KEITH'S WALL. I USUALLY SIT BY THE LAMP AND ANNIE IS NEXT TO ME.
I feel like you know me well enough that I can tell you this. Last night I told the “invisible man” in my house to take a hike and never come back. It sounds bizarre, I know, but when Annie and I are sitting on the sofa in the living room, she often stares intently at something on Keith’s wall. She’s not looking at Keith but at the old Spanish chair to the left of him. It’s like someone’s sitting there. Then “it/they” get up and move around the end table and stand behind me. Most of the time I blow it off, but sometimes I find myself looking where Annie’s eyes are moving, hoping to see a flying bug, but I never see anything. Last night it creeped me out.
If I’m going crazy, at least Annie’s coming with me.
One of my favorite women is someone I’ve never met in-person. Until we spoke on the phone, I’ve known Sandra Sallin only from the comments we leave on one another’s blogs and Instagram accounts. Even so, her joie de vivre and determination to live life to the fullest, regardless of what’s placed in her path, comes shining through.
“I feel the urge to do whatever adventure comes my way, now, while I can.”
Image Courtesy the Wynn Hotel Las Vegas
Perhaps it’s because I have a big birthday coming up in June, but I find myself drawn to strong women over 70 who are still rock’n and blowin’ the house down in style. In February I went to see Fleetwood Mac and Stevie Nicks, who’ll be 71 in May. I have a ticket to Diana Ross’s 75th Diamond Jubilee Birthday concert, and I’m going to see Cherilyn Sarkisian, the “I Got You Babe,” who will be 73 in May. It’s not like I’ve always loved them, “the way I do the Rolling Stones,” so why am I going?
Simply put… Women over 70 inspire me.
So far, so good. Still loving our new home and cooking up a storm. Three large windows keep the kitchen well-lit and lots of counter space (something I haven’t had in years) makes it conducive to kitchen wizardry. Continue Reading
Good, bad or outrageous, my life has been about as normal as picking blueberries on Mars. After reading my blog posts over the years, many of you have urged me to write a book. I took your suggestions to heart, and New Years Day, I began writing a memoir. Even though I’m a writer, and I have an outline, writing a memoir is difficult. We all have a story to tell, but writing a book can be overwhelming. What if you had a simple template that made writing easy and had places for photos? And when you’re done, you’d have a finished, printed book?
Would that encourage you to write your story?
Do you remember your mom scolding you when you reached across the table for the rolls before anyone else had a chance to get one? At that time, “grabby” was as much a state-of-mind as it was an impolite reach.
When I tell patients not to be so grabby, I mean it literally. I want them to stop grabbing, because it’s wearing out their hands.
Tikal Photograph by Graeme Churchard, Flickr.com
If you live long enough and travel far enough, many of the things your mother warned you about will come true. I’ve started writing my memoir, and I realize my mother couldn’t have known about most of the things I’ve encountered. While mother told me it wasn’t polite to urinate in a public pool, she didn’t tell me not to pee in the rivers of Central and South America. I didn’t do that, but a friend did, and a tiny matchstick-sized catfish swam up his urethra and anchored itself there with sharp barbs. What I learned from his misfortune was if you must pee in a river in the jungle… You’d better be wearing a tight bathing suit.
However I’ve learned, firsthand, something our mothers never knew, and most of our government and the media doesn’t want us to know.
It seems that even the Universe has adopted this modern business method. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, please note that I’m using poop instead of its ruder big brother. The alliteration isn’t as powerful, but it’s more palatable. Continue Reading
Isn’t it funny how things like smells and music can jog our memory and remind us of places we’ve been or experiences we’ve long since forgotten? Like every time I open the dresser drawers in the guest room, I’m reminded of my grandmother. Even after all these years the rose pattern on her drawer liners still smell like her favorite perfume, Elsa Schiaparelli’s “Shocking.” And today an online photograph of a room I’d never seen before struck a familiar chord.
I knew it was related to a fabric I’d been seeking for over 10 years.
Good friends are like portals to the past and the hands that help move us into the future. In the last week I’ve gotten together with a number of good friends. One I don’t see often, but when we do, we pick up as though one of us just stepped out of the room for a few minutes.
No “Tell me what you’ve been up to?” We talk in shorthand and enter the conversation in midstream.