My husband has a head for numbers. Golf scores. Football scores. Route numbers. Banking. Anything but our kids’ and grandkids’ birthdays, though he does have a ballpark idea of those. When your family grows, it gets harder to keep track. Combine that with getting older, and it’s much harder to keep track. But he has me, and so far, so good with me remembering the important dates. (Full disclosure, I keep them written down as a failsafe. Don’t tell Bob.)
Remembering these dates is important in order to celebrate with our family and show them some birthday love, but it’s also important to gain access to our house. We have combination lock entries, and I love them because we can tell our code to people who need to get in if we aren’t home, and we also don’t have to carry a key. I hate them because sometimes the batteries die, and we have no idea where the “key” is in case that happens. Of course, it only happens when we are trying to get back in the house – never when we’re leaving. But since we have multiple entries with combinations, we have not been locked out yet. Or I should say I have never been locked out.
Bob told me I could pick out the combinations as he knows numbers vex me. Figuring out a code for our entry keypads was almost as bad as having to come up with a gazillion other passwords to keep our banking, Facebook account, streaming services, Amazon account, different doctors, hospital, funeral home, and on and on ad nauseam. Therefore, I came up with a plan that I would never forget because of the way I think. As it turns out, that also means that Bob will never remember because of the way he thinks.
Without giving you access to our home, my thinking went something like this. Start with my age when Bob and I started dating and find the square root of that number – round up. That’s the first digit.
For digit number two, start with the number of times our daughter texted me that week and subtract the total number of times that our sons texted me. Divide that by four and round up.
For the third digit, I measured the hypotenuse of the smallest triangle that hangs over Bob’s workbench. Easy.
The fourth digit was tough, so I used the combined age of Bob and me when we were married and then subtracted that from our current ages. I used the first digit of that number just to keep it simple.
Seriously, I don’t even understand half of what I just wrote. I had to look up the word hypotenuse! But, I did use information about our family as the keys to our code, and I filled Bob in on these magical numbers that my amazing mind came up with. The end result: Bob was locked out one time too many, so he created a separate code just for him. These keypads take more than one code! That’s a marriage saver!
After three days in the inside passage of Alaska, the first leg of our trip is in the books. This leg was all about recovering from the four hour time difference while enjoying the scenery and looking for whales. We spotted a pod of humpbacks with our binoculars. So cool.
The Lions Gate Bridge in Vancouver
After boarding at Vancouver, the first port was Juneau, where we disembarked to enjoy a cool, sunny afternoon in Alaska’s capital. The port shops were packed so we opted to go up for the views.
Meanwhile, back on the ship…
Every nook in that wall had a briefcase in it with a game inside. 
We did a fair amount of eating, sleeping, and playing games in the library. The highlight of the trip so far was at our specialty dinner to celebrate our 50th anniversary.
Today is Saturday. I know this only because the ship is kind of enough to change the elevator floor mats every day.
Our land excursion starts today as we disembark in Skagway and get ready for our next adventure. 
Bob and I on our wedding day August 2, 1975, in MarylandWe celebrated our 25th anniversary in Hawaii. Celebrating our 50th anniversary in Alaska. 
We are on our way to celebrate our 50th anniversary in Alaska and some surrounding areas in Canada. It was a long but nice day of travel from Orlando to Vancouver BC.
Tomorrow (Wednesday) we board a ship for part one of our trip. But tonight we are in a hotel near the airport which is where in the morning we’ll meet transport for our cruise.
Bob is an excellent planner but even he was surprised to see that our hotel is right across the street from a Costco. What a great start to our adventure! I’d never been in a Canadian Costco. Now I have.
I don’t think anything could’ve gotten me back on my feet and out of the hotel except for this. Costco does have a draw! But the best part of Costco today was hanging around the food court and eating ice cream with our new friends Tiger and Erica.
This Costco was packed so sharing tables was helpful. We tried to take a selfie so our kids could make fun of us, but our lack of coordination was on display so Tiger offered. He told us we were so cute, he was happy to step up. This was a first and I guess appropriate as we are now that old couple who has been married fifty years. It’s kind of like the first time someone calls you ma’am.
Tiger peppered us with questions about what makes a lasting marriage, asked about taking care of family and choosing a career. We told him that Jesus was foundational for marriage and a good sense of humor doesn’t hurt either.
I asked for a picture before we left. Tiger wanted a copy of it as well. This sweet couple are just dating and so friendly and warm. I pray God‘s blessing on them- the first friends of our new trip. We left a little Jesus with them.
On our walk back to the hotel, we saw our first wildlife. I’m getting excited!
I don’t like to come off as overly dramatic, but Bob does. I also don’t typically like to throw my husband under the bus, but if I did, he would insist it was a greyhound and not a school bus. It makes for a better story.
We’ve been together almost forever, but I can still remember the first time we went to the beach and I saw a big scar on his chest. He explained it was from a knife fight. That was hard to believe, but Bob assured me that the kid up the street from them made it a point to try to beat him up as many days a week as he could. Thankfully, Bob was quick – speed can really be a help to little guys like Bob who were on the skinny side as a kid. I was horrified that he would have to grow up defending himself to the neighborhood bully, especially one that wielded a knife. Bob took it in stride. I was reminded of a definition of comedy – tragedy plus time equals humor, but this wasn’t funny.
I’m not sure if it was one of his sisters or his mom who gave more insight into this scar years later, but the truth came out that the alleged knife wound came from going over the handlebars on his bike. The handlebars were missing their hand grips so that rough metal pipe sliced his chest open.
I will barely mention the scar on his hand that resulted from another knife fight. This one was with a pumpkin that he was carving for Halloween, but it was another story worth embellishing. Pumpkins can be aggressive.
Flash forward about 50 years and I hear Bob telling the story of someone with whom he had an encounter. It was a rough day because the other man had actually slit Bob’s throat. He pointed to the scar while the wide-eyed listener must have been wondering who would do that to a senior citizen. The answer was a surgeon during a disk fusion.
This all adds up to why Bob is fine with going to the doctor, though he’s not as fanatical about it as his father was. Those visits can yield good stories, and that is the sort of fodder that people of a certain age need to relate with their peer group and confuse their grandchildren.
Bob making a big splash for our grandsons.
Speaking of his father – Bob will never catch up with that man when it comes to wanting to go to the doctor. When Dale was ninety, we were returning from a dermatology appointment. (I took him to his appointments back then because he lived in an assisted living facility and Bob was still working.) He told me that he believed it was time for his colonoscopy.
I looked at this blind man who also had mobility issues and said, “Dad, I don’t think you could handle the prep.”
As he began to lodge a protest, I added, “You know, something’s got to kill you. You’re not getting a colonoscopy.” He gave in on that one, but only because he couldn’t make his own appointments.
I think about caring for our parents and hope it will help me when I’m in their shoes. Bob’s mother died suddenly in her mid-eighties. As for the other three of our parents – two out of three did not always make it easy on us as their care-givers. They weren’t too bad, and I know they were grateful, but it was hard for them to receive help and, therefore, challenging for us to give it. We want to learn from that. Aging is hard – very hard. Let’s try to do it gracefully like one out of every three parents. (Thanks, Mom!)
May has been a mixed bag. Bob took me for a get-away in Jamaica at the start of the month – just a few days to ourselves. What we didn’t count on when the trip was booked (and rebooked twice because of conflicts) was twofold. One, my mother, who lives with us, had contracted shingles a week before we left. She was put on antivirals, and my sister was here, so I only had minor guilt about leaving her. Two, my knees have had their own agenda this year. That agenda includes giving out on me at times and other times just being so painful that I don’t want to walk.
But we pressed on with our non-refundable trip, and in hindsight I’m glad we did. Time alone together is a premium. Bob booked wheelchairs for me at every airport leg with the hope that my walking strength would be conserved for leisurely walks on the beach. Being pushed around an airport in a wheelchair was a new experience. I didn’t like it at first, but now I think it’s the way to go – especially in the Miami airport because that place is a maze.
We arrived at our lovely resort and right away realized – Jamaica, we have a problem. The room chosen for us was on the second floor with no elevator access. That was fairly easily remedied to a first-floor unit. While I was unpacking, Bob went to check on something in the lobby and when he left, our doorknob fell off. I immediately ceased unpacking. A young man came and fixed it. He assured us that it was fine, so we put our suits on and headed to the pool. Thankfully, we felt like we should check to make sure it worked with our key, because it did not.
House arrest in Jamaica: This time they sent two men to fix the doorknob. One of them was armed with a computer and used YouTube as his tutor. We didn’t feel comfortable leaving all our things in the room while the door was propped open and these guys went in and out, so we waited. After an hour, we requested another room, and amazingly they were able to accommodate us on the second floor near an elevator. A mere three hours later, we were set to begin our vacation.
I was not in a great frame of mind for this trip. Mom was home with shingles and three days after we returned home, I had arthroscopic knee surgery scheduled to fix my badly torn meniscus. But I hobbled along bravely sitting by the pool and having drinks brought to me. I’d hardly call it suffering! We even tried to swim in Montego Bay, but the sand was hard on my knees, so we only took a token dip in the turquoise blue water. Four days of sun and relaxing, and the best part was I did not have to plan or prepare any meals. Score!
On Wednesday afternoon, two days after returning home, my mom had an incident, probably a TIA, and she had to go to the ER. It was scary, but she pulled through, though she continues to deal with shingles. We were thankful she didn’t need to be admitted, plus the doctor said her shingles were resolving and she wasn’t contagious. That was nice to hear.
My surgery went well – so they tell me. I went home with a bandaged leg and used crutches the next two days until I could uncover the wounds – three little places each requiring two stitches. You wouldn’t think it would be that big a deal and it truly wasn’t. It was just more than I thought it would be hobbling around on my other knee (which isn’t great). Plus, that left Bob and my sister to tend to Mom, who was still weak from shingles and the supposed TIA. I don’t like being sidelined, but sometimes it’s good for me.
One of the weirdest challenges post-surgery was removing the permanent marker tattoo, as they called it, from my leg. It took six of us to figure out that it said left, indicating the left leg was the one they were working on. My friend Maria suggested I get it off with Windex, My Big Fat Greek wedding style. Contrary to pop-culture movie advice, that didn’t work.

I think my brain hurt more than my leg did. Okay, maybe it was a tie for the first several days, but it’s been two weeks and I’m coming out of it. I can even sit at the table and bend my knee comfortably enough to type. Yay!
I have many friends going through lots of physical ailments right now, and this reminds me to pray for them and helps me to keep my stuff in right perspective. I’m thankful for the surgery, but I’m not quite ready to do the other knee yet. Maybe in the fall. I should say – maybe in the autumn. I don’t like to use the word fall.
I woke up this morning thinking about Torchy’s Tacos. I love their tacos, and they are so ample that one is all I need. Well, one and some queso. You have to try their queso. Plus, the tacos have cute names like Tipsy Chick, Trailer Park Trashy, and The Hogfather. But, this is not what I want on my mind before my first cup of coffee.
Bob had already gone to play pickleball when I awoke this morning. This gave me plenty of time to refocus. He is a morning person. My best time of day is to be determined. We are zeroing in on 10 am until 2 pm, but it can fluctuate or not really happen at all. I’m a low energy person, but I will rally for Torchy’s Tacos.
By the time Bob came home from pickleball, I had managed to put Torchy’s far from my mind. We sat down to talk, and I wanted to share a revelation that I had about my need to cut down on caffeine, which seems strange because that is one of the things that energizes me. So, I started to inform him with an opening of, “Okay, so…”
Bob replied, “Queso?”
And that’s how we ended up at Torchy’s for lunch. It’s like it was meant to be, and the queso, as always, was amazing.
Valentine’s Day. These are words that challenge me. Bob and I don’t make a big deal over the day, but we do recognize it. You don’t stay happily married for almost 50 years by ignoring the day designated especially for romantic love.
Most years we try to pull away to have time for ourselves. That’s challenging. A lot of married folks our age can simply stay home and celebrate together, but we do not live alone, so that can be awkward. I don’t like to go to crowded restaurants on that day either. We go out to dinner frequently, so it’s not that unique, though I love to go out to dinner, so it’s not a bad choice. Any excuse not to cook it great by me.
This year we decided to go to one of our favorite places – the Lake Apopka Wildlife Drive. This is my birding happy place. The views are expanses of blue and shades of green, which are enhanced by the lovely sounds of birdsong. The drive can take as little as two hours, but it usually takes us closer to three as we stop and take a walk along Lake Apopka and pull over at multiple places to pause and bird watch. It’s relaxing. At least it usually is.
For Valentine’s Day we packed a picnic lunch before we headed to the drive. We had never done that before, so we thought it would be special. We also made reservations for a movie later that night. Captain America: Brave New World would not qualify as a rom/com, but we enjoy the franchise, so why not! Because we didn’t know how long we’d be on the drive, we decided to wing it when it came to dinner. We knew restaurants would be packed, so we’d just let it play out.
The opening road on the drive this time of year is always packed with alligators, ducks, coots, and gallinules. Lake Apopka is a prime migratory spot, so we knew we’d have lots to see. I have a trusty bird guide to help identify the ducks. There are so many species! Every year I say I’m going to brush up on my duck knowledge, but by the end of migration season, I’m still weak as a duckling in my identification skills. It was a good thing I have a birding guide. It would have been an even better thing if I had taken it off the dining room table and put it in the car.
The drive in was lovely. We even spotted a couple of Wilson’s Snipes with their extremely long bill, so if you want to trick someone into going on a snipe hunt, this is not the place.
At the end of the road, we walked along the lake trying to spot alligators. We hadn’t seen a single one all the way in and that is strange. I reminded myself that they don’t take them in at night as I pictured Florida cowboys herding them into pens. Nope, that isn’t the way it works. Finally, I spotted a big daddy lurking by the shore with another gator swimming in the current passing him by.
We returned to our car and encountered a road closure that forced all the vehicles to take the same road – the road along the lakeshore, our least favorite way to go. That is when the tides turned. You don’t see as much on that part of the drive, and there is only one pull-out to bird watch. We were out for a relaxing day, so we figured this was a mere bump in the dirt road. We didn’t care. Until we did.
The speed limit along the drive is about 10 mph. It’s a bumpy, dirt road, and it’s made for watching wildlife from your vehicle, so that’s about right. The car leading the pack along the lakeshore that day must have been new or totally self-absorbed or possibly fascinated by the lack of wildlife that day (it was the worst day for bird watching we have ever experienced there) or maybe cruel and sadistic. I don’t know, but I do know that he drove 2-3 mph the entire way. By halfway down this long, boring road, there were at least 25 vehicles behind him, each with a driver ready to strangle somebody. When we approached the pull-out, I was hopeful that he would do just that and let us pass. Nope.
I should point out that there is no passing. On one side of the road is a drop-off to a canal and swamp area. The other side is Lake Apopka. It was brutal, and I think at one point a turtle passed us by. As we approached the sharp right turn of the road, there was another opportunity for this driver to pull over and let our growing line of cars pass. Nope again.
By now the car behind us was getting antsy. He pulled up close to our rear bumper on the driver’s side, signaling that he wanted to pass. He kept on us like a heron after a snake. Then he decided to honk his horn. I know he was desperate. We all were! But seriously! We were at least ten cars from the beginning of the line. Perhaps he wanted to start a procession of honking to alert the driver at the start.
At long last we reached the picnic area. Once again there were few birds to be seen, but we could tell they had been there by the splattering of bird poop on the tables. Ambiance at its best for a bird watcher? Uh, no, but we made do. From our perch on the poopified picnic table, we had the opportunity to people watch as another long parade of cars was inching along the road towards us at a snail’s pace. One oblivious driver got out of his truck, not 15 feet from the parking area, to view a baby gator. This blocked the entire road full of unhappy birders. As another man got out of his truck to approach the clueless gator gawker, Bob and I decided to skedaddle and get ahead of whatever wildlife was about to be on display. (Reminder: It’s illegal to feed alligators, especially to feed them people.)
At the end of the drive, we discovered that we would have plenty of time to go to a relaxing dinner before the movie, except we didn’t have reservations. We got in the car around 5:00 to get a jump on the Valentine crowd, but we made the mistake of choosing Longhorn Steak House, which is a favorite of the over sixty crowd, so they were packed. Five in the evening is regular dinnertime for them, so down the road we went.
I called Miller’s Ale House and they said it was only a ten minute wait and we should come ahead, no need to leave our name. When we got there, it was a twenty minute wait and the receptionist said we should have called ahead and left our name. We looked at each other and shrugged it off. Twenty minutes wasn’t going to be a problem. That is until it turned into 45 minutes, and we still had names ahead of us. Captain American was getting closer and closer, but we really needed Doctor Who or some other time traveler to help us achieve our plan.
Well, Chipotle had no line at all. Go figure! We weren’t too disappointed because we do eat out often, but it was kind of amusing that the place where we could enjoy a meal alone together was fast food. The rest of the world was waiting at Miller’s Ale House and Longhorn.
Buying tickets to go to the movies is so great now. You don’t have to wait in line or worry about your seat selection. You can get that empty seat buffer between you and the next group. It’s easily done on your smartphone. We settled in with plenty of time.
Minutes before the show started, a young man with a big tray full of food plopped down right beside me in our buffer zone. I should mention that the theater was only about a third full. I thought maybe he was joining the group to his right, but no, he was there to watch the movie with me.
It didn’t take but a minute to surmise that this young man with the welcoming smile and friendly manner had some special needs and that he was a huge Marvel fan. He was so excited that when the movie began, he clapped and informed me that Captain America is not Steve Rogers anymore, but it’s now Sam Wilson who was the Falcon. He didn’t want me to miss a thing. He chatted right up to the start of the movie, and I wondered if he was going to disturb anyone, but he kept his voice low while informing me of who was who each time a new character appeared. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I was familiar with the storylines. It was a privilege to watch the movie with this fellow, and I have to say a highlight of a very weird Valentine’s Day. Of course, Bob was there, but my new friend kept his voice low enough that even Bob was unaware of his comments. I’m glad he chose the buffer seat next to me.
As I sit at my computer typing this post, I am looking at Hawaii Volcanoes National Park and my backyard. The view of my backyard needs no explanation, of course. My water bottle cozy which dons a rendering of that national park explains the rest. Plus, it makes me happy. A pair of nene (Hawaiian geese) are observing the eruption and yet somehow choose not to flee the scene even though they can fly. I smile. Silly goose. Silly artist.
Two years ago, Bob and I visited that park, and we saw the nene. Now I can look at it from the cover of my sweating water bottle all the while keeping my hands dry. It’s a modern-day, neoprene convenience which is underappreciated. I mean, no more wet hands from drinking a cold drink from a disposable can or bottle, plus you know which drink is yours. It truly is the simple things that can bring happiness.
I used to collect mugs from places we visited, but that practice filled our cabinets to overflowing. Transporting the breakable and bulky souvenirs in my luggage was also problematic. I need to confess right here and now, though, that I do on occasion grab a mug from our travels. When I do, I promise myself that I will get rid of another mug to keep the mug population down to a minimum. That reminds me, I need to go throw out a couple of mugs when I finish writing this, but I digress.
Collecting can koozies® just makes sense, except for one thing. That is the great controversy surrounding their names. Koozie is a trademark. Similar products may be called a coozie or a cozy, but they are simply avoiding trademark infringement. I’m not sure how that all works, but to me it’s like calling a tissue a Kleenex or a copier a Xerox machine, or even worse since I am a former Tupperware dealer, a plastic container Tupperware. You get the picture, and there I go again.
I don’t like to bring up the past, especially if it makes me look like an out-of-control idiot, but collecting things makes me happy. Can koozies offer a great improvement over other things I’ve collected, such as the over-priced yet adorable Lizzie High dolls, or Great Era and Christmas Barbie dolls which needed to remain NRFB (never removed from box), and two of which are currently on a top closet shelf, largely forgotten and their fate undetermined since all my granddaughters have outgrown that stuff and I forgot to pass them along. Or there were the happy meal toys which I collected when my kids were young. I always got myself a meal so I could have the satisfaction of completing the collection all the while eating cheeseburgers and fries every Friday with my kids.
Now I try to limit myself to collecting koozies and friends. The koozies fit nicely in a kitchen drawer and the friends fit nicely in my life without taking up cabinet space.
My friend, Doug, knew of my cozy collection, so he added a couple of dozen freebees which he had gathered over the years. That’s why I have some random racing cozies, which I try to relegate to my car, because I don’t care if they get left somewhere. Sorry, Doug.
By now you have probably forgotten the name of this post and how it fits into this rambling story. Cozy conflict is what happens when I accidentally drink out of Bob’s koozie-covered water bottle right after he has taken his daily dose of dozens of pills, including fish oil, or worse when he accidentally uses my water bottle to take his pills.
Lightbulb moment: I have just come to the realization that while I have collected weird stuff in my life, for instance bottle caps when I was a kid, Bob collects pills – both prescription and supplements. His collection is large, but it seems to be keeping him alive, so no complaints there. But fish oil leaves an awful taste in my mouth, that is why I refuse to take it. When Bob accidentally picks up my Hawaii Volcanoes koozie instead of his Sedona, Arizona, one, which looks strikingly similar to Hawaii, I know there has been fish oil in the proximity of my water bottle.
Of course, Bob is emphatic that he doesn’t backwash, and I choose to believe him. Fish oil seems to have an overwhelming presence that defies all backwashing principles and gets its essence into Bob’s water bottle somehow. My disdain at tasting fish oil is always obvious and confusing to Bob. How can I be that sensitive? Yet, he chooses to believe me when I tell him that I sense it like a dolphin senses whatever dolphin chase down to eat. (Forgive me for not googling that.) This is why we have a strong marriage.
While we’re on the topic of water bottles, I apologize to the planet for the number of them that we use. We do recycle, but it’s dubious how effective that is. Bob, on the other hand, will use the same water bottle all day long. He refills it from the filtered water in the refrigerator. Sometimes he may use the bottle for multiple days until I see a police-like line-up of them in the refrigerator – his way of keeping them cool. Then some will mysteriously disappear with a slight-of-hand my magician father would have appreciated.
None of this is a big deal in our 49-year-old marriage. It is part of the quirks which I get to share on my blog but he does not because he doesn’t write a blog. To sum up: Bob drinks a lot of water and has no concept of can koozie etiquette. It’s his one and only fault. (Need I mention here that Bob reads my blog?)
So, if you come to my house and find or leave a water bottle around, no worries. Bob will take care of it for you unless I find it first and water the plants with it. Bob would just drink it or put it in the line-up.
What happens when the Happiest Place on Earth intersects with McDonald’s Happy Meals? For this writer, it revives a part of me that is a little embarrassing to tell you about – a part of me that I thought was dead and buried.
It was an ordinary September morning, a week before Bob and I left for his 50th High School Reunion. The morning news anchor reported on Walt Disney World’s 50th Anniversary. She added that McDonald’s would be joining in the celebration with their Happy Meal toys. The celebration would include 50 – yes, you read that right – 50 different toys; and the promotion would begin on September 14, the very day we set to leave on our trip.
I made a note on my calendar, not that I would forget this auspicious event. I seem to remember hearing Bob utter a sound like this:
I interpreted his groanings in two words – he knew. He knew he would have no reason not to pull through McDonald’s on our way up to the D.C. area. We typically start our trips with an egg McMuffin. That would be Opportunity #1. Of course, you can’t throw a dead squirrel without hitting a McDonald’s along I-95, so lunch would be Opportunity #2. There was also a good possibility that I would have to use the restroom whenever we passed a McDonald’s sign. Endless Opportunities! Poor Bob! He was doomed.
We arrived at our son, Joe’s, house in South Carolina on the 14th in time to pick up dinner for the four of us adults and stop at McDonald’s to get Happy Meals for our 6 and 2-year-old grandsons. I was excited to have someone be excited about happy meals with me. Sadly, when Bob and Joe returned home with the two meals for the boys, we opened them to discover Mickey Mouse on a train. It was the great switcheroo! That was a toy from last year! Oh, McDonald’s! Who do you think you’re dealing with here?
Lucky for them, it was Bob they were dealing with. Bob saw Mickey and fell right into their trap. The boys were happy enough, but I knew the truth.
Here’s a little backstory for you. When we were raising our four kids, Friday was lunch at McDonald’s day. I would get everyone, including me, a happy meal. I would strive to get complete sets and have one set that was never removed from the wrapper (MIB or NRFB, mint in box, or never removed from box). When I say strive, that’s what I mean. I would often pull up to the speaker, ask what toy was in the happy meal, and if we already had that one, it was on to the next McDonald’s. I look at this as perfectly reasonable behavior. My children, on the other hand, just wanted to eat.
This behavior got so bad, I mean interesting, that my oldest son, Jesse, wrote a completely fictional essay for a school assignment about me assaulting a cashier at McDonald’s because the Barbie happy meal toy had a scratch on her nose. Seriously – you don’t believe I’d do that, do you? I wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well, I did demand, I mean ask for, a flawless Barbie (and I got one). I mean, Barbie wouldn’t put up with that lack of perfection and neither would I. My children ate quietly in the corner. They were so well behaved!
Our next stop was at our daughter’s house in North Carolina, where I knew I would have one excited 9-year-old granddaughter who would join in this pursuit of happiness as spelled out in the Declaration of Independence. Layna is always happy, and she was anxious to join in the search. After a few days, we were on the road again, and Layna had five Disney 50th Celebration Happy Meal Toys.
After returning to Florida, I kept adding to our collection. I wasn’t trying to get all 50 – honest I wasn’t. There were some I particularly wanted, and I found most of them, but it was becoming challenging to find new toys and, when we did find them, to eat yet another happy meal. Often, I would get lunch for my mom. I told her I’d buy (hey, big spender!), but the toy was mine. After about the third time, she strangely was no longer hungry at lunchtime.
My sister, Linda, also got the bug. I guess there’s no doubt we are related. She displayed her treasures in her office, and before long the entire office was on the look-out for additions to her collection. We made checklists to keep everything straight. I intend to send most of mine to Layna, but I couldn’t help but display Groot and Rocket (Guardians of the Galaxy). I’m a fan.
To fully understand how challenging collecting different toys is, I’ll share how I do it. I go inside the restaurant. Here’s how it would go down:
McDonald’s Employee: You need to order at the kiosk, please.
Me: Okay, but first could you tell me which toys you have in your happy meal?
This was met with different responses – from having a variety of toys laid out on the counter for me to see, to a curt, “We just have Daisy.” (Everybody had Daisy.)
Then I would take it from there. It’s really quite exhausting. If Bob was with me, he’d wait in the car. He loves me, but there are limits!
One night when we were having hamburgers from our grill for dinner, they looked so weird without a toy next to them. I think this was when Bob began to worry.
That’s better!
I assured him that I had found a McDonald’s that would sell the toys without the meal. While he was relieved, we both knew the truth – this search unleashed the collector that I thought was dead.
Now the promotion is over. I collected over 20 toys and will be sharing most of them with Layna. She and I facetimed over the last weeks and it was so much fun! (I did hear Dena, her mom/my daughter comment about how she was reliving her childhood!) Now it’s time to stop going to McDonald’s for a while, except for coffee. When I got coffee from there yesterday, I couldn’t help but notice that the next promotion is from the new Marvel movie. My granddaughter, Ella, loves Marvel. I think I’m in trouble.
One last thing – I’m still looking for Celebration Mickey and R2D2, if you can hook me up that would be great. They don’t even have to be NRFB!
When I was in junior high I tried out for cheerleading. I should have talked myself out of it. Sometimes I let me do stupid things. I asked my current self, “What in the world were you thinking?”
I was just hoping for a miracle. More likely, I probably just wanted to be “something.” Those were the years when this late-bloomer felt fairly nonexistent. I wasn’t allowed to wear make-up and couldn’t do a cartwheel. I was doomed for life.
After trying out I remember the disappointment of finding my name missing from the list and trying to hide my tears. I had talked myself into believing I could do something that I clearly was not cut out to do. One good thing came out of it – I learned that contrary to popular belief, one cannot do anything they put their mind to, and that’s okay.
I would have excelled at one aspect of cheerleading – I am a good speller. I didn’t think about that way back then, but having watched two grandsons complete their (undefeated) JV football season, with the accompanying cheerleading squad, I am convinced that spelling is more important than backflips. Those girls have S-P-I-R-I-T! And those boys were A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E!
I informed my household (husband, sister, mother) that I was going to follow the example of the cheerleader. Even though I never mastered the splits or a cartwheel, I can spell; and they should expect more of it. If I could only recapture those days as a mom, I could have responded differently to the baffled look that kids give you. Instead of saying, “Do I have to spell it out for you,” I just would have.
The next night when it was time to eat, I simply chanted:
D-I-N–N-E-R – Dinner. Yeah, it’s time for dinner. Whoo!
In the middle of the table was a piping hot dish, straight from the oven:
Red hot – the food is red hot! The food is R-E-D H-O-T, red hot!
When we finished praying, “When I say ‘A,’ you say ‘men.’ A-men. A-men.”
Life on the Lighter Side 