Yes, I know, the alternative is to wake up dead. I don't want that, trust me. But 60....... My mom was 60 once. I also know it's just a number. But it's my number; well almost. Tomorrow I turn the big 60. I have informed my family I don't want a party. If I could sleep all day I would. Bury my head under the covers and maybe it would go away.
Matt and I will go to dinner and I'll ask him to avoid the topic, then I'll talk about it the entire meal. I know I'm being silly, immature really; and I know I'll be fine the day after. It's just.........
SIXTY.... For fucks sake, that's a large number.
I was very excited about 50. That's when I thought I would wake up thin, blonde and tan; oh and have sex all the time because when you are 50, you can't get pregnant, your kids are grown and gone and, well, that's what women do whey they turn 50. They romp. It was all a lie, I didn't romp. My mind does wander and fantasize just a bit. But, nonetheless, I was very excited about 50.
But once again I say, 60!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I don't feel 60, not sure if I look it or not. Staying chubby has lessened my wrinkles for sure so that helps.. Hopefully I have inherited longevity genes from my parents. Bacon helps also, so does red wine, and butter, in my mind anyway. But I digress.
In my youth I had envisioned my 60's very differently than they are now. The fantasy: Long silver hair flowing in the ocean breeze, walking on an island beach in my bathing suit, subtle cover up on; hand in hand with my husband. The facts: Thighs rubbing together, hair frizzing and our fingers too swollen from the Caribbean sun to hold hands comfortably.... But again, I digress, yet again.
I am determined to charge ahead, full speed to accomplish the things that I lay awake and fantasize about. Take the weight off that I put forever ago and that I HATE, finish my second book and actually find an agent to take me on as a client. I'm determined to love what I see looking back at me in the mirror. Not just my insides, but also the outside. And cook a goddamn piece of fish correctly.
The list goes on and on.
That's it. My age related mini pity party is now over.
I will wake up tomorrow, happy to be alive and grateful for all I have in my life. My family, my friends, my puppies and my health.
Happy birthday fellow Taurians. Life is good...
Monday, May 16, 2016
Tuesday, January 19, 2016
My name is Richard
I don't know how long I've been living in this black hole. I
don't know what happened or why this happened to me, but I know that I've been
in this dark space for some time now. I hear people talking but it makes
no sense to me. I try to form words but am at a loss most of the time as
to how to answer or even what words to use. I know what I'm saying but I
can tell by the faces of my loved ones that they do not.
Loved ones; I know these people love me by
the way their hand's stroke my forehead, by the way they feed me my meals with
a kindness that can only come from a loved one. I want to thank them, to
hug them, to speak to them and let them know that their love is returned; but
it doesn't come out. I want to walk and get up but I've forgotten how.
My life as I once knew it is gone. I
have no sense of where I am but I know it's not home. My mind, or what's
left of it, comes and goes. I have split-second moments of being aware of
who is with me; and then it's gone.
I had a wife once. She had been long
forgotten by me, but now, I search for her and can't understand why I can't
find her. I think I see her but yet, she isn't by my side. I think
I miss her, but again, I'm not sure. I don't think I'm sure of anything
anymore.
Once, a long time ago I was a strong,
hard-working man; husband, father and friend. What am I now? The shell of what used to be. I exist but I do not live. My day consists of being bathed, changed,
fed; everything that I used to do on my own is now done for me. My mind
won't let me do anything. My body is shutting down. I am completely dependent on others for even
the simplest of tasks.
I believe if my mind would let me, I would
be utterly humiliated by all this; but my mind is know where to be found.
Words don't come, thoughts don't make sense and the faces of those who
smile down at me aren't familiar. I know they belong to me but I have no
idea who they are.
This life is not something that I would
have chosen for me. Those little slices of thought that I can grab onto
are heartbreaking. There is only one thing that I do know, and whenever
I'm asked I can answer. Just that one question, nothing more.
My name is Richard.
For this I do know................
Saturday, December 12, 2015
A wife's rant
Although this isn't the blog I had intended to post right now, I decided to go ahead and share this with all of you. I wrote this over a month ago; but never late than never. The post that I had spoken about is on its way any day now. Thank you for reading my words and for encouraging me to continue. Enjoy..
It's a bittersweet day for us today. Today marks the end of my husbands eight-year journey with Walgreen's. For Matt it has been a rewarding and extremely frustrating journey.
This blog is my take on that voyage. One that we have taken, in part, together.
These are my thoughts, observations and feelings. I'm happy, sad, angry and frightened all at the same time. To say that this has been a roller coaster ride is an understatement.
Matt and I have meet some of the finest people that I could have ever hoped to meet. For that I am so grateful.
So, before we take our first steps with our new company, M.O.M. Refinishing, I need to get a few things off my chest.
I don't coddle my husband: I used to. No more. Oh,I do if he is sick or sad or feeling down, but not just to make him feel better when it's not warranted. This is by no means a blog to stroke my husband's ego. Did I say stroke? Oh wait, that's for another blog of an entirely different subject matter. But I digress..
This whole eight-year trip with all it's ups and downs has hit me in the gut pretty hard and has for some time.
Matt will tell you, for the past seven years I will be the first person to tell him if he is wrong, being an ass or just plain dropping the ball. I'm also the first person to tell him when he has made me prouder than I have ever been of him for turning himself around from something he thought he was to the man he was all along and just didn't know it.
For many years my husband worked for, and eventually ran his families business in the industrial painting and refinishing field. . He worked his way up through the company starting with cleaning toilets and sweeping floors; as it should be and eventually inherited the company when his dad passed away and he was, in my opinion, a bully.
It was after the death of my husband's family and the business had to close that the metamorphosis of Matt's leadership style started. Slowly at first, but then with a force that could not be reckoned with.
When Matt arrived at Walgreen's I believe he had finally found his home away from refinishing. He saw first had, away from his family, in a much larger company, the harm that an iron fist leadership can do to moral, confidence in your staff and loyalty of your workers. It kills productivity. You want respect, you have to earn it, you can't demand it.
Out with the old and in with the new.
Matt did well and started training many new hires; many of which would became managers over the years. All the while we waited with high hopes for his turn. And wait we did.
It became kind of a joke for us to discuss how many new managers my husband had hired and trained and how often they would call him for advice or how to do an actual job at their new store. The best was when one such new MANAGER called and asked how to do payroll. You gotta love it. It was funny at first, but not so later on when store after store went to someone else.
But when a store was in trouble, who did they call, they called Matt. My husband could go into any store and turn it around like no other.
Then his health took a turn for the worse. Bypass surgery in 2009. Matt recovered and back to work. He took it slow but he did his duties and slowly but surely he was as good as new.
More promotions, still we waited, still he was passed over.
We talked and discussed his options and it was decided that he should ask for a meeting with the big guy. Find out where his future was headed. The meeting was set, hands were shook and he was professionally patronized; told how it isn't easy to wait, but wait he must. Climbing the ladder takes time.
With this Matt pointed out that he had trained several of the new manager over the last several years. What you say, you did? Ohhhhh , he also pointed out the stores he was sent into to turn around and the list goes on and on. More patronizing gibberish, another handshake and off he went.
If he wasn't promoted because of his heart issues tell me then why was it ok for him to unload trucks in 90+degree heat, snow storms and rain storms. 20 degree days with wind chills of below zero?
You have no idea what this man did in and for his stores that went above and beyond,
You dropped the ball with this one Walgreen's. I don't know the ins and outs of promotions and the like. But I do know you lost one hell of an asset to your company.
The people of Point Pleasant knew what you had and they voiced it when he left the Point Pleasant store. And when he came back, it came back as did the moral of the store. What a coincidence.
He worked just as hard as his staff, even harder. Never asked anyone to do something he wouldn't. Got his hands dirty. He was a hands-on boss, someone his staff was proud to work hard for.
Matt gave everything to you and you in turn gave nothing back. Yes, he did his job and you paid him his salary. He went above and beyond and you never bothered to see, to notice when he was sent to a store and numbers went up, complaints went down. Cleaner, happier, moral was up and not down.
To Matt's staff in each and every store that cried; and I mean literally cried when he left because he was one of the only bosses they could go to for ANYTHING, he actually cared. He was tough and fair and always listened to what they had to say. He couldn't always help them but he always tried.
To the employee that he sent to the ER when he found out she was ill but too afraid to go to the Manger because she was such a bully. Did Matt complain about this Manager, yup. Did it help. Nope. PC at its finest.
Men and women, old and young, it didn't matter. Every single store he went to he gained the respect of the staff and customers alike. Oh there were some Managers that didn't like Matt. You see, for Matt, political correctness went our the door if it didn't mean being fair across the board. He didn't care if you were white, black, Asian, Mexican, or martian. Straight, lesbian or gay; do I need to add transgender now so as not to offend or leave anyone out? If you were given a job you were expected to do it. If you were a Manager you were expected to follow the rules, be consistent across the board and if you had an agenda, leave it at the door. If you thought you were above it, you were mistaken. And if for some reason you were Matt's superior and you felt you were owed something because of any of the above, you were wrong.
From his own experience from years ago, bullies were put in their place and reported and hopefully dealt with. Period. Mind you, he tried to deal with the "victim" Managers. The ones who had to prove something to themselves. If that didn't work, then and only then on very rare occasions did Matt go higher up. If it meant the crew, the worker bees were being mistreated because of some over zealous yahoo, he went to the mat for them and they knew it.
Life isn't fair. I don't expect it to be. I don't expect to be handed things gratuitously. I would hope though that when something is earned so many times over it would be noticed and rewarded as such.
I guess Matt just didn't kiss the right ass.
Rant over.
His new life starts now.
It's a bittersweet day for us today. Today marks the end of my husbands eight-year journey with Walgreen's. For Matt it has been a rewarding and extremely frustrating journey.
This blog is my take on that voyage. One that we have taken, in part, together.
These are my thoughts, observations and feelings. I'm happy, sad, angry and frightened all at the same time. To say that this has been a roller coaster ride is an understatement.
Matt and I have meet some of the finest people that I could have ever hoped to meet. For that I am so grateful.
So, before we take our first steps with our new company, M.O.M. Refinishing, I need to get a few things off my chest.
I don't coddle my husband: I used to. No more. Oh,I do if he is sick or sad or feeling down, but not just to make him feel better when it's not warranted. This is by no means a blog to stroke my husband's ego. Did I say stroke? Oh wait, that's for another blog of an entirely different subject matter. But I digress..
This whole eight-year trip with all it's ups and downs has hit me in the gut pretty hard and has for some time.
Matt will tell you, for the past seven years I will be the first person to tell him if he is wrong, being an ass or just plain dropping the ball. I'm also the first person to tell him when he has made me prouder than I have ever been of him for turning himself around from something he thought he was to the man he was all along and just didn't know it.
For many years my husband worked for, and eventually ran his families business in the industrial painting and refinishing field. . He worked his way up through the company starting with cleaning toilets and sweeping floors; as it should be and eventually inherited the company when his dad passed away and he was, in my opinion, a bully.
It was after the death of my husband's family and the business had to close that the metamorphosis of Matt's leadership style started. Slowly at first, but then with a force that could not be reckoned with.
When Matt arrived at Walgreen's I believe he had finally found his home away from refinishing. He saw first had, away from his family, in a much larger company, the harm that an iron fist leadership can do to moral, confidence in your staff and loyalty of your workers. It kills productivity. You want respect, you have to earn it, you can't demand it.
Out with the old and in with the new.
Matt did well and started training many new hires; many of which would became managers over the years. All the while we waited with high hopes for his turn. And wait we did.
It became kind of a joke for us to discuss how many new managers my husband had hired and trained and how often they would call him for advice or how to do an actual job at their new store. The best was when one such new MANAGER called and asked how to do payroll. You gotta love it. It was funny at first, but not so later on when store after store went to someone else.
But when a store was in trouble, who did they call, they called Matt. My husband could go into any store and turn it around like no other.
Then his health took a turn for the worse. Bypass surgery in 2009. Matt recovered and back to work. He took it slow but he did his duties and slowly but surely he was as good as new.
More promotions, still we waited, still he was passed over.
We talked and discussed his options and it was decided that he should ask for a meeting with the big guy. Find out where his future was headed. The meeting was set, hands were shook and he was professionally patronized; told how it isn't easy to wait, but wait he must. Climbing the ladder takes time.
With this Matt pointed out that he had trained several of the new manager over the last several years. What you say, you did? Ohhhhh , he also pointed out the stores he was sent into to turn around and the list goes on and on. More patronizing gibberish, another handshake and off he went.
If he wasn't promoted because of his heart issues tell me then why was it ok for him to unload trucks in 90+degree heat, snow storms and rain storms. 20 degree days with wind chills of below zero?
You have no idea what this man did in and for his stores that went above and beyond,
You dropped the ball with this one Walgreen's. I don't know the ins and outs of promotions and the like. But I do know you lost one hell of an asset to your company.
The people of Point Pleasant knew what you had and they voiced it when he left the Point Pleasant store. And when he came back, it came back as did the moral of the store. What a coincidence.
He worked just as hard as his staff, even harder. Never asked anyone to do something he wouldn't. Got his hands dirty. He was a hands-on boss, someone his staff was proud to work hard for.
Matt gave everything to you and you in turn gave nothing back. Yes, he did his job and you paid him his salary. He went above and beyond and you never bothered to see, to notice when he was sent to a store and numbers went up, complaints went down. Cleaner, happier, moral was up and not down.
To Matt's staff in each and every store that cried; and I mean literally cried when he left because he was one of the only bosses they could go to for ANYTHING, he actually cared. He was tough and fair and always listened to what they had to say. He couldn't always help them but he always tried.
To the employee that he sent to the ER when he found out she was ill but too afraid to go to the Manger because she was such a bully. Did Matt complain about this Manager, yup. Did it help. Nope. PC at its finest.
Men and women, old and young, it didn't matter. Every single store he went to he gained the respect of the staff and customers alike. Oh there were some Managers that didn't like Matt. You see, for Matt, political correctness went our the door if it didn't mean being fair across the board. He didn't care if you were white, black, Asian, Mexican, or martian. Straight, lesbian or gay; do I need to add transgender now so as not to offend or leave anyone out? If you were given a job you were expected to do it. If you were a Manager you were expected to follow the rules, be consistent across the board and if you had an agenda, leave it at the door. If you thought you were above it, you were mistaken. And if for some reason you were Matt's superior and you felt you were owed something because of any of the above, you were wrong.
From his own experience from years ago, bullies were put in their place and reported and hopefully dealt with. Period. Mind you, he tried to deal with the "victim" Managers. The ones who had to prove something to themselves. If that didn't work, then and only then on very rare occasions did Matt go higher up. If it meant the crew, the worker bees were being mistreated because of some over zealous yahoo, he went to the mat for them and they knew it.
Life isn't fair. I don't expect it to be. I don't expect to be handed things gratuitously. I would hope though that when something is earned so many times over it would be noticed and rewarded as such.
I guess Matt just didn't kiss the right ass.
Rant over.
His new life starts now.
Saturday, March 14, 2015
My dad, dementia and me - and emotional day
This isn't going to be a very long post. Not sure why I'm writing it actually. Just feeling very emotional this morning. I didn't start off feeling this way. My day started off with joyful expectations of seeing my granddaughters and all my children. What could be better? A party.
I kissed my husband goodbye as he left for work and off I went into the kitchen to start the preparations for the St. Patrick's Day party.
Corned beef in the crocked pot. check... Eggs in the water to boil for the potato salad and my CD in the Bows and away we go. That's when it hit.
My sisters and I grew up in a home filled with music. All kinds of music. Loud and often. Today, for me, it was a day for Gilbert and Sullivan's The Mikado. As the orchestra started to play and my hands started to peel the potatoes without warning the tears started to flow.
I was immediately taken back so many years. Music blasting, aromas from the kitchen filling the house and my dad enthusiastically explaining to me what the story of that particular piece of music was about. Who each character was, what part they played. He would point out certain parts of each piece, parts that were his favorite. He would get so into it. I loved it and learned to love so many kinds of music because of it.
And as I was peeling those potatoes, crying and listening to this beautiful overture my heart hurt because I knew when I went to see him in the nursing home where he now has to live he won't even know who I am.
I will greet him with a big smile and a "Hi daddy" kiss him and hold his hand. Most of the time I'll get a big smile and a hello back. That is if he isn't having a sleepy day, which are more and more these days it seems. But I'll remind him who I am and he'll smile back. On a good day we might even have little conversations. Not much but something to hold on to.
But today I'm going to tell him how grateful I am for all those musical memories he shared with us, and how much I appreciate so much those days of a music filled home with opera, musicals, classical and even Janis Joplin.
On my dad's bad days I pray that he will drift off and go to our mom. Horrible thoughts? I don't know. I feel guilty feeling them but then again, when my dad has bad days it's very hard to hear about them and worse yet, witness. The indignities that dementia patients have to go through every day just to survive and get through. As a daughter it's painful to imagine your once brilliant father having to go through this.
But on his good days, when you get that big smile, with his missing tooth that he lost when he fell a few months back it makes your heart happy. And as I take his face in my hands and kiss his little bald head and tell him I love him...... and my dad looks up at me and says thank you.....
It's then that I so much want my dad back.
I kissed my husband goodbye as he left for work and off I went into the kitchen to start the preparations for the St. Patrick's Day party.
Corned beef in the crocked pot. check... Eggs in the water to boil for the potato salad and my CD in the Bows and away we go. That's when it hit.
My sisters and I grew up in a home filled with music. All kinds of music. Loud and often. Today, for me, it was a day for Gilbert and Sullivan's The Mikado. As the orchestra started to play and my hands started to peel the potatoes without warning the tears started to flow.
I was immediately taken back so many years. Music blasting, aromas from the kitchen filling the house and my dad enthusiastically explaining to me what the story of that particular piece of music was about. Who each character was, what part they played. He would point out certain parts of each piece, parts that were his favorite. He would get so into it. I loved it and learned to love so many kinds of music because of it.
And as I was peeling those potatoes, crying and listening to this beautiful overture my heart hurt because I knew when I went to see him in the nursing home where he now has to live he won't even know who I am.
I will greet him with a big smile and a "Hi daddy" kiss him and hold his hand. Most of the time I'll get a big smile and a hello back. That is if he isn't having a sleepy day, which are more and more these days it seems. But I'll remind him who I am and he'll smile back. On a good day we might even have little conversations. Not much but something to hold on to.
But today I'm going to tell him how grateful I am for all those musical memories he shared with us, and how much I appreciate so much those days of a music filled home with opera, musicals, classical and even Janis Joplin.
On my dad's bad days I pray that he will drift off and go to our mom. Horrible thoughts? I don't know. I feel guilty feeling them but then again, when my dad has bad days it's very hard to hear about them and worse yet, witness. The indignities that dementia patients have to go through every day just to survive and get through. As a daughter it's painful to imagine your once brilliant father having to go through this.
But on his good days, when you get that big smile, with his missing tooth that he lost when he fell a few months back it makes your heart happy. And as I take his face in my hands and kiss his little bald head and tell him I love him...... and my dad looks up at me and says thank you.....
It's then that I so much want my dad back.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Class of 1974 - 40th Reunion
This blog is a compilation of my thoughts, feelings and observations during the past year and finally, Reunion Weekend. It has been a long and wonderful ride for me.
I can remember giggling at my mother years ago when she told me that her 50th class reunion was coming up. 50 YEARS!!!!!!! I couldn't believe it. At the time, that was an eternity away for me. And now, in just a few days, MY 40tth reunion. How does time go by so fast without one even realizing it? It just can't be possible that we have been out of school for that long. Can it?
What started as a shout-out on Face Book about our 40th coming up has now come to fruition.
A little over a year ago, a small group of us got together huddled around the corner of The Spot and the brainstorming began.
At the helm, Jerry Mindurski who turned out to be a great and passionate leader, who took his job very seriously, and someone I would like to consider now, my friend.
The underlings:
Toni Bartlinski - Toni and I got reacquainted when the bar/restaurant, The Spot opened up about four years ago.We didn't hang out in high school, but I consider her one of my closest and dearest friends now. Her business sense were an asset to the committee.
Ruth Miller - Ruth is great. She was always kind in high school and she hasn't changed. Always ready to take charge when needed with directions and instructions on what needed to be done. She is a true leader.
Kim Hughes - Can you beat Kim's smile? Always happy; our cheerleader. I don't believe her personality has changed since high school. She is smart and always had good ideas and knew how to get us moving again if we hit a snag.
Linda Smith - Always moving and on the go. She knows everyone and has connections everywhere which helped immensely during the planning of our weekend.
Dave Cipolla - With so much on Dave's shoulders, he still smiles and makes us laugh. He is a gentleman and shows what the true definition of loyalty and devotion mean.
And then there's me - The frustrated writer. The unrealistic optimist. The clown.
We were an misfit group that worked.
Let the planning begin...Where to have it, when to have it, how much to charge, formal, informal, the list went on and on.
We debated, talked over each other, disagreed with each other, but in the end always came to a consensus of what would be best for the Class of 74.
So for months we have been meeting, talking, texting, and I must say drinking just a wee bit. But we have accomplished much these past twelve months and I can't wait.
With people coming in from all over, it was decided to make it a three-day event. More for people to do together than just one night. More time for everyone to see each other, get reacquainted and also, create new bonds with friends of so many years ago.
It did give me reason to stop and think, ponder really about my past at school, where I am today and what I could have done differently.
Matt, my husband, and I were recently out Ruth and John. We were talking about the reunion and how long ago it had been since were were in school. I commented at how shy I was back then and how much I had come out of my shell. John, without missing a beat, said, "shy, I never saw you as shy, I saw you as having a presence."
Say what???? I guess we just don't see ourselves as others do.
I know the first thing I could have done differently is start to diet to take off this 900 pounds that I have put on since high school. Why did I wait until one week before? Because that's what I do!!
Heaven forbid I just embrace seeing old friends, listening to stories of people's lives that are so different from my own. Embracing the courage of old classmates who had the vision and courage to leave Point Pleasant. Or rejoicing in my decision to stay.
Was I the only one nervous and anxious about the up coming events? Could it be that I was the only person who still had doubts about themselves after so much time?
As we all prepare for the big weekend, it all comes down to the dinner, wondering what everyone is going to look like, will I remember names (name tags, yup I will). Will there be cliques? You know, the group that everyone thought was better than anyone else? I doubt it, not in our class, not now. So much time has gone by; people change, priorities change; for most of us I believe.
Again, as we prepared for our weekend, we had to face the fact that not all of our classmates would be able to attend. Not because of prior engagements or lack of interest. Sadly, it was because they had died; some long ago and some more recent.
As we went over the names of our lost classmates during one meeting; looking at their pictures in the yearbook a wave of such sadness came over all of us. How could this happen? Alice, Pam, Greg, Mike......this list goes on and on......... Gone but not forgotten.
I still feel too young to die, not at all like it has been 40 fucking years. Yes, I said it!! I'm almost 60 years old, I can say the F word....
So with our reunion weekend finally upon us, I'll continue writing when the festivities have ended.
It's Monday night and I have had a day and a half to reflect and recuperate from the past three days.
In my opinion this reunion was awesome. Making it a three-day affair was perfect and absolutely the right decision . First, meeting at the Idle hour for drinks and to pick up our shirts that were so graciously donated by Billy; then off the football game; which we won I might add. It was casual, easy and fun. I bailed late in the third quarter but several classmates finished the evening at the Broadway.
Saturday was the tour of the High School. I loved it. About 30 of us showed up and it was great. I got flashbacks of my days there. Some good, some bad but all were welcomed in my mind. You could see the look in everyone's eyes when a memory crept in. It was like going home again, even if it were only for an hour. Our tour guide, Mr. Foley was friendly, knowledgeable and really funny.
So much has changed in the school, yet so much stayed the same. It's bigger, the phone booths are gone. Metal shop, gone; replaced by computers. The library is bigger but with less books. Go figure.
For me, the tour was a major highlight of the weekend.
Seafood festival time - note to self - NEVER AGAIN. What was I thinking. It has gotten so crowded you can't even get close to any of the stands. Matt and I felt like cattle being herded to slaughter.
Enough of that, time to go home and get ready for the big night.
I was excited and nervous all at the same time. The ladies in the committee and I had been texting back and forth all week about what we were wearing. Very important you know. Once that was decided, the rest was easy; right?
My evening started off on shaky ground. Matt and I had parked at our daughter's house in the Beach for the seafood festival. As luck would have it, my son-in-laws aunt also parked there and blocked us in.
Horror of horrors, I missed my hair appointment. I was a fucking mess. You would have thought that Martells burned down an hour before our event. I had a hissy fit of epic proportions. The world as I knew it was going to end because I couldn't get my hair done. My priorities once again took a shit.
But being a mature 58 year old, I regrouped and got my proverbial shit together and once again proceeded to get ready.
Six o'clock, time to go. I was so nervous, excited, scared, happy; you name it, I was it. We had worked so hard for so long and it was finally here. I felt like I was a part of something really special, and as it turned out, I was.
At 6:15pm our classmates started to arrive. The line lasted well over an hour as we tried to get name tags on, name and emails gotten and wristbands on. By 7:00 Ruth and I were exhausted. Drink time!!
Let the night begin; and begin it did. There were no boundaries as to who talked to who. It was what we had hoped for. People mingled while the music played. The evening was filled with smiles, hugging and laughter.
The women looked beautiful and the men all handsome.
Speeches were given and as the night wore on and drinks were flowing it became apparent that the class of 1974 was indeed special. As it turned out my nerves got the better of me and I drank too much, talked too much and most likely said too much; but with that said, I also know that I had a blast. I saw so many people laughing and mingling with people that they normally wouldn't have; myself included. Like I said before, there were no boundaries with who talked to who. We couldn't have asked for more.
Sunday at the Broadway was the perfect ending to our weekend. Linda put out a beautiful spread. So many people came our for one last hurrah. It was much more subdued that the night before, as would be expected. Goodbyes were said and hugs were longer as phone numbers and email addresses were exchanged. Promises were made to keep in touch; here's hoping those promises are kept.
I believe that the combination of having it stretched out over three days, giving everyone a chance to wet their feet gradually if you will; made all the difference in the world, and of course, the amazing people from our class.
It's been three weeks since our reunion weekend and our committee has once again been texting and communicating with each other. As Toni said to me during our last group chat "I've really missed this". We all have. Our little eclectic group of seven will continue to meet and our friendship will continue to grow; of that I am sure.
I have a new found respect for each and every member of our little group that will never change. I see each and every one of them with different eyes than I did a year ago. I can honestly say I love each and every one of them. When our weekend was over it was bittersweet.
We can't wait another ten years for the next reunion, of this I am sure.
I can remember giggling at my mother years ago when she told me that her 50th class reunion was coming up. 50 YEARS!!!!!!! I couldn't believe it. At the time, that was an eternity away for me. And now, in just a few days, MY 40tth reunion. How does time go by so fast without one even realizing it? It just can't be possible that we have been out of school for that long. Can it?
What started as a shout-out on Face Book about our 40th coming up has now come to fruition.
A little over a year ago, a small group of us got together huddled around the corner of The Spot and the brainstorming began.
At the helm, Jerry Mindurski who turned out to be a great and passionate leader, who took his job very seriously, and someone I would like to consider now, my friend.
The underlings:
Toni Bartlinski - Toni and I got reacquainted when the bar/restaurant, The Spot opened up about four years ago.We didn't hang out in high school, but I consider her one of my closest and dearest friends now. Her business sense were an asset to the committee.
Ruth Miller - Ruth is great. She was always kind in high school and she hasn't changed. Always ready to take charge when needed with directions and instructions on what needed to be done. She is a true leader.
Kim Hughes - Can you beat Kim's smile? Always happy; our cheerleader. I don't believe her personality has changed since high school. She is smart and always had good ideas and knew how to get us moving again if we hit a snag.
Linda Smith - Always moving and on the go. She knows everyone and has connections everywhere which helped immensely during the planning of our weekend.
Dave Cipolla - With so much on Dave's shoulders, he still smiles and makes us laugh. He is a gentleman and shows what the true definition of loyalty and devotion mean.
And then there's me - The frustrated writer. The unrealistic optimist. The clown.
We were an misfit group that worked.
Let the planning begin...Where to have it, when to have it, how much to charge, formal, informal, the list went on and on.
We debated, talked over each other, disagreed with each other, but in the end always came to a consensus of what would be best for the Class of 74.
So for months we have been meeting, talking, texting, and I must say drinking just a wee bit. But we have accomplished much these past twelve months and I can't wait.
With people coming in from all over, it was decided to make it a three-day event. More for people to do together than just one night. More time for everyone to see each other, get reacquainted and also, create new bonds with friends of so many years ago.
It did give me reason to stop and think, ponder really about my past at school, where I am today and what I could have done differently.
Matt, my husband, and I were recently out Ruth and John. We were talking about the reunion and how long ago it had been since were were in school. I commented at how shy I was back then and how much I had come out of my shell. John, without missing a beat, said, "shy, I never saw you as shy, I saw you as having a presence."
Say what???? I guess we just don't see ourselves as others do.
I know the first thing I could have done differently is start to diet to take off this 900 pounds that I have put on since high school. Why did I wait until one week before? Because that's what I do!!
Heaven forbid I just embrace seeing old friends, listening to stories of people's lives that are so different from my own. Embracing the courage of old classmates who had the vision and courage to leave Point Pleasant. Or rejoicing in my decision to stay.
Was I the only one nervous and anxious about the up coming events? Could it be that I was the only person who still had doubts about themselves after so much time?
As we all prepare for the big weekend, it all comes down to the dinner, wondering what everyone is going to look like, will I remember names (name tags, yup I will). Will there be cliques? You know, the group that everyone thought was better than anyone else? I doubt it, not in our class, not now. So much time has gone by; people change, priorities change; for most of us I believe.
Again, as we prepared for our weekend, we had to face the fact that not all of our classmates would be able to attend. Not because of prior engagements or lack of interest. Sadly, it was because they had died; some long ago and some more recent.
As we went over the names of our lost classmates during one meeting; looking at their pictures in the yearbook a wave of such sadness came over all of us. How could this happen? Alice, Pam, Greg, Mike......this list goes on and on......... Gone but not forgotten.
I still feel too young to die, not at all like it has been 40 fucking years. Yes, I said it!! I'm almost 60 years old, I can say the F word....
So with our reunion weekend finally upon us, I'll continue writing when the festivities have ended.
It's Monday night and I have had a day and a half to reflect and recuperate from the past three days.
In my opinion this reunion was awesome. Making it a three-day affair was perfect and absolutely the right decision . First, meeting at the Idle hour for drinks and to pick up our shirts that were so graciously donated by Billy; then off the football game; which we won I might add. It was casual, easy and fun. I bailed late in the third quarter but several classmates finished the evening at the Broadway.
Saturday was the tour of the High School. I loved it. About 30 of us showed up and it was great. I got flashbacks of my days there. Some good, some bad but all were welcomed in my mind. You could see the look in everyone's eyes when a memory crept in. It was like going home again, even if it were only for an hour. Our tour guide, Mr. Foley was friendly, knowledgeable and really funny.
So much has changed in the school, yet so much stayed the same. It's bigger, the phone booths are gone. Metal shop, gone; replaced by computers. The library is bigger but with less books. Go figure.
For me, the tour was a major highlight of the weekend.
Seafood festival time - note to self - NEVER AGAIN. What was I thinking. It has gotten so crowded you can't even get close to any of the stands. Matt and I felt like cattle being herded to slaughter.
Enough of that, time to go home and get ready for the big night.
I was excited and nervous all at the same time. The ladies in the committee and I had been texting back and forth all week about what we were wearing. Very important you know. Once that was decided, the rest was easy; right?
My evening started off on shaky ground. Matt and I had parked at our daughter's house in the Beach for the seafood festival. As luck would have it, my son-in-laws aunt also parked there and blocked us in.
Horror of horrors, I missed my hair appointment. I was a fucking mess. You would have thought that Martells burned down an hour before our event. I had a hissy fit of epic proportions. The world as I knew it was going to end because I couldn't get my hair done. My priorities once again took a shit.
But being a mature 58 year old, I regrouped and got my proverbial shit together and once again proceeded to get ready.
Six o'clock, time to go. I was so nervous, excited, scared, happy; you name it, I was it. We had worked so hard for so long and it was finally here. I felt like I was a part of something really special, and as it turned out, I was.
At 6:15pm our classmates started to arrive. The line lasted well over an hour as we tried to get name tags on, name and emails gotten and wristbands on. By 7:00 Ruth and I were exhausted. Drink time!!
Let the night begin; and begin it did. There were no boundaries as to who talked to who. It was what we had hoped for. People mingled while the music played. The evening was filled with smiles, hugging and laughter.
The women looked beautiful and the men all handsome.
Speeches were given and as the night wore on and drinks were flowing it became apparent that the class of 1974 was indeed special. As it turned out my nerves got the better of me and I drank too much, talked too much and most likely said too much; but with that said, I also know that I had a blast. I saw so many people laughing and mingling with people that they normally wouldn't have; myself included. Like I said before, there were no boundaries with who talked to who. We couldn't have asked for more.
Sunday at the Broadway was the perfect ending to our weekend. Linda put out a beautiful spread. So many people came our for one last hurrah. It was much more subdued that the night before, as would be expected. Goodbyes were said and hugs were longer as phone numbers and email addresses were exchanged. Promises were made to keep in touch; here's hoping those promises are kept.
I believe that the combination of having it stretched out over three days, giving everyone a chance to wet their feet gradually if you will; made all the difference in the world, and of course, the amazing people from our class.
It's been three weeks since our reunion weekend and our committee has once again been texting and communicating with each other. As Toni said to me during our last group chat "I've really missed this". We all have. Our little eclectic group of seven will continue to meet and our friendship will continue to grow; of that I am sure.
I have a new found respect for each and every member of our little group that will never change. I see each and every one of them with different eyes than I did a year ago. I can honestly say I love each and every one of them. When our weekend was over it was bittersweet.
We can't wait another ten years for the next reunion, of this I am sure.
Thursday, October 17, 2013
My moms gone, my dad's mind is going
After four years you'd think it would have gotten easier to go into their house. I've hated going into that house since my mother died. It's more than hate really. You know the feeling. Your chest tightens, you can't breath right, you start to sweat. It's awful and I don't know how to stop it.
And now, with my dad not living there it's even worse. The walls are bare, bookshelves are barren and the for sale sign is planted firmly in the front lawn.
This weekend there will be a yard sale, hoping to sell the last bits of furniture that the family hasn't claimed. I feel like a part of me has died all over again. My moms gone, my dad's mind is going and I just can't seem to get a grip on it all.
A week before mom died, she had made the decision that it was time. She had had enough. She was in a nursing home with the hopes of getting strong enough to go home again. That was not to happen. With each passing day, she got weaker and weaker and it was then and there she decided it was time for her to go "home". And within in a week, she did.
When my mother made that decision, she informed the Dr.s that she wanted to go to hospital, they agreed and off she went.
My husband and I met the ambulance at the emergency room with our granddaughter in tow. When they brought my mother in on the stretcher, she was lucid but a bit slurred; hurried but not anxious.
Taking my hand, she was trying to tell me something but just couldn't get the right words out.
She kept repeating the same thing over and over about what she wanted and I just couldn't get it. And then I finally did. It was the name of the funeral home where she wanted to be laid out. At the same time my aunt and uncle arrived who had been visiting with her that day and pulled my husband aside.. They filled him in on my mom's decision that she was done; no more tests, needles or medications.
Knowing this information, needless to say, I burst into tears. My mom is telling me where to be laid out and now I know why. With that, she took my hand and asked me if was ok for her to want to stop fighting, to want just finally rest. What can you say to that? How selfish can a daughter be? Should I have said to her to keep fighting for me, to keep living so her family could see her but for her to be miserable and in pain? Of course not...
I told her it was ok; that I loved her and I put my head on her chest and cried.
For the next several hours in the ER while waiting for a room, family members coming and going, our mother proceeded to tell us while going in and out of lucidity what to have at her wake; make sure your dad doesn't cook, and to please make sure we have chips. If it wasn't so sad it would have been funny. This lady was serious.
It was a difficult week to say the least. Until we could get her into hospice, she was uncomfortable, unable and unwilling to eat and so frail. Our dad was in denial, wanting her to come home; hoping that she would get well enough too, all the while his health and mental capacities were being tested to the limit.
When we were finally given the ok to move her to the hospice floor, my sister Susan and my dad, who had been with her all day, took that last elevator ride with her, making sure that she was cleaned and dressed in new pajamas and put in a warm bed. Exhausted, she took my dad home knowing that the rest of the family would be there soon to continue watching over mom.
I believe her last words to my sister were "I'm going to miss you girls". Meaning my two sisters and myself. I hear those words so often in my head. If she only knew how much she is missed.
With seven of us at her side that evening and all comfy in her bed hooked up to a morphine, breathing so softly and peacefully for the first time in months she slipped away from us.
The family members that weren't there were called, as well as dad to come and say their last goodbyes.
Life hasn't been the same since.
My dad suffers from dementia; it's been coming on for years and getting worse and worse. Two months ago the decision had to be made by my sisters and me to put him in an assisted living facility. Although it was the only decision that could be made, it was by far one of the most heart-wrenching things that we have ever done.
He seems happy enough, although confused and unsure of where he is and who we are. Once we remind him who we are he remembers, but rarely before. We might be his cousin or his sister or just one of those nice ladies that come to visit him.
I miss my dad that used to be. The one that used to make donuts after a home town football game. The one who made steak and eggs on Christmas morning. The one who taught me how to chop fire wood with an ax. I just really miss my dad.
I know that there is enough of the old dad in there that he misses him too. That's what hurts the most. That there is a small piece of him still in there that knows what's going on.
In the years since our mom has died it has been hard from him. Living alone in a big house, missing her more and more each year. Getting frustrated and confused and for a time angrier with each passing day. Disliking anyone we hired to help care for him. Only wanting his daughters to take on the responsibility of his daily needs. Never really being satisfied.
My dad is a great man who has always been there for me; always. Maybe not the easiest person to go to but a kind, compassionate man who loved his family more than anything.
That's where my guilt comes in. Not only did I hate going into that house because my mother wasn't in it, I hated going there because of what my father had become. The angry, nasty man that I didn't know anymore. Of course it wasn't my dad's fault that dementia was taking a hold of his mind. It is a disease for Christ's sakes. I took everything that poor man said personally. The hygiene issues weren't something that I could handle easily; but my sisters had to because at different times they lived there due to different circumstances. One lost her home in Sandy and one works on a cruise ship and lives there when she isn't at sea. Nonetheless, I neglected my duties as a daughter and a sister because I couldn't take it. I did the bare minimum because one of them was usually living there. On the occasion when I went for more than an hour or so, and stayed to watch a movie with my dad, something that he loved, I'd leave and have to sit in the driveway and compose myself before I could even drive.
At my home I'm dealing with PTSD, bipolar, depression, all multiplied by two and all the other ins and outs of life, family and work. I feel like the rug is about to be pulled out from under me at any give moment. But then, I take a deep breath and try to get my footing; try to stand straight and firm and go on. I try to smile all the time, act like all is well with the world.
I know we all have things in our lives that we carry, mine might be different than others but they are no more trying or stressful; but they are mine and they are no excuse for my inability to handle the death of my mother or my dad's illness.
I alone have to deal with the fact that I dropped the ball with my dad. I can only hope that I can some day forgive myself and make it up to him.
There was a time when I prayed that God would take my dad so he would find some peace.
Now, when I visit him and see him smile, all I want is for him to live a long and restful life so I can continue to have more time with him, even if one day I'm just a nice lady that comes to visit.
And now, with my dad not living there it's even worse. The walls are bare, bookshelves are barren and the for sale sign is planted firmly in the front lawn.
This weekend there will be a yard sale, hoping to sell the last bits of furniture that the family hasn't claimed. I feel like a part of me has died all over again. My moms gone, my dad's mind is going and I just can't seem to get a grip on it all.
A week before mom died, she had made the decision that it was time. She had had enough. She was in a nursing home with the hopes of getting strong enough to go home again. That was not to happen. With each passing day, she got weaker and weaker and it was then and there she decided it was time for her to go "home". And within in a week, she did.
When my mother made that decision, she informed the Dr.s that she wanted to go to hospital, they agreed and off she went.
My husband and I met the ambulance at the emergency room with our granddaughter in tow. When they brought my mother in on the stretcher, she was lucid but a bit slurred; hurried but not anxious.
Taking my hand, she was trying to tell me something but just couldn't get the right words out.
She kept repeating the same thing over and over about what she wanted and I just couldn't get it. And then I finally did. It was the name of the funeral home where she wanted to be laid out. At the same time my aunt and uncle arrived who had been visiting with her that day and pulled my husband aside.. They filled him in on my mom's decision that she was done; no more tests, needles or medications.
Knowing this information, needless to say, I burst into tears. My mom is telling me where to be laid out and now I know why. With that, she took my hand and asked me if was ok for her to want to stop fighting, to want just finally rest. What can you say to that? How selfish can a daughter be? Should I have said to her to keep fighting for me, to keep living so her family could see her but for her to be miserable and in pain? Of course not...
I told her it was ok; that I loved her and I put my head on her chest and cried.
For the next several hours in the ER while waiting for a room, family members coming and going, our mother proceeded to tell us while going in and out of lucidity what to have at her wake; make sure your dad doesn't cook, and to please make sure we have chips. If it wasn't so sad it would have been funny. This lady was serious.
It was a difficult week to say the least. Until we could get her into hospice, she was uncomfortable, unable and unwilling to eat and so frail. Our dad was in denial, wanting her to come home; hoping that she would get well enough too, all the while his health and mental capacities were being tested to the limit.
When we were finally given the ok to move her to the hospice floor, my sister Susan and my dad, who had been with her all day, took that last elevator ride with her, making sure that she was cleaned and dressed in new pajamas and put in a warm bed. Exhausted, she took my dad home knowing that the rest of the family would be there soon to continue watching over mom.
I believe her last words to my sister were "I'm going to miss you girls". Meaning my two sisters and myself. I hear those words so often in my head. If she only knew how much she is missed.
With seven of us at her side that evening and all comfy in her bed hooked up to a morphine, breathing so softly and peacefully for the first time in months she slipped away from us.
The family members that weren't there were called, as well as dad to come and say their last goodbyes.
Life hasn't been the same since.
My dad suffers from dementia; it's been coming on for years and getting worse and worse. Two months ago the decision had to be made by my sisters and me to put him in an assisted living facility. Although it was the only decision that could be made, it was by far one of the most heart-wrenching things that we have ever done.
He seems happy enough, although confused and unsure of where he is and who we are. Once we remind him who we are he remembers, but rarely before. We might be his cousin or his sister or just one of those nice ladies that come to visit him.
I miss my dad that used to be. The one that used to make donuts after a home town football game. The one who made steak and eggs on Christmas morning. The one who taught me how to chop fire wood with an ax. I just really miss my dad.
I know that there is enough of the old dad in there that he misses him too. That's what hurts the most. That there is a small piece of him still in there that knows what's going on.
In the years since our mom has died it has been hard from him. Living alone in a big house, missing her more and more each year. Getting frustrated and confused and for a time angrier with each passing day. Disliking anyone we hired to help care for him. Only wanting his daughters to take on the responsibility of his daily needs. Never really being satisfied.
My dad is a great man who has always been there for me; always. Maybe not the easiest person to go to but a kind, compassionate man who loved his family more than anything.
That's where my guilt comes in. Not only did I hate going into that house because my mother wasn't in it, I hated going there because of what my father had become. The angry, nasty man that I didn't know anymore. Of course it wasn't my dad's fault that dementia was taking a hold of his mind. It is a disease for Christ's sakes. I took everything that poor man said personally. The hygiene issues weren't something that I could handle easily; but my sisters had to because at different times they lived there due to different circumstances. One lost her home in Sandy and one works on a cruise ship and lives there when she isn't at sea. Nonetheless, I neglected my duties as a daughter and a sister because I couldn't take it. I did the bare minimum because one of them was usually living there. On the occasion when I went for more than an hour or so, and stayed to watch a movie with my dad, something that he loved, I'd leave and have to sit in the driveway and compose myself before I could even drive.
At my home I'm dealing with PTSD, bipolar, depression, all multiplied by two and all the other ins and outs of life, family and work. I feel like the rug is about to be pulled out from under me at any give moment. But then, I take a deep breath and try to get my footing; try to stand straight and firm and go on. I try to smile all the time, act like all is well with the world.
I know we all have things in our lives that we carry, mine might be different than others but they are no more trying or stressful; but they are mine and they are no excuse for my inability to handle the death of my mother or my dad's illness.
I alone have to deal with the fact that I dropped the ball with my dad. I can only hope that I can some day forgive myself and make it up to him.
There was a time when I prayed that God would take my dad so he would find some peace.
Now, when I visit him and see him smile, all I want is for him to live a long and restful life so I can continue to have more time with him, even if one day I'm just a nice lady that comes to visit.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Sex over fifty! Fact or Fiction?
Sex over fifty. Three wonderful words that women across the globe chant as they get closer and closer to that magic number.
Now, I'm not saying all women can relate to what I am talking about, but enough of you can, and those that can't; well, I'm jealous, pure and simple.
I had always assumed that once I went through menopause my sex life would go through the roof. No more worrying about becoming pregnant. Never having to say no because it was "that time" again. Nope, sex was going to fun, spontaneous and frequent.
I have had numerous fantasies about it. Now I could seduce my husband on a whim. Sex before work, sex after work, sex sex sex. That would be us. It would be no holds barred... Sex in the kitchen, car, floor; you name it, we would do it.
Well, maybe not everywhere. I don't think there is a man alive who could hoist me up onto the kitchen counter like in the movie Fatal Attraction. Great scene, but, not for this lady.
Our kids would be off living their own lives and we would be alone; ready to let ourselves go and explore the magical wonderful life of sex without restrictions.
I could not wait!!
Oh dear God was I wrong. I am beginning to think that this myth was brought about by older women who were jealous of their younger sisters and didn't want to feel they were being one-upped. Or, a fantasy to tell the younger girls and then watch them as they neared that age and realized that sex over 50 was something women could only dream about.
Sex, I'm not sure I know how to do it anymore. They say it's like riding a bicycle, you never forget, but I'm not so sure. 56 years old and fumbling around in the bedroom like a naive teenager.
So when all is said and done, I am by all practical purposes, a virgin again.
What to do, what to do?
I could seduce my husband saschaing across the bedroom in a sexy-slutty outfit. I don't own anything like that but I could buy one.
First stop, Fredrick's of Hollywood plus size department. Does Frederick's have a plus size department.....SHOULD they have a plus sized department?
Anyway, I would search for that perfect outfit. One that would make me look thinner than I am, take years off my life and positively guarantee that my husband and I would enjoy hours upon hours of sexual satisfaction and pleasure.
What to buy?
Thong or little shorts. Decisions decisions.
Neither is a good choice for my particular body type, but when you are trying to be a vixen, you just have to suck it up and go for it.
I could purchase a leotard, but I believe that would be much too much spandex. Besides the fact that it would take hours trying to stuff myself into them, once my husband tried to take them off of me, the force of my flesh escaping from the elastic could quite possibly kill one of us, or at the very least, take out an eye.
Thongs. I could certainly put a thong on but I don't think I would ever find it again. Thong - out.
Little shorts. With thighs like mine, and ladies you know what I'm talking about, the inside of the shorts would ride up in my crotch while the outside of my shorts would be where they belonged. Not very attractive. Little shorts - out.
How about a long gown flowing and elegant. I don't think that would work either. All that material could prove to be hazardous; we could choke to death if we got caught up in all that fabric.
I think I'll go with pajama pants. I'll use silk; at least that's sexy.
The top. For sure, it would have to have a build-in bra. Each breast would need it's own section. Otherwise, while I was seductively walking across the room to my man, by boobs would be swaying in the wind just beneath the hem of my teddy. Flapping and swaying breasts does not a happy me make.
Not attractive and down right uncomfortable.
Pajama top it is.
For decades, I wore high heels to work and out to play in the evening. Because of this, I have a beautifully deformed foot that will not allow me to wear heels for longer than one second. Heels, out.
To make things all the more exciting, I guess I could bring toys into the mix, but if you have read my other post about sex toys, you already know that the mere whirring sound of a battery sends me running in fear. Sex toys, out.
Where does this leave me? In my pajamas, shuffling across the room in my fluffy slippers to my husband, no toys and no heels and most likely, no sex.
The only thing left to do is...........
Wake him up.
Happy love making everyone
Now, I'm not saying all women can relate to what I am talking about, but enough of you can, and those that can't; well, I'm jealous, pure and simple.
I had always assumed that once I went through menopause my sex life would go through the roof. No more worrying about becoming pregnant. Never having to say no because it was "that time" again. Nope, sex was going to fun, spontaneous and frequent.
I have had numerous fantasies about it. Now I could seduce my husband on a whim. Sex before work, sex after work, sex sex sex. That would be us. It would be no holds barred... Sex in the kitchen, car, floor; you name it, we would do it.
Well, maybe not everywhere. I don't think there is a man alive who could hoist me up onto the kitchen counter like in the movie Fatal Attraction. Great scene, but, not for this lady.
Our kids would be off living their own lives and we would be alone; ready to let ourselves go and explore the magical wonderful life of sex without restrictions.
I could not wait!!
Oh dear God was I wrong. I am beginning to think that this myth was brought about by older women who were jealous of their younger sisters and didn't want to feel they were being one-upped. Or, a fantasy to tell the younger girls and then watch them as they neared that age and realized that sex over 50 was something women could only dream about.
Sex, I'm not sure I know how to do it anymore. They say it's like riding a bicycle, you never forget, but I'm not so sure. 56 years old and fumbling around in the bedroom like a naive teenager.
So when all is said and done, I am by all practical purposes, a virgin again.
What to do, what to do?
I could seduce my husband saschaing across the bedroom in a sexy-slutty outfit. I don't own anything like that but I could buy one.
First stop, Fredrick's of Hollywood plus size department. Does Frederick's have a plus size department.....SHOULD they have a plus sized department?
Anyway, I would search for that perfect outfit. One that would make me look thinner than I am, take years off my life and positively guarantee that my husband and I would enjoy hours upon hours of sexual satisfaction and pleasure.
What to buy?
Thong or little shorts. Decisions decisions.
Neither is a good choice for my particular body type, but when you are trying to be a vixen, you just have to suck it up and go for it.
I could purchase a leotard, but I believe that would be much too much spandex. Besides the fact that it would take hours trying to stuff myself into them, once my husband tried to take them off of me, the force of my flesh escaping from the elastic could quite possibly kill one of us, or at the very least, take out an eye.
Thongs. I could certainly put a thong on but I don't think I would ever find it again. Thong - out.
Little shorts. With thighs like mine, and ladies you know what I'm talking about, the inside of the shorts would ride up in my crotch while the outside of my shorts would be where they belonged. Not very attractive. Little shorts - out.
How about a long gown flowing and elegant. I don't think that would work either. All that material could prove to be hazardous; we could choke to death if we got caught up in all that fabric.
I think I'll go with pajama pants. I'll use silk; at least that's sexy.
The top. For sure, it would have to have a build-in bra. Each breast would need it's own section. Otherwise, while I was seductively walking across the room to my man, by boobs would be swaying in the wind just beneath the hem of my teddy. Flapping and swaying breasts does not a happy me make.
Not attractive and down right uncomfortable.
Pajama top it is.
For decades, I wore high heels to work and out to play in the evening. Because of this, I have a beautifully deformed foot that will not allow me to wear heels for longer than one second. Heels, out.
To make things all the more exciting, I guess I could bring toys into the mix, but if you have read my other post about sex toys, you already know that the mere whirring sound of a battery sends me running in fear. Sex toys, out.
Where does this leave me? In my pajamas, shuffling across the room in my fluffy slippers to my husband, no toys and no heels and most likely, no sex.
The only thing left to do is...........
Wake him up.
Happy love making everyone
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