THE NADS INVADE TEMECULA. GO NADS!

WE HAD A GREAT TIME IN TEMECULA THIS PAST WEEKEND WITH GOOD FRIENDS, OLD AND NEW. WE GOLFED, ATE A LOT, WENT WINE TASTING, AND OF COURSE LAUGHED AND LAUGHED. SOMEONE ALSO FORCED EVERYONE TO WATCH A COUPLE OF VIDEOS ON THEIR IPAD. NEW HOBBY...MAKING VIDEOS ON IMOVIES. (GET YOUR MINDS OUT OF THE GUTTER).

HERE WE ARE ON OUR WINE TASTING EXPEDITION WITH "KING TOUR WHERE WE TREAT YOU LIKE ROYALTY". SOME OF US CHOSE TO TASTE OLIVE OIL AND BALSAMIC VINEGAR INSTEAD OF WINE. HANGOVERS SEEM WORSE THE OLDER YOU GET.

IT WAS A FUN WEEKEND AT THE TEMECULA CREEK INN.

GO NADS!

WE'RE NOT DEAD...OOPS, OLD YET!

I'm back home after five days in Palm Desert with Hubby and three days in La Quinta with friends. I had a lot of time to relax and reflect, and one of the things I reflected on was this "getting old" thing. I used to chuckle to myself when I'd hear "old" people say, "I don't want to live in one of those senior places with all those old people". Now I understand completely. I'm still 40. Well, not really, but in my mind I'm 40 and 40 I shall stay. Actually, 50 was okay, too, so if I have to age I'll get to 50 and then stop.

Awhile back I changed my status from "working part-time" to "semi-retired". Right about the same time I joined a swimming aerobics class that consisted of primarily "really retired" seniors. I also started taking courses at the local university in their "gerontology" program for seniors. I dropped out of both and have taken up art classes in a private studio and spent the summer there with children and younger women. I'm soon going to start a "low impact" aerobics class with my former trainer who told me I can't call it the "old people" class. I'm also going back to "working part-time" status. Why? I'm not old, that's why.

This weekend in the desert was a "blast" to quote my nearest and dearest. Our friends, Rich and Teri, invited us along with Tom and Darlene and Tom and Amy, to stay in their lovely home in La Quinta. We ate, drank a little wine, laughed, bobbed in the pool, talked for hours on end about anything and everything, and played lots of cards. I think we solved all of the world's problems this weekend, if they would only listen to us. Yes, we talked about social security and medicare, and a few aches and pains, but it really wasn't much different than when we were all young and talking about things that went along with earlier ages. All of our conversations were spirited and lively. It was great fun. And the weekend proved that we're not old yet. 

Who killed George and Lynda Taylor?

On March 18, 1999, my husband and I, along with our youngest son, David, had gone to the premier of a movie "short" a family friend was in in Hollywood. We drove together, and after the movie was shown, our friend's son invited David to go to a post premier party. My husband and I left David in Hollywood and went home to bed.

In the wee hours of the morning, the telephone rang. Every parent's nightmare. I awoke and answered the phone to hear a stern detective ask to speak with my husband, who was the presiding Judge in the Norwalk courthouse at the time. My mother's fears kicked into gear and I questioned the detective, "Where are you calling from? What is this about?" The detective was calling from San Bernardino, which made no sense to me since we'd been in Hollywood. My heart was beating faster than it had ever beaten, and I of course was concerned that this somehow was related to our leaving David in Hollywood. Finally, when the detective refused to talk to me anymore, I handed the phone over to my husband.

My husband quickly learned that George had returned to his home in Rancho Cucamonga following an evening law event, and as he drove into the garage, he was shot to death by someone lying in wait. Lynda was inside the house, sewing dresses for their daughter's coming wedding, and as she ran into the garage to investigate the noise, she was also shot to death.

The shock and dismay overwhelmed us. My husband began calling the court staff in George's courtroom to inform them of the murder and to warn them to increase their own safety.

Here we are, 12 years later. The case hasn't been solved. Actually, it's a cold case and is all but forgotten. But not to me. I remember George and Lynda Taylor. We weren't close friends, but my husband and George were colleagues and we met at social events. They were very nice people. Just like I'm a nice person. And they were struck down in the dead of night. It's been 12 years.

Today my husband and I finished his home office. I hung pictures. George Taylor is in those pictures. Tomorrow we are attending a wedding of another Judge's daughter. Then we are going to the annual Norwalk Judge's BBQ. It's a huge reminder that someone killed George and his wife Lynda. That someone most likely had to do with a case he was presiding over. And that someone is still at large.

Something about this whole case just doesn't seem right. It makes me wonder, if my husband and I were murdered would it matter?

Personal thank you to my Doctor

It was all in a day's work

To her

Snipping the diseased part

Of my body

Little did she know

The change

Her day's work would make

On my life

I'd become imprisoned

Caged

Unable to live life as I'd

Known it

Chained to my home

The bathroom

Unable to do what

I wanted

She assured me she could do it

She'd done many on her own

She had no doubts

Neither did I

Here I am fifteen years later

Able to live

To  do

To create

To enjoy

To travel the world

To help others in need

I hope she stops every now and then

And knows

The impact she's had

On me.

I FORGOT WHAT I WAS GOING TO POST!

Oh yeah, now I remember. A big problem with us boomers is that we can't remember from moment to moment. I've been out of town for a week. My husband was gone for four days. We missed our friends, so today I called Amy to see if she and Tom wanted to meet at the Harbor Mexican Cafe for dinner. She said "sure, we'll meet you there at 6:30". Later I received a message from Amy saying that SHE'D FORGOTTEN that she'd made arrangements with her girlfriends for dinner tonight and she'd have to cancel our dinner. Even later, my husband (he who must remain anonymous), talked with Tom who was surprised we'd even thought about having dinner at the Harbor Mexican Cafe. He thought the Harbor Mexican Cafe had closed two weeks ago. Funny thing...it had...then it reopened...then it closed again...now it's open again for real! I had sent Tom emails providing him with updates during the crisis, but HE FORGOT. Anyway, my husband and I had dinner. I had meant to call the Tom and Darlene to see if they were available, but I FORGOT! Just as well. My husband ate, almost fell asleep during dinner, and now he's snoozing in the recliner chair while I'm typing
away. However, I forgot why I was posting. I think it had something to do with my new hobby, painting. But maybe it had something to do with my 99 cent books on Amazon.

Also, I sent a picture to post, but I FORGOT HOW TO DO IT!

TEHAMA GRACE: HOME AGAIN, BOOMER STYLE

My son, Bill and I just returned from a week visiting Tehama Grace country. My mother, brothers, nephew, niece, her husband, and her children live in the area around where Tehama Grace was set. Bill and I had a great little vacation. Along with seeing all the family, we visited Sutter Buttes, the ranch country around Elk Creek, the Sundial Bridge in Redding, Mount Lassen Park (thank you brother Larry for arranging the road to open through the park the day before we all took our tour). We also made a few trips to Chico, California, one of my favorite places. We ate at Madison Bear Gardens, bought fruits and vegetables at the Thursday night street fair, and Bill visited the Sierra Nevada brewery several times!

Driving home, it occurred to me that going to Orland, Chico, Vina, Elk Creek, reminded me of my childhood in Iowa. I love the peace and quiet, the farmland, animals in pastures, birds singing, and sitting on the front porch in the evening petting the front porch kitty. It soothes my soul.

Interesting boomer aside...I purchased my cemetery plot while there. I know, I know, kind of creepy, but the cemetery is almost sold out. It's on a small hill, outside of Orland, California, and overlooks pastureland filled with cattle. Stony Creek bubbles slowly by. As a girl, I visited my Uncle Tom and Aunt Grace when they lived in Orland, before my parents moved there. I rode horses over that land, swam in Stony Creek, and dreamed of my future. My Dad is already buried in Graves' Cemetery. So is Uncle Tom and Aunt Grace.

On a lighter note...TEHAMA GRACE is now available as a 99 cent ebook from Amazon.com. I hope you enjoy it. This book is appropriate for all ages. Remember, you can download the Amazon Kindle application onto your computer, smart phone, ipad, and multiple other devices FOR FREE. And my books are all just 99 cents! Such a deal! (Except for Let Them Eat Cake, which is still under contract with the original publisher. It's worth the money, though. Good book if I do say so myself!)

OC BOOMER IN PALM SPRINGS

We went to Palm Desert this last week and stayed in our timeshare. What a relaxing week. We did all the boomer things. Napped, read, sunned, ate, drank wine, tried new restaurants, golfed, visited with our boomer friends. The first weekend, Dick and Jane went out with us. Some years ago we'd gone on a trip to India and met another couple who got married while they were in India, then invited the four of us to their wedding for friends and relatives when they returned home. We hadn't seen them since, but we called them this trip and the six of us got together to eat, drink and reminisce. After Dick and Jane went home, we played a bit of golf, I cooked dinner for cousins that live in Palm Springs, and a family friend who lives in the area, too. We did a lot of comparing of physical ailments while downing our wine. That's another boomer thing. Did I say we napped? Every day. I painted a bit-my new hobby-but didn't get any writing done. This is boring, even to me, so I'm going to go take another nap. I think my brain is still on vacation.

DECORATION DAY

When I was a child growing up in Iowa, Memorial Day was called Decoration Day. Decoration Day started after the Civil War to honor those that died during that war. Somewhere along the way it became Memorial Day. On that special day, the females in the family rose at dawn to pick flowers from gardens, arrange them in jars and tin cans that had been covered with fabric, and load them into the car for the trip to the cemeteries. Then they would pack a big picnic basket of food to take with us. Everyone climbed into the car and off we'd go to every cemetery within driving distance where our ancestors were buried. And there were lots of them, on both sides of my family. At each stop, Mom or Grandma-when she was alive-would choose the appropriate flower bouquets and we'd tend each grave. Tending meant pulling any stray weeds away, tossing old dried up flowers or plants, arranging the fresh ones, then reminiscing about the people buried there. This is how I've learned most of my family history. Traveling from grave to grave, hearing stories of pioneers traveling from the east coast to Iowa to make their homes. I also heard stories about the military service of my ancestors, even back to the American Revolution. I can close my eyes right now and see myself standing amongst those graves. To me it was beautiful, and an event I looked forward to all year.

Now, Decoration Day is Memorial Day, and more than remembering and honoring those that have gone before us, it's a day to gather friends together to barbeque, drink, and celebrate the unofficial beginning of summer. I've talked with other boomers who used to visit cemeteries, but our children have little interest in doing so. Too bad we've lost that tradition.

Thank you to all those service members who have honored us all by serving in our military. 

Boomers: Choices

I drive five hundred miles alone

With the music I love feeding my soul

And I find myself again

Tucked away in a corner of my heart

For safekeeping

There I am

Curled into a ball of disappointment

Wrapped in the shell of someone I don't really know

Waiting

Choices I've made

Roads I've taken

It's too late now

But I wish I'd known

How far they were taking me from the girl I once was

Once upon a time

I was fearless

I didn't bow to anyone

Even as a tiny child

I said I'll do it myself

When did I allow someone else to take over

How do I get my life back before it's too late

I wonder

How did I come to the point

Where safe was the way to go

I vowed

I'd never be one of those

No, not me

I wouldn't give up on myself

I was far too strong

I knew it wasn't the right thing to do

And yet, here I am

Having done exactly the thing I said I wouldn't

Where do I go from here

How do I gather the strength to say

Enough, I've had enough

I'm taking my power back

If that means I'm alone, then so be it

And so, a small fire starts to burn inside

A flicker of hope

Maybe it's not too late

I may still have time

To become the person I want to be.

PILES AND LISTS

Yes, piles. But not the kind you immediately thought of. I know there are "those" piles that boomers can relate to, but the kind I'm talking about are the kind in the picture.

Recently we went on a boomer retreat, otherwise known as a golf tournament weekend. While the boomer guys (known either as Dicks or Tims) were slaying dragons on the golf course, the boomer girls (Janes and Sallys) were having a tea party while watching the royal wedding (champagne and mimosas were also included--we are boomers), going to the movies to see the one about the old guy that ran away to join the circus, and then we lunched. During our lunch, we got on the subject of piles and lists. It seems in every boomer family there's a pile maker and a list maker. You can see by the picture that I have a pile maker in my household. The pile rule is the piles must stay in certain places. The office being the main one, then a corner of the kitchen table, and perhaps part of the kitchen counter. When the piles start growing and expanding, the non-pile maker in the household must lay down the law. I know, I know, pile and list makers are very organized. One of the Jane pile makers did admit to just moving her piles around and rearranging them but never throwing anything away.

My favorite story from that enlightening lunch was one Jane told. Dick and Jane had married when they were older after both having lost their spouses. One day, Jane had to go in for a minor surgery. Dick drove her to the surgery center, dropped her off, and promised to come back for her when she was ready to go home. Though he's quite forgetful, Dick did return as promised, and when Jane got into the car she noticed a yellow post it note on the steering column. It read simply, "Pick up wife." Her name wasn't even on it. Just "wife". Jane will never let Dick forget it.

Boomers in the OC. Well, maybe this was actually Egypt. But I'm an OC Boomer!

Here I am in Egypt. The pyramids at Giza to be exact. My husband fixed me up with these two handsome fellows, but they couldn't come up with enough camels to buy me, so I got to come back to the OC.

This is one of the many things we OC boomers do. We love to travel all over the world and come back to the OC to share our tales and pictures with those that don't go with us. Usually we do so in one of the many fantastic restaurants here in the OC, and drink a bottle or two or three of wine while we're regaling all with our stories. Like when we were in Egypt, there was a church bombing in Alexandria shortly after we left, and there was a terrible bus accident involving Americans while we were there, too. We ate strange fish, and were forced to drink only Egyptian wine-when we could find that. Wine is hard to come by in a Muslim country. A revolution broke out shortly after we'd returned home. I hope we had nothing to do with it, but it seems there were protests and revolutionary activity when we were in Kenya, too. Hmmmm.

I hope you all enjoy my boomer blog. Look out boomer friends. I'm on the lookout for funny stories. None of you will escape. I may change the names to protect the innocent.

As an aside. I really like the newest Viagra commercial with the cowboy who gets his truck stuck in the mud and unloads his horses from the trailer to pull the truck out. Makes so much more sense to me than the Cialis commercial where he's in one bathtub and she's in another. I'll never get that one.