Welcome to Greengate street

New neighbors are expected for this weekend. The house next door to the west of me has been occupied for the last year by a couple of very quiet, non-interactive, unobtrusive women. Before their departure this week, they had a gardener come to rejuvenate the now dead lawn, trim the bushes and rid the front walk of weeds. I don't think they counted on total annihilation of anything resembling a bush or shrub, and alas, the "Dr. Seuss" tree crunching both of our walls and really not a tree at all but a sucker bush with giant tree envy puffed up on a leaking drip line-remains unscathed. They dodged that tree removal cost. At least its something green.

Gone are the beautiful rose bushes that lined the fence and were often plundered by me on the down low, for beautiful floral arrangements throughout my house. Especially sad is the removal of the Lady Bird Johnson Rose bush which had the proud history of winning a Blue Ribbon at the L.A. County fair in 1973. I'm sure the new owners will be surprised at the lack of any landscaping when they arrive. It certainly is bare and brown now that the gardeners took the machete and turbo week whacker to it.

Always iffy wondering if the new folk are going to get along with us. We may not be the best of friends on this block, but we do look out for each other and learn who's who and Who goes where and with what kind of dog or cat. Certainly they are clueless that there is a Tweaker drug dealer directly across the street and that his clients like to park on their curb.

I know there are 2 boys, under age 10. Hopefully they won't be peepers as the first, and second residents were, watching me through the decorative brick on top of the fence. I'll take them the customary "welcome" basket full of snickerdoodles, shake their hand and introduce myself. After all, we look into each other bathrooms and down the hallways if the windows are left open on both houses. Luckily that's the guest bath so no shower show for these folks. We should be on a first name basis!  

Wishing some body I knew and liked were moving in . It would be fun to fill the neighborhood up with nice friendly people. Where are all my peeps looking to move to Southern Cali?? Seems as if everyone is set on moving OUT of here!!!

Welcome to Greengate street. You are now part of the Kravitz vs. Kravitz watch team. You're gonna need a pair of binoculars and a journal. And this isn't called the Circle City for no reason. Once you are here there is no escape!

It's breezy

It's breezy out today.  I'm trying to throw the ball for the Captain but the wind makes the ball  curve into the bushes with every toss. Switched techniques and tried rolling it down the sidewalk like a bowling ball. Even this is a challenge but for love of the dog, I persevere and try to get the ball as far as possible so he feels more challenged and satisfied about the retrieval.

As I ready for the long pitch, a plastic bag whips up out of no where and sticks to the side of my face. I'm slapping at it and trying to peel it off without getting any more of it into my mouth than necessary. Horror of horror! It has touched my lips and I feel the microbes crawling on my skin. I recall noticing a bag at the corner of the yard where every dog on its walk has relieved themselves.

Let the wetness on this bag just be dew and let the bag have only been used for fruit! Ugh! We are done playing outside! I have to decontaminate!

New standard for desserts and Midori

We had such a wonderful date night. How can you beat a lovely meal by the ocean, good company, wonderful food with a evening of culture and events to follow?

I was so proud of myself, ordering lean, 4 0z of steak with nothing but steamed veges and spinach for the sides. Note though that the meal was prefaced by a large Midori Collins, fried zucchini slices and a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast.

My friend "Polly" was daintily sipping her lemon drop martini while I was gulping my Midori and Mr. Man started on his second tall one of something brown. We toasted our good fortunes, and toasted along with the many other revelers celebrating a night out on the town.

Polly wanted desert so ordered the house specialty which turned out to be an evil, most delicious confection topped with whipped cream and peanut butter. It was supposed to be a "To Go" order for her Mr. Man. who missed dinner but we had to make sure it tasted as delightful as if looked and up to Mr. H-Man's standards.

My Mr. Man was going to decline his bite, but pounded on his belly to make sure there would be room and cleared space after a large burp. I pounded on mine too but knew there was plenty of cavity space left and Polly....well, she was down right evil for ordering it in the first place so now she can be called the evil twins name I carry. . . "Holly" and ate her bites without any belly pounding because she planned ahead to eat the evil before starting on ordering REAL food.

Dinner and dessert over I did a quick once over with my tongue across my teeth checking for spinach bits betwixt them. Did the snarl teeth bared grin to Polly across the table from me, but the lady seated behind her thought I was snarling at her and gave me a perturbed "HOW RUDE" look, then pointed to the right incisor.

The wait staff was attentive and kept our drinks filled and brought the to-go box for the peanut butter confection with DEATH scribed on its platter in chocolate\caramel syrup. As the bus -manly man took the empty platter after the taste session, I told him I was planning on licking it clean and to leave it. Cute, as he paused to set it down with apologies, then realized I was just messing with him. Caught the neighbor ladys eye again and her look of reviled disdain but I think it's because she only ordered the crème brule - I wiggled my nose at her and gave her the royal wave along with the royal thumbs up which was returned by a resigned nod.  I should have invited her over to our more jolly and fun table because hers was very rigid backed and proper.

Fun times, good memories and a new standard for desserts and Midori's to meet. It was a great date!

Mrs. Kravitz North....This is Mrs. Kravitz South

Here is my telephone conversation with my neighbor last night. Fairly typical exchange for us.

"Mrs. Kravitz North....This is Mrs. Kravitz South. Reporting on neighborhood activities on your side of the street. There are children running along the roof tops of the houses and they are preparing to leap across to yours!"

Mrs. Kravitz North is perplexed. "Why are they doing that?"

Mrs. Kravitz South - "It is my job to observe and report, not to determine the reasoning behind wild and unsafe behaviors. Please control your side of the street better."

Mrs. Kravitz North- "I'm going outside now. You are right. Those kids are on the roof. They are hiding from me. "

She waits the for the kids to expose themselves. They haven't developed stealth mode well. Now she is telling the kids this is unsafe behavior and where are their parents and do they know they are running along roof tops? The kids tell her yeah, dad knows and its okay. They are warned to stay off her roof and their own. . . it being a rental and all belonging to our friend.

I 10-4 ' over and out' after my report.

1 hour later. . .

"Mrs. Kravitz North, this is Mrs. Kravitz South.....Your tweaker next door to you is out and about with his pants cinched around his lower thighs and having a difficult time walking . He needs better boxer jockeys. He looks ridiculous! I think he may fall over onto your side of the lawn."

Mrs. Kravitz North says, "What is going on? Is it a full moon? Why can't these neighborhood people  just be normal?"

"Sorry Mrs. North. I think this is it for them. Welcome to the new normal. How is my side of the block?"

"I have nothing to report. All of the lights on your side are out. It's dark . We need night vision goggles."

Me - On it. Amazon.com has next day delivery. We will rendezvous at 2100 hours tomorrow.

Neighborhood watch is ramping it up!

Burning rubber

When my friend came by to drop off a DVD for me, accompanied by her daughter and their SUV full of cute babies, I had to go out and say hello. What a delight to begin the day with baby smiles . I stood at the curb gurgling baby talk to them and congratulating their mother on their charming personalities , then told their grandma thanks for the curbside DVD delivery and have a good day.

As my FRIEND stands beside  the SUV bidding me farewell  with smiles, love and sweetness, the ATTACK of the MUTANT JAPANESE BEETLE- part 3 occurs.

The horrid insect dive bombs me and swirls around my face banging into my eyebrows then landing on my head. Waiting for my FRIEND to swat it away, she has screamed at me and my "little beetle friend",  jumped into the car, and her daughter has jumped out , abandoning her children to the fate of the beetle attack thinking it had flown into her car.  Hysterical motioning to daughter by my "friend" to get back into the car quickly as all doors are slammed, locked, windows up and I am still standing there with the bug on my head and I am hyperventilating.

I'm sure it pooped on my head, or whatever a beetle does to express contempt. I shook my head back and forth enough to cause the world to spin and was brought to alertness by the screeching and smoking of tires as the SUV hi-tailed it away from me as fast as possible.

I got a glimpse of my "FRIEND" through the passenger window... wild eyed with teeth clenched as she sped off  down the street in nano seconds with her daughter who's foot was flooring the accelerator enough to burn rubber. It's a good thing those babies were strapped into car seats or they would have suffered whiplash or been thrown from the vehicle after their quick exit.

Don't worry about me though girls. I had to shampoo my head a hundred times to rid it of that creepy crawling feel and only have major PTSD from my third beetle encounter in less than 2 weeks!

Wearing a can of "Raid" as a new pendant now.

Happy Downpour!

 Thunder is rolling across the sky followed by torrential downpour with a temperature of 90 degrees. Is this really Southern California? The population is confused about how to react to this sudden change in weather. The emergency alert alarms are set off warning us of flash flooding and avoid hiking in dried up river beds. We are so used to having no water that the unexpected occurance is confusing . Face book is covered in rain photos and videos capturing this rare California event.

You would think there would be more people dancing in the rain and putting buckets, rain barrels  and wading pools out to save it to water the browned lawns and gardens. Mr. Man is gleeful that the rain is filling up our pool nicely after lowering the water level a little with a filter back wash earlier.

I took the opportunity to wash my SUV, wiping it down rapidly with suds and scrubbing it, then letting the leaking skies rinse it off. It already looks 80 percent better! My neighbors are perplexed that I would willingly get drenched to save a trip to the car wash and huddled under umbrellas in their bathing suits to watch me wash.

I drove to the market to pick up a couple of items and saw many people running with bags on their heads and some explaining to their small children that this wet stuff is called rain. Funny, but most of us are in our flip flops and shorts and I am dismayed to have to slosh through dirty asphalt water to get to the store doors.

I felt badly for the elderly couple with walkers and the guy in the wheel chair, huddled together in the stores entry safely out of the down pour, waiting for it to let up but 30 minutes later they were still there waiting, with longer to wait it out.

Like many, many others, my windshield wipers are long rotted off from lack of use and do a lame job of fighting off the water on the window so I can see out.

This is a lovely rainy day . Perfection if it was cooler outside and my drains were fur free in the backyard so the water would empty out. Hopefully, the downpour will put out the raging forest fires in the San Bernardino mountains and in Hemet. At any rate, it gives our lawns a much needed drink, our sidewalks a decent wash off and many puddles for the birds to bathe in.
 

Happy Downpour!

"Seems it never rains in Southern California,

Seems I've  often heard that kinda talk before,

It never rains in California,

But  girl don't they warn ya,

It pours, man it pours."

Looking at clouds

                                                                                                                                                                      I was out in the pool doing my laps followed by floating  on my back looking at clouds. This is one of my favorite activities. I'm a little bottom heavy, so I have to concentrate to keep the posterior afloat and mouth and nose above water so I don't actually drown. I have fallen asleep before but that lasted as long as it takes to gulp in water and choke.As I float around like this, I gain insight to all the worlds problems, pray, plan my next activity and visualize my house magically cleaned while I've been outside.

I'm minding my own business. Ignoring the phones, the barking Captain Morgan expecting me to give him my undivided attention and throw his Squeaking dumb-bell or frisbee, the shouting children next door and the squirrels arguing in the trees. After a decent amount of reflection and relaxation, my fingers are waterlogged and appear to be ready to slough off cuing me I've been in too long. Preparing to end my float time, I lift my head up a little to see if I can see my toes peeking out of the water and what to my horror is there on my stomach, using me for a sunbathing beach on its own personal  island? A Japanese Beetle!! I panic and sink my self, thinking this will break us apart, but it's awful spiny legs are stuck to my stretchy bathing suit and it just goes for a little dive under water. It looks up at me from its submersion and makes a face. I Swat at it while it's under water but it won't get off. We are stuck together. It begins walking upward and panic sets in.

Wishing now that I had a swim partner to help me escape this insect! As the beetle takes a couple of steps upward, it stops and I see its foot is still embedded in the stretchy suit fabric. Only one thing to do. . .

Abandon swim suit! 

It's off in a flash and flung out of the pool. I still feel the bug crawling on my stomach! I grab the discarded suit and start beating it on the ground, slapping it forcefully and leaving wet sloshy marks all over the pavement. I find a stick a poke gingerly at the swim suit.  Surely the bug isn't able to withstand a battle against a hysterical giant and a concrete beating.

Oh, but it did! The horrid thing Wiggles its butt at me, flexes the dents out of its wings and flies away. I'm certain its the same beetle I batted out of the yard last week with the skimmer net, or a close relative checking out my comfy yard as suitable habitat for its kind.

Not the peaceful, calm ending to a delightful float session.  Even writing this makes me a bit anxious. Warning to all you beetles - unless you are in a famous band and want to perform for me, BUG OFF!!

I really need gas!

The gas gauge was below the little red empty mark and the dash board digital display read 3 miles until empty. Berating myself for not getting the Expedition filled the day before when gas was 25 cents a gallon cheaper; overnight the cost has increased for whatever  reason. Today, the gas is  $3.89 /gallon.

Sam's gas, like Costco's, always undercuts their gas competitors by .01 or more than the non-club stations.

I exited the freeway toward home deciding to fill up there on the way by and find Sam's Club fuel is a whopping .03 cents cheaper. Missed the turn to go in so circled back. Made a wrong turn and missed the driveway again because I'm on a one way street.

I keep circling the dang station and circle again. Now my gas gauge is below the red arrow and I have 0 miles until empty. I really need gas!

I thought I was turning on the main road but ended up seeing SAM's club behind me now and wondering what the heck has happened to make it switch from one side of the road to another.

I regrouped at a red light and got the car pointed in the right direction. I'm committed now. There are no alternate options at this point and doubt the car would make it.

At the pumps , there are  lines of cars 4 deep. I pulled in behind a mini couper and a Nissan, and lucky for me they only hold 5 gallons of gas apiece and were done in minutes.

My gas cap is on the drivers side so I had to stretch that pump hose over and across and hold it in place with a little hip action while it filled. I was in a gauzy, flowy dress  and had to use both hands to hold the pump nozzle firmly into the tank hole. Of course, I get the only pump nozzle that's slow as molasses and the fill latch doesn't work to make it squeeze free.

A man with a pick up full of  Beagles is behind me and gets out to lean on his cab and water the panting dogs waiting in the sun. A gust of wind whips up my dress , slapping me in the face with it, giving the gas station crowd a little show.  The Beagles start barking at this, bringing attention to my billowing skirt to the dozens of waiting and bored drivers in our little area .

Now I am embattled with the pump, the tension stretched hose that kinks if I don't hold it outward, and my flying dress. I did a quick snatch at the dress mid air and tucked it's hem  between my kness to prevent another northern and southern exposure. 

My  "WHATEVER" face is on- as if apparel flying over my head is commonplace. I scowled at the barking Beagles to silence them, using my mind melding - psychic powers -  their owner  hasn't moved from his leaning position on the truck cab. He has been staring at me too long. I will him to turn around and look at the dogs. Neither scowl nor psychic mind power work.  Apparently I need to practice this more fervently.

I Hope my audience appreciated that my underwear matched my outfit  and that my leg strengthening exercises have paid off by using their iron clenched  hold on the billowing dress with knees and thighs.

I 'd like to think of it as my iconic moment like Marilyn Monroe's famous pose over the grill vent. I'll bet she never had to wrestle with a gas pump. We have one thing in common. . . . We are both blondish!

1 item- I'll just self check.

Once again, I'm at SAMS club, on a weekend, with half the population of this city.

I only have 1 item ; I'll just self check out and avoid the mile long lines. 

Very brief wait there, all lanes open! I swipe my card and scan my bag of Avocados. Nothing.

I try again. Nothing.

and again.

and again. I've become one of those inept  self checkers that hold up the line and make the waiting shoppers start ripping out their hair plugs and making holes in their lower lips with their front teeth as they send dagger laced stares my way and proclaiming me an imbecile.

Reswipe the cards, exit the system and scan again. . . .nothing.
Apologize to the people waiting behind me. again, and again and again.

Mr. Man appears by my side. He grabs the scanner and tells me to watch what he's doing.  He scans the avocados. Nothing. He cannot fail....He is MR. MAN! 3 failed attempts.  He looks at the scanner device and proclaims it a piece of defective crap. "Guess you're out of luck. Let's go. Leave the bag"

Determined to finish out this one scan and do the unthinkable by asking for help.

I flag down the self check monitor lady, as Mr. Man refused to tap her on the shoulder or motion to her himself.  HELP and SOS! She comes over and starts explaining how to scan the correct way. I get the entire instructional inservice. She hands me the scanner to test my learning curve and I fail again. Now she is trying it. This goes on for what seems an eternity and I have motioned to the people in line behind me to ditch out and go left or right. The SAMS lady punches in various codes at snails speed, pushing numbers with deliberate pauses in between, until we get to a screen with pictures of fruits and vegetables and scrolls through every screen to show me the plethora of choices, until she finds the screen with avocado photos. She scans that and says, "See how easy that was! You just have to know the super secret by pass codes for fruit and veges!" 10 minutes later we are free. The line behind me is empty. I have been red flagged and closed down the lane. Total of  purchase. . .$4.75

If the avocados hadn't looked so beautiful and less than 75 cents each, I would have left them. I hope they're worth the trouble. I am tasting the guacamole already! "Que Bueno!"

Mr.Man's Guacamole Recipe

2 ripe avocados, peeled and cut up, lightly mashed.

Stir in the following:

2 Tablespoons sour cream

1/4-1/2  tsp diced  garlic (garlic powder can  be    substituted )

1/4  tsp seasoned salt

dash of ground black pepper

1/4  cup finely chopped onion

1-2   Tbsp Miguel Jr. hot sauce from Corona, Calif., or your own personal favorite to taste.

Put a saved avocado pit in the bowl to keep the guacamole from turning brown.

(stir in a little lemon juice if you want to keep it green overnight but it never lasts that long!)

What's going on?

I have curious neighbor children. They have known me as their neighbor their entire lives. They play with my Captain in the yard, ride their bikes in my driveway and have hurled countless misguided balls over my fence. Little Vanessa is the most inquisitive, asking about my life and what I do and where I am going. When people come over, she is standing on the front walk with the other kids, appearing like a grouping of meerkats staring with big eyes, watching to see what event is happening at my house. Yesterday, I had a reunion gathering of work friends. They filtered in one by one, all of varying ages and nationalities. We had a lovely dinner, reminisced, caught up on our families and then, as expected they left. (departure time duly noted by Vanessa).

Now, its 8 a.m. I've retrieved the paper, and Vanessa is ready with questions. ( Does the child and her posse ever go indoors?) "Who were all of those ladies going into your house? Why are they all different looking? What were you doing in there? They stayed late. Did you listen to music? I didn't hear music in your back yard. Did you dance? Did you eat cake? Is there any left? Are they coming again today.?"

Vanessa and her 3 companions plus brother,  always seems surprised that people would want to go into my house and stay there willingly. I always answer her questions but its disconcerting to be watched so closely. Then, I remember myself at her age, intruding into my neighbors lives, asking a zillion questions, ignoring the eye rolling and attempts to escape my interrogation. Some days my curiosity overtook common sense and I would be bold enough to just knock on the door of a relative stranger to get my question answered or just "see" what was inside that front door. Apparently mother didn't instill enough fear and caution about child molesters and criminal elements into my child rearing.  Its human nature to be inquisitive, but its more acceptable if you do it in spy mode. I would write the important stuff down like "Harriet the Spy", but mostly, I'd keep the best tid- bits pocketed in my head. My "idyllic" cul-de-sac wasn't so perfect, nor the outer 4 blocks,  and I learned discretion at a very young age.

Yes Vanessa, I have friends that want to come in and have some food and fun. Yes to all your questions, and yes, we even jiggled around enough to constitute a dance. Yes, you are curious, and I hope you stay that way. I could use some back-up with my neighborhood watch activities. . . (I'm lookin' at you lookin' at me Mrs. W!!!  )  Come on over ! Lets eat cake and jiggle together!

Belly dancing in Arcata

It was such a beautiful Saturday morning in the quiet town of Arcata. . . where time stands still and the town inhabitants reflect the culture and dress of the late 1960's. Their Saturday markets are one of the best and the products sold are unique and appropriate for this area of northern California.

The market is held around the town plaza and the streets surrounding it are closed off to make more room for vendors. In the center of the plaza, it's green and flowered and there are  various activities for the children and usually some kind of musical entertainment. On this particular day, there was Belly Dancing. Very popular in this town. These dancers are  limber and comfortable in their own skin. We were just in time to see the pregnant belly dancers. As they wiggled and jostled, I winked at my sister-in-law and said, "We can do that!"  She declined and said no way was that ever going to happen. Then I told her, "I could do it. My belly is big and I could just yank my skirt down to my nether region and wear my sport bra and I'm good to go".

Sister is mortified. "You wouldn't!"

Then, over the loud speaker, they are inviting the public to participate. I look at sister and grin. . . "Come on! They're calling for us! " I pat my belly and tell her I can put my dangling ear ring on my belly button.
"Lori! You wouldn't! You can't!  I won't watch! You are kidding me!"

Dear sister is so easy to goof with. As if I would ever dance around in public with my lop belly exposed and sport bra on. I need the gauzy, flowy skirts and bedazzled bra with foreign coinage adorning it before I start my belly wobble.  We passed the dancers, watching them for a bit. As we walked away, I did a little hip wiggle, saying "ting" to simulate the finger cymbals. Sister ran away. . I'm.a little hurt that even in her mind she was horrified. I video'd some of the dance. I want to get the moves down for the next time. And I'm going to be wearing my belly dancer outfit under my clothes so I'll blend in better. "Ting"   "Ting".

. . . and we're all going to be okay.

The dreaded computer and I just don't get along. It is a piece of technology that baffles and eludes me and it has begun showing up every where I go. I'm in combat mode at work as I try to maneuver between screens and screens of charting and filling in the blanks as appropriate. Disconcerting to me as I fall further and further behind in my nursing duties due to having to continually update the computer system. It is practically tied to me and as the months with it progress, more computer work is demanded and less time to spend with my patients. Nursing has changed. The time to linger at the bedside and have a meaningful conversation with the patients is no more. The staff rushes through bedside care and interactions are abbreviated. This becomes so frustrating to those of us who love the patients and loathe the computer.

It was a particularly busy and stressful day. Tasks are piling up and my computer is flashing red signs at me that I'm failing. I've been in prayer all day to God to help me through this awful day, help me to ease the suffering of those who rely on me and appease the management staff who seem to focus solely on productivity via computer, not real hands on. I am becoming stressed out, something I try to tamp down while at work on a busy hospital unit, and begin to tell myself, "You're okay. You're okay.".

Apparently I was saying this out loud without knowing it and a doctor passes by, stops, and asks me, "Are you okay?". Embaressed to have been heard talking to myself, I tell him "yes!". He put his hand on my shoulder and asked, "are you praying? Will you pray for me too? I need it today."

I've never met this physician before and haven't seen him since that day, but I told him of course I would pray for him. . . and me. . for a safe day , a successful day and a calmer day. He thanked me and said he would be in the OR for a few hours.

I forgot that my fate was already in Gods hands, and got some help from the staff to point me in the right direction on the computer program. The day got much better.

Winding down the shift, thankful that home was just up the street and minutes from heading in that direction, the doctor walked by on his way out. He asks, "Are we okay? " I nodded and said, "much better. We are okay".

He thanked me for the prayers and I thanked him for the same. He is tired and nodding, but smiling as he squeezed my arm and said good-night.

I realize that I am exactly where God wants me to be. As long as I listen to Him, and stay on my path, I'm doing the right thing. Praying away the computer and my problems with it were not the answer. Accepting it and pushing through with help and humility was.

So friends, give it up. Trust in God. You are loved. And even on the worst days of your lives, He is there. . .  ready to answer prayer and always with a forgiving heart. . . . and we're all going to be okay.

Row, row, row your boat

While I was on vacation in the Pacific Northwest, I got the opportunity to raft down the Trinity river. I haven't done this since 1983 and it is one of my fondest memories . I laughed constantly as we bounced down the river, being tossed around the raft, falling out of it and rarely rowing because I was always askew. I never knew this kind of fun existed. Now, as a middleaged adult, I had the opportunity to do it all again and could not wait to repeat the event.

This time, the river is very affected by current drought conditions here in California. The water level is low which makes the churny bits of water not as frothy but still fun and exciting. I found myself in a large rental raft stamped with BIG FOOT on the side in bright yellow letters, with a concerning number of patches in various stages of peel and fray, and  an inability to stay inflated for maximum float-age. There is a large bailing bucket hooked on which made me question the patchwork from the get go, but later would discover as a necessity as the boat loses air and takes on water. 

I arranged myself in the raft with my Mr. Man and 3 of his brothers, and realize none of us assigned to this craft know anything about traversing a raging rapid or have a clue where this water way is going. There is a lot of flexing and waving  paddles around like we know what we're doing, but also murmuring amongst us that perhaps we need a guide. We forced my daughter, who is strong and has recently rode this waterway, away from her cousins and into our raft making her abandon a much better and newer one motored by a younger under 30 group. Her group also has the only Z bro who knows the river and rafting ins and outs and actually has done this many times. . .

We paddled gingerly into the current and ended up spinning in circles, my daughter trying to steer us from behind and shouting to some of us to "ROW dammit!". It is not going well and we need leadership. We hit our first little wave and the two brothers sitting in the front of the boat flip over backwards into my rows laps, their legs kicking helplessly into the air as they struggled to get up right while we are on the move. As our raft zig-zagged and our daughter shouted for rowing, we were buffered into the side of the river where everyone screamed "DUCK!" (well, some of us said a version of duck), as the bush and trees slapped us in the face and tried to decapitate us. Once free of this nightmare, our raft ran aground and there we pathetically sat. The younger rafters merrily skirts through the brush, bouncing along and missing all rocks and debris chortling with glee as they pass us , but see us struggling and the necessity to help us off our rock bound predicament.

A boat crew change is made, #1 Brother is exchanged with River Brother and seating arrangements shuffled. #1 Brother is compliant as he is sent to the youngsters craft and he has no idea that the next 3 hours are going to be so much better and easier on his arms and general well being than if he stayed on my craft. I'm sorry to see him go because he has been my row buddy and is always very level headed and calm.

I haven't been able to see Mr. Man because he is seated behind me and I concentrate on doing my part which was weighting down the back of the craft along  with an ice chest. I'm certain this is the cause of our grounding in the center of the river. When it happened a second time, I am convinced it was so.......

River Brother takes the lead, jumping into the water to free our raft,  jerking us off our sand bar. Mr. Man jumped in to help the back end of the raft, but my life vest prevented me from turning to look behind to encourage him as I feared a sudden shift change. He certainly made it back into the boat, flopping in like a big salmon out of breath and was quietly spent by his efforts to drag us free of the rocks. Daughter becomes more adept at shouting and berating us to row better and in unison when and where needed. A few bats in the head or back with her oar to each of us also helped. I kept remembering a chant from Girl Scout camp- "If the log rolls over we'll all be dead!" and substituted raft for log. This ran through my head many times.

 We  eventually got into our row rhythm. I changed seats to the front so that the craft was equally weighted front and back and not like an outboard jet boat about to launch into space.

 The day went happily by and again, I laughed and laughed, enjoying the day , the scenery, the company and very glad for the opportunity to repeat one of my happiest days. That my friends is a blessing and I hope to repeat the event once more.

"Row, row, row your boat, swiftly down the stream, merrily,  merrily,  merrily merrily  life is but a dream".

Thank you Z Bros. None of you are going to make the Olympic rowing team, but you did a fine job managing to propel us down those miles of river without losing one person.

.,,,....if I had an extra 60 grand and a sugar daddy. . .

I love the "free" breakfast buffets at hotels, even if its just cereal and coffee. It saves me the trouble of searching out my mug of caffeine and something to munch on with the hand full of stayin' alive pills. The last hotel we stayed out combined its Lobby, Concierge desk, patio and dining nook. It wasn't expansive but done tastefully and open air like many of the hotels in the Hawaiian islands are to make the most of the ocean view and sunsets at night.

We were enjoying a peaceful breakfast overlooking the Pacific ocean and listening to the waves crash ashore, along with several other guests, when the quiet is disrupted by a wide mouthed woman decked out in her white capris, white gauzy shirt, sunglasses, orange hat and West Hollywood accessories as she declares to her public gathered that this day is her birthday. We all nod and wish her the best, "many  happy returns of the day", etc. .  The concierge takes it up a notch, clapping for her and declaring her a breath of fresh air and a delight to all, then breaking into song and a little dance step.

"You look so young! How old are you today?" declares the concierge.
Mrs. Birthday- "Just guess! I have 2 children and 1 of them is 50 years old!!!"

In my head I've already calculated that she is nearing 70 and if she's not, then she's a liar.

The concierge-"Oh my gosh! I couldn't even guess!! Are you 55?" "58?"

I'm rolling my eyes at Mr. Man, as the birthday woman confesses she is 65! (I still think more like 70 and recovering from a young adult hood lived a little too hard and fast)

Concierge says, "Oh for heaven's sake! What is your secret? You must tell us all and share it! You are so young looking and I never would have guessed you to be a senior citizen!!" She gestures expansively to include the dining room in general , as if we are sitting on the edge of our seats to know 'the secret'.

Really? Do you know many seniors who have size 40 breasts still perky without a cast iron mesh bra , no frown lines, no smile lines and a face that appears pulled tight as an overflated balloon?

The conversation gets louder and louder as the birthday "girl"  starts getting downright giddy over her compliments about her young new face and not quite able to smile fully because it is so new!

Again, concierge announces to us in the room to listen up because we are about to learn all about the secret to ageless, wrinkle free beauty . . . . I murmur to Mr. Man I could look 18 years old again  if I had an extra 60 grand and  a sugar daddy to GO FUND  me for extensive plastic surgery and up-keep! I guess the group of us sitting in the dining area looked old and decrepit compared to Mrs. Birthday!!

B-day lady starts telling us about how she drinks pomegranate juice and always moisturizes around her eyes every night. Bile bubbling into my throat at this B.S. and ruining my peaceful breakfast, we opt out of the morning lecture and continuing gushing comments from the concierge. It's a mass exodus of the diners; me in the lead, grabbing a To Go tray, heaping our left overs on it and high tailing it back to the quiet privacy of our room with a spectacular view where we decide the remainder of our morning meals will be taken while we're at this hotel.

If its your birthday, I wish you best wishes, fun times, joyful memories and always a cake with candles for wishes at the end of your day. Please spare me the "secret of your youth speech". If you've had a little work, a few nips or tucks here and there, a lift and rearrangement of some of those body parts trying to run south,  good for you. Own it though. Don't declare pomegranate juice and Oil of Olay as your secret to endless youth. If you do and hear a sneezing/cough covering up a declaration of "Bull Pucky", it's probably me in the corner and this is me writing about you.

Did somebody say Coffee?

L

Day 3 of my vacation and it is pretty fine! We have complimentary continental breakfast every morning in the little dining area at this hotel. It only seats 20 so really, it's not that big. There is plenty to fill up on but the coffee mugs only hold 4 ounces and resemble the milk mugs I had for my children when they were toddlers. Any smaller and they would have to be espresso cups.  We feel as though we should stand at the coffee caraf and drink it, refill, drink, etc....

I'm on my second cup of coffee wishing it was triple its size. I'm pretty desperate some mornings for that perfect mug of caffeine with its flavored creamer.

A middle aged couple stroll into the breakfast area, carrying their 32 oz. travel coffee mugs and begin to fill up. No 4 ounce coffees for them. Their mugs are open and ready. They are dismayed when the carafe is empty and they aren't able to fill up to the rim on mug number 2. I look over to Mr. Man who has been nurturing his 4 ouncer and both of us trying not to be too greedy at getting a third cup. His eyebrows go up. He was planning on getting another cup of coffee just before these hogs came in. They have nerve to open up the large pump carafe and pour the last drips into their mugs before sweeping all the pastries onto their waiting platter and leave. The breakfast attendant rapidly began a refill of the carafes and a second couple walked in and did a repeat performance with their travel mugs.

Its Day 4 of my vacation and it is pretty fine! Mr. Man and I walk in to the dining area with our 40 ounce travel mugs .........................