miss a season of "Project Accessory"? Does Amazon laugh at my purchases or are they in awe of my choices? Maybe I'm just uniquely eclectic - yeah, that's it. Come on world, catch up!