High School Girlfriends

View of Bird Feeders From Porch  

This was my annual long weekend with five women from my high school graduation class. For 4 days, we reminisce, we solve world problems and tricky kitchen remodels, we advise each other on relationships and financial decisions. We sit in our pajamas all day. I watch the song and humming birds coming to the feeders. We are a doctor, an entrepreneur, a banker/finance person, an administrative assistant, and two stay-at-home moms, all retired* except the businesswoman. Three of us had children, 8 total, 2 of which were adopted. We are all currently married, with, over the years, 10 husbands/long term partners. One couple celebrated their 50th anniversary,

After several official class reunions, we decided we were most interested in spending time with each other rather than our whole class. Proving that memory is a fickle beast, we are not exactly, positively sure when we had our first private reunion. We did stay at the Naples Beach Club to celebrate our turning 50. Did we meet before then? Opinions varied.

We got together several other times in Naples, but with only one of us still living there and with only one parent alive, leaving the rest of us with less need in returning, we decided to meet in at a home north of Atlanta. Which we have for the past several years. How many? Opinions varied. Perhaps one of us will go back through pictures and figure this out.

Jane, Me Mickie
Mary, Kathy, Sue 

This year we celebrated our turning 70. After catching up on the past year, our talk was about next projects. The business owner needs a bigger warehouse for her growing business. Is 70 too old to contemplate expanding her operations? Over the weekend, we looked at the question from different angles. Should she cut back on inventory? Sell out and retire? I'm sure she will soon tell us about her new building. Seventy is the new whatever.

Two of my friends have bought second homes in the North Carolina mountains (one e-signed her contract Saturday afternoon), and another one is moving across the country to her new house. The fourth owns the home we meet in plus a condo at the coast. After spending 4 months in my little apartment with no yard cares and 15 minutes to dust mop (if I did), am I such a slacker to want to avoid taking care of even one house? Rather than an RV, perhaps we should find short-term rentals hither and yon, snowbirds without a permanent roost. I would like a place where I can sit and watch birds, especially hummers.

Rent a while, stay with a child a while, repeat. The only consideration is that to keep our low property tax assessment, we have to have a new Florida homestead by January 1, 2021. Maybe a condo in Gainesville we could rent out during Gator football season. If I haven't made a decision by next girlfriend weekend, I know our collective wisdom will help me.

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*I recently read that women always work. The difference whether we are employed or not. I wish I could give the author credit, but I didn't take notes at the time.

Maine Trip

Zimmerman House, Manchester, New Hampshire  

I am noticing a big tension between wanting to see and wanting to sit. My sisters and I are spending five days in coastal Maine, up and out every morning to walk in the woods and see what birds we can find. The first day, since we flew into Manchester, NH, we toured the Zimmerman House, a perfectly preserved Frank Lloyd Wright-designed home that reinforced my preference of light over dark interiors. Obviously, Mr. Wright and the Zimmermans did not share that preference. Cherokee red counter tops and concrete floors with cypress walls and ceiling absorbed the light from the overhead lamps and south facing windows. A cool retreat in the summer. I can't imagine how dreary it would be in midwinter. From there, we drove to Harrison, Maine and saw our maternal grandparents’ home and graves, sadly, fairly rundown, before reaching our hotel in Freeport.

Betsy, Peg and Me with Lenny, the Chocolate Moose  

Sweetser's 207-year-old Apple Stand  

 In three days, we walked at four state parks and four Audubon centers*. The temperatures were mid-60's and the parking lots were empty. Unfortunately most of the birds had migrated south with the tourists, but the walks were still lovely. I really enjoyed seeing the sights, watching for wildlife, and eating lobster at least once a day. However, I needed a break to just sit. Without that,  I loose crispness in my memory, and the several days jumble all together.

Mast Landing Sanctuary, Freeport, Maine

But when we have a limited amount of time, we tend to pack so much into our days. The day after my sister was married in New Zealand, my girlfriend, son, and I took what we named the Bus Trip From Hell to see the north island. Driven by a young manic, our tour was a series of get off the bus, rush through an area, get back on the bus, and repeat. Just about the time I’d start looking around, the driver would insist time was up, and we had to move on. An exhausting day.

Cape Reinga, North Island, New Zealand in 2008  

However, we got to see the huge kauri trees, 40 Mile Beach, and the very top of the north island, where the Pacific Ocean and the Tasmanian Sea meet. Without the crazy pressure to go, go, go,  I would never have seen that beautiful line where the two different colored waters press against each other.

Audubon Marsh, Scarborough, Maine  

How do I balance wanting to see it all and wanting to think about what I’ve seen and its meaning for me? Perhaps renting a place for a few weeks or months would be an option. With a deck or porch with a view and comfortable chairs. We could use it as a base of operations, with day or longer trips radiating out. The downside would be finding furnished places that rent by the month rather than the day or week. Plus we would still need a permanent location so that would be mean double housing expenses, which full-time campers avoid. However, the thought of continually finding campsites seems overwhelming. Maybe once I got into the habit, it would get easier.

* State Parks:

• Wolfe's Neck Woods and the Center/Campground next door
• Mackworth Island
• Two Lights
• Ferry Beach

Audubon Centers;

• Mast Landing Sanctuary
• Gisland Farm
• Marsh in Scarsborough
• East Road Marsh

Meditation

I was quite pleased with myself for having focused my mind on just my breathing for two breaths at mindful meditation practice this morning, which meant I immediately lost focus and wandered off into thinking how I would compose this post. I've not meditated since my fall. Too painful to sit up straight even with pillows. I solved that today by slumping. No more excuses to skip meditating.

Small Croc at Fob Beach 

My sisters left early today after spending the weekend here. We had such fun going to the beach which was absolutely clear of Sargasso seaweed. I could not believe it. When I had gone before, the sand was covered with it, and the water was filled with it. It was yucky to walk in and creepy to swim in. I mostly passed. (In late June, a small crocodile enjoyed blending in with it and wasn't visible unless it came ashore. American crocs aren't aggressive, but no one seemed to want to swim with it.)
Now the beach could not be better. We floated and floated at what we call the fob beach (one has to have a fob from the community center to open the gates.) Another day we drove down to the state park and walked in the water against the current. I guess Hurricane Dorian blew away the sargassum as it went up the Atlantic. I plan to go to the beach as much as possible before more floats back in.

Having all three of us together meant we could go through the four boxes of family photos and mementos I brought to the apartment. I have to admire our mother' and grandmothers' commitment to making scrapbooks. However, do we want them? We decided that Mother's diaries would be kept. We wept a little and reminisced about old family friends while going through all the sympathy cards and notes from flowers we got when she died, then recycled the lot. I still have a big box of photo albums and scrapbooks to look at, but now I know what my sisters want and what I can toss.




One find was a scrapbook and keepsakes from the Coe (paternal grandparents) and Spaulding (maternal grandparents) memberships in the Tin Can Tourists, a group of campers that began coming to Florida each winter in the 1920's. I think Grandpa Coe built their trailer, although my sisters aren't sure. The Spauldings had a tent then later bought a trailer. The TCT would make arrangements with different cities for the group to spend the winter in a local park, although they were not universally welcomed since TCT members tended to be frugal (cheap) and not spend much money in the communities.

Betsy searched the Web and found the TCT has been revived with all the hipsters' interest in vintage trailers. The president responded to her inquiry immediately. They would love to have our memorabilia and would pay postage to have it shipped. By the time I was back from my orthopedist appointment Monday morning, the scrapbooks, et al, were on their way. At first I was a little sad I hadn't had a chance to look at them more (like I didn't do for the 40 years it all sat in my garage), but that thought passed quickly and was replaced by the relief that it was gone.

The less I have, the lighter I feel. Occasionally I think of something I vaguely wish I had not gotten rid of, like the little wooden desk that I used to display books on. Mostly I remember that I really don't miss it. I have more than I need. This weekend was wonderful.

Plus, Peg has six more boxes of family photos in the eaves of her barn. Perhaps I should offer to come up so we could do the same triage on them. I will meditate on that.

Shorn

Finally, after 16 weeks between haircuts rather than my usual 6 weeks, I have had my locks sheared off. Blame the time frame on my broken pelvis since I was overdue for a haircut when I took that fall. I've waited so long because sitting in a salon chair did not appeal to my sore butt.

My hair grows fast. This time one of my sons asked if I were growing it out. As if. I wore my hair long for years and years, but when my older daughter was getting married, I had it all cut off, voting with scissors not to look like an aging hippie in her wedding photos. What a good decision. No more hair in my eyes; no more waiting for it to dry; no more fighting the cat for ponytail holders (and one wonders why they like to play with them).

I pay more for a haircut here on Key B ($45 +tip) than I did in Fort Lauderdale ($17 total), but it's a fancier process. The results are about the same, longish pixie cut, but Alex's effort is more intense. He cuts off bits with the razor, measures each side against the other, cuts some more, measures some more, repeat, repeat, repeat. When I think he is done, he gets out scissors and snips here and there. A little more with the razor, more snips, measuring, different scissors and more snips, more measuring. Eventually he deems it done. I have to say, a great hair cut.

When he used a hairdryer to blow off all the little snips and razored bits, some got in my nose and reminded me of when I made a cape and muff from my Grandmother Spaulding's vintage mink stole, which was refashioned from a full length coat originally belonging, I think, to a great aunt. This was my first time working with fur, and I cut away with my scissors, not thinking that I would be cutting the hair at the same time as I cut the skins. I was sitting where a fan blew on me, so tiny bits of mink fur swirled around, and, as I breathed in, a lot went up my nose. I quickly figured out to cut the skin from the back with a sharp knife and eventually sneezed out all those tiny bits of hair.

Me in the Original Coat in Front of Our Trailer  

The cape and muff were Christmas presents for my older daughter the year she was reading the Little House on the Prairie series by Laura Ingles Wilder. My daughter was enchanted by the cape and muff worn by one of the characters. Even though we lived in South Florida, my daughter and her girlfriends loved dressing up as pioneers wearing mink. After being worn by other children and friends, the mink cape and muff are now in Okinawa, waiting for our granddaughter to be old enough to enjoy them. I have some pieces left from the stole, and someday I may use them in another project. The pelts are in good shape even though they must be 70 years old. I hope I can say that about myself in a few weeks.

Cabin Fever Fear

The kite sailors were flying on Biscayne Bay when we drove over the causeway to Grant's appointment with his cardiologist. It looks like so much fun. I envy their freedom and strength. Between my broken pelvis and the crumby weather left from Hurricane Dorian, I haven't had any exercise for days, not even a walk to the end of the block. I've become stir-crazy, which I learned comes from stir, slang for jail.

When we moved to the key, I had hoped to try windsurfing again, after a break of 30 years, but that's looking unlikely. Even paddle boarding may be out of reach. When will riding a bike be taken away? I worry about that after hearing Grant's doctor being so concerned about his bike mishap. He takes blood thinners, and a bad fall could be fatal.

This is what really scares me about getting old. I have so many things I'd like to do, and, slowly, slowly, they are be eroded. Hike? Not if the ground is too steep or too slippery. Bike? Not too fast or too far. Canoe or kayak? Can I get in or out? Tent camp? Sail? What will be left? Slow ambles around the block when the weather is fair?

I know most of this musing is from being stuck inside. I really start to deteriorate when I don't spend time out in fresh air. Maybe tomorrow will be sunny, and I will walk in the pool.

Too Soon to Open Shutters?

Hurricane Dorian, now a category 5 storm, has stayed offshore of Florida and spent most of yesterday wreaking havoc in the Bahamas.

In relief, we met friends for a late lunch at a Greek restaurant on Hollywood (Florida) beach. As too often happens, I agreed to ordering a huge amount of food and, because it was sitting there... Too many calories which cost more than I like to spend. We do so much better when we share an entree and an extra salad. Will I learn to hold my ground?

I am feeling pressure to decide what our next move will be, if it even is a move. Perhaps staying another year on Key B is the right option. It certainly is the easiest, but it comes with the hidden cost of lost opportunity. We have few years for active adventures. 10? Probably too optimistic. Since we cannot do everything, how do we prioritize?

On the way to the restaurant, we decided on three possibilities: stay where we are, move to another apartment/house, or buy an RV and tour around. Back and forth, back and forth on the 40-minute drive, we weighed the pros and cons of each. Finally, I suggested we pretend we each have 10 colored dots, each dot representing how much we were interested. Grant put 3 of his on each option, with the last dot probably on staying put. I placed all my dots on buying the RV next spring. He agreed that it would be exciting, however he's worried about having his own space. I hear his need and know I probably need it even more.

Perhaps that is why over-ordering and over-eating weighed heavily on me after lunch. I lived on a 31' sailboat for seven years. I learned to live small. Can Grant and I adjust our way of life to fit into an RV?