While waiting to pay my lunch check, I overheard this little ditty:

Ederly Patron (EP): “It’s my birthday today.”
Cashier: “That’s great, Happy Birthday!”
EP: “Thank you so much, I turned 72.”
Cashier: “Wow, I would have guessed younger than that.”
Ederly Patron’s Wife (EPW): “Love, show her what I gave you.”
EP: Face flushes red
EPW: “Honey, show her”
EP: Lifts his left arm and pulls up his sleeve to reveal a shiny new watch.
Me: “Ooh, that’s a very cool watch”
EPW: “It’s a Rolex darling.”
Cashier: “I saw that”
Me: “Oh”
EP: Turns a deeper shade of red
Cashier: “Have a great birthday”
EP and EPW: Head out the door
Me: “My birthday is next week.”
Cashier: “You getting a Rolex too?”
Me: I chuckle … “I’ll be happy with a nice dinner.”
Cashier: “Happy early Birthday”

I walked out and on my way to post office pondered that exchange. When I think I don’t have anything in common with most of the residents of Lake Forest, I just have to remember, eventhough my gift is not a Rolex, whatever it is, my gift will come with just as much pride and love.

A five year old girl bursts out of the restaurant bathroom shouting “Daddy, Daddy, I went peepee on the toilet!” (repeated twice more with increased excitement and pride).

Mom turned a lovely shade of red as fellow dinners looked up in disgust. I chuckled at the reactions and smiled at the show of childhood innocence.

I tossed aside my usual casual shoes for my trip downtown today. While hoofing it to the train, I could feel the blisters form. A few blocks later, I could feel the burn! Sensible footwear from now on.

Glorious Tab

At the local lunch hangout
Nose in a book
I lift my head

It caught my eye
That shade of red
Like no other

Transfixed, wondering to myself
I thought it dead
below the Mason Dixon Line

I watched her lift it
To her lips and
Take a sip

Her eyes twinkled
Cheeks flush with pleasure
She took another

Then I saw the warning label
Danger saccharine …
Does she know her pleasure has a cost?

Back to my book
She looks so happy
Why would she care?

I’m not sure what has gotten into our pussy cat, Sheleata Kanoftuna? Ever since the Northern Migration earlier this year, he has changed. I’m not sure if it is the new climate, housing or just middle age.

He has transformed from an aloof feline to a fun loving lap cat. So in need of a lap, it is starting to drive everyone a bit crazy. Much of my clothing has a never ending supply of cat hair, the dogs are getting jealous and even Tim has been mumbling I pay more attention to the pussy then him.

Perhaps it’s just a phase? In the meantime, I indulge Sheleata with extra attention and give myself a once over with the lint brush before I walk out the door.

Caged

The heavens await
I continue my journey
Up I go
One step after another
Up I go

I step into the light
I look about
Thick cables above my head
And on each side

The world unfolds all around me
Beauty and fear hand in hand
I wonder and wonder …
Will I be trapped in the heavens?

The heavens must wait
I have more to experience on my journey
Down I go
One step after another
Down I go

Okay, so I’m still giggling about it. Nope, not the latest Internet joke, just a letter I received on Wednesday.

My chuckling started when I noticed the envelope was addressed to Ms. Dornacher. During my last visit to the bathroom I was sure nothing had changed. Out of curiosity, I opened the envelop and slipped out the contents.

Much to my amusement, I pulled out The Newcomers’ Club of Lake Bluff and Lake Forest brochure. On the front, under a pineapple picture, I found this little ditty: “The pineapple, our club’s symbol, has long been a sign to sailors and other travelers that they have found a safe and hospitable place to stay. Your life’s journey has brought you to a new community: know that you have found a welcoming haven in the Newcomers’ Club.”

With a mischievous grin, I pictured the neighbor housewives welcoming a few sailors in training from the nearby Naval base. With that image in my head, I read on. My jaw dropped, not because this was some wild suburban swingers club. Egad, it became alarming clear this was a housewife social club.

Many would think, what a great opportunity to meet your neighbors and other folks in the community. I’m a bit jaded, yes I admit it, there are a few experiences that have left me jaded. I decided to pass on the opportunity for lunch, tea, bridge, wine tasting and cooking lessons. I don’t have a problem meeting and greeting. I’m just afraid the jaded side of my brain might take over and some little ditty will pop out of my mouth I would regret.

Though jaded when it comes to community building, I am the eternal optimist. I keep smiling and saying “hello” to our neighbors. Perhaps I should take up the advice of the Newcomers’ Club and hang a pineapple to the front door.

Oh wait, even better, I’ll browse through a few cookbooks in search of a pineapple dish. Nothing like inviting the folks over for some good food, plenty of cocktails and a few sailors to break the ice.

I have to say life is beginning to return to normal in New Orleans. After a tour his French Quarter location, the owner of the Hustler strip club is ready to start serving booze and the strippers are ready to strut their stuff. All that is required is electricity to chill the beer and play the music.

I must say, at 30-something, I have a whole lot to be thankful for. You know, all the usual stuff, a fantastic spouse, a decent job, super-fabulous friends, loving family, etc.

I can deal with not moving as fast, slower post-cocktail recovery and a few aches. I even gracefully accepted breaking the 30 inch waist after my 32 birthday.

Reality hit me today and it was far from a love tap on the tush. I can no longer ignore the signs: belly buldge in a tight t-shirt, difficulty with the button on my pants and a pair of meaty thighs. Some would call me an impolite name or two if I mentioned my dilemma in cocktail conversation. After giving me a once over, the response is usually, “What are you complaining about, your too damn skinny.”

It’s true, I don’t have the look of a typical middle-aged guy, I’m just trying to adjust to a slower metabolism. For as long as I can remember, I could eat anything and everything and never gain any weight.

After moving to Atlanta, I began to notice many Southern folks were shaped like pears. Then I noticed my shape shifting. I scrambled to adjust my habits, cutting back on indulgent meals and evening pints of ice cream. Yet, the Buddha Belly continued its growth.

Some nights I toss and turn in bed wondering if there was something in the Atlanta water or worse yet, the air. You know some kind of pear shape growth hormone.

I may respect Buddha and his teachings but today I declared war on the belly! I’m in this for the long haul, doing everything in my power to conquer it. War is hell and only time will tell just how ugly it will get.

During this battle, my mantra is BBG – Belly be Gone!

Before our dinner guests arrived, I ran to the grocery store Saturday night to grab a forgotten item.

In front of me at the self-checkout lane, an early twenty something guy was clutching his purchases while crossing every available appendage.

I chuckled to myself as he scanned a bunch of flowers, a box of chocolates and a box of condoms. Like a good Boy Scout, he’s been reading the handbook and prepared for anything.