“Lucky” Friday the 13th?

 

Yesterday was Friday the 13^th. Anyone out there have suspicions about that date?

 

Normally, I don’t prescribe to a lot of hocus-pocus, although I can clearly remember as a kid avoiding cracks in the sidewalk because I didn’t want to “break my mother’s back.” Probably I figured I’d get saddled with kitchen and laundry duties should mom find herself in traction.

 

I also avoided walking under a ladder, but that seemed to be rooted more in practicality than in superstition. I was always tall for my age and I could easily have smacked my noggin’ on the crosspiece. The ladder my dad used to dig leaves out of the gutter wasn’t all that high.

 

I’ve never thrown salt over my shoulder because, well, then I’d have to sweep up the mess from the floor. Broken mirrors are only concerning because glass shards are nothing to trifle with. So I don’t remember ever being too concerned whenever a Friday the 13^th rolled around on the calendar.

 

But when I woke up yesterday morning after a measly 2-1/2 hours’ sleep, that may have been my first clue that the day wouldn’t go smoothly.

 

I blearily started my morning walk with Maggie Minx who, by the way, acted as if she hadn’t been walked a mere four hours previously, which was the middle of the night for most normal folks.

 

We started down our regular path when Maggie suddenly went nuts, barking and pulling at the leash. There were no other live animals or people nearby that I could see, but I did see what looked like a big pile of fluff on the grass near the sidewalk. And Maggie was desperate to get to it.

 

It looked like there had either been a major skirmish between warring geese gaggles – or a small predatory animal had disrupted a duck nest somewhere close by.

 

I suspected the latter, although I had to chuckle at the image in my head of a Goose Turf War.

 

Earlier this spring Maggie had been intensely interested in the small hedges by a neighbor’s front door. She nosed into it and came out with some sort of fluff that may have been part of a nest, which was my first clue to pull her away. My second clue was when a duck abruptly flew out from inside the hedges and took off for the sky.

 

That startled me enough that I took off as well – dragging a reluctant Maggie along with me. And since that incident, I make sure Maggie doesn’t get anywhere near the hedges.

 

So the fluff on the grass looked a lot like the fluff that Maggie pulled out from the hedges.

 

Instead of dealing with a crazed dog, we turned around and walked in the other direction. And encountered no other issues with our morning walk.

 

But as soon as we got home and Maggie was happily munching her morning kibble, I made a beeline for the coffee maker. Two and a half hours’ sleep does not make for a perky Jane. Yeah, like when am I ever “perky”?!

 

My laptop, which has recently taken up residence on my kitchen table since I’m helping a friend with an upcoming event, was plugged in where the Keurig is usually plugged in. Don’t ask me why – I probably figured my laptop was only plugged in temporarily and my need for coffee isn't usually quite so urgent.

 

Anyway, I started to pull the laptop’s plug out of the wall, but was met with some resistance. So I pulled a little harder and the plug pulled free quickly enough that I lost control – and my hand hit the Keurig and my favorite iridescent double-walled coffee mug. The mug then hit the side of the fridge and promptly shattered.

 

Sigh.

 

All this before my first happy jolt of caffeine.

 

Nevertheless, I cleaned up the mess, pulled my second-favorite coffee mug out of the cupboard and proceeded to make myself a cup of coffee.

 

If you’re imagining that I spilled that scalding cup of coffee in my lap a few moments later, you’d be…wrong.  No humans or animals were harmed by the cup o’ joe.

 

A few hours later, I was meeting a friend for an early lunch. Whenever I’m meeting someone, I start a complicated math equation in my head…if I’m driving at 45 MPH in a northwesterly direction and my destination is 8.2 miles away, what time do I absolutely have to be in the shower to be presentable?

 

All sorts of other details factor into this equation, too. Like is hair washing a necessity? Do I have a relatively good idea of what I’m planning to wear? Does my purse remotely match my outfit, or do I have to begin the complicated process of switching purses so that I don’t fly out the door without my cell phone and car keys?

 

Fortunately, I was on-point with my calculations and was ready to go at the appointed time. Except I got a phone call that lasted a little longer than I realized, and then I knew I had to hustle to get to lunch on time.

 

But it was a beautiful spring day and I was enjoying the drive…

 

…until I reached a certain part of the road that changes from 45 MPH to 35 MPH (before shortly changing back to 45 MPH).

 

I spied out of my little eagle-eye a little too late, the police cruiser hanging out by the side of the road.

 

Who promptly turned on his lights and started after me.

 

I am not a person who gets pulled over, so I was immediately filled with dread.

 

But I turned into the next parking lot, which was conveniently close. Turned off my radio, opened the window and had my wallet in hand so my ID was at the ready. I was a little panicky wondering if I’d put the car registration and insurance card in my center console or in the glove box, but I didn’t want to fumble around looking for that while the officer approached.

 

I don’t know if it was the terrified look on my face that alerted him to the fact that I’ve only been pulled over once before in my life – or he’d actually had time to run my plates to see my squeaky-clean driving record.

 

But he was nice and gave me a break. Told me to slow down – and he let me go. I didn’t even have to show him my driver’s license or fumble around for that registration card.

 

I thanked him profusely – and went on my way. Of course, the speed limit hiked back up to 45 MPH a block later, but I was so rattled, I continued to drive along at a precise 35 MPH. I’m sure I made lots of friends in the cars behind me, but I didn’t much care. I only had a couple more blocks to go before I reached my destination anyway. 

Fortunately, the rest of the day went smoothly and I encountered no more calamities. So I'm calling this Friday the 13th a lucky "win"!

Photo-Op?

For a year I’ve kept the same profile photo on Facebook. An entire year. And I had formerly been one of those people who changed her profile pic pretty much as often as she changed her undies.

 

Well, okay, so that’s not true. I’m not THAT narcissistic. (And, yes, I DO change my undies every day – don’t be gross!)

 

It’s not that it was such a wonderful photo of me that I just held onto it. But it was taken at Gervasi Vineyard, which was the last trip that Vince and I took together as well as the last photo of the two of us.

 

So it felt like I was being disloyal to him to think about taking it down and changing it up.

 

What I’ve realized in the past year is that some of the spark has gone out of my eyes and my photos aren’t nearly as good anymore. That’s probably because in the “before” I was either in a picture together with Vince – or he was the one taking my photo. And he took those photographs with such love, I couldn’t help but be happy – and that happiness was reflected in my pictures.

 

Well, either that – or I’m just getting too old and wrinkly to take a good photo anymore. Haha.

 

Besides, frankly, I don’t have anyone aiming his camera at me constantly, so there are far fewer pictures from which to choose.

 

But I know I must look forward and can’t constantly dwell in the past. Am I guilty of plunking myself smack dab in the past and refusing to move on? Sure, from time to time. But only momentarily. I have to believe we all do this on occasion. Memories are powerful and we know that our past has helped shaped us to be the people we are today.

 

Yet I know I don’t want to be one of those people who, because she lost the love of her life, can’t get out of bed in the morning and continue to live her best life. Vince would hate that for me.

 

So I finally changed my profile picture. It’s a selfie and, thus, a little too close-up for my taste. But, because I actually fixed my hair and applied makeup, which is not an everyday occurrence anymore, I decided it was a good time to give it a shot. (So to speak.)

 

But, um, I’m standing in front of Vince’s T-shirt quilt, so I guess I haven’t completely moved on.

 

Oh well. Baby steps.

 

Before I changed my photo, I was talking about it with a friend. And I related the story about how Vince and I met. Which was online. And he didn’t even have his photo as his profile pic. It was a shot of a coral reef that someone who had set up his profile for him, plugged into the spot where his photo should go. But as this was the beginning of the Age of Social Media for Old(er) Folks, Vince didn’t know how to change it, so he left the coral reef.

 

For the first couple weeks during our online correspondence, I didn’t even know what “vncord” looked like. And that was okay. I maintained back then that I wasn’t looking for a date – just someone to talk to. Yeah, in retrospect, I’m so very glad that (a) Vince was persistent in asking me out and (b) I came around to the notion of going out on a date with someone I met online.

 

I know a lot of people don’t use their own photos in their profile. They substitute their pet or a flower or a picture of their latest tattoo. I even had one friend use a close-up picture of her eyeball as her profile pic. I have to admit, that was a little disconcerting, even though it was a lovely eye.

 

Maybe I’ll branch out and stop putting my own face out there. I could instead use a picture of my big toe? Yeah…no, I don’t think so. Even with the pretty nail polish, my toes are not exactly photo-worthy.

 

Or how about a photo of the spiky weed that is growing near my garage that I refuse to pull since I’d have to dig out the gardening gloves that I promised myself I wouldn’t need again?

 

Again, that’d be a “no.”  People will get the impression I’m lazy. And that would be a shame since my message is supposed to be: I don’t like digging in the dirt!

 

Oh well, for now I guess I’ll just stick with my own imperfect, too-close-up face. Tomorrow I can decide if that weed is photo-worthy.