Jude K. et al...

Hunger Pangs

2009-10-02T13:15:00.000-07:00

Eating has taken a weird turn since January here at the ranch.

For one thing I swear to you I'm spending at least $300.00 a month less on food than I did when Tom was here. How is that even possible?? He was, after all, only one man....

And Lord knows I'M still eating all the time!! One look at me will tell you that.

We used to sit down five or six nights a week at the dining room table with real china and fabric napkins in cutesy holders, even; now, I'm lucky if that happens once every 8-10 days.

No one seems to want to create an actual balanced meal and sit down like civilized folk to partake!??

Last night, for example, (and remember... I have a house guest!)we had fried shrimp which involved creating the beer batter and then deep frying real honest-to-God prawns - that was my job. And broccoli which Suzy prepared and cooked and served. But somehow - still - the dining room table was forsaken when Thom ate on the lanai in front of the opening night of the ice hockey season while Suzy, Laura and I ate all scrunched up at the dinette table in the kitchen.

Never once did anyone even gravitate toward the dining room.

I look in my fridge and am overwhelmed by the array of fabulous leftovers available when I can't even remember eating the honest-to-god MEAL from which the leftovers came???? There's shrimp salad (self explanatory as per last night), chicken lo mein, cheesy brats, beef barbecue, seafood gumbo and egg salad. Even if I started now and worked my way till midnight I couldn't make a dent in all that food.

What's a girl to do?

I better set the table.

One and One Make... ONE?

2009-09-28T08:16:00.000-07:00

I've mentioned my older sister, haven't I? She's still trying to save me from myself even after all these years! We are the twain that might never have met were we not sisters.

Today she suggested that, if the two of us were combined, we could make one perfect person.

Frankly, I was pretty happy with myself 'as is' so I wondered - and asked - what about me she would switch and how an aspect of her personality (and vice-versa) would improve the whole. I'm dying to hear her answer but, till then, I'll simply speculate....

She's a Republican and I'm a Democrat bordering on Socialist. There, I absolutely do not see her way as an improvement. She wants all people to take care of themselves, sink or swim, and I want all people to have a fair chance at being able to stay afloat.

She's frugal and I am... not. lol Perhaps I could stand to profit, literally, if I had her Saving Gene. I could be with her on that, just for my own sake.

My sister-in-law once said that if I had a nickel and someone I loved needed a dime I would find a way to give them a dollar. She's spot on with that!! But is that in need of change? I don't think so. Amelioration, maybe, but that's as far as I could go!

I'm trusting and she is sceptical. About EVERYTHING. I would have long since had to off myself if I couldn't keep the sunshine in my outlook. Can't give that up or even dilute it; it's who I am!

I am spontaneous with affection and she is more measured. I'm aware that public displays of affection are offensive to some but I'm thinking that's THEIR problem and not mine. I believe the benefit of a hug or a kiss almost always outweighs What Others Might Think of its propriety.

Guilt. Oy!!! A useless emotion but one she's well-vested in and I've never been able to figure out why. Is that part of being a Capricorn, I wonder, because she has never done one evil or cruel thing to anyone in all the years I've known her. So, where does guilt enter the equation? I won't say I've never felt guilty because I have but since I chose my actions and let them lie I have to let them go. If I ever have the chance there are a few people I would apologize to for things done but I sure wouldn't want to adopt any guilt so, no, that's not something she could give me I would take.

She let her children fly from the nest more cleanly than I did and I can appreciate that but it's not my way nor is it my girls'.

She does have better common sense than I do and yet my wackiness has lead to lots (and lots and lots) of OH! So interesting!!! situations in my life; I wouldn't trade them for the safe and sane.

In terms of sisterhood, intelligence, humor, writing abilty, weight, and health (in eight years I could be where her health is now)we're about even so I don't see anything to exchange in those areas....

There you have it. It's just one girl's opinion of who we are. I can't WAIT to see how she sees us as being the better for sharing traits.

This could be interesting!

*Note:
All Toot wanted to change was for me to 1.) more often say, "No!" to things I wasn't hot to do anyway and 2.) be less wasteful especially in buying food that I know has a good chance of never being eaten. There was a slight nod given to my need for more frugality but it wasn't officially proffered so I'm innoring that.

As always, my imagination ran away with me!!! lol

I am Woman

2009-09-27T19:02:00.000-07:00

Is there anyone anywhere who takes greater delight in the little things than I?

I can set my own alarm clock! How 'bout that??

AND I finally figured out how to set the radio stations I want on the car stereo.

Those seem like minor coups, I bet, to you but to me... it's like climbing Mt. Everest!

Each little thing I do for myself that had been Tom's job over the last ten years makes me proud, however out of proportion it might seem.

I can clean the vacuum dust bin, start the dishwasher, put Merlin in and take him out of the pool. I can use the broiler successfully and clean the lanai doorwalls without leaving streaks.

I can make the airport run!

I can do the laundry. And program the DVR. I can log on and off the laptop as well as the PC.

I can pay the bills, make appointments, and carry out the garbage for pick-up at the curb.

I can bring the car in for regular maintenance, do the marketing and decide on menus.

I can spend the day alone.

And the night.

Yeah... hooray for me.

Hearing Is Believing

2009-09-27T07:23:00.000-07:00

I love the beach. Ours, here in Sarasota,Florida, is ranked #2 in the world so there's a lot to love about it.

One of my favorite things to do there is eavesdrop on other people's conversations! It's like being a peeping Tom but with your ears??

Voyerism... where would I be without it now?

It's just so much fun to hear bits and snippets of other people's lives. This one's making a deal with someone somewhere else, ear glued to his cell phone while his family focuses on the sand and the sun. That one moans about her boyfriend who - it's clear in my mind anyway - is just not that into her. Three old hens are cluck, cluck, clucking over the miseries of being seventy-something: nobody calls, nobody writes, and everything hurts.

It's not that what I hear is earth-shattering or life-changing it's that it ISN'T. Here we all are in this extraordinary space being absolutely ordinary!

Point? We are what we are. Each of us, whatever our circumstance, carry our baggage along even when we travel to paradise!!

The beach can't make a workaholic relax, can't heal a broken romance, can't make the old young. What it CAN do is share its beauty and link those of us there on a given day.

I'm in my neighbors' lives but for a moment but it's a moment I savor.

BFF

2009-09-25T08:56:00.000-07:00

My best friend just gave me a call. She lives in Ohio and is a wonderful mixture of dizzy and delightful.

Sound like anyone you know??

We became friends the first year she taught and shared a room with me in St. Clair Shores, MI. I was pregnant with my first daughter, Amy, then and was always starving. We had the same planning period and I, too often, lured her away from grading papers and lesson planning to come out on School Newspaper Business (I was the sponsor!)which always segued into lunch at McDonald's.

I love when people are easily corrupted.

What I discovered over time is that I am not the ONLY person in the world who walks into walls, trips over dust, and laughs away mistakes.

Terry is the perfect person to be my friend.

We've weathered the births of five children (three,mine, and two, hers,), her divorce, the moves to Ohio for her and then Florida for me, Tom's death and a myriad other highs and lows along the way to here-and-now.

She was my choice for Tom's New Wife when I croaked but, cruelly, life took another path for us on that one.

They would have made a good couple!

I know she's easy to live with because she and I have done a good deal of tripping together over the years. She's actually better company on a vacation than Tom was because she likes to shop, is happy seeing new places and doing things never done before, and - like me - never gets pissy when lost. She knows, as I do too, that people are always 'out there' just waiting for the chance to help a couple of ditzy girls find their way back to the beaten path!!

Tom always took having to ask directions VERY personally!!?

Terry's and my biggest challenge in travelling together was and still is WARDROBE. It's a running joke that, when we each emerge from our sleeping quarters and meet up for the day's activities, we are in the same basic outfit or colors or even shoes. It's ridiculous!! More than several times we have arrived at the breakfast spot, taken one look at each other only to have one of us turn on her heel to go back from whence she came and change.

It's particularly odd that this still happens because we shop separately in two different states in two different climate regions and we are not even close to the same size!?

It's pure and simple evidence of our connection.

She's the one who introduced me to Sarasota in the first place; that has to have been thirty years ago. That was, if I remember correctly, the year her 4-year old son, Bobby, kept putting on his sister's clothes and trying to get out the door with us while wearing them!?

Not that there's anything wrong with that??? lol

That was just a phase but it sure made for some big laughs after the children were safely tucked in bed at night!

Laughing together is what we do best. We laugh at ourselves, at each other, at life's vagaries.

And laughter is the best medicine.

Francophone and Francophile

2009-09-24T05:46:00.000-07:00

Eight months into widowhood I am again searching for something that'll put verve back in my life. This time I decided to look for international penpals.

Went on a few sites and tried to find one that didn't have "romance" as a goal, just simple chatter, maybe in two languages...?

I have found the greatest guy! He's a riddle wrapped in an enigma at this point because he has so many personas I'm not 100% certain I have, even yet, found the Real Man though we have chatted and exchanged URLs numerous times in the last week.

He came to me initially as Alex, then was James, then Jimi, and - finally - Jean-Pierre.

I know what you're thinking, "RUN! Do not walk to the nearest delete button!!"

But I am loving talking with him even if I am still a little confused about his place and time on this earth!?

His blogs are very cool. He does one that's basically social commentary and then one that's story-telling. Both are in French which is challenging for me since they use vocabulary and syntax beyond first-year level. I started reading the latest three-part story he has online and had to laugh at myself. The first time through it I was having so much fun just reading the words aloud that what I truly enjoyed most was hearing the sound of French language in my own voice.

I TOLD you all life was about me, right???

But now that I've read the story through again I can say that I like his writing very much. There's a duality about it that has captured my imagination and I think that's due to the African influence in conjunction with the written French I learned in school. French is always romantic but when you're throwing in Mo-Bwas and Ngbands, Abomambazis and Gbtalas it's all the moreso.

And he has been to this blog too. I REALLY laughed when he characterized my previous entry about the car radio installation as "extraordinary"!? How ambiguous can a one-word comment be? I wrote back and asked if that meant the entry was extraordinarily banal, trivial or boring???? lol

Haven't gotten the answer to that question but I await it with baited breath.

Sing Along With Me

2009-09-22T12:38:00.000-07:00

A little over a year ago Tom and I bought a new car. It's a Hyundai Santa Fe and I've enjoyed it very much until about six weeks ago. That's when the radio/CD/navigation system in the console died.

Dead.

I immediately took it to the dealership and Tim told me they'd have to order the part which should arrive the Saturday after the Tuesday I was there.

Not so much....

When I didn't hear from them Saturday I went by on Monday to check and this time Bob said the radio was on back order and couldn't be there 'till September 15.

September 15!?? That would be a month from my original request. In a world where UPS and Fed Ex can have anything anywhere in the world - guaranteed - in three days, how did that make sense?

But I left the dealership and decided, like Scarlett, to 'think about that tomorrow'.

Went back again later that week and Tim stepped up one more time. I explained as how none of this was making sense to me when there's a Hyundai dealership in every good-sized town in the USA, there's a factory in Alabama (I know because Mike, the sales guy, had a sign on his office wall that said my Hyundai was American made-in-Alabama!)and there had to be a headquarters somewhere in Korea, right?

Somebody, somewhere, has got to have this console piece. And the aforementioned three days ought to be enough for that to be shipped to and arrive at Gettel Automotive in Sarasota.

"Tell me where that thinking is off the mark, Tim."

Tim checked the computer again and - what do you know - now the radio is "ready for release" from back order on September 15. I did a quick double take because, and I shared this thinking with Tim, I understood immediately "ready for release" was not at all the same thing as "being shipped" OR "waiting for me in Sarasota"!!

"Ready for release" meant that it would another 7-10 days AFTER September 15th before I had that radio in my car!?

I told Tim, "That is not acceptable." I went on to further make clear that the radio and singing along TO the radio was more than just a convenience for me; it was Important with a capital "I".

Tim never asked and I didn't say (because that would have involved tears and blubbering)but singing along to the radio in the car was something Tom and I did almost every day. With relish! It was actually number two in our list of Fun Things To Do Together....

Not being able to partake any longer of our Number One fun activity, I really relied on having that radio blast, singing along with it. Without it, the car - like Tom - was dead to me, don'tcha know???

Instead of bawling my way through THAT conversation, though, what I did tell Tim was, I needed to talk to the guy who could OK me having a loaner until my radio arrived.

You won't be surprised to learn that did not happen. It's been a long six weeks for me. But today it's back! And I'm hoping it won't be long before my heart is soaring again as I belt out those tunes at stoplights all over Sarasota. You'll know me, I'll be the one smiling as I sing every note.

Tabasco

2009-09-08T11:53:00.000-07:00

My daughter Suzy lives here on Bounty with me, her longtime boyfriend(so long, in fact that he's far far away from being a whatchacallit "boy"!)Thom, and his Siberian husky Tabasco.

Tabasco is in his 15th year.

That is very old for a big dog of his type.

It's time to kiss him goodbye and send him off to doggie heaven but that is just so hard to contemplate let alone DO.

He's in constant pain, poor fella. He's lost control of more than one part of his body. And his whimpering would break your heart.

I know it does mine.

I will hate to see him go but will be so glad when he's gone on to his reward!

What do you think Doggie Heaven looks like?? I can't imagine - but I know it will have a spot ready and waiting for our good boy whenever we get up the guts to let him go.

I hope that's soon. This hurts us all too much.

The Gay Divorcee

2009-09-08T11:20:00.000-07:00

This could be a little tricky, saying everything exactly right, but I'm going to give it a shot anyway because it's such a significant happening.

My daughter Amy is officially divorced! It happened very recently after eight long months of agonized wishing and waiting for it to be done. The process of divorce is not any fun, that's the simple truth, but Amy handled the challenges with great aplomb and I am proud of her for weathering the many storms that washed over her again and again.

Her story was not a new one; she married someone who looked great on paper but was not, in reality, the perfect fit she'd anticipated. He's a good man but is not and never was the right man for her.

She devoted 14 long years to trying every day in every way to Make It Right and then - when 40 came - she said, "Enough!" and set about making a new life for herself
and for their three children.

She and her ex - Bill - decided to live, as separated adults, in the same house with the children while the divorce was underway. There was some tension between them, yes, but they protected the children from their differences in so far as that was humanly possible. It was difficult in the doing but, in retrospect, I see it as having worked out well for the children and that is the bottom line.

They both agreed to joint custody and worked out a new-to-me arrangement of keeping the children in the house as they always have been with both Amy and Bill doing the coming and going having either 3 or 4 days each week with the kids.

So far so good!!

The kids have handled all this far better than I could ever have forseen. It pays to have two parents who each love them tremendously and want the best for them.

I hope and pray Amy has all the love she deserves in her life from now until forever.
If confidence counts, she will. Love IS the meaning of life (I read it in The Big Book Of Judy!)and finding a soulmate makes all of life not just bearable in its trials but brings joy to every moment.

That is my wish for her, for you, and for everyone everywhere.

Amen.

The Wednesday Girl

2009-09-08T10:44:00.000-07:00

I was looking for something new to do - something that Tom and I had not shared so that I could take one more bold step into this future of mine. I found it at Sarasota Memorial Hospital.

I'm volunteering there on Wednesdays, taking the library cart around from room to room offering free magazines and books for patients and their families to enjoy while at SMH.

What's not to love about "free"???

There are over 1000 volunteers at Sarasota Memorial, isn't that amazing? It's a tribute to not just compassion and community service but also to retirement benefits that have, thus far, allowed all these kind-hearted people to just give away their time for hours and days and weeks and years at a stretch.

God Bless America!

If the State of Michigan screws with my benefits any more than they already have (and moreover threaten with regularity)I may find myself in a position of having to work for money again but - for now at least - I'm enjoying the opportunity to be a volunteer.

The uniform notwithstanding!!!?

It physically hurt me to buy and hang in my closet two pairs of white elastic-waist polyester pants; they are and always have been the trademark uniform of the elderly. Yikes!! I so did NOT want to go there.

But go I did.

In training I got to wear a sort of semi-cute royal blue pinafore apron over a simple white blouse but now, as a graduate volunteer, I have to wear this God-awful
tunic top in a hideous guaranteed-to-wash-out-ANYONE's-color blue. I'm still at the stage when I shudder dressing for my Wednesday date!

But it's like my father always said, "Keep your head up, Judith, and smile. THAT's what people notice, not what you're wearing."

I love being able to talk to real patients! I love being able to spread that smile my father righteously claimed a winner. I love being able to offer (free) something that has the capacity to divert even for a moment each anxious/scared/depressed/lonely person who could easily be you or me, your family member or mine.

I'm so glad to have found a niche where, even if briefly, it's in my power to bring a smile where there was none before.

It's absolutely more a blessing to me than it could ever be to anyone I serve.

And that's the truth (insert raspberry noise here!).

The Prodigal Returneth

2009-09-08T10:36:00.000-07:00

Yup, I'm back.

My hiatus was unplanned for and inexplicable - just wrote one day and stopped the next. My apologies to those of you who've been looking for more and weren't getting any.

I know the feeling!! lol

Summer IS a lazy time in the tropics but it's not my excuse. Like everything else having to do with me I don't question the why so much as I simply accept it and move on.

Hope you're ready to move on along with me?? The Widow Judy does need her peeps!!

There are a few things to report from The Summer Sabbatical and those will be following quickly on the heels of this (re)opener.

TWJ lives!

Summer Daze

2009-06-02T11:36:00.000-07:00

It's hard to believe another whole school year has gone by. I swear the days rush past at lightening speed.

And yet, somehow, I never change, cough, cough....

Nope. I'm still the madcap goofy girl I've always been. Still trying to learn it all, do it all, have it all and then give it all away!?

Italian is coming along very nicely (multo bene!). Instead of singing out loud to all my country music faves on the car CD player, now I'm following the cues on the language tapes so I can 1.) be polite in a third language, 2.) get around town, and
3.) cafe klatch with the best of them once in Roma.

My trip to Michigan (yes, the very place I vowed I would never go again only a couple short months ago when it tried so hard to kill me!) is overbooked and underfinanced but go I shall and, once there, will do it up brown. This is touted as a "Celebrate Olivia" tour but of course ALL the grandchildren will be celebrated in turn and together as a crew.

My crew. In my crib. Good Daughter Amy has worked up a schedule wherein each and every child will have at least one night at the motel with Grandma. That comes with attendant restaurant foods most loved by the kids and a shopping spree of course.

What's a Grandma without a flashing debit card, I ask you??

Olivia will get special treatment this time to celebrate her graduation to middle school. On Saturday we'll be skipping town with her two best friends and heading for an amusement/water park on the west coast of MI for two days of Big Fun.
I am not a rider of anything that goes fast, upside down, or twirls so the girls will do the rides with oversight only on my part. I'll park myself on a nice bench under a tree in proximity to a cotton candy stand and they'll check in at appointed times to share their tales have food/drink with me.

There's a lazy river in the waterpark section so the girls'll know where to find me floating placidly on what I hope will be a sunny day in Muskegon!!

Ergo, the school year will end with a bang for Miss Olivia. Everyone else will ease into the summer a little more subtly but with just as much enthusiasm.

Including the Widow Judy!

Roma redux

2009-05-29T13:49:00.000-07:00

I started learning Italian in my car yesterday.

Usually I just sing as loudly as I want to the two country stations I listen to but now I'm improving my mind. Seriously. Experts say that doing crossword puzzles and learning a new language are two of the best ways possible to keep your brain sharp.

If that's true I should be a LOT sharper than I am??

I play Scrabble way too much of the day on Facebook... usually about 8 games simultaneously! I win a lot but not all the time because those upstart nieces won't let me rest on my laurels.

I mentioned that I'm thinking about travelling to Rome this fall and I got a message from a long-lost-recently-rediscovered cousin inviting me to travel with her, her husband, and a friend of theirs.

No, his name wasn't Stan!! lol

Their schedule isn't fixed because the friend has some health issues that need to be resolved first but it would be so cool to hook up with my cousin, whom I haven't seen in, let's say, thirty five years give or take.

And then my daughter Beckie told me she and her husband Dan will be in Rome themselves for an energy conference at the end of September so we could pal around if I were there then.

Also a very cool idea.

So... I'm learning Italian. After teaching French, another romance language, for almost forty years Italian's coming along pretty quickly. I just need the oral facility - won't be writing any treatises after all. The accent's interesting and I like it very much - not as much as French but that's OK.

Who's been to Rome at different times of the year? Is it better to be there in September and October or October and November? Can you do without a coat... just stick to sweaters in the fall? Anybody stayed somewhere they loved? What's the best area to live in while you're there?

I need some input so help me out. Let me know some specifics ASAP, please. I need to start solidifying some plans!

Ciao!!

Memorial Day

2009-05-25T14:18:00.000-07:00

What a beautiful holiday this has been.

Memorial Day is all about remembering those who've served our country especially those who have died in service so you would think that might be sad. But, it fact, it's a rip-roarin' beach-lake-pool-picnic-barbecue-fireworks celebratin' sort of day and that's what we did.

All that stuff!

I started off meeting Carolyn, Dalecia, Dabria, Dominique and Quincy at the beach about 10:00. IT WASN'T EARLY ENOUGH, lol!! We literally drove up and down the parking lanes for better than 50 minutes (you would never have done that, I know!) and still there was no room at the inn.

So we drove across the street to the condo Carolyn's friend lives in but - alas - she was having people over herself and couldn't give us the go-ahead to use her parking spaces as we'd hoped she might.

All that running in place made up hungry so we stopped for brunch at Denny's. As soon as we got our drinks we toasted our service people, their sacrifices and those of their families - then we ate like pigs!

You would have hooted over our ancient waitness. She had to be in her late seventies. Guess we'll be seeing a lot more of that in this economy....

You have to know that, yes, I left her a hugh tip!

Having been denied access to the Gulf of Mexico we headed to Oscar Sherer State Park figuring we'd go to the little beach there. I pulled up to the ranger's station first and paid but as she was handing me change the officer said, "Oh, by the way, the beach is closed for high bacteria count."

"Oh, no! That's the only reason we were here - to go to the beach!!"

She gave me the entire refund, Quincy switched back to Carolyn's car (she was nice enough to bring him so I didn't have to drive all the way cross town to pick him up!) and we parted company.

I went back home and joined Suzy and Thom on the lanai. Suzy was wiping away big crocodile tears when I stepped out there. Stevie Wonder's "Sir Duke" was on XM and she was remembering the crazy 'exercises' that Tom used to do to that song and to so many others.

The softie!!

We spent the afternoon watching the Tigers play the Royals and whup 'em pretty good: 13-1! That, lazing in the pool and reading completed our holiday afternoon.

It's dinnertime now and Thom Strong is manning the grill. We're having all the staples: barbecued rib steaks, corn on the cob, salad, hot crusty rolls.

Later, there'll be watermelon, ice cream and sparklers.

All I can say is, "Wish you were here,

Tom."

Arrivaderci, Roma

2009-05-22T09:00:00.000-07:00

I've going this afternoon for my second viewing of "Angels and Demons". Loved the book, loved the movie!

I'm not a Catholic so I don't mind the religious controversy in this Dan Brown book or that in his previous book-made-movie, The DaVinci Code; this is a very tight action thriller set in the place I would most like to spend some time right now: Rome.

I wonder how much time a novice would need to spend 'enough' time in that city!??

As a forever French teacher I know Paris should be the first European city I'd want to visit but - for whatever reason - it's Rome that draws me.

I always said that if Tom died first I'd sign up to join the nunnery (after I actually became Catholic, of course!)so maybe that's where my new-found interest in the Vatican and the city surrounding it comes from?

I long to be in the piazzas just glorying in the architecture and flavor of them.

I want to see all the churches and revel in their august beauty...

and the museums and the cafes and the pensionnes and the fountains and the cobblestones and the people and most of all the history.

Why now? Why Rome? Why don't I have a fortune large enough to support the adventure??

(LOL)

If Paris took a second seat because I've spent an adult lifetime seeing videos and reading books of ITS geography, history and culture the answer might be right there in front of my face.

I CAN afford to rent/buy videos of Rome!

That will be my compromise; I'll hit the library and the bookstores this afternoon and start amassing a personal library of Things To Do And See on my (never-to-actually-be-realized) dream trip!!

I do have an excellent imagination AND a knack for being happy with what I've got so that might well satisfy this new-found longing for travel and adventure in La Bella Roma.

I'm off to follow that Italian yellow brick road!

Arreviderci!

Just Daniel

2009-05-21T10:51:00.000-07:00

God bless Daniel!

He's my 12-year old nephew who happens to be autistic.

There's a hugh spectrum of abilities for autistic kids and I haven't done enough research to know with authority where Daniel falls on that scale but I DO know that he's performing at a far higher level than I could ever have imagined possible when he was diagnosed at 4.

He has the best parents any special needs kid could have AND he's in a school district that values EVERY student. Those are not the only but they are two of the main reasons he has come so far.

His has been an amazing journey.

He's made some giant leaps in the last couple years. He and his younger brother are relating in ways that I was never sure would happen for them but - by gosh - they PLAY GAMES together, now, almost every single day.

Unheard of.

He took up an instrument, the baritone, and we could only look at it and wonder what the heck would happen. Two years later not only does he play it (and LOVES playing it!) but he's in the regular old-fashioned school band!?? ON THE STAGE, playing in harmony with others!! He sits silently when he needs to and jumps in with beautiful music when it's his time to shine.

Amazing.

Last summer he went to a special needs bike camp to learn to ride a two-wheeler and he DID. Prior to that his mother-who-loves-him would tool him around on a bicycle built for two so their family could bike ride together. Well... he'd gotten so tall and filled out so much that she was literally doing all the work for what essentially were two grown adults!? He sat in the back and waved to neighbors, smiled and sang to himself having a ball while she grunted and groaned pedalling for two up and down all the many hills in East Lansing!???

Now that's true love.

But even true love gets pooped so Shelly researched and found a group that had been successful teaching autistic kids to ride a two-wheeler. On faith, she signed Daniel up for their summer program. It involved 3+ hours a day in the car and that ranks VERY low on Daniel's list so she was never sure until The Day if it would be a "go" but it was. And he learned. And now he's ALMOST (fingers crossed!?) ready to go around the block (shh...) a-l-o-n-e.

I had to whisper it for fear of jinxing the prospect!!!

If he hadn't almost run an old guy down last week (!) it probably would have been a
fait accompli but... well... there's always that big but, y'know??

I'm so proud of him. And Shelly and Todd. And his brother Zachary. And his grandparents. And his classmates. And his teachers. And everyone who loves him because, as Zachary said in kindergarten when a kid asked him, "What's wrong with your brother?" he - without hesitation - answered, "Nothing,

"he's just Daniel."

Justice For All!!

2009-05-21T10:26:00.001-07:00

I am a mess!

In the last three days I have done nothing but bump into things and, as a result, I'm covered in purple marks that pool blood under my skin.

Hideous!!!

There's enough indignity in just getting older without adding injury to insult.

Both hands, both arms and my left leg all pay moot tribute to klutziness and age.

Even when I think I'm being careful I'm really not, apparently.

I know there are meds people take that intensify this happening (I'm not taking any of those though so I have to think heredity plays a part in this phenomenon too.) but are there meds that can STOP it??

Wishful thinking, I'm sure.

Just as I wishfully think of having a waist again, or luxurious hair, or TOM here beside me!?

Or... a bucket of money! So I can go to Europe and hang for a couple months - ok - now I AM dreaming!!

C'est la vie. That's life and there you have it. You take the good with the bad.

On the positive side I'm relatively healthy, relatively sharp, relatively active, and loved a lot so on balance there's no question life Is good.

But damn these marks. I'm not Cain!!!! I'm just The Widow Judy trying to get along in the world.

Where's the justice?

CA Bound!

2009-05-18T08:58:00.000-07:00

Did I mention Aunt Katie's in town? She's actually Tom's aunt and I can only claim her by marriage but Tom's family having been MY family for so long - what the heck - she's mine now too.

She was long-married to Uncle Donald who treated her like the princess she was probably meant to be. (I bet, when she was a child, she was "The Pretty One"!!)
I'm not actually certain what her age is but it's in the 80's somewhere and she is still a real looker. She has the most beautiful gray hair - the kind that's three-dimensional with the lightest shade an ash that's to die for. Ethereal, but not in an other-wordly sense, just highly-refined-and-delicate.

And bright?? I'd hate to get in a "fact-off" with her because I'm sure she'd show me up pretty substantially.

We'll avoid that, please!

She's making a HUGH life change and Sarasota is simply a pit stop on her way from MI to San Luis Obispo, CA.

Her second marriage was well-intentioned and supported by the family but (and you know there's always that BIG BUT!?) it didn't work out and, having divested, Katie has decided to move herself and her belongings across country. She will be spending some appreciable face time with her son and his still-young family.

Great idea!

NOTHING keeps a person lively like being with young people!! And if they're your very own grands AND they live in paradise-west AND your son married a veritable saint - well - it's all good.

There will be games galore to enjoy with the boys, all their school functions to participate in, their future loves to be seen. Her son Bill is a laugh riot and will keep her on her toes poking fun at her and at everyone else too, even himself.

She's going to a great family and while those of us on THIS side of the Mississippi will miss seeing her we will enjoy hearing about all her escapades.

Yup. I believe she still has "escapades" in her future.

She's a sassy, beautiful, intelligent lady with a lot of fun potential.

It gives me hope.

Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow...

2009-05-14T18:09:00.000-07:00

It's summer in sunny Florida!

This is the fifth consecutive day that clouds have rolled in about 2:00 and brought afternoon rain.

I love that!

You get to see sunshine through the whole morning but the afternoons can bring almost any kind of thunderstorm you've ever experienced, from just a kiss of rain to violent incursions.

The general pattern sees the clouds and rain moving out by dinnertime which means the sun comes out again before sunset in paradise.

Did I mention summer lasts for five or six months?? Well... it does.

Today I was at Alta Vista picking up Quincy, my Little Brother, when the deluge started. We were soaked to the bone just sprinting from the covered walkway to my car 50 yards away!! My wig was so soaked I had to whip it off my head and shake it out in the front seat. This cracked Quincy up, of course; he's 9.

We went a mile down the road to get my Little Sister Dalecia from home after Tuttle elementary got out. She's also 9 but a grade ahead of Q. She had time to change her clothes and pat her cornrow braids dry, the lucky!

Q and I looked like drowned rats!!

It was still raining ferociously when we pulled out of her driveway. The roads - especially the intersections - were completely flooded. Cars were stalling going through water half-door deep.

We modified our playdate plan and went straight to dinner at Olive Garden. It was the better part of valor....

We had a lovely meal, laughed, had lots of conversation, many stories were told, plans were made for excursions over summer vacation - we even tried the new dessert: sugared doughnuts!

When we got outside you would never have even known it rained - well - unless you touched Q's or my shirt!? WE were still soggy but the roads were now dry, the clouds had disappeared and the sun was out.

Amazing phenomenon!

It was 6PM and all was right with paradise once more.

Until TOMORROW afternoon...?

Moving on...

2009-05-14T13:36:00.000-07:00

Phew!

I made it to May 14!!

I was afraid I might fall down the rabbit hole or something on Tom's birthday but nothing happened. May 13th moved as all others do from minutes to hours to "Time's Up!" and on to the next day.

Slam, bam, thank you Ma'am.

It's a good lesson to remember - no matter how much you look forward to or dread a day it will always be that and nothing more: 24 hours with 60 minutes each. Period. Paragraph.

For myself, I moved through the hours relatively unencumbered with tears or sadness. I followed through on my promise to myself and I'm certain I did laugh more than I cried... although it probably would've been pretty close. By 8:00PM I figured I'd just put my head down on my pillow for a minute and three hours later I woke up!? Since 11:00 is my usual bedtime I decided, "What the heck?" rolled over and went right back to sleep.

That was probably cheating, calling it a day three hours earlier than usual, but I think it can be forgiven at least in Year One.

Thanks to all of you who thought of Tom and all of us who mourn.

It helped.

The Unbirthday

2009-05-13T06:50:00.000-07:00

Today is Tom's unbirthday.

In the Big Book of Judy you don't get to add years after you're dead BUT the anniversary of your arrival on Earth can always be celebrated - ergo - the aforementioned "unbirthday" was born.

Both my 'away' daughters called from Michigan to say they and their children toasted Grampa this morning. Beckie and her boys clinked glasses of orange juice and chocolate milk; Amy and her three blew kisses toward heaven. I'm not sure if anyone sang the unbirthday song but I wouldn't be surprised if they had.

Me? I rolled over and went back to sleep because I was having a dream in which Tom was a major player. We were at a big family party/event and Tom was shucking a hugh box of corn on the cob. I offered to help but he was clearly having fun doing it himself while chatting with others so I left him to it and invited my sort of quasi-new boyfriend (whose name was NOT Stan but was, rather, Rob!?)to play cards which we did on top of a bed in immediate proximity to Tom. All of us seemed very happy and content.

(I can't explain these dream sequences... all I can do is report!?)

But I'm up now and have been for a couple hours. So far, so good. Sure, I puddled up over the clicking and kisses but I'm not bawling like a baby so I consider that a coup of sorts.

When I was so out-of-control weepy earlier this week I cancelled myself out of three engagements scheduled for today and tomorrow. It just made sense; giving myself some time and space to let this anniversary pass over-through-and-by me as it will seemed the better part of valor.

By Friday I'll be ready to re-join the world.

Hope it's ready for me??

The Polar Bear

2009-05-12T14:05:00.000-07:00

My daughter Beckie and the boys gave Daddy Dan a puppy for his birthday a couple weeks ago. A "Coton de Tulear" which is to say, a French ball of white fluff!

Pictures do neither the pup nor the adoring family justice. If every CHILD born was greeted with such loving looks and tender touches the world would be a better place indeed.

The kids had a rescue dog, a beagle named Regal, before the children came. She was a pistol! And STINK??! Yoicks. No matter how often that dog was bathed she always had a stench about her that couldn't be ignored.

Tom and I would babysit the Regal Beagle whenever the kids went travelling - before the boys were born that happened quite a lot. It was always a challenge and while we loved the dog we were never enamoured of her untoward habits.

The only way the dog would eat involved me having to sit on the floor beside her dish and chat her up while she nibbled on kibble. Seriously.

And no matter how we shored up our fencing in the backyard on Bishop in Detroit that damn dog would dig and wiggle and wriggle till she found her way out. That would necessitate us going up one street and down another too many times to count until we'd spot her and lure her into the car with extravagent treats.

She thought she was a lap dog; that was her saving grace.

(Except for the heady odor which transferred to everything she laid upon!)

The new puppy won't be home in Berkley for another few weeks. I imagine he'll have a cute little house out-of-doors but mostly, for his own sake, he'll be inside and be walked as necessity dictates. Lord knows how that will work? There better be a schedule allowing equal access to Polar or many noses will be quickly out of joint!!

It's a hypo-allergenic breed so asthmatic relatives should be safe.

It says in fine print...!?

I wish them luck. A puppy's work is never done and neither is its owner's. With all that goes on at Beckie's I'd like to be a fly on the wall observing the manner in which everyone melds the dog to their schedule.

It ought to be a circus.

Luckily, the Radomskis all LOVE a good circus.

Try, Try, Again

2009-05-09T17:26:00.000-07:00

Too too many tears today!

Being on the lanai still kills me. Tom would be disappointed with the big baby I'm being.

We had so much fun out there! My heart just bleeds without him being under the sun and the stars with me.

I see him in every space out there, so entirely happy with our life here: doing his goofy pool exercises to 50's and 60's tunes, playing Rummikub and keeping a weekly score to declare a "World Champion", lounging by the hot water outflow doing a "Pool Stand" when the water was really too cold for swimming, pushing me on the floaty so I could stay in the Lazy River, sunbathing, both of us singing old Rock-n-Roll songs aloud, grilling at least four times a week, cheering for the Tigers, watching MSNBC ad nauseum, feeding/naming/establishing a relationship with the 6-7 herons who came to the door every day for pieces of hot dogs, talking to the wild parrots who came to the bird feeder telling them to 'bring your friends', finding stars in the telescope at night, watching the hawks hunt, looking for the fox who ran though the yard many mornings, mocking the golfers on the 14th tee behind our house, chatting with our girls and grands on the portable phone, and always... loving me and being loved in return.

I miss him so.

Lucky as I am with all the love I have in my life, and I AM lucky, I long for his.

There'll be a point, I'm sure, when I will be out there without puddling up; I have no doubt of that. Life goes on. But right now, this minute, today, is not that day.

Luckily for me, there'll be another day to do better tomorrow.

And so I shall,

Try.

The Hairless Wonder

2009-05-09T04:49:00.000-07:00

Let's talk about hair.

Or, rather, the LACK of hair because I don't have any!

It's true. Some medication I took for asthma caused my own never-any-good-anyway hair to thin to the point of showing scalp so I did the best thing I could and shaved it all off, period!

It was very freeing.

I wear wigs every day and have for at least 15 years.

Living in sunny Florida it's perfect! I can be in and out of the pool or the Gulf of Mexico as often as I like and not have to worry about having to do my hair multiple times a day.

It took me about 20 minutes to wash-dry-curl-fluff myself before I started wearing wigs and now it takes me, literally, four seconds to go from "no doo" to "all done"!!

Figure that's 20 minutes a day I've saved for 15 years. In total: 35,070 minutes/2,972 hours/ 123 days I've had to do something more (or less!) productive with my life since I became hairless.

Amazing.

Foolishly, I wasted way too much money buying real hair wigs when I first shaved my head. It didn't take long before I figured out that was silly. Whether the wigs are real or microfiber they all get old and have to be replaced about every 3-5 months.

I found cheap wigs from the Asian or African-American beauty supply stores did everything I needed them to do and did it for $25.00-$30.00 a pop!

It's challenging to find blond or frosted blond wigs at these establishments but it can be done; I'm living proof.

When I find a style and color I like I try to buy it in bulk. At about $23.00 per wig it's entirely do-able.

It drives my daughters batty that almost every day since wig-wearing became a way of life for me someone on the street, in a shop, or at the market compliments my hair and asks where I get it cut/done! It's a running joke with us. I try to just say, "Thank you," but almost always cop to the fact it's a wig and if they like it so much they can have it for themselves for $23.00 at Lee Hair and Nails!!

Sure, if I had a choice I'd like to have a full head of my own lustrous hair but that option's off the table. Wigs are an excellent second-best.

The trick is to find ones that require very little brushing - those are the ones that last and look good the longest. I simply shake mine vigorously then plop it on my head, use my fingers to arrange it and I'm good-to-go.

It works!

Try it, you'll like it.

To Work or Not To Work...?

2009-05-08T08:36:00.000-07:00

Retirement began, for me, in late August of 2005. I never thought I'd be any good at it because I was always a person who got the most done when there was the most to do.

Without a schedule to be met I often did nothing or... as close to nothing as possible: watched TV, read, napped, shopped, vegged. That's been the story of my life in Sarasota.

It's taken me this long to begin wishing I had somewhere productive to go and do.

I'm thinking about a job. Maybe at a hospital where there's always a bustle of activity. Or a school. It should be somewhere I could put my own special talents to work: indomitable perkiness, positive thinking, an ability to rationalize even the most outrageous situations, organizing anything and anyone, never saying die.

BUT it must also be forgiving of my less-than-sterling traits: walking into walls, singing out loud, being figuratively and literally dizzy sometimes, having memory lapses, getting lost....

At 64 I might be able to find a paying job but I'm more likely to find something as a volunteer.

A hospital volunteer sounds do-able.

I'd make an excellent greeter because I'm friendly and make a good first impression (it's only after you get to know me you begin to understand how truly demented I've become!). Or a tutor for children stuck in the hospital but still capable of doing their schoolwork. A reader for those who can't read themselves? I could push the newspaper/candy cart around the halls and chat people up as I wander.

Twenty hours a week would be plenty for me to commit to, I think.

I wonder if Sarasota Memorial is ready for me??

Think I'll stop there today and check out the possibilities. Who knows? It could be win/win for SMH and for TWJ.

Let the games begin!

The Beck and Call Girl

2009-05-07T18:09:00.001-07:00

Switched from Comcast to Verizon FIOS today and - oy - such a deal!

If I stayed up for three days (like I did when I got cable for the first time in the '80's) I still wouldn't have enough time to try all the channels I now have on my TV.

Correction: my SIX TV's!?

Yup. TV's very important in The Widow Judy's household.

Still, I'm sure poor Tom is not resting quietly at this moment knowing we didn't get the baseball package too and won't, therefore, be having the opportunity to see twelve different baseball games daily this season as we did when he was alive. If the Tigers stumble I still may have to sign up for it knowing Tom would want me to even if we never actually turn a game ON.

It's the principle, see?

The installer, Ryan, was here from 8:15 'till just about 12:00 hooking us up, literally. He was very professional and explained all the particulars but his explication fell on deaf ears; while he pushed button after button showing me all the tricks I tuned out knowing I would never remember a darn thing he said.

I have to do it myself if I'm going to learn the ins and outs. I know this is shocking but I plan to read the instructions.

Fancy THAT!

Apparently, if a channel is showing a movie there's a way to play it any time YOU'RE ready regardless of the scheduled showtime!? Sounds like the work of the devil, doesn't it?

If I'm reading correctly, I have 1951 channels not counting the On Demand options.

See what I mean about staying up ad nauseum???

I have figured out how to DVR the shows I want but, so far, I am in the dark how to interrupt the DVRing and start a show over from the beginning. I'm putting that on tomorrow's learning agenda.

For tonight, I'm happy to click and flip and just generally revel in the glory that is having 2000+ channels at my beck and call.

Decadence, thy name is Verizon FIOS!

Pipe Dreams

2009-05-07T06:26:00.000-07:00

Anybody want to go on a cruise?

My passport arrived two days ago - I've never had one before - and I thought, "Well, I'll just go on a little cruise, I will."

Called the travel agency and, without a roomate it's twice as expensive!

Who knew??

There's always a catch, isn't there.... Before, I had a partner and no passport; now, I have a passport and no partner?!

Where's the fairness in THAT!??

A cruise has always been an 'out there' dream and I'm not sure why. Truth is, I'm terrible on boats and generally end up puking in my hat! Vomiting takes away a lot of the supposed "fun" as you can well imagine.

My dad had a nice boat when he retired in Bel Air Bluffs. He would bluster even way back then about how expensive it was to spend the day on the water. Or OFF the water - there always seemed to be SOMETHING that required another bucket of money to keep the boat happy?? That's why, on Judy's Big Wish List, owning a boat has always been dead last.

I'd really like to go to Europe. FLY to Europe, that is. Unfortunately, I don't have any friends living in Paris or Rome and I'm too old to hostel it so that's probably a pipe dream too. TWJ is on a budget, after all.

Guess I'll compromise and go to the beach on Siesta Key. It IS the reason so many people visit me here in Sarasota!! They'll deny that, naturally, but when I lived on the east side of Detroit did I have a lot of company?? No, I did not....

It's fun to dream about going to new places. Think I'll take a little nap right now
and see where I wind up.

Dreaming is free, right?

The Shark

2009-05-03T12:44:00.000-07:00

Today I did something I haven't done since I was a teenager. I washed the kitchen floor.

LOL. Not a very exciting beginning for the blog, is it? Sorry 'bout that!?

Tom asked for that duty when we were first married and who was I to deny him that particular pleasure!??

Since he died, the floor has only been entirely washed one time and my brother-in-law magnanimously did that for us while we were in Michigan farewelling Tom.

That brings me back to today.

It was a bi@#*!! I'm too old to be sitting on my butt scrubbing one tile after another. And you KNOW what'll happen - they'll just get dirty again??

Plus, being as obsessive-compulsive as I am, I couldn't just scrub the tiles I also felt the need, being at that level, to wash all the lower cabinets AND rearrange the interiors of those that have gotten out of control.

I wasn't having ANY fun but I, of course, couldn't stop once I'd begun... that would be heresy! The Widow Judy does not comprehend anything other than a job well done?! I'm a 100 per-center in all things.

I got about 2/3 of the way through the kitchen and that commercial for The Shark came into my head. I need that!! I have tile in the kitchen, the foyer, the laundry room, and two bathrooms - I'm the person The Shark was meant for!!!

So I headed to Bed Bath and Beyond just as soon as I finished and got dressed for the day.

$99.00. Seemed like a bargain if only to save my knees and hips!

Science is wonderful. The Shark is mine all mine!! You'll be able to eat off my floors from now on.

But please don't....

The Odd Woman

2009-05-02T14:48:00.000-07:00

Suzy and I were in downtown Sarasota at Two Senoritas waiting for a table this afternoon; a large group was in front of us.

"7," they told the hostess and I started counting: 3 men and 4 women. There was an odd woman in the party.

It was like a slap in the face to me. Now I, The Widow Judy, will be also known as The Odd Woman??

Yikes. I hadn't thought that far ahead until this afternoon. Never having ever in my life been a single... this is very strange.

Anybody (and I mean ANYbody) who's ever known me is laughing out loud right now at the irony. The truth is, everywhere and anywhere I've ever gone with anyone I've ever known I have always always always BEEN the "odd woman"!!

No one is odder than I.

I do things and say things that, to me, seem entirely normal, sane and obvious but which, to others, are notable - and not always in a good way!?

I sing out loud all the time. To me it seems perfectly within the bounds of propriety but, often, others seem to respond with less than great enthusiasm for my singing and/or my songs. I don't have a great voice - I'm saving that for my next incarnation - but I love to sing. And so I do.

And, yes, sometimes I make up my own silly songs which was a little cuter when my children were preschoolers and they would sing along but the cute factor has undeniably waned as I've gotten older. That hasn't stopped me though.

I can't seem to help it. I see a word or a situation and I start rhyming then the rhyme becomes a poem and finally I put it to music in my head. Voila: a song is born!

Doesn't everybody do that??

Also, I smile. I smile at people I know and people I don't. I'm an indiscriminate smiler.

And a hello-er. I smile and say hello to people all the time. Why wouldn't I?? I'm in a space, we're sharing that space for a finite amount of time, why wouldn't I want people to feel welcome being where they are?

My father always said, "Keep smiling. It makes people wonder what you're up to!" He probably stole that from someone else but I took it to heart and made it a way of life.

I strike up ad hoc conversations with children, old people, all people. My sister-in-law is mortified by this and I have never been able to fathom why it's such an embarrassment for her. Poor dear, her mother did exactly the same thing her whole life long and when the three of us would be out together - well - let's just say that Sharon would die a little every time.

My clothes and hair draw attention almost daily. People literally stop me on the street all the time to ask where I get my hair done or to say my blouse (or shoes or top or bottom)look nice and where did I get them. They are, believe me, nothing special but still, somehow, they merit attention and that strikes me as odd every time.

I shop at Macy's and J.C. Penney and Walmart. I'd shop at Target but they just don't have things that fit me. Can you get any more mundane than those three aforementioned stores?

I don't think so.

"The Odd Woman". It's like I've come full circle with Tom's death. I am now literally as well as figuratively "odd".

In one sense, I wouldn't have it any other way; in another... well... that could be more problematic. I can't imagine being single so it's hard to prophecy how that will play out over time.

Stan? Are you out there??

Making Lemonade

2009-05-01T08:31:00.000-07:00

My nephew Lee is quite a guy. His maternal grandmother, my sister Toot, has thought of him as extra special since the day he was born. I know this because she calls him "the messiah" and always has.

It's lower case so... no blasphemy intended.

Kind of like, "our father who art in heaven" referencing our own dad? She coined that phrase too.

Lee is the only kid I know who takes a "no" answer and still runs with it!?

Such was the case when he got to UMaine's Orono campus four years ago. He played baseball in high school very successfully so he tried out for UMaine's team at college.

Didn't make it.

Most kids would just slink away with their tails between their legs but not Lee. He showed up at the coach's office early the following morning asking what he needed to work on so he'd have a better shot the next year. Coach told him to "hit the weight room" but saw something special in a kid who didn't resent being cut AND who obviously loved the sport. He was offered the job of Team Manager.

He took it.

And he ran with it.

He did everything asked of him and lots LOTS more.

Coach noticed.

When Lee tried out in his sophomore year he was cut again!? This time he was named a student assistant coach. That meant he got to travel with the team!! True to form, Lee made a name for himself working hard with and for the kids AND the other coaches as well.

Now Lee's the first base coach so he's authentically involved in every game. His plan is to stay at Orono when he graduates next winter going straight on to graduate school and continuing to work with the baseball team.

His eventual plan is to become a professional college or major league baseball coach; from the praise heaped on him from the staff he's working with at UMaine, that seems very do-able.

He was thrown a curve not making the team as a player but he persevered. I call that Making Lemonade!

May Day

2009-05-01T05:17:00.000-07:00

May first was one of my favorite holidays growing up in Hopkinton, MA.

We'd make "baskets" out of Dixie cups, decorate the hell out of them with drawings, construction paper, lace doilies, even fabric and then create a handle from pipe stems, ribbons or lace.

Candy, flowers we'd pick from our own spring gardens, and a funny or rhyming unsigned note about the recipient would be the piece de resistance. We'd stealthily approach the porches of our friends, ring the doorbell and then disappear before the door opened. There we'd be, giggling madly behind a bush, a car, a tree trunk as our friends discovered their treasure.

UNsigned!! Figuring out who gifted you with these little bits of heaven was a major part of the excitement.

The making and the doing was so much fun that, often, I'd empty the baskets I got and fill my newly-made ones with treats I'd received from someone else so I could give out more and more of them!

More than Easter, May Day truly signalled spring had sprung.

In Massachusetts, Easter weather was generally still pretty blustery whereas, by May first, it was assured that jonquils, tulips, lilacs would definitely be blooming.

I loved the baskets best of all. I'd line them up on my bedroom windowsill and use them to hold stuff until they got too ratty.

There's never been a May Day that I haven't remembered all my friends and me surprising one another with these home-made tokens of affection.

I'm feeling the love so well, in fact, that I think I might just get out my art and craft supplies to transform the cups in my pantry and drop them off on my friends' doorsteps here in Florida today!! What a fun idea.

Let's ALL do it!? We can start a tradition and spread the love wherever we are.

I double dog dare ya'!!!

The Birthday Boy

2009-04-29T20:25:00.000-07:00

What a rotten sister I am.

Today is my brother's 71st birthday and I completely forgot to call him and sing the birthday song. Bummer.

Not only that but the card I sent probably won't get there until tomorrow which is, clearly, NOT his birthday so I blew that too.

I had every intention of calling when Suzy and Thom got home from work so we could all sing together; I must have thought of it six times during the day but then it was gone from my head when it should have been foremost at 5:30.

My thinking was, I'd call when we could sing as a group because I'd stand a much better chance of not crying through the song that way. In all previous years it's
always been Tom and me together happy birthday-ing to him and I was afraid my voice, alone, would be too hard for both me AND Bud to bear.

I'd blame Tom's death for muddling me but that's not really fair. Truth is, my mind was a sieve long before that happened.

Bud deserves better.

I hope to God my sister Toot remembered and DID call. I'd give it a 50-50 chance of having happened because, frankly, she's just about as demented as I am myself!

At 71 he is definitely the best-looking sibling. He seems to be getting younger while I just get older and more feeble!? What's up with that???

Men wear so much better than we women. Why IS that, I wonder....

He's a rock, the brother. There have been a fair share of ups and downs in his life but in the main he's weathered all storms with aplomb. I appreciate his steadiness and calm.

It probably true that I'm more upset about forgetting to call than he would ever feel at being temporarily forgotten.

He's got a great immediate family surrounding him with love. Sure hope they picked up my slack today!!

Its a dirty job but somebody's got to do it.

Worlds Collide!

2009-04-28T19:25:00.000-07:00

I saw my internist yesterday and, again, he disappointed me; I think I'll be doctor-shopping.

I don't know if he's painfully shy, has Asperger's Syndrome, or is just a dick. He will NOT look me in the eye. Whatever news he delivers, good or bad, his head is buried in my folder.

He's Italian. From Italy. At first I thought maybe he was not so much aloof as that he might be having to translate in his head from one language to another; that CAN slow communication to a crawl and make the speaker nervous.

It could also explain why he never - ever - laughed at my jokes?? Once, he did smile and I thought we'd made a breakthrough but that was more than two years ago; since then? Nada.

He DID, however, carry on conversations with Tom. Him he could eyeball. Any time Tom and I were in a room together with him all communication was directed mano-a-mano; it was all very Old World.

I am a New World girl.

Good news or bad, I like a doctor who at least acknowledges my presence.

And he never mentioned Tom's death!? Now this guy has been our internist for almost four years. I see him either every six months or every three, sometimes more depending on health issues; Tom he saw once a year for a regular checkup and intermittently for minor problems that cropped up. He also was the doctor of record for Tom's mother while she was with us including the eight months he treated her, with us present every time, after she broke her hip and then failed to thrive.

And he signed Tom's death certificate three months ago.

Wouldn't you think simple courtesy at least warrants, "I'm very sorry about your loss"?????

I guess that's my bottom line. I could accept the humorlessness, the averted eyes, the dull and slow monotone delivery but the straw that breaks my camel's back is not acknowledging a loss so entirely stupefying it HAD to stand out in his mind.

And still he couldn't bring himself to look me in the face and say, "I'm sorry." That's just wrong.

It's gonna cost him. I'm taking my marbles and walking away.

I'm not mad.

I'm not mad.

Like hell I'm not.

Man on Bike

2009-04-28T15:26:00.001-07:00

I've given up the search for a new coffeetable and end table for the living room; I've decided to keep the ones I have and paint them myself!

Why it took me this long to realize that was the answer to my dilemma I cannot fathom.

They're going to be wild and crazy!!

I'm going to paint them in the style I doodle. I let my pen find its own direction and draw freeform lines that intersect. When the basic shape is complete then I start shading, adding detail within the closed spaces until the whole space is filled with form and color.

What almost always happens is that, somehow, the freeform drawing suggests something "real" and that becomes the focus for the details.

Now that I've decided I can hardly wait to start!

I'll paint each table an antique shabby chic color that blends with the furniture and when that's dry I'll do each drawing in pencil on the tabletops. I think I want the whole entire flat space filled in with coordinating colors of acrylic paint; the legs and dowels I'll leave the basic color but will accent with repeated designs and colors I like from the tabletops.

This could take awhile....

But I think it will be so worth it!!

They'll each be totally unique. I'd call them art but that is in the eye of the beholder so let's not jump the gun.

When finished and covered with varnish I'll get glass tabletops for them. After all that effort I would hate to have them inadvertently ruined by ANOTHER artist's Crayola markers as they fill in color book pages on some rainy future day!??

This is going to be fun.

If only I had listened to the FO and Amy AND Beckie and could take pictures of the process then post them on the blog!???? That would be kind of cool. But it's not going to happen. The Widow Judy's technical skills are still sadly behind the times.

You can lead a horse to cut and paste but you can't make it commit the process to memory.

That's how you know you're 64!

The No-Alibi-Needed Cafe

2009-04-27T21:47:00.000-07:00

I feel like Seinfeld giving good-intentioned but still possibly ruinous advice to the Pakistani.

Or not??

A new restaurant opened up in my neighborhood and I went in there for the first time today. It's called the "Alibi Cafe" so I assumed it was going to be another purposely just-short-of-seedy middle-aged bar/restaurant with the emphasis on bar.

I was HOPING it might be a good place to have a meal on the cheap once a week now that I'm a widow and have ceased planning for and preparing meals at home on a regular basis.

I was wrong on both counts.

It was a marvelous and stunning surprise!! The glass front was dark and made seeing into it before entering impossible; I was entirely perplexed when, stepping into the interior, I saw what I perceived to be a very classy high-end European cafe!!

There were four-count-'em-four high tables with four chairs at each and two lovely seating arrangements featuring sofas, extra wide club chairs and large coffee tables.
I believe there might have been three stools at the bar.

I didn't get it.

Who opens a restaurant from 9-9 with seating for 16, basically??

Then I got the menu and was even more confused. It had a few sandwiches, three kinds of flat bread pizzas, a few salads, a few desserts, lots of teas, coffee variations, beer and wine.

AHA! The light finally dawned. It's not about the Alibi... It's a true CAFE!! They don't want people to come there for a big meal, they want customers who'll come, sit, drink, talk, read, nosh and generally pass time as if they were on the Champs Elysee or the Via Venito.

I was entirely charmed.

But they're not on a chi chi cosmopolitan boulevard they're on Sawyer/Tuttle across from a nursing home in Sarasota, Florida.

What's wrong with this picture?

Suddenly, I was consumed with desire to see this establishment prosper. I don't know why... I have zero vested interest; it simply appealed to me through to my soul.

The owner is Bulgarian and the manager is too. I fear that after taking almost two years to finally open they have unfortunately misunderstood their American clientele and have no concept how to "sell themselves" to the community.

Now why I think I would have any better idea how to do that, I can't tell you. All I can say is, there's no other place of its kind in all of Sarasota and I didn't know until I walked in there today that it's EXACTLY the kind of place we desperately need.

It's unique in both concept and execution but their sign and their exterior does nothing to indicate the possibilities that lie behind those dark glass walls.

We are a city of artists, performers, educated seekers of knowledge and curmudgeons. We're political and religious. Life AND death are primary issues for most of us. We are opinionated and vocal. We care about our community. We all have a voice and want to be heard.

This venue provides the perfect environment; the question is, "How do you get people in the doors?"

It's crazy that my head is filled with ideas to Make That Happen. These people haven't asked me to nose into their business?? I'm not a restauranteur!? There's no reason in the world I should be butting in except that I can see myself and others slamming poetry there, discussing books, talking politics, religion, red tide, 2012, life and death....

Is it absurd that I've made a list of suggestions to give them, however unsolicited??
I'm pretty sure it IS but for whatever reason I need to do it or I'll never be able to forgive myself for not trying to encourage their success.

Do you think it's possible The Widow Judy may just have too much time on her hands?

I'll Have Nothing and Like It

2009-04-25T06:35:00.001-07:00

My sister Toot mentioned today she found a coin in her 'jool' box, one my grandmother gave her a gazillion years ago. It' s a British coin with a crown on it so she's assuming that's what it is - a crown. The word "sterling" is stamped on it too so I'm thinking she's probably correct.

One British crown, sterling.

That's it.

From generations upon generations of Davidges that's what we got, one crown in the possession of - not me - but my sister?!

"Inheritance" is our equivalent of the F-word.

My father was, by all standards, a fairly wealthy man. He worked hard, always, and earned every penny he had. After my mother died he met and married The Terror, Mary.
She was a greedy, selfish, social climbing bi..., uh, woman but she gave good h..., uh, lovin' where Dad was concerned and that was apparently enough for him to forgive her anything.

When Dad died we all got a copy of his will which left everything to Mary; upon her demise, whatever remained of his estate was to be divided amongst his childen and Mary's two nieces.

Never happened.

I hear all the time about people who - pardon my French - inherit all kinds of great stuff but me and mine? Nuttin', Honey.

It would be SO GREAT to have an unbeknownst aunt, uncle, cousin looking for a Davidge to bestow largesse unto???! I would very much like to be rich, rich, rich. Then I could truly become the Lady Bountiful I was meant to be!

Doesn't look like that's going to be my lot in this life. Good thing I was lucky in love!!?

If I had to pick one or the other the choice would be hard (oh, very YES!) but love WOULD win out.

Good thing, huh?

I've always wondered why the Lord didn't make me rich. He has to know that, had I money, what I'd do is give it all away?! That's what I do (and have always done) even with the little bits of dough I've ever had!!!!

Think what I could do with a fortune.... Davidges everywhere would be cruising, getting advanced degrees, taking their children on holiday, learning to paint and act and sing, sitting in box seats at sporting events, supporting the needy in their various towns and villages.

You always hear people saying it's a mixed blessing to have money. I spit on this concept. Given the chance I would single-handedly disprove that fallacy, trust me.

Anybody want to take me up on that??

Ms Who Said WHAT?

2009-04-23T18:00:00.000-07:00

Teacher conferences are always so interesting.

The first one I went to for my eldest, Amy, boggled my mind. She was a child so aggressive that boys who were 12 and older on Payton in Detroit crossed the street so she couldn't bulldoze them with hugs. At two, she'd run up to them so hard, head down, and throw her little arms around their legs that she literally bowled them over!

In kindergarten, Ms Green said, "She's starting to come out of her shell a little bit."

WHAT??

Beckie was a preemie and took a year to catch up to all the guidelines that let parents know their child is "normal". She didn't sit up alone until she was over six months old, didn't crawl 'till her eleventh month... I was concerned she might have 'suffered' being premature. But then she walked on her first birthday and that gave me hope. The hammer fell not long after that though when she had a seizure - and then another - so she was put on medication that slowed her down and made her sleepy for four long years.

HER kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Hasse, had her tested for the gifted program!?

Suzy, my third child (in 26 months!), locked horns early-on with her sister Amy for dominance. She somehow had the idea that, third or not, SHE was in charge of everyone?? Plus, she had a wicked satirical sense of humor that cut through all the crap; I like to credit her father with that 'inheritance'.

I took her to the district's preschool introduction and testing program where she proceeded to devastate the Romper Room specialist with withering stares (she didn't like her sing-songy voice) and polite refusals to participate in the activities all the other children were pursuing. At one point we parents were invited to join the group whereupon I willed her with my body language to JOIN ME and SHAPE UP. I thought we were on track but then the teacher laid down kid-sized sheets of butcher paper and suggested we parents trace around our child. Suzy looked directly into the woman's eyes and said, "Maybe my MOTHER'd like to lay down and I'll trace HER."

If looks could kill she would've been dead at 4.

Ms Peloni, HER teacher, suggested she was 'a little needy' and always in search of approval. SUSAN??

Beckie called this morning with the report on her two boys, Gret and Reece. Gret's in second grade and is every teacher's dream; he's smart and diligent and creative and charming and pleasant, helpful and kind to others. This was not a surprise.

But Beckie had the same feeling I did so often in talking to teachers, "Are you sure we're talking about REECE? Reece Radomski," she asked, flabbergasted, when the teacher described a boy Beckie barely recognized. A perfect boy. A boy who always behaved. A boy who never rebelled. A boy who never threw a fit or raised his voice. A boy who never stomped his feet. A boy the teacher would have loved to take home and call her own.

I remember my own mother once saying how she loved going to teacher conferences because otherwise she would never have believed she'd done ANYTHING right as a parent!!

That makes us three generations of the confused and dazed.

God Bless America!

The FO and I

2009-04-23T12:08:00.001-07:00

The First and Only nephew I got to personally help raise is here visiting me in Sarasota. He's a blustery guy, generally quiet but given to devastating one-liners guaranteed to either make you wither or laugh out loud!!

I was a little concerned that my having to take off without him to get allergy shots or play bridge or have blood drawn might make him feel a little put-out but, nope, he's the sort that appreciates a little 'alone time' like his Aunt who loves him!!

Today I got him to go to the BEACH. This is not an opportunity he welcomed, you understand. I floated a couple of trial balloons about it earlier this week and got nowhere so I finally just announced, "Thursday is beach day," and got no argument so we went.

I had my fabulous "bring your own shade" chair and he had my Michigan State green number with a spot to put his cup-o-beer so we were both content in that.

None of my better angels made space for me to park in my regular area so we wound up a little farther down the beach than I generally go. I'm happy to report, however, that the beach is perfection there just as it is on a straight line down to the water from the steps of the concession stand!!

Spring break is done, apparently, because everyone beaching today looked like they belonged there so we saw a whole lot of senior citizens in various shapes and sizes.

Again, Stan did not materialize....

Bill brought a teeny little cooler with a couple beers in it and I brought my floaty noodle so all was right with the world.

The water was gorgeous: clear, clean, salty-to-taste, with rolling waves just right for chicken me. I was in about ten minutes when - lo and behold - Bill joined me!? Yahoo.

He said there was, "...just the amount of seaweed I can tolerate. Zero." lol. I couldn't agree more. I love salt water but the Atlantic has too much 'stuff' floating in it for my taste. I'm definitely a Gulf-side girl.

And when a handsome young man went past us holding his lovely lady in his arms Bill asked, "What kind of bait did you use to catch HER??"

We stayed better than two hours which I consider a coup of sorts.

I think the FO surprised himself, enjoying the experience as much as he did. I KNOW I was happy to share it with him!

Bridge as Panacea

2009-04-22T17:06:00.000-07:00

I played bridge this afternoon with three ladies from the Newcomers Club of Sarasota.

Although... none of us were really 'new'?? I think I've lived here the longest at almost four years but the other ladies had all been here three years themselves, at least.

I liked them! Yes, I can just say it with no equivocation. They were all within five-ish years of my own age, they were funny, they liked to laugh, they knew the Rules of Bridge better than I but they were happy to share and I learned a couple useful things over the three hours we were together.

They scored the games in a way I was totally unfamiliar with - Chicago style - but I don't care about the scores anyway so I was fine with that.

They are all retired and still have their husbands available in a worldly way as opposed to me; they were shocked to learn that Tom died just a few months ago and were sympathetic without being maudlin. I appreciate that.

We had fun playing together and I would definitely do it again. Anne got out her scheduling book and looked ahead to the next date: May 13. My eyes got misty and I said, "That would have been Tom's 66th birthday... but... yes, I can play that day."

Why not? It will keep me out of trouble.

Like baseball, there's no crying in bridge! That's three hours accounted for on May 13th.

Got any suggestions for the other twenty one?

Mad Judy

2009-04-20T08:55:00.000-07:00

Prepare yourselves. I'm venting today.

I am so furious that if blood really could boil it would be spewing from the top of my head!

Yesterday and today BOTH I have inadvertently knocked my wrist against an immovable object. Result? Hideously ugly purple bruises on the left and the right.

My clumsiness has never been pretty... although there were times when I was younger I chose to think of it as part of my charm. However, those days are long gone. These under-the-skin fuscia marks just SCREAM: OLD! INEPT! SICKLY! and my personal favorite, STOOPID!

I hate, hate, hate them.

No matter how hard I try to Think First before I do anything physical I can't seem to avoid whacking myself way too often.

The only thing that ever made them better was - when Tom would see them - he would kiss them. Not much chance of that happening again in THIS lifetime, damn it.

So here I sit pathetically bawling for a dead husband to kiss my boo boos.

That ain't right.

The saving grace is that ten days from now they will have disappeared and I can move on. Wish that I believed ten days hence is all I need to stop missing Tom....

Geocaching

2009-04-18T14:32:00.000-07:00

The following are words I never thought would pass my lips, "I went hiking today at Oscar Scherer State Park."

Seriously.

My little sister (Big Brothers Big Sisters) Dalecia and I signed up to do some activities with the local Girl Scouts and this was one: "geocaching". Unfortunately neither of us actually knew what geocaching was when we signed on or we probably would have begged off right away but instead we showed up to see what it was all about and it was all about hiking through the freakin' woods!??

Dalecia is a city girl like me. She's a far better athlete than I could ever dream of being but, still, she prefers not to get dirty and I'm with her 100% on that.

She's a girly-girl.

Something told me... a little voice whispering in my ear... to wear pants, long sleeves, and sneakers with socks just because whatever this turned out to be, it was happening at a state park; that means woods and woods mean bugs. Neither of us is a fan of the insect kingdom!

I figured "geocaching" was a misprint. Thought they might've left out a "t" and we were going to be caTching something (maybe butterflies?) there at the park. WRONG.
The 'caching' was from the French: cacher - to hide. Come to find out this is a hugh worldwide thing where people take trinkets, put them in a waterproof container along with a log book and pencil then hide the container somewhere. In this case, at Oscar Scherer State Park!

There were six girls and as many adults searching the park for trinkets today. The girls all got a GPS-on-a-rope and there was list of cleverly named sites we could seek. The sites were linked to the GPS so once we clicked on the name we wanted, finding it was a fairly simple process since the GPS unit knew where it was.

Except for the hiking. Aye. There's the rub!!

Pooh (aka Dalecia)and I decided we'd seen enough, hiked enough, and swapped enough trinkets after three containers had been sought and found. Thank God Melissa, the GS leader, brought us back to the starting point then for lunch! We thanked her and all the other participants for a fun event but explained we had to go - and left!!

The remaining geocachers had another three or four sites they planned to find after lunch. Pooh and I believe that is overkill.

Instead, we went to Denny's for a nice lunch in air-conditioned splendor, shopped for new bathing suits at Beall's (Pooh found two excellent ones!), stopped at my house for a little computer time and Dove bars then I dropped her back off at home.

Our outing probably took as long as the diehards at the park but we were a lot happier having stopped the madness and reverting to type!?

"Geocaching", who knew???

The Live-It Begins

2009-04-17T20:30:00.000-07:00

I'm re-thinking my diet.

As of today it mostly consists of Lays potato chips, Coca Cola, butter, iced tea, red meat, and candy. It's been this way since Tom died and it's about time I stopped comfort-fooding my OWN self to death.

Meat is a must. I especially like meat on a bone: lamb chops, pork chops, Porterhouse steaks, rib eyes.... All of the aforementioned have a certain amount of fat naturally included in the cut and that I love too. However, I can do without the fat and will trim the meat I'm eating from here on out.

I get mean if I don't eat meat every day.

So meat stays but I'll try to make it leaner than it has been lately.

I'm addicted to regular Coca Cola. I hate admitting that but it's true. I'm afraid I do have an addictive personality; I'm not proud of that. Anything I like I do to death! The difference between me and my mother is that my addictions don't make me a sloppy drunk they just make me chubby! But the truth is that, if I started to like drinking, it would take me no time at all to be an alcoholic; I have religiously avoided that happening thus far and my plan is to continue on that track.

My daily intake of Coke is probably right around 48 ounces daily. That's absurd. I can do better, I think. Starting tomorrow (always the best day to start anything??)I'll allow myself 24 ounces and see if I can stick to that. Two cans a day? That seems fair. And do-able.

I can have all the plain iced tea I want. And ice water - I do like that, I just never think to drink it. That's what I'll order when I'm in a restaurant. I'll save the Coca Cola just for when I'm home.

That'll work.

The easiest thing to cut out is candy and desserts. Those are gone, no problem.

I'm thinking maybe three months of watching what I eat and counting calories should let me lose at least twenty pounds. I weigh about 175 now so by mid-Julyish I should be close to 155. That would be good. It's a reasonable goal.

Anybody want to join me in TWJ Diet? We could buoy each other up! You can pick your own number of calories, it doesn't have to be the same as mine, and you can eat whatever floats YOUR boat. Let me know if you want in on the fun from now till July 18. There's no prize or anything - we'll just see if we look and feel better three months from today. If we do then that'll make us ALL winners!

I find it's very helpful if, while you're counting calories, you chronicle whatever you're eating that day. It's amazing how many 'forgotten' calories slip by your lips if you don't. And EVERYTHING has to be counted!! No fudging.

Butter has to stay but I could use it more sparingly; that'll be my goal.

Potato chips are my downfall. I love regular Lays and Wavy Lays. I do know how many make 100 calories so I'll try to limit my intake to no more than that amount in a day.

Speaking of calories, I have to decide how many I shall consume. 800 is too few, 1500is too many so... I'll settle on 1000-1100. If you go over your chosen number, recognize that fact but don't beat yourself up over it; just start again to reach the proscribed number the next day.

What I generally do when I diet is eat whatever I want but make the portions as small as I need to stay within the daily calorie count. I really love counting calories because I think of them as 'money' and 'spend' them as I will till I've reached my limit.

I suppose I should make some sort of disclaimer stating that TWJ Diet is not sanctioned by any doctor and everyone who wants to play along is totally responsible for themselves and the choices they make. Be reasonable!! Pick a number of calories that allows you some flexibility and is lower than the number you're stuffing your face with today. Try to hit all the food groups daily. Take a vitamin too just so all your bases are covered.

Let me know if you're "in". And good luck to all of us.

The Bling Thing

2009-04-17T07:42:00.000-07:00

My daughter Amy is having dinner tonight with another mom from her kids' elementary school. That wouldn't ordinarily be earth-shattering news but this particular lady happens to be a ghost whisperer.

I think that would be such a cool talent to possess.

Sure, there are probably as many down sides to it as up but, in toto, I would still opt to have it if I could.

The only voices in MY head are all me: my better angel and my little devil!

This girl has already phoned Amy a couple times with "messages" she's received from Tom. Not all of them have made pefect sense but then TOM didn't make perfect sense all the time either so who knows??!

Ames has a little list going so she remembers to ask some thought-out questions. I asked her to add one more, "Where is the ring Tom occassionally wore? The one that was his father's originally?"

That darn thing is nowhere to be found.

It was only ever one place when it wasn't on Tom's finger but - regardless - I have scoured all the nooks and crannies here at home, gone through pockets and asked for divine intervention all to no avail.

I'm hoping this lady can shed some light on the subject. Finding it would really brighten my day and, frankly, I could use some brightening.

C'mon, Tom, cough it up! TWJ needs some bling.

It's The Berrys

2009-04-16T19:43:00.000-07:00

The countdown is on for my sister Toot and her "I saw you na-ked!" husband Dick to leave Sarasota and head home to their natural habitat below the crook of your left elbow on Cape Cod.

This is bad for me. Very very bad.

I am not generally a pathetic person. I pride myself on being a Big Girl able to take some knocks and bounce right back for more. But having my sister (and Dick!)here to lean on in my bereavement has meant more to me than most people and more importantly THEY could ever imagine.

The "Sister Connection" is a transcendent bond. It's as much about history as it is the present. We can speak volumes in a shorthand Gregg never imagined. For better or worse, no one on this earth knows me better than my sister.

I will truly and absolutely miss having her and Dick just a moment away from me.

My head knows all the reasons their departure is necessary and justifiable; but my open wound of a heart fears their going might be the straw that breaks my camel's back.

But do not fear. The Widow Judy will rally. The Widow Judy will suck it up. The Widow Judy will rationalize their leaving as Perfectly Acceptable because it absolutely is.

Little SISTER Judy, however, is not nearly so mature. She'll be the one crying in the bathtub.

Again.

Siesta Anyone?

2009-04-16T06:19:00.000-07:00

The beach is the place to be in Sarasota Florida.

My favorite is the public beach on Siesta Key. Such a deal!! It costs NOTHING to park or use the facilities. Can't beat that with a stick!!

I was there yesterday with my friend Terry and her daughter Tracey. They are here on vacation from Ohio and are beachlovers of the First Order.

Because I have lots of company and am often spending whole days at the beach I do my best to slather #40 lotion all over my body and keep my completely buttoned cover-up ON unless I'm in the Gulf itself.

I found the most marvelous beach chair at Walgreens which also assists in limiting my exposure to the sun. It has a long canopy and a French Foreign Legion hat flap in the back so if I turn my chair away from the sun I can sit for hours in shade I've provided for myself!

(SOME people say I am 'high maintenance' but how can that be when I provide my own shade AND can-and-do make my own fingernails??

But I digress....)

Terry and Tracey have no such qualms about sun exposure. Their goal is to turn as brown as they possibly can in the days available. This year only one rainy day has interrupted the quest so they're well on their way to having fabulous tans. Maybe the best ever! I'll be joining them again today at Siesta.

The beach crowd has already begun to thin, many of our snowbirds having departed on April first. And it would appear that a great many more school districts had their Easter break last week and not THIS. At least, that's my assumption seeing less than half the number of beachgoers yesterday than I saw last week when Beckie, Gret, Reece and I were on the Key.

One thing is for sure, if you have any "body issues" at all just come to the beach where I can assure that, in comparison, there will be many stranger bodies than your own and you will, therefore, leave feeling pretty darn good about yourself!

I inherited my Grandma Kate's odd shape once I hit menopause. Until then I was usually described as "healthy-looking" which meant I looked OK and had some meat on my bones. But at 40 the Great Shift occurred and suddenly, while in proportion elsewhere, my tummy became distended and I consistently appear to be about 6 months pregnant - 5 if I'm dieting.

Still, even given the above, I don't feel freakish at the beach.

Neither will you!

So... come on down. Look for me - I always sit on a straight line to the beach from the steps at the concesssion stand. My blue and white striped chair is easy to pick out.

I'll save you a space.

Naked Dick

2009-04-15T05:50:00.000-07:00

I SAW DICK BERRY NAKED!

No, my eyes weren't burned out of my head, neither did the earth stand still but - and there's always that big but - once I got past the shock I was actually kind of glad it happened.

The encounter was entirely accidental. I stopped to see my infirm sister Toot and, not finding her in the regular position watching WebTV in the den, I called out a theatrical, "Hello," and started back to the bedroom seeking her out.

Usually Dick Berry isn't even HOME at the hour of 10:00AM since that is prime walk-time for him either in the hood or at the beach.

However, he heard my "Hello" and interpreted it as "Help", flung open the bathroom door and just as I hit the hallway there he was in his altogether!!

LOL.

He was expecting to see a collapsed Toot and instead found a wide-eyed ME!?

Too funny.

I turned heel and scooted to the bedroom with a weak, "Oh, hi Dick..." while he stepped quickly backwards shutting the door and saying, "Well, hello, Judith."

In truth, I wasn't as upset as I probably should have been because Dick Berry naked looked nearly identical to Tom Tuschak naked!! Seeing his body brought back a flood of remembrances, all good.

I apologized, of course, but only half-heartedly.

Dick? Thanks for the memories.

Carpe(t) Diem!

2009-04-13T07:04:00.000-07:00

There's joy in Mudville! The carpet guy is here taking out the old and laying the new.

I really can't comprehend how we, as four then three adults, could have made such an unholy mess of the family room rug in under four years but we did. It looks like we walked around dribbling food and drink daily?

We didn't. At least... not that I ever saw. But the rug says pointedly, "Yes, you did!" in spots galore.

I can't explain these things. All I know is, we need new carpet and we're getting it today!!

One guy showed up to do the job. Suzy and Thom moved all but the heaviest furniture out of the room last night - two sofas, a 5-tiered CD shelving unit, and a hugh entertainment center remained.

For one guy.

He didn't even flinch! He had with him four plastic circles each the size of a cappuchino saucer and they made moving everything easy as pie. I was amazed!

Gots to get me a set of those!!!

Tom's spirit is here with us today. When Mike the Mover pulled the CD cabinet away from the wall - voila - there was an 8x12 picture of Tom laying on the rug!? I tell you honestly I've never seen this picture before in my life but there he is filling the foreground with a broad smile, his arms outstretched as if waiting for an embrace.

Made me smile.

And cry.

But, mostly, smile!!

The old carpet was a plush. That didn't work for us, obviously, so this time we went with a patterned berber. I have some hope we can do better NOT dribbling from here on out. But then... I am getting older and dribbling does seem to be a part of the aging process??

I'll do my best. That's all I can do, I cain't do no more!

3 Bunry

2009-04-11T20:08:00.000-07:00

Easter is the stepchild of holidays on my calendar.

I'm torn knowing Christ's "rising" is cause for celebration but the agony of the cross can't be denied and tempers my joy.

Somehow, in my mind, the subject is just too serious to warrant silliness. How a bunny cavorting through town leaving colored eggs and jelly beans or ladies parading in fancy hats fit into the scenario of the Easter message does not compute with TWJ.

Christmas has Scrooge, Easter has me. Bah. Humbug, I say!

Every other holiday I go all out; no stone is left unturned celebrating Christmas, Valentine's Day, Halloween, Independence Day, birthdays - you name it. But I have to force myself to follow the conventions surrounding Easter.

Ham or lamb? For us the ham traditionally wins out even though no one particularly likes it and there's always a ton of it left over which, by Thursday, I'll toss in the garbage.

Even the candy choices at Easter are lousy; Peeps are sickeningly sweet, jelly beans all have an aftertaste of motor oil, speckled malted milk balls turn your teeth blue.

I love the look of the hugh baskets wrapped in colored cellophane sold at CVS, Walgreens, Target... but they never seem to have the things in them that kids I know actually want and are, therefore, simply a waste.

The best thing I ever did was hide plastic Easter eggs full of coins and money. That went over VERY large with my girls! But is that in the spirit of Easter? I don't think so.

None of it really makes sense to me. Christ and eggs? A tomb and chocolate bunnies??
A shroud and flowery hats???

Can somebody 'splain it to me, please?

One year I got each of my girls a pretty spun sugar egg with a 3-D scene inside. Period. No baskets, no eggs hidden with treats OR money. The Easter bunny left them a note telling them to have a Happy Easter but in writing it upside down and backwards (a hidden talent of mine!)it appeared the bunny signed off as "3 Bunry" instead of E. Bunny!? I'm pretty sure that's the year they stopped believing....

I tried after that to put a better face on celebrating the holiday but my heart was never in it. Still isn't. But at least now I don't have any children to disappoint so I consider that a coup of sorts.

I wish you all a Happy Easter however that translates in your home. May 3 Bunry never darken your door.

Come One, Come All!

2009-04-11T15:29:00.000-07:00

Sounds like there's going to be a family reunion amongst the Davidges this summer!

I know lots of families make that an annual event but... us? Not so much. Therefore, getting together the first weekend in August in Blackstone, MA will be noteworthy, certainly.

Jim and Debbie will be hosting at The Compound. We're not the Kennedys but there are a slew of Davidges in a small geographic area. Jim and Deb have my brother and his wife living in their large home as well as their daughter Kim and son Brian. Their eldest child, Shayna, her fiance and their baby-to-be, Haylee Rae, all live in a ginormous apartment above the five-car garage.

Nephew Billy and his wife Nancy live a literal stone's throw away; their yards adjoin, in fact. Their two grown sons have left the area but are still in MA so will hopefully be available for the fun.

Scott, Lin and their two boys live minutes down the road.

That makes Blackstone the reunion Mecca!!

It's a former mill town but the mill's been gone for ages. Now I think it's mostly just a bedroom community. It's closer to Woonsocket (pronounced woon-saw-KET by the mostly French-heritaged locals)than to Boston.

All the MI girls and their kids will be coming. The Cape Cod contingent will make the trek as will the mountain people from the Berkshires. Those of us living in paradise will be on hand as well.

The Davidges are unique in that, while we aren't together all that often, when we DO congregate it's as if we lived in each other's pockets all the time!? There's a perceived closeness amongst us despite the fact that years sometimes go by before we see one another.

It's inexplicable but true.

I'm hoping there will be Scrabble. All the ungrateful upstarts I've taught to play will be in one place and then we'll just SEE who wins in face-to-face matches. I'm thinking a tournament is in order and I plan to reestablish my rule of the roost.

Volleyball will be a biggie with the more fit.

And the pool will get a workout for sure as will the hot tub, you betcha.

Tom will be much-missed just as he should be, that's a given.

There'll be family and food and games and chatter, lots of hugs and kisses, maybe a few tears too but your basic Good Time Had By All.

My father-who-art-in-heaven will be smiling.

How Dry I Am

2009-04-10T20:54:00.000-07:00

Some of you have been wondering where I have been lo these many days without a post.
Wish I could say I've been away 'on location' or super busy or tied up with official affairs of state but none of those reasons are even close.

I just didn't feel funny. Or clever. Or any of the other things that tend to make a blog entry readable.

But I think I'm coming back!

Just had a little blip on the Perk-O-Meter is all??

That's fair; I AM The Widow Judy and have a right to be pathetically out of sorts on occassion, don't I?

Tom's been gone for 10 weeks now and it's starting to sink in that he's really NOT coming back. I will admit outright that just sucks.

I so much loved having him available to play with and be my better half. Alone, I'm just not sure I'm the same person as when we were as a couple. That's where I was last week, bathing in self-doubt.

Missing him. Missing ME being with him. Missing our couplehood.

But I find that, now, I can say that and not burst into tears; that would seem to be progress in separating myself from him and our life together, would it not? A step in the right direction, I think.

TWJ has to stand on her own two feet and not shrink at the thought of being alone.

Forever.

OY! The drama. What a Sarah I am!! Even I have to laugh at me.

And that's a good thing, right?

I Am The Whizzing Hat

2009-04-10T20:10:00.000-07:00

My grandsons Gret and Reece were here visiting this week with their mother, my daughter Beckie.

Gret, who is 8, loves Monopoly but it wasn't enough for us to just sit down at the dining room table and play a game... oh, no! He came up with his own version which, while convoluted, turned out to be very clever.

He called it "interactive life-size" Monopoly and I was completely confused as he went through all the rules with me; they were many and varied.

His 'board' was my living room, dining room and lanai. He'd taken all the property cards and made a maze of them that wound its way from sofa cushions to tables to seat backs to bookshelves and then to the computer. The cards were all placed face up and appeared in the order they appear on the board from "Go" forward to Boardwalk. The Chance and Community Chest cards were included too.

I was not playing as myself but instead as surrogate for the two Webkinz animals I have, Icicle and Buddy. The premise had me rolling the dice and moving for one and then the other, deciding as I landed whether they wanted to purchase or pass on the properties. If they bought, then the card was turned over, face down, indicating it was 'owned'.

If they landed on Income Tax or Free Parking etc... they paid or reaped the rewards just as they would on the board game. He drew these odd spaces on paper himself: go to jail, jail, etc....

Gret was the banker and carried the money around with him following me as I took Icicle then Buddy through the maze and paid for their properties or their debts and, of course, collected $200.00 for passing "Go".

In THIS game time was an element so it was mandatory that I race through the house chasing down the number of spaces indicated by the dice.

It was exhausting but so very clever.

The set-up for the game took most of a morning; we played it in two sessions the sum total of which couldn't have been more than 40 minutes.

Was it worth it? You bet! We laughed, we clapped for Icicle and/or Buddy when they made a coup; we commiserated when they didn't. It took both our brains to remember which properties had, in fact, been purchased by which animal so the right one had to pay up and look big; we agreed we were smart to be doing this together.

I was lucky indeed! I got to participate in Gret's fantasy game and scored big points with him regardless of which Webkinz ultimately won.

That would be the monkey, Buddy.

Or rather, in fact, me!

Do-Do-Do-Do...

2009-03-30T05:08:00.000-07:00

Do you believe in ghosts?

With me, it's not so much believing as it is not being able to deny their existence.
I have seen and heard and even, once, touched them; what I can't figure out is, "Why me?"

I don't have any other claims to the supernatural: I'm not prescient or clairvoyant; I can't read palms, cards, or tea leaves; I don't have visions. But I do have ghosts.

The first one was my mother. I awoke one night to see her half-body hovering over my bed (I know this sounds crazy but it really happened)taking pictures of Tom who lay beside me. I was sceptical, figured it was a dream, but it felt so REAL. I pinched myself to be certain I was awake!? I was. Strangely, although I was sure it was my mother, the ghost looked nothing like her. Mom was classically American Indian with high cheekbones, flashing dark eyes, black hair and dark complexion; this woman was almost cherubic with blond hair and pink cheeks yet I felt certain who she was.

I only saw the top of her body; she was wearing a perfectly pink angora short-sleeved sweater.

I can hear you scoffing!

When she disappeared I woke Tom up excitedly and told him what I'd seen. He scoffed too and said it had to have been a dream. I came down from the high and had to agree. It couldn't have really happened the way I thought it did??

Morning came and the first thing I did was check the place I'd pinched myself. Sure enough, there was a bruise.

I went upstairs to wake my three daughters, they were 2-3-4 years old then, and as soon as I said, "Good morning," my middle daughter sat straight up in her bed. That surprised me immediately because usually Beckie was my little slug.

"Is she still here," she asked all a-flutter.

"Is who here, Beck?"

"The PINK LADY!! She said she would stay."

Our house in Detroit's East English Village was haunted with at least three ghosts who talked to us. My eldest daughter, Amy, was the first to broach the subject. She was living with us as an adult having returned to MI after teaching in FL for a number of years and asked if anyone besides her ever heard 'a voice' calling our names. She had; it happened more than once that she would hear her name called clear as a bell, would answer and get up to welcome whomever "it" was only to find no one there!?

At that point none of the rest of us had heard any such thing.

But after Amy left the voice started calling out to me, then to Tom, and finally to my youngest daughter Suzy. It was a friendly young adult man we heard.

Then a young woman started calling out to Tom. I did finally hear her too but for awhile she only spoke to him.

The first time my granddaughter Olivia slept over I heard a child call out to both of us.

The voices were pleasant but always held a question in their timbre.

Then a REALLY weird thing happened. Tom and I were in Florida visiting friends over Easter break when Suzy called with this story:
She was home sick from work. Had a horrible flu bug with a high temperature, chills, vomiting, the dire rear.... As she lay in bed a presence hovered over her rendering it impossible to move. It was an amorphous dark blob, like having a cloud inches from her face. Even though she was literally paralyzed she felt no fear. She watched the presence pass over her whole body very slowly from head to toe then disappear. Once gone, she could move again and, sitting up, realized her flu was gone as well! She went from being sick as the proverbial dog to feeling entirely A-OK!?

I too saw that presence late one night in our bedroom. I got up to use the lav and as I came around the end of the bed I literally ran smack dab into it! I jumped back like I'd touched fire though the cloud-like blob was cold as ice!? "What the f--- was THAT?" I shouted aloud and when I did it evaporated into thin air.

There are other examples like the ghosts sabotaging the sale of our home the first time we offered it, Amy's wedding pictures clearly showing two ghosts sharing the altar with her and Bill at their wedding, ghosts in the pictures at Tom's mother's 80th AND 90th birthday parties, ghosts in my classroom pictures from Highland Park and East Catholic High School....

When we finally decided to move to Florida and tried a second time to sell our house we assured the ghosts they were welcome to come to Florida with us. This time there were no other-worldly impediments to the sale and here we are.

We've been in this house for three and a half years, ghost-less. BUT, and there's always that big but, last night someone called out to me and it wasn't Suzy or her fiance Thom.

They're baaacckkkkk.

Sunday Supper

2009-03-29T19:25:00.000-07:00

Pot roast.

Makes you feel good just reading those words, doesn't it?

Would you believe that when I was a little girl my mother told me only poor people ate pot roast??! She really did, but, well... I also told you that she was an alcoholic and, therefore, one might correctly assume, not always in her right mind.

The first meal Tom's mother cooked for me was the aforementioned. At 17, I was shocked but tried not to show it on my face. Two bites were enough to tell me that Mom was obviously crazed; this was Good Stuff.

I'm loling as I write because, at that first meal on Farm Brook in Detroit, two bites were truly all I got to eat. Dinner at Tom's was quite different from dinner at my house. In the amount of time it generally took my family to politely pass the food around the table while everyone filled their plates, Tom's was entirely done!

It was like eating with Speedy Gonzales and family!?

When I saw his mom start clearing her plate and his sister's too I figured the right thing would be to stop eating so I did.

It was the best two-bite meal I ever had!

At home, there were usually six of us dining and EVERYONE had to tell a story about something interesting or funny they had learned or something that happened to them during the day. If you claimed 'nothing happened' then my dad would insist you chronicle the precise progression of your day starting with "the alarm clock rang at 6:48AM" and ending with "I sat down for dinner at "6:30PM."

Six people each recounting a diverting anecdote, everyone responding to it, questions asked and answered for clarification purposes... dinner was never shorter than an hour in length.

I didn't have a stopwatch so I can't give you a precise number of minutes First Dinner at Tom's took but I think "seven" would probably be a safe guess.

Since that first, albeit brief, introduction to pot roast I have always been a fan.

It's the perfect meal, is it not, on a cold day, a wet day or just simply Sunday?

It's the best of all the Diner Food we serve regularly. Spaghetti falls into that category as does meatloaf, kielbasa and sauerkraut, cheeseburgers, Coney dogs, mac and cheese.

Who doesn't like diner food?? It's hot and satisfying, full of flavor, kind to the pocketbook and universally enjoyed.

It's mmm mmm good, Mom's bias notwithstanding.

The Widow Judy and Friend

2009-03-27T15:21:00.000-07:00

The Widow Judy took off on her own today!

I've been wanting to go to the John and Mable Ringling Museum of Art and just sort of hang out there. It's a lovely venue - 66 acres in toto - with one of the top 20 art museums in the U.S., a circus museum, the Ca d'Zan (KAH duh zahn) mansion which was the Ringling's home in Sarasota, a couple of education centers, the Florida State University Center For The Performing Arts, and lots of gardens for sitting and contemplating one's navel.

I bought an associate membership so now I can go as often as I like!

Because the campus is hugh they have a dozen or so oversized golf carts to tote you from one area to the next. I REALLY like that even if the drivers tend to be loquacious and madmen besides. I don't know how fast the carts actually go but on all the twisty paths it feels almost dangerous!

I like a little danger with my art.

I've been there three or four times in the past but always with other people; going alone made it an adventure for me. No one knew what I was up to... not even me... and I could take as much time as I liked with the life-sized naked statues in the courtyard!! Tom's been gone for two months now and, frankly, I have been missing seeing a naked man.

I got the recorded casette but gave up on it after Gallery Nine. It was just too sensitive for me to operate and, also, I didn't actually care all that much what other people had to say about the art collection. Like many people, I don't know a lot about art but I know what I like and that was enough for me for now.

The museum itself is very lovely, very impressive. So is the collection. I could sit in any of the gallery rooms and simply 'be' quite happily. I don't paint but I would like to. My sister Karen and I planned to take art lessons together when we retired but she up and died at 45 leaving me, now, to my own devices.

There are lots of natural outdoor areas perfect for sketching. I'm thinking I might just get a pad and some soft pencils, sit myself down and see what happens. One of the drivers, not Stan, told me HE started art classes when he retired four years ago....

If I could live at the Ca d'Zan, I would. You've probably seen it yourself and never even knew it because it's been featured as a locale in a goodly number of movies. The Ringlings supposedly built it in the Venetian Gothic style having loved homes they'd seen in their travels on the Continent but to me it's less Venetian and more North African influenced. There are spires and domes and porticos and all manner of arches; the colors are hot and strange and sun-baked; the windows are squares of pastel-hued glass that make everyone look harlequinesque as they pass by; the ceilings are a miracle of inventiveness and have unique pictures encompassed within, many circus-inspired.

Altogether it's a strange and wonderful place.

I sat on the vast marble terrace this afternoon and enjoyed the view without and within. There are 25-30 umbrella tables out there each with 4-6 heavy armchairs; I took just one chair for myself and turned it so that I was looking at the house enjoying the architecture and watching the people and their outfits add diamond pastel squares when they walked by the windows (so amusing!). I was giggling to myself because I was sure the people inside had no idea they were clowns when something very strange happened. It was a windy day and the terrace is directly on the water so it was even blowier there than elsewhere in Sarasota. One chair, ONE CHAIR of all the hundred plus on the patio, spontaneously moved crosswise for probably 50 feet until it came to rest directly beside mine. I reached out and patted it saying, "Hi, Tom. Glad you could be here with me." Then I turned both chairs to face the water view and just sat there for a few minutes being still. It was a moment.

That was my signal to Say Goodnight Gracie so I headed around to the front and rode back to the entrance with "John" behind the wheel. He was chatting and I know I answered him and smiled while he talked but I have no idea what he said or what I said. I was thinking about Tom and his being with me on my adventure. It was very nice having a pal there after all.

FEEDJIT

2009-03-27T06:26:00.000-07:00

I'm totally fascinated by this "Feedjit" live traffic feed on the blog.

It's so cool to see people come in and out in real time!

Some of the places listed I recognize as towns of relatives and friends but there are a whole bunch of others signing on from places I have never been and where I know not a soul!?

How did these people find The Widow Judy and what are they thinking as they read about me and mine?

I would love to know the answers to those questions.

So... if you've never met me but are reading this would you please leave a note in the comments when you're ready to clue me in as to who you are, how you came to find the blog and what keeps you coming back?

You can remain anonymous if you like but if you are comfortable telling me about yourself that would be fine too.

I really appreciate that there are people out there who want to read the blog, both the ones I know and the ones I don't. Please keep on coming back and - next time - bring your friends!

How The Mighty Have Fallen

2009-03-26T06:02:00.000-07:00

Scrabble is my game.

That makes sense because I love words and writing and correct spelling... all that makes me happy-in-my-face.

Suddenly, however, my upstart daughters and nieces are challenging me!? IN MY WIDOWHOOD!? What is wrong with this picture?

They apparently didn't get the memo saying you're supposed to be kind to those who have faced traumatic loss; not ONE of them will give me any quarter whatsoever.

I know the why of it - I wouldn't give THEM a break either - but that is so not the point! Am I not suffering? Am I not pathetic? Do I not deserve a break??

Yet they persist in improving. It's not right.

I'm flummoxed by this turn of events. I created these monsters and now they're turning on me. We all share this deep pool of competitive spirit and -damn 'em-they're drinking from my well and sucking it dry!

My father lived and taught the words of Vince Lombardi - that winning wasn't the best thing it was the ONLY thing - before Vince ever made them famous. I bought that philosophy hook, line and sinker; until now, however, I've never seen this obsessive "need to win" in the next generation. I thought I had effectively ameliorated that less-than-sterling aspect of being a Davidge amongst my darling girls but - clearly - genes will out.

Why now? Why Scrabble?

Why couldn't they have used their powers for good and climbed a corporate ladder or built a better mousetrap instead of usurping my hard-won crown?

Ingrates, that's what they are. I taught them everything they know and now they're using it against me.

That's just mean.

Sure, I'm down now but they better watch their backs. The Widow Judy is fighting hard and will reclaim that #1 ranking on Facebook! Watch and learn, girls; watch and learn. There's life in this old dog yet.

Ready, Set, Go!

2009-03-25T07:18:00.000-07:00

Well...

I'm in my bathing suit, got my beach hat on AND my Jellies. All I have to do is simply bring my book out to the lanai and sit in the sun or - maybe, even - drive to the beach and sit by the water's edge.

WHY IS THIS SO HARD?

Haven't been on the lanai yet that I haven't burst into tears; that's just so silly.
When you live in southwest Florida the pool and the beach aren't optional they are de rigeur!

Some self-talk is in order. I can do it, there's no doubt about that. But I seem to be caught somewhere between the moon and New York City every time I make a plan to 'git 'er done'.

Any little diversion will do to send me off in another direction. So far today I've used dusting, arranging my shoes by color and style in the closet, chatting on Facebook and playing Scrabble there.

Blogging is my Last Ditch. When I'm done here I'm really truly going to face my devil and do what sunlovers do: sit in the sun!

My poor tan is a mottled mess and really needs work. My beachbag is organized to within an inch of its life. "Twilight" is a fun and compelling read. The floppy hat will hide my tears from prying eyes. It's a gorgeous day.

I'm ready.

Just one more deep breath, Judy. You can do it! You WANT to do it!

The rest of your life is right out there waiting for you.

Aye, there's the rub.

Sibling Rivalry

2009-03-23T05:01:00.000-07:00

My goofy sister was over yesterday and I was reminded... again... of just how long a memory sibling rivalry has.

My parents had children in two sets; my sister Marietta and brother Jim were born and had established what they thought were comfortable lives eight and seven years before I came along. My little sister Karen followed me by two and a half years.

Apparently and persistently, it seems, I was the fly in the ointment.

We were raised in two different families simultaneously if either or both of our childhood memories are correct. I remember a father who mentored me to be smart, independent, clear-thinking and logical; hers was a harsh task-master who would brook no sass and gave no quarter. HER mother was loving and caring, kept a fine house, laughed a lot and enjoyed life; mine was an alcoholic.

Eight years of changes over time allow both these perceptions to be valid.

Still, my sister - with humor but truly - blames me for being born AFTER my father evolved.

There was never any question who ruled the Davidge roost: Dad. He said, "Jump," and we'd all say, "How high?" The difference is that my brother and sister followed directions to the letter so they could avoid punishment; Karen and I did it just to please.

Physical punishment was the norm in the late forties and early fifties. Sonny saw the belt regularly and Toot too took a few whacks over time; Dad never touched either Ki or me.

Somehow, this is my fault.

It's also my fault that I was a sickly child and was catered to whenever I'd get the vapors, that I got privileges earlier than she had, that Dad allowed me more latitude in negotiating with him than she had known, and that it was assumed I would go to college but she would go to secretarial school.

Toot was born with beautiful platinum hair and eyes of such an unusual and changing color they could mesmerize; I, however, was called "Judy the Beauty".

It won't surprise anyone to know we didn't really become friends till we were both adults!? But best friends we are and have been, now, for forty years. Still, these old jealousies come out at the oddest moments. They're always there, lurking. We are way way way beyond our childhood and still they intrude.

The playing field has absolutely been leveled. We're both old, both overweight, both jowly, both too often under the weather, and we each have lost more than one step intellectually.

It's not my fault I'm still eight years younger, is it?

Home

2009-03-22T16:25:00.000-07:00

Why on God's good earth did it take me until I was sixty years old to find "home"?

Being a kid in Massachusetts felt right to me but then my father went on the fast track with Shell Oil and that made us nomads, picking up and wandering every couple three years 'till graduation from MSU when marriage, then, grounded me for good-and-nearly-ever in Detroit and environs.

I was always a fish out of water there.

I remember the first weekend after Tom and I moved into married housing at State I asked him if we could "go for a ride" on Sunday.

"A ride," he asked, incredulous?

"Yes. You know, just get in the car and see where it takes us," I answered naively.

The look on his face totally told me he had no concept of what I meant. "We can just drive till we find an historic spot and explore it," I said.

"Judy, the only historic thing around here is the expressway???"

I was flabbergasted. In Massachusetts my dad took us all for a ride almost every Sunday and, there, you couldn't throw a dead cat but you'd happen onto a historic marker of some ilk!?

I should have known right then; I should have advocated more strongly for relocation after graduation. But I didn't. I was a dutiful wife and wanted my husband to be happy so Detroit was where we landed. We were happy there, love will find a way, but - oh - in retrospect, how much lovlier it would have been to spend our time together somewhere else. Somewhere pretty with lots of sunshine and blue skies and warm breezes. Somewhere with palm trees and a white sand beach.

Somewhere you could take a ride....

My plane landed this morning in Tampa about 9:30 on my return from Active Duty with the grands in Berkley and Grosse Pointe, Michigan. From the moment I stepped out of the terminal I felt like I was home: the sun, the breeze, Tampa Bay so blue and welcoming, pelicans swooping by us on the Howard Franklin and the Sunshine Skyway bridges. Even the hugh outlet mall in Ellenton called my name as we flew past heading south on I-75.

By the time we got to Clark Road in Sarasota my whole body breathed a sigh of relief.
It was a really RAGGED sigh because the asthma I brought back with me as a parting gift from the State of Michigan persists but I don't even care. Tomorrow I'll see darling darling Doctor Eva Berkes and she'll help me get rid of it, I'm sure.

Coming into our driveway tears got in my eyes reminding me that even paradise is imperfect here on earth but, Lord, how thankful I am to be in this space.

I'm home.

Best Laid Plans...

2009-03-19T18:09:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I've flown to Michigan to help out my daughter and the grands but I am quickly becoming the problem and not the solution.

That sucks, big time.

I got adult onset asthma in my middle thirties. Went through a whole winter of one bronchial infection after another; eventually the wheezing started. At first I thought of it as an interesting phenomenon because the sounds emanating from my lungs were so many and varied but the progression to , "Hey, I can't BREATHE here," came all too fast.

That lead me to an allergist who, after a series of skin tests, declared I was suddenly allergic to just about everything under the sun including almost all the food I thought of as... nourishment.

So, from age 34 to 60 I spent a good deal of time is various states of distress from allergies and asthma. At least five episodes were seriously life-threatening but I had a wonderful doctor, Jim Clinton, who actually drove me from his office to the hospital himself no less than twice!?

That's unheard of but it's true.

In 2004 Dr. Clinton put me on a combination of Singulair and Advair. Suddenly my symptoms lessened until they were really no longer a concern. It was a breakthrough and I appreciated every breath I took.

When I moved to Florida in August of 2005 a miracle happened. My asthma disappeared completely. Poof!!? I still continued taking Singulair and Advair but for two years I never once had an asthma episode of any kind.

Then, however, I developed a chronic sinus infection. Some sporadic wheezing eventually began to occur; that finally lead me to an ENT specialist and, through him, an allergist.

I've been taking shots for Florida allergens hoping to stave off the dramatic episodes I too often had in Michigan.

I had barely stepped off the plane at Detroit Metro last Thursday when I started losing my voice. By Friday wheezing came into the picture. It worsened and I had to see an urgent care physician on Monday. He gave me all the prescriptions I thought I might need and even a script for a new nebulizer, mine being in Florida.

I have it all: Singulair, Advair, a weeks worth of declining doses of Prednisone, albuterol for the nebulizer, a rescue inhaler, and my allergy medication - Allegra D.

I fear it may not be enough.

Beckie and Dan get home from the international wind energy conference in the south of France late Saturday afternoon; Gret has three, count 'em three state final Mite League ice hockey games in Fraser Friday and Saturday afternoon with Grandma supposedly playing the role of Head Cheerleader??

I've got the urgent care physician back on my agenda for tomorrow hoping he'll throw some bigger and better steroids at me. A shot of Prednisone, maybe, as well.

I was scheduled to be in Michigan 'till the 27th but now I'm thinking HOME is where the heart is - and maybe working lungs as well. I'll try and change my ticket for a Sunday departure and head back where the molds and mites and trees have been kinder than these upstart Michigan varieties.

Keep your fingers crossed I get there without a stay at St John's Hospital. At this point I wouldn't call it a lock.

Quandry Time

2009-03-19T11:00:00.000-07:00

I've discovered the quandry in blogging: How Much Can You Safely Say About The People In Your Life Without Risking Their Feelings??

My family is probably a lot like your own, imperfect, but one you'd never swap for anyone else's. Am I right or am I right?

Until now we've pretty much sailed through life with minimal problems, actually, so that might distinguish us somewhat from the fray, I suppose.

Currently, we're looking at our first divorce situation with my eldest daughter... I'm not finding that to be much fun but it's out of my hands and I trust my daughter's usual common sense and my grandchildren's ability to perceive correctly what is and isn't true in life so I think they'll all come through it with minimal initial damage and, in time, may all, in fact, be the better for it.

My niece, who's like a daughter to me, has one autistic son and another who isn't; this is challenging every day in ever way. I think I can share her name with you without fear of recrimination because she also writes a blog which, believe me, any of you facing or knowing others who face the challenge of having special needs children WILL want to see: www.Sneathenfamily.blogspot.com. She's a terrific writer as well as completely crazed like her aunt who loves her.

(What's really going to irk me to no end is that, now, all of you reading MY blog will go on to embrace HERS and then she'll have more 'followers' than I do! That will be truly infuriating.... I'm only at 8 and have an eventual goal of 100!?? Is that too much to ask?????)

Two of my other near-relatives are currently facing the loss of loved ones and those stories would rip your heart out but do I have the right or the privilege of telling you their tales? I'm just not sure I do.

What is the protocol?? I'd appreciate some input from those of you who are actively involved in my life as to whether or not you're willing to see your name in print here. And I'd also like to know from those of you I've never met but seem to enjoy reading what is said here - how much of me and mine is ENOUGH ALREADY!??

Hope to hear from you on this ASAP. I promise... I'll pay just as much attention to your preferences as I ever have. LOL.

Come Back, Jack!

2009-03-18T19:29:00.000-07:00

How is it possible to lose something you had in your hand only 24 hours ago when it has no legs and cannot walk away?

I have been reading and re-reading and re-re-reading the same Jack Reacher novel since before Tom died. That was January 24, 2009, in case you've lost track of the time sequencing.

For weeks after he passed I would bring the book with me to my tub - I'm a tub reader - basically, all my books are completely water-soaked and have expanded over time to twice their normal volume??

I would ease slowly into the super-heated water, lay my head against the shell-shaped plastic pillow, and open the book, again, to the same exact page. I'd read a couple paragraphs and realize I had simply not absorbed enough to warrant turning the page.

And so I'd start again from the top.

This went on for quite awhile and yet I never once considered abandoning the book and moving on to another.

Over time I started to move forward again and when I flew to Detroit for my stint with the grands I polished off 80-90 pages between naps. I've read a few pages every night I've been in Berkley too. Until tonight. Tonight the book is gone; it has disappeared.

I asked Gret and Reece about it. They had no idea at all what I was even referring to let alone any concept of where the book might be. Still, they helped me look. We searched the playroom first since that's where I'm sleeping and where the book was last night. They asked about the title and I couldn't tell them?!?? Not that it mattered, the book simply wasn't where it ought to have been.

We combed through every room of the house. It's not here.

Is this simple absentmindedness or a message from beyond?

Is it time to move on?

Should I, once and for all, let Jack go? He'll get the bad guys with or without me; he always does. Maybe a better book is waiting for me and my hanging onto the old one is holding me as well as him back....

The answer's in my heart: nope. It's not time yet to let him go. He's mine and I'm his till this dance is done.

I'm going to start again at the beginning; he simply can't be gone.

Help!! The State of Michigan Is Trying To Kill Me!

2009-03-17T06:42:00.000-07:00

I have had a love/hate relationship with the state of Michigan since I was a child.

Not every year - thank God - but too MANY years of my childhood I was dragged to Mount Pleasant from whatever other state was my home at the time. My grandparents were the original Odd Couple; they couldn't live together and they couldn't live apart!? They were married, divorced, each married someone else, divorced THEM and then remarried one another.

The ultimate irony was that, even after their re-marriage they lived separately; my grandma lived in the town of MP while my grampa lived at Coldwater Lake. He would come into town once a week for "lunch", euphemistically speaking, get some supplies and head back to the lake before dark.

Gram I loved but Grampa was an unpleasant sort of cold fish. The cottage was a nightmare to me (damp, cold, musty) as was the lake (mucky bottom, lots of tangled weeds). I kept my head in a book the whole miserable time I spent there and could only dream of escape.

Eventually my father was transferred to Grand Rapids where I finished the last five months of high school before going on to Michigan State. LOVED MSU and found Tom there; he was born and bred in Detroit AND he was a Taurus so there was never any question that's where he wanted to live when we both finished school.

I knew there were other much lovlier environs than Farm Brook and Chandler Park Drive "out there" and suggested we investigate some alternatives but it soon became clear to me Detroit would be my home.

Have you BEEN THERE???

Pretty, picturesque, scenic it is not.

It's a grid of streets running N/S and E/W with very little to be recommended regardless of the direction you take.

No one was ever happier to retire to Florida than I! Palm trees, blue skies, endless sunny days... these are not a part of the Michigan scenario.

I'm back here for 15 days to take care of and love my family still living in the area. They are the ONLY thing that could ever drag me back here!

And I'm pretty sure now that Michigan feels as negatively about ME as I do about IT!?

I think it's trying to kill me.

Less than 24 hours after I arrived I starting losing my voice. On day two I started wheezing. I haven't wheezed at night like this in almost four years!?? Those of you with asthma know that when you can hear yourself rattle breathing in AND breathing out you're probably in trouble.

That's me right now.

It makes sleeping an impossibility which is so not a good thing when Grandma is in charge of multiple young children over multiple days!!

I called my allergist in Sarasota this morning and she couldn't prescribe over the phone without seeing/hearing me up close and personal so an Urgent Care facility
is in my near future. I'm hoping for scripts for Prednisone and a new breathing machine with lots of albuterol to ease my symptoms.

Keep your fingers crossed. I beat this rotten state before and I think I can do it again.

I think I can... I think I can... I think I can....

The Tax Man Cometh

2009-03-13T07:42:00.000-07:00

This is so hard for me.

Taxes have been a cross every year of my marriage. Money, the having and handling of same, was NOT a strong point with Tom and/or with me. If there was a stupid way to do anything regarding money... that's what we generally did.

But, for whatever reason, Tom thought doing the taxes was Man's Work so every year he set about figuring out what was what and I would cringe in a corner 'till he was done. Truth is, I never had an ounce - not even a whit - of confidence in his 'goes-intos'.

There has never been a year, EVER, that we got a refund. That doesn't make sense. And, beyond that, we always had to pay!!? Ridiculous amounts of money some years (too MANY years!), lesser amounts others but we always ended up in the red According To Tom.

I so wanted to call in a professional but it would have crushed him had he known my true feelings so I let it roll and quietly shook my head year after year after year.

Well... he's dead and H and R Block got the chance to step up.

I went to the local mall and brought my trusty shoebox full of Important Crap. Envelopes I'd never looked in but which said, "Important Tax Documents Inside", some insurance stuff, the paperwork from our new car... I don't know what-all but it's what I had and so it went.

The main thing for you to know is that I WENT. I took charge. I sat right there beside the tax guy while he opened every envelope, separated the wheat from the chaff, asked me questions I didn't want to answer, typed in numbers I didn't want to see.... The desire for flight was raging in my chest all the while I answered politely or joked with him as he worked.

Ironically, I did NOT get the brightest bulb H and R Block had to offer. He was inept at using the computer, had to consistently re-type EVERYTHING he entered, and when he thought he was done no less that 15 error screens popped up necessitating going backwards again and again and again till they were finally eliminated and we saw the finished product.

That's when I burst into tears.

It was seeing Tom's name there at the top of the form all so officially linked to mine and to our life in paradise.

Gone. What a bummer.

THEN, clearly adding insult to injury, the bottom line said I owed $230.00. I had to laugh; at least Tom was vindicated - he's not doing the math and still money is owed!!?

Whatever.

It cost $160.00 for the doing but (and there's always that Big But!) for $30.00 more I could buy INSURANCE against any mistakes made by my trusty H and R Block guy whom I didn't trust at all so of course I scarfed that right up!!

$190.00. And me, virgin no more.

Beauty and the Beach

2009-03-10T20:42:00.000-07:00

My niece, her daughter and four of their nearest and dearest friends are here in Sarasota on spring break. I have custody of the darling college girls - Kelsey, Kassie, and Heather.

They are, all three, OMG pretty and what fun it is to remember through their eyes what it is to be 19.

Siesta Beach on the Key is reknown as one of the top 5 beaches in the world: gorgeous white powdery sand, clear blue water from here to Texas, an excellent refreshment stand, volleyball nets, a play area for the children, umbrellas for rent, blue skies, white clouds, Calypso music and breaching dolphins.

It's all good.

But it's especially fun when the beach is peopled with hardbodies rather than our regular population of oldsters!

The father of my friend Terry Dussel Pratt had a place down here for a long time and he took many years' worth of hysterical film footage of, basically, old women bending over at the beach. It never failed to make me laugh even long before I, myself, became worthy fodder for his film footage.

(Try saying that really fast 5 times!?)

The truth is, Sarasota is a retirement town. Sure we have our fair share of families with children of all ages but if you're at the beach on a weekday what you're going to see are people over 65.

That's hardly ever pretty....

Spring break marks the exception that proves the rule.

From early March to mid-April our beach is young again and it is such a pleasure to see that. The nice thing is that almost everyone college age and younger is here visiting a relative so we don't get that wild thing going like they do in a lot of other spring break destination beaches. Kids can still hook up but when it's under the watchful eyes of grandparents or aunts and uncles, "lust", while present, remains somewhat refined. You can drink at Siesta but rarely do you see an obnoxious drunk. Bathing suits are tasteful and they remain not just ON but hooked and/or tied.

I'm really sorry for Tom that he's missing this. He did so enjoy a good ogle!

Let me just say this - Wish You Were Here!!

Mighty Mites

2009-03-08T07:47:00.000-07:00

We are a hockey family.

One of the first things Tom did when we started dating was take me down to the old Olympia Stadium in Detroit. Even then, 46 years ago, that section of Detroit was intimidating - at least to a princess from Grand Rapids. The lot we parked in was blocks from the entrance and half the streetlights were not functioning. Police cars buzzed by in swarms. Panhandlers begged for money as we ran the gauntlet to the doors.

Once inside though, it was magic! Lights, noise, music, carnival food smells... then the players took the ice. From our seats in the nosebleed section they looked like gladiators - warriors - and that wasn't far from the truth.

Minimal padding, no helmets, they flew at one another which was amazing to me because they were on ice!? I couldn't imagine being strong enough and graceful enough to fly from one end of the rink to the other, pound the Bad Guys as you passed them, AND move the puck into scoring contention. Plus, they were always sopping blood off the ice and - frankly - I have always liked a little blood in my sports.

An added perk was the popcorn. I never had better than they served at the old Olympia.

Now that I'm older and wiser I'm grateful that the league has demanded more safety precautions for the players; with my grandsons, I'm happy to see them well-padded, wearing helmets, blood-on-the-ice being a thing of the past.

Yup, Gret (named for the Great Gretzky!), is a Mite.

He just finished his first regular season. The Rangers from Berkley, MI, won, outright, their first tournament earlier this year and placed second within their division only yesterday!!

The trophy for "Runner-Up" was damned impressive. HUGH.

Two weeks from now they'll be in the state tournament and I'll be in MI then to see it! Can hardly wait!! I'll be the chubette with the big box of lotiony Puffs, you can bet on that. I'm sure there have been plenty of - I use the term loosely - Hockey Widows before me who've watched the game and cheered through tears but I can pretty well guarantee I'll make my mark as The Happiest Sad Grandma ever.

Go, Gret! Go, Rangers!!

Charis

2009-03-07T10:17:00.000-08:00

I went to pick up my niece Kyle from TPA a few months ago and when I did she had two strangers in tow, a very good-looking couple who happened to be her seatmates on the flight from Hartford. They were all very very happy... and by that I mean tipsy. Clearly, the flight had been a blast for all three of them! They talked, they laughed, they told stories, they had a drink or two (or four!)and became Best Friends.

"Aunt JUDY," they greeted me loudly and with hugs - Kyle had apparently told them 'stories' about me...? (I hate it when that happens.)

They had exchanged numbers and addresses and promised faithfully that, should time and space permit, they would absolutely get together and a have a lot more Big Fun in their Tampa hot tub!!

I hooted because, in all my years of flying, I have never once been seated beside someone who wanted to make me their new best friend!?

Until Charis.

She had the window seat on the ride back to Sarasota from Detroit after Tom's funeral; I had the center seat. There was a very large man on the aisle but he had a pair of earplugs and his computer playing a New Comedians show and since we weren't, he was clearly prepared to tune us out.

She was a darling girl, younger than my own daughters but still a grownup. She was flying to Sarasota looking for a job so she could move from Wisconsin and fill her life with sunshine.

How exciting! Her plans were entirely diverting - allowing me, for two and a half hours, to completely avoid thinking about the fact I'd just cremated my husband.

Well... not completely... but almost.

She was familiar with the territory, had a grandmother who lived on Siesta Key and had been down a number of times. In Wisconsin she had a job she didn't love and weather she was ready to bag, big-time.

How could I not encourage her?? I'm an AQUARIAN; we have answers upon answers for all and any questions ever posed.

We exchanged numbers and I asked her to keep me posted about her progress on the job search.

We played phone tag a couple times that week but were never able to work out a face-to-face; BUT, by gosh, she called this week and said, "I'm here!"

She did it! She tied up loose ends in Appleton, bought herself a brandy-new car and was by-gosh here and ready to start her new life.

We got together for lunch yesterday and she told me the whole story. I'll suffice it to say there were roadblocks but she was determined and she made it happen. In this most horrible of economies she's already got a part-time evening job which includes housing and she's interviewing during the days to find a permanent position doing something she expects to love.

Ah, youth! She's cute as a button, free as a breeze, lives in paradise, and has at least one new friend!! Life is good.

Yes, it is. It most definitely is.

And it was good for me to be reminded of that.

What, Me, Manic?

2009-03-05T08:51:00.000-08:00

You are going to truly shake your heads at this statement but... I am SO HAPPY having reclaimed all the household jobs that Tom took over when he retired!

Frankly, I'm surprised to be saying it.

The house looks totally fabulous and that makes me feel very very good. You could open any cupboard or closet door, any drawer and know precisely what was to be found within.

I HAVE PUT MY HOUSE IN ORDER! Yahoo!!

There's something so comforting about a tidy space. I'm not talking OCD or anything even close to that; in fact, the angel food cupcakes I made this morning and frosted are still sitting out on a kitchen counter willy-nilly and that counter has not been washed down since the job was finished either!?

(I probably should get to that though when I'm done here....)

Well, maybe I'm a little obsessive but in a totally good way. (lol) It's part of the grieving process, I believe, to make things your own, right? That I have done.

Our hugh walk-in closet in the master suite is mine-all-mine and brother does it look good! Every matching hanger goes in the same direction, my shoes are arranged by season and color, my blouses are hung together by fabric type, my skirts are separated from my pants and the pants are further arranged by length starting with shorts and going through Capri pants to ankle length.

It's maahvelous!!

Oops - I said "our". I should have said "my" because there is no 'our' any more it's just me madly going through the house trying to make everything perfect.

OK. That DOES sound obsessive now that I read it in black and white.

But I really do like having the little things back again in my life: dusting, vacuuming, Windexing, clearing out the dishwasher, doing the laundry, scrubbing the bathroom. Once Tom retired he did these things in lieu of me because I was still teaching. The last couple of years I taught, after the doctrine of No Child Left Behind was instituted and made success nearly impossible for at-risk schools, I appreciated being able to just walk in the door at night and gather strength again for the next day.

When we moved to Florida he still predominated in doing the housework but I pitched in whenever I saw something that needed doing. Still... I always felt like I was usurping his domain.

Well, that's no longer true, is it?? Now it's all mine. All the work, all the shopping, all the cooking, all the accounts - ALL MINE.

What hath God wrought?

"Good" Grief

2009-03-04T08:01:00.000-08:00

Last night I went to the alternate group grief session at Tidewell Hospice in Sarasota. Tidewell is a premier hospice provider which we used last year when my mother-in-law "failed to thrive" after multiple hip surgeries and therapy attempts.

That's a story for another day.

Tidewell served her and us for the last few months of her life and was a tremendous help.

They offer grief counselling for free to anyone in the community whether your loved one had been in hospice care or not.

This meeting was much larger than the Wednesday one of last week; there had to be 30ish people in attendance.

Everyone had the opportunity to introduce him/herself and tell a little bit about their loss and what they hoped to get out of the session. Only one other woman had lost her spouse suddenly; everyone else had been in hospice care for some amount of time.

Though each story was very personal and individual there were certain threads that ran through all of them. This was not a surprise to me! It only makes sense that losing a loved one would leave you feeling alienated, fearful, sad beyond belief, angry, and - the one most relevant to me - unable to believe the death actually occurred.

My head knows, yes, that Tom is dead, but my heart is slower to accept that truth. It's not that I expect his return (he was great but he wasn't God, after all!?), it's just that I am stupefied he's gone. For him to have been so active, so vital and then to be felled so quickly and without a whimper still has me shaking my head.

And missing him!

I expect that will go on for the rest of my life....

But what I came away with last night was that I do not need grief counseling, personally. I have let Tom go and truly believe he is now where he is meant to be and so am I. The Lord called him for reasons I do not know or understand but call him He did and that's an accepted truth in my mind.

I am moving forward, fearful or not, and have confidence I will be able to do the things I must to continue having a full and joyful life. I expect to cry but more than that I expect to laugh and take heart from the love all around me.

In truth, I feel so blessed having had Tom in my life for 47 years. I consider myself LUCKY even despite the loss!!

And I'm excited about the adventure of being alone. I never expected it, never made a contingency plan for it, never even saw it as a possibility but here it is and it has to be dealt with. My answer is to confront it boldly.

Bring it on!!

I feel ready, willing, and able to proceed with my life.

And so I shall. Tales will continue to be told of The Widow Judy. Stay tuned!!

Curves

2009-03-02T08:23:00.000-08:00

I am trying to psych myself up to go to Curves. For the uninitiated, that's an exercise parlor for women only.

I say "parlor" and not "gym" because, honestly, the exercise equipment employed there is not anything like you'll find at Gold's.

The basic premise, for me anyway, is that doing SOMETHING is better than doing nothing; Curves is the only exercise program I've ever followed that I can do and not injure myself.

I'm an unfortunate combination of completely unathletic and highly competitive??? Those two qualities do NOT serve me well when I try a more strenuous kind of exercise program so, for me, Curves is it.

It's a girlie place; this I know because most ladies come in to exercise wearing their street clothes and never work up a sweat! So... it's easy to go directly from exercising to having lunch with friends!

LOL. What could be better than THAT!?

The set-up includes 15-16 pieces of equipment which they claim, done in rotation, will exercise all major body parts. These are alternated with aerobic stands so you can get some cardio as well.

But not me. I skip all the aerobic crap and just do the machines 'as are'.

There's a disembodied voice over the intercom that tells you when to move from one piece of equipment to the next and you keep doing this for half an hour three times a week at least.

BUT (and there's always that Big But!?) I refuse to LISTEN to the voice and, instead, follow my OWN program whereby I just keep trying to up the number of reps I'm doing and/or speed up the implementation of same.

Therein lies the rub.

The Curves I'm going to now has way too many women there all the time!?? I've tried early, late, and most times in between and - darn it all - the people there are doing the Real Program!? Somebody's always RIGHT THERE while I'm still trying to Do Better on any given machine. It's very frustrating for me!!

(Yes, I do see the irony. I'M the one NOT doing the program, ergo, I'm sure the other ladies are equally or maybe even more frustrated with ME!? Moving on....)

The truth is I HATE the going but I do like being there. It is very difficult for me to make myself drive the car over there but once I'm in the door I rather enjoy challenging myself, quietly, from machine to machine.

Most of the ladies are my age or older which makes it very easy to delude myself, during that half-hour period, that I am doing GREAT!! I can honestly say that I perform harder than a lot of the other women I see around me mindlessly following that voice.

To be fair, though, there are women my daughters' ages who sometimes happen into Curves while I am there and I can't hold a candle to them. That's OK. I can forgive that because this next generation of women has been so much smarter than mine. They have exercised throughout their whole lives and have long since understood the benefit of it where I am only just now realizing that doing something is better than doing nothing if you want your joints and muscles to continue working reasonably.

So I innore them and let them do their own thing while I do mine.

My program may not be the Curves model but it works for me. The voice be damned!

Stan

2009-03-01T15:32:00.000-08:00

A long time ago, nineteen or twenty years in fact, my sister-in-law Sharon brought me to a house party where a psychic was doing readings. At that time Sharon was deep in study herself regarding astrology, Tarot, things of that nature....

At first I was uncomfortable with the concept; then I was - lol - HORRIFIED when I would pick up any of her astrology books, turn to the section on Aquarius, and totally see myself on every page in every word. I wanted it to be off the wall
w-r-o-n-g so I could talk her down from the ledge but how could I when the whole Aquarius 'thing' was, by definition, ME?

So I opened my mind just a little.

I can't remember the psychic's name but we all were called in one at a time and got a personal consultation.

I was sceptical but considered it diverting; we'd all agreed to talk about the things she said/we said and compare notes later.

She even put the whole reading on cassette tape so we would have it verbatim.

The first thing she asked me almost as soon as I walked into the room and we'd said hello was, "Who's Jim?"

I was a little startled because I have a father Jim, a brother Jim, two nephews named Jim... and she pulled THAT NAME out of a hat!? I said there were lots and lots of Jims in my family and she looked at me a little pissily and said, flatly, "OK. Which one's DEAD?"

"That would be my father," I replied and she then proceeded to describe my dad physically to a 'T'. Like Melinda Gordon, she passed information from him to me; it was strange but I did feel comforted at the same time.

We probably spent 20 minutes together and the reason I bring this up NOW is that she told me, in the course of the interview, that I would not be living my whole life with my current husband. I would find someone new, someone who would take care of me very very well (I liked the sound of that even THEN!) and his name was Stan.

STAN?! I have been acquainted only once in my 64 years with anyone named Stan and ours was the most passing of relationships, I assure you.

Well... where the heck is my Stan NOW???

I told my daughters this story right after we left the Florida mortuary the day after Tom died - we were all a little punchy then anyway. They immediately got into it and suggested a number of different ways I might test out this "Theory of Stan". We got hysterical laughing about all the places I could go, things I could do to begin the search for My Man Stan!

I have to say this psychic was right about a lot of things that night. To a person we all agreed much of what she'd said about our lives-to-date was uncannily true.

Could there be a Stan waiting for me just around the corner??

Lord, I hope so. "Let's have at him!," I say!

"And the greatest of these..."

2009-03-01T01:25:00.000-08:00

I met Tom at Michigan State University in November of 1962 not much more than a month after I started my first term there. He had the candy job of sitting in the cafeteria lobby and checking every girl in West Wilson Hall through the breakfast, lunch or dinner line.

What a luck-out!?

It was his nose that lead to our introduction. I was seated with my roomates and a few guys from East Wilson at lunchtime on the 29th when one of them began mocking THEIR roomate's hugh probocis. I couldn't imagine that this... feature... could be so prominent on a person I passed by at least once a day five times a week since school began and I'd never even noticed it OR him so I left the table and went to the doors, opened them and checked him out.

Seeing me, he turned; I raised my eyebrows and said, "I don't think your nose is THAT big...," shut the doors and resumed my seat.

When he went off duty he scanned the room, found our table and joined us. The seat next to me was fortuitously vacant. While the group of us were chatting I fiddled with my Grand Rapids Ottawa Hills class ring, twirling it until - at one point - it clattered to the table. He swooped it up, put it on his little finger and said,

"Now we're going steady."

I rolled my eyes, giggled, and said, "Sure. Why not?"

We made a date, being steadies and all, to study together that night. We did. Well, in truth, I TRIED to study and he did his best to subvert my concentration by drawing alternately humorous and obscene cartoons (which I considered charming, unique and just a little strange) in the margin of my ATL book. Before we parted company I asked him to please give me back my ring.

"No!" he protested. "I meant it. We're really going steady now."

And he kissed me.

That was it. In fact, when I wrote my sister to tell her about my new boyfriend I even referred to him as, "This-is-it-Tom"!

As it turns out, 'charming, unique and just-a-little-strange' were the three best qualities I could've ever chosen in a mate. Over our 47 years together, sure, there were OTHER qualities I wouldn't have minded seeing in him - ambition comes to mind as does being task-oriented and RICH - but for the long haul being eternally likeable and funny, one-of-a-kind, and slightly offbeat served us very well.

Turns out he was also true-blue, a terrific dad and unfailingly supportive which didn't hurt!

47 is a lot of years to be happy every day, to love one another literally and figuratively, to be in sync mentally and emotionally. Even knowing what I know now, that 47 was our Magic Number and it was not enough, anyone I loved would still be lucky to find a partner who weathered those finite years so well as we.

I have no idea what will happen in my life as it unfolds henceforward but I know that what I had makes whatever WILL BE entirely OK.

You heard it here: life's all about the loving so rejoice and be glad. I do and I WILL even if... sometimes... tears get in my eyes.

Can't We All Just Get Along??

2009-02-27T18:10:00.000-08:00

Is anybody out there GOOD at being mad?

It takes a lot to provoke me all the way to anger but once I'm 'mad as hell and ain't gonna take it any more' I never ever ever feel the better for saying it is so.

For one thing, I can't express anger verbally without crying like an idiot. I hate to cry because my eyes feel like they're filled with sand for a minimum 36 hours afterward and - besides that - I can't cry delicately. I see actresses crying who still manage to look attractive but that is so not me! My face gets all blotchy and my eyelids swell, I drool sometimes, my nose always runs... it's a mess.

I CAN, however, write a scathing note guaranteed to shame the person I'm mad at! I can say exactly what I mean when I write a tongue lashing. I suppose that's better than nothing but still it seems like the coward's way out.

Grown up humans ought to be able to face the person that angered them and hash out whatever is the bone of contention, shouldn't they? But then that whole crying scenario comes into play and I look like a pathetic child anyway so what difference does it make in the long run??

By now you've guessed I've got an anger issue going on. It doesn't happen very often because I'm generally a Big Picture person and know without being told what motivates people to act the way they do. Seeing everything in broad context allows me to be generous of spirit and let people do stupid things without taking it personally.

Most of the time.

But occassionally just the right thing at just the right moment will set me off. It usually has to do with injustice and - of course - at this particular juncture of my life I'm all emotion anyway. The Perfect Storm, if you will.

I've said what I needed to say in black and white, the offending person has apologized (even if more defiant than contrite!), it should be done and over with. I've said it is. I want it to be.

Frankly, I could do without the added drama!

But I find I'm still feeling pissy. I know time heals all wounds (and wounds all heels!) but I just want to put it behind me and get on with accepting my new life with as much joy as I can muster minute by minute.

Maybe what I really need is to forgive MYSELF? Yes. I may have hit paydirt there. I'm not perfect, I'm not a saint, I'm just The Widow Judy trying to get along in the world.

So, for God's sake, Judy, GET ALONG and let's get on with it.

The Wheel of Grief!

2009-02-26T00:43:00.000-08:00

I went to a group meeting last night sponsored by Tidewell Hospice here in Sarasota. I didn't know what to expect because, well, I've never LOST a husband before this but I wanted to give it a try to basically see if there might be some insights to be had regarding the disconnect I feel between my brain and my heart.

The moderator and two other people who'd also lost a spouse were in attendance. The stories were sadly similar in that each of their loved ones suffered through a long period of hospice care before they passed on.

They listened sympathetically to my shocking tale of Tom's 'here-one-minute-gone-the-next' passing.

What I came away with is, it doesn't matter one bit whether you have two years to prepare or zero minutes losing the one you love is just plain hard!

Clearly, they were in as much pain six months after losing their spouse as I was at the tender date of four weeks. More, in fact, because they each still longed to have their love back and I, while hating to have to, know there IS no going back - the only viable path left open is moving forward.

The counselor sent me home with a packet of information intended to assist the griever in understanding the general process. The format of one particular page, however, totally made me lol!!

It was entitled, I'm paraphrasing, "The Wheel of Grief" and while its message was completely on target - time will see you through the stages and you'll eventually come around to finding a new life with your spouse's death integrated but no longer central to your being - all I could see as I looked at it was "The Wheel of Wow!"

My grandchildren all love Webkinz - they are small stuffed animals that come with a computer site dedicated to the care and feeding of these creatures. The site offers games to play which the kids' Webkinz and mine can do together despite the fact theirs are in Michigan and mine are in Florida. One thing we all get to do every day is spin "The Wheel of Wow!" It offers 85% - 90% fun items to be won but there's always a couple spaces you hope to avoid.

HELLO???! Isn't that what's happening with those of us facing the grief process every day?

Even on the hardest rawest days of grief aren't there always SOME good things offered to us? Friends and family come by or call giving hugs and kisses, they bring food, tell us they love us and that we are not alone.

Of course these things can't fill the gaping hole where our spouse used to be but they can and do help to ease the pain of that void. Getting a plate of brownies or a tuna casserole may not be snagging the Princess Poster Bed or the Pirate Treasure off "The Wheel of Wow" but it's a start.

New Territory

2009-02-24T23:48:00.000-08:00

Wednesday marks another milestone (I considered spelling that 'millstone'!) in the life of TWJ; for the first time ever I will be the chauffeur returning our company to Tampa International Airport.

It's a little more than an hour north of our home in Sarasota and, until now, either Suzy or Tom assumed the driving duties for pick up and delivery of guests.

There's something intimidating, for me anyway, about a major airport. I felt the same way about Detroit Metro and avoided driving duty to and from IT for a whole lot more than three and a half years!?

Part of it is being Directionally Challenged and the airport being, y'know, ALL ABOUT DIRECTIONS?? Part of it is negotiating the sheer size of it. Then there's the time pressure to be sure those coming or going are met or dropped in a timely fashion.

Wednesday's a drop-off as Bill heads back to Providence on his way to Blackstone, MA so that'll be a good way for me to get in the groove negotiating TPA.

Still, as many times as I've been in the passenger seat, it's entirely different being In Charge; I admit I'm nervous about it.

I'm dating myself I'm sure in saying there are many jobs in life that somebody ELSE ought to do and airport runs are one of those in The Big Book Of Judy!

But somebody else isn't here, is he, and so there must be stepping up.

There's no question it can be done and I can do it; I just don't wanna! I want things the way they were a month and a day ago.

Unfortunately, we don't always get what we want we get what is. And Wednesday is the day for me to swallow hard, suck it up and be a big girl.

So be it.

Hopeless

2009-02-23T22:16:00.000-08:00

My nephew Bill is visiting from MA for a few days mainly to buck me up and give me some support as The Widow Judy. He's a computer whiz and I had hoped, and he had agreed, that we could spend some time while he's here schooling me on 21st century tech stuff like cutting and pasting, photoshopping, putting my own pictures on Facebook and even sprucing up my blogspot entries picture-wise.

By two this afternoon he was ready to chew off his own hand if it meant he could escape trying to teach the unteachable!?

The sad part is, I really really want to know how to do all that stuff.

The mind is willing but the body is weak... so weak.

He tried to be patient; it was painful, really, seeing how hard he was trying not to cringe when I'd spastically click on things once, twice, once again, twice again trying to follow his directions but panicing. Or when it took me thirteen tries to turn one of those goofy Facebook 'learn more about me' quizzes blue so I could eventually delete the sender's answers and add my own?

The WORST was me trying to execute holding down the control key with my left finger and simultaneously moving the cursor up or down with my right and not, erroneously, at some time in the process, lifting my finger off the mouse thereby aborting the effort and having to start again. And again. And again.

You'd think ANYONE could double-click, right? It has taken me, literally, years to be able to do that under the best of circumstances and I still revert to utter incapacity when somebody's watching me 'perform' on the computer!?

I just have no skills (that's pronounced "skeels" in Detroit BTW)telling my body what I want it to do. For example, I can only ride a bike in a straight line. When I get to the point where I have to turn the handle bars right or left at a corner I have to actually STOP, get off the bike, walk it around the corner and then I can continue pedalling at least until the next corner stops me again.

That is so sad.

I am a dancer in my heart but when I tell my body, "Look, all you have to do is just move this way - that way - everybody's doing it...," I can hear my brain laughing out loud at the whole idea.

"NEVER GONNA HAPPEN, my friend," and my brain is right. Remember Eileen from "Seinfeld" dancing?? Double that and take it to the 6th power - that's me.

I eventually did create a folder with pictures in it AND I did finally get my own answers to that goofy quiz posted as a note on Facebook but - oy - the price we both paid to 'git 'er done'??? HUGH.

Tomorrow Bill's going to try and help me take some of those aforementioned pictures from the folder created today and add them to my blog entries. That ought to be good!? I'm already pitying him and we haven't even started yet.

Maybe we should just go to the beach instead and leave computer literacy to the Under 64 crowd?

Hugh

2009-02-21T10:21:00.000-08:00

When I wrote the last post I used the word "huge". I really paused over that spelling because for years now my sister Toot and I have had a once-private joke that has since spread to our whole family; I will share it with you now.

From this point forward in all my blog entries the would "huge" will be purposely misspelled "HUGH" just because it makes me laugh!

At least ten years ago I was driving in my neighborhood of Detroit, yes, Detroit. We lived in a lovely area called East English Village in a big tudor brick home built by exactly the same man and company who built the ones across Mack Avenue in Grosse Pointe Park many years ago. We loved our house, our neighbors, the city and we spit on those who denegrate Detroit with a broad stroke of an evil pen!

But I digress....

I was turning the corner at Cadieux and Chandler Park Drive and saw a homemade sign:
"HUGH SALE!!!" it said in bold print. I burst out laughing. I couldn't help but wonder how many Hughs could be rounded up in EEV to be sold on any given weekend!?

What can I say? It cracked me up.

Still does!! Yes, I'm easy - many have said it before and now that I'm back on the market myself, so to speak, many will probably say it again!???

But consider this a blanket warning. For me, the word 'huge' no longer exists; it'll
be 'hugh' and when you see it you'll know I'M laughing anyway!??

Something Else To Chew On

2009-02-21T09:49:00.000-08:00

I went to the market this morning and realized when I reached the last aisle my cart was woefully empty. I actually stopped short before I turned the last corner and headed down to the ice creams and frozen veggies. My nephew Bill, age 50, is arriving tonight for a five-day stay in paradise with me; seven freaking humans, all adults, will be at dinner tomorrow night; three people LIVE full-time at my home yet the bottom of the cart wasn't even fully covered.

WHAT??

Something had to be missing - I must've forgotten significant numbers of things on my way to the end of the road at Publix.

Bill likes cheese - I have 5 different kinds. Dinner tomorrow is steak (check), corn on the cob (check), baked potatoes (at home), salad (check), biscuits (check), and dessert (check). I've got fancy bakery bread (that smells great and feels squishy - yahoo!), Black Forest ham and Country French turkey for sandwiches. I've got four kinds of India Pale Ale and enough appetizers and spreads at home to feed the whole subdivision. I've got an angel food cake mix and plan to experiment with cupcakes of that variety maybe Tuesday; I've got the confectionery sugar I need to make homemade frosting.

I've got it all. This'll get me through till Monday night for sure when we'll all go to Olive Garden, Bill will buy dinner Tuesday and he's leaving Wednesday.

Throw in a lunch or two at Siesta Beach or in the Village and that's the whole food agenda in a nutshell.

$109.00. Just doesn't seem completely baked!? Can losing one person from the human equation make that huge a difference shopping-wise?

Amazingly, I think the answer is, "Yes."

Since Tom died on January 24th I have been to the market twice and one of those two times was specifically to get what I needed for the open house last Sunday in Tom's honor.

I generally went marketing for SOMETHING every single day before 1/24/09. I never figured it our per se but I'm guessing I spent close to or better than $300.00 a week on groceries - that's not including our restaurant forays for lunch or dinner, you understand.

Looking at my pathetic cart this morning I can only wonder what the heck I was buying???

I knew Tom's being gone would change everything but... this? This is astounding.

On The OTHER Hand...

2009-02-19T17:44:00.000-08:00

I've realized my plan of moving various rings from one hand to another and - at this point anyway - it looks pretty weird to me.

The whole theory of having my wedding ring on my right hand and elevating the pearl ring all my girls AND Tom gave me together one birthday find a home on my left ring finger totally makes sense. All the rings look great - I had a jeweler clean them and repair anything that needed repair and size them to fit their new digits but it's all still very strange and awkward.

And sad.

It's just not right....

It's silly and fruitless to rail against the universe; what is - IS - and cannot be denied and yet I desperately want to do just that. I want this whole "Tom Is Dead" thing to be simply a cruel joke that's gone on long enough and needs to be done. He needs to walk through the door and call me his Ho-nee and give me a big hug and a long kiss; he needs to make grapefruit juice with our own grapefruits so the house is filled with their scent; he needs to keep pestering me when I'm naked in the tub even though that annoys me to no end; he needs to be mad at the Red Wings even when they're winning because they're not winning by ENOUGH; he needs to be sitting on the sofa at 5:00PM Monday through Friday clapping when Suzy when homes from work; he needs to be buying tickets to all the pre-season games he and Dick and Dave and Wes were going to road trip to this spring; he needs to turn Morning Joe on at exactly 6:00AM every day and then rub my back while we talk about the day's agenda; and he needs to tell me in his own voice what a big girl I've been handling this horrible cosmic joke with aplomb; and, and, and, and, and... that's not going to happen.

He's not going to be here for whatever happens next to me or the girls or the grandchildren or any of our relatives or friends and that's the truth, hard as it is to swallow.

For the first time in my life I can't brainstorm a dozen ways to Make This Right. I can't negotiate any outcome other than what is; all I can do is hold and roll. On the one hand that can and must be enough. On the other... well... there IS no Other Hand.

"To Change or Not To Change?" That Is The Question.

2009-02-18T19:24:00.000-08:00

Here's a newsflash: I am not a Tuschak. I was only a Tuschak by marriage and now, according to the ceremony verbiage itself, what with death having parted me and Tom, I am no longer "married" and therefore no longer a Tuschak.

A change is in the making.

I would like to be called by my maiden name: Davidge. Judy Davidge, that's who I am. The Tuschak can stay awhile on checks and my driver's license and social security deposits - those kinds of official documents - but eventually I'll make it legal and reclaim my family name.

I can't imagine doing anything else.

When we got married on September 4, 1965, women hadn't yet grasped the concept that they could BE married and still maintain their own identity. That seems ridiculous now but it was true then. It never entered my college-educated head that a choice even existed!?

I know I questioned it my heart. It didn't 'make sense' that at noon on a particular day I should have to forsake all that I had been and still was just because I got married!

I flashed back to the day of my sister's wedding; I remember being 12 or 13 and aghast that she was suddenly a Berry. Just like that, snap, her Davidgehood was erased and she was born fullblown as a whole other entity?

I thought not, then, and I think not that now.

And yet... I had to sign in at the Senior Center where I went to play bridge yesterday and I had every intention of writing "Judy Davidge" but when I put down the pen I had written "Judy Tuschak"!? It gave me pause. Why would I have done that
when my conscious intent was otherwise?

Did I secretly WANT to be a Tuschak? The answer to that question is, "No, I don't."
I want to be who I am and have always been, a Davidge of the First Order!

More than anything I think I wrote what I did because my brain and heart are still in 'disconnect', not accepting that Tom is gone and, ergo, that my marriage is over.

Taking back my maiden name is not a repudiation of my life as Tom's wife, Judy Tuschak; it's an affirmation that, like Popeye, "I yam what I yam!"

Over the years I've seen many friends and relatives face the death of a relationship - divorce - or the actual death of their spouse and make a different choice than I am making now. That is their decision, this is mine.

And while I'm at it this is as good a time as any to tell people that my wedding ring is now on my right hand not my left. My marriage is over and that painful fact has to be accepted. My head still screams, "Let it not be true!" but true it is.

On my ring finger, left hand, I'm wearing the three pearl ring Tom and my girls gave me for my birthday when I turned 50. It's a Family Ring and while my marriage is a thing of the past, family lives on so, to me, it seems apt.

Like it or lump it, The Widow Judy is moving forward.

Senior Center Bridge

2009-02-18T00:30:00.000-08:00

OMG.

Remember how I said now that Tom's dead I have to put myself 'out there' and try to find some new pals? Let me just say... I don't think they're at the Senior Center in Sarasota, Florida.

It's a beautiful facility right on the curve as 41, also known as the Tamiami Trail, winds around the outskirts of downtown and brings you to one of the prettiest views Sarasota offers, the waterfront park - a lovely vista to be sure.

Then I went inside.

I was greeted by possibly The Oldest Living Human I have ever seen; all cuted up, she was in bright whites and perky yellows, make-up perfection on her Appalacian apple doll face. She showed me where to sign in and couldn't have been nicer personally walking me to the seating area where party bridge players generally congregated Tuesday at 1:00 before they headed off to play in a room on the upper level.

One, two, three ladies in their mid-to-late 70's came in, sat down at my table, chatted me up - mainly about which 'regulars' would not be there today due to death, disease, or having out of town guests!? A couple men came just as we were egressing to the bridge room and actually did a verbal "Mutt and Jeff" routine which you would have had to be as old as my older sister to have even recognized as humor but I laughed because I at least had an inkling it was a 'routine'.

Red flags were already waving in my head and my heart telling me to "Get out! Get out while there's still time!" but I was determined and sat down smiling as if 'I meant to do that' a la Pee Wee Herman.

Our fourth came in and I kid you not she was 88. (Everyone who's 88 LEADS with that information in case you didn't know!)She was deaf as a post AND announced she couldn't shuffle OR draw in the tricks because she was having shoulder replacement surgery next Friday.

Ye gods.

I must digress just a bit and tell you that when I play bridge with my regular Wednesday Night People I have a three rubber maximum on how long I'll play. After three rubbers my brain starts to shut down and I can't operate at full capacity any more because by that time all I can really think about is wanting to be home in a nice hot tub reading the latest Jack Reacher novel.

We girls played - ready - NINE RUBBERS of bridge!! We were, quite literally, the last table of four living humans still left in the room. At least two rubbers prior I started getting punchy and by the middle of rubber nine I was begging them to please, please, please let me go.

They thought I was very funny, that my protestations and drole rejoinders begging for mercy were humorous. All three of these women, you understand, were VERY sharp and two of them at least were probably more talented than I at actually playing bridge. They were pleasant, allowed chatting, forgave mistakes, didn't dwell on errors... all good things. But were they candidates for The Widow Judy's Brand new Clubhouse?

I'm afraid not.

My Exotic Valentine

2009-02-14T01:04:00.000-08:00

Would you believe that my very first dream including Tom post ipso facto was e"X"otic?

Well, it was.

How funny. Why 'funny' you ask? I will tell you in as delicate terms as I am able.

We had a houseful of people: our daughter Amy was there and was teaching again; our three grandsons plus my nephews Zachary and Daniel also figured prominently as did a neighbor boy of unknown origin but who was bigger and taller than our own Daniel who, himself at 12, could pass for 14 or 15 size-wise.

Tom and I had been separated awhile (now there's an understatement!) and finally managed to be alone in our bedroom. We were both exhausted but he reached over for me and made it clear he was ready to play.

There was fumbling and bumbling over buttons and other vagaries of lingerie but we had managed to progress to the getting serious part when we both realized our door was open with six young boys AND a daughter only a stone's throw away.

I, being the one still somewhat if not Amishly covered, got up to close the door and then all hell broke loose. Amy's underwear - which I noted in my dream was significantly more Victoria's Secret and less Joe Boxer than it once had been - had erroneously been placed folded neatly in my doorjamb and she, seeing me moving it to outside my space, took the opportunity to come in and chat with me about her plans for school after the weekend funfest was over and she returned to Real Life.

Suddenly all six boys tumbled in the room providing comic relief from the fact that Tom and all his manliness barely had time to execute appropriate coverage in the midst of the unexpected room-stuff!

The boys had decided to have a wrestling competition the next day involving everyone of their acquaintance!? I gave them the time out signal and explained that, while that was a great idea, it required forethought and planning because you needed match-ups by weight and that would take some time to figure out so, "Back to bed!" I ordered while simultaneously pointing them out of the room and shuffling Amy toward the door too.

Tom, from under the sheet, held up a glass of water and asked for ice, "Quickly!" if I would... his way of saying , "Come on, come on, come on!" just like the romantic devil he always was.

And then I woke up. Bummer. I missed the best part!?

Or did I...?

All in all I'd say my Valentine's Day started pretty auspiciously especially given our new perameters of time and space.

The Final Farewell

2009-02-12T06:06:00.000-08:00

Have you ever tried to plan a party when you weren't sure how many guests were actually coming? That is today's dilemma at the house of Jude K.

Sunday will be the third and last official farewell to my dead husband, Tom. (I have to keep saying that, "dead", because part of my brain and all of my heart still doesn't really believe it could be true.)

Since we retired to Sarasota three and a half years ago there are six distinct categories of acquaintances any or all of whom might choose to take the opportunity of stopping by our house on Sunday from 2-5 sharing their regret at our loss:
1.) bridge players,
2.) tennis players,
3.) softball team members,
4.) relatives,
5.) other retired Lakeview High School teachers now living in Florida, and
6.) neighbors.

Perhaps I ought to have requested an RSVP?

In retrospect, that might've been a little brighter than what I actually did - just issuing blanket invitations to the above groups.

Now I'm in a situation in which somewhere between 20 and 200 people could show up at my door on Sunday and I have no real guidepost as to which it will be.

My father who art in heaven always counselled, "Expect the best but prepare for the worst." Which would be worse, having 20 mourners share food and drink enough for 200 or having 200 mourners share food and drink enough for 20?

Put in those terms the answer is simple - go with the 200, right?

I better stop writing and clean out the freezer in the garage. I'm going to need it to store appetizers.

Lucky at Cards

2009-02-12T05:34:00.000-08:00

Last night playing bridge with friends I discovered a positive to having lost my darling husband and best friend to a massive heart attack just three weeks ago. (Could it really be only three weeks??? It feels like a freakin' lifetime.)

I was lucky at cards!! Hand after hand my partner and I were CLICKIN', baby! I stopped counting how many times I was able to open for my team. Our opponents won one hand in three and a half rubbers of bridge!? For the uninitiated, that would be like having a full wheel in Trivial Pursuit while everyone else playing had one piece of pie. Or Bingoing when everyone around you had the free space and B-11 only??

I started playing bridge when I was 20. My girlfriend-teachers at West Junior High in Lansing, MI, taught me the ins and outs and I loved to play. BUT (and there's always that BIG BUT!?) I never got any decent cards. I got really really good at defensive bridge but the face cards and I were virtual strangers.

When we moved from East Lansing (MSU - class of '65. Go, Spartans!) to Detroit and my friends had a little going-away bridge party/luncheon for me my gift was two decks of 52 cards, all 10's through aces!! It was, they believed and I agreed, the only way I would ever be lucky enough to get them???

My British grandmother, Katy Walters Davidge, was a superstitious woman and she drilled me in my youth that an itchy sole meant you'd be walking on strange land, a hat on a bed meant bad luck, crossed silverware at the table meant a big argument was in the offing, drop a spoon and a child was coming - drop a fork and it was a woman - a knife meant a man at the door, and, finally, "Unlucky at cards, lucky in love."

That was me! No one was ever luckier in love than Jude K. Through my whole life, from Hippo Moshier to John Nagle, from Niles Tonner to John Rybock to Tom Tuschak each and every man in my life was loving, caring, smart, funny, talented and treated me like a princess.

I was blessed.

But I paid dearly for it in losing cards over many, many years....

Clearly, being alone has a perk: no longer lucky in love I have suddenly become lucky at cards. This is a good thing.

A GOOD THING, yes... but a lousy tradeoff.

The Happening

2009-02-03T04:07:00.000-08:00

Remember the 60's and 70's when a large group of cool people congregated together it was called a "happening"? That was Tom's funeral.

He had actually asked to be cremated but with his death being of such a shocking and sudden nature my daughters suggested we bring him back to our home state, Michigan, and give those who loved him the chance to see and accept that he was, indeed, dead. I agreed to that scenario and what an experience!

He looked great - but then - why shouldn't he? Until the moment his heart exploded he was the healthiest person I knew!

I wrote the obit myself with a little help from my daughter Beckie and our cousin Donna. It was a huge hit. Do you think there might be a market for ghost obit-writers? Now that my monthly income has been slashed by the Social Security Office I'm looking for options....

We chose a funeral home in Grosse Pointe with quick access to the Big Boy and at least two bars.

I was afraid my grandchildren, who range in age from 10-4, might be fearful of this new too too quiet Grampa but no worras. They poked and prodded him, tousled his hair, held his cold hands and drew pictures which they happily placed in the casket for him to take along to heaven.

Brooke's was especially poignant; she's 4 and drew, as she expressed it, "Grampa-in-a-box." She made him look good too!!?

From the moment the doors opened we were flooded with family, friends, former students, once-and-future teachers from Lakeview High School where he spent his career as teacher and administrator. Shock, surprise and sorrow were etched in every face but the overwhelming feeling was joy at having known him, having had him in all our lives. Laughter filled the room and hugs were abundant. Stories flowed like champagne at a wedding. Our daughters graduated from LHS themselves so naturally their own high school friends were there but so too were kids from every other crowd in every other year all crediting Tom with having made the high school a better place by showing them he cared.

We didn't have a funeral per se (although we were charged for it!??) but instead a family friend, Dennis Hafeli, presided at a lovefest where those present came forward and shared stories about Tom. There were tears, sure, but there were hoots of laughter too and isn't that what we'd all like in the end, to know we had moved those we love to truly feel our presence in their lives?

He was the closest thing to a rock star one high school in St. Clair Shores, Michigan, ever knew.

He was the best son, husband, father, grandfather, brother, uncle, cousin, nephew, in-law, of his generation.

He was a "friend to all", just as Cynthia's lovely cake stated in blue frosting.

Blue... that was exactly the right color.

The Widow Judy

2009-02-02T18:29:00.000-08:00

This is the first in a rest-of-my-lifetime series: "Tales of The Widow Judy".

On January 24th 2009 my best friend and soulmate Tom died without even a whimper twelve yards from where I sat playing Scrabble on Facebook. He was the healthiest person I knew, the healthiest 65-year-old ANYONE knew, and he was gone in the blink of an eye.

I had a vague inkling getting showered and coiffed was taking longer than usual for him as I started walking back to our bedroom maybe 35-40 minutes after I'd left him putting one foot in the tub. "What's taking you so long to get beautiful today?" I asked.

What an innocent question.

What a horrendous discovery.

He lay having fallen back on the bed from a seated position, arms outstretched, eyes closed, already turning blue. "Oh, my God! TOM! TOM!! I think he's dead," I said aloud, my hysteria rising, then I screamed for my daughter Suzy who was at the other end of our ranch-style house. Hearing the utter agony in my voice she ran in and leapt onto the bed straddling Tom and beginning CPR.

I couldn't help but think he looked so pretty, all freshly scrubbed and wearing (every mother's dream) CLEAN UNDERWEAR!! How could that thought have found it's way to my consciousness as I dialed 911 and the unthinkable words left my lips, "Please help me. I think my husband's dead!!" But it did.

I was hysterical, screaming into the phone, relaying the operator's direction to Suzy through decibels I don't believe I've ever reached before, dragging Tom, with Suzy, from the bed to the floor and pleading with him, wailing all the while to, "Come back!! TOM, come BACK!" again and again.

Suzy pleaded too as she worked on him but while his color would pinken just a bit with each effort at mouth-to-mouth the bluish hue would not be denied.

Eight minutes passed and the paramedics arrived. They took one look at him, checked him for electrical activity and, finding none, declared him dead at the scene.

Impossible. Unthinkable. My brain was screaming, "NO! NO! This cannot be." And yet it was.

In Florida when you're 65 you're a KID. He played tennis or softball six mornings a week. He walked. He swam. He exercised in the pool to rock-n-roll music. He wasn't plagued with any of the complaints I or any of our friends bemoaned so loudly and so often.

He planned to live to 100.

This scenario, him dying before me, was one we'd never discussed, never even entertained in our wildest dreams. Yet... here it was unfolding before me as EMS techs, a police officer, the mortuary workers all made it clear, my protestations to the contrary, my dearest darling, my heart of hearts, my beloved goofball was well and truly dead.

Period.

Paragraph.

And the world became a different place.

Inauguration Day

2009-01-21T05:33:00.000-08:00

It is done.

Barack Obama was my candidate and I am glad he won, glad he weathered the inauguration in good stead but even moreso I am glad this whole election is now officially behind us.

I'm an Aquarian; we live in the future, not the past. I can hardly wait to see what unfolds from this point forward!

A failing economy, being hated around the world, the misbegotten war in Iraq, global warming, the unworkable policy of No Child Left Behind, threats of terrorism and assassination - these are problems you can really sink your teeth into! There's nowhere to go but UP.

Or out!? (Think 2012.)

That is the question, isn't it? Can these problems be turned around, can America spur the action necessary to make these wrongs right?

I honestly don't know. But I DO know that I feel a lot more hopeful today than I did on January 19th.

My prayers are with Barack Obama, his cabinet, Congress, the Supreme Court... all those who would be brave enough to believe there are answers and diligent enough to find them.

The Brother Cometh

2009-01-20T17:30:00.000-08:00

My brother was recently here in paradise (Sarasota, FL) visiting for a week or so from Blackstone, MA. He's retired but clearly does NOT understand the concept. It took him about 4 days to be so bored sitting around doing nothing with us that he begged to be allowed to clean out our garage?!

My husband Tom and I have no problem doing very little and being the happier for it. Not so, the brother. He gets up and goes to his "part time" job for five or six hours a day then comes home and works around the house doing every little job nobody else wants to do... plus, he babysits for the grandchildren whenever he's called upon. I figure, in total, he's working more now than he ever did when he owned his own Shell service station.

When Tom retired from school administration ten years ago he picked up the house jobs I had always done: food shopping, cooking, vacuuming, floor-washing, laundry, etc.... He's always been happy to pitch in but since 1998 he's really been the compleat house-husband. When I retired in August 2005 I figured some of those jobs would revert to me but, in truth, we each just do whatever we see needs doing now.

Let's just say that neither of us is severely over-taxed!!

I keep thinking a job would be a good idea but I can't figure out how to fit it into my busy schedule of lunches and shopping and hostessing. I've discovered that the less you do, the more difficult the decision to do more.

Yet Sonny (yes, we really do call him Sonny!) was begging for more! Tom and I just looked at each other when the garage-cleaning idea was thrown at us. "Lunacy," was written on both our faces. I can honestly say I don't believe either of us has ever considered offering to clean up a sty area of our host's home on any vacation we've ever taken??! But that was his way of saying, "Thanks for a good time," I think.

At least... that's what I'd LIKE to think.

A Toast

2009-01-14T08:05:00.000-08:00

This is for my sister Karen. She always wanted me to be a writer and now - here - I guess I sort of will be!?

She had the audacity (or was it foresight!) to die at 45. The rest of us are still here slogging through the mire of what used to be our brains while she is forever young. Where's the justice???

Women have traditionally died young in my family. My sister Toot and I, however, have broken the mold; she just turned 72 this week and I will be 64 next month. We both agree that, had we known we would live to be old we would have done things very differently!

Toot would have stopped smoking long BEFORE she was diagnosed with emphysema. She'd be having a lot more fun if she didn't have to tote around her own oxygen supply. Activity is severely restricted when you're tethered to a machine.... She used to be a lot of fun when she could breathe and walk and laugh out loud! Would that we could have those days again.

I would have put away money. Who knew??? Imagine what I could do if I had PLANNED for retirement?? Others did. People all around me were squirreling funds away for a rainy day but not me. I assumed I would fall prey to the family pattern and you know what happens when you ASS-u-me!?

Yes, that's right, you live from hand to mouth.

Anyway, here's to Karen, God bless her pointed head.