Hey Grouchy!

So back to my wacky list of National “Holidays.” Yesterday was Do a Grouch a Favor Day.

 

Darn. I missed it.

 

But, then…who in my life is a grouch? And what kind of a favor could I possibly have done for them anyway?

 

Fortunately, I couldn’t immediately come up with anyone. That’s a good thing, don’t you think?  Maybe everyone in my life is happy-go-lucky and all cheery-like all the time?

 

Naw, that’s pretty impossible, statistically speaking.

 

So then I wondered if nobody in my life is the grouch – maybe I am the grouch? And people aren’t brave enough to tell me?

 

Egads.

 

Okay, sure, I admit that I have my grouchy moments from time to time. Just ask Vince.

 

First thing in the morning, for instance. Vince bounds out of bed fully awake and ready to go. I, on the other hand, blearily open one eye and demand coffee.

 

So you can imagine how jaunty a pre-caffeinated Jane is stumbling around the neighborhood taking Maggie on her first walk.

 

Once I’ve woken up, though, I’d like to think I become nice again – and “grouchy” is not the adjective people would use to describe me.

 

For the most part, I have a pretty good sense of humor and I tend to be even keeled. I mean, who wants to hang out all the time with Oscar the Grouch? The poor guy lives in a trash can, after all.

 

But I have to admit that on occasion I revert to Ms. Grouchy-Pants even when it’s not first thing in the morning.  Like when it’s Vince’s turn to take Maggie out for a walk. He comes back in from the cold and he thinks it’s funny to take his frozen mitts and put them down my back to share the sub-zero outside temps.

 

Nice, huh? I screech and smack his hands away.

 

But, I dunno. Maybe that’s more shrieky than it is grouchy.

 

Overall, though, I’m okay with who I am. Yeah, I have my grouchy moments…but I think we all do. From time to time. And maybe that’s the favor we can do for our grouchy selves. Forgiveness for being grouchy.

 

As long as we don’t live there in Grouchyville. I think that’s a splendid plan. As long as we don’t run out of coffee…or have someone putting their freezing cold hands down our backs for “fun.”

 

If that happens, I’m moving in with Oscar.

 

Baby, it's Cold Outside!

Last night I took Maggie on her 5^th walk of the day. It was snowing. Again. And OMG – it was FREEZING out there! Literally. It was, like, 18 degrees. And with the wind chill it felt like it was minus 100.

 

And, okay, so maybe the last sentence was not literally true…but it sure felt like it.  I was wearing my heaviest winter coat with gloves, a winter scarf and earmuffs. I had on snow boots with these lovely rubber gripper thingies that have little spikes on the bottom so I don’t slip on the snow and ice.

 

Normally, these winter trappings would be good enough to keep me warm while I’m walking my dog around the neighborhood. Not last night, though.

 

I was shivering so hard it would have been difficult to tell the difference if I was merely cold or doing a bad imitation of the jitterbug.

 

This surprises me because in the mornings when Maggie drags me out of bed before I’m even awake, I’m usually wearing a tank top and thin sleep pants – and I’m still warm enough with my Nanook of the North coat, gloves, scarf and earmuffs.

 

But last night – dear lord – I was ready to chuck it all, grab my flip flops and hop a plane and move to Fiji.

Of course, knowing I couldn’t possibly wear a face mask for the duration of a flight to Fiji, I gave up that idea as impractical.

 

Oh, sure, Jane – and that’s the only reason you’re not moving to Fiji?

 

Besides, when I came in from the cold with my nose running and my eyeglasses fogged up, my only thought was to kick off my spikey boots, release Maggie from the leash and blow my nose before I embarrassed myself.  

 

Meanwhile, Vince was standing in the kitchen laughing at me as I stumbled around searching for a tissue. When my eyeglasses had cleared little circles in the middle of the lenses, I discovered Vince taking pictures of me looking absolutely ridiculous.

 

Sadly, I didn’t realize just how ridiculous I looked until he showed me the photos. Egad. I completely forgot about Fiji. Besides the flip flops and face mask, I’d need a paper bag to cover my entire head. And then I surely would not have been able to withstand the 15-hour flight to Fiji.

 

I vaguely resembled Marcie from the Peanuts Gang. Or the Where’s Waldo guy. Or even Mister. Magoo.

 

You can only laugh at yourself when you compare yourself to Mister Magoo.

 

And today? I’ve been on three walks so far without any sign of jitterbugging. Why? Because it’s a balmy 27 degrees today.

 

I’ve helped shovel the sidewalk and driveway three times in the last week. So I think that’s enough outdoor activities for me. I have absolutely zero plans to go snowboarding or ice skating anytime soon.

 

And when the doorbell rang a little while ago and the kid outside offered to shovel my driveway, I nearly dropped to my knees in gratitude and practically threw money at him!

 

Overly dramatic? Perhaps. But I’m ever so much happier staying warm and toasty inside.

 

Until it’s my next turn to walk Maggie Minx.  

 

 

I happened upon a wacky list of National Holidays and today happens to be “Spunky Old Broads Day.”

 Ooh. Interesting.

It made me wonder – at what age does a woman qualify for Old Broad status?  I’m probably there already.  But adding the spunky descriptor makes it way better, in my opinion.

 

The other day I was talking to a friend I’ve known a bajillion years (and okay, so that’s a slight exaggeration – but it somehow seems scarier to say I’ve known her for thirty-eight years. Eek!)

 

At any rate, we were talking about life in general and we somehow stumbled into a discussion about our ages.

 

It sort of freaked us out when we examined it. She’s ten years older than I am, but I’ve never really thought of her as that much older. Well, except when I was in my mid-20s and she had more life experience and was great at giving me gentle advice.

 

Once I matured a little and the playing field was a bit more level, our friendship became…I don’t know – richer, maybe.  We talked and laughed and shared details about our lives and we knew that we had become forever friends.

 

And yet there we were the other day expressing shock that we are the ages we are. I feel like I was just in my 30s a few short years ago. Thirties? Heck, I remember being a teenager – and it truly doesn’t seem all that long ago.

 

Yet, every time my knee aches when I walk Maggie Minx or I have a twinge in my back from lifting something heavy, like, say, a quart of milk from the fridge, I’m reminded that I’m far from being a teenager.

 

On the other hand, I appreciate every moment of my 61 years. I’ve loved and I’ve lost, and after watching my mom slip away little by little over the years from Alzheimer’s disease, I know that my life and my memories are incredibly precious.

 

Mom was the epitome of a spunky old broad. (Except I think she was a lady, too.) Mom embraced her age whatever her age was at the time. She wore her silver hair with pride – even when she started turning grey in her 30s. She didn’t try to be someone she wasn’t. She was never afraid to speak her mind or state her opinion – even if it wasn’t popular.

 

Despite her faults (and – c’mon – we all have ‘em), and despite her relatively small 6-1/2 shoe size, she left pretty big shoes for us to fill.

 

I looked up the definition of “spunky” and some of the adjectives included: brave, courageous, determined, outspoken. Those adjectives described my mom. Before Alzheimer’s. Before she became afraid of who she was becoming. And what was going to become of her.

 

Before mom became sick, I had a pretty good sense of humor. I laughed a lot more than I do now. Being her advocate made me tougher. It made me sad sometimes. But it also made me stronger.

 

So I think it’s time to laugh again. It’s time to get a little wacky. It’s time to be a spunky old broad. Have a little fun. Be a little crazy.

 

Let’s unite and celebrate our spunky old broad-ness! Who’s with me?