Ups and downs

My daughter, her husband (still have to get used to saying that) and a friend went to Disneyland today. I’m assuming while they’re enjoying the overpriced food and mouse-logo sweatshirts you need a co-signer to purchase, they’ll make time to ride the rollercoaster in Disneyland’s sister park, California Adventure.

There was a time, not all that long ago, when the sight of a rollercoaster filled me with excitement. The louder the screams from passengers, the more I wanted to be in the front row.

I was fearless. I was invincible. I was much younger.

But that was then and this is now. Today, you won’t catch me near one of those headache-inducing, nausea-promoting contraptions even if someone was bribing me with a lifetime supply of front row Springsteen tickets.

Well, maybe then.

For starters, the physics are no longer my friend. Once upon a time, the sheer force of a 60 mph corkscrew was exhilarating. But now it’s like my brain sends out a mass email to all my nerve endings saying, “Code red! We’re not 20 anymore! Shut it down!” Suddenly my head is whiplashing through loops and corkscrews.

By the way, Loops & Corkscrews was my favorite childhood cereal. SWIDT?

And another thing. What ever happened to the classic rollercoaster that just went really fast, dropped steeply, and maybe had one loop? Modern coasters flip you upside down, tilt you sideways, and sometimes even hang you face-down.

“Why is the sky on my left now?”

When I was younger, my balance was like a rock. I could spin in circles for hours and walk away like I was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. Now, after one helix on a modern coaster, my inner ear stages a mutiny. Another gift of aging.

I also never want to be that rider. The person who gets off the ride looking like they survived Oceanic 815. Pale, sweaty, clutching their stomach, mumbling, “Never again.”

I’ve reached the age where I’m okay saying, “I’ll just eat a churro and watch.”

Here’s the thing: I still love thrills—just different ones. Simpler ones, like parallel parking on the first try or remembering to bring my reusable bags to Trader Joe’s. I even get a tiny adrenaline rush when my phone battery is at 2% and I find a charger in time.

Who needs 10-story drops when life is already full of heart-pounding moments?

There’s a certain wisdom that comes with age—or at least that’s what I tell myself when I pass on the rollercoaster and opt for the carousel instead. I’m happy waving from the sidelines, holding everyone’s jackets while the rest of the group screams themselves silly. At least I know I’ll be headache-free and standing upright at the end of the day.

I don’t think of my recently found rollercoaster aversion as a loss. More of a shift in priorities. I’m grounding myself and I’m okay with it.

And if you need me, I’ll be at the churro stand.

The grass is always greener

I've probably posted this before—I tend to repeat myself—but I grew up on the mean streets of West L.A., north of Wilshire. My home now is the first house I've ever lived in, although not the first one I've ever owned (whole other post).

Like every new and experienced homeowner eventually learns, homes are like Disneyland: they'll never be finished. A house is a living organism, its own ecosystem that requires regular, constant maintenance to keep living and thriving.

To which I say yeah yeah, sure sure.

For some reason there are people in the world who know how and, even more baffling, want to do everything themselves when it comes to home maintenance.

Seriously, that's just crazy talk.

There are more than a few household things you'll never catch me doing:

Restaining hardwood floors. Sure, inhaling the wood finish fumes is tempting, but no.

Tuning up the roof tiles. No thanks. I have neuropathy in my feet, and have enough trouble walking on flat ground. When I think of myself walking and trying to balance my slightly fuller physique on slippery roof tiles, one song keeps popping into my mind.

Changing out a sprinkler head is also a no go. It's tougher than it looks. There's alignment, positioning, measuring and water pressure involved. Plus since we now use detergent from Trader Joe's instead of real detergent, I just can't risk the grass stains.

Plumbing? I have people for that. Same with electrical. And heating. And airconditioning. Although I do change the air filters all on my own. In fact I custom order them a half inch smaller on each side so they fit easily and I don't have to try to jam them in while balancing on my step ladder.

I know. I'm writing my acceptance speech now.

Another thing you won't find me doing is mowing the lawn. We have an excellent gardner who does a fine job without all the sweating and swearing that would inevitably accompany my efforts.

Here's the funny part. Even though I avoid mowing the lawn myself, I get a tremendous sense of satisfaction out of watching a runaway lawn get mowed down to size by SB Mowing.

Spencer from SB Mowing is a gardner who's sprung to fame on Instagram and YouTube. He lives in Kentucky, which besides moonshine, the Derby and, ironically, bluegrass, is also famous for having two of the worst senators in the history of time—Mitch "Mr. Freeze" McConnell and Rand "Yes sir Mr. Putin!" Paul. Although admittedly with Ted "When's the next flight to Cancun?" Cruz and John "Leave the oil company money in a plain envelope" Cornyn, Texas does give them a run for the money.

I may be getting off point here.

Anyway what Spencer does is find wildly overgrown or neglected lawns once a week, then asks the homeowner or a neighbor what the story is and if he can cut it down to size for free. He films the entire process in time lapse, and then displays truly breathtaking, incredibly satisfying before and after stills at the end of his videos (the YT videos run quite long - the four minute one at the top is one of the shorter ones).

Watching him work I can almost smell the freshly cut grass, as if I'd done it myself. Which as we've established, ain't happening.

On his website, Spencer tells his origin story, promotes the companies that make the equipment he uses and, like any good YT or Instagram star, sells mowing merch.

I don't know if it's watching someone actually finish something they start (you can do that?), the fact he makes gardening and lawn equipment look fun and cool (you can do that?), or his obviously disciplined work ethic (you can have that?), but watching him bring these lawns and their properties back to life is endlessly entertaining.

I know what you're thinking. I'm going to end this post with some corny, lawn-related pun.

Like his business is really growing.

Or when he's done filming his work he yells "Cut!"

Maybe even say he was a little green when he started.

But I won't. I'm keeping this one pun free. You know, in case Spencer keeps his clippings.

The silver lining

Ask anyone who knows me, and they'll tell you that besides being hilariously funny, unreasonably talented, brutally handsome and, what's the word...oh yeah, humble, they'd also say I've never exactly been one to look at the glass as half full.

Especially if it's full of an infectious agent that's shutting down Italy and making lines at Trader Joe's even more unbearable than usual.

But here's the bright side, and I can't help but smile about it. I was under the impression my beautiful, intelligent, talented and wickedly funny daughter who just left this past Tuesday to head back to school in Iowa (don't get me started) wouldn't be returning to a city with over 5000 people in it until the end of May.

Funny what a difference a couple days make. She's coming back home this weekend.

Unless you have stock in toilet paper, bottled water, Cold-Eeze or surgical masks, it's understandably been hard to find any good coming out of the coronavirus pandemic. But from where I sit—in my house, bingeing Succession and eating old-fashioned chicken salad from Gelson's—I think a lot of good will come of it.

For starters, because of the new normal, families will be forced to spend family time together. With it not being safe to go out into the world, parents and kids will rediscover the art of talking to each other around the dinner table. Or just all being at the dinner table at the same time. Perhaps there will be precious times when it's screens down, and the joy of playing board games and cards will be rekindled. And maybe, just maybe, they'll do some household chores if for no other reason than it's something to do. I can dream can't I?

I also believe kindness and a sense of unity will start to wash over people. Look at me being all optimistic. But there's no getting around the fact this virus doesn't discriminate—it's looking for you no matter who you are. So instead of tearing down each other, now we all have a common enemy to direct our attention at. Well, ok, a second common enemy if you get my drift.

Then there's the traffic. The streets of Laredo are empty now, so when we do have to venture out it'll be much smoother sailing than if everyone were going into the office. Not that I want to do a lot of driving around, because that would waste gas and then I'd have to touch the gas pump to fill up. I could use the squeegee paper towels they have, but that might be awkward. Unless they have Purell at the pump. Hmmmm, I'll get back to you on this one.

I may have digressed here.

The point is while I'm sad about the reason, I'm happy about the fact my girl is coming home for summer. I know there are lots of movies we didn't get to watch when she was out here last week on spring break, so I'm sure we'll catch up on a few.

As long as they're not Outbreak, Contagion or Andromeda Strain.

A shot in the dark

If you know anything about me, and really, shouldn't you know something about me by now, you know that I do loves me a good game of craps every once in awhile.

Well, come to find out that thrill of rolling the bones and not knowing exactly if my number's going to come up apparently extends well beyond Vegas.

In fact, all the way to my doctor's office.

Every flu season, my doctor offers me a flu shot. It's an offer usually met with cynicism and a polite refusal. I rarely get the flu, and the ones I have gotten haven't been that bad.

Until now.

I remember the great flu panics of years past: Swine flu. Avian flu. Hong Kong flu. I also remember everyone in the media getting the message out, telling people to get their flu shots.

This time, I wish I'd listened.

I've just spent ten days down - way down - with the flu. This was no lightweight virus. This was a wicked, ass-kicking, anti-Semetic, vindictive, petty, vengeful flu that was relentless in making me feel as bad as it possibly could for no reason at all.

I'm not sure what its official name is. I call it the Creative Director flu.

Fortunately it didn't come with some of the messier symptoms that can sometimes accompany the flu. It was mostly fever after fever, 24/7 aching from head to toe, and a fatigue that would necessitate three hour naps after a walk from the bedroom to the bathroom.

The good news is I lost my appetite as well as a little weight, and now have a newfound appreciation for mango juice from Trader Joe's.

As a result of this latest bout, I'm now even more of a hand-washing fanatic than before. On the hand-washing scale, I'm way north of my kids and just slightly south of Howard Hughes.

I've learned my lesson. Next year, I'm rolling the dice on the flu shot.

Even if it only lessens the misery, I'll consider that a win.