And Now a Word From Andrea Rooney...

I'm turning into a curmudgeon. I don't even know if women can be curmudgeons, but I don't care - I am one. The other day, I was in Food Max and there was a family with two small children who were behaving horribly. I actually said to my husband, "Don't people teach their kids not to run in stores anymore? When I was a kid, running in the grocery store was such a no-no!!!" Yeah, Mary Poppins raised me up real good.

Recently, we got our front yard landscaped. I told everybody that I wanted it pretty so that I could put a bench out there and enjoy my neighbors. I think secretly I want to put a bench out there so I can keep an eye on things.

I really went into cranky overdrive today at the gym. I forgot my ipod and I had no alternative but to eyeball all my fellow gymasauruses. I was using the back machine and I saw a little old gentleman headed for one of the arm machines. Inside my head, I shouted "Hey Geezer! After I'm done on this machine, then that one next to you, I'm going to want to use that machine. You better be done with it!" He was, and even though he didn't actually hear me, I can't help but think some of that negative energy leaked out from behind the smile I favored him with.


Moments later, on the arm machine I checked out the ab benches. In my head: " Yo-Cue Ball! There better not be any head sweat on that bench when I get over there". There wasn't. This is fun...

Next time I'm in the grocery store and I see obnoxious children, I'm going to use this new super power on them. My face will smile blandly in their direction and my brain will shout "All right, maggots, shut your yaps, stop running, one hand on the shopping cart, no whining and I want to hear you say 'yes, ma'am' and 'no ma'am' when your mother talks to you" they will smile back at me and their brains will say, "Yes ma'am, Weird Lady, ma'am, we'll stop running in the store, ma'am" " See that you do" I'll smile back.


And when I'm sitting on the bench in my front yard and strangers walk by, I will smile and wave, then I will narrow my eyes a little and eyeball them past my house. Oh, they'll know what I mean...

Athletes are Different From Me

We went to the Giants game on Friday night. I love going to the Giants games for a number of reasons not the least of which is that half the team is the same age as my kids! No, its not my inner broad they appeal to but my inner mommy. Its like a t-ball team that's all grown up! They're just so (sorry fellas) darn cute! I want to bake them cookies and put band-aids on their boo boos and stuff like that. Its hard not to want to take care of kids that remind you of your own kids.

For instance, a few weeks ago, my favorite pitcher, Tim Lincecum, hurt his back and had to miss one of his starts. He's fun to watch because he looks so unassuming and then POW he explodes in a strikeout.. Anyway, we were at the ballpark a few days after his missed start and I was a little bored with the game so I took some binocs and started scanning. I checked out the crowd then fixed my attention on the dugout.


There was a clump of Giants leaning over the rail watching the game and there was Timmy right in mid clump dangling his arms over the rail. I watched him like a stalker for a minute then he grabbed the top of the rail, put his feet on the bottom of it and s-t-r-e-c-h-e-d. Then he turned around, leaped up, grabbed the top of the dugout and dangled for a few seconds. Done dangling he sat on the bench. I was distracted by the game as somebody hit a ball or something. I looked back in the dugout and there was Timmy, feet on the bench, sitting on the shelf on the back. Last I saw he appeared to be perched on the shelf like a big, skinny, long-haired vulture ready to descend on a rotting carcass.

It was all I could do not to march onto the field right over to Bruce Bochy, give him a dope slap upside the side of the head and say "Give that kid a ball and let him throw it! He's making ME twitchy and I'm not even sitting in the good seats!" Geez...

I differ from Tim Lincecum in many ways, but chiefly in my reaction to being idle. I could turn pro at sitting in my recliner. I resent having to get out of it sometimes - even if its because I have to go to the bathroom ("Stupid bladder...")

I'm also clumsy since my stroke. If I tried to jump up and dangle from the dugout, I'd lose my balance and take out half the outfield when I fell. Why just yesterday, I was loading the solar dryer (clothesline) when I stepped back and tripped on a loose rock. Balance gone, I windmilled my arms, shouted something like "Aaagh, aaagh!" and went down on my butt in the plumbago. Now, if I'd had small children, intelligent pets, or a husband who wasn't watching football, somebody might have run out to help me. As it was, while I was taking stock, Beatrice the long-haired tuxedo kitty marched out to where I was sitting, dope slapped me upside the head and told me to calm down I was making her twitchy. Well it seemed like that's what she meant when she said "Meow" and gave me that look.

The plumbago survived, Timmy's back got better, and I wasn't even sore from my tumble! The solar dryer got bent pretty bad, though, apparently I grabbed one of the lines when I went down and, since its made of aliminum, it couldn't support me. We mostly straightened it back out and it works ok. After all, it just has to hang out in the backyard and hold clothes. Its not like it has to play baseball or anything...

Stages

Ok, so I'm working through the loss of my job and I've discovered that this "stages of grief" business is really true! I've lost people in my life but it was expected each time and, though it was hard I was able to make sense of these passings.

This job loss has me over a barrel, though. First - I was not expecting it. I didn't have a clue I was about to be canned until the canner showed up at my house and did the deed. I'm supposed to have been in denial and I suppose I was since I kept thinking I was going to get my job back in a week or so. Didn't happen. Then I was supposed to be angry. I am. I thought I'd get past this as quickly as I got past denial. Nope. I'm still really ticked. And sad - profoundly sad.

I'm supposed to hold on to my faith during this time, talk to my minister. Did I mention that I was fired from my church? Yeah, this talking to my ministerfaith thing ain't gonna happen. I'm still in the flipping-the-place- off-whenever-you-drive-by stage.

They don't mention in anything I've read about the behaving immaturely phase of grief. I'm stuck there,too. Tonight we're going to the Giants game to see my favorite pitcher, Timmy Lincecum (sound of angel choir). There is a homeless lady by the bridge on the way to the park who has a dog and a cat. I always give her money for her pets but tonight I'm going to surprise her and give her 5 sweatshirts with my former place of employment's logo on them. She can wear them, wrap the animals in them, clean up dog barf with them, whatever she wants as long as I never have to look at them again.

Gyminy Cricket!

After the stroke in May 2008, my husband and I went to the gym and started working out. We had belonged to the gym for years but decided to actually use the facility. Now that work is no longer an issue for me, I have started working out in the morning. The gym isn't crowded and it seemed like a good idea. The denizens of my gym at ten am on a weekday are mostly grey of hair and wrinkley of face and I felt like a kid among them. I was watching a bunch of oldies in an aerobics class and I noticed that one lady had a person with her to carry her oxygen tank. Sigh. Bless her heart,though, the old dear was trying.When I went to start my workout, I had to chase a senior citizen off one of the leg machines because she was just sitting there, talking to her friend.

I did my legs and heinie, then I went to work on my arms. Now, you have to know that this gym has spared NO expense on mirrors. You have no choice but to check out your reflection and evaluate yourself whether you want to or not. Forced against my will, I began to examine my reflection as I was shoving weight up, down and out in pursuit of perfect, Michelle-quality arm muscles.

" Well, neck - a little turkeyage but I'm down to one chin. That's good. Clavicals - visible. Yay. Waist - I have one. Legs - muscular but not gross." I got to the shoving out machine.

"Forearms - defined. Cool. Upper arms - What. Is. That?" On the push foreward everything's fine. On the release, though, when my arms are all the way back, I see it. Flappage. Soft, dimply, loose skin with no support just peeking out of my t-shirt sleeve. Flashbacks start going through my mind.

My grandma had epic arm flaps. They looked like drapes. And in my memory they hung halfway
to her waist. My grandma always wore muumuus and her arm flaps were out there in front of God and everybody. As a kid, I was alternately grossed out and fascinated by them. What force had formed this flappage? Did all grandmas have it? If I wrap it all the way around her arm and let go, would it unwrap by itself? Would there be wind? I was a weird little kid, but that arm flappage fascinated me and now I was getting it. Ew.

I spent the rest of my gym time woking out and contemplating the vagueries of genetics. My mom didn't have flappage but then she had never been fat. My grandma was pretty heavy at points in her life according to photographs and God knows I was a lard-butt before I dropped 50 pounds. But I work out and I know that niether my mom nor my grandma did any more exercise than getting up to go get a fresh pack of cigarettes and open it.

So, I guess I have to figure this out on my own. Feel my way. Keep a close eye on my flappage and take it as it comes. Workout over, I head to my car. Getting in, I turn on the car. The radio is playing the Commodores "Brick House." "She's mighty, mighty, just lettin' it all hang out." Ok - I can deal with this - I'mm mighty, mighty...with flaps

Doing the Pants Dance

I'm having an issue with pants. It started on Sunday when I was watching a random football game and I noticed that if a football player has dark skin and he's wearing white football pants, when he bends over the line of scrimmage and they cram the tv camera up his rear, you can see...stuff. Straps, cracks...stuff these young men would probably rather keep to themselves. Otherwise why wear the pants? Honestly, has nobody else noticed this?

Then on Monday, I was driving over to Big Lots. That's what us non-employed types have time to do on a Monday - Anyway, I was at a stop sign and a group of teenage boys crossed in front of me. One of them had pants on that were so low that his whole butt was hanging out. He was wearing grey knit underwear - which it bothers me that I know, but the wierdest thing was that he was WEARING A BELT! I thought this whole look was about looking like you were in jail and your pants were slipping down because you have no belt. They take your belt away in jail! Plus belts just shouldn't go around your thighs. It looks odd.

My last pantalunatic experience came this noon in Subway. Three young men walked in and stood at the counter. Two of them were wearing pants that fit well. I was sitting there feeling warm and cozy inside, thinking how nice they look and that maybe there's hope for society when I noticed that their buddy was wearing jeans whose crotch was located somewhere around his mid thigh. What's with this look, I thought, Why won't it die?! Then one of the first guys' pants started doing the rumba around his heinie and I realized that he was scratching himself right there in front of the veggie counter! Ewwww!

Several years ago, my good friend's niece was getting married. As she dispatched her sons to get clothes for the wedding, her final words to them out the door was "I want to see butts!". A mother just shouldn't have to say that to her sons. The boys did well, she saw butts - just not in white football pants.

It Begins!

In the Internet era, when we reach life's milestones, we frequently go online and check ot blogs to see how other people like us are dealing with similar experiences.

I was a new mom right before the Internet blossomed so I dealt with the transition from non-parent to parent in the time tested way of women throughout time. I called my mom for breastfeeding advice, ("How do you know he's getting enough?). Then I went to a friend who was in the pre-eminent breastfeeding organization ("You can't give him a bottle - he'll stop taking the breast!"). So I ignored them, read as much as I could and finally went with my gut.

That is how I spent the rest of my young parenthood and I have to say, I think I raised two pretty good kids, even though in their adulthood they would both rather hang out in a cave with terrorists in danger of being bombed than in my living room with me. That's ok - my gut tells me that they will get back into their parents as they get older, more settled, and need advice ("I really you should breastfeed") or ("What do you mean you've decided not to have kids - who am I going to give breastfeeding advice, to?).

I have discovered a lot of mommy blogs out there in the ether, but I have yet to come across one that reflects my life experience. For the record, in addition to being a baby booming empty nester, I have recently been laid off a long time job from which I had hoped to retire, I ams a stroke survivor and I recently decided that since both my kids are college graduates, it was time to take off the baby weight and I lost 50 pounds.

Since all of my time is basically spare these days, I've decided to try my hand at a blog for empty nesting, baby booming, stroke surviving, laid off, pet owning, baseball loving, weight fighting people just like myself. I've had so much life experience that there's got to be something here for everybody. Also, since all my time is spare, I have time to think about lots of stuff which I do every day - now I'll write about it. I hope you'll read it. My gut tells me you will,