Dawn and Jack Daniels

Dawn was a sailor girl.

I met her when my son brought her home when he was on leave. She was a pretty girl.

I have no idea if my son and Dawn slept together or not, but I would bet not. Dawn was not really his type.

But she was mine.

Dawn was 21 and had just gotten divorced from a 20 year old Marine. She was so completely without artifice that I adored her almost on sight. Dawn had something I can only call "gumption" and I admire that quality more than almost anything else.

Dawn came back to see me two weeks later and spent the night at our house. She and I drank Jack Daniels and listened to Patsy Cline for hours in our pajamas, talking about life, love, and men who had done us wrong.

When she got ready to leave the next day, I gave her a pair of emerald earrings. I hope she still wears them, and I hope she is happy!

Roses, The Prom, And The Guy With One Leg

When I was a junior in high school, I really wanted to go to the junior prom.

I didn't actually have a boyfriend at the time, so I thought I might be out of luck. But I knew one guy from Geometry who just might fit my requirements.

John was smart and very good looking. I don't think he dated much, but he was very good at Math. I decided he would be my prom date. It was just going to take a bit of planning since I doubt that he even knew my name.

I decided to use my feminine wiles to snare John. Oh, and did I mention that he only had one leg? John had saved his sister while boating and lost a leg doing it. His parents had given him a nice car, and he was really cute, plus the math aptitude, well what can I say? He was perfect.

I asked John if he would come to my house after school to help me with the homework because I was hopelessly lost. He agreed and came over to work with me. John was very serious in trying to get some math into my pea brain, but that is the last thing that was really on my mind. I clasped my head in dismay and said something cute like "Oh John, I'll never be as smart as you! I just don't get it."

Kindly, John said "I'll come back tomorrow and we'll work on it some more" and then he left. This was not really going according to my plan, since I had assumed I might even be pregnant by this time in the scenario. Still, I realized it would take something to make him think of me as just a girl, and not a math project.

I had a brainstorm. I grabbed my babysitting money, all of it, and headed for the shopping center. I went into the florist and ordered a dozen red roses to be delivered to my house the next day at exactly 3:30 PM. The card was addressed to me, of course, but not signed.

The next day when John and I were at the kitchen table studying, the doorbell rang. I went and opened the door said something like "Oh wow! For me?" When I walked in the room with the bouquet of roses, John said "nice". I made a big deal out of opening the card and said "Oh no!" "What's wrong?" John asked. Looking upset, I said they were from my ex boyfriend but it was over and I just didn't know what to do.

"About what?" John asked. "Well, we were supposed to go to the prom, I even got a dress, but now we've broken up, so I guess I just won't get to go." I think I may have even squeezed out a tear. John put his arm around my shoulder.

Yup. That's how I got to go to the junior prom with the one legged guy. And, yes, he could dance.

Dear God! Enuf is Enuf!

Summer has hit the San Francisco Bay Area with a hammer!

It reached 105 today. Tell me I'm joking! I know I've been smug about the 63 degree summer. But this is ridiculous! In San Fran, we get 3 or 4 hot days a year. This is a lot less than a lot of you suffer through and I know that.

Still, keep in mind that we do not have air conditioning. Frankly we don't need it. We heat up once a year and nearly die from the friggin' heat, but it usually lasts a day or two and it's over.

This spell happened yesterday. It reached 90 degrees in Alameda. Alex and I slept downstairs with the dogs. Our cat Smokey runs a constant temp of 102 so he was fine. We were not so fine. Both Harry and Honey were suffering too.

Sex in hot weather? Are you joking? Nobody can stand the idea of sex in hot weather. That's why I let Alex go for his massage this evening and even left his credit cards and ATM card in his wallet. Babette would refuse him any request for a happy ending if she has half a brain. And if she does not have half a brain, what am I worried about in the first place?

I was suffering. Heat and I do not get along.

We went to dinner at a place on the water this eve hoping for a cooling breeze. Even the three gin and tonics did not make that materialize. I did meet a handsome black man with a red pit bull. Honey and Harry were as intrigued with the dog as I was with the guy.

If it does not cool off tomorrow, I'm booking the first flight available to Finland to visit the luscious Ziva. This cannot be how God meant us to live.

Heat is nasty, no matter how you slice it. It makes me sweaty, angry and impossible to deal with. That cannot be a good thing.

Massage Envy

This is what my husband Alex is doing this lovely Saturday afternoon.

This is not a picture of Alex, but of some white guy getting a massage. Alex is a brown guy, but he's getting a massage too, right now in fact.

At the little mall in our town, a place called "Massage Envy" has opened recently. Alex wanted to check it out a few weeks ago so I went with him. There is a long reception counter with a lot of gorgeous women behind it, in low-cut nurses uniform-type clothes. or maybe it was tight jeans and bustiers, something like that anyway. Okay, maybe it just looked like that to me.

One of the pretty young ladies offered to help us, so I backed up, stood aside, and let Alex explain what he wanted. They made an appointment for Alex later that same day with "Babette", the therapist who would do a deep tissue massage for him. (No, they did not have photos to help in choosing the massage therapist.)

When he got home after his first massage, Alex was very happy and relaxed. He said that Babette had given him a great massage. (Better her than me because Alex's body is so hard it feels like you are trying to massage a tire.) He also told me he had made a standing appointment with Babette every Saturday afternoon at 3 PM.

I'm glad he's pampering himself a little. Alex works hard and he has a lot of stress. Getting it worked out is a good thing.

So now I'm at home alone on a Saturday afternoon waiting for my happy and relaxed husband to come back after his $50 hour-long deep tissue massage. I figure he will leave a 20% tip because that is customary, right?

Ooops! I accidentally took his credit cards, and his ATM card out of his wallet before he left. I also took a couple of $20 bills. Silly me. I did leave him with exactly $60 in his wallet. I hope he doesn't want to buy a candy bar after his massage because if he does, he will be out of luck.

Implicit trust is a wonderful thing in a marriage, don't you think?

Otto and the Kruggerands

I had a boyfriend named Otto. For birthdays and other occasions he gifted me with German gold coins.

I thought he was being very impersonal with his gifts, and I stuck the coins in a drawer and forgot about them for several years. I had about ten coins from the year Otto and I kept company.

Otto was an interesting but strange man who was born in Germany. He moved to America after the war, and worked as a mechanical engineer. I liked his accent and his big hands and his cold eyes. I didn't really like listening to him complain about how hard it was for him to be in the "Hitler Youth" movement when he was 16.

I finally took the coins to a dealer when someone told me I should have them appraised. Much to my astonishment, the coins were very valuable, ranging in price from $250 all the way up to $400 for a couple of them. Who knew?

I sold the coins and bought shoes. And I remembered Otto with more fondness than I had before.

The Episcoplian Minister and Me

Max was a great guy and an Episcopalian Minister. He let me bring my son to the pre-school at his church for free. That was very kind, to my way of thinking.

Max knew I was a "lapsed" Catholic, never went to church, and not really even much of a Christian; but he didn't care. We became pretty good friends when I was in my late twenties, divorced with 2 kids, and living in the City. I guess Max was in his mid-40's at the time.

Max would drop by my apartment a couple of evenings a week, to bring me books, and stayed for a glass of wine, and conversation. He had black hair and the bluest eyes.

We talked about faith and sin and redemption. We compared Eastern religions to Western religions. We talked about books and music. He laughed at my jokes and I laughed at his.

Our hands never once as much as touched in two years. I pretended I didn't see what was in his eyes, and he pretended he didn't see what was in mine.

It was better that way.

Ransacked? Ransacked!

This morning began rather in a peculiar fashion.

First of all, Alex and I slept downstairs for a change. Why we did this, I'm not really sure. Oh, wait, it's because we can! That's right.

I got up a little before six to freshen up before getting Alex his coffee and cereal so I could be sure he got off to work all right. (Does anyone actually believe that?) Okay, I rolled over so he could kiss me goodbye and went right back to sleep.

Although he knows better, Alex telephoned me about 8:30 AM. (I don't get up before 9 because I read that most people die early in the morning. I'm not afraid of dying, but I would much rather do it in bed than on the kitchen floor.) In any case, my feeling at the phone ringing early is always one of "Oh my God! Who died?"

Well, it turns out that Alex went out to the car this morning and saw that the front passenger door was not closed. His immediate reaction was "oh shit, the battery", followed by "What the hell?"

The car had been ransacked. A GPS unit was gone, a flashlight, and about $10 in change. The glove box was emptied on the floor, and the owner's manual and service record paperwork was strewn all over the floor in the back.

I asked Alex if he called the police and he said he had just gotten off the phone with them. "What did they say?", I inquired. He said the cop he talked to was young and he said "No worries, we'll just file a report." What do you mean, he said "No worries?"

I was hoping for a little more action out of this than that! I was actually expecting something like this!

We pay taxes! Why aren't the police here taking fingerprints and looking for clues? I particularly would have liked to talk to that silver haired gorgeous police woman with the crew cut.

Another question, why didn't our dogs bark. The car was in the driveway. Shouldn't they be doing their duty? No, they were cuddled up on the bed with us sleeping away.

My neighbor Mary telephoned about 9 this morning to ask me to come to a Mary Kay party on Friday. Mary Kay is a cosmetics firm and they have "parties" to sell their stuff. I don't like Mary Kay. I don't like Mary that much either. Come to think of it, she may not like me or she wouldn't have invited me to this party. I said no thanks.

And since Alex had already taken the car to work, why wouldn't he just wait till 9 AM to tell me this stuff.

Some days are just more disappointing than others.