Boob Tube Times

 

I’m grateful to have grown up in a time period when tv was so new, parents didn’t worry about what it might be doing to their kids. Granted, for me it also helped that I was mildly neglected by my mom and so was pretty much left to my own devices.

Playing in the Mud

 

First, to be clear – I have no, repeat, NO artistic ability. Even my handwriting is so poor that I used to avoid writing on the blackboard when I was a teacher.

But I may have found my medium.

Just as something for fun, a friend and I signed up for a pottery class. Outside of those ashtrays (did teachers in the 1950s think that everyone’s family smoked? Good thing mine did – like chimneys.) that we all made in elementary school, I haven’t willingly put a pinky in mud for the past umpteen years.

But I’m hooked.

We begin with a giant lump of clay. 

Kind of daunting. 

Then I rolled some of it between giant rollers remarkably like a big pasta machine. 

But now what to do with it? 

There was lots of guidance on technique, but we could make anything we wanted. 

After they've been fired in the kiln.

Then dipping in the glazes. 

And after another firing:

Now if I can just find a place for all the results. 

The family had better watch out at Christmas. 

The Girls

 Zoom call at 5:00 last night, as I kept repeating to myself all day, lest I forget.

I also kept checking email, because our organizer, Christine, still hadn’t sent the link. By 4:00, what with packing to head back to Massachusetts and cleaning and doing laundry, I’d forgotten. So at 4:45 I was out in the garage sorting the car and gathering up the DampRid (moisture-gathering bags to hang in closets) I’d stored there.

By the I’d wandered inside it was 5:15 and I had a text reminding me to join the gang. I had of course just turned off my computer, so I revved that up, checked its camera to see if I could be seen, and clicked “join Zoom”.

It was another of the every-few-months-or-so gatherings of my girl friends from Washington-Lee High School in Arlington, Va. No particular agenda, just a chance to catch up. The players are pretty diverse.

We know me – Massachusetts resident, visitor to Florida, retired teacher, writer, grandma of 5.

Chris – Maryland retired college prof and historian, so Irish her mom had had a faint brogue, Catholic elementary school and then enthusiastic convert to Judaism after marriage, Bat Mitzvah and all.

Sheila – West Virginian resident in a small art-colony sort of town, stained glass artist who has had one of her works on the White House Christmas tree, three husbands in the rear view mirror, and now barely eking out a living and on Medicare.

Andrea – Hawaii, resident of Lahaina, whose home thankfully sat above the August 2023 wildfires, former tv producer, and who looks very tired, likely from caring for a husband who recently turned 101.

          The conversation ran through politics – we’re all unabashedly liberal; travel – some of us can, some of us now can’t; watching old musicals with granddaughters; health (inevitably); and oddly, no reminiscences about the past.

          There may be time for that yet, because by the close of the call we’d vowed to each other to meet in person. We made plans to get together next fall, in California to simplify travel for Andrea, with the subtext that Chris and I would do whatever it took to get Sheila there, too.

          Exciting!!

Splurging

 

I figured one last indulgence before we leave would be a shopping trip. Florida clothes are different, and with all their bejeweling and glitter not the sort of thing that a Northerner like me would usually wear. Except for the fabrics. At home the tee shirts are heavier, thicker, and when Massachusetts hits the 90s, as it often does, it would be good to have something to cover as much of me as possible without buckling under the heat.

If I only had a brain

 

One small benefit of a bum knee and being unable to play pickleball is that I now lounge in the mornings instead of bounding onto the court at 8:30 a.m.

Knees and Hair

 

Today should have been a pickleball day but my knee is on the fritz. It’s been acting up since last Monday’s session and I finally realized that if I’m going to do my part in the roughly 1,500 mile road trip home, I’d better be sensible.

Bikes not Buggies

 

When we bought our home here in Venice years ago, I knew it wasn’t like Miami or any of the other party-central places on the east coast of Florida. Thank heaven. But it’s also far less glitzy than the big city of Sarasota just down the road.

          The area also has unexpected things like the equestrian center, with its jumping
competitions involving people from all over the country, that I could easily walk to from my place.

  

        And if you see someone on an adult tricycle wearing suspenders and a straw hat, they’re likely from Pinecraft, an Amish community on the outskirts of Sarasota, only 30 minutes from Venice.

          Yes, even some of the Plain people are snowbirds. I’ve even seen a few on the beach.

      

   In fact, in February they held their 7^th annual Seniors Softball
Showdown between Amish and Mennonite players versus non-Amish locals. 

    There were three competing teams, coming from Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Indiana. And no real need for uniforms, since you can differentiate the teams by who’s wearing suspenders.

          There’s been an Amish and Mennonite community in Pinecraft since the 1920s. While there are a few year-round residents, many of the houses are rented out for short-term visits by the thousands of Amish that come from all over the country.

 It’s a destination for older folks, honeymooners, and some younger Amish come for seasonal work. Generally, though, the visitors come from more business-oriented locations in the mid-west.

          It can get iffy, though, because the more traditional communities would frown upon the use of electricity in the homes here, although apparently this is often allowed for temporary stays. And there does seem to be a range of observances of tradition. One Saturday, when My Guy and I were breakfasting on a patio next to a parking lot, I saw two women in long print skirts arrive in an SUV, pop on their bonnets and go in for some pastry.