Like a schoolgirl asked to write about her summer vacation I feel compelled to document the highlights of my trip to Washington D.C. (It goes without saying that my nephew's wedding ceremony and reception were the absolute pinnacle of wonderfulness). - scroll over for picture captions - We rode on a bus. I got a chance to go with the wedding party to take photos at some of the classic sights in DC including the war memorial where John proposed to Julia, the Supreme Court building, the tidal basin where there were still a few cherry blossoms, and several other scenic spots. John and Julia did a "first look" of each other in their wedding finery at the war memorial. It was soooooo romantic. It got less romantic as the temperature rose, but while the happy couple and their attendants were out getting roasted on the marble steps of the Supreme Court building, we were in an air conditioned bus. We saw the Capitol. My sister and I got a personal tour of the Capitol from a lovely young intern of my State Representative. I remember being that young once. All the opportunities of the future are spreading out before you. She had just graduated from college and this was her first job. My first job was not this fun. I cried every night for the first month. Despite what my teaching credential said I was not prepared to be the only adult in a roomful of junior high students. She wants to be a teacher too. That's good. After the initial shock, I enjoyed it. I also enjoy being retired. And even if the whole world isn't spreading out before me like this young intern, many new opportunities are in my future. We visited the American History Museum. My sister and I both had this as a high priority of things to do in Washington. We saw an exhibit featuring an entire house that began its life in the 1700's. It was donated to the museum, carefully demolished and rebuilt inside the museum. I wish my Dad had been able to see it. He would have enjoyed examining all the joinery and hand hewn beams. We all would have gotten a kick out of the outhouse, or as he called it, the “privy.” We also saw the real star spangled banner. While my sister and I were resting our sore feet on a bench in the darkened room where it was displayed, a group of about six young girls came in and stood in front of the glass window facing the flag. They sang the entire national anthem in the sweetest, most solemn voices. I applauded when they were done and they thanked me. Next we headed to the First Ladies dress exhibit. My favorite was Mamie Eisenhower's red 1950's ball gown with little cap sleeves. A group of Mennonite women came into the exhibit while we were there. They were dressed in identical traditional long dresses and took pictures of the gowns. You could tell they were really enjoying checking out the fashions even though they would never in a million years wear them. We didn't have enough time to see much of the Presidents exhibit, but we did get a look at the toys of presidential children, including Amy Carter's dollhouse with miniature photos of her and her parents. We were in history heaven. I took another bus ride. I booked a bus tour of the monuments. My sister wasn't able to come so I went by myself. It was supposed to be a three hour tour but the guide mixed the three hour tour people with the six hour tour people and all of a sudden I was on a six hour tour of all the classic Washington sights. I've seen many of them once before on a previous trip, but this was better. The guide seemed to genuinely enjoy sharing what he knew even though he's probably seen these things a billion times. I thought I wasn't going to feel that sense of sadness and despair that I had the first time I saw the Vietnam memorial, but I couldn’t help myself. It's an overwhelming monument. It begins innocuously low to the ground but, as you walk along the wall, it starts to tower over you and the names of the dead grow with every step. I flew home. As I was going through security at the airport I heard people applauding and cheering. It turned out that a group of WWII veterans had arrived on a special flight sponsored by a group called “Honor Flight.” They arrange for veterans to visit Washington D.C. to see the World War II memorial and other monuments free of charge. As each veteran came through the gate they were greeted by a host of volunteers. In the corridor by the gate where they deplaned was a men's chorus singing military songs. Every veteran had a volunteer helper guiding them through the corridor, most of them were in wheelchairs. There were tears and salutes and everyone was taking cellphone pictures of them. I thought of my Dad and all the stories he told about his experiences in the war. I wished he could have done this too. The flight back home was quite bumpy. I don’t like bumpy. I immersed myself in writing some blog entries and low and behold the time literally flew by and before I knew it I was in Phoenix for my connecting flight home. Writing this blog has advantages I hadn’t even thought of. It kept my mind off the turbulence and made me so relaxed that I even fell asleep for a while. I hope I didn’t embarrass myself by snoring.
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![]() I knew that there would be a ton of things to learn on my trip to Washington D.C. and I expected to expand my knowledge at the Smithsonian Museums and the National Archives. I didn't expect that just getting from one place to another would be a learning experience too. My sister and I had decided to use cabs as our main form of transportation, especially because it would make it easier for her husband to get around. As it worked out, he fell the day after the wedding and spent most of the trip in the hospital or a hotel room. Gratefully, he is OK. We decided to stick with taxis for transportation even though it was just the two of us. In addition to getting back and forth from the hospital, taking taxis made it possible for us to get in a bit of site seeing together and for me to do some solo exploration. ![]() Here is what I learned by riding in taxis: 1. I became an expert at hailing a taxi. Where I live you CALL a taxi. I have had other people hail a taxi for me but I had never actually done it myself. This was a confidence building experience. I learned to step forward, arm slightly bent, and execute an attention getting wave. My sister called this flapping, which conjures up the image of two beached seagulls pumping their wings up and down. It would definitely get attention, but not the right kind. 2. Gracefully entering a taxi is difficult for a little old lady with cats, and even harder when there are two of them. Gone are the days when a taxi was a regular car. Now taxis come in all sizes, including SUVs that are so high off the ground it takes mountain climbing maneuvers to get into them. I think it would be nice if they hired people to shove you into your taxi, in somewhat the same way that they have people shove you into the subway trains in Japan. Getting into the taxi is not the end of the struggle either. Once inside you have to scoot on your butt all the way over to accommodate the other passenger, like you do getting into a restaurant booth. There is no way to look graceful doing this. 3. You must enunciate your destination very clearly to the taxi driver. Otherwise you could end up in Georgetown instead of at the George Washington University Hospital. They don't sound the same to me but evidently my California accent was difficult for the taxi driver to understand. 4. Conversation with the driver is optional, but can be very enlightening. Basically I want the driver to concentrate on getting me to my destination safely so I would wait for a clue to determine if I should say anything. A driver with earbuds in his ears or the radio tuned to a station that is in some unidentifiable foreign language is an indication they aren't in the mood to talk. I did have some very interesting conversations, however. ![]() One of the drivers was from Ethiopia. He told me they are on a different calendar than we are (who knew?). We talked about all the wealth of information in Washington, and about genealogy and how important families are. Evidently in Ethiopia there are not extensive family records like there are in the U.S. He said he had a Grandmother in Ethiopia who used to tell him stories about her life. I told him I hope he writes them down because those are important stories than need to be saved before they are forgotten. My sister and I rode with a man from the Mideast. There is a large mid-eastern community where my sister lives so they hit it off quite well. He grilled me about the California drought and Governor Jerry Brown, a Democrat. We learned from him that Ronald Reagan, a Republican, was the best President EVER. On my way to the airport to go home I had a native Washingtonian for a driver. I think he was the only driver I had during the trip that was actually from Washington, or at least the only one I talked to. I found out he was 75 and his mother was still alive at 98. Not only that, he was from a family of 12! His mother must have been one tough mama. His youngest sibling was in their late 40's. I could tell he was not very steady on his feet and I felt guilty when he got out of the taxi to deal with my bags. We agreed that it's important to keep busy as you get older and that falling is a big problem. Losing your balance isn't something you think about when you are young, and then BOOM, you're retired and belly down on the sidewalk. We compared injuries. He'd had a concussion; I'd had a broken ankle. I have to say I enjoyed my cab rides as much as I did seeing the sites of Washington. As my sister said when I told her about the driver from Ethiopia " 'The better to write about.' said the Blog Wolf." There is no one who makes me laugh more than my sister. We are twins but not identical, and there is something in our differences that makes us fit together like puzzle pieces. When we are together there are always moments when I laugh so hard I cry.
We are sharing an adventure in Washington D.C. that has turned out to be a roller coaster of experiences and feelings. I don't know whether to laugh or cry at this point. After a beautiful wedding where her son married his soul mate, my sister's husband fell the next day on some marble stairs at our hotel. He was rushed to the emergency room and has spent the last three days in the hospital. It appears he will be OK, but uncertainty still reigns. All of a sudden the hospital has decided to send him "home." We have no home. We had a plan to stay in DC as tourists at her son's apartment while he and his wife were on their honeymoon, but it is not a good place for recuperation. We didn't want my nephew to come home and find his mother still in his apartment. Not a good situation for newlyweds. Today we sat in the hospital cafeteria taking a break from a frantic search for an appropriate hotel room. There are no good options. Most of the hotels were booked solid. Those that aren't are either so expensive you would need a home loan to afford them or they have reviews that say things like "I found a live bug in the bathroom." We started fantasizing about what to do. My sister suggested that she and her husband throw themselves on the mercy of our previous hotel. This is the hotel with young men in red uniforms at the door and a clientele that features lots of tall business men in suits. It is crazy expensive and we only stayed there because of the wedding. She theorized that to save money they could just camp out on the marble stairs where her husband fell. I don't know why it struck me as so funny, but I could't stop laughing. I guess I had an image of them in their Jammie's, with pillows and blankets, laid out like kids in bunk beds. I imagined the bell staff standing around asking people wandering through the lobby to avert their eyes as they passed by them. I really did laugh so hard I cried. I had a similar experience over twenty years ago when my Mom had surgery. My Dad and sisters had gathered at the hospital. It was a serious situation and we were all overwhelmed. As we sat around a table having lunch, we remembered that my Mom had always wanted her ears pierced but was afraid to have it done. She wanted us to tell the doctors to pierce her ears if she ever had surgery. We agreed we had forgotten to fill the surgeon in on Mom's request. Then we totally howled at the thought of telling the doctor, "Oh, by the way, when you remove the tumor could you please pierce her ears?" It was such a relief to let out those scrunched, pent up anxieties and fears in uncontrolable laughter. My sister gave me that gift today. I was so frustrated and overwhelmed that I could have laughed or cried. I did both. ![]() As a Little Old Lady with cats I lead a rather simple life so it is exciting for me to be out in the world. My nephew's wedding is in Washington D.C. This is a far cry from the small town where I live. For one thing it is rare to see a man in a suit in my little corner of the world. Occasionally you might see someone in a sports jacket but they are usually wearing it with jeans. In Washington D.C. men wear suits, and their pants are made of the same fabric as their jackets. My sister, her husband, and I arrived at our hotel yesterday. It is the kind of place where young men in red uniforms greet you at the door and escort you in. Immediately I felt intimidated and out of place. The lobby had no real ceiling and there was a modern sculpture the size of a small building. My red suited helper led me to a check-in desk that was completely dwarfed by it's surroundings. Everyone was beyond polite. It was kind of Disneyland-ish. After finding my room I discovered that thIs fabulous lobby is just the facade of a normal hotel. Like every other hotel it has corridors lined with doors and the rooms are just like you would find in a nice motel, but with fancier bathroom fixtures. I'd been fooled into being intimidated. After checking into our rooms, my sister and I went in search of food. I punched the call button for the elevator and as the doors opened we were confronted by a bunch of men in suits. They were all extremely tall and very serious looking. We stepped into the middle of this confluence of well dressed giants. I felt like a little kid who had wandered into someplace I didn't belong. A quick verbal check-in established that we were all headed to the lobby. It seemed like a long way down. All I could think of for the whole trip was how short I was. I saw my reflection in the mirrored doors and my eyes were as big as saucers. After I got past my shock and awe, I wondered if the suited facade of the elevator men hid regular good old boys, just like the fabulous lobby of the hotel fronted corridors of regular rooms. Do they go home after a trip like this, rip off their suits and strip down to their underware, pop open a brewski, and plop down into their Lazyboys? Today my surroundings seem much more familiar. I see Moms wearing tennies and yoga pants mixed in with the suits. I feel more like I fit in with this environment. John and Julia dropped by and appeared to be amazingly relaxed about the fact that are getting married tomorrow. It's time for me to stop fretting about fancy hotels and men in suits and to concentrate on what's really important. I'm in Washington D.C. to celebrate their marriage. This is all about them. ![]() I really don’t wear makeup. I entered my adult life in the 70’s when being “natural” and going braless was the way to go. Occasionally over the last 40 years I have bought makeup but I have never worn it on a daily basis. It seems to sit in a drawer developing whatever bacteria makeup accumulates over time until I’m afraid I’ll contaminate myself if I put it on. In a week I will be attending my nephew’s wedding and I don’t want to waste all the time I have put into finding an appropriately elegant outfit only to ruin it with a naked, makeup-less face. I must find something to update my look. I am intimidated by those department store makeup counters and the women in their pseudo-medical white jackets. I don’t want to struggle to heave myself into one of those tall stools and sit in front of God and everyone having stuff I am unfamiliar with applied to my face. Thank goodness everything I ever wanted to know about makeup is on line. I found a very interesting YouTube video on how to apply makeup on the elderly. The model was not a smooth complexioned 19-year-old. She had wrinkles and brown spots. She did look like she had BEEN a former model, and I will never look as good as she does, with or without makeup, but it was a very informative video. I also found out that I have what is known in the makeup trade as “hooded eyes.” That means that the skin below the eyebrow covers up part, or in my case ALL, of the eyelid. I watched another video where a young woman demonstrated on her own eyes. They were not as hoody as mine, but I liked the way she did one eye the “wrong” way and one eye the “right” way. Armed with all this new found knowledge, I now I have about 5 days to get some products and experiment. Yikes! Why did I put this off so long? How hard can this be? I am, after all, an artist. I actually paint. I know how to use watercolor and acrylics. I am skillful at brushwork. However, in the past these skills have not really helped that much when it comes to putting on makeup. __________________________________________________________________ ![]() Fast forward several days and I have now made my makeup purchases. It was actually a fun adventure. A friend took me to a store that was dedicated entirely to makeup and beauty products, AN ENTIRE STORE! I would have been totally intimidated by myself, but she guided me smoothly through the door. We were helped by a lovely young lady who was very good at choosing colors and products that worked for me. Yes I did heave myself into one of those high stools, but my friend helped shove me up and kept me from sliding out of the slippery acrylic seat. The stool was off in a secluded corner where I didn't feel self conscious. I have now spent more than I did on my dress on a collection of makeup carefully selected so that I don't look like I'm wearing any. There is irony in this, but I feel pretty and dewey fresh in my new purchases. Due to my internet research I was able to ask a few informed questions and stick with a reasonable plan, if not a reasonable budget. Yay me! Bring on this wedding! ![]() After the purchase of a pair panty hose and some experimenting with jewelry I have now assembled my wedding outfit. I am ready to PAR-TAY! I took some photos of the look (minus makeup) and I feel good. I didn't want the photos to look too stiff so I did some dance moves to liven them up. It has been a while since I went to a dance and my repertoire of dance moves is limited mainly to dances from the 60's. I did the Jerk, the Monkey, the Mashed Potato, the Swim, the Twist, and of course that wedding favorite, the Hokey Pokey. I also experimented with a little Hip Hop. In the 1990's I used to go to dances with a friend and I remember the "YMCA" dance was popular with the middle aged singles crowd. I became quite good at it. Of course there is nothing in the tone of the wedding invitation or the information I have recieved that suggests that any of these dances will be happening at this wedding. Who cares! I had fun practicing my dance moves. Most of the dance photos were so funny that I wasn't going to use them but when I strung them all together they kind of made me look like I was dancng, If I could speed up the slide show effect it would be better but I set it to go fast as the program would allow. I hope it looks a little like I am dancing and not like I am having some sort of seizure. Writing this blog has really given me a new sense of freedom and changed how I view myself. I would NEVER have imagined that I would post pictures of myself online doing the Hokey Pokey before doing this blog. I will keep this in mind as I do the Pony like "Bony Moronie" at the reception. ![]() For non-Scandinavians who are unfamiliar with Aebleskiver (I call it Appleskiver), they are a Danish pancake. Instead of being flat, they are round like a ball. They are served with powdered sugar and syrup or jam. They are fluffy and yummy, My Grandfather was Danish and he showed my Grandmother how to make them. This skill was passed on to my Dad and also to me. You need a special pan with curved sections. It goes on top of the stove. In each section you put a scoop of batter, then chopped fresh apple, then more dough. When one side is cooked you flip them with a knitting needle or skewer and they turn into little balls with apple in the middle. I have an Aebleskiver pan and have made them myself. They are a lot of work. When I discovered that Trader Joes has frozen Aebleskiver that just need to be heated in the oven, I was thrilled. They don’t have the apple inside, but they are still really good. I used to get them and make a special breakfast or brunch for my Dad. In an “I miss Dad” and “I feel sorry for myself” mood I bought some Aebleskiver. On Easter I made a special breakfast for myself, like I used to make for Dad. I put the rest in the freezer thinking I would be able to just use them as an occasional treat. HA! My compulsive eater brain had other ideas. I have already eaten Aebleskiver as an after dinner ”snack” twice this week and there is still some more in the freezer. You might think that eating four crumby Aebleskiver as a snack is not the worst thing in the world to do, but for me it is a disaster in the making. This is the kind of subconscious driven eating that has resulted in a weight that is not healthy for me. There are no vows or swearing offs in this world that will keep me from answering the call of those Aebleskiver sitting temptingly in my freezer. There is no one in the house, except for my cats (and they are no help at all), who will interrupt my quest to obtain them and consume them. I must make the decision now, while I am of sound mind, to get them out of my sight and mind so I can give myself a fighting chance to make a better choice for a snack when the “I miss Dad” and “I feel sorry for myself” feelings pop up again, as they most certainly will. I feel a sadness and a loss about tossing out the Aebleskiver. It’s like throwing my heritage in the garbage. But I know that is just my compulsive eater brain trying desperately to wrestle back control. There are many other things, besides Aebleskiver, that I can embrace about my heritage or that remind me of my Dad. This doesn’t mean that I can never eat another Aebleskiver again in my life either. Just for today I am choosing to honor the part of me that wants to be free of feeling vulnerable to foods that call my name from the freezer. This throwing out food thing can be as much a part of my compulsive relationship with food as actually eating it. I thought about what would make this time any different from all the other times I have thrown out food that I was fearful of overeating or that made me sick? What action could I take this time that I have not taken in the past? I shared my thoughts and feelings with some other compulsive eaters. In the process of sharing I felt those feelings of sadness and loss come welling up out of my stomach, pushed up through my diaphragm, up through my throat, and out of my mouth with my words. I’m sure there are all kinds of psychological explanations of why this worked but I don’t really care about why it worked I’m just happy that it did. Last night the compulsion to eat Aebleskiver was not there and I hadn’t thrown them out yet. They were still in my freezer.
I wish I could say that I am permanently cured of my obsession with food that calls my name from the freezer or at other times and places, but that is not the case. I can hear those siren voices even as I write this blog. However, that powerful experience, of sharing my feelings with others, and of having that obsession removed, if only temporarily, gives me hope. ![]() Am I out of my mind to think about wearing peds so that they actually show a little? Is this my idea of trendy fashion or a really bad “Little Old Lady with cats” fashion mistake? I like wearing peds rather than no socks at all. I usually get nude colored ones and then go to all lengths to try to get them not to show. Inevitably they pop out anyway. Should I just stop fighting this battle and let my peds hang out for God and everyone to see? I saw some peds on Esty that had a lace edge which obviously was intended to show. It gave me the idea that it might be fun to buy some peds in different colors. To quote Stacy and Clinton of “What Not to Wear,” they would add a “pop of color” to my feet. Today I am trying this out. I am wearing purple peds and my black chunky Sketcher ballet flats with jeans and a purple top. I don’t know. This might be too matchy-matchy. Also the peds show more than I want them to show. I was hoping for a little peek of color and instead my feet are screaming “I am wearing Peds and they are PURPLE.” Will people out in the real world stare at my feet and whisper to each other “Her peds are showing,” in the same way they would if I had toilet paper stuck to my shoe? I went on line to see if there was anyone else considered this bold ped thing. I found a YouTtube video with a girl young enough to be my granddaughter discussing peds that DON’T show. This is not a good sign. However, I consulted with my friend and fashion guru and she thought it was kind of cool. Like me, she is a senior citizen. Unlike me she dresses very thoughtfully and has an innate sense of style. I guess I can take the risk. I have undoubtedly worn stranger things by just unconsciously throwing something on. At least I’m making a conscious decision to let my peds hang out. ![]() I threw caution to the wind in a recent post by including full body photos of myself. I took enough pictures so that I would be able to choose the “best” ones, which was helpful because some of them were pretty bad. The shots I tried to take outdoors in the glaring sun literally did not show me in the best light. My eyes were all squinty and the wind plastered my loose top against my tummy so that I looked pregnant. At 67 that might be good if I wanted to be on Ripley’s “Believe It or Not,” but it wasn’t a good look for my blog. I don’t have a handle on what I really look like. I tend to think I look thinner than I really am. When I see myself in photos, sometimes it’s kind of shocking. I do know, however, that it’s not a good idea to judge myself, or other people, based on a photo. I remember my sister and I had a friend, when we were in elementary school, who always looked fabulous in the group class photos that were taken every year. She looked good in person, but in the photos she looked amazing. There was something about her hair that translated into perfection in the camera, all shiny with no hair out of place, even though it was just normal in person. We were so curious about this phenomenon that we plotted to test it out, when she came over to play, by taking a photo of the three of us. Sure enough, when the photo was developed (remember the days when you had to actually wait to see your photos?) my sister and I looked like we had been outdoors playing, but she looked like she had just spent hours at the beauty salon getting her hair done. I wanted to be like her. I still want to be like her. My Mom avoided photos. She would scoot away if a camera appeared and get angry if anyone tried to take a picture of her. As a result I don’t have a lot of photos of her especially from the years we were growing up. When I was older and had my own camera I would sneak a shot in without letting her know. I took one of my favorite pictures of my parents this way while they were looking for agates to add to their rock collection. I never showed it to her. She would have been really mad at me for taking it but I’m so glad that I did. I don’t want to be afraid to have my picture taken or wish there was some magic way to make myself look “better” than I really am. I’m glad I was brave enough to take full body photos of myself for my blog. I actually had fun doing it, which I hope shows as much or more than the size of my thighs. |
Leslie Masona woman in search of her post-retirement future Guess what! By subscribing, you get notices about the latest Little Old Lady with Cats posts sent to your mailbox!
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(from an entry posted on 5/1/2015) “I definitely fit some of the characteristics of a little old lady with cats: Retired - check, Single - check, Like to knit - check, Have cats - check. . .I do not want to get stuck in my Little Old Lady persona, however. In fact, this blog is a risk taking experiment in exploring and redefining what I want my retired life to look like.” Categories
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