Love at First Sight

I picked her up the spring of 1979 and fell in love with her. She was a country girl. She wasn't what you would call beautiful. In fact, she was probably what you would call a step below plain. She was not upper class, she was poverty...and she was cheap. But she had soul and for a mere one hundred dollars, she was all mine.

A 1970 Volkswagen Beetle in what may have been a hunter green at one time but was by then more rust than green. She was a semi-automatic, the metal plate still attached to the hood of the engine in the back. For those of you who don't know what a semi-automatic is, you still shift the gears manually as if you are driving a standard but there is no clutch. Cyril, my stepfather, drove her home and taught me how to drive her. He decided that if I could drive her, there was not a vehicle out there that I would not be able to handle. When driving down the road, I was unable to sneak up on anyone. She sounded as if she needed winding as I drove her and her timing was off so while stopped at a light, I would have her in neutral with my left foot on the brake, the right on the gas. It did take a certain amount of talent to drive her. I would fill her tank with a five dollar bill and we'd go miles and miles for two weeks.

The trunk was so rusted that you could not use it for what it was intended (the spare tire was suspended by bungee cords). Anything and everything was loaded into the back seat making shopping, camping and passengers all real challenges.

Because she was only a little four cylinder whose timing was off the beam, going up hills was a definite challenge. Down on the other hand was a breeze. My best friend and I would go out to her sister's just about every weekend. The village of Attica is only about 35 miles from here, not a long trip at all. But to my little Bug, it could have been hundreds. There are hills that must be conquered in order to get there. These hills are not large to the average vehicle. I found that if I were to speed down hill first, I'd just about make it up the next hill. Of course, it would help if my passenger(s) and I would lean forward. It's really best not to ask.

On one particular trip, an eighteen wheeler was traveling behind me, poor devil. The hills where coming up and I did not want to hold this poor driver up, his vehicle would have just as much trouble as mine. Waving frantically to get him to go around did absolutely nothing. I have always felt that he stayed behind me because, deep in his heart, didn't think the little engine could. But her engine would say, "I know I can, I know I can".

Camping was the top form of entertainment back then, second only to drinking, whether it was a holiday weekend, bluegrass festival or just for the sake of camping. It was my little green Bug that would get us there. The backseat was piled high with a tent, case of beer, bedding, case of beer, food, case of beer, cooking utensils, case of beer, suitcase, and a pouch of whatever for shots (bet you thought I was going to say a case of beer). And off we'd go. She'd get us there and back regardless of the distance.

She took me to some great concerts along with a friend or two. Once I had her loaded to the max. The concert was The Allman Brothers Band and there was eight of us in her. The backseat of the 1970 Beetle would hold two people comfortably. Behind the backseat and the engine was storage which was large enough to hold a suitcase but not much else. On this particular trip, we packed three in front and five in back. I now know how an overstuffed phone booth felt like.
The smallest of our group was stuffed in the storage way in the back. She would lift an arm on occasion to let us know she was alright. In the back seat sat three friends with the fourth laying across the other three. And in the front with me sat my brother and his girlfriend on his lap. Along our little group went, down the thruway to downtown and the Aud. I learned a valuable lesson that night. One should never have anyone on a lap in the front seat of a standard. Every bump we hit, my brother's friend would bounce and hit the gear shift. Although she never complained, I can't help thinking how uncomfortable that was. It's hard to believe to this day that we drove to the Aud most of the way in neutral and managed to make it in one piece.
With my Bug, I took my younger siblings to places they may not have otherwise been able to go. I'd yell for Midge, the family collie, asking if you'd like a ride and in she'd go, taking up the entire back seat, head out of one window and tail out the other, not giving a care where we were going as long as she got to go with me. The Bug and I went on shopping trips and out drinking with friends. My favorite nights out were the mornings after when my stepfather would enter the kitchen, hair on end and announce that I was in early the night before since the hood was cool to the touch when he got home (at four am). I can still see Mom and I laughing later because he'd forgotten the engine was in the back and he was feeling the trunk. I had arrived at home only five minutes before he did.
Our relationship ended with summer, her timing having melted together. But it was the greatest summer. I couldn't bear to watch as Cy towed her away, my Dad's arm around my shoulder and my Mom rolling her eyes behind me as the tears flowed down my cheeks. That little green and rust Bug gave me my independence and over 30 years later, I still mourn the loss of my first love and the joys of that summer so long ago.

A Tribute

This is a tribute of some of my co-workers. If you are not mentioned, it doesn't mean that you will be forgotten.

Sophia, you and I never really saw eye to eye. And I will be the first to admit that you would get on my last nerve on a regular basis. But (and there is always a but), I admire you for not retiring and continuing to work. I can only hope that my family has not put me in a home by then (I suspect it's been picked out already!).

To my podmate, Pauline. Cathy asked me if I thought you would be good in private pay. Yes, you may now blame me for that move. I told Cathy that I thought you had the right stuff and as far as I'm concerned, I was right. You speak with your hands, and on more than one occasion, I've wondered it that plane was ever going to land. But it's all good. You have become a close friend. And it still and always will amaze me that my brother and your sister were born on the same day and year, both at the same hospital! That you lived around the corner from us at the time. As you always say, "You never know who you will meet again." And I'd say our paths will cross several times more.

Berta, my buddy, my pal. We have now worked together at our last three jobs, I'm not sure I can work somewhere without you. So the plan is, wherever I go, I will tell them if they want me, they have to take you too! But on a very serious note, Berta, you are so compassionate that about your job, to a point that I'd swear that you were the founder and CEO. Berta, I love your sense of humor, the fact that you are able to laugh at yourself. Oh, and Berta? You remind me of my mother. ;)

Going through life in denial is really not the way to go Janice. But if that is the path you choose, be sure to feed my chickens, fertilize my crops and shoo the raccoons away. Janice, kidding aside, we have worked together for two different companies and I've grown to respect your work ethics. I also can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate your support in my personal war to quit smoking.

As a single mom of an active and imaginative five year old, you have your hands full and when you took on the responsibility as Team Lead for your little troupe, I was proud of you Holly. Management made the right choice. You have a love for your co-workers and your family. It shines through when you talk about them and the discovery of your extended family in Italy. I hope you meet them all soon.

Nancy, I'll will hear your laughter and the call of "In coming!" in my sleep. Regardless of the mood or stress in the office or others, you managed to laugh. Thank you for that.

Ellen, you may be the smallest in stature, but you are larger than life when it comes to your work and friendships. As a team leader, you took on projects than most and never seemed to let it bother you. The calm you show under stress makes you that great leader.

You are never at a loss for words, Debbie, and always you speak your mind. This combination has not necessarily made you most popular with some but always with me. Over the past two years we have worked together, laughed together and cried together. While I wish that I would have been asked to stay, I'm very glad that they asked you.

Cynthia, I have to admit that most of the time that I worked with you I honestly didn't think you were all that fond of me. But I did feel respect from you as I hope you felt from me. I can not remember the last time I worked for a woman that worked so hard for her employees. I can't say enough about what you tried to do for us and I'm sure you wish it would have been more.

Scarecrow, I'm going to miss you most of all. Cathy, I'm sure that there have been times when you wished that you never hired me. I know at times I gave you a hard time. Feel free to think of me as one of those tests that you have during your lifetime. It was an honor to work for and with you. Of all the new friends I met here, you have become one of my closest friends. And Cathy? When I left, we were zero calls out...

Of course there are many more women that I worked with, all great in what they do, all have touched me in one way or another. Everyone of you is a class act...best of everything in the future.

Anna's Story

Chapter Two

Anna begins walking in the direction of her gaze. She was still silent, walking through the crowd that separates like the Red Sea. As if wearing blinders, she sees nothing but the sight before her.

"Mein leibhaber, mein Zigeuner, my Steve!", she cries out. A life-size portrait of her husband stands before her, She has been a widow for over 50 years and has never stopped loving or missing him. He is her gypsy, the man she fell in love with all those long years ago.

Heidi, her eldest granddaughter, always interested in the man she never met, had the life-size photo of her grandfather made from an old wedding photograph for the party. There were also enlargements of other missing family members that have been long gone. Pictures of her parents, her brothers and their wives. Only one was missing and that was her sister, Mary, gone these past 100 years. She never met her older sister and there were no pictures of her to be found. As Anna stands there, her family begins to come, surrounding her. Her favorite great-granddaughter, Katrina, Heidi's youngest, is standing next to her, arm around her shoulder, asking, "Old Grandma, are you okay? You look like you have seen a ghost."

Anna's voice cracks as she replies, "Yes, child, I am. Just a bit of a shock and lost in my memories."

"Come, sit down and I'll get you a cup of tea. Relax and have fun, it's your day after all." said Katrina.

As Heidi wheeled in the cake, ablaze with 90 candles, Anna looked into Heidi's eyes. Heidi how pleased Oma was but also saw something else, a flicker, like a candle almost blown out in the wind. And as her family gathered around the cake and sang, Anna's thoughts moved back over her long life.

She grew up in what is known as the Valley on Exchange Street in Buffalo. The neighborhood was of Hun-Austrian immigrants. Her parents had moved back and forth from Austria to America several times before her Papa told her Mother to choose a country. With World War I beginning, America was were they would make their permanent home. When she was a young woman in her teens, a family from Czechoslovakia had moved into the neighborhood. With them, they brought a border, a young man of 17. To Anna, he was the most handsome man she ever laid eyes on and decided then and there she would marry a gypsy.

Anna went to a Catholic high school in her neighborhood with her best friend, Celeste. They changed their route to school in order to pass the Gypsy's house. Leaning toward Anna, Celeste whispers, "Ann, I don't understand why you have me take the long way to school, that new kid goes to work very early in the morning, he's been gone for hours!"

"Yes, I know Celeste, you tell me that every morning." said Anna. "But what if he is late one day? I want you to see him, he's so handsome. I want going to marry a gypsy like him someday.

Celeste rolled her eyes, "And so you tell me every morning!" And of they went as they did every morning, until almost a year later.

Seniors and just about a month away from graduation, Anna and Celeste, heads together, walk the same route they started a year ago. Their voices low, whispering teen girl secrets to one another, Anna felt eyes on her, almost as if they were burning into her soul. As she looked over her shoulder, she saw her gypsy, watching her. There was a stirring in her that she never felt before, unfamiliar yet not at all unpleasant. She never told Celeste, who after a year of taking this detour, never stopped complaining of the extra blocks, that he was there, watching. She looked into his eyes, certain that this would be the she gypsy would marry.

Peter's voice brought her back from the past, "Ma, it's time to open gifts. Are you feeling alright? You look a little pale".

"I'm fine Peter. Let's get the young ones to help Old Grandma open this mountain of gifts".

Do you think she can hear me?

A typical day starts when the alarm clock goes off at 5:15AM . So it's really 5:05AM. I need to trick myself into getting up in the morning. Of course, I hear you asking yourselves, "It can't be much of a trick if she knows it's being done." Yes, well, go figure the female brain.

After slamming my fist down on the snooze button, at least three times, I peer over the side of the bed, one eye open, looking for Ginger. She is the senile, half blind family pet (my God, I have enough material on her to write a book!). She's as cute as a button and daft as they come. As always, my furry little rug is next to the bed. Proof again that I'm still limber most mornings. I manage to step over her while I attempt my exit from bed.

I make my way to the bathroom, praying I won't trip over anything. While in the bath, I hear the click, click of Ginger's nails. She is now setting the trap. She will be in the doorway of the bathroom…yep, there she is.

From there I cross the hall to my daughter's room, tap the foot sticking out from the blankets and stand back quickly as that foot kicks and announce "it's time to get up."

And so the day begins…

"Are you dressed?"

"Ugh, yes!"

"When did the dog go out last?"

"Can I have some money?"

"Ginger, do you have to go out?"

"Oh fudge! Where's my bus pass?"

"What happened to the lunchmeat?"

"Gary! When did the dog go out last?"

"I'm gonna be late! Where's my other shoe?"

One out the door, Me to get ready. Waffles in the toaster, teeth and hair done. Steps over the dog in the doorway once again. Damn, out of syrup and jelly just doesn't do the waffle justice.

Lunch, check. Tote, check. Purse, check. Keys, coat, shoes, check, check, check. Ginger now sitting in front of the door, "You're kidding me, now? Right? Gary! (yelling now) the dog has to go out!" Over the dog and out the door I go.

The tunes turned up, heavy metal morning, a stop at Tim Horton's for a coffee and I'm ready to start my day.

I love my job. I know, not too many people can say that. But I do. My coworkers are some of the best in the business and are all passionate about, not only their work but each other as a family.

My job is basically to answer billing questions of our patients and to collect cash from them. And, in spite of my complaints, I love talking to the patients. My favorites are the elderly ones. The more senile the better.

My first call is to a gentleman that was very upset (ok, upset is putting it mildly, he was pissed) about his billing. As I was looking at his account, I was asking about the weather in Rhode Island. Next thing I know he's telling me my voice is sexy and he is sitting in his boxers. Why me? No idea but he did cool down enough for me to explain his billing.

Several calls later, I explain a bill to a 91 year old woman who tells me that it's hell getting old and that she hopes it never happens to her. You have to love the attitude and between the two of us and anyone that will listen, I hope she doesn't either.

Of course, not all my patients are elderly and sweet. And they are certainly not entertaining. I do get my share of pistols. All I can say is I have not heard language like that since the last time I was drinking!

And my work day ends with the man who has his wife talk to me because he can't hear me. Of course the television is so loud I can't hear me. And all the while I am talking to her, the patient is on the extension telling her what to say. And she tells me like I can't hear him tell her what to say! It never ceases to amaze me with old men, the more they can't hear you, the louder they talk! I lost it when he yelled, "Do you think she can hear me?" If his wife and I had been in the same room, we would have been holding each other up. We were laughing so hard and the poor man never heard us.

On my way home, I stop at the bank to cash a check and bless the young man behind the counter who asks how I want my bills. "Spice it up, I've had a day". The dance he does suggests that he really wants to be a part of the "Canadian Ballet". Personally, he should give it a shot, he's not bad.

I park the car, get my bags out of the back and this, "What the hell is that smell?". The smell is coming from the back of the car and almost smells like something electrical is over heating. As I walk over the threshold, the only one to greet me is Ginger in the same spot I left her in. I inform Gary of he smell as he and Laura are off to do the grocery shopping. They come back with an "OMG!" on their tongues, "What is that smell?" If I knew, would I have asked an hour ago?

Now, here I sit, in the quiet of my home, giving you a detailed description of my day. I love the quiet at the end of the day, it's so peaceful until the sound barrier is broken with…

"Lynda! When was the last time the dog went out?"

Author Unknown

This poem was sent to me by my daughter, who received it from her best friend. I'm clueless as to where it originally came from. I had read it before and have to say it is one of my favorite poems. Honestly, I'm thinking a cross stitch sampler. Something one of my foremothers would be proud of. Go ahead and read, I'm just looking at the color scheme for the sample...shoo now, read on...

Ladies and gentlemen, hobos and tramps,
I stand before you and sit behind you
To tell you something I know nothing about!
Admission is free, you must pay at the door.
So pull up a chair and sit on the floor.
The show is over, but before you go,
Let me tell you a story I don't really know:

One bright day, in the middle of the night
Two dead boys got up to fight
Back to back they faced each other,
Drew their swords and shot each other.
A deaf policeman heard the noise.
He came and shot those two dead boys.
If you don't believe this lie is true,
Just ask the blind man; he saw it too!

o_o_O

Anna's Story

Chapter One



It is spring of the year again, the April rain is beating against Anna’s windowpane. She stands there staring but not seeing the garden beyond the bedroom window. As she begins getting ready for yet another milestone birthday, she finds it so unbelievable that 90 years have gone so quickly.

She has buried both parents, two brothers, and her husband. While her mind feels like a thirty something, her body feels all of its 90 years. As memories race though her mind, there is a knock on her door, her only child, a son. Peter and his family planned this milestone party. “Milestone”, she thinks. “A milestone for outliving my friends and most of my family?”

Anna opens the door and she sees her son standing there. He looks so much like her father.

As he bends down to kiss her cheek, he says, “Are you all ready, Ma? Everyone is here, waiting. You look beautiful tonight Ma, the Belle of the ball.”

“Pfft!” She clicks her tongue. “A Belle he says, a tarnished bell!” Anna takes his arm and with his help, they descend the stairs to the foyer below. What is left of her family and friends have gathered around the foot of the stairs. Almost 100 years ago, her beloved Papa would have called her his prinzessin and tonight she feels every inch the princess.

Anna looks around, her son, his wife and their five children, their spouses, all the grandchildren, nieces and nephews and their families. All there to celebrate her birth.

She goes to each one, caresses his or her face with her hands and cries out, “Oh, mein liebling!” Each one accepts her caress as a loving kiss. Of course, the younger ones squirm a bit, but enjoy their Old Grandma more than they will let on.

Anna’s eyes move from her youngest grandson to the living room just beyond the French doors. The sight brought tears to her eyes.

Is Fitness Worth It?

Have you ever belonged to a fitness club, a gym as it were? A place to become fit? A place where entertainment is all around if you know how to look for it. A place where the little 90 pound weakling can think he is Adonis and the that big guy over there, yeah the one in the Speedo…yeah that one, gut hanging over it? He thinks he is Michael Phelps. Oh, that woman, the one in the sweat suit, running on the track? She thinks she is on the beach as Bo Derek, a real 10. Nothing wrong with it really, it helps self-esteem. I, for example, am a middle-aged woman with a gray streak like Lily Munster (better than a yellow one), that does not want to get older.

I have belonged to a few fitness clubs during my life. Most with my best girlfriend, Laurie. I am sure that if I go deep into the recesses of my memory, I’d remember why we would want to waste our time. We would sign up for a free month, go a few times and decide that we wouldn’t get our money’s worth. We would have but we were young, going to the local bars and looking for men was a priority.

Ok, back to the subject. I decided to join the YMCA this time around. At 52 years old, my hanging at the local bar and, as my mom used to say, “Lynda and the Marines have the same motto, they are both looking for a few good men”, are over. This time, I’m at the gym for me. I started with me losing some weight and thinking, damn, I’ve stopped losing, I have to do something in the meantime. I have absolutely no self-discipline and after taking several surveys, I ended up at the “Y”.

I went to the “Y” to check it out for myself, after having being told it was really a nice facility, not the inner city brick building I had envisioned. As I walk up to the desk, the young man in his teens who is obviously in training asks if he can be of assistance. Just out of curiosity, do these places ever hire the old, overweight, under toned or the just plain well, plain? Personally, I think that fitness employees are androids, no one could possibly look that good. My young friend gives me the tour…from the “family” locker room (I’m still hoping that vision will be erased from my retina), pool and basketball courts to the upstairs were the weight training, yoga, track and cycles are located. Quick tour but how much do I really need to see, right? Until he shows me the Senior Citizen package, the sixteen year old is doing a fine job. In addition, yes, until the manager came to check on the lad’s progress, I was going along with the Senior thing. I managed to get myself signed up for months of pain, I mean fitness.

My first trip was only to get a feel for the place and all I did was ride the stationary cycle. And the entertainment was astonishing. Just looking around me, I was able to get an idea of the type of people I’d be sharing this space with. First, there is a guy, maybe about my age, lifting weights in the corner. Seems like he is having quite a love affair going on, with himself. I swear I saw him throw himself a kiss in the mirror. Now on the right of me is a little guy, I mean short not young. He has what I call the Dudley Moore syndrome. I can tell by the way he is looking at the women around him that he thinks he is Hugh Hefner. Honestly, someone should tell this guy that it’s not his height that is turning the women off, it’s his attitude.

Now, my next trip was to start a 12 week weight training program. Cool really. I now have been told my fat mass (like it wasn’t obvious before, now it’s in writing) and have a regular schedule for the equipment. I ride a stationary bike for five minutes to warm up. However, I ride for about 15, I read on the bike and forget the time. Now I’m really warmed up. Ready for those weight machines,

The first machines are for the lower body,,,legs to be exact. Leg presses and curls. Then there are these two machines that tell me that I’m exercising. I’m not sure my legs are supposed to spread that far apart. But, it works. I feel the pain the next day. I’ve also noticed that men never use these machines. They don’t have an inner thigh problem? Probably not. I have, however, noticed that the some men will watch women on these machines. Use your imagination as to why.

Now I’m off to work my upper body. Now I people watch everyone else. This is better than any reality show you could ever watch. My favorites are the scrawny teenagers. May God bless each and every one of them individually, as they are the most pitiful of all His creatures. It also proves to me that He has quite a sense of humor. These boys work so hard to look good. As I’m working on the machines, I saw this one boy is working the nautilus machines at weights that would be right for him. Well, well he has spotted a girl he must fancy. Too bad he is 13 and she has to be at the very least 22. I’m sure he’ll be dreaming. But I notice that when she walks by him and the machine he is working on, he acts as if he just got to the machine and changes the weights from what looks like 100 pounds to 175. As he begins to work the chest press, I can see the veins in his neck bulging (yes, I know the muscles should) just to impress this girl. Guess what? Right, it’s not working. I’m not seeing a six-pack, I’m seeing a ribcage.

As I finish my workout, walking past all of those pumping iron I think to myself, is all this going to be worth the pain I’m going to be in tomorrow and the next day? Why I’m I bothering with it, age with grace Lynda. Lynda answers, “Hell no! I’m not going to be my Grandmother! I’m planning on fighting it all the way baby”! Anyone care to join me? Misery loves company!