Inspiration on the High Seas

We sat listening to a live band in the Oceanside lounge. They were a talented little group who could sing anything from Foreigner to Patsy Cline without skipping a beat. Couples were dancing, while others just sat there tapping there foot. Me? Well, I was listening, people watching and pouting about the F-birthday that ends with a zero coming up. Yeah, yeah, yeah, why whine about it when you're spending Valentines day and your birthday on a cruise, but its my birthday and I'll cry (or pout) if I want to. I was watching the keyboard player just as he looked over to the female vocalist and mouthed "Saturday Night Fever" to which she nodded and turned to the guitarists and drummer to pass on the information. They

transitioned into the disco beat of Saturday night fever and more people poured onto the dance floor. One woman immediately caught my attention. She had abandoned her walker and was shaking her groove thang on the dance floor. Her smile was the size of Texas, her lipstick perfectly in place as was her white hair that matched the white blouse she was wearing. She wore stylish, yet comfortable looking rubber soled shoes. Women like myself wished our shoes felt as comfortable as hers looked, but height and comfort don't always go hand in hand, which was probably why she was on the dance floor and I was sitting on the side watching the action take place. She wasn't just up there bouncing her shoulders up and down with the beat, she was movin, groovin and kickin it pretty high. She hung with the best of them until the last beat and when the music ended she exited the dance floor to a round of applause. I leaned over to my husband and whisperer/shouted like you do in a club...."I wanna be just like her when I grow up!" The next morning I was standing in the omelet line when who strolled up beside me hanging onto her walker, but the Dancing Queen herself. I just couldn't keep it to myself as I began to gush with admiration for her dancing and general attitude. I'm sorry, I know it may have been rude but I just had to ask the burning question....."How old are you?" With a great big grin she replied...."89!" Wow! "I wanna be just like you when I grow up!" I went back to my table and told the gang about meeting my new hero. The next day I ran into her again, and warned her that she would be my #1 vacation blog when I got home. As we talked, her Grand daughter joined the conversation. She had video taped the "Dancing Queen" and emailed it to Sara's son with a note that said... "I was going to try to keep a handle on her, but as you can see, things have already gotten out of control." I asked Sara what her secret to loving life was... She said... "Clean living and finding something every day to be thankful for." What? No moaning about your aches and pains???? No pouting about number of candles on your birthday cake??? Words of wisdom if ever I heard them. Her grand daughter told me that when she turned 80 she decided she wanted to learn to play the harmonica. She bought a harmonica and taught herself to play. Now she is called on frequently to play for events where she lives. Wow!! As I took down her email address, her grand daughter said... "Oh, you can find her on Facebook too!" That didn't surprise me in the least... I can truly say I found inspirational magic on the high seas. Sara Mathis, you just keep right on rockin because I've never seen anyone do it quite as well as you! You taught me the truth that you are only as old as you feel and as carefree as you care to act. I've decided this growing older and wiser thing I've dreaded for so long, may be more fun than I thought and you my new friend are the perfect example. Thank you for the inspiration you gave me and I'm sure the inspiration you have been to all those you've come in contact with throughout your 89 years on this earth. We should all be so lucky to have someone like you to inspire us to move on with life with our heads held high and dancin shoes on.  

P.S. Miss Sara responded to my blog with the following.
 "I enjoyed my trip .my son ask where I was going next. I told him I spent my next cruise at the dentist for a crown on the tooth I broke"

Carnival Magic Take Me Away, It's Time to Make Some Memories

I saved the spreadsheet I had been working on and clicked out. Attempting to drag myself out of the fog of concentration I had been in for hours, I pulled "The Box" from beneath my desk. In bold lettering the box read... "To be shredded! Hold till frustration level has reached maximum capacity!" It was full to over flowing with scraped paper, magazines and junk mail... It would be my release. I scooped the papers into my arms, popped

out of my seat like a Jac-in-the-box and headed for the shredder. After checking to make sure the bag didn't need emptying, I began cramming (ever so gently in case the I.T. guy is reading) papers into the hungry mouth of the beast. I stood in the big room void of any chitchat and tried to relax.... Shove, relax.... Shove, relax. It was kind of like kickboxing, but not as physical. Shove.... "Just a few more days".... Relax.... "Just a few more days". I had a birthday coming up on Valentine's Day.... Shove... Relax. The ugly kind of birthday with a zero at the end. Shove... Relax. One of those birthdays that caused people to feel compelled to greet you with a wheelchair Shove...Relax, to try to suffocate you by filling your office with black balloons   Shove...Relax,and giving you cake defiled by heaping mounds of black icing that turns your lips,teeth and tongue an eerie shade of blue, which does nothing to minimize the tiny lines around your mouth. Shove... Relax... Not that I've ever been party to this type of behavior... Shove...Relax, but I have heard about it and seen others tortured in said manner... Shove...Relax. Yeah, one of those birthdays. Although I've been accused of lying about my age in years past, in reality I never have. That was fixing to change. It's not that I'm ashamed of my age.... But, I have... Well, I have a speech impediment which prevents me from forming certain  "F-Words" properly. So, being the linguistic fanatic I am...  I'm just scooching my age back a couple of years to a number my tongue is more comfortable with. That's my story and

I'm sticking to it. Being the wannabe event planner that I am, I've spent the last year, planning ways to avoid being punked on my birthday... I simply won't be here. Missing in action is the plan. Instead of being the butt of a slew of over the hill jokes, I'll be laughing it up with my husband, a couple of friends and a few dozen high school classmates on the high seas. Instead of suffocating beneath black balloons, I'll be power snorkeling with fish of every color. Instead of sinking my teeth into cake with black icing, I'll be sinking my toes into the sandy beaches of the Bahamas. Come on, that's a pretty clever way to skip out on being punked. At the end of a long day that's been especially
frustrating, I'm all for saying... "Calgon, Take Me Away" and soaking away the tension in a hot tub with plenty of bubbles. But the anxiety caused by an "F-Word" birthday ending in zero, calls for something that packs a little more punch (and possibly a little umbrella). Just a few more days till I can relax and say... "Carnival Magic take me away, it's time to make some memories. Until then...Shove...Relax...

One Owl of a Dream

I had the weirdest dreams last night... Well, actually early this morning because my husband woke me up during the last one, which was really the cute one. I was walking on a dirt road. I came across a person who had a bunch of dogs and animals in a white squatty chicken house looking thing. I reached in and picked up what I thought was a chicken or a rabbit. I held it in my palm and turned it around so I could see what it was. It was a baby owl with great big blue eyes that  looked like jeweled buttons. It's feathers were like fur. I asked where I could get one and they sent me to a feed store. At the feed store, they took me to the back where the
guy kept his owls. He had a bunch of babies, but The most most beautiful one was full grown. It was dressed in a little outfit made out of blue fondant (like you use on cakes). It was a little dress of sorts that matched it's eyes. The dogs nippled away the outfit until it was gone. Without it's dress it's feathers where white with a double tan border around the bottom. It stood like an owl but it could also walk like a dog. When it walked on all fours, it's coat looked like that of a Maltese, which reached the ground and looked like it had been

flat ironed until it looked like silk.  The man walked outside to show me how child-like the was was. It stood looking out the glass door missing him. When the man returned through the door, the owl grabbed onto the bar of the door and held on while it swung closed then jumped in the mans arms giving him hugs and kisses.  Just as I was turning to tell tell my husband I had to have one.... He woke me out of the dream and told me it was time to get ready for work. Bummer!!!!  Now, I wanted a pet owl.  I got to work and emailed a description of the BEST DREAM EVER to my friends and co-workers, then I googled Pet Owls... Turns out, I really don't want a pet owl. Like a lot of things in life, the dream was better than reality would be. I sent a second email to my friends and co-workers just in case they too thought a pet owl would be cool.  The following list came from the website... http://www.festivalofowls.com/press.html

Top 10 Reasons You Don't Want an Owl for a Pet

10. Taking a vacation or going on a business trip is difficult. You can't just take the owl with you (especially since in the United States permits are usually needed every time you cross state lines.) It takes a trained person to take care of an owl, and if you have a human-imprinted owl like Alice, they may be aggressive with anyone else who comes to take care of them. Owls also like routine, so disruption to the normal scheme of things is very stressful for them. Alice once lost half a pound when Karla was away for nine days...and she only weighed four pounds to begin with!

9. Owls can be very destructive. They have a natural killing instinct that can be applied to blankets, pillows, clothing, stuffed animals, and just about anything else that can be shredded. Alice also has a habit of clearing everything off her perches, which means she deliberately pushes and drops everything onto the floor from dressers or anyplace else she wants to be. Talons are also really bad for woodwork.  They bring out the natural grain of the wood really well as they strip off the finish.

8. Mating season involves a lot of all-night racket. Remember, owls are active at night, so that's when they'll be hooting and calling during mating season. Since she thinks she's a human, Alice directs her hooting at Karla, and Karla is expected to hoot with her. Alice can get quite crabby if Karla doesn't spend time hooting with her several times a day (early morning and late evening) during this time of year. If you have neighbors nearby, they won't be very happy about the noise.

7. Owls don't like to be petted and cuddled.  Captive owls still retain their natural instincts, and traditional "petting" doesn't fit into the owl scheme of things. Even though Karla has lived with Alice for over 10 years, Alice still bites if Karla tries to pet her on the back.

6. Owls are high maintenance. They require daily feeding, cleaning, and attention, especially human-imprinted owls like Alice. Owls that are capable of flying need to be flown regularly, or housed in very large cages where they can get adequate exercise.

5. Owls are long-lived. A Great Horned Owl could live 30 or more years in captivity if things go well. Small species could live 10 years. Taking on the care of an owl is a long-term commitment.

4. Beaks and talons are sharp. If an owl doesn't like what you're doing, it's going to let you know. And you might wind up bleeding because of it. It's also easy for an owl to scratch you even if they aren't trying if they step up onto your gloved fist but stand off the side of the glove on your bare arm.

3. Owls need specialized care. Most veterinarians don't have the necessary training to properly care for owls, so you'd need to find a vet who's comfortable working with an owl. And you as a caregiver need to know quite a bit about owl health also, including what "normal" poop looks like, which very subtle behaviors might indicate health problems, provide proper perching surfaces, a healthy diet, appropriate housing, and regular talon and beak maintenance. There is a LOT to know, which is why proper training is normally required before permits are issued.

2. Feathers, pellets, and poop! Owls molt thousands of feathers every year, and they wind up everywhere. Owls throw up pellets of fur and bones wherever they happen to be at the time. And poop happens. A lot. In addition to "regular" poop (like most birds), owls also empty out the ceca at the end of their intestines about once a day. This discharge is the consistency of chocolate pudding, but smells as bad as the nastiest thing you can imagine. And it stains something awful. Keeping owls involves non-stop cleaning.

1. FOOD. You can't just go down to the local grocery store and buy Owl Chow. Owls are strict carnivores and require diets of whole animals for proper health. For Alice, that translates into her own chest freezer stocked with pocket gophers, rats, rabbits, and mice. Each day Karla thaws an animal for her, removes the organs Alice won't eat, and serves it up for Alice. Leftovers from the previous day must be located and removed, as owls like to cache (or hide) leftover food for later. If you're not prepared to thaw and cut up dead animals every night of your life for 10 years or more, you aren't up for having an owl.

I got a mixed reactions about my dream.....  They were....

D: " You are so strange.  That is all." (Hmm, thanks D, but it's not necessary to state the obvious)

The next was more analytical, and probably extremely accurate....

S: " It seems to me, because your dream incorporated so many human (actually infant) characteristics, i.e. big eyes, wearing a blue fondant "outfit",  white, soft, fluffy, eventually crawled on all fours (like a baby?); when the owl's coat became like that of a Maltese dog, could that be a baby blanket?  the owl is a manifestation of a baby.You need a Grand baby! :-)"

And regarding the 10 reasons not to have one, she said.... (BTW, I love this co-worker, she is like so smart it makes my brain hurt)

S: "Ok, I still see a lot of similarities with babies here...except perhaps the requirement for a license to cross state lines.
And that one should probably be considered for legislation!"

10.  Babies will sometimes only eat for one person, usually Mommy
9.   Babies destroy things
8.   Babies stay up a lot at night
7.   Babies can also bite when being cuddled, especially when    
     teething.
6.   Word for word... except for the flying part.
5.   Babies are no-doubt a long-term commitment.
4.   Probably existing cases of blood-letting - but no personal
     recollection of that. I did throw my back out lifting a baby
     into a shopping cart - couldn't stand straight without pain
     for a week. So yes, "handle with care".
3.   Permits and specialized training should be required for
     baby care. Unfortunately , that's not the case.
2.   Daily intestinal evacuation seems to be a highly common 
     denominator. The staining could be limited to what the 
     intake consisted of.
1.   Even more complex, babies are both herbivore and 
     carnivores! AND they also hide their food in unlikely
     places.

Yeah, she totally gets me.

The last one got me too and was equally grossed out by the eating and pooping thing....

T: "I'm out.  Not going to cut up dead animals nor am I going to remove their organs.  NASTY!" (yep, that pretty much ended it for me too)

I  agree with S, I do miss having wee ones around, but not enough to get a pet owl. I'll just wait for the real thing.

       






  

And the Saga Continues

Photographic evidence it's still alive the Friday before I leave on vacation. If it completely bites the dust while I'm gone, I can claim one of two things.... It missed me so much it just couldn't possibly go on (hardly believable, but still an option), or my co-workers sabotaged it in my absence. Well, then there is the distinct possibility that I'll come back from vacation so tanned, rested and laid back I won't even care if it's still hanging on. Just when you thought it was over... The saga still continues.

Just the Way We Roll

My room was covered in clothes. I had put off planning and packing until I couldn't put it off any longer. Dresses, shorts, tops, covered the bed and 10 pairs of heels and a couple of pairs of flip flops covered the floor. Oh boy! Okay, it shouldn't be this difficult to pack for vacation. The thing that was throwing my mojo off was the two "Formal Nights". Although my son had gotten married this last summer, I didn't wear a "Formal" dress. It was an outdoor wedding and leaned more toward the casual. It's not that I don't have dresses, but nothing of the formal nature.  Well, there was that one dress, but sadly my armpits seemed to have grown since I last wore it. Who even knew a
person's armpits grew (eye roll)?? Then there was the dress I found dirt cheap at Dillard's last year and bought it with no occasion in mind. I wasn't crazy about the dress now, but at the time it seemed like a steal and well, I think there is a state law that requires any woman who finds a bargain on a dress they even semi-like, to buy it least they be penalized by the... "Oh I wish I would have bought that dress" for the rest of their lives.  Besides, I had worn it for Halloween when I dressed as Miss Understood. Now, I just couldn't get enthused about wearing my Halloween costume and I certainly couldn't see myself saying.... "Yeah, I wore my
Halloween costume to the Formal night on our cruise." So, back in the closet it went. Since I didn't have a sparkly beaded formal I decided the next best thing was to throw all my sparkle into my footwear which luckily I have plenty of. After much digging, sorting and throwing things in... "just in case" I think I was sort of done (as much as a woman is ever done). I collapsed on the bed and texted my friend the good news. I was actually kind of proud of myself. I had narrowed it down to one garment bag, one suitcase for odds and ends and essentials and most important of all.... one suitcase (shoecase) completely packed with high heels... I do love my shoes! My friend texted me later saying she felt she might have a clothes and shoe hoarding problem. No way Babe, you're just a normal woman. Between the two of us we'll have enough clothes not only to go on a cruise, but to possibly live on the ship a lifetime. Not a bad idea in my opinion. Our men could probably share a duffel bag between them.  The Girls taking too many clothes???? Not even possible. What can I say.... That's just the way we roll.

No Joking Matter

In the last month or two I've found myself obsessing over tiny lines and wrinkles... Stubble where there should be no stubble and flap where there should only be firm. I often refer to my "How Not to Look Old" book And yes, I'm not even kidding a little, there is a book. It sits on my desk at work and the pages are well worn. I've given one to all my girlfriends and even loaned it out to co-workers who diligently took notes for further reference. I may joke about a lot of stuff, but some things are no joking matter. Yes, there will be a test after reading... There is always a test.

50 Shades of Inappropriate

I walked by the office of the owner of the company today and it sounded like he had choked on something and was hacking up a lung. My first instinct was to run in his office, hold his arm over his head and start whacking him on the back like moms used to do. I think the "How to Un-choke a Choking Child" chapter in The Mother of the Year Handbook has been amended now, but the old-school method when I was small was... Arm over head... Let the whacking begin. Before I could slip into my Super-Employee cape and save the man from a tragic death, the memo I received yesterday popped in my head. We are scheduled to have a sexual harassment seminar later this month. Suddenly my Super-Employee act of the day seemed.... Uhmmm, questionable. What if my heroic actions was misconstrued as 50 Shades of Inappropriate and grounds for a dismissal? Against every natural instinct of a super employee and/or mom, I just kept on walking and prayed he could manage the Heimlich on his own. I may be many things, but 50 Shades of Inappropriate I AM NOT.... Or at least I don't think I am. So sad that in today's lawsuit happy, politically correct world, the simple random act of kindness must be measured with extreme caution and without any degree of humor whatsoever.  We haven't even had it yet and I can already see some blog worthy material coming.