I woke up last night and heard the train whistle. It didn’t wake me, I was already awake…and while I was lying there I realized that almost my entire life I’ve lived near a train.

In Queens we were just above the Long Island RR stop for Douglaston, where we lived. In New Jersey, the house we built was about a mile from a train stop and we’d hear it’s whistle. When I first was “trying out” California before I made the decision to move here permanently I rented in the Pier Bowl in San Clemente, just above Fisherman’s and directly above the train tracks. It never bothered me but anyone who came to visit and stay over had to be supplied a set of earplugs. And here, in Dana Point, I hear the train at all hours, blowing its whistle as it passes through Capo Beach.

So, why is this the stuff of which a blog can be made?

Because I also remembered last night, in the wee hours of the morning, some of the strange things that happened on trains.

In my early years, I traveled by train and subway very frequently.  My job as a college student was in NYC and that was the means of transportation for me, whether I was on campus or home for the summer. Sometimes when traveling with friends, we’d make up games to pass the time. For example, we would challenge each other to stand up between stops and complete an entire dance of our own creation before the next stop. This was not always as easy as it seems because the distance can vary. It was a lot of fun, but I quit doing this when I looked up at the end of one of my especially elaborate escapades and saw my cousin sitting at the other end of the car with his mouth wide open, staring.

Once when traveling on an El line, the train stopped at a station where there were apartments level with the platform. I looked up from my book to see a man, stark naked, standing on the windowsill, spread eagle, pressing whatever could reach up against the glass. Oh, boy. No one was with me so I had to suppress the giggles to myself.

It was also not uncommon to be groped during rush hour. I had a unique way of dealing with this: I would take the man’s hand, hold it up over my head and ask in a very, very loud voice “Does this belong to anyone? because I found it under my skirt.” Inevitably the perp would get off at the very next stop, whether it was his or not.

When we were in high school we had  a day off for St. Patrick’s Day, a huge event in New York. Friends from our own high school as well as friends from other schools would all meet “under the clock” in Flushing and board a subway car together, cramming as many in as we could to go in to mid-town to watch the parade. It was a very fun experience for a bunch of teenagers, to have so many of us all in one spot like that…without adult supervision!

I’ve often thought of taking a train for a long distance. Once I did take my three young children on a train from New Jersey to Washington, D.C. but in my own inimitable way, I boarded the wrong train and had to get off in Baltimore and find a connection to go the rest of the way. Whenever I think about doing an even longer train ride I always decide against it since I could do that again and wind up somewhere in Big Sky Country when I was only trying to get to Chicago.

So, for now, I’ll just stick to hearing the whistle at night while in the safety of  my own home, in my own bed, which is not going anywhere…unless the “big one” hits.

I am just back from New Jersey where I once again visited my east coast family.  As most of you know, my two daughters and six of the grandchildren live there. I’ve tried repeatedly to get them to move to California but there’s something about their husbands having jobs there, they grew up there, all their friends are there, the rest of the family lives there, etc.

Lame excuses at best.

I always, always love the time I spend with my family but I have to be honest. In five years of return flights, which I calculate to be somewhere around 20 times that I have soared at 33,000 feet over all those fly-over states, I have only seen take-offs from Newark Liberty Airport twice.

Yep, you read that right. TWO TIMES.

I am just so tired by the time I get on that plane that I strap myself in, close my eyes and only wake up when I hear the food cart coming down the aisle which is generally about 30 minutes into the flight. I eat, I turn on my noise-canceling headphones, tune into Mozart, Kenny G and The Beatles (I am eclectic in my musical tastes…that one is called my “Sleep Music Playlist”) and someone pokes me as we are going into our final descent to tell me to return my seat to the upright position, stow and lock my tray table and turn off all electronic devices with an “on/off” button.

I have only myself to blame for this.

I am fairly sedentary, especially since I have had this cranky knee the last year or so. I sit at the computer for  probably 10 to 12 hours a day and am not terribly mobile. The silicone shots to the joint in my left leg have helped, but my desire to get up, get out, get moving has been less than what my orthopaedic surgeon, or for that matter, myself, would like.

Simply put, of late, I have been very lazy about exercise.  My boot camp group dissolved and since then I have had no interest in exercising, especially not alone.

So, it’s not unusual for me to be tired when it’s time to return…but this time…

I. Was. Exhausted.

I didn’t realize that my grandchildren getting older would mean that their activities would become more tiring…for me.

I spent more time in backyards and playgrounds the last two weeks than I think I did in the last ten years. The “babies” are now pre-schoolers and every  morning when they get up…at least while I am visiting…my daughters give them something that makes them hyperactive only while they are alone with me. I know this.

Why do I  know this?

Because when I lived on the east coast and used to babysit their little ones I would give them ice cream for breakfast, any kind of candy they wanted at any time and force them to only eat junk food. Then I’d send them home.

I called it “Payback.”

So, after their breakfasts of 100% sugar or something (n.b., this is ONLY when I am there…my girls are much more attuned to eating healthy than I ever was. For my kids growing up, eating “healthy” was just having the regular size fries at Roy Rogers.) I would be set upon to go outside, push swings, coordinate “Olympics”, shoot baskets, go for “nature walks” … well, you get the picture. I always offered to read books. Play the “Who Can Stay Quietest the Longest” game. Have a try at “Imagination” which is where we all lay on the floor with our eyes closed and I say “We are at the beach. What do we hear? What do we see? What do we smell? What do we feel?” The highlight of this game, at least for me, is the laying down part.

Little lessons learned: this is never going to happen. They are busy, busy, busy. What else? They are happiest being busy, busy, busy.

They would have very little to do with their grandmother’s idea of “fun.” Fun was chasing after them on their scooters before they fell off and crushed their skulls. Fun was “Amma” dodging baseballs when I attempted to pitch. Fun was having my foot run over by a motorized jeep.

However, two of the highlights of the trip was my opportunity to be part of the “co-op” team at my youngest grandson’s pre-school and a visit to “Color Me Mine” with my two youngest granddaughters.

This week I’ll tell you about the pre-school. Next week I’ll tell you about the Color Me Mine.

My oldest daughter, the mother of four who participates in mini-triathlons and thinks that Chicken Marsala is a perfect dish for a Tuesday night and just “whips up” some banana bread for breakfast on a Thursday, has to be the “assistant” at my four-year-old grandson’s pre-school a scheduled number of times per year. I happened to be there when one of her times came up.

OMG. I was in kid heaven.

I was a group teacher in a pre-school when I was MUCH younger and it was one of my favorite jobs ever. I love little people. My stint was during the early 1980′s but I had a very valuable lesson that day with my grandson and daughter.

Kids are the same, no matter the generation. There is always the kid who has to be the center of attention, the kid who cries for his Mom, the one who won’t get his hands dirty doing a project, the one who has to dominate the playground, the one who pushes someone, the one who waits to go potty to the very last minute, the one who is always worried that they won’t get to do their show and tell, the one who only uses purple: crayons, paint, pencils, whatever. (I only used the masculine here because it was convenient, but trust me, the girls were in every category I mentioned as well.) It was just so great to be back in that scene. I would give anything to have little ones of my own again. I wish I could have kept mine all small. Innocent. Curious.

But life doesn’t let that happen. One of my favorite signs is the one that says “Grandchildren are God’s reward for not having killed your own children.”

I will end with that. Thank God!

I went to Long Beach to see the Queen Mary this week.  One of my dearest friends was visiting from Kentucky and we had some time to kill, so we went to play tourist.

I’ve lived in SoCal for five years, but the only place I’ve ever been in Long Beach was the Convention Center for a seminar.

I like cruises. I’ve been on quite a few…several in the Caribbean, even one in Europe. What appeals to me most, since I am the quintessential over-packer, is that you unload your stuff into the closet and the drawers once and you are done. Some of my friends say “But you don’t get an in-depth experience of the country and the culture!” I have never felt that way; in fact, it’s actually saved me money. For example, I visited Athens, Greece, on a cruise. I thought that it was a place that I’d want to spend more time…but, in fact, I discovered that it wasn’t. I got to see the Acropolis in depth, the museums surrounding it, the changing of the guard, the Olympic Stadium, the site of the original Olympics, the colorful marketplace, etc. But I was done. I came, I saw, I checked it off the Bucket List. It was hot there and it very much reminded me of NYC in the dog days of summer, except everyone spoke Greek.

It was sort of cloudy when we arrived and the ship is really old. She was first launched in 1934 so that makes her 79. Also, the sea air and the pounding surf have made her look even older. It was almost a little eerie, especially since it was a Monday and there was hardly anyone there and it was a dreary kind of day.

So, my friend and I decided we’d do the “Ghosts and Legends Tour” of this Grande Dame of the Seas. We got our discount from AAA (significant, if you go there) and went aboard.

Our little group was ushered into a room, very reminiscent of when you visit Disney’s Haunted Mansion. It was darkened, three TV screens flashed with a relatively brief history of the Queen. I did learn a thing or two, though…about the fact that she transported thousands of troops during WWII and was painted battleship grey at that time and was known as “The Grey Lady.” She accidentally cut one of her escort ships in two, sending 300 or so men to a very quick, cold and watery death in the North Atlantic and doing a bit of damage to her bow, which was quickly repaired. Other tales about boiler room men being blown up, another crewman being cut in half by a hydraulic door, a little girl drowning in the first class swimming pool, etc. I was okay with all of this…I don’t scare easy. I rode the subways in NYC in the 1960′s.

However, I am claustrophobic. SERIOUSLY claustrophobic. I don’t know where it came from…but I don’t do well in small, enclosed spaces.

I didn’t know that’s where we were going.

So, off we went. The RMS Queen Mary has been outfitted with a bit of Hollywood. First stop was the aforementioned First Class Swimming Pool. In 1939, Cunard was ahead of its time since it actually had a slide going into this indoor pool. It was now empty, except for a dank puddle in the middle of it (I wondered where that came from?) and it smelled just damp and old. They turned the lights off and on, played a tape of a little girl laughing, made a pool gate swing open and closed…and then we moved on. HAH. Didn’t bother me, not even a little bit. Except for the smell.

We went to a couple of other places and I was fine. The only things that bothered me was a) it was so dark I had trouble seeing where I was walking and b) someone brought their five-year-old and the kid was terrified.

Then we came to the “crowning glory” of the Ghost tour: the bow of the boat where it is said that the 300+ seamen who went quickly and unexpectedly to their death prowl around.

It is narrow. It is very dark. It is 36 feet below the water line. It scared the bejesus out of me…not because of the ghosts…just because it was very narrow, very dark and 36 feet below water. I think if I stretched I could have touched both walls. I was close to panic.

Thank God for yoga.

I stood there with my eyes closed, breathing deeply and putting myself in a “happy” place while our guide spoke interminably about the horror of that day. I was more concerned with the horror of this day.

Then, the piece d’resistance: water came gushing in from the walls. OMG. It was all I could do to not run screaming from the spot. I don’t even swim with my face in the water. Now I’m 36 feet below the Long Beach Harbor, in a space as big as my last walk in closet, squished among a bunch of tourists and now there’s water??? Deargodinheaven. I can’t even describe it. The breathing was becoming hyper-ventilating.

Just as I thought I could not take this for another minute and I was going to truly embarrass myself in front of not only my friend, but a bunch of people representing a cross-section of America, it ended. Praise the lord, we actually got on an elevator, discreetly hidden behind one of those walls and rose to a mid-deck. There was fresh air and now the sun was actually starting to peek through the clouds and it was turning into one of our typical, spectacular Southern California days.

So, what did we do? Headed immediately to the restaurant where I downed a Bloody Mary while waiting for lunch. I felt much better and I will never do another tour like that without first inquiring about the size of the spaces we will be visiting.

I guess this means I won’t ever go see any caves…and definitely not the interior of the Pyramids. That’s okay. I will happily alter my Bucket List to accommodate my fear of enclosed spaces.

My favorite sport has always been baseball.

Having married into a “football family,” which even boasted an uncle who played professionally for the New York Giants in the ’50′s, I had to sort of suppress the fact that I loved baseball since my family was (and for the most part, still is) a “football family.”

Don’t get me wrong, I truly enjoy football. I understand it and I would be the last person to say that it is not exciting. However, to be a baseball enthusiast you don’t need to know plays, strategy, etc. Someone hits the ball and someone else either catches it or doesn’t catch it. Period. End of play. There are no penalties (unless you insult the umpire and get thrown out), very few time-outs (usually just for a conference between the pitcher and catcher or a change of pitcher) and that’s it. It can even end before the allotted time if the home team is ahead. Amen. I rest my case. There will never be a “Heidi Baseball Game” unless that movie is foolishly scheduled after a Game Seven of the World Series and they go into extra innings.

I grew up two subway stops from Shea Stadium. I have been a Mets fan since 1962 and I am never ashamed to say that, despite how poorly they have performed in recent years. I often proudly wear my Mets baseball cap in The Grey Ghost. Despite the fact that most of my immediate family are Yankees fans, I’ve never liked the Yankees, except for the years before the Mets when it was all about Mickey Mantle and Roger Maris and Whitey Ford (who lived up the street from me in Queens) and those super-stars of the late 50′s and very early 60′s. Even Casey Stengel, as a manager, was a Met! so there.

My Dad and my Grandpa were Dodgers’ fans and I still remember getting a day off from school when they won the World Series in 1955.  I was in first grade with Sister Grace Winifred, OP. He was horrified when they moved to LA but at least it wasn’t quite as bad as when the Colts left Baltimore in the middle of the night. Nevertheless, the word “Dodgers” (or “dem bums” as they were referred to in NYC vernacular) was never again spoken in our home.

I have had the good fortune to meet someone yet again who apparently doesn’t know me well enough to realize that I am really a crazy person in the body of a short, chunky Italian woman. He likes me for whatever reason and he is a baseball fan. His name is Noel (and you can make all the jokes, because, yes he is my “…First No-EL” although it is pronounced “Knoll”)…and he is a Dodgers’ fan.  Well, one of those 7,538 sites that send me “discounts” every day offered a pre-season game at Angels’ Stadium (who, by the way are called “The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim”) when the Angels were playing the Dodgers. Angels’ Stadium is just a hop, skip and a jump from me, whereas Dodgers’ Stadium is a schlep.

I threw caution to the wind (that being the wrath of my 93 year old Dad) and got us two tickets for a nominal sum and we went to see them play.

Oh. My. Gosh. (I’d say Oh. My. God. but some readers may find that offensive!)

It was the best. It was a typically beautiful day in Orange County, perfect weather. We got to the stadium very early to watch the warm ups and I was in Baseball heaven.

I’d forgotten how much I love the sights, smells and sounds of Major League Baseball because it has been a long time. The greasy hot dogs, the expensive Chip-wiches, the popcorn that was made sometime during the Paleolithic era…It was all great!!! Our seats were not the best (I somehow mis-read the seating chart; I thought we were closer to home plate when actually we were literally in right field!) but it was so very exciting!!! The most difficult part for me was posting on Facebook (of which my Dad is particularly fond!) that I was (gulp!) at a DODGERS’ game! As far as I know, he has not changed his will because of my lack of loyalty to the forgotten New Yorkers who were left with only the Yankees for awhile.

One of the best parts of the event was watching the Dodgers going through their pre-game paces right in front of our seats. Kids of all ages were reaching and calling to the players as the pros played “catch” in the outfield and whenever someone hit a ball our way it was like Santa Claus was throwing a gift. The players frequently picked up one of the balls and tossed it to one of the little people hanging around hoping that little leather-bound sphere would land in their outstretched glove. There were a good many Dodgers’ fans there that day since Angels’ Stadium is just down the road from LA. In NYC we would call it a “Subway Series” when the Yankees play the Mets…here I would guess they call it a “Freeway Series.”

I had my luke-warm hot dog but instead of my traditional sauerkraut and onions I had jalapenos. How West Coast of me! No beer, though…you only “rent” beer… (Btw, I’m so used to eating the 97% fat-free ones that this tasted like it was “gourmet!” Fat = Flavor!) What I found funny, though, was the folks around us had all sorts of food: tacos, fried chicken, even Chinese food, all also purchased from the stadium vendors. I tried not to think that this was an abomination of what baseball is all about but I had to admit that the sweet and sour pork being devoured behind me really did smell very good even if it was stadium fare!

We stayed until the seventh-inning stretch. It was a low-scoring game and the Dodgers were ahead when we decided to beat the traffic and head out before the crowds. As luck would have it, one of the Angels hit a home run in the bottom of the ninth and the home team won by one. Sigh.

I can’t wait to go to another game! I’ve even DVR’ed a couple to watch on my own time without the six million commercials. I can’t really get my whole heart and soul around the Dodgers (too many years of listening to my Dad mourn their loss from the Big Apple, I think) but I’ll take them as “my” team here. However, it will be a cold day in SoCal before I give up my Mets! They will do it again. I just hope I live to see it.

I left off last week with us being ushered into The Price Is Right studio.

Usually I find that a studio is much smaller than it appears on TV. Not the case here. It was much larger. We were rehearsed on how to act since audience participation is crucial to the show and at some point or other everyone is on camera. Here’s what we were directed to do, and actually required to practice: Thumbs up for higher prices, thumbs down for lower (you just know I was thinking about the Colosseum during that part, don’t you?)…encouraging us to really shout, scream, jump up and down and perform any number of totally undignified acts to amp up the show. Of course, I complied, as did my fellow divas.

Our “director” for these ostentatious outpourings of enthusiasm was a young man who weighed about 28 pounds. I was feeling particularly portly at that moment and as I watched him demonstrate how we were to behave it occurred to me why he only weighed 28 pounds. He spent several hours a day jumping up and down, waving his arms at the audience, gesturing wildly, etc. He was never, ever still. He burned probably 10,000 calories a minute. Of course, that made me want to apply for his job.

After a few minutes of rehearsal, George Gray, the announcer for the show, came out to greet the crowd. He did a cute repartee with several of the audience members also encouraging us to let all inhibitions go and party like it was 1999 during the show. At this point (it was around 5:30, I think?) I was just happy to be sitting down in a real chair…I didn’t have much interest in jumping too much.

Then the countdown began, the lights were at full brightness, the cameras were all in place with the overhead one that sweeps the audience poised to pounce. The theme music started and out came Drew Carey, envelope in hand. He did his usual opening hellos and then our cheerleading director took center stage and whipped out large cue-cards and as George did his patented “C’mon down” spiel the names of the chosen were held up so that there would be no mistake as to whom was being invited to stand at one of the four coveted spots just below the stage.

The Divas and I were excited! Some of our new friends were picked! One from the crowd of nurses, another from the “Benjamins”…yet another of our favorites, a young man from a smaller group who had a giant nose on his shirt with “Pick Me” just below it and even one of the a capella college students from Maryland!!! This was really fun!!! and guess what? I was jumping up and down and waving my arms and sticking my thumbs up or down just like everyone else!

Every time we broke for a commercial Drew Carey stepped forward to chat with folks in the audience. He was every bit as nice as he seems in his TV persona. He thanked the military who were there for their service, he blessed another man who was a Hospice worker and spoke about his Mom being in Hospice, he made one of the pages correct the misspelled name tag of a WWII and Korean War veteran. Drew spent the whole time walking back and forth at the front of the stage, calling people by name (we all had those huge price tag name tags on so that wasn’t hard!) but he did something rather odd while he was pacing. The best way to describe it was that he seemed to be pretending he had a cigarette in his hand and putting the two fingers “holding” it up to his mouth like he was taking a puff. It made me wonder if he’d recently quit or if he was such a chain smoker that he needed to have a “pretend” one even while performing. Never did get an answer about that.

The show continued on schedule and alas, none of the Divas was selected. *sigh*. We felt that we had a part in it since our new friends did.  Another highlight was when Drew invited the University of Maryland a capella group down to take us out of a break singing (in harmony!) “…closed captioning provided by….” So even Sam’s (he was the contestant) friends had their moment on national TV.

We were also on camera quite a bit. We were in the second to last row, to the right of the giant, lit dollar sign in the middle of the audience. We are in our white t-shirts and you can see us jumping up and down and acting like fools…that is, if you so desire!  The show airs on May 1st. I  will DVR it just so I can cringe when I see myself on the screen.

After the show we walked over to The Grove to have a bite to eat before heading back to Dana Point. We chose The Cheesecake Factory…and apparently, so did half the audience. It was quite a raucous group of us there in our “team t-shirts” high-fiving each other and laughing loudly, most of us still wearing our name tags.

Afterwards we strolled The Grove a bit and stopped to have our picture taken in front of the famous fountains. That’s it at the top of this blog.

We got home sometime after 9:30 pm and as if the day could have gotten any better, we somehow managed to be right on the 5 outside Disneyland when the fireworks were going off. We opened the windows so we could get the full effect of the sound and the smell of those stunning sprays of color in the night sky.

So, we may not have come home with a hot tub or a set of steak knives (actual retail value $1,795. 00 and $49.99, respectively) but we had one heck of a time and a memory that was worth far more!

As some of you know, this past Tuesday I went to The Price Is Right in Hollywood. It was such an adventure that I had to break the story down into a two-part blog.

It all began because somehow I got on one of those lists that invite people like me to come to live studio tapings (that sounds like an oxymoron, doesn’t it?) and I frequently get invitations for “guaranteed admission” and “priority” seating. I have no idea how or why I am on the “A list” for audiences, but I am.

Well, this struck me as a great idea since I have never been to a game show and this one offered the opportunity of maybe even being chosen to “C’mon dooooowwwwn!!!” I quickly rsvp’ed and asked for four tickets so I could recruit a “team.”

My “team” consisted of three other divorced women who are some very good friends of mine.That’s a picture of all of us on the top of the blog. (They’d have to be “very good friends” to go along with some of my crazy ideas!)  At first I thought we’d be the Gay Divorcees but that didn’t sound PC. We came up with Divorcee Divas. I had a friend who is a very talented graphic artist design a logo and then had t-shirts made up for us.

This all became very serious business for me. I started recording the show on a daily basis. I researched articles from former contestants so I knew what the producers were looking for in order to get picked. I even called a study session here the night before and Team Divorcee Divas all came for cheese, wine, pizza and key lime pie (everyone brought something to eat; we really don’t need an excuse for wine) and we spent hours watching Drew Carey and pausing the show so we could make our own price predictions. Only one of us was consistently good. I always over bid…by a lot.  I’d even printed out excel spread sheets with past prices of items. If I knew how to use or even read excel spread sheets that would have been helpful. Fortunately, two of the Divas did. As they explained I just heard “wahhh wahhh wahhh.”

So the big day arrived. We met here at 10 since we were told to be there by noon. I knew that studio audiences line up from 8 a.m. even though they know they won’t get in until noon but we are older and need our beauty sleep. I thought 10 would allow us plenty of time even if there were the usual LA-bound traffic…and yes, there was.

Much to the chagrin of my passengers, as the traffic didn’t move and the clock ticked, I went into hyper-NYC-driving mode, weaving in and out of the slow lanes of traffic, inching my way up passing everyone I could to just get a little further ahead. We arrived at Studio City at 11:20, parked in The Farmer’s Market and sprinted over to stand on line.

The wrong line.

I finally realized that there was a second, much shorter line and when I inquired of the Security guard found out that was where the “Priority” folks were standing. So off we went. To stand on line…and stand on line…and stand on line…and…you get the idea.

Someone once said to me that one of the few things that makes life last longer is standing on line. I always think about that. Well, if that were the case at the studio, we all should live to be 300.

However, another thing I’ve learned about standing on line, since I talk to everyone, is that you meet some very interesting people. This was definitely the case last Tuesday.

There was a team of 23 labor and delivery nurses from San Diego. A Hebrew a capella choir from the University of Maryland, who entertained us with wonderful songs. Another contingent of about 20 or so folks with “Show me the Benjamins” on their green t-shirts with a $50. bill emblazoned across the front. The six middle-school friends from all over the country who’d come to LA to celebrate their 40th birthday together and had been to the premiere of Dancing With the Stars the night before. A sextet of very handsome young men (notice the play on words here!) who were on leave from the Air Force whose shirts said, in big letters, “All this can be yours if The Price Is Right”…all told there were somewhere around 300 potential contestants of which only nine would be picked to participate.

The lines snaked around benches and about 1 p.m. they moved us to another area (with more benches) and took our lunch orders. I’d had a package of trail mix and a half sandwich earlier so I passed on the $11. cheeseburger.  Sometime around 3 p.m. they started the “interviews.”

Let me explain how this is done.

When you first arrive, everyone is assigned a number and you must sit in order. You also need to fill out paperwork that says that you have not been a contestant on a game show in the last ten years, you don’t know anyone who has been on a game show in the last ten years and at no time have you ever so much as thought about being a contestant on a game show. You must also disclose whether you have any relationship with anyone who works for CBS, has worked for CBS or even thought of working for CBS. They call up groups of 20 to meet with the “interviewer” who goes down the row of folks lined up behind a fence (for lack of a better word) and asks everyone what they like to do for fun. In our group, answers ranged from “I’m addicted to Zumba” to mine, which was that I liked to do stand-up comedy. I was hoping that would give me an edge over someone who only say, liked to knit and crochet.

Finally, at about 5 p.m. we were all ushered into the studio…. to be continued next week!

I still get those discount deals in my email. I think I probably get 100 or so a day. Really. On all my various email addresses (and at last count, I had nine…and that’s just the ones I remember creating) I have at least ten offers per day…so 10 x 9 = 90. Pretty close to 100, right?

This week I got one that I actually stopped to read about because it was just sooooo “out there.”  It was a combination “Couples Workshop” and “Horseback Riding.”

I just don’t get how the two are related, but here’s what they describe:

“When it comes to maintaining a healthy relationship, horsing around can actually be a good thing — as long as it incorporates one of the gentle, noble steeds you’ll find at this locale:

• $75 ($150 value) for a 60- to 75-minute couples’ workshop
• Led by a highly experienced mental health and equine professional
• Utilizes Equine Assisted Learning

Rein in Conflict…
After discussing your goals as a couple, a specialist will guide you through a series of tasks utilizing one of the docile horses. These activities are designed to enhance communication, trust, and your emotional connection to your loved one, as well as provide some creative problem-solving solutions you can use at home.”

Now, as you might imagine if you know how my sort of twisted mind works, this posed all sorts of questions to me:

First of all, I was very confused by the phrase “equine assisted learning.”  At first I thought that it had something to do with helping a horse learn how to read..or maybe trot? Then I realized that it meant the horses helped you learn!

When it comes to “exercises,” does it involve things like standing on the saddle and trusting your partner to catch you when you fall? (which you most certainly will unless you are part of a circus.) do you get to bring the horses home with you to continue the process?

What on earth is a “highly experienced mental health and equine professional?” is he a combination Paul Revere and Sigmund Freud?  does this mean he does therapy by horseback?

Then, as far as the communication part of it goes, what do you say to each other? things like “I trust you won’t let this beast trample me to death.”

How do you know that the horses are “docile?” I’ve known some horses that I was told were “docile” but get them within sight of the stable? no amount of yanking on the reins and let’s face it, my screaming, ever got it to stop before it got to the barn…which, on one such occasion, was about three miles away across an open field.  That was when I learned to stay in the saddle during a full gallop. However, I hadn’t planned on learning that that particular day…

Finally, a note to all of you loyal blog-followers: never believe anyone who tells you that a horse named “Diablo” is calm and obedient. I fell for that once…literally.

This is not a blog about Tinkerbell and Peter Pan.  It’s a blog about things that will never happen. At least not to me, or by me.

I don’t know where I got this idea but I seem to remember that it came in a dream. Lately I’ve been having some truly bizarre episodes at night. Like when I woke up and screamed because I thought there was a Storm Trooper from Star Wars standing next to the bed.

But, I digress. As I usually do.

So, here’s the thing…I am usually a very positive person. I always like to look at the bright side of everything and keep moving forward. But it hit me right between the eyes that as I dig deeper into middle age I may not get to do or be some of the things that I thought I would or could.

Hence, the title. All of these things fall into the category of “Never-Never Land.”

It is extremely unlikely that I will ever jump out of an airplane. But that’s okay, because I can now ride in glass elevators and on ferris wheels, which are two things I had a really hard time doing for a long time. Frankly, I never really wanted to jump out of an airplane anyway.

I will never be a model for Victoria’s Secret. Not unless they design some product for women who have everything sagging everywhere and I am “discovered” to be the perfect person to model this new type of lingerie.

It’s a pretty strong probability that I won’t ever be part of a rodeo. Especially since I haven’t even been horseback riding in probably 30 years. This wasn’t really high up on the list of things I wanted to do, but it was floating around there somewhere in my subconscious, along with being a Circus clown. But one of my daughters has an extraordinary fear of clowns, so that wasn’t going to ever happen anyway. Who wants her kid to be afraid of her?

You will never find me running a marathon. I thought for awhile that I could get in good enough shape to at least do a 5k and then the bigger dream would be to not be challenged anymore by the 5k so I’d move up to a 10k and then a half marathon and then the whole marathon shebang. I can’t walk more than a few miles now, so getting “in shape” for anything more than a moderately strenuous hike is definitely out of the question.

I have absolutely  no hope of ever being on Top Chef or Chopped. That’s because I most certainly don’t own a restaurant and let’s face it, I’m not even a chef. Lately the most exotic thing I’ve cooked is homemade chili (homemade meaning not straight out of a can, but still using a pre-packaged mix.)

I’ve always wanted to drive a race car. Now, I know that there are places you can go and pay to do this, but they are very expensive. I considered it on my last visit to Las Vegas (which is one of those places that you can do this sort of thing) but it was several hundred dollars for just three laps around a course and it just wasn’t in my budget…especially since my budget included only playing the penny slot  machines and quitting when my loss totaled $5.00. You’d be surprised at how long you can play before losing a fin. Except that the biggest jackpot you will ever get (and it does set off the bells and whistles!) is for like $2.50. Tough to get excited about that. It doesn’t even buy a glass of wine in Sin City.

Lastly, I will probably never be President of the United States. This was on my list when I was young (say, six or seven years old?) because I truly believed that I could do anything. Then I grew up. Things change. But one thing that hasn’t changed is the fact that there are still dozens of things on my bucket list that I will be able to do. Like ziplining instead of sky-diving. Walking a mile on the Great Wall of China instead of running in a marathon. Driving cross-country again and this time stopping to see the Biggest Ball of Twine and the 5 pound Angus steak instead of covering the whole width of the USA in three short days. Those are all things that can be found in “Someday Land”…and God-willing, I’ll get to visit that place…and I won’t even need Tinkerbell.

I was talking to a friend the other day and when I asked how her son was doing she told me he was great, plans for the wedding were coming along well, he’d started a couple of new businesses.

Ever curious about anyone with any kind of entrepreneurial ambition – and also due to the fact that generally I’m just nosy – I asked what he was up to with the new undertakings.

He breeds Chameleons. Exotic ones.

I must say it’s not something I would ever think to do even with all the wild schemes I’ve had for businesses. I hate snakes with a purple passion. To me, Chameleons, or for that matter, any creature in the reptile family, even those with legs, are related to the slithery sneaky snake.

That got me to wondering what other odd occupations people may have.  Since I had no topic for the blog this week, this seemed just perfect. So off I went to research.

Here are my favorite “Top Ten” that I came up with:

1. Odor Tester - This job stinks. Someone has to see if the deodorant works. This would be this guy.

2. Waste Station/Water Treatment Worker - I don’t even have to go there with this. But maybe he could work out a deal with the odor tester.

3. Citrus Fruit Dyer - There is actually a person (or persons) who inject color to  make the oranges more orange-y and the lemons more yellow-y.

4. Crocodile Wrangler - When I read about this one, all I could think to say was “Why?”

5. Fortune Cookie Writer - In my wildest dreams, I never suspected that there was actually a person sitting somewhere, either creating or translating for those little slips of paper that some of us think really foretell our future.

6. Cheese Sprayer - When I first came across this one, I couldn’t imagine what this could be. I immediately thought about deodorizing smelly cheeses. But it’s really for the big, industrial “gift can” size of popcorn that you can send when you can’t think of anything else to send as a gift. (Been there, done that.) Never thought about someone actually spraying flavors on the bzillion little kernels going by on a conveyor belt.

7. IMAX Screen Cleaner - I guess someone has to get the dust and dirt off periodically. They are certainly not removing fingerprints. Unless you were so “pulled in” by the effect you “flew” into the film.

8. Snake Milker - Even if I were reduced to living in a refrigerator box under an overpass and this was the only job in the world, I wouldn’t do this. I run the other way when I even think there might be a snake in the area. No way I would ever “milk” it. The venom is used to create antidotes for those unfortunate folks who cross paths with these horrendous creatures…and yes, I know snakes serve a great purpose ridding the earth of other varmints. Fine. Just not in my backyard.

9. Cow Hoof Trimmer - I am happy to drink milk on occasion. It just never occurred to me that a cow gone lame is not a happy cow and will not produce. All I could think of when I saw this one was how bad the hoof must smell when you go to give old Bessie a pedicure. After all, cows walk around all day in cow manure.

10. Chicken Sexer - Who would’ve thunk that someone has to look at those fluffy little yellow chicks and decide if it’s a boy chick or a girl chick? (If it’s a girl chick, would it then be a “chick chick?”)

Maybe next week I’ll  make up resumes for these ten folks just for fun.  Feel free to share any odd occupations you have come across, or perhaps even had?

I hate school.

Really, I never liked it when I had to go and I like it even less now that I am “slightly” past middle-age (gulp!) and I find it necessary to take some courses to further my career.

I still hate school.

I never studied when I was in school (Sorry, Mom and Dad!) yet I managed to have pretty much a B+ average in high school and somewhere around a B in college. In fact, I was sort of a legend among  my classmates who all knew I didn’t study and the editor of my college yearbook put a full page photo of me with a book in my  hands in it as a dividing page between categories.

If you look at the book I am holding, you will notice it is upside down.

I attribute my ability to score well on tests to the fact that I have (had?) a photographic memory and took the best class notes that any student, anywhere, ever did. I wrote almost every word down that the professor spoke. People offered me money for my notebooks when I finished a course. Really.

But…I still hate school.

I know, that’s repetitive and redundant. Question: can something be both repetitive and redundant? or do you have to choose one or the other? Perhaps if I had studied in school I would know the answer to that!

So, I’m heavily entrenched in this online class that requires me to be at the computer (how odd!) for two hours on Thursday nights and then spend another two or so hours working with two other classmates in various scenarios. On top of that, there is homework and an exam.  In addition, we are expected to write in a “Reflections Blog” every week.

So far I’m behind on everything. I have done the online classes and some of the homework, but somehow life gets in the way of the rest of the stuff…probably because I hate school.

So now I have somehow managed to dig a hole for myself with regard to catching up. In fact, the hole is about the size of one a meteor would leave should it fall from the sky and land in the desert. Although the way my luck usually runs, it would land in my living room.  But now that I think of it, if that’s the reason I don’t get my homework in on time, isn’t that far better than “The dog ate it”…especially since I don’t have a dog?

So, this blog is short this week. It’s because I have to think of other things to do instead of homework.