On the Road Again

 Last week was a pricey 48 hours. My husband’s car was getting an estimate for a minor ding at an auto body shop. We were asked to move his car. Being the helpful wife, I got in to back it up. I Immediately backed into someone’s brand new Fiat. We’re a real dynamic duo. My son calls it our reign of destruction, Florida edition. My sons both agreed We should get a self-driving vehicle, like a Tesla. They told us to open the vault and go for it.

Off we went to the Tesla dealership for a demo drive. All I can say is that I’ve found my tribe. All the customers knew where they were when Kennedy was shot and saw the Beatles on Ed Sullivan. The gentlemen were sporting white New Balance sneaks, while the ladies strutted in Clark’s Cloud Stepper sandals. (The warm weather sandals that are de rigor for women over 50.) Some shoppers were on their third car and raved about road trips with no navigation snafus, or helpful suggestions from the passenger seat. Apparently, this feature is beloved by all husbands we spoke with. At this age, we need all the available safety bells and whistles, or at least according to our children.

 So, a car (driverless mind you) pulls up and the door unlocks, we hop in, husband in driver seat. Our salesperson said, “Tesla drive around the mall”, and to my husband “sit on your hands.” We slowly pulled away from the curb, and drove through a crowded outdoor mall, turn signals going on, stopped for walkers, Allman Brothers playing on the   radio. It also searches the internet for you using voice commands. You never know while you’re driving down the street, you may get a hankering to know the temperature today in Timbuktu, just ask the car!

 WOW, I felt like Jane Jetson, wife of George, mother to Elroy and Judy (if you get the reference, you are Tesla age appropriate) It truly was amazing! You are shopping, and it starts to rain, you summon car to the store entrance! It maps charging stations on your travels and takes you there. It parks itself, both parallel and backing straight in, Look ma, no hands.

Now least you think I’m in Tesla’s PR group, not yet. This is like a Tinder date for cars. We’ve learned all about you on the app, and we think you might be the one. We are smitten at this stage but anxiously awaiting our first date. We receive the starship Durning Tomorrow.

Stay Tuned

Homeward Bound, Back to the Motherland

 It’s getting hot down here, or what I like to call the universal sign to us northern folk. Migration season is upon us. We usually head to Florida in early fall, or whenever you need to heat the house. When you avoid going outside due to heat and humidity down here, it is the universal sign in reverse.

We are still working on the best mode of transportation, to get ourselves and our cars back and forth. Our first year, we took the auto train from DC area to Orlando area. This was during covid. We were sequestered in our “roomette.” The linen closet is roomier. Take into consideration that spouse and I both are over 6’ tall, with corresponding girth Between the discussion about who got the top bunk, all 5’10’ of it, and the town crier in the lower bunk, announcing every 30 minutes “I can’t sleep”. My husband’s new mantra was, “never again, never again” This mode was a non-starter.

Another year, we decided to leave one car in Florida, and drive up together. Yeah, on paper that sounds good. Share the one car. You and your spouse are now joined at the hip 24/7. Every day there is a negotiation as to who gets the car. Eventually you just do all the errands together. This is not for the faint hearted. For years I have food shopped for the entire family. A spouse will pick up an item (if you send a picture and GPS aisle coordinates) but never the whole shop. I can do a complete shop, cleaning supplies included, in under half an hour. My husband was more of a meanderer. He strolls the aisles leisurely, pinching, and sniffing the produce, climbing into the dairy case, checking for the best expiration date. (I have always taken expiration dates as suggestions). He even strolls down the dog food aisle. We don’t have a dog. Comparison shopping and perusing the weekly flyer, an educated consumer, who knew? Besides the more obvious drawbacks of constant companionship, keep in mind that the one who drives picks the music.

The following year, I took the train, and He drove home by himself. He was thrilled. He planned an East Coast steak and 5-star hotel tour on his way home. We are not talking about Longhorns, or Golden Corral. He knows where every Ruth’s Chris, Capital Grill, and steak joints where the bill tops a third world country’s GNP. Likewise with hotel accommodations. You won’t find him in any Knights Inn, even though they offer free breakfast for the princely sum of 79.99 per evening. He also enjoyed the peace and serenity on his travels, as there were no arguments regarding music choices, or breakfast plans. He really loved arriving 2 days after my arrival, knowing I would have unpacked the car, aired the place out, and picked up food and beer. Meanwhile, back in my suite on the train (aforementioned roomette) things were just heating up. The train lost an engine, so we had no electricity for quite a few hours. A loss of electricity on a train translates into no air conditioning, non-working bathrooms, and no bar car. The windows were hermetically sealed, so no fresh air was available. Meanwhile, my spouse was enjoying a night cap at the 4 Seasons. All was well until that month’s AMEX bill arrived. This is still a sore subject, so let us move on.

This year we are trying a new configuration. We are both taking the auto train back. I booked the family suite, with private bathroom. It sleeps four, but given our dimensions, I think we will fit. I have done a cost analysis, and realized even with the suite, it was still cheaper than the east coast steak tour for one. As a bonus we can unpack the car together, and food shop separately. Let’s see how this works…….or tune into Dateline, “Murder on the Snowbird Express”.

The Madness of March

 So it is March. March brings Spring, the Ides, Mardi Gras, St Patricks’ day, my birthday, but more importantly March Madness. 

I’ve been dealing with this phenomenon for the past 45 years. There were signs….I was introduced to his family at a college basketball game UVA vs. UNC. I didn’t realize the significance of this at the time. Looking back, I realize in my husband’s eyes, this was equal to Taylor Swift tickets. The fact that  I had cable at my apartment was probably why we got married. If my birthday lands on a Friday or Saturday night in March, no celebratory birthday dinner for me. Although since becoming Floridians, we can hit a happy hour, and blue plate special, and still be home by tip-off.

 One of his secret wishes was for at least one of his sons to attend a big 10 college. He could plan visits around home games! Sometimes wishes do come true! An exciting year as one son’s team went all the way to the National Championship. I’m still waiting for my wish, to eat as much as I want and not put on weight.

 What I find so amazing is he can spin out players names, colleges nicknames, stats, and the coaches, for current and previous years. He is a March Madness Savant. However, he will forget instantly where and with whom we will be seeing this weekend after numerous reminders. He suffered a major stroke 12 years ago and, according to the doctors, lost a significant amount of his brain. Thank God the March Madness data portion came through completely unscathed. I guess the brain protects the most precious memories.

I’m not enamored of college basketball. In fact I’m kinda neutral on Sporting events in general. Occasionally I’ll join him for a while, and quickly learned that when he says, there is only 5 minutes left in the game, he didn’t say in basketball time. This can be converted into actual time before the final buzzer. It is anywhere from at least 15 minutes to 45 minutes barring a tie, which brings up overtime, 5-minute sessions, till someone wins. In other words, hours.

 What I really enjoy is the in-depth conversations we share during the games I’m sure he was paying rapt attention when I told him I was running off with the pool boy, while Duke was locked in fierce battle. For the record we don’t have a pool. He smiled and nodded his head. He is not a man of many words, but even less so in March.

I must admit, I have absorbed some minutia regarding Mascots, and College colors. I know who the Razorbacks are, as well as Cavilers, Terrapins, and Pirates! I know who is being referred to with Roll Tide and Go Dawgs. I utilize this knowledge when speaking to my sons in March. They have inherited his March Madness addiction, and if you can’t beat them, join them. This also may come in handy when I get called up for Jeopardy (It should be any day now) and the category is NCAA teams and mascots. Imagine if the other 5 categories are; Potent Potables, Deserts, 70’s music, Types of Sin, and cooking gadgets. I would run those categories, but probably lose it all in Final, as I could not remember what I did yesterday.

Very Shortly this Madness will end. If you think you are off the hook, let me remind you Stanley Cup and Baseball are currently on deck.

Dating in the Age of the Gray Panther

First off, I’m still happily married. I’m not on the market. However, after having discussions with a number of long term married females, we all had remarkably similar thoughts on what we would want in a companion if we were forced back into the dating scene.

So, for any of you older gentlemen entering the fray here is what we would look for:

1.      None of us would ever get married again, so if you are commitment phobic, have no fear. We’ve been there done that, we came, saw, and as much as we enjoyed it, once was enough.

2.      Would rather you have had a 30+ year marriage under your belt. This way we know you have been house broken by your earlier mate. i.e., put the seat down, take the trash out, and most importantly, take the side of the bed closest to the door, in case an intruder breaks in.

3.      Be aware that our children and grandchildren will always come first. Its Non-negotiable. We are allowed to complain about them; you however are not.

4.      We are NOT gold diggers. We have our own money, and we will be holding on to it. We have no problem paying our own way and our kids will be ferociously guarding their future inheritance. Refer to bullet point above. That is unless of course, we receive all the money, that Nigerian Prince is sending.

5.      Own your own car. Preferably a comfortable sedan. Sure, a corvette, triumph or other sports vehicles were chick magnets back in the day. Now we want a car that we can easily enter and exit, without needing to fold oneself in, and the jaws of life to escape. You must also have a valid driver’s license and be fully insured. Bonus points if you know how to drive stick and know how to use jumper cables. Remember, we have moved from passenger princess to Passenger Queen.

6.      Personal hygiene is extremely high on our list. Daily showers, deodorant, mouth wash, and CLEAN clothes. You might not realize, without your spouse, that you’ve been wearing that shirt for three days in a row, and we can still see the ketchup stain.

7.      Appearance. A gentleman’s height is not a consideration, as we will probably be sitting 98% of the time. Weight, well many of us have gotten a little thick around the middle so a solidly built gent is ok. However, if you need to purchase two tickets to fly on Spirit, you might want to re-up that gym membership first. Facial Handsomeness? Have no fear, all of us have failing eyesight.

8.      Age range. Remember where you were when JFK was shot and watched the Beatles Sunday nights on Ed Sullivan. Before your time? Too young. Was out of school by then? too old.

9.      Enjoy a lovely home cooked meal. Only not at my house.

10. Which brings us here, must have your own residence. We are not in the market for a roommate. No worries about type of residence, or if you rent, or own It can be a house, apartment, condominium, or tent. Just not our place. Nor, and especially not, your parent’s basement.

11. Hair, or lack thereof, no worries. Most of our long-term male friends have male pattern baldness, receding hairline, or bald as a cueball. Its’s what we gals are used to and comfortable with. Facial hair, if its neatly trimmed, is fine. We keep our beards and staches under control, so we expect the same of you. Nose and ear hair, not so much. Seeing your missing locks growing out of your nose and/or ears does not a pretty picture make.

12. Enjoy a cocktail or two. Not adverse to hitting the Senior blue plate special for dinner. It starts at 5pm after 3pm happy hour and comes with a complimentary glass of Chablis. Home in time for Jeopardy! (We still miss Alex Trebek)

13. We all have various health issues. Many of us have removed or replaced bits and pieces. These things are not deal breakers. However, if you are in the market for a nursemaid, you’re shopping in the wrong aisle. You can find those ladies in the younger section. But be warned a much higher net worth will be expected. Be careful if you’re packing a portable oxygen tank as we do love our Yankee Candles. Would hate to see us blown to smithereens.

14. C-Paps machines for sleep apnea are fine. In fact, more than fine. The sound is like our white noise. We need it to fall asleep. It is the same nostalgic feeling we experience when we get a whiff of Ben Gay.

15. Retired

16. Our taste in Music runs to 60’s, 70’s and 80’s. The good stuff. Everyone has their own taste, but you would be hard pressed to find a Hip-Hop or Rap aficionados, in this particular age pool.

17. Should be conversant in many physical tricks, such as the Heimlich Maneuver and CPR. Trust us, we already know how to perform these acts, and we do them well.

18. Geographically desirable. Over 75 miles away, see you later bud. We are not spending our golden years commuting.

19. We like to have plans mapped out in advance. Once our Bras come off, we are in for the night. It is best to let us know early in the day the plans for that evening.

20. Lastly, every red-blooded female wants a tough red-blooded man in her in bedroom, to kill that damn spider that has been stalking her.

LBI Resue

I walk 5 days a week. Today for some reason, I decided to make a 6-walk week. Shortly after I started, I saw a little baby squirrel, apparently his mom decided to cross the road. She didn’t make it. Her poor little baby was hanging by her and was in danger of becoming roadkill himself. I picked him up and placed him at the base of a tree where you could see a squirrel’s nest. Now if you’re thinking “is she crazy?” “Picking up wild animals!” I want you to know I raised 3 boys, nothing scares me. This poor baby crawled up my arm, headed for my head. I’ve been told my hair resembles a Rat nest. It looks more like a squirrel’s nest. He curled up under my chin, shielded from the elements by my double chin, safe and warm. I really had no idea what to do, as the only animals we had were pet rocks. I took him to the police station, who gave me a box, and called animal control. However, they told me he would be euthanized. Not acceptable. I found a rescue center about 40 minutes away, and we were off. I am at the time of my life, where I’m running a little short on the kindness acts needed to get into heaven, so this rescue was self-serving. He whimpered when I put him in the box, but the thought of him free roaming my car was not appealing. As we started on our journey, I stopped for a light. Something was moving inside my shirt. Baby gave me a parting gift. I had fleas in my sports bra. I begin franticly pulling things out, up and under. The poor driver stopped next to my car and got an eyeful he will never forget! My rescue squirrel is now at a wildlife preserve, where he'll spend his life. I on the other hand am going to Pet Co, to see if they carry flea and tick collars for a woman (or should I say a Saint, like Francis of Assi) of my size. My clothes and body are currently being scalded to be safe. Just for fun I looked up rabies symptoms, irritability is a major sign. I think I’ve been suffering from rabies for decades now.

Failure to Launch

Failure to Launch Years ago, when dinosaurs roamed the earth, all we required was a beach towel, Bain De Soleil, and maybe a boom box for a day at the beach. As time went on, we started using sand chairs, they sat 4 inches above the sand, and fully reclined. We would upgrade as years went on, instead of the standard model, we opted for additional features, chair with cup holders, side pockets, and the anti-sunroof or sun shade. We had our Walkman’s and a large bottle of No-Ad lotion. This year, my 50th year of using this type of chair, I have been forced to abandon it. We started to suffer from “failure to launch” syndrome. Sitting down on our chair was easy,although gravity aided in a quick desent.After a lovely afternoon at the beach, it was time to go. The first step is getting up. Easier said than done. My husband’s method calls for one to grasp the arms and pop right up. After a number of aborted launches he achieved lift off. My way, was to scootch to the edge of the chair, and fling myself forward into child pose, from there I executed a slow motion downward dog. Success we were standing. We needed a minute or two, to reorient ourselves as to time and space, as we had just finished a very taxing workout. When our heartbeats returned to normal, we realized our days of using sand chairs had come to an end. We brought our new Hi-Rise chairs, that are the same height of those old lawn chairs or waffle thighs seats that we used to scoff at. They also come with cup holders for our Stanley cups and side bags to store our ear pods and SPF 100. Don’t even get me started on Adirondack Chairs.

My Manny Got A Pedi

About one year ago, my husband suffered a massive stroke. Our lives were turned inside out, and upside down. We are adjusting to our new normal, and luckily for us, everyday gets a little better. As you may imagine, responsibilities for chores were reassigned. For example, I was still responsible for cooking the meals, but my husband became responsible for cleanup. I thank the good Lord, he was always able to take care of his own personal needs………..except for one. Trimming of the toe nails.

He had tried to do this chore himself, with varying degrees of failure. He asked for my help. I do not consider myself the squeamish sort, the sight of blood does not make me weak, but this was a whole other level of I Love you but……. Most of you have fathers, husbands, brothers, or male buddies. You know what I am talking about! There is something about the male toenails that, for the lack of another word are disgusting.

His nails were growing in at a phenomenal rate, and were as sharp as Ginsu knives. Getting into bed with him at night, was like sleeping with Edward Sissorhands. Something had to be done, just not by me. I suggested a trip to the nail salon.

As expected, this was not met with much enthusiasm. My husband always considered himself, a manly man. Men who had manicures or metrosexuals were always looked at with a shrug, a sigh, and a look of wonderment. He would tell me that some of his adversaries were not as aggressive as he, and would then point out, “but you know, he gets manicures”. This was supposed to explain everything.

I told him, that if wanted to continue in a happy marriage he had two choices. One, go to a Bird Veterinarian that specialized in the trimming of overgrown talons, or two visit the lovely ladies at the local nail salon. He begrudgingly chose option two.

We went there this morning. I was hoping that the place would be empty, or that maybe there would be one more guy getting some work done, but no such luck. As you ladies know, the first question asked is, “what polish do you want?” My husband looked at me in horror, “I don’t want polish!” “Not even a clear coat?” I asked. “Absolutely not!” he replied.

Unfortunately, it was a busy morning at Nails –Be-Gone, and the entire salon was filled with ladies getting their summer touch up. There were only two stations available, side by side in the center. Here is where we landed. The technician instructed my husband to put his feet in the foot bath, and turned on the massaging chair. He seemed a tad tense at first, but soon a smile stole over his face, and he whispered, “I think I could fall asleep right now, this is very relaxing.” His toes were trimmed, massaged, and buffed. They looked marvelous, in fact they looked better, he admitted, than they ever had before. He survived.

As we made our way out, he asked me if we should make an appointment now, for our next pedicure. Additionally he was wondering what the “SPA” pedicure was, opposed to the “REGULAR” pedicure he had received, and did I think the hot rock massage was as good as it’s hype. I think I have a convert.