Christmas Gift Shows and Mother Hens

Saturday I went to a Christmas gift show with three of my friends from the Gathering Girls. It was held at the gardens and sculpture park and I’ve been hearing about this show for years. It was huge and hiking in from where I had to park put over 2,000 steps on my Fitbit! It was shoulder-to-shoulder women inside and as I tried to keep track of my companions, I felt my mother-hen persona come out and my baby chicks were getting away. We’d already established at our designated meeting place that none of us had programmed each other’s contact information into our phones and I was mildly panicking that we’d get separated and never see each other again. What? It could happen! Someone with a fetish for mayhem and murder on his mind could have snatched one of us. Our nightly news has been filled with details of a trial going on of a guy who had done just that to a couple of women in town. He’s waiting sentencing now so we were probably safe at the Christmas gift show. That and the fact that none of us are young and cute anymore. Well, a couple of the Gathering Girls are cute but kidnappers usually don’t do ‘old.’ There are very few perks that come with having lots of birthdays, so we need to identify and celebrate them all. But I digress.

Alas, no one got lost although at one point I was seriously worried about one of the ladies. After lunch she and I went to the restroom but she didn’t come back for the longest time. She says she gets lost while driving and she would have gotten lost walking to the restroom if I had not been with her. I kicked myself for leaving her after my business was done. I did tell her I was going back to the restaurant, but what good would that have done if she had gotten lost in the 158 acres of the gardens and sculpture park? Guilt! Thou are my inner voice, my voice of shame. I beat myself up one side and down the other until she rejoined our table. 

Why when I’m hanging around with my posse of Gathering Girls do I feel an overwhelming urge to be the mother hen? They are all fully formed human adults not children or my post-stroke husband who needed my momma-hen persona to survive. I need to kill that ‘hen’ before I turn into a control freak! Why did I have to volunteer, for example, to stand in the long, snaking line to pay for purchases at the show as the others shopped the last few vendors? Was it kindness or was it a passive aggressive way of saying I was ready to leave? I asked that question of my inner voice but I received silence for an answer. Maybe Guilt developed laryngitis? Next stop on the Control Freak Train: Why did I have to volunteer to get our coats out of the coat room downstairs when the others took my place in that pay line? (I didn’t buy anything and I didn’t need to be there.) Was that kindness or controlling or was I being the mother hen again organizing her chicks? Please tell me it’s possible to be all three---a kindly old mother hen looking out for her flock. Doesn’t every group need one?

We had a good time but most of us agreed we’ll never go to a show that large and busy again. We expected more upscale, artsy-fartsy gifts and there were some but also plenty of plants, toys and specialty foods. We sampled chocolate covered everything but ants, drank tiny cups of coffee and I got a kick out of being tagged with a bright green bracelet proclaiming me to be “OVER 21” so I could sample the wines. When I got home I didn’t want to take that bracelet off. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone anywhere where the management couldn’t look at me and take a chance that, yes, she’s old enough to drink. That’s my spin but rules are rules and gray hair and wrinkles don’t count when free alcohol is involved. But seriously, do they really think someone would put on an old people mask and wig just to chug down a few ounces of wine? 

We had lunch in the park’s main building and it was spiced with our classic brand of easy and free conversation. We had planned to stop someplace else on the way back to our end of town and I jumped at seconding the suggestion that we stay there instead. I knew the walk back to the car would do me in. On future outings our newest member wants us to go to a few traffic congested places I avoid like walking barefoot on hot coals. If we do, she’d better take on the role of mother hen so I can be the chick who follows her out of my comfort zone…or into a tragic traffic accident resulting in several of us getting our driver’s licenses taken away. Oh, dear! There’s a law being introduced in our state congress that will require a driving test and a health review of any senior citizen involved in a fender bender. Double oh, dear if it passes! ©

Question: Why did the chicken cross the road?

Answer: I don’t know, let the chicken mind its own business.

Poor Bored and Boring Me

This has been one of those crazy weeks where I wish I’d stayed in my nightgown, found a delivery service to drop off a batch of cream puffs and stayed home from Monday through Friday. Nothing bad happened that involved fire, floods, spilled blood, hospitals or funeral parlors so I should be happy. Right? Life is still good when none of those biggies are penciled in on the day planner. Repeat to myself: “A boring life isn’t such a bad thing.” So if I can’t call my week boring the next best word to describe it would be ‘annoying.’

Monday I was fifteen minutes late for my haircut appointment because I lost track of time while playing on the internet. The stylist had me reschedule for Tuesday because she had a class to go to and she didn’t want to rush my cut. Then I went to the bank, library and the post office which were all closed for Veteran’s Day. Oops! I'm not getting old and forgetful, I told myself as I went off to Burger King where I thought I could indulge in a batch of sinful sweet potatoes fries. Oops, yet again. “That’s a seasonal item,” the speaker woman told me.

While sitting trapped in the take-out window line, I was having a panic attack as I wondered what I’d do if a giant space craft hovered above my end of town and started sucking vehicles up like a huge magnet. How would I escape, trapped like I was? I could abandon the car but I can only walk so fast and I’d probably get trampled by the other panic-stricken people in line who’d also leave their vehicles. Finally, I remembered that I’m a news junkie and if a giant UFO had been coming towards earth all our spy satellites would have seen it approaching and by now Edward Snowden would have leaked that information to the press.

Tuesday I repeated Monday’s agenda minus the panic attack and plus a trip to the gadget zoo at the senior center where I petted and lusted after the iPads, smart phones and tablets. AGAIN. That's three months in a row. How tech savvy does one elderly woman need to be, for crying out loud? I’ve got a desk top and lap top computer that are both fairly new. I’ve got a Kindle, iPod and an old people’s cell phone. Do I really need more tech stuff? Is raw, unadulterated lust a good enough reason to buy more stuff to keep me tethered to the information mongers on earth? If I was my sister-in-law I’d say, “No, that would be cheating my kids out of their inheritance!” But I don’t have kids and my dog only needs so much kibble when I’m gone and he’s already got more toys than he needs. (I’ve been meaning to talk with him about donating some of them to the local humane society. But he’d just point out that I have ‘toys’ that could go to Goodwill so I keep putting that conversation off.)

Wednesday my house cleaning service failed to show up because the girl who was assigned to me got her schedule mixed up. Since I did something similar on Monday I could hardly get mad about the fact that I had to clean my own house this month. (I didn’t want the plumber---this coming Monday---to wade in my yucky-dos when he comes to install my new toilet, shower head and to fix a few leaky faucets.) The cleaning service would have rescheduled someone else to come on Thursday “if I felt comfortable leaving a key” since I couldn’t be home. But I gasped at that though! Leave a key for a total stranger who could steal my stash of Little Miss Debbie Chocolate Cakes, read the junk e-mails and let my dog out to play in traffic? No, way! No thank you! On the good side, cleaning my own house this month gives me an extra $50 that can go in Lust Fund.

Thursday I had to go back to the hearing center in the morning for part two of how to be an old lady with a new set of hearing aids. Then the afternoon was spent manning the front door at the museum where traffic was so low I had enough time to sweep the lobby, fold a box of handouts and read Crazy Cat Lady on my Kindle.

Friday was my Movie and Lunch Club day but they picked a movie I had zero interest in seeing so I opted out in protest for not picking Last Vegas. Not that anyone noticed my protest when I ever so politely emailed my I-can’t-make-it-this-month regrets. But at least Captain Phillips didn’t get my ticket money. (Oh, goodie, more money that can go in my Lust Fund!) Besides, I needed the full day to clean what my cleaning service could have done in two hours.

Today was the only day worth the time it took to shower and get dressed all week. I did the Christmas craft shows tour and lunch with the Red Hat Society ladies. I didn’t buy much but I like looking and it was a pleasant way to spend an overcast morning. Having done the craft show tour last year all by myself after a decade of doing them with my deceased spouse, I looked up what I wrote about the experience a year ago. What a contrast from then and now!  No tears this year, no going home early and no ghost riding shotgun in my car. And this year came with an unspoken promise that friendships can grow---someday, if I live long enough, Downer Debbie is saying in my ear. Don’t be so negative, my Mary Poppins persona is saying in my other ear. Ohmygod, I used to have just one inner voice talking to me! Now I have two?

Back on topic: Life might not be a basket full of good tidings and joy here on Widowhood Lane yet but it could be far worse. After 42 years of being two peas in a pod, two nuts on a squirrel, the hole in your life doesn’t fill in with a couple of years under your belt. You go on. You reach for that happy place again. You might even find it from time to time but, damn it, it’s so boring without the other pea in my pod… ©

The Christmas Craft Show Tour in Widowhoodville

I must be a glutton for punishment with no more sense than an amoeba living in a back yard pond. Today I decided to do the annual craft show tour, hop scotching around town to see what the various fairs had to offer to the early Christmas shoppers. It was a tradition Don and I acquitted to support the union retirees at one place and the senior citizens hall at another and it grew from there, adding three more stops on our tour. Don loved the crowds and the homemade baked goods for sale and we’d always ran into people we knew.

As I backed out of the driveway the radio was set on the Prime Country [cry-your-eyes-out] station and as the Chief Glutton for Punishment in the car I didn't switch the channel. When will I ever learn? It wasn't long after that Dolly Parton was singing:

“Why'd you come in here lookin' like that
In your cowboy boots and your painted-on jeans
All decked out like a cowgirl's dream
Why'd you come in here looking like that?”

Damn it! Those words reminded me of Don all dressed up in his favorite attire and that was enough to put his ghost riding shotgun in my passenger seat. By the time I got to my first stop, the senior hall, I wasn’t even sure I could go in. But I did because I’m a super-duper trooper, don’t you know, and who cares if you're misty-eyed at a craft show? Inside, I collected a hug from the center’s director---she cared---and I bought an item from their garage sale room for fifteen cents. It was a wire wreath to hold Christmas cards. I came close to buying one just like it, only new, a few weeks ago but I didn’t like the $25.00 price tag. Okay, that didn’t turn out so bad, I thought. Things were looking up.

The next stop was to the retiree’s hall where I knew quite a few people and several mentioned missing Don. One vendor who had sold Don a handmade item last year that I hated on sight couldn’t say enough nice things about him and that made me feel guilty about giving the piece to Salvation Army a few months ago. Another vendor who is old enough to be my mother talked to me about finding someone else, “It doesn’t have to be the same kind of romance or love,” she said. “It’s just nice to have someone to be with.” “I know,” I replied, “but I’m not ready for that.” Darn those damn tears! They started in again and I had to leave her booth. Whose stupid idea was it for me to go there today? Oh, ya, that would be my own stupid idea.

Back in the car the cry-your-eyes out radio station was blasting out Mickey Gilley singing Stand by Me. I sighed deeply. Instead of bringing tears, though, that song brought a wave of peace over me as I listened. It's always had that effect on my emotions.

“When the night has come
And the land is dark
And the moon is the only light we'll see
No I won't be afraid, no I won't be afraid
Just as long as you stand, stand by me”

For months on end I played that song every night at bedtime and Levi knew that was his clue to do our version of dog-dancing. It served several purposes one being human-to-canine bonding, another being human and canine exercise, but the most important reason---at least now in hindsight---was that our antics never failed to make Don laugh. Gilley’s version isn’t my favorite cut of Stand by Me, but I can honestly say I’ve never heard a version I didn’t like. When the piece ended this afternoon in the car, I looked over at the ghost riding shotgun in my passenger seat and I said, “Let’s go home. The Christmas craft shows suck this year.” ©

Below is a link to my favorite version of Stand by Me. I love how it keeps building as they add street performers from around the world. If you're not award of the 'Playing for Change' project here is what they say on their website: "Playing for Change is a multimedia movement created to inspire, connect, and bring peace to the world through music. The idea for this project arose from a common belief that music has the power to break down boundaries and overcome distances between people. No matter whether people come from different geographic, political, economic, spiritual or ideological backgrounds, music has the universal power to transcend and unite us as one human race. And with this truth firmly fixed in our minds, we set out to share it with the world."   Playing for Change