Banks On The River Why And Reverend Oatmeal

Switching back to advice and opinions for a breather but, fear not, a big Italian story is on its way with bonus material. The watercolor above is by mom as well as all the words below…

When you become a widow at the age of fifty, you discover something about men you didn’t know before. The most eligible men at that age are married.

I don’t know exactly why banks fail but I know one thing. Some years ago I went to WAMU for a small loan to buy some new appliances. The loan officer checked with her computer and told me my house was worth twice what I knew it to be. Based on that information she would probably have loaned me a lot more money than I needed. If I hadn’t had a certain amount of common sense I might have taken advantage of that. Later they might have had a hard time collecting on that.  Was their computer rigged in such a way in order to trap unthinking people? I don’t know but I have often wondered.

No matter what my problems are today, five years from now I am going to wish I were in as good a shape then as I am now.

I don’t care what the ads say fat is not beautiful.  I speak from experience. I have lost 50 pounds three times in my life. It took a great deal of effort and about a year each time, so I am not unsympathetic. But it was always worth it. But each time the weight returned and I had to do it all over again. After the third time was when I threw away the scales and started eating one craving a day. I had discovered if I didn’t eat that Snickers bar I would devour five times the calories trying to satisfy that craving.

For anyone who wants to know more about me, my real name is Donnybrook O’Toole. I changed my name to protect my family and divert my enemies. By day I am a doddering old grey haired lady living in a retirement home, existing on hot oatmeal and chocolate soy milk with added liver tonic. By night I disappear into my bathroom and emerge as Super Woman, aka as Super Granny Fanny Annie Fay, clad in a pink leotard, a turquoise necklace, a glittering purple cape and a matching hat, prepared to set the world to rights. In my dreams.

I have heard my blog is actually getting hits and that I’m getting feedback via Facebook. I am stunned and grateful.

I love to iron. In college I took in ironing for cigarette money. I hate to vacuum. Would, and do almost anything else to avoid it. Read, write, paint make jewelry, watch TV and play solitaire. Sooner or later, for the sake of proper sanitation, and not tripping over stuff, I collect my chi, take a big breath and give it all a lick and a promise. It is amazing how much one can accomplish in just ten minutes of intense application.

I suppose there is something to my son Paul’s comment that I am a social samurai. I believe that no matter what you do, it comes down to people talking to people, and people are just human beings with various facades. It wasn’t always so easy for me. When I was 15, I went away to boarding school. One day the Reverend Mother called me into her office to tell me I was the mousiest girl in the school. I should make an effort to talk to people. I was certainly noisy enough in my neighborhood gang at home but here I was shy, lacked confidence, and was totally intimidated by the strange new surroundings and the big city girls who all seemed to wear cashmere sweaters and pearls.

In college I began to change. I realized it wasn’t what you said, it was that you said something.  It did not have to be funny, profound nor even interesting. Unless you are being vulgar, no one will condemn you. No one appointed me but I decided it was my duty to fill any gap in any conversation. Of course that approach was not always appreciated. I admit I went too far the other way and it became hard to shut me up. One day at a luncheon, a very sweet, demure young lady said to me “Are we making you talk?” Of course. It was all their fault. They were all too polite to interrupt me.

My gift of gab translated into becoming a fearless public speaker. In the eighties I was involved in China which offered me many opportunities to give seminars and speeches and give talks to Junior College students here and in China.  I never worried about what the audience thought of me but only about whether or not I was getting my message across. I am not afraid of celebrities but would never ask for an autograph. That is like saying “Look at me. Look at me“. Pathetic, don’t you think?

Some people don’t seem to have the inner resources to know what to do.

Some people can’t see the consequences of their actions to know what not to do.

A woman can’t drive three mules. No matter what Women’s Lib said, a woman can’t have a husband, children and a career and have them all be a success. One will be a success, one a failure and one somewhere in the middle. You don’t have to know a woman very well to look at her life to see where her priorities are. Many of the Baby Boomers learned this the hard way.

-Jean Clarice Walsh