anniversary, birthday weekend

I woke up lazily. It was the first day of my 51st year. Glancing at the alarm I jumped up and hit the floor(no wonder it's called an alarm). How could I have overslept! It was already 5 a.m! Aging has slowed me down. I made it to the microwave to boil water for my gourmet instant coffee (at my age you may not have time to brew a full pot) then went to the computer room to let my sugargliders out to play while I did my bible study. Then it was wash the floor time so the pet sitters engaged for the next two days wouldn't think I had an old fashioned sod floor. Then a hearty work out to get the blood moving. At the five decade mark blood justs sits in the arteries till it's jump started.

Around eight I began the count down for my husband.
"Two hours till we leave, honey." He was still in bed. I packed a few of my last minute things, "I'll be ready."he promises
"One hour till we leave", I announce. He's just getting his first cup of coffee. I'm putting things in the car. "I'll be ready." he promises.
Fifteen minutes before we leave, "I'll bring the puppy to your mom's while you're getting ready." (the puppy was too young to leave at home with the sitters) Hubby was just getting in the shower. "Okay, I'll be ready", he promises.
When I get back at ten, take off time, he's not ready. Was I ever surprized! I sit in the car waiting till he gets his stuff packed,I'm just grateful he wasn't doing last minute laundry.

Finally, we're on the highway. The car ride is uneventful, except it takes two hours to make a one hour trip. He doesn't listen to the directions that I got off yahoo, or stop for help. When I read the steps off the driving directions he insists on one thing at a time. Turn left and make an immediate right are too many instructions at once, therefore he misses the turn for the immediate right. We have to back track at least five times. Finally we arrive at the extravagant resort I booked for the weekend. We checked in and headed for the vineyard tour I signed us up for. This was for my husbands half of the trip to celebrate our twentieth anniversary, he better not get in the way of my birthday half of the weekend.

We visited three wineries of the eight participating. It was a fantastic mix of people. Young and old, couples and groups. All types, wealthy , poor, in between. Dressed up and dressed down. People mixing and having fun. Music varied from mellow country and western to loud and boisterous jazz. Each winery gave four ounces of tasting pleasure and snacking foods. I don't drink much so after my first 4 ounces I also wasn't walking good. Where did they keep moving the sidewalk??? Three wineries with 4 one once samples, thats 4 plus 4 equals 8 plus 4 equals 11. No wait a minute. Counting on my fingers that equals about 12 ounces of alcohol, I wouldn't be able to handle it, I gave the last tickets to my husband. I could never tell if he had too much to drink, he always appears to be in a stupor when he's just looking a a bottle of wine.

One group of college students were having an exceptional time, and next to them a trio were dancing together,a man in the center and two women,he was in hog heaven. Then there was the couple on their first anniversay and the couple celebrating their 29th. My husband informed them we were celebrating our fortieth.

"Forty!", they chorused. "Twenty for her and twenty for me." he explained.

At the start of the tour the shuttle buses were empty. Towards the end of the day the lines to get back on were longer than the capacity of the buses. There was a man from Manchester, England on one shuttle asking jovially for ten dollars for his seat, (the ride was free compliments of the wineries.)) I told him I was born in Manchester fifty years ago. This delighted him till I added, Manchester, New Hampshire, he replied that made me second rate. What a small world.

Before we shuttled back to the resort we stoppd at a bakery for dinner. While I was waiting for our order I headed to the ladies room, a lot of wine had built up in my bladder. There was a commotion in the rest room, opening the door that stood ajar I saw an hispanic maid bent forward over the sink with a hispanic male leaning over her. "Disculpeme!" I closed the door. Then on second thought I reopened it. The male brushed past me.

"Were you having fun?" I casually inquired of the red faced woman.
"No, senora, He is just loco!" she responded covering her face and rushing out.I don't recall seeing any scratches on the man before he left, I doubt there was much of a struggle.

With salads and strawberries romanoff to go we headed to the pick up area for the resort quests,
where picknicked on the log cabin steps. Modern man on the porch of a pioneer family's home. They came to Grapevine walking beside their covered wagon and built this small two room homestead. This wooden cottage has seen a lot of history. I'll bet the walls sported many arrow holes placed by their indian neighbors. One room held a sparse wooden bed with a ragged home made quilt, I'll bet at the end of the day a lot of hard core sleeping took place there. The other room held the fireplace with a cast iron pot hanging in it, and a dining table-desk-counter top combo. One piece of furniture had many uses as there wasn't much space available for niceties. I don't guess they had internet access or a t.v. I didn't see any electrical outlets along the floor boards.

At length we got back to our room. Talk about lavish. All the rooms looked out over a four acre forest-garden area. It was designed to resemble the Aztec pueblos where all the homes faced off a cliff wall and access to each house was by rope ladder. We could open our balcony and sit there and enjoy a picturesque view. At night we could leave the balcony doors open and hear the waterfall and feel safe. Unless someone had wall scaling equipment (there were no rope ladders here) they couldn't enter our room six flights up. My husband noticed the absense of one ingredient to the ambiance. No birds. The singing of birds would have fit in better that the piped in music. My husband advised I close the curtains while I got ready for bed. I felt daring. I stepped out on the balcony a-la natural. No one noticed. Boy, was I feeling fifty, they probably assumed I was wearing a pleated nightgown. These aren't pleats, darlings, this is my skin.
I felt I was in the lap of luxury. I called room service to make our morning coffee.

"M'am, you do that yourself. The coffee machine is in the bathroom." What! at these rates I thought the maid did that. Wrong, guess again. There was also a missing personal attendant to hand me my towel after showering. I had to reach for it myself, I think I pulled a muscle. No tip will be left here.

I visited the spa area to see if they took walk-ins.
"Yes, m"am, but it depends on what's available."
"I'd like a pedicure."
"Well that's booked up."
"Why don't you tell me what is available then."
"Well,actually everything is booked right now."
"Wouldn't it have been easier to start off the conversation with that tib-bit of information?" I left. But I felt rich and smug after my sarcastic exit. I really didn't intend to pay for any of their high priced services anyway.

There was a lovely gift store with sequined t-shirts to die for. I quieried about how much damage a t-shirt would do to my budget,
"Eighty dollors."
"Is that all? Do you have it in my size?" (Sorry, I'm not divulging the size I requested! Remember I'm fifty, not dumb!)
"Sorry m'am, we don't." (Thank heavens, who would spend eighty dollars for a t-shirt!)

Another gift store offered a book that looked interesting. It was by a western artist. It sold for thirty dollars because it was autographed by the author. I found it on aAmazon.com for eleven dollars marked down from sixteen dollars. I'm obviously not one to ask about shopping at this location.

At 10:00 on Sunday morning we boarded the elevator to check out with a group of young girls. They were here at the resort celebrating a birthday.
"Did you go on the wine tour yesterday?"
"No, we're just 18."
"It's a good thing you didn't go then, but you could have been disignated drivers. I went but I'm too young to drink also."
One giggled, "That's funny."
"Well, that comment wasn't", I responded with good humor.

As I made good on the bill I informed the young thing handling the counter,"We were here for our twentieth anniversary. I told my husband after twenty years the sex was still good."
"Oh, that's so sweet."
"Yeah, I know. I just hope he doesn't find out who I'm having it with."
My husband is part homing pigeon. The return trip home took less than an hour.

First priority was getting the puppy home from "granny's" and loving on all the other pets. Then came nap time. Relaxing at a resort takes alot out of you, mostly from your pocket book, the hemorrhage of dineros causes total exhaustion!

thanksgiving day encounter

Thanksgiving Day Encounter

 

I pulled the curtains back just enough to watch cars park. People up and down the street were getting loads of visitors complete with casseroles, deserts and drinks.  Parking spaces were at a premium and some were being forced to park on neighboring blocks and trek to their destinations; no one seemed to consider this as undo punishment. Not a frown anywhere to be seen;  just smiles and out and out laughter.

 

I let the curtains fall back into place and turned my back so the tears could roll freely. As if anyone would notice. My house was empty and dark, parallel with the ache in my soul, even though it was only noon. My car was tucked away in the garage so friends wouldn’t feel sorry for me and offer me an obligatory meal. I didn’t care for pity, except for maybe self-pity.

 

Thanksgiving Day alone. Again. You’d think my kids would bury the hatchet and make up. My son wouldn’t come if my daughter did and vice versa. How can a mother choose between her off spring? Actually if they got together I feared they really would bury the hatchet. Hard core hate had been boiling between them for years.  Misunderstandings can be fatal. I never listen to either side of the story anymore, I don’t want to be involved or accused of taking sides.

 

Sitting in my lazy boy I poured another glass of wine. Wine and tuna sandwiches, that was my menu today. Why cook for a holiday I had no empathy with? What did I have to be thankful for today? Don’t give me that bull about being alive. Sometimes that’s actually no comfort, just banal sentiment that can be easily reversed.

 

Oh, dear. I’m almost out of wine. I couldn’t survive today without spirits. Off I headed to the nearby convenience store.  In back, where I parked, three men were filling up water jugs from a hydrant. They appeared tired and worn out, in need of some refreshing. They were the age of my kids, mid-thirties or so. They were still in the parking lot after I purchased my wine.

 

I carefully got into my car, slightlyafraid of being ambushed by the three vagrants,  at the same time hoping to be ambushed, after all maybe physical pain would remove my emotional agony.  Then out of nowhere someone  asked, “Do you guys need a good home cooked meal?” I looked around to see who had said that, and was shocked to learn it was me. The three men hefted their back packs and eagerly climbed into my Sedan, gratefully accepting my kindness without hesitation.  Introductions were proffered and handshakes passed out by Joshua, Pete and Juan.

 

At home I was embarrassed to have nothing elaborate to offer them. Remember, I was eating a tuna sandwich by myself on Thanksgiving Day.  My embarrassment was combined with embarrassment that I was embarrassed for having nothing good to eat for men that shopped from garbage cans (you can only understand that If you are as slightly inebriated as I am).. A can of beans and rice would be a gourmet meal if served on plates with real silverware and a beverage in a glass. I apologized for not having the usual over indulgent Thanksgiving meal and whipped up something only a mother could do at the last moment. My guests were profusely appreciative as they helped where they could. And between preparations they individually showered and shaved in the guest room, cleaning up after themselves. More than my own kids did. The bathroom actually looked fresher after they were done than before they started.  Cleaned up, they were nice looking young men, and smart. I couldn’t understand why they were homeless. They explained it was their calling to roam the country looking for people to help. This definitely took me by surprise. Who was helping who here?  They were smart but slightly mixed up. 
 

 We talked for hours about family, friends, and God. They had more insight into that divine being than I had, speaking of him more as a personal acquaintance than some distant phenomenon.  They offered up prayers for my family and me. they had no personal requests for themselves, they emphasizied to me their perpetual gratefulness to the God of the universe who gave them all they needed in this live and the life eternal. They finally said their concluding thanks and walked out the door. Out of my life. Out of the saddest day of my life. Saddest day turned pensive, turned warm. It had sustained me to have company today.  Five hours after I had gone for more wine, wine that had never been opened, I watched three backs walk into the sunset without a hint of the hardness that comes from being homeless.

 

I was back in my lounger, next to my forgotten tuna sandwich, alone again, when the door chimes ruptured my reverie. Without waiting for me to answer my son and daughter broke through the entrance arm in arm, followed by their families and—tons of food.  Really, I couldn’t eat another bite.  I reached for my wine glass and quickly downed the last drops.

 

“You guys aren’t here to draw me into your absurd squabble, again are you?” I blustered out, fearing a repeat horrible family feud on my terrain. A premonition out of place with the gleeful expressions on their countenances and the banquet they were carting in.

 

“No, we were worried about you, we tried to call several times and when no one answered we got together and decided our fight was silly and we agreed to disagree. We didn’t want you to be alone on Thanksgiving so we combined our menus and ……Walla!”

 

Once again tears rolled down my soggy cheeks. It was then I noticed the time on the grandfather clock by the door; and the sunshine that poured in the window around the closed curtains.  I’ve only been in this chair for twenty minutes. My sandwich was still refrigerator cool. I must have dreamed the whole afternoon’s activities.  I roamed through the house in shock. Nothing had changed; no dishes in the dishwasher from the meal I thought I had served hours ago, no discarded food cans, and no towels in the laundry from recent bathers. I had never gone anywhere, never had any visitors. It had seemed so real. It had to have been real, but lacking evidence I had to assume it had been nothing but a very, very remarkable dream, or the beginning of mental instability.

 

As my kids laid the dining room table with the lavish spread of edibles I answered the phone; since it was ringing that seemed the appropriate thing to do.

 

“Mrs. Watson, you left your wallet here. I tried to flag you down before you drove off with those three bums. I was afraid they had carjacked you, I was about to call the police.” It was the convenience store manager.  I heard my kids gasp just before I collapsed on the floor, the phone receiver at my side; “Mrs. Watson?  Mrs.Watson?” emanating from the speaker.

 

Outside Joshua, Pete and Juan who had returned to sneak a peak in the window, smiled contently, joined hands and ascended upwards.

 psalm 68:6
Mathew 26:36-40
Hebrews 13:1-2