Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Senior Moments...and I Don't Mean High School...


My husband and I are getting older. It's hard when we still feel young inside but our bodies, and more importantly our minds, don't work like they used to. We both..umm... leak a little when we cough or strain. And one time he glibly commented that we were both so tired that if we wanted to get a little action, we would have to lie there and pray for an earthquake.

It's not quite that bad, but it's close.

For example, today. I am at work, in business attire, visiting with a customer'/client while making a purchase. I reach to put something in my back pocket and feel a flap of fabric that shouldn't be there. I feel around and realize it is my body-shaper that has not been appropriately hooked and is flapping in the breeze. Front and back. And dingy white against my dark jeans and black top. It's not humiliating enough, I guess, that I have to wear such a garment to hold in the middle-age spread I try to pretend I don't have. Now I have to advertise to the world that I wear it, that I'm not a good enough laundress to keep it white, and that I don't have the sense God gave a younger woman to hook the hooks and snap the snaps before I go out to meet the public.

This month alone I have left both my bank card and day planner (which holds all my personal information) in a restaurant and shopping cart respectively. Thankfully I live in a great community and both were returned unsullied and unused.

Two weeks ago I lost my cell phone while shopping with my daughter in St. George. We called every store we'd been in, (including the Best Buy where I bought my husband an iPod to replace the one he shattered by slamming it in the door minutes before because he forgot it was sitting on his lap). No one had seen it. Finally, my daughter, who is younger and much less senile, offered to drive back to those businesses and look around. She was calling it while walking to her car and heard music coming from her garage...where my phone was laying on the ground next to her freezer. I had apparently bent over to get ice for my Coke and the phone fell out of my bra.

Ah! The phone in my bra, now that's a another senior moment story. I actually carry two cell phones in my bra as I am constantly knocking the holster kind off by turning sharp corners as I walk. (I have wide enough hips as it is, what with that aforementioned middle-age spread thing.) When it rings in the middle of a chamber of commerce meeting, it can be a little embarrassing. What is most embarrassing is that I am constantly patting my bosoms in search of a phone...and people don't always realize that is my purpose. *blush* And worse that that? I often feel my phones vibrating in my bra WHEN THEY ARE NOT IN MY BRA!

My kids takes this in stride remembering that a few years ago, while driving a '91 Chevy Beretta, I could hear the theme of “I Love Lucy” when the radio wasn't on. Maybe it's not senility. Maybe it's just me.

I can hope for the best, but I know darker days are on the horizon. Get out the Ginseng , Vitamin E and Aricept. And maybe a straightjacket for good measure.

Hold on a minute...*pats bosoms* ...I think my phone is ringing.




Tuesday, October 16, 2012

A Little Bit o' Twang


I have moved into a new office and it plays the local country music station over a building-wide sound system. It's the only channel we can get. I have the ability to turn it off, but have discovered that most of the time I like the usually happy, slightly sexy beats playing in the background of my hectic, business-like schedule. A little bit o' twang can really lighten the mood when, say, a client tests positive for THC  and loses a job or doesn't quite meet the hiring criteria to get a desired position. It's hard to stay upset while Craig Morgan is belting out “Bonfire”.

Right this minute, however, I am slightly disturbed by it. I find myself typing in that galloping horse rhythm of country music. The cowgirl vibe is starting to take over, I think. Typing in Grand Ol' Opry beats is not totally unexpected. The genre is in my blood. My paternal grandfather played in a western band to supplement his income from farming for years; all the real, old, twangy stuff. He could play any instrument by ear, and all the while my little apple-on-a-stick-shaped grandma would be slapping her knee and stomping a foot to the tune. All my aunts and uncles have beautiful singing voices. One Uncle was pretty famous for his rendition of “A Boy Named Sue.” (Love you Uncle Owen!) My dad always wanted to be able to sing, and to his credit, sincerely tried. So this western music? It's in my DNA.

Also today? I wore cowboy boots. Okay, it is getting colder and flip flops, my preferred footwear (as it is as close to barefoot as I can get on a work day), don't quite cut it. And they are really only half cowboy boots, ankle boots to be precise. But lately, I find myself saying “dang” a lot and calling people “darlin” (not sure that is entirely professional when the darlin in question is a client and construction worker).

Country music definitely has it's plus side, though. As a poet, I love me some cowboy music lyrics like Carrie Underwood's “Before He Cheats”:

“Right now, he's probably slow dancing with a
bleached-blonde tramp
And she's probably getting frisky
Right now he's probably buying her some Fruity little drink
'Cause she can't shoot whiskey
Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool-stick
Showing her how to shoot a combo
Oh and he don't know...

That I dug my key into the side of his
Pretty little souped up four wheel drive
Carved my name into his leather seat
I took a Louisville slugger to both head lights
Slashed a hole in all four tires
Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats”

There's some gorgeous poetry in lyrics from songs like Dixie Chicks “Landslide”
and LeeAnne Womack's “I Hope you Dance”.

And you can always find a good laugh in lines like:

“Shut my mouth, slap your grandma” or “I bought the shoes that just walked out on me”
One of my English professors, a Chaucer and Shakespeare scholar, kept a quote-a-day calendar of country
music lyrics that was hilarious!

And the CMA Awards are always high on my list for entertainment value. I loved that moment, a few years back,  
when one of the presenters, with a deep country twang, turned to Sting (who was performing that night)
and asked “Is it all right if tonight we call you Stang?” Love this stuff. I truly do.

So, all in all, I'm kinda diggin' the country vibe at work. But in the car, I'm singing my lungs out to the
soundtrack from Les Mis or old 70's classic rock, or shedding tears to Jewel or Sarah Mclachlan.

Maybe my vast and eclectic taste in music will save me from stepping completely over the line that
separates twang from timbre, but don't be surprised if you hear me cry “Yee Haw!” over the next
sale on cowboy boots!