Road Signs Of Life

Pam: Ever notice how a lot of traffic signs are actually pretty descriptive of life’s milestones? For example, “CURVES AHEAD” would be puberty, “END SCHOOL ZONE” would be graduation, and “MERGE” describes marriage.

Ann: I get it. I guess “STOP” would be death, huh?

Pam: No, death would be “DEAD END”.

Ann: Sorry, but I think "DEAD END" would better describe my last job and my boss would be “DIP”.

Pam: You’re awful! But seriously, I keep noticing how as I’m driving, traffic signs seem to be offering me specific advice on what I was just thinking about. It’s better than a magic eight ball.

Ann: Like what?

Pam: Okay, yesterday I was driving along thinking about Margie who, as you know, is having serious marital issues. She keeps pleading for me to get information from others and speak to her husband for her. So I was sitting in traffic wondering whether I should “help” her or run for the hills.

Ann: You know that’s going to get really ugly.

Pam: I know. But a sign told me the same thing before you did. Just as I was debating what to do, I looked up to see a huge traffic sign that read, “DO NOT STOP ON TRACKS”. I suddenly realized that’s excellent advice for life in general. Basically, don’t linger where there is sure to be danger. So I decided to “KEEP RIGHT” and stayed out of it.

Ann: Good move.

Pam: Speaking of moves, do you think the sign for a man considering an affair is “DETOUR”?

Ann: No I think “WRONG WAY” would be more like it! Hopefully his wife would “OBSERVE WARNING SIGNS” and stop it before it’s too late.

Pam: If not, then nine miles later they might see “CAUTION CHILDREN”!

Ann: He should have just obeyed the one that said, “DO NOT ENTER”!

TGIF: Thank God I'm Fired!

Pam: I overheard some women today discussing whether it was wrong to call the lady who cleans their house a “maid”.

Ann: I’m pretty sure most people call them housekeepers these days. I guess for some people “maid” teeters on “servant”.

Pam: Although for my mother, they were one and the same.

Ann: I remember you telling me she went through them pretty fast.

Pam: Yeah, but it’s okay because every one of them was incredibly grateful to be fired.

Ann: Why?

Pam: She was unbelievably difficult but she paid so well they could never bring themselves to quit.

Ann: Didn’t you tell me she once fired a housekeeper for waking her up ten minutes early with the smell of breakfast cooking?

Pam: Yep. When I asked my mother what she expected the woman to do she said, and I quote, “She shouldn’t allow the scent of omelettes to drift prematurely into my bedroom.”

Ann: You’ve got to be kidding me!

Pam: No. I’m serious. In fact, when I was in college my mother once sat a housekeeper in front of a huge pile of gifts, Christmas paper and bows, and told her, “I want every last gift wrapped exquisitely by noon.”

Ann: Let me guess…the housekeeper didn’t meet the deadline?

Pam: On the contrary, she was finished by ten.

Ann: I know…they weren’t exquisite enough.

Pam: Nope, they were absolutely beautiful. But she got the ax anyway.

Ann: Okay so what was it?


Pam: It was too late when my mother realized she had neglected to have the housekeeper label the gifts in any way. When we gathered Christmas morning, we got a kick out of taking turns choosing and opening the gifts while my mother struggled to remember who each one was for.

She said things like, “I’m not sure who I had in mind when I picked that out.” And, “Oh Pam, that would look great on you!” as if she was seeing it for the first time. In the end we pretty much picked what we wanted to take home with us from the growing pile of unassigned loot. It was actually one of our most memorable and most fun Christmas mornings ever.

Ann: Well that sounds like it all worked out great. Why did the housekeeper loose her job?

Pam: As my mother explained it, “Well, who wraps without labels? She should have reminded me. It’s just common sense.”

Ann: So your mom’s not common enough for common sense herself?

Pam: Guess not. These poor women…talk about trapped. It was like being employed and massively overpaid by Joan Crawford in Mommie Dearest.

Ann: I don’t think I could ever have a housekeeper. It’s so….intimate. Just the idea of someone doing my dirty laundry makes me feel naked. And trust me, that’s not a pretty sight.

Pam: Knowing me, I’d clean the whole house before the housekeeper arrived so I wouldn’t be embarrassed by the mess. So what would be the point?

Ann: Then I guess we’re destined to scrub our own tubs, huh?

Pam: Yeah, and we’ll never know the pleasure of firing someone for rolling socks instead of folding them.

Ann: She didn’t!?

Pam: She did!

Too Much Stuff!

Ann: My house is overflowing. I’ve got to get rid of a bunch of my stuff…but I’m so sentimental I just can’t part with most of it.

Pam: What kind of stuff?

Ann: Toys my kids played with, clothes they wore, anything they made, or looked at for that matter. I know they’re grown now but….it’s so hard.

Pam: Just focus on the good part of clearing out stuff…the tidy spaces, the ease of finding things you decide to keep, and the enjoyment your stuff will give to someone who really needs it.

Ann: That’s the problem…what if it’s ME that needs it someday. As I look over each thing I plan to get rid of, I keep thinking I might need it someday and if I get rid of it then I won’t have it. But I have so much stuff, that even if I do need something I absolutely know I have, I can’t find it anyway. You wouldn’t understand. You’re so organized…

Pam: (Laughing) It’s all smoke and mirrors! You know very well if you open any drawer, cabinet, or closet in my house the terrible truth is told. I’m a mess. I can prove it. About a
month ago I bought one of those books about how to bring structure and organization to your life called, Clutter's Last Stand. I got it home and put it on my nightstand, but could never quite find the time…and by time I mean motivation…to read it. So yesterday to eliminate the constant visual reminder of my shortcomings, I decided at the very least I could put it on the bookshelf. That’s getting organized right? So I take it to the other room and go to place it on the shelf and I discover I already own a copy of the same book! How sad is that? I’m so disorganized I accidentally bought two copies of the same book on how to get organized.

Ann: Books don’t count. Remember Saint Brigit of Sweden? She and the nuns and brothers of her order, the Brigittines, lived very austere lives. They took a vow of poverty and didn’t own property at all with the exception of books. They could own as many books as they wanted. Eventually their monastery became the literary center of Scandinavia.

Pam: So you say the ten thousand paperbacks you have overflowing your office is justified by the fact that your home may someday become the literary center of Texas? That’s one of your better rationalizations.

Ann: I don’t know why I’m like this. My mother kept a meticulous house. A place for everything…and all that. Maybe it’s rebellion….who knows.

Pam: There may be something to that. I grew up in a pig sty. It was beyond disaster. I rarely brought friends home because I was embarrassed by the mess. Now I’m the opposite. Anyone could drop into my house at any time and, although it will look lived in, they would describe it as very tidy. I have to admit, I’m a bit compulsive about it.

Ann: Here we go blaming our mothers again! How will we feel when our daughters decide to hold us responsible for every one of their shortcomings?

Pam: Yeah, well, that’s another discussion. Let me tell you what helps me. When I’m trying to clear out clutter, I think of it as putting my house on a diet. You can even make a game of it, weighing the bags and boxes of stuff you carry out the door on the way to the garbage or the donation center. When I think of it that way as I clean out each closet or cabinet, I actually enjoy finding more stuff to get rid of…anything to add to the “weight” heading out the door.

Ann: Oh great! Another diet for me to fail….

The Wisdom of Yoda

Pam: Okay, I’ve had it! The roles I play in my relationships must change. My entire adult life I’ve been told to steady the ladder, hold down the fort, keep the home fires burning, and serve as ground crew. Meanwhile the men I’m “supporting” climb the ladder, fight the battles, take the adventures, and soar in the skies. It’s time I quit setting up the shots for someone else and took a few shots myself don’t you think?

Ann: I think that's a great idea. I could use a few shots too. Well, you’re right on schedule...forty-something and ready to finally live your own life. We’ve done the good daughter, good wife, good mother, and good employee thing. It’s important and at times satisfying….but it gets old doesn’t it?

Pam: Is it wrong that I can’t stand the thought of spending another minute as someone else’s support system? Remember that movie “The Goodbye Girl” when what’s her name is aggravated by the leading man’s decision to go off to pursue his acting career? He thinks that she'll be thrilled. But she gets frustrated and confesses to not being willing to wait for him. As she explains when he asks why she can’t be happy for him, “It’s my third time up as cheerleader!”

Ann: Well if you’ve got the pom-poms…

Pam: Very funny.

Ann: Seriously, this is something to really give some thought to…

Pam: I have. I’m incredibly confident that the people I support emotionally will be successful. But I’m not sure I can be. I have less control over them than I do myself. So why am I so sure they can do it but not sure I can?

Ann: Do you think it has something to do with courage? It’s certainly easier to talk someone else into being brave than to be brave ourselves.

Pam: No guts no glory huh?

Ann: It’s like being in Vegas and talking the drunk next to you into going “all in” on a single card. It’s fun and exciting but in the end, win or lose, you’ve still got your money, you know? Your dignity. But actually laying it on the line yourself, gambling your own loot, that’s really a bold move.

Pam: What’s weird is that once I help others to reach their potential, help them find success, I’m incredibly frustrated with them once they get there. I help, encourage, assist and sometimes literally push someone up into a position and then I envy them. As they sit at the top, I see all the mistakes they’re making and I know I would do a better job. And yet, there I am again; back on the list of nominees for “best supporting actress”.

Ann: So do it for yourself this time.

Pam: Easy for you to say. I don’t even know what I want. I don’t know where to begin. I want to build something for myself for a change…but I don’t know what to build. It’s like being incredibly hungry and having an entire buffet to choose from. But when I was young I couldn’t choose a passion to focus on because everything looked so good. Now that I’m older, I can’t choose because nothing looks good to me. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s fear that has me stuck.

Ann: Once I heard if you feel stuck in your life you’re supposed to imagine what you would do differently if you could go back and do it again knowing what you know now. Think of times when, looking back, you wished you’d been gutsier, times when you wished you said, “Yes!” When you have that firmly in mind, go and do it! Start now. You know a lot now you didn’t used to, so why not go ahead and do what you would have done? We all say, “If I’d only known then what I know now…” --today is tomorrow’s “then”. Pardon me for sounding like a Nike commercial, but, just do it.

Pam: That sounds great in theory but the fact is that those ships have sailed. I will never be the youngest speechwriter to ever pen an inaugural address or the first woman CEO of the world’s largest aviation manufacturer.

Ann: So forget being the first or the youngest. Be the best, or maybe even the oldest. Think of Ray Kroc. He was 52 when he started McDonald’s. Or Colonel Sanders, who was in his 70s when he finally hit it big with Kentucky Fried Chicken. Personally, I draw inspiration from Jan Karon, one of my favorite authors. She didn’t start writing until she was 50 and her Mitford series is a consistent bestseller.

Pam: When I think about doing something wonderful, great even, I always feel like I’m being…..I don’t know…proud? Presumptuous? Some deadly sin…but I guess I should try.

Ann: Okay, now you're forcing me to quote Yoda. “Do or do not…there is no try.”

Out Of The Mouths of Babes

Ann: I about died laughing at what little Charlie said at the party Saturday night! Wasn’t that hysterical?

Pam: What did he say?

Ann: About his mother being drunk.

Pam: Wow. I missed that. I guess I wasn’t in the room at the time. What happened?

Ann: It was so funny. A bunch of us ladies were standing around swapping menopause stories and I was saying that what bothered me the most was the mood swings. I asked Charlie’s mom, Cathy, if she finds herself crying for no reason or inexplicably snapping at her family. She said she didn’t think so but that only her husband and boys could give a truthful answer to that question.

Just then little Charlie comes in and sees Cathy with a glass of wine in her hand, chatting and laughing with me and the other ladies about night sweats and such. He watched us all for a few minutes and then breaks into our little circle and looks up at her and says, “Oh great. Dad couldn’t come tonight and now you’re drunk. Who’s going to drive home? Me?”

Pam: Was she really drunk? That’s not like her at all.

Ann: She was on her first glass of wine for goodness sakes. But Charlie was seriously concerned.

Pam: What did Cathy say to him?

Ann: She tells him what I just said, that she’s only had one glass of wine and that by the time they’re planning to leave in a few hours she will most certainly be absolutely fine to drive them home.

But then Charlie says, “But you’re drunk!” And so I ask, “Charlie, what on earth makes you think your mother is drunk?” And he says, “Because she’s never this happy at home!”

Pam: He didn’t! How funny!

Ann: We were all in stitches. Honestly, we were wiping the tears from our eyes. And without missing a beat Cathy says to me, “I guess that answers your earlier question about if menopause has affected my mood!”

Pam: Little Charlie is the master of unintentional humor. One of my favorites is when I was babysitting him when he was about three. We were on the floor playing with his cars and I was chatting with him, helping him learn to answer basic questions about his family.

I asked, “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” And he said, “I have two brothers.” And I asked, “What are their names?” and he gave me their names. Then I asked, “Who else is in your family?” And he said, “Mommy and daddy.” And I asked, “And what are their names?”

Charlie answers, “Cathy and Daddy.” And I say, “Yes, your mommy’s name is Cathy, but what is your daddy’s name?” And he says, “Daddy!” So trying to get him to understand by getting at it a different way. I ask, “No, Daddy is what you call him. But he has a name. What does your mommy call daddy?” And Charlie pauses, looks down at the floor and mumbles, “I’m not allowed to say.”

Ann: Hysterical! But it kind of makes me wonder what my kids might have said over the years.

Pam: Me too. But I don’t even want to know!

Misfits Need Love Too

Pam: When I got my daughter that cute little puppy when she was in fourth grade I never considered the fact that I was going to be stuck taking care of an elderly Chihuahua when she went away to college.

Ann: Is Misfit giving you trouble again?

Pam: No. Not again. …still. She spoiled him absolutely rotten and then moved thirteen hundred miles away. I wish we’d included “Must allow dogs to reside in dorms” on her list of criteria for selecting a college.

Ann: She’s pretty attached to him isn’t she? It’s cute that Misfit has outfits for every occasion. He looked adorable in his tux on New Year’s Eve.

Pam: You wouldn’t think it’s so cute if you were doing that dog’s laundry. I actually have a Misfit pile when I’m folding clothes. How nuts is that?

Ann: Didn’t she used to paint his toenails too?

Pam: Don’t remind me! That started one of the biggest fights she and her brother ever had.

Ann: I don’t think I’ve heard that one.

Pam: He was giving his little sister a hard time about painting Misfit’s toenails and telling her that since Misfit’s a boy he shouldn’t have polish on his nails.

Ann: The fact that he’s a dog wasn’t relevant?

Pam: Listen, if you start getting all logical we’ll never get through this story.

Ann: You’re right. What was I thinking? Go on….

Pam: So she says, “Well it’s blue polish!” He tells her the dog is unhappy to have polish of any color on his nails. She was quite offended by the suggestion that she’d do anything to make her precious puppy unhappy.

So that night when he fell asleep she snuck into her brother’s room and painted his toenails with the same blue polish she’d used on the dog. Then she gathered all the nail polish remover and acetone from everywhere in the house and hid it. Apparently he was awake for several hours before he finally noticed.

Ann: Only your daughter!

Pam: I know. I know. So I’m in the middle of the grocery store and I get a call on my cell with each of them on an extension yelling at the top of their lungs. I hear, “I’m gonna kill her!” and “I know what Misfit likes!” and “Make her tell me where it is!” and “I think it looks good!” He’s furious, she’s laughing, and I’m clueless.

Ann: That’s what you get for leaving the house to buy food.

Pam: She takes things anyone says about Misfit very seriously. I got on her bad side myself at Christmas.

Ann: What’d you say?

Pam: She was checking out the pet store ads and saw an angel costume and asked me, “Can’t you just picture Misfit as a little angel with wings and a halo?” Being in a constant state of frustration with that dog I answered honestly, “I do…frequently.”

Ann: Ouch.

Pam: Then last week she called to tell me she joined a new club on campus that raises money for the local animal shelter and for abandoned livestock. It’s called We Love Animals. I told her I should join too because I love animals…they’re delicious. She didn’t appreciate my humor.

Ann: So why is Misfit making you nuts today?

Pam: He’s had this scaly rash on his ears that I’d been treating with hydrogen peroxide but it wasn’t improving. So I took him to the vet today and she told me he has dermatophytosis of the epidermal lining of his ears.

Ann: Sounds expensive. What is it?

Pam: It’s a common fungal infection. She said he probably picked it up outside on his feet and spread it to his ears when he was scratching.

Ann: So basically he has athlete’s ear?

Pam: Yep. The vet told me to go to the drug store and buy some generic foot fungus lotion and put it on his ears twice a day. So now I’m feeding him little treats one at a time so he’ll allow me to smear this stuff in his tender ears.

Ann: I always knew you’d be a wonderful grandma!

Pam: Oh shut up!

Priests Who Do Stand-Up

Ann: I managed to mortify myself in front of my priest today! What is it about the presence of a priest that forces my foot into my mouth?

Pam: Oh no…What’d you do now?

Ann: My parish just got the new statue of our patron saint and yesterday they placed it on its pedestal at the entry to the church. Well, this thing is…the only word for it is scary.

Pam: Yeah, you were telling me its dark bronze, very gaunt, and has hollowed out eyes. Sounds awful.

Ann: A nightmare. So after mass today we’re supposed to gather out front to bless the statue. Leaving the sanctuary, the kids and I lingered just inside the doors to chat with another family when I announced, “Well, we’d better get out front to bless that hideous statue.” Then I hear Father saying, “Yes Ann, we should”. I was so embarrassed.

Pam: I bet the kids loved that!

Ann: Once Father walked away I said to my daughter, “Why didn’t you tell me that there was a priest nearby?” and she said, “Mom, you’d think the fact that we’re standing in a church might have given you a clue!”

Pam: She has a point. But I can top that for embarrassing moments with a priest.

Ann: Okay, but make it a doosey so I’ll feel better.

Pam: Oh, this’ll do the job; I promise. And it’s the truth. Remember years ago my husband and I signed up to join a group from our parish to tour Italy with Father Tom? Prior to the trip we’d all gather at the church for art and history lessons to better appreciate what we’d be seeing. So my husband knew I was particularly looking forward to seeing Michelangelo’s statue, David.

Ann: Who wouldn’t? It’s a young, naked hunk of a man in marble! Wait a second…I suddenly get the feeling this is going to get really good. Continue.

Pam: About a week before the trip my hubby and I were at our city’s big Oktoberfest checking out the vendor’s booths—crafts, jewelry, that kind of stuff. He points out a little white plastic bust of the David, saying, “There’s your favorite statue.” And I reply, “Honey, that’s missing all the best parts of the David”. Suddenly I hear laughter behind us and we turn around to see one of our parish priests, Father George, standing there, still laughing.

Ann: Oh my gosh! You must have wanted to crawl under a table. I feel better already.

Pam: Glad I could help. But I have to admit that’s not the end of the story. So fast forward a few weeks and there we all are, in a museum in Florence, Italy before the magnificent David. I’m standing in front of it taking pictures and I’m grateful it was Fr. George who heard me at the Oktoberfest and not Fr. Tom, who is with us on the trip.

Ann: Yeah, it would have been kind of embarrassing ogling the David with Fr. George there after what he heard you said.

Pam: So I wait for the group to move on with the tour guide so I can get a couple of shots of the David without people in the picture. I’m lining up my shot when I see some movement behind the base of the statue. It’s Fr. Tom standing back there all by himself and he’s gesturing for me to join him.

Ann: Behind the statue?

Pam: Yeah. So I walk around behind the huge statue and Fr. Tom points up to the gorgeous, naked, marble tushy and tells me, “Don’t forget this shot too. I hear you’re quite fond of his physique.” Then he grins at me knowingly.

Ann: Fr. George told Fr. Tom about what he heard you say at Oktoberfest?

Pam: Yep! I blushed every shade of red there is and said to Fr. Tom, “I thought you guys weren’t supposed to tell our secrets!” And Fr. Tom tells me, “That’s only in confession Pam. Everything else is fair game.”

Ann: Great. That means that by now everyone in my parish probably knows I think our new statue is ugly. So much for making me feel better.

Pam: Hey, I tried!

God's Plan For All Women

Ann: I saw one of those bumper stickers today that say, “They’re not hot flashes—they’re power surges”. Then as I passed the car I just had to look inside to see who was driving. Guess what? It was a teenage boy!

Pam: And to think, my kids won’t drive my car ‘cause it’s a minivan. So what were you expecting to see when you looked into that car?

Ann: I don’t know. If I’d seen a sweaty, haggard old woman I’d be depressed because I’d think, “That’s how I must look!” And if I’d seen a fresh-as-a-daisy, cheerful looking woman I’d be depressed because I’d think, “Why can’t I breeze through it like that?”

Pam: So I guess finding it was a teenage boy was for the best, huh? God knows what he’s doing. Are you sure it was a boy? Maybe it was a menopausal woman with a beard.

Ann: You think this is funny but just you wait. You won’t be laughing when it’s your turn.

Pam: You’re probably right. Hot flashes don’t sound fun. But for the time being, I’m getting a kick out of watching others go through it. Did I tell you about my sister-in-law at my niece’s wedding last March?

Ann: I don’t think so. Do I want to hear this? I have a feeling I won’t find this story quite as amusing as you do. But go ahead…

Pam: It was a cold spring day in Chicago and we were all enjoying the reception. I was listening to the toasts when I realized something that felt profound. Everyone at the head table, the bride and groom, and all their attendants were a full generation younger than me! Then I looked around my assigned table. I was seated with the mother of the bride who is my sister-in-law, my husband who is the bride’s uncle, his mother who is the grandmother of the bride, the family priest, and the parents of the groom. I was seated with the old people!

Ann: Okay. I’m not seeing how this is a story about hot flashes…

Pam: I’m getting there. So I’m feeling a bit old when I see my sister-in-law fanning herself furiously with the wedding program and then she excused herself to get some air. When she’d been gone for a full fifteen minutes, the priest and I decided to go check on her.

Ann: Don’t tell me. She had spontaneously combusted and you found only a pile of ashes for him to perform the last rites on….

Pam: You’re close. So the priest and I find my sister-in-law in the lobby standing leaned up against a large plate glass window still fanning herself and perspiring profusely. She was apologetic and embarrassed and kept saying how awful and humiliating menopause can be.

Ann: I can relate. You say she didn’t burst into flames--so she must have burst into tears, right?

Pam: No. Actually the priest was really terrific telling her how natural it all was and how it was part of God’s plan for all women…season of life…blah, blah, blah.

Ann: So she bought that, huh?

Pam: Yeah she did. But it was all almost for nothing.

Ann: What happened?

Pam: She decided she’d better get back to her guests and she reluctantly stepped away from the cool window and back towards the ballroom. And there on the outside of the plate glass window was a perfect silhouette of her in condensation on the outside of the window.

Ann: You’re kidding me!

Pam: The priest and I both saw it and were grinning at each other as we watched the mist rising from the perfect likeness of my sister-in-law on the outside of the glass. Then she stopped suddenly and began to turn around to say something to us.

Ann: Oh no! Did she see it?

Pam: That’s the sweet part. You never saw a priest move so fast! He jumped in front of the window while simultaneously pulling me nearer to him so that our bodies blocked the scene. She said a little something and then proceeded into the ballroom, cooler and more content having chatted with us. The minute she was back in the ballroom I about bust a gut laughing. Even the priest was chuckling.

Ann: I was wrong. That was pretty funny... but only because it didn't happen to me for a change. Pardon the pun. As I said, just you wait!

Daughters As Friends?

Ann: Don’t you love when your daughter grows up and you have those glimmers of moments when she’s more like a friend than a daughter?

Pam: I know what you mean. My “daughter as friend” moments seem to hit home most when she’s using that quick wit of hers. Once when she was about thirteen, I was noticing how much she enjoyed new hair styles, shoes, purses, and
jewelry. I commented, “You’re really a girly-girl, you know that?”---“Asks the woman with the French manicure,” she quipped back. Quick…I’m telling you, quick.

Ann: Yeah, you have to keep an eye on her alright. But it’s true. She is a girly-girl. She’s always helping you stay in style with your make-up, clothes, and jewelry isn’t she?

Pam: I do seek her advice about hair products, nail length and shape, and other girly kinds of things and she’s always very helpful. But I have to be careful….

Ann: Why do you say that?

Pam: Last month we were in the drug store picking up a few things for her to take back to school. So I stopped in the skin care aisle and I mentioned to her that I am troubled by the fact that lately I’ve noticed some darkening areas on my face. "Sweetie, help me find something to fade these age spotscoming up on my face recently”, I said to her. “Sure,” she answered enthusiastically, “let’s see….”

So I’m checking out the shelves, overwhelmed by the sheer number of products geared towards middle-aged women like us. As I ponder the moisturizers, rejuvenators, revitalizes, and “luminators” my daughter, being helpful I think, is muttering, “Age spots, age spots, something for age spots…”

Then the pharmacist appears nearby to restock the shelf and my daughter says, “That’s what we need, a scientist! I bet he can help.” She approaches the man as I follow closely behind. “Sir,” she asks loudly, “where can we find time machines?”

Lost and Profound

Pam: As the name suggests, what we offer here is basically riffs from the rift. For nearly two decades as best friends…

Ann: We prefer the term “accomplices”…

Pam: …that’s true! For a long time we’ve been solving the dilemmas of the world as we see it. Unfortunately for the rest of you, that world has very little statistical correlation to reality.

Ann: What did you used to have printed on the binder where you collected your thoughts…that journal you kept?

Pam: Oh yeah…T.W.I.S.T.E.D. It stood for “The Way I See Things Every Day”…I’d forgotten about that.

Ann: So which one of us is lost and which is profound?

Pam: I thought it meant we’re both just “deeply” confused…pun intended. But I’d say we take turns. At any given time one of us is in our right mind and the other is teetering on the edge. So we take turns talking each other down off the ledge.

Ann: Suffice it to say we are two bright women who are now or at some point have been: a mother & a daughter, a wife & an ex-wife, an employee & a boss, educated & clueless, hopeful & desperate, skinny & fat, endearing & annoying,…

Pam: You get it…we’re Lost & Profound.