Car Show – part 2

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Fun was had by all.

My favorite room

My favorite room is my bedroom. Every time I go in, I feel like I'm in a hotel. The linens are perfect, the pillows, divine. The master bath is spacious and well appointed. I love my bedroom. I am [almost] always happy in that room. Recently, we added some words on the wall over the antique wooden sun. "Always kiss me goodnight." It completes the mood.

Cath*

*not her real name, the names have been changed to protect her innocence.

Cath is the cool girl in the game. She’s funny and irreverent. And I’ve learned a lot of great new things from her.

Maybe she knows cool stuff because she has teenage sons. Or maybe, she’s just cool.

I started this post thinking I was going to share the insights I’ve gotten from her, but no. I will not be posting them here. For 2 reasons. 1) I don’t want to embarrass her, and 2) because my niece reads this blog and she is definitely not old enough to read what I’ve learned from Cath!

But will I will talk about here is that we were all set. We had a nice game planned . We all knew each other and life was good. And then someone invited this Cath girl into the game. Everyone knew her except me and one other player. I felt insecure.

Ugh. To be the one that isn’t quite in. I knew what that was. And here I was going right back in.

But.

To my surprise, it wasn’t like that at all. She was great. And we were all instant friends.

So learning those dirty sayings and teenage behaviors is a fantastic bonus, but the best part of having Cath in the game is….

having Cath in the game.

Weekends at college.

When I went to college, I admit that I really missed my mom.

Sure I had fun. All that *typical* college fun. Wink. Wink. But I missed home.

It’s not that I didn’t have lofty aspirations and huge dreams. I did. But once they dropped me off and left, I wasn’t as sure that I couldn’t do just as well from the comfort of my own home – complete with a basement bedroom with foil and felted animal print wallpaper and my private telephone line.

But drop me off they did. My new roommate, Melinda, welcomed me with open arms. Kind of. “I ain’t never seen no Jew before,” were her first words to me. Charmed, I’m sure. And funny how it didn’t surprise me that this lazy girl from a closed-minded family ended up going wild, skipping class, and dating a (too good for her) black guy just to “show mama that I can make my own decisions.”

I could make my own decisions, too, and I requested a transfer after first semester.

But I am totally off track here.

What I meant to write about was the sanctuary that I had on the weekends. Whenever I wanted, I could escape to a tropical wonderland with great food and a mother-like figure who would make me feel special.

It was the home of family friends. The mom was young and beautiful. The dad was in the construction vehicle business and I found it fascinating. He would talk to me about it and show me the equipment. They had young sons, who were fun.

I would go there on the weekends and have homemade dinners and my favorite activity ever (seriously, maybe ever!)….

I’d read and nap on the hammock in their  backyard.

It was heaven.

I had so many wonderful times there. And I still bake the roll-ups that the grandmother used to make. She hand wrote the recipe for me and I still cherish it. (And let me tell you, this is one yummy dessert.)

The mom was there when I had a friend in need and didn’t know where to turn. She was there when I just needed a little family time.

And I just heard that the dad died after a long illness.

And it made me sad. Sad that I lost touch with the family for so many years. Sad that I probably (as a 20 year old might) didn’t show enough appreciation for what they did for me. Sad for their loss.

But on the other hand, it brought back some wonderful warm memories and took me back to a time that I don’t think about all that often.

All I know for sure is that I’m going to make some roll-ups this weekend.

Now, to find some damson preserves.

All aboard

At one of the boys basketball games the other day, I was struggling to understand the referees and it occurred to me…they sound just like the announcers at the Amtrak station. Do you think there is a special class to learn to talk in that garbled way?

I’m just sayin’…