Yesterday was sister’s birthday.  We have been hanging out together for over five decades.  As kids, we had many differences that we didn’t always appreciate in one another.   We have been on a journey down our own paths together and separately.  As adults, the differences we have in our opinions and taste have disappeared.  The similarities are many,      Some sisters drift apart over time.  This is not the case with my sister.  We are the best of friends and the biggest cheerleader of each other.

One of the things that we both cherish and enjoy together is hot and salty fries.   No matter what is going on, there is nothing that can get in the way of  an order of fries.  I don’t know who it was, but whoever introduced “bottomless” baskets of fries was a genius.  Sometimes we get a puzzled look from the waitress.  We can drain a whole bottle of Heinz in one sitting.  Perhaps that is not the norm., who knew?  I count myself  lucky to have such a strong, loving and supportive sister.  We’re close in proximity and in heart.  You might say that we are like ketchup and bottomless fries.

 

 

The clock on the bedside table read 2:17 a.m. when I got out of bed and padded down the hallway to the kitchen for a glass of water.  There in the moonlight was my dear friend and confidante.    She was standing alone in the dark  gazing out the window into nothingness.  Her hearing and vision had diminished over the years.  She contracted a gum disease and lost fifteen teeth in her late thirties.   After two surgeries in her early forties her spirit began to wane.  I whispered her name and she turned in my direction for only a moment then turned back around and faced the window.  I slowly approached her and gave her a hug.  There was no response, but she always liked big hugs.  I returned to bed and spooned my snoring sweetie until I fell asleep.

We could hear her roaming around the house at all hours of the night.  Her doctor told us that she was exhibiting signs of dementia.  She had just turned forty-nine and was young and active.  Her thick dark hair was highlighted with chestnut brown hues and a slight sprinkling of gray which enhanced her natural beauty.  It was difficult for my husband and I to accept her diagnosis and maladies.   The quality of her life had changed dramatically, but we wouldn’t ever be ready to see her go.

She and I strolled  through the maze of streets within our idyllic neighborhood each day.  We smelled fragrant roses, gardenias, jasmine and plumeria.  We checked out the muscle cars and marveled at the colorful delicacy of  butterflies.    When I started leading,  we slowed down to a more relaxing pace.  She always walked so briskly that I had to jog alongside or behind her.   Our walks were mostly in silence, she had never been much of a talker.   She did not show any signs of pain, but it wasn’t much of a comfort.  What went on in her mind?  Was she lost inside and trying to communicate?

Six months passed, she was now fading and in pain.  My husband and I sat  with her in the exam room at the doctor’s office.  The doctor examined her and looked at us with  concern and left the room.  At once we knew that her pain and confusion would dissipate.  Our dear friend would be at peace soon.   The doctor returned to find the three of us huddled together on the couch.   She was leaning heavily on my arm and seemed almost limp.  The doctor approached us and placed the stethoscope on her chest,   Within a minute he announced that her heart had stopped.  She passed right before our eyes.  We cradled her in our arms and cried.  We would remember her as vital, happy and active as she was before the challenges.

Now when I walk into the moonlit kitchen at some ungodly hour of the night,  I thank God that she is no longer there staring off into the abyss and suffering.  Her identification tags sit on the shelf above the sink in a little heart-shaped crystal dish.  When I see them I smile.  Shadow, my dear friend and confidant,  is no longer in the dark.  She is  now enjoying the moonlight.

The day I realized that the skin from my thighs dropped to my knees, I also discovered that I had cellulite.  Zipping up my jean shorts, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.  The cellulite wasn’t nearly as severe as it would become.  I imagined other limbs and areas of my body that would droop, wrinkle and the vicious cellulite that would spread and migrate to the southern region of my wilting physique.

My husband was just outside our slider.  I walked out to the patio, turned around and asked him if he could see cellulite.  He examined my legs, looked up and said, “A little bit.”  Boy, I loved him even more at that moment.  The courage and candor he displayed when answering my “loaded” question was kinda sexy.  As I went back through the slider feeling a little more comfortable, I unzipped my five-inch length jean shorts and changed into a seven-inch inseam pair.

Jack and I headed out for our daily walk around the neighborhood.  When I bent down to bag Jack’s poop,  a thought popped into my head.  How nice it was to know that my husband’s confirmation of my newly discovered cellulite was genuine.  My next thought was that I would never ask him the “Does my butt look fat?”question again.   The cellulite honesty was sufficient.  No need to push it.  In the future, I’d get my answers in the mirror.

In the next life, men should have cellulite.   It might inspire a tad more empathy and  emotional intelligence.  Close your eyes and imagine a guy looking into the mirror and discovering colonies of dimples on his derriere and legs.  He would freak out a little. The man would  feel exactly like women do.  Perhaps they could also deal with the experience of menopause and hot flashes.   That’s it.

They wouldn’t have the privilege of bearing children.   Our strong men wouldn’t be expected to shave their under arms and legs.  They would not be subjected to pouring  themselves into Spanx or thinking  about their hair, nails, and makeup.  Brazilian waxing, wearing six-inch heels, buying lingerie that only looks comfortable in a catalog of thin and tall models, would not be an expectation of women.  In the next life, men will have their vanity shaken by the appearance of vicious cellulite.

 

It was Sunday morning, the day before Memorial Day.  We woke to the smell of Folgers brewing and the sweet scent of jasmine drifting in through our open windows.  My favorite thing about Sunday is sitting in the backyard on the bench swing with the paper and a mug of coffee.  Sunday’s “Breakfast with the Beatles” plays on the stereo, we  relax and all is right with the world.  No longer can I read the paper cover to cover because so much of it is exasperating and gets me ranting.

I walked down the driveway to collect our Sunday Los Angeles Times.  To my surprise, there was a flag planted in our lawn by the curb.    Looking down our street, I saw a beautiful thing.  Flags were planted in every yard on both sides of the street.  A slight breeze blew the flags into a red, white and blue wave.  

We have been surrounded by an ocean of division and volatility. On Memorial Day we are united by our similarities.  Our patriotism, gratitude and pride for our country is celebrated.  The negative noise is quashed,  if only for a few days.  A tear came to my eye and a peaceful feeling enveloped me in both warmth and chills.   Although we didn’t socialize much with our neighbors, at that moment we were together in unity.  

Later in the day, Jack and I went for a walk.  To our delight, there were flags lining  every street within a one mile radius of our place.  Obviously someone was advertising, there was a tag on the flag stake. The return on their investment would dull in comparison to the gift they gave to us. The flag campaign gave me a brighter perspective.  Surely it filled all of our neighbors with a great sense of gratitude and pride.  The “Ozzie and Harriet” times are long gone.  If we  preserve our old school values and be kind, our future holds a double rainbow of promise.

“Democracy and defense are not substitutes for another. Either alone will fail.”        John F. Kennedy

 

 

 

 

It was about three o’clock on a typical Thursday as I cruised along the 405 freeway.  Herded like cattle, we slowly merged onto the 55.  The car to my left had stopped at the transition and was now blocking the traffic flow.  Looking to to left I saw a very disturbing sight.   At first I patiently waited for the Greenpeace and Save the Rain Forest bumper stickered Prius to proceed.  I noticed the passenger was texting.  Much to my surprise, so was the driver.  Once the driver finished his extremely important message, the little electric car moved.  It made me angry, as driving and texting always does, but the driver?  Texting and driving is selfish.

Now in the parking lot that we refer to as the 55 fwy , I breathed.  Jim Croce was serenading me with “Time in a Bottle” and The muscles in my whole body began to relax. Thinking about my encounter, I now counted my good fortune.  Although I very much care about our planet,  first I value people.  Before embracing state-of-the-art technology, we learned that people would always be our most precious asset.

Those poor guys in the environmentally friendly vehicle did not seem to have absorbed it.  Hopefully they will keep saving the environment.  Maybe they will also learn how to be selfless in life and on the road.  Should the day come when a blatant disregard of others is the norm. I’d like to be seeing it from heaven.  The geniuses in their Prius  should trade in there little car for a Mustang.  A Mustang is more gutsy and would win in a race or accident.  Text drivers are selfish and dangerous.  My Mustang could have pushed the little car out of the way, but it didn’t.  Try turning on the radio and rolling down the window.  Enjoy the ride.