I Can’t See a Damn Thing in This Fog

August 2, 2017August 14, 2017 / Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 12 Comments

Funnyjunk

Crystal pulled her glasses off for the third time and cleaned them. She tried lens wipes, spray, Windex, and soap and water; which left the worst film ever.

Her husband, Roger, watched impatiently from the comfort of his recliner. “What are you doing? The movie’s about to come on, and you’ve been fooling with those damn glasses for twenty minutes.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What the hell does it look like I’m doing? I’m cleaning them.”

“Looks to me like you’re rubbing a damn hole in the lens and eww.” His face wrinkled in disgust, “After everything else you’ve tried; you think your spit’s gonna do the trick?”

“I’m telling you, I can’t see! They’re all foggy and blurry. My eyes were just fine this morning.” Her shoulders drooped. “I give up; something’s wrong, Roger, I know it.” Her hands dropped to her lap. “I bet it’s a brain tumor, like moms.”

“Jesus H. Christ, Crystal; you don’t have a brain tumor.”

“I have been having more headaches lately,” she said.

Roger pushed the electric recliners up button. “Hand me the damn things, let me have a look, and stop sniffling. We’ll figure it out together.”

Crystal handed him a lens cloth and her glasses. “I could see fine this morning.”

Roger ignored the whiny, pitiful sound coming from his wife of forty years and studied the glasses. The lens sparkled, then he spotted the numbers on the temple of the glasses. He pulled himself, grunting from his favorite chair and shuffled to the other side of the house, muttering under his breath. A few minutes later, he returned. “Here, that should do it,” he said, extending the glasses to his wife.

Crystal put them on and broke out in a grin. “I can see! You fixed them!” She reached for his hand, but he’d already pushed the down button on his recliner and was moving out of reach.

She settled back on the sofa, ready for the movie, and started giggling. “And I thought it was a brain tumor.”

“More like dementia if you ask me,” Roger said, picking up the remote control.

“Well, how in the world did you fix them?”

“I didn’t; you had my reading glasses.” Roger turned up the volume loud enough for the neighbors to hear. “Now, hush, we’ve already missed the half of the movie.”

I’d love to hear your thoughts on the subject. Join the conversation. Talk to me or tell me your story. I’m all ears.

Aging Gracefully From Rags to Riches

September 4, 2015October 21, 2016 / Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 6 Comments

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Your Number One.”

This prompt from The Daily Post excited me, until I looked up my birthday – yikes!

I’m one of those women who fight aging kicking and screaming and finding out the #1 song in the US on November 27, 1953, was Rags to Riches by Tony Bennett, was sobering.

Jesus, I’m old

How does this song relate to my personality? I’ll try to put a happy spin on this little nugget of truth – It’s all about love, baby.

“I know I’d go from rags to riches
If you would only say you care
And though my pocket may be empty
I’d be a millionaire.”

I’m a romantic at heart and always have been. I’m a sucker for every chick flick that comes out, and to this day, the movie Love Story with Ryan O’Neal and Ali McGraw brings me to tears. You remember the famous line?

“Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

Of course, we now know that famous line was a bunch of crock, but you can’t argue with success.

I grew up in a small Southern town in a middle-class home. We didn’t have a lot, but we had what we needed. And although, I’ve had a few heartbreaks along the way, today, I view myself as a very rich woman, not monetarily, but rich in love.

I have a wonderful husband, beautiful home and between the two of us, we have five adult children and eight grandchildren. If that isn’t rich, I don’t know how else to define it. Well, except – I can still do yoga.

Want to find your #1 song? Check here.

As always I’d love to hear your comments. Talk to me. Tell me your story. And as always, you can follow me on Facebook at SheilaMGood, Pinterest, Bloglovin, Twitter @cofcmom, and Contently.

Let Me Buy You a Cup of Coffee

November 15, 2014October 21, 2016 / Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 8 Comments

DAILY PROMPT: Good Tidings
Present-day you meets 10-years-ago you for coffee. Share with your younger self the most challenging thing, the most rewarding thing, and the most fun thing they have to look forward to.

The younger woman stood hesitantly in the open door. I studied her fair, unblemished complexion, her long, thick, strawberry-blond hair, and felt a twinge of grief for the lost years of my youth. Her eyes widen in surprise and apprehension as ours locked.

I stood to greet her, “Thank you for coming,” I said.

She pulled out a chair. “A bit creepy but,” she shrugged, “As they say, Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Coffee?”

“Don’t drink coffee but I’ll take an iced tea.”

Surprised she hadn’t come in with a sweet tea in her hand, I turned toward the bar. “Be right back,” I said, remembering the large cup of tea I carried for years like a pacifier.

“God I love this stuff,” she said taking a long, satisfying sip. “Sooo, this is how I’m going to look in ten years?”

“Hope you’re not disappointed,” I said, swallowing the coffee and temptation to pull out my compact. “I do try to keep my appearance appealing.” Even at this old age, I wanted to add.

She shook her head, extending her hand as if to grab back her words. “Oh Lord no, I didn’t mean you looked bad,” she said stumbling over her words. “I meant you look great for a woman your age. I’m glad to know wrinkles don’t run in the family.”

My face heated up under her scrutiny. A woman of my age? Great.

Her eyes narrowed behind the straw. “You don’t do Botox do you?”

I laughed feeling the tension release. “Not yet, but I’m evaluating its merits.”

Leaning back, she crossed her arms. “So how does this work? You give me the lowdown on my future, how to avoid mistakes, get rich, marry the right man, what?”

“No, wish I could. Those decisions have already been written into history. As they say,” I couldn’t resist mimicking her own sarcasm, “That ship has sailed.”

“Then what’s the point of this little tête-à-tête?”

“Give you a heads up, help you learn from my mistakes, I don’t know. I guess it was a chance offered I couldn’t refuse either.”

She sat her tea down and stared at me. “Well me, what will my life be like? I guess you’re gonna tell time flies, smell the roses, that sort of thing.”

I shrugged, “It’s true, time does fly. In the blink of an eye, you’ll be this grey-haired woman you’re staring at in with skepticism. I can’t tell you what your life will become. I can, however, share three things: the most challenging, most rewarding, and the most fun thing you have to look forward over the next ten years. Interested?”

She rolled her eyes, “Okay great, hit me.”

No wonder mom hated me rolling my eyes. I swallowed my annoyance. “I don’t have all the answers, but I can start by sharing your most rewarding experience.” I smiled at the memory. “When you hold your first grandchild.”

She leaned forward, her mouth open in surprise. “I’ll be a grandmother? Boy or girl?”

“I won’t reveal that surprise but I’ll tell you, to hold your first grandchild is amazing. Watching them grow, spoiling them, feeling such unconditional love and hearing them call you Nana,” My eyes pooled with tears, “Is incredible.”

“Not sure I wanna be called Nana and definitely NOT grandma, but I’m sure I can come up with something that doesn’t scream old.”

I laughed and took a swig of cold coffee. Grimacing, I pushed it aside. “You’ll love Nana,” I said. I reached across touching her hand. “Grandkids are wonderful, but you’re gonna face some tough challenges too, prepare yourself.”

Her brow wrinkled in concern. “Why, what happens?”

My voice broke. “You’ll lose someone very close to you.”

A look akin to fear clouded her eyes and she drew her hand away. “Who?”

I shook my head. “That I can’t tell you but it will be hard. It will happen quickly and nothing you do will change the outcome. This loss will shatter your foundation, make you question God, your faith, and shake your trust in people.”

Her chest heaved with anger and anxiety. “Why would you tell me such horrible shit?”

“Because I want you to enjoy the moments. Catalog memories and fortify your faith. It will get you through the darkest days.”

“You said one of the most…”

“Oh, there’ll be others, but mostly it’s life. Shit happens.” I glanced at my watch. Time was almost over and I didn’t want to leave her anxious, fearful of her future. “Look, I didn’t mean to upset you. Don’t dwell on the negatives. You’ll have many happy, fun and treasured times ahead, focus on those.”

She let out a breath and picked up her tea. “Good to know my life isn’t going to be all doom and gloom.”

“Not at all. Besides the fun times you share with your daughters and grandchildren, the most fun thing you will do is something you will write on a bucket list.”

“Oh my God, I’m already writing a bucket list? Jesus, what aren’t you telling?”

I burst out laughing. “Oh lots, but you’re gonna love this one. The most fun thing you can look forward to is a ten-day trip to Paris with your daughter.”

Her excited exclamation resonated throughout the coffee shop. “Holy shit! Really? I’ve always wanted to go to Paris. In fact, I told my husband, I swear, before I die I will go to Paris, with or without you.”

“I know you did and you will. It will be the trip of a lifetime. The two of you will have so much fun. This trip will create the kind of memories that feed your soul, I promise.”

She sat back, a dreamy look on her face. “Wow, Paris.”

I scooted my chair back, rising.

She jumped up knocking her chair over and grabbed my arm. “Wait, please don’t go. I want to, no I need to hear more, please.”

I patted her hand, leaned in and brush the younger cheek of myself with a kiss. “I’m sorry, I can’t and besides there isn’t enough time to tell you all the crooks and turns life has in store for you. Remember, you’re a smart, independent woman with a tremendous capacity to love. You don’t always show it, most people don’t, but I’m giving you a heads up. Learn.”

I gave her a hug, lingering a bit before whispering in her ear, “Stay true to yourself, hold fast to your faith and you will have a good life.” I released her and walked to the door, looking back one last time. She at the table checking her watch. Her best friend hurried through the door saying, “I know, I know I’m late. I’m sorry I couldn’t help it.”

Sheila laughed and shook her head. “You realize one of these days I’m not gonna wait on your ass.”

I exited to their laughter.

Father Time

October 28, 2013October 21, 2016 / Sheila McIntrye Good, Author / 3 Comments

Funny thing about time; mistakenly we believe there will always be enough. Enough to accomplish our dreams, see the world, or tell those we cherish how much they are loved. The truth is, Father Time isn’t your friend. No respecter of persons, the clock of life ticks away whether we want it to or not.

When we’re young, we never give a moments notice. We mark our calendars in red, set our smart phones to chime, setting people and things we most treasure aside, all in the pursuit of days of endless busyness. We’ll have time tomorrow or the next; it isn’t going anywhere.

Only it is, we’re just too busy to notice.

One moment you’re a twenty something graduate excited about making your mark on the world, or a young bride starting her family.

Then you blink.

Your kids are grown leaving retirement and an empty nest to greet you each day.You notice the crow’s feet, greying hair and wonder aloud. Where did all the time go? You protest, But, I feel the same today as I did when ….

Then it happens.

A young cashier or waitress tells you about the senior discount. You catch a glimpse of yourself, the way you favor that left hip or the slowness in your step. Denying the obvious, you work an extra half-hour on the treadmill; schedule a makeover with your hairdresser and shop for a trendy new outfit, trying to hold time at bay. But the god-forsaken neon lights only highlight the age spots, saggy arms, and tits that look wilted rather than perky. The woman in the mirror isn’t who you thought she was.

Father Time has left his mark.

The wake-up call begins. Gripped with urgency whether from vanity or fear, you refuse to accept the subtle signs believing a few laser treatments and Botox will turn the clock back.

But, you can’t out run Father Time.

Looking in the mirror, I see a woman who doesn’t sashay like she used to. Cheating death twice in less than six months tends to change one’s perspective. I assumed, when the time came, I would handle these heavy issues with grace and dignity. Now, I’m not so sure. It’s hard to feel safe struggling with the changes in my life, with all the things I haven’t done or said. I wish I could go back and start over.

All the brave, “I would never’s…”uttered I take back.

I hear the whispers of Father-time. “Youth and beauty can’t hold a candle to time NOT wasted.