Category: blog

The primary goal for today was to steal flowers for a centerpiece. Aunt Winnie had said we would leave around 8 AM (which is extremely early for me even if it involves illegal activity). So, when she came in my room and said, “Let’s go,” I just assumed it was 8 AM.

 

We went to the church and immediately started selecting our flowers. We had a good trunkful and we were working on filling up the back seat when a church goer approached us. YummYummy knows how I feel about stealing and others looking/seeing, so she would best understand my feeling at this time. The church goer gave us some advice on which flowers to take – very Christlike of her – then told us she best be going because she had a meeting at eight. “At eight? What time is it?” I asked. “It’s twenty to,” she replied.

 

I looked at Aunt Winnie who slyly smiled, turned away and returned to her criminal activity. The church goer walked away and I confronted Aunt Winnie, “Twenty to eight? I thought you said we were leaving at eight. I can’t believe this. You are both a liar and a thief,” I told her. She giggled and replied, “I didn’t want anyone else to beat us to it.” The Lifeline Med Alert bracelet makes much more sense now – senior citizens are a slippery bunch.

Spending several (2.5 to be exact) days with your parents and aunt and uncle provides many life lessons. One thing I learned, and I’m surprised by, is that as much as I love thinking and talking about being retired, I’m not entirely ready for it. I definitely believe I have the essentials for retirement: a strong desire to travel, house slippers, golf clubs, a six-pack of Activia, and a preferred stylist at the community beauty college.

 

Unfortunately, this group has a different idea of retirement. They like to wake up early, travel to the club house, stay in the shade, watch the news, debate directions, take naps and go to bed early. In addition, they don’t drink (coffee or alcohol) or swear. When suggesting an evening at the movies, I asked them if they watch R-rated films, my uncle responded, “We don’t mind the nudity, it’s the cussing we don’t like.” “Shit,” I thought to myself. We stayed in and watched True Grit.

 

With Aunt Winnie’s birthday just around the corner, she has been receiving a lot of mail. “Did you see my package?” she asked me as the five of us were driving down the interstate in a Hyundai to attend a picnic. “No,” I replied. “Oh, it’s a good one. It’s a book called Sex After 60. I’ll let you read it it – it will help you prepare. Your dad read it this morning,” she replied. She gave me the book the next day and it was all she could do to keep from laughing as I opened it to find one blank page after the other. “Isn’t it funny?” she asked. It actually is quite funny and I plan to one day go to a store and buy it for some of my older friends. In the meantime, it is nap time.

 

An economist once said, ‘A recession is when your neighbor loses his job. A depression is when you lose your job.’ I think he meant ‘A recession is when your elders retire. A depression is when you are living with them in a 55+ community (aka, lifestyle) and you’ve got several years to catch up and no way out on your own.’ This blog is the proof. The economy has suffered tremendously since I’ve been here. Coffee shops and wine stores across the nation are most likely considering closing their doors due to decreased sales. Recession. Proof.

Staying with Aunt Winnie reminded me of being on one of my girls trips – specifically because the community in which they live is 55+, just like Surprise, Arizona.

 

There are all kinds of activities planned for the 55+ residents to keep them active. Today’s activity was visiting Pohick Church. In addition to having been around for hundreds of years, one of the Pohick Church’s claims to fame is that President George Washington was a member of the vestry. As we got in the car to head to the church, Aunt Winnie told me she would take the middle seat again. “She likes the hump,” said Mia Mamma. “I’ve noticed,”  I said and added, “it helps her hot crotch.” Aunt Winnie giggled. “I think it is great that your community does all of these activities,” Mia Mamma told Aunt Winnie. “It’s not a community, it’s a lifestyle.” “You might want to be careful saying that,” I advised her and added, “Especially right after mentioning you have a hot crotch. Lifestyle has many meanings.” “I don’t care. I’m easy. That’s why I have seven kids,” quipped Aunt Winnie.

 

After the church tour we headed to the quaint town of Occoquan for lunch and then back to the house. “I think it is time for all of us to take naps. I just need a good thirty minutes,” advised Aunt Winnie. Senior living is great. Church tours, lunch, naps – definitely the easy life. I headed to my room planning to read or surf the net, however, the ‘lifestyle’ got to me and I fell asleep. I woke up to Aunt Winnie knocking on my door. “Did you take a nap?” I asked her. “Oh yes, but just for ten minutes. That’s all I need. I just lay down, close my eyes and then get up.”

 

A few hours later we were heading to a symphony at the Kennedy Center with a quick pit stop at my cousin’s house. Being that we were on a tight schedule, we didn’t have time to waste, so I was asked to run to the door with the items for my cousin. I did so and she asked, “How’s life with the seniors?” “It’s not too bad,” I told her and added, “Today we did a church tour, had lunch, took naps and now we’re off to the symphony. It’s a lifestyle.”

 

After several days in D.C., I was retrieved by my parents and aunt and uncle for a few days with them in Virginia. “You should know we live in a prison,” Aunt Winnie advised me. “Really? Is your new place in one of those gated communities?” I asked. “Yes, but but that’s not why we live in a prison,” she replied.

 

It was a rather warm day in D.C., so entering their air conditioned car felt very nice. Mia Mamma, Aunt Winnie and I sat in the back – Aunt Winnie was in the middle near the air conditioning vents. “I would have had you sit here, but you have on a dress and I wouldn’t want the cold air to blow up your skirt. Besides, I like cold. I have a hot crotch,” Aunt Winnie said and giggled.

 

We arrived to their community and I learned she wasn’t kidding about the prison. They live right next to, and on the former farm land of, the Lorton Reformatory (also known as the Occoquan Workhouse or Lorton Correctional Complex). This was actually a huge D.C. prison (approximately 1,200 acres) and in 1917 they housed approximately 168 women, the majority of whom were part of the National Women’s Party – true suffragists. I found all of this to be rather interesting. Especially considering most, if not all, of my knowledge of suffragists came from Mrs. Winifred Banks when she sang Sister Suffragettes in the Disney classic Mary Poppins.

 

Once we were situated – with our dinner on paper plates, in our pajamas, and watching TV – Aunt Winnie (no correlation to Mrs. Winifred Banks, outside of having a great name) invited me to help her with some floral arrangements. “Do you want to go down to the church with me later this week and steal some flowers for the centerpieces?” Aunt Winnie appears to have embraced the prisoner mentality – which I love – and, as a result, didn’t just steal flowers, she stole the show.

One of the many benefits of traveling is meeting new people and, even better, doing karaoke with them.

 

Fortunately, I have been able to travel to towns that have really great karaoke bars, and this town was no exception. Cafe Japone is a combination sushi/karaoke bar – this combination is better than peanut butter and chocolate – sorry Reese’s.

 

When I walked (OK, ran) in the door I found Wisconsin on the mic. The lyrics were on the screen, the music was playing and he was belting out the words, but I didn’t recognize the song. “It sounds different on the radio,” I was advised.

 

We took turn singing several songs and then encouraged the staff to sing a song or two. Our server didn’t hesitate to do so. The sushi chef, who was Hispanic and spoke very little English pointed to his throat and said, “Broken.” “So is your English,” said Wisconsin. Touché (that’s French…not Spanish, English or Chinese).

 

One of the other comforts of this karaoke bar was the fact that it was empty. With the exception of the staff and one couple who left after one song, it was just us – something I love. This type of coziness allows us to hit the mic all night long (I’d like to dedicate the last part of that sentence to Lionel Richie). As often happens with me and my friends in karaoke bars, we closed it down. Not ready to call it a night, 70s Disco Queen suggested we go to a gay bar. As we were leaving, Wisconsin’s wife, PC, asked 70s Disco Queen if he had everything, “We don’t want to leave anything behind.” “Well in that case I should tell you I don’t have my dignity. I left that behind a long time ago.”

 

We made our way outside and six of us hailed a cab. As the driver pulled up Wisconsin was concerned we might need two cabs. PC, however, did not share the same concerns, “We will can fit,” she assured him. And we did.

 

 

 

 

Whenever I spend time with Drizzler I am guaranteed a photo shoot. All who know me know that I love to take pictures of anything and everything. Staged, candid, blurry – I’m not picky. Drizzler, however, has a preference. “I prefer candid shots,” she has told me on more than one occasion. Although this may be true, she must prefer looking at them as opposed to taking them. This was evident when we were hanging out at her house one night. “Quick. Where is your camera? I’ve got to get a picture of you right now. OK, sit how you were sitting before and look over at the door. A little more to the right. Nope, too far. Yes, there, that’s perfect. I just love candid shots.” “Me too. We should take some later,” I replied.

 

‘Later’ provided us one of our favorite photo opps: sailing. While sailing, Drizzler and I have made a tradition of taking pictures of each other (individually and collectively) while File Not Found deals with sheets, cleats, the tiller and anything else necessary to keep our paparazzi boat afloat and moving.  As we were making our way back to the dock, Drizzler suggested I stand on the bow and pose like I did several years ago, “That’s your signature pose,” she told me, “You have to do it every time.”

 

I approached the bow and received further advice, “Lean back as far as you can. It will be fine.” Feeling a bit sketch about it, I hesitated. “Come on, you did it before,” she reminded me and added, “OK, now back up a bit. Keep backing up and spread out your arms like an angel.” “I don’t know about this. We are going pretty fast and I think we were docked when I did that last time. “She’s right,” File Not Found piped in, after finding the file that housed our last sailing excursion. “If she leans any further all it would take is one good wake and she’ll fall off.”

 

After our maritime madness, we were unwinding in the Amish garage. Once again, Drizzler saw a moment that needed to be captured on film, asked me for my camera, and began taking multiple ‘candid’ shots. File Not Found’s friend was intrigued, “I’ve never seen anything quite like this. You are seriously a digital pimp.” As we all laughed about this she said, “I love how happy you all look right now. I’ve got to get this candid shot. Wait, we need more light and you guys need to move closer together. Oh, yeah. That’s it. Perfect. OK, let’s take one more, just in case. This time, kneel down just a bit……”

 

 

In addition to having the privilege of sailing with Drizzler and File Not Found, I got to join them for a birthday party at the sandspit. We arrived to find the beach ready and waiting for us, with food on the grill and lawn chairs at the ready. There were several boats docked along the spit and most of them were part of our group. Being that I didn’t no anyone, I had no idea who was with us and who was against us. Against us and not with us was File Not Found’s ex-wife, who was in the pontoon boat at the end of the spit. “This may get awkward,” Drizzler advised, “That’s the good and bad thing about the sandspit. It’s a private beach surrounded by public water. Anybody can show up.”

 

After several hours of shore and boatside hanging (and no cat fights), we opted to take a ride. Although a majority of the party had left, about twelve us hopped in the power boat and began tooling around the river and creek areas. Just as we were shoving off, Forecaster appeared on the beach with two beers in one hand and an empty bottle of pinot grigio in the other hand. “Look what I found,” he excitedly exclaimed, “A message in a bottle.” “Shit!” Drizzler and I said in unison. Then Drizzler added, “Throw it back in. Hurry, throw it back!” The thing is, Drizzler and I had decided to do a message in a bottle after finishing off the grigio magnum. We wrote the note, walked down the shore a bit, and threw it in. Some of the guys told us it was the perfect time to do so because tide was going out. Others thought it would just roll back to the shore. Others were right and, as a result, Forecaster found our message in a bottle (which was ‘pre,’ aka wrongly dated, for the next day).

 

With Forecaster and his two beers on board, we made our way out into the river. We were reaching speeds of about 50-55 mph, when the birthday girl advised File Not Found that she used to jump out of the boat – at these same speeds – when she was a kid. She then handed him her cigarette, said “hold this,” and jumped off the boat. Riding backwards, I was hit by a massive wave of water, as were several others (who saw it coming). After pulling her back in the boat, she informed us she said, “That was great. I plan to see my chiropractor tomorrow.”

 

By the time we returned to sandspit, the tide was rolling in and beach space was limited, which meant we had to walk in the water to return to our vehicle. One of the party patrons offered to carry one of the kids on his back. “I don’t know if that is safe,” Forecaster told me and then added, “He (the party patron) hasn’t brushed his teeth in 15 years.” Sadly, the latter appeared to be true. “Welcome to the Eastern shore,” Drizzler quipped.

 

I rode with Forecaster back to the main house. “If you want the wind to blow on you, roll down the window,” he advised me and added, “In order to do that, you’ll need to push the down button and hit the speaker in the door at the same time.” I didn’t care about the wind so much, but wanted to see if the window bit was true – it was. He then told me, “Feel free to bounce strange things off me and I’ll respond with strange things. Done it all my life. I just know some things that are going to happen. I go to sleep and wake up with this knowledge.” “Do you have dreams?” I asked. “I do, but I don’t remember them,” he replied.

 

This part of the Eastern shore really gave me far more than I expected – if I was like Forecaster, I would have known this would be the case and would have packed my 14k grill. Since that wasn’t the case, I just got to watch things unfold and determined this private beach/public water birthday party was the perfect mix between Trailer Park Boys, Gidget and Psycho Beach Party. Jersey Shore ain’t got nothin’ on us.

Drizzler and I have something in common: Pinot grigio is like caffeine for us. It gives her energy and makes me regular. Regularity is a really good thing unless you are in a third world country, camping, or using old plumbing that may or may not have one or two Hot Wheels clogging the pipes.

Unfortunately, the latter made my regularity obvious to everyone in the house. As I was preparing to shower, I heard the sink gurgling. Drizzler had mentioned that this sound was an indication the drain may need to be snaked, but that it was “no big deal.”

She was right, minus the ‘no’ part. As soon as I flushed the toilet it backed up. “Shit,” I thought, and meant it. After scouring the bathroom for a plunger, I politely called out to Drizzler, “Any chance you have a plunger?” Being the consummate host, she offered to have File Not Found plunge it for me. “That’s kind, but I wouldn’t do that to anyone.” Anyone, except File Not Found. Plunging ended up not being an option, thus, File Not Found snaked the drain.

It is difficult to know how to best reciprocate that kind of kindness. I ended up buying him beer and hoping this experience would be one he would store in a file that he wouldn’t find later.

Once we arrived at the marina for a “randy day of sailing,” as File Not Found hoped to have, we found a boat whose name was fitting for thousands of things. Fockette. “Fockette is right,” said File Not Found, “After this morning that is the perfect expression and boat name.”

That said, we hopped on to High Time (also fitting), hit the engine, checked out the cloudy sky and low winds, and said, “Fockette, let’s do it.” We did and a randy day we had.

A trip to the South, and by South I mean Maryland, isn’t complete without a night in the Amish Garage. Drizzler and File Not Found have a great little garage that they purchased from the Amish. It’s a one car, equipped with electrical, lawn chairs, an old school radio, and a price tag one would only find here in the South, if purchasing from the Amish (unless, of course, you’ve got connections with those dealing in ‘traded’ goods).

 

Garaging is the outer country version of inner city stooping and it is a good time. File Not Found was drinking his beer while Drizzler and I drank our wine. “I don’t know what it is about grigio,” Drizzler told us, “For me it is like caffeine – I love it.” And with that, she poured another glass of caffeine. Last time I visited, we garaged for hours while a thunder and lightning storm entertained us. This time, we garaged for hours while Drizzler did the entertaining. By about one in the morning, File Not Found decided to call it quits. “I just can’t stay up any later,  I’m not sure how you two are doing this,” he told us. “It’s the grigio,” Drizzler advised him while pouring another. “Just one more and then I’m going in,” she told me. She was true to her word. One bottle later, we packed up our stuff, took two aspirin and headed in for the night.

Mini Me’s INdiaJURY was worse than initially assessed and, as a result, she ended up needing surgery. After the surgery, the nurse was asking her some questions. Mini Me responded articulately, telling the nurse she was “disoriented and usually more lucid.” She then looked at me and I Noticed and said, “I don’t really know anything about medicine, but if you know a little bit of the lingo they’ll think you’re really intelligent.”

 

A few minutes later, one of her coworkers checked in on her. The anesthesia was still in effect and Mini Me had been telling us all kinds of interesting tidbits. She decided to tell all of us about the time I told her she needed to learn to use tampons. “I was so scared to use them. I didn’t want to end up with Stockholm Syndrome.” “It’s toxic shock and what made you think of that?” I asked. “I don’t know,” she replied.
She then preceded to tell me that she was upset I was planning to go out of town for my birthday because she had intended to throw me a surprise party and was going to rent all kinds of party items to make it a success. “You ruined the surprise,” she said with disgust.

 

Several hours and a bit of morphine later, she woke up and said, “You know earlier when you were teasing me about Stockholm Syndrome and toxic shock?” “Yes,” I replied. “Well, the reason I told that story is because we had been talking about Belle and Disney.” “Not true. We never talked about either of those things,” I advised her and added, “Even if we had, I’m not sure how that has anything to do with using tampons.”

 

Fortunately for her, the combination of anesthesia and morphines knocked her out. It was a bit unfortunate for the rest of us because we were quite entertained by her wackadoodle comments. The next day, while recapping some of the comments with her, she told me she didn’t recall most of them. Guess this means I’m going to have to act surprised.