Liam's Grandma or Maggie in Real Life

Turning 50 - Part Deux

I was going to write an entire saga about turning 50.  But, at 50 years of age, I don't have the energy.  Or the wit.  Or even  the memory of what I ate for dinner last night, so having a 50 year old try to recall what occurred a couple of weeks ago is not going to happen.  Instead, I'll leave it to photos as proof.  Or, who knows, maybe the memories and the writing will just start flowing.  After all, I did take my "50+" vitamin this morning.

Here is a photo of the gown I apparently wore to the office that morning.  I changed into regular clothes after awhile, mostly because I was cold.  Plus, while I have to admit there are times when I enjoy shocking people, an office building is not the place to wear an evening gown.  But, dang-it, I try to wear this gown whenever I can because I like to dress up - even though it's a rare occasion (or there is rarely an occasion to put it on) - mostly because we are not jet setters.  So that means we don't get featured in big spreads in the newspaper when there is some sort of ball and people who think they are important go to rub elbows with other people who think they are important and then they all think they're important and then, those of us looking at the photos in the newspaper think they must be important, and it's a huge ego boost.  That's not my life.  

But I did get a big surprise.  Druck announced he was taking me to Chicago for the weekend to do whatever I wanted.  And that included, if I wanted, getting my own room while he slept somewhere else, like, say, on another floor.  I decided I'd like to share a room with him but thanked him for the option and, as the time to depart got closer, I told him I'd rather go to Grand Rapids.  This was because Grand Rapids is 2 1/2 hours away and Chicago is 5.  Since we weren't leaving until Friday night and we had to return on Sunday, I wanted to shorten the time in the car as much as possible. 

We stayed at my favorite Grand Rapids hotel, The Amway Grand Hotel, which is one of the most beautiful old hotels I have ever been in.  It reminds me of a lovely hotel we stayed at in Nice, France a few years ago but, I must admit, I like this one better.  We ate divinely at the 1913 Room where they set something strange in front of me and I stared at the waiter, dumbfounded.  I don't even remember what he called it.  But it comes prior to your soup and salad (which also has some sort of name to it, but again, I am not one of those who normally goes to the ball so I don't know the lingo).  Druck knows this stuff.  He dines elegantly with scientists from all over the world on a regular basis.  He knows what intermezzo is during a meal, for example.  So he explained to me what everything meant.  Snort.  And, while Druck and I dressed up in all of our finery and I even brought my evening gown (which I have had for about 13 years but have only worn 4 times), I decided not to wear it and instead decided to just wear a simple black dress with black beads, matching earrings and bracelet.  Druck looked dapper in his suit.  Neither one of us take good photos and Druck has been way overworked and incredibly stressed.  And he left his hair gel at home by mistake.  Gasp. But believe me when I tell you that the man is gorgeous.  Has the body of a 30 year old, a brilliant mind, incredible wit and humor - and dimples to die for.  Did I tell you how he left his hair gel at home?  DOUBLE GASP.

The great thing about being married to someone for almost 29 years is that you are so comfortable with each other that if a belch sneaks out unexpectedly, it's not like you have to worry that he's never going to call you again.  He doesn't even look up from his plate as you surprisedly hold the cloth napkin to your lips and glance around the room to see if anyone else noticed.  Thankfully, the chamber music must have been loud enough or perhaps the other patrons thought there was some calamity, like the dropping of a huge pan, in the kitchen, that it seemed ok.

We spent a lovely day Sunday soaking up beautiful weather and touring the Meijer Gardens.  This place is incredible.  We had been there once before but it has something like 180 acres of grounds that are lavishly overflowing with incredible botanicals of every kind.  I wanted to go again to see more. One of these days, I'll post photos from that.  Maybe.  Or I'll just move on to something else.

My sister-in-law was right when she told me that there's something about turning 50.  You realize that most of us have lived half of their lives and you realize how important it is to live the second half (or quarter or two-thirds) more wisely.  I want more time with my grandson.  I want quality time with my husband.  I want some things that are just not tangible.  And I aim to get it.

When I stood up and faced 50 head on, I realized that I have been with Druck longer than I have been without him.  It's not always been easy.  But he is the man I love.  He knows me.  I know him.  And he accepts me like no one else.  Because, hell people, I can finally admit that, at age 50, if this guy has stuck around all these years, he is a Saint.  Mostly because I am different than probably anyone he's ever known.  And perhaps that's why he's stayed with me.  He'll take the weird-ass crap from me just so he can experience the incredible things I bring to him every single day.  Because sometimes the things I bring to the table are worth a laugh or two and break up the monotony of everyday living.  Like the day I called him at work, all unnerved because I had been thinking about estate planning. "Dear?"  "Yes," he sighed.  "I was just thinking about the fact that we still have a mortgage on this house and what if something happens to both of us and our kids don't know what to do and they don't care and, well, you know, they probably wouldn't know or wouldn't care about the fact that if they didn't pay the mortgage, the house would be foreclosed on and the taxes have to be paid, you know, and I just think they'll lose the whole house.  What are we going to do about that?"

After a short sigh, a little pause and some agitated breathing, he said, "Who gives a shit.  We'll be dead.  We won't care.  They're on their own." "Oh, ok.  Right.  Thanks." I loosened my white-knuckled grip on the phone and he went on.  "Now you go run along and call me back when you think of something else to worry about."

Click.

Click.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Mid-Life

Druck and I are almost 50.  Does that tell anyone anything? For the last several years, I have been going through that pre-change of life thing.  Ups and downs, fatigue, mood swings, night sweats.  And for you male readers out there, sorry, but reading this might make you realize that while you always thought your wife's world revolved around you, it's not the case - at least not in my household anymore.  Because now your wife is dancing with a complete stranger called Man O'Pause and he's getting on her nerves.  Stepping on her toes. 

She didn't ask for this dance partner.  It's one of those things allegedly owing to Mother Nature.  And why is Mother Nature to blame for this?  When we live in a patriarchal society, worship a male God and male basketball teams (there is women's basketball too, by the way), why blame a woman for this?  It's always the woman's fault.  If something's going to go awry, blame the woman.  Blame the woman for getting thrown out of the Garden.  Blame the woman for not feeling so great because she's dealing with menstrual cramps.  Or she's got morning sickness when she's carrying your baby.  Or, zoinks, the pain of labor and delivery that would probably knock Mike Tyson out on the first contraction. 

OK, so I got a little off track here.  My point is that a woman's journey is a process.  Filled with lots of joy, love, happiness, beauty.  And hot flashes.  I mean, seriously, why hot flashes?  And why menopause?  It's a known scientific fact that most men can father children well into their 90s. Look at Larry King, for crying out loud. 

So men get to keep their hormones (at some level) and we don't.  Instead, we lose our estrogen levels, lose our progesterone levels, which causes loss of bone density, osteoporosis, and a variety of other things that I will not go into here because I like to still consider myself somewhat attractive despite the odds.  Why be a downer.

The reason I am writing this is that, despite the dificulties of this "process," I find some occasional humor in it.  Like the fact that I met a friend and her husband for breakfast the other morning and, during her conversation which I absolutely cannot remember because I was fantasizing about human flight, without the use of mechanics, I went into a major panic attack.  Finally, when she stopped talking, I excused myself and went to the ladies' room where a boy of about five was in one stall and his mother in the other.  "Mom!  Is someone in here?  Mom!  Are you still in here?!"  My fantasies changed from human flight to that of super human strength where I would rip that door off its hinges and shriek, "How many times does your mother have to tell you she's in here!  Can't you see her feet under the stall, you little idiot?"

And last night, when I was coloring my hair for the second time in two weeks, I realized that even though Druck is not going through menopause, he IS.  Because while I color my hair, he stains things and does all kinds of home improvements.  Last night he was staining the trim around the sliding glass door.  And, based on our conversations, it sounds like tonight he's going to be ripping out some ceiling and doing some rewiring. 

I color my hair.  Druck does home improvements as a way of keeping me in a state of heavy sedation.  Talking to your wife about home improvements and actually doing them can lull even a rabid woman to some level of normalcy.  Until that new dance partner dips her the wrong way or surprises her with a new step.  Then the fangs come out.  Or she colors her hair a different shade of brown.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Pillow Talk?

Last night I came walking into my bedroom, book in hand, and stopped dead in my tracks. Druck was laying across the bed with one of the decorative pillows from the living room rolled under him.  When I say rolled, it was folded almost in half, tucked and squashed.  For the male readers out there, you may not understand this issue, so let me make it very clear:  decorative pillows are not for your use.  They are not functional pillows.  They are not to be laid upon, sat upon, or used as lap desks.  They are there to accent a room, or a piece of furniture. 

When I froze in mid-step, he looked at me and said, "What?"

"What are you doing with that decorative pillow?" I squeaked, gingerly approaching the bed like a lion stalking its prey.

"I'm laying on it," he replied innocently, and went back to watching television.

"No.  You're not."  I took the pillow and gave it a yank.  After fluffing it and fixing its edges, I spoke again.  "How many times have I told you that these pillows are off limits for you? You have ruined more than one decorative pillow, so knock it off."

"I bought the pillow.  I can use it."

"NO.  YOU. CAN'T.  You have several other pillows available. Don't touch the decorative ones."

"Are you telling me I can't use this?"

"That's what I'm telling you."

Too tired to walk it back out to the living room, I set it on the floor, against the wall, and laid down beside him.  I opened my book, ignoring his icy stare.  After several seconds, he leaned in close to me and said, "The next time you're not around? I'm going to use that pillow."

I set my book down and said, "Oh yeah?  You wanna know what I'm gonna do the next time you're not around?  I'm gonna rub my bare ass all over your pillow.  The one you sleep on.  And put it back."  

---a pregnant pause. . . Please wait while your party is located as his mind digests what was just said------

And now, Druck finds words....

"Oh yeah?  The next time you're not around, I'm going to comb my ass with your toothbrush and put it back!  And then, when you're brushing your teeth and you're wondering what that smell is, just remember that it's NOT YOUR BREATH."

I set my book down, looked him squarely in the eye [through my own pregnant pause], and burst out laughing.  I laughed so hard that for some reason I found it necessary to point my left leg straight up in the air and arc my toes toward the ceiling.  It seemed to help oxygen flow better into my lungs. 

This morning, while readying for work, I walked into the bedroom and, before I even glanced his way, he yelled, "I'm not hurting the pillow!"  He was sitting on the bed, pillow on his lap and his laptop on the pillow.  And he was cowering.

"You don't take my threats seriously, do you?" I said, shaking my head.  "Just wait."

"You wait."

I returned to the bathroom and, before leaving, put my toothbrush where he would never look for it.  Because he, like all men, is afraid of "that box."  I opened the cupboard under the sink, and slipped my toothbrush into a box of tampons.  Being a woman is truly a powerful thing.

"You wait," he shrieked as I smiled and headed off to work.  

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Infidelity Unplugged

I was at another blog site recently where the topic was Jon and Kate Plus Eight (also now known as the "Gosselin Saga").  If you aren't aware of who they are, neither was I until their photos were splayed all over various Gossip magazines, which even the most innocent of bystanders can't help but see while waiting in the check-out line at the supermarket.  And, of course, while I was waiting for the cashier to quit droning on about her mole removal operation to the customer ahead of me, I picked up one of those magazines. 

So, recently, the topic came up as to Jon and Kate's impending divorce because Jon was unfaithful to Kate and, naturally, there are all kinds of rumors and gossip swirling around the media about who is to blame, and questions such as: what about the mistress?  For crying out loud, what about the kids????

Anyway, my take on this is that both parties are to blame - Jon and his mistress.  NOT Kate, the wife.  You don't decide to have a fling when you are married.  Sorry, people.  It isn't right and, while we sometimes get caught up in a moment, that moment passes and reality sets in.  I don't care what kind of person Kate is.  If there are troubles in your marriage, get counseling.  There are many alternatives to an affair. 

Years ago, I had a friend who had some young and beautiful children and, while her husband hadn't cheated on her, he relayed to her that he was attracted to another woman.  She didn't know what to do with this and thought about separation but, ultimately, she stayed with him and they worked out their problems.  Which is a rarity when such a thing occurs.  I, personally, wanted to take a mob to the house, pull him out of his bed in the middle of a nice dream about this "attractive" other woman and hang him from the rafters of their attic by his...well, you get the idea.

Anyway, the "other" woman in this case was a younger, childless waif and had never been married before.  I was angry at both the husband and the potential mistress.  Angry at him for thinking this younger girl wouldn't eventually ask him to take out the garbage, offer up his sperm and father more children, pay the bills and come home when expected to.  And angry at the candidate-for-other-woman for thinking she could just swoop in and charm another man away from his wife and their children - children who needed him.  Who did she think she was anyway? Mata Hari?  We all know what happened to her now, don't we?  Snort.

Some people simply feel it necessary to go through these romantic gyrations every so many years because they like the rush of a new relationship and all that it entails.  They imagine candlelit dinners, walks on the beach and passionate, wild, never-before-had sex.  They think that this time, they've found the "one," but sheesh, how many times are you going to go out seeking and then thinking you've found the one before you realize that the first one was the one to begin with!

When people are running around playing house with each other, throwing caution to the wind and dishes on the floor because they watched Bull Durham and think it'd be wonderful and  memorable to have sex on the kitchen table (very uncomfortable), they forget that, in a couple of years, such amorous states of mind and body wear off.  Sex on the table, or on the stairs or in the back of a car cause thrown-out backs and, when they finally wake up to this, they realize they haven't taken out the trash in a very long time and something stinks in here!

So, men, get over yourselves and your ideas of getting a younger, sleeker model.  She purrs real nice at first, but she needs maintenance just as much, or more, than your wife does.  She wants your time - a lot of it.  Your wife just wants you to take out the trash, do a few family things and just be there.  The other woman doesn't understand that your kid has a soccer game every weekend and a baseball game on Thursday nights.  Your wife just expects you to show up at the games.  She doesn't expect to be wined and dined.  She doesn't expect you to put gel in your hair or lose 15 pounds (don't even get me going on the gender bias there - I'll save that for another blog).

Mistresses, don't play in another woman's backyard.  Or you might just be mowed over by a taste of reality when the time comes and the divorce happens.  And then you'll be having her kids over on the weekends and be expected to entertain, cook and smile.  Because they are, after all, your lover's children.  And now, they are no longer normal rambunctious kids, they are out of control kids with emotional problems because their parents split up.

Finally, the same holds true for married women.  Don't go there. Rekindle romance with your own husband.  The one you made a commitment to love, honor and cherish and to remain faithful to.  After years of marriage, it would be a lie to say people aren't tempted to stray.  But it's what you do with your temptation that matters. 

Remember if you put half the energy back into your own marriage that you might be willing to put into sneaking around, you'd probably have a marriage that lasted a lifetime - filled with love, joy, children and .... yes, those wonderful grandchildren.  This is much better than running on empty and always looking over your shoulder and trying to cover your tracks.  Life is too short to be so nervous all the time. 

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

I am Woman (or something) - Hear Me Roar

I wasn't going to write about this because, well, it is almost too embarrassing and raw for me to go there, but then I decided that if I write about it, perhaps I will never. ever. ever. lose it. like that. ever. again.

On Sunday morning, I was sitting on the loveseat in our kitchen, enjoying the ending of a novel I had been reading, Peony in Love.  A novel that really made me think again about spiritual things, things that were not just inside my box of Christianity, but that made me think about where other's views come from.  Maybe one could say I was thinking outside the box.  Which, quite truthfully, doesn't mean that I have any desire to escape the box of beliefs I'm in; it merely caused me to reflect on the views of others.  And it helped me to better understand and respect some spiritual/philosophical things.

As I sat there, all warm and fuzzy because I could see that this was going to have a happy ending - or as happy as it could possibly be with a girl who had starved herself to death and then roamed the earth as a "hungry ghost" until something like 40+ years later when her earthly betrothed did right by her - something happened.  Something that could have gone either way.

You see, just a little earlier, I had given one of my cats a treat - on the kitchen floor.  Normally, this cat who is heavier than most 10 month old babies, eats every crumb.  Not this particular morning.  For some reason, he had left 3 pieces on the floor.  And I wasn't aware of it.  Enter stage left:   my husband who decides to make himself some eggs and toast. 

As I happily sat on my loveseat, soaking in the rest of the novel, he noticed the 3 pieces on the floor.  And went off on me.  And decided to fling the pieces with his big toe to various parts of the kitchen lamenting what a slob I am to leave such things on the floor. 

Sadly, he picked the wrong time, the wrong day, the wrong morning to do that.  If he had simply lamented, I could have dealt with it.  But the flicking of the food caused something to rise up within me and all I can compare it to is mild-mannered Bruce Banner turning into the Hulk. 

I slammed down my book, said a few choice words that shocked even me, told him I was not his little servant girl chasing after morsels of food to be picked up, and went to the garage to get the broom.  I slammed the door so hard that something fell off the wall in the garage and, all the while I'm cleaning up the pieces on the floor, Druck is trying to meld into the appliances and pretend he's a refrigerator door handle or something.

When I relayed this to my sister-in-law later, because I felt so bad, she asked what he did while I was slamming, flinging and yelling.  I told her he didn't move.  He said nothing.  "I think he was afraid."  To which she burst out laughing.  "And then after that, I flung the broom into the garage and it crashed into a few things before hitting the floor.  Then I came in, got dressed and . . . I went to Church."  Which really set her into hysterics. 

"Did Church help?" she asked.  "No.  I ended up feeling much worse because it was like the sermon was aimed at me."  As it always seems when I have been naughty. 

I spent the next 24 hours punishing myself and then decided this was a 50-50 thing.  He should know after 28 years of marriage how not to push my buttons.  And I should know after 28 years of marriage that if he hasn't left me by now, he's not going to.  So I decided to move on and not worry about it.  I then went out into the garage, pulled that broom out of the litter box where it had landed, hung the shovel back up on the wall, and went and bought my husband some snacks.  And, no, I didn't feed them to him on the floor.  But I thought about it.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Giving Marriage a Shot in the Arm - - The Sex Talk

Sometimes, after years of marriage (or sometimes after only a few, quite honestly), we get bored.  We get "itchy," and sometimes we even wonder what we saw in our spouse in the first place.  There is an excellent book out that I am going to tout here because I think it would do many couples a lot of good if they were to read it.  But first, I have to tell you that I haven't read the book yet.  Nope. Instead, I listened to my pastor speak of its virtues in Church on Sunday.  You see, we have spent the last four weeks talking about Sex.  And these sex talks have taken place in Church.  

Now, I know that many of you are going to say, "Wait a minute...if it came from Church, it can't be good..."  But before you turn that dial and go back to your regularly scheduled marriage, give me a chance here.  The book I'm talking about is called, "Rekindling the Romance," by Dennis and Barbara Rainey.   And from the passages in the book that Bob Shirock talked about on Sunday, it promises to be an excellent read.

I'm not going to get all preachy here, but I will forewarn you that the book not only gives information on how to rekindle romance in your marriage, it also provides scripture and shows that romance, sex and playfulness are God's desire for us in a marriage.  So deal with it already.

What caught my attention initially had nothing to do with women; rather, it had to do with men.  Dennis Rainey says, "I'm convinced we have a generation of married men who are confused and lonely; they're stuck in a lifeless marriage because they never learned how to cultivate a relationship with a woman that speaks to her romantic need for intimacy."  True, this sentence does say something about women and what is wrong with men's relationships with us.  But what grabbed me was the 'confused and lonely' part.  Is my husband lonely?  Is it because I may not be communicating with him what I need in order to provide him with what he needs (a fulfilling sex life)?

As most of us know by now, men are visual creatures.  And the pastor himself even stated that all we women have to do in a relationship is show up naked, with food, and men are happy.  In fact, they are ecstatic.  Before any of you fellas start stomping your feet, waving your fists and saying, "Wait a minute - that's not what we are all about - we have much more depth than that," shut up and listen.  I'm not condemning you for being, well, a man.  You are what you are.  And us gals are what we are.  You guys need your bellies full and a roll in the hay now and then - with an eager and willing partner.  And as wives, we truly need to be more in touch with that.  Honestly, ladies, if you think back to the beginning of your relationship/marriage all those years ago, neither one of you could keep your hands off the other.  And all you could think of was a moment alone together.  Barbara Rainey says of women, "Your attitude toward your husband's sexuality and sex drive is important because you alone have the power to bless him sexually and affirm his male identity.  Your responsiveness is a major component of how he feels about himself."  That is a great feeling to give such a gift to a man.

And, fellas, as I'm sure you already know, women are more complex when it comes to a relationship.  We need to be talked to, complimented, even assisted with what you might think are ridiculously lame tasks (such as helping bring in the groceries, putting the kids to bed, feeding the dog or occasionally doing the freaking dishes, for crying out loud). These displays of affection mean a whole lot more to us than you think.  It shows us you care about us.  It shows us you love us.  That old saying, "actions speak louder than words," really rings true here.  And it is a major turn-on for us.

Pastor Bob also talked about the seasons of romantic love.  The new love phase, the disappointed love phase and the cherishing committed love phase.  We all know how new love feels so I won't go into it here.  But one thing that struck me is the disappointed love phase.  This phase can take up a lot of our energy.  We spend too much time thinking things like, "If only she didn't talk so much," "If only he liked to dance," "If only she would lose weight," "If only he would shut his trap about my weight," etc.  Something we have to remember is that many of the things we thought were cute about our spouses in the beginning seem to annoy us now.  Get rid of that.  And instead of wishing your spouse had different qualities and instead of thinking about the "if onlys," embrace what he/she has now.  Embrace that you are together and that you have made, and are making, a life together.  Do things for each other - often.  Do things together - often.  Compliment each other - often.  Laugh together - often.

Finally, the committed love phase is the lifeblood of romance.  Make a commitment so that your spouse knows you are there for the long haul.  Threats of leaving or divorce should never enter the marriage equation.  Times will be tough with anyone we are with - so remember that.  The grass always seems greener on the other side of the fence, but those people in that house on the other side of the fence?  They have issues too.   Stop thinking you should have married someone else.  Stop wasting your energy daydreaming about someone else.  Channel your romantic energy, as Bob reminded us, toward your spouse and no one else.  Guys, get away from that pornography.  Ladies, stop flirting with your husband's best friend.  Because if he has a wife and he's flirting with you, chances are pretty good that she is feeling the way you are and he is feeling the way your husband does.

I think that often when one person feels dissatisfied, they never stop to think that maybe their spouse is too.  They surf for porn or maybe they go out with the girls or the guys in search of attention.  Stop doing that.  Give attention where it needs to be - with your spouse - the person you committed your life to.  The person  you really would hate to see lying in a hospital bed terminally ill and wondering why you didn't realize what he/she meant to you before.  It takes effort, but it is worth it.  And also remember that if we wait for the other person to start this thing called change, we might be waiting forever. But when one person changes, it is amazing how the other person will get in sync and suddenly you don't have a flat tire in your relationship anymore.  Things are rolling along just fine.  And things are romantic again.

As for me, I'm off to the store to gather all of the ingredients for one of my husband's favorite meals.  I've got my makeup on, my hair looks pretty good (except for that highlighting faux pas I did last week but he hasn't said anything negative about it - in fact, he hasn't said anything about it, PERIOD) and I've completely straightened the bedroom, washed the sheets, and well, the rest is, shall we say, private - between a husband and wife.  And I'm going to be smiling, energetic and full of life.  I need a cup of coffee.....

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Marriage Longevity

I recently celebrated my 28th wedding anniversary.  Of course, always on our anniversary, we recollect and discuss, at various times during the day, what we were doing on the actual day.  My husband always likes to state the old line, "My wife and I were happy for 21 years.  And then we got married" - at least forty-five times throughout the day and I let him.  In fact, I agree with him.  And then we have a good laugh, thank God for alcohol, and continue our reminiscing.  Which brings me to the whole point of this blog.

I am currently in the process of interviewing selected finalists for Grand Magazine's Sexiest GrandDad contest.  The interviews will appear in the July edition, possibly along with the winner.  Most of the men I interviewed have been married for more than 25 years and some of them married their high school sweethearts.  As I talked to these men about their relationships, I began thinking of the men who were formerly in my own life as my "significant others" prior to making that lifelong commitment to my husband.  

I have dated only 5 "men" during my lifetime although I suppose, at the time, they were not actually men that I dated, and not because I am some sort of sick child molester, but because I dated all of them in my teens.  I did marry my husband when I was 21, so he actually crossed the threshold from boyhood to manhood while I was with him.  And, logistically, one could possibly say that I dated 6 boys (men), but I don't really count Steve, who was 12 and I was 13 when we professed our undying and eternal love for each other, crouching in the low-ceilinged fort he had built down by the creek.  A fort which, not long after our short stint as a secret couple ended, apparently turned into some love shack for Steve, my brother and various neighborhood girls.

The relationship I had with Steve ended pretty much with our second kiss which took place about a mile from home at a pond where he used to fish.  We were experimenting with open mouthed and closed mouthed (but never tongue in mouth) kissing when a shriek rang out above our heads so unnerving that I realized that the loch ness monster did, indeed, exist and, contrary to everyone else's belief, it did not reside in Scotland.  It resided in this particular pond on Hamilton Road in quiet Fairport, New York. 

After Steve and I were able to unfreeze from our liplock, which was made worse by the fear-induced inhale we both took, the sound of which pucker-unlatching could only be described as the kind an angry cork makes when pried from a bottle of very bubbly, very cheap, very old champagne, we realized it was not old lochy.  Instead, it was his sister, Joyce, who was a year older than me.  And believe me, we were deeply disappointed because Joyce's wrath was way worse than anything a monster could do to us.

Steve made the mistake of relenting to her screams and walked apprehensively up the rocky hill towards his executioner as Joyce stood like a demon wraith summoning her cronies from the grave.  Her long, spindly hair whipped wildly in the wind as she held a Medusa-like stance, hands placed firmly on hips.  Her angrily distorted mouth spewed all kinds of naughty words, expounding her ability to cause us inconceivable pain if we did not get our "arses" up there NOW.  I, on the other hand, was no dummy - plus I didn't have to live with her.   With that in mind, I quickly shifted myself deeper into the high grass surrounding the pond, knowing that if she came looking for me, I could outmaneuver her.  I had been to that pond many times before (to skip stones, not to kiss) and she hadn't.  After all, she was trying to be a grown up, for crying out loud, which is pretty much what all 14 year old girls are supposed to do by that age.  I, however, wasn't yet ready to let go of my tomboyhood, and was thanking my lucky stars for this decision and for my confidence in being wily, fast and shrewd when it came to traversing rocky terrain and climbing a tree if necessary.  Right then and there, I regretted even trying to be a grown-up woman, and made a vow to continue being a tomboy for at least 3 more years and to cast off any desire for romance or the intrigue it causes in a body filled with new, freshly-packed hormones.  

Now that you understand why Steve isn't included in the men I've dated, I'll say that those I did date have been married for many years.  I know this because their families loved me, even though the boys apparently didn't, and I kept in touch with moms, sisters, etc., over the years, off and on.  I marvel at the fact that I chose men who not only had the ability to stay with a woman but they actually found a woman willing to stay with them (sorry, gentlemen, but this is my blog after all, and I can say what I want).  

So what makes a happy marriage or what makes a person want to stay in a relationship long after lust and romance dwindle?  From what I know of these relationships and my own, it is a deep-rooted love of family.  It is a respect for one's spouse and an involvement in community things, and all things family.  It is about becoming your spouse's best friend and confidante.  It's about honesty and sharing, and loyalty and devotion.  I have seen this demonstrated in the men I dated many years ago towards their wives and their families.  And I have it in my own life.  These are traits that I believe will get you longevity in a marriage, whether you are a woman or a man.  

So rather than going into a relationship thinking you are going to change a person, look for the things you like that are normal.  Look for a deep love of family, but don't marry a mama's boy or a daddy's girl.  Otherwise, next thing you know, your mother-in-law is moving in with you, curlers, 36-hour bra and all, taking over your kitchen and your husband's time, and your father-in-law is holding a gun to your head if you don't buy his daughter that diamond tennis bracelet you promised her when you were negotiating sex on the hood of the car with your wife and mistakenly forgot to close the garage door, causing the neighbor's daughter to never be the same again when she innocently rode her bike up the drive, and your wife can't even leave the house now. You get the picture.

As for me and Steve, we never made it past first base because, not long after the pond episode, Joyce called me and told me that if I didn't stop seeing her brother, her mother was going to do all kinds of things to me, including forcing me to eat a skinned squirrel, and if I enjoyed that, they'd find something else much worse that I didn't like.  Like I'd enjoy doing that anyway.  I interrupted her when she got to the part about peeling my lip up over my head and making me lick my ass and told her that I completely understood their stance and that I would never.  ever.  never.  ever. look at her brother again.  Steve and I are still friends now - many years later - but I still have a fear of many things because of that day at the pond and its aftermath. Rabid squirrels, Greek mythology, women named Joyce, and Scotland make me break out in a bloody sweat.  And I don't believe Joyce knows that Steve and I are still in touch.  If you see her, don't tell her.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma  

Keeping Romance Alive For Grandparents or Anyone Over 40 Married Over 20

This morning, after making Liam some of my fabulous French Toast and, of course, offering it to the rest of the household (although Liam had first dibs), there was a great deal of playtime involving Poppy and Grammy and toy tools, a big ball and stuffed toys. Finally, Grammy put on her bathing suit and she and Liam headed for the tub where he had a nice scrub down, learned the basics of underwater swimming (oops), and splashed and played.  Afterward, there was chasing around the house in his onesie until Grammy tackled him to put the rest of his clothes on.  And then came the moment of quiet. Bubby took a bottle and went back to bed at around 11 am.  

As I prepared a pot of tea and sliced my lemon, Druck came downstairs.  "Shhhhhhhh!!!" I said emphatically, holding my finger to my lips and wincing.  "Shhhhhhhh!!" He said back, mimicking my expression. As I turned back to the counter to make my tea, his arms enveloped me and he breathed in a low, husky voice, "Want to proofread a letter for me?"  His breath was warm and soothing on my neck.

"Is there lots of punctuation?" I whispered back.

"Oh yes.  There's even a semi-colon."

"A semi-colon?" I feigned a sudden weakness as he held me up.

"Yes.  A semi-colon."  He rubbed his face into my hair as I put down my lemon and said, "You had me at proofread," as I raced up the stairs to the waiting computer with Druck in hot pursuit.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Oldies But Goodies

Maggie is busy making soap, meeting with friends as the new year begins, and trying to keep some semblance of mind.   With that said, I have begun a few blog postings but haven't yet finished any.  So I thought I'd share with you one of my favorite stories from October.  And as soon as I have gotten over the soap frenzy, at least for awhile, and have been sated with beaucoup de friendly gatherings, I'll get back to writing.  To my friend, Gail, you are next on my list for coffee!

A few days ago, my daughter was going through a bag of lotions, conditioners and creams that her friend, Breanna, had given her.  Breanna is a hairdresser and is often giving Catherine her leftovers.  Catherine, in turn, gives me her leftovers which I usually hold onto for awhile and then toss. Otherwise, my bathroom cupboard would be an ocean of beauty products.  And, while some might say, "but you need them, Maggie," and while I might say back, "speak for yourself," there are only so many things you can use at a time.  

The other night, I was rummaging through my cupboard looking for my hormone cream which I must tell you is fabulous.  I have just entered that menopausal phase and I don't like it.  But this hormone cream keeps hot flashes, night sweats and bad moods at bay. And, without trying to throw in a sales pitch here, I sell this hormone cream.  It is Arbonne's Phytoprolief and it has helped me tremendously.  If you'd like to try some, it normally sells for $34 but I would be happy to give a 15% discount on this item because I believe in it so strongly.  Just email me.

Anyway, I came across some lotion that Breanna had given Catherine which contained a variety of natural ingredients and was guaranteed to soften my skin, make it look and feel younger and it had pheromones in it to attract the opposite sex!  With a smile on my face, I proceeded to rub this silky smooth cream into my arms and legs, my neck and shoulders.  I dressed for bed and went and climbed in to continue reading my latest novel.  Druck was seated in a chair at the foot of the bed, watching TV and working on his laptop.  

Every now and then, I glanced up from my book to see if anything was changing in his demeanor.  Nothing.  So I held up my arm and gently blew on it, in his direction. Nothing. A minute later, I repeated the action.  Nothing.  I sighed and returned to my novel.  Less than a minute after that, I was greeted by a very pleasant, happy display of affection - from my big fat orange cat.  He bounded onto the bed and wriggled next to me, rolling onto his back, purring and rubbing his head against my leg.  "Are you kidding me?" I said, and pushed him off the bed.  Within seconds, he was back on the bed and I pushed him off again.  Not long after that, another cat of mine, who has a breathing problem, came in and jumped up on the bed, making all sorts of snorting and sucking sounds.  He sidled up to me like white on rice.  

I looked at Druck, who was engaged in chuckling at The Daily Show, set my book down and went and took a shower.  So much for romance, sex appeal and pheromones.  By the time I had washed off that feline attracting fragrance, he was in bed snoring and dreaming about politics.

Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma

Amoeba v. Paramecium?

The other morning, as Druck and I readied ourselves for work, I started a conversation, not unlike most conversations that have absolutely nothing to do with the day, nothing to do with any prior conversation and nothing to really do with anything in particular except, perhaps, my mental state at the moment.

Maggie:   I think that I'd like to be an amoeba.  You know, a single-celled organism that just floats around in plasma.  What a life.

Druck:    And I'll be a paramecium.

Maggie:  Wait a minute.  I want to be the paramecium because they have good hair, don't they?  You know - they have that cilia around their edges. I'll be the paramecium, you can be the amoeba. 

Druck:    Oh, no you don't.  I'm the paramecium.  You  said you wanted to be an amoeba.  You started this and I'm the paramecium. 

Maggie:  Fine.  We can both be parameciums.  I don't see what the big deal is.  

Druck: I said, I'M the paramecium.

Maggie: For crying out loud, what's the big friggin' deal?  Fine.  Be the paramecium.  I don't care.  I'll come and eat you anyway with my food vacuoles.

Druck: Phagocytosis.

Maggie: What?

Druck: Phagocytosis.  That's how amoeba eat things.

Maggie: Whatever.  You're a goner.  Serves you right.

With that, I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my purse, said, "Have a good day, dear.  I love you," and was off for another day as a stressed out, hair driven, hormone-emanating homo sapien.  

Copyright 2008 liamsgrandma