Yesterday the City cut down three trees on my block. I know they were sick or dead but I am always sad when I see a tree is cut down. It will take decades for a new tree to grow that big. When you are 62 decades are not guaranteed like they used to be.
Many years ago I wrote a column about losing a tree outside my apartment. I have published it here as a salute to those three trees that have been lost.
A SHADY FRIENDSHIP
Last week the City of Minneapolis cut down my tree. Well technically, it belonged to the rest of the city because it was on the boulevard, but because I had watched it for more than eight years from my window, I feel the rest of the city can relinquish their ownership and let me refer to it as my tree.
After all, I saw it without its leaves, it saw me without my leaves and that is just about as intimate as two living objects can get without becoming co-dependent, sharing bodily fluids, or ending up on Jerry Springer.
Yes, it’s another Prince tribute. I’m still trying to grasp the news of Prince’s death. It amazes me how people (because I know I’m not the only one) can feel so much grief for a person they “didn’t know.” And, like so many people from Minneapolis I had my Prince sighting. When the movie “Purple Rain” came out I went to see it with a friend at the Skyway Theater. When it was over we stood up and saw Prince sitting about two rows behind us — apparently he liked to go to see how people reacted to the movie.
But that’s the cool thing about Prince and other people I mourned for when they passed that were not part of my life in the way that we hung out together or talked on the phone or emailed pictures of cute dogs and cats — they were part of my life in a totally different way.
The view from my balcony. I am suffering
I am now in San Diego for the Social Media Marketing World conference. Over 3,000 people will be attending. After the wonderful time at the Erma Bombeck conference I am afraid it may not be as warm and welcoming a group — but you never know. I am adorable and cuddly.
I have been lucky to be able to do some traveling in the past few years on my employer’s dime — San Diego, Las Vegas, San Jose, Chicago — but I just want to go back home.
Not sure why I don’t get into it like other people do. Of course I am at these places on my own and I think that makes a difference. I’m pretty sure if I have a travel companion (are you paying attention Keifer Sutherland) I’d be more excited and adventurous. I did find a number of web sites about the single traveler but the people in the picture looked much more together than I am. I’m thinking after I retire I would like to get in the car with Daisy and drive around the country visiting friends — I already know where you live so don’t try moving now.
Of course leaving Daisy behind does not make it any easier. Today I watched as the nicest person at Now Boarding was dragging her off — should would not walk. He finally picked her up. I felt like I was sending her off to the Bataan death march. Perhaps if I could travel with her I would have more fun — or at least feel better.
Okay I’m rambling a bit — sorry. Had to get up early (for me) to get to the airport. Of course now that I’m in San Diego I am 2 hours younger — I can see it in my face.
I’ll keep you posted on Social Media Palooza (as I call it).
Today I went to pick up some prescriptions … yes I have multiple prescriptions to make somethings higher, somethings lower, and somethings not want to go screaming naked into the night with a baseball bat. The pharmacist started scanning them in and said “There’s no cost. You get free drugs.”
Yes, free drugs that cost me $3,500 in medical bills between January 1st and today. Now it is a treat to know that for the rest of the year my drugs will be “free” and so will most of any medical visits.
While I was contemplating my “free” drugs it took me back to 1978 — in a place far far away called Sandstone Federal prison. My then boyfriend was getting out after serving a few years for things I’m better off not talking about. I had driven up to the prison to pick him and bring him back to the cities where he would be spending a month or two in a halfway house.
Sometimes you think you have nothing to write about and then Tennessee legislators come along and save the day. They have voted to designate the bible as the state book. Apparently there is no poverty, illiteracy, homelessness, or other problems in Tennessee for them to work with so they are forced to spend their time trying to figure out what should be the state book.
I’m from Minnesota and I’m embarrassed to say that I don’t believe we have a state book. We have more lakes than anyone else but we have no state book. I think this must change soon. Since the bible is already taken — and I don’t want us to be accused of being copycats — I have some suggestions:
A Fan Favorite
For the foodies of the state
Don’t they all???
Our secret weapon
A must have
Keep us humble
Why we have winter
While they were all contenders, and worthy of a good Minnesotan’s bookshelf, there is only one book that deserves to be called Minnesota’s state book:
I’ve spent the last three days wearing a name tag around my neck. It didn’t just say my name; it said I was part of this wonderful group of people. Mostly women of all ages from all parts of the country and some from other countries. It also said “I don’t have to remember your name because I can just look at your name tag.”
I know there was a Seinfeld episode where one of them suggested that everyone in New York wear a name tag but there is something nice about being in a place where you don’t have to have that awkward moment of not knowing someone’s name but that someone knows your name.
Getting ready for my first full day at the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Conference. Great dinner last night with nice people. average food, and Roy Blount, Jr.
The Dayton Marriot gave me a gigantic king sized bed but it doesn’t matter — I’m still sleeping on the edge holding on for dear life. Why? Because Daisy has trained me well. No matter how big the bed I only get 10% of the space. Sure, she’s in her Junior Suite at Now Boarding in Minneapolis and I’m in Dayton, Ohio but she still owns the bed. In fact, I took one of the pillows — the big fluffy pillows — and put it behind me. It’s the only way to sleep. (And speaking of pillows (yes I was about two sentences ago), I am amazed at how pillows can be big and fluffy. I’m use to pillows that look like they have been run over by a UPS truck. I wonder if they would notice one is missing — of course I’d have to leave my clothes here in order to pack it into my suitcase but that would be no great loss.)
Of course the pillow doesn’t get up in the middle of the night and start walking around trying to find a new position only to lay right back down where it started — all snuggly next to me; making sure I don’t use anymore than my allotted 10% of mattress space.
Boy do I miss that girl.
I have been saying “I’ll get back to writing my blog” since, well my last post was August of 2015. Hey, at least I didn’t wait a whole year. Good on me!!!!!!
So here I am at the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Conference where I paid a lot of money to learn about writing and what would be a better place to return to my blog than here and now.
Here I am in lovely Dayton, Ohio. At the Minneapolis airport I was stopped at security and patted down and felt up. Never happened before. I am even prescreened for god’s sake!!!
I looked at the screen — which apparently is a no no because I was immediately told to turn around — and there were squares around my neck. I can’t figure out what was in there that would have set off an alarm. Perhaps I have too many skin tags and if I rub them together I could create some kind of spontaneous fire? I was asked to remove everything from my back pocket — I had no back pocket so I’m thinking butt cellulite perhaps showed up. They also rubbed something on the palms of my hands and then scanned it. Cootie checker? Perhaps I had rubbed Daisy’s belly one too many times. I don’t know.
Is it weird that I had sex with a guy about a 16 months ago (there is more to the question so don’t answer yet) and for the life of me I can’t remember his name?
We met online and did some playful texting and finally sealed the deal. It was underwhelming to say the least. I remember thinking “I put my partial in for this.” Afterwards he emailed and said “I think my dog smells your dog” and I had to ask someone if that was code for something. I discovered it is code for “let’s NEVER EVER do this again.” And we didn’t but for some reason, the other day, I saw something that made me think of ______ yes fill in the blank because I have no idea what his name was/is.
I’m not sure if that makes me a harlot or just a 60 year old with a bad memory. If I had to chose I’d actually pick the former — what 60-year-old woman doesn’t want to believe she’s still a harlot. Other than Mother Teresa and Nancy Reagan.
Well that’s my question? Any insights?
A local magazine recently featured different ideas for kids’ birthday parties. There were traditional ideas such as clowns, ponies, facepainting and storytellers. There were also unique ideas such as art parties and a cooking school that let the party goers make their own lunch. But what caught my eye were two companies that offered “little girls, ages four and up…the full ‘beauty’ treatment” or gave “your little beauties…the cover girl treatment,” including a mini-makeover.
Now you may think it bothers me that girls are being socialized so early to believe that beauty is a measure of worth, but that isn’t the case at all. Everyone knows you can never learn too early how to properly de-emphasize a large nose or create expressive eyes. In fact, I’m repulsed to think there could be defenseless girls walking around who have no idea how to properly use an eyelash curler.
What does bother me is the lack of great parties like this for little boys. How will they ever grow up to be manly men without the benefit of early learning experiences. So I did some investigating and came-up with a few party ideas for those “little hunks” of yours:
JIFFY LUBE: Your little mechanics will be feeling their oats after they’ve been down in the pits changing oil and greasing a few chassis. The little grease monkeys will love playing What’s in the Glove Compartment and Spin the Hubcap. Each guest will go home with an air freshener to hang from the rear view mirror, a can of car wax, and a dirty blue shirt with the name “Duke” embroidered on it. This party is guaranteed to be an accelerating experience for every little boy. Continue reading