The Birthday Boy

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!

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

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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?

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

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!

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

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!

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

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

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!