Hit the Reset Button

 

I took a deliberate sabbatical this week. Seems weird – right? I mean, the first week of a New Year is supposed to be Go-Go-Go. You've gotta start on all those New Year’s Resolutions (if you made any).

 

It’s the big push to begin afresh in the new year.

 

If the Christmas decorations are still up, you need to take those down and pack them away for another year.

 

And if your fridge is still filled with holiday foods and leftovers, you need to clear those right on out to get started on that Keto / low carb/ meatless / no dairy, no gluten, no sugar / water-and-cardboard diet.

 

I even heard it’s supposed to be a no alcohol Dry January.

 

Aw, c’mon…

 

Well, actually, it has been Dry January in Jane’s Domain insofar as I haven’t had a glass of wine all week. Not because I’m adhering to a “rule” some influencer set, but because I’ve been hermit-ing it this week and I don’t often have a drink when I’m home by myself.

 

Nothin’ sadder than a hermit sitting all alone in the dark bingeing on a bottle of Ménage à Trois Soft Red blend while simultaneously binge-watching Firefly Lane on Netflix.

 

But, seriously, I’ve gotta tell you – it has been a transforming week for me.

 

See, I was supposed to be on vacation these first two weeks of January, but we had to cancel the trip. Only I forgot to cancel Maggie Minx’ reservation at her little doggie Spa ‘n’ Play. Rather than lose the deposit, I decided to bring her there for a few days so we could get a mutual break. She can run and play with her doggie friends – as well as get a bath and a canine mani-pedi – and I can hit the “Reset” button.

 

The past seven years have been filled with dog-walking, dog-feeding and dog-tending responsibilities. Except when we were on vacation. And even then it’s usually a frenetic time of packing, traveling and adjusting to a new time zone or a different climate – until it’s time to do it all in reverse.

 

Don’t get me wrong – I love Maggie Minx. And I love to travel. Visiting new places and spending time with the people I care about is absolutely essential for my soul. But there is a kind of stress involved with vacations. 

I’m not the kind of person who nonchalantly tosses a few necessities in a duffel bag and takes off. Not without first making and revising numerous lists and piling clothes and accessories on the spare room bed weeks before the trip in anticipation of what I absolutely can’t travel without.

 

What can I tell you – I’m admittedly a little high maintenance. Vince knew it – and just let me be me. He’d even ask me for his list of Pre-Trip “to-do’s” and would get them done without complaint. What a guy.

 

Anyway.

 

This sabbatical has been good for me.

 

I’ve slept better this week than I have in a long time. I haven’t had to get up before I’m ready to get up. I drink my morning coffee while contemplating my day and spending quiet time being grateful for my life and the people I have in it.

 

I’ve not been out of the house all week. Since I was supposed to be out of town, I had no lunches or dinners with friends scheduled. No appointments. And no trips to the library, post office or gas station to complete.

 

I’ve slowly de-Christmased my surroundings without rushing the process and feeling stressed.

 

I have made lists of things I’d like to accomplish this year. But I’ve tried to be realistic about how much I can accomplish and how I can manage smaller chunks rather than attempting to make big sweeping changes.

 

Look. I’m never going to be the water-and-cardboard-diet-loving kind of person. But I can make small changes that will improve my health. And I’m never going to live in an HGTV kind of home because I have junk closets (not just drawers). But I can tackle those closets a little at a time until I’m satisfied with what possessions I keep and how they are stored.

 

We spend so much of our adult lives trying to be, well, adults. Responsible. Taking care of the things we’re supposed to take care of. And most of the time, we do these things because we ARE adults and we take those responsibilities seriously.

 

If you’re a parent, well, forget about it. You won’t have this chance for many years. Same if you’re still working. If you take a week off and decide on a “staycation,” you’re still trying to get projects completed around the house that you can’t get done on the weekend.

 

So I get it. Not many people have this opportunity. But this little sabbatical of mine has been rare and wonderful and I’ve been so grateful I could manage it.

 

But now I’m starting to get the itch to go back to my “normal” life. To get out and about. To see my friends and catch up. And even to get back to the gym, which I started going back to a month ago to rebuild some lost muscle on these old bones.

 

And I have to say – I missed Maggie Minx more than I thought I would. Well, perhaps not the nightly restriction of rolling over without dislodging a sleepy Yorkie. But the rest of it. Our multiple daily walks. And having her warm little body nap on my legs while I read a book or binge-watch Netflix.

 

But I won’t be watching Firefly Lane. I finished it this week. And not that bottle of Ménage à Trois Soft Red blend. I’ll wait until I have a friend over to share it with.

 

If you ever get the chance to have a deliberate sabbatical – even if it’s just for a weekend – I highly recommend it.

 

Now if you’ll excuse me, it appears to be dog-walking time.

 

And just like that – sabbatical over.

 

New Year, New Possibilities

 

As the clock ticks down the final hour of 2022, I just thought I’d take a moment to say thank you to the many people in my life who have offered support and love during this first full year without my Vince.

 

Even if I haven’t specifically said it, you have made a difference – and I’m grateful to you.

 

I have had moments where I am still fully immersed in my grief as if he had just passed and I wonder why it seems as if I haven’t made any progress on this grief journey whatsoever.

 

And I have also had moments where I’ve experienced the joy that this life holds and I’m thankful to be alive.

 

It is in those moments that I have to remind myself that it’s okay to be joyful. And that Vince would have wanted me to be happy.

 

I didn’t set any specific goals for myself when the calendar changed from 2021 to 2022. I didn’t make any New Year’s Resolutions. And I had no idea what the year would have in store for me.

 

I was still more or less in shock that the love of my life was gone and that I had to go on without him. So it was about all I could do to hang on and make it through the days, weeks and months this year.

 

But now as we head into a brand-new year, I am trying to think positively. I am working on a list of things I’d like to learn and what I can accomplish and ways I can better myself. To propel my life forward.

 

It’s a good feeling. Making plans. Looking forward instead of looking down.

 

Will there be moments I get stuck? Probably. Will there be moments I don’t want to work on myself or my goals? Uh, yeah. I’m sure that will happen.

 

But at this very moment, I’m heading into 2023 with a positive attitude.

 

Wish me success, okay?

 

And I wish the same for you. Happy New Year, my friends. Be well! 

 

Holiday Happenings 2022. Subtitle: Spontaneous Jane Strikes Again.

 A few days ago I was busily working on Christmas gifts (you know – the creative kind that require time, attention and focus? The ones that during the middle of the project, you wonder if you shouldn’t have just headed to the mall?)

 

But, anyway, during the midst of those 14-hour days, I got a voicemail from my friend, St. Nick, inviting me to their Christmas party on Friday.

 

I didn’t have time to answer him – until the day before the party.

 

And I hadn’t really decided for sure if I was going since, well, the planner in me hasn’t been spontaneous enough to toss a quick overnight bag together and head off into the great unknown (a.k.a., Wintersville, Ohio) since the early 90s.

 

In the end, I knew that if I stayed home alone all weekend, I’d be kicking myself for not at least making the effort.

 

So I sent Maggie off to play with her doggie friends, gassed up the car, and hit the road.

 

It was full-on dark when I started my journey and I wondered if it was a smart move for a 63-year-old to be driving by herself at night – especially since I wasn’t overly familiar with the route.

 

And when I hit an area that had snow flying at my windshield hard enough that it looked like a meteor shower, I was seriously questioning my decision-making skills.

 

And, yeah, the planner in me realized I should have at least checked the weather report.

 

Nevertheless, I persevered until I arrived safe and sound at their beautifully decorated home with its twinkle lights and massive live Christmas tree flanking the entryway.

 

By then the party was in full swing – and I was able to hug my long-time friends – some of whom I hadn’t seen since before COVID.

 

I had planned to stay with one twin but ended up staying with the other since the first one spent a little too much time in the hot tub imbibing Christmas “spirits” – and was not up, perhaps, for hosting out-of-town guests. I’d say he had a good reason for the overindulgence, but for dignity’s sake, I won’t go into details.

 

(Hey, I try hard to keep my lifelong friends. And this is precisely why I would have never made a good reporter or gossip columnist!)

 

In between his, uh, “bouts of nausea” (let’s say), he had us laughing by admitting that we hadn’t seen him this bad since a certain Halloween party in the mid-80s when he overindulged and was lying in the dark in a pile of leaves. When his mom – “Mrs. B” – arrived at the party and was asking for him, we made some excuse to her, rushed out to the tree, and covered him up with the leaves.

 

Whether he remembers it – or has just heard us tell the story enough times that he thinks he remembers it – he still makes us laugh whenever he retells it.

 

And, by the way, that’s the last of the Steubenville Adventures I’ll share. Because he has ammunition against me, too, and might start talking about my one and only attempt at roof jumping. Which makes me sound crazy when he tells the story, but it makes a lot more sense when I tell it. (Sort of.)

 

Anyway…

 

The rest of us stayed up ‘til nearly 3 a.m. sharing stories and noshing on the sweets and Italian treats they had so thoughtfully provided for their guests.

 

Since I drank way more water than wine during the party, there was no hangover aftermath for me. Woohoo. Score one for the old broad who realizes that she’s no longer in her 20s – even though she’s hanging out with friends she’s known since her teens.

 

And, okay, so I only managed about three hours of fitful sleep and maybe wasn't feeling all perky and wide awake. But still. I felt pretty good.

 

Eventually, we all gathered in the kitchen drinking coffee and talking about plans for the day, which consisted of crossing state lines (well, truthfully, only across the bridge to Weirton, WV), to do a little Christmas shopping and then out to lunch.

 

We ended up in downtown Steubenville at an Antique shop and had lots of fun looking at all the treasures for sale.

In all the years I’ve been to Steubenville – including the three years I lived there working with Nick and Joe – I’d never seen the downtown filled with so many people. The Nutcrackers Display  may have something to do with that and it was a wonderful sight to see. Gotta love small town ingenuity and growth.

 

I have to admit that driving home was a little dicey, too. Again in the dark, but at least I was a little more familiar with the route. Again I saw a meteor shower snow spectacle, but at least the roads didn’t get slick until I was closer to home. So I simply slowed down and drove carefully and made it home safe and sound to my own little abode with its twinkling lights and miniature iridescent Christmas tree.

 

But spending time with friends who are more like family was the absolute best thing about this trip and I’m so very glad that Planner Jane was overruled by Spontaneous Jane.

So the best pieces of advice I can give you?

1. Take the trip. But maybe check the weather report first. And driving in the daylight hours couldn’t hurt.

2. Make the gift (if you can). It will make the recipient(s) feel good. And will make you feel even better.

 

Oh, and one more thing. Hot tubs and booze do not mix.

 

You’re welcome!

Thankful, Grateful and Blessed

On this Thanksgiving Eve when we turn our attention from all the Christmas decorations that are already on display to focus on mounds of turkey and stuffing and green bean casserole…er, I mean, we focus on all the things we have for which we are thankful – I thought I’d share a little story that happened to me just today.

 

I had met some friends for lunch in Powell and we had a great time catching up with each other. Unfortunately, we couldn’t make it a marathon gab session all afternoon as they had places to go and people to see. Which sounds way fancier than saying they had to pick up the grandkids and/or take a nap. Nevertheless, those were still important enough tasks that they had to run.

 

And so did I. Because I had some errands to run myself before the end of the day. Like stop at the bank. And the gas station. And the car wash. 

 

But before I could get to the first stop on my list, I spied with my little eagle eye the Home Goods store. Ohhh - my Happy Place. I love, love, L-O-V-E that store!

 

And Home Goods at Christmastime with all manner of shiny, sparkly things? I can’t even begin to tell you how much dopamine and serotonin flood my little brain.

 

So I parked and headed inside to snag a shopping cart even though I had only an item or two on my list should they happen to have those items in stock. With Home Goods, one can’t make any assumptions.

 

Except that one can always assume I will come out of there with things I had no idea I absolutely needed. Therefore, a shopping cart is mandatory.

 

Once inside, I found a plethora of shiny, sparkly things that called to me with their siren song of shimmer and glitter, but I practiced discretion as I no longer have the need (or desire) to decorate every square inch of surface space in my home. And I truly do have more than enough holiday décor.

 

But that didn’t stop me from winding my way around every single aisle in the store.

 

As I was wandering down the picture frame and candle aisle, a woman stopped me and asked if my name was Jane.

 

Surprised, I said it was. Meanwhile, my dopamine- and serotonin-filled little brain was frantically trying to place her. Did we meet recently at the Twig Bazaar? Was she someone I met at the widow’s group meeting I’d recently attended?

 

Had I – God forbid – run into her car in the parking lot in my haste to enter Home Goods and she had a friend at the BMV who told her who owned the grey Passat with the sparkly license plate?

 

Evidently, she saw the gears turning because she quickly pointed out that I didn’t know her.

 

Then she went on to say that she had been friends on Facebook with Vince. Her husband was in the car business and she inadvertently asked to be Vince’s friend. He asked her if he knew her and she explained who her husband was. And she graciously told him he didn’t have to accept her friend request.

 

But of course, he did.

 

And she said she just loved how idyllic our life seemed to be. That it made her heart happy that Vince loved me (“His Janie”) so much. And that we were always doing something fun and interesting – and that she enjoyed reading about our dinners out or our adventures on the trips we took.

 

Clearly, she knew me by the multitudes of photos Vince took of me on every occasion – whether it was a simple meal or a fancy wedding or a once-in-a-lifetime trip.

 

And then she told me how truly sorry she was that he had passed.

 

I cannot begin to tell you how much it meant that she stopped me. She even said she was not sure she should because she didn’t want to make me sad.

 

I told her I’m already always sad – but that I was so grateful that she did stop and talk to me. It made my heart happy that Vince had such an affect on people that someone who never even met me before recognized me in Home Goods.

 

If there is a list we’re compiling tomorrow on things for which to be grateful, having had my Vince for thirteen years tops mine. And having someone remember him to me is also incredibly special.

 

So however you spend your Thanksgiving holiday – eating lots of candied yams and pumpkin pie – or watching football – or dropping a turkey in a vat full of boiling oil – I wish you (well, besides a lot o’ luck with both your football team and the deep-fried turkey thing), lots of love and happiness.

 

And I hope you spend the day with people you love.

 

Happy Thanksgiving!

 

Oh, and PS. If you ever wonder if you should talk to someone about their loved one who has passed – always, always talk to them. We yearn to hear that others remember them and miss them, too.

Mom's Heavenly Birthday

 

I just got back from Maggie’s second walk of the day. It’s a beautiful, sunny morning and it’s supposed to get up to a high of 74° today. However, when I referenced my Apple watch for the current temperature at my location, I was given the information that it was only 54°.

 

So then I played the Coat Guessing Game. I opened the closet door, spun the wheel and asked: do I wear the jean jacket? The winter jacket that’s not as heavy as the winter coat? Or just the thin windbreaker?

 

Probably I need to consult more than my Apple Watch because wind velocity also plays a crucial factor in the Coat Guessing Game.

 

This time I guessed wrong. Oh, who am I kidding? I guess wrong a lot. I’m either sweating or shivering on any given day – and sometimes I can be both on the same day. Heck, sometimes on the same walk!

 

I opted for my winter jacket, which would have been fine if it had been windy – but there was not a puff of breeze to be had.

 

So I sweated while walking the dog and chose to cut it short lest I melt into a big puddle on the sidewalk. I mean, I don’t want to ruin my “Incidences of Losing Maggie” record here. Which I’m proud to say remains at “Zero.”

 

But, I contemplated life during my walk, which is always an interesting exercise. And, today, I thought about my mom.

 

See, today would have been her 98^th birthday. So as I walked along, I thought about her. I thanked God for her being born. For being my mom. For loving me. And I thought about all the birthday celebrations we had for her through the years since she lived to just shy of her 96th birthday. 

 

Not that we had major bashes for her. Mom was not exactly the sort of person who wanted a big deal made about turning another year older. She was far too pragmatic. And birthdays were just another day.

 

But when she got older, I have fond memories of celebrating mom on her special day either in Columbus or in Alliance. And when she moved to the Glen at Parkside, my sister and brothers were sometimes here to help her celebrate. Or Vince and I, with balloons and flowers and cake in hand, were there to warble off-key Happy Birthday To You to her. (Okay, it was mostly me being off-key. Vince had a pretty decent singing voice.)

 

One of my favorite memories, though, is the year Vince met my parents for the first time. He and I had been together by that point for about eight months, but my parents had been at their cottage at the Cape most of that time and had never met him in person.

 

I figured mom’s birthday would be a good opportunity. Dad suggested we go out to eat, but Vince wanted to make a good impression, so he said he’d handle the kitchen duties.

 

And let me tell you – he pulled out all the stops. He bought steaks to cook on the grill with all the sides and fixins’. We brought wine, of course. He picked out a beautiful bouquet of flowers. And a card. And a gorgeous double-layer cake. I think he stopped just short of jewelry as he didn’t want to overdo it.

 

(Where’s the eye-rolling emoji when I need it?!)

 

But they thoroughly enjoyed that dinner. They weren’t sure they had enough room for cake just then and wanted to wait for a bit.

 

So Vince regaled them with stories of “his Janie” as mom did a bit of eye-rolling herself as, for some reason, she never liked the name “Janie.”

 

But they could tell Vince loved me. And that I had finally met my match.

 

Eventually, he brought out the cake with a single lit candle and the three of us sang her happy birthday as she made a wish and blew it out. Vince told me to sit – that he’d bring the cake to the kitchen, plate it and bring it out to the dining room. Mom called after him, “just a small piece!”

 

I had forewarned Vince not to cut big pieces as mom and dad didn’t like to waste food and were not big eaters.

 

So imagine my chagrin when he brought out these huge slices of cake. Mom was staring wide-eyed at the amount of cake on her plate while dad was busy wolfing his down before mom had a good visual of how much cake he was eating.

 

I was just shaking my head and rolling my eyes at Vince with a wry smile. And he was grinning back at me with a devilish, “gotcha!” look on his face.

 

The funniest part about the whole thing was that mom finished every bit of cake on her plate.  It was probably the most sugar she had ever had in one sitting in her life. So she was on a bit of a sugar-high as the celebration winded down and Vince and I got ready to head for home.

 

It was certainly not the last birthday celebration we had for mom – but it was the most memorable.

 

And I miss having them. I miss mom, dad and Vince. But I’m happy that I have such fond memories.

 

So Happy Birthday in heaven, mom. Hope they’re plying you with lots of birthday cake. And wine.

 

And I’m sending you a virtual hug from here. Give one to dad and my Vince, too, would you? xo

 

Who’s Ready for Fall?

I really didn’t want summer to end as I’m not looking forward to the snow and ice that will all too soon be in our Ohio future. Sure, we’ve gotta get through the craziness of all things pumpkin, the falling of the leaves and the simultaneous putting away of the flip flops and unearthing of the boots. But I’m mentally preparing myself for these events, so it may not hit me as hard.

 

Especially when I realize that I have absolutely no responsibility this year of raking up the fallen leaves. Yahoo!

 

Well. Not that I ever actually took rake in hand and arranged the leaves in a neat pile near the street to be collected by the city. We either hired someone to handle the task – or Vince got out his handy-dandy leaf blower and did the job himself.

 

Last fall, the yard guy was busy, so I tried my hand with Vince’s leaf blower. This was not a good move since all I managed to accomplish was to blow the leaves in a bigger circumference around the very large tree in our front yard. The leaves were nowhere near the street and in no way would anyone have considered them arranged in a pile, so all I did was create more work for the yard guy. Oops.

 

I’m guessing he’s glad that I moved.

 

Despite my hanging on to the last possible vestige of summer, the calendar has inevitably turned the page and it is now officially Fall. To underscore that fact, this morning’s walk with Maggie Minx had me busting out both a sweatshirt and a fall jacket since the outside temperature was a brisk 43°.

 

I don’t like words like “brisk.” The very word makes me shiver.

 

Some people I know have been fully decorated for the fall season since early August. But me? Well, I’m not one of those people.

 

I had my hot pink wreath on my front door along with my hot pink and black and white-striped urn and matching welcome mat out until I reluctantly removed them from the front stoop only today. Gasp – one day after the beginning of the Autumnal Equinox. For shame, Jane. For shame.

 

All the front doors in this neighborhood have been displaying their wreaths of oranges, yellows and reds for a few weeks now. I started getting a little worried that the Decorations Police would cite me for my inappropriate seasonal display.  Yikes. We wouldn’t want that.

 

So I’ve placed an appropriate Welcome sign, mat and wreath that all shout “Fall.” Since Halloween and Thanksgiving both feature pumpkins as décor, I will keep this display up until it’s time for the Christmas stuff. And that changeover will occur only after Thanksgiving Day. Martha Stewart, I’m not. And I can’t be bothered to put up separate Halloween and Thanksgiving decorations.

 

Nevertheless, I do seem to have a Martha-like penchant for hot glue guns and today I got mine out. I took some inexpensive pumpkins and glue-gunned them together, slapped on some fall-appropriate ribbon and some picks of berries, pinecones and leaves and placed the whole thing in a stand to sit in the corner of the porch.

 

Now I just have to keep my fingers crossed that this creation won’t blow away with the gale-force winds that are soon to arrive. The trees in this neighborhood are way smaller than the ones in my old neighborhood and I just remember being so very C-O-L-D from the icy wind when walking Maggie last winter.

 

See? I’m already bypassing the Fall season and going straight to Winter.

 

Hmm. Maybe I should’ve just gotten the Christmas trees out of storage, set that up in the corner of the front porch and been done with it?

 

Nah. I’m not one for bucking the system and I really don’t want a citation from the Decorations Police.

 

I fear that my community service might be leaf raking. Best not to risk it.

 

Happy Fall, y’all!

 

It's All in the Timing

I was at the pool recently wringing out every last little bit of summer. The opportunity to float in the lazy river is something I dream about in mid-February when I’d kill for a little warm sunshine on my face. But while we all know that Fall doesn’t officially begin until September 22^nd, the pool closes long before that.

 

So I hit the pool arriving with my towel, 24 oz double-insulated tumbler of ice water, can of ultra-high SPF sunblock and my pool floatie. I kicked off my flip-flops, dropped everything on a lounge chair but the pool floatie – and I waded in.

 

You should know that it could be 90 degrees outside and I still do the toe-dipping thing where I test the water in which I’m preparing to submerge myself. It could be as warm as bath water, but my face wears the same expression as if I were participating in a Polar Bear plunge in frigid January.

 

Fortunately, that expression lasts only seconds before I’ve acclimated to the water temperature. I close my eyes and peacefully float as the water jets carry me along and the sun shines down upon me.

 

Ahhh.

 

This euphoria lasts only as long as the little hooligans stay out of the lazy river. Once the pool is overly filled with splashing pre-teenaged boys, I get out. And then I eagerly await the announcement every hour that it’s the time-out period for all children under eighteen.

 

Believe me, we diehard lazy river fans who have purchased our own floaties positively live for those brief kid-less moments in the lazy river.

 

After a couple hours of floating and sunning, I was relaxing in my lounge chair reading a book and awaiting the next adult only swim, which was about 10 minutes away. I was also shamelessly eavesdropping on a man and his son sitting next to me. He was telling his son that it looked like a brief thunderstorm was headed our way and the boy wasn’t allowed to go back in the water.

 

I looked up and, sure enough, there were some clouds in the sky that didn’t look too friendly.

 

The woman on the other side of me asked me what the pool’s policy was for rainstorms. Clearly, she assumed I was the professional pool-goer amongst us what with my super-duper pool floatie leaning next to my chair.

 

I told her that everyone would have to take shelter. And if the storm involved thunder and lightning, the pool would close.

 

And then, because I didn’t really feel like hanging out under a crowded shelter hoping the rain would stop and the sun would come out again – I decided I’d probably had enough lazy river time that day.

 

So I packed up and headed to my car.

 

No sooner had I latched my seatbelt and put the car in gear when the skies opened up and it rained like Noah was making a comeback. There were brilliant flashes of lightning and booming cracks of thunder. And as I left the parking lot I could barely see the road in front of me.

 

Talk about timing. That was just about perfect. And, yeah, sure, I had a little hint from my lounge neighbor with the doppler radar app that the weather was going to take a turn…but had I left even a moment later I would have been soaked.

 

And I know what you're thinking. But, no, I wasn’t still wet from the lazy river. I’d changed into street clothes in the restroom since I had planned to run some errands after my afternoon at the pool.

 

There are so few instances in life that I have perfect timing that when they happen, I marvel.

 

On the other hand, there are many instances where my timing is off. Yin and Yang, perhaps?

 

Let’s compare and contrast, shall we? Let me tell you about my most recent journey to the pool.

 

It was this past Friday. August 12^th. Still well over a month before the end of summer, no?

 

I looked at my handy weather map and determined that Friday was going to be the best day to go to the pool. Saturday, conversely, was going to be cloudy and there was a greater chance of rain.

 

So I made arrangements to visit my father-in-law on Saturday and invited a friend to join me at the pool on Friday.

 

Alas, she couldn’t go at the last minute, but that didn’t stop me. I slapped on the sunblock, grabbed my pool bag and floatie and headed for the pool.

 

Once there, I was surprised that the parking lot wasn’t more crowded as it was an absolutely perfect summer day to lounge by the pool.

 

But I forged on ahead and walked up to the gate. Only to be stopped by a big sign indicating that the pool was closed until 4 pm. Unless I wanted to swim laps. Which I didn’t. I haven’t swum laps since my late 30s when my shoulder naggingly suggested it was time to stop swimming laps lest I was interested in signing up for a little rotator-cuff surgery.

 

Thursday had been the last day that the pool was open at noon. The stinkin’ day before!

 

Sigh.

 

So I turned around and headed back to the parking lot. I stowed my floatie in the trunk and then headed home. All sad and dejected because I might have missed my last opportunity to float in the lazy river for the season.

 

I had snapped a photo of the sign because I wanted to read it more thoroughly to see if I might have any more opportunities to hit the pool again. And – lo and behold – I discovered that the pool is open on the weekends from 12-6:30 until Labor Day. I swear, I may have heard an angel or two singing in my head when I read that news!

 

But here’s the thing about timing. There has been a definite chill in the air the past few mornings when I’ve taken Maggie for her first walk of the day. And the sky isn’t so bright either leading me to acknowledge that a time change is headed our way before too long.

 

So it’s starting to feel a little like Fall. And I’m guessing that the whole Pumpkin Spice Phenomena is about to descend upon us poor folk who are not remotely interested in any manner of Pumpkin Spice. Drinks, candles or otherwise.

 

Maybe I should hold out hope that we have a resurgence of a late summer heat wave so I can eke out a few more times at the pool over the next couple weekends?

 

We’ll see.

 

As long as the timing isn’t off and we don’t get that heat wave until after Labor Day.

 

Then the sound you’ll hear from way over here? Yeah, it’ll be the air coming from my deflating floatie. Along with perhaps the sound of sweat splashing on the fabric as I fold it up and put it away for another year in the middle of the after-Labor Day heat wave.