ANTICIPATION

The summer I had waited for through the long Arizona winter months, came in a flash somewhere near mid-May, and when I woke up this morning, it had disappeared into very late August.  It's all part of my current state of evolution in which I'm realizing that I'm not really immortal and I'm not going to accomplish all of the wonderful things I spent 60+ years believing I would.  That process has made me a bit melancholy with just a pinch of dissatisfaction thrown in.  No, on second thought, that would be a Tablespoon of dissatisfaction.  There must be hundreds of things I will never do.  For the moment, those items, unfortunately, are piled much higher than the few things I have actually managed to do, and it's making me think about the need for a Life Coach. I'm not sure I'd every heard of a Life Coach until a few months ago, but I'm thinking I might be more pulled together had one lived close by back in the day when I still had the time to make the effort worthwhile.

During the years I could have used a Life Coach, I lived on an isolated farm in southwest Kansas.  I spent my days dusting, vacuuming, cooking for six, all while harmonizing enthusiastically with Barry Manilow on vinyl.  How isolated were we really?  For starters, we had no newspaper delivery nor mail service.  The local paper was placed in our Post Office Box very late each weekday afternoon.  I picked it up the following morning after dropping my kids at their schools.  The day-old "Dodge City Daily Globe" was very little consolation to a news junkie.  That will only make sense if you remember there was no cable in the wilderness, either.

We lived a quarter mile off a secondary dirt road. To reach our house, one had to navigate a wash/gully, draw--take your pick.  If it rained, one would gun the engine just the right amount and keep driving no matter if the car cooperated or not.  The result, quite often, was to end up in a dead stop, despite the spinning tires, completely encased in mud.  If it snowed, the scenario was identical, except it was colder and we were encased in snow.  Either scenario involved ruined shoes and an endless walk to the house.  During dry times we were fine, although a bit dusty.

In retrospect, living at the farm for eleven years was the best of all worlds from time to time, and the worst of all worlds in between.  I think it helped me become independent, to a certain degree.  We had no neighbors nearby. Well, actually, there were neighbors two miles north of us.  She was younger than I, gave birth at home, baked her own bread, and raised chickens.  We had very little in common.  After our Australian Sheep Dog (Bo-Peep) ventured to her house for a short visit, taking out a few of her chickens in the process, we were left with nothing in common.  Bo Peep was a wonderful dog--high strung with a tendency toward testiness--but the best baby-sitter since "Nana" of Peter Pan fame.  My youngest child (usually naked) wandered the fields for hours with Bo-Peep at his side.  I could trust that she would protect him with every fiber of her being and he would be fine.  She did and he was.

I also learned about cattle--steers, to be exact.  They are incredibly non-intelligent.  (I hate the word stupid even when it fits.)  When placed on wheat pasture, they will immediately walk the fence line of the field and, if it's electrified, bounce off the wires again and again and again.  But, a week later, if the electrified fence is removed for some strange reason, they will stay in the field, walking up to, then stopping just short of where the fence had run. Even though that's true, don't take your fence down.  If something should frighten your cattle, they will forget everything else, run through fences (real or imaginary) and over each other in their need to do something...anything.  There are sad stories of mass suffocations of cattle during blizzards that I don't even want to mention.

In addition a steer will stand in a foot of snow that is temporarily covering five or six inches of lush green wheat and starve to death.  A horse nearby will immediately clear away the snow with its hoof and feast for hours.  The steer will continue to stand and watch the horse with a heart-breaking expression that only a steer can manage.  I used to theorize that hell had absolutely nothing to do with fire and brimstone.  Real hell was being re-incarnated as a steer on wheat pasture during a western Kansas winter.  I still believe that theory has merit.

I think I left my Life Coach a few paragraphs back (sorry) and, perhaps, am beginning to realize that even though my life is not the story I set out to tell, it's the only one I have and, surprisingly, may have an unexpected and under-appreciated achievement or two buried within.  I may need to do this exercise by myself a few more times until I find just the right Life Coach and learn to accept who, what, where and why I am, what to do about it, and how to make it better.  That makes me think of the Dove Bar (dark chocolate and sea salt caramel) wrapper I opened today:  "Feed your sense of anticipation", it read.  I like that.  I think I'll do it.     

A SIMPLE SUNDAY MORNING

We don't wear dresses very often in our Age Restricted Community.  We've become a slacks and capri pants sort of population.  Comfort is our "later in life" mantra.  Most of us did the girdle, hose and high heel thing for 40 or so years, and we're done!

However, Sunday mornings present a conundrum.   Our Lutheran congregation, a fairly relaxed group of refugee Minnesotans, still has a tendency to dress, just ever so slightly, for church services.  That means I must spend Sunday mornings in our closet shoving hangers this way and that until I come across something I think is both appropriate, and hasn't already been worn three times in the past month.  Last Sunday I spied the dress BC bought for me last year.  It sports a "Lauren" label, which makes it unique in my closet and it's very cute, so I decided to wear it.  It's a red knit little number...boat neck, three-quarter length sleeves (the better to hide the hideous effect advancing age has on the upper arms), and just manages to skim the fat deposits growing every so slowly and steadily around my mid-section.

Much to my pleasure, not to mention relief, it still fit and I put the finishing touches on my face and hair.  I found earrings and bracelets and sashayed to the full length mirror to check my cuteness.  Whoa!  Yes, the dress fits, but it's a clingy number.  In fact, it's generating additional static with every breath.  We have a problem and BC is ready to walk out the door.  I need a slip.

Now, along with my Age Restricted friends, I wore a slip everyday from the first morning of Kindergarten to the last sip of wine at my retirement party.  I don't do that anymore, but a slip is definitely needed under this obscene and obnoxious dress that's delineating my thighs.  I own three slips...all of which, I learn, are much longer than my red dress.  I'm choosing the black half slip.  Let's pull it up a bit and fold the waistband over a few times.  Problem solved...no, wait, it's not.  The waistband of my aging slip has lost its elasticity (God knows I know what that's like), and three inches of black lace are hanging out under my pricy Ralph Lauren hem.

I'm in trouble.  However, since spending a few minutes everyday exercising my brain on Lumosity, I've become a critical thinker.  I will pull this slip up over my bra, which will be better for the static cling anyway, and my problem will be solved.  Excellent critical thinking, but essentially flawed because of the waistband elasticity situation.  Safety pins are in order. 

I'm now standing in my bathroom safety pinning a black half slip to my bra...to the front of my bra, one pin per cup.  I pull my dress back down.  The slip stays attached to the bra, the two safety pins located front and center (so to speak) don't seem to show...too much...and we're off to divine worship.

Whew...all is going very well.  We're sitting in our usual seats, uncomfortably close to the front (BC loves to be near the action), the slip is holding but I am suddenly frozen with fear.  What if I drop over in a dead faint in the middle of the service?!?  In this neighborhood, that is not an uncommon event.  Some good Christian congregant is sure to run for the AED (Automated External Defribrillator) and electrocute himself, as well as me, when he connects with the safety pins as he turns on the juice.  We would both light up like the Holy Spirit himself had suddenly appeared and my darkest secret would become fodder for cheap funeral jokes.

It was a long Sunday service.          

FRIENDS WITH WORDS

I don't think I'm the last person to take up "Words with Friends", but I'm probably close.  I knew of the game, having been aware that Alec Baldwin was unceremoniously dumped off a flight when he refused to turn off his cell phone in the midst of a hotly contested game, thus delaying the takeoff.  Of course, likable scoundrel that he is, Alec proceeded to make a few million dollars from the whole affair without us ever knowing if he won or lost.  He probably depends a lot on strategy would be my guess.

When we were in the Midwest a few weeks ago, I weakened, my daughter loaded the program on my iPad, outlined the bare basics, and I was ready to spell.  There was a time, years ago, when I was a fairly decent Scrabble challenger.  Although, in retrospect, it was when my children were relatively small and not as attuned to Olde English words or spellings as I.  I must have been merciless in those days, going after children.  I do feel badly about that now. 

Today, I'm involved in seven games.  Two daughters, two granddaughters, one son-in-law, one daughter-in-law, and Gramie Lynn, my daughter-in-law's mom, are my opponents.  I mention Gramie by name, because if she ever turns Pro, I want you to know I knew her when.  Gramie Lynn is a formidable opponent, both in vocabulary and in strategy.  She has wiped me off the board every time we've played.  She could do it in 30 minutes or less if I were only quicker with my responses to her entries.  On this week's Leader Board (Gramie, of course being in first place), I'm coming in at 11th with 73 points.  Number 12, my son-in-law (sporting 8 points) is  lagging behind me only because he's in Singapore this week and too frugal to pop for wireless service.

But things are about to change drastically in this contest.  I have discovered www.scrabblefinder.com and I'm not ashamed to use it.  I'm not ashamed because, after two months of humiliating defeats, I want to win.  I don't have to win big...I just have to win.  And, in the process of researching on scrabblefinder.com, I'm learning all kinds of educational facts. Are you looking for a five letter word that begins with  KU?  If so, you will quickly learn that there are eleven such words, beginning with KUDOS and ending with KUSSO.  And that's just for starters.  Did you know QIS is indeed a word?  In relation to "Words With Friends" it is worth at least 12 points but can top out above 36 points if you place it in just the right place on the board.  I know that because DAbrown hit me with QIS yesterday afternoon just as I was creeping up on her score ever so slightly.  She may be unreachable now.

But, with my Scrabble Finder tool, and my competitive juices flowing, I'm confident and edgy.  Feelin'  a bit like Serena Williams entering Center Court as I strut toward my iPad.  Ejb9q7--Watch out.  Looks like you're next on my list.