By Golly, It’s Another FOD!

Wednesday, January 16th, 2013


Jim, Wearing My Glasses, Fighting With The Air Hose

It’s turning out to be a FOD.

When my granddaughter was about 7 she mentioned that every time she’s with me we always have “Fun, But Odd Days.”

“We have FOD days, Babba,” she said.

Right now I am not having so much fun, but it is an odd day.

I’ve asked my brother Jim to show me how to check the air in my car tires and to show me how to fill them. I have 2 blinking lights in my car and when I look the symbols up in my car manual, it says tersely, “Pull over to the side of the road immediately.”

Eeeh gads.

Jim meets me at the gas station. He’s huffy and puffing around like he’s in a hurry to be somewhere else.

After I rustle up 4 quarters he gets the air pump going but he has forgotten his glasses. He can’t see what he’s doing without them and so he takes mine.

Now, I can’t see what he’s doing and the whole point of this is that I will watch closely and see what I need to learn.

Jim is busy unscrewing some little tubes on the tires and I try unscrewing one, myself. My hands are now streaked with black grease. So are Jim’s.

Next, he yanks and pulls the long air hose away from the pump and says “We gotta’ hurry before the air runs out. We only have 3 minutes.”

I wonder out loud why we started the pump before we got the ‘thingers’ out of the tires.

Jim is whipping the hose around and complaining about how his day has gotten all scrambled up.

I wrote a list,” he says, “and this wasn’t on the list.”

The hose won’t reach the back tires. Jim has a hissy fit.

I move the car.

The hose gets away from Jim and snaps in large circles in the air, like a champagne fueled horse whip. We both scream and duck.

Jim then leaps into the ethers like a ballet dancer, grabs the hose, subdues it and starts to fill the tires to 33 pounds of pressure. I’m hanging over him, trying to see where he puts the hose and trying to see how he measures the air. Of course, I can’t see because Jim is wearing my glasses.

I’m frustrated and run my hands through my hair.

My white hair is now streaked with black tire grease.

The pump stops. Our three minutes are up.

We have one tire left to fill.

“No problem,” Jim says. “Leave it.”

“Leave it?!” I stammer. “What if that’s the tire that is bad?”

Jim checks the tire. It’s at 32. “Close enough”, he says.

He runs his black-greased hands through his white hair.

I look but I say nothing.

The day continues in a similar vein, too vexing to even write it out for you to wade through. It’s just one of those days that I don’t have on my list and neither does Jim.

When our sister Candy was in college, one of her teachers was an African American man. One day, someone in class mentioned the lists we make that we think will take control of our days and keep us in order.

The teacher said, “Only white people make lists. Black people never do. We just roll with the tide.”

That made a big impression on me but it didn’t stop me from making lists and getting frantic and fevered when during a day I couldn’t cross most things off that piece of paper.

All these years later I am still making lists. You can always find an old list of some kind in all my jean’s pockets and in the washing machine.

However, sheer age and time have worn me down.

I now make lists but I am loose with my days.

Every morning I think, ‘OK, I have a day planned and I have my list, but I know today will go however it goes and it probably will take turns I never expected.’

And, unlike in my former, more harried life, I look forward to the surprises.

As for today, how many times in my life have I almost been horse whipped by an arcing air hose?


‘Dang,’I think. ‘That’s something I wouldn’t have put on my list, today. I did have a FOD after all!’

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Old Ladies Sex Lives

Wednesday, January 9th, 2013

Lexi’s Hairdresser Shirley, Both Daydreaming Perhaps?

Shirley is in her 80’s and I have known her for awhile. Today, I’ve taken Lexi to her shop to get a haircut.

‘How are you and the new boyfriend?’ I ask.

I’m remembering when I last saw her, maybe 6 months ago, when she was rhapsodizing over a man she had met on the golf course.

‘Oh, he’s gone!” she says, with a hint of distain.

“I have a new one.’

The former man, she says, was cheap. He made her pay for her own meals and everything else.

“I wasn’t brought up to be that way with a man.”

I’m trying not to gasp but the air gets stuck in my throat. I choke a bit.

Shirley is widowed and has had a number of boyfriends since I have known her in the past year or two.

“This boyfriend,” Shirley is saying, ” has a beautiful 40 ft motor home, lives in alaska part time, and adores me.”

As she washes the suds out of Lexi’s hair, she looks at me and says, “I’m retiring! I’m closing the shop and traveling with this lovely man and my little dog!”

I’m impressed. I haven’t had a boyfriend for years and Shirley, in her 80’s, with all the massive single female competition, always has one.

My Mother also had boyfriends into her very late 80’s. Actually, right up until the time she died.

There was Hoover, a handsome guy my age, a Basque man who lived on a ranch. In her 80’s, he adored my mother and thought her the most beautiful and sexy woman in existence. (more…)

And How Is YOUR Christmas Going?

Wednesday, December 19th, 2012

One Day In The Christmas Season

 Under great stress and duress, I sent the following email to my daughter and she thinks it’s hysterical…so I say, “I’m too whipped to write a long blog…this will have to be it.”
Buddy Note To Summer:
“My brother Jim calls very early and wants to talk about his troubles, I forget a 7AM appt with a new client, the housekeeper is here and I can’t turn on the heater as she will get too hot, so I am freezing. Karl the Cat got out of the house and disappeared and I am running through the plowed fields in my bedroom slippers screaming his name. Jim shows up, has quit his job, wants all my attention, what can he do with his life, he’s going crazy.
…I am up at Starbucks now where I can’t be found.”

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