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When my father turned 60 he was surprised by a belly dancer.  Last week (January 5^th to be exact) when Dean turned 60, I gave him a flashlight.  I think, by his reaction, he was surprised too.  That’s not to say it wasn’t a very nice flashlight.  It shines 150 feet into the darkness and “produces a brilliant combination hot spot and peripheral beam” but still … it was just a flashlight.  It didn’t have quite the same dramatic effect as a belly dancer with light flashing off the undulating discs attached to her costume.  What he didn’t realize at the time, however, (because he can be somewhat oblivious) was that I’d been scurrying around like the proverbial chicken with its head cut off trying to plan a surprise 60^th birthday party for him.  

In times like that, being “blessed” with an oblivious husband can be a good thing.  The few days before his party went like this:

TUESDAY AFTERNOON – after a four hour drive from the airport

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “I’m not going to work this afternoon.  I’m going to use my vacation time to stay home and clean the house (for seven hours even though I’ve just spent four hours driving home from Denver after saying goodbye to Abby & Jorge) because it’ll distract me from feeling sad (but really it’s because my house is a total garbage dump from two weeks of non-stop fun and I have people coming for your birthday party in four days.”)

 Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “Okay.”

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TUESDAY EVENING

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “I bought new rug pads for the kitchen rugs today so they won’t slide anymore (which I’ve been talking about buying for three months but finally did today because I’m planning your surprise birthday party and I need to keep the environment safe for brittle bones and slower reflexes.”) 

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “Okay.”

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “I also bought a new rug for the front door today because the backing on the old one was turning to dust and leaving more dirt than it was catching (and because I’m having people over for your birthday party and that rug is an embarrassment.”) 

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “Okay.”

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “Oh, and I replaced all the burned out light bulbs (which have been burned out for weeks or months because I have people coming over for your birthday who probably would prefer to see the rugs they will no longer be slipping on.”) 

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “Okay.”

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WEDNESDAY – LATE MORNING

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “I don’t want to be at work.  I’m leaving early.”

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “#!?#!!”

WEDNESDAY EVENING

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “I bought too many rug pads so now that I’ve finished baking your birthday cake and making the sauce for the manicotti for tomorrow’s birthday dinner, before Bed, Bath & Beyond closes I’m going to return a couple of them (and then I’m going to rush to the party store to buy the plates and napkins that say ‘you’re 60’ and hide them in my trunk because you left work early today so I couldn’t do it after I left work because that would mean I would get home later than normal and you’d wonder where I’d been.”)

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “Right now?”  

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “Yes.” 

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “Okay.” 

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THURSDAY -- LATE MORNING 

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “I’m taking the afternoon off.  It’s my birthday.”

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “#!?#!!  Leslie, Dad took the afternoon off – again – so I need to take vacation time so I can buy the birthday beer but still get home at the same time I usually do so he’s not suspicious.  But I can’t sneak anything into the house because he’ll be there.  I’m worried if I leave beer in the trunk it’ll freeze.  Can I bring it to your house?”

THURSDAY EVENING – Birthday Party With Family

Lucky Daughter: “Dad, my birthday present for you is a father/daughter afternoon on Saturday.  I’ll pick you up around 3 p.m.” 

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  “Okay.”

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “Dean, please accept that flashlight as a token of my esteem.”

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy:  blank look

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FRIDAY MORNING

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “Dean, I’ll be out of the office for a couple of hours taking the cats to the vet to get their shots (but not really.  I'm just afraid you’ll decide to leave early again today so I’m using vacation time to buy the veggies and last minute party stuff and take it home and put it in a cooler with ice and hide it in my sewing room closet.”) 

Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy: “Okay.”

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SATURDAY MORNING 

Crazed Birthday Planner:  “I need to have Abby tell me how she makes the stuff she cleans her stainless steel stove with.  If I ever buy another stainless steel refrigerator I’m going to make sure it’s not the kind that shows every fingerprint (and why don’t you think it’s weird that I’m rubbing away furiously at this fridge and the stove at 8:30 a.m. on a Saturday while you’re making pancakes? Or that I’ve been following behind you all week picking up every bit of food you drop on the floor when you’re cooking and/or eating?  And why haven’t you noticed that I put the Christmas decoration bins back above the garage even though there are still some decorations up in the house?  Or that I actually cleaned the guest bedroom and bathroom which I almost never do unless I know guests are coming (which I know are but YOU don’t)?  Or that it’s Saturday and I’ve put on makeup and straightened my hair which NEVER happens on the weekend?”)

SATURDAY AFTERNOON 

3:07 p.m.

Lucky daughter takes Dean for the father/daughter afternoon and then the whirl of preparation begins.   Our good friends from Denver, Larry & Heidi are waiting in the wings. 

Larry drives off to the grocery store to pick up the pounds of meat and cheese, the mountain of croissants and the cake I’d ordered earlier in the week.   He brings it back and then drives to Leslie and Ryan’s to pick up the beer. While he is doing that,  Heidi and I are frantically cutting and laying out vegetables, meats, chips, and condiments, while I babble like a crazed birthday planner who is trying to prepare a surprise birthday party for her husband in three hours. 

 

What about the cucumbers?  Round slices or spears?  I don’t know…I don’t know…what do you think?  Spears?  Round?  Will they want them on their sandwich?  The round would be better on a sandwich, right?  But round wouldn’t be very easy for dipping.  If they want to dip they’ll want spears.  Round?  Spear?   And what about the meat?  Rolled or fanned out?  Oh…Heidi, your veggies are laid out in very nice rows and they’re all neat and precise.  My peppers are just a pile of red and green and orange.  Maybe I should straighten them out.  Should I straighten them out?  Cheese.  What about the cheese?  Rectangular platter or round plate?  Rolled or flat?  Not rolled, right?  Flat is better.  Condiments?  Where are my condiments?  I know I had squirt mayo and squirt miracle whip and mustard and olives and pickles.  I can’t find them.  They’re not with the other stuff.  Crap.  Did I leave that bag in the trunk?  Shoot.  If I did it’s probably frozen.  Do you think Larry’s still at the store?  It’s not in the trunk.  I’ve looked in my sewing room closet and the cabinet twice.  I can’t find them……..oh, wait.  They’re at Leslie’s!  I remember.  I bought them the day I bought the beer and I left them at Leslie’s!  What time is it?  Oh, man.  I’m never going to be ready….

And I wouldn't have been if it wasn't for Larry & Heidi's help.  If it wasn't for them all the party guests would have been grabbing deli meat and cheese from bags and cutting their own veggies.

SATURDAY EVENING

6:00 p.m.

Guests arrive. 

  

6:13 p.m. 

Text from Lucky Daughter:  “how much longer?” (because Dad is being a real pain.  He wouldn’t let me take him to the art museum because he ‘has a membership and can go anytime’ and he didn’t want to go the art gallery or the art store or just about everything I tried to do with him.)

6:20 p.m. 

Abby and Jorge have “joined in” on Skype.  I’d been watching through the peep hole in the front door for the Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy’s arrival but then I got distracted and wasn’t watching when Lucky Daughter pulled up.  So when Decidedly Oblivious Birthday Boy walked in nobody was ready.  And then he went the opposite way I was expecting (even though I should have known better) so he walked in on a bunch of people milling around visiting and drinking. 

But he was still surprised.  So surprised that he stood in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, mouth open, staring.  He was speechless almost as long as he was when he opened the flashlight.

And that was my real gift.  Even though I still think the flashlight was pretty cool.

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If Wishes Were Hammocks ... I Would Be Swinging

My “tour group” all agreed to share photos with each other once we got back home from our trip to Ecuador. I’ve been looking at mine, trying to get them ready to upload to everybody. I’ve been sorting out the bad ones, the blurry ones, and the ones I suspect have an insect somewhere in the photo but it’s so camouflaged I can’t find it. It has only been two weeks since we left Ecuador and it seems so far away now. Two weeks ago the crepe paper wrinkles in my skin were filled out -- more like seersucker -- and I didn’t leave a trail of skin flakes whenever I moved.  Two weeks ago I woke up to the weaver birds making their nests in the tree just outside our cabin.  I still didn't get to sleep in because they began their "singing" at 6:00 a.m., but at least it wasn't an alarm clock.  Two weeks ago I didn't want the trip to end, which is not the norm for me.  Normally, on day three or four of a trip I’m ready to go home. But this time … I wish I was still there. I wish I was lying on a hammock, sweating, after a walk in the rain forest.

I wish I was eating plantain chips and drinking Club beer at a restaurant on the beach.

I wish I walking on the beach (even though I didn't get to see any of the cool creatures in the tidal pools because I lived in the beauty salon and when I wasn't in the beauty salon I couldn't walk on the beach because my toenails had been painted for the wedding.)

I wish I was so far away from my normal routine that I had no choice but to relax and unwind and absorb. And I wish I was still with all my tour group buddies, hanging out, laughing, visiting, teasing, and reconnecting.

Since I’m not there, I am now going to relive my trip through multiple blog posts. I’m going to ramble on and on and on and reminisce and long for past events. However, one thing I will not do (right now anyway) is talk about the wedding – other than to say this. I have seen a few (far too few so far) wedding photos and I have seen smiles. I have no memory of smiles until I was at the reception but there are actual post-wedding/pre-reception photos with real smiles. I promise to show you those smiles later. And I will tell wedding stories. Happy ones. But for now I’ll begin with “Adventures in Manta”. Otherwise known as “How I Spent the Few Moments I Was Not in the Beauty Salon.” So settle in. Pour a glass of wine (or whiskey). Put your feet up. Place the laptop in your lap and get comfortable.  And if you're brave and choose not to click that little “X” up in the right hand corner of your screen, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Dean’s sisters and husbands (Debbie & Bill, Dianna & Dave) and my sister (Shelly) wanted to attend Abby’s wedding and stay after for a vacation in Ecuador but they weren’t quite sure how to go about making the arrangements. Dean stepped forward and said, “Ask my wife. She’s an obsessive-compulsive, crazy, controlling woman. She’ll help you.” And that’s how I became a tour director.  Jonathan and Christie (Gen-Yers) planned to attend the wedding and, bless their souls, decided to travel to the Amazon with us.  Maybe they thought hanging out with people born before computers, who think a text is something written on paper, and who could barely operate the brand new cameras they had purchased for the trip, would provide them with stories they could laugh about with their friends for years to come.  

Making all the arrangements for the trip involved alot of communication with hotels, hostels, the lodge and airlines.  No question was too small for me and every time I had a question I fired off an e-mail. I have a feeling there was alot of cringing going on when my name popped up in the official Contact Us "In Box”. Dean should have warned "the group" that I am a compulsive, addicted e-mailer. E-mails are like food to me. I need to send them and I need to get them. And more than that, if I ask a question, I need a response. And I need it quickly. Honestly, doesn't everybody check their e-mail 50 times/day?  If I don’t get a quick response I am sometimes forced to send a follow-up “did you get my e-mail?” message. And of course, each time I received a response from the hotel, the airline, the lodge, the hostel, I felt obligated to share that with my group.

After lots of planning and approximately 639 e-mails, we all met at the Houston airport.

Together we flew to Ecuador ...

and arrived at the Guayaquil airport at 11:30 p.m. When we finally arrived at our hostel and drug our travel-worn bodies in through the front door at nearly 12:30 a.m., our only thought was to crawl into bed  ... until we discovered the outdoor patio on the roof and beer in the office for $1.25/bottle.

After barely closing our eyes we woke up the next morning, loaded into a van ...

and were driven to Manta.

Abby had told me ahead of time she was going to meet us at the hostel and ride along with us. It was supposed to be a secret. But I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. I started by just telling one person, “Don’t tell Leslie, but Abby’s coming.” Then I whispered to somebody else, “don’t tell Leslie, but Abby’s coming” and somebody else….until I’d pretty much told them all. So when Abby walked in to the hostel that morning as we were waiting for the van, expecting excited exclamations, what she got was ten people sitting quietly waiting for Leslie to jump up and scream in surprise. Which she did. Because at least I didn’t tell her. But one person jumping up, alone, in excitement, wasn’t quite what Abby was expecting. In my defense…….well, there is no defense.

Once we arrived in Manta, Shelly, Leslie, Abby and I spent most of our time sitting in a chair in the beauty salon.

I wish I was exaggerating but I think the total time was about seven or eight hours over two days. We were there so long the chairs had permanent impressions of our butts on them when we left. Not only were the beauticians at this salon very, very, very, very slow, they didn’t like it when Shelly tried to change their plan once they’d decided how they wanted to do her hair. In mid-hairdo Shelly asked her beautician if she would bring down a bit of hair on the side of her face. The girl looked at her and said, “No.” Shelly asked again thinking maybe she hadn’t used the correct sign language. “No!” And that was that.

When I wasn't getting manicured, pedicured, and hairdo’d I was on the beach with everybody else, eating.  At one restaurant Ryan tried to break the language barrier to find out the secret recipe of the green salsa that was served everywhere. He made a valiant effort using creative body language but all he managed to do was entertain the waitress.

When I wasn't eating, I was drinking.

And when I wasn’t on the beach eating or in the hotel drinking or in the beauty salon, I was at a wedding which I will tell you happy stories about another day.  

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If Wishes Were Hammocks ... I Would Be Swinging

Focusing on the Flash

Dean told me of a recent news story that discussed how multi-tasking can diminish a person's ability to focus.  I'm waiting to hear "it's important for me to single-task in order to maintain my finely-tuned cognitive skills" the next time I suggest to him, (eyes rolling), that he can't do more than one thing at a time because he's a man.

Actually, he could have probably used that reasoning this past weekend while we were hiking with friends.  We have been hiking with these friends for years and the hikes have always had at least two things in common:  it's always rainy or buggy and Dean and Larry always walk so slow that if we chose to, Heidi and I could easily lap them.  The guys would have us believe their leisurely pace is required in order to view, touch, analyze and discuss all the geologic and botanical wonders surrounding them.  I, however, believe it's because they really can't do more than one thing at a time.  They walk, stop, point, stop, talk ... walk, stop, point, stop, talk.

Heidi and I do our best to slow our normal-person pace and stay with them, but that always proves to be impossible.  It's like telling a geologist he is not allowed to pick up a rock and lick it.  It just can't be done.  Within a few minutes we are so far ahead of them we are required to leave signs so they know which fork in the trail we took ... a water bottle here, a granola bar there ... 

At one point we had run out of "bread crumbs" and decided we'd better stop and wait for them to catch up.  We sat by a nice stream, feet up, relaxing, and waited for them to saunter along til they found us.  When they finally did, we feigned interest and asked what they'd been talking about during their hike.  They launched into some complicated theory as to the origins of the crumbling foundations and chimneys they'd seen along the way, the correct names of trees they'd seen, and other stuff.  I don't remember since I wasn't really listening. 

After they'd finished expounding upon their highly intelligent discussions they turned to us and said, "and what have you ladies been talking about?"  Without a second's hesitation we both replied, "hot flashes." 

There are advantages to woman-made breezes while hiking.  And in case you're wondering, there was a slight rain shower on this hike.

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Focusing on the Flash

Out With The Old

No, I don't mean I'm getting rid of Dean although I won't deny the thought crossed my mind as I was writing my last post ... only for a half a second, honey. No, I have been forced to replace my loyal, reliable, and dependable dryer.

Goodbye my friend.

You were there waiting when we moved into the house of our dreams.



The house I swore to Dean he would have to drag me out of kicking and screaming. Four years later you moved with us to our current home with nary a whimper. You were older than Garfield and ABC World News Tonight. You were older than the first test-tube baby. You were as old as my first-born child. You survived the tumultuous teenage years when you were berated for shrinking clothing. Throughout your long, hard-working life you suffered only one minor illness and recovered quickly. But nine years ago the signs and symptoms of your aging body began to appear.

You fought valiantly through them, refusing to give in to the creaks and groans of old age. You were a true companion but you have earned your rest in that special dryer retirement scrap yard home. I will miss the thunderous, wall-shaking pounding that emanated from your body and kept me company for the past nine years. Farewell my faithful friend.

Hello brand new, energy-efficient, quiet new friend! I welcome you with open arms of wet clothing.



I loved you ... and then ... I walked back in during our first cycle together and discovered the laundry room had become a sauna. I loved you til I had to pull you out to try and reattach the dryer hose and there wasn't room to squeeze in so I had to also pull out the washing machine which was in mid-wash and full of water. I know my anger was mis-placed and I should have been mad at the guy who brought you to me two hours late, but he was gone and you were there. I loved you until I had to contort into a pretzel to get the hose attached and then push back the washing machine still full of water, and you, now wet with the moisture from a humid laundry room. I loved you til I had everything back in place and the pipe leading from you to the outside dryer vent fell off amidst a shower of old lint and dirt. I loved you until I couldn't get the pipe back up myself and I had to drag Dean down to do it. I loved you til we Dean had to pry the wiring away from the pipe to get it attached. His head had lint balls on it. There were words.

You are now attached to all your pipes and hoses and duct-taped up for good measure. And now you are working again and the laundry room is dry. You are so quiet when I turn you on that my heart jumps in fear you are broken. Clothes are drying so fast the washing machine can't keep up with you and is developing a complex. I love you again.

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Out With The Old