Archive for August, 2013
Happy Birthday, Old Friend
This post dedicated to a dear friend who was born August 28, 1963. Some thoughts on turning 50.
- After a 50th birthday, you wake up and realize, you can stop freaking out about turning 50.
- The friendships that have lasted this long are pretty much good to go. And new people worthy of your time, energy, and love are easier to spot.
- You can now drop an F-bomb in front of your parents and they’ll just laugh.
- This is the first birthday in a long time during which you will be celebrated as you were when you were a kid. Enjoy every minute. ‘Cause the next big one is 60 – and that will just be sad.
- You don’t have to join A.A.R.P. if you don’t want to.
- Whether it’s a fancy night out with your sweetie, a no-fuss game night with friends, or an evening with Haagen Dazs and Dean Martin, you know how to – and you make the choice to – recharge as needed.
- At 50, tragedy has touched you. And tempered you.
- At 50, you are capable of soul-expanding joy.
- At 50, you never ever have to ride your bike to get a candy bar, dig through couch cushions to purchase a pop (aka soda), or worry about borrowing clothes for a formal event.
- Whether you are tall or short, overweight or skinny, straight-laced or goofy, graceful or clutzy, you are loved. And you know it.
- Whether you are rich or poor, brilliant or ditzy, famous or ordinary, fabulous or frumpy, there are people who don’t like you. And you’re okay with that. Maybe even a little proud of that.
- No one (including you) will ever expect you to drink until 3:00 a.m., run a triathlon, or wear a bikini.
- You’ve forgotten more stuff than the youngsters will ever know. And you’re about to start forgetting even more stuff.
- The number of years until you can retire is now a comprehensible span of time.
- You have arrived at 50. You know what matters most to you and it doesn’t matter if the same things are important to a friend, co-worker, neighbor, or the person taking your pizza order.
- You have friends who have already turned 50. And they are cheerfully, wickedly relieved that you have to go through it, too.
Happy Birthday, Vern. You are one my life preservers.
NOTE: A variation of this post is available to purchase as a poster. Click here to go to the product in my zazzle store.
Be Nice.
Today’s epiphany is: I like Garbage Men. They’re like Santa in reverse.
Make a list of the things you really don’t want. Old stuff, ripped stuff, smooshed stuff. The stinky, the rotten, the gross. The used, the broken, the empty. Check your waste baskets, check them twice, and gather up everything, naughty or nice, and then, by dark of night, place it all at the curb. And go quietly, serenely to bed.
When you awake, you can run down the stairs, throw back the shutters, and press your nose against the glass to see if it’s true. Yes! Yes! They came! They were here! It has all disappeared. The banana peels and apple cores; the can and jar labels; the evidence that you ate an entire box of cookies and a pizza; the moldy bread, shrimp tails, bits of lunchmeat; the shredded junk mail, discarded envelopes, and snipped circulars; the soggy paper towels, cigarette butts, earwaxed Q-Tips, and boogered tissues; even the clumps of cat poo. It has all gone away. Like magic.
Almost.
I was driving down my street this morning and had to stop behind the garbage truck to wait for a chance to pass as men picked up their sacks. And I saw it happen. An overstuffed wimpy-wimpy-wimpy bag fell to pieces. And I heard the garbage man yell. It was an involuntary roar. It was a cinematic No! It was a resonating moment of human angst, as real as any of us feels when a rotten, stinking workday goes from bad to worse.
Were he anything like me, he probably would have considered going up on the rooftop to drop garbage in this person’s chimney. But he didn’t. He went to the truck and grabbed a shovel to scoop it all up.
As he made it to the back of the truck with a third shovel full, I saw my chance to pass and pulled away, noticing, as I drove through the neighborhood, how many more garbage bags there were to be picked up. I couldn’t help but think about what it must be like to do his job every day, picking up stinking bags in the middle of August or hanging onto the side of a steel truck in early February.
Starting next garbage night, I am going to double-bag the messy stuff and triple bag the used kitty litter. I’m not going to try to fit quite so much into each bag. And I’ll be more aware of the awkward and the heavy. I don’t suppose it would be sanitary to leave them a glass of milk and a plate of cookies, but these good elves will be getting a better tip from my house come Christmas.
P.S. I would like to acknowledge, for perhaps the first time ever, how very nice it is to work indoors at a computer.
Unemployment Benefits
So, I lost my job a couple of weeks ago, and I’ve yet to fully comprehend all of the documentation I’ve received from the Unemployment Compensation program, Cobra, and the 401(k) people, but tonight I’m taking a moment to celebrate the following benefits:
1. Winter clothes in storage. Yes, it’s mid-August and I’ll start switching back in a month or so anyway, but what the heck, it feels good.
2. Alterations on misfit clothing begun. The key benefit represented here being that this means I figured out how to run a bobbin all by myself.
3. House is tidy.
4. I’ve been eating homemade meals. (And there aren’t any dirty dishes in the sink or on the counter or in the oven.)
5. Files from my first home computer, which hasn’t been plugged in since 2004, have been transferred to my current computer.
6. My purse has no extra lint, receipts, expired coupons, or 10-pound lump of pennies.
7. My garden looks as if I know what I’m doing.
8. Xenosaga III completed.
9. My home laptop now has the latest version of itunes loaded, my music is in The Cloud, and I have synced my iPod shuffle that I got for Christmas 2 years ago.
10. Caught up on laundry, email, facebook, and sleep.
11. It’s Sunday night. And I have no nasty black-pit feeling in my stomach.
12. Last but not least, my favorite benefit: Time to write.
Golf, Friendship, Life
It’s official. My favorite day of the year is a Friday in August, the one day of the year that I golf.
Those of you who know me are shaking your heads in disbelief because you know, when it comes to golf, I don’t know my ass from a hole in the ground that is a gazillion yards away and to the right or maybe the left, who the heck knows?
But, this past Friday I was golfing in memory of the inimitable Damon Garde, If you knew him, you’re a lucky soul. (If you didn’t, just believe me when I tell you that, even if you are a hopeless mess on the golf course, you would show up to golf in his honor.)
So, today, some thoughts on golf, friendship, and life:
- We cannot get where we’re going in this world alone. Especially during a golf scramble when your tee shot barely makes it out of the box on a par 5.
- The “cool people” are not those who go to trendy places, wear branded clothes, or drive expensive cars. The cool people are those who will look you straight in the eye and call it a practice swing.
- Life is too short to chase after every lost ball.
- Don’t avoid a fun time with friends because you’re afraid they will discover that you’re a clumsy, uncoordinated twit. Please, believe me: They already know you’re a clumsy, uncoordinated twit.
- Fear is crippling. And quite boring. Buck up. Show up. And keep your head up. (Or, in some cases, keep your head down and your knees bent and your forearms straight, you stupid freaking idiot.)
- Take the mulligan.
- Winning is fun. But–little known fact–losing is fun, too, if you do it with the right people.
- There is always more than one way to earn a trophy. (Right, Lisa?)
- At least once a year, put on your crazy pants.
- There are all kinds of people in the world. You’re, uh, going to want to let a lot of them play through.
- It’s a relatively short game. Seek out those who ease your soul, heal your heart, and make you laugh from your belly. Throw your arms around them, keep them close, and celebrate every blessed moment you have with them.
So, yes, I spoke the truth. My favorite day of the year began on a golf course.
It ended with beer and burgers and card games and late-night hyjinx, like this year’s impromptu Putting Wrong-handed in the Dark contest, which a clumsy, uncoordinated twit, barefoot and tipsy but in the company of friends, just happened to win.
Thank you Ed and Cheri for making it happen. God bless ya, my teammates. Hugs to all my golfing Life Preservers. And cheers to you, Damon. Always missed. Never forgotten.
Life Preservers 
B-attitude
Blessed are the kind-hearted.
Blessed are the imperfect.
Blessed are those who trust in goodness – but learn from experience.
Blessed are the funny, the witty, and the droll.
Blessed are the stupid, for they doth be amusing.
Blessed are those who preserve and run old movies.
Blessed are those who use a turn signal.
Blessed are the misunderstood; one day they shall be vindicated. Or at least learn not to give a rat’s ass.
Blessed are those with their head up their arse (because at least that shuts them up).
Blessed are they who do not forward chain letters.
Blessed are those who hope despite all of the evidence.
Blessed are those creative enough to design a bumper sticker that isn’t in the shape of a looped ribbon.
Blessed are they who still make, sell, buy, and read real books.
Blessed are the cheese makers.
Blessed are the silly for they lie closest to understanding the world.
Blessed are the lapsed Catholics.
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August 29, 2013 at 6:13 pm Leave a comment