death, Family, grief, humor, Uncategorized

The Ace of all Aces

The Ace of all Aces!

The King of all Kings!

The Leader of all Leaders!

The People’s Choice!

Ace! Ace! Ace! Ace!

I don’t remember how or why it started, but at some point in my youth, my dad decided to compose a chant about himself. Even more hilarious is that my cousins and I (at this point we were nine girls; honestly, I can’t see a group of boys doing this) would spontaneously cheer these words for him at family functions for no apparent reason.

But I have a feeling my dad was used to getting his way from the beginning. In this picture that is over 60 years old, his handsomeness is still timeless. Your eyes go directly to him; smack in the middle, staring right at the camera. And although it isn’t politically correct to say, he looks pretty badass with that cigarette hanging out of his mouth surrounded by a bunch of girls. You can hardly blame my mom for falling for him at only 14 years old.

Side note:

My Thea Cassie, who is my dad’s oldest sister, told me this weekend that not only is my dad just 16 years old in this picture (believe me, I questioned this and tried to do the math working backwards from marriage and the Air Force and other milestones, but, I came to the conclusion that A) I think she may be right and B) Don’t argue with your 88-year-old aunt)…but that this was a CHURCH event. Which frankly, is more believable than the age part. So basically, my 16-year-old dad who looks about 25 in this picture is smoking and drinking at a church party. Which sounds about right for him.

Last Tuesday marked 19 years that he has been gone. Sunday was Father’s Day. I’ve spent a lot of time this past week thinking about him. And here’s the thing: When someone close to you dies, I mean really close to you, your memories aren’t about significant events or holidays. The things you go back to are the everyday minutiae; the simple details that make a person who they are.

For example:

During family vacations, meals weren’t planned around activities, activities were planned around meals. Before we even finished breakfast Dad would invariably ask, “Okay, gang, where are we going for lunch?” The in-between was inconsequential.

Every Sunday morning on our way to church we were forced to suffer through “Breakfast with Sinatra,” a radio program that started at 8am. Much to our dismay, it went until noon; meaning often we would catch the tail end of the show on the way HOME from church, too.

He only smoked Kent cigarettes. And boy did he smoke them.

He and one of his friends used to go to the track together all the time and bet on the horses. They invited me to go with them once, and we sat in the fancy seats and got waited on while we watched the races. It wasn’t until later that I found out they only took me so I could claim their big win from the day before and they wouldn’t have to pay the taxes.

He LOVED the soundtrack to The Bodyguard. Much to our annoyance, he would blast Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You” on the CD player all the time.

He may have been the funniest man on the planet. It was a major win to get him to laugh at anything other than his own jokes. And believe me, I tried. Once, I took wallet-sized copies of my sorority composite picture and put them in random places in his bedroom. My sister and I were hysterical as we put one in his pajama pocket (oh yes, he wore old-timey men’s pajamas that were a matching set complete with front breast pocket), one on his pillow, one on the bathroom mirror. Nothing. Not. One. Single. Word. He would not give me the satisfaction of a laugh. In fact, this would have been one of the times where he would have casually taken the picture off of his pillow straight-faced and said, “I got four kids and none of them’s normal.”

He drank scotch on the rocks. And it had to be J&B. Once he requested it at a new local restaurant that had just opened. They didn’t have it, but the owner remembered and the next time we went in it had been stocked just for him.

He loved catalog shopping. I’d hate to think what would have happened if the internet or Amazon was around before he died. He would buy random stuff all the time: Native American decorative plates, stamp collections, themed chess sets. And his favorite purchase: 2-for-1 twill chinos. They were $6. Because you don’t forget when your dad buys (and wears) six-dollar pants from a catalog.

He was obsessed with celebrity height. You couldn’t get through a television shown without him making some comment about the height of the leading man. “You know, Sal,” he’d say with disdain, “Mel Gibson is only 5’6”.

I’ll end the way he liked to end things, whether it was a party or a vacation or even the close of a long day, by borrowing his signature words:

Well, gang, that’s a wrap.

Happy Father’s Day, Ace. ❤️❤️❤️ I miss you.

aging, humor, Uncategorized

Jewel Rules

When I wrote the title for this, it hit me that it could be read two ways: Jewel Rules, as in here are some guidelines; or Jewel Rules, as in JEWEL ROCKS!!!! It should definitely be taken as the former.

Now, I realize that there are lots of options when it comes to grocery shopping. Most people I know prefer Trader Joe’s or Mariano’s to Jewel. But let’s face it; when you need a last-minute item in the middle of making dinner, or want to make a quick stop on your way home, there is nothing more convenient than the Jewel on the corner. However, if you are going to brave the check-out aisles of this local gem, you need to be prepared by following some general rules.

Rule #1: Go in with a positive attitude and loads of self-confidence.

I have found that the cashiers are disarmingly upfront and honest. One day I went to my local Jewel and got in “Linda’s” line. (Name has been changed to protect ME. I’m scared of her). Linda often waits on me. Although she is speedy, she is Not Happy. She seems annoyed all the time at every moment with everybody who works there. Linda rolls her eyes and has a permanent grimace. She has no ability to keep her emotions in check; they are written all over her face. If there were a thought bubble above her head I think it would say “I hate working at the Jewel and all these co-workers are so annoying and I should get better pay and hours and this Monopoly game is DUMB and a waste of time and it’s only for people who like to sort and organize and never win anything and also when I get home I have to make dinner and even though I work at a grocery store thinking of what to make for dinner is the worst part of my day and I can’t believe my husband still doesn’t know how to load the dishwasher correctly after 20 years of marriage.” Just a guess.

I’m not REALLY complaining, even though it seems if you are in customer service you should at least pretend to be in a good mood. I know better than to ask “how’s it going” to her because she is going to tell me the truth. I feel like maybe she should work in the stock room so she doesn’t have to come into contact with that many customers. Or get her anger out by frosting cakes in the bakery. When a customer asks her to write “Happy Birthday Julie” in purple, she can write “Happy Birthday Julie In Purple” on the cake and go home and rub her hands in an evil manner and cackle to herself that her passive aggressive trick has worked. But then she will remember she still has to think about dinner and re-load the dishwasher.

Back to my story. Recently I got in her line. I had just come from lunch with a friend. Now I did not realize that as much as we recognize the checkers and baggers, they also recognize us the customers. So while Linda is ringing up my items she is looking down at the scanner. She has not yet noticed me. When she gets to the end, she finally looks up and makes eye contact with me. And then she does a double take. Like one of those double takes where if she were a cartoon character it would have come with Hanna-Barbera sound effects.

And then she says to me: “WOW. You look pretty today.”

Let me stress to you this was not a compliment. This was an “I am in complete shock because usually when you come here you look like crap and who knew with a little makeup on and your hair not in a pony you would look so completely different” comment. And like all self-deprecating women, I start to explain away WHY I looked so nice that day. “Oh, haha, yes, I have makeup on. I look different. Blah Blah I did my hair blah blah I had lunch with a friend hee hee blah blah blah blah.”

What I should have said was “Why so surprised, Linda? Don’t I USUALLY look good?” But I would never say that because Linda would probably answer me truthfully again and I would feel bad, so basically I just laughed a fake laugh and decided that now even the grocery store is off-limits for my usual uniform of no makeup and yoga clothes. OR..if I was a self-empowerment blogger I would say that my REAL AUTHENTIC self is good enough for Jewel and Linda and maybe I will just commit to looking like “myself” at all times and WHO CARES. But thank God I am not a life-coach-destiny-finder-blogger because that would be boring and not funny and certainly not MY TRUTH. Haha. See what I did there?

Rule #2: No, really, have loads of self-confidence.

Occasionally I will purchase alcohol and occasionally I will get carded. Okay. Not really. But, this did actually happen to me in the somewhat recent past. We have all been there. Super excited when some naive checker sees your bottle of wine and asks to see your ID. You are thinking you are all cool that someone thinks you are under 21, but guess what? They have to card everyone who looks under 35 so sorry they don’t think you are still in college. But at my age, thinking I may be under 35 is still pretty awesome.

So one day I get in line and start loading items on to the conveyor belt. My back is to the checker as I am facing the cart and unloading. As I place the alcohol on the belt I hear the woman (NOT LINDA) say “ID please.” I continue to unload (very smugly I might add) and when I am finished I reach for my purse to grab my ID. As I turn, the cashier gets one look at my face and says, “OH. NEVER MIND.”

THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED. SOMEONE THOUGHT I WAS UNDER 21 (OR 35) FROM THE BACK BUT CLEARLY REALIZED HER ERROR WHEN SHE SAW MY FACE.

As in, oh now that I saw your face clearly you don’t need to show me your birthdate because, boy, you are definitely old enough to drink wine and hey maybe you would like me to go get you some more so you can drown your sorrows away you old crypt-keeper mom.

I realize this could be a positive. Maybe my backside looks young. Wink wink. I mean, I could get on board with that. Although that still means from the front not so much. Could it be I have an under 21 or 35 butt? This is a longshot. And no, I will NOT be posting a picture of me from behind to get everyone’s opinions. Although that would be hilarious and possibly something I might do just to be funny. How would that work? “Hey, Franny, come take a pic of my bum for the internet.” That does NOT sound like a conversation I want to have with her and I sure don’t want to see the results of that poll.

Rule #3: Self-confidence will sometimes backfire.

This past winter I was in line once again when the man behind me started chatting with me. If you know me, then you know this is not unusual. I am outgoing and talkative and can make conversation with anyone and often do so. He was probably in his late 50’s to early 60’s. Why do I mention this? You know exactly why. And yes, I realize that this age group is only one generation or so above me, but still. In my head I am not Almost 50. In my head when I was hanging out with my 23-year-old adorable nephew last week I was saying “I wonder if everyone thinks he is my boyfriend” until he said out loud, “I wonder if people think you are my mom” and there was nothing much to say after that.

Anyway, this gentleman and I were talking about the weather or some other totally boring topic. I am sure he thought I was flirting since men seem to think Talking=Flirting and for some reason have been wrongfully blessed with an extra share of unwarranted self-confidence. But I didn’t really care as I was just being myself and friendly. So I finished paying and went out to my car. As I was pulling away, there he was crossing right in front of me to get to his car. I waited for him to cross so as not to hit him. Apparently, not hitting someone with your car is comparable to “Hey big boy, I think you are hot so come and talk to me at my window.” Which is what he did. He flagged me down and God knows what I was thinking as I rolled down my window and watched him walk over to me and say……..”Hey, I just wanted to tell you that you’re a hot mom.”

Let me tell you, I am having trouble even writing this I am so embarrassed and uncomfortable. Being complimented is nice. I suppose I should be grateful that anyone thinks I’m a “hot mom.” But let’s just really dissect this can we?

1) An old man thought I was in his league. That’s the horrible un-politically correct truth.

2) He didn’t question I was a mom. I obviously fit the stereotype of a mom. Was it the go-gurt I had in the cart? The Star Wars Band-Aids? Nope. Let’s face it. It was me. To put it bluntly, it was a day where Linda would have recognized me right away.

3) I looked terrible. When you look bad and someone compliments you it’s like a math equation that equals zero. I look terrible + you think I look good = you have terrible taste and judgement /someone with terrible taste and judgement thinks I’m hot = I must be gross = I am a troll that should go live under a bridge.

If you don’t believe, me here I am right after a got home. (And, yes, I did make Franny take this picture).

exercise, faith, humor, religion, Uncategorized

Are you on the Right Road?

When I first decided I was going to start a blog I went back and looked at some of my old Facebook posts. I wanted see if there was anything worth reworking that I could one day include here. What I found was that there were very few things that would actually translate over to blog format. I did find a couple of gems, however. The story below still rings funny to me today, three years after it happened.

By the way, I still have the Bible.

Side Note

When I was thinking of a title for this entry the sign for the Dixie Baptist Church kept popping into my head. This is a well-known sign in Michigan that you can see from the highway on your way “up north.” If you are from the Metro-Detroit area you know it.

JULY 2015

My stream of consciousness as I’m running this evening:

“Wow, I’m at a pretty good pace today! I can tell because I’m hot and sweaty and tired and on song number four of my playlis—–whaa???—-Is that a BIBLE on the sidewalk? (Still running) Crap. It is. Ugh. (Passing the bible) Now I gotta go back. I gotta. I have no choice. (Turning around going back.) Hmmm. Its kind of right in front of this house. I wonder if the owners are inside? If I knock on the door will they think I’m a Bible salesman or a Jehovah’s Witness? This feels weird. Just put it in a safe corner here on the grass and come back and get it after my run. Oh man, there’s a name engraved on it. There’s pressed flowers inside. It’s important to someone. No, I can’t do that. I’ll for sure get hit by a car on my way home if I do that. (Picking up the 10 lb hardcover four-versions-in-one bible). Ok. I’ll just keep running. I only have about five minutes left I can do this. It’s a Bible for goodness sake’s it should make my load “lighter” ha ha. Stop it. You should not make jokes about the Bible. Nope doesn’t feel any lighter. I wonder if all these drivers are wondering “hey who’s the crazy lady running with the Bible? Why doesn’t she just get a book on tape?” This is getting pretty heavy. Think I will just walk the rest of the way home.

If anyone knows Teresa Dotson, please let her know I have her bible.

humor, Marriage, Uncategorized

Mr. Anderson

When I first met Ted he had just left a job working for Lord & Taylor. He dressed nicely and I thought he had a handle on fashion.

I was tricked.

Soon after we were married I noticed him wearing a GIANT GOLD watch. Something you might see a character in Scarface wearing. Where had this been during our courtship? Was there a secret drawer I didn’t know about where he was keeping relationship deal-breakers? Yes. Yes there was. Inside this metaphorical drawer were baseball shorts from high school. Mock turtlenecks from the early 90’s. Two-thousand four-hundred and eighty-two baseball hats. And a fedora. Yes, you heard me. A FEDORA.

SIDE NOTE

I have always said that Ted was born in the wrong era: He walks around department stores asking where the double-breasted suits are. He wore that fedora for years until I threatened him. He makes “old man” jokes that only grandparents understand and think are funny. I bet he uses the word “gals” a lot when I am not around. He talks a lot about the weather. The first album he downloaded on his iPhone was Dean Martin “That’s Amore.” And one time we were playing the game Scattergories and he had to name a celebrity that started with the letter “B” and a TV show that started with the letter “L.” His answers? Bea Arthur and “Love, American Style.”

Okay, back to the story. Turns out Ted does not like to part with things. EVER.

Enter the MATRIX COAT.

The Matrix Coat is not part of a costume. Well, at least it did not start out that way. It is a coat that was purchased on purpose years ago. On our honeymoon. In Austria. The Matrix Coat is made of Real Leather. If I remember correctly it is made of Goat Leather. An homage to the homeland perhaps? If you remember the SNL skit with Jimmy Fallon and Horatio Sanz where they work at “The Leatherman” you will understand how squeaky the Matrix Coat is. Did I mention this was the late 90’s?

The Matrix Coat was “retired” years ago. To the dismay of the Owner. I hesitated to get rid of it. This would make a good Halloween costume some day I said to myself. I hid it in the back of the hall closet where I thought it wouldn’t be found. This is a guy who can’t find his keys, glasses, and wallet on a regular basis. How would he find the Matrix Coat?

Fast forward to the Winter of 2017-18. Now, no one expects to have a husband who goes through three coats a season. But sometimes, you will leave a perfectly nice, stylish three season jacket at the Cheesecake Factory. Or, say, because you have a good heart, you will give the brand-new replacement jacket to a homeless person. You might break a zipper on the third jacket. At this point, it wouldn’t be unusual for the shopper-of-coats to decide that she is done spending time and money on outer wear.

So do you know what happens when you have an unusually long winter and you have no winter coats left and no one to buy you a new one? You resurrect the Matrix Coat.

Here are some of the natural consequences of wearing the Matrix Coat:

Someday when you look back at pictures from your Spring Break vacation you will wonder why you are in all the pictures alone.

People will refer to you as Neo.

You will look like a West Suburban Dad Thug.

Without knowing why, strangers will start humming Spin Doctors and Alanis Morissette when you walk by.

And lastly, your wife will blog about it.

Here he is on Spring Break with one of his contemporaries talking about the old days and waiting for a couple of gals to walk by and notice them.

humor, Marriage, Uncategorized

When perspiration leads to inspiration….

The following is a true story of what happened when I took my husband to work out with me at Orange Theory recently.

Some quick background: I have been asking Ted to come with me for months but he has been resisting thinking that because he is so out of shape I am secretly trying to kill him for insurance money. Side note: I would never do this. Our policy is not that high.

Somehow, I got him to agree to come with me this particular morning.

On Our Way (otherwise known as “THE INTERROGATION”)

Me: I picked a smaller class for us with a nice trainer who won’t work you too hard.

Ted: How many people will be there?

Me: I’m not sure. Anywhere from 15-25? It’s a three-group class.

Ted: What do you mean three groups? One group is working out and the other two are resting?

Me: (Wondering if he is kidding) Ummm no. Three groups are going at once. One on the treadmill, one on the rower, and one on the weights.

Ted: I just want you to know that I hurt my elbow the other day. For real…so…

Me: (Quickly realizing I am going to have to restrain myself today with the snarky comments) Ok. So just take it easy if we happen to work any of those all-important elbow muscles.

Ted: Should I wear my glasses? Are there going to be any sudden violent movements where they might fly off?

Me: Has that ever happened before when you’ve worked out? I don’t think that’s going to happen.

Ted: Do you take your wallet? Are there lockers?

Me: (Bracing myself for the onslaught that I know is coming from my Director of Security husband) I just leave everything in the car.

Ted: ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY TRAININGS I DID ABOUT NOT LEAVING THINGS IN THE CAR WHEN YOU WORK OUT WHEN I WORKED FOR BALLY TOTAL FITNESS??? (I hesitate to mention this fascinating news as I don’t want to distract from the topic of this post; but, yes, Ted did have a stint at BTF…perhaps those stories will be used for another blog at a later date)

ME: (Stifling a laugh) Don’t worry, I have a good hiding place. I put it in the glove box. (Steam is coming out of his ears)

The Set-Up…OR..How I Tried Hard Not to Laugh and Failed

Trainer to Ted: So, when was the last time you were in shape?

Me: (Realizing I am not going to be able to refrain from snarky comments after all) 1986!!! 😂😂😂

Ted: (Serious look on his face) That’s probably accurate.

Trainer: What were you doing back then?

Me: (Cracking myself up) Going to college and looking for a wife!

Trainer: I meant what was he doing to keep in shape.

Me: Oops. (Let’s face it. At this point I have lost all sense of reality and am no longer able to control my verbal impulsivity. I vow to stop talking and start supporting).

The Work-Out (Fondly referred to as “60 minutes of Hell’)

For those who aren’t familiar with OT, during the workout you have an arm-strap on to calculate your heart rate. There is a screen on the wall that displays your stats as you exercise: name, calories burned, and heart rate. Your heart rate is measured on a continuum that progresses from grey (resting) to blue, green, and then orange as you work harder and reach your optimum heart rate. Your goal is to be in “In the Orange” for at least 12 minutes during the one-hour workout. After orange comes red. And possible death.)

Approximately 7 minutes into the warm-up Ted is still just sitting on the rower as everyone around him is rowing or lifting weights or running (including me). The trainer is shouting out instructions.

Ted: Has it started?

Me: YES! What are you doing? Start rowing!!

Thirty seconds later Ted is rowing half as hard as me and much more slowly. I am still in the grey. Ted is in the RED. This becomes the theme for the hour.

After the rower and weight training we finally arrive at the treadmill portion. Unfortunately for Ted this is a strength class so we are “doing hills.” This means the treadmill will be on a steady incline during the next 20 minutes. Hills are hard even if you ARE in shape. Eventually we go from a walk to a push to an All-Out Run. Ted’s All-Out Running pace is the speed of my walk pace. He is huffing. He is puffing. At least three times I look over and see him doing the sign of the cross.

The End (aka “The Payoff”)

Optimum time In the Orange is at least 12 minutes. Ted ends the hour with 38. Two kinds of people have that high of a number. Those that are incredibly fit and are working at a high cardio level. Or the other kind.

We are both happy and proud he finished it. And he did it without passing out.

Ted: (Looking at the screen recording his output) What does that number mean on the screen? The 528?

Me: That’s how many calories you burned.

Ted: Let’s go to Starbucks. That’s like two scones.

Disclaimer: For those who think I am being mean by making fun of my husband, you should know that I emailed him this story first to get permission to publish.

His reply: “Excellent. Very funny. Mostly accurate.”

You should also know that he offered up a few titles for this particular blog. Titles like “Mighty Adonis,” “My Husband the Hero,” and “The Building of a Greek God.” So thank you, but no need to worry about him. Self-esteem still intact.

Never a Dulles Moment

Finding the absurd in the ordinary

Category Archives: Uncategorized