TIME WAITS FOR NO ONE...

No, not even me, a peon Iowa blogger chick.

Nor my dream band man, Justin Hayward.

Though, unlike me, I doubt very much that Mr. Hayward spends an hour each morning "putting on his face", i.e., washing his face with Clean and Clear Pore Perfecting Cleanser, followed by a generous slathering of ROC Complete Lift Serum upon said face, followed by a couple of healthy dabs of ROC Multi Correction Eye Treatment under and around the eyes, followed by another slathering of Clean and Clear Pore Perfecting Moisturizer (SPF 15), and then several more dottings of various and sundry concealers and eye brightners...and FINALLY...a shmear of Revlon Photo Ready liquid makeup, a little eye shadow, voluminous lash-building mascara, eyeliner, some blush, and....

My God, no wonder I am late for work almost every day!

I mean, you throw in the whole daily shower/hair regimen -- the anti-cellulite body scrub, the shampoo for color treated hair, the extra volume mousse, the super hold hair spray...yowsa!

It's amazing I make it to work at all!

Did I mention the teeth brightener gel that I add to my regular anti-cavity/tartar/plaque toothpaste after slamming back a healthy breakfast shake made of Spiru-Tein high protein energy powder, skim milk and Greek yogurt, a chaser of GNC Be Wholesome Health and Beauty Vitapak Dietary Supplement For Women on the side?

Note the words "For Women."

What it should say, of course, is "For Aging Baby Boomer Women Over The Age Of 40 Holding On To What's Left Of Their Fleeting (or, in my case, done-flet) Youth By Their Crows' Feet And/Or The Flabby Skin Of Their Yellowing Teeth."

But if all the anti-aging products marketed for us older women actually said THAT, we would never buy all those perfecting moisturizers, lifting serums, and other "correcting" eye creams that promise to visibly diminish dark circles and wrinkles for more "luminous" eyes.

Why, while John and I watched a couple of hours of the NCIS marathon on the USA channel recently, every freaking commercial was hawking a magic potion of some kind guaranteed to make us old gals look 18 again.

Eighteen? Ha! I'd be happy with 48.

"So which face are you putting on this morning?" John jokes as I slowly climb the stairs into my attic dressing room each morning...a cuppa very strong, very caffeinated joe in one arthritic hand, my "Menopause Sucks" book in the other.

Once alone in front of my vanity mirror, I take both my hands and pull my saggy little face back as tight as I can and I see once again-- if for only a brief second -- the taut, wrinkle-free young thing I used to be.

Then I let go of my face, and voila! I'm Grandmama Addams! Yikes-a-roni!

When did all my facial elasticity snap? When did my eyelids begin to droop? Where did my eyelashes go? Funny, I don't remember anyone yelling, "Last call! Estrogen!" That's probably because I had my Moody Blues 33 RPM vinyl album blaring from my stereo most of my teenage years, which might explain the tinnitus in my left ear today...

Yes, some of us grow old gracefully, and some of us do not. But eventually, if we are fortunate, we all age. And with age comes wisdom...and we realize, at last, that true beauty comes from within...

Nevertheless, a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do when she has a chance to meet one of the more gracefully aging rock icons of her long-ago youth...especially when the concert is a mere three days after her (gulp) 35th high school class reunion...

So many years to erase, so little time!

Stay tuned!

He May Be Just A Singer In A Rock 'n' Roll Band...

But he's MY favorite rock 'n' roll band singer.

And my hopes of actually making eye contact with Mr. Justin Hayward and The Moody Blues -- and exchanging a couple of social pleasantries at some point during their June 29th concert in Des Moines -- are still afloat, thanks to the good folks at Iowa Public Television.

An autograph and a snapshot may very well be included, too.

Whew!

Admittedly, I was a tish worried after other MB fans across the globe told me about some of their experiences at a meet-and-greet...perhaps more aptly dubbed, a "see and flee", as one Moody Blues fan cautioned.

So, figuring there is no time to waste, I took my concerns straight to the top. I emailed Susan Moritz, president of the Iowa Public Television Foundation (and, come to find out, a regular reader these days of the Home Stretch) and cut right to the chase.

I told her of my meet-and-greet "no talking, no handshakes, no autograph" fears based on all I had heard from others in the Moody Blues fan community.

"Susan!" I pleaded. "Say it isn't so!"

And dear Susan allayed my fears the best she could.

In a nutshell? Her experience with meet and greets varies according to the artists involved, she explained.

It is, however, IPTV's intention that meet-and-greet participants will have a few minutes with the band members, as well as time to get an autograph and a snap shot...hence, the limited number of meet-and-greet passes made available during IPTV's pledge drive, she added, "so it really is a special event for you."

Occasionally there may be an artist concerned about the flu or worried about the strength of their voice for the performance, Susan noted. But for the most part, the celebrities are incredibly welcoming and appreciative of their fans.

"Flu-schmu" I thought. I'll don latex gloves and a surgical mask if I have to in order to meet Justin Hayward. Heck, he can whisper, "Hello, Ann! So nice to meet you!" lest he strain that gorgeous angel voice of his.

Whatever it takes.

Three months and six days...

On The Threshold Of An Impossible Dream?

Meet and Greet...

According to Merriam Webster Online, "meet and greet" is a noun, meaning, and I quote, "a reception at which a public figure (as a politician or rock star) socializes (my emphasis) with press members and other guests.

According to Longman Dictionary of Contemporary English,"meet and greet" means, "an event that is organized for famous musicians, writers, artists etc to meet and talk (my emphasis) to their fans."

A simple equasion, really: "Meet", i.e. to be introduced to, plus "Greet", i.e., to welcome in a friendly and respectful way, equals "to be introduced to and welcome in a friendly and respectful way."

Example: Ann, a financially struggling writer and diehard Moody Blues fan from rural Iowa, was given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to introduce herself to lead singer Justin Hayward and welcome him and the band to Des Moines during an after-concert meet-and greet June 29 in return for her rather generous (for her meager income bracket) $325 pledge to Friends of Iowa Public Television.

From what folks at MOODYBLUESTODAY.COM (the official Moody Blues fan community) are telling me, however, "meet and greet" may be just a teeny-weeny bit of a misnomer. "Look and leave" might be a more apt description:

"A few went to a 'meet and greet' at the Borgata in 2007. We dubbed it a 'line and sign'. At that point, it felt like we were lined up before a firing squad but the band was cordial, accepted hand shakes, kisses (by a lucky person), etc. Since then, it has been "no talking, no touching, no autographs" just a photo with the band. Don't know how a new one will go..."

"A 'meet and greet' would have to be PBS as Backstage/Onstage and Storyteller packages don't include photos with the band, etc. The same conundrum (not touching, handshakes etc.) still holds true with 'private' meetings after the show...at least in Nashville. No, I wasn't there but heard about it."

"Perhaps a PBS meet and greet? Last year there was no touching and no autographs allowed at them."

Oh, reaaallllly?

No talking? Seriously? Not even a "Howdy hi, boys! Welcome to the tall corn state!"? No touching, i.e., no handshakes? No autographs? What's left to look forward to? A stolen glance from 1,000 paces?

"How long till the concert?" my hub asked the other night as I was indignantly pondering this new "no talking, no touching, no autographs" info from fellow MB fans.

"Three," I replied.

"Time enough to learn how to sign 'I love you, Justin!' before they whisk you off the stage," he dryly offered.

"Funny honey," I shot back, all the while Googling "does Justin Hayward know sign language"...

But seriously, folks...I am 53 years old. Meeting Justin Hayward has been at the top of my bucket list for a long time. And I was told that for my pledge of $325 I would, indeed, get to meet and greet the band.

I've always read how much The Moody Blues' fans mean to them...well, the IPTV meet-and-greet at the Des Moines Civic Center would be the perfect place for the band to put my hard-earned money where their collective mouth is.

Or am I just standing on the threshold of an impossible dream?

Won't know till I ask, I guess. I feel a letter to IPTV coming on...

Stay tuned...

TUESDAY AFTERNOON

All kidding about wearing a taffeta ball gown to meet The Moody Blues aside...

I am quite serious when I say that their music takes me back -- and not always to the happiest times of my life but times that have shaken me to my emotional core. Times that I will never forget...times that have, however, taught me important lessons about life, love and family.

I can be sitting at work, doing dishes in the kitchen, driving in my car...no matter what day it is, no matter where I am, if The Moody Blues' song Tuesday Afternoon comes on the radio, it is suddenly Tuesday, October 21, 1969. That is the day my mom passed away. I was just a few days away from turning 13. One day Mom was there, the next day she was gone. Seemingly, in the blink of an eye...

At the same time, it is suddenly Tuesday, March 17, 1997. That is the day my sister and I moved our father into a nursing home in Battle Creek, Michigan after hewas diagnosed with lung cancer and given three to six months to live. My sis and I stopped at a Burger King for a bite to eat after an emotionally grueling day, and what song is playing? Yup. Tuesday Afternoon.

I couldn't help but think that Mom was with us there, in loving spirit, that difficult day.

Dad passed away two days later -- Thursday, March 19th -- just hours after my sis and I had said, in forced cheerful voices, "Bye, Dad! Love you! See you in a few weeks!" as we reluctantly headed out that Michigan nursing home door down the long, solemn road back to our respective homes in Iowa.

"Love you, too! Everything is going to be fine!" my dad had said from his nursing home bed, sounding uncharacteristically optimistic, I later reflected...

Of course, life seemed anything but fine after Dad died. We'd been somewhat estranged for many years for various and sundry reasons. He barely made it to my high school graduation. He was not there to see me graduate with honors from Ohio University. He was not at my sister's wedding, nor was he at mine. He never met my sister's two children, or Daniel. No birthdays or Christmases celebrated together, so many thanksgivings spent apart...for decades. I mourned the many missed family opportunities...

It occurred to me weeks later, however, that in the end, when it truly mattered, when Dad needed us and we needed to be with him, we were, indeed, together. And we made our amends. And we had some laughs. And we shared some tears. We were, if only for a few fleeting, final moments, a family again.

Memories of those last precious days with Dad have been a great source of comfort to me over the past 13 years. They have also served as yet another constant reminder that every moment of every day spent with loved ones is a gift not to be squandered.

Is there someone in your life you love but have been at odds with of late? Someone you've been meaning to visit but just haven't found the time? Remember, folks...NOTHING is as important as THIS day!

So seize the moment! Cherish this day! Leave work a tish early if you can and enjoy the afternoon! Live! Love! Laugh!

Miss you Mom. Miss you Dad. Love and Hugs.

Tuesday, afternoon,

I'm just beginning to see, now I'm on my way.

It doesn't matter to me, chasing the clouds away.

Something, calls to me,

The trees are drawing me near, I've got to find out why...

Those gentle voices I hear, explain it all with a sigh...

Rocker Clothes? Whew! Taffeta Makes Me Itch...

I asked for it! I got it!

A huge "thank you" to Susan Moritz, president of the Iowa Public Television Foundation, and Arline In Florida, aka JustinFan1, for not only stopping by The Home Stretch, but for taking the time to comment and share Moody Blues meet-and-greet fashion tips and other valuable MB insight on my earlier blog posts (see below)!

Imagine my surprise!

(Whoa! Susan Moritz read my blog? And commented? I better get that pledge check in the mail pronto!)

Anyway, here is what Ms. Moritz had to say:

I hesitate to call myself a fashionista but have been to a few meet and greets! I've been enjoying your blog about the Moody Blues. For a meet and greet, one wears what you would wear to a concert. The band wears their rocker clothes and most of the crowd does as well."

~ Susan Moritz, President, Iowa Public Television Foundation

Rocker clothes? Whew! Taffeta makes me itch. Thanks, again, Susan! I hope I get to meet you, too!

I was equally surprised and pleased to see that Arline In Florida added her two cents' worth:

Annie, you are in for such a treat!! And the best part is that you realize The Moody Blues, and Justin, have aged just like the rest of us. I just finished attending six of their concerts in Florida and they are WONDERFUL!!! Yes, Justin has a new wrinkle or two and he does wear glasses (mostly in private) but he still sings like an angel and almost looks as good as he did in his youth. I've been in love with him on and off for 36 years now so I know how you feel. Just one thing, though--in most of the Meet and Greets I've heard about, all you got to do was have a photo taken with the group--there was no actual meeting or greeting. So don't get your hopes up too high and if something better happens for you (which I hope it does) then you will have a pleasant surprise!!! Enjoy your concert, Annie!! They are THE best rock band that ever graced a stage!!

~ JustinFan1--aka Arline in Florida

Oh, Arline! You and I are SO on the same Justin/Moody Blues page! I promise you, sister, I will enjoy the concert! And a group photo is fine by me, though in my heart of hearts, for $325 hard-earned dollars -- and if it's promoted as a "meet and greet" -- I would hope, nay, pray, that the event might include just that...a simple, friendly "hello" between icon rocker and faithful fan...maybe a quick smile or a hardy handshake...a scribbled autograph on the back of a torn ticket stub perhaps?

Such are the wildest dreams of the everyday rural Iowa housewife/diehard Moody Blues fan...

Only time will tell...

Stay tuned...

Only Meet and Greet Fashionistas Need Reply

I am, I admit, the quintessential Glamour Don't.

I was born, I swear, with a black bar across my face, lest I am recognized as I suffer the shame sure to be heaped upon me each time I dress for the day and walk out into any public venue.

Seriously.

Fashion sense and I have never been fast friends. I still shudder as I recall shopping for a dress for my 5th high school class reunion...

I was in a little dress shop in Carroll, Iowa. I found what I thought was this adorable blue dress and slipped it on over my head, looked in the mirror, and thought. "Oh, yeah. This is the one!"

Imagine my shock and dismay when I stepped out of the dressing room to get my husband's opinion on the dress and the store owner let go with a loud guffaw that still rings in my ears to this very day...

"Honey! You've got that dress on backwards!"

Oh.

Hence, my early bird start on figuring out what in the world to wear when I meet and greet Justin Hayward and The Moody Blues in June. (See earlier blog posts below if you are not hip to what all this fuss of mine is about.)

Now, I know enough not to choose a taffeta ball gown and sparkling tiara, though there was a time that might have been my first choice. For you see, I do not take meeting famous people lightly. Yes, I know they put their pants on one leg at a time just like us peons. But, blame it on my recurring delusions of grandeur, I want to make a memorable impression on them.

And that explains the hours I, an award-winning news reporter at the time, took my precious time picking out the perfect little gift for Jessica Lange when they filmed "Country" back in the day near Waterloo. I got to spend some time on the set, and really wanted to meet her. She grabbed the gift outta my hand, laughed and said, "I accept gifts but I don't talk to people," and sashayed off into the cold, grey Iowa morn. But that's another story.

Anyway...I wasn't all that worried about what to wear when I knew I was going to get to meet Bono in Stuart, Iowa, on his way to Iowa City for a concert because I was never a U2 fan. Of course I only had less than a day to prepare. Nonetheless, I made sure I had my picture taken with him before we bid adieu.

Way back in the day, I made sure I got my picture taken twice with Michael McDonald of then Doobie Brothers fame...and he did say, with a chuckle, on our second meeting after a concert, "Oh, yeah. You are that woman with the camera." I have no clue what I was wearing that night. Jeans and some groovy shirt, I imagine.

I look absolutely horrible in the picture I had taken with Robert Kennedy, Jr. at the hog summit in Clear Lake, Iowa in April 2002. I look portly and windblown. But then, how does one dress for a hog summit? I dunno. Anyway...Mr. Kennedy made a point to tell me he had read my story pertaining to factory hog farms and their effect on our health and environment, and it was a fine piece of investigative journalism, and he mentioned it during his speech.

I was on Cloud 9 for weeks.

So here I am, planning way ahead for the big -- and rather costly, I might add -- meet and greet with The Moody Blues (my first pre-arranged meet and greet), and I want the evening to be perfect. I want to look great and feel young. I want to savor every minute, every musical note, every nuance there is to savor. For I dare say the chances of ever being even slightly up close and personal with Justin Hayward again are highly remote.

Timing, of course, is everything, so considering I will be attending the meet and greet roughly 24 hours after landing back in Iowa after five days in Cinci for my 35th high school class reunion, it is safe to presume that I will already have lost 40 pounds, had a facial, a mani and pedi, my hair cut and colored, and I am sure to be sporting a fake tan. Can't afford botox injections, though, cuz I just blew my life's savings on the dang meet and greet tickets.

So all that is left to decide, really, is what to wear? What is an aging, fashion senseless, menopausal albeit diehard Moody Blues fan to wear?

Only meet and greet fashionistas need reply.

CHECK, PLEASE!

I called. I pledged. And now, pen must meet paper.

I must write the check that seals the deal...

"At this challenging time, thank you for partnering in our mission," ends the letter from the Iowa Public Television Foundation that came in the mail today.

Confession: I really wasn't thinking about their mission when I grabbed my cell phone, pushing buttons like a mad woman, hoping against hope that they hadn't already promised all their "Moody Blues Meet and Greet" tickets to other callers before one of their pledge drive phone bank volunteers answered.

What I was thinking is this: "OMG! I could MEET Justin Hayward? Holy shitake mushrooms! Seriously? OMG! OMG!"

I felt like a giggly school girl again...like the time I got to meet Johnny Bench at the Kenwood Shopping Center in 1970. I'm sure ol' Johnny doesn't recall that day, but I will never forget it! I had admired him from afar -- at Cincinnati Reds' games at Riverfront Stadium. And now, there he was, two feet in front of me!

I was 13.

Forty years later, I'm all wiggity over the opportunity to meet one of the rock group icons of my youth -- THE MOODY BLUES, for cryin' out loud -- on June 29th at the Civic Center in Des Moines. Specifically, I cannot wait to meet Justin Hayward.

Funny thing is, I didn't even know what Justin or any of the other Moody Blues looked like before the 80s. I'd been listening to their songs on the radio since junior high and high school -- Nights In White Satin was like our high school prom theme. But I was in my late 20s when I first became smitten with Justin Hayward. I blame it on watching the videos to "In Your Wildest Dreams" and "I Know You're Out There Somewhere"over and over again on VH-1. His voice, those songs, spoke to my inner diehard romantic schoolgirl once more.

"THAT'S the guy who sang Nights in White Satin?" I thought to myself. Whoa! The blond hair! The blue eyes! That romantically haunting voice! Yikes! I unearthed my old Moody Blues Greatest Hits album, circa the 70s, from the bottom of a box buried in my closet and sort of fell in reminiscent-yearning-for-my-misspent youth love with them all over again for the first time.

Fast forward then to June 1992. I was 35. John and I were living in Cinci. My stepsister happened to have a couple of extra tickets to a Riverbend concert featuring The Moody Blues and Chicago. Why not? So we went.

And there he was. Justin Hayward crooning, "I know you're out there somewhere." My gosh, I thought, he still looks darn good for an old rocker...he still looks so young! He was, I figured out later, a mere 43. Young, indeed.

I sort of lost track of Justin and the boys after that summer. Daniel came along that following March, and life was crazy. John and I, baby Daniel in tow, moved back to Iowa.

Long story short, I saw The Moody Blues in like August 2000 at the Iowa State Fair with my friend, Wava, and her daughter, Sara, and again in like 2007 at the Civic Center with my friend Mary. Ahhhhhhh. Sing to me, Justin!

And I have to say, last time I saw Justin, he was still looking and sounding darn good for a guy in his late 50s...The Moody Blues, circa now, can still put on a great concert.

Or so I hope.

There is a reason, I think, that the Friends of Iowa Public Television show 10-year-old rather than recent concert footage of The Moody Blues during their pledge drive. As The Moodies have aged, so have we. But their songs take us back. Wayyyyy back.

And if we see Justin still looking relatively youthful, and still sounding fantastic, as the pledge barkers ask for our hard-earned money, we also might feel young and youthful and spontaneous enough to gladly plunk down $325 smackarinos to not only see The Moody Blues and hear them but MEET AND GREET them (and keep IPTV programming going, of course).

Seeing footage of Justin in his bifocals squinting at his guitar, on the other hand, might not entice us to do so. I'm just sayin'...

Frankly, I've given it some thought, and I've decided that if Justin Hayward were balding, bifocaled and sporting a drool bib, I would more than likely still want to meet him...and I will, just this once, for a once-in-my-lifetime opportunity, cough up the Benjamins.

Now, if I could just remember where I put my checkbook.

Next: What DOES One Wear To A Meet and Greet?

And So Begins My Journey To Meet Justin...

...as in Hayward.

As in The Moody Blues.

Yes, against my better financial judgment, but at my husband's urging, I dipped into our meager rainy day emergency fund and pledged a hunk of it to Iowa Public Television earlier this week just so I can have two tickets to the upcoming Moody Blues concert in Des Moines -- and a chance to "meet and greet" the band.

And it is all Facebook's fault.

Oh, yes, my friends! There I was, just sitting innocently at my computer, creeping along, seeing who posted what the past couple of days...and something over in the ad sidebar caught my eye. Egads!

"Moody Blues are on Iowa Public Television Wednesday night! They will be in concert in Des Moines in June! Learn how you can meet them backstage! "

Seriously? Wow!

So I tuned in and by golly, there they were! It was a concert from 10 years ago...but what the heck! There was Justin! My menopausal heart skipped a beat! And then it flashed on the screen -- for only a rather hefty chunk of change I could not only score a couple of concert tickets AND invest in Iowa Public Television, but I could snag a backstage pass to meet and greet the band, too!

And I better hurry cuz they only had a few of THOSE tickets, and they were surely going to go fast!

Holy Nights In White Satin, Batman!

Meeting Justin Hayward has been at the top of my bucket list for sometime...and here was my chance! So what if I'd have to sell pencils on the street corner for the next umpteen years to pay for the pledge...if it meant meeting JUSTIN HAYWARD!

"Go ahead and call," said my husband. "It may be your last chance to see them before they enter the nursing home..."

Seriously? It's OK with my husband if I do this? WOW!

Alrighty then.

And so I dialed. And a nice IPTV volunteer lady answered the phone -- I could see her on TV as we chatted.

"First of all, not to be a doubting Thomasina, but do I really get to meet the band?" I asked.

"Yes," she replied. "You really do!"

Seriously? WOW!

Of course she also asked me if I would be interested in including IPTV in my will.

"Uh, no, ma'am, " I said, with a chuckle. "After what I just pledged so I can meet and greet the Moody Blues, there isn't any money left for anybody in my will...."

Now, as I write, I have yet to actually see any confirmation from IPTV that I will be meeting and greeting the Moody Blues' back-up singers let alone Justin Hayward. I am expecting an email any day now...

Meanwhile, I have spent the better part of this evening perusing -- some might call it swooning over -- every video of Justin and the boys that I can find online...listening to every song...and posting my faves on my FB profile page. I'm actually flushed and and a tish warm...

Is that from thinking about meeting Justin or just another hot flash? Hard to say...

All I know is that 13 weeks from now, all things being equal, I will get to meet THE MOODY BLUES!

YIKES-A-RONI!

"I think you may need a support group," my friend, Sara, commented underneath one of the posted videos.

She would know. As would her mom, Wava, and my friend Mary...and yes, my husband, John, as well. They have all attended a Moody Blues concert with me at some time in the past.

Three and a half months and counting...

Perhaps I should pace myself!

Stay tuned!

8,500 Visitors! WooHoo!

Wow!

I see that my counter hit the 8,500th visitor mark just a moment ago!

A milestone!

As I was pointing out to my buddy Cari the other day, 2007 was my most prolific year for blog posts. I have a few ideas as to why that was, but not going to share them quite yet. Gonna re-read 2007 myself and see just what the heck I was yackin' about...

2010, I have decided -- with Cari's persuasion -- is going to be the year of Blog Revisited. By Home Stretch Annie herself. I miss writing. I need to write every day. I compose best at a keyboard. There is nothing like sitting down to a blank page and losing myself in a blog post...

I never dreamed back in July 2006 when I started this thing that I would still be blogging 3 1/2 years later...I never really know where I am going when I start a blog post...or where I will end up.

Much like my daily life.

Well, just wanted to say thanks to my 8,500 visitors over the past few years...they are from here, there and everywhere -- some by hit and miss, some by a pointed click...I love the mystery of it all. The serendipitous nature.

I blog, therefore I am.

Stay tuned.

Menopause Sucks...

Or at least I think it does.

I can't say for sure that I have officially hit the menopause mark since that would mean I have gone 12 months without having a period. And while I think it's been a year, I can't swear to it because I cannot for the life of me remember exactly when my last period was.

Hence, another sign that I am more than likely menopausal -- or at least very perimenopausal -- I have cotton balls and tapioca for brains these days. I can't remember squat.

But therein lies the good news!

If everything I have read thus far in the hilarious Menopause Sucks...What To Do When Hot Flashes Make You and Everyone Else Miserable is true, then if I AM menopausal and have so lost a rather large chunk of my memory, I am -- for once in my life -- PERFECTLY NORMAL.

Written by Joanne Kimes and Elaine Ambrose, Menopause Sucks appears to be the perfect "how to" book for navigating one's way through the sea of change that accompanies this "interesting" -- and hormonally inevitable -- stage in a woman's life.

Just a few pages into it, and I am hooked...

Like Kimes says, we may not know exactly when our journey into The Change of Life begins...

"It could hit you as you happily drive to the coffee shop to get a tall caramel macchiato," she writes. "At the takeout window you hear Andy Williams crooning Moon River. Suddenly you're sobbing hysterically until the cutie pie at the window hands you the coffee and mumbles that it's on the house ma'am and do you want an almond biscotti with that? You take six, and drive away."

OMG! Is that not the truest description of a first hint that estrogen is packing its bags and leaving your body?

Now, I am also starting to read, "The High School Reunion Diet...Lose 20 Years in 30 Days". I was hoping there was a "Lose 35 Years In 5 Months And 18 Days" edition, but there is not. And after skimming about Menopause Sucks, I am sensing that the two books may cross each other out, so to speak.

Sadly, it appears that my reality (menopause and weight gain seemingly at the speed of light) and my dream (looking like Jennifer Aniston by my class reunion June 26, 2010) are destined to never mesh.

Enter my third new book that I am perusing...The Nancy Drew Cookbook...Clues To Good Cooking.

I really just ordered it because I needed a few more bucks on my order for free shipping...

But it spoke to me because A). I can't cook and B). I always wanted to be Nancy Drew, sassy sleuth.

What Nancy Drew fan can resist such tempting recipes as those for "Togo Dogs", "Ned's Potato Pancakes" or "Invisible Intruder's Coconut Custard"?

Obviously, I can't decide what to do...lose weight (if it is even possible at this point) or eat suspiciously delicious treats?

Ack! Indecision! Yet another sign that the hormones, they are a changin'...

Oh, well...guess I'll just sleep on it...if only I could sleep! Dratted insomnia! Another menopausal annoyance...

Well, must get back to my fantastic new book, Menopause Sucks!

If only I could remember where I left it...

Should Old Acquaintances Be Forgotten?

That's the traditional question posed each year at the stroke of midnight as we bid adieu to the old year and welcome the new...

It's that whole "Auld Lang Syne" thing.

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot

And never brought to mind?

Should auld acquaintance be forgot

And days of auld lang syne..."

The words "Auld Lang Syne" actually translate from old Scottish dialect to mean "Old Long Ago", and the song is all about love and friendship in times past.

So, should our loves and friendships from long ago be forgotten?

No! Yes! It all depends...

I mean, where would Facebook be if we all decided to forget our old acquaintances?

Dear God, one of the few bright spots for me in this otherwise dismal and depressing year has been that, thanks to FB, I have successfully reconnected with dear friends from college and high school and ye ol' newspaper reporter days. Friends that, due to time, distance, and just life in general, I had inadvertently lost touch with.

These are the folks that "knew me when", for better and for worse...and STILL accepted my friend request, or sent me one. Amazing!

Yes, FB is AWESOME! A tad voyeuristic, perhaps...but awesome nonetheless. And it continues to grow in popularity because there is something very comforting and reassuring about chatting it up -- even if only briefly -- with old acquaintances on a fairly regular basis.

On the other hand, there are, I would think, some old acquaintances that probably should be forgotten. They should never be brought to mind, and certainly NEVER stalked, er, searched for on Facebook...

Yes, I am talking about old high school/college boyfriends or girlfriends -- former love interests that, for whatever reason, back in the day, went awry. It just stands to reason...

Exception to this rule: If you truly just happen to run into said former love interest at the grocery store during the holidays -- as in Dan Fogelberg's "Same Old Lang Syne"/"Met my old lover at the grocery store, the snow as falling Christmas Eve, yada, yada, yada", I suppose it's OK to chat it up in the frozen food aisle for a minute or two...no harm done. But otherwise...

True story: I was in the midst of a mani-pedi last spring in Minneapolis when this gal in her early 40s sitting in the massage chair next to started yammering into her cell phone to somebody or other about how her old high school beau found her on FB. She was absolutely GIDDY! He had broken her heart long ago...

You don't have to be Dear Abby to realize that chances are good you will find that same once-giddy gal -- now rejected and broken-hearted (again) -- and having gulped one-too-many vodka gimlets this New Year's Eve -- trying desperately to connect with her lost/found/lost again love via drunk FB'ing, or its evil twin, drunk dialing/texting...and all under the guise of "merely" wishing an "old friend" a Happy New Year.

I can hear Miss Lonely Hearts now..."I jusht wanted to shay Happy New Year... "

Ugly stuff. Ugly. Perfect fodder for that schlocky Dr. Phil...

But hey, what the heck do I know? While everyone here in Podunk is out having fun and dancing the old year away at the community building, or throwing back glasses of cheap champagne at Chuck's (I'm just assuming it's cheap, I don't know that for a fact), I am, once again, spending New Year's Eve at home, blogging philosophic about the pros and cons of forgetting old acquaintances...

I just think that if we are going to sing "Auld Lang Syne" we ought to analyze what we are singing about...

Anyway...

If I had a glass of champagne (cheap or otherwise), I would raise a toast -- a "cup o' kindness", as it were -- at midnight to not only the 192 friends I have connected/reconnected with on FB this past year, but to all acquaintances...those long forgotten and those trusty pals forever remembered...

Thanks for being a part of my life!

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne...

We'll take a cup o' kindess yet

For auld lang syne...

Love and hugs...with hopes and prayers for a kinder, gentler 2010...

And So This Is Christmas

Such mixed emotions...

I sat staring at our beautiful, brightly-lit Christmas tree for an hour last night -- in between power outages, that is -- and contemplated the last 29 Christmases of my life.

Like many folks do, John and I have made it a point to add a special tree ornament each Christmas to symbolize the year that is about to pass.

There's our "first Christmas together 1980" ornament...the one that cost $26 and we had to quick-like-Christmas-bunnies move funds from our meager savings into our meager checking account to cover the cost of that ornament...

There's the special cross stitched "Ann and John 1982" ornament from my dear friend and former co-reporter pal, Anne Phillips...

There's our "Buttercup" angel ornament...Christmas 1987, I believe...that was the year we thought that after two years of trying I was FINALLY pregnant -- was most sure of it -- but alas...no baby. But hope sprang eternal that SOMEDAY we would have our Buttercup...

And then there's the "1990 Love, The Ludys" Santa...our first Christmas in Cincy...it was great to be back home again...

I always look forward to seeing the 1992 "Mom To Be" and "Dad To Be" hen/rooster ornaments...our very own Buttercup was on his way! At last!

1993! Baby's First Christmas!

After that, the ornaments and their respective years and favorite memories -- much like the years of our lives -- are a bit less defined, you might say...a whirling dervish of people, places and events...

There are the ornaments that I cherish most -- the ones Daniel made in church school or at the Hanging of The Greens night..

And, of course, there are the miniature Superman lunch box and the Scooby Doo ornaments that Daniel got from Santa a while back...There was a Harry Potter ornament. But as I recall, young Mr. Daniel snatched Harry off the tree one Christmas past to play with him and he never made it back into the Christmas ornament box...I am sure Harry is around here somewhere...

Yes, we've had some great years over the past three decades.

2009, however, has not been one of them. And for obvious, heartbreaking reasons for so many near and far...

And yet, we cannot pretend that 2009 never happened. Sometimes, you just have to stare terror and tragedy in the freaking face, call it out, and call it like it is. Only then can hearts begin to mend and hope for a better new year prevail.

Hence, the shiny, silver, beautifully and ornately engraved "2009 can s*** it" ornament that hangs at the top of this years beautiful, brightly-lit Christmas tree, just below the festive multi-color LED angel.

Thanks, Brianna! Irreverent? YES! But spot on!

And, yes, that is a pizza cutter you see hanging there as well. Casey gave John and I that pizza cutter last Christmas because he just thought it was so weird that we didn't have one and that we cut our pizzas with scissors instead. Not kitchen scissors, mind you. Just plain, regular scissors...

Oh, Case, we will treasure that pizza cutter -- and the story that goes with it -- forever...

That is one Christmas ornament story I promise we will never forget...

And Rosemary...For Remembrance

Thanksgiving/Pre-Black Friday Thoughts...

Remembering My Dad, With Love And Smiles...

Maybe THIS is why I have always loved dancing...

My dad, John Arthur Heise, was my first dance partner.

And he taught me how to bowl...he was an excellent bowler.

And without knowing it, he instilled in me that special-albeit-odd sense of Heise humor that comes in handy at the strangest times...and I thank God for that.

My dad, bless his heart, would have turned 88 this week...

Oh, we had our issues. And there was a 14-year time span -- from the day I turned 21 till sometime in my mid 30s -- that we rarely talked on the phone and never saw each other. But we were fortunate in that at the end of his journey here on earth (about a dozen years ago), we had the chance to make amends and hug and tell each other how much we loved each other...

Sadly, my dad never met Daniel or my sister's children, Aaron and Liz...blame it on time, distance, difficult family dynamics, health problems... and yet, in his own way, I know he loved them...

It's all about forgiveness...sometimes hard, but not impossible, to find...

Anyway, thinking of you, Dad. And smiling...

Survivor

Oct. 21, 1969.

It was a Tuesday. A bright, beautiful October morning. And it was three days before my 13th birthday...

I remember sitting in study hall at Sellman Junior High...the school secretary called me out to come to the office.

I had a sick feeling in my stomach...I knew. I was hoping against hope I was wrong...but I just knew.

There, in the school office, stood my very sad looking father and my even sadder looking sister...

"Mom's gone," my dad said.

They called it "a therapeutic misadventure," but the truth is, my mother died from an accidental overdose of alcohol and sleeping pills. She had been in the hospital since Monday morning after I found her passed out on the living room floor...

Mom's funeral was Oct. 24...my birthday. My first day of being a full-fledged teenager...

How to describe the past 40 years without my mom? I think author Hope Edelman, in her book, "Motherless Daughters", describes it best.

" I am fooling only myself when I say my mother exists now only in the photograph on my bulletin board or in the outline of my hand or in the armful of memories I still hold tight. She lives on in everything I do. Her presence influenced who I was, and her absence influences who I am. Our lives are shaped as much by those who leave us as they are by those who stay. Loss is our legacy. Insight is our gift. Memory is our guide."

After four decades, I can no longer recall the sound of my mother's voice. I can no longer recall the sound of her laugh.

What I do remember is that she had a great sense of humor, and her friends regularly turned to her for advice. My mother was a registered nurse. Her favorite soap opera was As The World Turns. She boycotted lettuce in support of the underpaid lettuce growers in the 60s. She loved reading and acting. My mother never learned to drive. She enjoyed playing bridge and Monopoly. She was a good cook.

I remember she let me stay home from school once when I was in the fourth grade. I wasn't sick, she just let me stay home with her. I think now that I was her safety net that day...

In my mother's absence o'er these many years, I have been blessed with the love of and nurturing by several special "other mothers", including my wonderful mother-in-law... the most wonderful friends... and of course, my guardian-angel-on earth, my ever lovin' sister. So I have much to be thankful for.

Granted, I have struggled with several emotional issues. All motherless daughters do, to one degree or another.

And then, of course, there is the issue of Mother's Day. Until I had Daniel, Mother's Day was THE worst day of the year. Every spring, surrounded by reminders of how special the mother-daughter relationship is, but unable to spend time with my own Mom or give her a gift...

According to Ms. Edelman, however, we motherless daughters have our own "gifts".

We have, she says, the courage to "journey alone." Courage born of necessity, I would add.

Actually, truth be known, I come from a long line of motherless daughters.

My mother lost her mother when she was four years old. My grandfather later married a woman who had lost her mom when she was five.

Even my stepmother (my dad remarried a year or so after my mom died) lost her mom at a young age.

Both my sister and I freaked out a little as we approached the age our mother was when she died -- 47. When we each made it to 48, we breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Psychologists say that for motherless daughters, living beyond the age our mothers died is "living dangerously," and we often feel driven to make the most of that time. Hence, many of the most celebrated and driven women of our time are motherless daughters...

Me? Suffice to say, I'm a tish neurotic, but with a creative bent...

And so tonight, in loving memory of my mother, my heart goes out to all those daughters, near and far, who have lost their mothers. Celebrated and driven, or creatively neurotic, we are all survivors!

Love you, Mom! Miss you...

ANGEL ON THE FOOTBALL FIELD

We won!

We won!

We won!

The 2009 Crusaders play every game for Casey, and this game, especially, against the Glidden-Ralston Wildcats, was a triple sweet victory in loving memory of the Mighty Case, #85.

And Daniel got to play for a little bit -- and he caught a pass! Cast and all!

Victory has never felt so GREAT!

42-28!

Awesome, Crusaders! WooHoo!

Triumph Over Tragedy

I still get goosebumps.

9/11/2001

It was a Tuesday.

WHAT!?! A terrorist attack? No! No! This can't be happening! Our country, our world...we were all, suddenly, shocked to our very core...and we have never been the same.

I will never forget John, in Kansas City at seminary, calling home the day after to check on Daniel yet again. How was he doing? How was he handling the tragedy?

"How was your day at school today, Daniel?" John asked.

"Good, Daddy," Daniel replied, in his quiet, little third-grade voice. "No planes fell out of the sky today."

Eight years later, Sept. 11, 2009, I am pinning a red, white and blue ribbon on my CR-B Crusaders sweatshirt, the ribbon a handmade token of patriotic remembrance from one of my office co-workers. I carefully attach the ribbon just above and to the right of Daniel's junior year football pin.

I gently pat the pin. Heavy sigh...

And then I think to myself, "Has it really been only eight years?" Seems like forever that our country's heart has been laden with the painful and complicated aftermath of the 9/11 tragedy. Yet, we, as a country, and all the families of those loved ones lost, have somehow, through heartfelt memoirs, fitting tributes, and special anniversary observances, found some healing and the strength to move forward from that horrific moment in time.

My hand moves slowly from the ribbon and the football pin to touch the pair of silver metal memorial dog tags dangling from a simple necklace chain around my neck. I feel the raised lettering on the tags.

He had dreamed of one day joining the Marines...

"Casey Daniel Stork, 1993-2009"

"Forever In Our Hearts"

I still get goosebumps.

7/8/09

It was a Wednesday.

WHAT?!? A car accident? NO! NO! THIS CANNOT BE HAPPENING!

We were all suddenly shocked to our collective core. Has it only been two months? Seems like forever that our hearts have been so heavy with sorrow...we are all still dazed by disbelief as we continue to grapple with the stark, heart wrenching reality of it all...

We all miss Casey so very much, and we all are so very thankful that we still have Daniel. Loss and thankfulness, loss and thankfulness...And we live day to day, hour to hour, in the balance.

"How is Daniel doing?" everyone kindly asks.

That is a tough question to answer. It is hard to know, fully, just yet. On the surface, we all seem to be doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances. Who among us doesn't still cringe when we pass the accident site on our way to Carroll? Timber Avenue...it is our own private Ground Zero. It is where the proverbial planes fell out of the sky once more...and we will never be the same.

Accidents, illness, the sudden loss of a loved one...Certainly, the list of personal 9/11s that we all, as human beings, experience over the course of our lives, is varied and endless. How do we overcome these tragedies? How do we, as adults, heal? How do we, in this instance, help our heartbroken, teenage children -- Casey's friends -- heal?

"When I was your age, my best friend died, too," my 25-year-old niece, Liz, wrote to Daniel the other day. "Her name was Rachel. She died of cancer. It was different circumstances than what you've had to face, and I don't pretend to know how you feel. But one thing I do know: when you lose your best friend at age 16, it changes you. It becomes part of who you are. There's no use fighting that.

"My advice" Liz continued, "is to take all the good things about Casey, and all the lessons learned because of this tragedy, and try very hard to use them for good. Keep moving forward and take Casey with you."

Indeed, the upcoming installation of the Casey Stork Memorial football scoreboard at the high school, and the subsequent dedication being planned by his classmates, is a healthy step toward doing just that. It is a triumph, of sorts; a positive, healing event to focus on, not only for Casey's family and many friends, but also for the community at large.

Casey Daniel Stork.

Forever in our hearts.

And now, to be forever remembered at one of the places Casey was happiest...the Coon Rapids- Bayard High School football field.

We love you, #85!

A fitting tribute to Casey.

Time It Was, Oh, What A Time It Was...

It was a time of innocence...a time of confidences...

Thought I'd reprint one of my earliest blog posts -- from three years ago...

The recent fall-ish weather and the constant call of the very noisy crickets always bring back memories of one very special cricket -- Flower -- a forever symbol of the long-ago summers of my youth.

Kim, Tricia, Helen: This blog post -- as it was three years ago -- is for you...

(From The Home Stretch, Sept. 3, 2006)

Today has been one of those days...it's supposed to be a day of rest, but the lawn called to me, "Annie, rev up that lawnmower... NOW!"

So I did.

Then I noticed how the morning glories, though beautiful, have taken over my entire garden, and the creeping jenny, albeit great, green groundcover, is really a weed and it has highjacked most of the yard.

Do I really care? No. But I started yanking weeds anyway and that's when I saw the first one. The first cricket of "cricket season". All sorts of little crickets hopping to and fro...they do that this time of year; that summer's-almost-over-but-fall-ain't-quite-here time of year that brings out not only the crickets but the big, beautiful (and scary looking) garden spiders...

It's the time of year I always think about my friend Kim...if you are reading this, Kim, you know where I am headed.

It was, I think, 1968...Kim and her family had just moved back to our neighborhood, and sixth grade was just getting underway. We were playing outside in the field behind the elementary school where it was crickets galore. And so Kim and I got a box, caught some of the little buggers, and one of them we named Flower...

Ah. The innocence of life back in the sixth grade in Madeira, Ohio.

That following summer -- our sixth-grade summer, as we still to this day reminisce -- was THE best summer of our lives. Kim, Tricia, Helen and I were best buds, and we rode bikes, and slept outside in sleeping bags, and talked about how the four of us were going to get an apartment together some day...

We'd spend our days just hanging out, sometimes lying on the ground, staring up into the cloudless sky for what seemed like hours..."The sky is so blue," I remember one of us remarking once. It was, indeed, a scene right of Wonder Years.

As it turned out, the four of us never did share an apartment. We all went our separate ways after high school. But for the most part, we have always kept in touch.

We tried re-enacting that blue-sky moment years later -- around 1990 -- after I moved back to Cinci from Iowa. We were in our mid-30s, married...way past the age of catching crickets and naming them. But it felt so good to be back together again. So, putting our harried lives on hold for a moment, we all made our way down to the ground in Tricia's backyard one mid-summer afternoon and gazed up into the sky.

"The sky is so blue!" one us said, and we laughed and laughed.

For a brief moment, we were back in sixth grade again...lighthearted, carefree, awash in the sense that like the big, blue endless sky above, our lives stretched out before us, chock full of possibility and opportunity...

But then it was getting late, and there was supper to fix and diapers to change, and...

I don't think we will ever forget our sixth grade summer. Those rare and precious times we are blessed to be together -- usually class reunions (we LOVE class reunions), we almost always bring up the "blue sky" day, and Kim and I to this day fondly remember Flower, the cricket.

From the vantage point of my "omigod I'm almost 50" summer, life at 12 seemed so simple then. (Somebody stop me before I break into a teary rendition of "The Way We Were! Kleenex! I need a Kleenex!)

Funny... to this day, I cannot kill a cricket.

So Kim, Tricia, Helen...if you are reading this...Here's to crickets, blue skies, sixth-grade summers, old friends, and life's innocence lost.

And to the rest of you...what are your favorite memories? What brings back, with a rush and a sigh, a heart-enveloping memory? What are your special anniversaries of the heart?

Celebrate them whenever you can.

Breathing Lessons

I always have the best intentions at the beginning of each school year...

I'm going to be more organized, hence, Daniel will be more organized.

Or, I will keep an activity calendar in the kitchen and fill it out religiously so we are not running around at the last minute trying to make it to school events on time...

Or, I will always stay caught up with the laundry so Daniel is not madly searching for matching socks at 8:15 in the a.m.

Well, here we are...the dawn of Daniel's junior year before us, and, alas...

I can't remember my log in and password for the school's on-line campus, nor find the scrap of paper on which I jotted it, and I've misplaced the order form for Crusader hoodies and T-shirts...and the orders have to be in by Friday...which I would put on my calendar if I had remembered to buy one but, of course, I didn't. And here it is 11:30 p.m., and I still have three loads of laundry to do...

I really did have good intentions for starting out this school year on the right foot...

But grief is exhausting. And mind-boggling. Even when you think you may possibly be healing, grief is there. Just hanging over the days and nights like a heavy yet invisible cloud shrouding the mind, the soul...

Yet, somehow, we all go on. Life demands it.

And so the new school year begins...

Daniel does have his book bag packed, and I actually had the presence of mind to order his college-credit on-line psychology class book from Amazon.com in plenty of time before the first class...he's got pencils, pens, a calculator, a binder, several college-ruled one-subject notebooks in various colors...

He's got a new shirt and jeans...he's got a nice haircut...

And he's got a giant, gaping hole in his heart, as do all Casey's friends who are preparing for their first day of school.

Yes, the hallways will be brimming with students, and yet there is sure to be an emptiness, a silence that will resound for all those who knew and loved Casey. He had an indescribable presence in the hallways, one mom said the other day. A personality bigger than life itself. And that infectious smile...

The first day of school will not be easy. Nor the second. Nor the third...

One school day at a time, kids. One school day at a time...

First lesson:

Left...right...left...right...left...right...breathe...

Serenity Prayer

So my dear sis arrived on my doorstep last weekend, her trusty stepladder in one arm, a drop cloth and paint rollers in the other. And with the help of my dear friend and neighbor, Angie, they painted Daniel's room.

I bought the paint. Angie edged. My sister rolled.

Now, at first blush, in the bigger scheme of things (such as they are, tragically, following Daniel's accident and the death of his best friend, Casey) painting Daniel's bedroom might seem like a frivolous thing to do.

Certainly, a fresh coat of paint doesn't eliminate our grief, our loss, our mourning, our overall sense of sadness and despair. But for whatever reason, painting is what we Heise girls tend to do in the face of death and loss.

Or at least that is the conclusion I came to in the midst of this mini makeover...

Go back 40 years. Different time. Different bedroom. It's my bedroom. I am 13. My sis (Sissy, as I always called her) is 21. Our mother has just recently died. Our grandfather (our mom's dad) has just recently passed away as well. Our family is awash in grief.

One weekend, Sissy shows up with a paint brush, three colors of paint, and a crazy idea -- she wants to paint my room (then lavender) red, white and blue. One wall red. Two walls blue. And the fourth wall, red, white and blue stripes.

Who did she think I was, Betsy Ross? I dunno. She was just determined that that was what she was going to do. Something fun. A little crazy, even. Something positive and fresh in the face of adversity and sadness.

And so Sissy painted. And she painted. And she painted. And when she was finished, I had the coolest room on Buckeye Crescent. No, it didn't bring my mom or my grandfather back. But it made me smile, which was no small feat at the time.

Truly, it was an act of devoted sisterly love. I remember watching her painstakingly paint those stripes...

She had to be out of her mind...and she was. Out of her mind with love for me. She just wanted to do something, anything, to make me smile at at time when that is the last thing I felt like doing.

And that, I guess, is why we decided to paint Daniel's room. I am out of my mind with love and worry for my son. And he couldn't ask for a more loving and devoted aunt. Or a more selfless, caring neighbor.

No, painting his room doesn't bring Casey back. But it was something we could do to, hopefully, make him smile, even if ever so briefly, at a time when that is the last thing he feels like doing. And he did smile...partially, I would surmise, out of relief that I did not redo his room in a Hello Kitty motif, as I had threatened.

Nor is his room painted in red, white and blue stripes. It is done in a warm, soft, assuring blue/gray called, ironically, "Serenity Now."

And isn't that what we all are praying for?