Tip Toe Thru' the Tulips

The purple crocuses have started popping through the soil that was partly covered in snow only a few days ago. The forsythia are blooming their familiar yellow flower, and the buds of the trees are emerging as well. Most mornings, I hear the familiar bird songs of the robin and others through my open bedroom window.

Yes, spring is right around the corner. The signs are everywhere!

Unfortunately, the less pleasant signs have emerged as well. Those include a sinus headache, scratchy throat, and stuffy nose. I love spring in the DC area, but allergy season is another story.

I have stocked up on the appropriate medicines, saline rinses, and tissues. I'm making chicken noodle soup later today in hopes of getting back to feeling 100%. All of it comes with the territory of enjoying springtime in DC. 

Even so, I will happily (most of the time) suffer through my seasonal allergies just to witness the glory of the season. I know most people think about the cherry blossoms that surround the Tidal Basin. But have you ever seen the beauty that is a field of tulips as they stand tall? That is a sight to see and completely worth the sneezes that precede their arrival.

Girls Just Want to Have Fun

A friend of mine called me yesterday with a giddy hello.

"Guess what?"

"What?" I asked.

"I'm all signed up for Medicare!"

So, that's how old we are. This same girl is one of the first people I met when I moved into Caroline Hall at St. Mary's College of Maryland. Kit lived next door and will always be remembered for trying to sell me Avon. That was back in August of 1980- we've been friends ever since.

I can't say it was the Avon pitch that solidified our friendship, but we did enjoy strolling around our waterfront campus with a large cup of beer, all while solving what we considered to be the pressing issues of the day.

Since then, Kit and the rest of the SMC gals have been a constant in my life. We've been through all of life's highs and lows. The great thing about hanging out with the college girls is that we all see each other just as we did back in the 1980s.

Eight of us got together over the weekend for a belated holiday gift exchange/slumber party. The evening is always a blast, full of food and laughter. Then there's the morning after having less than optimal sleep and more than recommended amounts of alcohol. Yes, the morning is a little quieter, but even so, we're all still smiling and talking.

I'm so thankful for all my friends, but when it comes to figuring out all the retirement stuff, I'm thankful for my older friends like Kit. Next year, when it's my turn to sign up for Medicare, she'll be one of the first calls I make.

Raindrops Are Falling On My Head

The day started early this morning as I headed out for a quick medical appointment. The skies were gray and spitting chilly drops of water as I hugged my coat closer and dashed to the car. It was definitely colder than I thought it should be. A damp chill seeped into my bones.

Arriving back home, I scrambled up some eggs, hoping a little protein would energize me for a few chores around the house.

It didn't.

Next, I tried doing a little cardio at the gym. That didn't work either.

Once back home, I noted how peaceful my two cats were, all curled up on the sofa

I decided to lean into the dreariness of the day, grabbed a blanket, and curled up right next to them. 

Unfortunately, the sun may not show until the end of the week. It may be a few days before those chores get done.

Glory Days

My 90-year-old mother was sitting across the table from me, enjoying her onion pizza while recounting her glory years.

"Rita, Janet, and Liz all belonged to different golf clubs. So, when I was down in Florida, I had three different courses I could play on. It was great."

My parents never owned a condo in Florida, but many of my mom's friends did. She opted to rent a place nearby for an extended winter getaway. Every January, she would pack up her car and head south, determined to get 12 hours of driving under her belt. She would spend the night in Ocala, so the last leg of the trip to Naples would be only about 4 hours the next morning.

My father was not a beach guy. On family vacations, he spent his time wrapped up under towels beneath the umbrella. He went to the beach because it made his wife (and children) happy. It's not surprising that he didn't spend much time in Florida during her winter break. He'd go down for a week or so, but not much more.

I've had a lot of lunches with my mom lately. Each and every time she tells me about the good times in Florida. There was golf, dinners out, beach time, and more golf. I can tell by the way she talks how much she misses those days. Those days when all of her friends were still alive, and her own body was without the issues she's been having the last few years. 

"That's the thing about the good ol' days, Mom. You don't realize you're in the midst of them until they've already passed."

"Ain't that the truth?" she smiled.

Missing You

 

A college friend was in town to attend a rescheduled holiday gathering. Each year, my close group of St. Mary's College friends gets together for a night of food, drink, laughter, and gift-giving.  What used to be a night out to dinner has turned into a full-on ladies' slumber party, complete with kitchen-dance parties and very little sleep.

"I'm heading out to the store. Do you need anything?" 

"Thanks, yes! I could use some crackers."

"What kind?" I asked.

Robin looked down, wrinkled her nose a bit, and considered her response. 

I drew in a breath.

"It's just...," Robin replied, "it's just, I miss-"

"Stone Wheat Thins!" I finished.

What transpired next was a 10-minute eulogy to the demise of Red Oval Farms Stoned Wheat Thins, a cracker that was a staple in my life since sometime around 1982. Of all the crackers out there, this cracker was like no other. It was delicious, whether it was served with a slice of cheese or on the side of a bowl of chili.

I was introduced to this very important cracker at the same time I first met my friend Juli. Up to that point, the only crackers I knew were Premium or Ritz.

The Stoned Wheat Thins and I had a good run. I munched on them through my twenties, thirties, forties, and fifties. And then, sometime in my early sixties, they were gone. I spent most of the COVID years on a low-carb diet known as "Lazy Keto."  By the time I was ready to taste them again, the distinct blue box with a Red Oval had disappeared from the shelves. I had more than a few grocery aisle conversations about the box missing from the shelves, and didn't get many answers until the internet informed me that Red Oval Farms had discontinued the cracker in 2022.

Add this cracker to the things absent from the world that I miss at least once a month. It's at the top, followed by the band REM, and the actor Philip Seymour Hoffman.

Cheers, Ladies

After a pretty unproductive weekend, I decided to get up and get moving today. I started off with a nice, long walk and then switched into errand mode with a trip to a local, family-owned hardware store.

Driving past the outdoor seating of a nearby restaurant, I was surprised to see almost every table full. Across the street, I noticed full tables at a local coffee shop. I couldn't figure out why all these tables would be full on the day after Labor Day. Isn't school in session? Haven't most people returned from vacation and gone back to work? Isn't today one of the worst days in the DC area for rush hour traffic?

I pulled around the pack of the building to park. As I grabbed my bag to head into the hardware store, I came across another interesting sight. A young blonde woman emerged from her car, practically skipping into the taco restaurant.  Before walking in, she raised her fist in celebration as she let out a loud, "Hallelujah!"

At first, I couldn't quite figure out what was going on. Then I noticed a table of similarly aged women waiting for her, each one smiling broadly. 

"Oh, yeah," I thought, "it's time to celebrate the fact that the kids are back in school."

I heard of champagne breakfasts occurring on the first day of school back when I taught 5th grade at a well-to-do neighborhood school. I suppose the younger kids can be quite exhausting during those dog days of summer. The heat and humidity of August can drag on, just like the feeding, entertaining, and engaging of your own children, as the start of school can be seen at the end of a long, summer tunnel. 

I'm sure it wasn't easy getting them off to school this morning either. So, I guess if this group of young women has survived all that, perhaps they enjoy a small celebration.

Cheers, ladies.

Poor, Poor Pitiful Me

I recently pulled my bikes out of storage to give them a quick assessment. One bike was definitely in need of a great deal of attention. The second only needed some air in the tires and the brake cable put in place.

After pumping up the tires and failing at the brake cable placement, I decided to take it for a quick spin. I figured as long as the back brakes were operational, I was in okay shape. Besides, I didn't plan on going that far.

Of course, I went farther than planned. Leaving my neighborhood is all downhill, so it's easy to go a mile without breaking a sweat. From there, I followed the bike trail along the Potomac River. It was a gorgeous Sunday, the kind of August Sunday that is rare in the DC area —low humidity, a gentle breeze, and big blue skies. I knew better than to go all the way to Old Town Alexandria, but figured I could head over to the marina, take a break to watch the planes land at DCA, and head back home.

The ride back was a little more taxing. My backside was not happy- it hadn't felt a bike seat in over a year. And then there was the hill back up through my neighborhood. The one that was so easy on the way out was not so easy on the way in. I've ridden up that hill enough times to know that slow and steady is the only way to attack it.

Slow and steady, I went. And then, from out of nowhere, I heard the whirr of an e-bike pass me by. I caught the eye of a walker coming down the sidewalk. She smiled and mouthed a little encouragement.

"He's cheating," I laughed. 

I dug my feet into the pedals and kept pumping my legs —slow and steady — with Linda Ronstadt singing "Poor, Poor Pitiful Me" in my ear. Linda always helps me up that hill.