The Things That Drive Us

Men and their toys—or should I say, cars? And I don’t mean toy cars. A man’s image is often tied to what he drives; most women are no different. The other day when my friend, Betsy, and I went to Radnor Lake State Park to hike, a Porsche in the parking lot caught our eyes. There was an older man behind the wheel whose face took on a smug expression when he saw us looking. He seemed pleased to be noticed as he simply sat in the parking lot with his motor running, apparently more interested in being seen in that car than on any hiking trails. Betsy loves to spot expensive cars, especially when there’s a good-looking man behind the wheel. As we were headed home from the park, she started salivating over the Rolls Royce driving abreast of us. The driver appeared to...

Meal-Sharing

I use FaceBook to keep up with the lives of my friends, to hear about funny experiences, things they’ve learned, and milestones in their lives. I don’t use it to see what they’re having for dinner. I’m not going to comment on the food you have chosen to eat. No “good job” or “happy for you” will be coming from me. And I sure as heck am not going to Like it. I’ll gladly share a meal with you at home or at a restaurant. Feel free to order anything you’d like. If it’s not pretty, I’ll ignore it. But I might just stick a needle in my eye if I have to look at one more picture of mashed Mexican beans that resemble what I pick up after my dog every day.

It Feels Weird To Be Like You

Somehow, I have gotten on a new daily schedule. I’ve long been the one to stay up late at night and then have difficulty awakening in the morning. But my month in Baltimore with the grandkids changed me. I was so tired by the end of each day that I went to bed about the time three-year-old Carter went to bed, 8:00pm. I found myself awake by 5:30 each morning and used the opportunity to get in a good long walk before the kids were up and running. Literally. Carter often asked me by 8:00am, “Granny, will you run with me?” I’ve been home three weeks now and find I’m sticking to the schedule established in Baltimore. I’m getting up before 6:00 every morning because I’m tired and ready for bed by 8:00 every night—just like George. I have teased him about his...

Peanut Butter and Jelly

My grandson, Carter, was sick. As he lay on the sofa half-asleep, his dad encouraged him to eat in order to keep up his strength. “Would you like a sandwich?” Chris asked. “Peanut butter and jelly always made me feel better when I was sick.” “No,” said Carter. “Peanut butter and jelly is for happy people.” Wisdom from a three-year-old.

Memories are Meant to Be Shared, Right?

A drive through downtown brought to mind my recent Segway tour of Franklin. “We rode the Segways down this street,” I said to George, pointing to a cross street while we sat at the stoplight. “I know,” he said, without missing a beat. “I was with you.” “Oh…that’s right!” I said, looking at him as reality dawned. “What an idiot I am!” “Those Hutchisons will tell a story—whether you already know it or not,” George said, referring to my dad, a Hutchison who had a penchant for telling the same stories over and over and over again. It often made us wonder if his dementia had set in much earlier than diagnosed. “Sounds like early onset…,” George began. I started to protest when he added: “I’m just pleased I remembered I was with...

Never Too Old

I took a Segway tour of my town the other day, guided by police officer friend, Rose. I went on a wild ride around the countryside with her just last week and wanted to continue the fun through the side job she had recently taken. Husband George went, as did friend Betsy and her son, Max. We started with a short safety video, then Rose demonstrated how to ride and gave us time to practice. It was not an easy thing for me; I love nothing more than to have my feet planted firmly on solid ground. But hey, this was an adventure, something new to try. Couldn’t be worse than skydiving. We headed down the sidewalk, my muscles so taut I could scarcely move. I found myself drifting too close to the curb on my left and a five inch drop-off, but couldn’t seem to make the...

Bitten, Part 3

The DA’s office requested my presence when the owner of the dog that bit me appeared in court.  Stepping into General Sessions Court is akin to entering another universe. I arrived early to find a mass of cops and people in suits standing at the front of the courtroom.  They all seemed to be trying to talk to the seated suits—the District Attorney and her assistants, I assume.  Most of the younger suits were sharply dressed men and women.  Some of the older guys, though, looked like they were wearing suit jackets twenty years out of style and made to fit someone a hundred pounds lighter. Apparently not all law practices are lucrative. I sat behind the railing with the defendants, witnesses, and victims.  A lot were like folks in my neighborhood such as the dog’s...