Hey Seoul Sister

This certainly has been an eye-opening way to spend my birthday.  While the celebration is over here in Asia where everyone in the house is sound asleep, according to my watch it's only 4:21 in the afternoon, still my birthday in New Jersey. I like this 37 hour day.

For the first time I'm having a difficult time finding a funny story to tell. Sure I can recount yesterday's bathroom adventure at the sheep farm (couldn't do the squatting over a hole in the floor-gimme a toilet puh-leeze)! I can say that as a foreigner, I wasn't required to watch the propaganda film at the DMZ, but after a lengthy indoctrination, am ready to fight, fight, fight. I can tell you that a car full of Koreans eating strong-smelling sushi rolls first thing in the morning is about as close to feeing hungover as I have been in a very long time.

Catch Me Now I'm Falling

I think I need to get my eyes checked.  Then again, my eyes may be fine-I've been known to be a bit clumsy all my life.  But the fact remains that three times in the past year I've taken some real nasty spills tripping on cracks in the sidewalk or missing curbs. 

The first happened at lunchtime in the company of my financial advisor.  He brought me a new life insurance policy to sign so that my kids will be sure to say they love me when I die.

That's What Friends Are For

It's redundant for me to say that I had a really crappy year last year and I'm still 20 days away from the anniversary of Sandy which stopped the clock for another 6 months while I worked to rebuild my house.

That being said,  I've also had two of the best experiences this year.  My first granddaughter was born the week before Sandy, and I was thrilled to be present when granddaughter #2 was born.  Shock of all shocks after having three sons! I've gone on trips, had lunch and dinner with countless new and old friends, closed the door on some things and opened my heart and mind to new ones-including writing this blog.

Amy at A My Name Is Amy nominated me for an award that she herself has been nominated for.  No, I won't need another new pair of shoes for this award ceremony.  This is recognition among bloggers for writing something that other people either like or find amusing and sometimes say "Damn, she's good."  Professionally, Amy is everything I want to be in a writer-she produces smart, concise pieces that are humorous, with some raw emotion thrown in for good measure.  Personally, I envy that she is 10 years younger and 4 sizes smaller than me. And since we're both without men and share a love for things that are bad for us, it makes me love her all the more.

They Paved Paradise...(Redux)

Last week, there was a grand opening of a big-box shoe store the next town over, where a bankrupt book store once stood.  You might expect someone with over 50 pairs of shoes, boots and sneakers to be clapping her hands and jumping up and down. Instead, I got tears in my eyes when I stood looking out to the highway at their new front door.

The store is on the same spot as the home I grew up in. The front door is dead-on with where the kitchen window use to be. 

Who Says You Can't Go Back?

You could say I'm a bad person because I never liked old people. My Italian grandparents died when I was young, and my Irish grandparents moved to Florida around the same time, so I never had that bonding experience helping them cross streets or whatever.  When I had my catering business, they tried my patience in the wholesale food store by asking the cashier to do stupid things like weigh their oranges separately to see which ones were the heaviest. I swore every time one gray-haired old bag got in front of me. 

Years later, I answered an ad for a sales job, not knowing that it was in a retirement community. I would never have considered working for, or with old people. When I was asked to come in, I figured I'd do it for the interview experience.  But the woman who took me around showed me active seniors doing Tai Chi and water aerobics, walking and biking on lush grounds, living in nice apartments in a planned Wrinkle City. Besides, they got their main meal in a beautiful dining room, so there was less chance of seeing them in the grocery store asking the cashier to figure out which cantaloupe was the heaviest. I was hooked. 

How Long Has This Been Going On?

I ended an affair yesterday, and I admit, I'm upset with myself and how I let this happen.  My friends must have guessed for some time now that something was going on, what with the changes in me. No one said anything, but then again, I probably would have shot the messenger.  No, I had to learn for myself.

I had to end my affair with eating junk food in bed.

Bell Bottom Blues

To the nice uber-famous rock star I waited on last week who makes more money in 20 minutes than I do in a year, and who brought the jeans that he didn't want (size 32 x 32 neatly folded) out of the fitting room: THANK YOU.

To the women occupying the two rooms next to him with their obnoxious teenage sons, and who left no less than 27 button down shirts PLUS sweaters, tee shirts and pants (all unbuttoned and inside out) for the common shop girls to take care of for you: A POX ON YOU AND YOUR SPAWN.  And please, go back from where you came.

The Sounds of Silence

Laura Linney is my favorite actress.  Has been for years.  When I was cast in a reading of "Love Letters" years ago, I was thrilled when someone said that I was just as good as she was in the role. If I could ever be an actress, I would use her as a role model.

And this week, I used her performance in "The Big C" for just that.

Last Thursday, I had my annual mammogram.  Only thing was, I hadn't been in four years.  I knew that in 2011 I put it off because I lost my job, had two sons get married (with three ceremonies on two continents), got Wingman into rehab, got another job.  I missed it in 2012 with the deaths of Wingman and his father, losing my home and losing my job again. I know, no excuses. Anyway, I went for the big squeeze, and was mildly concerned when the technician said she needed to take a few more films of one of the girls. 

Sympathy For The Devil

Last week, I out to dinner with an old friend and we discovered that we both know a short, roly-poly balding guy who is certainly no Tatum Channing in the looks department. My friend had worked with him, and Wingman had coached with him.  Her observation about him was "That pig." He should rot in hell for the way he behaves." (He hit on her while being married to a nice, roly-poly woman.)

Funny thing is that I had the same experience with that guy and had wished for the same outcome for him. But if you were to ask the priest who was my high school religion teacher, he'd say it was my friend's fault and mine.  But not Roly-Poly's because according to him, men are innocent of all actions when it comes to being around women.  Which makes women responsible for everything from the Kennedy assassination to global warming. And me responsible for the bad judgement of men for over 30 years...

The Bucket List

Admittedly, we were dirty fighters while we were married. I was the queen of sarcasm, while Wingman's weapon of choice was blaming. He gave up playing in a band to marry me, his film editing career in NYC to be close to the kids and worked a job he particularly didn't enjoy to allow us to live the lives we lived.  I'm not going to say that his arguments were totally unfounded, yet I would counter that everyone makes compromises and sacrifices in life.

When Wingman died, I thought about all the things we said we were going to do and never did.  Early on, we were fortunate enough to be able to travel because of one of my jobs.  But looking back, there were a lot of years that I can't remember a single trip, vacation or otherwise important occasion.  That's sad for both us and for the kids.

(Don't Fear) The Reaper

I had a nightmare as a kid about the bogey man climbing up through a hole in the bedroom closet floor. He wore a harlequin suit, had a spiked nose to match the knife he carried, and cut my hand off when I turned on the light switch next to the closet. For years, I used a pencil or ruler to flick the switch from outside the room, fearing having him leave me with a bloody stump.

Then there was this crazy neighbor with red hair and freckles who had even crazier friends.  They tied me to the weeping willow tree in the front yard, put tent caterpillars all over my face and body, and said they would kill me if I cried.  My mother chased them away as they watched caterpillars crawl on my hair, lips and around my nose.  To this day, I still cringe when I see tent caterpillar nests in trees.