In The Spotlight

I’m fresh out of blog ideas to write about and thought this might hold me over until my brain kicks back in. Thanks to Green-Eyed Momster who stole this meme from Unknown Mami.  

Here are the rules:
1. Respond and rework, (or not); answer the questions on your blog, replace one question that you dislike with a question of your invention, add one more question of your own.  2. Tag other people (or not). Sounds simple enough, right?

Here are my answers...



What is your current obsession?
Let’s start off with a shocker—I’m obsessed with the reality show Tori and Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood on Oxygen.  I’m a freak, I know.

What are you wearing today?
 I'm sitting in the yard so I'm wearing a hat the size of a circus tent. It's been around the world with me, and yes, everyone laughs when they see me in it.

What’s for dinner?
 Baked beans are slow cooking in the oven and we’re grilling hot dogs.  It’s 90 degrees today so it made sense to heat up the kitchen and stand over a hot bbq.

What are you listening to right now?
 The neighbor kids screaming in their pool.

Which language do you want to learn?
 Spanish, living in America, it would really come in handy.

What do you love most about where you currently live?
 We have a red-tailed hawk that flies the skies over our back yard.

What style is your current home decorated in?
 Contemporary and comfortable, but we have a lot of old architectural fragments as artwork on the walls.  I figure if I can’t live in an old farm house, I’ll move one into my current house, one piece at a time.

If you were a time traveler what era would you live in?
 Back to the time when round, chubby women were all the rage.

What is your favorite color?
 Periwinkle blue (like hydrangeas)

What is your favorite piece of clothing in your own wardrobe?
 I never met a pair of shoes I didn’t like.

What were you doing ten years ago?
 Working my ass off in advertising and marketing and never imagining I’d hate retirement!

If you had $300 now, what would you spend it on?
 A trip to Baltimore with Holly, Queen of the Universe, in late summer or early fall for Blue Stone Crabs.

When was the last time you cried?  I don’t cry, this explains it.

What are your favorite films?
 E.T. is the only film I've ever paid to see twice.  And I love foreign language films.  But pretty much anything with Daniel Craig, Kate Winslet, Meryl Streep or Russell Crowe flips my switch.

Your favorite books?
 Grapes of Wrath wrecked me.  And I'm reading Writing Home by blogger Cindy LaFerle, it's terrific.

What was the most enjoyable thing you did today?
 Today I took 90 minutes of Pilates, it makes me feel so tall-- Then I took a 2 hour nap to recuperate.

What are the things you would never blog about?  If I have an "issue" and haven't discussed/said it with/to the person's face, I'd never write about it.  I don't blog to "send a message" to others.  But believe me, with the stories I could tell, it's VERY tempting sometimes!

How did you build traffic to your blog?  I found blogs I liked and started making comments.  Then, if a blogger I liked had a list of blogs she/he liked, I’d check those out as well. Eventually I found a collection of blogs I enjoy reading, and comments and traffic flowed back and forth.  Plus Lilly featured my blog as a “guest writer” and she introduced me to lots of great people. But how people build huge traffic and huge comments remains a mystery to me.  I'd love to know!

What makes you follow a blog?
 Good writing and/or great photography always captures me.  And I love to laugh!  Plus of course, a "Follow" button makes it easier.

What advice would you give bloggers? Add your blog URL to the signature block on your email so it's easy to figure out who you are when/if you email other bloggers.  (User names and blogs are usually very different.)  And, it's a great teaser to remind the people you email to check out your blog.

Ann's Question: What makes you comment on a blog?
  It’s my way of staying connected to the blogs and blog friends I’ve made.  I like to show appreciation for their work.

Amy's Question: What is your favorite thing to do when you have some free time?
 What's "free time"?

Tonya's Question: What is a talent you wished you had?  I’m a good cook, as evidenced by the above mentioned *ahem* baked beans, but I would love the time and skill to be a Julia Childs type cook.


Kyooty's Question: If you could be any other animal other then Human, what would you be?
 My mother’s spoiled rotten cat.... or an elephant, then I'd never have to worry about my weight or wrinkles again.

Carrin's Question: Rush just told me that by 2042, white people will be the minority. Do you believe that? Would that be a big deal to you?
 I don’t believe a word Rush Limbaugh says, but I have no problem being a minority.

Melissa's Question: Would you want your blog to be as popular as Dooce? What would be some of the pros and cons?
 Oh yes, I would love to be that popular!  She types, the world reads, and the paparazzi doesn’t stalk her.  Hmmm, I wonder if she gets good tables at restaurants.

Unknown Mami's Question: What do you admire most about yourself? Don't be modest.
 Probably my ability to laugh at myself.

Green-Eyed Monsters Question: If you could be anyone else, who would you be?  I’d like to be rich and anonymous but no one like that comes to mind at the moment. 




Joanna Jenkin’s Question:  What's surprised you about your blog?  I was surprised and happy when guys started reading and commenting!  

As far as tagging goes, I tag anyone who wants to do it-- NO pressure!  And, you don't have to include any links, if you don't have time.  Let me know if you play along!


Since this is all about me, (isn't it always?) is there anything else you’d like to know? Ask away, I'll answer your questions in another post!

Welcome to The Fifty Factor  -  Joanna

Photo Credit 

Bag Lady On A Mission

My husband started it. He came home from work one day with a reusable shopping bag (Where he got it, I have no idea.) and vowed to carry it with him for evermore, never to bring a plastic grocery store bag home again! He gave me a big speech about saving the planet, how plastic bags are not biodegradable and how we need to start doing our part at the supermarket. He was very excited, very sincere, very *ahem*cough*over-the-top*cough*, about it and he meant every word. This was about three years ago, way before the current trend in Los Angeles to “bring your own bag” shopping.

As I stared at him blankly, taking in his latest revelation, I wondered if my husband even knew where our local supermarket was. Grocery shopping is "not his thing”, if you catch my drift. I wished him good luck on HIS “plastic bag-free mission" and went about my business. Then I called my friend to have a good laugh about it.

Little did I know, my friend had a few "save the planet” ideas of her own. She was knee-deep in the book Omnivore’s Dilemma and was now on HER own mission-- That mission was chicken! My friend wanted better food choices to feed her growing child and was willing to make the added effort to find, and the added expense involved, to make it happen. After all, we live in Southern California, how hard could it be?

After extensive research, she found a truly organic, cage-free, roam around in the sun, chicken, to feed her child-- You know, a real chicken. It’s not as easy to find as you might think-- which, come to think of it, is shocking. But finally, after searching high and low and racing cross-town, in Los Angeles rush hour traffic, to pay a ridiculous sum of money, for a raw chicken, my friend found her chick-o-dee and was thrilled…. Right up until the butcher put her beautiful “pure” chemical-free, Sunshine State chicken into a plastic grocery bag. Talk about a buzz kill.

We discussed it, half laughing, half frustrated, and hands-free of course, as she drove home with her bird in the backseat. That was our “tipping point” as they say, and we both pledged to join my husband and swore off plastic (and paper) bags at the supermarket.

The idea of being “ahead of the curve” was appealing to us, although San Francisco, at the other end of the state, was really the mother of reusable bags (in the U.S.). And we liked the idea of “making a difference", all be it a very small one. We found some pretty cool shopping bags too-- Eye-catching and just the right size for large or small trips to the market.

The bags were just the start, as I expanded MY "Mother Earth mission", learning about more things I could improve on. I joked about tracking my carbon footprint as if it was the shoe sale at Nordstrom’s, but knew it was important. My friend and I also explained reusable bags to her child and the commitment we were making. She was all for it and anxious to join in. Big time!

In fact, early in the learning curve, gung-ho child busted both of us, on multiple occasions, for mindlessly taking a store's plastic bag. That resulted in carrying groceries out of the market in our coat pockets and purses. You learn fast not to forget your reusable shopping bag once onion dip is in your coat pocket-- Try explaining that to the dry cleaners! It can be a messy proposition but a commitment is a commitment-- especially in front of an impressionable 9 year old.

Fast forward a few years later and I’d estimate at least half of the shoppers at my local supermarket now bring their own reusable bags. My friend’s child ALWAYS does-- I only wish my memory was that good. I’m forever running back to the car to get my bags. But-- Not once in the last two years have I brought a plastic grocery store bag home with me! I’m pretty proud of that.

And yes, my husband takes total credit for it, although he’s yet to step foot in a grocery store!

Are you “saving the planet”?

Welcome to The Fifty Factor - Joanna

Photo Credit: © Willee Cole - Fotolia.com

Perfection!

Today was a day that can only be described as perfect.  I generally do not set my expectation meter to "perfection" and tend, instead, to just roll with the punches hoping for the best.  But today I was excited beyond my usual hopes for a cool outing with my godson.  I'd been talking about this day for weeks and he'd been shrugging his shoulders with doubts about the "cool factor" I was explaining.

We were going to the circus-- Ringling's Bros. and Barnum & Bailey-- "the greatest show on earth",  and I was beyond jazzed about the idea.  The last time I attended a circus I was 14 years old.  And I didn't actually attend it, I was in it.  It was for a big annual, high school fundraiser.  At the time, a student's family actually owned a real traveling circus and they put on a "big show" each year to raise to money for the PTA.  

Back then, the family circus recruited students from the local dance studio to participate in the show and I was one of those student dancers.  It was supposed to be a big honor to be involved as either a "showgirl" or a "featured extra" that worked alongside the professionals.  Me?  I didn't feel so "honored".  The whole thing made me very nervous.  I didn't like the idea of being in front of the entire town in a leotard or anywhere near the elephants.

For my big circus debut, I was one of the featured girls on the "web" which is basically a rope that hung from the ceiling-- way, way, way, up at nose bleed height.  Oh, and did I mention I'm mortified of heights?  The rope had a small loop on it.  I'd hang from the loop by my wrist or (gulp) my ankle and a guy on the ground would spins me around at an ungodly speed while I did "tricks" until I nearly vomited.  We did a routine to the old song "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head" followed by me practically kissing the sawdust-covered ground every time I was finished performing.

In a nutshell, let's just say my folks didn't have to worry about me running off to join the circus.  How I overcame my fear of heights and did a pretty good job, at age 14 and scared out of my wits, remains a mystery to this day. Anyway, that was my last circus experience. 

Oh what I would give to have a picture of me spinning on that rope!  My husband still thinks I'm making it all up, but Scouts honor, it's true.

So today we were on our way to the "real" circus. Driving to the show, I tried to talk it up with my godson in the back seat but I could see from the rear view mirror that his anticipation was more for the cotton candy and popcorn than the clowns, tigers and tightrope walkers. 

His eyes got a little wider once we walked into Staples Center, clowns were bouncing around and people were selling some pretty cool souvenirs.  We made our way into the auditorium and then... then... then...  He saw the circus stage set where the Lakers usually play basketball, and I heard him gasp!  It was not at all what he expected! Things were starting to get very "cool".

Somehow the angels were on my side and we scored fabulous front row seats without any wires or equipment blocking our view.  Godson noted that we were pretty much in the same spot Jack Nicholson sits for the Lakers games.  Chalk up a few more "cool" points! 

Once we settled into our seats, I thanked gawd we didn't have to climb the stairs back up to the concession stands because they had people selling popcorn, cotton candy and fresh lemonade that came right to us so we could go on the floor/stage and mingle with the circus acts signing autographs and teaching kids how to juggle. Godson was loving it, until he looked around and remembered he's a "grown up" twelve year old and maybe this was for babies.   The "cool" factor diminished, but not for long. The clowns were working the crowd of all ages and soon all was right at the circus again.

When the show started, the noise was cranked up so stinking loud I thought for sure I was going to lose godson.  Loud noise is not his friend, as they say, but eventually things settled and that feeling of pounding in your chest from the noise subsided.  

The parade of animals and the entire cast made their way around the ring.  People were flying through the air on silk ribbons, costumes dazzled, elephants lead zebras that pranced while acrobats flipped and clowns played with the audience.   There were even a bunch of girls spinning on "the web" which godson pointed out to me with "No way you ever did that!" laughter.  Just before intermission, the Ringmaster made an elephant disappear right in front of us!  

When the lights came up during the break, godson couldn't wait to call his mom and tell her what a great time he was having, (All together now, Awww!) then we shopped for souvenirs and posed for pictures with clowns.

During the show, I had a few momentary OMG lapses of "those poor animals" and flashbacks to the wonderful book Water For Elephants trying to remember what the "in case of emergency song" the band would play if things went to hell in hand basket.  (Phew, they did not.)  But mostly I enjoyed watching godson mesmerized by the show and pointing out things that "I" shouldn't try at home.  You know, in case I ever considered shooting myself out of a cannon.

The next thing we knew, the show was over in a flash-- well, two hours, but over too soon nonetheless.  We gathered our belongings and started the hike up the stairs to the exits.  Half way up, godson stopped and turned back around towards the stage for one last long, slow, look, from top to bottom....

Then he squeezed my hand and said "I love this day!"

It was a perfect day that I will hold in my heart forever.

What's your idea of a perfect day?

Welcome to The Fifty Factor  -  Joanna

Lend A Hand

Have you ever heard the terms "circling the wagons", "call in the Calvary", "lend a helping hand" and Hilary Clinton's "it takes a village"?  When it comes to family and friends in need of support or an extra pair of hands, pitching in is what I do-- And they do the same for me.  

Over the years, I've had my share of ups and downs. Loved ones have helped with everything from chicken soup when I'm sick or fixing flat tires, to holding my hand in a crisis and helping me pack for cross-country moves. I've gladly reciprocated with a sympathetic ear, baby sitting, cooking, cleaning, painting, whatever was needed to help and support these near and dear to me.  

No one in my "village" has ever looked for a pat on the back or recognition for their efforts because we just naturally rally around each other when someone needs a boost, support or encouragement.   There is no name for this kind of caring beyond an occasional deadpan "Hey, it take a village and I'm the village.", because it all comes from the heart.  

But today, as I accompanied my BFF-- a single mother, and her young child to a doctor's appointment, apparently I lent a helping hand because I'm gay.  Who knew!

First off-- There is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay. That is not what this post is about.  

It's about two women, and a very cool kid, who are often seen together by the same group of people, who automatically assume, we're gay parents.  It's not the first time it's happened and I'm sure it won't be the last.

And it makes me sad.  

Don't people help each other anymore unless they're a "couple"?  What happened to best friends, sisters, brothers, parents, family, extended family?  Have we gotten to the point that lending a helping hand to people we care about, but aren't in a relationship with, is such an odd occurrence?

My BFF is an amazing single mother to a very Cool Kid who has a mountain of medical issues.  Since Cool Kid was a baby, the three of us have schlepped to doctors all across the county.  I go along so BFF can focus on what the doctors are saying, while I wrangled a wiggly baby, anxious toddler, and now a rambunctious adolescent who would rather be anywhere but in a medical exam room. BFF has a lot of information to process at these appointments so we "tag team" the docs allowing her, and ultimately Cool Kid, to get the most out of the time with the medical professionals.    

It's the doctors, nurses and medical staff that usually attach the gay "label" and comment on "The two lesbians with the cool kid." behind our backs.  I would think hospital staff see lots and lots of different people helping loved ones with medical issues, but apparently, some people think help only happens if you're in a relationship. 

I don't get it.  Nobody has ever asked if we're sisters or if I'm the grandmother, which, I suppose by age, I technically could be.  They only ask how long we've "been partners" and if we "adopted Cool Kid together?"

WTF?

Like I said, we've heard it many time over the years and always laughed it off.  And in all fairness, it's not just medical people who've made the comment.  The three of us often travel in a pack and we've heard it in a variety of other places too. But today when I heard it, well, it pissed me off.  And I'm partly to blame....

Yes, that was me bitching about all the drama over Michael Jackson's passing. I'm so over the whole thing that I swore I was not going to blog about it.  I refused to watch his televised memorial Tuesday and groused about my tax dollars being used to close freeways for five Rolls-Royces carrying Jackson family members to the memorial service.  I thought, enough already!

And then I saw Jackson's young daughter on the news that night saying how much she loved her dad-- Not a superstar, not a king, not an idol, just her dad.  She was surrounded by family and extended family, all offering her heart-felt love and support. And I felt ashamed for all the "labels" I'd attached to the mourning of Michael Jackson over the past nearly two weeks.  

My BFF put it all in prospective for me--  She said, the memorial is not the way we might mourn or lend a hand, but it's the way the Jackson family lends a hand.  The memorial was their "village", and their way of mourning and supporting one another.  In those simple terms it made sense to me and I stopped complaining about it.

I know someone dying too young is not in the same league as schlepping to doctor's appointments and I do not in any way mean to minimize or compare the two as equal. But it was a reminder for me to lighten up, forget about the "labels", stop being so judgmental, and just be part of the "village" I'm so happy to belong to-- all be it a much smaller "village" than the Jackson family's. 

Until my BFF and I can think of a good comeback line to the "lesbians with the cool kid" label, we'll remain quiet and know our "village", which includes my husband, by the way, is happy, content and thriving.

How big is your "village"? 

Welcome to The Fifty Factor  -  Joanna

Photo Credit: © Dwight Davis - Fotolia.com

Glass Half Full

In my continuing quest to view my glass as "half full", I consider my dry eyes (Sjogren's syndrome) a little "perk" of having lupus. I've had lupus for nearly 20 years and the Sjogren's "perk" for the last seven.

In a nutshell, the silver lining, so to speak, is that my eyes don't make tears, so I don't cry with tears-- Not ever.  I couldn't squeak a tear out if my life depended on it, even at my most emotional times, therefore, I never have to worry about "mascara tears".  See what I mean about my glass being "half full"?  No more make-up running down my face.  How's that for positive thinking!

It's a strange feeling though, not having tears when I cry, and honestly, crying is a lot LESS productive without them. I actually feel silly crying, because without the waterworks, it's just a series of funny looking facial contortions.  As a result, the physical part I used to feel when I cried simply does not happen anymore.  Look in the mirror and try boo-hooing without tears and you'll see what I mean.  

So basically, I haven't cried in years and that makes for significantly less drama in my life!  Instead, I channel my sadness, angst, anger, stress, happiness, joy, love or excitement in other ways-- Sometimes it works great, but sometimes, I'm left wishing I could just have a great long cry like Diane Keaton in "Something's Gotta Give" when Jack Nicholson dumped her.  That was a "wail" of a good cry and eventually she felt better!  Crying can be a good thing and sometimes I miss it.


Something's Gotta Give

The thing that bugs me about my lack of tears is that, I'm pretty sure, when I'm not crying and should be, people wonder what I'm up to-- as if I'm not hearing, feeling, participating or caring, when I really am.  Yes, I am taking all the emotions IN, I'm just not releasing them with a flood of tears.  This leaves some people wondering about my sincerity.

Take funerals for example-- I've attended more than my share lately-- No tears! Not even when my heart was breaking as I delivered a eulogy for a longtime friend. Everybody in the place was sobbing and passing Kleenex except me.  Grieving, without the benefit of a good tear cleansing, takes much longer, by the way.

On the flip side-- Weddings-- I used to cry like a baby at weddings.  I love them!  All that joy, the love, the hopes and dreams.  I always carried my make-up with me to weddings so I could "fix my face" after a good cry.  Not necessary anymore. 

In a crisis, I look like a pillar of strength because I'm the only one not crying.  At times like these, the doctor, Rabbi, police officer, funeral director, or the likes, usually walk straight over to me-- as if I know what the heck to do.  (Ha!)  In those cases, my inability to cry isn't suck a great perk.

How about sappy chick flicks, corny love songs, Hallmark card commercials?  Bring 'em on!  I don't even whimper.

Menopause mania, hormonal swings, volatile emotions- Cry me a river, right?  Not!  Oh sure, I can be a crazy woman, but I'm not crying.

Watching President Obama's inauguration would normally have left me in a puddle of emotions.  That was a day I will never forget, but my eyes were bone dry. Watching Sarah Palin resign early as Governor of Alaska would have left laughing so hard I cried-- Instead I just laughed, and laughed, and laughed-- dry-eyed.

That's the really good news-- Laughing until I cry is one emotion that has not changed despite my Sjorgen's.  And all I can say is thank gawd!  There is nothing better than a great, big, throw my head back, heeheeheehee, snort through my nose (embarrassing), roaring, fall on the floor and laugh hysterically until I can't speak, kind of belly laugh.  Even without the waterworks, all the joy, feelings, emotions, and hysteria are still firmly in place, regardless if tears aren't rolling down my face.  And for that, I know I am truly blessed, despite my chronic medical issues.

My vision is not impacted by my dry eyes, at least not yet, but I get it checked all the time.  I'm not a fan of the prescription eye drops I could take to help the dryness. They burn like a trip to hell so until I must take them, I'll be the driest eyes in the house.

When I was first diagnosed, life expectancies for lupus patients were discussed in "five year" increments with less than favorable odds.  It scared the living daylights out of me.  These days, lupus has come a long way baby-- diagnosis isn't followed by the "get your life in order" speech and medical progress is slowly being made.  

Over the years, lupus has occasionally had its way with me, but all-in-all, I've been lucky and have successfully dodged medical bullets.  I'm holding up pretty darn well. 

When I council other lupus patients, I remind them that a good sense of humor goes a very long way when dealing with the disease.  I share medical "war stories" and what I call my "lupus bloopers" to help ease their concern and to show lupus is usually pretty manageable.  If I can get a big belly laugh of of them, well, all the better I say-- even if tears aren't rolling down my cheeks.

Is laughter your best medicine?

Welcome to The Fifty Factor  -  Joanna

A Place To Call Home

From a very early age, nine to be exact, I knew I was not cut out to be a small town girl. My sisters and I traveled to New York City to visit my Aunt-- my Mom's sister, when we were kids. From the moment I arrived, I fell in love with the hustle and bustle, the bright lights, endless action, and all those people.

My Aunt, at the time, was a big TV Soap star and fashion model often seen on magazine covers and in television commercials. She "escaped" our small town and I figured I could too.

To a nine year old, and I'm guessing by all the other people that asked for her autograph in public, her life was very exciting and glamorous. She lived in a big Park Avenue apartment that had a white leather sofa. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. There was no way I could ever imagine a white sofa in our family's home-- Not with 5 kids, a dog and two cats! But I knew I wanted one when I grew up.

Auntie's building had a doorman. Since I had never seen anyone else in the building-- coming or going-- ever, I assumed he was "her doorman" whose sole job was to open the door for us. That was another thing I wanted to have too-- A door opener!

So for years, all I did was try to figure out how the heck to get out of our small Midwest town and to The Big Apple. I focused my attention on the silly things kid do-- How I would decorate my apartment, what my doorman's name would be, how I'd get great seats at all the Broadway shows and what I'd order in fancy restaurants. Oh yeah, I was a big thinking 9 year old, if I do say so myself. But as you can see, my thinking was not particularily realistic.

Fast forward to age 21. My loser boyfriend at the time was moving East, so away I went-- Blindly, like an idiot, but I was going to New York City! Well, sort of. It was actually a small, tacky apartment in New Jersey, but by train, NYC was close enough. The relationship was short lived-- Thank gawd-- and I soon found myself on my glamorous Auntie's doorstep, suitcase in hand.

Auntie had long since retired from "the business" and moved north of Manhattan. Again, an easy train ride to "The City". I worked a couple of boring, mindless jobs to pay rent in a studio apartment close to my Aunt, but I was working my way up the sales ladder and wonders never cease-- before too long, I was working for a Manhattan publishing company. Life was grand!

There was no way I could afford to live in Manhattan, but oh how I loved to arrive at Grand Central Station every morning and walk the 13 blocks up Park Avenue to my office building. I was so happy and so proud to have accomplished the dreams of my nine year old self. I'd found my "home" and was loving it.

But, I absolutely missed my family "back home" in Ohio-- I had massive phone bills to prove it and I made the 8 hour each-way drive to visit several times a year. It's amazing to think now that I once had the energy to work all day Friday, make the 90 minute commute home, then hop in my car for the 8 hour drive to Ohio. Then I'd get back in the car after a late lunch Sunday afternoon to drive 8 hours back to New York, sleep for a few hours and wake refreshed for work at 6AM on Monday. If that's not proof, "youth is wasted on the young" nothing is. I'd pay big bucks to have that kind of energy today.

But paradise was short lived. After working just 3 years in New York City, I was transferred to San Francisco to open a new office for the publisher. San Francisco-- You know the one 3,000 miles away for my beloved Manhattan. That was the hardest move I have ever made in my life.  Not only was it the wrong coast, it was also a different time zone from my family and an impossible 48 hour door-to-door weekend trip back to my home town. I spent two very long, very sad, years in San Francisco.

My San Francisco job required me to travel 70% of the time. Not a great way to meet new friends or, at age 26 -- guys! For two years I worked, ate and rarely slept. I did not go on one single date, but I did see every inch of San Francisco and the surrounding area in my limited spare time. What a beautiful place.... to visit!

At 28, change came again and I moved to Los Angeles to a new publishing company. Now we're talking, I thought. I committed to a three year assignment with the promise I'd be transferred back to NYC when the gig was up. I was sure LA, with it's sandy beaches and beautiful weather, was just what I needed after a couple years in cold, foggy San Francisco. It's possible, but since I worked so stinking much, I barely saw the light of day or the beaches. But it didn't matter-- it was all a means to the end-- And the end was back in Manhattan.

Enter my future husband. I resisted our budding relationship every step of the way. His business was firmly planted in Los Angeles, as was his family, and he wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon- and certainly NOT to New York City.

Los Angeles is a lovely place to live sometimes. But for me, it's never really felt like "home". Of course my darling husband is here and my dear friends, but LA is so spread out, so disjointed and so jammed with people, mostly sitting in their cars on the freeway, that there is no real sense of community. You can't just "run out" and meet friends for dinner because traffic is terrible. And there's nothing in "walking distance" either.

Long story short, I never went back to New York City and I probably never will. Warm winter weather in Los Angeles is a very strong opinion changer, especially when watching blizzard reports from the Midwest and East coast, on the nightly news.

But at some point in time, I don't want to live here in Los Angeles. Earthquakes, fires, floods, mudslides, and occasional riots, along with all the traffic, are not something I look forward to in my old age.

Snow, ice and everything that implies, is not appealing anymore either. For many years I've said I have my nursing home all picked out-- But it's in Ohio and I'm pretty sure Ohio will still have brutal winters when I'm an old woman.

Warm weather locations outside the West coast earthquake zones are appealing, but brutally hot summers and the need for a "second" home is not on my dance card nor in my budget.

So the older I get, the harder it gets, to find a place to call "home". Sure it's "where your heart is" but that doesn't necessarily make it a comfortable place to live. Of course I want to be close to family and friends, but if it's so hard to drive to them that I only see them a few times a year, what's the point?

Will earthquakes rattle me into my 90s? Will I be reduced to Facebooking in my old age to stay connected? Or will I surrender to the cold and snow and move back East? I have a long way to go before I need to address this, and, in all honestly, my husband is not interested in talking about it at all. But it doesn't stop me from wondering, what old age will be like and will I feel at home?

Where is your "home"?

Welcome to The Fifty Factor -- Joanna