...where every woman over 50 is TOP DOG!

Wednesday, November 26, 2008

Shower Scene or Dining Daguerreotype?

Mary & I make a good team. Have for the last (mumble mumble) years. Oh, awright...45! Anyhoo, we were bunking together recently while visiting a dear friend, Pedigree Patterson, cackling like a couple of old WOOFer hens, discussing plans for Thanksgiving...

Me: "Everyone expects a Norman Rockwell holiday when it's usually more like...:

Mary: "Norman Bates!"

What say ye?

Is turkey day a gathering of family & friends around a lace-covered table with warm banter and homemade bread?

Or more from the perspective of a turkey watching a shiny axe blade slicing the air heading for your neck?!?!

Whatever it is, may it be blessed and bountiful!

d.d. dawg

Wednesday, November 19, 2008

When I Grow Up I Want To Be Miss Pattie

My “over 55” neighborhood is a buzz with excitement. We’re having a big celebration for our “Miss Pattie,” who will soon turn 90.

But this won’t be one of those parties you sometimes see on the news, where the elderly wheelchair bound guest of honor gingerly eats a tiny piece of birthday cake. This is Miss Pattie, and she is a 95 pound dynamo who is as sharp as a tack.

Miss Pattie walks most nights, and has a social calendar that could probably make Laura Bush’s life look boring. A true southern belle, she makes “to die for” pecan pralines from scratch and can still charm the best of ‘em! She may not be everything she was at 40, 50, or even 70—but she is darn close.

I recently told her that when I grew up, I wanted to be Miss Pattie. Saying “I want to be like you when I get old” wasn’t respectful, and didn’t seem appropriate, since she really isn’t old.

When I asked what her secret was for the bounce in her step, and the twinkle in her eye, Miss Pattie replied, “No medicine.” Her only “medication” is a daily multivitamin. Her other advice was, “Stay positive, hold on to your faith and hope, and interact with real, live people every single day.” In spite of some adversities she has faced, like being widowed twice, she has managed to follow her own advice.
Genetics, life style and luck do play a role in our longevity. But people like Miss Pattie are wonderful role models for those of us passing through “mature” on our way to “elderly.” She is proof positive that life can continue to be good, even when you are

Mad Dog

Tuesday, November 11, 2008

Dancing Queens

Cheryl, Cynthia, Mary, Oleita

I hadn't thought of her in awhile, so when my husband, who was traveling in Tennessee about 20 years ago said, "You'll never guess, in a million years, who I met," he was right.

We were about five years old and coaxed into ballet and tap dancing classes by our overly-confident parents. I truly don't remember if she was good, or not, but I still cringe today, after 50 + years just thinking of my stumbling and bumbling around the dance floor. And, ooooh, those awful recitals!

Still, my inability to dance didn't stop me from taking 25 or so bows after a less than perfect performance. (see picture below)

"Go ahead. Guess!" He coaxed. "C'mon. It's someone you haven't seen since you were 8 years old!"

Well, that certainly narrows it down! "I have no clue." It was late, and I was getting a little annoyed at the guessing game.

"Oleita Cook!" He shouted.

My mind flew, immediately, to pink tu-tus and Oleita, the pretty, dark-haired friend who had, in my juvenile mind, simply disappeared, unceremoniously, from my life.

"Wha...who...how...?" was about all I managed to stammer.

I won't go into the whole story, but my husband was searching for a business lease location and had been put in touch with a realtor. As luck (karma, in this case) would have it, the landlord was late so the realtor invited my husband to go across the street for an ice cream cone. They began talking and he discovered that she was from Southern Indiana.

"My wife's from Southern Indiana."

The realtor told him she was born in Corydon

"My WIFE grew up in Corydon!"

And so, after many, many decades, Oleita Cook (now, Norton) and I were reunited. If anyone reading this doesn't believe in fate, then...well, I have nothing for you.

Oleita is still a realtor, a successful one at that. She still lives in Tennessee with her husband. We just visited them a couple of weeks ago and had another good laugh about that fateful ice cream caper. "Had it been winter, ice cream wouldn't have been an option and we probably wouldn't have spent the time talking," she said. Go figure. All I know is that we will always remain fast friends. Some bonds are never broken.

She's also a WOOFer and proud of it! Gravy Train is her WOOF name! On our last visit, we talked about being WOOFers, and how freeing it is to reach the age where confidence is no longer something we strive to achieve. We have it! We're WOOFers!

If you have a story you'd like to tell about a long-time friendship, or a new friendship that feels like you've know each other forever, let us know!

E-mail GreatDames@woofersclub.com. We might publish your story! Oh, and pick a WOOFer name for yourself, too.

Photo at the bottom: Left to right, Cynthia, Cheryl, Yours Truly and Oleita

Mary (Milkbone)

Monday, November 10, 2008

Do The Math...

Like a lot of other WOOFers, give or take a stray black sock, I’ve sorted and stuffed a load of dark clothes into the washer about 5000 times over the course of my adult life.

You’d think I’d learn.

Oh, but, no.

Today, as I lift damp, limp clothing from the washer, give each piece a shake and transport it to the dryer, I see it. The lint-cover black tee.

That’s what I get for buying new bath towels only every decade or so. And back in the 90’s, when I purchased white ones, I did so to avoid this very thing.

How quickly we forget.

So now, here I wait to see if the dryer can rectify the damage I have done, remove the plethora of lint I have inflicted on an innocent black tee. Damn those new dark green towels.

Besides that, they don’t absorb as well as the old ones.

Oh, there’s the dryer buzzer. Wish me luck…

Of course, the lint filter is going to be just the WORST!

-- d.d. dawg