The King and I

I saw Hannah yesterday after not seeing her all last week because her grandma was on vacay, a big ole cruise ship touring the outer ridges of the oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico. I was the only person at work, enjoying my time alone. Not even one phone call from Hannah though I know she missed me. One thing I've recently discovered about Hannah is she loves everything and tells everything she loves it. Like my cat. And she misses everything and tells everything she missed it, like my cat. It's still adorable to hear it.


Yesterday the first thing Hannah says is "What did you buy me?" To which I reply "What did you buy me?" She's empty-handed as usual. I'm seriously reconsidering our relationship - as is she. 


She sits on my lap. First she sits on one of my knees. When her weight becomes unbearable I shift her to my less arthritic knee. Then when that knee collapses, I move her back to the other, once-again, slightly-functional knee. This extra weight may not be so good for the knees. I have been walking like a human candy cane. I should blame the knee pain on my own weight, and typically I would because I've been blaming me for most of my misery for over 50 years now. Though now I'm thinking with Hannah's child body growing from a once cute little baby into a surly, present-grubbing 5 year old, the enduring endearing relationship we share will completely wipe out what's left of my knees.



Which brings me to the question -- how does Larry King do this and hold up? Doesn't he have 27 three to five year olds from his 14 marriages? It occurs to me that he and I have a lot in common.


Consider the following: 

• We are both living on borrowed time.
• We both hang out with chicks far too young for us. 
• We both wear glasses. 
• We both have jowls.
• We both have these young women who are after the gifts.
• We can barely walk.
• We are both astonishingly good looking for our age. (Well, I am, at least).
• If I shave the blond swatch of hair off the front of my scalp, Lair and I could be twins.

I even have some things in common with Lair's latest, last, most recent wife pictured above. I used to highlight my hair, have a full set of teeth and pretend to be happy around old people too.

This photo reveals one of our moments of sharing and closeness even though I didn't buy her anything. Our sharing starts with Hannah sitting on my lap rendering my knees even more useless. It our game, Hannah plays Isabella the waitress, while I am Joanne, her persnickety restaurant patron. We play the restaurant game for a long time because the list of available food items is endless. I can order anything I want and no one ever says in a snotty voice loud enough for the tables across the room to hear, "Are you sure you should be eating that?"


Sometimes Isabella uses the Kindle as a prop so it appears to any onlooker as though she's really on top of her game, placing Joanne's enormous food orders on the gadget. Isabella likes to switch things up, working her flair in a hipster, high-tech restaurant space where all the restaurants look like the Jetsons cartoon stage, immobilized in space, Isabella ruling her restaurantdom, Kindle in hand, offering up imaginary delicacies. Though in this pictured instance, Hannah's using a huge black Sharpie™ (my hand raised to guard my face in case she mistakes me for a passed-out, drunken buddy) and a tablet of paper with which to take Joanne's ongoing fantasy take-out order. Isabella informs Joanne of the restaurant's latest specials. "Today is schmushed pancakes," she said, "with syrup." Then Isabella encouraged Joanne to order the peaches "because they are hell-fee." When Isabella said her phrase hell-fee I realized I had yet one more thing to add to Lair's and my list O commonalities. Hanging out with these young chicks is really hell on our old knees.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            

Real Winners

We've been celebrating all morning --in anticipation of announcing the winners of the Hippies Use Side Door sign. Perhaps our secretary notified you of your winnings already though since she was using the fax phone, you may not have heard.

 Henceforth, I bring you the wieners.

*Drumroll Please*

Announcing the winner for my used, slightly rusty, though still wrapped in plastic Hippies Use Side Door sign!

The winner of the coveted metal Hippies Use Side Door sign is:

Tricia

Second place will receive the less coveted though still sticky Hippies Use Side Door refrigerator magnet given to me as a loving gift from my sister who thought hippies would be in my life for what remained of it. I promise not to wipe off any random food stains prior to shipping.

2nd place goes to Carla!

Third place wins a pair of rubber gloves, a safe sex brochure, and an old piece of candy from the bottom of my purse.

Roxie, you won 3rd place!  I'm guessing your hands are tiny and you'll need a pair of small-ish rubber gloves.

Congratulations to all the winners...

Email me at POD1739 at gmail dot com and send me your home address. I will put your exciting prizes in the mail tomorrow.

Thanks to everyone for playing along. I got a huge thrill out of your comments and continued support as always.

Going Green

Yesterday while I was writing my post about becoming what feels like increasingly feeble-minded replete with coffee dripping off my nose, while re-making the pond area at my house -- at some point during the day I noticed I was wearing my pants on inside-out. Wearing my pants like this was a real blow to what's left of my esteem. 


How did I notice my pants were inside out you ask? I came upon the opportunity to tie the belt thingie that comes with these pants and for some reason I just happened to reach around the back of my pants where I felt the label sticking straight out. At first I thought this was one of those errant labels that tends to stick out regardless. You know the labels I'm talking about...usually they're on your most expensive blouse you've chosen to wear to a special event -- when you're at a party trying to look your most elegant and stylish? It only took a few seconds to realize that the label on my pants was in the right place. It was the bottom half of my body that was not in the right place. 


Though in the interest of diminishing self-esteem, I've decided to spin this idea of wearing my pants inside out. Making the decision to wear my pants in such a manner is part of my new strategy for going green which is young, trendy, hip and cool. Today I'm wearing the same pants right side out, setting the fashion world on fire. Too bad I work by myself and you are the only friends I have on the planet so you'll just have to take my word for it.


And still on another positive note, I took the soon-to-belong-to-someone-else's hippy sign down all by myself this morning before leaving for work. I own my own drill that my mom gave me after my husband died. My husband died in Oct 2001 and for Christmas that year I got a drill set. I hope to GAWD that when I die, I can't be replaced by a tool though this fear looms large. Honestly I've really not needed a man around since receiving that drill set.


This gives me a fantastic idea. Now if anyone asks if I'm dating I'll tell them "Why yes! His name is Makita." And they will think I've lost my mind completely now that I'm dating a man from the islands.


Don't forget to put your name in to win the hippy sign!

Brown-Nosing

I'm a coffee drinker. Sometimes I use a travel-type coffee cup that comes with a lid and the lid has a flapper thing on it so you can close the lid. With this kind of lid the coffee (supposedly) stays warm and won't spill when you're driving like a crazed lunatic though the mountains, talking on the phone with one hand (because you've not yet signed Oprahs' NO PHONE ZONE pledge), and holding your coffee cup in the other hand, all while steering the car with one knee, the one without the painful arthritis. 


Because I'm getting older, I'm not looking in the mirror as often, mostly because when I look in the mirror I see my mom, and really, who invited her anyway? Plus I can't always remember that I should look in the mirror to see if any-thing's missing or something's on my face that does not belong (like the wrinkles). I'm getting older, more forgetful, and what good is a mirror if all I see in it are wrinkles and someone else's face? I've been looking at myself for years now. Why repeat this behavior if it amounts to no good, ultimately? Regardless of how many times I look in the mirror in this lifetime, I'm going to end up a corpse, and then if I look in a mirror, I'm going to need a make-over that not even Oprah can afford. I could have saved a good month of my life by not looking in mirrors, maybe two months - give or take. Just think of all the things I could have done in that time period. (List them in the comments section please - I need some ideas desperately.)


I live alone so I've got no one to tell me if I have spinach in my teeth or toilet paper hanging off my shoe or anywhere else for that matter. My cat doesn't seem to care what I look like, and really if I don't care enough to give a cursory glance in a mirror, why is it my cat's responsibility to warn me?

I went to the nursery on Saturday because I was tearing out a small pond that my X and I had put in the front yard next to the front door right next to a sign that says HIPPIES USE SIDE DOOR which my X gave me because he was a wanna-be hippy. In actuality, he was too, too young to be a hippy. And  far too conservative toward the public, too red-necked to be a real hippy. I saw him in photos with short hair and then I realized why he grew his hair long. I thought the hippy sign was cute when he first gave it to me - like my very first gift from him - aahh, how sweet, a hippy (sign). Now the hippy sign is still hanging there, still covered in plastic to preserve it's new Hippy sign sheen. Every day I see that sign and I think WTF is that sign hanging up next to my door?-- Why don't I take that sign down? But I'm a bit forgetful until I see a sign and am reminded by the sign to take the sign down.


Anyway, I had to get to the nursery to borrow ideas for plants for this space. I stood at the counter and asked questions. I queried the staff. They rang up my few purchases. Very helpful! Then I drove home and moved hundreds of pounds of rocks, ripped out the pond liner, held my breath for the slimy, stenchy, bug and crud-filled pond mess, and shoved the mess that would fit - into the garbage can (except the rocks with which I initially paid a small fortune). I filled the empty hole with dirt mixed with compost, planted two small Japanese maples, one at each end, a few clumps of baby-tears (*sniff*), a few other miscellaneous ground covers, added a statue of happy hotei (ho tai), the god of contentment, happiness, good luck, prosperity, wealth, good fortune, long lasting tires, glazed-donuts and wrinkle-free fabrics. The work was exhausting. My knees hurt like hell. I was really feeling my mirror image.


My changed landscape no longer stinks though when the space was water-filled, the cat wasn't so tempted to poop in it. It's no longer slimy sans some new banana slug residue. There's no moss yet but wait until winter arrives next week. The space presents a serene, peaceful, contemplative landscape, a new direction for an old space. All I have left to do is take down the Hippies Use Side Door sign and give it away or throw it away - it's now YOUR choice. I will use the sign as a give-away because I have a kind heart. Watch -- this will be the blog with which no one comments because no one is gonna want that sign. Though if you lack taste, and dream of a hippy coming to your front door just so you can direct them around to the side, leave a comment telling me/us how this sign will contribute to your existing lack of taste and your name will be entered to win this infamous sign - I can't believe more than one person would want this sign. So you - yes *YOU* could actually win! And to think that it was my first gift from the X and he wasn't even a hippy.  Now he's with that other woman. I wonder if he gave her a sign...or anything else (herpes)...I mean, why should *I* be the only lucky one?


If you are really sure you want this sign (and it's in almost mint condition after hanging on my front porch for over 7 years (under the eaves mind you) leave a comment that includes (preferably ) *your* email address so the SPAMbots will nail  you.

I'm stealing some of this text below (with a few modifications like this one right here that I'm writing inside the parenthesis) from Sherry at Niteswimming: (she's having a give-away and hers is a good one.)


For more than one entry (1) follow this blog or subscribe via email -- current followers/subscribers are eligible too. Leave a separate comment for this. (2) Tweet this post on Twitter. Leave a separate comment with your twitter user name. (and don't make up shit). I'm on twitter but I never say a word. I just read how the other half lives.

NOTE: This giveaway is reserved for residents within the U.S. and Canada though that one lady in the U.K. can leave a comment. I'd send the sign to her. She knows who she is and she has hair just like my X's hair only her hair is lovely and actually brushed.

The winner will be selected from all of the comments using random.org. (Totally random!)

Deadline: midnight, Saturday, May 22 st. Winner announced Monday, May 24 if I remember to announce it. And if I don't, you'll remind me --right??


When I finished with my pond re-model, I walked into the bathroom and glanced in the mirror. After an entire day running errands, asking nursery people questions, saying "excuse me" to dozens of strangers who wouldn't get out of my way, flipping-off half a dozen errant drivers on highway 17, screaming at people on back-roads who drive to close to the inside corner, aiming their cars at my front bumper, and speaking to a few neighbors who walked by the house while I was knee-deep in hard labor, sweating bullets, moving rock the size of my butt, when I finished all that incredibly difficult work and my knees would hardly hold me up, I casually glanced at the mirror and saw in the reflection a huge brown nose completely covered in coffee (mixed with soy-creamer) stains. I mean, covered completely to the point where if I'd wanted another cup of coffee, I could have had another cup right there simply by pouring boiling water down my face (fun!), holding the cup under my chin(s) and letting the water mix with the brown residue run down my nose into the cup. Although the idea of pouring boiling water down my face half-appealed to me, I decided to skip that part of the experiment and spend the rest of my evening mulling over the list of people with which I'd interacted throughout the entire day, none of whom mentioned a word.

Progress

Hannah is staying at bammah's house this week while her mom and dada are on their honeymoon in Cabo with those guys that make the tequila.

This morning Hannah was waiting for me on grandma's front porch when I drove up. She wanted me to sit on the porch with her while she finished eating breakfast. We talked about the squirrels and the birds. We went into the house and she put her arms around me and said, "I love you so much."

 A bit later Hannah came into the office and asked to sit on my lap. Normally having her sit on my lap is fine though my knee is killing me from being too fat arthritis. Hannah likes to sit on my lap while we take pictures. We have a bunch of photos going back for a couple of years.

Tonight Bammah and papa volunteered to take Hannah and her wicked stepsisters to a school function in the cafeteria where there will be lots of screaming singing, punching, hair-pulling, and the school band will play. Good luck, Grandma and Grandpa -- have a great evening!

P.S. In case you forgot or did not read my blog back very far, I had chemo and lost my hair only to be trendy so I could choose my whimsical, bald hairstyle.

A Moment in Time

I've been meaning to write about the wedding. From my viewpoint, nothing extra spectacular happened during the wedding, really, unless you were the bride and groom or the mother of the bride, my sister. Nothing out of the ordinary took place, no fights broke out (if you don't include the riot that happened downtown a few blocks away). No one drank to excess (with which I spoke) and shouted objections during the nuptials. No ex-wife dared to show her face. During the time I was in attendance no one danced on top of a table or threw champagne in another attendee's face. Frankly, if none of these events happened within the event, I say "Why bother?"


From my perspective one of the most memorable wedding moments I've ever witnessed occurred just as the dance music was starting. Hannah was standing a few feet from where I was seated and as the first notes rang out, past the requisite first dance diddy (Coldplay's Green Eyes) with which the newly weds dreamily danced their first dance, Hannah came running over to me.

With all the months and months of wedding plans --  a child has no idea what a wedding is, what all the planning means; the significance. Like a bolt of lightening from out of the blue, Lady Gaga's Just Dance crescendoed as Hannah realized The. Big. Day. had finally arrived. Reality collided with joy in that moment. This is what all this planning was about! The crowd of fancy-dressed people, make-up on my grandma(!) (creeped Hannah right out!!!), a rainbow assortment of  flowers, and a four year old's ultimate fantasy; the pièce de résistance -- a table laden with gold and silver beribboned gifts. Hannah was beside herself with excitement. In that moment, music blaring, Hannah burst  with an exuberance binding her nearly speechless with glee, yet somehow she managed to find her words,  "JAN! THIS IS THE WEDDING! THIS IS WHERE I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ALWAYS!" And I was thrilled - beyond words, standing there beside her.

Oil and Water

Got my oil changed the other day and there's no innuendo in that statement. Met a rasta guy with a dreadful headful of dreads in the waiting room. He told me he had 330k miles on his old Honda which he drives daily to his job in the city so he has to get the oil changed often.

When he first walked into the oil change lobby area, he said, "Well, helloooo there." (Actually I don't know if he spelled hello that way) though he seemed overly flirtatious for an oil change business. I can't discern anymore if a person is flirting. 

We had an interesting conversation, about forgiveness and love, and was "there anything [I] haven't forgiven?" I said, "Only one thing." Though we didn't discuss this part - I'd revealed enough. 

I have a knack for attracting weird guys with old, beaten up cars (or old guys with weird cars) so I tend to stay guarded - trying to listen to my gut. gurgle, gurgle I suppose when I find the courage and strength to forgive myself, I'll let my guard down - though until such time, my car is ready and I have places to go.

Up and Down

Shelley of My Journey to Fit  and Kim of Saving my Life annoyed awarded me with the prestigious Oh My Blog award. One option is to take a photo of yourself first thing in the morning and obviously that's the option I'd pick since most of my photos look as if I just woke up though after viewing many of the wedding photos this past weekend wherein those photos with which I appear I look like a monster with flaming red eyeballs, I'm currently reconsidering career options thinking that I've not seen a good Godzilla vs POD movie EVER! Hannah could star as my trusty sidekick while she tells Godzilla that he's "creeping [her] out."


Another option for the award is to list a soundtrack for your life. One can tell from this list that I need to take meds.
Below is a partial list:

• Jesus Loves Me - a song I remember from being forced to attend church as a child.
• The theme song from Mr. Roger's Neighborhood - who are the people in your neighborhood etc.? I love Mr. Rogers! 
• Crazy by Patsy Cline (remembering my mom scream at us for being kids). 
• Happy Together - The Turtles. 
• Blue - Joni Mitchell. 
• Ladies of the Canyon - Joni Mitchell. 
• It Only Hurts When I Breathe - Shania Twain
• Junk House Blues music and lyrics by me with help from Hannah and Cheryl.

I'm off to the DMV if they aren't furloughed today to register my new/used car which with the help of a very knowledgeable brother in law, purchased and picked up yesterday in Tracy. Then driving to Pacific Grove with the convertible down, taking my son, Danny for mexican food at Zocalo's because although he's gained 40 lbs since I last saw him, he claims that in Waikiki there is no decent Mexican food which brings me to an idea for the state of Arizona. An enormous chain saw to cut around the state line and then they can float the state out in the ocean...

My son is leaving for SF in 36 hours. I enjoy seeing him though having him (or anyone) in my house is akin to being in an elevator with someone wearing too much Evening in Paris. Holding your breath until you reach the 53rd floor, the doors of the elevator won't open all the way though thankfully you can still stick your nose between the slight opening for a breath of fresh air and the elevator maintenance guy is on call 24 hours a day. At 36 hours, relief is in sight.