Directionally-Challenged

Do you ever feel lost? Not necessarily as dramatic as the children of Israel wandering in the desert or Dorothy telling Toto “…we’re not in Kansas anymore”, but just realizing that you’re in an unfamiliar place in your life and you’re not sure how to navigate it? Searching for directions or an instruction manual, or even a North Star to guide your way? Well, life has lately thrown me a circumstance in which I am definitely swimming in unfamiliar waters. A place where I am unsure whether the right turn I made shouldn’t have actually been my other right, or that the current I’m swimming in isn’t really just taking me around in circles. And even though I know that full-fledged mermaids are excellent swimmers, this mermaid wanna-be is frequently feeling the need to pray that God throws me a life jacket.

Navigation has never been my strong suit – when I lived on land I often admitted that I could get lost just backing out of my own driveway. And unlike some (we all know at least one), I have no pride lost in asking for directions. But sometimes there are no clear directions to be sought - everyone else’s compass seems as out-of-whack as mine, they all disagree on whether to swim upstream or down, or honestly, they just have no experience making this particular journey.

So, for now, I take it one day at a time and pray that the destination I hope for will be reached in calm seas, with as few storms as possible.

Friday's Mermaid Morsel

Still working on growing my mermaid locks so I can pitch the bra. 

Hair isn't the only thing that should be blowing in the wind on a sailboat 

Flashes of Hotness

Airport people-watching: a twenty-something artfully beach-haired blonde nymph wearing skin tight Levi’s, a wife-beater crop top, and no bra needed to harness her perky puppies. Me watching from my seat at the gate: a sixty-one-year-old gray-haired would be mermaid, wearing baggy Levi’s, a sweatshirt I bought at Goodwill, and an industrial strength sports-bra that works overtime to hold up the puppies while simultaneously smashing them flatter than a mammogram machine. My husband: unsuccessfully trying to pretend that he is oblivious to the twenty-something barely-dressed nymph.

A glutton for punishment, I unnecessarily point out the nymph and ask my husband if perhaps I should trade-in my saggy, baggy, over-sized jeans for a pair that lift my bum and squash my belly with only the clear trade-off of vasoconstricting the circulation in my lower extremities. He not only honestly agrees with my facetious suggestion but advises that I completely overhaul my travel wardrobe by trading in my sports-bra, crew-neck t-shirt, sweatshirt, jean-jacket, and wool scarf (I find airplanes to always be freezing) for a puppy-freeing, midriff-baring, wife-beater. After all he says, while I have long-passed my age of menopausal hot-flashes, in his eyes I still have flashes of hotness.

I have a long-held theory that mature women who wear uncomfortable, unflattering, skin-tight, skin-baring clothing aren’t doing so because they love the risk of breaking a hip while walking in stiletto heels or because they don’t own a full-length mirror. Nope. She wears those ridiculous clothes because someone who views her through a lens of love told her she looks hot. After all, who cares what the world thinks if my partner finds me to be a vision of loveliness?!

Thank you for the suggestion honey, that is so sweet. Now can you please help me on with this jean jacket?

Pressurized Rats

A fellow sailor recently came upon a cute boutique during her boating travels. She texted me this photo saying it brought sweet memories of me to her mind. (OK, that’s perhaps not a direct quote.)

I responded to her by reluctantly admitting that the sentiment expressed on the shop door might need to be reversed for me - my mermaid swimming is frequently spent in the shallows due to my inability to equalize the pressure in my ears when under deep water. A clear and simple reply, right? But through the fault of fat fingers, flawed vocabulary, and the hazards of text message autofill, my response instead read “my living is pretty shallow" because "I can’t pressurize my rats”.

Now, my dear friend would never confess to me that she thinks I might spend any inappropriate amount of time in shallow living. But she did respond with her fear that the occasional dock rat might have invaded our boat!

In the good-ole-days (i.e., long before the internet) we played the game of “gossip” – someone would create a short story and whisper it to the next person, who would whisper it to the next, and so on down the line. Eventually, the last person would repeat the story, which would have us all roaring with laughter when the initiator shared with us the original version. No resemblance whatsoever.

As a blogger and sometimes Facebook scribe, I do enjoy my social media (mostly). But while admittedly a silly example, I think my texting story points out how easily texting and social media can create and perpetuate a rumor or mistruth. With a few simple “shares” the world would now be mortified by my shallow living in a boat overrun with pressurized (see my earlier instant pot post) rats.

Santa Baby

With less than two weeks left to find the perfect gift for the mermaid(s) on your list, it is likely that you (or someone you know) is becoming frantic. Search the seas no more! In the spirit of holiday kindness I offer a few suggestions (NOT paid endorsements) to ease your angst. Links included for easy shopping (yes, you're welcome🎔).

The Beauty Queen:  

Mermaid tail cosmetic brushes.

The Couch Potato: The perfect blankie.

The Fashionista: I have this shirt and it is ADORABLE. UV protection too!

The Homemaker: For the times when a mermaid needs to rinse the salt off.

Or, how about her own personal Tervis tumbler?

The Party Girl: For just a little sip.

For the Techie:

A personalized cover for her laptop, cell phone, Echo, or almost any electronic gear.

The Working Girl: For packing those mermaid munchies.

For the Young or Young-at-Heart:

The 10 best mermaid books for 

Toddlers to Tweens.

Even Barbie wants to be a mermaid.

And for the mermaid who lights up your life!

Mermaids Making Merry

A huge party for mermaids! Where was I when the invitations were mailed? Damn, I missed it! Over 300 merpeople (maids, men, and children) coming together to set a Guinness world record. But even more important than a record, their goal is to help promote health and happiness in and for our seas.

Since I live on a sailboat and am striving to become a mermaid, the oceans are my home and my community. I embrace a mission that encourages me, and others, to care for that home.Thanks fellow mermaids for gathering to spread the word. 

Count me in for the next one🎔.

What can I say...this just brings a smile to my face! 

Just Call Me Mimi ♥

What’s a sea-

lovin’ mermaid in Florida to do when her adorable twin grandbabies are landlubbers in Indiana? Go visit as often as possible, of course! So last week I exchanged my tail for tennis shoes, my sailboat for an airplane, and headed north. It was a glorious time visiting our youngest son and his fiancé, and our oldest and his wife. But as much as I love them all, there’s just something about those grandbabies that melts my heart in a whole different way. Friends who preceded me in the grandparent journey warned me it would be so. What is the saying? “If I’d known how much fun grandchildren are I would have had them first!” LOL.

And my son as a parent? Wow! I am completely amazed that the kid who drove too fast, sometimes drank too much, and often lived on chips and pizza, is now completely consumed by car seat safety, mixing formula, and the virtues of organic baby food. He is such a wonderful father and he and his wife make an awesome parenting team. I can think of nothing that makes me prouder than watching my son take such amazing care of his own son – and daughter. And of course, as the babies grow  into toddlers and teenagers paybacks will be hell – haha. I must admit that I look forward to that with glee.

It’s a strange oxymoron - the babies are growing way too fast; yet, I am so excited to watch them grow up. I pray that God sees fit to keep me around for that journey.

Friday's Mermaid Morsel

Barbie Fish

Svelte yet voluptuous. Thin but stacked. Toned and taut. Have you ever noticed that all the images of mermaids look like a Barbie doll with a fish tail?

Sorry to burst the picturesque bubble but there is at least one mermaid (or on some days, mermaid in process) who looks nothing like Barbie. This mermaid has gray hair, wrinkles, cellulite, a muffin top, and flabby abs. This mermaid will never look pretty in a seashell bra. It’s a difficult vision to reconcile, but after 60 years of gravity, lost hormones, sun, chemotherapy, and the everyday trials and stresses of land living - que sera sera -  it is what it is. Kermit and Elphaba may lament that it isn’t easy being green, but they don’t have a clue that it’s much harder being wrinkled. As I frequently cry, “I am way too young to be this old!”

So, reluctantly, I am learning to embrace my inner mermaid and accept the outer one. And while I know that much of the aging process is inevitable, I am also trying to put more effort into limiting the damage by trying to lose some weight, get back in exercise mode, and wear more sunscreen and moisturizer. Perhaps more importantly, I am taking time to rejoice in my saggy skin, scars, and age spots. To be proud of every gray hair I have earned. After all, they are proof of a life well lived. Of battles survived. Of a self-acceptance that lets me spend my money on plastic wine glasses, not plastic surgery. Yay! Celebrate me.

Or, perhaps mermaids are so fit simply because they swim all day. I guess that means I need to put more effort into the exercise part of the plan. Damn.