Nothings & Neon

Where to begin?  It seems like a lifetime ago since I posted last, and it was less than a week ago, well exactly a week ago.  How quickly things change.  How quickly perspectives change.  I maintain that life happens for a reason and I am so particularly blessed. 

While I was raised Catholic and I believe in God, I wouldn't say that I am a "believer" per se.  Or maybe I should say that I am a "believer" but not a "preacher".  I pray.  I give thanks.  I ask for guidance and assistance and help with the path that is chosen for me.  I am afterall, a realist.

There is much that I want to post.  So many words and emotions that are circling through my mind.  So many thoughts.  So many reservations.  And in all of that, so many tears.  Tears, that as they fill my eyes, I'm not ready for them to flow, again.  Not yet.  Not now.

So on a lighter note...I was so very excited to get my car back!  It is amazing how much I truly missed it and have grown to love the stability and comfort of my little Nascar Neon...now new and improved.  And oh so pretty =)

10/30/2010: 9 years & counting

Tenth Anniversary That Isn't...

Today would have been my ten year anniversary.  TEN. YEARS.  I thought today about all of the things that I wanted to say in my blog.  How ten years ago, on Sweetest Day, I was married.  I have now been divorced for almost 6.5 years. 

I logged into my blog and searched to see if I had blogged about my anniversary before.  I thought that I had, but I couldn't recall the details.  I had, two years ago, near my eighth anniversary, I blogged this.  I was brought somewhere, years ago, somewhere that I hardly recognize when I read it.  Somewhere I am completely not today. 

I celebrated Sweetest Day weekend this year with a very sweet man.  Someone that I adore his affection, intelligence and company.  Someone that I had no idea that going into the weekend would be anything even remotely affectionate or romantic, but a weekend spent forgetting about Sweetest Day and having fun with someone that also wanted to have fun!  I have no animosity toward the Hallmark holiday.  It hasn't been forever plagued and haunted for me.

This morning I left for work on time as we had "the big dogs" in the office and were requested to be punctual.  I had 7 minutes to travel the three miles.  SEVEN. MINUTES.

A mile from home, I turned and headed on a two lane, one-way street westbound.  I was in the left lane when a van in the right lane proceeded to turn...LEFT.  Turned RIGHT. INTO. ME.  I did my best to slam on the brakes and turn to the left - but a curb and the side of her Freestar prevented me from avoiding the accident.  Surprisingly, I was in good spirits.  I found it comical.  I called 911.  I left a message for my boss that I wasn't going to be in on time and then I called my insurance. 

Life happens. 

My car is still driveable.  I had to laugh at the woman, the other driver that thought that we were on a two-way street.  When I was almost free to go, I wished her a better day.  She said, "Thanks.  So I was just realizing, I was at fault, wasn't I?"

I went to get an estimate on the repairs of my car.  $1670.  I was thankful that I didn't try to save a few dollars when I considered increasing my deductibles and getting rid of rental car coverage.  The accident wasn't my fault so the deductible is waived and a rental car replacement will save me up to $600.  Worth the few dollars in the insurance premiums!  My hood is rusting so I asked how much it would cost to replace, since there was no hood damage.  So for less than $400, I will have practically a new front car!  The car will go in the shop on Monday and will take four days.  Unfortunately, after my son got in the car today, he couldn't open the door to get out!  He'll just have to sit in the backseat through the weekend (another ghettoesque moment).

I would say today was a great day!  I have made the best of an accident and am looking forward to my car looking pretty and new for a GREAT DEAL. 

Some would argue that ten years ago I made a mistake of getting married.  Some would also argue that today, I made the mistake of leaving on time for work and getting hit. 

Today, my accident will cause me far less grief, agony, heartache and money than my marriage and subsequent divorce. Surprisingly, I don't regret ever getting married.  Everything happens for a reason.  Today was another reminder of my anniversary.  I have survived both and I am a better person!

I just researched the gift that is considered for a Ten Year Anniversary:  Tin or Aluminum. 

Ironic?  How is it that on my would-be 10th wedding anniversary my gift to myself, with the assistance of someone out of my control, results in metal car replacement? 

Who says you can't still reap the rewards and gifts of marriage without being married?

Blood Donation

Tomorrow morning I am donating blood.  No. Big. Deal.  Right?  Wrong.

A few months ago, I was going to donate blood but I ended up in Marquette Michigan for a co-worker and wasn't able to donate.  Tomorrow I will donate. 

I'm not sure how I feel about it.  A little sick to my stomach actually.  A little fearful.  A little apprehension. 

When I was in high school, we had a blood drive.  I donated blood.  I do not do well with needles.  I don't like the sight of blood or needles for that matter, but I don't pass out or hyperventilate.  I've actually done rather well with all the blood work that I have done over the past few years for a variety of tests.  I just have to breathe, a lot, and look away and think of flying unicorns and rainbows.  Well not exactly, but you get my point.

Why am I so squeamish about donating you ask?  Back to high school...I gave blood.  I felt dizzy and nauseous.  I made my way to the table and sat and ate chocolate chip cookies and sipped juice.  I was starting to feel a little better, but more importantly I was feeling inadequate and dumb and girly in front of my peers.  I didn't want to be that girl. I don't know exactly what that girl was or who she was, I just know that I didn't want to be made fun of for not handling donating blood.  I got up from the table to leave the library and head back to class or somewhere, anywhere.  I felt dizzy again.  I started to walk back to the table and realized I wasn't going to make it.  I collapsed, after falling into a free standing paper back rack and knocking it over. 

The Red Cross lady yelled at me.  All I remember to this day, some 18+ years later, is a woman yelling at me that "WE DON'T NEED OR WANT YOUR BLOOD!  DON'T EVER DONATE AGAIN!" 

I still hear her like it was yesterday.  I still have fear that I'm not good enough, that I'm not strong enough that my blood isn't needed, that I'm not needed.  I know that there is a shortage of blood.  I know that I have some I can donate.  I know that I'm not anemic.  There is no reason that I can't give blood. 

But in the back of my mind, I hear that woman.  I feel the emotions and I get the tingly sensations up my arms and the pit in my stomach as I recall and as I type this.  And for 18 years I have let that woman keep me from donating.  For 18 years I have allowed someone to tell me NO.  No more.  Not again. 

Tomorrow I will try to bury the skeleton in my closet.  Tomorrow I will put it to rest and know that I can do this.  That I can and will donate blood. 

And if not...I will lower my head once again and try again in 18 more years!

Grandma

I decided to post a completely separate post about my grandmother - mainly to avoid one very long post. I would name her, but she had one of those rare, one of a kind names that you wouldn't forget, like Big Bertha.

Grandma was a one of a kind woman. She had six children that she raised with her husband in Detroit, Michigan. I don't know at what point that my grandparents divorced, if they ever legally did; but I never remember them together. My grandmother was involved in a severe automobile accident when she was young (likely after all her children) and she suffered serious facial damage. Apparently, my grandmother was a beautiful woman, in her day. After the accident she had a broken nose, broken jaw and serious facial issues. I believe that she had wires put in her face and jaw. Again, this was well before I was ever born, so they are just stories that I have heard over time.

What I did know about my grandmother was that she wore glasses. Large glasses, which were oversized for her petite, 4'10" frame. She may have even been shorter, I just remember she was little. Her glasses were held on her round, aging face by a piece of often yellowing scotch tape. She tried to cover the tape by her heavily banged white bob hair style. She loved to smoke. Long, skinny cigarettes, held by her long, frail, boney fingers which had equally long, real painted nails.

Grandma loved her cigarettes. She loved to come over on Sunday's for dinner and would bring a six pack of Coors beer and her Royal Velvet bag of pennies for penny poker and chain smoke. Grandma would typically clean house and rob me of my vital penny possessions during strange poker games of five card stud, five card draw, blind baseball, etc. Grandma always seemed to make up her own "special rules" that subsequently always worked in her favor! She would drink one or two beers and would always leave before dark. The remaining beers would sit in our refrigerator for months, until she visited again, or until mom decided to cook the god-awful ham with beer. (Mind you, I still am not a fan of ham!)

Grandma drove a brown Reliant K Car. My first car. It had light brown interior. To this day, I will never again own a brown car or a car with similar interior. I believe her subsequent car was a silver convertible, I can't recall the make anymore, maybe a Sunbird. Anyway, Grandma thought she was hot stuff in that car. A car she didn't drive well, as it was too big for her aging body, but it was a nice looking car.

Grandma was also a huge fan of red. She always wore the latest styles. If they weren't popular then, grandma made leggings and oversized sweaters/shirts a fashion statement. She mainly wore red, black and white. If she liked something, she typically had it in all three colors. She also loved stripes. And grandma's hands were always well adorned with about 6 pounds of very large rings that she struggled to hold up on her 90 pound frame in addition to her large beaded red, black or white necklaces.

Grandma was also not a cook. She wasn't that happy go lucky grandmother that everyone dreamed of. The one that loved her grandchildren. The one that laughed and joked and made chocolate chip cookies. Grandma again loved red. Red sauces. Everything grandma made - from her spaghetti, goulash, meat loaf, chili, noodles with sauce - you name it, it was all the same. It was bland and gross. It was overcooked in the small apartment she had that she kept at 102 degrees and it had some form of red sauce.

Every year for our birthday we would get $5.00. Sometimes, she would send gifts. Always very inappropriate. Like the year when I was 10 and my brother was 13 and we received Underroos - I got Wonder Woman and my brother got Superman - four sizes too small! So holidays weren't always well anticipated for receiving of gifts, until we got older and then it was just for a good laugh. But it was clear that grandma had a lot of grandchildren and children and for the most part, everyone received the same thing, or the same value. Not that I expected much from grandma, she did afterall live in one of those stifling senior citizen housing apartments, although she lived alone. She didn't work. We were also frequent recipients of her government cheese and other things she refused to eat.

Grandma passed away in 1995. I was in college and away at a church retreat when I received the call. Grandma had been very ill, plagued with mouth cancer and likely a slew of other medical issues. She was on a feeding tube and her hospital room was my mother's family room. I didn't go home much during those last years. My grandmother was extremely frail. She was unable to talk, other than the uttering of a few words. She wrote messages on her pad of paper, that scribbley due to her frailty and penmanship. She loved her Symphony chocolate bars. I remember always buying them for her, and the horrific mess that they made as the chocolate melted in and out of her mouth. I'm sure it was one of the last tastes she could actually taste, chocolate.

I wish that I had wonderfully warm and cherished memories of my grandmother, of all of my grandparents. I wish that I found the elderly to be endearing and enchanting, a warmth of love and knowledge. Able and willing to share their livelihood and stories with those willing to share an ear, but I don't.

In college, in an attempt to alter my feelings toward the elderly, I did an internship with Adult Services. I found the experience to be rather challenging and initially guilt provoking and somewhat painstaking. I did have several clients that were my favorites. They were the epitome of grandparents, often left abandoned by their families but full of warmth and stories. Always welcoming and willing to engage with me, a listening person. Then of course there were the crotchety, elders that I couldn't get away from quick enough. The ones that had nothing nice to say and felt it was their given right to be mean and nasty, afterall they had lived a hard life and deserved the opportunity to make it hell for everyone else. Never, will I feel that old age gives one the right or prerogative to be mean and nasty, ever. Then there were those in between. The people that were sustaining in life. They had nothing to look forward to, nothing to live for. They often were faced with financial difficulties or health problems that left them in dire conditions. Like the one man that I feared would burn his house down as he choose to heat it with the open door on his oven.

After I graduated college, I interviewed for a position at a nursing home. I was offered the job, which I subsequently refused as I couldn't face working with geriatrics. No matter how much I wanted to embrace the elderly and the history, the fear of death and dying as well as the negativity of haggard elderly was too much for me to handle.

I often wish that I still had grandparents. I envy friends that have grandparents that are still alive. Relationships that relish in love and warmth. I have my own stories of my grandparents, long distance stories, but it would have been nice to have recent ones. Nice that my son would have been able to meet his great grandparents on his maternal side. Fortunately, my son has all of his grandparents, and even great grandparents on his father's side. He has yet to experience death. My mother and step-father are exemplary role models of true grandparents and for that I'm forever grateful, as I'm sure one day looking back on his grandparents, so will my son!

1982

In going back a few years, I've decided to blog about the year where I was mostly seven. I say mostly, because in fact, for all but ten months before I celebrated my eighth birthday, I was seven.

The ironic thing is though, in my mind, when I think back to 1982, I recall being eight, when in fact, I wasn't. But, that's neither here nor there.

I can't recall what grade I was in at the time. It's irrelevant, but I suppose if I went back and calculated it in a matter of seconds I could tell you. To guess, I would have been in 2nd grade. And after calculating, it was the year I finished up 2nd grade and began 3rd grade in the fall.

1982 was a pivotal year, a turning point as you will. Many will say that our lives are forever changed by a single event, a single episode. Something that veers the course of our destined paths. Whether this is true or not, one can only guess. Regardless, it was a year that I will never forget, in whatever existence of those memories that I hold.

I can't tell you exactly what month or when it happened exactly, but I know that it had to have been Spring or Summer of that year. I believe that it was during the midst of softball season, which always began sometime after Spring Break which would have been April/May.

It was a warmer day, which leads me to believe that it was summer. My dad and I had gone out for a bike ride. A bike ride of monumental proportions mind you, as I have never again ridden a bike without recalling that day, EVER. We lived in a subdivision and the back of the subdivision had dirt trails and occasional steep paved hills, one specifically that ended in a T. I was on the trusty, rusty, rickety, Schwinn bike. I believe it was blue and I was scared.

I remember pedalling fast to keep up with my dad. I remember the shake of the bike, the uneasiness I felt with every uneven pedal I made. I remember the trails and the way the bike wavered with every stone and pebble. I remember my shrieks and pleading for my dad to slow down and that I wanted to stop. That I felt like I was going to fall. Terror had taken over. One that I couldn't shake. A terror and fear that likely plagued me for what was to come. We went down that paved steep incline of a road. My bike shaking and the noise vibrating through my ears. My feet pushed backwards on the pedals in attempt to slow the bike down to no avail. At the bottom of the street, I needed to turn left. Left turn in deed, however, I didn't manage to keep control of the bike. I spun out on the loose debris of rocks at the bottom. I smashed hard into the ground. I chipped my front, permanent tooth in half, cut open my lip and had road rash and blood from at least one knee and an elbow. That's what I remember at least.

Crying, I had to continue on home, as we were half way around the subdivision from home. I don't recall my dad's reaction, but I don't remember it being warm, fuzzy and consoling nor do I recall him being extremely angry. I suppose in the recesses of my mind, I recall blaming him for not listening and understanding my fears and he blamed my fears for controlling my behavior and causing the accident.

Back at home, I laid on the couch in our front living room. The living room that was for looks. It wasn't that we couldn't use the living room, we just didn't. It had the stiffer, nicer furniture and it didn't have a television. We used the family room to actually live in. I remember being sprawled out on the couch, icing my aching body, gagging down some form of aspirin when the phone rang.

A call announcing the death of one of my grandparents. I can't tell you which. I don't remember. What I do remember, I lost a grandmother, grandfather and great grandmother when six weeks of each other that year. The year of 1982.

In addition to the loss of relatives, my dad's health and subsequently my parent's marriage took a turn for the worse.

My recollection is that my father suffered his first heart attack. He was 36. In addition, he was diagnosed with diabetes. His health was touch and go for a long time. Or so it seemed, to me. My mom tried to support him and we all had to change the way we ate. We were introduced to skim milk (a huge difference than the .5% we drank - seriously) and No-Salt - the imitation salt that tasted like pellets of aluminum foil. I started drinking Diet Rite - although I think most of the diet modifications may have come years later in all actuality. I also recall telling a teacher, I can't say which one, that my parents were going to divorce. Poor health forever changed my parents lives, our family's life, my life.

My parents remained married until my senior year of high school. My dad's diet fluctuated over the years. My tooth was ultimately fixed and over the years, I've had to have it replaced a few times.

But the reason for my posting, is more to acknowledge the loss of grandparents. Of the three that passed, my great grandmother was my favorite. She taught me how to play cards - Go Fish, War, Old Maid, you name it. I loved cards and I loved my great grandma. My grandfather lived in Illinois so my relationship with him wasn't very strong. I don't have many fond memories. The relationship with my grandmother was of course different than the memories that my aunt and I recently discussed when we saw each other a few years ago. But, again I was seven and she was my grandmother, not my mother. When my grandparents passed, this left me with one grandparent remaining, my maternal grandmother.

And my relationship with my grandmother, has forever molded any relationships that I have had with elderly from that point. Good, bad or indifferent. Sometimes, we try to change our perceptions and make new paths, sometimes with positive results and often times not. Maybe we are destined by the lives we've led, maybe not. But the year of 1982, will forever be a pivotal year in defining who I am.

Night on the Town

After my parents left yesterday from their Thanksgiving visit, I had time to go to my girlfriend's house to take her family photo for Christmas cards. Surprisingly JA asked me months ago to take the family picture - why is clearly beyond me, but I was more than happy to help! After jumping, I mean standing, all over their furniture and having a picture removed from the wall, I think JA had a photo worthy of keeping! She did tell me that maybe I should take photography classes to get better handle on taking pictures, maybe she's onto something!

Less than ten minutes after I got home, TS arrived at the house for the remainder of the weekend. It is the first time that TS has ever been to my house, so I was pretty excited. We hit the local bowling alley for some much needed beer and for my usual ass kicking in bowling. Of course she didn't let me down!

We came back to the house to hangout and try to figure out our next plan of action, since it was pretty early. Several other friends joined us at my house and we finally hit the town. I have to say that I seldom go to the bars, especially in "my town".

We ventured out and hit a nearby bar that I hadn't been to in almost a decade. When we walked in there was a side room of the bar and a few people were playing a Wii. After we ordered our first round, the Wii became available and we headed over to give it a try. Four of the five of us were Wii virgins. We had a great time playing bowling and baseball. When we finished the Wii there were actually games in this room as well and we played Trivia Pursuit for Dummies. I have to say, we had a blast. I love playing games and hanging out and I loved the fact that TS didn't even have to go outside to smoke!


We left that bar and headed off to the karaoke bar. Three sang karaoke while two of us opted for pool. Clearly we were all shocked when last call was at 12:45p.m. and we were all pushed out of the bar at 1:00p.m. prompt. The cool thing, a local church in the area offers free rides for you and your car, within a ten mile radius to be sure that everyone gets home safe! They also state, No Tipping. How cool is that?


We left that bar and headed to where everyone seemed to be going next. That bar actually had karaoke too, but about ten minutes after we got there, they were announcing last call! If a bar closes at 2a.m., why is last call at 1:20a.m.? So bizarre. I have to say that I found the elderly man in the cowboy hat that was smitten with dancing with JN almost as amusing as this sign posted on the wall:





With alcoholic munchies we headed to Meijer to pick up some more alcohol and refrigerated (they do exist!) hash browns. What I found in the parking lot left me pondering, what?



We came back to the house and ransacked the food making scrambled eggs and hash browns and eating leftover turkey, fluff and pumpkin pie. After some small convincing that everyone should stay the night, we drank more and played a very close and competitive game of Cranium Wow!




Nothing beats a great evening of good friends, good laughs, good times, good drinks and great memories!

Anniversary

In a couple days, it will have been my eight year anniversary. Wedding anniversary.

How long ago that seems. A lifetime ago. How young and naive. How much I feel that I've changed, matured, grown and learned. Yet sometimes, just as equally naive.

Maybe it's the hardened, calloused core that develops when we learn that we've been wronged. When we have been lied to, deceived, disrespected, disappointed. Learning to love again and accept, life's greatest challenge.

To move on knowing that everyone is different. Every relationship is different. I AM different.

By sheer happenstance, we were married on Sweetest Day. It happened to be an available weekend at both the church and the reception hall. It honestly wasn't until months after the date had been picked that I learned of the Hallmark coincidence. Like my parents, they were married on Valentine's Day. After their divorce I always wondered, silently, how subsequent Valentine's were shared with other partners. Did they remember? Did they wonder? Did they wish? Always knowing and hoping that the new partner was a better situation, but where did their thoughts take them on that day?

The other day I had a dream about my ex-husband. I was running, hiding and attacking. I was fighting back. I was restraining from the guilt and fear that my attacks may kill him before he killed me, although he wasn't affected by my defenses. I've never had such a vivid, morbid dream. I woke (neither of us were killed by each other or anyone else).

Maybe subconsciously the anniversary is bringing him back into my mind. Memories and threats of the evolved relationship. Threats of my safety and of my sanity. Threats that I was changed. That I may never be the same trusting person I once was. That I may never be in a healthy relationship or desire the mere thought of marriage. That no longer will love be enough in any future relationship, ever.

Memories, unfortunately they aren't always good. It's learning life lessons and becoming a better person from the experiences we live. And it's hoping that one day, we may not be permanently scarred on specific days, Hallmark Holidays or otherwise, from things gone wrong.

It's about learning and letting go.

College Dormitory Memories

Today I took my son and went to visit a former client of mine, who moved into her Freshman college dorm earlier this week. In my 11 years at my current position, this is the second youth that I have worked with that has actually gone to college. When I learned from my co-worker, that this magnificent young lady was attending college (I worked with her from '02-'07) and he had to meet her for the first time by the end of the month, I jumped at the opportunity to see her again!

College dormitories...to date myself, it was 16 years ago, I found myself a Freshman at the same college. While I wasn't in her specific dorm, the rooms, the hallway, the entrance were all too familiar. There had been visible upgrades - welcoming lobby with furniture, and more parking (although I couldn't find the visitor lot!) and then the reported - cafeteria open 24 hours in the dorm and a small gym in the dorm. The room was still stifling hot due to no air conditioning but the college now provides lofts, dressers and a table. Back in my day, I had to purchase a loft and used plastic book shelves and other makeshift "furniture" that only a college student could use or grow to love!

I only stayed in the dorm for one year. I had gone in "blind" for a roommate and managed to get a very nice roommate on opposite sleep schedules that lived 15 minutes from home and went home every weekend. A year or two later when I saw my first roommate again, I learned that maybe I wasn't such a good roommate afterall. She was my one and only female roommate, ever. I felt isolated that year, I spent as much time at my girlfriends college living her college life with her. I even considered transferring, but even she and I had very different paths.

I never fully embraced the whole college life. While I don't have regrets about things in life, only life lessons, if I could do it again, I would do it differently. I would embrace the experience!

Riding up on the stuffy, smelly, dirty elevator to her floor, I remembered all those years before. I looked at my son and suddenly I felt old. He said I wasn't that old. To be innocent and naive. I graduated college exactly three years after I first entered college that summer after high school when I moved into the college dorm. Oh how long ago that was.

Understanding Life Lessons

This morning I received a call from someone I dated over two years ago. We are very good friends now and it seems that since I've met Mr. Date, he seems to be calling a lot. Maybe it's since he knows I'm not available. Maybe it's since he's lonely, desperate or sees that his world is falling apart due to employment, housing and personal issues that he vaguely discusses with me. In some ways I think he wants me to believe that it has something to do with me, which I'm not that gullible or maybe it's that I have moved on and just don't care about the why's.

His call this morning was to ask me how much he hurt me when our "relationship" ended. He wanted to know why in the world I would ever consider being in a relationship again. See the thing is, I learned a lot about myself and about relationships from him. It was clearly a life lesson. It was a recognition of how to accept and understand when mutual feelings don't exist or when the odds are stacked against you. It was also an understanding of what I want out of a relationship and what I don't.

In retrospect, my friendship and relationship with him was everything I could have asked for. I wasn't interested in dating as I had just separated from the ex-bf. He was accepting of me maintaining a relationship with the ex-bf but even two years later, I still wonder about his motives. I never fully trusted him. Ok, that would be an understatement. I wasn't and never would have been a priority. When I spent time with him, it was usually in the same general area but not together. I would be watching the sunset or movies and he would be painting, working or on the phone. Because of him, I fell in love with the beach and the summer sunsets.

I'm not sure if he's over me. His calls could imply that he's not, especially if I wanted to believe them. But for me, in my healthy state I take them at face value. A friend is going through some tough times and I will be there for him in ways that I can but I will not let him interfere with my emotions or feelings. I have become a stronger and healthier individual.

I have lived. I have loved. I have lost. I have learned. And for that, I am thankful that my life lessons have helped mold me into who I am today.

Memories

Memories are a wonderful thing. I hope that I am never diagnosed with Alzheimer's. Fortunately, this is one disease that I am not aware of in the family genes (knock, knock). While my memories become more blurry (aka faded) over the years, somewhere in the remote blankness of the mind, they are there. I know it and I have to believe it. Sometimes it just takes something to trigger them!

Last night when my friends came over, of course the OCD kicked in high gear. For that I thank my mother. My intense to desire to make sangria, despite having only hours not overnight like many of the recipes called for! Also, despite that my friends would likely be bringing their own beverages, didn't do anything to curb my desire to attempt to make it! My mom was always big on making sure the house was clean and there was a "spread" when her friends came over. As if I had all the time in the world, I did manage to clean the house, shop, make a fruit & veggie tray, cheese & salsa dip, dessert and some crazy concoction of sangria with lemons, limes, red oranges, strawberries and mangos. I can say it looked pretty, "A" for presentation ;) I would likely try something a little different the next time - maybe even plan it a little better but it was a success nonetheless.

Getting together with old friends is a stitch. Especially when it involves some mild drinking and late into the night, since you never know how comical and amusing things can be. For the past four years we have been getting together for games. My friend Pat is a stitch, and I probably have a few too many laughs at his expense. He's not really into "games" and we have to convince him most of the time to play something other than Euchre. If we start with a board game first it's best for him as his attention span, alertness and sobriety are at it's best! Needless to say, he isn't the best at games either, so whether it's "couples" or guys against girls, opting to be his partner isn't usually first dibs. Last night he wanted to play Euchre first, which was a bad idea when we switched to Cranium Pop 5 afterward. He and his wife were partners, and it was hysterical. He tried to act out "Smokey Bear", he didn't even have to do "the". Of course he didn't consider smoking, he tried to get his wife to say bear by raising his arms high over his head - all the while she's yelling out Godzilla, Frankenstein! He didn't hear the end of that one, even as they were leaving the house! Not that I haven't had my classic gaming moments over the years either. We love to bring up the drawing clue of "Eskimo Pie" that I had to get my partner to say. It was as equally frustrating as it was hysterical that I couldn't get him past "Igloo Pie", regardless of the Eskimo standing next to the Igloo! Nothing like some good fun!

Today I received a wonderful call from a high school friend. I called her last fall as a mutual friend had her phone number. We haven't managed to connect and I've been thinking of her and just haven't called her. I'm one of those people that always fear that I'll call someone at the wrong time, and I recalled that she had an odd schedule and went to bed early, but I wasn't sure what hours she worked. She called me today and we had a wonderful conversation. It's so fun to reminisce about way back when. Ultimately, when I reconnect with people they seem to say that I haven't changed! I'm not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, it just is. Regardless, I'm usually mildly entertaining! We laughed about memories of sports, people, parties and prom. She still vividly recalled, and we laughed again, about my wipe out on the dance floor of prom when chaperones questioned her as well as myself if I was under the influence. Clearly, I don't need alcohol or drugs to make a fool of myself. Maybe it was the few minutes I remained on the floor laughing rather than slowly getting up and shirking elsewhere like it didn't just happen. We hope to get together soon in person and I vowed that this time I wouldn't jump on her back and have her carry me around!

Memories, whether new or old are truly a wonderful thing. I can even say that sad and painful memories have a purpose as well, and without them, our lives truly wouldn't be the same, nor would we be who we are without them.