Where is my watch?

My husband and I just got back from a trip to Philadelphia.  It was wonderful to see our McGlone family, to spend time with my mother-in-law, and to attend our niece's wedding.  My husband likes to drive straight through (that's 13 hours without stopping to eat, or rest, or use the "facilities").  He thinks that stopping for the night is a waste of time.  I think that we're retired, so what's the hurry?  Anyway, that's a story for another blog. We try to pack healthy snacks for our road trips.  This time, we took apples, nectarines, and red grapes.  I admit, though, that after hour ten in the car, I decided I needed to reward myself with a big, fat Whopper with extra pickles.  Most of the time, I behaved and dutifully ate the fruit.  The red grapes were in a red Tupperware bowl.  My husband and I were both mindlessly grabbing at them without glancing down.  When I did look down, I screamed, "The grapes are moving!!!  ACK!!!...

Apparently I have become a compulsive talker.  I say things that would be better left unsaid.  I feel compelled to fill the silence.  About a year ago I was serving on a hiring committee.  One of the candidates had just left the room after giving a not quite stellar interview.  Nobody spoke; I guess we were all trying to find a way to say nicely what we were thinking: this was a terrible interview.  One of committee members looked at me and said, "Well, Victoria?"  I know I'm not the smartest person in the room, but I may be the one most likely to say something, anything.   My colleagues honored me with a retirement celebration a few months ago.  One of the recurring themes was my "contributions" to meetings.  I miss talking with my colleagues.  I miss holding meetings and speaking at events.   It wasn't always this way.  I was painfully shy as a child.  After my freshman year in a large Catholic high sc...

My father lived a long life and I hope it was happy.  He died when he was 84 years old; since he smoked 3 packs a day of unfiltered Pall Mall cigarettes from the age of 15, I think he had a good run.  At his viewing, my mother, sister, and I enjoyed sharing stories about him with all the people who showed up to honor him.  Two of my good friends, Alan and Ken, came in their best suits, looking like real gentlemen!  It made me happy.  One of our neighbors, who had always been just a bit "off", asked them who they were and what they were doing there.  God bless them, they told her that they were professional mourners.  How lucky am I?! After the viewing we went back to our family home and invited everyone to join us.  I don't remember who showed up, but I know we drank more gin martinis than we should have.  It seemed like a good idea at the time.   The next day we got in the big black car that would accompany the hearse to Mount ...

Years ago I started getting strange headaches in the mid-morning.  I couldn't understand why; I wasn't sick or under any unusual stress.  I mentioned it to my husband, and asked him if he noticed that I had been doing anything different that might be causing the headaches.  He thought about it for a while, and then told me that he had decided that I need less caffeine, so he had been making my morning coffee with half decaf.  I remember my response, " WHAT?!?!?!?"  Yes, it was lovely that he was concerned about my caffeine intake, but, well, there are no words.  From that day forward, my husband has never touched my coffee or anything in the vicinity of my coffee.  Geesh. My daughter told me that I was an addict.  I think that's a bit harsh.  I prefer coffee aficionado.  I blame my childhood (so what else is new?  I blame my childhood for just about everything...unless it's my husband's fault).  We drank instant coffee when I...

It's been a few days since I posted.  I've been recovering from cataract surgery; I want to share some thoughts about the experience.  On the day of my surgery, I expected there would be a crowd of folks waiting for their procedures, but, wow!  What a busy place that surgery center was.  People my age and older were all waiting for the same procedure with the same doctor.   I don't do well with needles (that's a story for another time), but the nurse who started my IV was wonderful.  As I was being prepped, more patients kept coming in, going through the same process and questions as I.  "Have you had anything to eat or drink, are you able to walk on your own, which eye are we doing today, etc."  While all this was going on, there was a group of staff who were discussing food!  FOOD!  I know that I and the other patients hadn't had anything to eat or drink since midnight, so the last thing we wanted to hear about was steak, bread,...

I am torn!  I want to continue to support my local newspaper.  I've had the newspaper delivered to my home for as long as I can remember.  When I was young, we had two newspapers, one in the morning, and one in the afternoon.  That was way back when we had only three television stations, almost the stone age!  There was no "all news, all the time" television station.  For local news especially, the newspaper was our best source.  We relied on it. My local newspaper is struggling financially; the proof is in each daily delivery.  The paper is no longer printed locally, so the most current news has to wait until the next day.  Also, there are more full page advertisements than there are full page stories.  The "Life" section has been absorbed into whatever other section has space for it.  I've written letters to the editor that go unanswered; that makes me sad.  When I travel, I give the paper plenty of notice to halt delivery ...

While the estimates vary, about 10 percent of the population is left-handed.  I am one of that minority.  The first time I realized that this was going to be problematic was in Catholic elementary school.  The nuns taught us the Palmer method of handwriting, and they really meant business with this stuff!  I vividly remember struggling mightily to craft the lower-case f; I kept getting it backwards.  While the right-handed students easily managed to handle their fountain pens (yes, we were required to use fountain pens) I held my pen in an upside down, claw-like death grip.  Every once in a while, a nun would smack my hand with her ruler because I just could not master this stuff.   There must have been more than one left-handed student in my class, but I can't recall anyone but me suffering through the Palmer method.  My ink would smear as I dragged my helpless claw across the page.  Eventually, the nuns succeeded and I have beautiful...