Retirement chronicles

 

So on Thursday morning, we drove six hours to Roanoke, VA on the first leg of our journey to Nashville to see Eric and Natalie and tonight, go to their first live show since the pandemic.

Except today we are back in Philadelphia, having driven all the way back home Friday morning at 4:00 a.m. when Jake got deathly ill.

Without going into it, he’s okay now but he’s almost 12 years old, has had an insidious ear infection all year, and maybe we didn’t use the best judgment taking him on this trip.

Of course I’m devastated about not going to Nashville but I have nothing but time now, I will fly down there shortly.

Anyway, that’s my sad story for today.

Other than that, retirement is going great.  I’ve gotten into a solid schedule of daily writing starting at 5:00a.m., which is why you’re seeing less of me here.

I’m playing around with a new idea that has me excited, a love letter to someone who is shocked to receive it, causing a series of crazy, unexpected life changing events.

That’s not the official synopsis but I am still working stuff out. 

We’ll see.

At the beginning of the pandemic, I sent out a few chapters of a book I wrote on getting older called What the Hell Happened and I got very favorable agent reaction - “really funny and well written, but….

not breaking any new ground.”

Woo, that stung.

As you can imagine, I’ve been thinking about that a lot.

Obsessively.

And I got invitations from two agents to send future work.

So, onward!  I’m fired up now.

Will I try another agent, though, or go at it myself?

Don’t know.

I do know one thing.  I would never publish without hiring a professional editor.

I have never read a book by a self published or small press author where I can’t tell if they’ve used a real editor.

It’s beyond embarrassing when they don’t. 

Just don’t do it.

Yeah, so we’re in a groove now at Casa Slick.  I write for around 3-4 hours until Gary wakes up, and while he drinks coffee upstairs for an hour, preparing for his rigorous 😂😂😂 day, I watch my food tv shows.

Omg, Top Chef.  I’m not giving any spoilers but not only is this my all time favorite season, this week was my all time favorite show.

I cried.

Woo, speaking of crying, I’ve been doing that a lot lately.  Between Jake and the state of our country.

Listen, I’m (mostly) done discussing politics here, but if you go back and read my posts between November 3-January 6, I was hysterical with fear over what I perceived could happen on said January 6.

Yeah, I was right.

So just a warning, I am ten times more positive we are getting #2 in August.

I really hope I’m wrong.

Oy vey do I.

Let’s see, what else.

Oh yeah, I do miss working. I think ideally in September I will look for something I can do a few hours 1-2 days a week downtown to get out of the house so I don’t get too loony.

Nah.

Hahaha, seriously, I might.  

It will depend on Gary.

If at any point he makes me watch Matlock with him, I’m outta here and working a day or two.

All kidding aside, I wasn’t going to get into this, but I am noticing more and more how the pandemic has changed us and how Gary and I have gotten even weirder and less social.   

I have to force myself to be around people and for the most part, other than the kids and a handful of friends, I still can’t do it.

I can’t stop my brain from overthinking everything and now it appears Gary has joined the club.

We talked the entire ride home from Roanoke.

Usually we listen to music and halfway home on long trips, he starts yelling at me to talk to him to keep him awake.

Under pressure to keep us alive, I suddenly run out of interesting things to say.

“Boy, that cheese was good last night.”

Nope, this time, when not talking about Jake, we discussed everything from Gary protesting outside of Fox News all summer to painting our upstairs bathroom bright, aqua turquoise with an old school diner black and white checked ceramic tile floor.  And new retro style fixtures, etc.

We are so doing the bathroom.  

I think we’re either going out today or tomorrow to buy stuff to start the process.

And now to bore you further:

We’re having blueberry pancakes for dinner tonight.

I’m beyond excited.

Okay, that’s enough of my silly life.

Have a great Saturday!

A dream realized

Welp, here’s another dream realized - donuts in Ocean City with the dog on a Tuesday. Because that’s what we do now.

The Rooftop Party

So in the insanity of weeks of ten hour work days leading up to my retirement last month, and, two misses with new glasses and contacts until my eye doctor and I got it right and I can finally see out of my blurry left eye, I was waiting until I could enjoyably read my friend Ellen’s new book, The Rooftop Party.

Oh man, I read it in one afternoon.  I couldn’t put it down, it was such an awesome summer escape. It’s absolutely the best beach read of the summer, as one astute reviewer noted.

Ellen is so smart and funny.  I heard her voice throughout this book and I kept chuckling and patting myself on the back that she’s my friend of almost 20 years.

Here’s the link to pick up your very own copy:

https://www.amazon.com/Rooftop-Party-Novel-Ellen-Meister/dp/0778309517

Speaking of reviews, Ellen got the kind writers dream of for this book:

“Meister creates an engaging mystery in the unique setting of the home shopping world. It’s as fun to watch Dana piece together the clues as it is to see the behind-the-scenes details of her life as a TV host. Dana juggles a relationship, family drama, and a high-profile job, making her likable and easy to root for. Meister imbues her (and many other characters) with a quick wit and plenty of laughworthy lines. Perfect for readers who like their mysteries light on the murder but heavy on the humor.”

- Kirkus Reviews

“A wickedly entertaining rom-com/murder mystery from start to finish. It promises to be a contender for beach read of the year.”

- BookReporter

“A fast and fun read with an engaging heroine and supporting cast.”

- Library Journal

“Charming and ensemble-driven, Meister’s witty novel eliminates suspects while exploring the layers of Dana’s ambition as she decides what’s most important in her life. Fans of Janelle Brown’s Pretty Things, Julie Valerie’s Village of Primm series, and Sonja Yoerg’s Stories We Never Told will have a tough time leaving Meister’s latest behind.”

- Booklist

“This quickly became my favorite read of 2021… could not put it down.”

- Socrates’ Book Reviews

So that’s my PSA for today,   If you can’t kiss and hug a writer today, do the next best thing and buy my friend’s book.  

Oh, and here’s a bonus pic of me in the first glasses I returned.  The new ones are bright green titanium.  Pics will follow, but I still wear my contacts, too 😎

Two years ago tonight

 

Two years ago tonight, and one week before marrying my son, my beautiful daughter-in-law Natalie Prass did this ❤️

https://youtu.be/nIvtus0rkoA

More post pandemic life

 

So here it is Tuesday, June 1, my brain still thinks I’m working and I’m having a hard time relaxing.

Well, okay, not that hard. Actually I’m sprawled out on the sofa listening to music while Gary’s in the kitchen, putting up a second pot of coffee.

Man, did he kill it at our Memorial Day dinner for two last night.  Never think a vegetarian can’t enjoy a good barbecue type meal.

https://www.forksoverknives.com/recipes/vegan-burgers-wraps/carrot-dogs/

The hot dog recipe was courtesy of Julie, who made the same thing last night and we tasted simultaneously.

Minds blown.

I’m not sure if we’re doing anything today or not. Jake is doing okay but it’s hard to make any plans, really, until we see the vet tomorrow afternoon.

Sigh...good times.

Okay, not complaining, the sun is shining and it’s gorgeous out and I heard Gary mention something about pasta, roasted lemons and fresh ricotta so I suppose I can survive.

Happy June.

More post pandemic musings

 

This, this, this.  This is me, this is Gary, and I wish I had written it.

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/05/post-pandemic-dont-want-to-reenter-society/619045/

I remark to Gary frequently, “other than the death thing and not seeing the kids, we had a pretty awesome year.”

We talked to each other about EVERYTHING, we made a beautiful garden, we managed to buy some gorgeous art and music and furniture and a rug without leaving our house...Gary made healthy gourmet meals daily and we both lost ten pounds.

And I had the best time doing paralegal work, ever, blasting music in Julie’s former bedroom with Jake sleeping on the bed behind me.

Also, I love wearing pajamas and being barefoot all day.  When I went to the eye doctor a few weeks ago, it took me an hour to find my bra.

I’ve been going to the dentist wearing a flannel shirt with a heavy sweatshirt on top so I wouldn’t have to wear one 😂

Anyway, in case anyone is wondering, my brain still thinks I’m working.

I need to stop thinking about cases.

How’s everyone doing? 😎

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/05/post-pandemic-dont-want-to-reenter-society/619045/

More post pandemic adventures

 

Post pandemic adventures 

So it hasn’t hit me that I’m retired yet, all weekend I’ve had to stop myself from thinking about cases and wishing I could log in just to make sure I took care of things before I signed off for the final time on Friday...

Gah!

In any event, Gary has been doing what Gary does when people in our family are going through things, he’s busy stuffing my face. Last night he made caprese sammies with pesto and avocado to go with the main course of French fries.  

Tonight he’s making Thai food.  

We had all kinds of plans this weekend but it’s like twenty below zero and raining so we’re just going to hit Trader Joe for more supplies and Gary’s going to watch the Indy 500 while I freak out reading about the impending death of our democracy on Twitter.

Just a typical day at Casa Slick.

I still can’t wrap my brain around the fact that this will basically be every day now.

Oy.

Hahaha just kidding, very stoked that three weeks from today, we’ll be in Nashville finally seeing Eric and Natalie’s “new” house!

And my trip to Seattle is now tentatively scheduled for 6/25-7/6 as long as the vet doesn’t give us ominous Jake news on Wednesday, which of course I am fully expecting even though it’s an ear infection.

Ugh, an ear infection that hasn’t healed after three rounds of antibiotics so now they look for why and the suspect is Cushings disease, which is what killed our last dog and which is why I haven’t bought a plane ticket yet.

Why must life always be so yin and yang?

Ah well, best to just relax and enjoy this moment, huh.  It’s all any of us are guaranteed.

Okay, it’s decided, we’re also swinging by a bakery after Trader Joe’s.

Happy Sunday!

Zoom zoom

 

So Facebook memories just told me today is the one year anniversary of my first Zoom call.

Feh.

I know most people easily adapted to Zoom but I never did.

You should have seen me try to schedule a zoom deposition with a homeless client who can barely read.

All I can say is, thank god I have a competent friend/team member in the office.

And while Christmas, 2020 by Zoom was all cool and novel and fun with Julie, Eric and Natalie...no, no it wasn’t and I never want to do it again.

In a perfect world, anyway.

In other news, I’ve been having a pretty rough time these past few weeks and have written and deleted several posts about it but hey hey life isn’t perfect and all the bumps and setbacks just make you appreciate the good times more.  So I’ve spent the last couple days doing something positive.

Stay tuned.

I  have off from work today for Shavuot, and all you have to know about that is you celebrate with cheese.

I’m so down with that, and too funny, I just realized Gary is planning French onion soup for dinner tonight without knowing.

Ah, I love synchronicity.

I’m just going to spend today eating and buying stuff for my “positive  project” which okay is a man cave for Gary.  Sneak peek of stage one.

Sounds like a plan to me.

In honor of Eric Slick’s birthday

 

Today is May 15, 2021, which means it’s Eric Slick’s 34th birthday.  

Holy hell, how is that possible?

So in honor of that event, as is my tradition every year, I will tell the story of his birth.  

May 15, 1987

I'd just entered my ninth month and was still working full-time, at the stage of my pregnancy where I was scheduled to see the obstetrician every week for a status check. I went to work that morning and had a lunchtime appointment with the doctor, whose office was five blocks away.

By now I was an old friend at the doctor's office, having just given birth to Julie the January before -- it seemed like I lived there for almost two years -- so I hopped up on the examining table, cracking jokes, while the doctor snapped on those dreaded rubber gloves and began his probe. I'll never forget the expression on his face -- a shadow passed over it -- he looked really alarmed, and said, "I'll be right back. Don't move."

Err...both of my feet were in the stirrups and moving wasn't an option.  I freaked  after seeing his expression and hearing the anxiety in his voice. Oh my god, what was it? Did he not hear a heartbeat? I searched around the room frantically, hoping he'd left his stethoscope behind so I could listen for myself...like I knew how the hell to do that.

But it was moot because he returned seconds later with his partner, who quickly slid into a pair of gloves and did a probe of his own. The two of them exchanged glances and I would have had to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to realize something major was going on.

"What is it?" I gasped, terrified.

"Robin? Are you in any pain right now?" asked doctor #2.

"No!" I said probably a little too vehemently. But it was true. I wasn't. Terrified, yes, in pain, no.

"No pain at all?" My doctor appeared to be in a state of total disbelief.

"What's wrong? Why won't you tell me what's wrong?" I could feel myself getting hysterical. (Who me? Get hysterical? Impossible!)

"Robin. Listen to us. Nothing is wrong. It's just...it's just..." Doctor #2 looked at my doctor, as if it were his call to make.

"You are over seven centimeters dilated, Rob," my doctor said.

"Huh?"

"You are in active labor right now. You don't even feel a contraction? No cramping? Nothing?"

"No! Wait...are you telling me I'm giving birth now? In your office?"

I was incredulous but not really scared. Hell, I was in no pain whatsoever. If I could have a Hollywood style, contraction free birth right there in the doctors' office within the next few minutes, how lucky would I be?

There was a great sushi restaurant in the lobby.

Wait. There are reasons babies need to be born in hospitals. Arghhh...within seconds fear set in bigtime...and so did the sudden spasms of pain.

My doctor spoke to me in calm, even tones, knowing that I was about to go off the deep end.

"Robin. Listen to me. I need you to get dressed right now, take a cab to the hospital, and I will meet you there. Go in through the emergency room. Give me your husband's telephone number -- I will have my nurse call him so he can leave work now and meet us there as well. Just stay calm, make sure you take a cab -- I know the hospital is only a six blocks away but I don't want you walking. Okay?"

"Okay," I gasped, in a state of shock.

I got dressed, practically doubling over every time a contraction hit, which was like every two minutes, and headed to the lobby to hail a cab.

Except for one problem.

Fuck!  I realized I didn't have any money. In 1987, I didn't have a debit card, I had to get my money the old fashioned way, by cashing a check at the bank. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Oh well. The bank was right down the street. It would only take a minute or two and then I could get in a cab and head to the hospital.

Except there was a line in the bank. A long line.

I hopped from foot to foot. Finally I couldn't take it any more.  

"I'm in labor, I'm in labor," I babbled to the people ahead of me. "I need to cash a check so I can take a cab and go to the hospital." People turned around and stared at me but I was in that desperate mode where I didn't really give a damn...oh dear lord, I did not want to give birth to Eric James Marshall Slick in a bank. Yeah, we'd already picked out his name...my boy is named for both Clapton and James Marshall Hendrix...our favorite guitar players other than Adrian Belew har har...and how insane that he did in fact turn out to be a musician though I guess we should have named him "Keith" or “Ginger.”

Anyway, I made it to the front of the line, managed to cash a check and even made small talk with the teller "Yeah, I'm in labor right now. Ever have a baby born in your bank? Ha ha - isn't this hilarious. Ow...ow...ow..."

This was also before cell phones so I wasn't able to call Gary and even check to see where he was, which I would later learn was running every red light in Philadelphia as he raced to the hospital a good half hour away even if he didn't hit traffic.

Unfortunately, I did. Hit traffic, that is. I hailed a cab and luckily one stopped right away -- a very kind gentleman wearing a turban.

"Jefferson Hospital," I shrieked.

"Jefferson...?"

Oh my god. A rookie driver.

"llth and Walnut. Just take Locust Street five blocks to 11th, make a left up 11th and we'll be right there." Oh shit. That's where the emergency room entrance was, wasn't it? Or was that 10th Street? Never mind, we'd find it.

But as I said, no sooner did I get in that cab when we hit gridlock. I mean, we didn't move. We were in the downtown Philly traffic jam from hell.

"Oh god, we have to get off this street," I moaned. "I'm having a baby..."

The driver turned around and stared as if seeing me for the first time and realizing the enormity of both my belly and the situation.

"A baby? Oh no thank you very much, no baby, no baby," the driver stuttered.  

"Yeah. I need to get to the hospital."

So he turned up 16th Street, which was the worst move he could have made, because there are no right turns until Market Street, which was two blocks above the hospital and took us right into another jam at City Hall, where the traffic patterns are always skewed and messy.

We inched down the street, hitting every fucking red light.

"Oh my god," I moaned as another contraction hit.

The driver turned around again.

"No thank you very much, no thank you very much, no baby, no baby, no baby in the cab."

No shit.

And he kept repeating it. No thank you very much, no baby, no baby. 

I was starting to agree with him.

I looked at my watch and almost had a heart attack. It was now thirty minutes since I left the doctor's office with strict instructions to get into a cab to go to a hospital six blocks away.

"I have to get out," I told the driver. "I'll walk the rest of the way. I'll never make it otherwise."

What was I thinking? All I knew was, I was not giving birth in that cab, and that the doctor was going to be mad at me, and poor Gary was probably having a stroke.

I jumped out land literally ran four blocks to the hospital. I arrived at the emergency room dripping sweat (it was a very hot May 15 in 1987) and barely coherent.

Both my husband and doctor were already there.

I remember the doctor freaking out "Where were you?" and me mumbling something back about having to go to the bank and both the doctor and Gary staring at me like I'd completely lost my mind...anyway...they immediately got me prepped and I swear to God, Eric came into the world an hour later, sweetly and with no difficulty whatsoever...I didn't ask for heroin or a gun like I did when I was in labor with Julie...he just popped right out without even a whimper from me...and that's basically how Eric has been his entire life...the sweetest, nicest, most problem free son a mom could ever want.

So Happy Birthday to Eric!  I would do anything to be able to hug him today though nothing could top the look on his face when he was gifted his first drum set because WE KNEW.

Adventures in Post Pandemic Life

 

So yesterday was my first trip alone downtown since the pandemic and it wasn’t pretty.

Oh my fucking god, I forget how to do everything.

Well, in all fairness to myself, I wasn’t in the best head.  I’ve been having weird blurry vision occasionally in my left eye, but I’m a raging hypochondriac and life with Gary is very...smoky. So who knows?  Maybe it was my imagination.

But yeah, okay, my mother died of a brain tumor and I know it’s one of the symptoms and Web MD told me if I had one, my eye doctor would see it immediately and tell me.

So when my doctor spent way more time on my left eye than right and had me do stuff with that eye she didn’t ask with the other and then pulled up her chair to talk with me in the middle of the exam I heard white noise and broke out into a sweat I haven’t had since menopause.

I seriously almost threw up all over her office.

“Robin, you have the start of a cataract in your left eye,” she started to say.

“Oh thank you!” I shouted.

“You’re thanking me for a cataract?” Was it my imagination or did she back another six feet away?

I’m not going to torture myself by rehashing how socially inept I am now, and what idiotic things I babbled to my eye doctor, who probably thinks I am a total freak and not the good kind.

And then...

And then I ordered an Uber for the first time since March 2020 and I completely forgot how.  I mean, I know I was a mess from the eye doctor, but I was so disoriented, I pulled up the app and couldn’t remember how to use it.

Because the fuckers changed it during the pandemic.

Whose brilliant idea was that?

My driver was arriving in a silver Prius.  I had eyedrops in from my exam, I am blind as a bat, and every other fucking car was silver.

Anyway, by the time I got home, I was an anxiety ridden mess.

But hey hey, I did it, and now I know I can.

But wow, it was weird.

I really did stay in the house for over a year and the few times I did go out, it was with Gary.  

Gary and I have literally been together 24/7 since March 2020 so even just walking down Walnut Street alone felt surreal.

I didn’t like it.

Oh well, I’m sure it will get easier, if not, I’ll find a good therapist 😎

For now, it’s upstairs to work.

I’m off to answer 90 Interrogatories courtesy of some sadistic dickhead defense attorney.

Two can play at that game, asshole, I’ve got twelve more days.

Not that I’m counting.

Love,
Robin Slick, Paralegal 

(for twelve more days)