Sophie's Story

   A couple weeks ago I told C that I was halfway to 50.   "No, you're not," he said.    "I am too. I'll be 45 this year," I replied.    "44, actually," he responded.    "Really?" I asked.     "Do the math. You're 43 right now," he said.     I did the math and sure enough, he was right. I had done it again. Whenever anyone asked me how old I was the past year,I said that I was 44.    The last time I did this was when I was 38. I was telling everyone that I was 39. I was in the beginning stages of planning a 40th birthday party for myself when C reminded me that I was a year early. I spent two years telling people that I was 39. My friends probably thought I was either in dential or trying to imitate Jack Benny.   I have no idea why I do this. Usually when a woman lies about her age she lowers the number, not raises it. In fact I'm not even sure a woman is allowed to give an actual number. It is 30 something or

   We are finally getting rid of the carpet. This was something that we had talked about for a long time. I don't like carpet. I never have. The house I was raised in had wood floors through the entire house.   I had long ago decided that I wanted wood floors in my house. I kne that eventually the carpet will wear out and then we could put a new floor in. Scamp speeded the process along by having a few "accidents". It was only a matter of time.   About a year ago C and I started pricing flooring materials and assembling a budget. That's as far as we got. Over the winter and into the spring we could still smell the carpet. We knew that Scamp was behaving himself (most likely) but the smell was still there.   Finally C could not stand it anymore. He found someone that would install the floor. He and the installer went and ordered the materials. They arrived last weekend.   Yesterday morning, Tonio, the installer arrived bright and early to begin work. I listened w

   Last weekend C and I were walking around the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum. There are usually a lot of weddings on Saturdays during the summer. We counted five different gardens with chairs set up for weddings. I like looking at the brides, grooms and wedding parties as they pose for pictures at the various gardens.   Two thoughts go through my mind. Thought one is,what a lovely day to get married. Thought two is,thank God I will never have to do that again. Once was enough for me. I will never have to cram myself into a big white dress and cover my head with a veil that looks like mosquito netting ever again.    I sometimes wonder if the couple knows what they are getting into. Did they date for a long time? Is this a first marriage for both of them? Was it love at first sight or was it a friendship that blossomed into love?   I'm standing here from my vantage point of nine years (as of tomorrow) of marriage. I think that's long enough  to be able to give credible adv

   A last week I felt crabby and out of sorts. It was a busy week, but I've had busy weeks before where I wasn't crabby. Nothing was going badly. In fact I was having a good time with the intern I was teaching. Things were going well at work. The cats were well and happy and C was working hard at his new quality control job.   I couldn't figure out why I was so crabby. I was getting enough sleep. I had been able to get out and run on all the days I usually run. What could possibly be the matter? Then I looked at my knitting bag. There was a half finished washcloth in it. I had not had time to work on it for several days. The washcloth was hanging forlornly from a wooden needle. Then it hit me.   I was suffering from yarn withdrawal. I had made it a point to knit a little bit every day so that I wouldn't forget. I had decided to work on making washcloths. They are easy to make and are useful. Everyone can use an extra washcloth or two.   I was spending at least five

  During a recent Relief Society lesson, the teacher used a vintage hat on a stand as a prop. It was a lovely hat with a small veil perched on a dark wooden stand. After the lesson I asked her if it was her hat. She told me that it was and that she had a few more hats.   "You should wear them," I said. She demurred and said something about maybe someday wearing some of the hats that she had. I felt bad. If the hat on the stand was an indicator of the other hats in her collection she has good taste in hats. She is also a beautiful woman both inside and out who could wear hats with style and class if she wanted.   I have wondered why people do this. Why do people buy things only to put them away for "someday"? In the movie Sideways, one of the characters mentions that he has a bottle of vintage wine that he has never opened because he was waiting for a special occasion. The woman he is talking to tells him to get the bottle out, open it and drink it. She tells him

   One of the topics in last week's Relief Society lesson was what we say to ourselves. It was pointed out that many times we say things to and about ourselves that we wouldn't say to people we know or strangers.   I've written and joked about this before. How I'm unable to take a compliment. How I'd rather dive under the floor than be recognized even if I deserve the recognition.   I've been mentally chewing on this subject for the last few days. There are so many messages out there that can chip away at the self esteem of anyone. You need to be seen here. You need to wear this. You need to make this much money, hold this much power and act this way if you expect people to like you or pay attention to you. You need to be thinner, blonder, handsomer and read this book if you want to be happy. If you are a woman and have children you should do this or do that in order to have a healthy, happy family. If you work outside the home you should be at home with you

  A couple days ago C called me at work. He was a little shaken. He was about to make a left turn to go into the parking lot of the place where we pick up our mail. He hesitated for just a moment before making the turn. It was fortunate for him that he did because a minivan went speeding through the red light. Had he made his turn he would have been T- boned and probably killed.   I was too  busy to do more than say a few calming words when he called. I filed it in the back of my mind.   When I drove home  I started to think about what happened. My first thought was anger at the person driving the minivan. Where they unaware that red means stop? Or did they think they were so important that they don't have to obey traffic rules? What was so important that they had no problem mowing down an innocent person like a blade of grass? I wondered if that person knew how close they had come to depriving my stepchildren of their father, my grandchildren of their grandfather and my of my