Taking the bad with the good, making lemonade out of . . whatEVAH

If you know me, you know I try not to whine.  

I may rant and shout like a sailor.

But I don't "think" I do too much whining.

Well, honeys, this is a whine of a sort to make up for all those past un-whines.

Skip it if, like me, you're pretty turned off by the noises made by a constant whiner.

Pitiful is just not my thing.

And I do not mean this to sound as though it's directed at those of you who have very legitimate complaints.

There are, after all, real reasons for complaints and then there are those who feel as though if they don't "suffer" a drama a day they're not going to get the attention they so need.

THOSE are the people I'm talking about here.



But enough about them - this is gonna be all about me.



All about me whining . . .


Being pitiful . . .


I hope I've made that perfectly clear.  (insert little winking emoticon here)


So.


I was suffering a bad case of the blues about this week.


Thanksgiving.  My birthday.  Happening this week without my mom.


My answer to combating this week of the blues is the same as it is for so many other things.


A week at the beach.


Now, as you may have figured out over time, the beach, the ocean, any big expanse of water meeting the sky is a balm to my soul.


It's not something I simply enjoy.


It's something I truly need.


Need from the very bottom of my feet to the very depths of my heart.


If I had known my ties to the water were so strong I doubt I could have ever left Cambridge where every drive I ever took was, sooner or later, going to have me going across a bridge.  Or have me within just a head's turn to see the water.  Cambridge Creek.  The Choptank River.  I get emotional by only thinking about them.  


But.  Had I never left Cambridge, what are the chances I would have ever met Don Barley?


Or many of the other people I've met on this life journey.  People I'm privileged to call "friend?"


So.  There's my making lemonade out of lemons.  


Oh, hell - enough of that.  


I am here to whine, I tell you!



We were able, on very short notice, to rent a house at Topsail Island.  Our favorite "go to" beach of the past many years.


The house was perfect.


Dog friendly.  Ocean front.  Large deck facing the ocean.  A sunroom in case the weather was a bit too nippy for early morning/late night coffee times.  As long as I can see, hear, or even sense those ocean waves, I am a contented woman.


And there was going to be a bonus this trip.


Because we pass closely to my friends Margaret and Joe's place we sometimes get to visit with them on this trip to the beach.  I was hoping to meet them for lunch today on our way.


But, as chance would have it - that couldn't happen this time because Margaret was already planning a trip to Topsail and would already be there.


Long story short  -  plans were made for me to get together with her for dinner this evening.  The dinner was to also include some of her writing group - The Weymouth 7.  The Weymouth 7 includes Margaret Maron, Sarah Shaber, Diane Chamberlain, Mary Kay Andrews, Brenn Bonner Witchger, Katy Munger and Alexandra Sokoloff.  Pretty stellar group, huh?


While all seven were not part of this week's writing retreat at Topsail, Margaret, Sarah, Diane, Mary Kay and Brenn were.  


And my beach bonus was to include dinner with those who were there.  Except Brenn who ended up not feeling well.


Oddly enough, she apparently was pretty contagious with vertigo which she passed along to me.  (is that even possible?!  I don't think so . . .  but I need to place blame on someone and Brenn gets to be it).

<insert another winking emoticon right here>


So.


Not only are we not spending this week at the beach.


I am not having dinner with Margaret, Sarah, Diane and Mary Kay.


Insert every four letter bad word you have ever heard uttered in your entire life right here.


And now do it again with greater emphasis.


More gusto, please!


Believe me, you're not even coming close to expressing the disappointment I feel.



Except for Mary Kay, I know these women.   I was looking forward to meeting Mary Kay because I've been a long time fan.  Loooong time fan.  I lived in the area she used to write about under the name Kathy Hogan Trocheck in her Callahan Garrity series.  And I love the books she's writing now.


So.  A group of women, most of whom I'm lucky enough to know.  Women I admire.  Read.  Women whose work I read for heaven's sake - how cool is that?!   How could I not be sad and disappointed.


I demand a "do over!"  (and Brenn joins me in this demand).


In the meantime, today I'm picking up my copy of Diane Chamberlain's newest book, "Pretending to Dance."  I'll read it and about 6:00 this evening I'll lift my glass in a toast to the women at Topsail who I'll be missing.


<clink>

sad

Know what I hate?

That next week I'll celebrate my 67th birthday. The first birthday that I won't be celebrating with my mom.

Won't be receiving a sweet, funny card from her.

Won't get to hear her sing Happy Birthday to me over the phone a dozen times - each time more hysterical than the time before.

That she won't be giving me a little gift in the most bedraggled birthday bag you've ever seen, but one neither of us could bear to part with until maybe "next year."

That I won't get to feel her put her arms around me and tell me she loves me and then stand back and smile at me with that mischievous little twinkle that she always had in those eyes of hers.

And I won't be able to say "I love you, Mom."

Harley the brat dog

Yes, yes, I know.

Usually Harley Barley is the sweetest dog on God's green earth.

But not always.

I know you don't believe me - - -  I know . . . 

But.

Some days he seems to be possessed by a devil.  Know what I mean?

I guess even the nicest of us can sometimes cross over that line, huh?



It's a rainy, foggy, chilly, ugly day in these mountains today.

I've turned on all the lights in an attempt to replace the much too long missing sun.


I took a long hot soakie bubble bath with my new lemon/honey-dew bubbles.

Sipped my coffee and read my book while soaking.

Even had one of my favorite albums playing in the background.

The Allman Bros. "Eat a Peach"

I could listen to this album over and over and over.  Actually, I have.  Many times for many years.  And have seen them in concert a lot of times also.

The one song on this album that will still stop me dead in my tracks is "Blue Sky."

I just want to stop whatever is happening in the world to listen to this song.

So, I was feeling pretty good.

Slipped into warm flannel jammies prepared to have a lazy jammie kinda day.

Before I fluffed up my pillows and slipped under my quiltie I decided to take Harley out to take care of business

Usually, when it's raining, this is a very quick little trip.  I can stand in the car port and Harley can run, do his thing and run right back.

This time?

huh.

no.

Devil Dog!

He decided to go down the bank, through wet ankle deep leaves to poke around the pond.  

Me yelling, "Yo! Harley!"

Then he decided since he was doing such a grand job of ignoring me he might as well make it a real adventure and waded across the creek.


dang.


By this time what I was yelling was a wee bit more than "Yo!  Harley!"

And he had apparently gone completely, totally stone deaf.

Nothing would do but for me to follow Harley's evil twin (because, surely, this could not be our Harley, right?!)  down the bank yelling threats of the most dire nature and the consequences he would suffer if he didn't listen to his mama and get his tail-less butt on back over here because I was NOT wading across that ice cold creek.


Finally.


FINALLY - whether from fear (HA! hahahaha!) or promises of treats, cookies, a steak, whatever . . .  he came back and he followed me back up the wet slippery bank and into the house.

Into the house where I had to get out of my now soaking wet jammies and into dry ones.

Into the house grumbling at me the entire way.  And yes, he can, and does, grumble.  Usually it's pretty hysterical, but today?

Not so much.

He grumbled.

I grumbled.

He got louder.

So did I.

I turned on our new little electric fireplace (which I love entirely too much), and Harley settled in front of it too.

He looked so sweet that all was, of course, forgiven.

So sweet I knew I needed a picture.


And damned if he didn't stick his tongue out at me!

I swear.  I have always been attracted to bad boys.  

I guess that even includes dogs.

'cause Lord knows, I do love this evil little devil dog.  

To the moon and back.

Girlfriends

I'm a fairly solitary soul.

Always have been, even as a little girl.  I'm thinking maybe being an only child was the beginning of my becoming an introvert, but also being a person of great imagination.

The imagination can be a magical and wondrous thing, but it's also the source of being able to think up the wildest things to fret about.

LordAMercy.

I can close my eyes at night and imagine the most dire of events playing out.

Most of them, thank God, are entirely too far fetched to ever come to fruition.

But not all.


No.


Not all.


Going through a time of sadness brings with it a time of reflection.

The past few months have had me doing a lot of that.

It's also brought front and center how very much I'm missing girl friends.

Yesterday my friend Jill and I went to the Boone Annual Seconds Sale.  It's an event that's been going on for years and years and years. An event where many people arrive a couple hours ahead of time before the doors open with their chairs and their coffee.  And just spend some visiting with others who have waited an entire year to spend their hard earned money on pottery and other other pretties made by local artisans.

It started out being a sale of pottery seconds at a much reduced price from the gallery prices the artisans' work sold for.

Over time it's changed and evolved to include weaving, hand painted silk, stained glass, jewelry, photography, paintings - any number of wonderful things.  Not necessarily seconds, but still at great prices.

It's a fun event.  Not only do we get to spend our money, but it's a social thing also.  I see people at the Seconds Sale I rarely see otherwise.  Get to catch up, grab some hugs.   And make promises to get together before another whole year has passed.



With my heart on my sleeve these days, I am so easily moved to tears it's embarrassing.

I've always been easily moved to tears.  Anyone who knows me, knows this about me.

But lately?  whew, boy.  I'm a mess.

(as I pick up a tissue).

Jill and I had a good time.  We shopped.  We giggled.  We talked.  And because we've both suffered losses recently, yes, there were a few tears.

During this time of giving thanks, I am thankful for Jill.  More thankful than she'll ever know.


But man, I am missing me some of my gal pals that don't live close.


Some of them I've known since I was a kid.


Some I met while we were partying hard on the streets of Atlanta.


Some I've met through work.


Some I've met on-line, many from the mystery community.


So this is for my girlfriends.


I love you guys.


Thanks for being my friend.

(note - I have not attributed an author name to the piece below because I find conflicting information when I search.  If anyone knows the name - for sure - let me know, please)

Get yourself some girlfriends....You are gonna need em

Many years ago when I was first married, I was 
relaxing under a magnolia tree on a humid Louisiana summer day, drinking iced tea and getting to know my new sister-in-law, Estelle. I had moved to my husband's hometown and she was the only family member close to my age. Not much older than me, but already the mother of three, Estelle seemed to me experienced and wise. Her face suddenly took on a very serious expression and in the most charming of Southern drawls she said to me,"Get yourself some girlfriends," clinking the ice cubes in her glass. "You're gonna need girlfriends to go places with and do things with." 
What a funny piece of advice, I thought. Hadn't I just gotten married? Hadn't I just joined the "couple-world?" I was a married woman, for goodness sake! Not a young girl who needed girlfriends anymore. I had girlfriends when I was 
living at home and in high school! 

But I listened to this new sister-in-law and I got myself some girlfriends. As the years tumbled by, one after another, gradually I came to understand that Estelle knew what she was talking about. And I remembered that she had said the word "girlfriends" with a lot of emphasis. And year after year I discovered the subtle difference between friends and girlfriends. 
You go to work with friends, go to dinner with friends, go to church with friends, belong to clubs with friends. You send friends greeting cards. You need friends in your life. After all, all girlfriends were once only friends. And all Southern women have friends and they also have girlfriends. But a girlfriend is different. 

First of all, a girlfriend is NOT "just like a sister." 
Sisters have a distinct bond, sometimes good, sometimes bad. Sisters flow from family love and attachments. Girlfriends choose each other. Over the years girlfriends have blessed my life. And here is what I have learned about them: 

Girlfriends don't compete. 

Girlfriends will bring casseroles and also scrub your bathroom or all floors when you are sick. 

Girlfriends will keep your children, and they will keep your secrets. 

Girlfriends give advice when you ask for it. 
Sometimes you take it, sometimes you don't. 
And it makes no difference..either way. 

Girlfriends don't always tell you that you are right. 

Girlfriends might send you a birthday card, but they might not. And if they don't it does not matter in the least. 

Girlfriends laugh with you and you sometimes need absolutely nothing to start the laughter. 

Girlfriends don't talk about you behind your back. 

Girlfriends help you out of jams, the dumps, and the blues. 

Girlfriends don't keep a calendar that lets them know whose turn it is to do what. 

Girlfriends will give a party for your son or daughter when they get married or have a baby in whichever order that comes! 

And girlfriends are there for you in an instant, and truly... when the hard times come. 

Girlfriends listen when you lose a job, a husband, or anyone dear to you. 

Girlfriends will listen when your children break your heart, and will hold you when you cry. 

Girlfriends will listen when your parents' minds and bodies fail, and cry with you. 

When girlfriends are young, they have no idea of the incredible joys or the incredible sorrows that lay ahead of them. Nor do they know how much they will need each other. 
Young women today should take my sister-in-law's advice. "Get yourself some girlfriends." 
You're gonna need them.