The Ghosts of Thanksgivings Past

Yesterday I visited my mom and, as I filed her nails and polished them a pretty pink color, I talked about the Thanksgivings we had shared in the past. I told her I was feeling nostalgic and missed some of those holidays from long ago.

Mom just nodded and smiled at me. I truly don’t think she has any memory of Thanksgiving – last year or ten years ago. Or fifty years ago, for that matter.  She just attempts to make us feel better when she nods her head in agreement.

I asked her to take her rings off so I could clean them and, while she slowly wrestled the engagement ring my dad gave her off her left hand and my grandmother’s ring off her right, I kept up a light patter. Mom gets nervous these days when no one is talking. And she certainly doesn’t start any conversations herself.

So I asked her about Nanna’s ring. It has my grandmother’s engagement stone in it, but it also has another diamond – that of her friend Frances McCartin who had bequeathed it to my grandmother. And then Nanna had had her setting changed to accommodate both diamonds.

I knew the story, but I asked mom about it hoping that she would remember. She just said that the name sounded familiar.

So I changed the subject because I felt sad that mom’s memories are so faded they are virtually nonexistent anymore.

Later on at home, as I was walking Maggie Minx, I began reminiscing about those holidays.

I remember when I was a kid, my grandparents would split their holidays between their daughters’ families. We were in Ohio and our aunt and uncle and cousins lived in Connecticut, so it was impossible for Nanna and Grandpa to see us all for both holidays. One year we’d see them at Thanksgiving and the next year they’d visit us at Christmas.

Sometimes, we’d travel to that state up north to visit our Michigan cousins for the holiday. The bonus was that around Thanksgiving was my cousin Dorothy’s birthday, so we’d always have that celebration added in.

My mom used to tell the story about how that year she had to pinch-hit for my Aunt Babbie who had to abandon her hosting duties to birth a baby.

When I was away at college, coming home for Thanksgiving meant I could visit my friends as much as it was about family.

Thanksgiving my junior year at Ohio State was a memorable one. That year, I hitched a ride with one of the secretaries in the Metallurgical Engineering department at Ohio State where I was a student office assistant. Cecily was driving close to Alliance to pick up her daughters from college and bring them back to Columbus, so she said she’d be glad to give me a ride.

My dad was to pick me up from a pre-determined spot. So I loaded up her van with all the essentials I’d need for the break, including an entire bag of shoes. I had comfy shoes. I had shoes for dancing. And I had basic black flats for everything else. Since there was a lot of snow on the ground, on my feet I wore big clunky snow boots.

This footwear turned out to be a blessing because what Cecily didn’t tell me was that her van did not have a working heater. My first clue as to what kind of a ride I was getting was when she picked me up from my campus apartment and there was a puffy sleeping bag on the passenger seat. Cecily told me to hop in and zip myself into the bag or else I’d freeze.

She wasn’t kidding. Within the first 10 minutes of our drive, I turned into a human popsicle. My teeth were chattering. My nose was running. And my hands and feet felt like frozen hamburger.

By the time we reached the hand-off spot where my dad was waiting in his beautiful heated car, I was near tears because I was so cold. Only I was afraid to let the tears fall as I knew they'd freeze on my face.

So we transferred my bags into my dad’s trunk, said a quick, shivering “ggggoood-bye!” to Cecily and took off. When we reached my parents’ house in Alliance and unloaded dad’s car, I realized I’d left the bag of shoes in Cecily’s trunk. And all I had to wear were those big clunky snow boots.

How was I going to go out dancing with Diana in big clunky snow boots??

My mom took pity on her poor, half-frozen daughter, gave her a little cash and sent her shopping for a pair of shoes that would get her through the break. And what sort of footwear did said daughter choose? Why, a pair of purple suede boots, of course.

Mom just rolled her eyes when I came home with those boots wearing a big goofy grin on my face. I loved those boots. And to this day, I still remember them. And it makes me smile.

There were some Thanksgivings I didn’t really want to come home. I was dating someone and wanted to stay in Columbus, or I had been invited to gatherings that friends were having. But my parents insisted that I come home.

I might have been a little put out at the time…but now I’m glad I went. Because those are the memories I cherish. Thanksgivings spent with my family.

One year, my cousins Brian and Joy and their two kids drove from their home near Pittsburgh to spend Thanksgiving with us, which was memorable as we rarely had extended family nearby and able to visit.

In later years, my parents started coming to Columbus to visit me – or we’d fly together to visit my sister and her family. But we were always together.

And then, a couple years ago, mom and dad were slated to spend Thanksgiving with us in Columbus. I was planning to drive to Alliance and pick them up. And then I’d take them back home after the weekend.

But dad called me the day before and cancelled. He didn’t really give me any explanation and I was pretty upset with him. I didn’t want them spending the day alone. I knew dad wouldn’t cook and mom, by this point, was pretty deep in her dementia and never ventured into the kitchen on her own. So I was worried about them

Plus, I’d bought food for the whole weekend, including the things mom and dad liked that neither Vince nor I ate or drank. So I was a little upset about that, too.

Later, I realized that dad had really wanted to come visit, but mom refused to leave her rocking chair. And that put dad in an awkward position. He couldn’t tell me the truth since he was sitting a foot away from mom.

Later still, I felt so badly about my attitude toward him. And I apologized, but dad – being the kind-hearted man he was – didn’t need my apology; he’d already forgiven me. Rather, he felt he owed me the apology.

And it makes me miss him all the more.

Yes, I’m feeling nostalgic about Thanksgivings spent with family when we were all healthy and whole. And, even though I’m grateful that I have Vince by my side to spend the day with, Thanksgivings will never be the same.

So I wish you a happy day. Whether you spend the day with parents, grandparents, cousins, children, grandchildren or friends – make it a good one. And cherish the memories. 

The Last Lobster Fest

Vince and I met our good friends Sue and Jeff for dinner last weekend at Brio. One of the soups featured at this restaurant is lobster bisque. Vince loves their lobster bisque!

Me? Not so much. I’m not a big fan of the seafood.

My parents, however, grew up in New England and if they could have had fish every night of the week, I think they would have.

Our summers were not complete without at least one “lobster fest.” And when my parents stayed at their cottage from spring until fall on Cape Cod they’d have “lobstah” at least once a month.

So in May of 2016 Vince and I drove around Columbus looking for a grocery store selling live lobsters. Our plan was to drive to Alliance to bring mom dinner for Mother’s Day. We had baked a cake in the heart-shaped pans that were Vince’s mom’s long ago. And we bought a card and some pretty flowers for her.

After calling around and not having any luck locating live lobsters, I told Vince that mom would be just as happy with a bucket of chicken from KFC and it would be so much easier. But he was determined.

Finally, we called a store that said they had four lobsters left, but another person had called about them. The seafood manager said that since no one had yet paid for them, they were up for grabs to the first person who came in to claim them.

Now I’m not going to say that Vince drove like a bat out of hell…but, well, let’s just say we made it to the store much sooner than we should have, what with speed limits and all. He practically shoved me out of the moving vehicle so I could get to the seafood counter first.  When I finally reached the back of the store, I gasped out that I wanted those lobsters.

And I got ‘em.

(By the way, I was just kidding about Vince shoving me out of a moving vehicle. But I can’t promise what would’ve happened if it had taken me much longer to collect my purse and unlatch my safety belt…!)

Anyway, the seafood manager carefully wrapped those lobsters, which took for-ev-er, but I finally had them in my hot little hands. As I was leaving carrying my prizes, a man hustled up to the counter and, a little out of breath himself, asked for lobster.

While I felt a little bad about it, I also turned tail and wheeled my grocery cart toward the checkout line as fast as I could. I didn’t want to get into any physical altercations over crustaceans. Especially since I’m not a big fan.

But our meal that day was wonderful – and I even ate some. Vince and my dad had carefully removed all the meat from the lobsters so that mom didn’t have to do any of the work, which actually made me a little sad. I can remember all those years, mom loved working the cracker and the little tool to get every last morsel of lobster meat.   

We took photos and enjoyed our day together. Little did I know that it was to be the last Mother’s Day we’d spend in Alliance. And we’d never get to celebrate Father’s Day in June with dad as he had his fall a little more than three weeks from that day.

Looking back, I’m so very glad we didn’t opt for the easy way out with a bucket of chicken that Mother's Day. And I’m so grateful to Vince that he insisted we go the extra mile to find live lobsters for my parents. 

I believe those moments illustrate how important it is to make the most out of every opportunity to show the people in our lives how much they mean to us. Because you never know when it will be the last time.

So last weekend when I saw lobster bisque on the menu, I ordered a bowl to go. And the next day I took it to my mom for her dinner.

Mom’s appetite isn’t what it used to be and she rarely finishes the small portion of food she has on her plate.

But she ate every drop of that lobster bisque. When she found a piece of lobster on her spoon, she smiled and savored it. If she could have licked the bowl, I think she would have.

It made her happy for a moment. And that brought me so much joy, I'm still smiling about it.

Things That Made Me Laugh

You ever have those moments when something funny happens to you and you have to tell someone about it? Well, I’ve had several of those moments lately – but each one individually wasn’t enough to write an entire blog about. (Not that I haven’t given it the ol’ college try before. Sometimes I can write about pretty much nothing at all!)

Nevertheless, I thought I could probably cobble together a blog about a few of those moments.

We’ll see how it goes anyway!

So I recently had my family in for the weekend. Before everyone arrived I was out running last-minute errands and I was at a big strip mall-type shopping center. I had several more stops to make and I suddenly remembered I had to get to a pet store to pick up some cat food lest the felines in utter starvation started gnawing on my brother’s leg in the middle of the night. Thinking that wasn’t exactly hostess-with-the-mostest behavior, I asked Siri for directions to the nearest pet store from my location.

I heard…

“…you have reached your destination.”

What? So I looked to my right and I was literally rolling past a PetsMart!

Egad.

I burst out laughing at myself and then parked. I was still laughing when I entered the store so the clerk at the checkout thought I was either a loony bird – or a very, very happy person.

But it was surely a blonde moment if I’ve ever had a blonde moment!

And, by the way, I have particular pet stores that I frequent, depending on which shopping area I’m near. I evidently have never needed pet supplies while in this particular shopping center before.

Now I know.

This next thing didn’t specifically happen to me – but to Vince. I’m sure he’s figured I’ve forgotten it by now…but sometimes my mind is a steel trap. Especially when it isn’t my gaffe.  It was his “blonde” moment…although he’d probably prefer I refer to it as a “senior” moment!

One morning he was making breakfast for us. This would mean it was either a Tuesday or a Sunday because I make breakfast for us all the other days of the week. That has no bearing on the story other than I apparently want to get credit for most of the breakfast-making duties. And, okay, so his breakfasts are way tastier than mine (hey, oatmeal is good for us!), but, again, that isn’t the point of the story.

The point of the story is that Vince was cracking eggs into the skillet when I walked into the kitchen and he, with a very confused look on his face, started searching on the floor and on the counter. I asked him what he was looking for and he replied, “The egg I just cracked; do you know what happened to it?”

I said, “No, honey – trust me, I didn’t come in here with the dastardly plan of walking off with your raw egg…!” Yeah, it was a smart-ass response, but I was only coming in to refill my coffee cup and wasn’t paying a lot of attention to the egg-cracking going on over at the other counter.

So he searched for a moment more, even casting an accusatory glance in the direction of the dog and then, shrugging his shoulders, cracked another egg into the skillet.

As we were settling down at the table to eat breakfast, he said, “Oh! I left my coffee near the stove.”  So, being the helpful partner I am (and the fact that I was closer to the stove), I got up to fetch his cup. I looked in and…

…you guessed it. There in the murky depths of his coffee cup was a yellow yolk peering up at me!

I started laughing and Vince, realizing what I was laughing about said, “Stop it!”

I think somewhere in his commentary after that was something to the effect that I should never tell anyone about it. But I could be remembering that wrong. (Heh. Heh.)

Another thing that made me laugh happened just the other day. I was out with Maggie for her first post-dinner walk. (There are three before she retires for the evening. She’s a high maintenance pooch.)

Anyway, I got as far as two doors down when we bumped into several neighbors. One was walking her two dogs and distributing neighborhood newsletters and the other two were outside being, well, neighborly.

Maggie, as you may have heard before, is relatively high strung – despite our assertion that she has calmed down a bit in recent months. And our neighbor Dave knows just how to rile her up. He calls her name and plays with her and pets her and then gets her to run around all crazy-like…and then he leaves and I get to deal with the aftermath.

Dave’s a fun neighbor, isn’t he?!

In truth, Maggie loves it and he dispels a little of her energy – so that’s a good thing. Right?

Anyway, I was talking to them while desperately maintaining a vice-like grip on Maggie’s leash because, well, she’s a runner. All of a sudden Dave and Barb started laughing and looking at the house in between theirs and mine. Our neighbors Steve and Meg have one of those “Ring” gizmos. Have you heard of these things? They can access the camera on a cell phone and are alerted whenever anyone comes up the driveway.

So, when Suzy dropped off the newsletter at their house, they were alerted that someone was around. And they could see our group on the sidewalk near their driveway.

Steve and Meg, by the way, were in Traverse City.

And, so…from that state Up North, Steve was yelling, “Maggie!!” into his phone – and Maggie was hearing his voice, but had no idea where he was.

So she was one befuddled puppy. I thought it was pretty funny that someone five hours away was getting my dog all barky and confused.

And, no, I don't have an actual photo of a riled up Maggie. Are you kidding? First off, any photo I managed to snap would be a complete blur. But mostly, there is no way I could hold her leash and my phone - and somehow manage to press the button to get a photo. So I'll simply post a picture of our Doggie Dearest looking a little fierce.

These days we have much about which we can be sad or upset. In no way am I dismissing or diminishing those upsetting events that surround us. But the one thing I do know is that we need to find something in life to smile about. 

My dog, my husband and even myself - those things I can laugh about.

And, now, if you'll excuse me, it's time for Maggie's walk. I've lost count which one this is.

Enjoy. And I hope you find something to smile about!  

I’ve Been a Busy Bee – A Busy Decluttering Bee

It seems as if life has gotten pretty busy lately in Jane’s Domain.

Last week I had to move all the furniture out of the living room so new carpeting could be installed. And then, a mere 24 hours later, I had to move it all back. And, because I’m a little OCD when it comes to furniture and knick-knack placement, I had to do it all myself.

This was an arduous process made bearable by the fact that we now have pretty new carpeting in the living room.

So now we’re hoping the carpet is Maggie proof. And we are also hoping that Twinks-the-hairball-yakking-cat will avoid it, too, but all bets are off because as you may know, you cannot control a cat.

Plus, 4 a.m. seems to be the magic Hairball Hour, and I am not awake at that time to shoo her off the Berber.

Nevertheless, as of today – an entire week after installation – I can happily report that the carpet is still in pristine condition.

Wonder if the “Caution” tape and the homemade barriers I’ve erected that would also come in handy during a zombie apocalypse have helped?

Nah, I’m just kidding. That would’ve been too much work, especially since I’m still in the “sinking my tootsies in the new carpet” stage and don’t want to have to climb over and under and in and around barriers just to reach the carpet myself.

But I will say that we’re watching our critters a whole lot more carefully these days.

I had other extra chores to do as well last week. We were hosting my brothers and sister this past weekend, so I knew I had to tackle the lower level. The bedroom down there has become the catch-all, U-Stor-It room for the past year or so ever since I packed up my parents’ house to sell it.

I had boxes of my parents’ photo albums in that room that I’ve been planning to scan, but have yet to start. I have my mother’s wedding dress in a box that I couldn’t throw away or donate…but I have no idea what to do with it. I had other miscellaneous bric-a-brac from their home collected over some sixty-three years of married life that I couldn’t seem to part with, but have no place to put – so I’ve kept it all in boxes in the bedroom downstairs.

I also had empty boxes and bins for all those things I need to someday clear out and organize. And I had the remnants of a dresser that I will someday refinish and place in my Craft Room that is also currently a storage area but hopes to be an official Craft Room. Someday.

You can imagine, then, the work it took to clear out and clean this bedroom. My brother John was coming along for the family weekend, so I knew I had to have that room ready for his stay. It took hours of hard, sweaty labor, but when I was done, I was relieved and happy with the results.

And then John ended up sleeping on the recliner in the living room in the lower level because he has to sleep with the TV on and there is no TV in the bedroom, a few short feet away.

Yeesh.

Fortunately, the weekend went off without a hitch and a good time was had by all. We had mom over and celebrated her birthday. Sure, we were a month early, but (a) mom sadly doesn’t know the difference, and (b) we wanted to celebrate when she had all her children together. I’m sure when October 23^rd rolls around I’ll celebrate with her again, but it was nice to have us all together.

Normally, when the family weekend visits are over, I take a day to put my home back to rights and then I zonk out for a day or two. The perfectionist in me spends a LOT of time cleaning and doing what I can to make it a great weekend for all and I’m pretty worn out by the time it’s over.

But I’m happy to report that my decluttering instincts were still in overdrive and I spent the better part of yesterday tackling the dreaded furnace room – or DFR for short.

Vince says anyone who enters that room must be wearing an OSHA-approved hard hat.

Isn’t Vince funny? Oh, soooo funny.

If you ever watched Friends, you may recall that Monica was a neat freak. Her apartment was always impeccably clean and organized. But she had a secret closet. And one day Chandler – who was told never to open that closet door – jimmied the lock. And, inside, was a veritable hoarder’s paradise. It was filled floor-to-ceiling with junk.

That’s how I have felt about my DFR. It’s my shame. It’s my “junk drawer” morphed into an entire room.

And I can’t stand it anymore so it has to go!

So I took those empty bins and boxes and spread them out in the living area in the lower level and waded into the DFR. I started sorting like nobody’s business. I had little sticky notes with headings and I separated and sorted and purged.  I hauled three large garbage bags to the garage. I have boxes ready for the donation center. And I’m starting to see the floor, er, I mean, the light at the end of the tunnel.

I still have hours (days?) to go, but at least I made a good-sized dent in this massive undertaking.

I see several more trips to the donation center in my future. And more trips to the resale shop. I don’t, however, see another garage sale in my immediate future. Two this summer was about two too many!

But unless we’re planning to build a dedicated Bric-a-Brac storage room in this house, I’m going to have to part ways with a few boxes.  Okay a whole lotta boxes!

Because I am NOT filling up the lower level bedroom again – I just finished decluttering in there!

And...no...I did NOT take any "Before" and "After" photos. Someday there may be "After" photos. But not yet.

If I Could Go Back…

I visited my mom yesterday. She had the newspaper on her lap and, for once, she opened it to read beyond the headlines on the front page. But she didn’t really understand what she was reading.

“Who is Harvey,” she asked.

“No, mom,” I said. “Harvey isn’t a ‘who’ – it’s a ‘what,'" I answered. And I explained that it was a devastating hurricane that has affected Texas and other states.

She expressed dismay…for about a half a second.

And then she read the headline again – and, once again, asked me about Harvey.

Sometimes I think she surely must be testing me.  That she really does remember, but she wonders if I’ll give her the same answer every time she asks.

But, sadly, I know mom truly doesn’t remember. That from moment to moment, her grasp on what is happening is fleeting. When she is in her little room in her rocking chair, she can be as comfortable as possible with her situation. But if we take her out of that comfort zone, she is stressed.

And she doesn’t know what is going to happen next. Or what she is supposed to do. And she very desperately does not want to appear to be incapacitated – and that, I think, is what stresses her the most.

I miss my mom. My old mom. The woman who was strong, intelligent, decisive and had an opinion about everything. Some of which I didn’t agree with. Ha. Okay, so there were many opinions mom had that I didn’t agree with. Funny to think that now I miss having those kinds of discussions with her.

And then I wish I could go back. Back to those days when mom would state an emphatic opinion and I’d just roll my eyes and say, “uh, huh…” If I could go back, I’d try to engage with her – and try to have the lively debate she really wanted to have.

Instead, I’d look at them as confrontations instead of discussions and I avoid confrontations like the plague. I’d end up doing whatever I could to get her focused on something else.

“Hey mom – does this hangnail look infected to you?”

Yeah. Like that worked. That mom knew what I was doing. But most of the time she’d let me change the subject anyway.

Mom had this funny habit. She’d state her opinion in the form of a question. She’d say, “I don’t really like the style of her hair – do you?” And then we were left with the option of either agreeing with her – or disagreeing with her. But we knew what answer we were supposed to choose! And if we disagreed, we knew there would be a debate about it until we came over to her side of the aisle. Sometimes, we’d agree with her just so we wouldn’t have the ensuing debate.

That example was a mild one, though. Mom would have strong opinions about everything – including the “heavy” subjects like politics and religion. And she was well-informed. She read books and newspapers and watched the news. So there were very few current events that mom hadn’t heard about.  And there were even fewer subjects she didn’t have a strong opinion about.

Nowadays, devastating hurricanes are beyond her grasp.

I wish I could go back and hear her state an opinion again. About ANYthing. I wish I could go back and cherish even those moments when mom and I disagreed – just because I’d know she was fully engaged in the conversation.

I wouldn’t even use the infected hangnail ruse.

Going Once, Going Twice...SOLD!

Last week Vince and I went to an auction house in Newark, Ohio. Not because we needed anything, but simply because our neighbors were going and we thought it would be fun to tag along after them. It was Vince’s day off and, besides, we had nothing better to do.

Well, that’s not entirely true. We could easily have spent the day doing long-neglected chores around the house. Like painting the trim around the garage. Or cleaning the grout in the shower.

As those particular chores held less than zero appeal on a sunny Tuesday morning, we hopped in the car and headed to Newark.  Besides, I wanted to hear an auctioneer talk really, really fast.

I’ve never actually been to an auction, so I pictured the auctioneer on a raised platform standing in front of a podium with the crowd below in organized rows so the auctioneer could see who was bidding.

Ha. People just hover around the auctioneer and whatever it is he’s selling and somehow or other he knows who is bidding. There is no podium, no gavel, no raised platform.

Me? I had no clue what was going on.

By the time we arrived, our neighbors had already purchased several boxes of junk, er, treasures.  They only cost a few bucks each, so it’s not like anyone’s bank was getting broken. But what I didn’t know is that even if you only want one particular thing in a box, you have to bid on the whole box.

Holy heck – I’m tryin’ to get RID of clutter around my house – not add to it! And I just had a garage sale a couple months ago that I still haven’t gotten over yet. (For your information, it takes approximately one year, eleven months and sixteen days to get over having a garage sale before considering having another one.)

So I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be bidding on any boxes of stuff.

On the other hand, it was kind of fun walking the aisles and looking in all those boxes filled with trinkets and toys and housewares that once was treasured by someone. There was a box of copper kitchen tools that attracted Vince – but it was on the very far wall, which meant that the auctioneer wouldn’t get to that aisle for several hours. Plus, I have no more room in my kitchen cabinets or drawers for one more stinkin’ colander or ladle.

I’d be bringing boxes of junk, er, treasures back to the auction house just so we could get into the kitchen.

They also have several auctioneers working at the same time – something else I didn’t know.  So Vince and I wandered outside where outdoor goods were being auctioned – flower pots and garden decorations and the like.

While I was standing there I realized, “This is SO not me!” I’m much more deliberate in my thinking about the things I want. I have to consider where I’m putting it and why I would even want such a thing.  I have to consider how much I’d be willing to spend and if it would be a good addition to our home.

At auctions, deliberate thinking goes completely out the window. You have to make snap decisions. Plus, I couldn’t tell who was bidding and how much things were going for. By the time I decided that, yeah, I would be willing to pay $15 for something that – new – would cost me at least $100, the item was sold and they were three items down the line by then.

Yeesh.

I knew that if I ever tried to bid on anything, I’d probably start bidding against myself. So I decided to step away from the auctioneer.

I did, however, tell Vince that there were a couple ceramic pots that I might like. But I was leaving the wheeling and dealing up to him.

And it was right about this time that I felt something crawling along my shoulder inside my top. That is NOT a good feeling. Ever. So I lifted up the neckline of my shirt – and saw a wasp. There was a freakin’ WASP inside my shirt!

So I screeched and with much flapping and flailing of arms and swatting at the thing, I practically tore my shirt off in order to get the wasp out.

And, yes, I made quite a spectacle of myself – but I didn’t care. And, surprisingly, I didn’t get stung.

I was a little surprised, however, that the auctioneer didn't take all that arm flapping as me bidding. I'd have won the tacky garden gnome for sure. 

It was just about this time that I decided that auctions were not my thing, so I headed back inside to wander the aisles to see if there was anything I’d missed. In truth, I was really trying to avoid further interactions with stinging insects. And I was sort of hoping to avoid making a further spectacle of myself.

By the time I walked back outside to see the action, Vince told me he’d bid on (and won) several items, including a very pretty mint/teal green ceramic pot.

I was thrilled with it because I could just picture it in our kitchen. We have a plant that has outgrown its current pot that would fit in it perfectly.

And he spent less than 20 bucks all told – so that was a “win” in my book!

So, while I had fun at my first auction, I’m probably not anxious to go back to another one. Too stressful. Both the bidding thing – and the potentially stinging insect thing.

Maybe next time I’ll tell you about the other auction I attended recently – the art auction on the cruise ship (completely different than a household goods auction).  All I’ll tell you now is that Vince wasn’t there to protect me. It was not good that he left me to my own devices.

But at least there weren’t any wasps.