BOOMER WEEKEND

     We had a busy but fun weekend with three different groups of friends. Friday night I hitched a ride to the Temecula Creek Inn with Tom and Amy for the annual NADS golf and wine tasting weekend. Hubby had to work Friday so I sucked it up and went without him. We got there in time to check in, have a bite of lunch, and then out to the golf course we went. We split up since there were four men and three women. Of course the three women followed the men since we’re notoriously slow. The truth is the men fuss MUCH MORE than we do. There’s a lot of staring at their lies, measuring, and of course bets have to be made. We women don’t do that. We make our big decisions BEFORE we get on the course-what golf outfit to wear. We just play. And in my case, if I’m not playing terribly well, then I only play the shots I like. Usually my scores are pretend scores because Amy doesn’t like an empty score care. Of course pretend scores are NEVER posted (just in case the USGA is reading this).

     Friday night the seven of us had a nice dinner in the renovated dining room. We didn’t care for the renovation. They took our round table away. We really liked that corner with the round table in it. Now we have to be out with the general population. There was a new chef, too. Instead of our old favorites he’d designed a bunch of foo foo food on fancy plates. It was pretty tasty, but we liked the old food better.

     Saturday we rose bright and early. There were eleven golfers. Four men and seven women, so we divided up into three groups. The MANLY MEN group, the SERIOUS WOMEN group, and the SLACKERS WHO REALLY DIDN’T GIVE A DAMN. I was in that last group. Instead of 18 holes we played 12. The only crankiness of the weekend occurred due to the SERIOUS WOMEN getting irritated with the SLACKERS WHO REALLY DIDN’T GIVE A DAMN.

     Following golf we all loaded into the famous KING TOURS motor home for wine tasting. Hubby had gotten there by then and a few others joined us as well. Fourteen of us crammed in and we were off. We sipped, we tasted, we bought. Four wineries later and we boomers were ready to go back for our pre-dinner nap. Boomers need pre-dinner naps.

     There were even more people for the dinner that night so they put us in a conference room around a huge square table (see picture below). We talked, we ate the new foo foo food, we laughed, we drank all the wine we’d bought at the wineries and then some. Bedtime came all too soon; but then it always does for boomers. Gone are the days of staying up half the night. We need our beauty rest.

     Sunday morning we were up bright and early to have breakfast and tell everyone goodbye until next year, then off we went to John’s surprise 75^th birthday brunch at the Phoenix Club in Anaheim. This was another group of long term friends. More food, laughter, talking, but no wine. It was just too early in the day. There was only one tiny episode of extreme rudeness on the part of a younger person in the group. But then he was downing the champagne faster than the server could pour it. Apparently it wasn’t too early in the day for him. Oh, and there was the one person I didn’t recognize because she’d had WAY TOO MUCH WORK DONE! Whoa! Boomers really shouldn’t get WAY TOO MUCH WORK DONE. We already have memory problems. Then you change so much we can’t remember who you are. Not fair!

     We got home in time to unpack and take a short afternoon power boomer nap before going off to yet another party. This time it was a different golf group. The party was held in a private home on the Newport Coast. We had a gorgeous view of the Pacific Ocean and Catalina Island off in the distance. We drank more wine, laughed, ate delicious Persian food, and had a bit of $500.00/bottle tequila that the hostess decided they’d saved long enough. Smooth stuff, that tequila.

     Once again the men and women divided into separate groups. I remember when I was much younger I thought it was so odd that my parents’ age group separated into “the men” and “the women” in social gatherings. Now I know why. The men talk sports, golf, politics, and they smoke cigars. We women have much more important things to talk about; our dogs, what kind of WORK WE WOULD HAVE DONE, and where to have it done, the grandkids, books, and our hobbies. One of the men came over to see what we were talking about but left as soon as I said, “Fifty Shades of Grey”. We all were on the road by 9:30 PM. After all, 10:00 is our bedtime.

     One of my sayings that irritates hubby is, “Life is tough and then you die.” Well, this weekend wasn’t really so tough and we’re definitely not dead yet!

GARDEN GATE

 GARDEN GATE

Closed to me now

Someday it will open

To gather me in

I'll join lost loved ones

With arms spread wide

Inside the garden

Once again we will laugh

And it will be as if

Time had not kept us apart

Long ago I was young

Surrounded by relatives

Too many to count

Most have now gone

Leaving only memories

Of days of old

Running through pastures

Dotted with cattle

Grazing contentedly there

Catching fireflies in summer

Playing hide and seek

Through yards with no fences

Bathing in the old tub

Pulled into the kitchen

One child after another

Sleeping all the way home

Safe in the back seat

No fears in the world.

Poem by Kathy Pratt

Photo by Jennifer Haydon

NIPPLE TAGS

NIPPLE TAGS

     Once a year a group of friends and I walk in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure in Newport Beach, California. This day serves as a reminder to me to schedule my yearly mammogram appointment.

     I arrived early for my appointment and the technician took me right in. Instead of going into the dressing room to change, she ushered me into the mammography room and handed me a gown, telling me to put it on backwards. If this had been my first mammogram, I would have been a bit taken aback by the lack of modesty. Since I’m not a virgin, I didn’t really care if I had a gown on or not. Her businesslike manner was destined to get me in and out of there in record time, I figured.

     Next step was the nipple tags. Nipple tags? Those are the little blue tags in the picture. There’s a tiny metal nipple right in the center of them. I’m not sure what they’re for, but when she told me to put them on my nipples, I did just that.

     Then she instructed me to step up to the machine and fling my right breast onto the plate. After the fact she said the machine was cold and her hands were, too. No kidding. Ice cold. She pulled, she tugged, and finally got my breast where she wanted it. Then she cranked the top plate down to flatten the breast like a pancake. I was trapped. “Hold your breath, don’t breathe,” she said. Really? I’d been holding it since my boob was clamped in the vise. All I could think about as she took the picture was, “What if there’s an earthquake? What if the power goes out? Will this stupid machine release or am I stuck in here while everyone else exits the building to safety?”

     The whole thing was repeated with the left breast, then it was time for side views. I thought I knew the drill. I took my arm out of the gown and sidled up to the machine, raising my right arm in the air and grabbing part of the machine to hold onto. Not good enough. She leaned her whole body against me in order to get me positioned just right. She pulled and tugged again and finally clamped me in for the sideways view. Right side done, then left, and I was good for one more year. I put my bra and blouse back on and waited for the technician to check the images to make sure they’d turned out well. I loved the next words, “Okay, they’re fine. You’re finished.”

     I know she’s not the radiologist and can’t diagnose, but as a nurse I also know if she’d seen anything suspicious she probably would have taken a few more views before sending me on my way. So far there have been no phone calls. One of these days I’ll get an envelope in the mail with the results of my mammogram and a notice to come back next year. Peace of mind.

     Oh, and I got a parting gift; the nice little pink coin purse in the picture. I’d forgotten all about my mammogram until I got ready for bed that night. I took off my bra and there were the nipple tags, still attached. What the heck are those things for anyway?