Ride-along

The name for this story did not come from the current movie blockbuster.  It’s simply the name of an activity that I participate in from time-to-time.  I do ride-alongs with the police department. Why? you may ask. There are a number of reasons.  First, it shows our officers that the public supports them and has an interest in their jobs.  Second, it allows me to get to know the officers personally which, I hope, will result in faster response time should I ever dial 9-1-1. And third, it’s just plain fun. Cops have a wealth of equipment at their disposal, much of it fastened to their belts or crammed around the seats of their cars:  weapons, flashlights, radios, radar, cameras, a computer.  Fascinating stuff to a boring old accountant like me. On my...

Bed

We just bought a king-sized bed. Finally. George and I debated buying one for years, but it was only after I wrote the following in my journal that my decision was made.   November, 2013           I slept on the wrong side of the bed.  Again.           I’ve been doing this for close to thirty years now.           Every night, I think I’ll talk with George about it in the morning, but when morning comes, I forget.  In fact, the only way this story even came into existence was because I got up and wrote it in the middle of the night.          I don’t know why we decided I would sleep on George’s left side and he would sleep to my right.          I’ve never been able to sleep while lying on my left side; it upsets my stomach.          ...

Prince

Prince was nine months old when I adopted him.  I was trying to fill the gaping hole left when my son moved out-of-state for college and our twelve-year-old Cairn terrier died in the same week.  My daughter began volunteering at the local animal shelter in an attempt to heal her own broken heart and that is where she met Prince. This supposed lab-border collie shelter dog quickly grew into a much larger breed—most likely, a lab-Great Pyrenees mix, all muscle.  His initial quiet, friendly temperament changed within a few months and he became the most fierce defender of territory in the neighborhood.  The occasional meter reader and UPS driver who ventured into our yard didn’t help, nor did the neighborhood kids who daily tested Prince’s invisible fence...

Tattoos

Most people plan their tattoos, making a statement of sorts by the way in which they decorate their bodies. My first ones were unplanned…and, unwanted. They were miniscule, marking the parameters of the area of my chest to be radiated for breast cancer. They made a statement I would have preferred not to make. But they also opened my mind to other possibilities…like when my husband purchased a motorcycle a few years later. I mentioned that tattoos and motorcycles went together, though George swore he would never have a picture embedded in his flesh.  I insisted I was going to get one and I talked about it—only talked—for years. During a vacation to Florida, one in which we couldn’t enjoy the beach due a storm rolling in to shore, my daughter encouraged me...

Divorce

I am divorced, though I rarely think of myself as a divorcee.  It occurred so long ago that I wonder if it was someone else’s life rather than my own.  Maybe it’s just another memory slipping from my grasp. Not that that would be a bad thing.  Divorce is not pleasant.  In fact, I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. You vow to stand beside someone forever–for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health—and then that someone asks for a divorce. Can’t very well stand beside someone who is kicking you out of his life. Thank God there were no children’s lives to shatter. One shattered life—my own—was enough.  It wasn’t just the rejection by my husband that did me in, but the rejection by a large part of my community. My...