Fun Job at The Muny?

I have been retired for three years now and for most of that time I have enjoyed retirement.  After all, what is not to like about all that freedom?  Freedom to get up when ever it pleases me, freedom to come and go as I please, freedom from the tyrannical boss and freedom from the new kid on the job whose favorite phrase is "that's not in my job description".  I have more time to enjoy my precious grandchildren, to read, to be with girlfriends, to paint and to travel.  Yet I keep having this nagging thought way in the back of my mind that says there is something missing in my life.  I may be wrong but I think that annoying thought is pushing me back into the job market.  If that is true, then what do I want to do?  What type of job is right for this 61 year old woman who really only wants to have fun?  I guess that is the answer - a fun job.  I have heard there are a lot of fun job opportunities.  Is that just another urban myth or can someone go to work each day and have a really good time?  Perhaps an internship abroad - see the world on someone else's dime, or a chance to work on a dude ranch, or a cruise line.  Maybe I could be bouncer at an all male strip joint.  I can just see it now, some 6 foot tall amazon woman who looks like she is on steroids decides she wants more than a quick feel for the dollar she has forced into the g-string of the eye candy hunk dancing for the ladies' pleasure.  All 5 foot of me grabs her and forces her out into the street.  Yeah right, she'd be sitting on my face while she continued to fondle the hunk.

So back to reality.  I decided to start my thrilling job search close to home, the wonderful St. Louis Muny.  I have gone to The Muny since I was a child and have always found it to be fun, so why not work there?  Seven weeks of listening to great musicals, meeting and talking with lots of people and working with some fund loving kids.  Sounds like a job right up my alley.  Good thing I am not doing this for the money.  The job only pays minimum wage and I had to buy my own uniform and pay to get a very painful hepatitis A shot.  I figure after paying $43 for the Hep A shot, $20 for 2 bright orange polo shirts and visor, $28 for 2 pairs of khaki pants and the gas to drive back and forth to St. Louis, I should just about break even by the end of the season.

I'm not sure why but instead of hiring me as a cashier (27 years of banking experience) I was hired as a bartender.  But what the heck, I've met a lot of bartenders and none of them impressed me with their great intelligence so I figured I could handle it.  And I did.  My biggest fear was pouring beer.  I just knew I would never master keeping the foamy head to a minimum.  What a surprise - it only took two tries and I had it mastered.  (Steve is an excellent teacher.)

Is it the fun job I was seeking?  No, but I didn't dislike it.  I was disappointed that I was unable to hear the musical because of all the noise in the food stand.  Other than that, the job was as I imagined it would be,  The people attending the show were there to have a good time so they were all pleasant even though the 90 plus degree weather was stifling.  The young people who worked in the food stand with me were all very nice and helpful.  I will continue to work there until the end of the season.  Tonight was Legally Blond.  That really isn't one of my favorites so I didn't mind that I could not hear it.  Perhaps I'll be able to come up with an arrangement with management so that I can listen to my favorite musicals.  That shouldn't be difficult for someone who has as many scathingly brilliant ideas as I do.

Sisters

I am blessed to have three wonderful sisters; sisters who know how to take a truly rotten day and turn it into laughter and sunshine.  These three women are more precious to me than words can express.  It is understandable why Susan would be special to me.  We are twins.  She has been with me since the day I was born.  We are separated now by two hundred miles but I am quite certain there will come a time in our old age when we will once again live together and stay together until one of us dies.  The other two sisters are younger; Mary by eleven years and Tina by sixteen.

Now that we are adults the age difference is as if it does not exist.  We are now both sisters and best friends and as best friends we confide our most intimate secrets with one another.  Men brag and blow about their lives as if they are the announcers in a sports arena, where as women share their lives.  They share the life's tragedies and sorrows along with the joys and laughter.  That is simply the nature of women.  All three of my sisters and I have married, divorced the bastards, bore beautiful children who have blessed us with joyous moments and heartaches.  Through the roller coaster rides of our lives we have always known we had each other's backs at all times.

Occasionally I meet a woman who has no sisters or who is estranged from their sister.  My heart goes out to these women.  I am blessed with many girlfriends along with my sisters.  These women I love and I would take a bullet for.  Thank you ladies for helping to make my life beautiful.  Without you I would be such a lost soul.

Granddaughters' Dance Recital

The Looking Glass Corvette Club had planned to drive to the Wisconsin Dels for 4 days.  Darrell was kind enough to invite me to come along with him.  I have had few opportunities in the past to travel so I jump at every chance to travel to foreign lands.  Wisconsin may not sound foreign to some but for this girl who until the age of 21 had only been in 2 states (Illinois my residence since birth and Missouri, only because it is a short 20 minute drive from my home) Wisconsin is a foreign territory.  The trip sounded like fun but my two youngest grandchildren were going to be in a dance recital during that time period.  Grandma would have been in big trouble if she decided to go on a road trip rather than support my sweet girls.  Darrell generously volunteered to cut the trip short to get me home in time to witness the grand event.  Therefore I was able to participant in both events.

And what a grand event it turned out to be.  The little girls danced to the music from Disney's animated movie, Finding Nemo.  The children in the program ranged from the age of 2 up to high school.  Each dance number had 4 to 7 little girls performing their routines.  My two little fish were dressed in bight sea blue costumes and performed two dances for the audience.  Both girls had a brief shakeup when they lost their footing and fell.  Fortunately they took it in stride and bounced right up and continued the routine as if nothing awkward had occurred; unlike their grandmother who would have turned into a little turtle, ducked into her shell never to be seen again.

My sweet girls were totally awesome but the two year old babies stole the show.  This was the dance studios first attempt to have two year olds in a dance recital.  There were 7 precious baby girls lined up on stage in pale pink leotards, tights and tutus.  Each baby girl had her hair pulled back into a tight little bun (what hair there was).  One little girl was scared and crying when she was led out on stage.  She pulled her stiff tutu up to her face to wipe her wet eyes and snotty nose.  It would have been sad if it hadn't been so funny.  Then the music began and 7 pudgy little toddlers twirled, pointed their baby toes and swung their little arms to the rhythm of the music each one at her own pace.  They absolutely brought the house down with both laughter and clapping.  I laughed so hard tears streamed down my cheeks.

When I was four (the age of my 2 granddaughters) my twin sister and I were flower girls for the Franklin Illinois High School Homecoming.  We were so scared we forgot to throw out the rose petals as we walked in front of the 1955 King and Queen of the Franklin High School.  I can't imagine what we would have done if we were asked to perform for the audience.  Probably cry like the little 2 year old.  I know pride is suppose to be a sin but I just can't help myself.  I am so proud of my two little granddaughters.  They were awesome!

The little blue alien

A little blue alien came to visit me yesterday.  The young woman who brought the little alien to me, claimed this was Princess Anna.  Grandmothers can see through even the best disguise.  The alien came dressed all in blue: blue t-shirt, blue tutu, grey blue tights and blue tennies.  Even her hair was tinted blue.  So how did I know this was an alien not my charming granddaughter, the one and only Princess Anna?  Her little pointy ears were blue.  Yes, her face was white but her ears were blue.  When I questioned her she had a clever answer, but wouldn't you expect an alien to be clever?  In her squeeky little alien voice she told me, "Oh Grandma, it is only blue dye.  It washes off."  Yeah right, and what have they done with my granddaughter?

Ghandi

There is a story about Gandhi that says during one of his famous hunger strikes a man came to beg him to eat.  This man pleaded with Gandhi saying he would stop fighting if only he would save himself and eat.  But Gandhi knew that this man was in much pain because the men he was fighting had killed his daughter. Gandhi told him he would only eat when this man embraced his enemy.  The poor tormented father dropped to his knees in tears.  How difficult it had to have been and yet he did as Gandhi ask.  Gandhi was such a wise sage.  He knew this man would never be whole again unless he faced his pain and learned to forgive.

That is what I am trying to do today.  For over two decades I have held disdain in my heart for my mother-in-law.  There had been times when that disdain turned into hatred.  You see, my mother-in-law was an alcoholic who introduced my son to the demon when he was only a child.  As a teenager he bragged that he could keep up with his grandmother's drinking.  Wow, was I supposed to be impressed?  My son is now 40 years old with a wife and two children depending on him.  He is constantly in my prayers.  He does not know how I worry that he will have an accident while driving home from the bar killing himself or someone else.  He does not know how concerned I am about the welfare of his children, my grandchildren.  For all these years I have blamed my mother-in-law for what my son has become.  I am now facing the truth.  My mother-in-law was an alcoholic.  She was not the mean wicked woman I saw.  That was the alcohol.  Alcoholism is a disease, a disease that is past down through the genes.  If she had not introduced him to alcohol, someone else would have.  I must now forgive her and stay strong and happy for my children and grandchildren.

Angels among us

Into each life there comes pain.  There are days when we may think it is more than we can handle, after all we are just small human beings.  Just mortal souls searching for a way to survive.  What does God expect from us?  Our pain comes in so many forms and we aren't hit with just one but many.  It may be a business venture turned sour, a loss of a job, your career, a child stricken with a deadly disease, a tornado slashes through a home taking with it not only the roof and walls but precious family photos and mementos, divorce, alcoholism, a child lost in a foreign war.  The list goes on and on.

We humans are amazing.  We can overcome each and every obstacle thrown in our path.  The power is in our hands but sometimes the pain is so deep it feels impossible to dig out of the hole.  I recently participated in the MS Mud Run.  The most difficult part of the 6.2 miles was the mud pits.  Pits dug 4 to 5 feet deep filled with muddy water.  It was easy to slide into that slimy mess but nearly impossible to get out without the help of someone else in that pit or someone outside of that slimy hole.  I dug my fingers and toes into the side of the dirt holes but could not get a good solid hold.  Just when I thought I would make it, I'd slip and be sucked back into the sludge.  Yes, I was in a hell hole and every time I thought I was just about to free myself the devil grabbed my foot and pulled me back under the murky muddy water. 

That is how life can be.  Fortunately we have angels looking after us ready to offer their hand and to pull us to safety.  God knows some of us need more help than others.  Obviously I am one of those people and He has blessed me with many many angels.  The angel who has been watching over me for the last few days is Marie.  She is a loving compassionate nurse who has dedicated her life to caring for others in one form or another.  She is also a friend of over thirty years.

Two weeks ago I was driving past her home with a world of troubles on my mind when I happened to see her getting out of her car.  I had a deep desire to embrace her, but not really sure why.  I stopped the car suddenly and ran to her.  Poor girl, didn't know what hit her.  Right there in the street I held on to her and poured my heart out to her.  The angel that she is, knew what I needed.  We have spent quite some time together since then.  She has become not only that special friend I have had for so many years but also my counselor. 

Angels are among us if we will just open our eyes and hearts to see them and let them in.  They will bring us peace.  Thank you, Marie.  I love you.

I love my doctor

I am re-reading Annie Freeman's Fabulous Traveling Funeral. I don't recall crying so much when I read it the first time but then I think my doctor had me on anti-depressants at that time.  I went off the meds because I felt sad but was unable to cry.  Now I cry at the drop of a hat.  (I collect vintage hats, no wonder I cry at the drop of a hat.  Can't stand to see such charming beauty dumped on the floor, dirty, smashed and forever lost to unappreciative hands.)  There I go digressing again.  The point I was getting to was the author describes a female gynecologist that sounded remarkably like my female gynecologist.  In my book, Dr. Christina Midkiff is one of the most compassionate understanding doctors that ever lived or ever will live.  Not that I have had a lot of doctors in my life but she is tops.

Kris Radish's description of the doctor in her book goes as follows:

"The doctor with the gentle eyes and hands that glide like only a female doctor's hands can glide.  A female doctor who knows what it is like to have objects the size of a toaster oven inserted into a vagina.  A doctor who knows that the soft placing of a hand on a knee or arm or even on the side of a worried face before an examination can make a woman feel safe and protected.  The hands of a doctor that take their time and move slowly with the orchestrated sounds of a female voice.  The assurance and that kind voice of knowing because she has been there, felt that, winced at the exact same moment when something so unnatural moves into a natural place."

I have been to four gynecologist in my adult life.  Three of the four were men.  The first were there strictly for the money.  My annual visits were short and sweet.  He swept in with barely a word, thrust a cold metal object up my vagina and was gone.  The second doctor must have taken his internship with the first.  The third was a real piece of work.  He told me I had a beautiful body and stroked my naked back during an examination.  Needless to say that was the last time I went to that doctor.  I don't think he practices medicine in this area any longer.  I wonder if that is because of his unprofessional behavior or he just retired.  It has been been years.

One day I was complaining to a girlfriend about my experiences with male doctors.  She suggested I give Dr. Christina Midkiff a call.  My friend said Dr. Midkiff actually sat down across from her and discussed her health issues.  She never once felt rushed and always welcomed her talk with her not just as a patient but as a woman friend.  Gee, what a concept.  My first visit to Dr. Midkiff was exactly as promised.  Before the initial examination she sat and talked with me about any concerns I may have.  This kind gentle soul actually seemed to hear my story.  Thus was the beginning of our professional relationship.

One day that relationship changed.  My body was changing faster than my mind could take it all in.  I was going through menopause.  I thought it would be a time of rejoicing.  No more monthly bloody messes, no more PMS.  I had heard all about the hot flashes.  It couldn't be that bad.  I raised two kids, divorced, bought a house and remodeled it alone.  I certainly could handle hot flashes.  What I was not prepared for was the mood swings and the depression.  The PMS was kid stuff.  One morning while driving to work I started crying uncontrollably for no reason.  The tears flooded down my face so hard I had to pull over to the side of the road.  When I was finally able to get to work I called my daughter who was working for Dr. Midkiff at that time.  She got me in to see Dr. Midkiff immediately.  By the time I had gotten to the doctor's office I had finally gotten some control over my emotions.  Wow was that short lived.  When Dr. Midkiff walked through the examination room door I broke into tears once more.  Dr. Midkiff then surprised me by swooping me into her loving arms and held me.  She held on to me as I held on to her until I could once again regain my composure.  She then sat there holding my hands while I apologized for my behavior.  This wonderful woman then reassured me that I was not going crazy.  Besides getting me medical help she gave me her business card and on the back of the card she wrote her beeper number and her private home phone number with instructions to call her anytime night or day.

I have not had to call her for any emergencies but it is reassuring to know that she would be there if I needed her.  Since that day Dr. Christina Midkiff is not only the most wonderful compassionate doctor I have ever had, she is also my friend.  Whenever we meet, whether at her office, at a fund raiser or simply out shopping she always greets me with a warm loving hug.  Not a limp unfeeling hug, but a bear hug that says I am happy to see you, my friend.