Category: Commentary

The Fabric of My Life

  
My first pair of blue jeans, begged for and purchased in my 14th year of life, came with a double pronged tongue lashing from my mom: 

1) Those #%*!@ jeans will have to be ironed, and 

2) She wouldn’t be doing the #%*!@ ironing.

Apparently Mom had been traumatized after being forced to iron her elder brother’s jeans during their own teenaged years.

I didn’t care. Never mind that in 1969 the only jeans I could find that fit me were made for boys. Although Levi’s for women were marketed as early as the 1940’s, the handful of stores in my little town didn’t seem to carry them in string bean size–I was all legs, no hips, and so out of luck unless I shopped in the young men’s department.

But the moment I broke in that first pair of jeans–sitting in a bathtub filled with icy cold water while the pants shrunk to fit me–I fell in love. There was simply no going back. 

For the very first time in my young life I was making a statement about who I was and what I wanted to wear, rather than what my mother thought about such things. Jeans equalled independence and freedom, well as much freedom as a 14-year-old girl in a one horse town could have.

And I never ironed the darned things, having found that an extra tumble in the dryer with a wet towel smoothed out the worst of the wrinkles. That made me feel immeasurably better at solving problems than my teenaged mother had been. You see, I didn’t realize that the clothes dryer of her youth was a line strung between two poles.

Now in the last year of my fifties I find myself still in a mad love affair with denim. I own three nearly identical pairs of  cropped denim pants from Chico’s and my only clothing dilemma is which tshirt to pair with them on any given day. 

Thanks to modern fabric blends, these jeans don’t even need an extra tumble in the dryer, or if they do, I have a steam setting to de-wrinkle them. We have come a mighty long way since then, and most of it was in jeans.

Ode to Blue Jeans

Faded blue or indigo

Cuffed or frayed or pressed

Even with a rip or two

My jeans remain the best.

At break of day I slip them on

To wander hither and yon

I’ve napped in them and swum

In them in someone’s backyard pond.

Take away my beer and wine

Confiscate my magazines

But keep your damned hands off

My ever-loving jeans.

  

Lunchtime Flowers

Impervious to curious stares and half-hidden giggles, I waded into the flowers in front of Chuy’s Tex-Mex restaurant in Tallahassee to snap photos after lunch today.

  
I had to crawl over a barrier to get to these pretty blossoms. Yes, I’m a rule breaker.

 
Sheepishly I shrugged my shoulders at a watchful employee, “They’re so pretty,” I explained. 
He just grinned. Thankfully no one called the petal patrol to take me into custody. 

Peace, people!

Kids

Lunch today was at a counter spot in the mall. Normally, I opt for a table, but none of them were open, so I settled for a stool between a young couple and a group of ten-year-olds.

The children were a diverse group. The ones closest to me were, and I kid you not, one African American, one Asian, one Latino, and one white. Three boys and one girl, respectively.

They were having such fun. Seated several spaces away from their adult sponsor they were being silly. One child was pouring Sprite into another child’s ice cream while the other two giggled.

“Drink! Drink!” They urged. The child drank to the simulated gags of his companions. 

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you all best friends?” I asked.

“Yes ma’am!” One little boy said. “We do everything together.”

I got a little misty eyed thinking about their innocent friendship. Our future leaders won’t think about race or gender differences if we just leave them alone. Power to the kids. 

Peace, people!

Gun Range

Doright Manor is nestled on a small lake in a wooded area just outside of Tallahassee, Florida. Our nights are filled with the sounds of frogs exerting dominance over their domain and the occasional hoot of an owl. 

Occasionally, though, the sounds of lake life are accompanied by the sounds of muffled  gunfire from a nearby gun range. Tonight the gun reports are seemingly non-stop, and even though they’re far enough away as to be non-threatening, I cannot help but imagine what the victims of gun violence in Orlando experienced upon hearing that pop pop pop up close.

Was that one meant for me? 

Dear God, my friend’s been killed. 

Oh Mother, I loved you so!

Every National Rifle Association member should be required to visit with the family of someone murdered by a gun. Wayne LaPierre, president of the NRA, should be required to walk through a site devastated by gun violence. He should have to face the families affected and explain to them why the AK 47 is necessary to their security and health.

But cowardice is the hallmark of the NRA. They hide behind their beloved guns and talk the big talk. Only a good guy with a gun…show me those good guys for I have yet to see a single one.

Peace, people.

Thomasville, Georgia

A brand new friend and I drove over to Thomasville, Georgia, yesterday to shop and have lunch. It was a superb day even with the rain that fell sporadically and the growing realization that my hips have grown wide enough to qualify for their own zip code.

My friend knows the area, so she was my guide as we peeked into gift shops and boutiques and even a funky taxidermy establishment. 

 

Heavenly seafood and grits to die for!
 
After a lunch of Jonah’s spicy Cyclone Shrimp and a Caesar salad we wandered into the cutest little shop. 

 

You probably can’t tell, but the table top had a layer of sand on it! Perfect for a summer beach themed display.
 
I should’ve taken more photos, but as we browsed I realized that after several minutes no watchful shop attendant had come out to greet us. A pair of high school aged girls stopped by the store and we learned that one of their teachers owned the business. We continued looking around and visiting for awhile and then the young ladies left. 

Now, I’m a huge fan of shows like Crime Scene Investigation and Criminal Minds, so naturally I began to believe that the shop’s owner had come to some harm. Perhaps as we’d been innocently examining the goods in her shop she’d been lying in a pool of slowly congealing blood, scratching the initials of her assailant in the viscous red liquid in hopes that her murder will be solved and justice served.

With that scenario in mind, I boldly strode to the work area of the store and yelled, “Hello?!” No answer. I looked under a workbench and behind a counter. Nothing. No one. My new friend was beginning to get a bad vibe. About me. I can tell these things–it’s why I can count my friends on one hand and still have two fingers left over.

Reluctantly, we left the store, but I wasn’t through. I went to the shop next door and explained my concerns to the two ladies working there.

Specifically I said, “There’s no one in the gift shop next door. We were there for at least ten minutes and I’m worried about the shop owner.”

“Oh,” said one of the women with a smile. “She is a bit eccentric. She probably just wandered down the street to get some lunch.”

I was relieved and a bit flabbergasted. Who leaves a shop unattended in the middle of the day? Or at any time, for that matter. Granted, Thomasville isn’t a large city, but it is certainly big and busy enough for there to be ill-intentioned people lurking about.

My (still?) friend and I left feeling a measure of relief and continued shopping. She bought a couple of cute tops and I bought a natural mosquito repellent. That’s what one buys when one’s hips have become their own 90210. 

I fully intended to return to the unattended shop before leaving Thomasville, but a rain storm burst from the heavens and put an end to our stroll about town. Perhaps on my next visit I’ll stop in to see who this most trusting of women is and spend a few dollars in her shop. I had a strange affinity for those wooden seagulls.

Peace, people!

Driving Home

In another life I might have been a truck driver or a race driver or even a cab driver. The act of driving is one I thoroughly enjoy. Others seem oblivious, though, to the joys.

One afternoon this week I sat at a stop light and watched as the twenty-something woman in the car next to mine immediately slouched into her seat and began texting on her phone once her brakes fully engaged. 

For a few seconds I watched her intently typing a message–most likely something earth shattering like, “LOLZ!” Or “WTF man?!” before I scanned the other traffic around me that included an unevenly loaded trailer two cars ahead and a motorcycle with a dangerously low tire in front of my texting friend. In addition a group of elderly pedestrians was crossing at the indicated walkway a few car lengths in front of me.

My texting friend noted none of this. In fact, once the light changed to green she continued to sit and text only moving forward when those behind her began honking their displeasure.

This isn’t a treatise on safe driving; although, as a motorcyclist few things infuriate me more than a driver who texts while behind the wheel. No, this is a post about noticing one’s surroundings and enjoying the drive.

Many years ago (I might’ve even been a teenager!) I read a fluff piece in a doctor’s office magazine about the connection between women and driving. The magazine, I recall, was a religious publication, perhaps Guidepost, or something similar. Something about that article stuck with me all these years, even though I couldn’t quote a single word from it if my life depended on it.

The heart of the article was that women had gained a great deal of freedom in the preceding decades (this was probably written in 1975) and that perhaps the greatest freedom outside of being able to vote was that of being able to drive, and with that freedom came great responsibility.

The author of the article noted that female drivers always looked proud and responsible, that they seemed particularly aware of their surroundings and relished their independence. The author went on to say that since female drivers often had children in tow they seemed to take extra care with their precious cargo and to spend time pointing out interesting and educational sights along their routes.

Perhaps I was young and impressionable, but I took that article at face value and decided that I’d be an exemplary driver–and I probably succeed 85% of the time. 

I enjoy engaging with the road, noting how different driving surfaces interact with my tires. I love solving the puzzle of traffic, figuring out where my vehicle fits into the bigger picture as Car A moves into the space vacated by Car D while avoiding Pedestrians X, Y, and Z. And I’m keen on listening to the engine and how the gears shift in the transmission.

When our children were small I helped them learn to read by calling attention to billboards and signs on the sides of trucks. Our youngest could spell “Toyota” before her third birthday.  And time spent at stop lights wasn’t wasted either as we sang along to the radio or counted the number of blue, or red, or white cars around us.

Maybe my texting friend will at some point look up from her screen and realize there’s more to driving than pressing on the gas pedal and steering the wheel. Let’s just hope she doesn’t get rear-ended before then.

Peace, people!

  

Have Cat; Will Travel

Patches thinks I’ve been gone too much:

Maybe next time I’ll take her along.

 

Once and Future Flowers

I found these lurking in my front yard.   
The best thing about photographing flowers is that, for the most part, they remain stationary.   
And they never blink or need their makeup refreshed. 

 And they make me happy. We need more happy.

Peace, people!

Random Disney Pictures

I snapped quite a few pictures at Disneyworld this week. Some were even worth sharing!

These were from the ¡Vamos! parade as we entered the Magic Kingdom on Saturday morning.

  
    
    
    

I took these two at The Art of Animation resort where my niece and her family stayed. I have no idea who the child is in the second picture, but he loves Mater!
    

I finally posed with someone who made me feel dainty and attractive. And nervous!
 

Turtle is still prettier than me. Sigh.  
At my hotel there were reminders of my childhood.  
Every now and then these guys at Art of Animation would squawk. Scared me the first time. 

  If I’d taken a photo of every beautiful flower on the Disney properties I’d never have gotten past the front gates. 

  
 
This playground structure looked like a human heart. Apparently it was a coral reef. Who knew they were so similar?  
 I’m home now, but apparently traveled “to infinity and beyond!”  
Peace, people!

My Feet Hurt Even Worse

Today I took over 14,000 steps at Disney Hollywood Studios. When I walked to catch the bus to return to the Pop Century Resort I could easily imagine my ankles snapping into jagged, ragged, splintered pieces at which point I would simply drag myself by my forearms to the bus stop. 

No one would give me a second glance as I pulled my bloody stumps onto the vehicle unless of course I accidentally crossed the yellow line at whch point I would be gently reprimanded.

—————BUT—————

I rode Star Tours not once, not twice, but three times, and even though I was never named as the rebel spy I personally know two people who were. 

I survived two rounds on the Rock ‘n’ Roller Coaster and even managed to look like I was having fun on the second try. The Tower of Terror didn’t claim my life this year; although, it was a close call. What a great, terrifying ride! 

I discovered the joys of Toy Story Mania and would gladly ride it non-stop if the lines weren’t so long. 

Indiana Jones thrilled me with daring escapades in his stunt show spectacular, and I was seated close enough to feel the heat from the explosions.

————HOWEVER————-

Tomorrow I must return to Studly Doright and Doright Manor. My heart is ready. My feet are begging for it, but dang, I’ll miss Disneyworld, CB, Lord Jeff, and kids. What a great time. Now I’m having a beer. Or two.

‘Til next time Disneyworld. Rock on.

 

Aerosmith grants backstage passes to their show. The catch? You have to ride a roller coaster with multiple loops in the dark. And by the way, it goes from 0 to 60 in under four seconds.
  
Star Tours has something interesting around every corner.
  
Inside Toy Story Mania–maybe the most fun ride ever! Trust me, it’s not just for kids.
  
Toy Story Mania is way more fun than a barrel of monkeys.
   
Peace, people!