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 .........................