I learned something new yesterday. My husband, daughter, son-in-law, and I were outside in the beautiful town of Trinidad, Colorado, enjoying the mountain air, well at least trying to, because an older gentleman had his stodgy cigar going, but still, we could smell wafts of the clean pine air, when a couple about my age sat kitty corner behind us. All of sudden the smell of skunk ensued the air. We all started laughing, although I really thought it was a skunk. My husband made the comment to the people, "Did you a open a Bud?" Well, at least that is what I thought he said, because I can't stand Budweiser and would equal that to a smell of a skunk, they laughed and everyone at my table laughed, and my daughter made the comment about the smell, "That would probably be a regular smell around here." I kind of pondered on that, because we had a farm and always smelled skunk, so I thought why would it be any different here? About 10 minutes we heard the lady start yelling at her partner, "Hey, are you ok? Wake up, wake up!" We looked around and he was kind of catatonic, mouth and eyes wide open but out of it. She then splashed her beer in his face and started throwing ice cubes at him, we asked her if we could help, and she said yes, please call 911. My daughter ran into the hotel lobby to have someone call, and my son-in-law called 911 from his cell phone. While my son-in-law was on the phone trying to explain where we were and what was happening, the gentleman awoke startled, shook his head and looked around. He had no idea he had been out. The woman with him said they didn't need 911 anymore so my son-in-law then advised the 911 operator that everything seemed to be ok. My daughter in the mean time had talked with the front desk and they had called 911. Just as the fire truck was pulling up, the couple said they were going back to their room and then the hotel manager came out looking for them, we told them which direction they went. It wasn't until later that night when recounting the incident at a local pub to some of our other relatives that were in town for our family reunion that I heard the word marijuana. Me, innocently asking, "So that wasn't a skunk?" They all started laughing. The last time I had smelled marijuana was about 13 and my family's reunion in Michigan and my cousins were smoking it in their hotel room. It had a sickly sweet smell. They kept asking me if I wanted to try it, but I said no, first, if my dad ever found out, he would kill me, and secondary, I just didn't need it. After several attempts of trying to convince me it was ok, I retorted, "I don't need that to be happy." In which they all laughed. The next morning my face and lips were all swollen and I had hives. My grandmother, who was not aware of what had transpired the night before thought it was something I had eaten at dinner. So, having that reaction, I never put myself in situations where I was around it. Kind of hard to do in Colorado now. I asked the my kids why would anyone smoke anything that smelled like skunk and one of them replied it had something to do with it being more potent. I looked it up on Google, (thank goodness for Google) and found a Chicago Tribune article written back in 2016. I liked the journalist because she had the same thought I did, she couldn't understand why Chicago was all of sudden getting invaded by skunks. Anyway, according to her article, about 20 years ago there was a strain of marijuana made that was very potent but smelled like skunk. So, that smell now is associated with high potency, although it may not be the case anymore, but I would say the Colorado strain the gentleman had yesterday was quite potent. I could end this with some commentary on the fact that even though I have never tried marijuana and am hoping I never will have to use it, as I know it does help with some medical conditions, I would much rather smell the beautiful mountain air of Colorado.
Sunday, July 30, 2017
When a skunk is not a skunk
I learned something new yesterday. My husband, daughter, son-in-law, and I were outside in the beautiful town of Trinidad, Colorado, enjoying the mountain air, well at least trying to, because an older gentleman had his stodgy cigar going, but still, we could smell wafts of the clean pine air, when a couple about my age sat kitty corner behind us. All of sudden the smell of skunk ensued the air. We all started laughing, although I really thought it was a skunk. My husband made the comment to the people, "Did you a open a Bud?" Well, at least that is what I thought he said, because I can't stand Budweiser and would equal that to a smell of a skunk, they laughed and everyone at my table laughed, and my daughter made the comment about the smell, "That would probably be a regular smell around here." I kind of pondered on that, because we had a farm and always smelled skunk, so I thought why would it be any different here? About 10 minutes we heard the lady start yelling at her partner, "Hey, are you ok? Wake up, wake up!" We looked around and he was kind of catatonic, mouth and eyes wide open but out of it. She then splashed her beer in his face and started throwing ice cubes at him, we asked her if we could help, and she said yes, please call 911. My daughter ran into the hotel lobby to have someone call, and my son-in-law called 911 from his cell phone. While my son-in-law was on the phone trying to explain where we were and what was happening, the gentleman awoke startled, shook his head and looked around. He had no idea he had been out. The woman with him said they didn't need 911 anymore so my son-in-law then advised the 911 operator that everything seemed to be ok. My daughter in the mean time had talked with the front desk and they had called 911. Just as the fire truck was pulling up, the couple said they were going back to their room and then the hotel manager came out looking for them, we told them which direction they went. It wasn't until later that night when recounting the incident at a local pub to some of our other relatives that were in town for our family reunion that I heard the word marijuana. Me, innocently asking, "So that wasn't a skunk?" They all started laughing. The last time I had smelled marijuana was about 13 and my family's reunion in Michigan and my cousins were smoking it in their hotel room. It had a sickly sweet smell. They kept asking me if I wanted to try it, but I said no, first, if my dad ever found out, he would kill me, and secondary, I just didn't need it. After several attempts of trying to convince me it was ok, I retorted, "I don't need that to be happy." In which they all laughed. The next morning my face and lips were all swollen and I had hives. My grandmother, who was not aware of what had transpired the night before thought it was something I had eaten at dinner. So, having that reaction, I never put myself in situations where I was around it. Kind of hard to do in Colorado now. I asked the my kids why would anyone smoke anything that smelled like skunk and one of them replied it had something to do with it being more potent. I looked it up on Google, (thank goodness for Google) and found a Chicago Tribune article written back in 2016. I liked the journalist because she had the same thought I did, she couldn't understand why Chicago was all of sudden getting invaded by skunks. Anyway, according to her article, about 20 years ago there was a strain of marijuana made that was very potent but smelled like skunk. So, that smell now is associated with high potency, although it may not be the case anymore, but I would say the Colorado strain the gentleman had yesterday was quite potent. I could end this with some commentary on the fact that even though I have never tried marijuana and am hoping I never will have to use it, as I know it does help with some medical conditions, I would much rather smell the beautiful mountain air of Colorado.
Wednesday, July 5, 2017
Ironing
I ironed for the first time today since moving to the new apartment. I had bought a fancy over the door hanger for my ironing board and iron in the laundry room so it was easier to get to, but I really haven't had the need to use them. I put clothes in the dryer yesterday and did not take them out until today, and 2 of my husband's shirts were very wrinkled. He wears Magellan shirts, so most of the time if they are taken out of the dryer right away, they are wrinkle free. Sometimes, even when I leave them in the dryer, I hang them up and usually the wrinkles come out, or I pretend that they do.
My husband wears them to work on airplanes, and the airplanes could really care less if his shirt is wrinkled or not. My husband has never complained, and I figured if it really bothered him, he could iron them himself. I am not the greatest housewife. At least when I had a job, I sort of had an excuse, but I don't now, except that I just don't like ironing. I would say for most people this is true, my mother being one of the exceptions. She is one of those that likes to iron, clean house etc. I did not inherit that particular gene from her. Could have been because while I was having to do chores growing up, I would rather have been playing. Same rings true today.
My father decided one day that I was going to iron his shirts. He was a retired Navy officer, and a businessman, so his white shirts had to be perfectly starched and ironed. I think that is what dry cleaners are for. I did iron his shirts one time, and he yelled at me because it wasn't perfect so I told him I was not going to do it again. I also remember back in 7th grade, I was getting ready for the Academic Achievement Awards ceremony at school and I wanted to wear my white pantsuit. (It was the 80's). I turned the iron on too hot for the fabric and it burned a huge hole in the pants. I was devastated. I am not sure why, it was not to look good for my parents, as they dropped me off at the ceremony and went out to dinner, and there was certainly no one I was dressing for at school, at least I do not remember who, I was pretty much a flower on the wall.
As I was ironing today, I asked myself, why do we do it? Iron our clothes? I will be the first to admit that I judge someone that shows up to work or at a social event in wrinkled clothes, immediately going to the "lazy person" judgement. But what do I know? Maybe they overslept, maybe their wife did their ironing for them, but one of the kids was sick and she didn't have time, maybe their electricity went out, and why is it any of my business anyway? Why are we trying to iron out the wrinkles, what is wrong with wrinkles? I know there are plenty of people who pay good money so their personal wrinkles on their face or their skin do not show. I have wrinkles. I started getting them big time when I had kids, and I had pretty good kids. I wish I had more laugh lines than wrinkles. I love looking at people's faces that have huge laugh lines, it makes me think, they got the memo, "No one is getting out alive, so might as well have fun while I am are here." I have a very loud laugh, and it annoys some people, well probably a lot of people, but I have also been told by people they love my laugh, because it is genuine, and usually means I am in a good mood, which is so much better than the alternative.
When I started getting gray hair, my daughter used to pluck them out, and I was like, "Don't do that, I have earned every one of those!" She would reply, "They are so wild." That is ok to me. My hair was blonde when I was younger, and then dishwater blonde, but as I age, it is actually getting darker, except of course for those stray gray hairs coming in. I am actually looking forward to gray hair, I think I will be able to get away with more. People will comment, "Oh don't mind her, she's just a crazy old lady." And that is alright by me. I've never been an "appearance" girl. I don't wear makeup, except on the few occasions needed, weddings, funerals, job interviews. I one time went to a Merle Norman boutique and got all made up and when I got to work, my husband, who was then just a friend said, "Is it Halloween, because you look like a clown." It hurt my feelings big time, but I have saved mucho money not having to buy makeup or keeping up appearances, because he didn't want that kind of girl. Not that I am not high maintenance, any girl that loves horses is truly high maintenance, but in a different way.
So we iron our clothes to rid of the wrinkles. And yes, when I am dressed nicely, I do carry myself differently than I do when in yoga pants, which thankfully is my present work uniform as a housewife. But who is the real me? The one all dressed to impress, or the one in yoga pants enjoying the day, allowing life to unfold instead of trying to unfold it?
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