Gone with the Wind

Gone with The Wind was on last night. I love it. Not only do I own it but I watch it every single opportunity I have to see it on tv. (TCM runs it without commercials.) I also read the book once a year or so.

Every viewing or reading brings something different. For the most part, I fall in love with Rhett again (he reminds me so much of my soon-to-be ex-husband) and I relish the stories of family, the South, Scarlett, and of course, the pageantry of the whole thing.

Last night I was bizarrely frustrated with mealy-mouth Melanie. Would she please just take her drab self and go away? Not that I wanted Scarlett to end up with Ashley. Would he please just figure out that he's gay?

The most quoted line from the movie is:

"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

But one of my favorites is the exchange between Rhett and Scarlett:

""You sir are no gentleman."
"And you miss are no lady."

The Scary Side

The other night I was sitting with my friend in the Flamingo Lounge, aka her family room. We were recounting our day. Mine basically boiled down to a couple of episodes where I wanted to scream, "Move aside incompetent people! I will handle this."

She calmly said, "That's your scary side."

I come by this honestly. Everyone is afraid of my mother. (Some of her friends pretend like they're not but they're not fooling me.) Even my goldies -- my friends who have known her since our childhood -- are still afraid of her. They tread softly. A wise choice. My father who was struck with the thunderbolt, freakish, out-of-this-world love potion of adoration for her knows when to clam up and move on.

I must admit she is still capable of scaring me with a look. I think all parenting skills should be modeled on the Boy Scouts/Girl Scouts. The scary look is a badge to earn.

We celebrated her birthday earlier this week. Then we had a minor health scare. In the heat of the moment, I forgot to keep my cool and my scary side came out. I believe I said something like, "Please stop doing your hair because when you're dead, they have people at the funeral home who take care of that."

Happy birthday to my scary mom and genuine thanks for the DNA.

Suddenly Single

Well, it's starting. People told me it would happen and I disagreed.

More than one man has requested my company on a date.

I hate it. I hate me for questioning motives. I hate that I have lost the protective cocoon of marriage. It allowed me to be friendly and silly. It allowed me to dance when the spirit moved me -- as it often does.

I know I'm not married but I don't feel single. I feel like a bratty 5-year old saying, "I don't want to date and you can't make me!"

I don't date. Don't ask me.

But put on the right song and I'll dance like a fool.

Don't Rewind

Many phases or decisions require a leap of faith. Some do it with a prayer while others adopt a "what the hell!" attitude. As I am continuing with my soul-searching, what-am-I-supposed-to-learn journey, I'm learning that it takes a dose of courage and a leap of faith to confront the icky underbelly of choices gone awry. It also takes a leap of faith to move ahead and believe there are better choices and days ahead.

Here's a lesson I'm pondering:

I've noticed that a lot of what passes for conversation only involves one party. The other person isn't interested or has heard the information before.

I am guilty of both sides.

And, it occurs to me that most of the spirited discussions toward the end of my marriage -- the last three years or so -- required neither of us to be there. We'd said it all before. We should've kept a tape of it so we could rewind, hit "play" and find something else to do.

There's a lesson in there that I'm trying to learn.

Look at me -- I'm leaping and learning.

Tainted Dolls

I played with dolls and especially Barbie dolls way too long. Loved the hair, the outfits, the playhouse and all the accessories. Another memory tainted! Mattel is introducing "Tattoo Barbie."

Tattoos are not my thing. But, in all fairness, I know some people who have some cool ones. My goddaughter comes to mind.

Dolls and playthings are supposed to give you something to aspire to. Ok, maybe that's absurd when we look at Barbie -- 6' legs, 16" waist and breasts that Dolly Parton might aspire to have -- but she was reasonably wholesome and her only fault was her relentless play time with dorky Ken. (In my childhood, we threw Ken away and paired her with GI Joe -- way cooler!)

So now Barbie has to conform with the times. She's free to maim her body with tattoos. I'm sure "Pierce me Barbie" is right around the corner, complete with needles and fun jewelry for all body parts.

Little girls will have enough time to experiment with tattoos, piercings and other things in Pandora's Box.

Stuff You Should Love But Don't

Many years ago, my mother made the mistake of admitting to a certain affection for some particular trinket or doodad. Don't ever do it -- especially if it has a theme. You will be inundated with them for every Christmas and birthday forever more. You are stuck.

I've also decided you should never tell people your hobbies or interests. "What? You like the Beatles? I will never again struggle for a gift! I will buy you every dorky gift produced by The Franklin Mint" -- (only 9 million produced -- you, my friend, have a collector's item!)

I am in a unique position of figuring out what is important to me from the home I used to share with my husband. I am running out of time to gather and sort many items. I'm also lucky because eventually I will start anew in a place I will call home. I already know that I have some general guidelines:

Things with huge sentimental value will make the cut.

Practical things with sentimental value get top billing. Most of my grandmother's dishes that she gave to me came from garage sales. They're in.

I will be ruthless with things I don't like or have no use for.

I must admit. This is the fun part of starting over.

Responsible Pet Ownership

During Hurricane Katrina, I had friends and family who went down to help. I had family who lost their home and jobs. I had friends who doled out food, water and the occasional cash gift. I had friends or people I knew who spent their time to help people and animals in a serious crisis.

Katrina's over but we still have an animal crisis. There will always be people who take pet ownership less seriously than I do. Or maybe you don't spoil them the way others do. Maybe they don't sleep in your bed. Maybe you get a little miffed at people who don't think it's ok that they come into your home and shed all over the place. I respect your feelings; I comply. Just be responsible if you choose to own one.

Last week, I had to deal with a dog in the park that had been dumped. He was scared and lonely and slightly aggressive -- probably because he was hungry. The week before, we had two pit bulls loose in our neighborhood. Again, lonely and hungry and not super aggressive. But (and this is big!) aggressive enough to scare a hearing-imparied woman who's just trying to get some exercise.

Please don't get a pet if you don't want it. Please don't dump a pet if you can't handle it. Please get your pet spayed or neutered -- we have enough out there that need a good home.
And when the two dogs of this house get a little pushy, I wish they had brains bigger than a peanut so I could explain how lucky they are.

Bass-O-Matic

Remember Dan Akroyd doing the Bass-O-Matic skit during SNL's heyday? It was gross and juvenile and over-the-top funny.

My father loves to fish. If there's a stronger word than "love," it applies. At this time of year, he's in his heyday. He brings his catchings home, cleans and fillets them. And he really enjoys eating them the old-fashioned way:

Fry those babies up!

I don't fry. I could be all holier-than-thou and pretend it's a health thing or a weight issue. It's neither. If someone else wants to fry food, I will eat it.

My mother has significantly cut down her frying since my childhood. (I'm sure my memory is skewed but I remember fried chicken, fried pork chops, fried cubed steak, fried whatever plus mashed potatoes and gravy and mushy vegetables.) Lucky for my father, she loves him enough to stand over hot grease and fry his fish.

I announce, "I'm not cleaning up!" while I shovel it in.

The fisherman of this family has been reeling them in. The cook of this family has a new appliance. It's better than the Bass-O-Matic. It's a big ol' deep fryer. One big batch and we're in no-greasy-stove-to-scrub heaven.

All I have to do is show up and eat.

Rocking in Memories

Don't we all have the fantasy of kicking back in old age? Rocking next to someone we love? Sharing memories and sharing stories.

The thing that gets me about the rocking chair fantasy is I don't want to sit beside someone who doesn't share my history. I don't want to learn his stories; I want to know them by heart. I want to interrupt and say, "No, it wasn't New Orleans; it was Las Vegas." I don't want to tell someone that I was once younger and cuter and smart and capable. I want someone who remembers when I was all of those things.

You're probably thinking that I'm melancholy and muddled in memories because my divorce is progressing. You would be correct.

Just because my divorce is the right thing doesn't make it hurt less.

Endless Possibilities

Remember earlier this spring when I wrote about wanting to be "In Bloom?"

Perhaps I might really be a Pollyanna. Although lots of people bother to tell me I am not. Confused? I am. But in a really good way.

I am seeing blessings and possibilities everywhere. And I am grateful.

My marriage is ending. It's been a huge chunk of my adult life -- I'm 46 and I started dating my husband when I was 27. Sure I'm sad but mostly I'm grateful for what we had and the ability to move on.

I still don't have the job of my dreams but through the occasional frustration I realize that more opportunities are coming my way every day. I've had some good interviews and some doors opening.

I've spent the last several months living with my parents and I would not trade the experience for anything. It is not for sissies! You better know yourself and have a darned good relationship before you climb aboard that boat. Lucky for me, the relationship I remembered from my childhood was a dim comparison to the one that has resurfaced.

Before you barf from the "good time Sheri" comments, I will admit that the dog gets a little damp sometimes. She's my occasional cry pillow but that's the price she pays for getting to sleep in the bed.

I'm enjoying reconciling things in my mind and my heart. I see love and enduring friendships. I see God at work in my life.

I'm not married; I'm not single.
I'm not young; I'm not old.
I'm not rich; I'm not poor.

I'm in the in-between spaces, wallowing in the in-between places and I'm loving the possibilities.

Thrilling

Anyone with half a brain is now supposed to be completely appalled and sick of the overwhelming attention to the sudden death of Michael Jackson, aka Wacko Jacko. If you're a baby boomer or older, you've lost a few music icons ... Elvis, John Lennon, and more.

Yes, we (as a society, as a star-obsessed culture) have forgotten that the Supreme Court has a full docket ahead of them in October. The transformation of health care is going to kill us or make us stronger. Our new president has a task more overwhelming than most people care to calculate. We're still at war. The planet is possibly freezing or boiling at any given point and 99.9 percent of us who would really like to find a reasonably good fit for a reasonably good job still have not found it.

Is the untimely death of Michael Jackson worth the diversion?

Oh, probably not.

If you had asked me two weeks ago if I was a fan of his, I probably would've shrugged and said, "He's ok. I like some of his music." I would've probably added that his fascination with remaking his face gives me the creeps and the endless accusations and out-of-court settlements give me pause.

But a funny thing happened while I watched glimpses of the endless coverage of the past couple of weeks -- I was shocked at how much his music has been a part of my life. From buying a 45 record of "ABC" by The Jackson Five to associating certain songs with high school and college. The first music video I was ever interested in watching was "Thriller." I watched it again (the long version) the other day.

Of course I watched the funeral. I was touched once again by his music and by his legacy. Turns out, I'm a much bigger fan than I thought.

Word Games

You know I love word games. I do the crossword every day. I watch Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune (which will always be "Hangman" to me.)



My dog has been going to an obedience class. Of course, the class is really for me so I can learn everything I've done wrong and try to correct the error of my ways. All I know is we're both exhausted when it's over.

I've read several different opinions on how many words that dogs can really recognize and understand. I'm sure it varies by the breed and other factors. I just want my dog to master the basics. Maybe she needs some word games.