Tuesday, April 27, 2010

My true self

Being one's authentic self.  That's a common phrase in a fast paced world and I'm not quite sure what it means because I have never had the patience to sit long enough watching Oprah to find out.  For me, being my authentic self is about reconnecting with people from the past who both tolerate and celebrate my bullshit while seeing through it at the same time.  And it helps if said people live in Florida with a guest room.  I'm visiting not only my oldest, dearest friend but her parents as well.  It's a forty year relationship that includes full knowledge of Bob and Peggy as young parents--truly haunting as this family is aware how lucky I am to have survived DeBrandt hillbilly health care.  They remember the goofy me before adulthood spirited me away and taught me not to entertain by belching at the dinner table.  My relationship with this family is as crucial and important to me as any with blood relatives and we spent so much time together as kids we probably do share some blood through injuries, food and drink, games of sport and danger, etc.  So here I am, enjoying not deciding what's for dinner and remembering and laughing about many shared happy memories of happy childhoods.  Kudos to both sets of parents for helping us make this friendship a priority.

Genetics has its place, agreed, but so does kismet or serendipity that throws all the karmic chips in the air only to have two randoms land close together to form a bond.  When there's a spark there's a spark and like an ember can smolder long after the fire is untended. And it can sit warmly waiting for the need of reenlivening that bonfire anytime with just a tiny bit of care.  So this week I reap the rewards again of that tiny bit of care being treated to the beach, dinners out and loving acceptance.  Better than my parents who still call me on my bullshit.  Who needs that on vacation? 

That being said, friendships do go in different directions and hobbies and interests will vary through the years. So when in Florida, do as the Floridians.
Hopes of fortune.  I had trouble keeping up especially on the "speedys". And if you don't know what a speedy is, then you just haven't lived.

boulevard of broken dreams

Bingo at the Knights of Columbus. I was distracted by the perfectness of the bingo hall scene.  Quiet and seemingly laid back atmosphere before the games started with nice ladies serving dinner and extraordinary homemade desserts in the kitchen, people visiting one another to inquire about health status updates, others playing cards or quietly reading a book.  The room quickly changed at 6:25pm with the start of the games and then the nanas threw it down.  It's serious business as there are thousands of dollars at stake, presumably many of those dollars from retirement and social security checks.  No screwing around.  We were shushed once and that was scary enough.     

Forty years and it's come to this.

And then just like that, three hours later it was over and those same nanas tore ass out of the hall into the parking lot headed for home. I think everyone was home and in bed within fifteen minutes of the call of the last number.  It does help that after bingo lets out, a policeman holds traffic on the highway to let the nanas out of the parking lot.  I'm guessing that has saved thousands of lives.


  1. Dear Lord Jules...you have devolved into playing Bingo...I am shocked and dismayed...please tell me this was a lark and not the genesis of a new hobby or obsession.

  2. Smoke-free/Bingo Hall- There's an oxymoron!

  3. Yes, Nat I was surprised how far Bingo has come in terms of healthy living. The desserts though probably cause about as much heart disease. I had a slice of pineapple dump cake that was divine.
    Mr. MLS, all I can say is that I pretty much have fun doing anything out of the ordinary these days, especially if I have a partner in crime-simply nothing embarrasses. And KP won 150 bucks so there was that.

  4. Mom...you are old!

  5. I read all of the more recent posts before I landed on this one- in between Matthew called and I was forced to move away from the blog before I was able to return to living your life and pretending it was mine for a moment ( the beach part) and I was listening to him - I felt tears on my cheeks and whispered "I wish she was MY sister...she's (sniff) smart and (sniff sniff sniff ) FUNNY. And the 1/2 sisters I got are rednecks. And she's funny. And did I mention smart and thoughtful.
    I have to say though that the old folks can become ruthless during sales at the Publix - one "gentleman" actually ran over my foot trying to get to the last gallon of water.
    I'll bet he didn't have a sister.