Is it Monday yet, Please!

This weekend had a bit of an ominous beginning since I left the book I'm reading, The Lacemakers of Glenmara, at work and the library is closed Sunday and Monday (that will change as of April 25th). It was enough to induce a mini panic attack. Luckily, I have found that old movies and those tiny Cadbury eggs with the crisp shells that are completely addictive (Keri claims the shells are lined with crack!) can act as a substitute in a pinch.

Then, last night, Eric called to say that Jennifer was in Piedmont Hospital, possibly in labor a few weeks early. He was sitting in their van with their two little ones in the parking lot and Kylie had to go potty. Little Sophie didn't make her debut yet so we will, thankfully, have to wait a bit to meet her.

This morning I got a text from my sister saying my father was in the hospital because of dehydration. He had fainted at church and was rushed to the emergency room but was back home this afternoon. He sounded good but I learned that he is receiving chemotherapy. My mom's twelfth anniversary is this Sunday and we're hoping for no poetic coincidences here.

Right now I'm totally relaxed and watching Jack Nicholson experience a panic attack in Something's Gotta Give, a very cute, funny movie. Life is back to normal and now I can start thinking about Easter baskets for Kylie and Logan. When I gave Kylie a little Valentine bear she told her family in Tennessee her "friend Grandma" (pronounced Gamma) gave it to her.

I hope you enjoy a wonderful Easter and that Peter Rabbit treats you very well.

The Line Forms on the Left (and Right...)

It doesn't do much for a woman's morale to witness wrinkles, lines, sags -- whatever wasn't there a while ago, like yesterday -- appearing in full glory when she innocently looks into the mirror with no intention of conducting an inspection.

Whoever came up with the quip, "aging gracefully" was probably a man or a nun but the French comedic actress, Jeanne Moreau, expressed her thoughts on it. "Aging gracefully is supposed to mean trying not to hide time passing and just looking a wreck. Don't worry, girls, look like a wreck, that's the way it goes." Not exactly encouraging, more like a challenge set up by Botox distributors!

I really hate to think of myself as overly concerned about looking my age but each new birthday imprints its greeting around my eyes and cheekbones. It seems that one part of the female body has a tug of war with the other. I have a couple of friends near my age who wish they were thinner, but they have beautiful, smooth, full faces. I caught a profile of my face and I'd swear the air was let out of one of my cheeks which looked like a deflated balloon.

Gloria Steinem once wrote that on her 60th birthday she was talking to someone in the ladies' room of a restaurant and mentioned what she was celebrating. The other woman told her she didn't look 60 but Gloria replied, "Yes, I do; this is what 60 looks like." It may have been the first time the other person had ever heard a woman over 30 admit her real age.

A couple of years ago, I heard people saying "60 is the new 40"! Obviously, Mother Nature wasn't informed of this and doesn't believe in cover-ups. So, on Easter Sunday, I will hit the ripe age of 63 and I will eat all the cake I want --maybe some butter cream will lodge inside my cheeks (probably the wrong ones!).

The best way to deal with our imperfections staring at us in the mirror is a sense of humor. Then we can convince ourselve that the new flaws are just laugh lines. Ha ha ha!

We Interrupt This Game

You know spring is really here when life starts to revolve around ballfield schedules. My days of taking turns at manning the Mountain Park snack bar and socializing in the stands at the games for both of my kids are over and I pass that baton on to the next generation. I have to admit that as hectic as our lives were every spring, I miss those days.

Both Eric and Keri inherited Stan's athletic DNA. (I do not possess one trace of that gene). Eric has lived and breathed sports since he was three years old and has an assortment of scars to prove it. His daughter now is three and has abandoned ballet for T-ball. She only really joined dance classes for the tutu and she wears that with her princess tiara constantly! Her dad, the assistant coach, is so proud. He is also pretty shocked that she listens to him when he tells her to run and mucho impressed that she has a powerful swing despite her wiry frame.

He was not prepared for what happened at the last practice. He knows that three and four year- olds are prone to sitting down in the field and throwing pebbles. But he never saw practice interrupted for hugging. There are only two girls on the team, both named Kylie. They apparently discovered that all important gift that girls seem to recognize instinctively -- friendship -- and they just couldn't contain themselves.

Cathy recently wrote about the Oatmeal greeting card line and I keep picturing a card with two little girls in their helmets on a ballfield, oblivious to their apoplectic fathers, hugging each other and grinning their heads off. But a humorous quip escapes me. If you think of something, feel free to send it to Oatmeal.

Eric tells me that Kylie is just like me -- she never keeps quiet! Well, we have other things in common too: we both wear glasses, love books, and are huggers! It makes Gramma's day to know this.

Shaping Up

I am sitting near a window looking out at a sunny day that belies the cold temperatures. Two days ago, this window looked like a snow globe but the weatherwoman said this morning that we are getting closer to Spring. That's wonderful news because I'm sick of winter.

That means though, with the way time has been soaring by before I can even appreciate it, summer will be here in a blink of an eye and I will (horrors) have to look for summer clothes. I do not like summer clothes -- I like turtlenecks. I love the scene in "Something's Gotta Give" where Jack Nicholson asks Diane Keaton why she is wearing a turtleneck in the summer (at the beach no-less) and she tells him it's because she likes them. She is my heroine. (My husband used to tease me about them too and I told him the same thing).

I think trying on bathing suits ranks right up there with prepping for a colonoscopy. My daughter is working out with a trainer now and eating better -- so she is more positive about the bathing suit situation. She and her buddy Rebecca started a blog: Seasonshapeup.blogspot.com,
and it is really pretty informative on how to eat better, etc., in a realistic way. Both girls are doing well and I'm proud of them. I would be extremely grateful if you wonderful ladies would pleeeeease check out their blog once in a while so that the magazine sees that people are reading it (other than mothers).

Let's hope the weather keeps shaping up and that we don't get sleet on Easter!

Bridge of Love

The past few days have been a bit surreal for my family. You know the state where you're a little bit numb, a lot relieved and grateful but sad, all at the same time?

My brother-in-law Bob, the life of every party, who never met a stranger, and who entertained anyone who would listen for hours, (usually with the same stories), died of bone cancer on Thursday. It probably sounds like a cliche to say that his wife and siblings are glad he is no longer in horrible pain or still in a coma that lasted for a week, but in this case it is absolutely true.

It has been a rough year for them. Grace (Stan's sister) works at Gwinnett Medical Center and is well-versed in medical matters. The two of them spoke about his impending death openly and without fear or emotion and were pretty shocked that he lived as long as he did. Their love for each other and family was so obvious and inspiring.

She called me the morning of Feb. 18th to tell me he had passed away at 5 a.m. My real mother also died on Feb. 18, in 1962, and has been my guardian angel many times on that date. Before I went to sleep on Ash Wednesday, I asked God to let her help us in some way. I think God listened to her.

Grace is living up to her name perfectly and is doing very well, handling everything the way they both wanted. There was no wake or funeral or obituary in the newspapers. Family and close friends have visited with her and have been uplifted by her attitude. She will be hosting a "celebration of life" gathering at her house over the weekend when she will have a chance to see special friends who have moved away from Georgia. She wants it to be like an Irish wake and it sounds like it certainly will be. She'll be showing a video from 20 years ago taken at a friend's 40th birthday party where Bob and the birthday girl's husband did a little skit and were hysterically funny and entertaining. This is the way she wants Bob remembered and cherished and I believe he will be.

As I was watching American Idol last night, I thought it was rather amusing that so many of the girls sang Beatles songs, obviously trying to appeal to Boomers as well as the younger generation. The Beatles are such a part of our culture, especially for those of us who listened to their records constantly in the 60's and swooned at them on the Ed Sullivan Show. They're an international icon but they aren't number one on my hit parade. That spot goes to Simon and Garfunkle.

When Stan and I were first married, we didn't splurge on a lot of purchases (except at delis and bakeries!) but we bought Simon and Garfunkle records. The cover of Bookends still stares at me whenever I open my hall closet. I always loved Sounds of Silence and he liked it a lot too but his favorite was Bridge Over Troubled Water. Over the past week, I've been thinking about that song a lot and have been touched by how eloquently the lyrics express my feelings for Stan and the relationship between Grace and Bob.

My memory got stuck on a few words and I was afraid to look on lyrics.com because it has crashed my computer and I'm not risking ruining the library's or my daughter's. I am fortunate to have a friend who remembers song lyrics verbatim and typed them out for me. I don't know how Paul and Art came up with the words but they seem spiritual to me. (The Catholic Church doesn't agree since I could not have it played at Stan's mass but the CD was on at the luncheon afterwards.) "When you're weary, feeling small/When tears are in your eyes I will dry them all. I'm on your side when darkness fall/And pain is all around/Like a bridge over troubled water/I will lay me down."

The last part is the clincher: "When you need a friend I'm sailing right behind/Like a bridge over troubled water I will ease your mind." It makes me want to bow my head and say, Amen.

We, thank goodness, have a life to celebrate. I don't know who sang it but I like the thought, "Celebrate, celebrate, dance to the music."

TRUTH STRANGER THAN FICTION

I am happily reading a brand new book, The Brightest Star in the Sky, by one of my favorite Irish lasses, Marian Keyes. She is witty, even makes me laugh out loud at times, and is very insightful about human nature. Okay, not so unusual for a good writer -- can evoke emotions, entertain and show astute perception. What is surprising is that, according to her blog, she is suffering from depression and has been for some time.

I guess the book could have been written before her current bout, especially since books from the UK often are delayed with being released in the US. Her husband, whom she refers to as "himself," sends out her monthly blog and reports on terrific recent sales. He is most definitely not suffering from depression!

It's almost like hearing that a friend is sick. When you follow an author's works, you feel like you know that person through her characters, don't you? I found myself saying a little prayer for her -- maybe selfishly because I don't want her to stop writing -- but also because she is a truly funny, kind woman.

During my most cheerful moments, I couldn't compose one line as good as hers, no less many novels as well as a couple of collections of humorous essays (Under the Duvet and Cracks in My Foundation).

As we approach St. Patrick's Day, I hope her black cloud disappears and she is filled with the joy that she brings to her readers.

Not Connected

It doesn't seem all that long ago -- actually six years to be exact -- that I would often declare I didn't want a cell phone and since I refused to use one while driving, who needed it?! Now, I don't leave home without it. A couple of days ago my trusty new Nokia, which has replaced the last two that didn't work right, decided it does not like living in my purse any more than its buddies. It keeps taunting me by shutting off and on, will not let me make or retrieve calls or check messages and keeps playing a very annoying little tune as if to announce its glorious, but useless, presence.

Okay, I had held onto my old, bigger, ugly phone that has been dropped on the pavement and swum in the toilet (I bumped it with my hairbrush one morning and it literally flew through the air into the john.) The others have not been subjected to such indignities, so don't go saying, "User problems"! So I used the old stand-by to call customer service at my provider who would not speak to me because that phone was not now registered with them. After pushing 0 enough times I finally reached someone who told me to turn on the faulty phone. Although I could not open the battery compartment because they have it sealed worse than Ft. Knox and he seemed to think I was a weak, incompetent whiner, he said he would try to work on it at his end while I stayed on the phone, which promptly went dead.

After a couple of moments, okay hours, of fretting, I realized the old days weren't so bad. I still have Ma Bell, who has changed her name, for local calls only but should I be desperate to have a pizza delivered, I'll be okay.

The new year is starting off pretty quietly around here.