When I started this blog a few years back, it was because I lived in a small town in the midwest. Ordinary, everyday people made unordinary things happen and most often, they were pretty funny. Thus; My Life in a Nutshell.
Well, since then, I have moved. . . bugged out of the midwestern small town and headed west to the desert of California. It's taken some time but we are finally finding the rythmn here and in that; new material. It's not the same comfy little nutshell, in fact, it's a whole other kind of nut out here.
Moondoggy retired in September 2013, a planned for, anticipated event that we anxiously awaited and we moved to an "Active Adult" community in the land of sun and movie stars. We call it the "Old Folks Home" (thank you, Carol for that moniker!). It is about the same size as the town we moved from so the nuances aren't much different. The same rules for living apply: Don't speak - and I do mean literally "speak", disparagingly about someone because that person might be in a club, in a class or Bridge partners with the person with whom you speak. Pass judgment on others but keep your mouth shut - unless it's just too obvious not to comment on, which, apparently, Moondoggy does. Constantly. Retirement, has given him way too much time on his hands (I say I married him for better or worse, but not 24/7 and have lobbied for him to find a part-time job - if nothing else so I can have my solitary writing time back) and his judgement filter has been shut off (of course, I hear that happens when you get old.) Case in point? Plastic surgery.
Don't get me wrong, I am not opposed to cosmetic surgery as a tool for eternal youth unless said surgeries are obvious and, well, bad. Bee stung lips, of which I have never been a fan, can quickly look like the red waxy lips from our youth that we got at halloween. . . only not that good prompting Moondoggy to comment out of the side of his mouth into my ear, "Geez, Botox much?" . . . I think he meant Restylane. Eyes lifted halfway up the forehead, eyebrows in a constant state of shock and, tight, high cheeks bones that betray a crepey neck waddle are plentiful fodder for discussion and here at the old folks home - heck even just in the valley in general, we've seen our share. Someone needs to tell these people, and by the way, I'm not just talking women here (see Kenny Rogers), that it's not a good look. In fact, I propose cosmetic surgeons employee a impartial third party to assess whether potential patients should be getting some of the procedures they desire and I have the perfect person for the job, too. That aside, don't you think if some stranger stood in front of you and told you the truth about how you look or how the surgery would make you look, many people might opt out? So to the last whose I age I know to be 83 but has a face pulled so high that I am tempted to peek under her hair to see the scars. . .would you like to speak to my husband?