Last week I had occasion to visit the neighborhood where I grew up in Santa Venetia, also derogatorily known as Scabo. I’m not sure what that stands for but since it’s an ugly word, I’m guessing it wasn’t known as the most desirable place to live. But I beg to differ.
Kids don’t know they don’t live in a mansion. I certainly didn’t. We had 4 bedrooms that weren’t much bigger than some large walk-in closets and closets not much wider than a refrigerator. Now don’t get me wrong; I didn’t care one bit. I had what I needed and that was enough.
Our little house
To me, our Doughboy Pool was the bomb (better known as groovy back then). Other neighborhood dads helped my dad install it. That’s how it was; neighbors helping neighbors. On summer afternoons, being in that pool or playing ping pong on the patio were my favorite places to be.
Even as a teen, still in the pool
I ask you…
Life was rolling along nice and easy. Well, easy is not the correct adjective. Let’s just say life was rolling along. The thing is, I have 8 animals, run a nonprofit, trap feral cats throughout the week, relocate those that need new homes, help care for my disabled sister, play team tennis and am nursing a pesky sciatica which, like a jilted lover, is having trouble letting go.
So I don’t know what I was thinking deciding to have my hardwood floors refinished last week. Had I forgotten it was a pain in the keister 13 years ago when it was last done? Apparently so, otherwise I wouldn’t be blogging about it today.
Now don’t get me wrong; it’s not like my floors were embarrassingly scratched and faded, causing me to refuse entry to family and friends. No doubt theirs, too, are scratched and faded. Whose aren’t? Especially those of us with pets that refuse to let us clip their nails without being in a straight jacket or heavily sedated. Continue reading
Let’s set the scene…cue the music, dim the lights, pour the wine…
It’s a crisp but clear evening. Temperatures are falling into the low 40s and it’s only 9:00 p.m. Inside it’s toasty warm from the family room fireplace and the Christmas tree lights are aglow because that’s what they say at Christmas. Not, the lights on the tree are glowing. They are aglow. Don’t ask me why.
Anyway, I’m watching Love Actually, the perfect holiday movie and, I hear, a chick flick. If you happen to be a guy, check it out anyway. It’s funny yet surprisingly touching with different stories happening simultaneously. I particularly like the end, right before the credits, when they show people (not actors) greeting each other in an airport. The expression on their faces is a true picture of love, actually. Pun intended.