Apparently Not Self-Sufficient

Posted on March 8, 2025 by Real Women

Shortly before one of our last winter storms, I had to venture out to the grocery store.  Not with any storm-stock-up milk-and-bread urgency, but simply due to bad timing, we needed food.  I knew full well that it would be crowded with the milk-and-bread people (because Lord knows no one can afford eggs these days), but I took a deep breath and plunged in.  The shopping itself was not that bad. Everyone else seemed to be focused as I was on just gettin’ ‘er done.  Inventory was ok, and anything on my list I didn’t find was nothing we couldn’t live without.

I moved my way up to the check-out area, and sure enough, only 3 aisles open with human cashiers, and long slow lines at each one. I waited for a couple of minutes and kept looking over at the self-check-out area, where there had to have been at least 8 available kiosks.  I rarely ever choose that option unless I have just a handful of items – which is not frequent, as I generally put off visiting the grocery store until I have full-cart level needs.  My inner dialog went something like this:  “Ok, I can either wait in one of these lines, or I can be brave and go over there. Sure, I’ve got quite a few things, but hey, I’m an accomplished, intelligent woman, I can manage it. Should I?  I hate the self checkout. Oh, come on, just give it a go.”

I got a couple of my bags set up in the receiving area, scanned my store card and was off and running. Or so I thought.  I made the mistake of first scanning a small impulse-buy snack bag of nuts that I planned to munch on in the car.  Scanned it, went to put it in my purse.  WRONG.  The robot informed me I MUST deposit the item in the bagging area.  With the slightly robotic, condescending tone that subliminally asked “what are you, some kind of thief?”   So I put the tiny bag of nuts in the bag, then as I scanned the next item, I tried to remove the snack so it would not be lost in the bottom of the bag where I could not find it for the drive home. WRONG.  Robot eyes see everything.  “Please wait, help is on the way.”   I swear it sighed at me.

After a minute or two, one of the workers who is apparently hired to hang out and help us useless self-check outers rather than open another human check out aisle to help move things faster, came over and waved her magic wand so I could keep going. In the process of me attempting to continue to checkout, I got robot- “Please wait, help is on the way”- scolded no less than 4 times.  Each time it took longer and longer for her to come back, because, well, the store was busy, have I mentioned that?  After the 3rd robot-halt, a very loud groan escaped my lips that caused others to turn and look. It was frustrating and annoying, and I’m sure the HIOTWW (Help Is On The Way Worker) couldn’t wait for me to get out of there either.  

Here are some things I learned:  Do not pause to move your bags aside to make room for more bags.  I don’t know what else you are supposed to do, but not that.  Do not try to scan quickly.  Scan, place item in bag, carefully and with conviction.  Even better if you can smile nicely for the security camera watching your every move.  Do NOT scan, hold the item in one hand then scan the next thing to make the process faster. Doing so makes the system assume you are, again, a thief.  Do not take too long bagging your items. The robot does not care that you don’t want your canned goods in the same bag as your bread. If you dawdle too long, it assumes you are either done or have run away and must be stopped.  Do not go out of order when attempting to weigh your produce. By the way, SOME produce is automatically recognized. Other produce is a robot-mystery and if you don’t push the correct identification button…well… Please wait, help is on the way.  Do not go out of robot order when attempting to pay for your groceries which are now haphazardly piled up in the bagging area.  Follow directions after it has loudly announced how much money you have spent.  No discount for doing your own check-out and bagging work.

In the end, I saved zero time (actually spent much more time pacing around waiting for the HIOTWW), I was irritated and sweaty, and no, I had no idea where that first snack bag ended up.

I realize this is all a first-world problem.  I should be appreciative and thankful that I am able to go buy groceries.  I also get that in today’s world, and scary economy, theft is frequent. Desperate times lead people to take desperate measures.  It’s the same reason that random items like face lotion are now behind locked compartments at the drug store, requiring buyers to request CVS’s version of the HIOTWW to unlock your items.

But I am still left to ponder a few things. Wouldn’t it be more efficient to hire more human cashiers so more than one or two live aisles are open and available?  I mean, there seem to be several HIOTWW’s whose skills could be put to better use.  If we must continue to have more and more self-checkouts instead, then with the advancements of AI, could we maybe sign in with an ID that indicates we are middle-aged moms who just want to get stuff and get home and are not on the suspicious and sketchy store list? 

I have TSA pre-check that allows me to get through airport security swiftly and easily.  But try to buy my own snack bag at the store?  Clearly I’m not trustworthy enough.  Please send help.

Posted in convenience, customer service, Food, groceries, Helping others, real women, routines, shopping, simplifying, stress, Technology, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Dawdle or Scamper

Posted on January 20, 2025 by Real Women

Much of my free time is spent walking and hiking with my dogs.  One of my dogs is pretty typical, ears perked, looking ahead for what’s next in the adventure, pausing briefly to sniff something interesting, pee on it, and keep moving, all “cool, cool, what’s next?”  My other pup, my hound girl, follows her nose through life. Walking with her is all about pausing.  She’s all “yeahhh, I’m gonna stop here to identify the past 8 dogs and three humans who visited this spot, so if you wanna come back for me in about 10 mins that would be great, then we can stop up there in the cut-through to the field because 3 deer, a coyote and a bunny passed through between 2:15-4:00am.  Oh, then in about a quarter mile, I’m going to find two moldy petrified french fries that someone tossed away a month ago, and I’ll be enjoying that snack before you can stop me.”   Frequently during our walks, I end up striking some sort of scarecrow yoga pose, one arm outstretched to the front with the eager dog, the other arm outstretched behind me with my stopper.

Like a typical pet parent, I tend to anthropomorphize my pups. I mean, don’t we all give them voices and assume they think like us?  But it has dawned on me while out walking that perhaps some of it is the other way around. Perhaps we are a bit like them. I assume that none of us are peeing on things before walking away, nor are munching on road kill fries.  However I know most of us fall in to one or the other category:  the “keep-moving-let’s-hustle-what’s-next” folks and the “dawdle, slow down and soak it all in” people.  I know that I am an innately Scurry & Scamper type, but a Dawdler Wannabe.  I know this not only because family and friends point out my consta-movement, but because I get frustrated with my hound.  I have actually had to train myself to count to 15 – 30 when she stops before I give her a tug, because why shouldn’t she be able to investigate her world?  Can’t I spare just an extra 5 minutes total?  And that’s when it hits me that it would do me good to pause longer and look around, to just “be” in any given moment.

I’m guessing that the majority of R.W’s out there fall into the keep movin’ category. We are predisposed to getting things done, taking care of others and being as productive as possible (hello, you multi-taskers).  Those of us who are the most oddly dedicated to scampering feel like slowing down is a sign of laziness.  But those of us who have learned the less rushy way of life know it is far from lazy.  It is calming and healthy.  That’s why I want to embrace a bit more of that lifestyle.  Another R.W. and I recently had a heart-to-heart about how the older we get, the more we want to slow down and enjoy life a bit more.  I’m not saying a busy bee doesn’t enjoy life –  heck, like my one dog, being alert and scampering can be pretty darn fun and filled with excitement. But what might we be zooming by?  I was in college when I first hear Ferris Bueller’s famous quote: “Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”   Darn right, Ferris.  Then off I ran.

We all strive to “stop and smell the roses.”  I think this phrase has morphed into a bit of a condescending guilt-laden version of Ferris’ point.  I do believe the scamperers among us certainly see and appreciate the flowers along the way, may likely pause and say “oh, isn’t that pretty”, maybe take a quick photo, then move on.  However those that prefer to really slow down are likely to give it a sniff, perhaps marvel at the colors and patterns on the pedals, discuss the species, look for more, and may snip one to take home to enjoy for a longer period of time. 

Sure, we can blame the chaotic pace of life around us for our habits. Faster and more demanding deadlines at work, the immediacy of social media, technology that makes everything happen quicker… let’s face it, I could have asked ChatGPT to write this blog and it would have produced something in just about 45 seconds. (P.S. never gonna happen) But until robots truly take over, we are humans. We have the choice to step off the Crazy Train from time to time and slow our roll. To think for ourselves, to do as we wish. To embrace our inner dawdle.

On this morning’s walk, I took the dogs down a path of freshly fallen snow. One person had clearly been there before us; their footprints were straight as an arrow along the edge of the path, out and back. No variation, no appearance of stopping. While my pausing pup was sticking her snout into the snow to find what lay beneath, I looked behind and chuckled to see our paths in comparison.  Ours were meandering, criss-crossing and messy. 

Perhaps I’ll get the hang of this yet.

Posted in behavior, dogs, goals, goals; resolutions, habits, Health, hiking, meandering, passion, people, personalities, pet, rushing, self care, stress | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Less Resolute

Posted on December 26, 2024 by Real Women

Here we are, moving through the days of Christmas and Hanukkah, headed toward a New Year.  Depending upon what, or how, you celebrate the holidays, you could still be knee deep in events and activities.  But for many of us, the days between 12/25 and 1/1 are a unique combination of wrap-up and gear-up.  

I’ve never been a big fan of “The Year in Review.”  I tend to scroll by, or ignore, the recaps that get fed to us via social streams and newscasters who apparently have nothing else to report on.  I don’t particularly care about which music everyone listened to the most, what food trends emerged, how many babies were named Liam or which tiktok trends got the most followers.  And I really don’t care to relive any tragedies, thank you very much.  Sure, I may have moments of quiet retrospection, but for the most part, I don’t need to have everything we lived through in the past 365 days regurgitated to me.

I rather like these “in between” days.  My holiday décor is still up, in honor of the twelve days of Christmas and our journey to Epiphany. But the crazy hustle and bustle has died down.  I use these days to quietly regroup, to breathe, and start to methodically get ready for whatever is coming next – both personally and professionally.  Rather than dwell on what the ups and downs have been over the past many months, I spend time being thankful for them.  Because every moment, every hill and valley, has brought me to where I am today. And where I am is alive and well, with another year’s worth of memories. As a matter of fact, today it led me to a beautiful winter hilltop view on a hike with my dogs. Good place for pondering.

I’m also not a big proponent of setting New Year Resolutions.  The majority of us have spent every day of the past year trying to be the best we can be and do the best we can do.  Whether that is striving to be the best mom, best sibling, best friend, or hardest worker, there aren’t a lot of days that we have not already set high expectations of ourselves.  And let’s be honest, sometimes doing our best is just trying to get through a day.  So why for heaven’s sake should we now say “yeah, ok, but I gotta do better, that wasn’t good enough”?   Why must we think it necessary to resolve to lose 20 pounds, get a better job, become a better cook, or overall be an even better version of ourselves? Do we really have to add more Must Do’s to our lives?  The definition of resolution is “an official decision that is made”.   The definition of resolute is “purposeful, determined and unwavering.”  Dang. None of that sounds like we can cut ourselves any slack.

How about instead we think about some goals for the year ahead?  Goals are something we shoot for, not something that sounds as harsh and demanding as a resolution.  Definition:  A goal is the object of a person’s ambition or effort, an aim or desired result.   If a goal is not met, then we can pivot, change or try again.  And here’s good news.  A goal can be as simple as getting up and moving every day.  Make someone else smile.  Take on a new hobby.  It does not have to be to climb a mountain or become a firefighter and run into burning buildings to save other humans.

I’ve heard recommendations that if one writes down their goals, or tells another person about them, then they are much more apt to reach them. Ok, sure..  but if doing that causes you more anxiety or stress, don’t do it.  Just thinking about them is enough.  We don’t ever have to share what our personal goals are if we don’t want to.   Looky there, now we can add empowerment to our ambitions.

I have a milestone birthday coming up this year.  With that comes of course some added retrospection and future focus.  I find that my personal goals have shifted.  I no longer feel the overwhelming need for character building and personal improvement – that is certainly not due to any warped view that I am perfect – merely that at this stage of life, to quote Popeye, “I am what I am.”   The goals that are floating around in my head during these in-between days have more to do with finding ways to slow down, fit in more self- care and writing time, and spend as much time as possible with loved ones enjoying the wonder and beauty of our world. There is so much turmoil, angst, stress and fear in the world, my aim is to be aware but put my energies elsewhere.

That’s it so far.  No big resolutions to lose my muffin top tummy (it’s a permanent part of me now), run a marathon (my knees and I both hate running), change careers (sounds exhausting) or even get more sleep (ain’t gonna happen). 

What do you say, will you join me in being just a bit LESS resolute, pause to take a breather, appreciate who you are now (that person is fabulous btw), and just take some time to BE without heaping yet more on our already full plates?   

No matter whether you are in full-on celebration mode or are moving slowly through the in-between days, enjoy.  Be kind to yourself.  And Happy New Year.  (No pressure).

Thank you dear readers. I appreciate you more than you imagine.

Posted in accomplishments, achievements, age, celebrations, Entertainment, events, family, friends, future, goals, Health, Holidays, New Year, real women, resolutions, self care, simplifying, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Big and Boney

Posted on October 17, 2024 by Real Women

Ah, yes, the season of HallowThanksMas is here.  When retail stores lump all holiday décor together and we consumers have attention deficit shopping disorder.  There’s a plethora of spooky things alongside minimal shelf space begrudgingly given up to ceramic turkeys and gravy boats.  Then in the next aisle is a sparkly overload of red and white snowmen, ornaments and hot cocoa.

I’ve never been a big Halloween fan.  Sure, when I was a child, I enjoyed carving pumpkins and spending an evening trick-or-treating. You know, back when Halloween was cute and not terrifying. We’d pull our charming costumes on over our winter coats, strap our faces into plastic masks with tight elastic bands around our heads that allowed little visibility but plenty of face sweat, and go visit friend’s front doors with a muffled “trick or treat” hoping for the coveted big Hershey bar and limited Good ‘n Plenty’s. And when my son was young, we had fun traipsing around the neighborhood with friends or hosting some of his buddies for a gathering.  Yet I’ve never enjoyed scary monsters, horror movies, ghastly surprises, gooey gore or slasher fear.  Lots of you out there do, so Halloween is big.  Like, apparently really big.

One of the things I’ve noticed that has changed over the years is the growth, variety and SIZE of spooky home décor. It’s gone far beyond a few lit up jack-o-lanterns on the front step. I used to be impressed by my mom’s efforts when she would dress up a sweet witch in the window.  My older brother would toss on a sheet to answer the door (which, considering he was blind, made for an impressive effect since there was no need for eye holes).  I had friends whose parents went “all out” with fake spider webs, a couple of goblins, and played scary music and sound effects. But today that all seems so innocent and homespun.

Decorations have not only gotten more creative and eerie, but a whole lot bigger. I think it all started with those 10’ tall skeletons that started appearing in front yards a few years ago. Soon after came the grim reapers, the ghouls with pumpkin heads, and bigger than life witches and goblins. Have you seen the latest versions, those really big skeletons that look like they are climbing out of the ground?  Those things have to be about 8’ wide.  This may not be my favorite time of year, but I’m impressed by the effort and investment people make, and it certainly makes the drive to work entertaining.

So while I put out my pumpkins and a couple mums, I marvel at the huge boney beasts that appear in the night in other people’s yards.  Yet since I am a typical R.W., who tends to go overboard with Christmas decor, my mind shifts to the fact that for at least 85% of those extravaganzas, there is a woman behind the scenes who not only plans the timing and placement and set up, but has to figure out where the heck to store them during the other 11 months of the year.  At least inflatables (again, not my thing) deflate.  But those big ol’ plastic bones, skulls and demon heads have got to take up some serious space.  I envision an enthusiastic spouse coming home along about September 29th to happily report “Honey, you just gotta check out what I got!  Isn’t this awesome?  When I get him set up, he’ll be 10’ tall – and he was 20% off!   But wait, it’s even better, with this battery pack, he moves and lights up!”   Meanwhile she’s attempting to share the excitement and spirit while doing advanced calculus in her head regarding the available square footage of storage space in her basement.

There is one house I drive by occasionally that simply leaves their extremely tall skeleton out all year, and he (or she) dons appropriate wearables for each season.  There’s Christmas skeleton, spring Easter skeleton, and summer beach skeleton. Ya just gotta appreciate a Hawaiian shirt that large.  And a woman’s creativity in avoiding having that thing’s parts and pieces shoved into a closet.

My husband has an old high school friend who is totally into Halloween. She has the one house in her neighborhood that people come visit or drive by to see each year, and the local News crew comes to film and interview her. Monsters, goblins, ghosts, witches, scarecrows, skeletons, dolls – you name it, they take up residence in her yard.  The amount of work she puts into it is exhausting to consider.  Get this – EVERY morning and EVERY night throughout the month of October, she moves many of her monsters out, then brings them back inside to avoid damage or theft.  That’s dedication.  That I simply don’t have.  And I have no clue how she fits them all back indoors post-spook-eve. I suppose keeping some ghouls out on the couch or around the table could cut down on any fears of someone breaking in some day.

I do have an extra appreciation for all of that spooktacular décor this year – the bigger the boo-friends, the more they block the all-too prevalent political signs, and the more they help us divert our attention from that ghastly turmoil.  And that’s one horror show I’m tired of watching. So bravo, bring on the big & bonies. Thanks giant Casper and Skelly the Skeleton for being you – because guess what, you aren’t the scariest thing of all this year.

Posted in autumn, decor, Entertainment, Halloween, Holiday preparations, Holidays, preparation, Seasons, storage, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Wait Not, Want Not

Posted on August 21, 2024 by Real Women

Shopping. It just ain’t what it used to be. 

I remember vividly the days leading up to a new school year.  My mom and I would spend most of a day cleaning out my closet, casting aside the items that no longer fit so they could be donated, and making a list of things to be purchased.  There were two lists; one was the practical “need” list, the other the “want” list.  On the want list were things I perhaps yearned for that I would have to save my own money to purchase. My Dr. Scholl’s wooden sandals were on my want list. Mom was convinced I’d break an ankle if I wore them and she hated the clomping noise they made.  But I coveted them, so after saving chore and babysitting money, months later I proudly went out and purchased a pair.  Happy to report no broken ankles but plenty of clomping.

Items like practical pants and school supplies were on the approved need list, so mom and I would plan a day to venture forth for shopping, which invariably involved much trying-on of clothing, comparisons of binders and folders for practicality and durability and plenty of bargain hunting.  Sometimes we were successful, sometimes not.  Because in those days, if what we were looking for wasn’t in the first store, we either drove to another store, found a substitute, waited until the item was in stock, or just went without. 

I miss the days of roaming the mall or department stores. Because “going to the mall” was a thing. When not doing practical shopping with mom, we’d meet friends and spend a whole afternoon “malling”.  There may not have been much actual shopping done (we were all on limited teenager budgets) but there was entertainment, activity, people to see, giggling to be done in the back of Spencer Gifts, and unhealthy food to consume – nothing like having a cinnabon or slice of pizza then washing it down with an orange Julius.

With physical real-time shopping, we get to actually see, touch and feel something and speak to real humans. Plus there’s always the dopamine rush of finding something great on the clearance rack in the back of the store — which is a far more heady experience than swiping through Prime Day on Amazon. That’s why generally when I get together with my girlfriends, some good ol’ fashioned shopping is on the agenda.

That said, the new age of digital shopping has its advantages — namely availability, convenience and speed; and I am regularly amazed with how far we’ve come.  Call it laziness, call it overwhelmed scheduling, call it multi-taking on turbo – call it what you will, but sometimes a few keyboard clicks or phone swipes make life so much easier. 

Recently I was in search of a dozen 5-gallon buckets for a backyard game I was putting together for a party.  My husband and I happened to be in Home Depot and thought their buckets were a bit spendy for what we needed.  When we got back into the car, I pulled up Walmart on my phone, determined theirs were less expensive, plain white, and I could reserve them and pick them up the next day. Nifty.

Twenty-four hours later, I received an alert about my pick up time and after letting the ninja app robots (NARs)  know my location and how soon I’d be there, I was on my way.  Minutes later, I pulled in, let the NARs know where I parked and in less than 5 minutes a nice young man delivered my buckets to my car.  He apologized that they didn’t have 12 in stock, only 7, which wasn’t an issue because the NARs had already informed me of the situation. I was thrilled that I did not have to wander my way through the “supercenter” in search of my items — plus I had already paid online, thus making the whole transaction easy-peasy.  Before leaving, I glanced around and saw a few other R.W.’s parked in the pickup area, a variety of goods being loaded into their cars.  I wondered if this was a regular thing for them –is this how they get their groceries?  Are they also trying to knock out a whole bunch of chores on a weekend and needed to save some time?  Did some have sleeping babies in the car? 

Riding on the high of convenience, I next visited the friendly NARs of Target regarding the balance of buckets I needed. Not only did they tell me the price and quantity available, but exactly where they were located in the store, what aisle number and even popped up a map. How handy.

Editorial note: While I could have just run in directly to the ABL (Aisle Bucket Location) OR waited and had an NAR-led delivery person bring them to my car, I chose to browse in person a bit and pick up a few other items — hence feeding my in-store shopping therapy fix.  Mom would have been proud of my $15 sundress I found on the way to the buckets.

I returned home after a successful but blessedly short outing.  While having lunch with hubby, I remembered one other small item I had meant to pick up. I pulled up Amazon and three clicks later the item was on its way to arrive on my doorstep the next morning.

There is a whole generation now for whom this is the norm.  They’ve never known a time when you couldn’t just order something from the palm of your hand and have it magically appear at your location.  I still think I’m all trendy and cool (or spoiled and frivolous) when reach out to a NAR on my phone and within minutes my favorite beverage is waiting for me alphabetically on the cafe counter when I swing by on the way to work.   Anti-social?  Kinda.  Spendy?  Certainly.  Convenient?  You betcha. 

I chuckle thinking about how mom would be a bit aghast if she could experience now what shopping has become. Limited personal contact, no way to touch and feel the quality of something before it arrives at the door, minimal effort, no thrill of the hunt, and clearly feeding into a rampant issue of impatience. But after that shock, I know she’d appreciate the time savings.

And don’t worry mom, some things never change.  I still make need vs. want lists.

Posted in clothing, convenience, Entertainment, fashion, memories, shopping, simplifying, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

I’m No Fort Knox

Posted on May 28, 2024 by Real Women

78.  That’s a rough estimate of the number of active current passwords in my life. I’m sure there are more.  This number just represents the passwords saved in my SSHP (Super Secret Hidey Place), not to be confused with the additional codes that are saved in my OSSHPW (Other Super Secret Hidey Place for Work).  Honestly, neither hidey place is extremely secure.  As a matter of fact, when our IT guy at work got a glimpse of where/how I save some of my work-related codes, he shook his head sadly and walked away.  But if I put them in a highly secure, difficult to access location, then my digital life would be even more difficult than it already is.

I get that passwords and security measures are necessary in this crazy world filled with evil gremlins who want to steal our identity or at least clean out our bank accounts.  I envision them as these dirty scummy low-life mole-humans who hang out in dark basements with too much time on their hands constantly at their computers, dreaming up the next scheme that will make them rich.  I know in reality most are likely far more sophisticated and probably not even in my same country.  But my mental image helps me hate them almost more than I hate passwords.

It has come to the point where there really isn’t much we can do that does not require some sort of digital secret handshake. Thankfully we can still go for walks, read a book and cook dinner without trying to commit a random collection of letters and numbers to memory. Well, that is unless you want to look up a recipe on your favorite cooking site, or get the latest coupons for your grocery shopping trip.  There is no way any of us can possibly remember all of our passwords – especially as we are told that all of our passwords should not be easy to remember, nor similar to each other. So using Password123 is not a great idea. The complexity of these codes can make both their creation and recollection infuriating.

The attractive lure of available content and great deals is dangled before us like a friendly robot carrot: Set up an account, you’ll get access to great information, or sales, or only-for-you specials, it’s easy!  Just make sure that your password is 8-12 characters, uses upper and lower case letters, at least 3 numbers that don’t use 0 or reflect your birthdate, includes at least one special character but not two, requires you to stand on one foot and jump up and down and should in no way be similar to one you’ve already used – even though you will be prompted every 6 months to change the same password.  Oh, we’re sorry, that one has already been used by someone else.  Try again. And again. And again.  Ahhhhh, there you go!  Now try to remember it for next time.

Oh, forgot your password?  No worries, give us your email address and the answer to 5 security questions (try to remember if you used the full name of your childhood pet or the nickname, because if you answer the security questions wrong 3 times, we’ll lock you out.).  Ok, great, now wait for us to send you an email to reset your password.  Again.

Bravo, you’ve used the right password!  But wait – we’ve set up 2-step authentication to make your account extra secure (because EVERYONE wants to log on and pretend to be you), so make sure you’ve got your phone handy to plug in the code number we just texted to you. Don’t dawdle, the code number is only good for 36.5 seconds, then we’ll (sigh) have to send you another, you stupid human.

GAH.  I hate it.  Yes, I know, we need to be safe.  As if my personal information is not already out there on the WorldWideWeb for anyone to Google and find. Surely, none of us wants anyone to steal our debit card and start willy-nilly spending our life savings. Which, by the way happens far too often. Ready?  Raise your hand if you’ve had to cancel a debit or credit card and get it replaced.  Yup, pretty much all of us.  More than once. Sadly yet conveniently it has become really easy to report a stolen card and order a new one – all of the credit and bank companies have staff ready for your call because it happens so frequently. But it is still a pain in the butt and anxiety inducing. (Again, damn evil basement gremlins).  

But really, I’m not Fort Knox. Outside of the really important things, I do find it hard to believe that anyone really, really wants to know my CVS Photo Orders password, or have access to where I log in to reserve a parking spot when traveling.  Trying to sneak on to my Starbucks account to order yourself a latte?  Need to steal my login for Orbitz because you can’t look up your own flight options?  Well, sorry, because I’ve come up with a password so complicated that I don’t even remember it.  Unless I’ve saved it to auto-fill.

Have any of you ever run your Google report of saved passwords?  Wowzah, is that interesting. I had passwords saved for things I haven’t used in years or don’t even remember what they were. Let’s say there was a lot of deleting. Because hey, it would be awful to have someone find their way into my PacificCoast account and order themselves a pillow. 

I’ve reached the point where if it is too difficult or annoying, I just don’t bother.  Great example, I recently received a new Talbots store card in the mail, with their form letter saying “here’s your new card you requested.”  Great, I didn’t request one.  I don’t shop there often so the card I already had was rarely used, but ok, thanks.  (And yes, I verified it really was Talbots, not a scam.)  Today I hopped online to activate the card, because you know, that’s a thing.  You can’t just start using your own card.  Luckily the process was fairly easy and painless because they only needed the card number and the last 4 digits of my SS #.  (Remember what I said about our information is already out there and attainable?  Don’t think about it too much, you won’t be able to sleep tonight). 

After I activated the card that I probably won’t use for a year or so until they feel the need to reach out and ask me if I’ve lost it, up popped a message asking if I want to set up an online account to check balances and pay my bill. If I opt to continue to receive paper bills, they may start charging $2 for each paper bill.  Well, yikes, that seems excessive, and I’m all for saving the earth, so sure, let’s set it up.  Tap tap tap, fill in my info, set up ANOTHER PASSWORD….then try AGAIN because I forgot to include a special character, and fine, all good. Hit enter.  We’re sorry, but your information you entered doesn’t match the information we have for your account.  Classic.  Ya know what?  I’ll spend the extra $2 on paper bills until I have the patience to try this again.  Which may be never.

At least I avoided having to add a 79th code into my SSHP.

Posted in communication, digital, online, real women, routines, security, social media, Technology | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

It’s An Age Thing

Posted on April 25, 2024 by Real Women

I’d like to say it is a gradual and subtle shift.  But really, once we realize it has happened, it feels sudden and jarring.  At some point, I don’t know how or when exactly, we all reach a point when the primary focus of our thoughts and conversations evolve around age-related issues.

I’m not talking about fun discussions like “I just turned 18 and can vote!” or “Wahoo, I’m 21, let’s go get a drink!” or even “I’m a grown woman, I can make my own decisions.”.  No, no, I’m referring to discussions about getting older that we all swore we’d never have.

It seems to start with Doctor’s appointments.  We have more of them, more often, and begin developing a collection of specialists to talk about with friends.  “Are you seeing a Cardiologist?”  “Hey, you’d love my Rheumatologist”,  “It took me three months to get in to see my Endocrinologist” and “My Pulmonologist moved, now I have to find a new one.”   When we go see this multitude of “ists”, there are inevitably conversations with the MD or their assistants that include the phrases:  at your age; it’s a common aging thing; as you get older this will happen; most people your age, and so on.  I was talking to another RW the other night (yes, about age and doctor’s appointments) and we agreed that we should turn it into an At Your Age drinking game.  We should keep count of every time an “ist” says that to us, and cocktail hour gets more fun – and perhaps takes the sting out a bit.

This past weekend my husband and I got together socially with two different groups of friends, on separate nights.  Always fun to catch up.  It wasn’t until the drives home that I suddenly realized we had officially transitioned to the It’s an Age Thing world.  Our lengthiest and most in-depth discussions covered the following topics:  retirement goals & investments; ages at retirement; how much money one can make while on Social Security; heart-health concerns; new heart-healthy diets; variety of aches and pains; health scares; activities and new recipes to stay healthy; prescriptions; and which drugs work and which have bad side effects.  The crazy thing is not just that these topics pop up during any interactions, but that  we honestly are 100% interested and invested in the conversation.   When we were young, we’d completely zone out and get bored listening to the elder generations blah blah blah about getting old.  In a blink of an eye, suddenly those topics are fascinating. How and when did THAT happen??

Chicks’ weekends and texts with BFFs include commiserating convo’s about new wrinkles, grey hair, new aches and pains, and how we have officially turned into our mothers.  Just a quick phone call or grocery-store aisle chat can easily launch into discussions around rehabbing  from an injury, feeling stupid about a recent fall, dealing with oncoming cataracts or diabetic issues, and finding the right pre-retirement work options. It just happens.

Those of you in your younger years reading this are likely appalled and horrified. But here’s the good news.  While the Age Thing discussions run rampant, that’s not all we mature RW’s connect about.  We still have animated chats about friends, relatives, fashion, travel, hobbies, adventures and relationships.  What is even better though is that at this stage we all feel the most comfortable in our own skins as ever. We know who we are, and what we need and want. We no longer put up with drama or bullshit.  If we don’t feel like going out, we don’t.  If we want to treat ourselves to a cute pair of shoes then go home and watch a chick flick, we do.  We no longer feel required to include toxic people in our lives, and we understand the value of taking care of ourselves.  Sure, we are dealing with crinkled skin, aching knees and stubborn grey hair that doesn’t take kindly to color, but we have more confidence and peace than ever. And we are not embarrassed to be very real.

This Age Thing that becomes common ground is not a “misery loves company” situation.  It is a form of bonding.  We surround ourselves with others who “get it.”   It may not sound like it, but having a discussion about the best remedy for a sore back and knowing your funeral arrangement preferences makes us feel better. We are not alone in this Aging Thing – if we have questions, concerns or issues, someone else has them too.  

And sometimes the best remedy is grabbing a nice cold beverage, settling our butts down on a park bench and talking it out.   Just keep in mind that if we linger too long, we may need an extra boost to get back up again.

Posted in adults, age, behavior, change, communication, doctors, Health, life phases, maturity, people, real women, Relationships, self care | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Damn Tinfoil

Posted on February 19, 2024 by Real Women

I have a big first-world problem.  I hate grocery shopping. 

I 100% appreciate that I am privileged to be able to hop in my car, drive to a store full of food and supplies, spend money I have made at my job, and come back home to fill my cupboards and feed my family. Really, I’m forever thankful for that.

All that aside, being grateful does not mean I enjoy it.  This is not a new admission. I’m pretty open about my issues and you could dig back to prior blog posts on the topic. But don’t bother. Because here I go again.

Some of you, God bless you, actually enjoy grocery shopping. You browse the aisles, get creative on what to buy, possibly even stop to have conversations with other shoppers.  Some of you are the opposite and view it as a necessary chore, get in, buy only necessities and get out. Done. 

For me, my angst revolves around three aspects:  The time expenditure. The monetary expenditure. And the WTF are you kidding me frustration expenditure.

The grocery thing is a PROCESS for me. First there’s the meal planning, then the list making, then the coupon and rewards point checking.  Then the decision of when to go, which generally ends up being after work in the evening. There is of course the actual shopping time – following my list which I have attempted to write in order of where items are in the store, comparing brands and costs, checking expiration dates, doubling back to find things I didn’t see on the first pass, debating extras not on the list, waiting for deli orders, waiting in line at check out and usually having to bag my own order.  All of this leads to a late arrival back home after which there’s the unloading, putting away, then making supper.  ALL are activities using up hours that I’d much rather be doing other things. Almost ANY other things.

As for the financial cost, well, I don’t have to tell any of you about that. It is downright painful. I truly don’t know how large families do it. My “big” shopping weeks make my checkbook quake in fear and cause me to mentally barter between whqt other bills will get paid that week. I get ridiculously excited over sale prices, good deals, or really nifty coupons. I almost danced in the refrigerated section recently when I found a dozen eggs for $1.99.

Lastly, the final frustration.  Quite literally EVERY TIME I shop, I come home, get unpacked, put things away, start to feel relieved that the experience is over for the next week or two, and BAM.  I discover there was something that I either forgot to pick up, or was not aware we needed. 

After my most recent big shopping trip, my WTF are you kidding me moment was about tinfoil.  Less than half an hour after getting everything done and put away, as I was throwing together a quick meal, and lo and behold:  no tinfoil. I checked the pantry. No tinfoil. I then let out curses that would make a truck driver, or perhaps a cowboy from Yellowstone, proud.  To which my husband stated: “I told you like a week ago that we were low. You said there was probably more in the pantry.”

Me: “I don’t remember you saying that. Did you perhaps share this with me when I was headed out the door to work or doing something else completely unrelated?”

Him:  “Dunno. Maybe.”

Me: “Did you check in the pantry then?  Or write it down that we needed it?”

Him:  “No. I figured you’d do that.”

Really, it is no one’s fault.  And it wasn’t anything crucial to our way of life.  We can exist, at least for a while, with no tinfoil.  It was just the “WTF are you KIDDING ME” factor that pushed me over the edge. Because it happens. Every. Time.  Could be tinfoil.  Could be apple cider vinegar.  Could be handsoap.  Could be tomato sauce.  It doesn’t matter the what.  It is the fact that with no matter what level of preparation, it is just gonna happen. So immediately upon being “done”, I’ve started another list. And have to decide if it warrants another stop back at the dreaded store the next day, or if it can wait until the next visit.

Yup. I know.  I sound super whiney.  There is a frighteningly large portion of the population who struggles to have any food each day, much less a ready supply of tinfoil.  So really, I’m not ungrateful. I’m just frustrated.  And perhaps tired.

Speaking of tired, I was talking with my sister last night and we both agreed that neither of us enjoy shopping at those huge supercenter grocery stores, where you literally could spend three hours just roaming the aisles.  I just don’t have it in me. Those ginormous stores overwhelm me. Sure, their offerings and varieties are awe-inspiring.  Perhaps someday, when I retire and have more time, I can be even more vigilant about coupon clipping and watching for sales, and can take half a day to truly “shop” those big, bright, fancy SUPERmarkets. Maybe at that point I will find joy in the process. I hope that’s the case. 

I’ll betcha their tinfoil section is something you just can’t miss.

Posted in Chores, Food, groceries, home chores, meals, preparation, shopping | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

More Than Just a Cup’a

Posted on February 4, 2024 by Real Women

It’s not a new obsession.

They have a way of multiplying because we convince ourselves we need more.  Try as we might, we just can’t shake our infatuations.

After all, they aren’t just vessels for holding and consuming liquids. They are our friends and partners, known by a variety of names:  mugs, cups, flasks, thermals, tanks, tumblers, bottles, quenchers. They are there when we need them the most; we just can’t get enough of them. 

A bit dramatic?  Given the hype we’ve seen lately around the current sweetheart of drinkware, Stanley insulated water bottles, then no.  Anything that causes people to lose their sense of logic and common sense to the point that they will wait in line then rush to spend $45 or more for something that holds water deserves the title of drama.

Our collective fascination didn’t just start yesterday.  There is a living history museum near my home and over the holidays we paid a visit. During the tour, we stepping inside the Potter’s Shed, where a period-dressed craftsman showed us how drinkware was crafted in the 1830’s. He explained how commonplace mugs were cranked out via the wheel, then spoke of how Potters would from time to time (perhaps to break the sheer boredom) get all fancy and creative and spin out some unique designs – different sizes, shapes, even something with two handles for drinking grog or ye ol’ spiced apple cider.  I gazed around this little room crowded with a myriad of tankards and steins and imagined a woman of yesteryear being presented with the gift of a special vessel that would stand out from all the other run-of-the-mill clay mugs in her small kitchen.  Yup, I know how you feel, sista.

The difference now of course is the remarkable variety available to us in any manner of shape, material, color and even intended use. Which leads us down the inevitable road of having too many – but not wanting to part with any of them – because in our minds they all have some reason for being in our collection.   As the Stanley’s of the world can tell us, the market for insulated drinkware has gone fairly haywire. At one moment or another, each type of brand has had its popular moment in the sun — or gym bag, desk, or rolling around in the back of the car.

Like many of you, I have a shelf in a cupboard dedicated to storing these handy holders – which invariably reaches a point where I can’t open the cupboard door without some falling out and hitting me in the head.  Those of you with teen or 20-something young women in the house no doubt experience the glut of containers on a whole ‘nother level.  Sure, guys use them too, but they tend to get attached to just one or two and don’t let go until they are chipped, ugly and potentially have something evil growing in them. 

Rather than strike up a conversation at a gathering about politics, it can be darn right entertaining to start talking about types and brands of travel mugs and reusable water bottles – soon the conversation and debate over the best types and brands starts to resemble celebrity name-dropping. “Oooh, you got the rose-quartz Stanley?”  “What do you mean you don’t have a Yeti, they are simply the best.”   “Check out these cool stickers I just added to my Takeya, aren’t they cute?”   Like all styles and fashions (really, we are still talking about things that hold water), brand names come and go.  Some that used to be “it” fade when a new variation shows up on the block.  My cupboard then resembles the old Filene’s basement of drinkware, with a mishmash of varieties – but each has a particular purpose in my world.  I know you know what I mean.  Let’s see… I’ve got the old Camelback that fits in my bike’s water bottle holder, and is indestructible enough to have survived several drop ‘n rolls along the road.  There are a couple Swig Life tumblers given to me by friends because they are pretty and convenient.  The Hydro Flask is my go-to for hiking.  My son gifted me my one and only Yeti – in a cool mint green — the thing weighs about 10 pounds and can keep an iced tea cold for days.  I like to use it in the summer or when I’m on a “gotta drink more water” binge.  A joe-basic Contigo is my hot tea commuter friend. There’s a Rubbermaid that goes to my gym workouts with me, and a no-name jug that I use most days going back and forth to the office because it is a great size and has daisies on it.  

I don’t think my clothes closet has such a plethora of designers and varieties.

Let’s of course not forget the addiction that started this all:  the basic ceramic mug.  Like that 1830’s potter, we have forever found comfort in that perfectly-weighted, delightfully designed basic carafe that keeps our coffee, tea, or matcha-laced-latte warm as we huddle around it.  There are even more colors, designs and varieties to these beloved cups than their travel jug cousins.  Again probably like many of you, I have a separate cupboard shelf for mugs, and I get emotionally attached to each one for different reasons.  Mugs are a universally-acceptable-and-appreciated gift.  Most of my collection was gifted to me. So not only do I like them for their size, their shape, their heft, their design or witty phrase (I have several that state something about being a dog mom), each one means something because I remember the person who gave it to me.  For whatever reason, that person selected that particular mug because it made them think of me.  How can I then cast it into a donation bin?  I tend to rotate my collection, as I have holiday and seasonal mugs.  I just recently stowed away my candy-cane striped cups and brought out my spring flowers ‘n bunnies selections. Oh, come on, don’t roll those eyes; I know some of you have mugs you only use on certain days. Sure hope your Monday mug is clean and ready.

Mugs, unlike the insulated water bottles, are where the division between his & hers tends to be more pronounced.  My husband has his mugs that not only feel larger and heavier and more comfortable to fit his hands around the handles, but are emblazoned with designs about Corvettes and Star Trek. Rarely do we use each other’s mugs – it’s just an unwritten rule, like never using each other’s toothbrush.  However, my husband is the first to declare that “we have too many, we need to clean these out again.”  Which of course means get rid of some of mine.  He is not wrong, we have far too many for the number of inhabitants in the house, nor the number of friends who may visit and need a mug for morning coffee.  I even have old mugs that never make it into regular rotation, like one with a group photo of friends that was taken 20+ years ago.  I try to hide those we don’t use so he doesn’t notice them.  But I know he has a hunch.  While holiday shopping this year, I happened to pause in front of a row of mugs in a store, and as I reached out to pick one up (just to look at, honest!), his knee-jerk reaction was a swift “NO!  No mugs!”  It became our mantra of the season.

I suppose as obsessions go, while a bit cluttery, our desire for more liquid-carrying vessels is pretty harmless. In our crazy, busy, scary world, it’s nice to know that we can count on these helpful, quiet, loyal friends when we need them.  There is definitely comfort and a bit of happiness to be found in drinking from an icy cold funky-looking water bottle on a hot summer day, pouring a jolt of liquid caffeine into your favorite to-go thermal, or cuddling up on a cold winter’s day with a mug full of decadent cocoa. 

That said, let’s talk about that chipped, stained, faded oldie in the back of your cupboard.  It may be time to let ‘er go.  Don’t be sad. You know there are a whole lot more just waiting to be discovered and brought home.

Posted in collections, comfort, friends, habits, routines, storage, Traditions, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Looking Forward And Back

Posted on January 9, 2024 by Real Women

Ahhh a new year. A time for fresh starts, new beginnings and positive expectations.  But what if the new year is clouded by loss and sorrow?

I know of several folks who have experienced death and loss over this recent holiday season.  My heart hurts for them. Loss is never an easy thing, but it seems especially painful and disorienting during the holidays.  When everyone else seems to be happy and joy-filled, how to reconcile the feeling that you don’t feel the least bit merry and you actually feel angry that they are?  Or how about the confused guilt of possibly having moments of fun when you are full of grief?  Then there’s the uncomfortable position you may be in when someone who doesn’t know you’ve suffered a loss cheerfully asks “so how were your holidays?”

I’m not sitting here clicking along on my laptop with the goal of dispensing advice or therapy, because I’m certainly not a mental or emotional health professional. But I do understand bit of how it feels. My mom passed shortly before Christmas when I was just 29 years old.  We lost my amazing brother-in-law just after Christmas three years ago, and today is the 5th anniversary of my oldest brother’s passing.  You’d think the holidays would be forever cloudy and ruined for our family, and that we would dread them every year.  But here’s the funny thing about the human spirit and the passing of time:  eventually all the good memories rise to the surface, pain eases a bit and we find a way to celebrate and enjoy life because that’s what those who have left would want us to do.  We don’t want them scolding us from above, do we?  

When we R.W’s learn of another loss, even if it is someone we don’t know personally, we tend to have a couple of strong reactions. First we have an almost irrational (or certainly unrealistic) desire to spend the next year traveling the world to see and hug every still-living loved one in our lives.  Second, we start to take stock of our own lives and the what-if’s kick in — especially if we are, ah-hem, on the mature side.  Have we done everything we want to do?  What if I die tomorrow? Will my family be ok without me?  What if I don’t get to travel the world?  What if I don’t finish (fill in the blank here) before I die?  What is my legacy I’ll be leaving behind?  Have I done enough in this life?  Will I be remembered? 

It’s perhaps macabre and definitely unrealistic to read obituaries and start comparing ourselves to the dearly departed.  Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t done this.  “Wow, this person went from nothing to running a Fortune 500 company in just 10 years.  They volunteered a bazillion hours helping the homeless and disabled children.  They climbed Mount Everest, barefoot while carrying a wounded goat.”   Soon we are writing our own obituaries in our minds and berating ourselves for not having done more.  We worry that our legacy is non-existent or at least not good enough.

Legacy. What does that really mean?  In a quick Google search, this definition came up: “the long-lasting impact of particular events, actions, etc. that took place in the past, or of a person’s life.”

Read that piece again:  the impact of… a person’s life.  Not necessarily the number of mountains they climbed, not their professional rewards and titles, not the number of books they’ve published (ok, that’s one of my triggers) but just the effect they’ve had on those left behind.

Of all of the people I’ve lost in my life, not once has anyone told me that they miss them for their accomplishments.  I’m not saying we shouldn’t all have goals and strive for excellence in whatever we want to be excellent in.  But who we are and how we act with others is the most important factor in building our legacies.  It doesn’t have to mean that we have launched a wildly successful foundation and raised ten million dollars for charity.  Yes, that would be amazing and fabulous. But most of us won’t do that.  

I have come to realize that quite literally the BEST gift anyone can give someone who has experienced loss and grief (and really, who hasn’t?)  is to share a memory or a story of the person who has passed.  I can’t even describe the joy it gives me when someone out of the blue will share a story with me about my mom, or my dad, or my brother…  even the most simple comment is a bolt of light.  It could be a recollection of a bad pun my brother shared; the appreciation that my mom always welcomed friends to supper and somehow magically had enough food to go around; some helpful handyman wisdom my dad bestowed; the realization that someone still makes one of my family recipes for their family years later; or even the marvelous wacky idiosyncrasies that can now get us dissolving into laughter.  Any one of those memories or anecdotes could be seen as trivial.  But they are not. They are huge.  They have impact.  Most of all, it reassures us that our loved one is remembered – not just by us, but by others who knew them, even if briefly.

We all have those moments when some memory of someone will pop into our heads. I urge you to reach out and share that memory.  You could make someone’s day a whole lot better, and ease just a bit of their pain or even just give them a smile and laugh and a warm fuzzy.  By looking back momentarily, you could be giving them a reason to look forward with hope.

And guess what?  You’ve just made a positive impact on someone else. Another checkmark in your own future legacy building.  Seems a whole lot easier than climbing a mountain.

Posted in accomplishments, achievements, death, legacies, memories, New Year, real women, Relationships, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment