Valerie's Blog

I'M IN A PANIC--AND MORE THAN USUAL

By Valerie Newman July 18, 2023

As you might already be aware, my usual state of being is on the edge of panic. But today, I've tipped over the edge. I'm freaked because someone just delivered a new computer on my doorstep. I know, right? The nerve, the audacity.

I wasn't even consulted. In fact, family members committed this crime behind my back. No, silly--they didn't steal it. They actually bought a new computer for our home use. Since this is a family blog, I'll refrain from swearing. I do feel like it, so please excuse me while I let out a string of profanities.

OK, I'm back. I've been dreading this day for YEARS. Son's been threatening to do this for all those years. Why? He's a techie. When he first started working with computers, he was actually six years old. I had to drive him to his clients. Over time, he trained me to be the administrative assistant. When clients called for him, I'd ask three questions. The most important question was: How old is your computer? Son coached me that if the computer was older than five years, I needed to tell them that he'd consult with them as to where to buy a new one and what type to purchase. His mantra was that he would NEVER support a piece of electronics older than five years.

I realize completely that I've been a thorn in his back for at least 15 years. (Well, I've probably been a thorn for him since he was born, but I'm strictly referring now to my use of technology--or lack thereof.)

Like the shoe maker's daughter running barefoot, this techie's mom refuses to learn how to use a new computer. In fact, when he bought a new one to sit side by side my old one, I called the new one the "Shi--y" one. If mine broke down, I'd call him to ask him to fix it. He'd ask "Do you mean the Dell or the Apple?" And I'd say, "I don't know the answer to that, but it's mine. The one I like--NOT the "shi--y" one. You want to hear something so funny? He'd actually suggest that I learn to use the OTHER computer.

He only did that because he moved VERY far away, so apparently, he forgot what I'm really like. He actually thought that I could learn to use a completely different PC than the one that I've been using for 15 years. Every time something broke on mine, or it was too slow (pretty much every day for the last ten years) I hesitated to bother him. Because I knew he'd threaten to buy me a new one. But, of course, the hesitation only lasted a second. Because, after all, he wouldn't even be here if it weren't for me and besides, more importantly, I served as his administrative assistant and marketing manager for many years, and never asked for a dime.

Who am I hurting by wanting to keep my dinosaur computer? Son arranged it so that he could look at my computer, even though he doesn't live withing a million miles of me (OK, my geography is as good as my technological skills.) And he would routinely update it, clean it, manage it and milk it so that it could limp along and keep me happy.

And so I'm completely confused as to why he'd want me to buy a new one. Mine works just fine. OK, it's super slow--but what do I care? I'm retired. I'm not in a rush. I'd rather have a slow, dependable turtle than a fast jack rabbit that I don't understand how to control. He and husband teamed up and without any input from me or my consent, ordered a new computer.

My mouth dropped when I discovered this traitorous act. And then I soothed myself. "OK, fine," I said. "But I can continue to use mine anyway," I declared.

"It's just like your old one--you'll be able to adjust easily," son said when I called him in a panic.

Boy, he really has forgotten what I'm actually like. The new beast is sitting on the front steps. Maybe it will be too heavy for husband to carry in. Maybe he won't know how to set it up. Maybe he won't be able to detach my favorite computer. If you stop seeing any more blogs, you'll understand why. If I never used the shi--y computer, you can sure bet on the fact that I'm NOT going to adjust to the traitor computer.

Next thing you know, the kids will throw me out and trade up for a new model. Oh wait, they both already did that by getting married and obtaining younger, cooler mothers in law. I won't mind being put out to pasture--as long as I can bring my old computer with me.

PLEASE HELP ME KEEP MY MOUTH SHUT

By Valerie Newman July 6, 2023

Daughter and husband just bought a house. I know that you're thinking that's good news. Yes, we're very happy for them. But here's the thing: It came with a hot tub. I know that you're thinking that this is also wonderful news. OK, maybe it will help husband's and my aging knees feel good when the new homeowners get it up and running and we happen to be invited over on a day when the weather permits.

Between heat waves, high allergy levels and bad air quality alerts, that pretty much means never. At least for us. That is not what's worrying me. Call me selfish, but I'm hoping to keep son in law out of the hot tub.

Why? Because, as usual--it's all about me. I WANT GRANDCHILDREN. But I've heard that hot tubs can fry a guy's ability to be fruitful. (this is a family blog and so you'll notice how delicately I'm phrasing certain concepts.)

However, far be it from me to tell this to daughter. (or son in law.) Lest they think that I'm nagging or interfering. Besides, they routinely doubt every factoid that I've ever lovingly offered in any kind of conversation ever. I just read your mind: I know that I email daughter my blogs before posting them. As I told you a few blogs ago, though--she's stopped reading them. I guess they bore her. Which is why I can openly discuss with you, my one other reader: How do I keep son in law out of the hot tub without seeming like I'm meddling?

Please keep in mind that its virtually impossible for me to keep my mouth shut. OK, I think I've figured it out. Thank you for your input! I'm going to find an article on the hot tub health concerns and forward it to them if in fact, it mentions anything about creating male infertility. And if they don't get too ticked off, I might look for articles on wearing boxers versus briefs and avoiding tight pants. And THAT's only how a guy can improve fertility--don't even get me started on stuff I'd like to tell daughter.

I can only aggravate one adult kid at a time, though, so I have to strategize. Normal people simply become grandparents without even having to try. In my next life, perhaps I should try to be normal. It's too late now, though, because everyone in my family already knows how "unique" I am.

If you're already a grandparent and this miracle occurred because of your meddling, please share your secrets with me immediately. And I'll keep you posted as to whether or not I can find any "helpful" articles that I can forward to my off spring, as well as their reactions to these efforts.

Now let's keep this whole conversation between us!

WHY AM I CONSIDERED A MONSTER IF I WANT TO RE-GIFT MY DOG?

By Valerie Newman July 12, 2023

You'd think that I've committed a crime. My neighbors are SHOCKED when I tell them that we're giving our dog to our daughter and son in law. They look at me like I'm some kind of monster, probably a scary one. Why?

"No--you're kidding, right?" one neighbor asked the other day. "Why would you do THAT!?" she shrieked.

I have a sh-- ton of reasons, but first, please, allow me to share some other neighborly responses.

"Of course you won't! You'll miss him too much."

"What, are you crazy?"

"That's like giving away your arm--or your kid. NO ONE DOES THAT!"

First of all, why don't some of these neighbors walk our dog when it's 90 degrees and there's an air quality alert. They might be called the dog days of summer, but for me, this is not a breeze!

Where are they when it's freezing cold and the wind chill is 20 miles an hour and it's icy, but the dog wants to take ten minutes every few steps to sniff like he's making the world's most important, tricky decision, to decide exactly where he's going to pee. And this continues for miles. I know what you're thinking--why don't I just pick him up and carry him home? Well here's my answer, smarty pants: You're barking up the wrong tree. I'm afraid that I'm going to slip simply walking the dog, let alone carrying him.

Could I ask any of these neighbors to watch the dog if husband and I decide, spur of the moment, to go to the beach for the day, or New York or to visit friends out of town?

Secondly, many of these dog owning neighbors have silent fences for their dogs. They don't really have to walk them. These pet owners only take the dog for short walks when the owners feel like it. My dog is too tiny for the silent fence collar and so, each time he needs to pee or poop, I'm stuck dropping everything so that he can do his business.

I took care of kids, then my parents, then my spouse during heart surgeries and recuperation periods. And for 11 &1/2 years, I've been taking care of the dog.

Now I want to be free. What's so dog-gone awful about that?

I might miss him, yes, but I won't miss being woken up at 7 a.m. by the "I need to go out" bark. I won't miss how he scratches my leg to tell me that he needs to go out when I'm in the middle of ANYTHING. I won't miss having to figure out who is going to watch him if we want to go on vacation or simply go away for a day.

And daughter wants the dog, anyway. I'm not sure why she wants the little hassle ( I mean Yorkie) but why should she spend money to buy or adopt a dog when she can have ours for free? But since my entire neighborhood is up in arms about this, I guess we'll have to do some kind of clandestine operation. I've already sneaked out some of his stuff for her to bring to her house.

Why do I feel like I'm committing a crime? Daughter and son in law will take good care of this eight pound bundle of work (I mean joy.) And the dog adores them.

It's a win-win, as far as I'm concerned. Now as long as daughter doesn't "paws" to read this blog, I think this whole transfer can go off without a hitch--and I can be done working like a dog.

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE NOTION THAT IT'S HEALTHY TO GO OUTSIDE FOR FRESH AIR?

By Valerie Newman June 7, 2023

Remember when your mom would tell you to go outside to play? And it was a healthy idea?

Now you can't even open a window without coughing, getting a head ache and irritated eyes.

First it was the wildfires in California. Who would have thought that we'd have to worry about that on the East Coast?

And now, Canada has sent us the same treatment.

The irony is in the fact that we got solar panels--to be environmentally friendly. But the minute they were installed, the wildfires started raging. And the pollution headed to our place. The constant haze prevents the sun from shining on our roof. Our solar panels are ineffectual because someone else polluted on the opposite coast--or in another country.

"Stay inside--it's bad air quality!" daughter cautioned us the other day--or has it been a week by now? She knows that her parents have more than one risk factor relating to air quality issues.

She hadn't considered the following: We have a dog. He loves to walk several miles a day to put one drop of pee on every single neighbor's curb, mail box or fire hydrant. I have no idea how he carries this much pee in his tiny body. He also takes several minutes to strategize on the exact location of every one of his pee drops.

I know that you're going to say TMI, but that has never stopped me. He poops at least three times a day--and if you marveled at how many minutes he debates the location of each pee, don't even get me started on how long it takes him to figure out where he's going to conduct his real business. And believe me, I pray that a neighbor, car or other animal doesn't come within a mile of us when he's finally decided to make his deposit.

Therefore, essentially, I'm outside with the Yorkie for hours each day. He doesn't care about health advisories regarding his parents. We just recently stopped wearing masks inside--and now I've gotten in the habit of wearing one outside--hoping that the mask will keep the pollutants from entering my lungs. It makes me think of the movie "Jaws": "Just when you thought it was safe to go in the water....."

"Just let him out in the back yard fenced in area," daughter suggested smugly.

I've tried that, of course, but he simply stands there, waiting to be carried back up the steps. He's kind of picky as to where he goes to the bathroom. And I get that. I think he inherited that from me, because I'd rather wet my pants than pee in an outhouse. Or a gas station bathroom.

And, once again, I've digressed. The point I was trying to get across is that air pollution stinks. Literally. It reminds me of the song from the musical "Hair", which came out when I was a kid. "Hello, carbon dioxide, hello, carbon monoxide--the air, the air is everywhere. Breathe deep while you sleep, breathe deep!"

We hoped that raising consciousness about this issue would help clear the air. And yet, the reverse has happened.

To make matters worse, these record breaking bad air days coincided with a malfunction of our front door's key pad lock system. "Who cares?" I asked husband.

"Don't you think it's kind of important to be able to lock the front door?" he asked facetiously.

And that meant, that he grabbed his tool box, opened the door and spent way too much time fixing it.

"At this point, you might as well let someone break in, because they're only going to find us asphyxiated anyway. You've let all the unhealthy air seep into the house and now it's not even safe inside!" I kvetched.

"How about saying 'thank you.'?" he said, triumphantly shutting the front door.

WHOSE EASIER TO RAISE TO ADULTHOOD: YOUR KID OR YOUR DOG?

By Valerie Newman May 24, 2023

Do I have selective amnesia, or could I be correct in thinking that my dog is more of a hassle than my kids ever were? I've been having an ongoing discussion with son in law. He declared the other day that "Kids are too much work." Everyone I tell this to agrees, but says that they had them anyway. And they don't regret it.

That would have been the logical response, but I'm not fooling anyone. We all know that I'm illogical. While I agree that dogs toilet train much quicker and also learn to sleep through the night much faster, I don't remember thinking that my kids were a lot of work.

But my dog exhausts me. And he's not a puppy anymore. He's actually 11. He still wants me to get down on the ground, play tug of war with his toys and will endlessly ask to play fetch with me. He begs to go on long walks several times a day. Son played quietly in his room with Legos and other building toys and as he got older, he'd build rockets, robots or computers. He didn't require a lot of attention. He taught himself how to cook and would often make coffee for me in the morning. The only challenge I had with son was when he was a colicky baby.

Daughter slept through the night from the day we brought her home from the hospital. We actually had to wake her up to feed her. And she toilet trained herself at a year and a half. The only challenge we had with her was when she was the toddler from Hell, cutting our leather chairs, using permanent markers on one sectional sofa and ink address stamps on our other one. She also would run down grocery aisles, grabbing and throwing items or trying to hide from me.

Other than those brief stages where we paid our dues, our kids didn't fight with each other and kind of raised themselves.

"The dog has been much more work than both kids combined," I told son in law.

He called me out on that, though. "Are you kidding? I see how much work my brother and his wife face each day getting their daughter ready for the day, going anywhere with her, keeping track of what she eats, all the diaper changes," he started counting a long list of chores associated with baby care.

I protested: "But our dog never grew up. He's still a toddler."

"Yet, you can leave him home along for hours and you can't do that with a little kid," daughter argued.

"I always have to run home to let him out," I countered.

"Most normal people leave their dogs for hours. You're the only one I know who lets the dog run their life. When we watch him, we both work and he sleeps all day and is so low maintenance!" she shot back.

The whole discussion got me wondering: Were your kids more work than your dog(s)? I don't remember doing a lot of work to take care of my kids. Is that just me?

"What about all the places you had to drive them?" son in law asked.

"We got to talk and we'd have fun and then I'd enjoy watching them play their sport or or instrument or hear about their accomplishments and challenges," I explained.

Maybe the dog tires me out more because I'm older now. Or maybe it feels more like work because I can't chat with him except in my imagination.

Besides, my kids could tell me if they had an upset stomach or something was bothering them. And they didn't bark at every passing squirrel. And they didn't try to run in the street after age two. And they didn't try to bite me when I'd try to remove a tick on them. And at age 11, they weren't waking me up in the morning so that they could go to the bathroom. And I never had to walk outside with them in bitter cold with snow or ice on the ground, either.

I'm going to stick with the notion that kids are easier than dogs. I wonder what your perspective is--am I the only one who thinks this way?

WHAT PROFESSION IS SAFE TODAY?

By Valerie Newman June 5, 2023

Growing up, I thought I was worried about SAT tests and which college would accept me. Then I became concerned about finding a job and making a living. I didn't know real stress, though, until I had kids. But when they both earned their degrees and entered the work world, I thought my worries were behind me.

Who would have predicted, though, that I'd have to be concerned about daughter's very survival when she became a teacher? When she was little and decided to be a teacher, I remember thinking to myself: "phew." It's not like she told me that she'd be joining the military or law enforcement or the FBI. I could picture her at the black board with the students all sitting in their seats learning to read and write.

Boy, was I in for a rude awakening. Between COVID, school shootings and students' violence towards each other, I was this close to asking her to explore other career paths. OK, I told myself, they're probably having the kids go through metal detectors now and school security is so much tighter today. I also reassured myself that COVID is under control now.

And then, silly me, I read today's paper. Now I've learned that the students are assaulting their teachers. There is now a large percentage of teachers reporting violence against them.

When I was growing up, if you made trouble, the teacher or principal spanked you. And then they called your parents. And you probably got punished some more.

And now, when my own kid becomes a teacher, she is taking her own life in her hands. Students are turning against their teachers.

If teaching isn't a safe job choice now, what profession is really safe? Maybe that's why so many of us are working from home now. Remote workers don't have to even think about harassment, bullying or office violence. Although I guess I hadn't thought about cyber bullying and your computer getting hacked.

Well, now you know why husband and I are in the process of retiring.

And perhaps today's employees should be grateful that AI will be taking over their jobs--at least they can take comfort to know that they can be safe. All they'll need to hope for is that AI technology won't mimic the bad behavior of their former colleagues, bosses or students.

DO YOU HAVE A RUNNING LIST OF QUESTIONS SWISHING AROUND YOUR HEAD?

By Valerie Newman May 30, 2023

Am I the only one who is constantly curious about a hole host of topics?

Like, for instance, do you think that there is a direct correlation between how much you worried about/nagged your kids when they were growing up and how much they worry/nag you when they're grown up and they think that you're a Senior adult?

When you get bitten by a tick and you look up the symptoms of Lyme: tired, achy joints, headache--do you also wonder (that's my life every day--how can I tell if I really have Lyme or it's just my usual aches and pains?)

Why is everyone so freaked out and judging me about the fact that I'm giving my dog to daughter and son in law? Is that a crime? Why are people (all my neighbors so upset about it?)

Is it because they enjoy laughing at me that I walk him ten times a day? Do they find it entertaining that he seems to be walking me? Does it thrill them to hear me having fake conversations with my dog throughout the day? Do they think it's comical to watch me try to keep up with him, especially on icy days?

When did I become an old fart? When we first moved into the neighborhood, we were a young couple with a toddler. Everyone else seemed like an old fart. Now our kids grew up and moved away and all these young families have just moved in--and husband and I are the old farts. When did that happen and how did it happen?

Will our dog be relieved to move into a house with normal people? Will he be thinking to himself: "Thank God this young couple adopted me. The people I used to live with were really crazy and annoying, especially the woman."

If other people are curious like me, are they wondering about this same kind of stuff or is everyone else in the world concerned about less important matters, like, for instance, when the Ukraine war will end, will the robots take over the universe and how we can solve world hunger.

If these worries are consuming you, I suggest you replace serious, nerve wracking questions with lighter subjects, like this one: Will husband's classmates think I'm his trophy wife if I show up with grey hair to his 50th high school reunion this weekend? Or--why does husband, who has been a couch potato for YEARS join a fitness center two months ago and already look like Arnold Schwarzenegger?

MY TAKE AWAY FROM A RECENT VACATION IS QUITE DIFFERENT THAN THAT OF OTHER ADULTS (OR NORMAL PEOPLE)

By Valerie Newman May 10, 2023

We were very fortunate to take a once in a life time trip to Japan. I bet you'll never guess what impressed me the most.

I already know what you're picturing: Mount Fuji. It was hazy the couple of days that we could have seen it, so I didn't get a super clear view of it. I did, however, live in Denver for a few years and thus, I've already seen lots of very high mountain peaks.

I bet that you think I was wowed by the shrines, temples, palaces and gardens I toured. Yes I was. They were ornate and beautiful. I also enjoyed Japanese food, which I haven't given a fair try in America. And, I was very pleased with how respectful Japanese people are, how they welcomed us foreign tourists and how clean and safe each community felt.

And yet, this is all completely off topic. What really knocked my socks off was the Japanese bathrooms. But don't ask for the bathroom--that's an unfamiliar phrase in Japan. They do know the word "toilet", though. And once you get used to a Japanese toilet, you won't want to pee anywhere else.

I never thought that toilets could be this high tech. Or this wonderful. We are so behind Japan regarding our restrooms, please excuse the pun.

I thought it was hot sh-- when American bathrooms started offering automatic soap. And I was equally moved when public restrooms installed automatic sinks. Foam soap was another sensation. But these don't hold water when compared to the Japanese lavatory.

I am not making up any of this. Their toilet seats are heated. And I don't mean simply in a hotel or restaurant. I mean everywhere. They have automatic dry wash soap dispensers inside each stall. The lids come down slowly and automatically.

And don't even get me started on the actual toilets. You practically need a PhD to operate them; they are a complex, environmentally conscious act of genius. There's a button to press if you want it to play music in order to drown out the sound of your bathroom duties. There's a built in bidet to clean your butt and a button to press if you want to clean other exposed parts of your body. There's a button to press for pee-pees, one for feminine discharge and two for poops. One poop button is if you've deposited a tiny donation and the other is for if you've had bigger business to conduct. Our tour guide explained that the various flushes use varying water power and that it saves water for all the times that you haven't had a volcano eruption.

If I were her, I'd have been bursting with pride when explaining the features of the bathroom receptacle. But she was very matter of fact. "The music button is pressed most of all here because no one in Japan wants others to hear their business," I was glad that our tour guide was a woman so that I could get a lesson in what the buttons were all about.

If I didn't have my reading glasses on when nature called, though, I couldn't distinguish one button from the next. I can't read Japanese and the letters were way too small anyway. So I do have a confession to make. Though I did enjoy the heated seats, the button selection was over my head (even though they were actually located way below that a area of my body.) I'm still bowing to the Japanese because a cousin of ours, who was on the tour with us, informed husband and I that the the water cleansing bidet is better for the environment than using toilet paper. He also said that it's healthier for your bottom.

Whether you fully use all the Japanese toilet's feature's or not, I'm going to propose a toast to the inventors and manufacturers of this unique bathroom fixture. Now, bottoms up!

DO YOU TRUST WAZE, OR DO YOU THINK YOU KNOW BETTER?

By Valerie Newman May 12, 2023

Waze and GPS were a miracle for me. I have the world's worst sense of direction. I could and often do get lost in my own closet--and it's not even a walk in. And it's NOT because I'm looking through clothes to decide what to wear. My closet mostly stores dresses, which I avoid wearing at all costs. I'm baring my soul so that you'll get an accurate picture of how directionally challenged I am.

I'm extremely grateful for these navigational apps because it's given me the freedom to venture past my own town. You might be wondering why I wasn't driving anywhere I wanted to before these apps were invented because I could have always read a map. Maps look to me like someone puked on paper. You might as well ask me to do trigonometry in my head.

I won't drive anywhere until I know that my phone understands where I'm going and I'm certain that there's a phone charger in my car. Of course, I also have everyone in my family tracking my location. Husband and kids know where I am at all times. That works for me because I usually venture out to a handful of locations, I'm not leading a secret life and I feel safer knowing that I could call one of them to ask for assistance if need be.

Some people, though, don't trust WAZE. Someone (husband) actually HATES WAZE. He gets really ticked off at WAZE on a routine basis. And most of the time, he completely ignores it. Here's a sample of a typical car conversation between the two (or three if you count WAZE) of us.

"OK, we're headed to (name the distant location). Let's turn on WAZE," I'll suggest.

"NO way. WAZE is crazy. Last time it had me get off the highway for one exit and go all over town to get back on the high way one exit later," husband will protest.

"That's because it must have known that there was construction or an accident causing traffic in that spot," I attempt to explain.

"Or it's stupid. Or it wants to clear up the bottleneck by causing another one in town," he protests.

I don't listen to husband and turn on WAZE. And he'll proceed to ignore it. And then, of course, we get caught in traffic. Yet, he'll still be smug. "We're moving at 20 miles an hour with no lights or stop signs. Even with traffic, we're going to get there quicker by ignoring WAZE," he'll insist.

Today, though, it became comical. We were coming home from the beach and I knew it was rush hour. He saw me pulling out my phone. A sly smile spread across his face.

"Go ahead. Let's see who wins. Your WAZE says that it will take 28 minutes to get home. And I know that I can beat it by going my way. I won't speed or anything. On your mark, get set GO!" she challenged as he put the pedal to the metal. First we got caught behind a school letting out. Then we got caught behind a school bus. Then we found that his route was blocked by a police detour. He wasn't deterred or perturbed. "I'm still going to beat it!" he declared with confidence.

"You are the only person I know who makes a contest with WAZE! Everyone else appreciates it and yet to you, it's the enemy," I say with a laugh.

And with that, we pull into our driveway. "I made it in 28 minutes, too. So we're tied," he announced proudly.

"Good for you. At least we know that WAZE isn't a moron and that you're as sharp as a top computer app. Maybe, eventually, you can learn to respect each other and get along!"

HELP! I BECAME A TYPICAL AMERICAN

By Valerie Newman March 28, 2023

The average American watches a whole lot of TV, even if it's on different devices today. Since it got too complicated for me to watch TV, I haven't really been one to watch much of it. What with having to figure out which channel changer to use, which clicker to point at which layer of electronics and what streaming device to chose, it was all way over my head.

And even when husband tutored me and I actually learned how to watch "Downton Abby", for instance, (don't judge me--I know you watched it ten years ago) I always felt that I had too much to do to watch TV. I do admit that I might have indulged now and then to watch an episode of that or "Young Sheldon."

But then sprained a muscle in near my hip during yoga class. The doctor told me to forgo yoga, weight lifting, etc and to walk and apply heat to my hip.

I have to sit down to apply heat. I'm not used to simply sitting down.

And yet, now I have a legit excuse. I grabbed the heating pad and sat down on our massage chair. And I actually turned on the TV. To be honest with you, husband did. He was so happy to see me sitting for once, that he volunteered to put on "Ted Lasso." And then he left the room.

Then the transformation began. I became mesmerized. I morphed into a couch potato. I binge watched. I watched three shows in a row. I kept turning on the heating pad for another round, turning the massage chair back on and letting the TV continue to play. Though I felt my muscles atrophying and my mind losing IQ points, I laughed, I cried and I enjoyed.

Finally, I had to pee. And then I'm proud to report that I knew how to turn off the TV.

"Oh my God!" I declared to husband. "This is so embarrassing. I watched three episodes. What a waste of time!" I admitted sheepishly.

"What's the big deal? Most of America does that on a regular basis!" he retorted.

I guess I've become a typical American, I thought to myself. Don't worry, though--this won't last for long. As soon as I can work out again I'll give up the sitting and grab those weights or yoga mat.

But for now, don't tell anyone: I'm going to binge watch at least two episodes of "Modern Family."

By Valerie Newman April 20, 2023

My kids asked the impossible yesterday. Husband and I are going to

Japan. First of all, stop worrying about us getting ripped off while

we're away. By the time I have time or remember to post this, we'll be

back home, I promise you. But that's not the point.

The point is, our adult kids had a conversation the other day. They

started to picture how I fail to obey social norms. They started to

think of how I act like a lunatic in public. They started to talk about

how my irreverent behavior might get me in trouble in Japan or other

oversea layovers.

Daughter called me with their concerns: "Don't swear during your

travels. You're supposed to speak softly in Japan. If you act wild and

crazy you could get in big trouble in Taiwan. And don't say anything

against China there," she said. She read me a long do and don't list

from some travel website.

You know me, though, I stopped paying attention the second she

instructed me not to swear. Everyone knows that THAT would be the

impossible dream.

"When was the last time I behaved like a 'normal' person?" I asked her.

"That's what we're worried about!" she complained. "I'm only asking you

to watch your language and behavior for two weeks. And she continued to

read some kind of behavior chart. "Don't touch people in Taipei. You're

supposed to bow instead of shake hands."

As it isn't challenging enough to pack COVID tests, put my toiletries in

tiny containers, pack all my medicine, chargers, etc, I know have to

remember how to act like a completely different person? Why hadn't she

or her brother thought to tell me this stuff BEFORE we booked the trip?

"Well you should have thought of this a long time ago. It's too late

now. I haven't acted appropriately a day in my life. And the list of

restrictions is WAY too long for me to remember. In fact, it's a riot

that you actually think I'm capable of behaving. And now I'm going to

write a blog about this conversation," I promised.

Whether or not I really do obey all the customs, I think it's a good

idea to keep our adult kids wondering. My faux pas list will also be

sure to provide post vacation lore.

MY TAKE AWAY FROM A RECENT VACATION IS QUITE DIFFERENT THAN THAT OF OTHER ADULTS (OR NORMAL PEOPLE)

By Valerie Newman May 10, 2023

We were very fortunate to take a once in a life time trip to Japan. I bet you'll never guess what impressed me the most.

I never thought that toilets could be this high tech. Or this wonderful. We are so behind Japan regarding our restrooms, please excuse the pun.

Whether you fully use all the Japanese toilet's feature's or not, I'm going to propose a toast to the inventors and manufacturers of this unique bathroom fixture. Now, bottoms up!

WHO EVER HOLDS THE CHANNEL CHANGER WINS

By Valerie Newman February 28, 2023

Unlike most Americans, I never made a habit of watching TV. Either I couldn't sit still long enough, I was too busy with other stuff or other family members were watching programs that didn't interest me.

I know what you're thinking--we DO have more than one TV and I COULD go into another room to watch a show that I want to see. But how pathetic is that--watching TV by yourself?

And now for the REAL reason that I haven't watching too much TV during the last 10 years or more.

It got too complicated. The amount of shows I could watch is overwhelming and even if I did decide on one, how do I remember if it's Hulu, Netflix, Prime or what ever. And even if I figured THAT out--which channel changer do I use? And which buttons do I push--do I hold them down or press quickly?

Anything that's this complicated turns me off and I choose to be productive instead. Between work, parenting, taking care of my own parents and all the other tasks required of me, I didn't really have time to watch television anyway.

I did feel left out of some conversations at parties--about, for instance, "Friends" (Never watched it), Sopranos, (same thing), The Crown (haven't seen one second of it), etc.

But then some stuff happened: COVID, my kids grew up, my parents died and my work morphed into very part time. Now, I realized, I have the time to watch TV. But guess what: I don't even know how to at this point! And besides, husband just retired. He's king of the clicker. I could watch TV with him, if I wanted to watch World War II movies, "Top Gun" or "Planet of the Apes."

I usually learn skills way past when other people my age have mastered them, Par for the course, I decided recently to learn how to watch a show or two--on my own.

Husband taught me the basics on the various clickers and platforms and how to find "Downton Abbey", "Shitts Creak" and "Ted Lasso." Believe it or not, he doesn't enjoy any of these programs! And yes, I'm fully aware of the fact that they probably all originally aired many years ago. My mother always said that I was a "late bloomer." Anyway, after a couple of lessons, I'm proud to say that I've also acquired the skills for pausing and fast forwarding.

Husband went to a doctor's appointment today, which meant that I could watch TV without bothering him. And it gave me the opportunity to test my skills. Boy, was I on a power trip! I nuked commercials and felt like a super star. I watched an entire episode of "American Idol!" I felt a newfound sense of power. I've now anointed myself Queen of the Clicker.

And now--watch out--is there room in one household for the Clicker Queen and King? Let the games begin. He's definitely more experienced than me, but I think I'm more agile at grabbing small items like the channel changer. And if I lose and have to watch "Planet of the Apes" one more time, I'll be up Shitt's creak!

MY DOG JUST TOLD ME THAT HE RETIRED!

By Valerie Newman March 23, 2023

"I'm sorry, but you're not entitled to Social Security," I had to tell my Yorkie the other day. I know that might sound like specieism, though I must point out that he hadn't contributed to the social security system in the first place. Now I can just imagine what you're thinking: he's an illegal alien or I haven't been paying him fair wages. He's registered and certified and came to live in my house completely legally. He gets free room and board, just like our human kids received--and he has more toys than both the son and daughter ever had.

And in my defense, I never ordered him to chase the deer in our yard or asked him to eat crumbs from the floor. I guess he's been a very dedicated volunteer.

Until recently.

He's probably in his 60's in human years and he's noticed that his parents have retired. His vision and hearing are very diminished, just in case you thought he was getting lazy. He can't hear the deer in the yard or see the crumbs on the floor. I hadn't realized that he'd actually retired until I walked with him through our back yard the other day. To my dismay, the yard was filled with deer poop.

"I haven't seen this much deer poop since before we got the dog," I reported to husband.

"He used to chase them from the yard, but maybe now he can't hear that they're in the yard. It's made for quieter evenings for us, but now the deer are back in full force," he said.

And if that weren't bad enough, today I found tiny ants running around our kitchen floor. That signifies that there had been crumbs on the floor. When ever I prepare food or we eat, the tiny terrier used to position himself underfoot and gobble up the crumbs like there was no tomorrow.

But now, he prefers lounging in one of his many dog beds, replete with baby blankets, bones and toys.

My ant sighting today confirmed it: our 11 year old canine is officially retired.

That leads me to a whole host of questions:

Does that mean that I actually have to sweep the floor and we have to put out some deer repellent? Do we need to give him a retirement party? Will he want to volunteer or start a new hobby? Is there a doggie AARP magazine? Will he age gracefully at home or are there pet nursing homes? And if so, when should we apply for him?

It's too bad that there are no such things as pet hearing aides or eye glasses, because if there were, I'd buy them for him and he'd have a better quality of life.

For now, I'm enjoying more peace and quiet since he barks a lot less now. And I'm glad to report that he's been enjoying leisurely strolls in the neighborhood with husband and I, as well as our visits to local parks.

And now, I hope that you'll please excuse me. I've got to go find that mop-it's been years since I've used it--it's got to be around here somewhere!

HELP! I BECAME A TYPICAL AMERICAN

By Valerie Newman March 28, 2023

The average American watches a whole lot of TV, even if it's on

different devices today. Since it got too complicated for me to watch

TV, I haven't really been one to watch much of it. What with having to

figure out which channel changer to use, which clicker to point at which

layer of electronics and what streaming device to choose, it was all way

over my head.

And even when husband tutored me and I actually learned how to watch

"Downton Abby", for instance, (don't judge me--I know you watched it ten

years ago) I always felt that I had too much to do to watch TV. I do

admit that I might have indulged now and then to watch an episode of "Young Sheldon."

But then I sprained a muscle in my hip during yoga class. The doctor

told me to forgo yoga, weight lifting, etc and to walk and apply heat to

my hip.

I have to sit down to apply heat. I'm not used to simply sitting down.

And yet, now I have a legit excuse. I grabbed the heating pad and sat

down on our massage chair. And I actually turned on the TV. To be honest

with you, husband did. He was so happy to see me sitting for once, that

he volunteered to put on "Ted Lasso." And then he left the room.

Then the transformation began. I became mesmerized. I morphed into a

couch potato. I binge watched. I watched three shows in a row. I kept

turning on the heating pad for another round, turning the massage chair

back on and letting the TV continue to play. Though I felt my muscles

atrophying and my mind losing IQ points, I laughed, I cried and I enjoyed.

Finally, I had to pee. And then I'm proud to report that I knew how to

turn off the TV.

"Oh my God!" I declared to husband. "This is so embarrassing. I watched

three episodes. What a waste of time!" I admitted sheepishly.

"What's the big deal? Most of America does that on a regular basis!" he

retorted.

I guess I've become a typical American, I thought to myself. Don't

worry, though--this won't last for long. As soon as I can work out again

I'll give up the sitting and grab those weights or yoga mat.

But for now, don't tell anyone: I'm going to binge watch at least two

episodes of "Modern Family."

THEY REALLY THINK THAT THEY'VE JUST NOW INVENTED ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE? I'VE BEEN TAPPING INTO THAT SINCE I WAS A KID!

By Valerie Newman February 23, 2023

What's the big deal about AI? I've used it since as long as I remember. The first step was to surround myself with really smart people. I've done that my whole life. Some was, excuse the pun, dumb luck. I happened to be born into a family of Ivy League grads. Why struggle with homework when you can ask your dad for help? Why waste hours of time on your assignments when you can simply ask your older siblings for input? They might have known more than me, but whose the smart one for real? I'll argue that it was me, because I could play instead of stressing out with school work. Sure, this philosophy bit me in the behind when I hadn't learned enough in school to be accepted by an Ivy League.

But, once again, I'll argue that I enjoyed my safety school college and actually learned some stuff. (When I wasn't asking my roommate for assistance.) My roommate was astonished that I'd never learned to do my own laundry. But playing dumb had paid off all these years, so why learn now?

Come to think of it, I never even learned my way around my own high school. I simply walked with my genius friend, who talked me into taking all the top classes with her. I'm sure I survived all those AP classes by doing homework with her after school each day. When I went on a vacation with her recently, she was stunned that I didn't even pay attention to the name of the hotel. "Do you even know what town we're in right now?" I laughed. "You forgot how when you do anything with me, I leave my brains at home and simply follow you around."

Then next AI method I developed is called fake it til you make it. My philosophy that has gotten me through life thus far consists of the following. "If you don't know the answer, don't skip a beat. Act confidently and make it up. Sometimes, people will actually think that you know what you're talking about.

Today's Chat bots do just that. They didn't invent this method, though--I did! Do you think I can cash in on this new craze by saying that I'd already patented it? It turns out that lots of the time, the chat bots don't have a clue as to the correct answer. And yet, many people take their responses at face value. These naive folks can save a lot of money by simply asking me their questions. I'm really good at slinging the bull----.

There is one caveat here, though. If you use the baloney method too often, smart people will catch on and not listen to a word you say. Apparently, daughter caught on to my trick. And she doesn't believe me or even pay attention to me about ANYTHING! EVER! Even when I actually DO know what I'm talking about. Because, after 61 years on earth, I have learned a few things. She would disagree with that statement, though.

I'm not worried about that, however. My mother told me that my kids will think I'm a moron until they have kids of their own. And then, like magic, she said, I'll become a genius.

Until then, I'll continue living life tapping into my own form of AI.

OPENING A WINDOW INTO YOUR CHILDHOOD

By Valerie Newman February 5, 2023

Imagine that you open a box from your basement whose contents you haven't seen since you were a child. And that you've been an adult for more than 40 years. What would it be like to find a letter that your grandmother had written to you when you were ten? And she's been dead for almost 40 years! We've been cleaning out our basement these last few days. OK, I'm going to come clean, too. I haven't done squat about our mess in the basement. Husband has been hauling up boxes, loading a dumpster, shredding papers and setting aside piles of stuff to donate, recycle, etc.

I'm guessing that he thinks I'd be more trouble than it's worth if I tried to help. I'm not built to carry anything heavy, sneeze and cough around dust and must and have been known to do more than my fair share of complaining.

And so he's taken on this project as his own. He showed me my high school and college papers the other day. I agreed to recycle all but a few, which I put in a folder and filed away. And I thought that was really cool--seeing term papers that I'd typed on my manual type writer in the 70's.

Today, however, he brought up the mother load--a treasure trove for me beyond belief. "Here's some stuff that I think is yours," he said in his usual, matter of fact manner. "Please go through it and tell me what I can toss," he added.

On the top of the box was a red encyclopedia sized booklet with gold tassels. I opened it and became spell bound. My mother had created a scrap book of my life. My eyes welled with tears when I found letters my grandmother had written to me while I was at camp. My mom saved my bunk pictures, letters that I'd written to my grandmother and letters to and from the babysitter who take care of me when I was little and my mother went to work. This folder contained some report cards, essays I'd written in elementary school, awards I received, etc.

I cringed as I thought of how I'd cursed my mother for being such a hoarder.

What a gift she gave me now--while I'm in my 60's and she's been dead more than five years.

There is no way this stuff is going into the dumpster. I was unable to go through the rest of the box, because I caught a glimpse of its contents and knew that I'd be discovering more cherished relics of my youth. My eyes were too teary to look at anything else, let alone examine these momentos objectively.

There is one thing that I can promise you, though. If my mom saved this stuff for all these years and then I did, I'm not going to throw it out now!

WILL WE EVER COMPLETELY "CATCH UP?"

By Valerie Newman February 13, 2023

I've just come to the conclusion that many of us (or at least I) spend

most of our lives trying to spinning our wheels. " When we're little, we

play tag. Growing up, I know I spent a great deal of time trying to

catch up with my older siblings. When we reach school age, many of us

struggle to keep up with the homework. I, for one, usually felt like

math was over my head and that if I just worked harder, I could keep up.

The subject always felt out of reach--no matter how fast I ran on that

treadmill, I had this nagging feeling that I was being left behind.

When I graduated from college I was thrilled to say good bye to homework.

As a reporter, though, I soon discovered the pressure of constant

deadlines. No matter how many interviews I conducted, stories I wrote

and articles I had printed, there were ten times as many that were

waiting for my attention. And just when I thought I'd gotten the knack

of it, I had kids.

Looking back, that was when the real running race began. Right while I was on tight work deadlines, the baby would climb out of the crib, the kid would get mono, he

needed new shoes, etc.

The years raced by in a blur, as I

always felt like I was struggling to catch up on work, laundry, errands

or whatever. I remember wondering why every other mom seemed to have

their act together. I remember thinking that if someone came over to our

house, they'd call the authorities because either the house was a mess,

dinner was disgusting, or I was telling husband that he'd have to wear his

socks inside out because I was behind on laundry. I remember feeling

resentful when I'd discover that there was one more thing to do--"You

mean I have to bring you to the eye doctor just because the pediatrician

says you can't see out of one eye?" I'd ask son with an aggravated tone

of voice.

The kids survived somehow, grew up and moved away. My career has wound

down and now, you'd think that I could take a deep breath and pat myself

on the back. You'd think that I'd feel all "caught up" for once.

I'm really embarrassed to admit this, but that's never stopped me from

airing my dirty laundry in this blog. Although I'm usually late

returning my library books and I'm always a day or two behind in reading

my newspapers, it's all because I've started to watch TV. I started

watching TV during the height of COVID. I used to think it was a

complete waste of time. Now, though I realize that I was right--it IS a

waste of time--it's actually fun. But there is no way in God's creation,

that I will EVER be able to catch up on all the shows that I've gotten

addicted to. In fact, they take some of the shows off the air before

I've been able to finish the series.

I know this is superficial. I know that you're working, volunteering and

taking care of your family members while I'm wondering how I'm ever

going to finish watching "THIS IS US", "Shitts Creek", "Downton Abbey"

and "Ted Lasso", especially while some sports teams are still competing.

And "Mrs. Maizel" and "American Idol" haven't even started yet. I guess

I'll have to live a long time to catch up on all these TV offerings.

Just so you don't think that I'm a couch potato, I'm usually on the

elliptical or lifting weights while I'm watching TV. But lately, the

shows last longer than my work out routines.

Part of the problem is that I started watching TV now, when there is

Hulu, Prime Video, Netflix, etc. And so, now, when I'm talking with

others and they recommend a new show or movie, I find myself getting

really agitated. "Don't get me started. I'm so behind!" I complain. And

when I say what I'm watching, people usually laugh. Because they

finished watching that series five years ago.

How do the have the time? And how have they read all these books? And

why is their house so clean and organized? Why aren't there dishes piled

in the sink and loads of laundry waiting to be done? Are they hiding a

magic genie?

I'm not sure, but I do know that I need to go because I either should

try to finish yesterday's newspaper, read my library book that's

accumulating late fees as I write or watch another episode of "Shrinking."

BUYING IN BULK CAN BITE YOU IN THE BUTT!

By Valerie Newman January 30, 2023

Growing up on a farm, husband's family only visited the grocery store once every several weeks. They grew everything they needed, except for paper goods and the like. Paper towels don't grow on farms, and so, every couple of months, husband's mom would trek into town--many miles away, to buy such staples in bulk. She was a child of the depression and explained to me that, when you buy in bulk, you save money. Plus, I remember her saying "You never want to run out of toilet paper." Besides, they were always so busy. If you're going to make the long trip to the grocery store, you might as well stock up on non-perishable necessities.

I'll never understand, though, why today husband insists on buying 30 rolls of paper towels, 50 boxes of tissues, etc. It's easy to buy stuff on line and we live pretty close to the supermarket. But, like his childhood home, if the apocalypse hits and an entire army is marooned in our home, we still wouldn't run out of paper goods, or canned goods, for that matter.

After 30 plus years of marriage, I'm accustomed to our basement serving as a warehouse. And it all worked out OK until yesterday. Apparently, a leak caused a bit of water to accumulate in our basement. Don't worry! I'm known to wage frequent complaints with the management (my spouse) and so, he makes almost daily forays into the basement. Besides, his weight lifting equipment is down there--and he can escape me (work out) any time he wants. This means that the quarter of an inch of water had just entered the basement when husband discovered the leak.

But even if it the moister was in the basement for only a matter of minutes, it was enough time to wet all of our hundreds of packages of tissues, paper towels and T.P.

"There goes our entire toilet paper collection for the next century--down the toilet." I dead panned. "But don't fret," I added. "It's water under the bridge."

Husband wasn't paying any attention. A regular person would have been calling junk luggers or someone with a dump truck. But Mr. Farm Boy went to Home Depot. Farm raised people are self reliant. He used a shop vac, fans and heaters to dry out the basement. He carried up all the stuff that needed tossing and he'll make a dump run.

Something tells me, though, that his next errand will be to a grocery shopping warehouse. Now that our basement is dry and clean, I'm sure he's determined to re-stock it with mounds of paper goods. He thinks my line about buying in bulk biting one's butt is just a bunch of bull and he's going to debunk it.

TRIP DOWN MEMORY LANE OR TIME TO FACE THE FACT THAT I'M A HOARDER?

By Valerie Newman January 27, 2023

I swear, we were planning on cleaning up our basement when the weather got warmer. Husband retired recently and we figured that we'd rent a dumpster and slowly go through the piles of crap that we've accumulated during our life times. To be honest, we've been storing stuff from our dead parents, including lots of stuff from their work places. We're also storing supplies for one niece and junk from another nephew. Finally, we've been keeping stuff for our daughter and our son.

I'm saying all this so you won't call the authorities when you find out how crowded and messy a basement we have. I'm deflecting any attention away from the fact that husband has toys and books from when he was a kid, college accounting books from the 70's, ski equipment from th early 80's, old paint cans, baby furniture, etc. Our basement doubles as the town dump. Are we sentimental, lazy or simply hoarders? I think it's a combination of all of the above.

When we discovered that the floor was wet in our basement, our clean up project became more urgent. But how do we straighten up crap that's been accumulating since our parents were young people? For instance, what do I do with the caricature of my mom playing tennis as a teen? It's cute, but it's wet--it has to be tossed. I found a birth announcement for our daughter and a baby picture of my aunt, who died recently at 96. They weren't wet and I can't toss them.

I was amazed at some of the crap that we've saved all these years. I shudder to think of all the moves we've made where we took time to pack the crap, move it and store it in the basement. And yet, I was also amazed at the treasure trove of memories that I discovered. I can't believe that I saved my high school and college notebooks, folders, papers and tests. I was proud of all my AP work--and all those A's! "look--I was smart once!" I declared as I waved some A papers in daughter's face. (We called her and her new husband to come help us clean up the mess.) Was she impressed with my academic success?

Are you kidding?! She couldn't care less. "Through it all out. It's garbage."

"Look--my first resume after college--and my recommendation letters from my bosses!"

Daughter didn't blink an eye. "We're working here. We don't have time to look through every piece of paper. It's all going in the trash. If you need to, take a picture of it before we put it in the recycle bin.

Wow, I guess it takes a lot to impress daughter.

I called son to complain about this surprise, messy project and the fact that his sister couldn't care less about my stellar grade point average.

He lives out of town, so he couldn't help physically, though he did research clean up equipment and such. If you think I got a hint of sympathy from him, think again.

"You can do this all now and save us a ton of time so we're not stuck with this job when you die," he said, in his matter of fact way.

Whether husband and I are hoarders or sentimental saps, it doesn't matter. When anyone asks for their stuff we've been storing, they can't say we didn't worn them. It's all being tossed, donated, given away or recycled. And I'll have no proof that I was smart in the 1970's.

HOW DO YOU APPLY FOR A GRANDPARENT POSITION--AND GET THE POST?

By Valerie Newman January 13 , 2023

I was wrong, or at least I miscalculated. I thought that pretty much anyone could get a job in today's market. But it's a fallacy.

I also erroneously assumed that, if and when I ever got lucky enough to become a grandparent, I'd be welcome to babysit. Maybe even provide day care. I was operating under the assumption that when your adult kids, have their own kids, you become a grandparent. And that THAT means coming over to play, read a story, take the baby for a walk in the stroller, etc.

Our kids are both married, my husband just retired and I work very part time. Our timing is perfect for the grandparent position. There are currently no openings in our family, though I did think that we were well suited for the job.

THINK AGAIN.

Daughter has other ideas. It turns out, that I think I'll have to work up a resume.

"Well--we did a pretty good job with both kids, so at least they could serves as references," husband observed dryly the other day.

"No, apparently, we did a sub par job. Or maybe we got too old, but she doesn't have the confidence that we can watch her future kids. I guess I have "mobility issues" and she also doesn't think I could lift the kid(s) when it or they get bigger," I relayed to him.

"Never mind that I work out, lift weights, do yoga and the elliptical on a daily basis," I added, defensively.

"Does she realize that I'm here to do the heavy lifting?" husband inquired, eyebrows raised.

"They give us the grandchildren, and we'll figure out how to watch them!" he added.

"I did tell her that this babysitting deal is a time limited offer. If she waits 20 years to have kids, I can't promise we'll be alive, well and able bodied enough to watch them. But maybe when I said that, it scared her off."I conjectured.

"We were able to handle it quite well without a resume when we were bringing up our kids," he pointed out.

Daughter, though, loves reminding us how many years ago that was, though. So, we're not taking any chances. I'm creating a resume:

Desired Position: Grandparent/babysitter

Experience: Observed parents and in-laws perform these roles exquisitely. Raised: One son, one daughter. Both well educated, successful in their careers and happily married. Taught nursery school, religious school, led youth programs, currently caring dog parents to an 11 year old dog.

References: Available upon on request. (We'll ask our kids' friends to vouch for us.)

Until we hear that we're actually becoming grandparents, we'll be practicing our interview skills.

Wish us luck--the kids' in-law parents will also be applying for the job!

MY DOG IS OVER 65--WHEN CAN HE REGISTER FOR MEDICARE?

By Valerie Newman December 13, 2022

My spouse is about to retire. He's signing up for Medicare. I'll have to go on Cobra, being his trophy wife and all. Our dog is 11 years old. We continue to pay his insurance premiums.

But now, it turns out, our son told us that pet insurance only covers dogs until they're 14. Son suggested we take care of what ever medical procedures the dog needs now, versus waiting a few years when we wouldn't have access to pet insurance. I don't really pay attention to what most people say, or if I listen, I certainly won't follow their advice.

Son is a rare exception. So, I took his advice. And called dog's vet to make an appointment. I think the Yorkie is going blind. I'm guessing that he has cataracts. The vet said that there are pet eye doctors and that some dogs do have cataract surgery. The vet also told me that I have to take dog to see her first. I guess she's his primary doctor.

This whole topic got me thinking, though. When humans get too old for regular insurance, we're able to receive Medicare. If dogs make it to 14, on the other hand (or paw), they're left out in the cold. Tough luck dogs.

Sorry, Yorkie--even though you've worked like a dog your whole life, guarding the house, barking when the phone or doorbell rings, coming to welcome us like we're rock stars any and every time we walk in the house--even if we were gone for only five minutes, giving us unconditional love and companionship--you're on your own when you reach your golden years.

Our dogs have day care, insurance, licenses, vitamins, medical specialists--why don't they have Medicare?

I'll tell you why: It's speciesm, dog gone it! This probably was illegal for awhile. But the politicians probably got a hold of this topic and now dogs have lost their rights. What kind of world are we living in? And do cats get to keep their insurance for life? (or their nine lives?) I'm not even going to call the insurance company to find out because the answer might really tick me off, get my goat or raise my dander.

I know what you're thinking: a generation ago, pets didn't have any insurance available. OK, smarty pants--a generation ago we were smoking or inhaling second hand smoke and no one had a clue that it was the least bit harmful. And I can almost hear your smug attitude; I bet you're saying that, in other countries, they eat dogs.

Guess what I'm going to say to that: In other countries, even cannibalism might be socially acceptable. It doesn't mean that in our country, today, we'd be OK eating our Grandpa. And so, I'm going to advocate for our modern day furry friends. If people are eligible to receive Medicare as senior citizens, why can't our canine companions go on Cobra?

I'm guessing that the government would tell us that we never paid our dog for his services and that he owes a ton in back taxes. So perhaps I shouldn't bark about it too much and simply let the tiny terrier wag his way through his senior years.

I'M WEARING WHAT?

By Valerie Newman December 8, 2022

What ever you do, don't tell my kids. Before I tell you what I've resorted to wearing, though, please allow me to justify it, or at least try to explain it.

I never used to have this happen. But, it feels like all of a sudden, I felt like my legs were chafing. My thighs started getting red and sore. I'd be OK during the summer or with loose fitting clothes, but as soon as Winter hit, my skin would hurt.

Yes, I went to the dermatologist. And I put on the cortisone cream and moisturizers. I learned to live with it, though I delay wearing pants for as long as possible in the Fall. The other day, though, Husband noticed my skin. "Everyone has chafing," he said. "That's why I wear boxers instead of briefs."

Easy for him to say, I thought. How smug. He can wear boxers--women can't.

How wrong I was, though! Husband showed me on line that there are women's boxers. I laughed. And I felt relieved, because that meant it wasn't just me who suffered from this skin condition. Unless women, like men, also find boxers more comfortable. I've never seen a woman wearing boxers, but I guess I haven't lived with other women since college--and we weren't exactly checking out each other's undergarments.

Unfortunately, though, the boxers on these lady models looked tight and uncomfortable. And they came in packs of ten. What if I bought them and they don't fit--or feel itchy?

Husband had the solution: "Why don't you try one of mine?" Of course, I protested. He's 6'2" and about 200 pounds. I'm 5'3" and am around 100 pounds. Besides, I still felt like I needed protection from my briefs.

"Just put it on over your underwear and see if you can still zip up your pants," he suggested.

The guy is a genius! Just so you know, even now, I'm wearing my underwear and his on top of that. If I have to change in front of anyone going forward, I'm going to get some really strange looks. But I don't care. The fear of nasty peer pressure is nothing compared to how wonderful my legs feel.

So, if you're a woman experiencing chafing and wondering what to do, just borrow your partner's undies and see how it feels!

NOW STOP JUDGING ME!

NEXT TIME I DANCE WITH MY DOG, I SHOULD PROBABLY LOWER THE VOLUME!

By Valerie Newman November 30, 2022

If you want to picture just how crazy I am, read on. If you're my daughter, please stop reading RIGHT NOW (even though I usually email you my blog before I publish it.)

Husband and I have mostly been home bodies since the beginning of COVID. He started working from home and I'm usually close by, too.

Today, though, he actually left the house to get a COVID booster shot.

Suddenly I felt like I was a kid whose parents left the house.

I went wild. Well, at least by 60+ year old standards.

I found the top 100 Broadway show tunes on the computer and cranked up the volume. I was clapping and singing along. I was proud of myself that I'd been to a lot of those Broadway shows and that I could remember the lyrics and the tunes.

My dog cocked an ear and raised an eye brow. He didn't get too concerned, as he already knows how nuts I am.

But then I threw all caution to the wind. I picked him up. (He's only about eight pounds.) I held him close to me. And I started to dance, twirl, do dips, pirouettes, some rock and roll moves, some disco dancing. I didn't even care if he was enjoying himself as much as me. I sang Hello Dolly, Fiddler on the Roof and Sound of Music songs at the top of my lungs. I acted like a hippy for Hair, belted out West Side Story songs and even relished more recent show tunes, like Avenue Q and Dear Evan Hanson.

Please keep in mind that I have hearing loss and two hearing aides. And that's probably why I had the music cranked. And for sure, that's why I didn't hear the door bell ring.

I also want to add that we think our dog has gone deaf, too. And that's probably because husband and I play everything full volume because of our hearing loss.

The dog used to bark when the door bell rang. But he's about 77, so if they made Yorkie hearing aides, he'd probably have two, too.

Normally it would be OK if I didn't hear the door bell. It's usually some kind of delivery. And I'm usually walking the dog so often that I'd stumble on the package sooner rather than later.

But it was poring outside. The dog drags me through snow, ice, sleet, hail, biting wind and bitter cold. The blessing of a rainy day, though, is the fact that he doesn't want to go outside to do his business. Besides, I bet he was having a blast dancing with me! After we danced the 100 songs, though, I thought I should at least open the front door to see if he'd come with me outside if I carried him.

And that's when I spotted the package. Once again, normally, who cares if a package gets wet?

Of course, though, daughter had been telling me for days that her lap top was going to be delivered to our house. BECAUSE I'M HOME DURING THE DAY.

I KNOW! Even though I'm completely crazy, I'm NOT a moron. Besides, Son is a techie. I realize that computers aren't supposed to get wet.

Speaking of getting wet, the dog didn't want to--so he ran right back in the house. Which was a good thing, because I could grab the wet box and bring it inside.

Why does this sort of thing always happen to me? The lap top was supposed to be delivered yesterday or the day before--when the weather was perfect. And why didn't the delivery person place it under the awning? Or why did it have to be delivered during the five minutes I was having a dance party? (OK--maybe more like 10 or 20 minutes?)

No wonder husband doesn't usually leave me alone. And daughter doesn't really trust me.

In my defense, though, I'm never actually trying to hurt anybody or anything intentionally.

Just in case daughter actually reads this, I must reassure my reader(s) that husband checked it out--and the lap top is fine.

I guess that means it's OK for me to dance with the dog tomorrow. I think we'll try rock and roll. So if you plan on ringing my bell, you'll know why I'm not answering the door.

LAP TOP DRAMA CONTINUES

By Valerie Newman November 11, 2022

It seems like yesterday that our young nephew was begging for a lap top. He was such a smart and well behaved kid, I could not understand why his mom didn't let him have one. He was simply trying to do his homework--and his older brother was hogging the lone family computer. Somehow, I doubt that the older brother was even doing homework. All I seem to remember from that time frame was the brother playing video games, which has pretty much continued to this day.

Either way, our younger nephew's repeated mantra was: "Can I have a lap top?" or "I need a lap top." His request for a lap top pretty much popped into almost every conversation. We all started hearing that request in our dreams--and we didn't even live anywhere near that family.

I was so tired of hearing him beg for a lap top, that I offered to buy him one. He replied, in his sassy pre-teen voice, that he'd even offered to pay for one with his own birthday and Christmas money. Perhaps his mom thought he was going to be surfing porn sites or some other inappropriate sites.

He did finally get to have one when he started college, because the school required it.

Fast forward many years. He graduated from the Ivy league, got the master's degree and now he's moving across the country to a big city near where we live. Google hired him and was about to ship him his new, company assigned LAP TOP. Since he didn't know his new address yet, he asked Google to send his lap top to his new office. He also provided our address as an alternative. While he was driving cross country, he realized that Google would be sending the lap top to our house and not to his office, where he needed it to be.

It tickled my funny bone when he texted me to say that his lap top would be showing up at our house and could I please bring it to a UPS store and have it shipped to his temporary housing that Google was providing while he looked for his own apartment.

In my head, he's that 11 year old begging for a lap top. I can still hear his mantra ringing in my mind. Now, he's well into his 20's and he's still providing lap top drama! "I'm so glad that you're getting your own lap top, that I'd even stand in a long line at the post office, if I had to, to make sure that you get the lap top." I texted back. And it's come full circle.

Now if it doesn't get to him by the time he starts work on Monday, I bet that I'll never hear the end of it!

By Valerie Newman November 6, 2022

My Yorkie is a determined exterminator. If you're a rodent, you don't

stand in a chance any where near our house. That comes in handy, but it

becomes an issue in terms of squirrels. For some reason, the dog can't

distinguish the difference between a squirrel and a rat. The dog just

turned 11 and so, for the last decade, I've witnessed and felt his

severe reaction when he even THINKS that there's a squirrel within 500

feet of our property.

It's come to the point that, even when I'm not with him, when I see a

squirrel, I find myself preparing for battle. And the poor squirrels in

our neighborhood have been traumatized for years in our neck of the woods.

The weird thing is, though, the Yorkie couldn't care less about

chipmunks. Why, you ask? Believe me, I've asked him. He's too busy

chasing squirrels to answer me. For the last ten years, my family

members and I have been referring to squirrels as the "S Word." If we

say the word squirrel in front of him, he goes ballistic. You can only

imagine the looks of our neighbors when they hear us declaring: "Hold on

to his leash! Here comes a whole bunch of the 'S Word'!" Or "Holy

cow--will you look at the size of that S word!" Or: "Watch out--here

comes the S word!"

They either think we're a bunch of holy rollers who use squeaky clean

language, or that we're completely crazy.

The neighbors who have lived near us for at least a month, know that the

correct answer is the latter option. But enough about us. I want to talk

to you about our chipmunks. While no squirrels would dare to come within

a thousand feet of our house, the local chipmunks have become quite

brazen. They run willy nilly in our yard, through our shrubs, in the red

rocks in front of our house and up and down our back stairs.

OK, I know that they're cute and don't really hurt anybody. But now,

they've decided to run up and down our eve spouts. I think they live

there. My husband thought he heard an animal in our attic the other

night. He went up there (he's 6'2" and we have a tiny attic, so this

want easy for him.) He didn't see any evidence of any animal. I told him

that I thought the little chipmunks can make lots of noise when they run

up and down our down spouts and eve spouts. Why the dog is fine with

this, I'll never know.

And now, here's the part where you'll start to realize just how crazy we

are in this family. Our son noticed how they gather acorns and feed

their family. He decided to name the chipmunk he thought was the father,

Fred. Son grew up knowing a man named Fred who was a good cook and would

volunteer to cook for community organizations. Any time any of us

spotted the chipmunk, we'd call him Fred. And then, when we started to

order merchandise on line, we'd say the orders were for Fred. That way,

son figured, we'd know if a telemarketer was soliciting us if he or she

asked for Fred.

We started getting junk mail at our address for Fred. We started

ordering our magazines under the name Fred. And then, yes, Fred got lots

of phone calls. You might wonder why we'd answer the phone if we didn't

recognize the phone number. But, sometimes, it's fun to answer the phone

and decide how we'd respond to someone asking for Fred. Usually, I'll

say I can't find him. Husband will say, "He ran away." At times, I'm

tempted to say that he was such a pain and didn't pay rent, that I

kicked him out. When we haven't seen Fred for awhile, we say, "I think

he moved."

Husband bemoans that Fred gets better magazines than he does. "Why did

Fred get "Muscle magazine" while I only get the "Road Runner?" "I don't

know. Maybe because he's little and cuter than you," I offer.

We're starting to wonder if Fred is going to get credit card offers

soon. I decided to corner him the other day to ask how hes' going to

vote. He didn't answer, so I'm guessing that he's an independent and is

undecided.

We're all getting along fairly well, but yet, I can't help wonder: Do

other people have chipmunks become members of their family? Why does

this happen to us? And is this why none of the neighbors spend too much

time with us?

If you ever are brave enough to come over, you probably won't see any

squirrels nearby, but you just might find us visiting with the

chipmunks. Even if they do max out on their credit cards and don't share

our political views!

HOW CRAZY ARE OR WERE YOUR CARPOOLS?

By Valerie Newman November 9, 2022

What's the zaniest thing you ever did during one of your carpools? What's the wildest thing that ever happened in your car during your many carpools? Well, buckle your sea belt, because I bet your stories seem like Mary Poppins's antics compared to the stuff that happened in my kids' carpools!

The kids are all grown up now, so I'm guessing that it's OK for me to tell some secrets. We used to say, "What happens in this car, stays in the car!" But the statute of limitations has long expired, so there is no way that I can still get arrested.

OK, where do I begin? When I first started driving carpools, the worst trouble consisted of food fights and kids forgetting their equipment or supplies in their houses. It then morphed into kids forgetting to wear their coats or even shoes as they ran into my car. Then, the boys decided to shoot some hoops as they stood on top of my car. Someone fell and my car got some damage. Then the kids decided to stick their heads and other body parts out of my sun roof and scream obscenities to the cars behind us. When I laughed, I guess that encouraged them. The following week, they started to add rude gestures.

Now, for some true confessions of a carpool mom: I think, at one point, some other car load of kids mooned us. But, so far, that pales in comparison to what my own kids told me one of the other carpool moms did at Halloween. She bought a bunch of silly string and gave each kid a canister to spray all over the car. She flew so fast over a speed bump, opened the window and screamed some profanities.

Daughter later admitted that she felt her soul leave her body when the car went air born, and she wasn't perturbed by the swear words, because I don't have squeaky clean language, either. "She said the S word, in her book, doesn't even COUNT as a swear word," son reported.

I was a bit worried about my kids' safety in her car, but I must admit that I was relieved. At least I knew that I wasn't the only one who had a crazy carpool. One day, one of the carpool kids decided it would be fun to open the car door--while I was driving (pick a high number) on the high way. That was the same day he hit his sister so hard that she saw stars.

And after that day, son suggested that we create a safety tape. We thought of the safety demonstration that flight attendants offer before each flight. This was back in the day when we played cassette tapes in our cars. I played the tape each drive, before I even started the car: "Welcome to our carpool. Please listen to these safety rules before we get started. Please keep your seat belt on at all times. Please keep your hands on your own body and keep the doors shut while the car is in motion. Please don't throw food inside the car while I'm driving. And please don't scream while you're in the car."

Notice how I didn't say anything about popping your head out of the sun roof or performing weird or fresh body movements at the rear facing window to entertain those driving behind us. I didn't want to take away all of our fun. It also didn't stop us from laughing when one girl, who'd been carpooling with us for years, asked son a question. But she kept calling him Brian, which isn't his name. So he didn't answer the question. And she got really mad at him. "Why aren't you answering me, Brian?!" she hollered.

"Maybe because we've been carpooling for years and have been in the same classes together for years--have pretty much grown up together, and you're calling me the wrong name." But the question was even funnier--and I actually will show some restraint and not repeat the question. But if you were in my car, you'll remember and I bet you'll laugh when you think of it.

Other entertainment consisted of one girl asking my daughter, back when she was a toddler: "Is your mommy pretty?" And daughter would look shocked and declare--loud and clear: "NO!" And then: "Is your mommy smart?" And then daughter would laugh at that question, shake her head and respond so obviously: "NO!"

And then the girl would ask the same questions regarding husband (who, coincidentally, happens to be my kids' father.) And, of course, you can predict daughter's responses. Is your daddy smart?" "YES!" and: "Is your daddy handsome?" "Yes!" daughter would nod and smile, answer definitively. The whole carpool cracked up laughing, including me.

One time, we were laughing so hard, I missed our exit--and the next one was many miles away. Of course, I swore like a trooper, but by then, no one even flinched. At least I hadn't sprayed them all with silly string!

I BET YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT I'M WONDERING ABOUT THE NIGHT BEFORE ELECTION DAY

By Valerie Newman November 7, 2022

Many of you are going to bed tonight with thoughts in your head about the upcoming election. Will the country turn red or blue, right or left wing?, etc.

I, on the other hand, have more important matters to ponder. I've been curious about how much time other people spend on their dental care. By other people, I mean normal people.

I dedicate so much time to my teeth that sometimes, I feel like I'm missing out on what everyone else is doing.

How are grandmas getting their PhD's, running non-profits and taking their grand kids to Disney, while I'm not accomplishing much of anything besides having really clean teeth?

My husband will be done with, as he calls it, the morning three S routine: Sh--, shower and shave and I'm only half way through my dental care.

I'm going to say that I take at least ten minutes, twice a day, to address dental hygiene. And now, math challenged that I am, I have been doing my daughter's 5th grade math homework lately, so I'm going to attempt to so some math here. Twenty minutes a day times seven is 140 minutes a week. Does that mean I dedicate 560 minutes a month to my teeth? I'm not going to expend the effort to find a calculator--I have to rest after brushing my teeth.

Feel free to do the math to figure out how much time I spend on my teeth during a typical year. No wonder why you've written a book, ran a company and found the cure for ADHD--you've got a ton of cavities and probably gingivitis. So I guess it's all a matter of priorities.

Apparently, you value contributing to society but don't give a rat's --- about your dental health.

Ah--but now you're wondering why I'm obsessed with my teeth. Maybe I was a dentist in a prior life. Or maybe it's because I know that dental health and heart health are closely related.

Really, though, I think it's because I've had a lot of dental work done over the years. I don't want to take for granted all the time and effort that dental professionals have given me. More importantly, though, is the time, effort, pain and money I've gone through on these various dental procedures. I want to protect my investment. Some people buy new cars, wash and wax them, change the oil and obsess over their car care. I'll drive a car until it dies and don't give much thought to maintenance. But husband does all that, while I'm brushing my teeth.

I know--I feel sorry for him, too. What good is a shiny, clean car when your teeth are rotting away? Now, if you'll excuse me, my electric toothbrush, gum rubber tip and dental floss are calling me. And when you see me at the polls tomorrow, feel free to compliment me on my sparkling smile.

ARE THE CHIPS DOWN WHEN CHIPMUNKS ARE UP AND RUNNING?

By Valerie Newman November 6, 2022

My Yorkie is a determined exterminator. If you're a rodent, you don't stand in a chance any where near our house. That comes in handy, but it becomes an issue in terms of squirrels. For some reason, the dog can't distinguish the difference between a squirrel and a rat. The dog just turned 11 and so, for the last decade, I've witnessed and felt his severe reaction when he even THINKS that there's a squirrel within 500 feet of our property.

It's come to the point that, even when I'm not with him, when I see a squirrel, I find myself preparing for battle. And the poor squirrels in our neighborhood have been traumatized for years in our neck of the woods.

The weird thing is, though, the Yorkie couldn't care less about chipmunks. Why, you ask? Believe me, I've asked him. He's too busy chasing squirrels to answer me. For the last ten years, my family members and I have been referring to squirrels as the "S Word." If we say the word squirrel in front of him, he goes ballistic. You can only imagine the looks of our neighbors when they hear us declaring: "Hold on to his leash! Here comes a whole bunch of the 'S Word'!" Or "Holy cow--will you look at the size of that S word!" Or: "Watch out--here comes the S word!"

They either think we're a bunch of holy rollers who use squeaky clean language, or that we're completely crazy.

The neighbors who have lived near us for at least a month, know that the correct answer is the latter option. But enough about us. I want to talk to you about our chipmunks. While no squirrels would dare to come within a thousand feet of our house, the local chipmunks have become quite brazen. They run willy nilly in our yard, through our shrubs, in the red rocks in front of our house and up and down our back stairs.

OK, I know that they're cute and don't really hurt anybody. But now, they've decided to run up and down our eve spouts. I think they live there. My husband thought he heard an animal in our attic the other night. He went up there (he's 6'2" and we have a tiny attic, so this want easy for him.) He didn't see any evidence of any animal. I told him that I thought the little chipmunks can make lots of noise when they run up and down our down spouts and eve spouts. Why the dog is fine with this, I'll never know.

And now, here's the part where you'll start to realize just how crazy we are in this family. Our son noticed how they gather acorns and feed their family. He decided to name the chipmunk he thought was the father, Fred. Son grew up knowing a man named Fred who was a good cook and would volunteer to cook for community organizations. Any time any of us spotted the chipmunk, we'd call him Fred. And then, when we started to order merchandise on line, we'd say the orders were for Fred. That way, son figured, we'd know if a telemarketer was soliciting us if he or she asked for Fred.

We started getting junk mail at our address for Fred. We started ordering our magazines under the name Fred. And then, yes, Fred got lots of phone calls. You might wonder why we'd answer the phone if we didn't recognize the phone number. But, sometimes, it's fun to answer the phone and decide how we'd respond to someone asking for Fred. Usually, I'll say I can't find him. Husband will say, "He ran away." At times, I'm tempted to say that he was such a pain and didn't pay rent, that I kicked him out. When we haven't seen Fred for awhile, we say, "I think he moved."

Husband bemoans that Fred gets better magazines than he does. "Why did Fred get "Muscle magazine" while I only get the "Road Runner?" "I don't know. Maybe because he's little and cuter than you," I offer.

We're starting to wonder if Fred is going to get credit card offers soon. I decided to corner him the other day to ask how hes' going to vote. He didn't answer, so I'm guessing that he's an independent and is undecided.

We're all getting along fairly well, but yet, I can't help wonder: Do other people have chipmunks become members of their family? Why does this happen to us? And is this why none of the neighbors spend too much time with us?

If you ever are brave enough to come over, you probably won't see any squirrels nearby, but you just might find us visiting with the chipmunks. Even if they do max out on their credit cards and don't share our political views!

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN A COUPLE OVER THE AGE OF 60 TRY TO ENTER THEIR CAR IN A CROWDED PARKING LOT

By Valerie Newman October 30, 2022

Husband and I decided to go the beach. We decided to take our car that used to belong to my mother. It's really old--the car, I mean.

We got out our towels, put on our hats, grabbed our water bottles and the newspaper. We walked onto the beach. We went on a stroll, relaxed on our towels and even got to watch a wedding on the beach.

Then it was time to gather our stuff and return to the car. We'd made a mental note of where we'd parked. We found the dark green Honda right where we thought we'd left it.

"Oh my God," husband said. I looked at him with concern, as he's not a drama queen. I saw his mouth agape and his eyes popping out. "I know we park the car outside and I'm aware of acid rain, but look how awful the car looks in the broad daylight."

I know he's a car guy. I don't really care about rust stains on a car, but I had to pretend to be sympathetic. "Well--this is the beach--it probably looks worse for the wear here." And then, "Sorry about that, but I have to pee, so let's get going."

"I guess I haven't seen the extent of the deterioration because we don't really go too many places any more and we usually take the other car. But this is horrible."

Now my sympathy was wearing thin. "Boo-hoo. Cry me a river. People are dying in Ukraine and you're complaining about rust." I said.

But then, while he fished out the car key from his pocket, I saw how much paint had peeled off of the car. It did look disgusting, but at least the car still worked.

"Yeah, you're right. I'll see what I can do to make this look better when we get home, but I'm not sure how we're going to get home. The key isn't opening the door," he said calmly.

"You're kidding, right? I'm about to wet my pants so you think this is really funny, teasing me about how you can't open the car."

"No I'm not kidding, but maybe I hurried too much. Let me try again."

While he fiddled with the key, I peeked inside the car--there was a newspaper in there and a plastic water bottle--just like we'd left it.

"Remember how we couldn't find a spare car key so we had that lock smith make us new copies. Maybe I grabbed a copy--and it's not working now," husband said.

"But we tried the keys while he was there--and both copies worked--and that was just a few days ago," I protested. Bathrooms aren't open at the beach this time of year, I thought--and I'd basically wet my pants before going in an outhouse. I cursed Murphy's law while husband checked the license plate.

"I don't think this is even our car," he said.

"But this is exactly where we parked. I said. I even checked the inside of the car--and our stuff is inside." I was now beginning to envy my dog, who can pee where ever he wants, as long as he's outside.

And then husband laughed. Our dark green Honda, the same model, year and interior, was positioned right where we'd left it--one car over from where we'd been standing.

"Thank God our car isn't rusty!" husband declared.

Despite my predicament, I had to laugh, too. "Forget the rust--thank God the key worked to let us in--and now hurry!" I also thanked God when he got the car started and once again, when I made it home in the nick of time.

We probably shouldn't tell the kids about this. They'll think we shouldn't be let out to go anywhere, because we can't figure out which is our car and we can barely hold in our pee!"

Who am I fooling--I'm texting them this blog right now. And this way, they'll know that I'm not the only one who gets the printed version of the newspaper!

HOW SOPHISTICATED IS YOUR WORD CHOICE?

By Valerie Newman October 20, 2022

Did you ever mispronounce words when you were little? Do you remember what words they were?

I remember my parents telling me that, when I was learning to talk, I called spaghetti "Pasgetti." When I was learning to read, I recall asking what the word anticues meant. I also remember my siblings thinking that question was a hoot. "It's called antiques," I remember my older brother's correction.

If you have kids, can you think of examples of their mispronunciations? Did any of these fake words become part of your family's lexicon of language?

I smile to myself when I think of our son having to translate what his younger sister was trying to say. When she was very young and learning to talk, she couldn't pronounce Rs. One day, she kept repeating a word that husband and I couldn't understand. "Okweem!" She got aggravated with us that we didn't know what the heck she was trying to say.

Son came to the rescue. He realized she was saying a letter before the word cream. "I think she wants ice cream!" he announced with delight.

And then we saw our toddler's face light up. I could read her face: "At least SOMEONE can understand me!"

So far, we seem like a normal family. And now for some full disclosure. To this day, whenever we're even thinking of going to get frozen yogurt, husband and/or I will ask, "Do you want some Okweem?" In fact, we thought it was so cute that we'd even refer to ice cream as okweem in front of her friends. Daughter didn't even flinch, because she was sure her friends would say "yes."

I feel obligated to let you know that daughter did start talking at a very young age. She called the place where her father grew up as the "fawm." We were able to figure out that she was referring to Dave's family's farm. When she was able to pronounce her R's, we weren't in such a hurry to let go of her adorable younger pronunciations.

Even some of my friends will correct me when I say something about husband's family's farm. "The what? Oh--you mean his FAWM!"

In fact, we knew daughter's friends were close ones when we'd hear them say Okweem. And we figured out that her boyfriend, now husband, was a keeper when he heard him calling ice cream the correct code word.

This doesn't seem that weird unless you run into us at the ice cream shop--and you hear two grey haired people asking out loud for a topping on their Okweem.

OK-- you caught me in a lie: To be perfectly clear here--one of us is grey haired and the other is bald. But that's not the point here. The point is that we're not even aware of the fact that Okweem isn't actually a word in the English language. And even when we do realize this, we don't even care.

Before you judge, close your eyes. Think back. I bet you can think of someone's nick name that a sibling started because they couldn't master the annunciation of their brother or sister's name. And sometimes, these nick names stick. I remember when son couldn't say the soft c sound. His grandma's name was Nancy. He called her Nanny. And before we knew it, everyone started calling her Nanny. Even in her work place!

So if you're interested, you're welcome to join me at the Okweem shop, even if the scoopers don't understand a word we're saying!

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN MILLENNIALS BRING THEIR BABY BOOMER PARENTS TO COSTCO

By Valerie Newman October 10, 2022

If you're looking for an annoying and somewhat scary experience, try bringing your aging parents to Costco on a weekend. It's especially adventurous if they've never shopped there before, they're hard of hearing and you think it's a good idea for them to become members. Our daughter and son in law did just that this last weekend. OK--you can start taking pity on them right now.

If you're up for the "cringe" factor, keep reading. Husband is known to major in impulse shopping. When I go grocery shopping, which I haven't done too much in person during these last two or three years, I make sure to leave him home. Taking him along makes me think back to when our kids were little. It took twice as long and cost twice as much. At least husband doesn't try to hide or have a tantrum, but he does grab unnecessary stuff to throw in the cart. And if he did try to hide, he's 6'2", so I could find him fairly easily.

But finding him at Costco when he went rogue on us is a whole other story. He grew up on a farm a long time ago. They lived no where near a grocery store and grew most of their food. That meant that when they actually did make the trip to a grocery store, they bought stuff in bulk. Going through Costco must have brought back warm and fuzzy memories for husband. He paid no attention to any form of a shopping list and continued marching up and down each huge aisle, collecting random items in bulk, stacking each item on top of the next until his tower of goods was sky high.

I, on the other hand, despise wasting food and would rather make a few trips to the grocery store on a regular basis (or order on line) than have to throw out two pounds of carrots, for instance, because Costco only sells carrots in five pound bags. Husband and I live alone--and I'm allergic to carrots, so how would we ever be able to consume five pounds of carrots before they spoil?

"How the He-- are we going to eat all this? Where are the smaller bags?" I said, probably too loudly, since, as you know, I can't hear all that well.

Another Millennial overheard me complaining about the oversized bag of carrots. She smiled at daughter and said, "Oh, she sounds just like my mom!" Then she imitated her mom, with an old lady's voice: "How will I ever eat all of this! These portions are ridiculous!"

Daughter nodded--they were on the same page in regard to dealing with parents who protest wasting food. (or, in more honest terms, parents who bitch about stuff.)

I, on the other hand, felt complete solidarity with the other Millennial's mom. "She's a smart lady, your mom!" I said. Daughter shusshed me, shrugged and sighed.

That's OK--I still stayed right by her and son in law. There was no way I was going to get lost in that behemoth of a store. By the way, we didn't really even need any groceries--our excursion was supposed to be solely for the purpose of getting husband a membership there. And to be honest, I question the value of our membership. Shopping in bulk seems kind of silly for two people and one tiny Yorkie.

Apparently, though, husband plans to drive several towns from our residence to wait for a half an hour to find a place to park, wait in long lines to show his receipt and fill up the cart with pounds of crap we don't need.

Between you and me, though, if he retires, this could serve as an entertaining outing for him. Knock yourself out, honey--live on the edge and buy 30 rolls of toilet paper.

Either way, he's going to shop there alone. I don't ever plan on returning to that oversized warehouse of a supermarket.

Ironically, sister loves this place. I was relaying the story to her, looking for justification of my opinion. "Oh my God--the deals are fantastic--and so is some of their prepared food!" she gushed.

I'm sticking with my rejection of the place, because, for one, the amount of money we'd save with the grocery bill would be eliminated with the amount of money we'd waste to pay for the gas to get there. And who knows how much money we'd be tossing as we toss all our spoiled produce.

Of course, this is way off topic. I was starting to stay that I stuck near daughter and son in law, who were responsibly gathering the few necessary items on their shopping list. They were a well oiled team-she'd rattle off an item, grab it to her left, while her spouse ran to another aisle to grab the next item.

"Where is dad?" she asked. "Do we need to divide and conquer?" son in law asked. "No way--I'm sticking with you guys!" I said.

"I'll call him," she suggested. "He wont' hear the phone," I reminded her.

Then we heard a crash. "That's got to be him," I declared. "He's either knocking something over because of the big pile of groceries he's carrying or his tower just tipped over."

Lucky for us, it was both--because now it became easier to find him.

Also, lucky for us, son in law had dated daughter for years before they got married, so he already knew what he was getting himself into.

His parents are way younger than us and much more well behaved. I could practically read the minds of daughter and her new spouse. He was thinking, "I feel sorry for my wife--this is only going to get worse the older they get." And she was thinking: This is the last time I'm taking them shopping. My husband's parents don't pull these stunts."

And now you know what happens when you bring two old farts to Costco. Now, if you'll please excuse me, I've got to go cook a sh-- load of carrots.

YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHERE MY WOMEN'S ONE A DAY VITAMINS HAVE BEEN GOING....

By Valerie Newman September 19, 2022

I'm grateful I know how to order stuff on Amazon. But I'm not pretending to be perfect. I ordered a bottle of my Women's One a day multivitamins. And then I forgot that I did. And so I ordered another bottle. At least I thought I did. In actuality, however, I ordered another two bottles. So, low and behold, a couple of days later, three bottles of the vitamins arrived at once. And each bottle contains 300 tablets!

And just like the name implies--I only need to take ONE A DAY!

Of course, I cursed and laughed at the same time. I confessed to husband. "I'm pretty sure that these vitamins won't last 900 days from now, so I just threw money down the toilet."

He suggested I ask daughter if she wanted a bottle. She takes another kind of vitamin and thus, declined.

He then gave the usual husband response: "Don't worry about it."

Some time went by and I was surprised to realize that the first bottle was starting to feel empty. I looked inside. "Wow," I thought to myself. "Time must fly by faster than I realized. Somehow, this first bottle is almost empty. Only a bit more than 600 to go."

But then I started to get curious. And then suspicious. How did the bottle get this empty so fast? The bottles only came a few weeks ago--I know I'm only taking one a day. Even I can do that much math--someone or something is dipping into my vitamin bottle.

No--that thought crossed my mind, too. But the dog can't jump up onto the kitchen counter, let alone open up a pill bottle. Besides, these vitamins aren't even chewable.

I decided to ask husband. "I forgot to order my vitamins, and when you said you had extras, I thought it would be OK with you if I took one of yours each day."

Holy ---!" I said. These are WOMEN'S one a day vitamins!

"What's the big deal? A multivitamin is a multivitamin. I bet if I ordered my regular vitamins, the bottle would have the same ingredients!" he answered calmly.

"I bet not!" I shouted. And you know me. I started to freak out. "Women need vitamins men don't," I responded loudly.

"So, that doesn't mean that it's going to hurt a man," he replied.

"Do you still have to shave your beard? Is your voice getting higher?" I asked.

"Taking a women's vitamin doesn't turn a man into a woman, but if you're going to make a big deal about this, I'll just stop taking vitamins altogether. You had extra and I had none, so I thought it made sense."

And then, I started to get curious. Do they even make a Man's One a day vitamin? And if not, is this whole women's vitamin thing just a big hoax?

One thing is for sure though, if suddenly, he starts seeing his paycheck become half of what he used to be paid, I'll run out and grab him the Men's vitamin. And I'll start taking that version, too!

Grief hurts. It's affecting my appetite, making me nauseous and causing my head to ache. My heart feels like its twisted in a knot.

The loss of my "Rock" has shaken my foundation.

The world mourns the loss of the Queen of England and I'm mourning the loss of the Queen of kindness, smarts, athleticism and humor. I'm puzzled as to how the sun is rising and setting right now. How are others going about their daily business while my treasured friend is no longer breathing? And why does such a gift to the world have to be taken from us so soon and suddenly?

She was my compass, morally, intellectually and in life as a whole. I followed her around school from the minute we met, as we became fast friends and shared the same class schedule. I immediately realized that she was a genius and greatly admired and appreciated how humble she was. I'm sorry to say so, but I took the easy way out. Why learn my class schedule if I could simply walk with her? Why struggle to pay attention to difficult math problems or boring science lessons when we'd be getting together after school and she could capsulize all the information concisely and simply for me to digest.

I hope that she knew I loved her for who she was, not just because she made my life so much easier. I followed her through high school and continued to reach out to her for advice or input through college and way beyond. In fact, we very recently went on vacation together. This was about two and a half months ago and she seemed fine. Even she didn't know that she was sick. If I had, perhaps I wouldn't have fallen into my old pattern of following her around during our trip. She asked me, "Do you even know the name of the hotel? Do you know what town is next on the itinerary?

How selfish of me to rely on her. We both laughed, though she called me out on it and even texted my kids to tell on me. It's extremely weird for me to refer to her in the past tense. She was too young to die and had so much to look forward to, too. On the other hand, she lived life to the fullest and had so much to be thankful for, for sure. Her nurtured childhood, her amazing parents and sister, a supportive husband and loving kids; dear friends, a world class education and a very successful career. She traveled all over the world, enjoyed many a good book and awesome food with a relaxing cup of wine.

Her sense of humor and determination got her through cancer once. And she was such a selfless person, she didn't even tell me that she had cancer last time because she didn't want to worry me. Who does that? I'd call her to complain about my ailments and I'm still stunned that she shielded me from her diagnosis or suffering. The second time cancer came to visit her, she told me after her surgery and radiation and only asked me to look out for her sister and mother. She didn't complain or "bother" me with details, though I would have listened to her cry or vent. Even her name expresses one of her key qualities: Grace. She lived up to her name, always gracious and filled with grace that she shared generously.

How do I say good bye to a person who has always been there for me? Been my rock and my cheerleader? Grace made me a better person. She continued to do this on our recent trip when I continued to be impressed with her kindness to servers, hotel staff and everyone she encountered. She filled suite cases with gifts for her family members and encouraged me to do the same. Grace took me shopping and honestly told me what clothes I needed to toss and how fabulous I looked in the new outfits she picked out for me to purchase. She did the same for my husband, who came to join us half way through the trip. I wouldn't have even ever met my spouse if she hadn't suggested I take the same trip she took the summer before. My husband and I have been together for almost 40 years, that's yet one more gift for which I owe her deep gratitude.

The void she has left can not be filled. I will cherish our memories and try to be the best person I can be, asking myself "What would she say to me right now? How would Grace encourage me, what kind of example did she set for this circumstance?"

Her legacy lives on in the lessons she taught me and so many others by her example. The pain of this loss is so deep and profound that I shudder to think of what her dear family members are going through. She helped me so much throughout life that I wasn't ever able to adequately thank her. And now, I'm not ready to say goodbye to Grace. She gave so much to me so generously that I will carry her inside of me.

I'M PRETTY SURE THAN NO ONE ELSE HAS EVER OR WILL EVER DO THIS....

By Valerie Newman August 31, 2022

Our across the street neighbor is a painter. He also washes roofs with a special solution to clear off the algae. He told us that if we don't clean our roof, the algae spreads and damages the roof. We're not even sure if this is true, but he's moving next week. We thought, as long as he's here, we'll give it a try.

We'd kind of forgotten about the whole idea until husband saw a text from this neighbor.

DAUGHTER: STOP READING RIGHT NOW AND SKIP A FEW SENTENCES, PLEASE!

Husband had let the dog out this morning, but the dog got loose and my husband was running around the yard looking for him. He didn't have his cell phone with him. The neighbor found him (the dog) in the middle of the road. He texted husband to tell him, but husband didn't see the text. Another neighbor saw the dog, brought him to husband.

Later on today, with the dog safely inside our house and husband getting back to work, he checked his phone. (husband checked his phone--our dog isn't old enough to have his own phone yet.)

When he saw the painter neighbor's text, he decided to call and thank him, wish him good luck on his move and ask if he could clean our roof.

The dog must have been on husband's mind during the phone call, because you won't believe what my spouse asked the painter neighbor.

A long time ago, other neighbors had given us a dog house that looked exactly like our house. And when we changed the color of our house, husband actually painted the dog house to match our paint. "This algae is contagious?" husband asked the painter guy.

"While you're washing our roof, would you mind using the same solution on the roof of our dog house?" husband then asked.

I laughed out loud when I heard this. He actually asked the neighbor to wash the dog house roof?! How much is that going to cost us, I wondered.

WHO HIRES SOMEONE TO PROFESSIONALLY CLEAN THE ROOF OF THE DOG HOUSE??

Then I realized that this expense might ease husband's sense of guilt that the dog got loose on his watch.

"The dog really doesn't hang out in the dog house too much," I said, still chuckling. Between the paint and the roof work, we're paying more attention to the dog house than some homeowners do to their actual houses, I thought to myself.

Oh well, at least this means that husband really does love the dog.

But, come to think of it, if daughter did read the sentences about the doggie running loose in the road, perhaps she'll realize the sub par care he's getting with us and will look for a pet-friendly place to live the next time she moves. And we'll even move the fancy dog house to Her yard.

WORD TO THE WISE: DO A SNIFF CHECK BEFORE GOING TO AN IN-PERSON MEETING

By Valerie Newman August 29, 2022

We're finally having our work meetings face to face. But it's been a long time and I had to relearn some important rules.

Note to self: If you're walking your dog just before a work meeting, make sure to bring a larger poop bag than usual.

No offense to the Murphy family, but Murphy's law happened to me just before I was about to leave for my first live work meeting in a couple of years.

Though my dog is tiny, he poops a lot. Don't worry, I always have a tiny poop bag along to pick up his tiny tootsie roll. He probably knew I was about to leave him for a few hours. So he got passive aggressive. Sir Poop A lot decided to poop like there was no tomorrow. And my tiny poop bag was completely inadequate.

You can only imagine the swear word that came out of my mouth when I had to pick up a poop the size of California with a Rhode Island size poop bag. "Oh S---!" I said as I wondered how an eight pound dog could produce ten pounds of poop.

OK, I'll grab the rest of this with a big leaf, come in, put it all in a big plastic bag, wash my hands and get in the car, I thought to myself. "I got this!"

But, I got it in a different, unforeseen (or I should say unfore-smelled) fashion. The dog was back in the house, I disposed of the poop properly and then saw that some dog doo had gotten on the sleeve of my fancy, new sweater. I remembered that my work place cranks the air conditioning, so I'd based my work outfit around this new sweater. And now it had dog doo on it. But I was running late to my meeting.

If I left the sweater at home to wash, I'd have to pick out a whole different outfit and change.

You know me by now, loyal reader: I'm not good at arranging matching, decent outfits, let a lone professional looking ones. And I was meeting new colleagues for the first time. Plus, my boss is also new this year.

And of course, I'm always behind on stuff like laundry, anyway. OK, it's show time and I've got poop on the sleeve of this sweater. I'll wash the sleeve as best I can and then wet wipe it to remove any germs. I was so proud of myself for this resourcefulness.

I learned a really important lesson yesterday., though. Apparently, washing dog poop with warm, soapy water and using a wet wipe, doesn't fully remove the smell.

Because my nose was broken, my sense of smell might not be as keen as the next guy or gal.

Apparently, coworkers can smell dog poop. It's the only convincing reason why no one wanted to sit next to me at the meeting. And, in retrospect, I'm pretty sure that I didn't make such a good impression on my new coworkers. My old work friends already know how "unique" I am, so they weren't fazed. They always give me plenty of personal space.

I'm not too worried about this mishap, though. My boss was sitting all the way across the other end of the table. So I'm good. And now my sweater is soaking before I run it through the wash.

And before I leave for the first day of work, I'm going to ask husband to walk the Yorkie.

WHY IT'S A GOOD IDEA TO BE BEHIND ON THE NEWS!

By Valerie Newman August 25, 2022

My original career field was journalism. That's probably why I still prefer to get the daily paper delivered. And I read it. I brought the paper to a doctor's appointment recently and the doctor said, "You read the printed paper--how retro!"

I thought that was funny because for me, it's not retro. I've been reading the newspaper for at least 40 years.

But I've got a confession to make. I never finish the paper on time. In fact, I don't even start today's paper today. I'm always at least a day behind. Husband asks: "Why read it--it's already outdated." I never really had an adequate answer. Until yesterday. A friend from out of town called me (on my land line--yes, I'm retro in that respect, too.)

She asked how son is doing, considering all the flooding in the town where he lives--which by the way, if you haven't read any of my blogs and are just reading one for the first time, is VERY FAR AWAY FROM ME.

"Is he OK--did his house float away or collapse--is his car still intact? This disaster is all over the news!"

And I felt like more of a moron than usual. Because I don't watch TV news--call me crazy, but I like sleeping at night. Nothing good comes of watching the evening news. And I'm asleep for any morning news show. Oh, yes, I know that I could look at my phone. But why? I'll read today's news tomorrow.

But when it comes to my kids' safety, I guess I could be keeping up with the news as it happens.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I sheepishly admitted. "But I'm sure that I'd have heard if he was impacted by the flooding."

That lie worked for me for about ten seconds and then I quickly wrapped up our phone conversation. And of course, called son. I almost never call before texting, but as I was picturing him trapped in his car or sitting on his roof waiting to be rescued, I called his cell without any warning. In the middle of a work day.

"Why do think we're not located in a flood zone?" he calmly answered. "That flooding was two days ago and it's beautiful weather here now. We did get lots of much needed rain, but there was never any flooding where we live."

Today, when I opened up yesterday's newspaper, read the headlines and saw the pictures of the severe flooding, I thanked God that I hadn't read yesterday's paper when it was first delivered.

I might sound and look like a moron, but at least yesterday's news already happened and I don't have to worry about it. This gift of perspective makes sense to me now. I don't want to brag, but I'm going to boast anyway. I've invented the perfect anecdote for stress--keep informed, but stay one day behind on reading the paper. Maybe I'm smarter than you think!

CAN OUR DOG HAVE US COMMITTED?

By Valerie Newman August 23, 2022

Have you ever cracked yourself up laughing? That happens to me all the time. And it happened to me right now.

Daughter just started a new job. She usually calls me on her way home from work to help her pass the time--and to keep me off her back.

Son does the same when he walks his dog. They both manage me quite well.

The only challenge is that now, daughter's job gets out later than in years' past--and it's exactly when son walks my grand dog.

Stop right there. I know what you're thinking. I do have that phone plan on my land line that lets me know when someone else is calling.

Yes, you already know that I'm hard of hearing--but I'm still able to hear that beep. I was actually thinking that daughter was going to call when I was on with the other kid--and then I'd ask one of them to click on the other one so that we could all talk.

But she never called. Now, mind you, this is two days in a row. OK, good, now you know that I'm already crazy because most parents don't get to talk to their adult offspring for even five minutes every day. But daughter takes pity on me because son ran away and lives REALLY FAR from me. I know I continue to repeat that in every blog, though it bears repeating because after God knows how many years (remember--I don't do math), I'm still kind of in shock about it.

Sorry that I just got WAY off topic. After her first day on the new job, I figured daughter hated it. Otherwise, she would have called me. She must have read my mind because she called me that evening to say that she'd tried to call around five and that the phone said that voice mail hadn't been set up. I figured it was a temporary glitch. And she said her new job is AOK. But then she didn't call here yesterday--and once again, I was chatting with son--this time with my ears perked for that beep. I use the term "chatting" very loosely here because, as I've told you before, I mostly hear him asking his dog to go potty or telling her that she's a good girl.

Anyway, I announced to husband that something was wrong with our phone. I told him that one kid was trying to call while I was on with the other and the beep never came. "We'll have to test it when we're home," I said. But I couldn't think of who I could bother to talk with me while asking someone else to call me at the same time.

Thank God that husband is so much smarter than me. And that he, sometimes, actually has patience for me (or takes pity on me.) He suggested I call my land line from my cell phone and then he'd try to call the home phone from his cell phone. Here's the funny part: our dog was in the kitchen the whole time we were planning this test.

Has your dog ever looked at you like you're completely crazy? Mine does all the time, but this time, I could read his mind. "They're both completely off their rocker." I sat at the kitchen table and actually called myself on the phone. Usually the dog barks wildly to let us know that the phone is ringing. But when he say me pick up the home phone and talk to myself from my cell phone, he tilted his head. He didn't bark, but then looked concerned when he saw and heard his daddy calling the house phone.

I could only imagine what he was thinking. "My parents are so lonely that they're calling each other or themselves right when they're a foot apart." Or: "My parents have completely lost it. My mom right now is asking herself how she's doing and asking herself about the weather and now my dad is interrupting that phone call to ask if she can take the call."

I can picture him thinking: "If I could reach the phone, I'd be calling someone to rescue me. Inflation is soaring, Ukraine is under attack and people are starving in Africa, but all my parents can do is sit next to each other in the kitchen and call each other on the phone--or in my mom's case--call herself."

I could picture him talking to his friends. While husband would hear barking, I know dog language. I'd hear him complaining about how screwed up his parents are. "Listen to what they do for fun--they call each other on the phone--while they're both home!"

I'm still laughing about this as I write this blog. If he could reach the phone, I'm not sure whether the dog would call Doggie and Family Services to be placed with another family, or if he'd call some kind of facility to have us be placed there. Or both.

The good news, though, is that our "other line" works! I heard the beep when husband called.

Daughter will be fresh out of excuses. When she does call, though, instead of hearing about her new job, I plan on putting the dog on the phone so that he can vent about their parents.

FASHION IS SEXISM IN FINE FORM

By Valerie Newman August 23, 2022

We enjoyed daughter's wedding recently. I didn't even mind wearing a dress. There was no way daughter would let me get away with wearing pants at her wedding. I figured for one day of her life, I could listen to her and do what she asked of me.

The bigger challenge was the shopping, the tailoring, the choosing the accessories, finding shoes that fit and matched, etc.

Guys don't have to mess with that crap. They go to a tux store, get measured and pick it up, along with the shoes, the day before the wedding.

I remember this same kind of phenomenon when son went to prom and then daughter went to prom years later. Son tells me the day before: "Oh, yeah, mom, I'm going to the prom tomorrow night. Can you drive me to a tux place?" On the way, he told me how funny he thought it was that girls leave school half way through the day of the prom to get their hair and nails done.

Daughter, on the other hand, tells me six months before prom that we need to start planning, shopping, etc.

That's when I figured out what this was all about: It's a male conspiracy. Men figure that if women must focus on fashion, remain occupied with their appearance, need to shop and waste all sorts of time at the salon, they'll be unable to compete in a male dominated world. While their male counterparts are golfing with Board members or having their martini lunches with potential clients, women have to look for shoes, purses, jewelry and cosmetics to match their outfits.

I bet some sexist men initiated this warped idea of fashion. They can all show up to any event wearing the same tux or suit as the next guy--and they don't care. It's not a shock or a scandal. In fact, at daughter's wedding, the goal was for the men in the wedding party to look "uniform".

It took very little time or money for the guys to get ready for the wedding. In fact, the groom had to stage lots of poses, pretending that his dad, brother and future father in law were helping him to get ready. He probably got ready for his own wedding in five minutes, but he needed to act like his dad had to help him on with his vest and that his brother had to help fasten his tie.

Daughter, on the other hand, had days of appointments for manicures, pedicures, hair, etc and then spent the better part of the wedding day with a make up artist and a bridal attendant helping her get prepped for the big event.

The ironic part of this whole topic is that women get paid a lot less money than men. Notice how I didn't say "earn" less than men. Women earn it--they just don't receive the same salary as men. I'm referring to men and women who have the exact same experience and education and who have the same kind of jobs. Women get paid less, but need to spend way more money on all sorts of crap.

And, it takes mental energy to follow these fashion rules. Sister even had to tutor me. "You can wear this dress to such and such wedding, and you might even be able to get away with wearing that same dress to so and so's, because it's a completely different population, but you'll need to wear a different dress to the shower, because everyone will see that you wore the dress to X, Y and Z's wedding."

"Make sure to wear your dressy sandals to this person's wedding, but you'll need to buy new shoes for the other wedding. Don't even think about wearing the shoes you wore to that rehearsal to next month's wedding. And there's no way on earth that you should even be caught dead wearing the dress you wore at last week's wedding to the one in the Fall.

How does she know this stuff? Who wrote these rules? Probably some chauvinist pig. What would happen if I wore out of style pants with sneakers to each of these special events? As long as daughter and sister aren't there, I won't get in too much trouble. It will be my power statement. A win for women everywhere. Sounds good in theory, but these are all family gatherings and so I'm bound to get busted.

Sister is so strict with my clothing choices that she actually tricks (a polite way of saying kidnaps) me to get me inside clothing stores. And since I'm unaware that we'd be going shopping, my bra doesn't meet her standards and she informs me that I have to throw away my socks. "What you're wearing isn't even good enough to donate. It has to go straight into the garbage when you get home." If I didn't know better, I'd think my mother was talking to me, because that's what she always used to say to me.

I might not dress like a model, but kudos to me for saving time, money and hassles...and for freeing myself from fashion slavery.

Either way, I'm pretty sure I'm going to get flack from sister or daughter--or both, because I know I won't be able to keep straight all the fashion directives I'm supposed to follow. Perhaps I can throw them off by carrying a sign: "I'm a Feminist, Not a fashionista." Or, "Say no to Fashion Fascists."And if the signs are large enough, it will cover my outfit that son says the 1980s are calling for.

KEEPING IT ALL IN PERSPECTIVE

By Valerie Newman August 13, 2022

Ultimately, all of our stuff is just that--stuff. What matters the most to most of us? Probably, our life, our health and our families. (And of course, our pets!)

This morning, a relative (not mentioning who exactly) erased ALL of my emails. Yes, All of them.

It wasn't on purpose. In fact, the culprit was only trying to help.

I've NEVER and I really mean NEVER delete emails. I've got them going back from 2015 and earlier.

Hence, the relative was trying to make space in my computer (a p.c. from the dark ages.)

I don't hoard possessions. But I guess I must be guilty of hoarding emails. Or perhaps I've simply been too lazy to delete them.

Now I've got this uneasy feeling, kind of a vulnerable feeling that they're all gone. And yes, I looked in my trash file: NOTHING, zip, zilch, zero, empty, void.

I could ask the techie son if perhaps my emails are in some kind of cloud. I could also ask him if now would be a good time for me to change my very old and original email address so that I'll get less spam.

I want to be perfectly clear that son is NOT the one who accidentally deleted ALL of my emails.

The infraction that another family member just perpetrated might even be too permanent for son to undo.

Although I'm using criminal terminology to describe the violation of my email sanctity, I'm encouraging myself to keep this mishap in perspective.

While innocent people are getting bombed in Ukraine, people are starving in Africa because Ukraine can't grow the grain they used to be able to, let alone ship it to needy countries and while women and others are being oppressed throughout the world today, how can I even THINK of complaining about losing ALL of my emails?

How selfish of me to even be complaining to you, the reader I email my blog to so that I can pretend people are reading it!

Instead of feeling thrown off and empty, I could concentrate on how cleansing this is. And how much more space my computer will have now.

If I can remember how to post this on Face Book, then at least anyone who might actually read this will understand why I'm not returning their email.

And it might even get me out of some work meetings--I can simply say I didn't get a chance to look at their email--it's all been nuked.

Thank you for letting me vent. I feel better already.

Now all I have to do is figure out how to keep a certain unnamed individual from messing with my communications in the future--even if I have emails dating back to the last century.

THE MARVELS OF A ROOM'S HISTORY

By Valerie Newman August 3, 2022

You're probably thinking I'm going to talk about an historically significant room, perhaps from Mark Twain's house or in the home of Eleanor Roosevelt. While U.S. history does interest me, I started thinking about a room much closer to home (please excuse the pun.)

Husband has been working from home ever since the Corona virus came to this country. He's set up camp in the dining room. It's OK, because who ever really uses a dining room. (Except when we host Thanksgiving and other celebrations--but that's a topic for another day.)

He likes the long table and also, I'm guessing he likes the fact that it's close to the kitchen. Often times, though, it's become a hassle because the dog hangs out in the kitchen--and his bark can be quite loud. Also, if I want to talk on the phone while I walk on the elliptical, I find it difficult to hear what the person on the other end is saying. And--husband can't hear his colleagues.

And so, daughter came up with the idea to clear out her old bedroom and convert it into an office. I thought it was a great idea and helped with this endeavor. The room is now empty of her personal belongings. The desk is clear, the lighting is good, the room is clean.

The only problem is, husband isn't moving. As I walk by that empty room, I think back to how it looked so more cheerful when it was the room of a young adult. When this thought took a hold of my mind a couple of days ago, I got nostalgic. I remembered what it looked like when she was a college kid--it was filled with her books, posters, pictures of her college friends on a bulletin board. I recollected how before that, it had been a teenager's room--Beatles stuff all over the place, a jewelry box, stuff from Band and a picture of her and her boyfriend (who is now her husband.) I sat down and sighed. I thought to myself how it seemed like yesterday, it was the room of a little girl, with dolls and stuffed animals, toys, art and school supplies.

I remembered how she'd just gone off to her first sleep away camp experience--it was for a week or two. Her room, up to that point, had looked more like the nursery we turned it into when she was first born. There was a Raggedy Ann rocking chair, complete with the doll, baby furniture and a wall paper boarder on the top of her walls replete with bouncy balls, jacks and raggedy Ann and Andy dolls. It seems like yesterday that she was complaining that her room was too babyish.

I asked her what kind of room she'd like and she'd like it to be turquoise--her favorite color. She wanted her bed and furniture rearranged. Her brother and I cleared out her room and decided to do a complete makeover to surprise her when she arrived back home. We channeled that TV show about house make overs. A painter removed the boarder and painted her room turquoise and then we initiated a beach theme. We were thrilled to witness the look of surprise and delight when she first saw her newly redesigned room, complete with glass containers of sea shells, a beach themed bed spread, sea-themed lamps, accessories and turquoise walls. It looked like a room in a summer beach house.

My flood of memories didn't stop there. Before I knew it, I was thinking back to before she was born. Son stayed in the bigger bedroom next door, when we first moved into the house back when he was turning three. The extra bedroom served as his playroom. When we learned he'd be getting a sibling, we decided to suggest that he was getting old enough to have his playroom be located in the finished basement. We transitioned that room, little by little--taking his extra bed from his room and adding it to his former playroom. We gathered his former baby furniture and set it in this now bare room. This room, about to be turned into a new baby spot, had originally been a boy's room. We bought the house from the original owners and when we'd first moved in--you could clearly see that it had belonged to a boy.

It was brown and bare and had housed a bunk bed. That boy grew up and is now a powerful executive at NBC. I started to think about what transitions that bedroom had seen when he was a baby there, a small child, a teen and then the young adult he was when he moved out.

The room stays in place, yet has gone through many changes as its residents transition through the stages of life. And now it stands empty. Maybe it's hoping to become an office. Son's room has already been turned into a guest room, so we don't need another one. Every time I walk past the empty room, I see unfulfilled possibilities. I don't think our eight pound Yorkie needs an actual bedroom, do you?

I guess for now, the room will simply house our fond memories--and musings about what it had been before we arrived at this address.

HOW CAN MY BABY BE GETTING MARRIED THIS WEEKEND?

By Valerie Newman July 7, 2022

People I know are starting to ask me if I'm getting excited. I say yes, of course. But really, I'm in denial. This can't be happening.

In my mind, she is a new baby--barely six pounds. How can a tiny baby be getting married--is that possible. OK--I guess when I think of her, I picture a four year old--heading off to Kindergarten. How can a little girl who needs to hold my hand walking down the hall actually be tying the knot this weekend?

Is that even legal?

If I close my eyes and force myself to realize that time has passed, I enjoy thinking of her playing soccer. She's a fierce competitor out there--and it's a blast to watch her on the field. I think of husband saying that she runs like a gazelle. And that I'm not even sure what that is--but I do know that he's just complimented her. How can an eight year old be walking down the aisle as a bride? Is that even a thing--for someone in elementary school to be saying her vows?

OK--I can hear my son telling me to stop living in the past. This is also in my imagination, since he ran away to live in the Wild West--mostly to escape my annoyances.

He enjoys saying the that the 1980's are calling me for what ever it is that I'm wearing at the time. I'm not sure how he would know that--since he wasn't even alive in the 1980's. But that is REALLY far from the point of this piece.

My point is, I'm flabbergasted by the passage of time. The words from a "Fiddler On the Roof" song are resonating with me BIG TIME right now. My grandmother used to sing it when I was little. I think the name of it is "Sunrise, Sunset." The Fiddler and his wife are preparing for their daughter's wedding and he asks: "Is this the little girl I carried, is this the little boy at play? I don't remember growing older, when did they? When did she get to be a beauty, when did he get to be so tall--wasn't it yesterday when they were small?"

I blinked and my grandparents and parents are no long with us, I'm a gray haired little lady with glasses and hearing aides--probably the age my Grandma was when she sang this--and I'm about to watch my husband escort our youngest child down the wedding aisle.

I remember asking my daughter's first grade teacher: "Is this OK that after three weeks of school, she still needs me to hold her hand and walk her down the hall to class?" And the teacher answered: "Don't worry. She won't be asking you to hold her hand when she walks down the aisle at her wedding!" I remember thinking to myself back then: Well, that's a million years from now, if ever, so I don't have to even think about THAT day. And for now, I'll enjoy holding her hand on the way to her class room.

And here we are, it seems like five minutes later--and this daughter is now a school teacher herself. And she's about to say "I do" to a man we've known and loved since he was barely 14. Our son and his wife are flying in right now to be here for the wedding. So, if you'll please excuse me, I've got to go find some really out of style outfit to wear just to see my son's reaction.

I'M TAKING A PASS!

By Valerie Newman June 30, 2022

I just read an article in the Wall Street Journal about how older people need to pass on their passwords to their kids. The story mentioned how challenging it can be for adult kids to access their parents' documents and financial information after their parents pass away. The piece suggested that us fogies tell our kids our passwords BEFORE we croak.

Call me quirky, but I got a huge kick out of this article. Really--I should share my passwords with my kids before I die? What happens if I want to tell them AFTER I kick the bucket?

And, by the way, aren't we supposed to be changing our passwords on a regular basis?

Honestly, am I the only one whose husband calls the kids all the time so that they can remind him of his passwords?

And lastly--I'm so allergic to passwords that any time I'm trying to accomplish a task and some kind of technology asks for my password--I either blow off the entire process or call my kids. They wised up to me a long time ago. Instead of reminding me what my passwords are, they simply go onto my computer and take care of the transaction for me.

See-it pays to play dumb--or perhaps, just never deal with this password puzzle in the first place.

This ignorance regarding passwords did just bite me in the behind--and that was an additional motivation for me to vent like this. I went to the bank because I had to take out money--but in specific amounts of specific denominations. Don't get all suspicious on me--I needed to line up tips for the various vendors at our daughter's upcoming wedding. So, for example, I needed ten 20 dollar bills, 15 ten dollar bills, two 50's, etc. You can't just go to an ATM with your card and have it spit out that kind of specific order.

I'm not used to going inside a bank, mostly because husband works at one, though, since COVID, he's been working remotely. And he wasn't going to commute more than a half an hour one way just to go into his office simply to line up the correct amounts of cash for daughter's wedding.

So, I took my sheet of paper with the list of the number of bills I needed in each denomination. I grabbed my mask and drove to the bank. I made sure that I had my debit card with me and my driver's license. And I waited in line. When it was my turn, I stood on tip toes to reach the counter and hoped that my hearing aides would do their thing. The teller asked me to get out my debit card and put it in the machine on the counter. Everything was going OK until I had to enter my PIN number. "I don't know it," I said. If I show my driver's license, my check book and my debit card, why do I need to know a PIN number, too? My options were to cry, yell or call my kids. But both my kids were at work. I guessed our house code and then another code that I remembered. They didn't work.

After quietly releasing a swear word or two and getting teary eyed, I asked the teller: "Can I write you a check?"

It's a blur to me what occurred after that, and I could sense the long line of customers behind me judging me.

I am relieved to report, though, that I left with an envelope filled with the cash I needed. All's well that ends well, though I'm still left wondering about the pressure of this plethora of passwords.

I understand the need for some of them. It's just that it seems like such a waste of time to have to enter my password--even when I'm simply trying to order groceries! Some of us have so many passwords that we need a whole spread sheet just to keep them straight.

And also, how safe would it be to send all these passwords to the kids? If you send the spreadsheet--whose to know if a hacker could then have access to every single one of your passwords--before you die!

That's why I'm going to take a pass on this whole password pie.

Since our kids know our passwords by heart already--they can take care of of this piece of pie before we expire--and in this way, it will be easier for them to have their cake and eat it too, after we pass on to a world without passwords.

MY BEST TEACHER IS ONLY ABOUT EIGHT POUNDS!

By Valerie Newman June 28, 2022

No offense to daughter, the school teacher. Actually, I hope I'm not offending any human teachers. Truth is: dogs are our best teachers. There's a book entitled "All I Ever Needed to Learn, I learned in Kindergarten." My book would be titled: "Everything You Need to Know you can learn from your dog!"

What would the world be like if we greeted each other with the excitement my dog greets every single person he sees? I'd like to live in a world where we could all have the unconditional love that dogs display. We'd be better spouses if we were more like dogs and didn't hold grudges--or even judge others at all.

Dogs pay attention and can sense when their loved ones are unhappy or unwell. And then they come over to that person to cuddle with them and comfort them.

If you walk anywhere near my street, my dog will run as fast as he can to run up to greet you. He'll wag his tail and and wait for you to stop so that he can kiss you (really, he'll be licking your leg, but I'm going to call it a kiss.) He'll also expect you to pet him.

This act of giving love and expecting love in return can be quite disarming or dis-pawing, for that matter.

I'm sure we'd have less armed conflict in our world if every country's leader had a dog. How can anyone plan to attack another country when they're busy petting and cuddling with their dog and their dog is slobbering all over them? It's also hard to be cranky when you have to go outside and walk your dog. Dog owners are too busy getting fresh air, exercising and visiting with each other to start a war--or even a skirmish.

My dog is smaller than most cats, yet somehow, he's managed to be friends with all the dogs in the vicinity, no matter the age, gender, size, color, shape or type of dog. He's friends with a German Shepherd, Pug, King Charles Cavalier, Golden Doodle, Chihuahua, Black Lab, Yellow Lab mix, mutts and more. Some of the dogs are ten times his size. It doesn't matter to them. The bigger dogs don't try to hurt him and he's not afraid of them, either.

The human race can really learn many valuable lessons by observing dogs and behaving more like them. OK, maybe we can't sniff a stranger to learn about them or take ten minutes to examine where they peed so that we can pee there.

But we can approach other people with a positive attitude and respect. We can give them the benefit of the doubt and welcome them with open arms, despite any superficial differences. And it would behoove us all to judge less and love more.

Perhaps other members of the animal world can provide life lessons. I'm singling out dogs, though, because I live with one.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go pet my precious peace keeper.

WHY MY DAUGHTER IS PLANNING HER OWN WEDDING

By Valerie Newman June 23, 2022

What ever you do, please don't tell my daughter about this particular blog. (By the way, I refer to her as daughter because she, unlike me, is a very private person.)

Or at least, can you keep this story between you and me until AFTER her wedding?

Of course, daughter knows me well. She is fully aware of the fact that I'm not an organized or detailed person. She is painfully aware of the fact that I don't know a thing about fashion. And that I'm not the least bit interested in learning about it.

She bemoans the fact that I don't care about hair styles, don't wear any make up and pay no attention to accessories.

She's learned to live with this and to look for others for guidance in these and most other areas of life.

She does humor me, though and include me in some of the wedding plans. Like, for instance, she invited her future mother in law and a friend to watch the seamstress put up the bustle on her wedding dress. She asked them to video tape the process and to practice how to take care of the bustle so that she can dance at her wedding. And I was invited to tag along.

I would like to help her and yet, we were stymied to think of how I could actually contribute to the wedding planning process.

Daughter thought of a good idea. She bought fancy bags and all the items to place into these gift bags. Wedding guests staying at the hotel where she booked a block of rooms will find these goodie bags in their room. She brought over the bags, fancy tissue paper and all the items to go inside. "You can stuff the bags for me. That would be very helpful," she said. She typed up a list of all the items and told me the number of bags to fill. She demonstrated how to turn a plain piece of tissue paper into a creative decoration and she put it in the sample bag.

The next day, I was so proud of myself. I put all the right stuff into one of the bags. And then, I tried to do that fancy trick with the tissue paper. And I realized that it looked like a crumpled mess that a kindergartner would make for his or her parents on Mother's Day or Father's Day. I fessed up to daughter.

"That's OK--I'll come over and take care of the tissue paper part."

I must confess that I was relieved, but also felt guilty. She's working full time, apartment hunting and planning her own wedding and honeymoon, which will be happening any day now.

"I thought of something else you could do to help," she told me a couple of days later. "Why don't you send a check to each of these two vendors?" She emailed me their addresses, the contact person for each and the amount due.

"I've got this!" I reassured her. I knew that there was no way I could screw up sending a check in the mail. My famous last words.

I'd sent off the two checks as instructed last week, so she entrusted me with one more final payment. This time, I happened to be wearing my reading glasses when I put the stamp on the envelope. After I attached the stamp, my mouth dropped open. Then it went dry. Then I felt like I was going to faint. I saw that it was only a two cent stamp. I'd been mailing all sorts of stuff using those stamps. I pictured daughter wanting to kill me. Then I screamed for husband, who TRIES to work from home.

"I've single handedly ruined the whole wedding. None of the vendors will have gotten their payments!" I screamed. "I put two cent stamps on the envelopes by mistake!"

Thank God I'm married to a calm accountant. "I've been paying most of them on line. She only asked you to mail two checks. Let's look up the vendors' websites to get their phone numbers," he reassured me as he quickly walked to the computer. "Here are their numbers. Call to ask if they've gotten their payments. And put a current stamp on the envelope of the check that you're about to mail."

Both vendors verified that they'd gotten the checks. So now I'm wondering what I mailed with those two cent stamps. Perhaps my Father in law's Father's Day card never arrived because that's the letter I didn't stamp accurately.

And now we all completely understand why daughter hasn't given me lots of assignments involving her wedding!

NOW THAT I TOOK OUT THE DOG, CAN I GO BACK TO SLEEP--EVEN THOUGH IT'S FATHER'S DAY?

By Valerie Newman June 19, 2022

I woke up early today. And got out of bed. Got ready for the day. Then fed the dog. Gave him his dental chew. Then took him on a walk. Put his poop in the bag and threw it out.

I'm exhausted!

And this is what husband does every morning. BEFORE WORK! While I sleep late. And he didn't even want a dog.

Is he a sucker, or what? I mean great guy--is he a great guy, or what?

Whatever you do--please don't let him read this.

I did all this morning stuff with the dog because it's Father's Day. And I wanted to show my appreciation. And keep husband appeased until next Father's Day. I'm so tired right now, though, that I'm not sure if I'll have this in me next Father's Day. I hope he likes his card, that's all I can say. Because as soon as he wakes up and sees that I took care of the dog this morning, I'm going right back to bed.

So you don't think that I'm a complete spoiled brat, I feel obligated to clarify something. I take care of the dog the rest of the day every day. I'm allergic to mornings, though, so that's why I'm lucky that husband is a morning person.

I'm also willing to bring husband breakfast in bed this morning. But for some weird reason, he doesn't think we should eat in our bed. He prefers waking up in the morning, showering, getting dressed and then going into the kitchen to have breakfast in the kitchen.

If I could design the perfect life, I'd have breakfast delivered to me and eat in bed every morning. At 11:30. And then get ready for the day.

But WAIT--this is Father's Day, so I've got to snap out of my fantasy world and figure out how to kiss up to my spouse. Because if I'm really effective at sucking up to him today, it might buy me another year of sleeping late while he does the morning dog run.

I know what you're thinking. That you wish you were married to my husband. Only kidding--you're probably a morning person, too.

What you're probably thinking is that a spouse is never supposed to keep score and only do her life's partner a favor because she's expecting one in return. In reality, though, many of us married folks have unwritten contracts. Our is "You do the morning stuff and I'll do the night time stuff." And "I do the writing, you do the math." And "You do the mechanical stuff and I'll bring you a home cooked lunch every day."

I don't want to fix a leaky toilet or pump air in the tires. And I also don't want to see my spouse eating chips and Ramen noodles for lunch. So it works out really well for us. At least that's what I've been telling him all these years. And we've been married since 1984--so you do the math. Or if math isn't your thing either, wait for your spouse to wake up and then ask him or her to do the math.

LETTING WORRIES DOWN THE DRAIN

By Valerie Newman May 19, 2022

If you're younger than 50, please don't read any further. This topic won't be in your radar for quite some time--so go ahead and eat and drink what ever sounds good without giving the inside or outside of your body second thoughts.

The rest of us, though, get to do lots of drinking--but not the kind you think. And, I hope, that we partake in this ritual only once every five years or so. Yes, I'm referring to that special time when when we need to down a disgusting drink, followed by 40 ounces of clear fluid and many frequent, rushed trips to the bathroom. It might sound like your college frat life, but no--those days are long gone. (I never had them, I wasn't as smart as you, so I needed to forgo partying and actually study.) But that is way off topic.

My fellow old farts know what I'm referring to--the dreaded colonoscopy. This time around (I only have two more 8 o.z. cups of clear fluid to go--and I'm procrastinating by writing this blog) I was worried. I bet you think you know what I've been concerned about this time around: that the Dr. might find colon cancer? WRONG! That's why we get colonoscopies--if they find something, the doc can take it out while you're "out."

I'm guessing that you're guessing that I've been worried about how I was going to drink that disgusting medicine and all those clear fluids--or how I was going to survive without eating anything for a day and a half. Wrong, again. As long as you can have lemon ices, tea and white grape juice--I'm good.

Maybe you're thinking I was stressed out thinking that I might not make it to the bathroom in time. Of course not! While you're working out to watch your figure, I'm working out so that I know I'll ALWAYS be in shape to run to the bathroom. I live in a long ranch house, so I do have quite the hike to the bathroom. And at times like this, I'm glad to be in such good shape.

My biggest fear this time around actually relates to this house--we don't have sewers. We have a septic tank. And I can't even count as high as the number I've been flushing the toilet. And how many times I've washed my hands for 20 seconds afterwards. My colonoscopy might be fine, but our septic tank is getting more of a work out than I am. It's probably really pissed at me right now. Though that's not the exact analogy I'm looking for right now. How about this one, instead: The state of my septic is scaring the ---- out of me.

Husband, of course, pooh-pooed this concern. "It's not like we have three teenagers living here, taking hour long showers each."

He's probably right that I should stop fretting about a fricking septic tank. After all, once this test is "behind" me, Madam poop- a- lot, will go into hiding for another five years to give our septic tank a much needed rest.

DOES THIS STUFF ONLY HAPPEN TO ME--AND IF SO, IS IT BECAUSE I DIDN'T SAY "RABBIT-RABBIT" ON MAY 1ST?

By Valerie Newman May 16, 2022

Did any of you read "A Series of Unfortunate Events"? That's pretty much been the story of my life (or really just the month of May.)

Somehow, when I was a kid, my dad got me in the habit of saying "Rabbit Rabbit" at the very start of each month. He'd wake me up for school on the first of each month by saying "Rabbit Rabbit" because it was supposed to bring you good luck for the entire month.

Once I moved out of my parents' house (notice how I did NOT say "once I grew up" because my adult kids will tell you that they're still waiting for me to grow up. And my husband basically gave up on that whole notion entirely), I started leaving myself reminder notes on the last night of each month. By the time I had a couple of years of college under my belt, though, I realized that I didn't have to wake up at the crack of dawn anymore. And since I'm a night owl, I decided to stay up until midnight to say Rabbit Rabbit on the last night of each month.

As you know, I'm 60 years young and so I have a long history of greeting the new month by honoring this superstition. I have no excuse. For some unknown reason, I didn't stay up til midnight to say the magic phrase. And of course you know what happened the next morning. I'll tell you anyway: I slept late, woke up and forgot all about it the lucky charm that I'd been relying on for years. When I realized my mistake later that day, husband tried to get me to brush off the whole idea and forget about it.

I did. Until all sorts of crazy bad stuff started to invade my life.

Mother's Day started off well enough. I was organized enough to pack some food for me to eat after teaching Sunday school, because I knew I'd be driving straight to a pottery place for a crafts making excursion with daughter.

Apparently I should have used my better cooler with a stronger ice pack. Or thrown out the cottage cheese the day before when I thought it smelled funny. But it looked OK and I'd just bought it the day before. Perhaps it was in a hot car for too many hours, but I was hungry and the cottage cheese looked fine. I looked at the expiration date--it had two more days until it was going to spoil, which ticked me off--because I'd just bought it. And I was hungry. I ate the cottage cheese after painting a rainbow on a ceramic mug. I had fun with daughter and her future mother in law and felt fine when I got home.

When my stomach started to hurt that evening, I realized that my cottage cheese was the "healthy" kind--without preservatives. I don't remember thinking much after that--or doing much either, besides running to the bathroom. I was supposed to get the dress I'm wearing to daughter's rehearsal dinner tailored the next day. I was lucky I was able to call the tailor in between my bathroom visits to cancel that appointment. I was also supposed to get my booster shot, because we were supposed to be going on vacation soon--my first vacation trip in YEARS!

I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but I knew I'd have to cancel the booster appointment. And here I'd been so proud of myself that I'd scheduled that appointment on line. I didn't have the time to cancel it on line, though, because you know where I was spending most of my time. When I wasn't running to the bathroom, I was flat out in bed. I couldn't take antacids, because my colonoscopy was scheduled for the next week--and you can't use any antacids for at least a week before that procedure.

"You might as well have your colonoscopy now that you've already pooped your guts out," husband suggested. "But I feel like crap," I said--no pun intended.

"Why don't you take Pepto Bismo?" he suggested. "Do you want me to start puking, too?" I asked. There is no way that anyone is going to ever get me to swallow that pink goo.

I was spending so much time laying down that my leg started to swell. "You feel warm," husband said as he felt my forehead. I have a strong aversion to taking painkillers. I didn't even take a Tylenol when I broke my leg back when daughter was really little. When I'd been in bed or the bathroom for four days, husband insisted I take my temperature. It was 101. something. Time to call the Dr. "Your leg is swollen? I'm putting you on the strongest antibiotic ever. And, you could have a blood clot. You've got to have an ultrasound STAT! The office scheduled me for the first one possible--in a town I'm not too familiar with, but beggars can't be choosers. By then, the bathroom trips were less frequent. I researched the location of the place, put it into my phone, grabbed my best mask and got in the car.

As you know, I have the world's worst sense of direction and I get really scared driving to new places. I'm pulling out of the driveway and husband stops me. "You got the wrong place--you're confused about where you're going. "You have to tell me this now? I'm due there in 20 minutes, it's a new place to me and now you're stopping to tell me this?" I knew that I'd double checked, but the stress of thinking I could be having a blood clot, having been feeling so sick and now having to drive to a new place for a medical test--I told HIM to go somewhere with my most cutting voice, peeled out of the driveway and started to scream and cry. And then the phone dropped off the magnet. I'm hard of hearing, so at a stop light, I picked it up and put it back on the magnet. But now the picture was gone and it was showing a little green car with a happy face. At least that's what I think it was showing--I had on my distance glasses, because I was driving.

"Here goes my vacation, I'm going to have to take blood thinners and I hope I can make it to my daughter's wedding, " I thought as I finally found an open parking spot. My heart was racing and I had no idea how I was going to find suite 182 in this huge complex of buildings. I got out of the car and was lucky to see a sign for the radiology department. I walked up to the door. It was locked. No lights were on inside and I peered in--it was some kind of cafe--that was closed. Thank God I saw two women walking past me and I asked them if they knew where the radiology department was. I didn't even have to tell them much of my life story. They saw my white hair and probably saw that I looked like complete crap. And they walked me to the other side of the building, showed me the main entrance and wished me luck.

It happened to be really hot outside and yet, because I'd just started taking Cipro, I had to avoid sun exposure. Believe it or not, I was only a few minutes late for the ultrasound. The ultrasound technician DID have to hear my ENTIRE saga. Could that be why she told me the results right there? "You're clear--no clots!" she announced.

I wanted to hug her, but she told me that was against the rules. When I got home, I shared the good news with husband and then told him: " You will NEVER do that to me again. You can take me to medical appointments, or review the directions as I'm looking them up or you can keep your concerns to yourself.

Today I got my booster, though it won't be in full affect until after my vacation starts. My trip with my dear friend will give husband and I a break from each other--we've been together 24/7 inside the house for more than two years. All I can do now is hope that my luck turned for the better with the positive results of that ultrasound. Because I'm going to need lots of luck at my colonoscopy and my upcoming trip.

And as soon as I can figure how to, I'm going to program my phone to give me a reminder on the last day of each month--to say "Rabbit Rabbit" at midnight!

"Follow us

The older I get, the more I realize: Everyone has issues.

We all have issues, whether it be physical, emotional, psychological, family related.... the list of possibilities is long.

And so, far be it for me to judge anyone. Of course, since I'm human, I'm still judgy sometimes. I've also started to cut people more slack--how do we know what stuff they're dealing with?

This makes me think of an expression that my grandmother taught me: There is so much good in the worst of us and so much bad in the best of us, that it scarcely behooves ANY of us to talk about the rest of us.

That memory brought me a bit off topic.

When I said that we all have issues, I didn't realize that this can also relate to machines.

Until today.

I turned on my PC and it invited me to use a cleaner. I clicked on the computer cleaner. After a few minutes, it told me "Your computer has issues. It's not feeling well. Here are the issues that you need to resolve to help your computer feel better."

OMG! I have to address my own issues, deal with family members' issues, listen to my neighbors' issues, handle my students' issues.... and now this!

Even my computer has issues.

Will I be considered a bad mother if I don't take care of this computer when it doesn't feel well?

There was only one thing to do--consult with someone who could vouch for my parental qualities--or judge me for my faults as a mom. One kid is a teacher, so I couldn't bother her. I texted the other kid, who works from home. And he happens to be a techie.

"Just ignore it!" he texted back.

And so now, I'm riddled with guilt. I'm sweeping under the rug all of my computer's issues. It's not feeling well and yet, I'm not taking care of it. What kind of a mother am I?

I've always had the philosophy that it's a good idea to face my issues, admit them and sometimes, try to deal with them. OK, I'm sure I'm in denial about a bunch and too lazy to deal with some others, but I certainly don't completely IGNORE them.

Will the computer contact computer services and report me?

Will my computer get so sick that it will die?

I'm reassuring myself that the techie son will come onto my computer and one point and do his own checkup. And then he'll fix what ever is broken.

But he's not going to do this forever. It's my favorite computer and it's at least ten years old. He would tell anyone hiring him to repair their computers, that if the machine was older than five years, he wasn't going to support it. He'd suggest that they buy a new one.

But I don't want a new one--and now you know some of my issues: lack of flexibility, fear of change and lack of confidence in learning anything having to do with technology.

Boy, am I lucky to have a techie in the family. Don't tell him, but I think that I'm one of his biggest issues!

THE MOST SIGNIFICANT LESSONS WE'VE LEARNED FROM COVID (OR MAYBE JUST MY MOST IMPORTANT LESSON!)

By Valerie Newman May 11, 2022

Many of you (OK, I'm humoring myself to think that many people are actually reading this) have learned a great deal from the virus that has been circulating the world for more than two years. Some of us learned Zoom, how to work remotely and even how to conduct so much of our lives in a virtual world. Others have come to realize how important it is to cherish our time with family and friends now that we might be able to see them in person. And perhaps we've all learned how to protect ourselves from even the common cold.

Blah, blah...I'm really proud of something very important that I've learned, thanks to the Corona virus. And, as you'll see, the other lessons pale in comparison to this crucial skill. But first I have to ask you something very personal: How much toilet paper do you use per bathroom trip? Because of the toilet paper shortage when COVID first started, I got into the habit of wiping with one tiny square at a time.

And guess what: I'm quite proud to say that I've continued this "waste not want not" strategy for each bathroom excursion. Just think of the trees I'm saving! And money, too. And this is all thanks to the pandemic. Yes, it's been life changing.

In addition, I've already told you about the fact that I stopped coloring my hair. Now each time I look in the mirror, I'm shocked at the old lady staring back at me--oh wait, sorry--I've never behaved like a lady, so let me rephrase that--I'm shocked at the old woman in the mirror. But then I pat myself on the back for how much time I'm saving. And I'm probably helping the environment a bit, too. To be perfectly honest, I stopped going to the salon altogether. My hairdresser is my neighbor and I run over to her back yard for haircuts.

Therefore, though COVID has had tremendous downsides, I'm choosing to focus on the positive outcomes: less toilet paper going to waste and less chemicals in my body or down the drain.

Talk about keeping everything in perspective--way to go, Me, for spotlighting key lessons that COVID has offered us!

WHAT DO YOU REALLY MEAN WHEN REFERRING TO THE WORD "EXPOSED"?

By Valerie Newman April 29, 2022

As a college student or young writer, I enjoyed producing an expose. (pronounced expozay) As a young reporter, I'd always have my camera with me and took pictures, as needed. When I pulled the film from the reel, I had to be careful not to expose the film. (If you're 50 years or older, you might know what I'm talking about here.)

And throughout my adult life, when I'd hear about someone exposing themselves, I'd think of some sexual deviant flashing an unsuspecting passersby. I never wanted to be that person walking by when someone would open their trench coat to display their naked body.

And now, since the arrival of the Corona Virus, getting exposed has taken on a whole new meaning. Tell that to my subconscious mind, though.

Unbeknownst to our daughter, she had COVID and came over for dinner and to hang out with us, her future in-laws and future husband.

We were all inadvertently exposed to COVID 19. Dealing with that threat must have messed with my mind, which, as you already are well aware of if you're reading this blog, was already extremely messed up for starters. Anyway, in my sleep one night last week, my dreams haunted me. I dreamed that my husband and I were inside our house, I walked into the kitchen for something, and there, standing in the middle of our kitchen, was a young man I'd never seen before. And he was COMPLETELY NUDE!

Of course, I invited my husband to come see what (or who) was waiting in the kitchen. Even though I was having a nightmare, I remember being relieved that I wasn't home alone. My husband, who is the opposite of a drama queen, calmly said, "Well--he can't hurt us. We can clearly see that he's not hiding any weapons."

"Should I call 911?" I asked husband.

"Why don't you go into our room and shut and lock the door and I'll talk with him. As I backed up, I heard my spouse saying, "Hello. Are you lost? Do you need something? Can I help you?"

I was touched with how quietly thoughtful my husband was. He was concerned about this man, instead of being afraid. I guess he was thinking that the guy might have a substance abuse issue or be having some kind of emotional crisis. Next thing I know, my husband had a quick turn around in his approach. I heard him say, "honey, it's me--let me in. Now, we're calling 911."

I woke up with my heart racing. I was so relieved to realize that this had just been a disturbing dream. And that's when I made the connection--we'd been EXPOSED to COVID and my fear of being exposed manifested itself differently in my subconscious mind.

Good news: we didn't catch COVID from daughter. AND, after telling spouse about my dream, he installed brighter flood lights outside our front door--and we've starting bolting the door, as well. With masks on and doors locked, the only thing I plan to get exposed to now would be new experiences--like walking inside the grocery store!

YOU KNOW YOUR DOG IS ACTIVE WHEN..... (OR MAYBE YOU KNOW YOU'RE A WORRY WART WHEN....)

By Valerie Newman April 28, 2022

We let our dog out one last time before we go to sleep each night. As he gets older, we've been letting him out earlier because he's starting to get tired earlier than us. Last night, though, we called him to say it was time for his last pee-pee of the day. He didn't budge. That's happened before, so then I yell out the "S" word. NO--not THAT "S" word! This is a G rated blog.

All I have to do is say the word "squirrel" and our dog jumps up and runs to the door like we're about to be attacked by a pack of wolves. This time, however, he still didn't flinch. When we saw that he didn't move a muscle, husband declared: "He's dead." And THEN, of course, I said the real S word. Believe me--husband knows what he's talking about when he says stuff about animals because he grew up on a farm. When he says, for instance, that a furry caterpillar in the Fall means an early Winter--you should listen to him.

So when he told me that the dog died, I believed him. I've never seen this dog that motionless before. This perpetual puppy has more energy than the Energizer Bunny. The Vet even told me that, pound for pound, he is the naughtiest dog she's ever treated. And she's had an active practice for many years. Even when he takes that rare nap, he's got one eye open and at least one ear pointed straight up. A crumb drops, he's pouncing. He hears a person walking by a mile away, he's barking.

"Well, now what are we supposed to do?" I asked the spouse. "Well, we can wait until the morning to bury him," he said, calmly.

"No--not about THAT. I asked how we were supposed to break this news to daughter, who is approaching her wedding date.

And then I went into the denial stage. "How could he be dead--he was fine a few hours ago."

"He must have eaten something," husband conjectured.

"But he's been in the house for hours and I didn't see him eat anything outside or inside except his dog food," I protested.

"You know him," husband said. "He probably sneaked something while we weren't looking."

Even though I knew we didn't have anything deadly in the house that he could reach, I knew that daughter would want to kill me.

"I swear,--it's not my fault, but I'm going to get into big trouble over this. I've done the best I could to keep him alive. I'm angry with myself and I don't even think I did anything wrong!" I said as I entered the anger stage of grief. "How can you be walking around doing normal stuff when our dog just died?" I asked my husband, directing my anger toward him now.

"Nothing we can do about it now. At least now we can travel and not worry about finding a sitter," he said.

"He was such a hassle, but I'm going to miss him," I confessed, tears welling in my eyes. Then I went back into denial. I crouched really close to the ground, right by our Yorkie's face. I didn't see any movement or hear him breathing. I didn't see him breathing, either, but, of course, I hadn't thought to put on my reading glasses. And, come to think of it, I'd already taken out my hearing aides for the night. I stroked his back, and thought to myself that he must have just died, because he still felt warm.

And then, I saw him open one eye partially.

"Do you want a treat?" I asked him--right to his face. He opened the other eye.

"Hey, hon--I think he's alive and that he's just sleeping," I said.

"But we've never seen him that still and he ALWAYS jumps up when we tell him we just saw a squirrel," husband observed.

At least, I thought to myself, daughter won't kill me. "There goes our care free vacations," I said to the spouse.

"I guess we should start taking him out even earlier in the evening," husband said with a smile.

DON'T TELL MY KIDS, BUT.....

What ever you do--don't say a word to my daughter about what I'm going to tell you. This is going to be tricky, because, she's pretty much the only one who reads my blog. And that's because I email it to her. However, that's no guarantee that she's actually going to read it. So if YOU'RE actually reading this, thank you! And let's keep today's blog between me and you.

I was walking my dog, who, by the way, is completely embarrassed about this blog, especially when I talk about him. So, for privacy sake, let's call him "Henry." Henry and I were walking in our yard when, out of the clear blue, I see this tall, skinny, long, brown creature saunter across the street. I'd never seen anything like it before. It reminded me of a dog, but I knew it wasn't a dog. I grabbed Henry, lifted him up and ran back into our house. I was thinking that it might be a coyote, but my heart was racing too fast to look up pictures of coyotes on my computer.

My husband grew up on a farm and he confirmed my fear. But he wasn't all that supportive. "It didn't try to attack you or the dog, right?"

"I know, but what if it has rabies?" I asked. It was walking outside in the middle of the day!

"Was it foaming at the mouth or acting really weird?" husband asked.

"No," I said, "but you're acting weird by not freaking out about this."

"Well, then, it didn't have rabies," he said, completely calm.

"But where do you think it was going?" By the way, I was wondering, because I didn't want to have a confrontation with it during future walks.

"Oh, it was on it's way home--and he's there already, so you can stop worrying," husband said.

"Where do you think he lives?" I asked. Since my spouse was a farm boy, I figured he'd know.

"How the H--- am I supposed to know. Why didn't you ask him?" husband responded.

"How do you know it's a he?" I asked.

By the way, I'm still too much of a fraidy cat to look up pictures of coyotes. And I'm really mad at them for wanting to eat Henry.

Like we didn't have enough to worry about with war in Europe, political strife at home, racial injustice, starvation in Africa and elsewhere, lack of freedom in China and elsewhere and a pandemic--- now I have to be concerned about coyotes meandering through my neighborhood in broad daylight, hunting my dog?!

Cant' they pick on someone their own size? Henry likes to catch some run on the front steps. I connect his leash to the front door knob, but could Wiley Coyote climb the steps and gobble up Henry right there while I'm inside minding my own business? I guess I could sprinkle black pepper on Henry to deter the coyote. But what if coyotes like spicy food? I could look it up, but, like I already said, I'm too scared to look up anything about those creepy creatures.

I'm sorry to offend you if you happen to be a coyote lover. But anyone who wants to eat a cuddly, eight pound Yorkshire Terrier is not going to be a friend of mine.

And the reason we can't tell any of this to our daughter is that I'm a permissive, indulgent doggie parent. If Henry wants to sit on the front steps, I'm going to let him. And I'm not always going to be sitting right next to him. But don't worry--I'm going to tell him not to talk to any strangers.

DOGS WILL "DOO" WHAT THEY DO WHEN THEY FEEL LIKE IT!

(No matter how much of a rush you're in!)

By Valerie Newman April 21, 2022

First thing in the morning, all across America, dog parents try to get their dogs to do their business. At least I've heard and seen this up and down my street on the rare occasions that I had to walk the dog in the early hours of the day.

It's not my idea of fun, waiting for the dog to do a BM in the a.m.

It is kind of cute, though, to notice that I'm not alone.

"Come on, Pluto--go Potty!" I hear my across the street neighbor cajoling her Collie. "Will you hurry up and go!" I see my neighbor begging her beagle. Here are a bunch of mature adults, held hostage by our hounds. It's freezing cold out and we're all pulling our pooches along, pleading for them to poop.

There are engineers, accountants, hairdressers, executives, principals--and they all have to wait until their dogs are good and ready to do their business so that the owners can go to their business. Or at least start their work remotely.

I know that for my dog, being in a hurry is not help. He sniffs, walks in a circle, decides to walk to another spot, stands there, sniffs some more, circles again and then he'll get distracted by the least little thing, including birds, squirrels, another dog, a passing car, a person walking by. And then he forgets why we're on a walk in the first place. If he sees a doggie friend a mile away, he plops himself down on our lawn, waiting for a play date.

It doesn't matter if I'm running late for an appointment, have a meeting, or even if the Queen of England is coming over and I've got a million things to do.

I can ask him to go potty, tell him that I don't have all day or promise him a treat. He will poop when he's good and ready.

When I find myself getting frustrated with him, I need to remind myself: I wouldn't want someone standing outside my bathroom telling me to hurry up and do my business. And I bet most of us wouldn't be able to poop on command even if we wanted to. Also--how would you like pooping outside--in front of the whole neighborhood? That can't be fun. On the other hand, dogs enjoy sniffing each other's behinds, so maybe pooping outside is fun for them.

Questions like this can keep a pet owner like me up at night. But not when it's my turn to walk the dog the next morning!

HOW MANY SENIORS DOES IT TAKE TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO ORDER A COVID TEST?

By Valerie Newman April 13, 2022

It took husband and me more time to register for a fancy COVID test than it took scientists to invent the vaccine. I know what you're thinking: Why not call one of your millennial kids to ask them for help?

I'm ten steps ahead of you, however, because I'm always straightforward with you--I might ask them for help, but they know what that translates to:

CAN YOU DO IT FOR ME BECAUSE I'LL MAKE YOUR LIFE A LIVING HELL WITH ALL MY QUESTIONS AND THE AMOUNT OF TIME YOU'LL BE MESSING WITH ME.

Our adult kids know that it's much easier for everyone involved if they simply take care of anything having to do with technology, fashion, common sense, math...it's a long list, so I'll cut if off here so I don't bore you.

I can also sense that you're thinking: "Thank God I'm not one of your kids!"

You know what I'm talking about though--remember, if you ever had kids, how they always wanted to "help" you when they were little? But it was always so much easier for you when they were doing their own thing and NOT wanting to "help" you? Of course, when daughter was little and she wasn't near by, I'd find indescribable destruction in the next room.

But this is WAY off topic. Basically, we take turns bothering son and daughter (and sometimes their partners) for help with almost everything. We needed to schedule PVC (I think I'm using the correct initials.) tests because we were exposed to COVID. We can't bother daughter, because she's the one who exposed us. We can't bother son, because he was getting ready to fly here for the weekend. He's the one who told us we need to take this specific test--at a certain day--and a certain time--and at a certain kind of lab.

Who knew it was this complicated? I guess maybe everybody but us. We'd never even had to take a home test because we've basically been the most cautious people on earth.

We also flunked the home test challenge. We dropped a piece, husband yelled at me that I wasn't shoving the Q tip in my nose deep enough, we couldn't see the lines on the test without a magnifying glass. We weren't sure if we'd followed the directions exactly. The home test brought flashbacks to my pregnancy tests--but testing positive brought tears of joy. I like being a positive thinker, but I'm really hoping for negative results on this test.

The home test also brought flash backs to my high school chemistry class. And I only passed that class thanks to help from my genius friend. NO--I didn't cheat--she spent a LOT of time helping, explaining and tutoring me after school. Maybe I should have called her for help on these COVID tests.

After struggling for over an hour to fill out the forms for the PVC COVID test on line, we finally broke down. We called son while he was scrambling to wrap up work and change his travel plans to book a rent a car and a hotel room. If I were him, I'm not sure whether I would have laughed or cried. I probably would have done both. In seconds, he came on team viewer on my PC, fixed our errors and got us booked for the test.

And now, I can answer my own question as to how many Seniors does it take to order a COVID test: Two, if you have help from a Millennial.

WOULD YOU SING THE NATIONAL ANTHEM IN FRONT OF A PACKED STADIUM?

By Valerie Newman April 11, 2022

Do you remember the Dr. Seuss book about eating green eggs and ham? One of the lines asks: "Would you, could you in a car?"

Well, I'm going to ask you right here and now:

Would you sing the national anthem in front of a large audience?

Would you be willing to sing it into a microphone? How would you feel about singing it on national TV?

Do you even remember all the words? Can your voice go that high? Can you sing on key?

For some reason, daughter got it in her head to ask the hypothetical question to her fiance. "What would you do if we were at a minor league baseball game and they really needed you to sing the national anthem?"

They are both self described, quiet introverts.

He thought about it for a moment, and then he surprised her. He belted it out, becoming a ham, motioning with his arms and sang it with gusto.

Daughter clapped. She was pleasantly surprised by his beautiful voice and the fact that he knew all the words.

Before he had the chance to ask her what SHE would do if she were asked to sing the national anthem (her answer, by the way, was, "NO"--but he hadn't even realized that he had the option of refusing) Their downstairs neighbor banged on their ceiling. "Nice pipes!" the neighbor yelled, also clapping.

After turning various shades of red, future son in law laughed. He and daughter hadn't realized that the people living in the apartment below could hear them that clearly. Later that day, the neighbor's girlfriend (who also lives downstairs) texted our son in law to be. "You'll have to sing it again, because I heard all about your performance, but I was already at work. Looking forward to hearing the encore."

When daughter relayed this story to me, I challenged myself. I sang it to daughter. I was shocked that she didn't flinch while I sang it.

I'm sure you can guess: I couldn't reach the high notes, I sang off key, I couldn't remember all the words--but, despite all this, my answer would be very different than daughter's.

"I would LOVE to sing it in front of a stadium of fans or any large audience, including TV! That would be so much fun!"

And so, I continue to accumulate more evidence that somehow, even though I was there when she was born, I'm not actually related to my daughter. I've got a stinking suspicion that husband cloned himself.

Either way, I wonder what your answer is: Would you, could you, sing the national anthem in front of a large audience?

CAN YOU GUESS WHAT I'M MOST APPREHENSIVE ABOUT REGARDING MY FIRST VACATION TRIP IN TWO YEARS?

By Valerie Newman April 4, 2022

Like many others, I haven't traveled too far during the last couple of years. And I'm finally ready to take the plunge. I'm going to fly far away to site see somewhere I've never been before.

Though I'm excited, I'm also quite scared. Pardon me for bragging, but I already know what you're thinking.

You're imagining that I have a fear of flying. Or you're thinking that I'll be apprehensive about leaving the comfort of my home after two years of home confinement. You might be guessing that I'm concerned about possible terrorist activity. You could be surmising that I'm not looking forward to taking my shoes off in the airport, waiting in long security lines, or worrying that there will be a flight delay or that my suitcase might not arrive.

OK--those hassles and issues have occurred to me. So you'll get partial credit. Normal people would be too embarrassed to admit what I'm really most afraid of regarding my upcoming voyage. And yet, if you're reading this column, you are well aware of the fact that I'm extremely far from normal.

I'm 60 years old and have gotten quite accustomed to staying close to home. I've gotten used to the idea that I've got more than one bathroom within walking distance of me at any given moment. I eat and drink when ever I feel like it because, I've got immediate access to the bathroom. The notion that I'm giving up this freedom to travel a long distance has been keeping me up at night. Or maybe, it's my several trips each night to the bathroom. Either way, I have no idea how I'm going to hold "it" in for long periods of time.

To cover my ass, please excuse the pun, I guess I could bring along some adult diapers. But, where does an adult go to change their diapers? There's no room for that in an airplane bathroom anyway. Will my tour bus have a toilet on it? Will I be going on long hikes without access to a bathroom?

I'm aware that this seems like a trivial concern, especially in light of the tragedy unfolding in Ukraine. It's trivial until you're a 60 year old woman who suddenly finds that she have to pee like a race horse and yet, there's no bathroom in sight. Or she, loosely translated to mean me, finds herself in a bathroom line the size of California.

You might have heard the expression: "I laughed so hard, I almost wet my pants!" Now you're getting the picture--except for me, I don't even have to laugh and I feel that way. God forbid someone cracks a joke during my trip.

Lucky for me, I've got "Cancel for any reason" travel insurance. I can only picture me filling out the form if I chicken out about this excursion. When they ask about my reason for cancellation, I guess I can be diplomatic and respond: "Fear of accidents." And I'm sure that they won't be envisioning the kind of accidents that I'm worried about!

By Valerie Newman March 25, 2022

My meditation class stresses that, in order to feel content, we need to focus on the following mantra: "I am enough and I do enough." I can repeat this until the cows come home and yet, I don't believe myself. This really hit home for me over the last couple of days. At a family friend's funeral, I learned that the man who died had invented the Iris Identification System. A noted eye doctor and surgeon, he'd also invented and patented so many forward thinking and impactful procedures and products to help his fellow humans.

At the funeral for a friend the next day, I learned that she was an actual genius. How had I not realized that she was a member of the Mensa Society? She always seemed down to earth, kind and humble. I guess she didn't talk down to others while she quietly invented new computer programs. She'd studied math and computer science in its infancy--rare fields for a woman back when we were growing up in the dark ages.

At her funeral, I learned how much impact she had on society by all the girls she mentored, the programs she invented, the teens she worked with and the career she had doing stuff that I don't even understand enough to accurately describe.

How does one measure up to these individuals? When I was young I had lofty career goals and was proud of my accomplishments in my early years of work. I felt satisfaction as a working mom and hadn't even started to concentrate on helping others or making my mark on the world when my second child came along. I got laid off the day I brought her home from the hospital as a newborn.

Now that excuse rings hollow, as she's been an adult for years and has a career in her own right.

Sure, I've volunteered, worked part time and by some miracle, have two offspring who turned out to be normal, well adjusted people.

And yet, I'm left pondering: What have I done to make a difference in other peoples' lives? And what ever answer I might be able to come up with, it's NOTHING compared to all these successful people who recently died. They've left quite the legacy. And that's where I realize that my meditation mantra isn't ringing true.

If I can brag for a moment, I'm a very dedicated dog mom, but that's not going to get me much credit.

I'm getting the feeling that I'd better figure out something fast, because as a favorite song of mine goes: "Time keeps on ticking, ticking, ticking...into the future."

The friend who died was only ten years older than me. I'm fully aware of the fact that in ten years, I won't be able to accomplish what she did. And you could give me a million years and I wouldn't be as smart as her--or the eye surgeon. And yet, with the brain I've been given, I could and should be doing more to help others. The questions are "What?" and "How?"

If you have any ideas, my sole reader, please let me know. For now, I'll stay on the alert for how I can make a positive difference. And, to be honest, I'm pretty sure that I'm going to keep on wasting time playing computer word games and fussing over my dog.

HOW DO WE LEARN THE RULES OF FASHION?

By Valerie Newman March 23, 2022

I needed to attend a funeral today--the first one I've attended in person in years. Of course, I had to wonder: What should I wear? Many of people would wonder the same question. But they'd be able to take a look a their wardrobe and have a fairly good idea of what they should wear. OK--I'm not a complete moron! I'm aware that I shouldn't wear bright or lively colors to a funeral. But I was still puzzled about the following: How dressy should I get? Is it OK to wear pants-and if so, are black boots OK with that?

I must admit that my mother used to help me answer questions like this. And now for the true confession--she was giving me fashion advice way into my adulthood. And once she got too sick to help me, my daughter took over. But--who taught her these mysterious rules? One hint: It wasn't me. I still don't have a clue. You might be thinking that it's time I learn. But I won't fall for that trick--each season comes with it's own rules--and then they change each year. Clothing companies think we should shop each year for new, stylish clothes. I just keep mine forever and hope that they'll be back in style--or I just wear what ever I want--until I actually have to go out in public.

These last two years have been a fashion free vacation period for me.

How does my daughter know what's good to wear to each occasion--and what I should wear, as well. And more importantly--what I absolutely shouldn't wear under any circumstances. I wasn't nominated for the "What Not To Wear" show for nothing.

And it's not just my mom and daughter who had or have this flare for fashion. It's pretty much every other woman in the world--and lots of men, too. This was not and is not a subject taught in school. Are people born with this gene? Is everybody but me studying fashion magazines?

And all you fashionistas talk the same language, too. "Just wear your blouse from Lord & Taylor that you wore to ...... and your pants that you got at Banana Republic that you wore to (name a family event.) "You sound just like Grandma used to! How do you remember where I got various articles of clothing and where I wore them?" I ask daughter, in amazement. And I'm also beyond impressed that she can put together an outfit for me off the top of her head in ten seconds--and she doesn't even live here.

I can't help but feel sorry for her. Her mom (me) never even thought to match her hair bows with her socks. To be honest, I never even bought her anything for her hair. And I didn't think twice about sending her to her first sleep over party with her brother's hand-me-down airplane PJ's. I never bought her make up or taught her how to use it. I still don't know how to do that myself. Here's a shout out to her friend's mom who took pity on her and must have taught her all this stuff.

And in the meanwhile, I'm saving lots of time and money by wearing clothes that my son says the 1980's are calling for.

WHO NEEDS AI TO TALK WITH THEIR DOGS?

By Valerie Newman March 22, 2022

I just read an article in the newspaper about Artificial Intelligence being used to communicate with animals. These AI machines are sophisticated enough now to interpret how dolphins communicate with each other and scientists have discovered that dolphins call each other by names. The article said that the machines are analyzing language patterns of various animal societies.

My reaction: Duh! We don't need AI to communicate with our dogs or to understand how they communicate with each other. One of my first blog pieces was about how we all talk with our dogs. Some of us talk baby talk or in high pitched voices and some of us make up a pretend voice for our pet so that we can have actual conversations.

One of my favorite books is "My Third Husband will be a Dog." In fact, I bet my dog and I communicate more with each other on some days than I do with my own husband.

Don't you know when your dog wants you to play with him or her? Can't you tell the difference between the bark that means, "My dog friend is outside." and "I really have to pee right now."

I'm pretty sure that you can understand when your dog wants you to pick him or her up so that they can sit on your lap. You know how to interpret the message, "Pet me!" And I bet you can figure out what it means when they growl.

When my dog has to pee by each mail box, I know that he's leaving messages for his friends. It's their form of Face Book. He sniffs their messages and then adds his own.

It's not rocket science. We don't need AI. When my Yorkie runs around with his furry friends on his spontaneous play dates, us doggie parents can easily interpret their non verbal communication. They wag their tails, run around with each other and sniff each other's rear ends. They can learn a lot about each other from that seemingly disgusting habit. They can discern the age of the other dog, their health and even what they ate that day.

That brings me to the following conclusion: Dogs are even smarter than artificial intelligence equipment. Our canine companions are masters of non-verbal communication and can use their voices, too. It doesn't take long for cats, dear or squirrels to figure out that my dog doesn't want you coming near our lawn. And, so, even inter-species communication, if not friendship, is quite successful in our own neighborhood sans AI.

Judging from the Book, "Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus," perhaps scientists should, instead, be focusing on how to use artificial intelligence to help humans understand each other!

WHO DOES THIS GERM-A-PHOBE KISS?

By Valerie Newman March 10, 2022

As you know, I'm an extrovert trapped in an introverted family. It's fine by me if they hardly talk--I just wish they were more huggy/kissy. The son ran away to a foreign country (OK--it's a state in the continental U.S., it just seems to me to be like a foreign country.) The daughter has a hands-off policy with me (only). She's fine getting hugs from her father, who, coincidentally, is my husband. She's fine hugging her friends, brother, fiance, etc--pretty much anyone but me.

Don't worry--I'm used to it. And even husband isn't all that physically demonstrative. I'm going to lay my cards on the table here to tell you this: He would like to kiss me. But being the germaphobe that I am, the thought of kissing makes me want to hurl. When we watch a show and we see a couple kiss, I can't help but say "Oooh. Look at that--it's disgusting!"

"What's gross about kissing?" husband might ask. "Think of the germs that they're trading, let alone the dental decay. You know that dental decay is contagious and carries bacteria that can cause heart disease, right?" I'll reply, shuddering.

Husband doesn't understand this kissing prohibition. For some reason, he thinks it's weird that I let the dog kiss me on the lips!

"Wait--what?" he'll protest. "Let me get this straight: The dog eats other dogs' poop and all sorts of other unidentified crap and you kiss him! But you won't kiss me!"

I know--right--he's actually mystified by this. Apparently, he didn't read the book "MY THIRD HUSBAND WILL BE A DOG."

And in my defense, it's not like I'm French kissing my dog. In fact, we've NEVER made out. Somehow, I guess I think that a dog is part of nature and so, he doesn't spread germs like a two legged creature. Besides, he's so tiny, cute, cuddly, friendly, attentive, loyal, loving--who wouldn't want to kiss him? Come to think of it, lots of ladies and even men in the neighborhood let our Yorkie kiss them on the lips. Perhaps it's because they're dog people. I'm starting to realize that husband is NOT a dog person. He's never once kissed the dog.

And here he is, complaining that I don't kiss HIM. Maybe if he kissed the dog, he wouldn't be looking for a kiss from me.

"Come to think of it--I've changed my mind," husband said. "I'm realizing that, since you let the dog kiss you on the lips and his face has been sniffing other dogs' butts, I don't want to kiss you after all."

What a relief for this germaphobe. If I knew it was that easy, I would have gotten the dog years ago!

DINNER WITH COUSINS WAS EYE OPENING

By Valerie Newman March 8, 2022

I bet you can guess why I haven't seen my cousins or other relatives outside my immediate family in person in years.

I'm grateful that we finally got to reunite, face to face, for a belated 80th birthday celebration for my aunt.

It's been quite some time since so many quirky people have been together in one room. I'm saying quirky because it's probably not politically correct to say crazy.

Sometimes I wonder why I'm such a "quirky" and "unique" person. And then we have a family reunion and I know why. It's OK, though--we embrace our insanity. We wear it proudly, like a badge of honor. In fact, we compete with our stories to each other.

"Oh you think your kids gave you a hard time?! I had one kid standing in the toilet with her boots on while I had another putting the cat on the ceiling fan and who knows where the third one was at the time," my cousin recalled with a laugh.

"I can top THAT!" another cousin would boast--and tell us a story about what they did when they were little.

When I was younger, I thought mine was the only family that was this "quirky." But now I realize that each family has issues and at least we relish it.

Besides being nutty, though, I later became aware of the fact that a ton of my family members have ADD or ADHD. We didn't know about that when I was growing up. I just thought that my relatives were wild, forgetful and/or irresponsible on purpose. I was proud of myself because I was able to behave, follow rules, keep organized and remember stuff. I'm 60 years old and had no idea that, I, too, probably have ADD.

My self realization came about during a conversation with one of my first cousin's kids. She was saying that people of our ethnicity had higher rates of ADD. "Well, we have a ----load of us who have that--but I'm not one of them," I declared. "I know this because I can concentrate on some things so much that I lose myself in it. Like the time I was reading the "Secret Life of Bees" and got so into it, that I forgot to pick up my kid at school. In fact, I was concentrating so much on reading the book, that when the school secretary called to ask if I was planning to get my daughter--that she was in the principal's office at this point wondering where I was--I'd forgotten that I even had kids."

"Of course, that's why I had to stop reading for pleasure until my kids were in college," I added, sheepishly.

"OH, no--that's a symptom of ADD--that hyper focusing," my young cousin said. "Well, my mom always said I had ants in my pants, so when I get home, I'm going to look up the symptoms of ADD," I told her. Because of course, I wouldn't be able to concentrate on that kind of research in the middle of a loud family reunion. But I couldn't wait that long--so I had to ask this cousin, who seemed to me to be an ADD expert. "Could the fact that I can't read too much of the newspaper in one sitting be another symptom?" "She patiently shook her head, yes.

"Another distinguishing characteristic of ADD is the fact that we don't have object permanence. Ours is more like a typical two year old," she said.

"What does that mean?" I asked. "If you cant' see something right in front of you, it's not going to get done or you won't be able to find it," she explained. "Do you have piles of stuff all over your house?" she inquired. "Yes. I have stacks of newspapers I intend to read, for one example," I replied. I still wasn't convinced. But when I got back home and looked up "Symptoms of ADD", my eyes popped open. I HAVE ALL SEVEN OF THEM!

This explains a lot. Like, for instance, why I haven't edited the several children's stories I've written. I'd found typos and gotten suggestions from readers as to how to improve the stories and they sat in a pile next to my computer. A friend came to visit and showed me how to organize my kitchen. The stories went inside a neat file in the drawer next to the computer. I don't see them now and I'll never get to it. And now I know why. I have the object permanence of a two year old.

How have I been able to do this well in life with unrecognized and untreated ADD? Well, maybe I haven't done so well in life and I just think I have. I've had some career success, still married to the same great guy and our kids turned out OK. But I'm never up to date on news because I'm always a day behind reading the paper. If a mental task is too challenging for me, I'll ask for help first and don't try to figure it out on my own. And that kind of aggravates daughter, a third grade teacher. She'll treat me like her students and she insists that I try to I do my best to try to find an answer first before bothering anyone.

But she doesn't live here, so she has no idea how often I ask husband for help or call son because I'm taking the easy way out. This system has worked for me, but, perhaps it hasn't been that easy on my family members. But at least now, I know that I have a valid excuse.

BIG BROTHER BUGGED ME!

By Valerie Newman March 5, 2022

One a big brother, always a big brother: The other night, just as I was about to climb in bed, I saw a bug climbing on the ceiling--right over our bed. Thank God that husband was still awake. I wouldn't have been able to reach the bug and besides, I'm kind of intimidated by them and would prefer not to be in charge of removing them from the premises. I informed husband about the bug and he very easily reached up with a tissue and grabbed the bug. As I breathed a sigh of relief and was climbing under the covers, he pretended that the bug had gotten him--he shouted and acted like the bug was fighting with him. He found this charade very amusing.

I could picture him pulling stuff like that on his younger brothers. But this was ME-- a 60 year old white haired wimp. And I had just been settling down to fall asleep. It's not bad enough that World War III is starting--I have to be scared out of my wits by a 1/4 inch bug? Well, to be honest, I was more scared of husband's act--and he is 6'2"!

"What the -----?"I cried. "My heart is racing, I'm freaked out right now and here I was--about to go to sleep!"

Husband wasn't moved. He was still laughing. You can take husband out of his childhood home, but you can't remove the big brother in him. He was really proud of himself--I can tell. But I was ticked off (excuse the pun if the bug was a tick.)

"How do you expect me to fall asleep now?" I asked sharply.

"Calm down--the bug was small--and you know it couldn't attack me!" he said, still wearing his mischievous smile. "And you could thank me for taking it down, like I do all the time," he said.

Though my heart was racing, I did have to admit that I'd NEVER have been able to fall asleep if it weren't for husband getting that bug. And then I reminded myself of the times that he was away and I'd found a bug on the ceiling. I'd have to stand on the bed or a stool, wear my distance glasses, turn on all the lights, take several deep breaths, psych myself up, grab a cane and try to squish the bug. If I missed, you could hear the screams throughout town.

Reviewing in my mind the production that I'd produce over one teeny tiny bug made me think of an expression my father used to say: "Don't make a mountain out of a mole hill."

It also made me think how grateful I am to have husband--and how lucky I am that he's tall.

"Thanks for getting that bug. I guess you pulled stunts on that with your brothers when you were growing up, huh?" I asked him as I tried to settle down for sleep.

"Oh, no. They weren't afraid of bugs. But I did pull my fair share of tricks on them," he said as he climbed in next to me.

As I started to fall asleep, I thought of how I'd developed this bug phobia in the first place. It's thanks to my own big brother. He put a daddy long legs down my pants when I was three years old. I thought that the spider had climbed into my body and I thought of the song my dad used to sing to me about the lady swallowing the spider that wriggled inside her. The chorus was "Perhaps she'll die!"

My dad was a big brother, too--so who knows what kind of tricks he played on his younger siblings.

So, if you're a big brother--go easy on those little brothers and sisters. The tricks you play on them now, have the power to screw them up for life!

MISTAKEN IDENTITY--AGAIN?

By Valerie Newman February 25, 2022

When I showed up at the eye doctor a few years ago, they were about to treat me for glaucoma--when I don't have that. It turns out that another woman--with my exact name--was in the office at the same time. And I don't even have that common of a name. And if that's not weird enough, a few months later, I got a call from my local bank. They asked me if I could come down to sign some papers saying that there was a mistake and I shouldn't have had all that money deposited in my account.

"I'm not THAT dumb!" I shouted into the phone. I know this is a scam. And I hung up. And they called back. The manager called to say that a teller had made a mistake and switched my account with another customer by the same name. I wondered to myself if, once again, I was getting confused with the lady with glaucoma. "Let me get this straight--I have to drive down there and sign some papers saying that you put or took money out of the wrong account? Why do I have to show ID to get allergy pills, but you don't check the ID of people making bank transactions?"

The manager said that they did check ID, but that the teller saw the correct name. "Well, next time--ask for our birthdays," I suggested.

These mix-ups didn't have major ramifications. Buckle your seat belts, because these mistaken identity stories keep getting more interesting.

Years ago, our son was waiting for his SAT scores--which came in the mail back then. He hadn't taken any prep classes or anything, but we knew he was smart and we thought he'd do pretty well. As he opened the envelop I saw his face become crestfallen. "I know I didn't study for it, but I really bombed it. I basically only got a few more points than if I'd simply written my name and left the rest blank."

I felt so badly for him. "Maybe you just don't test well. It's OK--not everyone has to go to college. You can make a perfectly good living in many trades today-or you can take some classes for this, study like wild and take it again."

And then he found a bigger mistake than any he could have made on the SAT's. They'd given him another person's test results. Instead of being relieved, though--he not only felt sorry for the class mate with the poor score, but his mind went into over drive. "Great! Now they have my social security number. And they'll be applying to top schools, how can I get my correct scores and will colleges believe that it's mine? I had my scores automatically sent to some fairly competitive schools.

Of course, after many hassles, we were able to get it straightened out, though to this day, I wonder if that classmate got accepted to any colleges.

And now, for some sillier examples of identity screw ups. When my husband was growing up, his family had brought their family photos to be developed in the shop like we all had to do back then. But after they picked up their pictures at the store and came home to sit around the kitchen table and look at them, somehow, in the middle of the pile, was a family picture that didn't belong in theirs. It was one lone, stray picture of a family that looked like they were from a distant foreign country. It even appeared that they were in a remote, distant location--and they looked like they were people in that old yogurt commercial that said people in this remote village lived forever because they ate so much yogurt. These homely people had bulging eyes, stringy hair, missing teeth, etc.

All his family could do is laugh. We've done more with it since then, though. It's become a classic family joke. One of his brothers made copies of it and sent it to both other brothers. We framed ours and we've played many a joke on unsuspecting people who come into our home. "Look at my old family photo!" husband invites guests. "Don't the kids look just like their cousins?" he'll ask, pointing to the framed photo of these hideous looking villagers.

It might have started as one, tiny mistake of a local business, but it has turned into the source of much laughter through the years.

And now, I've arrived at the stimulus for this entire blog. We were, once again, the recipients of a case of mistaken identity.

A heavy package arrived at our door yesterday. I assumed it was another Amazon package. I opened the box and saw a beautiful, white wedding photo album. "We didn't order this," I said to husband. He thought maybe it was a sample one, as our daughter is getting married soon. But it turned out that this one was engraved--with names of people we don't know. I looked inside the album to see if, perhaps, we knew the people depicted inside. Though I didn't know the people in the pictures, they looked so happy and I felt myself filling with joy for them.

"How are we going to get this to those people? They're probably waiting for their picture book and we have it. This looks expensive--we can't just through it out," I said to husband.

"We can look up the website of this photography company and try to reach them," husband suggested.

Of course I ignored him and did what I always do when I'm faced with a conundrum. I called son. "Don't bother him--what can he do about this?" husband protested.

"He'll figure this out a lot quicker than we can," I said, as I dialed son's number in the middle of his work day. I told him how proud I was of this couple, but that we got their wedding album and we hadn't actually ordered a wedding album of complete strangers.

"Darn it!" he said. "We'd ordered our wedding album and paid a ton of money to have it shipped to you as a surprise gift!" he said. "They spoiled the surprise and also sent you the wrong one. And who knows who has ours!" he bemoaned.

He said he'd contact the company and get it straitened out. "What should we do with this album?" I asked. "If they want me to go ship it somewhere, then you should ask for a huge discount on your order," I suggested. "They're probably going to make a new one. By the time they pay for you to ship it back to them and then having to pay to ship it to the right people, they'll probably going to tell you to throw it out!" he said.

"No way am I going to throw it out! They are an adorable couple--so much in love! I'm going to save it and show it off just like we still do with that one picture that looks like it's the Adam's family!" When husband heard me say that, he laughed. "Let's display it at the entry way to (daughter's) wedding to entertain people and make them wonder," he said.

IT'S A GOOD THING THAT I'M NOT A CORPORATION--OR BRINGING UP MY KIDS TODAY!

By Valerie Newman February 20, 2022

Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be a company that's getting taken over? What if you don't want to merge or be swallowed up by a bigger business? This stuff keeps me up at night. That and my week bladder. And I also wonder what it would be like if I had to go public. I kind of like being a private enterprise, though maybe we've all had a bit too much privacy during this period of COVID. I still don't want a bunch of picky shareholders dissing me. And God, forbid, if an activist investor came after me.

How would I defend myself? Yes, I sleep late and wear comfortable clothes all day. Yes, I spend too much time walking the dog because I like to be outside and be active and I enjoy shmoozing with neighbors. OK--I haven't been bringing in as much value as I used to, but does that mean you have to hold a protest and try to replace me with a board of directors?

I did have experience a merger when I got married a million years ago, but, as far as I can remember, that was a mutual decision that we were happy about. OK, my husband might have bitten off all of his nails the day before the wedding, but I'm sticking with the story that he was the one to propose in the first place.

I guess our board of directors was our kids. And they were pretty critical of us. And come to think of it, they are kind of replacing us with a new slate--their in-laws. I've already told you how husband and I are NOT the parents of choice. So, perhaps we are the victim of a hostile take over. We had to give our kids up to these younger, cooler, less judgemental and better looking sets of parents. And I'm getting used to it, because we are FANTASTIC parents in the eyes of our dog. He only tries to run away a couple of times a day. Although, come to think of it, he'd happily be adopted by burglars, if they petted him and gave him a treat.

I also wonder if things would have ended up differently if we were bringing up our kids today. I use the term "bringing up the kids" very loosely, because that would imply that we actually raised them, taught them good values and took care of them. I've always been honest with you, reader, that I fell short in the parenting department. I'm speaking for myself here, though I must say that husband was very busy working and couldn't tell you the kids' ages, grades, teachers or pretty much anything about them except that lived in our house and were tax deductions.

I couldn't keep their names straight, swore like a trooper in front of them, told them to forget their homework and go outside to play, was irresponsible about keeping them in shoes that fit and didn't make them eat vegetables. Son tells me that my parenting style was permissive, indulgent. I look back at it as the tired, lazy and distracted style. But if I were parenting today, with all this social media, I'm sure my ratings would have been really lousy. I'd probably get about two stars. And I'd be trying to post positive stuff about my parenting on Twitter to try to change my kids' perceptions. But I'd have to figure out first what Twitter is. I'd try to post something on Instagram, but, once again--I still need to figure out what it is in the first place. It's a good thing my kids are grown up so I don't have to stress about how to manipulate social media.

I bet even if I were tech savvy and could have been maximizing my parental ratings on social media, I wouldn't be able to fool our own kids. I remember daughter telling a new friend at her birthday party that I wasn't actually her mother. I remember he saying, "My real mother is pretty and athletic. She's a soccer star in Europe. This is just the house keeper." Her old friends looked on in dismay, as I carried in the birthday cake. But I rolled with it because I knew I wasn't on the top of her hit parade. I pretended to be the housekeeper and then all her friends laughed.

I also think back to the time when she listed all the other mothers in the neighborhood and said how she'd prefer any of them to be her mother. She listed them by name and the qualities she admired and then shouted, "But I got stuck with you!" It's a good thing that I'm equipped with a solid self esteem. Either way, though, I've already figured out that even I'd posted the most fun pictures on Facebook, I would have gotten really low ratings. So at least I didn't have to waste time or effort on any of that social media stuff.

Now she's grown up and tolerates me for up to 20 minutes at a time. Maybe one day she'll stay here long enough to teach me what the heck Snap Chat is or Instagram or Twitter. But I'm not promising that I'll learn how to use them.

MY STORY (EXCUSE) IS THAT I'M "RETRO"--AND I'M STICKING WITH IT!

By Valerie Newman February 15, 2022

If you're younger than 40, I strongly suggest that you STOP reading NOW because you'll either be grossed out or bored to tears.

Now, I'm going to start out with some confessions. I order the newspaper. The real one that you can hold. And I get it delivered from New York each day. I know that this is bad for the environment, but I have solar panels, so don't judge. And I drove a hybrid car for many years, so deal with it--OK?! I use to be a newspaper reporter and I like holding the paper in my hands. Besides, reading it on my phone is too hard because my phone is big and gets heavy and the letters are too little for me to see.

I always bring the paper with me to places like a Dr.'s office, because I know that I'll be kept waiting. Everyone else is doing something on their phones. Not me. I'm very happy reading the newspaper--if you can actually be happy reading about how Russia is about to invade Ukraine and Iran is testing more nuclear war heads.

Well, in walks the Dr. who will be performing my colonoscopy in a few weeks. Oh, you say that's TMI--well then, as I told you already--STOP READING THIS!

Anyway, I happen to know this doctor because I've taught two of her children. She sees me holding my newspaper and she says "Oh--how retro!"

I smiled and thanked her. She actually thinks it's retro for me to be doing something that I never stopped doing. She might even think that I used to read the paper on my phone and now I decided, for nostalgia sake, to go back to ordering the paper to be delivered. Maybe she thinks that my white sneakers are in style now--she doesn't know that I've always worn white sneakers and always will. And if I'm really lucky, she'll think that the old clothes I'm wearing are vintage.

For more old person's news, tomorrow I'm going to my audiologist for her to check my hearing aides. Though I'm probably younger than many of her patients (I'm 60 years young, in case you were wondering), I wasn't able to download the app her office suggested I download so that I could confirm my appointment and fill out the registration form on line.

I thought I knew how to download apps, and yet, I didn't have much luck this time. I couldn't help but wonder how her 80 year old patients were downloading these apps. And then my self confidence started to falter. I did what every other modern, self confident, well educated woman does in a situation like this. I asked my husband.

Oh--wait--most women and men would keep trying to figure it out--or they wouldn't have struggled in the first place. But I have good news--my husband told me that he had tried to download their app when he had his hearing aide appointment and it didn't work for him either. So, either he's bending the truth to make me feel better, he's become technologically incompetent or their app invite is faulty.

Either way, I chose the "retro" route and called the Ear/Nose & Throat Dr.'s office to confirm my appointment. And you can be sure that I'll bring my newspaper with me to read while I wait.

I'D BETTER GET GAS AT THAT GULF STATION!

By Valerie Newman February 7, 2022

When our daughter moved to an apartment about 25 minutes from our house, my husband and I went to visit her. He asked for her address and found it on the map. I've been there a bunch of times since then, but I always use WAYZE. I claim that I'm using it to prevent getting stuck in traffic, but my real reason is that I have the world's worst sense of direction. I can and often do get lost in my own closet. And, it's not even a walk in. And I'm not a fashion buff, so it's not like I'm getting lost figuring out what to wear.

After I drove to daughter's place about a million times, I did learn how to get there by heart. The GPS is my security blanket, but I decided to put on big girl pants and try to get there without any device. Oh, yeah, I turn right at this red barn with the old feed store sign on it, I said to myself when I exited the highway. Oh, good, I remember to turn left at this diner on the corner. And then, to my relief, I found the Gulf station and knew to turn right. Then all I have to do is go straight to the end of the street.

Now, it has become routine for me and I know all the landmarks. On my way to her apartment today, something terrifying crossed my mind. What if they tear down that red barn? What would I do if that diner went out of business? How would I find my way to her place if the Gulf station changes hands and becomes a Mobile station?

I reassured myself: By the time that happens, I bet she'll have moved. But just in case, I thought--it might be a good idea for me to support that diner on the corner--and fill up the car at the Gulf station.

And if that doesn't do the trick, I'd better make sure my phone is charged and that I remember her address to enter it in WAYZE.

A RAMBUNCTIOUS DOG, BY ANY NAME, IS STILL ROWDY!

By Valerie Newman February 5, 2022

When we first adopted our dog and I brought the little two pounder to the Vet for his initial visit, they asked me my last name. I kept my name and so, it's different than that of my spouse. I guess at that point, they registered him with my last name.

My husband wasn't so thrilled with me keeping my name after we got married. Our kids have his last name and we were lucky that they were well behaved the vast majority of the time. They even got along with each other growing up and, thank God, turned out to be responsible adults with their heads together.

Our dog, on the other hand, has been wild and crazy. He's a maniac on paws. Even the Vet said, pound for pound, he's the naughtiest dog she's ever treated. And she's been practicing for many years. I've got the emergency clinic's number on speed dial. Whenever I call our Vet's office about: 1) something dangerous he ate, 2) something dangerous he did or 3) some extremely weird or concerning behavior, I always hear them chuckling in the background. They must have caller I.D. and when they see our number, they know my little devil has gotten into trouble again.

Upon the first emergency, when I think we'd only had him for a short while--(I'm recalling he went through the garbage and was choking on a chicken bone,) I called the Vet, screaming. They asked his name and I told them his first name and my husband's last name. And, of course, they couldn't find a record of him. So I said his breed (Yorkie) and the date we adopted him. And that's when they found him--under my last name.

Even though he's a dog, he makes me think of the monkey, Curious George--or a cat, who has nine lives.

When I brought him back from the Vet after his second emergency (swallowing a tampon), I said to my husband: "Thank God our kids weren't like this!"

"My brothers and I were well mannered kids. We never gave our parents any trouble. This puppy takes after you--mischievous and full of drama," husband teased.

"And I'm glad that he has YOUR last name--he's no reflection on me!" he added.

He does take after my side of the family, I thought to myself: Loud, active, outgoing, rebellious. And he kind of looks like me--diminutive, small and hairy.

And now, when I witness the dog acting like a lunatic, instead of getting aggravated, I kind of smile and observe proudly: This one takes after me!

ONE OF THE REASONS WHY I PROBABLY WILL NEVER GET HIRED IN CORPORATE AMERICA

By Valerie Newman February 3, 2022

I bet you would have laughed if you were inside my house today. As you might already know, my hearing went by the wayside years ago, thanks to my attendance at too many loud concerts as a teen and my Walk woman. If you're around my age (60), you might remember the Walkman. Well, since I'm all for equal rights, I called mine a walk woman. But that is so off topic.

Let's keep it between you and me (now, my three readers), that I lost my hearing due to actions of my youth. I've presented a different narrative to my kids. The one I give the son goes as follows: "Why do you think I can't hear you--you screamed your head off in my ear with colic for a year!" And to my daughter, "Sorry I keep asking you to repeat yourself--I told you I'd lose my hearing if you took up the drums!"

And here's my story for the dog: "Your barking is why I need two hearing aides!"

Most of the time, my hearing loss isn't a big deal, thanks to my hearing aides. It is very challenging, though, during Zoom meetings. Since I work part time and work in person when COVID is under control, it hasn't interfered with my life too much.

But today, things were different. My husband, who works remotely full time, had an important Zoom meeting at the same time as mine. His computers and work station are set up in the dining room. My "office" is in the kitchen, right next door. His hearing loss is way more profound than mine. He has his computer's volume cranked to the max. I'm used to that--but it got kind of tricky when I was trying to hear the people on my screen.

I shut the doors to the dining room. And then the dog started to bark because he didn't have access to his daddy. So now, I had to contend with the dog's barking, too. Until the little Yorkie pushed his way through the closed doors. And now, I tried to focus on what my colleagues were saying while hearing my spouse shout about the budget, deadlines and regulators.

So, I had to go off screen and shut the double doors again. And then, the dog barked to get back in the kitchen. And then, my husband said, "I'm in an important meeting--can you keep the dog quiet?"

I could have put the canine outside in his little doggy play pen, but it was pouring outside. And now, I was desperate to speak up at my meeting. But I was off camera and had to stay on mute, unless my boss and coworkers wanted to hear my furry friend barking at the top of his lungs and listen to my husband's voice booming about the auditors and the annual report.

I thought to myself, if someone is walking by right now, they'd think we were having a fight with all this shouting. But it's really two hearing impaired people trying to have simultaneous Zoom meetings , while attempting to silence a boisterous four legged friend.

And then I got so flustered that I unmuted myself instead of going off camera to open the front door. So now, my work peers couldn't see me but they could hear knocking at the door, the dog going ballistic that someone was at the front door and my husband reviewing columns of numbers.

I opened the door, realized my mistake and muted myself, but left the camera on.

Now I feel the need to explain who was at the door. I have asthma and need a clean house, but vacuuming and dusting bothers my asthma. I've solved this Catch 22 by asking for extra help. Once a week, a wonderful woman comes to do the heavy cleaning in my house.

You guessed it--now the cleaning lady was entering my house and all my coworkers could see her. "Now they're going to think I'm a spoiled brat," I thought to myself as I finally unmuted myself so that I could speak up at my Zoom meeting. And of course, that's when the cleaning lady turns on the vacuum.

"If I send this blog to my sister, perhaps she'll understand why I'm not signing up for more work, even though employers are desperate to hire right now," I thought to myself. And then I thought: if our adult kids could have witnessed the last couple of hours here, I don't know whether they would laugh or cry. But I started to laugh so hard, that I almost did start to cry.

Thank God my meeting was over, or at least I think it was--I gave up on hearing anything that was going on after the first half an hour. Now all I have to do is hope that my boss and coworkers won't read this. Who am I kidding--I'm lucky if the two people I directly send this Blog to skim one every now and then.

WHAT IS THE WORLD COMING TO?

By Valerie Newman January 18, 2021

I'm guessing that you're thinking I'm going to talk about our relations with China, Russia, North Korea and Iran. Or, perhaps, the headline spurred you to figure that I'd discuss our political polarization. Maybe you think we should be focusing on the endemic pandemic or inflation.

Oh no. Those of you who know me or have read some of these blogs already know better than that. Why add to our worries? You can fret about that stuff when you read the newspaper. Oh wait--no one but me actually reads the "paper." You're getting your news on the phone or some other device. But that's not the point.

The point is--I almost always bring up topics of critical importance. The subjects that my blog targets have riveting significance. I've been bursting at the seams to engage you all (yes, both of you) on this emerging controversy: today's news about the SAT's.

When I was a teen, the SAT's were the be all and end all of mine and my peers' consciousness. I remember asking my dad what he got on his SAT's. He probably didn't want to freak out my siblings or me with his super high score, so he pretended to forget how he did on that test. "How the heck do you expect me to remember? You're going back 40 years already!" he'd say. He could remember every U.S. president, world history from the beginning of time, everyone's names he ever met, etc. So, yes, I did expect him to remember his SAT score. But he never once told us.

It didn't matter, because there's no way under the sun that any of his offspring could even dream of coming close to the scores he got on standardized tests.

I promise, though, that this is the last time I'm going to diverge. Though he probably didn't study for his SAT's and either did my best friend (who got a perfect score, by the way), most people study off their behinds to the point where they don't even have anything to sit on while they take the test.

Between the time that my dad took his SAT's to when I did (in the 70's), whole companies had been created to help high school kids improve their scores. Teens (or their parents) were buying books to better prepare the students for SAT's. My classmates were getting tutored, and some of us were taking practice tests with the hopes of raising our numbers.

The key question in school back then was, "How did you do?" And, depending on the answer, the next question was, "Where are you applying to school?" If you panicked when testing, had learning disabilities or grew up in an impoverished environment, your scores were probably lower and it was tough luck on you.

Years later, we learned that the SAT's really were skewed toward white, economically privileged students. And the SAT makers started to change the tests. And--this is the truth--I helped a young man apply to colleges and he found 11 errors in the SAT prep book--provided by the SAT company! He wrote them and they promised to correct the errors before they published the book again.

And then it came to light that SAT scores don't really correlate with how well students perform once they start matriculating. Another development somewhere along the line was the addition of a test alternative: the ACT.

So now, high school students had to decide which test to take. And I'm guessing that the ACT also didn't accurately reflect how well potential students would do in college.

What I do know is this: Children of the 60's grew up watching television. The next generation grew up with MTV. Following generations grew up with computers, video games and now, the cell phone. And each generation's attention span became shorter than the next. I'm referring to American children. In other countries, kids go to school year round, have longer school days and don't spend much time goofing around.

Recently, out of the clear blue, many colleges started to drop the SAT as a prerequisite for admission. They started to blow off considering applicants' ACT scores, as well.

Today, I just read in the Wall Street Journal that, going forward, the SAT's will be shorter, simpler and easier. I bet you think I'm going to say that it's a shame--this dumbing down of America. NOT!

I'm just bummed that they couldn't have concluded that back when I was in high school. To think of all the time I wasted trying to learn how to analyze whether to guess the answer if I wasn't sure of it or leave it blank and how to budget my time on each question so that I could answer the more of them. I shutter to think of the time I wasted memorizing all that vocabulary when I could have been eating and hanging out with friends. If I could have looked into the future to see how I've been trapped in my house for the last two years, I would have hung out with friends and blown off studying for the all consuming standardized test.

Why couldn't I have been a teen when colleges suddenly decided to ignore SAT scores? I would have had so much more fun! Of course, today's teens, who don't have to study for the SAT's anymore, can't really travel or go out to eat without worrying about COVID, so I guess that each generation has its challenges.

I'm left with a question, though: How can top Ivy leagues decide who to admit and who to reject if the standardized tests are so easy now? Maybe, between the exorbitant price of college today and the fact that many teens aren't starting college due to COVID and/or their marvelous career opportunities--Yale and Harvard will be happy to accept any dimwit willing to attend.

WE'RE TOAST!

By Valerie Newman January 9, 2022

As my husband and I were falling asleep, we started to chat. "You're sister said your hair looks just like your mom's did--that was a compliment," he said. "Yeah, but think of my childhood friend who told me that I'm wrinkling just like my GRANDPA!", I countered with a laugh.

"She said you're wrinkling like him--not that you look like him!" he replied.

"I know--I don't mind--I like having a friend who goes so far back with me that she remembers what my grandfather looked like," I said.

"Do you have friends who remember your grandparents?" I asked. "Of course--we'd all pile in my car and drive to my grandparent's house on the lake. It was a blast--we'd swim, boat, fish and then Grandma was a great cook, so we'd come back to a delicious meal," he reminisced.

"Do you remember any of your friends' grandparents?" I asked. "No--who would want to hang out with old, stuffy people in a musty house? My grandparents' place was the place to go," he said.

Now I sat up straight in bed. "Well that does it. We need to buy a house on a lake or by the beach so that our grandchildren will want to come hang out with us," I declared.

Husband's eyes, which had been closing, bugged out. "NOW you tell me. Good timing, dear. Housing prices have doubled and now you're telling me we need to buy a second house--for grandchildren that we don't even have?"

"When I was growing up, we had a cool, young grandma and she was a really good cook and baker. And then we had the old grandma with white hair who was a lousy cook, married to a guy who she told us was like a wet blanket. Who do you think we wanted to visit when we were growing up? And now, we're the old white haired lady and the wet blanket. The grandchildren aren't going to want to spend any time with us!" I bemoaned.

"Well it would be a lot cheaper if you just learned how to bake," he said. "And you could always color your hair," he added.

"Just think of it--our daughter's future in-laws are way younger than us--they have a pool and THEIR parents are still alive--one in Florida on the beach and the other in Vermont on a lake. And our son moved half way across the country--and his wife's family all lives there!"

"You're right. We're toast," he agreed as he started to fall asleep. Of course, I was up all night, thinking of ways to attract future potential grandchildren.

"How can you sleep knowing that we're going to get dissed! Maybe we should get a pony. And maybe you could coach their sports!" I said.

"Why don't we think about it when we actually have grandchildren," he suggested. "Remember--our daughter's wedding isn't happening until this summer," he added.

"I know--everyone else's kids have the decency to be having babies without getting married or before their weddings. Why do we get stuck with kids who have to wait until they get married--and even then, they don't seem like they're in a rush," I bemoaned.

On the positive side, I guess this gives me more time to learn how to bake and to research beach houses to rent for a month each summer.

PHRASEOLOGY IS THE KEY

By Valerie Newman January 2, 2022

Our wording has a tremendous impact on how we view our experiences and our environment. A friend got laid off during the Pandemic. Even though some people are saying that there's no such thing as "during the pandemic", because it's here to stay--I'm choosing to believe that COVID 19 won't continue to impact us in the future like it is affecting us today. But that's besides the point.

My point is--during the throes of this trying chapter in our world--we all get a "pass". A nephew took extra time to earn his Master's Degree. My reaction: "Whoopie dingles. Don't put dates on your resume and even if someone asks how long it took you to finish your degree, you can simply explain that it was during the worst of COVID and your thesis was much more difficult to complete on line, versus the live research you had planned on conducting.

He worried about the gap in time--I suggested he focus, instead, on the fact that he graduated with the degree, while working and during the height of the Corona virus. "During interviews, you can use the phrases "pivot" and "transitioned to remote learning and work" and "honed my techie skills".

It took another nephew a long time to find a job that fit the bill. "Who cares--now you found a good position--and during the pandemic. No one is going to ask you how much time it took you to find this post. Simply put your skills and responsibilities at the top of your resume and leave out the dates."

A friend just got laid off. Instead of viewing it as "being terminated", I suggested she look at this time off as "being in between jobs. When one door closes, another opens and it might open to a wonderful opportunity she never would have had if she hadn't entered this phase of transition--or started on this pathway of growth and exploration.

I got laid off the day I brought our second child home from the hospital as a newborn. Perhaps it was God's way of saying: "Stay home with your kids." I've worked part time in many roles since then. I've got much more free time on my hands now that they grew up and moved out. I could easily find a full time position now that so many companies are begging for workers.

And yet, with COVID, I hesitate to commit to full time employment. I've been enjoying and learning during this adventure called life, though I don't have a fat pay check to prove it. My self worth isn't tied to how much money I earn and thus, I'm going to select my words carefully. Instead of viewing the last 25 years as a colossal waste of time, I'm going to look back on this time bringing up the kids, helping to take care of my parents and working part time, as a valuable contribution to the world.

DOES YOUR DOG HAVE A 401k?

By Valerie Newman December 24, 2021

My mind has a habit of running off on tangents that really seem funny to me at the time. I'm guessing that many of you are preparing for festivities this coming weekend. You have so much to do. And as we're about to usher in a new year, you might be making New Year's resolutions or reflecting on issues we've been facing in the world during 2021.

I, on the other hand, have been thinking of something WAY more relevant: My pet's retirement plan. It all started when I was using the bathroom and the headlines of a magazine on the floor caught my attention. Perhaps I've mentioned before that I'm married to someone in the financial field. He subscribes to some electrifying magazines, let me tell you! "BLOOMBERG" is one prime example. I don't bring my reading glasses with me into the bathroom. And so, I misread the the magazine article's title. It really said RETIREMENT PLANNING", But I read "PET RETIREMENT."

I started to laugh as I knew this wouldn't be the actual story in one of husband's financial publications. As I told myself that I'd have to come back later to read the real title, I started to think of the humor surrounding the topic of pet retirement.

Do dogs ever really get to retire, or are they always stuck staying by our side, warning us when a stranger approaches our yard and bringing us on walks outside? And if they are allowed to retire, how do they decide which age--and is it in dog or human years? For instance, our dog turned 10 around late October. I'm calculating that he's about 71.

Did we even think of setting him up with an IRA or 401K? Why can't he get social security. Oh--I can answer that one--he's been volunteering, so he hasn't been getting money withheld from his pay check. Come to think of it, we never asked him if he wanted to volunteer for all of his duties. We just selected him on line from the shelter, had him brought to our state and then went to pick him up at a designated spot in another town.

He had no choice in the matter. What if he didn't want to live here? What if he thinks we're boring and annoying? He hasn't earned a dime, though he has gotten free room and board. If you count a dog bed in the kitchen and a crate in the foyer as "room." And his food doesn't really seem that appetizing, either.

Maybe that's where the expression "Work like a dog" comes from: They are on call 24/7 and never receive any financial compensation. Retirement planning is the least of their concerns. They build no nest egg, have no money to spend on their grandchildren (oh, wait--he had to be neutered in order to be adopted, so I guess he'll never even know the joy of grand parenthood) or any spending money for their own pleasure. What if he wanted to ask out a cute girl doggie in the neighborhood? I could give him money, but how would he carry it and what would he even be able to spend it on, anyway?

I wonder how Leona Helmsely's dog, Trouble, spent his millions.

If my Yorkie ever asks why we haven't paid him for all of his hard work, I'm going to blame it on COVID. I'll tell him that movie theaters and restaurants have been closed, and the same goes for borders around the world, so that travel is impossible now, too. And if he objects and tells me that he'd spend it on toys, I can bring him to his doggie toy bin and show him all his toys.

And now I'm going to write on Monday's to do list to call the Vet and ask her to recommend a pet financial planner.

YEAH! WE WOKE UP TODAY!

By Valerie Newman December 19, 2021

Do you ever jump to the wrong conclusions and worry about stuff unnecessarily? I remember my dad telling me not to make a mountain out of a mole hill. I might have listened to him, if I'd known what a mole was at the time. Either, way, I worry first and ask questions later.

I'm a night owl whose married to a morning person. I don't remember the last time my husband was asleep in the morning while I was awake. Usually, he makes the blankets into a mound and sets it right by me so that I think we're still cuddling while he climbs out of bed at the crack of dawn.

This morning, though, I didn't sense that he did that. And it was eight a.m. At first, I looked at the mound and figured he'd left. But the mound looked kind of different. Of course, my heart started to race. "I think he's in there," I thought to myself. But he wasn't moving. I looked really closely at the blankets. They weren't moving at all. I didn't hear any breathing, though I don't sleep with my hearing aides inside my ears.

I silently prayed and pulled the covers up just a hint. And I saw the side of his bald head. "He's in there, but he's not breathing," I concluded. "How could he have died in his sleep?" I began to wonder as my mouth went dry. I ruled out COVID--he hadn't even left the house for a really long time. It can't be his heart, I thought to myself--his heart surgery was a success. But what else could have killed him? I wondered. He must have had a silent heart attack, I thought.

And now whose going to walk our daughter down the aisle at her wedding later this year? OK, I decided, our son will. But then, whose going to walk me down the aisle. OK--I guess I'll ask my nephew who looks just like he did at that age. Now that I worked that out in my head, I had to decide who I'd call first--my son or daughter. "I wish I knew how to make a conference call--but I was too reliant on my spouse to learn stuff like that. "Well, I guess now that I'm a widow, I'm going to have to learn so much--like how to make a group phone call, for starters.

And now I started the denial stage. I thought to myself, that if I stayed in bed all day, I didn't have to admit that he actually died in his sleep. At least that's a peaceful way to die, I thought as I figured out that if I didn't tell anyone, I could just pretend that he was still alive.

Wow, that really stinks, I thought. He went through Hell with the open heart surgery and we've been stuck at home for two years with the pandemic and now he has to die--this close to our daughter's wedding. And I started to cry. I know you're probably thinking that I should have called an ambulance, though I'd convinced myself that it was way past the time for that to make a difference.

By now, it was 8:30 and I realized that I'd better get up to walk the dog myself. I had to resign myself to the fact that I'd be waking up every morning now to walk that darn dog. "No--I'm sure we'll (I mean I'll) be able to afford getting a dog walker--I know that he had insurance--but where the forms are--I have no idea, and how am I gong to figure out the automatic bill payments he does (I mean did) I thought as I sat up.

And then, I thought I saw something move. I know--I'm in denial, I thought. I just imagined something twitching under those covers, I told myself. But I couldn't bear to pull the covers off to see his stiff body. And then, I could have sworn that I heard something. It's funny how the mind can play tricks on you, I thought. I'm hearing things, too. Wishful thinking, I said to myself.

And then, I really did hear him yawn. Oh, thank God, I thought to myself. And instead of saying good morning, I didn't even give him the chance to open his eyes. "Why are you in bed this late? Are you feeling OK? And where are your life insurance papers and how do I make a conference call and how do I know which channel changer to use when I want to turn on the TV and what would I do if I had to pay our taxes?" I asked in rapid fire succession.

"What's with you?" he asked. "It's the weekend and I actually had a good night's sleep," He said.

"But you weren't breathing or moving and you were completely covered by the blankets--there wasn't one inch of space for you to breathe, so I thought you were dead," I answered rapidly.

"I've got that CPATH machine--it practically breathes for me!" he said, as he showed it to me--a smile creeping across his face.

"How can you smile at a time like this! It's 8:30 in the morning and I thought you were dead! Now let's get up--because, boy, do I have a lot to learn!" I said.

And then I thought about all I should be grateful for--and how I need to stop jumping to the worst conclusions and letting my imagination run wild!

WOULD THE WORLD BE A SAFER PLACE IF WE STOPPED WATCHING AND READING THE NEWS?

By Valerie Newman December 17, 2021

Those of you who were born in the last century might remember this phrase: "Just when you thought it was safe to go in the water...." Yes, you guessed it: It was from the movie "Jaws", which was parodied quite often on Saturday Night Live.

Similar thoughts run through my mind each time I read the news. Just when I thought COVID was manageable, a new threat hits the fan. And if you've had it up to here (pick your body part) with the Coronavirus, keeping up with the news will offer you no breaks. Now that powerful bosses are called out about sexual harassment and racist people in power are brought to task for racist words or actions, you might have thought you could read the paper and smile. Perhaps you'd been worried about climate change, and now you're thrilled to see big car companies investing in electric vehicles. Maybe you're even thinking that you can check THAT off your worry list.

Of course, there's political tensions, though right now, no one is breaking into government buildings to attempt a coup. And let's not forget the economy. First we had to worry about deflation and then we made the mistake of blinking. Because now, we're told to be concerned about inflation. And that's after we heard that inflation was only going to be temporary. We used to bight our nails about unemployment and mass layoffs. And now, we have a better chance of winning the lottery than finding anyone who wants to work for a living.

I gave up worrying about the economy because I started to feel like I was watching a ping pong game. Every time I turned around, the ball was going in the opposite direction.

Now let's, for a minute, pretend that the majority of these issues were under control. You might have even picked up your Wall Street Journal from your front steps or read the New York Times on line. If you did, your hair is standing on end, just like mine.

Like we don't have enough to worry about, I just read that Russia and China and a bunch of other entities, have paid staff working full time (their residents aren't given the choice to forgo employment) to hack into our systems. Our financial, water and transportation systems, for instance, are in jeopardy. The paper said that the U.S. has some volunteers working on our cybersecurity. But one of these specialists confessed that he and his counterparts are only getting about two to three hours of sleep a night. Yes, that means that they're dedicated. And, still, that notion gave me even more to worry about: How can they outsmart the hackers on three hours of sleep a night?

The last time I got three hours of sleep a night, I was putting the baby's diaper on his head and heating up the wet wipes, thinking that it was the bottle. How can these cybersecurity volunteers beat out international hacking staffs on only three hours of sleep? We might as well lay down, open up our national computers and welcome the bad guys to come on in.

I'm coming to the conclusion that we'd all be better off if we didn't read, watch or listen to the news. If we simply did yoga, meditated, exercised, got fresh air and ate right--but kept our heads in the sand the rest of the time--the world's problems would still be there, but we wouldn't have to run around this freaked out about them. If ignorance isn't bliss, at least it's a whole lot better than worrying about the long list of issues that I've recently read about in the newspapers!

WHAT I PLAN ON DOING WITH MY NON-FUNGIBLE TOKENS

(ONCE I FIGURE OUT WHAT THEY ARE AND HOW TO GET THEM!)

By Valerie Newman December 17, 2021

I should probably stop reading the paper. Because each day, I read about something else that I have no idea about. I know that I've already told you that I welcome discovering stuff I'm clueless about, because it gives me a valid excuse to call son who moved far away to avoid me.

Unfortunately, he invented his own technique to stop me from calling him: He preempts my need to call him by calling me first. No, I'm not bragging. You know me--I'm going to complain. He calls me some days during the week, while he's walking his dog. For five minutes. I hear mowers in the background, construction sounds and other dogs barking. But mostly, I hear son saying: "Go Potty, Sammy!" For some reason, after my allotted five minutes of talking with son, I always feel like I have to go to the bathroom. And while I'm in the bathroom, I'm wondering if prisoners get more phone time than I do with this offspring of mine.

But this is so off topic. The main point I wanted to make is this: Why is there so much stuff out there today that isn't real and that I don't know why it's here, how to use it, or if I even need it. When I was younger, I couldn't imagine half the stuff that's popular today, including Bitcoin, cryptocurrency or artificial intelligence. Even our intelligence has become fake. But this stuff has to be real, if I'm reading about it in the Wall Street Journal. It's scary, though, because the reporter is assuming that I know what he or she is talking about.

And to be perfectly honest, not only do I have no idea what a fungible or non fungible token is, I'm kind of grossed out by the term. I know what tokens are, but I'd rather that they didn't touch funge. I was hoping to avoid funge at all cost, but apparently, I have to get some. It's all the rage and yet, I don't even know what it is. But if son tells me to get them, I'll get some tokens and try to clean off the funge as best I can. I am a germaphobe, after all.

Never mind! Instead of getting fungible tokens, I'm going to concentrate on how I can get AI. I don't have Alexa or a robot that cleans the house, like son does. My goal is to get a robot that can cook dinner and do the laundry. I'm also hoping that son doesn't get a robot to walk the dog, or I'll NEVER hear from him.

WHY DIDN'T US BABY BOOMERS GET TO GROW UP WITH ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE?

By Valerie Newman December 14, 2021

While I walk my dog and stand there, for what seems like hours, waiting for him to do his business, my mind starts to wander. And I begin to wonder about all sorts of stuff. Like, for instance: what would my younger years have looked and felt like if artificial intelligence was a possibility in the 60's and 70's?

I bet we would have programmed our self driving cars to take us to movies and the mall. I'm thinking that many of us wouldn't have had the most stellar school attendance--and we could have conveniently blamed it on our self driving cars. "I can't help it, Mom!" I picture myself saying. "The car brought me to the beach. What was I supposed to do?"

And even when we did show up in school--could a robot take our tests? Or at the very least--type our papers? Oh wait--if we had AI back then, we certainly wouldn't be talking about typing papers! And perhaps, we wouldn't have been bored by so many teachers standing at the black board trying to teach us integers.

Maybe we'd have been taught by robots, too. Of course, maybe they'd have been better at detecting how we'd pass notes back and forth. NO--we weren't cheating, we were just passing notes back and forth to entertain ourselves because Silas Mariner was super boring. Oh wait--did I actually admit to passing notes to my friends?

I could claim that THAT was a typo and that I really meant to say something like: "students back then." Now, however, I can be completely honest with you because...guess what?...My daughter admitted to me that she DOESN'T READ MY BLOG! EVEN THOUGH I EMAIL IT TO HER!

I bet you think that I'm insulted, or perhaps disappointed, because I thought she was my one, faithful reader. Actually, it's the contrary: I'm relieved that my editor/censor has dropped the ball. Now I can write what ever I want to without fear of reprimand or repercussion.

And I don't have to worry about what she'll think when she reads that I answered the door to a work person wearing only my husband's old, oversized bathrobe. (That was in my last blog piece--I was fast asleep when he rang the bell, so please don't judge!)

This is so beside the point, though. I want to get back to fantasizing about how our very existence would have been so completely different if we'd grown up with AI. Like, could I have asked Alexa to do my homework? Or meet my deadlines at work? Are people doing this now? And if so, why is there a labor shortage? I guess I answered my own question--I think many companies have started employing robots.

If AI can drive our cars, can they take SAT's? Do they have to study for their driving tests? Do they have to study for the SAT's?

I might not have any AI in my life at this moment, but I do have that daughter I just mentioned. And she called me on her way home from teaching 3rd grade. I asked her if AI could do long division and also, "why do we need to learn that in the first place?" I also asked her if she ever used it as an adult. I didn't bother to ask her about integers, because she started talking like a teacher about how learning long division can help with....blah, blah, blah. And then she admitted that if I've lived my life up until this point (60 years) without needing long division, I probably didn't have to worry about it.

And then I made a big mistake. I told her about this blog. And she admonished me--No, not about passing notes--I didn't tell her about that part. I told her that I could have had my self driving car take me to the beach instead of class. And she corrected me. "If teenagers want to skip class now, they don't have to get a self driving car! Those are only for really rich people, anyway. If you don't have access to a car, you can get an Uber!" she laughed.

"But you'd have needed a cell phone and the app and you'd have to know how to use it," she added.

I'll help you to read between the lines. She was hinting that I wouldn't have been a good candidate to use AI, even if I'd grown up with it. She of little faith! She's only known me as someone 35 years older than her. When I was her age, I didn't even need artificial intelligence! I could use my own intelligence back then! And, "as a matter of fact, smarty pants," I feel like saying to her: "I might seem like a moron to you right now, but I've heard that as soon as you have your own kids, I'll become a genius!" I hope that, if and when she has kids, instead of asking Alexa for advice, she'll call me!

YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN EMBARRASSED!

By Valerie Newman December 11, 2021

Normal people would have either fainted with embarrassment or laughed so hard that they would have practically wet their pants. I, on the other hand, just shook my head and asked myself why stuff like happens to me so often. Please don't tell my kids about this.

OK, here it goes. We were having a technician come to look at our heat system's humidifier. He was supposed to come Monday or Tuesday, but we never got a window of time or the exact day. Husband had two root canals scheduled for Monday morning.

I'm sure that I've already told you that I'm NOT A MORNING PERSON! And Monday mornings are especially impossible for me to wake up early. And by early, I mean that I'm not close to functioning until at least 10 a.m.

I didn't think that this was a problem this week because, I thought to myself, what worker had ever come first thing in the morning on the first possible day? What technician would really arrive at their customer's house at 8:30 am?

Because of this reasoning, which was apparently faulty, I was fast asleep in my bedroom when the door bell rang. If this were 20 years ago, then it still could have been almost fine. But now, I need two hearing aides. And I need to take them out at night. And, I sleep with the door shut to block out superfluous noise because it's gotten harder to get a good night's sleep. And, finally, I've been sleeping with a humidifier in my room since our furnace's humidifier has been broken--hence, the repair guy.

And oops--I almost forgot a really important detail of this story. 20 years ago, I was able to sleep through the night without getting hot and sweaty. Those days are long gone and I have to be honest with you: I don't wear anything when I'm sleeping. Really sorry to gross you out, but it's true.

I still wasn't worried about any of this because my dog always barks incessantly when the door bell rings. And I can hear those barks in my room, even with the door shut and sans hearing aides. But for some reason, the dog didn't bark to tell me that the furnace repair guy was at the door. Or perhaps having a humidifier humming in my room impacted my ability to hear.

At 9 a.m., I did hear the dog bark. I sat up with a start. "Could it be the repair guy?"I thought to myself. And then, "I hope not--I don't have on a stitch of clothing, I have to use the bathroom and I know my hair looks like Frankenstein right now. Plus, I'm sure my morning breath would make him want to run in the opposite direction." I thought as I scrambled out of bed and yelled to the dog that I'd be there in a minute.

I wasn't any where near fully awake and I struggled to remember if I even owned a bathrobe. I opened the closet, found husband's robe and threw it on as I crashed into my closed bedroom door. I didn't even take time to swear. I simply decided that it might be a good idea to go back and look for a belt or rope to tie around the over sized bathrobe.

And then I saw the dog, wagging his tail by the front door and heard the door bell ring. And then I did swear, because I remembered that I hadn't put on a mask. I opened the door and there stood the technician. "I've been out here banging on the door for 20 minutes!" he said.

"Why didn't you call? I would have heard the phone," I said. "We did call. Your husband's cell. And he didn't pick up. So then we emailed him," the guy said. Little did he know that my spouse was at the oral surgeon. "We told you that we'd come Monday or Tuesday," he added. And I've been out here in the cold!" he added.

"Come in, " I said sheepishly. "My husband is at the dentist and I never thought you'd be here at 8:30 Monday morning. And besides, I thought that the dog would bark to alert me if you did come while my husband wasn't home," I said. While I was talking, I quickly learned the answer as to why the dog hadn't barked. The repair guy was the head foreman who had already befriended the dog. The man was kneeling down low to let the dog kiss him and jump on him. He was petting the dog and talking directly to him--even letting the dog lick his face!

My heart melted and all bad feelings flew out of my consciousness. I even let go of my worry about catching COVID because I hadn't yet put on my mask.

"I'm so sorry!" I apologized as I started to laugh at this unfortunate series of events. "I guess the dog didn't bark because he feels like he knows you and was just waiting for you, his friend, to walk through the door!" I said.

I didn't bother to apologize for my appearance, as I figured he knew why I looked like I did and he was already on his way to the basement, with the dog trailing behind. As I ran into my bedroom to make myself look half way presentable, I couldn't help but wonder" Why does stuff like this always happen to me, what will my husband say when he gets home, how can I arrange it so that my kids don't hear about any of this and--why was I laughing--I should be blushing and feel embarrassed!

When the foreman came back upstairs to tell me that he'd fixed the furnace's humidifier, I wasn't paying a bit of attention to his explanation. Instead, I was thinking of how, at least I had clothes and a mask on now and that I'd brushed my hair. And, I was also thinking of how I loved the fact that this guy is a dog person and was so loving to my dog. One last thought: From now on, if there is even the slightest chance that a repair person will be arriving at my home, I'm going to set my alarm clock, keep my bedroom door open--and go to sleep that night fully dressed!

WHY ME?

By Valerie Newman December 10,2021

Why do things like this happen to me? OK--I'm going to lay it all out on the table right now. I can be honest, since I'm pretty sure you, my lone reader, are getting used to me by now.

As you might know, I stay up really late at night. And I'm MUCH younger (OK, only six years) than my spouse. So, of course, he got ready for bed much earlier than me. He had two root canals done yesterday and this might explain the scene I found in our all white bathroom when I started to wash up for bed after midnight.

I turn on the light and thought I stepped into a scene from Helter Skelter. Sorry to be graphic, but there was blood on the floor, on the bath mat, in the sink, on the vanity counter and all down the cabinet doors.

I wasn't expecting that. And didn't husband see this when he was getting ready for bed? Why didn't he know that he was bleeding all over the place--in our white bathroom!

And now, for my first world problem: OF COURSE THIS HAPPENED THE DAY THAT THE CLEANING LADY HAD COME TO CLEAN! Now our sparkling bathroom looked like a crime scene. And it had probably only stayed clean for a matter of hours. I can sense that you're judging me. Yeah, yeah--I should be worried about husband instead of how I'm going to get dried blood out of every surface of my (have I mentioned--WHITE) bathroom.

In my defense, it was after midnight and I was getting kind of tired. And I sure hadn't expected to walk into a war zone.

Once I remembered about husband's root canals, at least I was relieved to know that I didn't really have to worry about him. I figured that he probably brushed his teeth too vigorously. I wasn't angry with him for not cleaning it up, either. And yet, I couldn't help but wonder how he hadn't noticed it. He's a cleanliness fanatic and I knew that if he'd seen it, he would have cleaned it up immediately.

But how could he have missed this? I guess I'm lucky I haven't had the experience of cleaning up a bloody scene like this before. I just have to tell you, though, that I thought I was going to hurl. I was almost always the one to change our kids' diapers and I pick up after the dog each day. That's why I'm kind of surprised how much this freaked me out. I'm sorry to end that last sentence with a preposition, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Needless to say, I made a huge deal about cleaning up each stain. I had to take breaks between each area, leave the room and take deep breaths. It's a good thing that I don't work in the medical profession.

And even though I was aware of the fact that the blood was nothing to worry about, by the time I climbed into bed, all sorts of scary ideas were racing through my mind.

And this brings me to the reason for this blog's title: Why Me? Do any of you (in case more than one person reads this) have stuff like this happen to you? I bet you do and you simply straighten out the mess and don't think twice. I guess that's why my dad always used to tell me not to make a federal case out of every mishap. As I was hyperventilating over the bloody bathroom, I could hear my dad's voice saying: "Don't make a mountain out of a mole hill."

That's the beauty of this blog. I can make anything into a mountain and spill my guts out here without seeing you roll your eyes at me. Be my guest: roll your eyes. And I also hope that I got you to smile, too!

IF I JOIN WITH A SPAC AND TAKE MYSELF PUBLIC, CAN MY UNICORN RIDE IN MY SELF DRIVING CAR?

By Valerie Newman December 9, 2021

When my daughter was little, she begged for a dog. My husband said "No". He claimed it was because I was allergic to animals, but truth be known: it was because he grew up on a farm and loved animals--as long as they stayed outside and worked on the farm. She asked for a cat and I really am allergic to cats, so we both had to say "No." I remember her bargaining and saying that she'd have to make do with a horse. Our back yard isn't big enough, so of course, we had to squelch that idea. I smile as I think back to her putting her little hands on her hips. "Well if I can't have a dog or a cat and I can't have a horse, then I guess I'll just have to get a unicorn!"

Her brother, Mr. Actual Factual, is quite a bit older and burst that bubble really quickly. "There's no such thing as a unicorn--it's all made up!" he informed her.

And yet, 20 years later, I'm learning that he's wrong. There IS such a thing as a unicorn. I read it in the newspaper today! It's some kind of tech start up company when it grows to a billion dollars. Lucky for us, we finally got that dog, so that now we don't have to try to come up with a billion dollars to buy the daughter that unicorn.

While I'm on the subject of the newspaper, doesn't it seem to you that everybody and their second cousin is signing up with a blank check company to go public? On almost every page of the paper, I'm reading about every one and their sister in law going public! How can I do that? I'm one of the rare types who embraces the chance for public speaking, if that helps. If you have the blank check, I'll go public with it. I'll wear a mask and run around publicly for as long as it takes. As far as I'm concerned, I'm special and you can acquire me--and then we can rake in billions of dollars, though they might be in bitcoins and then I'm out of luck because I still don't have the foggiest idea of what those really are.

But I bet I can have time to figure it out while I'm a passenger in a self driving car. That's also the latest trend to be getting so much press. We can all multi task now that our cars can drive themselves. As long as our car doesn't take off on its own. That would be my luck. My kids did the same thing. Once they learned to drive, I lost my chance to see them in person. I can see it now--I'll finally be ready to go places, thanks to getting my booster shot and because I have to show my face in public, as I go public, and I won't be able to find my car. It will have taken off on its own. Or, perhaps, the unicorn took it for a spin.

WHAT ARE YOU CURIOUS ABOUT?

By Valerie Newman December 3, 2021

I bet you're wondering how the new COVID variant will impact our lives. Or, you're curious about how to bring the country back together. While you're focusing on trivia, I've been thinking, instead about really significant topics.

Like, for instance, I'm curious if it's OK to use raunchy language if you preface this practice by saying, "Please excuse my French."? And this question brought me down an entire rabbit hole of curiosity. While you're concerned about, let's say, climate change, I've been grappling with the following important questions: How did the expression, "please excuse my French," enter our lexicon of language? And, do we insult the French when we employ that expression?

I'm also wondering if the French say, "Please excuse my English" when they swear in French? I doubt that I'm ever going to be able to find the true answer, because, though I use profane language on a regular basis, I actually know no French.

This whole topic of using foul language got me thinking: Why do I use vulgar language? My parents were really refined and my husband, also, is polite and doesn't make a habit of swearing. In fact, when he first met me, I remember hearing him tell his brother--"Listen to that lady. She swears like a trooper."

He married me anyway. And come to think of it, our kids don't use harsh language, either. Speaking of the kids (who are adults, by the way,) I remember reading Artemis Fowl books to my son when he was young. The books' main character used unique phraseology. Instead of saying "darn it", for instance, he'd say "Darve it."

And guess what: that phrase has stuck with me and I use it to this day. No worries--I only say it when I'm talking with my son, who now lives hundreds of miles away and calls now and then when he's walking his dog. And if we're talking about something frustrating, or upsetting, I'll say "Darve it!" and he knows what I mean. I can just picture him shaking his head with a hint of a smile appearing on his face for a nano second.

I'd like to clarify something before I go. If and when you ever hear me say, "The S word", it's not because I'm being polite and am using a euphemism instead of swearing. If I'm going to swear, I don't hold back. I must say the S word, though, when I'm referring to squirrels. If you use the word squirrel in my household, our dog goes ballistic. We know that it's a forbidden word in our home. And now you'll appreciate the fact that, yes, I do have a filter. Even though my daughter will vehemently disagree. I control my use of the word squirrel on a regular basis and I'm very proud of that self control.

Now if I could only go back in time and explain to the clerk at FYE why I insisted on buying the unedited version of rap songs for us to listen to in the car, that would be entertaining. He kept insisting, while my preteens looked on in embarrassment, that as the middle aged-mom, I must be asking for the cleaned up, kid friendly version. You should have seen his face when I responded "H--- No, bring on those swear words--we want to hear the real songs, not the artificially sanitized versions."

OK--I TAKE IT BACK AND APOLOGIZE FOR BEING SELF CENTERED

By Valerie Newman November 30, 2021

I just posted my last few blogs and actually read one of them. I'm talking about the one that said the baby boom generation has gotten screwed with bad timing. I was bemoaning how it was hard for us to find jobs when we graduated from school and how we had to dress up, etc.

Now, in retrospect, I realize that we did have it pretty good. A pandemic wasn't raging while we were in high school or college. For instance, we got to go to our prom.

Oh wait--I shouldn't lead you astray. Those of us who were popular got to go to the prom. Then there were those of us who stayed home. NO--I wasn't THAT pathetic--I babysat while my friends went to the prom. But this is WAY off topic.

PLEASE don't feel sorry for me--I went dancing at the discos in my clogs and Jordache Jeans on a regular basis. But I didn't really feel like dressing up and spending all that money on our Junior or Senior proms, which weren't a big deal back then anyway.

Besides, I got paid double to babysit on prom night! The parents thought I was making a big sacrifice to babysit on prom night. Little did they know that their tiny kids acted more mature than half the people who got drunk at prom. And that I had more fun playing Candy Land, reading the tykes a story and tucking them in to stay up watching Saturday Night Live and pigging out on the junk food that these parents left for me.

In contrast, prom is a big deal for today's high school kids and they had to miss it due to COVID. They didn't get to pass notes to their friends in school, gossip in the girl's room or hang out with their clique in the cafeteria. Or, oh yeah, learn stuff live without masks and quarantines. And college also is a bummer compared to when us baby boomers matriculated. I can't even imagine social distancing in college.

Perhaps our timing was really good, as long as we weren't drafted to go to Viet Nam and we were able to find a job after college, maybe our timing was perfect. We got to go to some really good concerts and AIDS hadn't been released yet.

Yes, we had to type our papers and use white out (if we were lucky enough to have a typewriter) and we couldn't chat, let alone text via a cell phone, but maybe we were lucky to be able to have actual live conversations with our friends and classmates.

I guess each generation has it's pros and cons and we can't do much about the time frame in which we're born. Besides, if I ever live in a nursing home, I understand that they have "Senior Proms" and so I just might be able to go the prom after all!

I'VE GOT THE PERFECT SOLUTION TO A TON OF ISSUES!

By Valerie Newman November 28, 2021

Facebook started getting a bad reputation. The founder deflected that attention by rebranding to Meta. Many other companies have had success with this tactic.

As I started to think about this, a little light bulb went off in my head. I began to get curious as to how I could channel this idea into my own life. I have all sorts of reputations that I'd like to change. I'm not the same person that I was 30 years ago, not even close to what I was 20 years ago and I'm even a different person than I was ten years ago. Yet, it's challenging to change these outdated notions people might have of me. These views don't accurately represent who I am today.

So, I've decided to rebrand myself. Therefore, if and when you come in contact with me today, please know that I've rebranded myself from that mathematically and technologically challenged individual to a confident person who is learning and growing. OK, I might call my son and ask him to fix something for me on my computer that's 15 years old, but I did just take a virtual tour of the Grand Canyon using a meta platform (Oculus)--and I even played a game on this console, too. And I now use a lap top sometimes.

And I might be married to an accountant who balances my checkbook, while you use Pay-pal and do your own math, but I have been trying to do some math in my head. Usually my husband will chuckle and say, "Nice try" or "close!" And yet, I'm giving myself credit for trying.

And I take pride every time I remind my daughter (about once a month,) that when I visited her 5th grade open house back when she was in elementary school I was able to solve a math problem. "I'm smarter than a fifth grader!" I love boasting.

She's been a teacher herself for years now, so it's about time I rebrand myself. I'm thinking of the following slogans: "Smart and Sexy at 60" or "Ferocious and Foxy at 50+10. No--those are too focused on my fabulous appearance. I'm more interested in the fact that I'm confident and have a positive and learning mindset. Perhaps my rebranding will take the form of "Confident, Curious and Caring."

Either way, I'm no longer presenting myself as technologically or mathematically challenged. I've learned what Twitter and Instagram are, my high school calculator is up and running and I'm ready to take on the world!

MUSINGS ABOUT LIFE LONG RAMIFICATIONS

By Valerie Newman November 19, 2021

I'm proud to report that I no longer refer to our son's moving across the country as "running away from home." I now think of it as his defection. Other parents, who are way more normal than I am, are thrilled that their adult kids are happy and thriving in another location. Since we've already established that I'm far from normal, you already know who disappointed I am in having him live so far away.

Excuse the pun, but it hit home when our daughter revealed to me how she misses the defector, as well. (Though she simply calls him her brother.) She pointed out to me that when she gets together with her partner's family members--she can see the future in-laws alone, or with the about to be brother and sister in law--or the future siblings in law on their own. The almost sister in law is also about to have a baby--so the fiance's family is growing, while ours shrunk the second the son moved away.

"When we want to see someone from my side of the family, it's only you and dad," she said. Contrary to popular belief, I'm NOT a moron. I can read between the lines. Her only family near by consists of a bossy mom and a cranky dad. And yes, that's probably one of the reasons that drove (excuse the pun) son to run away. (oops--I already pretended that I don't really call it that anymore.)

OK--I know what you're thinking--if I stopped being bossy and husband put aside his grumpiness, perhaps we could have large and frequent family reunions. I've also heard many contemporaries say, "Oh--just wait til your son and his wife have kids--you'll be down to visit all the time."

That's because they've probably not been to where son and daughter-in-law live. And besides, daughter in law's whole huge family lives right there--so perhaps they'll be willing to tolerate a visit now and then from us for short bursts of time.

Either way, the defection has life long consequences. When daughter and husband have kids (soon, I hope--from my mouth to God's ears.) they won't grow up with cousins on our side. We won't have the son and his family in our daily lives--not even weekly or monthly.

Yes, I'm thankful that we've got great kids and that they get along and that I get the regular and quick phone call from son while he walks his dog and I'm happy that he has a wonderful wife and home in never-never land. I'm simply confessing that I feel an ache and now I've learned that daughter feels the emptiness, too. I'm comparing it to a dish that you've cooked and are about to eat. You're grateful to have food, but you were out of one or two of the key ingredients. It tastes OK, but would have been much better if you'd had those main ingredients in the dish. Something's missing and you know it--it just doesn't taste as good as you're used to or as good as it used to taste.

Face Time, texting, phone and Zoom calls are substitutes, like using Egg Beaters instead of eggs. I appreciate them and yet, it still tastes fake. And besides, flying was always a hassle, which got worse after 9/11. Now, with COVID and an uptick in travel, I'm kind of dreading getting on a plane to see son and spouse.

Thank you for letting me vent and kvetch. Now if you could please send your kids over to my place for Thanksgiving so that I can fill my table, I'll be good.

AM I THE ONLY BABY BOOMER WHO FEELS LIKE WE DON'T HAVE THE BEST TIMING?

By Valerie Newman November 18, 2021

If you are a Baby Boomer, do you remember how hard it was to find a job after you graduated from school? And once you got one, think back to what we were told: Stay with your job for YEARS, even if you aren't so happy with your company or position there.

Fast forward to these Millennials: They get signing bonuses, they can have their pick of almost any job they want--and now, education doesn't even really matter. If you're alive and willing to go to work, you are one hot commodity. You're going to get raises. And career advice today says to change jobs on a regular basis so that you can move up the ladder or get pay raises.

When we were signing up for classes in college, we had to wait in many long lines and hope to find a space in our classes. We had to rely on word of mouth as to whether or not the instructor was any good. Now, apparently, you can click on your phone or blink your eye and get into your classes of choice. And, you can look on all sorts of sites or apps to discover before hand if this professor grades leniently, or if that teacher is boring.

And if that doesn't seem fair to us old farts, what about this: We had to DRESS UP--for school, for travel, to even go to a Chinese restaurant. You name it--we had to wear stockings and uncomfortable fancy shoes or a jacket and tie. Now you can wear flip flops and PJ's anywhere you want.

Yes, I can enjoy that aspect of life now--but us old-timers have had to stay home for the last two years, so our dress code is pretty much irrelevant.

Anyway, back to my rant about how our generation got screwed (or didn't, depending on your interpretation of this word.): When we were interested in the dating scene, we had to either be introduced or meet perspective partners by chance. The dating game was just that--a game of chance or luck.

Who knows who we'd have ended up with if we could have swiped our phones and used dating apps? Of course, our phones were on cords, attached to the kitchen wall--in clear view and ear shot of the entire family. And we had to take turns with the phone, so if you had siblings, especially if they were older, you'd be lucky to talk to anyone on the phone in the first place. And we all know that there was no such thing as wireless or cordless phones, texting or apps--or lap tops or home computers, for that matter.

It's a miracle that any of us dated, let alone got married. Come to think of it, it's also a miracle that any of us were able to register for the required classes or got jobs after school.

I wonder what it would be like if there was an opportunity for a real life "Back to the Future", where our Millennial kids would go back in time and have to live life for a few days in our world back in the 60's or 70's. That would be really funny for us to watch. It would sort of be retribution for how they laugh at us when we try to live in their world. The words, "Nice Try, Mom!" are ringing in my ears right now.

The next time my son says that the 1980's are calling for their sweater back or my daughter tells me that my car screams "OLD PERSON!", I'll suggest that they push a button on their phones to go back to the world of my youth. I look forward to watching them try to use a manual typewriter, research their school work by looking for the card catalogue and finding which book to read for the correct material, watch TV on the one black and white TV with bunny ears and work for 50 cents an hour.

I guess we can't pick which era to be born in and I'm also thinking that I should be grateful that I wasn't growing up in the Depression or during World War I or II. Still, it's hard not to watch these Millennials with the world at their finger tips, and not think of how our timing is off, just a bit.

WHAT WILD STUFF WAS LURKING IN MY OLD RECIPE COLLECTION!

By Valerie Newman November 8, 2021

One of my first cousin's kids is opening up a bakery. She wondered if I had any of my grandmother's recipes for baked goods. I told her that I thought I did, but warned her it might take me a while.

Once upon a time, I was organized. I'd collected recipes from my mom, both grandmothers, my mother in law and assorted newspapers. I'd sorted them by main dishes, salads, desserts, appetizers and vegetarian. I'd put them all in a recipe box, given to me by my mother in law as an engagement gift. I'm guessing that she thought I'd be cooking for her son. I think I did TRY back then, though that was umpteen years ago.

When I was attempting to put some semblance of dinner on the table back when our daughter was a toddler, she happened to find this recipe box. She thought it was fun to rifle through it all, pulling out index card after card and throwing them in the air. I didn't have time or energy to sort through all those recipes and file them again. I must have put them in some kind of folder and I forgot about it.

Through the years, because he had survival instincts, our son taught himself how to cook. He became a very good cook at a very young age, we'd get invited to our parents' house for dinner, we'd have take out or I'd put together some kind of crappy concoction. Somehow we survived, but I'll never claim my cooking, home decor or housekeeping will be featured in Better Homes and Gardens. Maybe I could have hoped that my mayhem would be material for "Michuganah Moms Make Do" magazine.

Fast forward at least a couple of decades, and my cousin asked for some recipes. Now that our kids are grown, I'm not working too many hours and my husband had heart surgery, I've actually learned how to cook healthy, well balanced meals. But I'm no longer looking at family recipes. I know many tried and true meals by heart and I can look for inspiration on line.

So I've kind of been rifling through that old recipe folder for fun. I'm no where near done and haven't really found too many of grandma's recipes for baked goods. But I HAVE found a boat load of other stuff (another word beside boat came to mind, but this is a family blog, so you can use your imagination.)

You wouldn't believe the stuff that was tucked away in this folder. Lots of it has nothing to do with cooking. OK--don't let your mind wander too far off topic--I already told you that this is a G-rated blog. I'm guessing that, years ago, when my mom died, I grabbed a bunch of items in haste, go home and threw them in this recipe folder. It's my only explanation for the myriad of miscellaneous treasures I've discovered inside.

Imagine my delight to find a letter from my mom to me when I went away to camp as a young girl. I was also surprised to find the page of a letter she wrote to me after I left one summer for a study abroad program as a teenager. Next, I discovered a letter that I'd written to my parents from this summer camp.

I got teary eyed when I found a letter that my mother had written to my daughter when she attended this same camp as a young girl. These finds feel like a gift from my mother--who has been dead for several years. When I read the letters she wrote me, I felt like I was ten years old again and then a teenager. I was touched to know that she'd saved my letters from camp for all those years and puzzled as to how it ended up in this recipe folder.

I was also moved to see and feel the love in her letter to my daughter. It kind of felt like I was hearing from my mom from Heaven. And if my cousin's daughter hadn't been starting this bakery, those letters would have stayed in that folder until who knows when.

I've got lots more recipes to review and now, each day, when I open that folder, I'm hoping for more surprises. It also kind of makes me think about the magic in writing letters. If I'm ever lucky enough to have grandchildren and they go anywhere for more than a week and the US mail is still operating--I'll spring for the ten bucks for a stamp and write them a letter.

I JUST FIGURED OUT HOW TO MAKE MY OWN GRANDCHILDREN!

By Valerie Newman November 6, 2021

If I could ever become tech savvy enough, I think I've come up with a novel idea. It is so last century to wait for your kids to have their own kids so that you can become a grandparent. No, I'm not referring to cloning. I probably wouldn't be able to talk our kids into cloning themselves. And even if they agreed, it wouldn't be fair to their life partners.

Since asking politely and hinting profusely hasn't helped,I've had to think outside the box. And sadly, no, bribing hasn't been the answer. For some weird reason, our offspring seem to think that they're timetable for having kids is THEIR decision. I know, right?! If you're a member of the baby boom generation, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

If you're younger, though, I'm guessing that you'll agree with our Millennial kids.

Either way, here's my solution: 3-D printing. If we can 3-D print almost anything today, I'm hoping to put this new technological technique to my advantage. If I can get our kids together with their life partners and get a picture of them, I can 3-D print my own grandchildren. I can keep them in my house, spoil them and have so much fun.

The only challenge (besides the fact that I've just recently learned to post my own blog, meaning that I'm very technologically challenged) is what I realized while writing this blog: What do we do with these 3-D printed grandchildren when it's time for them to go to their parents?

Maybe I could 3-D print a copy of our kids, especially the ones who live really far from us.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking: There are ethical questions here. Aren't there ethical questions, though, surrounding the fact that we're ready to be grandparents while our kids are in no rush to cooperate?

No worries. For now, I'll continue to smile at all the grandchildren that people our age parade around our neighborhood. (Yes--did you detect some guilt there--that's in case our kids actually read my blog.)

DID WE REALLY JUST GET A PACKAGE FROM OUR GRANDPA

(WHOSE BEEN DEAD FOR MORE THAN 30 YEARS?!)

OK--I'm fully aware of how slow snail mail can be these days. But, boy, was I shocked by what arrived in our mailbox yesterday! I'm not surprised by packages arriving--we order a lot of stuff on line, just like the rest of America.

I didn't bother looking for a return address as I opened the cardboard box. I was guessing it was the usual items, that aren't too exciting. I looked inside, expecting to find granola bars or paper goods. "It looks like lip stick or some kind of make up," I said, at first glance.

"But I don't wear any cosmetics. Maybe one of the kids ordered it for me as a hint," I wondered out loud as my husband came over to see what I was fussing about. He thought that, perhaps, it was supposed to go to our daughter's place, but got shipped here by mistake. He took a closer look at these mystery items. "They look more like pens," he observed.

Oh--yes, since our daughter is a teacher, I bet she entered our address by mistake, I though to myself. But why would she only order two of them? Before I could say another word, husband takes them out of the box and finds that they are pen-like containers, with corn seed inside. "What the heck?" he asked.

"You know how the kids are so environmentally friendly--I bet these are some kind of eco-friendly pens," I suggested.

BUT WAIT--upon closer examination, these "pens" were personalized--with the name of my grandfather-in-law.

"Why do these pens have Grandpa's name on them?" he shook his head, in amazement.

"And he's been dead for more than 30 years, since he died before we even had kids!" I added.

We looked at each other for a moment, both lost in thought. "I mean, I know that the US mail is really slow some times, but 30 + years?! That's beyond ridiculous," I said.

"And Hey," husband added. "It came in an Ebay box. That wasn't even invented 30 years ago," he observed.

"Someone must have sent this as a practical joke. But who? And why?" I asked.

"Well you know that my grandpa was a farmer and I do think at one time he sold seed corn, so maybe he used these pens as an advertisement," husband noted.

"But why would two of them come to us now via Ebay? Your brother used to like to do silly stuff like this--send us something unusual out of the clear blue--but he's also been dead for a long time. Can people send us packages from heaven?" I asked, in disbelief.

"Let's start calling relatives to ask who sent this," husband suggested. We started with his other brother, then moved on to cousins. We finally found out that our son decided to surprise us by ordering them on Ebay and shipping them to us without saying a word. Our mystery was solved except for the following question--why was he even looking for this and who had them on Ebay in the first place--and why?

Though we'll never understand the inner workings of our son's brain, we did have fun swapping pictures with all the cousins--photos of memorabilia from Grandpa. My brother in law showed an old shirt, a cousin displayed a post card from one of Grandpa's excursions, etc.

And now, we're left with one final question: What the heck should we do with these two corn seed advertising pens?

WHAT WILL YOUR METAVERSE LOOK LIKE?

By Valerie Newman October 30, 2021

When I read about the creation of metaverses for the third or fourth time, I decided to ask one of my Millennial kids about it: What is it? and Should I be learning how to participate? were forefront in my mind. My son responded that, for now, it's more for gamers. I understood it as a virtual reality for video games.

Yet, the more I read about it, the deeper my understanding grew. I'm thinking it's kind of like a modern day utopia. If I'm unhappy with COVID, for instance, I can escape into a different reality.

Growing up in the 60's, many people a bit older than me escaped from their harsh realities by turning to psychedelic drugs.

Now, anyone who can remember the 60's is a Senior adult and we're learning from younger generations how to transport ourselves into another universe. This is reminiscent of "Beam me up, Scottie," of Star Trek days.

This alternative reality/society got me thinking: Can I create my own metaverse and what would it be like compared to ones that our kids would create? When Walden Thoreau was writing "Walden's Pond" about a utopian existence, we know that he wasn't envisioning a 3-D artificial world!

I'm trying to embrace today's technological world and I'm ready to learn how to climb into my new metaverse. The one I'll create (at least in my imagination right now) would be free of COVID, and in fact, all disease. I won't let politics in the door. Violence, racism and sexism will be unheard of.

Also, my dog would be much better behaved. And there will be no such thing as doing dishes or laundry. Heck, while I'm at it, I'm going to do away with having to cook dinner. Can I invite back in people I love who have already died? It might get crowded, yet I can live with that. Would they want to come back to this kind of world, though?

And as long as you're joining me on this imaginary journey, I'm also wondering: What a Millennial metaverse would consist of, what would it feel and look like? I'm guessing that our daughter would choose a world where all schools have enough school supplies and support staff and that each child would go home to a family with enough food and other essentials. Her world would contain clean transportation for everyone and in fact, she'd chose an entirely clean and healthy environment.

These are my assumptions. I'll have to ask her about it. I'm not even able to predict what our son would choose for his virtual reality, though I'm pretty sure it would consist of a less stressful job and it would be a place where folks wouldn't have to worry about how to make ends meet.

Thinking of my family and how spread apart we are geographically, I'm also planning on adding another feature to my metaverse: We could travel anywhere in a matter of minutes.

What would your metaverse be like?

All this wishful thinking brings me back to a meditation class I enjoy. One of its focuses is on contentment. We practice feeling content about our world as it is. We repeat the mantra:" In this moment, I have enough, I am enough and I do enough." If we turn our attentions on the positives of our current reality, perhaps we won't need to escape into these metaverses.

For now, while zeroing in on what I'm content about it, I'm still going to picture a better world and strive to do my best to bring it about.

HEN THE SURREAL BECOMES REALITY

By Valerie Newman October 25, 2021

It finally happened in real life. I actually got to meet, live and in person, about 20 people who I've been seeing in tiny boxes on my computer screen for the last year. We've been meeting for a meditation program called MindKind every week day (sometimes twice a day) via Zoom.

My spouse and I started "attending the meetings a year ago, just after he came home from the hospital after his open heart surgery. The leaders decided to offer this community meditation on line right after COVID hit. We joined six months later and were welcomed by all. We've come to know and love the other members of this "fellowship"--men and women of all ages, professions and life styles from all over the globe.

When my husband and I first started Mind Kind, there was no COVID vaccine, the world was in lock down and we were concerned about my spouse's very survival from complicated heart surgery. We couldn't envision that we'd reach a day when we could leave our house safely and gather with a large group of people live, let alone friends who'd been strangers to us before last October.

I'm so grateful to report that many of our new friends gathered outside in the backyard of one of the group's founders/leaders. While it was a long drive for my spouse and I, others came from much greater distances. We sat around a camp fire, sang songs and meditated. Before this kumbaya experience, each of us hugged one another. How awe inspiring it was to see each friend close up and personal--in the flesh--and be able to hug them.

I guess I should mention that a prerequisite of this meeting was that we each needed to be fully vaccinated.

Anyway, my eyes welled with tears when I hugged the other founder/leader who had flown in from Indonesia. It was beyond humbling for me to talk with him, our host and the third founder/leader, who recently moved from the other US coast to our area.

Many of our friends came bearing gifts or home made comfort food like soup, bread and herb butter. I felt myself floating through the entire evening and wished that I could bottle it up and freeze frame those feelings, the whole experience. You might picture us on cloud nine, yet I'm going to suggest here that a new cloud came into being yesterday: Cloud ten. It felt like we'd combined the best birthday of one's childhood, with a family reunion and your favorite holiday.

I was so jazzed up about it that I didn't get to sleep last night. I didn't even really mind that because I just laid in bed, reveling at the memories of such a magical evening. I also couldn't help but wondering: how can I properly thank the creators of this program or the other members of this community for taking my husband and I from the pits of despair and transporting and transforming us into the grateful, calmer and more content people that we are today?

Though we didn't arrive laden with gifts, I reminded myself of the mantra we've learned from MindKind: "We have enough, we are enough and we do enough." Sharing this experience via this blog is my way of expressing my appreciation to all of our new friends.

I'M ABOUT TO MEET MY TEACHERS IN PERSON (AND MY CLASSMATES, TOO!)

By Valerie Newman October 21, 2021

Did you ever run into your school teacher in the real world when you were little? Wasn't that mind-bobbling? I remember that happening to me and I was shocked that my teacher was a real person who went to the grocery store. Somehow, I though she'd always be in the classroom--like she lived in my elementary school. I was even more shocked to run into my principal outside of school! I found myself standing up straight and getting scared that I was going to get in trouble. And here I was, in my 40's!

Now let's fast forward a few (20) years til today. For the last year, my spouse (oops--am I supposed to call him partner?) and I have been partaking in a Zoom meditation program. The three founders of this particular model decided to offer the experience remotely every weekday morning and evening when the Corona virus first came to be known. One lived on the East Coast of America, the other, the West Coast and the third leader lived in Indonesia. They opened this class up to the world so that we could breath deeply together, concentrate on the positives and build a supportive community virtually.

If you know me, you already know that I'm a fireball of energy. Being trapped in my house during the heart of COVID, worried about my health and the health of everybody else, concerned about world events and trouble in our own country and add into the mix that my husband was going in for open heart surgery--it was a recipe for a stress volcano. While my volcano began to erupt, my sister invited me and my husband to join this fellowship.

The group has grown through word of mouth. Within days, we came to know and love each person showing in each of the tiny boxes on our screens. This was such a blessing because we weren't socializing with anyone in person and even our own kids wouldn't come inside our house due to COVID precautions.

We've been meditating and shmoozing with this same group for a year now and we've all been wondering if we'd ever get to meet in person. AND NOW WE ARE ABOUT TO MAKE THAT DREAM COME TRUE! Well, to be honest, not all of us. Some friends from Viet-Nam and England, for instance, won't be able to attend this live meeting. The three leaders are gathering for a live meeting on the East Coast and one of them is hosting an in person gathering in her yard this weekend.

What will it be like to see each other in person--to see the whole person, not just a face inside a tiny box? What will it be like to be in a group of people live--people I've never actually met in person? We're all vaccinated and so it's safe to hug. I've already warned them all--I'm planning on doing a lot of hugging. Each person feels like a family member to me--and they've never even pushed any of my buttons, so it's going to be like a new and improved version of a family reunion.

And since I cry at G Disney movies, I can guarantee that I'm going to cry. And like a wedding or other very special event, I know it's going to go too fast and I'm going to want to freeze frame each moment. Now--here's the real question: What can I bring to these three masters of meditation--the initiators of this wonderful, rejuvenating movement? How can I thank them for helping me through one of the worst times of my life--for changing my perspective, for helping me elevate my mental and physical and emotional well being?

No gift will do. Nothing will ever be special enough to properly show them my appreciation--and my spouse's. How do you thank people who carried you from Hell and brought you floating through a soft, warm and welcoming sky?

My words are my gift--I've started a blog for this fellowship. If you've noticed my last few blog pieces have been about this group and program. I started thinking about its impact on me when I first heard about this in person meeting that's going to take place this weekend. I might arrive empt

HOW HAVE I MADE FRIENDS OF ALL AGES FROM ALL AROUND THE WORLD DURING A PANDEMIC?

By Valerie Newman October 18, 2021

I'm celebrating my year anniversary of joining a virtual meditation group. Our participants include men and women of all ages and locations. The group leaders started offering this program via Zoom once COVID started shutting down our world. My sister told me about it when my husband and I arrived back home after his open heart surgery. We were scared, he was in pain, we were stressed out and we felt alone and overwhelmed.

She emailed me the link and my life changed the day I clicked it. The meditation is called MindKind because it focuses on the mind/body connection and the power of kindness. I was skeptical because I was under the impression that if you're kind, people will walk all over you. I even taught my kids this mantra: "Being nice is a waste of time." Not only had MindKind taught me to be kind to myself and others, to take life one moment at a time, to focus on my breath and to set my intentions for the day, it has connected me with people of all professions and walks of life, retired folks, Millennials and everyone in between.

I've become friends with people all over the world, each one showing their face in a tiny box on my screen. We've starting communicating and reaching out to each other via text, emails, calls and through a cell phone app. (To be honest, though, I'm not much of a What's App chatterbox.) I made an appointment to talk with a young man who lives across the country from me and whose half my age. Since I'm old enough to be his mom and he's my son's age, when I got him on the phone, my overbearing mother voice kicked in.

"I finally get to talk to you!" I complained. "I hardly ever get to see your face on MindKind--you put up your screen so I don't see you--you never call me--I don't know where I went wrong!"I bemoaned. Of course, that got him to laugh. We talked for an HOUR and a Half!" My own kids don't tolerate me for that long!

And that's when it hit me--how else would I be talking with a Millennial whose unrelated to me and who lives on the other side of the country? I never would have met him if it weren't for MindKind. And I feel very connected to him, and to all my MindKind friends, for that matter.

We've shared our concerns, struggles, joys and heartbreaks. We meditate for a half an hour together, each day focusing on another aspect of this healing philosophy, from curiosity and contentment to letting go. And during the second half an hour, we break out into small groups to connect with each other, listen and support each other in fellowship.

I've already written about how MindKind has been transformative. Today I want to focus on the relationships my husband and I have formed through this group. And now for the biggest news of all: We're finally going to be able to meet many of our new friends live--in the flesh--where we can see what they look like in real life. I wonder what that will be like to see them in person. Will they be freaked out if I want to hug them?

One of the group leaders lives in my state. The other lived on the opposite coast and recently relocated to this area. The third leader is visiting our country from across the world. The trio is coming together for in person meetings and welcomed all participants in the area to come together at the home of our leader who lives locally.

I'm wondering what to wear, what I should bring and how I'm going to feel meeting so many of our new friends live and up close. I'm comparing it to being a little kid and seeing your teacher at the grocery store. Here, I always pictured my teacher in school--why are they here in the grocery store?

I'm sure the time will fly by and we'll all enjoy each other's company. Once I feel it's safe to travel, I'm going to make plans to visit my meditation friends around the country and world. For now, I'm going to reach out to friends throughout my area to get together after this initial gathering.

What a difference this group has made in my life during this last year!

HOW THIS MAMA OF A MILLENNIAL MAN GOT HER SON TO TALK ON THE PHONE--AND HAPPILY!

By Valerie Newman October 18, 2021

I already told you my trick, yet I'm going to boast here: I've perfected my technique.

The secret to getting your adult kids to talk with you is easy--talk their language. The hard part is to figure out what language they prefer speaking.

NO, I'm not talking about foreign languages. I'm referring to figuring out what floats your kids' boat.

Let's start with my admission: I know that my kids find me annoying. In fact, a lot of other people probably feel the same way about me. But I don't yearn to communicate with anyone as much as my own kids. I annoyed our eldest so much that, as you know, he fled our state and our entire region to move across the country. He claims he moved because it's less expensive there and that the weather is better. I don't believe him. I know he bolted to escape my clutches.

And if that wasn't bad enough, like most people his age, he doesn't talk on the phone. I'm sorry, but since I don't get to see him, texting doesn't cut it. Pardon me, but I want to hear his voice.

Months ago, as I've told you, we listened to his suggestion and installed solar panels. He seemed very interested and enthusiastic about this project and any time I called to ask a question about it, he answered the phone and spoke with me. And he actually seemed to enjoy the conversation. And as I've already relayed, I kept thinking of home improvement projects that would spark his interest. After changing our heating/air conditioning system to a heat pump and adding a whole house generator, I started to wonder how I'd still have access to the son when we completed all these projects.

Now--here's how I'm a genius. I thought to myself: Why not keep speaking his language? And, I might actually learn something simultaneously.

Like, for instance, am I the only Baby Boomer who isn't exactly sure what all the fuss is about Bitcoin and cryptocurrency? To be honest, I'm not even sure exactly what it is in the first place. I wondered how and why it got started and also wondered if I needed to jump on the bandwagon. I wanted to ask him why it matters and if I need to learn about it.

I decided to write down my list of questions and text him the following: "Can you talk with me at your convenience about this cryptocurrency craze? I've got lots of questions. Please let me know when it's convenient for you for me to call."

And he texted back immediately. I was thrilled. We made a phone appointment, I called, he answered and we had a CONVERSATION. And he seemed to be animated about it!

I'm on to something, I thought to myself. Because I've got lots of other topics to talk about. Or, truthfully, topics to ask for tutoring.

For example, what the Hell is social media? I do Facebook and I know how to do Face Time. I understand Tik Tok. But what in God's name is Twitter, Instagram and Snap Chat? And why am I reading about them so much in the news? Do I have to use them or do them? My questions are the same each night, regarding different topics.

Tonight I plan to ask him about space travel. I am interested in learning about these matters--and I have read about them in the news, yet it's still interesting to learn more about it from him and get his input and perspective. He knows me and can advise me if I need to partake in any of these crazes. Of course, when he's done explaining stuff to me, he is willing to field questions like: "What's new?", "How is married life treating you?" and "How is your dog?" I throw in a few kvetches (complaints) about what's happening here and then we say good bye.

Now that I've shared my secret with you, feel free to go ahead and use it with your kids. If you don't have any kids or they're not in this age group, let me know. I'm thinking of starting a business where middle aged or older adults can rent a Millennial to explain all the puzzling developments of today's ever changing world.

YOU CALL THIS A ROMANTIC DATE?!

By Valerie Newman October 13, 2021

As I'm sure you know by now, I'm married to a VERY hard worker. You might notice that I didn't say workaholic because I'm trying to protect his feelings. That's not exactly true--he never reads this.

I guess I'm staying positive and I've decided not to disparage him for working seven days a week, even during long, holiday weekends. I'm not supposed to complain about him working round the clock, even after open heart surgery and past retirement age because other people have to deal with unfaithful spouses, abuse or the fact that their partner is out carousing.

I'm just saying that we don't have a lot of time alone together. You know it's reached a critical point when you get excited about the "date" I'm going to describe.

I'd scheduled my flu shot at our Dr.'s office a while back. Today my husband woke up with an ear ache and called the Dr. to see if they could squeeze him in. When they said he could come in today, he decided to ask for his tetanus shot, too. "Good--they're fitting me in today at 10:45," he announced, as he sat back down at his work computer.

"What a coincidence!" I said. "My flu shot is there at 11 today. Maybe we could drive together?" I suggested.

"Are you kidding?" he responded. "I'm going to be missing work to go to the doctor. I can't wait around for you while you get your shot. I've got too much to do,"he complained.

"But I can drive and you can work both ways in the car and my flu shot will take five seconds. I'll be waiting for you, and that's OK, because I'll bring the newspaper."

"I'd rather drive myself and get it over with," he said as he continued working.

"But this way, we can see each other and be alone together for the car rides!"

I talked him into it and of course, my shot took five seconds and he had to see the Dr., so I was done first. We made a plan to meet in the car. I was half way done with the Wall Street Journal by the time he met me in the car. "You know life is tough when driving together for simultaneous doctor's appointments feels like a date," I said.

"Thanks for driving," he said while he did some work in the car. "The doctor said I'm fine," he added.

"Well that's good, because on our way home, we're going to stop for a walk at the park," I said.

Don't tell anyone--and if you happen to be his boss or colleagues, you know that he works 24/7, so I think you won't mind the fact that I kidnapped him for a ten minute walk at a park near our house. It felt so wonderful to be alone in nature with him and to get him away from work for a few minutes.

"Wasn't this fun?" I asked him on the way home--for us to have some time together and to get out of the house?"

"Yes it was," he laughed.

"I'm going to write a blog about this. In order to go on a 'date' with you, we have to luck out to have doctor's visits at the same time!" OK--that's not COMPLETELY true. We have gone out to eat a few times over the last year once it was COVID safe.

"OK, fine, but is anyone going to read this?" he asked.

UNWRAP YOUR GIFT!

By Valerie Newman October 6, 2021

I've learned from my meditation class that each day is a gift. We can bury our heads in the sand, ruminate about the past or worry about the future. OR, we can focus on today. We can open our gift and break it or squander it away. OR, we can open it, take it out and relish it. We can be thankful for the gift of today, savor it and make the most out of it. Each day is a gift. It isn't what's inside the package as much as how we respond to it.

We can open our gift and complain that it's too hot or too cold, that we have too much to do or that we're bored or lonely.

It's our choice how we face each day, each gift. We can approach it with appreciation, awe, curiosity and gratitude. We can listen to and respect others and ourselves. We may choose to be kind and caring, volunteer or welcome nature or animals into our day.

I used to complain, focus on my anger and disappointment and I wasn't an active listener. I was uptight about accomplishing my goals and hard on myself if I didn't reach them.

Mind/Kind meditation has brought a shift in my awareness. I've come to appreciate the importance of listening to others, of feeling contentment for what I have, what I do and who I am. I've learned that kindness also encompasses compassion to one's self. Instead of bemoaning the past or worrying about the future, I focus on living in the moment, I pay attention to my breath, I welcome a sense of gratitude and inquisitiveness.

I've given myself permission to open my gift, celebrate it and share this positive attitude with others.

We might not be able to change others--and that's not a worthwhile use of our time and energy, anyway. We CAN control our response to what our gift presents us. We can wake up in the morning and be grateful for the gift of a new day. We can stretch, focus on our breath, send prayers and well wishes to others and then set an intention for the day. We can experience how our intention becomes our reality.

Thank you, Mind/Kind, for helping me live life to the fullest--one breath at a time.

AN ANNIVERSARY THAT GIVES ME THE EEBIE-GEEBIES

By Valerie Newman October 5, 2021

It's almost Columbus Day weekend--if we're still referring to this holiday by that name.

Here's my warning before reading this blog: I usually try to inject some humor in my writing. This piece is an exception.

I remember (like it was yesterday) coming home from college for that long weekend to celebrate a dear friend's birthday. I'm sure we grabbed a bite and then went to a disco to dance. I was wearing my fancy Jordache jeans and my clogs. I bet that I thought I was hot stuff and was probably dancing to songs just like "Hot Stuff" by Donna Summer. This was my junior year in college, back in 1981. When my friend and I would go out together, he'd always have a beer or two because drinking was legal at 18 where we lived. But since it was his birthday, he must have had an extra drink.

I don't remember any of that because we were driving back home in his Buick Opel, which later was recalled for safety issues. When he sped around a curve, late at night in his tiny, unsafe car, it veered into a 200+ year old tree. I was knocked unconscious and don't remember a thing until December of that year. I woke up in a physical rehab hospital in New York, feeling foggy and in a full leg cast. I didn't know where I was and thought it was a bad dream. But when I woke up the next day, I realized that my new reality was a living nightmare.

It was impossible to believe that I'd been in a car accident, had been killed and was brought back to life by a series of miracles. My friend wasn't as lucky. He didn't make it. He was killed instantly and I can be grateful that he didn't suffer. Yet I suffered so much pain that sometimes I'd wished I hadn't made it. But then I'd think of the ambulance driver and the emergency room staff and the doctors and nurses who worked so hard to save me. I thought of the Hell I'd put my family through. I thought of all my friends and neighbors who had prayed for my survival.

And my mom suggested that I turn this lemon into lemonade. She reminded me how lucky I was to have had the accident by someone's house and that the sound woke them up and that they called 9-11; How lucky I was to have had this happen when I was young enough to be able to regain lots of my abilities; how blessed I was to have so many people in my life who sent positive thoughts my way or showed support.

I was a jumble of mixed emotions as I struggled to be able to walk, to re-learn simple tasks, like telling time or even remembering what my parents looked like. I had survival guilt and anger that my friend did this to us and that I allowed it to happen. This was eons before "Mothers Against Drunk driving" and campaigns like: "Friends don't let friends drive drunk." How could I have gotten in the car? I couldn't drive a stick shift and there were no cell phones then. I guess, also, when you're just turning 20, you think that you're invincible.

Either way, I still struggle with these feelings. Every year by his birthday which is also the day he died, I think of how old I am and then I think, "And he's still dead." And then I wonder what he'd be like today, at 60. And then I think of everything he missed. And then I think of how lucky I've been to be alive and yet, how much I suffered and still deal with pain.

I might have written about this topic once before. If so, you'll now understand why I don't remember whether I did or not. Sometimes, I still wonder what I'd be like if I hadn't had the accident. What it would be like to have an intact brain, wrist, ankle, knee and hip. And then I think of how my parents encouraged me after the accident. They said that everyone has some challenge to deal with and it's not WHAT it is, but How you handle it. I try not to let my handicaps define me. And perhaps it's true that whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

For the last 25 years I've been able to distract myself because--guess what...My daughter was born on Columbus Day weekend. I used to focus on her birthday party and distract myself about the accident anniversary. That worked until she had the nerve to grow up. Now I'll simply remind myself that I wouldn't have even met my husband, let alone had the kids I do, if it hadn't been for the accident. I was going to study Junior year abroad the second semester that year and instead, spent eight months in various hospitals. I was able to go back to college part time and eventually, I graduated. My folks thought to send me on a trip to try to make up for the fact that I'd missed my semester abroad and so much else. And I met my spouse on that trip!

Sometimes tragedies happen and we wonder why and we'll never find the answer. Perhaps my answer was meeting the man I love, who I otherwise, never would have met. There is no answer for my friend who died the day he turned 20.

I'm grateful to be taking a Mind/Kind meditation class now. It's taught me to be content with the way things are and to forgive myself, to be kind to myself and to reach back to my 20 year old self and say that it's OK---"you were young and naive and you didn't mean this tragedy to happen."

When I limp or I'm in pain or have trouble remembering or learning something, I now say "It is what it is." And I might throw in a Mr. Rogers quote: "You are OK just the way you are." I try not to use my limitations as an excuse and instead of focusing on the fact that I forgot something, I focus on the 10 items I that I Did remember.

And although I might be years behind most of my peers in terms of technology, for instance, I still learn new tasks. So you've been texting for 15 years, for example, and I've only acquired that skill five years ago. You're doing Twitter and posting things on Instagram, and I'm not really sure what they are. YES, I know that my daughter already explained them to me and even showed me a few Instagram messages, but that doesn't mean that I fully understand or remember the details.

No worries--by the time I'm using those means of communication, you'll be transmitting your brain waves to your friends via air wave manipulation. And I'll still be reminding myself that life isn't a race. If you can respect that I'm the tortoise, I'll celebrate that you're the hare. I won't pass out of humiliation, though you might feel faint from laughter when you see me in operation. I was looking up your phone number in the phone book and dialing you on my land line while you were using your I-phone to Instant Message.

At least now I have white hair and Millennials assume that I'm not up to speed because I'm a Baby Boomer. Little do they know that I haven't been up to date on anything for 40 years. Now if I can only find your phone number, I'd call you to make plans this weekend so that I won't have to focus on an anniversary that's quite the mixed bag. And if I do find your number, you probably let go of your land line 20 years ago and don't answer your cell because no one ever makes phone calls unless they're a solicitor.

And that's still OK because, though I might be talking to myself, I'm still having fun. It's like that song from Simon and Garfunkel. Instead of "Still Crazy after all these years," I can rephrase it as "Still living and learning after all these years."

IS MIDNIGHT BY ANY OTHER NAME STILL MIDNIGHT?

By Valerie Newman October 7, 2021

When the term "midnight" was coined, I bet that electricity hadn't been invented yet. People woke up at the crack of dawn and probably couldn't be too productive after the sun set. Besides, they were tired at dusk if they'd started their day at dawn.

The world is a different story today. We wake up when our phones or alarm clocks tell us to (depending on your age.) We can stay up until all hours of the night. Since I'm a night owl who is allergic to the morning, I don't make a habit of waking up when the sun rises. I might be up--but it's only to make a quick pee and dash back into bed.

And that's what got me started thinking about the phrase: "midnight." Since the word refers to the MIDDLE of the night, I'm suggesting that this phraseology doesn't apply to me or other non-morning people. If I don't feel fully awake until 10 a.m. and my day doesn't officially start until 11, I'm on a roll when many others are winding down. Us night owls are more productive in the afternoons or evenings. Some of my best work and clearest thoughts are when you're in a deep sleep. !2 midnight is NOT MIDNIGHT to me.

If you're a morning person, we're in different time zones even if we live in the same town and aren't traveling.

While I was doing Yoga at 11 last night, showering at 12 and reading the paper and then my book at 1 a.m., I realized that people like me need a new term for midnight.

Please DON'T JUDGE, you morning people out there. You thought I was being lazy by staying in bed until 10. I'm not going to think you're lazy for going to bed at 9 or 10 p.m. While you're sleeping, I'm being super productive and vice versa. You're simply lucky that the world revolves around your system and not mine.

You can go ahead and feel free to call midnight by that name. I bet I'll come up with a more inclusive term at about 1 a.m.

SENDING BIRTHDAY CARDS TO OTHER SEXAGENARIANS HAS GOT MY CREATIVE JUICES FLOWING!

By Valerie Newman October 4, 2021

I actually cracked myself up today writing a birthday card to a friend from college. Like me, she's turning 60. (I already reached my milestone.)

I started the card by saying that in my mind, I felt like we were still 20 and back in college. And then a spontaneous poem started forming before my eyes.

"We used to be young and thought we were cool. Now we're old and starting to drool. You were a red-head and I was brunette, now I'm gray and we're glad not to need Depends--yet.

We thought we could change the world--or at least do our part. And we also thought that our parents were old farts.

Now we're older than they were then; our joints ache, I use hearing aides and we long for back when.....

You, my friend, though, are aging like fine wine--you keep getting better with time. Please accept this corny rhyme."

This might be a poor excuse for a birthday greeting, and an even less acceptable as a blog piece. I'm sending it and posting it anyway, because I've been really busy being 60 and haven't written a blog entry in a long time. What, may you wonder, have I been busy doing?

I've been losing my sweatshirt, hat, sunglasses and the birthday cards I bought to send out to friends. I've been busy looking for them. I've been busy cranking up my hearing aides and telling the people on the phone that I can't hear them. I've been going to or making appointments for shots, Dr visits or doing this for and with my spouse.

And I've been daydreaming about going on vacation where and when there is no such thing as COVID. And I've been up at night having night mares that I'm in Grand Central Station and airports but that no one is even wearing a mask.

Is that enough excuses to explain why I haven't written in a while? I'll leave you with this delightful imagery. My husband likes to say that excuses are like butts--everyone has one. I, apparently, though, have lots of them!

SENDING BIRTHDAY CARDS TO OTHER SEXAGENARIANS HAS GOT MY CREATIVE JUICES FLOWING!

By Valerie Newman October 4, 2021

I actually cracked myself up today writing a birthday card to a friend from college. Like me, she's turning 60. (I already reached my milestone.)

I started the card by saying that in my mind, I felt like we were still 20 and back in college. And then a spontaneous poem started forming before my eyes.

"We used to be young and thought we were cool. Now we're old and starting to drool. You were a red-head and I was brunette, now I'm gray and we're glad not to need Depends--yet.

We thought we could change the world--or at least do our part. And we also thought that our parents were old farts.

Now we're older than they were then; our joints ache, I use hearing aides and we long for back when.....

You, my friend, though, are aging like fine wine--you keep getting better with time. Please accept this corny rhyme."

IS IT MOXIE OR MADNESS?

By Valerie Newman September 17, 2021

My tiny terrier is terrific. But this eight pound Yorkie turned into a maniacal, mad monster last night. This nine year old mischief maker made mayhem last night when we were meandering through our front yard. He spotted a white furry animal, three times his size near the side of our house. He ripped away from my grip on his leash and raced faster than any animal I've seen in live action.

I couldn't imagine what he'd do if and when he caught the other animal. But I COULD imagine what this wild animal could do to my precious pet. I didn't know whether to scream, cry or chase after my cute and cuddly canine. So I did all three. My heart was racing, too, though, because I was also afraid of the wild animal. What was it and what if it bit me? Too bad I didn't have my phone with me, because I would have called my husband to come out and join me in this wild goose chase.

NO--I'm only kidding. It wasn't a goose. It was too big to be an opossum, too white and large to be a skunk and too small and oblong to be a coyote. But I didn't have my distance glasses on and it was dark out.

It ran too fast away from my dog for me to identify it. In addition to crying, screaming and running, I also started to laugh. Does it strike you as funny that my little tiny dog terrorized an animal at least three times its size?

I got the creeps, though, because I saw this unfamiliar animal sinking into the bushes that divide our property from our next door neighbor. I walked backwards, grabbed my dog, who was barking like a beast and tip toed into our house. Then I babbled incoherently to my husband. He understood enough to grab another flashlight and put the dog securely inside the house. Of course, by the time we both got back out into the yard, this unnamed creature had disappeared.

My spouse grew up on a farm and so, he knows a lot about animals. "If it were a possum, it would have played dead, not ran away. It was either a weasel or a mink," he said calmly.

I calmed down enough to ask him if this critter could hurt our dog. "Of course. It could have killed him and bitten you and given you rabies," he answered in his trade mark matter of fact manner. When he saw my eyes bug out, he added, "But minks are generally mild mannered and a weasel isn't an attack animal. They'll only go after you if they feel cornered and you provoked them."

And that's exactly what our little doggie did. He chased a large wild animal and cornered him in the bushes, because on the other side of the bushes is a steep drop to the neighbor's driveway.

Which brings me to my initial question. Should I be bragging about the bravery of my little baby or worried that he's picking fights with a potential bully?

Since I'm unable to answer that question now, I'm playing it safe. I'm walking him on the main road--and in the opposite direction.

HOW CAN MY PERSONAL TRAINER DOUBLE AS MY SOCIAL DIRECTOR--AND ALSO BE MY COUNSELOR?

By Valerie Newman September 13, 2021

Many of us dog owners hire a trainer so that we can control our dogs. If you know me or have read any of my blogs, though, you're already well aware of the fact that my life is topsy- turvy. It turns out that my pet is MY trainer.

If I can brag for a moment, my dog is a really effective fitness trainer. He keeps me in tip top shape for free, though he does require room and board.

Just when I sit down for a minute to read the paper, for example, he comes to tell me that sitting is really not healthy for me. He scratches my leg and insists that I stand up. Then he starts stretching--he's instructing me to stretch.

Then he waits by the door--he isn't subtle at all--I must go and walk with him.

And then he'll lead me in interval training because he spots a squirrel, so we must run. Next we have to stop suddenly, because he smells something interesting. Then we have to change directions and tip toe for a renaissance mission. Next I learn that we have to walk rapidly to discover the source of this new scent. Then he plops down and refuses to move, so that means that it's time for my weight training. I lift up the eight pound Yorkie and head for home. Until he wriggles free and starts to sprint toward a doggie friend.

I guess my 20 minutes of movement has now morphed into social hour. I've met more neighbors thanks to this tiny terrier. The humans chat, the dogs sniff and perhaps roll around and then, we walk home. When my furry friend and I walk alone, I find myself starting to talk with my dog. This might be a conflict of interest, but my physical health trainer doubles as my mental health counselor. I start blabbing to him about my anxieties. He never laughs at me or judges me. He seems to listen to me and comes up close to comfort me.

When we get back home, he'll sit right next to me and look into my eyes. He never seems to mind my complaining and "kvetching". When he's heard enough though, he likes to change my perspective by bringing me a toy. "It's play time," he communicates to me. Now I must throw the toy of his choice so that he can run and go get it. We play tug of war for a bit and after a minute or two, I must toss it once more. When he's had enough of play time, he nudges me until I start petting him.

While I'm walking with him outside, talking with neighbors, playing with him or petting him, I'm not mired in my thoughts about any issues.

I guess I should stop complaining about what a hassle it is to have him as a pet and start thanking my lucky stars that I have such a caring, compassionate, cuddly and cute canine. If you're bored or lonely or in need of exercise or some free counseling, feel free to come on over and take him for a walk. (Or should I say--you can let him take you for a walk?)

HOW I DEAL WITH MY GUAR IS MY OWN BUSINESS!

By Valerie Newman September 1, 2021

If you read my blogs during the height of COVID, you might remember that I looked like Cruella Da Ville, then a skunk like Pepe La Pew during my process of letting my hair go grey. I stopped going to the hairdresser because I was afraid of getting COVID. And then I started appreciating the time and money I was saving. And I didn't care that much about the homely transition because I was basically staying home to stay safe.

Now that I'm done with this hairy metamorphoses, I happen to be getting a lot of praise and yes, it's gone to my head (excuse the pun.) But first, I want to tell you a story that cracked me up and I hope you think it's funny, too. A friend of mine who moved out of town spotted a picture of me on Face Book. My daughter had posted a couple of pictures from her brother's wedding. Coincidentally, her brother happens to be my son.

Anyway, my friend texted me late at night: "Who does your guar now? It looks gorgeous!" I guessed that she meant hair, not guar. But she's a fashionista and for all I knew, it was some kind of fashion item that I was painfully unaware of and this triggered my silliness. I texted back, "Thank U. I'm not even sure what my guar is, though I'm very glad u like it!" She replied, "Lol. I guess that's what happens when you text this late at night."

Now I had to continue on my tangent. "Oh good. I thought guar was something most women know about and my daughter would be like, 'Mom--you never taught me about it, so I learned how to fix my guar from my friends and their moms. And I would practice so now I know how to take care my my guar on my own. I've been trying to get u to pay attention to your guar, but u never want to learn or pay attention, so I gave up!'

I continued my text rampage: "And then daughter would tell me that her aunts and ladies in the neighborhood always have super cool guar, by mine always looks frumpy and crappy and out of style. She'd tell me that another aunt spends an hour a day on her guar, even when she isn't going anywhere and that I insist on going out in public with my guar not being color coordinated or it being ripped or wrinkled. She'd say that she had to move far away so that she wouldn't be exposed to my low class, stained guar. She might add that she was relieved during COVID lock downs because I wasn't leaving the house. I could imagine her adding that while I stay home, I'm preventing people from getting nauseous from my disgusting guar and that if my sister ever saw it close up, she'd make me throw it out. 'You know that she'd say it isn't even good enough to donate because poor people wouldn't be caught dead with Guar THAT ugly.'

And that's when I realized my daughter was right! My sister would give me grief about my guar. It's either going to be too short or too long, too tight or too baggy. Daughter will get a kick out of how my sister is busting my chops about my guar. She'd pipe in that people my age should never show their guar or have it look like mine does and she'd ask me why I never think to look in the mirror.

I can picture the daughter saying how she's glad that she doesn't look a thing like me and she's relieved that we have different last names so that she doesn't have to be associated with my ratty guar. I can hear her saying : "All my friends' moms have stunning guars and yours always sucks, but you continue to march around the world without a hint of embarrassment that your guar is so horrible."

"It's not even funny that I got stuck with a mother who doesn't even have the faintest idea what guar is, while my friend's mom was buying her daughter the most fashionable guars her whole life and matched them with her color coordinated guarettes every day. And the whole while, you never bought me even one guar or taught me a thing about it."

And I'd be forced to admit that daughter did have a good point. One niece probably had an entire closet filled with guars and the other must have had an entire designer collection with all shapes and sizes. Then I started picturing daughter saying that she finally bought her first guar as a teenager when the friend's mom bought her to the mall.

You want to hear the weirdest thing, though? I thought I was an OK mom. Turns out I was neglectful because I deprived my daughter of guar.

What a relief it was to learn that my out of town friend had simply made a typo on the text and that she was actually complimenting me on my silver hair.

"Lol!" she texted. "I'll never be able to look at you again and not refer to the stuff on your head as guar! Your guar does look lovely," she added. "I showed a friend your picture on Face book and she said to find out where you get your guar done, because she's looking for a new guar stylist!"

Whether it's hair or guar, mine is grey and I'm proud.

WHY MY HUSBAND PROBABLY WON'T GET PICKED FOR JURY DUTY

By Valerie Newman August 12, 2021

Well, that dreaded piece of mail came the other day. No--thank God, not a letter from the IRS announcing an audit. The next worst thing for an accountant--a jury duty notice!

"I'm so busy at work--now I have to take a day off to go to jury duty!" he complained. "What if I get picked for a trial?" he panicked.

"OH--you won't get picked," I promised. "Either you'll forget your hearing aides or you're going to have to wear your neck brace because those seats are really uncomfortable--and you know how your neck is always hurting! They'll take one look at you and dismiss you!"

And then he smiled. "Especially when I tell them that my neck hurts because of the car accident."

"Yeah"--I piped in. "And you say that you'll have to ask your lawyer if you should be serving on a jury," I added.

"Or maybe you just show up in the outfit you used to wear when you were doing yard work--that ratty old, paint stained T-shirt and your pants that are older than our kids," I added. (News Flash--one of our kids is 30!)

"And perhaps I'll leave my glasses at home by mistake and I'll have to say that I can't read the material I'm supposed to," he said with an ever widening smile.

"And you can arrive with a really foul smelling lunch and say, 'Darn, my wife packed me an onion and sour kraut sandwich, and that gives me the worst gas!' And then try to burp and fart and let's see how fast they dismiss you!" I laughed.

"I could also forget to wear deodorant and scratch excessively under my arms," he said as his creativity soared.

"I know--why don't you try all these tricks and actually time how long you're in the room. I'm guessing it will take about 10 minutes after they show that boring video and you try to fill out the forms. What's your prediction?" I asked.

And then I kind of started to realize that the people working on the case probably need a good jury. I reassured myself that my spouse will happily serve once he's retired.

That's when it dawned on me how completely different I am from my husband. I mean, duh, I've always known we were opposite in so many ways--I simply realized that this was one more case in point. (excuse the pun.)

I would LOVE to sit on a jury--as long as its COVID safe. "It's fun for me," I told him. "I get to chat with other people, read a book and I'd get paid if I got picked for a trial!"

"It's like 10 dollars a day!" he said, shocked.

"Well, that's more than I'm making now. But I'll never get picked, either. I took my parents to so many doctors, go with you to yours, took the kids to theirs and I've got a ton, myself, so I've always known at least one of the doctors and I get dismissed," I bemoaned.

"Speaking of doctors, you should tell the Jury selection people that you're afraid of getting COVID because of your age and medical issues," I suggested.

"If all goes well, I'll be dismissed way before I even get to mention COVID!"

"OK--good luck being a complete weirdo and don't forget to look at your watch once you get dismissed so that you can tell me how long it took them to kick you out of the courthouse!" I chuckled.

LIFE'S IMPORTANT QUESTIONS

By Valerie Newman August 27, 2021

Have you ever been on a really long road trip and you had to stop to use the bathroom? During COVID, lots of visitor centers have been closed. That means that sometimes, you have to stop at a fast food place, right? Well here's a very deep question: If you stop to make a pee-pee at McDonalds, can you call it a Mc-pee-pee? That's an easy one for me to answer, because the older I get, the less I can travel without having to make a pit stop. Being a bathroom snob, I'm not going to use a gas station. Unless I need gas. But I'm not going to pee in there. Or in an outhouse. To be honest, I'd rather stop at a Subway, but if there's no sandwich shop around, I'm running into a McDonalds. I've been making Mcpee-pees for years.

I do have a confession to make. I don't usually buy food there. But it's still a good business plan for them to have clean bathrooms, because many people do stop to make a Mcpee-pee and then their kids talk them into buying some kind of Mcfood or Mcdrink. Or they don't even have kids and after they make their Mcpee-pee, they see and smell the food and they'll make a purchase.

Since this is a family blog, I'm not even going to mention Mcpooh-poohs. Being a bathroom aficionado, take it from me. I make a point of avoiding foods like chili or raisins before road trips.

And now, onto another topic. I had a nightmare last night. It was actually two of my worst nightmares wrapped up into one. I was sleeping in a hotel and the room was really hot. That meant that I wasn't wearing too much as I fell asleep. Then, in my dream, for some reason I woke up and noticed the dog was missing. I looked out the window and I spotted him out alone in the middle of the busy two way thoroughfare. "Now what do I do?" I thought to myself. I'm not leaving this hotel and running into the street completely naked. Not only will I die of embarrassment, but my husband will kill me. If the traffic doesn't do that. But if I let the dog get killed, my daughter will kill me. I could have taken time to put on a nightgown, but with a tiny black dog standing in between cars whizzing by, I didn't have a lot of time to dilly dally. I guess my love of the dog won out, because I woke up from this nightmare feeling like I was running into a busy street in the middle of the night stark naked.

While you're worrying about COVID, I'm worrying about my dog getting hit by a car and myself having to run outside without wearing any clothes at all. Believe me, tonight I'm cranking the air conditioner and having the dog sleep with his leash on. I also bolted our front door.

And finally, I want to tell you about how people over 60 enjoy a night out. Tonight, my husband and I attended a group dinner at the beach. But that meant we wouldn't make it home in time for our 7 p.m. meditation class. "If we leave the dinner before 7, maybe we can walk down the beach, sit down and use your phone. The husband said something about not having connectivity at the beach and then I remembered what our kids have said.

I tried to sound like a hot-shot. "We can use my phone as a hot spot." I had no idea what that meant, but I guessed right. My spouse was impressed and he did just that. "Oh no, my phone is connected through my hearing aides," he said. I'm not tech savvy enough to do that. I simply have a cell phone and a hearing aide in each ear. But we did something really wild and crazy. I took out one of my hearing aides and put it in my purse. Then he took out one of his hearing aides and I put it in my ear.

We sat down on the beach and did the meditation class together, looking at my husband's phone. We didn't check in like we usually do and we didn't do what we were supposed to in regards to writing reflections in the chat box. We sat in the sand, listened to the meditation program with one ear and listened to the waves with the other, while we breathed in the sea air, marveled at the blue sky and watched our meditation buddies on the tiny screen.

"Wow. That was really fun," I observed when we were back in the car and returning our own hearing aides into our ears. And that's when I thought to myself, "I've known and loved my husband for 38 years. And our idea of an exciting evening has sure changed since we were in our 20's! "I'm going to write a blog about this," I told him as I laughed. "About us trading hearing aides?" he asked. "Yes. And if you don't want me to write about embarrassing things, then maybe you'll wake up the next time the dog gets out in the middle of the road so that I don't have to chase him down in the nude!"

"Wait--that was just a dream!" he protested. Come to think of it, maybe I should suggest my husband sleeps with his hearing aides in so that when I scream that the dog got loose, he'll hear me and he can be the one to run after him!

MY HUSBAND'S BEEN WAITING 38 YEARS FOR THIS!

By Valerie Newman August 29, 2021

Finally, one of my husband's prayers was answered. And here's how.

A friend recommended I read the book "Breath" by James Nestro. The book talks about how we should all breathe through our mouths, instead of our noses. It suggested that by breathing through our noses, we could help many of our health ailments, including asthma. I took the book's advice and I was surprised to rock my latest breathing test at my allergist's office. With his supervision, I started cutting back on and then eliminating my asthma meds.

As I continued to improve, I started following the book's advice to the letter. The author suggested to tape my mouth shut at night so that even in my sleep, I'd be forced to breath through my nose. As my hubby and I were getting ready for bed, he did a double take. He noticed that I'd taped my mouth shut.

"What are you doing?" he asked as he laughed. "My book said....." I mumbled through my tape.

"O wait--you can't talk?!" he marveled. "Don't even bother trying to talk! I've been waiting for this moment for YEARS!" he declared, with delight.

"There is a God! Thank you, Lord!" he said with a smile as he looked toward the sky.

MUSINGS BY A "MISHUGANAH" MAMA

By Valerie Newman August 16, 2021

I should explain what mishuganah means, but I'm pretty sure you'll figure it out after you read this blog.

You know how mismatched socks became a thing? And I'd been doing that for years and it wasn't fashionable then. Does that mean I'm a trendsetter, a bit lazy or crazy?

I lost one of the blue earrings my mother gave me when she was alive. Now I lost another blue one from a pair of hers that I started wearing after she died. In my defense, they fell off my ears because I was using the wrong backings. But that's not my point here.

What I want to focus on is the following question: If I wear one kind of blue earring in one ear and the other kind in the other ear--so it's obviously not a pair, but they kind of match my outfit, will I look weird or crazy or am I simply ahead of my time?

I think I'm actually behind the times, because by the time I figured out how to order stuff on line and believed my kids that wearing white sneakers screamed that I'm old, I ordered a black pair that looked cool on line. But when they arrived, I realized that they'd make me look like a funeral director. I'm wearing them anyway every other day. And on the off days, I'm wearing my white sneakers, which I've been told are in style now for teenagers, but not for anyone MY AGE.

I texted my son a question and he responded by telling me that he felt horrible and went for a COVID test. This is enough to make a ____________(fill in any ethnicity) mother worry her mismatched socks off. What's worse is that he lives VERY FAR AWAY FROM ME, which made me feel helpless. I'm saying that so you picture a useful mom who'd come over with chicken soup or something. Honestly, I wouldn't be helpful if he lived near by. But it would make ME feel better!

All I could do as a long distance mom was ask him a couple of days later if he'd gotten the results and was he feeling any better. "I feel 5 % better and still haven't heard," he texted back.

"Oh crap!" I thought to myself. "Like it's not bad enough that you ran away from home and you might have COVID--you want me to do MATH?!" Every fear and insecurity was on high alert. Most moms would be more worried about the COVID thing and I was sweating, feeling like I was about to be forced to take a math test.

I have good news and bad news. He never got the results of the COVID test, but he told me he was feeling better. At least that's what I thought it meant. I actually called him on the phone yesterday and heard his voice. The bad news is: he still talked in fractions--or was it percentages? He said, "I'm feeling 99% better." Now if he could only realize that numbers are not my thing, we'd be in business.

OK, after all these musings, have you figured out the meaning of "mishuganah?" It's 50% crazy, and 60% annoying.

WHAT I DID TODAY SHOULD REMAIN TOP SECRET

By Valerie Newman August 13, 2021

What ever you do, please don't tell any of this to my daughter. I'll be in big trouble. I went from worrying about what my parents would think of my behavior to being scared of how my kids will react. I'm addressing you directly, now that I know I have two readers--and one of you is friends with my daughter.

I should have known when I woke up and realized that it's Friday the 13th that things wouldn't go smoothly.

I tried to do my errands earlier in the week and COVID thwarted my plans. We'd ordered KN95 masks and several bags were filled with defective ones. I promised my son I'd return them and he suggested that it would be easiest to take the package to the UPS store in town for an easy return. I arrived a few days ago to read the sign at the storefront: Closed except for Fridays due to staffing issues.

Today, being Friday, I was ready for a no fuss/no muss return. By the way, I'd also scheduled a car emissions test for today and was all set to go until my husband informed me that the car wasn't even in our driveway. He reminded me that our daughter's car was in the shop last week, so we lent her ours. So I had to quickly and sheepishly cancel that appointment, but that's kind of off topic.

Back to the point of this story: My dog LOVES car rides. A car ride to him is like telling young kids that they're going to Disneyland. He is thrilled to go on errands with me and on hot summer days, I usually restrict the errands to drive through ones. Besides, I haven't been going inside places for a year and a half until very recently anyway. I had scheduled my grocery store pick up--that's easy: I text the store and an employee fills my trunk with our groceries.

My only other errand was going to be to run into the UPS store and drop off a box. It wasn't going to be a big deal to run in with my seven pound dog in my arms and turn around to leave.

First problem: The guy behind the counter said he was allergic to dogs and went ballistic, before telling me that I had to take the package to the Post office. And here, I'd waited all week to drop off the box the one day a week the UPS store is open. And it turns out that I had to bring it to the post office. And he didn't even marvel over the cuteness of my dog!

OK, I've already told you that it's Friday. It was getting close to lunch time and a friend called me on my cell. I pulled back into the parking lot to tell her that it wasn't convenient for me to talk. That translates into only talking with her for a half an hour. And now, I realize it's lunch time on a Friday, I'm late for my grocery pick up and I have to go to the post office first.

And it's WAY too hot to leave the dog in the car, which I probably won't be doing now even in mild weather now that I heard people are dog-napping to sell dogs on the black market.

"How am I going to get this huge box into the post office, carry the dog in and keep him behaved while I wait?" I thought to myself as I pulled into the parking lot. And right in front of me was some kind of tiny shopping cart.

I pulled out the cushion I keep in the car so my dog doesn't slip on the car seat, put it in the stroller, put the dog in the purse holder area, put the package in the shopping cart and strolled up the handicapped ramp. The box was up front, so no one could even see that I had a tiny dog inside the purse area of the cart. I was pretty proud of myself, until we got inside the post office and he started to wiggle. And giggle. And try to jump out of the cart. The line was the size of California. And there wasn't even a post office employee behind the counter.

And the customers lining up behind me could see what was happening. I started to think about how much trouble I was going to get into with my daughter for doing this. "Why me?" I thought to myself. "Why does this stuff always happen to me and no one else?" I could hear my daughter's answer in my head: "Because no one else brings their dogs on errands."

I did have one thing going in my favor: None of the other patrons seemed to mind that I had my Yorkie with me. In fact, everyone was so bored that he was a welcome distraction. And when the post office clerk finally emerged behind the counter, she was too high up to notice that I'd let the dog run around on the floor. He was having a blast, sniffing for crumbs, though there aren't too many edibles on the post office floor.

"Watch it--he might run out the door!" a lady at the back of the line said. But the door was blocked since it was so crowded and there were tons of people for him to run up to to get petted and sniff their feet. A normal person would have vowed never to take the dog on errands again. But, as you two readers already know, I'm far from normal. So I vowed, instead, to put an extra leash in the car--and to restrict post office runs to Monday mornings.

WHY MY HUSBAND PROBABLY WON'T GET PICKED FOR JURY DUTY

By Valerie Newman August 12, 2021

Well, that dreaded piece of mail came the other day. No--thank God, not a letter from the IRS announcing an audit. The next worst thing for an accountant--a jury duty notice!

"I'm so busy at work--now I have to take a day off to go to jury duty!" he complained. "What if I get picked for a trial?" he panicked.

And then he smiled. "Especially when I tell them that my neck hurts because of the car accident."

"Yeah"--I piped in. "And you say that you'll have to ask your lawyer if you should be serving on a jury right now when you're about to take a deposition yourself," I added.

"And perhaps I'll leave my glasses at home by mistake and I'll have to say that I can't read the material I'm supposed to," he said with an ever widening smile.

"I could also forget to wear deodorant and scratch excessively under my arms," he said as his creativity soared.

And then I kind of started to realize that the people working on the case probably need a good jury. I reassured myself that my spouse will happily serve once he's retired.

I would LOVE to sit on a jury--as long as its COVID safe. "It's fun for me," I told him. "I get to chat with other people, read a book and I'd get paid if I got picked for a trial!"

"It's like 10 dollars a day!" he said, shocked.

"Speaking of doctors, you should tell the Jury selection people that you're afraid of getting COVID because of your age and medical issues," I suggested.

"If all goes well, I'll be dismissed way before I even get to mention COVID!"

"OK--good luck being a complete weirdo and don't forget to look at your watch once you get dismissed so that you can tell me how long it took them to kick you out of the courthouse!" I chuckled.

WHAT FREAKS ME OUT ABOUT MY KID'S UPCOMING WEDDING (It might surprise you!)

By Valerie Newman July 23, 2021

If you were me, you COULD be worried about your son, his fiance and all their relatives flying in from out of State--will the flights be cancelled or arrive on time?, etc.

Perhaps you'd be concerned about the travel safety of your own family members, especially since the Pandemic isn't over and done with yet.

A typical woman might be concentrating on what might go wrong with someone's outfit the day of the wedding.

A normal person would, perhaps, be focusing on various weather scenarios for the big day.

Yes, those thoughts have passed through my mind. If you've read any of my blogs, you already know, though, that I'm far from typical OR normal.

And now for my honest confession: I'm WAY more worried about the fact that my house looks like a complete disaster. The kind that TV shows are made of--or the kind that get condemned. The kind that you don't want other people to see, let alone relatives from near and far, your spouse's family and your son's bride's family. And of course you should know---IT'S NOT MY FAULT!

We've been cooped up for a year and a half, my husband has been working from home and our daughter gave the dog back to us! And we weren't originally supposed to host the dinner the night before the wedding--it was supposed to be at a restaurant. That changed due to COVID and so I've only had six months warning about having to clean my house. It's going to take way longer than that to even make a dent in it.

And if that isn't scary enough, I'm supposed to look really good two nights in a row. I've got the dress, etc. My previous stated concerns have gotten under my skin. Literally. I've got some dermatological issues and I've been scratching like a cat. Normally I wouldn't care about my skin looking like crap. I just don't want to take crap from some immediate relatives, who will tell me that I look like an alligator. I'm used to hearing this kind of critiquing on a regular basis--but when it's my kid's wedding and strangers are going to have to come inside my house to see that we live like Mr. and Ms. Messy, my tolerance will be below zero.

Perhaps I should print this and hand it out to all guests arriving in my front lawn the night before the wedding. This way, they'll be forewarned about how the inside of our house is a national disaster area and they will know that I'm already aware of the fact that my skin looks like I got in a cat fight.

While guests are judging my house and my skin, I'll be paying attention to how happy the newlyweds make each other! And if you happen to see an alligator at the dinner, feel free to congratulate me--this alligator is mother of the groom.

HOW DO YOU READ YOUR SIGNS?

By Valerie Newman July 23, 2021

When I was a child and when I had my own children, I was relived not to have a certain traffic sign on our roads. The sign reads: "Slow children!" What a sad sign--who wants to be thought of as a "slow" child--or worse yet, who wants to be told that there children are slow? (and be reminded of it every single time they drive by their own house?" My kids have never listened to me, but at least they can think quickly--and run pretty fast, too.

Being a writer, I could think of less offensive ways to ask drivers to use caution. Some parents have even posted their own signs at the edge of their yards. I like the one that says: "Drive like your children live here!"

There's a new sign phenomenon on our high ways: electronic signs. They're designed to help drivers, but many are so distracting that they might be counter- productive. I'm thinking of the sign that flashes: "When you're speeding, it's never an accident." Drivers in front of me slammed on their brakes, thinking, perhaps, that it was a warning sign that cops were ahead. I had to pump my brakes and hope that no one would crash into me from behind.

Could it be that we were all driving too fast? If you are a cop, PLEASE STOP READING THIS! Anyway, I'm trying to pay attention to my WAYZE directions and don't appreciate having to read electronic signs every five minutes telling me that I've got seven minutes left to such and such high way or there's an accident on the other high way, so there will be more traffic on this thoroughfare.

By the time I'm done listening to my phone for directions, having the snarky announcer telling me that she knows I'm stuck in traffic, but the other road is worse, reading the electronic sign telling me to click it or ticket, hearing my daughter's phone beeping to tell me that I'm driving ten miles over the speed limit and hearing my daughter tell me that she'd have gotten a ticket if she was doing what ever it was that I just did, I'm surprised that I get anywhere at all.

This is still better than me being a passenger in either of my kids' cars, though, because I'd still be in the car going to where I was supposed to be two days ago if they were driving. "Mom, that was a STOP sign! It means to STOP. Not to slow down and roll through it to see if anyone is coming on either side," I hear the daughter saying. Or "That was a yield sign--what did you learn in driver's ED?"

"Remember--I never took Driver's Ed," I'd reply. "That explains a lot," she'd dead pan.

For some reason, someone is always commenting on my driving. First it was my parents yelling to brake, brake, brake and now it's my kids kvetching me to slow down at a yellow light. You'd think that they were related. Oh wait, apparently they are. Once again, certain genes skipped a generation.

When I'm driving alone and you see a little lady with white hair in a station wagon, you're going to think that you're going to want to pass me because you've guessed that I'll be driving too slowly. Think again before you try to smoke me on the road. Because apparently, there are no signs in my neighborhood warning: "Slow 60 year olds!"

WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE PLACE ON EARTH--AND WHAT'S YOUR LEAST FAVORITE ACTIVITY?

By Valerie Newman July 15, 2021

It's official. I endured my imagination's form of torture today. I went DRESS SHOPPING! I'm fully aware that this revelation is going to sound extremely weird to you. And not to stereotype or anything, but if you're a woman, it's even more likely that you'll be shocked by my form of torture. And if you're one of my friends, you'll be more shocked that I actually went shopping....and for a dress, at that!

Either one of those words individually have been known to cause me to break out in a cold sweat, have heart palpitations and/or start swearing profusely. When you combine them both and tell me that I've actually got to do this live, I promise you that I'll start doing all of the above. Now you can start pitying my sister, who had to accompany me so that I can find a dress to wear to my daughter's wedding.

The fashion and shopping genes skipped me entirely. I don't care about dressing fashionably and I LOATHE dressing up. When I'm forced to dress fancy, I pray that I can get away with a pants suit. But for some reason, my daughter said that she won't let me get away with that for her wedding. I can see my mother smiling down from Heaven. I bet she's the reason that I detest clothes shopping. She dragged me all over every department store throughout my childhood and made me try on tons of itchy, uncomfortable, fashionable stuff. And nothing ever fit me. It was so boring. Come to think of it, it's still so boring. And a complete waste of time. I'd pretty much prefer to do anything else on earth.

As a matter of fact, when I was trying on dress after dress in the boutique today, I thought to myself: "I have more fun at the dentist." As I emerged from the dressing room to show my sister another dress that looked crappy on me, I said, "This is almost worse than getting a colonoscopy." She laughed. "No. This is worse," I decided. Because at least that put you out for that. The only part that's worse is drinking that disgusting concoction.

Then, as usual, my mind started to wonder. I began wondering--what is the least favorite activity of most people? Most women, for some mysterious reason, actually enjoy shopping. And most people don't look forward to going to the dentist. What's not to like?--you sit back, they wait on you, you're listening to soothing music and watching beautiful nature scenes on the screen and then when you're done, your teeth look brighter and feel cleaner.

There's no contest--you go to the mall and I'll go to the dentist in my out of style clothing. Even on my way to the store, my sister informed me that my shorts are too long, my shirt is too short and my hair looks too short, too! And then in the dressing room, she also let me know that my underwear looks like I'm wearing a granny panty, or something along those lines. Since when does your underwear have to be fashionable? And how do all women but me know this stuff? It's not like my mom, sister, nieces or daughter ever took a class on this topic.

And who made up these fashion rules? I bet the fashion industry did. And just when you learn the rules, they change them on you so that you have to get a whole new wardrobe each year. What a waste of time and money. I only update my wardrobe every 20 years--if that. And now you understand why even my son will say, "Mom--the 1980's is calling for that sweater."

Apparently, though, there are some other people who have less fashion sense than I do. I know this for a fact, since my sister nominated me for the "What Not to Wear" show and was shocked when I wasn't selected.

If your favorite place is the mall, I'm not going to stop you. My favorite place is the beach. And I'm apologizing in advance if my bathing suit is out of style. But if go to the beach with any of my female relatives, I'm sure I'll hear that I've got to run home and throw out what ever I'm wearing. "This isn't any where near good enough to even donate. It can't even qualify as an acceptable rag," is the family mantra that I'm used to hearing.

After my son's and daughter's weddings, it's going to be a cold day in H--- before you'll be able to drag me clothe shopping or make me wear a dress. I might be out of style and under-dressed for occasions, but I'll be going on vacation with the money I save by avoiding clothes shopping--having a blast in my 20 year old bathing suit.

IMPORTANT LESSONS I'VE LEARNED FROM THE PANDEMIC

By Valerie Newman July 11, 2021

Do you remember when we had to ration our toilet paper? Doesn't it seem like yesterday that people were hoarding it. I'm sure I'm not the only one who was concerned about running out of TP. It's kind of the one thing you can't really run out of, right? OK, I know that YOU can always use tissues, but I CAN'T. My house isn't connected to sewers and we could really mess up our septic system by wiping our butts with tissues.

I know that this is too much information for you and it's kind of off topic. I'm trying to focus on really significant lessons that I've learned from the Corona Virus outbreak. OK, here it goes: Just because now you CAN use all the toilet paper you want to now, it doesn't mean that you SHOULD.

I'd gotten in the habit of only using one little toilet paper square each go around. And now that COVID is more under control, I'm sure I can start pulling off at least two squares at a time. But I'm not. And to be honest, I'm kind of proud of my conservation efforts.

And here's another valuable tidbit that has been a lasting take away of mine: Just because I CAN go inside a grocery store now, do I really want to waste the time? It sounds really spoiled, but after the Hell we've been through--why not pamper myself? I order my groceries on the computer, drive to the store and text them when I've arrived. They load my groceries into the car and all I have to do is unload them when I get home and put them away.

OK, I'm going to present the counterpoint to this approach. When I get home, the large eggplant that I thought I'd signed up for on the computer, ends up being a a wimpy, tiny baby wanna be eggplant. I can't make eggplant parmigiana with it. By the time I peel it, I'll need a microscope to see it, let alone eat it. And the plain oat milk I ordered somehow became a vanilla non dairy beverage concoction with more ingredients than most recipes I try to use.

There are no easy answers to these complex issues. While you are up at night debating the pros and cons of various political systems, working out in your mind the cost/benefit ratio of environmental regulations and what not, you can rest assured that I'll be wrestling with my own weighty issues--to shop or not to shop, that is the question.

DID WE BRING UP OUR KIDS OR DID THEY RAISE US?

(OR CONFESSIONS OF A CRAPPY MOM!)

By Valerie Newman June 25, 2021

With COVID restrictions still in play when we were helping to arrange our son's already rescheduled wedding, he told us that we could invite one friend.

When I was reaching out to her to explain that she'd be getting an invitation and to explain why there were getting mailed out so last minute, she shared very supportive thoughts.

"You must be so proud. You've raised amazing kids!"

That comment really struck me, because somehow, looking back, I kind of don't remember doing anything to "raise" them. Sure I remember changing diapers, reading to them, playing with them and then driving them all over the world and back. But those were just physical tasks that needed to be done.

It kind of seems like they brought up themselves. They grew up OK in spite of our lack of parenting skills. In fact, they kind of "raised" my husband and I. We didn't know what we were doing and they taught us what to do.

I remember my daughter admonishing me when I swore (which was pretty much all the time!) My son told me that we were breaking one of the main rules of the "Ten Big Rules" when we would eat meat. "You're not supposed to kill anyone!"he said as he'd pick up his plate of vegetables and go to eat as far away from us as possible.

I was so intrigued reading "The Secret Life of Bees" that I forgot to pick up my daughter from elementary school. When the school secretary called me to ask why I hadn't picked up my daughter, I'd forgotten that I even had kids. Either that's how much I was in the zone reading--or that's how irresponsible I was as a mother. Or a combination of the two. Either way, I stopped reading for fun until she left for college.

Which makes me think that other moms were picking out decorations for the kids' dorm rooms and I was reading the newspaper. And before that, parents were taking their kids clothe shopping and I was insisting my daughter wear her brother's hand me downs. When she finally put her foot down, I'd drive her to the mall, see what store she went into and sat on the bench outside reading the paper until she called me in to pay for the clothes.

But that was a drastic improvement for me, considering I'd kind of spaced out about the fact that kids need new shoes. "I just got those shoes for you three years ago--what's your problem?" I'd ask when I saw her toes popping out. "I guess we have to go to the shoe store because you had the nerve to grow!" I'd say because I hate shopping. It worked out well for me when she'd complain that her shoes were comfortable because they were worn in. By the time I'd actually take her to the shoe store, the sales person was shocked by my lack of responsibility. "She's wearing sneakers that are three sizes too small."

"Oh well, at least I remembered to pick her up from school. What do you want from me--I never claimed to be perfect!" I bet that shoe store clerk thought that kids come with a manual. Maybe your kids did, but mine didn't. And if they did, I don't really read manuals anyway.

Now I think you're getting the picture about how I didn't really raise the kids. My son would make me coffee and bring it to my bed each morning from the time he reached school age until he could drive. That's because he wanted me to take him to school and he knew that I'd never wake up without a cup of coffee. "You have your eight year old bring you a cup of coffee each morning?!" my neighbors would ask--and they sounded shocked. I bet it was because they were just jealous.

Or not--they had their kids take the bus.

IS MY DOG REALLY GOING TO GET A PERM?

By Valerie Newman June ,2021

What a mixed up world we live in, right? While I was showering the other day, I spotted a new shampoo in our shower. Or at least I thought it was a new shampoo. My husband must have picked this up somewhere--or perhaps he ordered it on line, I thought to myself.

Suddenly, I felt myself smiling. "Why would he need shampoo?" I wondered. He practically has no hair left at all. And then I nodded. "He takes pride in those five hairs and they do need to be clean, so what ever," I thought.

And then I felt a frown. "This looks really fancy and expensive. That seems kind of wasteful for his five hairs!"

OK, I felt my face soften. "If he wants to spend a fortune on his handful of hairs, who am I to judge?" I thought. "Maybe I should try it!" I said to myself. I meant to look at the label to discover the details to this new shampoo, but of course, I don't have reading glasses in the shower.

So later that day, I asked him about it. He shook his head. "Oh no, why would I buy a new shampoo? I grabbed it from the kids' bathroom. It's probably really old, but I was looking for a change because my hair keeps getting unruly," he explained.

"It looks familiar to me so perhaps one of the kids left it here when they were sleeping over," I responded.

And then I forgot about it. Until the next day. I decided to grab my reading glasses to make sure the shampoo hadn't expired.

"That's unnecessary," my spouse said. "What's expired shampoo going to do to me?! I bet there's no such thing as an expiration date on shampoo, anyway," he said.

Of course I didn't listen. I couldn't find an expiration date, but I did read that it wasn't even a shampoo--it's a conditioner. And out of curiosity, I read the ingredients. They include white ginger, warm honey and vitamins A, C and E. "It sounds like the start of a wonderful recipe. I might try this," I thought to myself.

"Nah--who am I kidding, I only wash my hair once every two weeks anyway and I don't bother with a conditioner--and my hair still looks fine," I thought.

Just in case you're grossed out, my hair dresser told me that it's OK and even better for your hair if you only wash it once every two weeks. But that's not my point. I needed to tell my husband that this hair product is a conditioner and not a shampoo.

"Who cares," was his response. "I guess I can use it after I wash my hair with what ever shampoo is in the shower."

I decided that if he liked it, I'd ask our daughter where she got it and I'd get more for her father.

But then it dawned on me. "I think this bottle labeled 'SPA moisturizer' is actually a product that we use on our dog! And it looked familiar to me because when we wash our little Yorkie's hair, which is very infrequently, we need to finish it with a moisturizer or his skin gets too dry.

I ran to grab my glasses again and read the fine print on this bottle. And lo and behold, YES--it is DOGGIE CONDITIONER! I laughed so hard because I realized that I was getting jealous of my dog's hair products! His conditioner is fancier than anything I've ever used! And my husband was about to use it on his five human hairs!

My thought processes began to go wild. "If my hubby can use dog shampoo--perhaps I need to take the dog to the barber!" I bemused. I imagined my dog refusing that and demanding to be taken to a fancy hair salon. He does love it when I comb his hair. And he has way more hair than my husband. But, our dog hates getting his hair cut, so I'm pretty sure he wouldn't enjoy getting a perm, either. But you never know.

For now, though, I removed the pet spa conditioner from our shower and returned it to the other bathroom--the one we use to give our a dog a bath. And then I found my son's old shampoo/conditioner combo and put it in our bathroom.

"I think this human hair product might work better on your hair than the pet product that you've been using," I deadpanned yesterday.

"Oh, I hadn't started to use it, so now we'll never know," he replied with a smile.

ISN'T IN IRONIC?

By Valerie Newman June 24, 2021

I was going to headline this blog about Murphy's law. I decided against that in honor of my college roommate. I bet that you can guess her last name. That phrase has got to be annoying for her. Since we roomed together for four years, I'm pretty sure that she's had her fill of annoyances. Therefore, my theme for this piece is about irony.

Let's start with this one: I finally figured out the secret to getting to have long chats with my son (I shared that secret in my last piece) and now I've lost my voice.

I've been pretty up front with my kids about my shortcomings. Of course, I didn't really have to be super forthcoming, since they've been really good about spotting my faults without any additional guidance. It doesn't seem like it was that long ago when my daughter said that everyone has a talent and that we're all just waiting longer for mine to emerge.

I'm going to state the obvious: I do have one talent--TALKING! (does that count as a talent?) And now, I've got laryngitis. This is a favorite time for my spouse. My kids loved this, too--before they ran away from home. But now that I can help occupy them on their commutes to work or when they walk the dog, my gift of gab has come in handy. And I'm going to be honest: I love talking to them (or anyone else for that matter.) So now what am I supposed to do?

Isn't it ironic that we have to wear masks now, so that people want me to speak up? Isn't it ironic that I've just started going out in public--and was actually enjoying errands and now my voice goes?

I know what you're thinking: That I've lost my voice because I talk too much. Yes, that's certainly part of the reason. Another main reason might be that I do high pitched baby talk to my dog and make up a silly voice like he's responding to me. I'm sure you remember reading about that in one of my first blogs. This form of canine communication strains my voice, for sure.

Isn't it ironic that, after COVID delays, our son is getting married soon. I'll want to shmooze with family members and guests from out of town--and maybe even make a toast if I'm allowed.

BUT NO--I've got to baby my voice. This is like torture. Come on--were talking about me, the biggest extrovert ever, whose been kept prisoner for a year and a half because of COVID and now that I'm set free, I can't talk! Oh well, I guess I'm going to be hammering out more of these blogs if it's my only way to communicate.

One last thought for now: FYI, I'm going to an Ear, Nose and throat doctor and I'll keep you posted. But don't expect a phone call!

YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE OLD WHEN.....

By Valerie Newman June 18, 2021

My husband had to go into the City for an appointment with his cardiac surgeon. But I couldn't accompany him because I had a local appointment with my audiologist to tweak my hearing aides. And that's when I realized that we got old. I hadn't realized this when I let my hair become gray, I made excuses when I needed reading and distance glasses and I laughed when the TV shows we were watching started featuring commercials about Medicare supplements and denture cleaners.

I asked my audiologist if she thought that she was old. (I already knew that she was my age.) "It dawned on me when I was cooking carrots to soften them and dicing tiny apple slices to give to my husband to bring along to the City for his cardiology appointment because he'd just had a temporary bridge put in the day before," I said.

"That confirmed my suspicions: My husband is old!" I added.

I used to be able to refer to myself as his "trophy wife", but then I put my reading glasses on to see myself in the mirror. Some women my age look in the mirror and see their mother. I'm not that lucky. I looked in the mirror and I was looking at my grandmother.

OK--you caught me in a lie. This might sound crazy, but my grand FATHER was staring back at me. Why me? Why do I have to look like my grandpa? Even a life long friend told me recently that I was wrinkling like my grandfather. So it's not my imagination.

The other day I referred to another long time friend and myself as middle aged. I forgot what I was saying mid sentence and I told her that I was having a middle-aged moment. "Honey--we're turning 60 and I've got a news flash for you. We probably won't make it to 120. I hate to break it to you--but we're not middle aged. We're Seniors now!"

I got defensive. "Last thing I knew we were seniors in high school together. You were taking advanced trigonometry and I'd stopped taking math as a sophomore. And that's why you just had to do the math for me. How did we go from seniors in high school to senior citizens this fast?" I asked her.

Of course, I didn't give her a chance to answer. That was a rhetorical question. "Speak for yourself--I plan to make it to 120 so that I'm a real burden on my children. I've got to do some payback for all that colic, eye rolling and the years that they referred to me as Cruella De Ville when they were complimenting me!"

Since this is a G rated blog, I'm not going to confess their more colorful nicknames for me.

Before you call me out on the fact that I didn't share the response of my audiologist on when she realized she'd become old, I feel compelled to relay to you that she looks much younger than me. She colors her hair, she has a tattoo and dresses stylishly. I'm not going to do any of this, in case you thought my goal was to look young.

I can humor myself by telling myself that many young people are wearing white sneakers now and dyeing their hair white to look cool. But to be real here, I kind of don't care what other people think of my appearance. I do care about taking care of myself so that I can live long and be healthy at the same time. So, you see, I'm not planning on torturing my children unnecessarily. But all bets are off if I really do reach 100.

Of course, once again, I got off topic. I'm not going to reveal the secrets my audiologist told me about how she realized that she looked like her old Aunt Gertie. I did ask her what she did about it and took the number of the specialist she went to to take care of the issue. And I'm going to make an appointment to visit that specialist--not because I care what other people think of how I look--or even because I want to look younger--I want to look better for myself.

Though you've read many of these same themes in my past blogs, I felt the urge to write about when I woke up and realized that I'm no longer in my 20's. I think it's a good sign that this realization hit me just before I hit the big 6-0. Perhaps this means that I'll feel like I'm only in my my 60's if I do make it to 100. Now can someone please tell me if I did that math correctly?

WHEN MEDICINE WARNINGS SOUND WORSE THAN YOUR ORIGINAL CONDITION!

By Valerie Newman June 14, 2021

For the record, I NEVER used to watch TV. I can't sit still that long. And to be honest, my spouse is into War movies and shows and I'm not. Besides, it started to get way too complicated to turn on the TV, let alone watch anything. I had to figure out which changer went with the TV in the room where my husband wasn't watching "The Hunt for Red October" or what ever violent program was on that night. Then, I had to figure out which clicker turned on the TV and which turned on something called TIVO (I think that's what it's called.) Then, I had to remember which button and where to aim the changer. I had to wear reading glasses to see the buttons and wear my distance glasses to see the TV. As soon as I realized that you needed a PhD to watch TV, I decided to read and exercise more and perhaps, call and bother my kids more regularly. Because calling them once a day was simply not annoying enough.

Until COVID hit and my husband started working from home. During lunch, he'd turn on a show that we could both enjoy. And by that time, the shows I used to watch were mysteriously referred to as super oldie specials. (Or something like that, because I couldn't hear the announcer all that well or perhaps I'm forgetting what they said.) Anyway, I thought to myself: That is so weird, because it doesn't seem that long ago that my older siblings were turning on Hazel, for instance, for us to enjoy. But apparently, these shows are now geared towards old people. If I can brag, I'm so smart to have figured that out: the commercials are all about hearing aides, medicare registration and compression stockings.

I'm sorry to say that I totally interrupted myself. My whole blog was supposed to be about the warnings commercials tell you about when they're advertising about medicines. First of all, the last time I was watching TV (granted, probably about 50 years ago) there weren't so many ads on about medicine. Even when we'd visit our grandma and she'd be watching Lawrence Welk, there might have been a commercial for denture cleaners and and antacids. When I was watching one of three channels on our black and white TV with bunny ears back when I was a kid, the commercials would show a happy housewife gushing over her new appliance or raving about Wonder Bread or Captain Crunch.

I'm not sure why all of a sudden, every pharmaceutical company and their second cousin has to promote new medicines. Do they really think I'm going to start taking a new pill because I saw the commercial on TV? (If you can still refer to our new techno-monsters as TVs.) But, if any of you are ever entertaining the thought to start taking a new kind of medicine because you saw a commercial touting it's benefits, I'm pretty sure the warnings will convince you otherwise. Have you ever stopped to actually listen to any of these warnings?

Actually, I bet you haven't, because you'd know which clicker to grab for and how to use them. My husband watches ten minutes of the show while he inhales lunch and then runs back into the dining room to do more work. And--I'm pausing dramatically here... he leaves me alone to watch the rest of the show, complete with the commercials. I'd miss the rest of "Hazel" if I had to figure out how to nuke the commercials. And this is why I've actually watched and heard the ads for medicine for any and every ailment under the sun. The conditions don't sound all that bad, but the warnings sound like a nightmare. Even so, I find myself laughing because the announcer races through the mile long list of warnings in five seconds flat. And he sounds really upbeat about them. It's especially bizarre to hear how happy he seems to warn viewers that the medicine might cause death. Why does his voice sound so miserable when describing the minor inconveniences of some small health issue, but so upbeat when he says, "This drug might even cause death!"And then he encourages listeners to ask their doctor about (miracle drug-fill in the blank.)

Like our doctors are waiting by the phone to talk to us about the 12 different meds that were advertised during any given 20 minute show. If every viewer talked to their doctor about each of these medicines, we'd get nothing accomplished all day and the doctor's office would have to hire a full time staff member simply to field these inquiries.

Call me crazy, but I'm not even going to entertain the thought of taking a medicine for a skin condition, for instance, if it could KILL me. And that's why, my New Year's resolution should have been to learn how to use the channel changer. "If I taught my mother to watch "Golden Girls" on the VCR when when she was 88, I bet you can learn how to use the DVR at age 59" a friend encouraged me today. I have to confess, though, that I do find these commercials almost as humorous as the TV show itself!

YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT TO WEAR IN PUBLIC POST PANDEMIC?

I HAVEN'T KNOWN WHAT TO WEAR IN PUBLIC OR PRIVATE--EVER!

By Valerie Newman June 12, 2021

This is the moment I've been waiting for my whole life: Finally, no one knows what to wear.

If my mother were still alive, a post pandemic world wouldn't have thrown her off in regards to fashion. Believe me, she'd know what to wear.

She ALWAYS knew what to wear and gave me lots of advice. When I was a kid, she'd set out my outfit the night before. That was when you had to dress up to go to public school--or out to eat even if it was as simple as a Chinese restaurant. You pretty much had to dress up all the time back in the 1960's. I must have been a guy in another life, because all I wanted to do was wear pants.

Well, as luck would have it, society got more casual and I got older (notice how I didn't say grow up, because my kids are still waiting for that to happen. My husband gave up on the idea of me ever acting like an adult and he doesn't really care what I wear, anyway.)

My point is, women in the 70's, when I was starting my career, could wear pants suits. New confusing fashion coincided with the time that I moved far from home and had no one to guide me as to how to dress. My sister suggested I observe what the other women were wearing in my work place. That's easy for her to say because she has always been attractive and an easy size to fit into and she also looks good in anything. I'm a petite size and there were no petite sections or any options back then.

And besides, anything but cotton irritates me. I was too old to get by with anything from the Junior's section or the little boy's department. Too bad for me that remote work hadn't yet been invented. When I ran out of outfit options, I started my own business. I kind of worked from home except for when I had to go on sight. And then I could rotate my handful of acceptable outfits.

When the economy tanked and I had to go back into an actual office, lucky for me it was back in a place right near my mom. In fact, we worked in the same building. Once, again, I'd ask for her fashion advice. And then, of course, ignore it. Only kidding, because now stores carried whole petite sections. I knew where to shop and what I liked--so I made a habit of it once every 20 years. I asked my mom how I was going to function when she died. "Oh, you'll have a daughter who will love fashion and she'll take you shopping," she assured me with confidence.

She must have had ESP because that actually came true. But, sadly, whole decades went by when my mom was too ill to come shopping with me, on line shopping hadn't been introduced yet and I either had no kids or they were too little to be of any help. My sister, a fashionista, volunteered to advise me--after nominating me for the "What Not To Wear" TV show. She was and still is shocked that the show's producers never picked me to spotlight.

Fast forward this diary of a fashion-impaired woman to today's world. When God was dispensing fashion sense genes, I got skipped over, but as luck would have it, my daughter got a whole ton of those genes. Speaking of jeans, she gets really mad at me when I call jeans "dungagarees." And she's really strict about how I dress and what stuff I even keep in my closet. I know that I've told you some of this before, though now I'm looking at this from a different angle. She just emptied my entire closet, laughed at most of it, through out half of it and donated the rest. To be honest, she's a third grade teacher and might have taken some stuff to wear for clown week in school--or something along those lines.

Yet, instead of freaking out and dreading the fact that the empty closet means that she's going to drag me clothes shopping, I'm actually grateful that I might be able to start wearing clothes that were created in this century. And I feel good about donating clothes to those in need. Besides, shopping with my daughter means that I get to spend time with her. After being cooped up in my house for a year and a half, even clothes shopping (in theory) sounds like it could be fun.

Until then, I'm distracting her by focusing on keeping her company while she shops for a wedding dress. And then I can delay her by asking her to help me buy shoes for my son's wedding. And then it's summer time, so I can get away with wearing really old shorts and T-shirts while she goes all over the place during her summer vacation. And if I can talk her into returning stuff that doesn't fit me, maybe I can convince her to help me shop on line so that I'll never really have to be tortured (I mean clothes' shop) again.

For now, she's happy to come over and go through my husband's closet. He still has stuff from the 70's, too. But for some reason, she asks to borrow it and calls it vintage.

THE PROPOSAL(S)

By Valerie Newman June 11, 2021

My husband never really proposed to me. It wasn't such a big production back in 19-blah, blah.

It wasn't even on my radar when I was setting up an Excel spread sheet back on a program called Lotus 1,2,3. He used to do bookkeeping for friends' businesses to make some extra money back then. One day I found a file that said, "Kids and tax planning" and I asked him about this computer folder. I didn't really see how this related to bookkeeping, though I was fully aware of the fact that he's an accountant and perhaps he was also helping them with their taxes.

"Whose kids and how should I be setting up their tax file?" I asked.

He answered very matter of factly: "Our kids."

"Holy -----! I didn't even know we were getting married!" I said as I felt my face getting flushed.

OK--I can see your smirk from here. You're wondering how I could have been that stupid. Of course I know that you can have kids without getting married--I just didn't know that then. Or at least no one I knew had ever had kids before they got married. My husband grew up on a farm and they referred to that kind of thing as a shot gun wedding.

Anyway, that is so beside the point it's not even funny. What I'm trying to focus on here is that he didn't propose; he just kind of assumed we'd get married. I called my mom and asked her to plan the wedding and tell us when to show up. There wasn't too much drama involved.

Now let's fast forward umpteen years until today. Though I'm (mostly) happily married and my husband (usually) tolerates me, I do have a major confession to make. Honestly, I have a few confessions: I've actually proposed to many people (and one dog) while I've been married. When my dog got run over and a veterinary surgeon saved his life, operated so expertly to allow him to walk and even skillfully and successfully performed the surgery so that the dog could still do his business outside--I was overwhelmed with joy. When I left the animal hospital with my dog in my arms--after his three week stay there, I announced in front of the entire animal hospital staff: "If I weren't married, I'd be proposing to you right now!"

And that's when my dog reminded me that I'd already proposed to HIM. And he'd said yes! I guess I'd told him that it's OK to be married to one person and one dog at the same time.

This reminds me of one of the funniest books I've read: "My Third Husband will be a Dog."

Anyway, now that you're getting a clear picture of how off the wall I am, I feel compelled to justify my behavior. Many women are the ones who are proposing marriage now, so don't be so judgy! Because I also must admit that I did also propose to the surgeon who saved my husband's life. And it's not coincidence that the two doctors and my dog are all very attractive and in my age bracket. So I'm not completely off my rocker. In case you think I'm a slime ball, my husband was right there with me when I proposed to the cardiac surgeon. Of course, he wasn't fully awake from the anesthesia, but what ever!

Both these doctors are happily married themselves, so you don't have anything to worry about really, except for the fact that my dog was single when I asked for his paws in marriage.

You don't really have to concern your self about that either, though. My daughter took the dog to live with her and her fiance. I'm guessing it's because she saw my mothering skills (0r lack there of) and witnessed my wackiness and wanted to rescue the dog from the same fate that she and her brother suffered.

In real life, though, she started watching him when my husband (who happens to be her father) had to go into NY for that surgery I told you about. And the dog enjoyed being with normal caregivers so much more than being around my constant baby-talking to him, carrying him around the house like my baby and my frequent request for kisses, that he's never asked to come back home. Some husband he is!

WE SHOULD BE INVESTING IN HEATING PAD AND ICE PACK STOCKS

By Valerie Newman June 10

Full disclosure: I know NOTHING about stocks, finances or even basic math, though I did, in fact, just pass a third grade math test. But if there is such a thing as stocks for heating pads and ice packs, I should buy them--if I could figure out how to invest in anything in the first place.

I recently fell and hurt a bunch of body parts. And then I got some kind of nasty insect sting. It's getting confusing as to which body part which doctor told me to ice and/or heat.

And I'm married to a guy whose knees and neck are almost always bothering him. And his chest is sore from some recent surgery.

Our idea of being cute and romantic is using his and her heating pads. And sacrificing our favorite ice pack for each other, depending on whose joints ache more.

STOP: I already read your mind. You're thinking, smarty pants, that we should buy more of ice packs and heating pads. We've run out of room in the freezer to store all of our ice packs. And we do have three, maybe four heating pads. We simply have to remember where they are, hope that there's room in the extension cord and that the cord can reach where ever we are at any given moment. (OK--I'm exaggerating--my husband is only going to be in one of two locations: His work chair or his lazy boy chair.)

That's not my point. What I meant to address is the following concern: If I'm supposed to heat my neck, and ice my shoulder, if the ice pack leaks onto the heating pad, am I going to get electrocuted? Because I've actually spent time worrying about this, I take turns with the ice and the heat. And one of my challenges is that I don't sit still. So By the time I get all this healing stuff lined up, I'm already on the move. And now, for my final complaint: It's too hot for the heating pad and with the air conditioning on, I get too cold using the ice packs.

OK, thanks for your patience. You helped me decide that I'm not going to invest in the heating pad and ice pack companies after all.

I knew that my one reader would come in handy one day.

GREAT NEWS--I PASSED A THIRD GRADE MATH TEST!

By Valerie Newman

I recently shared my concern about keeping Alzheimer's at bay. I revealed to my daughter, an elementary school teacher, that one of the cognitive tests I came across to assess the decline of one's brain (or lack thereof) involved doing mental math. I tried to count backwards from 100, subtracting by seven all the way to zero. When I fretted that it took me a while to do this (and made a couple of mistakes along the way) she reminded me that math was never my forte.

My husband had already told me that and of course, that hasn't stopped me from focusing on this topic.

Our daughter, who had stopped by the other day for a brief visit, smiled.

"I'm going to give you a math test I use with my third graders. You'll need to solve this entire page of multiplication problems within one minute."

She printed it out, suggested I put on my reading glasses and grab a pencil.

Suddenly, I felt like I was in Mrs. Gaskill's class at Osborn Hill. My legs started fidgeting. My heart started pounding and my mouth went dry.

"On your mark, get set, GO!" declared my teacher--I mean, my daughter, as she started the timer on her phone.

I raced through the page and knew that there were a couple of problems that I wasn't 100 percent sure I'd done correctly. When she saw that I'd finished the page, she said, "You still have 20 seconds left; why don't you check your work."

But I didn't feel like it. It's not like my grade mattered. Come to think of it, my grades didn't even matter when I was eight years old, either. And now that you've got me started, do your marks in school ever really matter? Unless, of course, you want to go to Harvard or get into medical school. And since I never had either of these as a goal, why did I waste so much time worrying about my grades?

And after the year and a half we've suffered through with this pandemic, I've come out wondering why I worried about so much stuff in the past. Who cares if our house is messy? What does it matter if I'm wearing clothes that are drastically out of style? It's your problem if you don't like my white hair. (that last line is directed at my husband.)

Anyway, enough digressing about the uselessness of worry. I must confess: I was excited about the fact that I'd finished an entire math page in less than a minute. And now, if you'll allow me to brag--I only got two wrong! I might even ask her to test me in division the next time she visits.

OK, smarty pants--I know this is third grade math that we're talking about. I want you to keep in mind that the last time I took a math test without a calculator was when I was about 11. After that, I think calculators were invented. Or, at least, we were allowed to use them by the time I reached Junior High. And now that I'm on a math roll, I'll show off and tell you how long ago that was. I'm now 59 years young. I can safely say that the last time I did this kind of math without the use of a calculator (or my genius friend or accountant husband) was 50 years ago!

Oh wait- I'd better check my math!

THIS BLOG DOESN'T HAVE A THEME

By Valerie Newman June 8, 2021

I just got a phone call. The lady on the line told me that my I cloud account has been breached. The joke's on her: I'm not even sure what an I cloud account is--so I'm pretty sure it didn't get hacked. It is, however, a welcome call because it gives me a legit reason to call my son. As I've told you, he ran away from home a few years ago (though my daughter keeps telling me not to refer to her adult brother moving out of state as running away.) And my husband keeps reminding me that I don't need an excuse to call our son.

In my mind, though, I still need to make up some important topic to justify calling him. Don't worry--I almost always text him first.

And I already know what he's going to say: "Mom, that's a scam. Don't pay any attention to it." Lucky for me, he never reads this blog, so he's pretty convinced that I'm a naive, forgetful old lady. He's so wrong. I've never been and never will be a lady. He's heard my swear like a trooper (according to my spouse) so you'd think by now (he's 30) that he'd have figured out I don't act like a lady.

Acting like a lady is a big rip off. It's more fun to swear and burp and wear what you want even if it went out of style 20 years ago. It's more fun to be blunt and for me, it's more fun NOT to wear make up or fancy clothes or uncomfortable shoes. But as you all know, there is a double standard. My daughter lets my husband get away with all this stuff and think it's cute or vintage, but for me, I'm sure to get that eye roll or be dragged to go shopping. By the way, she's a teacher and she's told me that I'd be a challenge for her if I were her student.

Which makes me think of an article I recently read in the Wall Street Journal. It talked about signs of cognitive decline. It said that one sign of diminishing mental acuity would be to see if you have any trouble starting with the number 100 and subtract by seven all the way to Zero. I'm married to an accountant. I did that on purpose, because, I'm allergic to math. I showed him the article and started to try to subtract by 7. I panicked after getting to 93. "Nice try" he said when my next guess was off base. "really close" he encouraged when I made my next mistake.

"Hon, I've known you for 38 years. You've NEVER been able to do math in your head!" he laughed.

"True. But very funny," I deadpanned. "How are we going to know if I'm having a decline if I was never able to do math in the first place?" I asked. It's too bad that the article didn't suggest tests involving words. I'm pretty sure that I can ace those. As I tried to fall asleep last night, I practiced my multiplication tables. I thought that would bore me and help me to fall asleep. Instead, it stressed me out. I felt like I was back in third grade and I was about to have a math test. My heart started racing, my throat went dry and I started to sweat.

Tonight I plan to play word games as usual and even if it takes me awhile to fall asleep, at least I'll be having fun. And as long as my husband still puts up with me, he can do the math.

NOW THAT I'M VACCINATED--WHERE DO I DRAW THE LINE?

By Valerie Newman June 1, 2021

How do you decide what's safe once you're fully vaccinated against COVID 19? I went out of town for the long weekend--for the very first time in over a year and a half. I drove to friends and stayed over--we are all totally vaccinated. But I did need to stop to use the bathroom at a public rest stop. I was around a ton of people--and inside, at that. But only for a few minutes and I wore a top of the line mask.

Never before did I have to evaluate the safety of going inside a building. And now, I've opened up a Pandora's box: if I gave myself the permission to go inside a building, will it be OK for me to go inside to go grocery shopping? I haven't done that in over a year and a half, either.

And just because I COULD go inside a supermarket, SHOULD I? Other people my age have been grocery shopping in person all through COVID. Am I being a wimp or just flat out lazy?

I've been cooking and avoiding restaurants all through COVID, so I'm pretty sure I haven't turned into a lazy slob. Other vaccinated folks are flying to Cancun and staying in hotels, and I'm still debating if I should go inside a grocery store.

Is it irrational fear left over from the worst of the pandemic or am I being sensibly cautious? Or simply more time efficient ordering groceries on line and texting when I arrive for the store employee to load up my trunk?

Two years ago I would have thought you were a lunatic if you told me that I'd even be thinking about stuff like this right now.

Here you are, debating weighty political or socioeconomic topics and I'm debating how to get my groceries.

The more expensive, organic store is a 20 minute drive, I'd have to find a parking spot, go inside and you know the drill. Or I drive 10 minutes, spend a few minutes ordering my groceries and sit in the car for one minute to have the lower quality produce, dairy and meat placed in my trunk.

It's been working for a year and a half, so why mess with success? I can picture myself hyperventilating inside the higher end grocery store and then enjoying the quality more once I got back home. OK, thanks for helping me decide on the following game plan. Our local store didn't have four of my items this week. I'm going to drive to the next town to the fancy store, run in for the four items and run out. I'll wear my mask and try to stay calm. And then I can evaluate future grocery shopping expeditions at that point.

And I bet while I wrote this, you decided which vacation to take and how to alleviate world hunger. OK, fine--I'll buy some extra food to drop off at the food pantry. And now I should thank you for being a good influence on me, as well.

DO I TRY TO TELL MY KIDS THIS STUFF?

By Valerie Newman Mary 28, 2021

Did you every listen to your parents? Do some of your parents' expressions pop out of your mouth and surprise you? Did you start to realize that some of the stuff your parents were trying to tell you actually make sense? Are they still alive for you to reveal that to them?

These are the very essential questions in life that keep me up at night. Well, that's not completely true. I have no trouble falling asleep--it's STAYING asleep that's the impossible dream, excuse the pun.

You can tell your kids to savor a good night's sleep. I'm guaranteeing that they won't listen.

Should I tell my kids, who are both getting married soon, that they might find themselves wondering every now and then about why they chose their spouse--that they might have a moment or two when they will actually ask themselves why on earth did they marry their spouse and what were they thinking? I'm also tempted to tell them that their spouses will think the same things about them. Then I can reassure them that if they take a deep breath and give themselves a bit of time, they will then realize that they were very smart and lucky to pick their life partners.

Do I warn my daughter about post-par tum depression? Wait--even before that--do I tell her that having a baby is like trying to poop out a watermelon? Or do I let her figure it out on her own?

Would I be helping or hurting if I told my kids about how, when you get to a certain age, you wake up and do an inventory on your body parts--which ones are hurting, which ones are working, which ones are numb and which ones are slower than yesterday.

Should I suggest that they enjoy anything and everything that they can eat with gusto, because this, too shall pass? Or is it better to suggest that they start eating well now to try to stack cards in their favor?

What's the difference--they're not going to pay attention anyway.

It feels like a few minutes ago, that we were changing their diapers and now my husband and I are about to go on a road trip with one of them. And she's going to be shocked at how often we need to stop to use the bathroom. I guess what goes around comes around. Besides, we don't listen to our kids when they tell us to throw away our white sneakers and my husband is wearing a pair of shorts today that are older than our adult kids!

WHEN YOUR CAR BECOMES PART OF YOUR FAMILY

By Valerie Newman May 21, 2021

A dear friend of mine just parted with her family wagon. It had 2200

miles on it and had been carting around her family since her second

child was a baby. That "kid" is about to turn 25! She began to reminisce

about all she'd been through with this car: the hundreds of carpools,

the crumbs, the squabbles, the homework, the time her little daughter

had to run into the car barefoot with a hot dog in hand so that they

could race the older sibling to soccer practice. As my friend reminded

me of this scenario, I couldn't help but laugh as I thought of the

confident, well educated career woman as a toddler running to jump in

the car with only a hot dog for dinner--it didn't have a bun.

"This car has been taking us to cub scouts, boy scouts, girl scouts,

band practice, band trips, soccer practice, soccer games, basketball

practice, basketball games, vacations, trips to visit grandparents and

all sorts of relatives, doctor's check ups, dentist and orthodontist

visits, grocery store runs, shopping mall sprees, the prom, emergency

room trips......the list goes on and on.

Oh, the stuff that us suburban moms have been through in our cars! If

our cars had mouths, we'd be hearing even wilder stories. Mine would

tell you how my daughter ate breakfast on the way to school each morning

and brushed her teeth in the drop off line. Or about the time I dinged

someone's car mirror as they opened their door into mine when I was

driving. But I thought the sound was from one of the kids acting up. I

didn't realize anything was wrong until I got home and noticed the side

mirror hanging from a thread. Some of our carpool capers are legendary.

Like the time that one of the carpool kids opened the door while we were

driving along the high way at 60 miles an hour. This motivated us to

produce a safety tape which we played in the tape deck back when cars

played tapes. Our car hosted food fights and times when I went over some

really tall bumps too fast and my 3 year old announced that she felt her

soul leave her body. Another carpool mom treated the kids inside to a

silly string extravaganza--while she was driving!

Anyway, some of these cars that sported infant car seats are the same

cars that we used to drive these same kids to college. When we have to

say good bye to the car, it's like parting with a long time memory of

the family. In fact, some of us hold onto cars longer than our spouses.

Yet, there's no formal ceremony to say farewell to where we've spent so

many hours and years of our lives. You can tell a lot about a person by

what they carry in their car. Some of us keep make up or an emergency

sewing kit. I've always got beach chairs and towels in the car, as well

as hats and water bottles. Other families cart around sports equipment.

My husband has sensible stuff in his car: a flashlight, blanket and

first aide kit. Some of us haul around stuff for our pets, like a spare

leash and water bowl. When I stopped to think about this, I started to

wonder how long it took my friend to clear out her car before either

trying to sell it or junk it.

In today's society, our cars become part of our identity. My Millennial

son told me that to drive a station wagon now screams "old person." I

was glad to hear it because I'm pretty sure that means that a cop

wouldn't be too likely to pull over a little lady with gray hair whose

driving a station wagon. Back when I was a recent college grad, my

former roommate bought a red sports car. She kept getting pulled over

for speeding. People make judgements according to what kind of car you

drive. I went with my husband to a classic car event and every car owner

was an older man--they all seemed like they were hippies from a bygone era.

In suburbia, our cars are so much more than a machine that takes us from

point A to point B. They provide entertainment, allow for family time

and sometimes allow us to escape our daily commute to take us on far

away adventures. They tell a lot about who we are and what we value.

Some of us even name our cars. Others spend so much time cleaning and

caring for our cars that you'd think they were one of the kids!

Here's to your car--no matter its age, style or model, regardless of its

mileage or contents, whether it's a hybrid, electric or a gas guzzler.

Whether you like it or not or are willing to admit it, it's a part of

the fabric of your life. And I'll understand it if you hug your car good

bye when you need to part ways.

SHOULD WE GET A NEW HEATING SYSTEM, OR KEEP MILKING IT ALONG WITH PAPER CLIPS?

By Valerie Newman April 28, 2021

My husband and I grew up with frugal parents and grandparents. Our grandparents each told us stories of how they survived through the Great Depression and our parents were all children of the Depression. We were raised with the following phrases ringing in our ears: "Waste not, want not."; "A penny saved is a penny earned."; "Close the door--what, were you born in a barn?"; "turn off the lights when you leave the room--do you think we own the oil company?" and "Money doesn't grow on trees."

My husband and I are lucky to share most of the same values when it comes to economics. We like to live modestly and save for a rainy day. Our son, though, refers to this value system in a different way. (You guys are cheap a-- bast---ds!"

My husband grew up on a farm and can fix anything with his own two hands. We buy our cars used and keep them for at least 20 more years. We nurse along our appliances WAY past their normal life spans. And I've already told you about how I don't waste money on fashion. "Mom, the 1980's are calling for their sweater back," I hear on a regular basis.

The last time our son came to town, he decided to do a damage control inventory. "I'm checking their heating and cooling system," he reported to his sister on his cell phone as he grabbed a flashlight. "Their water heater is older than I am, the AC is older than you and I see that Dad is holding the humidifier together with clothes pins and paper clips," I overheard him say.

"I'm pretty sure that you can afford a new heating system," he informed us. "I'm getting some quotes right now and I'll arrange for you to have a new, more efficient system up before this summer.

"But why fix something that's not broken?" my husband protested.

"Your energy bills are outrageous, you're polluting the environment and you don't want to wait until the heat of the summer for your AC to break down and then you'll have to buy the cheapest and crappiest AC under emergency conditions" he responded.

"If it's all worked fine for 30 years, why mess with it now?" he countered.

"Dad! The life span of a furnace is 25-20 years. This is one is more than 30. I think you can give yourself permission to splurge and get a new system!" he said. And by the time the conversation was over, he'd booked two companies for quotes and contacted the gas company. We now have solar panels on our roof, are thinking of converting from oil to gas and have gotten quotes on heat pumps. We don't even know what a heat pump is, but we've got some quotes.

Please don't tell our son, but we haven't done anything with these quotes and we're probably going to keep our inefficient and old oil system until he takes matters into his own hands. Until then, please pardon me while I go search for more safety pins or paper clips.

IT'S BASED ON YOUR PERSPECTIVE

By Valerie Newman May 4, 2021

On my way home from dropping my spouse off at a medical appointment, I was surprised to see so much traffic on the roads. I was also surprised to note that I wasn't aggravated being caught in some of the traffic. It felt kind of good seeing so many people driving places. I could have almost fooled myself into thinking that the world was back to normal.

I realized how my perspective had changed--instead of being aggravated with the long line of cars in front of me, I was happy to know that, at least around here, people felt safe enough to be going places, whether it's back to work or back to school or errands...it didn't matter. What matters to me now is that people are venturing outside their homes.

As I was stuck in traffic, I started to think about how so much of our experiences depend on our perspective. Like, for instance, the time I got separated from my husband at a busy airport. I started to ask strangers if they'd seen my husband. "What does he look like?" one lady asked me. "He's tall, blond and handsome," I said as I stretched my hands up high to show that he's really tall. "I don't see anyone like that", said the guy next to her, "But there's an old bald guy with glasses looking around frantically--could that be him?"

I laughed with relief to see my husband, who, in my eyes, is still that young blond guy I met umpteen years ago. And I laughed more when I realized that, in fact, he no longer looks like how I'd described him! And while I'm on the subject, when I think of myself, I'm brunette. When I look in the mirror, a white-haired woman is staring back at me.

Speaking of perspective, I recently got fitted for two hearing aides. No--I'm not old, in case that was what you were thinking. It's just that I thought I was too cool for school and went to a ton of extremely loud concerts years ago. I hope my kids aren't reading this, because I've conveniently blamed them all these years for my hearing loss. "If you didn't have colic to beat the band, I'd be able to hear what you're saying now," I'd complain to my son until he ran away to live half way across the country. Or, "If you hadn't chosen to play the drums and join the marching band, you wouldn't be having to shout during our talks," I'd kvetch to my daughter.

But that's so off topic. My point was going to be about the fact that, now that I have the hearing aides, when I walk outside, it sounds like a rain forest adventure. "Hon!" I said to my husband the other day when we left our house for our neighborhood stroll. "It's like a symphony out here--with so many birds, crickets and all the sounds of nature--I can't believe all these lovely sounds!" I marveled. "I heard one or two birds chirp from a distance, so I'm not sure why you're jumping for joy!" he said.

"Oh, of course not," I dead panned. "Because you left your hearing aides at home!"I laughed.

Another reflection about how our perspective changes brings me back to when I was a kid. I have a recollection of my dad reading an obituary out loud. "Oh, how sad!" I recall my dad saying with a shocked voice. "This man died so young--he was only 35!" And then I remember responding: "35! That's so old Dad, what do you mean he died young?!" I'll never forget how my father responded to me. "At your age, 35 seems old. When you get to be 35 yourself, you won't think that number sounds very old!"he said.

Once again, it's all about your perspective. When I complained about being stuck in the house during COVID, my daughter would remind me of eight people crammed in an attic storage room for years during the Holocaust. "I bet Anne Frank and her family were thrilled to get any food to eat while they hid in a tiny space for years!" she said, helping me to appreciate all my blessings.

And before COVID, when I bemoaned the fact that we lost power for a week during a storm, my son helped me to adopt a more positive view point. "Boo-hoo. Cry me a river. That's a first world problem, Mom. Think of all the people throughout the world who live without clean water or electricity or even shoes on their feet all year long."

"OK, thank you for helping me re frame my story, but can you please help me get a generator?" I responded.

My final reflection for today's blog: When my husband had to have open heart surgery during the height of COVID, we both started to freak out. Until my sister recommended a meditation program that we've been enjoying on a daily basis ever since. The experience focuses on the fact that we have little control over the circumstances around us, yet we can strive to impact our own responses. We can focus on taking deep breaths, concentrate on what we're grateful for, manage our own interpretations, intentions and reactions and learn to let go.

If anyone actually read this whole blog, please know that I'm thankful for you and I'd love to hear your perspective on life.

A grand child by any other name is still your grand kid!

By Valerie Newman May 10, 2021

My mother in law detested when I referred to her grandchildren as "kids." She lived on a farm. To her, kids meant goats. "PLEASE don't call my grandchildren billy goats!" she'd beg me.

In my last blog, I talked about how stuff is influenced by our perspective. Today, I'm going to shift gears and explore the significance or our word choices.

I remember taking my young son to an oral surgeon. He had to have some teeth pulled and he was feeling apprehensive about it. "Will it hurt? Will you give me a Novocaine shot?" he asked the dentist. "Sure, you'll feel a bit of discomfort, but no, I don't give shots, I'm not pulling teeth and you won't be getting Novocaine. I'll merely give you a Zilocaine injection before the extraction."

He must have thought my son was a typical seven year old. "You saying the brand name of the Novocaine, calling the shot an injection and the procedure an extraction, won't make this any better for me!" my son replied. And once in the car, he told me that he'd prefer going to a medical professional who told him honestly about what was going to happen to him.

And now, let's fast forward to today's world, before going back to memory lane. "We could have sworn a colleague of Daddy's was straight, but I guess he's Gay because he mentioned something about his partner," I said to my daughter the other day. "Mom, partner is how people my age refer to someone we love, regardless of our sexual orientation. It destigmatizes the word 'partner' if we all use it," she explained.

"Oh, you mean, like I could refer to Daddy as my significant other," I replied, nodding.

"WHAT?" She asked. "What the heck does that mean--no one uses that term!" she said in disbelief.

"Well, when I was growing up, you either had a boy friend, a fiance or a husband. Then the person became known as your significant other. I thought partner meant a business partner and later, I learned it was how Gay people would refer to their significant other. I guess I need a lesson in today's terminology," I said.

And I started to wonder if Shakespeare was right when writing about the rose. One thing I know for sure: If I'm every lucky enough to have one of my kids have a kid of their own, I won't care what we call it! I'll call it whatever my kids want me to--as long as I get visiting rights!

I FINALLY LEARNED HOW TO APPLY MAKE UP--

JUST IN TIME TO HIDE MY NEW AND IMPROVED FACE WITH A MASK!

By Valerie Newman April 16, 2021

My brother and sister were born a year apart. They were competitive with each other from minute one, as evidenced by a paper my brother wrote before I was born. It was about a race he was running against his sister. It was neck and neck and he ran for his life and won the big race. Since I was born several years later, I never had to run that race. In fact, I wasn't even on the same track. Also, by the time I came along, our mom was back to work in a society that wasn't geared for career women. Either she ran out of steam by the time I was supposed to learn certain skills or as she told me later--it was that I didn't care to learn them.

Either way, I didn't learn to do laundry until I met my husband, I still haven't learned fashion rules and I never once put on a hint of make up.

NO--it's not because I think I'm so beautiful that I don't need cosmetics. When I tried to wear make up because I was attending an immediate relative's wedding, for instance, I'd either sneeze from the scent, or break out or get itchy due to allergic reactions. Besides, it also seemed like a waste of time and money--money women were coerced into spending by sexist marketing campaigns. When you see a GUY's face, it's really him--not some painted version. I'd also learned that many cosmetic companies were testing their products on animals. And finally, I read that often times, cosmetics were toxic.

So I never wore make up. And to this day, I don't know how to apply it. In case you were wondering how make up got on my face at my wedding or the weddings of my immediate family members, it was either my mother or my sister who were putting this crap on my face--without my consent, more often than not.

And now--life has changed--my son is about to get married, after a long COVID delay. He just told me that his almost wife is going to provide a make up artist as part of the wedding package. "Why do we need a make up artist?" I naively asked him. "You know--so you don't have to worry about putting on you own make up the day of the wedding," he explained.

"Well I don't have to worry about that--I don't own any make up," I said. But I wasn't about to get off that easy. I'm thinking my mother must have been plotting with him somehow, even thought she's no longer alive. "She'll provide the make-up and put it on you!" he explained, referring to this make up artist they were hiring.

"Oh my God. It's one of my worst nightmares. I'd rather look ugly. They kill animals, cause cancer and cause me to get hives. That's the last thing I want to happen the day of your wedding!" I cried.

"I'll have your daughter talk to you about this," he said calmly, referring to his sister. And minutes later, I magically get a phone call from my daughter. "Mom--I've researched hypo-allergenic make-up, cruelty free, paba free, scent free. I've already ordered them and they'll be shipped to your house. You're going to put tiny samples of them on your arm and leg first to see how you respond," she instructed. She's a teacher, so she's quite experienced about offering instruction that's not open to discussion.

My first thought was that if the make up is THAT free, then MY life is more restricted. Maybe I should hope to be reincarnated as that make up in my next life. I'm stuck cooking, cleaning, doing the errands, working--while this lipstick, foundation and rouge are running around free as birds.

My daughter knows what a rebel I am, so she didn't leave anything to chance. She came by the next day to watch me put lips stick on one arm, foundation on the other and blush on my leg. My body parts were more made up than I'd ever been. She gloated. "Can you smell anything?" she asked with a smile. "No," I said.

"I see that you're not breaking out and I don't hear any sneezes or wheezes," she beamed. And then she informed me that I'd be putting the lipstick on my lips the next day, the foundation on my face the day after that, followed by the rouge if all went well.

She actually thought I'd know how to apply it without looking like a circus clown. I tried to remember what my mother would do when applying her lipstick. I felt like I was a little kid playing with her mom's cosmetics. I looked in the mirror, opened the canister and spread the stuff around my lips. Then I dabbed it with a tissue and smacked my lips together.

I must be the only 59 year young woman on earth who has never put on her own make up. My heart was pounding. When the earth continued to rotate without any quaking, I figured I was ready to spread my wings and put foundation on my face the following day. I have no idea if I did it right, but I was relieved that I felt fine wearing this stuff on my face. Tomorrow, I'll be ready for the rouge experiment. I reminded myself that I don't have to know how to apply it since a make up artist will be applying it anyway. And I won't have to worry about this again until my daughter's wedding. For now, though, I can sense my mother smiling from heaven. Remember that she's the woman whose dying words to me were "Always keep a comb in your purse."

And just when I felt relief in knowing that I could wear make up now if I wanted to, my daughter burst my bubble. "Mom--I'm not sure what all your fuss is about. You're going to be wearing a mask at his wedding, anyway." But since my hair is now white because I haven't been to a hair salon in over a year due to COVID concerns, at least my face will be painted for the wedding pictures!

I DISCOVERED THE SECRET OF HOW TO GET YOUR ADULT KIDS TO TALK TO YOU ON THE PHONE

By Valerie Newman April 19, 2021

"I've never talked to my son this much in my life!" I gushed as I told a friend on a walk in the park.

"My son never picks up when I call. Caller ID is the WORST!" she complained.

"Well, it's not like I'm having that much fun and we're talking about anything deep or personal, fun or juicy gossip!" I laughed.

"Still--how do you get him to even pick up the phone--my kids don't even answer my texts," she replied

"Well, I know what time is best for him and I always text him first to make sure that it will work for him. But he's really interested in certain topics, I've discovered." I continued. "He wanted us to get solar panels and we did, so I got to talk to him a lot about that. I started to wonder if I'd ever get to chat with him again once our solar panels were finalized, and so I brought up the topic of getting a generator. And he introduced the idea of us getting a heat pump. I'm going to have access to him on a daily basis for at least another year!"I boasted.

"You're a genius!" my friend laughed. "So you couldn't care less about any of this, but you pretend to and then he's basically calling you all the time!" she marveled.

"No, not exactly. I don't understand one word he's saying, though I do understand that the heat pump will save us money and I want a generator because I don't want to be stuck without power again for a week in the middle of the summer or winter. And I know my kids are really into protecting the environment. The solar stuff and heat pump topics are right up my son's alley. Even though he talks about the technical aspects of this stuff and it goes right over my head, at least I get to hear his voice," I admitted.

"But then, once you've trapped him, do you get to talk about fun or interesting topics?" she asked.

"I guess I wasn't thinking about it in terms of trapping him. And you have to understand that you have access to your son because he only lives an hour away. I'd have to fly to see my kid, and with COVID, I'm not flying any time soon. Anyway, to answer your question, he will talk for a few minutes about other things, but when I want to have an emotional connection or an enjoyable conversation, I'll ask to speak with his (almost) wife."

"Even, then, though, she's an introvert and told me it takes a lot of energy for her to talk, so we don't talk for too long," I added.

"I guess, since you live closer to your daughter, you don't get to talk with her on the phone, then. That's too bad, because with COVID, I'm sure that you haven't been able to see too much of her, either?" my friend sympathized.

She gets to have her daughter live with her, thanks to COVID. Her daughter moved back from the big city to work remotely in her parents' house in the suburbs. My daughter and her fiance moved in together before COVID and we have been able to get together with them outside from a safe social distance. But that was in the Fall. In the winter, I haven't gotten to see too much of her.

"She calls me almost every day on her way home from work," I bragged. And then a light bulb went off in my head. "It's because I'm talking her language, too. She likes to talk about anything having to do with her wedding--the venue, the music, the flowers, her dress, etc. We won't run out of topics to talk about until at least a couple of months after her wedding--and that's still more than a year away!" I gloated.

And just when I started to feel smug about inventing a way to get my kids to talk to me, I realized that it's actually a universal concept: it's always been the case that if you want someone to want to talk with you, ask them about stuff that interests them. Too bad I hadn't figured that out before my eldest moved half way across the country!

CAN MY MEDITATION CLASS REALLY HELP ME TAKE CARE OF A TELEMARKETER WHO CALLS ME AT 3 AM?

By Valerie Newman April 7, 2021

Despite my hearing loss, I was able to hear my phone ring last night at three in the morning.

The last time I got calls in the middle of the night, it was from my mom. When she was really old and couldn't sleep, she'd call me to complain about something no matter what time of day or night it was. Though I miss my mom, I don't miss those calls.

I was in a deep sleep and it took a couple of rings to wake me up and then at least one more ring for my brain to register that the sound was my phone.

I knew it was really late at night and I figured that it was bad news. No one would be calling this late (or early, depending on your perspective) unless it was some kind of emergency.

By the time I answered the phone, there was no one on the other end of the line. I turned on my bed side lamp and grabbed for my reading glasses. I have caller ID and I wanted to see who had just tried to reach me. It was J. Rubia.

I don't know anyone by that name. I then looked at my alarm clock. Yes, I still have one because if I keep my cell phone in my room, the light and sound messes with my sleep cycle. And yes, while you're busy judging me, I still have a land line. And now I feel obligated to explain why we have a home phone. Our land line phone is bundled in a package with our computers and TV service and besides, my home phone is much lighter than my cell phone and so it's easier for me to blab on the phone while I'm exercising if I can hold my light-weight home phone.

But that's so far of my point that it isn't even funny.

What I've been trying to say before I interrupted myself to justify my life style choices is the following:

Why the ----- would a telemarketer be calling me at three in the morning? I'm 59 years young and need my sleep. Call me crazy, but I prefer sleeping at 3 in the morning versus talking with a telemarketer. I'm sure you know the answer to this question: Do you think I fell right back to sleep? Between thyroid issues, having to get up to pee, having night sweats, etc...it's almost impossible to get into REM sleep in the first place. The LAST thing I need is the phone to ring at 3 a.m.

Don't even think about telling me to unplug my phone. It rings anyway. Do Not Call lists stopped working years ago. As I saw it, my only option was to get passive aggressive. When I stumbled out of bed today, I asked my husband if the phone had woken him up, as well. I knew the answer before I even got the words out of my mouth. He's a morning person and was looking annoyingly chipper. I remembered that he never once got woken up by our kids crying when they were babies, or the garage opening when they got back late at night as teenagers. Besides selective hearing, he is actually hard of hearing. But, so am I!

"Call him back tomorrow first thing in the morning--I bet he'll still be sleeping!" my husband suggested.

I'm never awake early in the morning, so that stunt was out of the question. But I was planning on calling J. Rubia at all times of day and night to ask him how it felt to be disturbed. I told my sister this idea. "Hasn't meditation taught you to let it go? He has to make a living, too. What will your calling him really accomplish?" she said as she suggested I take the high road.

I'm very sorry to let down my meditation class participants; when you scare the ---- out of me and wake me up out of a deep sleep for no reason, I'm taking the low road and I'm seeking revenge.

Unfortunately, I tried calling J. Rubia and the call didn't go through. I tired again. I added a 1 since I was sure it was long distance. I called without the 1 when that didn't work. No luck. J Rubia can't be reached. He or she can wake me up and pull a ring-ding ditch, but I can't even call back to bother them.

So, J.--if you happen to be reading this, please be aware of our 10-10 rule. If you call after 10p.m., you'll wake up my husband and if you call before 10 a.m, I'll be the one whose sleep is disturbed. And here's a helpful hint: If you want to sell anyone anything, it's best to call people when they're already conscious.

DOES THIS KIND OF STUFF HAPPEN TO YOU--OR IS IT ONLY ME?

By Valerie Newman April 8, 2021

Let's start off by airing some dirty laundry. Actually, I'm coming clean about something I keep really clean--my teeth. My husband says that I spend more time on my dental care than it takes him to get ready for work in the morning--the old sh--, shower and shave routine. Back in the days when he'd get ready for work to drive to an office, he'd be out the door and I'd still be working on my teeth. I'm telling you this so that you'll kind of understand what happened to me last night.

I was using a dental brush to clean between my teeth, when the tiny brush broke off between my teeth. I tried pushing and then pulling it through, but the ends were sharp and it wouldn't budge. I tried flossing it out and then using another dental brush to try to push it through. To no avail. It was 10 p.m. and I prayed that my husband hadn't fallen asleep yet.

"Hon, I have a tiny problem," I said to him as he was getting settled in to fall asleep. "If it's that tiny, can it wait til the morning?" he asked.

"No, it's a mechanical issue and I think you're going to need a flash light and pliers," I said. When I talk tools, he usually hops right up to fix the problem.

Being married to me for so many years, he's gotten used to all the unusual dilemmas and drama that I, somehow, continue to find myself mired in.

He stood up. "OK, what's the matter this time?" he asked. I opened my mouth to show him the problem.

"If you're having trouble with your teeth, you can show the dentist at your appointment--which is in a few days, isn't it?"

"But I'm afraid I'm going to swallow this metal brush that's wedged between my teeth," I complained.

"Oh, something that small won't hurt your stomach. But sit down and I'll get tweezers--this doesn't call for pliers!" he answered calmly.

This brought to mind when my dad always used to tell me not to make a mountain out of a mole hill.

Anyway, it took my spouse two seconds to pull the metal piece out of my mouth. And that's about as long as it took him to fall asleep after conducting the "operation."

And that's when I decided to text my son to see if he could talk on the phone. He asked me to call him back in 45 minutes, because his time zone is earlier than ours and he was in the middle of an important project. By then, it was almost midnight my time and I was almost too tired to talk. But of course, I called him anyway. At least, that's what I meant to do. But because I was so tired and I'm so used to calling my husband on his cell, I automatically and inadvertently called my hubby. And woke him up out of a deep sleep.

I know that you're now joining me in feeling sorry for my husband. And we're all wondering why he's putting up with me after all these years. I ask myself the same thing on a daily basis. I also wonder if I'm the only one who continues to do crazy things like this.

Like for instance, one of my favorite turquoise earrings must have dropped off my ear a few weeks ago. I never found it and I'd bought it out of state at a jewelry store that's now out of business. I'm wearing a turquoise shirt today and those earrings would have looked perfect. I found another pair that matches the shirt, but it doesn't grab me as much as the turquoise earrings. I thought of how the new rage is to wear socks that don't match. OK, maybe it's not the new rage, but it's still OK to wear mismatched socks. I wondered to myself: why can't that apply to earrings? And it's not like I'm going into a work place or a crowd where people are going to be seeing me up close, anyway. And so, today, I'm wearing mismatched earrings. But they both match my blouse.

Will anyone notice in Zoom meetings? And if so, will they say anything? My husband didn't notice this morning before leaving for a Dr.'s appointment. And if no one can see that my earrings are mismatched, it's like the tree falling in the Forrest, right?

As long as my daughter doesn't catch wind of this, I think I'm good. As a matter of fact, perhaps I'll be a trend setter and wearing mismatched earrings will be the new craze. The word craze says it all: there's a fine line between being completely crazy and being on the cutting edge of a new trend. I think I fall closer to crazy, though I don't cave to public opinion and I'm going to stick with the phrase "Unique."

And if I'm unique, then I answered my own question: I guess I AM the only one who experiences weird stuff like this!

HOW DO YOU PLACE A MONETARY VALUE ON YOUR OWN KIDS?

By Valerie Newman April 11, 2021

My son and his almost wife (OK-- come on, she's more than a fiance since they had to postpone their wedding due to COVID), went to baby sit their baby nieces. I asked him on the phone today how it went watching a 22 month old and a five month old. He quoted a comedy show from when he was a kid: "Children are worst than most diseases!" he joked. "And they're too expensive," he added in a more serious tone.

"I know. Dad was observing the large, gorgeous house of a colleague and I told him that they could afford that because they didn't have kids," I said.

But of course, since I want grandchildren, I couldn't end the conversation like that.

"Though, I wouldn't trade you or your sister for any dollar amount," I added.

I am, however, married to an accountant. "I can't speak for your father, though. I'll have to ask him what he thinks."

"He's the one who calls me a cheap-stake, so tell him that I'd pick the bigger bank account, obviously!" my husband said.

I translated, "We wouldn't trade your sister and the dog for the world!" I joked. "OH, yeah, and your fiances, too!" I teased.

"The dog was always your favorite," my son agreed.

"Well, he didn't have colic or tantrums or braces or mood swings, he was the quickest to toilet train, never rolled his eyes at me or got sarcastic or needed rides to soccer, karate, basketball, etc. And, he WAS the least expensive," I observed.

Still not calling me out for leaving him out of the equation, my son picked up on my claim that the dog was the most affordable.

"What about the vet bills for his emergency surgery--and his insurance is now $700 a year!"

And now, the conversation got serious: "It IS?" I shrieked. "And he's nine years old. We'll be spending thousands of dollars on him on insurance! At what age do we think that's unnecessary? How long can he live?"

"And you were the one who was trying to tell me it's worth it to have kids! They cost at least $100,000 per kid in today's dollars--without counting college!"he said. And then he started listing the expenses: diapers, equipment, school supplies, clothes, shoes, sporting equipment and lessons, braces, hair cuts, bigger insurance premiums, bigger car, more gas and don't get me started on stuff for girls, like make up, hair stuff, accessories..."

I cut him off because I started to visualize my shot at grandparent hood getting slimmer and slimmer.

"Yes, that's all true, but do you think we're looking at our bank account now and bemoaning the fact that we have less money in the bank because we have you? It's hard to think about what life would have been like without you or your sister," I said.

"It would have been so boring," my husband echoed.

"and emptier and less fulfilling," I thought to myself.

On the other hand, my friends without kids have much more powerful careers, more free time and discretionary income, their bodies look better and they've enjoyed their lives,too.

Would we want to trade places? It's not an option and it's too late now for our kid-free friends to find out what it would have been like to live life with offspring. And it's obviously impossible to relive our lives without our kids. There isn't a right or wrong answer and sometimes kids arrive when you weren't planning on them and in other instances, people are desperate to become parents and it doesn't happen for them.

I can only share with you the response of my spouse and myself: Hands down, no question, we wouldn't trade our kids in for any amount of money. And we hope that they have their own children, too.

Yes, partly so that we can know the joy of grandparent hood. My grandmother used to say, "I invested time, effort and money in my kids and now I'm rewarded because I can reap the benefits in my dividends--my grandchildren." The other reasons I'd love to see my kids have their own kids is that they will have a new, more meaningful purpose in life. They'll see the world anew and experience the wonderment of the world through their kids' eyes. They'll know such pride and joy, they'll learn so much from their children and then their children will grow up to help them. In my mind, it makes for a richer life, even though your finances might be poorer.

I'M FULLY VACCINATED--YEAH! I WENT WILD AND WENT TO THE POST OFFICE!

By Valerie Newman April 12, 2021

Many of you have hopped on an airplane or gone on an exciting road trip after getting your second shot. I've been so cautious for so long because I'm 59 years young and have asthma. I waited the two weeks after my 2nd COVID vaccine and then ventured out. I grabbed a mask and headed for the car. "By!" I dramatically announced to my husband whose been working from home for months. "Where are you going?" he asked with concern, as I waved, wearing a big smile on my face.

"I'm OUT OF HERE!" I needed stamps to mail a birthday card to our son, who, as you already know because I remind you in every blog, moved half way across the country. He's having a milestone birthday. Granted, it's weeks from now, but I needed an excuse for a trip.

You know that you're life is pathetic when going to the post office seems like an adventure. I was excited to go out in public, though I was kind of apprehensive to be around other people and inside, at that. I had to promise my husband that I'd turn around if it was crowded in there. I thought I went at the perfect time--it wasn't lunch time or first thing in the morning or after kids get out of school. I'm not sure why I'd been looking forward to doing errands. Was it the opportunity to be more independent? Our Millennial daughter has been doing all of our errands for almost a year. Was I looking forward to a much needed change of scenery? Was I excited about being away from my spouse for a few minutes?

Maybe it was all of the above, but I'd written the day on the calendar---the day and time that I could escape my home confinement. I decided it would be best if I took baby steps so that when I have to go inside for longer periods of time around more people, I'd have some experience under my belt (or my mask.)

No offense, US postal service, but the trip was QUITE THE LET DOWN!

I was happy to notice that the post office didn't seem crowded at all. In fact, there was only one person in front of me in line. Please keep in mind that I only needed to buy one book of stamps.

No one was positioned behind the counter in the corner where, a life time ago, I used to go to buy stamps. So I waited in the line behind the main counter. The person in front of me only took a minute or two and I thought I was all set. Until a guy emerged to my left by the PO box area and the lady behind the counter told him that she'd take him next. I thought to myself that he probably had already waited in line and was sent to do something else and so she had to call on him next. Just my luck, though, he was either mailing a hundred items, something really valuable and expensive or was mailing stuff to the queen of England--or maybe the Pope.

All I know is that I was standing and waiting for so long that I began to realize that I'd been better off having my daughter to all of my errands. Why had I been in such a hurry to go the the post office! As my feet started to ache, I looked behind me to see that now, of course, the postal staff person who sells stamps in the corner was back behind her post. But the line before me had grown and I'd already committed to wait in this line.

And now, to add insult to injury, the stamp lady left her post and sent those customers to another, newly opened lane next to my line. I'd been waiting for 20 minutes for a fricking book of stamps and now all these people who had arrived WAY later than me were already getting helped. Was I getting screwed because of my white hair? Was it ageism at work or their incompetence? Or were the errand God punishing me for playing it safe regarding COVID for so long that I had to pay my dues?

So, guess what the postal lady behind the counter finally said to me after the extremely complicated customer finally cleared out. "Thank you for your patience."

As you can tell, I wasn't feeling too patient. If my daughter reads this, I'm going to be in big trouble. She's always telling me that I have no filter. And that I should start trying to develop one. "I have no patience," I dead panned. And then I realized I'd better not give her any more guff because her feet were certainly hurting her more than mine were and that a job at the post office is like suffering a very slow death.

I left with my stamps and felt a huge let down as I completed my first in-person errand in a year. I thought to myself: "I haven't been missing much." Now, my next earth shattering decision will be: Do I actually enter a grocery store to do my own shopping so that I can select a portion of broccoli that's bigger than microscopic--or should I continue to take the easy way out and have an employee fill up my bags and bring them to the car?

You can ponder this as you board your flight to the Bahamas!

I'm enjoying a daily meditation class and this class encourages us to be curious.

This has stimulated me to ask a number of very important questions:

Who is the white haired lady looking back at me in the mirror?

Why didn't I listen to my parents and forgo all those loud rock concerts so that I wouldn't need hearing aides today?

Why am I not supposed to refer to the fact that our adult son moved half way across the country as "when he ran away"?

How can I be looking at an engagement ring on my daughter's hand when I was just holding it while she crossed the street?

How can we be walking our son down the wedding aisle when I was walking him down the hall to his kindergarten class only five minutes ago?

Why are we looking at Medicare supplemental plans for retirement when I graduated from college ten minutes ago and had my whole career in front of me?

Wasn't it yesterday when my parents were setting limits and now, suddenly, our kids are the ones trying to get me to behave?

On the other hand, why is it that when my grandmother was my age, she had seven of her eight grandchildren already and my kids aren't married yet?

Why is what we experienced so recently--like the Viet Nam war, the fall of the Berlin Wall, Chernobyl, or the Challenger explosion being taught as "History"?

Why does my son often say that the 1980's are calling for their outfit back when he sees what I'm wearing?

Why do I mortify my Millennial offspring?

As you can see, I'm mulling over a multitude of mystifying and complex questions.

While most of you are making minor decisions regarding frivolous matters, such as your views on our health care and political systems or the environment, I've been grappling with really serious questions with earth shattering consequences. This is exactly why I had to air and share these questions with you, my one reader.

Thank you for letting me get these deep and meaningful questions off my chest. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to find where I put my retirement plan folder--if I could only remember where I put my reading glasses!

MY SYMPTOMS ARE NOT WHAT YOU THINK!

By Valerie Newman March 31,2021

I'm so happy to report that I got my second COVID shot a couple of days ago. Since I'd heard that I might start feeling lousy that night, I was happy to welcome a wonderful distraction: UCONN women's B-ball team was scheduled to play.

Full disclosure here: I don't watch sports, I don't play sports and I couldn't care less about sports. With one exception. When our kid started at UCONN years ago, it just so happened that ALL of their sports teams were experiencing winning seasons. And when I heard my quiet, calm husband clapping and cheering and saying that this is where are son is going to college, I jumped on the bandwagon.

And I haven't lift since. Well...to be honest, I've only stuck being a loyal fan of the Women's basketball team. Since umpteen years ago, I've read everything about the players, the recruits, their competition. I was devastated when UCONN got shoved into a lower league of competition. That meant that "our" UCONN women wouldn't have the benefit of competing against top teams until the play offs.

And that's why they started losing in the final round.

And then, something magical happened. We got put back in the Big East and this year, we were blessed with the female equivalent of Michael Jordan in Paige Bueckers. It's been a blast watching this Freshman and a relief that we still have the best coach on earth in Geno Auriemma. But, suddenly, for some reason, the teams this year in the Big East have still not provided tough competition for UCONN.

Until two nights ago, when "we" played Baylor. It was the tightest game I've watched in YEARS. I screamed, I swore, I jumped up and down, my head was spinning as the score went back and forth with a one point difference.

"OH No!" I said when I thought UCONN was going to lose.

Suddenly, during a TV time out, I said to my husband: "I felt like I'm going to faint. I feel sick to my stomach. I'm dizzy and my throat hurts. And I'm getting a splitting head ache."

"Go take Tylenol and lay down," he suggested. "It's your COVID shot kicking in. Don't worry, I had the same reaction. I'm recording the game, so you can watch it tomorrow," he said.

What are you crazy?! I hollered. "I'll feel fine tomorrow if they pull off a miracle--this has nothing to do with the fricking COVID shot. Baylor is up by 10 and we're in the last quarter!"

My husband laughed. "You sports fanatic! Remember, this is UCONN and there's still hope," he said

Sure enough, someone waved a magic wand and they came through with seconds to spare. The game had, in fact, distracted me. And the next day, when I still felt tired and had a sore throat, it was more fun to attribute it to the high drama of last night's game.

Now will you please remind me to take Tylenol before the championship game?

WHY DO I SUDDENLY FEEL LIKE PUTTING ON A BATHING SUIT, ESPECIALLY SINCE IT'S ONLY 40 DEGREES OUTSIDE?

By Valerie Newman April 1, 2021

This is no April Fool's joke. I read on the internet that the best thing for callouses on your feet is to apply cocoa butter.

I ordered it on line and started putting it on my feet at bed time.

For some reason, I started dreaming about the beach. And getting hungry for picnic food at bed time.

I finally put two and two together. Those of you who know me realize that in my head, that would add up to five, but that's not the point.

The point is that scents can trigger memories. And applying cocoa butter at bed time must have gotten my subconscious to put me in my happy place.

You guessed it--the beach. Any beach. A local one, a state one, a vacation one--I'm not picky, just get me to the beach.

The funny thing about this is that, for the last 40 years, I haven't been rubbing coconut oil on my body in an attempt to get a deeper tan. You do know, though, that I'm always honest with you, since I've suckered you into reading this. I've got yet another confession to make. I NEVER wear sun block. I never have and I never will. I don't burn and it's my one vice. Give me credit, though, because I did stop using a reflector once I hit 30 and I started to wear a hat when I was about 40.

And this is exactly why putting cocoa butter on as I go to bed, makes me feel like I'm a teenager on a beach vacation. You can't beat that. Being a teenager meant that I could hear and see without any devices, eat what ever I felt like without even thinking about indigestion or heart burn, having endless possibilities for my career, having no pain when I woke up, being able to sleep all night, being able to hold my pee in for many, many hours....need I go on?

And, of course, there was no such thing as COVID or half of the other stuff that we need to be concerned about today.

Yeah, yeah, yeah--I should be living in the NOW, not living in the past or worrying about stuff that could happen tomorrow.

Well, excuse me! I'm just saying that when I slip my socks on over my cocoa-buttered feet, I feel like I'm slipping into a sunny and fun, carefree time. It sure beats reading the news for COVID updates and political turmoil.

And when it really is beach time around here in 2021, you won't believe how smooth my feet have become!

DO I NEED TO PLAY CROSS WORD PUZZLES WITH MY WINDOW TREATMENTS?

By Valerie Newman April 4, 2021

We got fancy, shamncy window treatments in our bedroom a few years back. We need to pull them up and down by a lever at the bottom. They were very expensive, so I try to remember to open and close them carefully. I'm aware of the fact that it's a good idea to open the curtains during the day to let the sunshine in and to close them when it gets dark in order to minimize drafts. Of course, I'm not as meticulous as my husband, who noticed the other day that one of the shades was starting to wrinkle.

"Here, let me show you," he said the other day. "Sometimes it's probably a good idea to pull these puppies ALL the way up to the bottom when you close them and let them stay that way for a while."

And, of course, I asked why. "Because that way, maybe they'll remember to lay flat and wrinkle free."

"Oh, I didn't realize that our window treatments had a memory problem," I observed dryly. I laughed at my own attempt at humor and then, as usual, I took it too far.

"I wonder how I can help improve their memory. I hope our curtains aren't getting Alzheimer's.! And here, just when I thought that COVID, racial tension and the economy were enough to worry about. Now I have to add the memory of our window treatments to my list of concerns. I've tried to have conversations with them and read to them, but apparently that wasn't enough. I guess I can try to do puzzles with them, if you think that's going to help keep their memory problems at bay," I added.

But, alas, my husband had already left the room. It's like he doesn't even care about the brain quality of our curtains. They do say that men and women are from different planets. I can't beleive how callous he can be about our curtains.

Our son, on the other hand, found a very crafty solution to preventing his curtains from wrinkling. If I can brag for a moment about his new window coverings (which I think you should allow me to do since I don't have any grandchildren to brag about.) His curtains are so smart that he got some kind of electric contraption to remotely open and close them. If only it were that easy to prevent ME from wrinkling and help me keep my brain in tip top shape. Before you know it, he'll be installing something remote in me and then he can push a button from out of state to manage my aging process.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go play cards with my curtains.

MY DEEPEST FEAR MIGHT SURPRISE YOU--PLEASE DON'T JUDGE!

By Valerie Newman March 10, 2021

I bet that COVID scares you. Does anything terrify you, where your heart starts to race, your mouth feels dry or you start to sweat? You might be thinking of a terrorist threat or perhaps crime. These fears makes sense.

Sometimes, though, some of us have a completely irrational fear. I'm concerned about crime, terror and COVID, yes. But it doesn't make me scream with terror or feel like I'm going to faint.

Since I'm sure that I'm not the only one with a phobia, I'm going to come clean and admit it to you.

Every time I enter my bedroom when I'm about to get ready for bed, I have to perform a reconnaissance mission. I check to the walls, the bedding, the corners and the floor. No, I'm not afraid of monsters. Let me give you more hints: I also check the ceilings, especially at all the corners. I have an oversized, paralyzing paranoia about something very tiny and mostly harmless: spiders.

I'm 59 years young and I'm still checking my bedroom every night before getting ready for bed and once again, before I enter my bed. And once I'm in bed, I don't turn off my nightlight until I check once more.

Just so you know, spiders aren't taken down by water, screaming or bug spray. They're practically indestructible. They can pop down on a thread and scare the ---- out of you. They run super fast, can curl themselves up so tiny and hide any and every where.

Like that isn't bad enough, I read some where that the typical person swallows five spiders in their life time.

I know what you're thinking--that spiders kill other bugs. But I don't care about the other bugs. I can kill them myself. Or let them go wild--lady bugs, for instance, bring good luck.

I know exactly when this phobia began. I was three years old and sitting in our yard with my older brother. A Daddy long legs came creeping along. My brother thought it would be funny to pick it up and put it in my pants. I thought I could feel it crawling on me and ran inside to take off my pants. But then I couldn't find the long legged critter. I imagined that it had crawled inside me. It didn't help that my Mom used to sing the eensy weensy spider song to me. In case you forget, the lyrics include a "lady who swallowed a spider that jiggled and wiggled inside her" and ended with "Perhaps she'll die!"

My Dad tried to cure my phobia by reading a bed time story "Charlotte's Web" to me about a friendly spider. It didn't help one bit. I would stay awake all night thinking about spiders, wondering where that Daddy long legs was inside me then.

Years later, my husband tried to help me overcome the phobia by teaching me to view spiders as the enemy. "Don't give them the power over you to be afraid of them. Find them and kill them," he suggested.

That's easy for him to say. He's 6'2" and can reach spiders almost anywhere. I'm a foot shorter and feel powerless compared to spiders who can run along a ceiling and terrorize me for hours.

Though COVID has been a horrible curse, it has had a silver lining for me: My husband is working from home and so now I don't have to fear being alone with a spider.

Before COVID, a friend who lives in California was visiting with me. When she entered my house, I saw that she was performing the same kind of reconnaissance mission that I do when entering my bedroom at night. I smiled with relief. "OH," I said to her. "You're afraid of spiders, too. I'm so relieved that someone else shares this crazy fear of mine!"

She laughed. "Oh, no. I couldn't care less about spiders. I guess everyone has something scaring their inner soul. Since moving to California, I can't help myself but to check each building I enter to see how structurally sound it would be in case of an earthquake. I also look to see what could fall down on me and injure me and where all the exits are in case I have to make a run for it."

"Well, you can rest assured that we don't have killer earthquakes here in the New England," I said.

"And we don't have any killer spiders, but that doesn't reassure me a lot, either!" I added.

WAS IT AUTO CORRECT ON MY PHONE, OR DID I REALLY JUST CALL YOU AN IDIOT?

By Valerie Newman March 7, 2021

Do our cell phones have minds of their own? Do they think, for instance, that your boss or your spouse, for instance, are jerks so that they auto correct your texts to sound rude, obnoxious or even obstinate? If you did say something super honest and aggressive because you were ticked off at someone, can you get away with blaming it on your cell phone's spell check?

I should preface this whole line of questioning with the following disclaimer: Whereas you've been texting for at least ten years, I started this method of communication much more recently. Thus, I didn't realize that you're supposed to look at what you send BEFORE you send it--and that the phone might think it's improving your spelling or meaning by replacing complete words with other words that have no relevance to your original meaning.

Once I learned this (even more recently) I experienced an epiphany: No wonder why people would respond to my texts with LOL when I'd been completely serious. Then I started wondering--what have I really been saying for the last couple of years? Did I ask my sister to kiss my --- when I was really trying to thank her for risking her life to visit me in the hotel I was staying at while my husband had open heart surgery?

Did I tell my kid to move across the country when I was really trying to say that I enjoyed having him live close by?

When I finally realized that I should look at what words were on my phone screen--I saw that it auto corrected a kind text to call someone an idiot.

And now, in addition to fueling my curiosity and embarrassment, this discovery also invited my evil side to emerge.

What if I called my boss a moron and then simply blamed it on auto correct? Would my excuse be credible? Would it be worth trying it just for a laugh? This is purely hypothetical (in case my boss ever read my blog). Of course, I love my boss and would never even DREAM of calling her a moron.

Anyway, am I the only one who wonders about stuff like this? Does your phone auto correct you, or is this something special my son, the techie, put into my phone just to mess around with my psyche?

While scientists are coming with vaccines for COVID and government officials are striving to distribute them, rest assured that I'm working tirelessly on solving this mystery. I'll have to ask my son all about this--but for some reason, he never answers my calls. And that's exactly why I resorted to texting in the first place. I bet he'll respond to my text inquiry when, "by accident", I tell him that I'm selling our house and moving across the country so that I can move into his house with he and his future wife!

I FINALLY GOT TO SAY "HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT!"....

IT WAS VERY STRESSFUL--BUT NOT BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU THINK!

By Valerie Newman March 2, 2021

So that you don't think I'm a complaining spoiled brat, I'm going to start by saying that I'm grateful to have gotten my first COVID vaccine. I wasn't worried about side effects of the shot too much. I already told you in a recent blog that I was more scared about finding the place.

And now, for an even more embarrassing revelation: I was even more worried about whether or not I'd be able to hold in my pee for the entire trip there, the line, getting the shot, waiting the necessary amount of time before leaving and then the car ride home.

And here's proof that men are from Mars and women from Venus. Any woman around my age with whom I shared my concern, laughed and could relate. And here's what my husband said, "Oh, that's no big deal. Just stop off at a gas station." It was clear that he thought he'd offered a solution to my issue and was done even thinking about it, let alone talking about it.

I thought to myself: Even before COVID, I'd rather die than pee in a gas station. And if I peed in one now, that's exactly what COULD happen.

Now, I believe, you're ready to learn about my nightmare come true. First of all, when I originally called to schedule my shot, the lady on the other end of the line told me to report to a place about 45 minutes away. It was a Board of Ed office of a town with which I was familiar and I felt relieved that, at least I wouldn't get lost. And then, for some reason, my cell phone kept alerting me to a request to sign into my doctor's automated medical records file. My doctors are now affiliated with the area's best teaching hospital and it's all one big system.

I didn't want to get hacked and have all my medical info out there in the computer world and also, I'm very far from being tech savvy. Of course, I've been resisting signing up for this computerized system and continue to prefer calling the doctor's office for my appointments. I can see my son rolling his eyes. He's the one who likes to say, "The 1980's is calling you for their sweater."

I decided to finally join this century when my cell phone dinged with a message begging me to join the computerized medical records system because they had important info on my upcoming COVID vaccine. I knew better than to try to up load or down load (or whatever direction is appropriate) the info. I did what a feminist, self confident, accomplished career woman would do. I asked my husband to put it on to my phone.

Don't you dare judge me: I was delegating to a guy--that counts for taking on the power. But that's not the point.

The point is that as soon as I became connected to this fancy automated system, it confirmed my COVID shot--but at a different location. I knew that this new spot was on a very busy street in a very busy city in a higher crime business district. Beggars can't be choosers and it's not like I'd be running around there alone at midnight.

My concern now was--which place to go to and if I chose the wrong site, would I forfeit my Golden Ticket?

Why does stuff like this always happen to me? Why does everyone else get an appointment and get to keep it, while I have to play Russian Roulette with my life? I decided to got to the place that the medical chart site told me to go to and if it was the wrong place, I'd drive to the other place and be a bit late.

That would be a suitable plan for someone with a strong bladder. I had to leave my house extra early to find the first place, find where to park, walk there, get in line, get to the front and find out that I was, in fact, at the wrong place. Of course, neither vaccine station came equipped with restrooms. I had to walk back to my car, program the other location into my phone, drive there and repeat the whole process. And I'd read that you can alleviate potential side effects of the shot if you drink a lot of fluids. I listened and dutifully sipped from my water bottle during the car rides.

And now, believe it or not....it gets worse. They did give me the shot--after waiting a very long time because I'd missed my appointment time--but then they asked me if I had food allergies and if I carried an Epi-pen. I knew I should have lied! When I told them that I did, they informed me that I'd have to wait there for a HALF AN HOUR! And then I knew that I'd have a 45 minute car ride home.

I thought to myself: "This is worse than flying somewhere--but at least then, you're able to have a get-away!"

The upside of all of this is, that I was so busy worrying about how I wasn't going to wet my pants, that I didn't even flinch when I got the shot. And I almost forgot about the side effects--that is until after I got home and peed like a race horse.

I FINALLY GOT TO SAY "HIT ME WITH YOUR BEST SHOT!"....

IT WAS VERY STRESSFUL--BUT NOT BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU THINK!

By Valerie Newman March 2, 2021

I thought to myself: Even before COVID, I'd rather die than pee in a gas station. And if I peed in one now, that's exactly what COULD happen.

Don't you dare judge me: I was delegating to a guy--that counts for taking on the power. But that's not the point.

My concern now was--which place to go to and if I chose the wrong site, would I forfeit my Golden Ticket?

I thought to myself: "This is worse than flying somewhere--but at least then, you're able to have a get-away!"

WHY ARE WE ON THE "B" LIST FOR OUR OWN DAUGHTER'S WEDDING??

By Valerie Newman March 1, 2021

I'm sure that I've told you before that we're not the parents of choice for either our son and his fiance (they were supposed to get married last June and had to postpone due to COVID, so can I please refer to her as his wife?) or our daughter and her fiance, who are also planning a wedding.

My husband and I are both painfully aware that we're older and way less cooler than either of the other sets of parents. (I remember teaching you, my sole reader, the term "Machataynasta", which refers to the parents of your kids' spouse.

One set of machataynasta hikes, camps, back packs, etc. The other set is WAY younger than we are and socializes on a regular basis with friends at venues with live music (at least before COVID.)

Did you have a favorite set of grandparents? Well, if we're lucky enough to be alive to have grandchildren, we already know that we'll be the less popular ones.

I'm saying all this so that you'll understand: I don't have an inflated ego.

But it was still shocking to see my daughter's wedding invite list. I bet you'll never guess whose parents are first on the list. I asked my daughter if I could look at the guest list last night. As I looked at the list on my computer, that's the first thing that stood out for me--HIS parents' names! And then, I started looking for our names--my husband's and mine.

"I think they forgot to include us," I informed my husband as I reviewed the list.

"Well, we'd BETTER be invited--we're the ones paying for most of it!" he said as he got up from his home office to take a look at the list.

"Oh here we are, after (picture him reading a long list of names.)

"Is that a question mark after our names?" I teased him.

"You bet--we're on the B list of our own daughter's wedding!"

"I knew I shouldn't have been that annoying to her when she was growing up, but I couldn't help it!" I laughed.

"Annoying to her THEN--what about now?" my husband ribbed me.

My son's future mother-in-law observed that I have a fear of being left out. She also told me that there's no competition--"we're all on the same team, " she said to me when I bemoaned the fact that our son lived right near her and across the country from us.

Yeah--right! Not only do I have a fear of being left behind--I'm competitive, too.

Between you and me, reader--yes there IS a contest--and my spouse and I have lost. Don't worry, though--we're not sore losers--we're just happy to be invited to both of our kids' weddings--even if we're at the bottom of the guest list!

YOU KNOW YOU'RE OLD WHEN.....

By Valerie Newman February 28, 2021

You know that you're old when you still order books from the library....

And they're actually made of paper...

And when they're hard cover, your hands start hurting after holding the book for too long....

And you can't bring the book into bed to read because you're unable to keep the big hard cover book open so that you can read it while you fall asleep....

And that doesn't really matter, because you're going to be up five times in the middle of the night anyway...

And if you do bring the book in with you, you forget that you did and you wonder what you just knocked into on your way to the bathroom....

And you have to call the library to find out when you're book is due because: 1) you don't remember the due date or 2) you forgot where you wrote it down and 3) it's too much of a hassle to renew your book online.

Who am I kidding? I'm even too old to follow half of those aforementioned procedures, so I'm borrowing the book from my future son-in-law. I've had it for two weeks and I'm only up to page 26. It's the Barack Obama book--more than 700 pages long. Let's bet on whether or not I'll be finished by the time the second half of the book is published.

OK, you win. I might not even finish it by the time Biden finishes his first term!

PLEASE HELP ME LOOK ON THE SUNNY SIDE!

By Valerie Newman February 26,2021

As I'm sure you know by now, I'm in the same boat as so many others in today's world: I'm home-- bound due to being high risk for COVID complications.

I've also limited who can enter our house--even our own daughter doesn't step foot in our house.

Now picture this: We signed up for solar panels back in September. And the town took forever to approve all the paper work, permits, etc, due to their limited hours and the fact that town employees were working remotely.

We finally get all the government approvals in early December and then COVID kept striking the solar panel installers.

The installers were all healthy at once by the end of January--and then we continued to be clobbered with snow.

It's now the end of February and the installers were finally able to put up the panels. We knew that they might have to come inside the house, though they promised to be wearing masks and would only be running from the garage down to the basement--and I don't make a habit of hanging out in either of those places.

I dutifully wore a KN95 mask all day. I was fine with the banging and hammering on the roof. I grabbed food from the fridge, sat down and pulled down my mask to sneak in a bight to eat.

And wouldn't you know it, an installer comes out of nowhere (of course I couldn't hear him approaching, what with the banging and the fact that my hearing aide broke and I wouldn't even THINK of going inside an audiologist's office until I get both my shots) and walks RIGHT PAST me--maybe two inches from my open mouth. I pulled up my mask and said, "OH, Sh--!) As he walks past me, he says, "Oh, sorry."

Do you want to hear the most ironic part of this? OK, wise-acre--if you don't, then just stop reading this--I get enough sarcasm from my own kids.

The irony is that I'm scheduled for my first vaccine on Monday.

I bet you can predict what I did. Annoying mother that I am, I had to call my son who moved across the country to escape me. "I'm telling you what happened so you'll know whose responsible when I can't make it to your wedding."

"Mom," he laughed. "Was he wearing a mask?"

"I'm glad someone can laugh about this," I flung the guilt at him. "How the ----- should I know? I was too busy picturing myself wishing on my death bed, regretting that I hadn't told anyone what happened so that you'd know who to sue."

Now my son laughed harder. "Very funny," he said.

At least he thinks I have a good sense of humor. He can laugh because he lives in a state where they gave out COVID vaccines like it was candy and here I am, high risk and still waiting to get my first shot.

"Our house might be energy efficient, but I'm not sure that anyone will be living inside to enjoy it. So if you don't hear from us in a few days, you can go ahead and call the authorities," I said.

As I hung up the phone I started to understand why he moved so far away. In my defense, he's the one who talked us into these solar panels, so if I'm going to hassle anyone about related issues, it has to be him.

And here he thought moving across the country was going to be like Monopoly's "getting out of jail for free" card!

IF I'M GETTING "THE SHOT", DOES IT MEAN THAT I REALLY HAVE TO JOIN A HERD?

By Valerie Newman February 23, 2021

I've never been one to cow tow to peer pressure (please excuse the pun.) During my 59 years of life thus far, I haven't been invited into a clique, though I'm not sure I'd want to be a part of one, anyway.

So now, why, am I so happy to be joining a herd? And why do I suddenly feel like mooing?

And, by the way, who initiated the term "herd immunity"?

Have you ever wondered how many of us cattle need to get vaccinated in order to be considered a herd?

I'm also wondering who gets to (excuse the pun, once again) call the shots on when we've become a herd of vaccinated beings?

I'm going to ask my husband, who grew up on a farm--how many cows do you need in order for it to be considered a herd. (he said he has no idea, though I suspect since he left the farm, he's been the black sheep of the family!)

For those who refuse to get the COVID vaccine, will Dr. Fauci send out a Collie dog to corral them?

Though I'm thrilled to be receiving the shot soon, I must confess: I feel kind of insulted being referred to as a member of a herd. I can't help but picture the big, smelly intellectually challenged animals that once populated my in-laws' farm.

It does make me laugh to think back, though, to being in college and having one of my roommates call me "heifer" to call attention to my petite body size.

Please don't tell my kids this one, but I must also confess: I know that I'm going to feel really tempted to moo while I pony on up to wait in line for my shot!

YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE UPTIGHT WHEN YOU NEED TO CALM DOWN BEFORE MEDITATION!

By Valerie Newman February 18, 2021

Meditation is supposed to help you relax, focus on the moment and accept yourself as you are.

That sounds like the impossible dream to me.

Meditation is on my to do list. The class starts at 7 p.m. and so I'm pretty rushed to finish dinner and get the dishes taken care of before class starts. Of course, I'm going to need to pee before class, get my requisite glass of water and make sure that the lights aren't too bright.

I usually make it in the nick of time, with my heart racing. I'm supposed to start breathing deeply and focusing on the NOW. "Should I have started the dishwasher?" I can't help but wonder. "Did I let the dog out or in--or wait, he's been living with our daughter for months now!" I sigh with relief. "I know that I'm still going to have to respond to my boss's email," I think as I struggle to focus on the now.

Being stuck inside due to snow and COVID restrictions--"do I really want to focus on the now,?" I wonder. I'm supposed to be doing something with my breath. I've got asthma, I'm lucky I'm breathing at all, so now I have to follow instructions on which way to breath? "And this is supposed to be relaxing?" I frown as I try to relax.

Now we're stretching--at least I'm good at that, but now I'm supposed to be focusing on the screen and listening to other people talk about how the meditation helped them to relax or what it meant to them. I'm distracted watching how cute the dog is whose coming now to lick another participant's face. Now I find myself watching someone else's little boy come give her a hug. I start to think back to when my kids were that little. "Did they worship me like that?" I wonder with a twinge of longing and a hint of jealousy. "Oh yeah," I remember that one did and one didn't.

"But where are we now? Is it my turn to write in my response? Did I remember to change my name on the screen, or are they going to call me by my husband's name by mistake? Or maybe they'll think someone crashed this session. Is it possible to flunk Meditation? At most, I must be getting a D," I think to myself.

"Wait!" I shake my head. "I'm supposed to be just right in this moment, or something like that. They can't kick me out, even if I forget to check in or forget to mute myself. But I'm pretty sure that I'm annoying all my class mates," I think to myself as my insecurities talk to me with a stronger voice than my fellow meditators.

And did you know that they all chat with each other on some kind of app on the phone or maybe their lap tops? The leader sent me the link and I'm unable to figure out how to down load it--if that's even the right word!

I need to sign up for a pre-meditation preparation class so that I can really focus during the actual meditation session. If I could only remember my password!

MY ELLIPTICAL NEEDS A RETIREMENT PLAN?

By Valerie Newman February 5, 2021

I was talking on the phone with a long time friend and hopped on my elliptical to get some exercise while we chatted. But then I heard that it started to squeak. It takes more than that to get me to stop talking--believe me, lots of people have tried to shut me up--but that's a topic for another day.

Anyway, my friend told me that it was too hard to have a conversation when all she could hear was "Squeak, squeak, squeak." I got off and made a mental note to ask my husband to look at it. He's very mechanically inclined and I'm not.

Sad to say, I had a Senior moment, and I'm only 59! I could picture the oil my spouse might squirt on the the exercise machine, but I couldn't remember its name. I knew it had the numbers four and zero in it, but as you know, numbers are not my forte. "I want to say that he'll probably put 401K on it, but I know that's some kind of retirement plan, not the oil I mean," I said to my friend.

In my defense, I am married to an accountant and 401Ks are one of his favorite topics.

"Last time I checked, we didn't have to get retirement plans for our exercise equipment! You told me that you got it used, but I didn't think it was THAT old!" she quipped.

"I think you mean 409!" she added, as she laughed.

"It's too bad 409 won't be able to help my creaking bones or my fuzzy brain!" I responded.

"On a positive note, I think this conversation is going to serve as another blog!" she said.

WAIT—MY HUSBAND IS DROOLING OVER ANOTHER….CAR!!

By Valerie Newman January 28, 2021

My friend drove all the way from the Midwest to the East Coast this autumn to visit her mother outside her mom’s nursing home for a 20 minute time slot. My friends, being very responsible citizens, drove their electric car on this long road trip in order to be good to the environment. The only problem: the charging stations were either closed due to COVID, were out of order or had closed for the day. They were stuck an hour and a half away from the home for the elderly—after driving eight hours straight. They finally found a charging station, but missed their appointment for their outdoor visit. They were able to arrange a 15 minute visit later in the day, but then had to turn around immediately for their return trip home.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that, though I’m glad you told me that story. My husband has been very interested in buying that kind of car. Now I’m sure we won’t. Next time, either drive your other car or get rid of the electric one altogether!” I suggested.

“Are you kidding,” she responded. “It’s my husband’s most favorite toy!” she added.

“I get it,” I said. “My husband is such a car guy that he has entire photo albums of cars he’s worked on or owned. Most women, when they see their husband's pupils widen and crane their heads or notice that their eyes are popping out, assume that the husband is drooling over another woman.”

“No worries on my part: It's ALWAYS another car,” I continued. Which is why I encourage him to buy whatever car he desires, accompany him to boring car shows, go with him to test drive whatever he wants, or encourage him to build an extra garage for his hobby car. I could give you the long list of old sports cars he's owned, enjoyed and traded in.”

She shouldn’t have gotten me started, because now, as you can tell, I was on a tangent.

“Why do you think he's still on his first wife? Other husbands might be wasting time on porn magazines. Mine is completely focusing on car magazines. He probably gets at least four different car magazines.

“If you give me a safe car that gets me places, that's fine with me. I couldn't care less about what I drive. I compare it to most men and women in regards to clothing. Most men just run into a store, grab what clothes they need and run out. Or in today's world, take two seconds to buy their clothing on line. And most women find shopping to be entertaining. It's a hobby. They could spend hours looking for one fricking outfit.”

And now I started bragging.

“That's how my husband is blessed--if it fits and it's comfortable, I'll buy it. So about every ten years, a female relative will force me into buying new clothes. And I do it kicking and screaming because I hate shopping”.

“And all the money I save on makeup, accessories and clothes, can go right into the next toy my husband wants to drive,” I told her in a recent email.

“Lest you think we’re materialistic, everyone needs a fun hobby. We also keep our regular cars for at least 20 years, always buy them used and my husband does almost all the repairs himself. And at least his pastime is legal, local and morally OK,” I justified.

“I guess everyone who has been married for this many years has their own secret to success,” I added. “I pretty much just wrote today’s blog,” I confessed.

WE DIDN'T "SIGN UP" FOR THIS!

By Valerie Newman January 27, 2021

If you're a Baby Boomer, you might remember signing up for college classes by having to wait in long lines for each class's registration. You'd ask your friends if they'd heard if the professor was any good before deciding on what classes to take. If you got closed out of one, you could try to beg the professor or you might have had to run all the way across campus to wait in another line.

Of course, you had to keep in mind your pre-requisites, requirements for your major and any core course requirements. I had to keep in mind that I couldn't register for any classes before 10 because I've never been a morning person. And my lack of mathematical ability convinced me that I had to find a college with no math requirements.

When my kids went to college, there was "rate my professor" apps on the phone, registration was ON line so that you didn't have to wait IN line and my nephew went to a college where you got to "shop" for your classes for a week before choosing which ones to take.

Now, with COVID, I wonder how any kids sign up or take any classes, but I do know this:

I've heard many people my age complain: "I didn't sign up to risk my life when I signed up to (fill in the blank as to which perfectly safe profession became life threatening due to COVID.) Or, I'll hear a neighbor say, "I didn't sign up to be a grandparent and not be allowed to hug my grandchildren." When I heard a friend say on the phone the other day that she "didn't sign up for home confinement", I realized the following:

Somehow, many of us think that we can still sign up for conditions in our lives like we used to sign up for classes. Sadly, I've also started to realize, that life doesn't work that way. Or I'd have signed up not to have asthma so that I wouldn't be considered at high risk with COVID.

Most of us would have registered to live in a world where viruses would and could be contained before they became global epidemics. While I'm at it, I'd register for my kids to live close, I'd sign us all up for pain free, healthy lives, etc.

My grandmother used to say, "People plan and God laughs." That got me to picture a mean God. Instead, I'd like to think that we plan and God has other plans in mind.

What it boils down to is this: We each get a deck of cards to play with in this life and even if we're dealt a lousy hand, we can still enjoy and make the most of the card game. But I never signed up to learn how to play cards, so I'm hoping that my deck involves UNO or "Go Fish", because I never did sign up for any math classes, either!

DO TODAY'S CHALLENGES REMIND YOU OF SOMETHING?

By Valerie Newman January 22, 2021

Let me paint a picture for you and raise your hand if and when you start to make some connections.

Oh, wait, this isn't my Sunday school class, but pretend that you're one of my students anyway.

Humor me--I don't get out much these days, and I think you know why.

OK: here's my list: Plague number one: Literally, the plague called COVID. Plague two: severe weather, Plague # three: Darkness (at least in the Northern U.S. right now.) In the Fall, (#4) we had frogs everywhere because of the excessive amount of rain we had. The flooding was almost welcome, because in the summer, most of the country suffered from drought (#5). The sixth one has been hail, which we actually got in the late Fall. And because there is so much less traffic today, wild animals have been roaming around cities and neighborhoods that I'm going to refer to this as the Wild Beasts affliction. OK--I know that you're wondering what's so bad about animals wondering around, but if you had a little dog trying to do his business outside, but you suddenly had to be concerned about bears, foxes, wolves, etc--you'd agree that this is a plague! Finally, Lots of people have been dying from the Corona virus, not just the first born ).

Please don't make me get to 10--we've all been through the ringer this year and I don't think I have to continue much more to make my point.

Now, think of the racial and economic disparity we're facing and think of the Israelite slaves in Egypt centuries ago. Now think of the Pharoah and picture how many Americans viewed our most recent national leader.....

Then in comes a new commander in chief, complete with a speech impediment like Moses had.

Without bringing religion or politics into this blog--I still need to ask--has anyone heard a story like this before?

We've been facing trials in biblical proportions. Now I guess we should hope that our new leader can help bring us some miracles--I guess getting us all vaccinated will be like splitting the Red Sea. Perhaps helping those on different sides of the political aisle work together, spurring our economy and easing racial tensions will be like bringing us to the Promised Land.

OK, folks... work with me on this one: Let's try to be kind to one another, think positively and try to be part of the solution. And let's try to avoid that Golden Calf!

WITH TECHNOLOGY, ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE TODAY!

By Valerie Newman January 17, 2021

My husband is a car aficionado. My son is and always has been a techie. And I don't understand a lot about either of these passions. Mix my naivete with gullibility and you might understand a conversation I had yesterday with my husband.

He had just finished working on my 2004 station wagon. He's been trying to talk me into getting a newer model. "Newer models are SUV'S and I'm never going to be caught dead in one of those. Because that's exactly what happens when people drive them--the cars flip over and people die," I protested.

"You're talking about one study done on them when they first came out 25 years ago. They're fine now and a newer car has so many more safety features than what you're driving," he countered.

I knew that I shouldn't have tried to talk cars with him--he always knows what he's talking about when it comes to the automobile.

Once inside our house, I sauntered over to my PC to play my word games. "I'm trying to look up old tax files on that computer, can you use the MAC right now?" he asked.

"Oh No! I hate that computer!" It's so much newer than my favorite computer that neither my husband or son understand why I like my old one so much more.

"Well, you'd better get used to it--because all cars are going to be MACS very soon," he said.

"Oh crap!" I shrieked. I imagined cars run by computers on the dashboards--I'm not tech savvy and I loathe the MAC compared to my ancient Dell.

So now they're going to be making us drive glorified computers--and they have to be MACS. Or are these those self-driving cars? I bet I'm going to be stuck in a self driving, computerized SUV. I'm going to be home-bound even after COVID!" I added.

"You're such a sucker!" my husband laughed. "I was only kidding. But they discontinued the model you've been driving almost ten years ago and there aren't any more parts for it, either," he said.

And that's when I realized that I'd better hone up on my technology skills. "OK, I'll start with baby steps," I thought to myself.

Now I'm proud to report that I got a lesson in...turning on my TV. I can sense you smirking at me, smarty pants. In my defense, I almost never watch TV. The last time I turned on a TV, color TV's had just become commercially available, we had four channels that we turned on a knob on the TV and we had to wiggle the bunny ear antennas to get good reception.

Now there are several channel changers to pick from, all kind of menus and options and you have to point it to the right spot and flip arrows, etc. You practically need a PhD to watch TV. When I started watching TV during our COVID home confinement, I'd always bother my spouse to turn it on.

"Maybe you can teach me to turn on the TV?" I asked him today.

"Boy, if something had happened to me during my surgery, you would have been up a creek!" he teased me.

"And that's exactly what I want to watch--Up Shitt$ Creek!" I said as I put on my reading lessons to watch which buttons he was pushing on which clicker.

AN EPIPHANY: WHY MY FRIENDS ARE ALL PATIENT AND UNDERSTANDING...

By Valerie Newman January 11, 2021

A friend emailed me today to see if I might find some clothes at a boutique in Ireland owned by her son's girlfriend.

I'm barely (excuse the pun) able to buy clothes in a store in person, let alone on line, let alone from another country.

I'm allergic to wool and feathers, only look good in certain clothes and have a very unique body shape and size for my age. I know which couple of stores work for me and which brands to buy. When I find a pair of pants there, for instance, I'll buy a few. I'm sure you're wondering about what I do when the fashion changes. With my long list of clothing requirements, I gave up looking fashionable when I was about 10 years old.

"Sorry, you hit up the wrong friend for this," I responded. I think she forgot about what it was like to shop with me for a dress for my son's wedding (which got postponed due to COVID) When we were shopping (before COVID) she must have thought it took me so much time and hassles because I was picking a dress for my kid's wedding. Perhaps she didn't realize that this is the ordeal I go through to buy any clothes. And this is exactly why my sister nominated me for "What's Not to Wear" and was shocked when I didn't get picked. I can either be fashionable or comfortable--not both.

Anyway, I started to compare the challenge I present to anyone who'd go clothe shopping with me (which preferably is once every ten years) to that of inviting us over to dinner. When our kids lived with us, we had one vegetarian, one food allergic, another food allergic with pickiness piled on top of that and one who should have been following a heart healthy diet. If you wanted to gather with us for dinner--we'd have to go out to eat. Don't judge--I'm a crappy cook, too--so if we're going to stay friends, I suggest you don't eat at our house, either.

OK--wait--IF you want to meet at a restaurant out of town and I haven't been there a million times AND If I have to meet my husband there ,too, you can plan on me being late because I can promise you that I'm going to get lost. Unless the GPS is working, I remembered to bring my phone and it's charged. And I can hear it.

So pretty much, the chances are, my sense of direction and lack of technical savvy is going to interfere with a fun night out. Of course, I'm talking about before COVID made it impossible to meet friends at a restaurant.

And now, you're getting the picture as to why my friends are patient and understanding. People who don't have a tremendous abundance of these qualities would have to give up on our friendship. Friends who wanted to text with me years ago had to understand that I didn't know how to do that. They were sending me emojis before I even knew what they were. I probably had a flip phone at the time. If a friend wants to zoom, they're going to have to set it up. Same with Face Time.

Writing this blog makes me realize that I wouldn't be friends with me. Of course, I'm not patient or understanding, either. I told a friend recently that she'd get a kick out of a blog I just wrote. "How do I get on it?" she asked.

"Beats me, " I replied. I've just learned how to publish it. Posting on Face-Book is a future goal." By the time I figure that out=--people won't be doing Face- Book anymore. Sometimes when I think a friend might enjoy reading a blog I just wrote, I email it to them.

I might be annoying, but I'm no dummy. There is no way I'm sending this to my friends. I don't want the two of them to ditch me!

HOW QUICKLY THE TIDES TURN

By Valerie Newman January 12, 2021

I was always puzzled how parents could handle a family with more than two kids. The dads would usually explain it by saying that they had to use a different kind of defense (name a sports phrase) versus what they used when they only had two kids. I figured that if you have to strategize and get defensive, I'd better play it safe and stick with two kids.

It was always hard for me to multi-task, anyway. It's kind of good thing that I stopped at two, because I'd forget the second kid's name, her shoes would be two sizes too big by the time I'd think to take her for new shoes and both kids kind of grew up while I wasn't paying attention.

Still, I remember asking my husband to walk our daughter in the stroller while I took our son to soccer. Or he'd want to see what our older one was building with Legos and I had to keep our little one away from those tiny blocks. It feels like yesterday that we naturally fell into the pattern of divide and conquer.

And now, to the point of this whole piece: I came to a comical realization recently. Our two kids, now well into adulthood, strive to take turns to manage US! "I can't believe you moved so far away and left me alone to deal with both of them!" I heard my daughter say to my son the other day as well all talked on the phone.

"Who are you kidding?" he retorted. "Who do you think had to undo the damage Dad did when he got suckered into some scam and let a virus into their computer?" "And how often do you think I'm going into Mom's computer to update programs, clear out junk and see what she's up to!"he continued. By the way, I was on the phone listening to them trade notes, but for once, I kept my mouth shut because I was getting a huge kick out of the conversation.

"But I have to help Mom every time she tries to teach because she keeps getting confused about Google Classroom," my daughter complained." I had her write down all the instructions on a piece of paper. But she can never find the paper!" she added.

"Dad calls me every day, while I'm at work, sometimes several times a day because of some technical difficulty," my son said. "Well, tell him to call his IT department!" my daughter suggested.

"Like THAT's going to help!" he laughed.

By the end of the conversation, they'd worked out a strategy as to which one would manage which issue with each parent. The game plan sounded good to me. Yet it all sounded surreal. Weren't my husband and I just taking turns handling the kids' challenges yesterday (translated to mean the 1990's)? And here I am today, finding myself taking a picture of my screen to text my son because some program popped up onto my screen telling me that I had to secure a cookie--or something along those lines.

He told me it was an advertisement and to ignore it. I thanked him and then started to wonder if I called the right kid--I'd forgotten where I fell in their division of labor. I started to wonder what people our age do if they don't have a Millennial to bother. I guess other Baby Boomers are either more competent than we are, or hire a techie to help.

Now I have to hope that our kids don't read this--It's more fun to pester them than a stranger/tech support person. Who am I kidding--they've got no time to read this, managing both their parents is practically a full time job!

COULD MY MOM (WHO DIED FOUR YEARS AGO) BE SENDING ME A MESSAGE?

By Valerie Newman January 16, 2021

OK, so here's the thing: I'm no where near the time when I'd be considered a candidate for the COVID vaccine. I'm still looking forward to getting it, though, because it might allow me to hug one of my kids--or at least have her inside my house. The coveted shot would also open up new worlds to me (or at least bring back a world of possibilities that I used to be able to enjoy.)

However, as I've talked about in prior blogs, my friend, the allergist/immunologist, wants me to wait to get the shot until more time has passed. He's a genius and I always follow his instructions. "You know, you don't have to listen to him," his wife told me. And so, I've been debating what I should do when I am finally get the call to roll up my sleeves.

Now I want to tell you the wildest thing that happened to me today. My daughter called to tell me that her friend's dad had to have emergency heart surgery. The doctors told him that he now has to start following a heart healthy diet.

My husband had the same exact thing happen to him a couple of years ago and another friend mailed me "The Fire Fighters' Heart Healthy Cookbook." After reading it, I realized that the book basically advocated for a vegan diet. I culled which recipes we could use and then, coincidentally, if I remember correctly, gave the book to this very same friend of my daughter's whose dad just had the heart surgery. Her friend is vegan and loves to cook.

"Let me look through my cook books to see if I still have it, though I'm pretty sure we gave it to your friend," I told my daughter, with the phone tucked between my ear and my shoulder. As I looked through all of my cookbooks, a piece of paper fell out and onto the floor. I could spot my mom's hand writing and thought it might be a recipe she gave me.

As you can imagine, I haven't used any of these cook books in many years. I didn't see the Fire fighters' cookbook and asked my daughter to ask her friend if we'd already given it to him.

Then I sat down to look at what my mom had written. It turns out that it wasn't a recipe--it was a letter she'd written to me when I was on my way to tennis camp when I was 15. I'm now 59, so you can do the math, please!

She said that she was sending my driver's license manual so that I'd be ready for my test when the four week camp was over. And then she wrote: "We sent you with your injection serum (for my allergy shots) with you so make sure to bring it to the camp doctor. You are due for a shot as soon as possible, so please let me know if that's being taken care of."

Tears came to my eyes when I read this. It's either a message from God, or my dead mom, or both.

I PROMISE--THIS IS MY LAST PIECE ABOUT MY HAIR!

By Valerie Newman January 8, 2021

I had a dream about my mother this morning. I bet you're thinking that I meant to write that my dream was last night. I'm actually up all night and never fall asleep until WAY after mid-night. So I really am referring to a dream I had this morning. NO, I'm not bragging that I'm really cool and up all night having fun. I'm awake in bed, tossing and turning, making several stops to the bathroom, trying relaxation techniques, etc. Anyway, that's not even my point!

My point is that I had a dream about my mother, who died a few years ago. Even in my dream I knew that she had died, which meant that I was really excited to be seeing her live. Of course, she looked really pale. But what impressed me about her was the appearance of her hair. It looked gorgeous--chestnut color, smooth, silky and shoulder length, like she used to wear it in the 70's. Her face and body looked old, but her hair was rocking it!

As you all know by now, because of COVID, I've had to avoid the hair salon like the plague. Literally. And, so, at age 59, my true hair color has emerged: White.

When I woke up this morning after having that dream, I thought to myself: "Wow--even my mother, whose dead, has younger looking hair than mine."

I wonder if she came back to visit me in my dream to tell me: "Screw COVID and get your hair colored!" I feel the need to explain that my mom was VERY hair conscious. Even her last words of wisdom to me were: "Always keep a comb in your pocketbook."

Somehow I have the feeling that other moms visit their offspring in dreams to give inspiring messages, perhaps come back to emphasis how proud they are of their kids or something mushy like that. Only my mom would leave heaven to come tell me to color my hair.

I can hear her response to that in my head right now: "Well, other women ARE taking pride in their appearance. Virus or no virus, every other mature woman is either going to the hair dresser or they're coloring their own hair," I can picture her saying.

In my defense, I'm in a high risk group and don't even go to the grocery store. How am I going to order my hair color on Pea-Pod or Insta-cart? This is a hypothetical question, so don't strain your brain to think of a solution.

Although I know that I look older, I don't really mind my white hair. Being the youngest in my family and wanting to do everything my older siblings could do, I think it's kind of interesting that I now look older than my brother and sister. I would have loved that when I was a kid. Now, it's not that much of a thrill.

And though my white hair might be disturbing my mom's eternal rest, at least in my dreams, she's found a great salon in Heaven!

IF YOU THINK THAT YOU'RE SMART--WATCH A GAME SHOW AND THEN LET'S TALK

By Valerie Newman December 27, 2020

I used to delude myself that I had some smarts. I'm well educated and always earned high grades in school.

But, boy, did my ego take a nose dive yesterday when I decided to climb on my elliptical and watch some game shows. I started with Cash Cab. If I were lucky, I'd get one or two correct answers during each cab ride. How do all these random people know so much about astronomy, entertainment, history, foreign governments, etc. And more importantly, how can they retrieve that information so quickly? In my defense, they do get a street shout out and a phone call shout out for assistance. And many of the cab riders left the Cash Cab without any extra cash.

OK, I justified my ignorance and tuned in to another show: "Jeopardy". If I fought against the notion that I'm an ignoramus during Cash Cab, "Jeopardy" convinced me that I'm a complete MORON. Many rounds would go by where I couldn't answer one question correctly--no matter what category they were covering. And even when I knew the answer, I would rarely be able to retrieve the information from my brain in time to beat the buzzer.

"Wow--it's overwhelming what I don't know," I bemoaned to my husband.

"There's a reason that all the contestants are much younger than us--you might have known or remembered more of the answers back in college or in your 30's," he said.

I was relieved to have that as a valid excuse. "It's no wonder that the millennials are taking over the world. They're smarter than we are," I concluded.

"Well, in some ways, yes. But we have more wisdom," he added.

Too bad our wisdom can't win us prizes in a game show or help us to conquer today's technological challenges (like remembering our pass words!)

WONDERING ABOUT THE POSSIBILITY OF A MAGICAL SHOT

By Valerie Newman January 5, 2021

We've got shots for so much stuff now, right? Telling someone during the Polio epidemic that one day there would be a shot to eradicate it would have seemed impossible.

In fact, there's a popular cartoon out there today--I think on Face Book, that shows predictions from the Jetsons' TV show of my youth and that of other baby boomers. Though it all seemed so crazy that it was funny back then, its all come to fruition: even down to the tele-medicine visits to the doctor.

When us baby boomers grew up, we had to suffer through Chicken Pox, Measles, Mumps, etc. And now all you need is a shot.

My son was lucky to be able to receive his first COVID vaccine the other day. He's not so lucky to have the physical challenges that allowed him to get the shot--but that's not the point. I was very surprised when he told me that a side effect he was experiencing was confusion. I didn't think that was a big deal because he got the shot on Thursday evening of New Year's Eve weekend and had the entire long weekend to recover.

And then I asked him: "So I heard that you called your uncle the other day. I' didn't know that you kept in touch with him--I don't hear from any of my nieces or nephews," I revealed my jealousy.

"Mom!" he protested defensively. "It's not like I call him all the time. I haven't spoken with him since New Year's!"

That made me laugh. "It is New Year's Day today and you probably talked to him last night--boy, you do talk to him often!" And then it hit me--he really was confused.

"You see--that's what I meant about me being confused--I was thinking Thanksgiving, but the words New Year's came out instead."

Now in case you get all panicky about getting the COVID vaccine--it was a temporary side effect and he feels fine now.

But it got me thinking.....If there's a shot that can confuse you, perhaps scientists can invent a shot that clears your brain and helps one to have a sharper one. I'd like to put in an order for a shot that will help me to recall and process information quicker. What the heck, while I'm at it--would it be so terrible if I asked for a shot that increased my IQ?

I know what you're thinking--why take the scientists' attention away from developing vaccines for pandemics and ask them to focus on making us smarter.

OK, point well taken. I might be somewhat self centered, but I'm not THAT selfish. After they fix the COVID crisis, I'd really appreciate it if they could focus on shots to increase our intelligence. As long as I'm putting my wish list out there for the world to see (or my one reader), it would be wonderful if the shot's effects could last a really long time.

If you know any scientists, please put in a good word for me. For now, I'll keep playing my word games and learning songs on the piano in hopes of keeping my brain as pliable as possible.

YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE OLD WHEN.....

By Valerie Newman January 7, 2021

Many of you are probably distracted by such things as riots at the Capitol, election results and other trivia.

I, however, am concerned with much more profound issues. Like for instance, my hearing aide fell out of my ear and I inadvertently stepped on it. And it broke. And all my work, school and social meetings are on line. Or if it's in person, we're at least six feet apart and wearing masks. So basically, I'm screwed because I can't hear what the ---- is going on.

There's good news and bad news. Good news: the audiology office ordered me new hearing aides (she said that now I need two.) More good news: insurance will cover it because my hearing aide was old anyway. Here's the bad news (and now this is how you can tell if you're really old--My allergist (who specializes in immunology)told me that there is no way in -----that I'm going inside an audiologist's office for 45 minutes in a small room during this surge in COVID cases.

"Do you know when the shots will be available for someone my age with asthma?" I asked him. "I'm dying to be able to hear better," I added.

"See--you just heard my fine. And that's exactly what you might be doing if you subjected yourself to a 45 minute appointment inside a tiny room. It's not worth risking your life to hear a little better!"

And that's when I realized how old I really am. I'm in a "Catch 22" and most people on earth today don't even know what THAT refers to. By the way, this same allergist is the one who told me I shouldn't go inside a hair salon, so now my hair is all white, too. Every time I look in the mirror I get jolted into a new reality. I guess it also means that my memory isn't great--you'd think by now I wouldn't be shocked to see my reflection with white hair.

It makes me think of a college friend who likes to say that we're "59 years YOUNG." But when I referred to ourselves as middle-aged, another friend corrected me. "Unless you're going to live to 119, you're not middle aged. We're technically Seniors."

My son thinks that I will live that long because of my healthy life style. "Some people get heart attacks and other people give them. You're the type to give them. I can picture you being around when you're a 110!," he said recently.

I replied: "Well then good luck to you, because you'll be stuck taking care of me and you'll be 80!"

"I'll be long gone. But with all the yogurt you eat, maybe you'll be able to take care of yourself," he said.

I laughed as I thought of that Dannon yogurt commercial where there's all these really old people running around in some foreign country saying that they're all aging well due to their yogurt diet.

"But that commercial aired when I was young--you weren't even born then," I said.

"And you've only told me about it 20 times!" he responded.

Come to think of it, I guess age is all relative. I remember walking into my fitness center with a friend years ago. There was a little old man sitting on the front steps. "Hi, Kids. You're GORGEOUS!" he yelled to us. We laughed. "We're in our 50's and you think that we're kids.... and gorgeous?" And then he closed his eyes and sighed. "AH--to be in my 50's again!" We floated into that health club feeling like a million bucks.

Which brings me to the following conclusion: So what that I'm white haired and can't hear or remember as well as I used to? Who cares that I can't leave my house due to COVID? I'm still having fun and am younger now than I'll ever be. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go grab a yogurt.

WHY ARE MY HUSBAND'S 40 YEAR OLD CLOTHES VINTAGE

WHILE MINE SPUR MY KIDS TO NOMINATE ME FOR THE "WHAT NOT TO WEAR SHOW"?

By Valerie Newman December 23, 2020

My daughter came by the other day for us to walk outside together. My husband grabbed a coat from the closet. "She'll probably make me throw this out, but it's comfortable and perfect for this weather, so I'm going to wear it anyway." His coat had paint stains on it from when he wore it to paint our house.

"You can tell her that you've washed it since the time it got splattered with paint. When's the last time you painted the house--we've been hiring painters now for years." I said.

I doubted highly that our daughter would insist he throw out the jacket because she let's him get away with anything.

"I stopped painting the house after getting pneumonia about 20 years ago--but this coat pre-dates that by a long shot!" he responded. "It's my ski coat from when we lived in Colorado," he added with a chuckle.

I started to calculate the coat's age in my head. "We moved to New England right after getting married, right? Wasn't that 1989?" I asked.

"But I bought it in Denver way before we moved," he admitted.

"So the coat could feasibly be 40 years old?" I concluded. "Oh, yeah, she's going to toss it. But wear it anyway, just to see her eyes bug out," I said.

I expected that she'd never let me get away with wearing old, stained clothes. But I've also learned that the rules for her father are vastly different than mine.

Take a guess what the first words out of her mouth were when we emerged from the house to meet her outside?

"Dad! I LOVE that coat! How come I've never seen it? It's so cool!"

"Oh, good, because I love it. I thought you were going to insist that I throw it out," her father responded. "It's older than you--and then some," he added.

"It's come back into style. Coats like that cost a fortune. If you throw it out, I'll take it--but it looks good on you, so keep it," our daughter said as she smiled.

After she left I wondered out loud to my hubby: "Why didn't she call you out on those paint stains?"

"Maybe it's like the kids paying boo-koo bucks for pants with rips in them and that are pre-faded. When our jeans looked like that, my mom would either sew patches on them or make me throw them out. But now that's the style," he said.

"The more things change, the more they stay the same. Either we worried that our parents would make us throw out our favorite clothes or now, we worry that our kids will insist that we throw out our favorite clothing!"I observed.

"But she said that I could keep the coat!" my spouse gloated.

"I know--don't rub it in. Before COVID, she came into my room, went through my closet and grabbed a bunch of old clothes to give to charity. The rest, she said weren't even good enough to give away. She said that no one would want them. She did leave me with a few outfits and then brought me shopping," I complained. (I complained because, unlike most women, I'm allergic to clothe shopping.)

But wait--I must confess, I remember now that she did actually take a couple of articles of clothing off my hands. "Mom--this is so weird that it might actually be OK for me to wear some time," she'd said as she held up a summer outfit over her own clothes and looked in the mirror.

"Well, I like it and its' comfortable. So if it's cool in a weird way again, why can't I keep it?" I protested.

"Oh my God, mom--NOT for someone YOUR age! On you it would look ridiculous. But I might be able to pull it off," she responded.

"OK--I might have been your age when I bought it, so I guess that explains a lot," I said.

IF YOU THINK THAT YOU'RE SMART--WATCH A GAME SHOW AND THEN LET'S TALK

By Valerie Newman December 27, 2020

I used to delude myself that I had some smarts. I'm well educated and always earned high grades in school.

"Wow--it's overwhelming what I don't know," I bemoaned to my husband.

"There's a reason that all the contestants are much younger than us--you might have known or remembered more of the answers back in college or in your 30's," he said.

I was relieved to have that as a valid excuse. "It's no wonder that the millennials are taking over the world. They're smarter than we are," I concluded.

"Well, in some ways, yes. But we have more wisdom," he added.

Too bad our wisdom can't win us prizes in a game show or help us to conquer today's technological challenges (like remembering our pass words!)

I MOTION THAT WE TOSS THE NOTION OF "LIVING IN THE NOW"--AT LEAST UNTIL NEXT YEAR!

By Valerie Newman December 21, 2020

If hindsight were 2020, we actually should have just skipped 2020 or fast forwarded. Or, for those of you who remember the song "Let's party like it's 1999"--we should have partied in 2019 like it was the last party we'd ever attend. Or vacation like it was the last trip we could ever take--at least for a long, long time. And/or gone out to eat every single weekend--like it would be at least a year until we could eat in a restaurant.

I realize that we're all supposed to "Live in the Now." Right now, though, I think that philosophy is a crock. Why would I want to concentrate on the moment when the moment involves me staying inside my own home without any chance to enter a restaurant, my hair salon or anywhere else fun. The Now doesn't include seeing friends or family in person. The now involves cold and ice with no hopes of escaping the long, snowy New England winter.

Which is why I'm entertaining myself by thinking back to my most favorite vacations. I've also had fun asking friends and family members to tell me about their favorite trips.

When I exhausted that topic, I started on a new one. I started thinking back to the funniest events or incidents in my life. I smile as I think back as to how I laughed so hard that my stomach hurt. I mentally put myself back in that scene and to feel how funny it was. I picture who was in the room and remember what it felt like to have them laughing hysterically, too.

OK, so I'm living in the past. My next exercise in thinking positively involves fantasizing about the future. NO--NOT that kind of fantasizing. This is a G rated blog!

I'm asking others about what they are most looking forward to doing when COVID isn't such a scary factor in our lives. Do you want to dine in your favorite restaurant, assuming that it's still open? Does your first thought involved hugging your kids or grand children or parents? Or is your mind wandering to an ideal vacation spot?

Being the entitled spoiled brat that I am--my favorite post-COVID dream involves all three: Going on a fun vacation with my family and eating out in delicious restaurants while on this trip.

Will that ever be possible? Who knows, but either way, picturing an ideal scenario is a lot more fun that feeling sorry for myself that we had to cancel our son's wedding, that I have no idea when we'll be able to see him again, that even my daughter--who lives only 25 minutes away--is impossible for me to see, since she can't come inside our house and it's too cold to visit outside.

Instead of living in the moment, I'm dreaming of the day when we're all vaccinated, we know that the immunity lasts at least a year and that the shot is 100 % effective and is free of side affects. I'm looking forward to some kind of wedding for both of our kids, gatherings with friends and out of town travel that doesn't revolve around a medical appointment or procedure.

My fantasy land reminds me of the song "Going to Carolina in my mind" by James Taylor. If I'm stuck inside my four walls for the forseeable future, at least I can enjoy mentally picturing myself with my whole family at a wonderful restaurant in Europe! And at least this trip is free and I don't have to go through airport security!