"Mr. President... Dad,?

  Like our parents, the job of our government is to protect us, defend us, help us grow, and provide the necessary boundaries for civil living. But unlike our parents, the government is not responsible for teaching us how to behave, what to wear, how to think or what to eat.  That job was designated to our parents until we reached the age of reasonable independent thinking, (which varies among individuals).  At that time, when we could formulate our own ideas about how to get through this thing called life, we no longer had anyone to blame but ourselves for how we have progressed.  Not our parents, not society, not the government, just ourselves. Admittedly, some were born with a silver spoon in their mouths and life choices would appear to be easier, but do not hesitate to believe that they too have hurdles to climb, painful losses and great difficulties. There are some born to such abominable conditions that it would seem unlikely that they could ever rises above their circumstances, but some do.  For it is when we take responsibility for the direction we choose, that we may go forward.

It is a time of choices as the presidential election draws near.  We are bombarded with accusations, lies, promises, comparisons and blame. “Romney can fix this mess!”  “Obama needs more time!”  “I care about the elderly!”  “I care about the growth of new business!”  Who do we choose to lead our country into financial solvency? Who do we choose to fix our health care crisis? Who will provide the means for every American to have a job? How can we feed our hungry? And who best to represent to our adversaries, our mighty image of strong Americans?

My dear friends, the choice is difficult because we have not, as a nation of people, held ourselves responsible for our current situation. We have over spent and chosen cheaper items made in China over “made in America”. We have let ourselves grow fat and sedentary giving the medical field a heyday with an ever growing clientele of heart disease, diabetes and cancers. We have decided not to work for minimum wage thereby forcing business to outsource labor. We have forgotten charitable giving so that we can buy ourselves more. We are hated by many outside our little worlds because we have been deceptive and aggressive and untrustworthy. We, as a nation, have neglected honor.  Not our young soldiers, who join believing that their government will take care of them in exchange for their loyalty.  But they too, fight wars that they do not believe in.   Until we take responsibility for our actions and choices, it really doesn’t matter who our president is or what he proposes to do. Because it is OUR job, not theirs, to care for one another, to defend our right to make good choices by making them, to enjoy the satisfaction of a hard days work. It is our job to take care of ourselves and our families, to choose healthy food and not fast food because we’re lazy.  It is not an easy path but it is the path that has been taken by our parents, grandparents, great grandparents and great, great grandparents, as they founded a new and prosperous county. We cannot ask our President to fix what we must fix ourselves.  Can you spare $10 a month?  Give it to your local food pantry. Can you throw a chicken breast, some potatoes, some carrots in a crock pot? Who needs McDonalds?  And you seriously don’t need another pair of shoes!  Ok, shoes are allowed.  

Let’s look at our own lives to see how we can make a difference and stop asking  2 guys, whose power to change things is handcuffed by our congress, to do it for us.

"I Know What Is Making Us Fat"

It’s not what you think.  Well, it is, but the reason behind it all,  that’s what I’m talking about.  We all seem to have this rather forceful craving for chocolate chip cookies and  apple pie.  Did you ever ask yourself why? They had apple pie forever but everyone wasn’t fat.  They would come home after a hard days’ work, take a deep breath and smell apple pie in the oven. It was dessert and maybe breakfast the next day.  Then they didn’t think about “ooohhh, I wish I had me some more apple pie”.  It was end of story. But today, we buy these scented candles call things like, “Maple Apple Pie”  and Warm Cinnamon Bun” And “Summer Peach Pie”  and we light them every day, making our homes smell like something fresh out of the oven.  The smell of vanilla, (according to aromachologist) (there really is such a thing as a person who studies peoples reaction to smells) makes us feel good, peaceful and even promotes weight loss.  It brings us comfort and a sense of satisfaction.   HA!!!! I say HA!!!!   Nothing makes me want a cookie more than the smell of vanilla.  That is the leading scent of candles sold in the world.   Look around your house.  Tell me the scents of your candles don’t make you hungry!!  They do.  I’m burning Key Lime Pie now and I could seriously go for a piece!

I started putting 2 and 2 together when I saw that Renuzit has come out with a new scented jelly thingy that people put in the bathroom.  The scent was Chocolate Raspberry.  Who wants their house to smell like chocolate raspberry????? Let alone the bathroom????  Now we all know about the scented spray cans that are supposed to disguise the smell of your poop.  Somehow, we thought that by spraying this stuff, anyone entering the bathroom after us would think that our poop reminded them of tangerines or apples.  But it doesn’t really work that way.  It doesn’t eliminate the smell of your waste.. it just sort of co-mingles with it crating a curiously ambiguous aroma.  Now imaging chocolate raspberry poop????  Not working for me!!

I think that every candle, every spray stuff, every soap should smell like pine. “Why” you say?  Because first of all, we’re not heading into the kitchen to find something yummy when we smell pine.  We’re not looking to munch on some tree bark.  Secondly, pine, smells like the woods and we know that bears poop in the woods so the smell sort of works in the bathroom.  And thirdly, smelling pine just might make you want to go for a walk in the woods thereby also assisting in health and well being.  There you have it my friends.  We can solve the obesity problem in this country if we just get rid of our yummy scented candles. No one… I repeat, no one, has a broccoli scented candle. How easy is that? I think that maybe I could win an award for this life altering revelation but feel free to pass on my theory, (and throw out your blueberry cobbler candle)

"Martha Stewart is Not A Real Person"

She’s not.  I know that whole prison thing and her doing some insider trading but I think that was made up too.  It gave her “Street Cred”  only she’s not real anyway.  I get “Living” magazine.  I don’t know why.  I know that you know I’m no domestic queen or anything close. It just showed up in my mailbox one day.  I don’t pay for it.. (at least not yet).  That magazine had these beautiful orange and white cookies on the cover and I thought Oh, this will be a fun.   I flipped through the magazine until I got to the cookie page and began to read the directions for making those cute little orange and white cookies. First of all, I don’t know what half of the directions meant. Secondly, the recipe was filled with  ingredients that sound like we might have them somewhere in our pantry (like Cream of Tartar) but we actually don’t and never did, and thirdly (Martha probably never says “thirdly”) she wanted us to take out our tiniest little paint brush and PAINT the orange stripe on with food coloring!!!  Seriously??? Paint the perfect little swirly orange lines on those cookies that I would pop into my mouth in one split second? She’s got to be kidding or my theory.. she’s not real. Needless to say, I did not attempt those cookies nor have I remembered to pick up any “cream of tartar” at the market.

But next month, there it is in my mailbox again, looking all pretty with these fancy s’mores with stars cut into the cookie top.  Ok, I’m suckered in again!   Cookie dough made from whole wheat flour, wheat germ, unsalted butter!  WHY would I have unsalted butter?????  Ok, not only that but after you make the dough, you ROLL it out onto a floured surface. Now where the hell is that rolling pin that was my mom’s and that I haven’t  used in about 38 years??  Nothing wrong with GRAHAM CRACKERS!

Now on to what products Martha uses in her daily skin care, 1. Ciminelli Hydrating Gel Mask, $75, 2. Chanel Fresh Brightening Foam Cleanser $60, 3. Susan Ciminelli Marine Lotion  $95, 4. Skinceuticals $146.  It goes on from there.  These are the things that make Martha’s skin look so fresh.  But she really doesn’t need any of these very expensive products.  Because she’s not real.

The final straw was this month.  It’s called the “Home” edition and inside are pictures of Martha’s’ daughters’ apartment. The nursery has been decorated with primary color coded appropriate wooden toys for the shelves and a mural that Martha personally made with caribou hide that she brought back from one of her many trips to caribou land (where ever the hell they live!) I can’t wait for those kids to grow up and puke purple grape juice or mash sticky bananas into that mural.  They will. They will also want big plastic monsters and guns and toys that make a lot of noise.  Martha and her daughter would know that if they were real.  They’re not.

Also in this month’s magazine, there is a recipe for “Beet Mash Lemon Shrub Cocktail”.  I just had three days off from work , stuck at home with no car out in the country.  I had some time on my hands to be creative.  One thing I know, if I had a thousand days with nothing to do… I would still never ever consider making “Beet Mash Lemon Scrub cocktails. (even if I had the ingredients!!!)

Sorry to disappoint you but I think I have made my point. Martha Stewart is as real as Mary Poppins, Betty Crocker, Santa Claus and The Easter Bunny.  So relax, you can’t be what doesn’t exist.   As for s’mores?  just mash up some graham crackers, dump them in a mug with some mini marshmallows and some choco-chips.  Microwave till gooey, get a spoon. Done.

"It's Always Something"

Well, if that isn’t one of the most obvious statements ever made!  I can’t actually believe that someone said that one time and then it became  a “saying” like “things happen for a reason” and “It is what it is”.  Picture the scenario… you lost your job, your wife ran off with the mailman, the cat has been missing for days and just when you think it couldn’t get any worse.. the milk in the fridge is sour!  You call up your Mom to tell her  this unbelievable new development and she says… “It’s always something.”  As a way to console you.

Of course it’s always something because otherwise it would be nothing!  There! That’s my new response to “It’s always something”.  But I kind of get the concept behind it all.  I think that the Universe becomes very comfortable with how things all work together.  There is a fragile and necessary relationship between everything that is.  It is somewhat like a pyramid and we are constantly subjected to the trials and tribulations of our particular position in its structure.  In other words, the Universe likes to keep everything secure in the foundation.  That’s why we can’t all be Donald Trump.  Throughout our history of existence, a “cast system” or closed social system, allowed some distinctive privileges and unequal rights, while others had no chance to rise above their station. You were born into your place in the big pyramid of life and there was no getting to the top.  Those were and are, government systems put in place to benefit the chosen.  But sometimes I think the Universe has a “Caste System”. “Something” always keeps you where you are.  Hence… “It’s Always Something”.  I’m not complaining.  I am fortunate to be in a rather pleasant position and I have been able to maintain my “station” so to speak.  

I have been going to Physical therapy for a shoulder issue.  It’s been costing me a  $20 co-pay which means I am lucky and have health insurance (thanks to my late husband Tom).  Still, $20 three times a week adds up!  So yesterday, they tell me insurance thinks I’m good enough and I have to continue the program at home.  Ok.  I can do that and it saves me $60 a week.  I’ve been wanting to buy an outdoor gas grill for Joe. (He likes meat).  Last night when I get out of work, my car doesn’t start.  Dead.  Called AAA, they came, gave me a charge, sent me on my way.  I almost didn’t make it home but when I did, car dead again.   Ok.  I call AAA again this morning but they can’t help me because there is a giant fire in a transformer recycling plant nearby and we all have to stay inside (including car repair guys)  I call work, they have it covered.   AAA finally comes to look .. not sure but they think it is the alternator AND the battery!  (It appears as though I should NOT have driven home after the AAA guy not so charged  my battery last night)  It’s ok.  Really.  Because I can pay for the repairs.  After all I was paying $60 a week for the last month.  It’s probably going to cost a little more than that which means that not too much can go wrong in September.  I paid for my broken tooth/crown, and my shoulder is getting better so it might mean I could get a strange rash or something easy like that.  No matter what I think the car repairs will cost… it will be more.  At least I have a car 

 Like I said, The Universe must always keep things balanced.  It really is “always something”.  And if you want to be on top… there’s going to be A LOT of something.  I do not want to hit the lottery because I cannot imagine the catastrophe that would cost me a million bucks afterwards! 

"Walk A Mile In My Shoes"

Well, not my good shoes.  I can’t even walk a mile in those!!!  Maybe about 200 hundred feet but it’s not a pretty sight to see me wobbling my way over to the table from the door way.  I look good though… when I’m sit down and cross my legs.  Then you can really appreciate my good shoes..!

 But ok, that’s  not what I mean. Everyone should spend a day in my retail working shoes.  Because if you did, you’d be a whole lot easier to deal with when you went shopping.  I’ve worked retail most of my adult life and I can tell you some stories but I’m going to stick to the basic premise of appropriate behavior guidelines.  If you see an old friend in the store that you happen to be in, wave, say Hi and get OUT of the very narrow isle that you’re standing in.  Why? Because, though I’m sure that Fred has a refreshingly detailed story about his last proctologist’s  visit, I have to get to the other side of where you are standing so that I can help the lady who thinks if she just shouts out “Where are the potato mashers?” that someone will come running to her aid. The fourth time that I say excuse me to you may sound a little snippy but it’s only because the lady is getting really loud at this point.  “Do you work here?”   “No, I say in my head, I pay them to let me come play with this cash register every day”  But out loud I say, “yes, can I help you?”.    “Do you have this napkin in any other colors?”  “THERE ARE 37 DIFFERENT COLORS ON THAT COUNTER OVER THERE!!!!!  WHAT OTHER COLOR COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT?????” (that's in my head as well)  “Well, no ma’am, that is all we have in stock but I will spends 40 some odd man hours to search out any other possible colors that might exist in the Universe of napkins and see if I can get it in for you”.  (smile)    “How much is this candy bar?”      “Sir?  See that little price tag right there on that candy bar?  That would be how much it cost.”                I think you get my point.

So you should all work retail for a week,      and food service because that one is really a trip. You would not yell at your server because your sandwich isn’t in your little paws yet because you’d realize… she doesn’t make your sandwich.  She only brings it too you when the person in the kitchen puts it up in the little window.  And you'd know that if you really bug her... your sandwich will stay in that window a little longer than it should.

I should probably work as a telephone assiter for Verizon.  Because I KNOW that I have verbally abused those guys.  And it’s not right.  I'm not saying I'm sorry.  I just know it's not right. But I’m not really sure where these people are that I'm talking to at Verizon.  I don’t usually understand what they are saying other that “you must pay the charge on your bill” and “I’m sorry that you have no phone service but I don’t have a script for  what else to say… Good bye”.  I swear at them.  I also swear at the automated computer lady.   When she says  “I’m sorry.  I did not hear that last number.”  I swear at her and say “That’s because you don’t have any fucking ears!!!  You’re a machine!!!!”  Then she hangs up on me.  So I should walk in the shoes of a telephone person (if they had any feet!!!) so that I would be more understanding and compassionate about what they have to go through every day.

Don’t get me wrong, when I say to my customers, “Have a great day”.  I mean it.  Sometimes, though, I just want them to have a great day somewhere else.

Maybe I’ll walk in your shoes for a day.. I’d like to try out those platform, dove grey, snakeskin peeptoes, size 6  . (You sit all day..right?)

"feisty? chubby?short? seriously!"

My son spent the weekend with us.  Well, not the whole weekend, just enough time to have dinner,and  drop off his little family guy for me to babysit. Anyway, he mentioned to my boyfriend, Joe,  during a private conversation, that I was much "calmer"......  very long pause...... I'm sure that there was a bit more following that comment but I was not privy to the exchange.  You see, Joe has only seen "the storm" three times (and only twice was it directed to him)  He dosen't want to see it again. He added no futher commentary to me on my "calmness".
So.. I start thinking about what my son THINKS I used to be like???? Did he think of me as some sort of raging maniac? OK, I'll admitt it.. there have been a few times when the actions of my sons have instigated a torrent of verbiage mostly starting with  "What in Gods name where you THINKING?????" But really... I was calm most of the time!   Having three sons does change a person... I have super powers I never dreamed of, because, seriously,  unless you are of a saintly nature or on some major mind altering drugs... you're gonna lose it a few times with 3 sons!  And they're not going to think your very "calm"
So I start thinking about other people, other than my sons, and wonder what they really think of me.  Very often, when I run into someone I haven't seen in awhile, they inverably say "Wow... You've lost some weight!!"  Which would be very cool if I had actually lost weight.. but I haven't.  I pretty much weigh the same as I did in high school give or take a couple of pounds.  What does this mean?  Only that people have the perception of me that I'm kinda chubby and are surprised when I'm not.
Recently, I had dinner with one of my nutrition clients.  Upon seeing me in a social situation with fun clothes on, she said... "Wow" (again "wow")  "I didn't realise you were so.... long pause.... "cute".  I smiled.  She didn't mean "cute" she meant short.  People??? The words "cute"  and "short" are not interchangeble!
I just went to my 40th high school reunion.  some people said.. "Cathie, you look exactly the same as you did in high school!!!"  What did they mean... short and  chubby???? and when I look into the mirror... I do not see a 58 year old woman.  I see waaaaaay younger than that! But I know.. I do not look like I did in High School... I look 40 years older.  Joe went to High School with me and he looks NOTHING like he did, he looks way better.   People were dropping their jaws in surprise as they read his name tag.  Makes you wonder how they saw him back then.
How the worlds see us is very different that what we think we are projecting.  I had no idea you all thought I was a feisty, sort of chubby, short, kind of cute old person.  Well, maybe you're right.  but if you don't mind.. the next time we meet could you just go easy on me... this calm thing is pretty nice.

Heaven

I spent most of my adult life trying to be in The Adirondacks but with one simple little right turn .. I have found myself in Heaven.  Tonight, I revel in the glory of fate.

I wake at 5:15, hearing the birds that sound like Jewish mothers scolding their children.  “  “Are you up yet? It’s time to get up!”  But I take a deep breath of the clean air coming in my open window as I pull up the covers and go back to sleep. He gets up.  He likes his coffee with the chipmunks who chitter away at him.  He “chitters” back and they scurry back and forth.  The “children” began to sing loud and harmoniously around 7am which is when I decide it’s almost time to get up.  I make my breakfast and drink my coffee in this old 1700 back half of a farm house, with old wooden floors and rough wood beams in the kitchen.  I look forward to going to work because my drive from Chatham into Stockbridge is spectacularly green and lush… all the way.  No traffic lights, 4 way intersections, no annoyingly rude drivers.  Just 25 minutes of sweet peace as I get ready for my day. (I realize I may not feel the same way deep into Winter but today, I will appreciate that which is…)  I work in a country store that has been around for 220 years!  Think about what that means!  Think about who was coming into my store to buy staples like flour and sugar, fabric for making clothes, penny candy for the children!  We’re talking the war of 1812, the civil war.. living history!  I think that I have always been a merchant and I feel the magic of the past working here.

My drive home is no less spectacular.  I get home and he greets me.  We sit on the front porch and chat about our day.  After dinner, I go for a walk.  The wildflowers are my most plentiful neighbors with fields and meadows filled with Sweet William.  I walk down the road and know the peace of the woods because it is everywhere I turn. I look ahead and know that I could walk for hours and hours and never hear the discord of the noisy city.

He does not ask me where I’ve been or question how long I have been gone.  He is simply happy to see me return.  We settle in for a little TV before the train whistle tells me it is time for bed.

The road has taken me in many directions.  I think this time, it has brought me home.

"No Good Comes From Eating Carrots"

Such a nice dinner I prepared, slow cooker, potatoes, pork chops, sauerkraut. It just needed a little color.  It’s all about the color these days.  “Eat color for your health.”  So I cut up a few carrot sticks.  There, that looks pretty.  Everything tasted so good!  I took a bite of my carrot stick and felt a little something funny.  Not really a concerned little something funny… just a little tooth feeling thing.  Everythings ok.  Carry on.  Great dinner!  The next day, after lunch I had a cookie for dessert.  I don’t normally have cookies but I recently stopped off at Trader Joes on my way home from a road trip and saw these “Kettle Corn Cookies”.  Well, they looked pretty interesting so I bought them.  Anyway, I was giving them a try after lunch when. Ahgrghrghargh!!!!!  Out pops a big old chunk of tooth.  That’s what that little something funny tooth thing was all about last night!  I had cracked my tooth on the carrot stick and the cookie finished it off. Ouch!   So I make the perfunctory call to the dentist waiting the weekend through with a big hole in my tooth.

“I’ve got good news and bad” he says.  “The bad news is the tooth has to come out and the tooth in front of it needs a root canal.”  I can’t wait for the good news!!!  Ok, he says “the good news is we can save the front tooth and do a bridge so that you won’t have a hole in your mouth”.  This sounds like good news until I ask him how much this will cost.  $3,100.00. Not such good news!  But he begins with the root canal.  No big deal, the root was dead so no pain.  Now time for the extraction. People have said to me that it’s no big deal getting a tooth pulled.  They lied to me. It hurts like a son of a bitch! Because they are yanking,   yes I said YANKING on your tooth to get it out!  For the record, it hurts.  So I get done at the dentist, minus $3,100.00, a big bleeding hole in my mouth but a script for some pain meds. Ok, there is a bright side to this scenario.  (Or so I thought!)  I go fill the script, take money from my saving and put into my checking, and grab some soft food at the market before heading home.  I take a pain pill and an antibiotic, lay down and go to sleep for a few hours.  Not bad, eat a yogurt and watch The Voice.  I took a pain pill before I went to bed.  Slept great till 4am and woke up with a headache to beat all headaches!!!  I decide to get up, I stub my toe on my wooden clog and now I really need a pain pill.  I hobble to the kitchen and take another.  BIG mistake because 3 hours later, my head is about ready to fall off, I have significant nausea and I am in a sweat so severe that I might as well have stepped out of the shower.  I open the window, turn on the fan and read the info on the pain killer script.  Apparently Oxycodones are a derivative of codeine which make me throw up.  Ok, no pain meds for me.  Also, these meds cause constipation and suggest that you consume lots of water and fiber.  I look back on my diet yesterday of scrambled eggs, yogurt, and squishy noodles .  Zero grams of fiber.  So, now I have a big hole in my mouth, I’m minus $3,100.00, I am constipated, my toe hurts, my face is swollen on one side,  and I’m still taking antibiotics.  Can anyone say “yeast infection”?

I would have been better off with a donut (wholegrain with 2 grams of fiber) and  sprinkles on top for color!  Now I know what you’re thinking.. “You’re a health coach for God’s Sake!!”   But I stand by my convictions…”nothing good comes from eating carrots.”

"See no evil, Hear no evil, Speak no evil"

There they were, sitting on the mantle of my Grammy’s house.  Three little monkeys made of wood in a row. One had his hands over his eyes, one had his hands over his ears and one had his hands over his mouth.  I could hold them in the palm of my hand, even my little hand 5 year old hand. I loved them. The adults told me what they were about.. about not looking for bad things, not listening to people say bad things and not actually saying bad things. I’m not sure I really cared what they meant.  I just liked the monkeys.  But I suppose I liked the fact that whenever I asked to see them, the lesson was told again.  I don’t know where those little monkeys ended up.   They sat on my parents corner table but  they are both gone and no one knows what happened to the monkeys.  I wish I had them.  They would become one of my “treasures”.  They would join the boxes of things that I have deemed invaluable and must be brought from one apartment to another… always in my possession.  It’s an interesting assortment of stuff.  When I die, no one will have a clue why I saved the things I did.  That is because I have attached sentimental emotions to worthless trinkets. Like the monkeys. Our treasures bring back memories of something important to us in our lives. If we dumped the whole lot overboard, we most certainly would survive but nothing makes us smile more than a sweet little card from our 1st one in kindergarten.  How can we throw those things away???  So we put them in boxes and only when we do some major clean or move to a new house do we relish the treasures of our lives.  Today, I found a card from my son that said “It will be okay… I promise”.  I don’t even know what it was in reference to but it made me think of him and how I have to keep believing that he will be okay.  I saw the wedding picture of my Mom and Dad who loved each other so much!  I picked up an old bottle that I found down by the river but it turns out it wasn’t really that old… just dirty.  I threw that one out.  My brother gave me this really pretty rock. I’m keeping that because he must have really liked it too to have it in his house and he gave it to me because I liked it.  It’s just a rock.  I have a driving hat from when I had a convertible.  Hat looks dumb and I don’t have a convertible anymore.  I kept the hat. I wrote a letter to my 17year old son (about 11 years ago) explaining to him the “guidelines” of how we were going to live together with respect and consideration.  I kept that. The orange pot that came with the plant after my husband died.  I threw that out.  Not sure why I kept it in the first place.

What will I do with theses “treasures” in my new house?  I’ll put them up in a closet. I don’t really want to move again for a long time but I hope I find a reason to open up these boxes once in a while.   It is nice to sift through the treasures of my life and smile.  I can’t say that I have always lived up to the lesson of the monkeys. (I say bad things sometimes when I’m driving). But I remember a loving family that thought it was important to teach me to be kind.    My box of worthless trinkets keeps my family and my memories available for reminiscing.  But the convertible hat really does look dumb.

"Hey Pops, I can WALK faster than this!!"

Ok, I’ll admit it.  I’m a back seat, sitting next to you, in the car behind you kind of driver. I tell you how to drive.  Not necessarily in the positive instructional kind of way. Sometimes I yell pretty bad things at you (but only if you’re in the other car and can’t hear me.) It is because I am the only person in the world who truly knows how to drive correctly. I think you need some help in the driving way of things. Blinkers on your car are there for a very good reason.  They let me know if you’re going to cut in front of me doing 80mph on the thruway. If you don’t use them, I’m going to have to swear at you because you make me nervous and I’m driving fast too.  So how about using your blinkers, Bub? I don’t call everyone “Bub”.  Sometimes I call them “Mack Daddy” if they’re driving a fancy giant pick-up.  I might say something like “get off my ass, Mack Daddy!!  75mph isn’t fast enough for you????”  Sometimes I call people “Pops”. Those are the people driving 20mph.  I might say something like “Hey Pops, I can walk faster than this!” but I don’t say that loud because I don’t want to upset “Pops”.  I’m going to be old someday too. I might say “Hey Sweet Cheeks, how about you get off your cell phone and pay attention to the speed limit???”.  Occasionally, I will call someone an asshole but I am VERY careful not to let them hear that one.  After all, they are being an asshole.  This part of my instructional methods though is not nearly as annoying as my need to help the person driving next to me.  They don’t know how to drive either and for the life of me.. I don’t know how they managed all these years without my help.

I used to point out to my second husband that our turn was coming up.  He finally turned to me and said “Stop telling me how to drive!!!” (He didn’t actually yell because he never yelled at me but he said it in a yelling kind of way.  So I stopped.   I watched time after time, as we drove past our turn. I said nothing.  He liked to drive straddling the center line.  I finally asked him what that was about.  He said it was the safest place to be in case a deer came running out of the woods.  Ok. But my current man drifts over the white line too and stays there.  I know because I am on the passenger side and the right hand line is going under my feet. I don’t think we’re watching out for deer. So I casually mention it to him. (I learned a little something from my ex!) 
“Babe” I say (that’s always a good way to start off telling someone how to drive), “seem to be kind of drifting to the right”.  “No I’m not” he says.  Now I have to step it up a notch and tell him that I can see the line going under my feet. He just brings the car back into the correct lane and doesn’t say anything else. But he’s not happy.  I can tell.  So when I see he’s driving 25 miles over the speed limit.. I’m hesitant about what to do.  Finally I have to tell him.. “Babe” (it worked so well the last time!)  “the speed limit is 35mph here.”  He says “I’m only doing 40mph and that’s ok”.  “Yes” I tell him “40mph is ok but you’re doing 60.” He looks down and realizes that I am right.  Still says nothing and brings it down to 40mph.  What does he do when I’m not in the car??? Become Mario Andretti????   This leaves me in a very precarious situation.  Do I keep my mouth shut and silently pray that no cop is nearby or do I continue to perform my duties with the best of intentions in spite of the fact that I am VERY annoyingly right?

I’m not sure how I got so good at driving and why the rest of you continue to struggle out there on the road but if I can be of assistance to you.. just roll your window down and I’ll be there for you.  And by the way if you hear me yell “Hey Asshole!”,  I’m not talking to you.

"You Think?"

 “Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.”
― Mahatma Gandhi        

    I like to read famous quotations.   I have several books of quotations but it’s pretty easy to pick a theme, type it into the google bar and voila.. lots of quotes to choose from. I don’t memorize the quotes and throw them out at cocktail parties or anything like that.  But I read them and I think about them. I think about how their words apply to my life.  We can find out what Socrates thought about women and compare that to what Steven Tyler thinks about women.  Why? You say would we care what anyone else thinks about anything??? Because we do.  Because are born a clean slate.  Because it is necessary for our thoughts to develop as we take in the world around us.  We do not come with a pre-formed idea of how this is all going to go.  Our parents teach us, our teachers, our friends, the world around us and all, ALL, those who have come before us and speak out. There is no "original" thought only original interpretations.  We learn what we like and don’t like, what we believe and what we’re not buying. We process the endless amounts of information bombarding us every minute and decide how it all works for us. And we can change our minds too.  But the changing or evolving comes from the input of an outside force, something we never really thought about before, or an opposing argument to a long held belief.  The point of all of this is that it is not necessary to be “right” in your thoughts and ideas, it is only necessary that you are open to the thoughts and ideas of others before you reach a conclusion.  Understand that there really is no final conclusion as we assimilate new information into our personal data bank in our heads.  We gather information by reading, watching, sharing. Should we ever find ourselves alone on a deserted island for years, unable to read or hear from another, our thoughts would dry up like old lemon peels and we would surely cease to exist.  

Someone told me yesterday that no one cares what anyone thinks.  That was why he would not comment on my blog.  “No one cares what I think or what anyone thinks for that matter.”  I respect your right to believe that that statement is true.  That is why I took some time to think about it, process your thoughts and reflect on my position in writing this blog. So I did.  I care what you think. It makes me think. And when something makes me think.. that’s a good thing.  But I disagree with your sentiments.  I believe that we do care what others think.  Not only what they think but what someone else has to say about it.  (Hello.. Dear Abby and Ann Landers??) We somehow have captured billions of words and ideas from whomever we decided had something to say. You may believe that Abraham Lincoln had way more street cred to his words than say Sarah Palin.. but their words are available for you to decide. So my Dear Bro, I would love to hear your rebuttal here but you probably won’t read this and you won’t think it matters.  You may be right but.. “whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.”  Mahatma Gandi

I wonder, though… was someone following these people around with a pen and notebook to catch all the little gems of wisdom?  Because I gotta tell you, sometimes what I say is just plain brilliant but no one hears it and I don’t remember it later. That being said..  Favorite Quotes anyone?

"I Don't Like Peeps"

Not like “my peeps” plural for persons..   but peeps, like the sugary marshmallow  substance in the shape of a chick or a bunny..  That’s what we’re talking about today.  Peeps. I don’t like peeps but I sure wanted to see them in my Easter basket every year! That’s because they are a part of my heritage. They are a product of my youth.   Sam Born was in the business of making candy in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. His company was appropriately named “Just Born” and in 1954, peeps we’re born becoming America’s Easter candy.  The speculation  that they we’re shaped like bunnies is because Pennsylvania had a large German immigrant population and it is believed that they are credited for bringing their  Easter  tradition of a hopping egg laying rabbit to America.    The chicks, thought to come about from the  pagan symbol of the egg and birth and Spring. So there you have it, a little history of peeps. 700 million peeps are sold each Easter time. But I’m not sure anyone is really eating them.  Oh, I know… there is this huge big thing about loving peeps and the “Pro Peeps”  but who are you kidding? They taste pretty weird. I actually had someone get mad at me for saying peeps don’t taste good.  It was almost like saying “I spit on the American flag!”  the reaction I got!  But I don’t like them and I’m not sure you do either.  Want to know why I think this?  Because every single magazine on the shelf had different things you could do with peeps. (Not eating them!)  I saw a flower vase made of peeps, a lamp base, an Easter bonnet, an art deco wall hanging, flip flops (ok, I made that one up), but I think you get my drift.  People may love how cute the little peeps are but they are finding ways to use them instead of eating them! Know what I used to do with them when I was little?  Wait till they get really hard (about 2 hours into the day!) and then throw them at my brothers.  They threw them back at me (except for the one brother who actually ate his but he always was a little different). And let me tell you something… these babies could be weapons of mass destruction!  Can you imagine if we just build ourselves a big old “peeps” rocket launcher? We would have no enemies because whoever was left standing after the foray would be laughing so hard or calling up Martha Stewart to see if they could get their “peeps” invention into the next edition of “Living” magazine!!  You know how else I know no one is eating them?  Because every day after a holiday, I go to Walmart or Price Chopper or wherever , to get my Easter candy half price. (Remember, I’m cheap).  So today I arm myself with a basket prepared to replenish my stash and lo and behold.. what is left on the shelves?  About 10,000 packages of peeps!  That’s right, peeps. Did you buy peeps this year?  I thought not!  Maybe your “ peeps craft project” only need the small 6 pack. Maybe your kid/grandkids have realized how crappy peeps taste and want some good stuff in their basket.  Or maybe last year, they broke the Waterford candy dish filled with jelly beans after whipping those rock hard chickies in a game of friendly Easter warfare.  Perhaps you did buy some and they are now the only things in the basket hanging on for dear life.  I didn’t buy any half price peeps. I can’t think of anything to do with them except throw them.  But I didn’t get any peanut M&M’s either.  They had them yesterday, on Easter, at Walmart, but the morning after… no peanut M&M’s.  Where’d they go?  Maybe the peeps ate them.

"Foraging for Big Breasts"

We had dinner with our friends Deb and Larry last night. Larry is a bit of a character and has a very interesting way at looking at things.  Sometimes it takes a little while before you catch his drift, like a day or two.  But when you do, he kind of makes sense.  I say “kind of” because he’s still out there.  Last night he started a conversation by saying that he had had a revelation about life.  Now, you know it’s not going to be your classis inspirational thought but it’s always worth a good listen. He said “you know how animals start their day by foraging?” “Well, that is how I used to start my day too.” I asked him if he was out looking for food???  “No”, he said, “foraging for the things that might bring excitement into my day, like big breasts or butt cracks.”  Now a silence fell over the room as we attempted to process that statement. Then we all sort of laughed (including his wife) and began to make assorted jokes about where and what he might discover in various “foraging” situations.  He smiled and waited for us to finish, ( And to those of you who know me, the round lasted for a while).  He then began to explain.  When he was young, he was on a mission each day, to find things that stimulated his mind. He looked for big breasts and never let a pair pass without silently acknowledging the “find”. He clarified that it wasn’t just women’s body parts that he “foraged” for,  cars, tools, motorcycles things to create a moment of excitement.  But what he was saying is that he LOOKED for these moments, set out to find them.  Not so much today.  Today, the moments come to him in the simple joys of life.  He doesn’t look for them.  Sometimes, he doesn’t even notice the big breasts because he is lost in ponderings about life. He explores without the expectation of discovery.  He is more open to the gifts of the Universe and he can feel it. He listens to the robin building her nest and the call she makes to her mate.  He walks along and believes that the barking dogs are calling him to come and play.  He stops at a bench at the outlet mall in Lake George and finds peace in smelling the Adirondacks.  He says “hello” to the man jogging in the park.  No expectations, but sweet reminders of just how good life is. He thinks that one of the reasons for this transformation is that they have changed the freezer types in the markets from the ones that you used to have to bend over to get things to the tall standing freezer doors where women are… well, standing.  Once again, the room is silent.

Larry also said that life was like a spinning top, you start out at the bottom and as life spins it go up to the wide parts and then just in at the end.  I’m not sure I get that analogy.  It may take a day or two more for that one.  But he did say one time that “sometimes you’re just tired from being awake.”  I get that one. I think a great reality show would be “Foraging with Larry”.  I’m going to follow him around with a video recorder and see if I can find a producer. Or maybe I will just appreciate seeing the world through someone else’s eyes. That’s really what Cathie’s Radio Café has always been about.  What do you think about?    I won’t laugh… right away

"Time to Throw in the Towel"

Seriously.  It has been a long battle whose losing outcome has been pre-destined.  I can’t win. I know that.  I have known it all along but I have put up a good fight. I have attempted to forestall the inevitable.  I have lived in denial of the progression of this war for about 20 years. And today, I think I am ready to surrender because I’m tired of trying the thousands of strategies for conquering the opposition.  My brain has finally come to the realization that I am not young any more. Oh, all you optimist can say.. “You’re only as old as you feel.” “Phooey” I say.   I FEEL pretty damn young but the ever present signs of my aging seem to be smacking me in the head with the obvious!  And I don’t really like it very much.. no really, not at all!  Oh I know what you are thinking.. “Aging is a part of life”, “Rejoice in the years of experience that have given you those wrinkle”, “Embrace your true self without the vanity of your youth!” “Phooey” I say again. I’m not happy about all of this.  Today alone, I colored my grey roots, bought my first pair of Spanx, and after my walk, I had to stretch the kinks out!  I went shopping today and bought a spatula and a thermos. Oh, I looked at the pretty brightly colored spring clothes.  As a matter of fact, I pulled out the cutest little peasant top and realized that I probably owned one of those… 40 YEARS ago! Not thinking it would look so “cute” on me these days!  And speaking of 40 years…my 40^th high school re-union is this summer. 40 years ago, I was young. 40 years later… not so much. Everyone from my high school is re-connecting on facebook.  Good thing!  Because 40 years later.. we don’t look anything like we did and no one would recognize anyone without a name tag. We look in the mirror and see ourselves as hardly changed at all.  Until we see a photograph and we think.. “Whoa.. Really bad shot. I’m sure I look waaay better than that”. But we don’t.  We look like we went to high school 40 years ago. We still like to think we’re kind of cool except now our GROWN children are condescending and sometimes even snicker when we play air guitar to Led Zeppelin. I look in the mirror and I scream.. “NO.. you’re not going down yet!!!”.  “Hang on!”  but there is a soft little whisper in my head that says… it’s ok.  You’re not a young girl anymore.  You can have a little tummy sticking out and your neck is going to droop down a little no matter how often you work out.” The little voice says, “Maybe it’s ok to go grey, after all, you went to high school 40 years ago”.  I heard two little old ladies taking in the doctor’s waiting room about getting ready to “winter in Florida”.  One of them said, “I have put on some weight and my bathing suit doesn’t look very good” The other one said “it doesn’t matter”.  “The young men are looking at the young women and the old men are looking at the young women. No one is looking at you”.  Last summer when I was looking to find a companion on match.com, I was surprised at how many 70 year old we’re contacting me. Ewwww.  70 is way too old for me!  But the 50 something year olds were looking for the 30 somethings.   

 Miniskirts show my veins, I can’t run without peeing, my eyebrows are turning grey, and comfort has become way more important than style. I pull my neck skin back to see what I used to look like and wonder how much a face lift cost. It is a losing battle and the efforts to maintain are wearing me down.  (Maybe that’s why my butt isn’t exactly where it used to be).

 So ok, I’m going to relax a little bit.  I’m going to begin to accept the process.  I’m going to stop looking at little strapless sundresses that should be worn with very high heeled platform sandals. But I am going to dim the lights over the bathroom mirror and only be naked in candlelight, and count my blessing that my boyfriend’s eyesight is going too!

"What Do You Really Want?"

I have always been of the philosophy that we have what we want.  If you want fame and fortune, you put yourself on the path towards that objective.  If you want a life of quiet solitude, you will choose a lifestyle that accommodates your desire for peace.  The opportunities that we select are based on what we want. A noisy baby will be quieted by being held, or food, or rocking, depending on what he wants. A young child will choose a red crayon to color a house because it best describes her vision of her world. The short 12 years old chooses soccer over football because he hasn’t got much of a chance in the NFL. The young woman chooses a college that offers an excellent program in Nursing because she sees the huge potential for career longevity with a decent salary.  We all have something in mind for what we truly want.  But we often sabotage our efforts along the way because we are afraid of success and the expectations that accompany it.  We take short cuts that take us around Robin Hoods Barn! We find that the path we chose is harder than we thought! And sometimes we find that what we thought we wanted… wasn’t that great.

That’s why we’re all figuring out how we’re going to spend $550 million dollars after we hit the mega million.  Because maybe it will BUY us what we really want.  Unfortunately,history does not indicate that it will go that way. If you’re not happy with your life now, you’re not likely to happy after you win (though you may have some fun before you declare bankruptcy when it’s all gone). But the bottom line is.. what do you really want?  I’ll be honest with you.  Shoes.  I want shoes. I do not know how anyone ever works in a shoes store because how can they possibly resists all the pretty shoes?????  I once walked into my house with what was obviously a shoe box.  My then teenage son looked at me and said “How in the world can you justify what is in that box????”  I said “I don’t have to.”  End of story!  But in my mind, I have justified it.  I have a disease.  It’s called “The Cinderella Complex” (ok, I made it up but it’s still real!) You see, no matter how you feel, ugly, old, fat, skinny, …you slip on a beautiful pair of shoes, look down and say “ Ooooh wee, I sure do look fine and these babies are coming home with me!” You know, glass slipper thing. My brother once asked me how many pairs of shoes I owned.  I asked him if flip flops counted.  He said “YEAH.” (like I was stupid or something). I said “I don’t know.” He said “how is that possible that you don’t know?”  I simply said that I don’t want to know. (because then I would have to acknowledge my “disease” and do something about it.)  

My life is good.  I have all I really need to survive. And if I hit the big jackpot, I’m giving most of it away because I don’t need it.  But we all know how this is going to play out though.  If I win, there is going to be one hell of shopping day and you are all invited to join me.  Please keep in mind, we are not looking at jewels, clothes, handbags, home furnishings, electronics, or cars.  We’re buying shoes. And we’re not going to the clearance rack or count how many shoes we bought. Then whatever’s left, I’ll give away and try to do some good in the world. Maybe I’ll make sure that every little girl that wants a pretty pair of shoes will have them.  Then set up a network of support groups for “The Cinderella Complex”.

"Whistlin Dixie"

“Can you believe it??? Some guy was whistling in the post office!!!!!”  “Really?”  I said very excitedly.  “That was definitely invading my space!’ he said. “It was like someone talking on their cell phone!”

I don’t know.  There are lots of sounds that annoy me like jazz and my bathroom exhaust fan. I’m not too crazy about a screaming kid but I’m pretty good at tuning that out since I know it’s not my kid these days!  Crows barking down at me when I’m on my walk irritate me. And someone talking on their cell phone when I am in a restaurant really bothers me.  But whistling? Nope, that doesn’t bother me ever.  I like whistling. I like it a lot!  I think it is amazing that people CAN whistle.  I can’t. I don’t know why.  I just can’t. I ask people how do you whistle and they say, as they purse their lips together,.. “you just do this”  and then they whistle. I purse my lips and try and push some air through but nothing, nada, no musical sounds.  So WHENEVER I hear whistling, I like it. Hell, you can whistle in the library for all I care.  I won’t be shushing you.  I just won’t be joining in. I might hum along with you if you don’t mind. I just can’t whistle.

But I can Hula Hoop.  I know what you’re thinking.  “What does Hula Hooping have to do with whistling?”  Well, not everyone can Hula Hoop and I don’t know why.   I was even a little Hula Hoop champion when I was 4 years old. I can still Hula Hoop for hours and often do it while I’m watching TV. Some people, though, can’t.  I don’t know how that is possible!  You just start swinging the thing around your waist and then move to keep it going!  How can you not be able to Hula Hoop?   Oh.. probably like me not being able to whistle.. huh?

There is great power in knowing our strengths and our weaknesses. We are all not blessed with the same abilities.  Can you imagine if all the Super Heros had the same super powers?  No one would be reading comic books because it wouldn’t be any fun!   But we’re all really good at something and there is always that something that we can’t do. (Superman can’t become invisible.)  Sometimes, it’s ok to admit defeat.  I stopped trying to whistle years ago.  That may be why it never ever bothers me to hear someone make beautiful music by just doing in this… (whatever it is that you whistlers do!)

Try to come up with 5 things you are really good at.  It’s not as easy as you might think.  Then come up with 5 things you’re not so good at.  Way easier. That being said, let’s all try and focus on our strengths. You can whistle while I Hula Hoop.

"The Jig is Up"

We were sitting in a  little bakery café in Chatham and I had really been wanting a great tasting baked treat, like a pie, or a scone, or a cookie.  I ordered an oatmeal raisin cookie with my coffee.  Joe wasn’t hungry, he just got coffee.   We sat outside on the patio. It was an absolutely glorious day. The temperature was in the high seventies, it was sunny and we were in Chatham (which will be our new home soon.)  I could not have been happier or so I thought.  I took one bite of my cookie and knew perfection.  It was amazing.  Really.  I had another bite as we chatted about the day.  I took another bite as I slowly maneuvered the cookie closer to me. I nonchalantly took  my napkin and hid most of the cookie that was left.  I wanted it to look like there was hardly any cookie worth sharing. He asked how my cookie was.   I nodded with a head shake as if to say.. “It’s ok.” But inside my head I was screaming “IT IS THE MOST DELICIOUS COOKIE I HAVE EVER EATEN AND I DON’T WANT YOU TO HAVE ANY OF IT!!!!!”   There I said it.  To you.   But not to him.  I knew that we could just go buy another cookie but I could see it going this way.  He gets a bite. He says “that’s a great cookie!”.  I say “want to get one for yourself?”  He says.  “No, I’m not really hungry; I’ll just take one more little piece of yours.”  And there you have it. I’m out 2 bites of the best cookie I’ve ever had.  So I just acted like it was “ok”.  And he didn’t ask for a bite. (and because I made it look like there was hardly any left!)  Whew! I had the whole cookie myself.  And I’m happy about that.  Not feeling the least bit guilty about it. Except tonight when we were talking about these crappy cookies that I bought at WalMart, well then I told him about my transgression. I came clean. I said sorry.  (I didn’t mean it, though) He was good about it.  He understood. (but he must now realize that I can be a bit selfish and wonder about some other things!)

It reminded me of my life years ago.  I had an allowance to work with for feeding my 3 growing boys and their clothes and household stuff.  It wasn’t much of an allowance but I did the best I could with it. I was very careful with extravagant food purchases and usually bought the least expensive, store brand treats. But sometimes, I was just dying for a GOOD cookie! (Like Pepperidge Farms Milanos.) And so sometimes, I would buy a pack for me.  Not for them.  Because they could never appreciate the good cookies the way I do.  My house was always filled with boys, not just mine.  And when I came home from the market, I would beep my horn in the driveway and boys would come down to unload the groceries. One day, a lot of boys came down to unload.  After they brought the bags inside, they began to put them away.  One kid looked up at me and said “Mrs. G?  Your cookies go up here behind the flour, right?”  The “jig was up.”  They all knew that I selfishly bought myself the GOOD cookies.

 I thought I was over that.  I thought I had done much better at sharing.  I thought I was a generous, giving, person now.   Apparently not. The “jig is up.”  I’m not.  Not when it comes to really good cookies.  I could say that the next time we’re in Chatham, I will offer him  a piece of my cookie, but probably not. Maybe someday…

"Entertain me, Damn it!"

We shout at the TV.  “Entertain me Damn it!”  Amuse my mind or divert me from my thoughts and worries as I sit in judgment of your performance. Hold my attention so that I do not become bored with my own ideas.  Make me laugh or cry or feel something other than what I’m already feeling. You, who have chosen to be entertainers, (and those who were forced into the profession), I will decide if you are good enough.  Hell, a long time ago, I would have been deciding whether or not you lived!!!

We have demanded to be entertained from the beginning.  Take me away from my drudgery. Sing for me, dance for me, fight for me so that I may be delighted in your efforts. But I will judge you.  If I do not like your performance, I will send you to the gallows or to the lions or to the unemployment line.  Oh, I know, you put your heart and soul into every act.  But still, you put it out there for me and I just might not like it or you. Ok, you LOVE to dance.  Great, but you had better be good if you’re doing it other than in your living room, otherwise.. well, I decide.  Of course, not me alone.  The King will have a say, the Emperor, the Sultan, the Council, the Masses, thumbs up or thumbs down, Baby. So you’d best entertain me, your life may depend on it.

That was pretty dramatic, I know, but it really did used to be like that.  Today, mostly, we just vote you off the show.  And you’re not really professional entertainers, you’re “real”.  We watch you sing on the Voice, American Idol, Americas’ got talent, (we had The Gong Show before the rest of this reality TV). We watch you dance, lose weight, hurl yourselves at giant rubber balls, and we make judgments on your performance.  Sometimes we think we could do waaaaaay better at whatever you’re doing but we’re saying that from our living couches as you “entertain” us.  Some of us actually seem to have some sort of degree in talent rating as though we have all produced so many entertainers.  “No”, we say, “you’re pitchy” (like I know what that means!) and “that outfit is horrible!” and “you’re too old to be dancing like that”.  We watch these shows because we are entertained and because we take part in the outcome. We sit in judgment of your performance just like if we were sitting in a theater, applauding with gusto or heckling to show our disappointment.  Now we sit in our little houses deciding your fate as you take the very brave step of entertaining us.

Our lives are filled with daily stresses.  No lion is chasing us but our way of living is hectic and exhausting.  We are not physically tired from plowing the fields but we need to “shut off” our thoughts to relax.  If you want to know just how busy our minds have become, try meditating.  Just try and quiet your thoughts and body.  You will see  how difficult it is to be still.  That is why we need to be entertained.  That is why we pay a lot of money to the cable company and why reality TV leads the market in viewers.  We have loved watching competitions on TV but we were watching the “professional” judges rate your “professional” performance.

Now anyone can put on their sequins and attempt to please me.  Thank you, but sorry, you’re timing was off a bit. You’re going back home to being a dishwasher.

"I Know the Difference between Men and Women"

 my six year old son said to his big brother.  Ben, ever so patient and kind, said to his little brother… “what is the difference, Joey?”  “Well, women wear earrings and men don’t” he proclaimed.  Ben told him that that was not the case in that men today often wear an earring and pirates wear them all the time.”  “Ok” Joey said, “Women have long hair and men have short hair.”  Ben explained to him that men can wear their hair very long, showing him examples of current rock stars, and that women sometimes wear their hair very short.  About to give up on the process, Joey shouts  “I know.. women don’t fart and men are proud of theirs’!!!!!”  Ben smiled at his little brother, shook his head and said “That’s right, Joey.  That is the difference between men and women.”

To all the women who have dated my sons over the years, I’m sorry.  I know, I should have told them that we fart too but I just couldn’t.  If you ever farted in front of them, I’m sure they looked at you like you were some alien goddess thing from some comic book planet. (Especially if you had really big  boobs) I didn’t let them know.  I even let them take the blame for one that might have slipped out silently. Women aren’t proud of our farts.  We do not call attention to them .  We do not even call them “farts”. We say “passing wind”  or “a little gas”.  When my Father had a little gas,  he would explain to anyone within earshot,  “I shot a bunny.”  He shot a lot of bunnies.  As a matter of fact, I not sure he ever missed an opportunity to “shoot a bunny”.  He seemed pretty proud of his marksmanship.  With the male species, there is always a “squeaky chair” a “duck call”  “cutting cheese”  “stepping on a toad” etc. But no matter what they call it, they like to bring attention to it with pride.  It might be that there is some sort of rating system for farts but if so, I’m a woman and I wouldn’t even begin to understand the criteria for judging.  You see, I’m embarrassed to “pass wind”,  “let out a little gas”.  Oh I know it’s just a body function and that we all do it.  But I just might be a lot more comfortable farting if you did not call attention to my farts as well as your own. Because we have tried hard to be more ladylike and not fart in front of you, when we do, you seem to think it is a call to celebrate.  I’m not giving you a high five for my fart, just not going to do that. I didn’t mean to fart.  I didn’t just “lift a cheek and let er’ rip.” It just somehow sneaked out. “Let er’ rip” is what the nurse told my boyfriend after he had his colonoscopy.  He said “that’s what I do any way!”.  He doesn’t.  He’s pretty considerate about farting.  He just wanted the nurse to know that he was “proud” of his farts.

To my grown sons, I’m sorry.  I should have told you.  I hope that this misunderstanding has not been a factor in your relationships and that this is not the reason why NONE of you are married yet.  So when you meet a woman and it all seems just right, and she lets out a little squeak, look at her tenderly, and say, “beans do that to me too”.  Instead of “Whoooooa.. Did you just lay down a big fat juicy one??????” I hope this instruction is not too late.

Dear Joey, there is a huge difference between men and women, a chasm so deep that I cannot even begin to tell you.  I’m sure you already know that.   Farting in one of the differences.  We all do it but women do not appreciate this bodily function with the same gusto as you.  Some day, when you are raising your little family,  tell the girls it’s ok to pass wind and let the boys know that we do but don’t want to talk about it.    Parenting advice from your Mom who occasionally farts.