Liam's Grandma or Maggie in Real Life

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

Vacation..........

Returning from vacation is hard.  I spent part of last week in Canada on a secluded lake with family and family friends - fighting mosquitoes, deer flies and spiders the size of small rodents.  What that did for me was make me realize that I need to work on being a better person because I had one of those "aha!" moments as I was departing Canada and driving back to our house in New York.  And the "aha!" moment was that this will be my hell if I am not a good girl:  wading through swamps, fighting off mosquitoes the size of large dragonflies, and getting stuck in huge spider webs, the owner of which is an arachnid the size of the one from Stephen King's novel, "It."  And my slow tortuous death as I am pierced and devoured by those monstrous venom-filled fangs will replay itself over and over again like the movie Groundhog Day except it will be "Maggie's Hell Day in Eternity."  In fact, that spider, who probably has a cottage of its own, freaked me out so badly that I have gotten past some issues I've had of late with God and have focused on what's important in life; namely, never taking one moment or one person for granted.  Loving deeply.  And forgiving.  And not doing anything that might make me hell-worthy.

This is not to say that I did not enjoy my time "roughing it," despite the spider named Raoul who lived near the dock and who my smartypants sister-in-law, Janet, refused to kill as I headed in towards shore from a nice kayak trip one sunny afternoon. 

"If you think I'm coming in there when I can see that thing from 30 feet out, you're crazy!"

"It won't hurt you," Janet sang out with a broad smile as she continued to "study" it from a safe distance.

"It has fangs," Debbie called nervously.

"All the more reason to turn around and keep paddling until I get back to New York State," I replied, wondering if a whack of my paddle would be enough to render Raoul unconscious, at least until I de-kayaked. 

It wasn't until Janet decided to bravely give Raoul a poke with a long stick and he lunged at her that they understood what I was talking about.  Janet went hoarse when she screamed and Debbie pulled a muscle and, as she hobbled away from the shore toward her cottage holding her back, I called out, "I told you."  Meanwhile, Raoul scampered back to the edge of the dock and lay in wait.  For me.

Rather than take any chances, I got out of my kayak several feet from shore and walked it to the shallow "children's area" where I pulled my craft out of the water, removed my water shoes and immediately went into my own cottage and poured Debbie a stiff drink. 

I love our family, love kayaking, love swimming (in the swimming pool on the property, not the lake), and love cooking - just not in the middle of nowhere, landlocked by huge snakes, spiders and mosquitoes willing to take me away to their nest atop a 60 foot tree and suck my blood all night, throwing me to the turkey vultures only after every ounce of plasma is gone. 

But I try very hard to be everything my husband and family want me to be, and more.  I try to accept the big black scurrying ants in the silverware drawer.  I accept the chipmunk sitting on the couch when I walk in from outdoors who looks at me as if to say, "you again?" or "where's the remote?" as just part of the ambience.  And I only had to plug my ears and make high-pitched gurgling sounds once when my nephew, Matt, had to relay the gory details of what happened to the 3 pound wide-mouthed bass my brother-in-law caught.  This would be the details of the death process as Adam was filleting the bass and what the bass continued to do even after its head was removed.  After making all kinds of noise, holding my fingers in my ears and stomping my feet as I sat on the couch, Matt went silent.  The look on his face told me that he feared I may be having a seizure - or worse.  When I realized he was through and I returned to the present, smoothed my hair and took a cleansing breath, I proceeded to tell him that I did not ever want to hear of such trauma again.  Not even if he were a published author of a New York Times Bestseller and I was at his book signing/reading.  I didn't want to hear that chapter.  Ever.

On Wednesday, I left "Paradise" to return to New York to spend some time with my dad.  I packed up my car, hugged and kissed my husband and various family members, and whispered to my husband, "Try to get out of here a day early if you can," and was off - in my car with the A/C on, windows up and the iPod blaring with my favorite music.  I rolled down my window as Matt walked by and said, "Bye, honey, I'll miss you.  I hate to leave, but I gotta see my dad," and I floored it.  I was outta there with a quick "Hasta la Vista, Baby," or, in layman's terms, "See ya later, Suckas!"

I arrived at our home in New York at around 8:30 pm, brought my things inside, and took a long, hot shower.  Then I sat on the couch with a big glass of ice water, basking in my loneliness and lamenting the fact that I am such a lousy-ass wife for leaving my husband behind.  "Why are you such a freaking mutant!" I shrieked.  Then I caught a whiff of the luxurious hair conditioner I had put in my hair  - the one that smells like a pina colada.  I settled back into the couch and thought it was ok.  I had just spent 5 days in the woods on a lake with species of bugs and reptiles I never knew existed. It was OK to return to civilization and visit with my dad - who feels exactly the same way I do about camp life. 

When I called the family back in Canada to let them know I'd arrived safely in NY, my sister-in-law told me that everyone was milling around our little cottage, all mopey because I had left.  "We miss you, Gnarl," she said (yes, that is appropriately her nickname for me).  "I told Druck that you're like a little firefly.  You light everything up.  We're in the dark here without you.  You're like a big beautiful dragonfly with landing lights...."

That.....made the trip...all worth it.  To know that even though I am some sort of strange mutant, I am in a family of people who accept such a mutant strain as myself and . . . they actually love it.  They miss it when it's not there. And they take care of it when it shrieks in agony over a drawer full of skittering ants.

That night, I went to bed and, as I lay down, I thanked God for the people who love me and accept me, despite my woefully lacking abilities.  I also thanked God for makeup, jewelry, pretty skirts and curling irons.  And then I dreamt happily about ballroom dancing, yachts and a cottage in the South of France, stocked with Bordeaux wine and all kinds of delicious cheeses and breads.  Finally, I dreamt that the Raouls of the world, mosquitoes and black ants were relegated to a hell of their own.  Where monsters lunged at them, crawled around in their drawers (or ant hills) and sucked their blood. 

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma/Photographs except the last one credited to my sister-in-law

On Vacation

I'm on vacation so this site will be fairly worthless (like it isn't already?) for about a week.  But please go to the index and look up some recipes or read some Favorites or older posts.  You'll get to bond with me a little better. 

I did ask a friend to be a guest author.  He refused.  I guess he just isn't the grandmotherly type.

Adios.  See you soon.

- Maggie

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

God? Karma? Yin and Yang? What?

I was chatting on-line with a someone last week, who I will only call a dear friend, so that she isn't put into the spotlight all across the world-wide web, because some people just don't like that.  I won't refer to her as a family member or what type of family member or anything like that.  Just a "friend" who we will call "Gloria." 

Anyway, Gloria was lamenting the fact that she had saved for years on a teacher's salary, a little bit here and there, and was finally able to buy that dream car:  a black classic mustang convertible.  This thing was fabulous.  I even rode in it a couple of times. 

So, Gloria goes up to visit extended family for a weekend near Albany recently and, her first morning there, another "friend" mistakenly forgets that Gloria is parked in his driveway and, on his way out to get bagels, he put his car in reverse.  Which is a natural thing to do.  Then he veered to the right to avoid backing over his dog.  Then he plowed into the Mustang driver's side door.

When he returned from getting bagels, he went in and told Gloria what happened.  Being a bunch of kidders anyway, she didn't believe him.  He shrugged and they had bagels and enjoyed the rest of the morning.  Until Gloria went out to get in her car. 

So our discussion went like this:

Gloria:   I can't believe it.  I still want to cry.

Me:  This is annoying is what it is.  Like, did he forget your car was there???

Gloria:  No.  No.  He was trying to avoid hitting the dog, he said.  He has a camera in the back of his car so not sure what happened there.  He said he has felt bad all day but it was SO weird when it happened.

Me:  Well, like a person can't put on the brakes to avoid hitting the dog???

Gloria:  I know.  Anyway, it's done now.  It seems like it's always something.

Me:  I know.  Why does it seem that some people just SKATE through.  Like "Tootsie."

Gloria:  I know.  I just want some peace and tranquility.

Me:  Gawwwww. 

Gloria:  And the skating through...that's a question I always have. 

Me:  This morning I was driving back home from walking Boomer...oh wait, it was after I got my hair cut, and I drove by this neighborhood that is so beautiful.  Full of older homes, mature trees, porches, boston ferns...and I got all teary-eyed.  I thought, "Some people get to do this NOW.  I have to wait until I die and get to Heaven and then, with my luck, just like social security, pensions, etc., God will have changed the freaking rules!  And I'll live in a trailer down by the river.  With no bathroom."

Gloria:  I'm chuckling.  I can't help it.  You could be like me.  Get a beautiful house and someone will drive through it.  

Me:  And they'll drive through just when I sit in my $2,000 chair with the biggest freaking Cosmopolitan ever in my hand and just as I'm about to take that luscious sip, they'll smash me into the next room.  And that's when I'll find out my husband has been surfing porn all these years because he wasn't expecting me to come flying through the wall into the next room where he was sitting doing just THAT.

Gloria:  LOL.  It's the yin and the yang of everything - I get a dent in my car but had a great time with family.

Me:    It's always a trade off.  Hold on...I have to go find some salsa in the frig for Druck.  You need a map to find anything in there.....

Gloria:  The yin and the yang.  Oh the parallels!!

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Sprocket Sightings

OK, enough about Sarah Palin already.  I'll save that for other blogs like The Magpie, and other political forums, and stick to the theme of this blog which is...a pinata of themes and topics sure to satisfy every palate, at least some of the time.  But before I get totally off the Palin thing, I will say that I am itching to write about Mary Matlin's comment that Palin's decision to walk out of office abruptly was "BRILLIANT."  More on that to come.  For now, on to the neighborhood gossip...

Last year I wrote about my neighbor Sprocket, who is a throw-back to the '60s when life was, as we have been told over and over again (until we wish we'd died before that generation ever came to be), about sex, drugs and rock 'n roll. 

Sprocket had her time with much of that and, over the years, I have had the "privilege" of learning increasingly more about her wild exploits, whether I want to or not.  My neighbor is a free spirit, one who says whatever comes to mind, keeping nothing of the Id, Ego or Super Ego to herself, and frequently leaves people agitated, frightened and walking away with a huge purple question mark floating over their heads. 

While Sprocket can irritate the hell out of someone (see link above), she provides at least weekly fodder for over-the-fence neighborly conversation or teenage boys' vengeful plottings of lawn jobs and a place to drop ignited firecrackers.   But, because she is my neighbor and because I tend to gravitate toward eccentric, strange, "interesting" people, I try to embrace her diversity and  smile when I see her flyaway hair, always out of place, bobbing across the lawn toward me.  This and the fact that, behind my smile lies a secret society of nerves waiting, wondering and yanking on my mitochondria to enact the flight response.  Too often, I am simply afraid to move.

A few Saturdays ago, I was doing my regular morning housecleaning when I glanced out my kitchen window to see Sprocket just beneath that window, laying on my chaise lounge, book open and a smile on her face.  I paused.  I looked around, checking to be sure this was, indeed, my home, and glanced back out the window.  She was still there.  On my chaise lounge.  And the cushion wasn't even in place.  It was inside in the back closet.  So there she sat, butt hanging through one of the slats, while her own patio which is landscaped to the nines and is redone every year by one of her "master gardener" friends was empty.

I went back to what I was doing and it wasn't until later when I walked outside and found her still there that I asked her why she was in our backyard, by our wood pile, without a cushion.  Were there bees at her place?  Looking confused, she looked around, got up and said, "Whoa.  I have no idea why I'm here.  Did I tell you about the flashback I had yesterday?"  No, she hadn't.  "It was huge.  Took me all the way back to 1935."  Really, I replied.  What happened in '35?  "I have no idea," she said, heading back to her own yard.  "I wasn't even born until '47." 

Palin Hooplah

I got more hits on my site in one day than ever before with my "Top Ten Reasons Why Sarah Palin Quit" blog (see post just beneath this one).  Hits from The Economist and various other publications, and hits from as far away as Great Britain, and a bunch from - surprise! - ALASKA.  Interestingly, through all of it, I got only one comment and, to the author of that comment, I say THANK YOU.  You are a brave woman.  I got many personal emails, but it seems that most people who read blogs like mine - blogs which tend to usually not be political in nature - don't want to get too involved in public commentary when it deals with politics. 

I wondered about this for all of 3 seconds yesterday and decided, by the end of the first second, that this could be for any number of reasons:  you don't want to reveal your political slant, you like the blog but hate that day's post, you are a closet Sarah Palin fan but don't want anyone to know, or you're plotting your revenge against me in a more public, painful, physical manner. 

Whatever it might be, for me, I'll do as my dad always told me to do - keep plugging along and writing about whatever comes to mind on any given day.  You can deem it good, bad, indifferent, or that it just plain sucks.  But it'd be so much more fun if you people would get involved every now and then, for crying out loud!  You're out there, so, by all means, comment. 

As for Sarah and politics, if and when I have more time, I'll start another blog.  A political one.  One that will send many running for their switchblades, bats, knives and torches.  What can I say?  I like a little excitement every now and then. By the way, I created that link above for your own (and my) amusement.  It has no real lifespan.  Well, not unless you want it to...

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

Note:  Photo purposely blurred; no animals were harmed during this process

Sarah Palin: Why She Quit

Since David Letterman is in the dog house due to dissing dear Sarah and her fam, I thought I'd take a shot at her.  And thus, Maggie's Top Ten was birthed today.  And it didn't even hurt.  Yet. 

Top Ten Reasons Sarah Palin is Leaving Office

 

10.  She is changing political parties.

9.    She is going on the road with her family as The New Von Trapp Family Singers.  Note: An Alaskan version of the Sound of Music is in the works with an expected release date of January 2012 where the Palins will be portrayed as an oppressed family seeking to escape the clutches of a devious and twisted people known as the Public Eye. 

 8.    She is launching her own reality TV show called, "Sarah and Todd Plus Five is: Track, Field, Trig, Algebra and Geometry."

7.      She is writing her memoirs, "Diary of a Mad Governor."

6.      She is working with a yet-to-be-named cosmetic company promoting her new fragrance, "Cougar."

5.      She has decided to become a Stay at Home Mommy Blogger.  This way she can get back at all those meanies who said all those naughty things about her and maybe even make some money at it.

4.      She is going back to school and majoring in Geography.  Says Palin, "There's more beyond our own backyard than just Russia and, by golly, I'm going to find out what it is!"

3.      She is joining Newt Gingrich, Rush Limbaugh and Ted Nugent in reviving Bob Hope's USO comedy troupe abroad.  Says Palin, "First we'll go visit the troops in Switzerland."

2.     She is touring the US with the "Victoria's Secret" supermodels because, "I've always wanted to know what it feels like to work so hard displaying good fashion sense and to wear all kinds of beautiful clothes without paying for them!  Oh wait.  I already did that."

1.     She is hiking the Appalachian Trail.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma

As the World Turns -or- as the Hor Mones

I am in a state of sheer craziness.  My hormones are all out of whack and, yesterday, I was sitting in the freaking public library at dinner time because I didn't want to go home.  "So," you say, "this is your idea of a fun getaway?"  Sorry.  It's better than going to the nearest bar and ordering a double scotch on the rocks and sitting there by myself while some TV drones above the glass mirror that hasn't been washed since the Red Wings won the trophy, and I gag on second-hand smoke blown in my face by some guy named Hal wearing a grimy Carhart who thinks this is finally his night. 

"Well, why weren't you going home?" (you say).  BECAUSE.  Because I have been in a fragile state of mind all week.  A state of mind that says, I just want some time - time to sit and stare at the wall, or to sit and read some unintelligent writing or to do whatever it is that I want to do.  I don't want to come home to people who don't live here anymore, who are milling around the kitchen, making themselves protein shakes, looking through cupboards, and rifling through my mail while I am trying to squeeze my way to the stove to make something that resembles a dinner.  All the while suppressing my state of mind and wearing that fake smile I learned while watching The Brady Bunch  during my childhood.  At least Carol Brady taught me something, for crying out loud!

Quite honestly, I thought I had this mood thing under wraps.  The Carol Brady smile, the Harriet Nelson helpfulness, the Livvy Walton mannerisms.  But when I went in to go to bed the other night, the sight before my eyes told me another truth.  I walked into the bedroom to find my husband on his side of the bed, curled up in a fetal position, wearing a bicycle helmut and spooning his Louisville Slugger. I can't be sure, but I think he was pretending to be asleep.  Smart man.

In case you haven't guessed (because maybe you are a MAN reading this and don't know the first thing about women and what we want, what we need and what makes us tick even though we've been telling you since at least the early 1960's), I am in between the PMS part of my life and the post-PMS part of life, better known as menopause. I didn't say I was menopausal.  I am in between those areas which I guess makes me a 'tween.  And the only way I can describe it was how I described it on Facebook recently that I am standing on the ledge of a very high building, holding a meat cleaver and six feet of beaded something or other I found on the way up here, ready to take out the pigeon standing next to me who apparently also had a very bad day and is sharing the same ledge and I'm looking back and forth between the meat cleaver and the beads trying to decide whether to hack him to death or strangle him.  The pigeon, of course, can be used as any metaphor you'd like.  I'm not giving any names.

Meanwhile, after returning home from the library, I found even more people here, people who were making iced tea, peanut butter sandwiches and filling up the sink with dirty dishes, at which point I turned to my husband and said, "I'm outta here," and left again, this time going to Macy's and almost buying (key word:  almost) this bracelet (poor quality of photo due to taking photo with my phone).  I carried it around for a good 15 minutes, fondled it, ogled it and imagined what clothes it would go with.  And then I put it back. During that time, my  husband texted me three times asking if I wanted to go out and get a bite to eat whereupon on the third text, I thought I'd better let him know I was still alive, as was everyone else within arm's reach of me, and we met for dinner. 

Returning home for the final time, I found that one of my children had cleaned up the kitchen without being asked or guilted into it, and had left without a trace.  At 9:45 pm, I finally found some peace - until they come back at around dinner time again tomorrow evening.

Copyright 2009 liamsgrandma