Sam in the Sun

            I bought a Total Gym the other day.             Two days later, I am sore from the assembly. I have yet to use the machine itself.             Phase 1: The Warm Up : Began when the delivery-truck driver, the one who drives the loudest vehicle outside of a garbage truck, managed to somehow sneak up, open his bone-rattling, squeaky rear slide-down door, unload a dolly, off load a 350-pound box, get it to my front door, deposit it, ring my doorbell, race back to his truck, re-load the dolly, close the slide-down door, start his roaring engine, and accomplish his getaway – somehow without me hearing or seeing him.             These are the delivery people, who at Christmas, will ring the bell and wait for ten minutes to hand you a box containing eye shadow – in exchange for a tip, mind you.             At 2 p.m., I got a text notification that the box was delivered at 1:33 p.m. If their schedules are so streamlined, and they are talented enough to drop a box off wit

I recently lost a diamond anniversary band given to me by my now ex-husband. It had a single row of five spotless diamonds, each one large enough to be in its own setting as a solitaire. It was from Belgium, purchased during a visit to the diamond capital of the world, and it represented – at the time – the buying and selling of four cars, three homes, and the birth and raising of two children. It meant a lot sentimentally, and it was worth a lot financially. So when it dawned on me that I had lost it, when I had turned my house upside down and inside out, when I had searched every bag and nook and cranny and inspected my jewelry box a dozen times, I was more than a little upset. My parents were visiting, and my mom saw, by the look on my face, that I was terrified and sickened. Now the interesting thing about loss is this: Your mind will take you to one of two places. You are either going to visit the past, and ask yourself rhetorical questions, such as, “

1. Be nice to your friends brothers and sisters. They may be in a position to hire you one day. 2. Be nice to your friends' kids, too. See reason number one (above). 3. If you go to bed with a full belly, you wake up hungry. 4. When a Southern woman adds the words to "bless his heart" to the end of a sentence, as in, "Awwww, he's new and doesn't know what he's doing, bless his heart," she isn't really blessing his heart. 5. Your major jewelry purchases should not stick to magnets. 6. People with the worst hearing in the world will hear everything you say when you don't want them to hear what you're saying. 7. The best place to hide anything from a teenager is in the laundry basket. 8. When your apology to a person sounds like this: "I'm sorry but here's why I did what I did, or said what I said, or acted the way I acted" or "I'm sorry, but here's why what you did made me do, or say, or act the

Do you know what sounds exactly to me like the words, “tax season?”  Jury duty. When I hear the words “jury duty,” I get the same sense of dread and foreboding that I get with the coming of every end of February, first of March, when H&R Blocks begin springing up all over like acne on a teenager’s face. Don’t get me wrong. I’m all about civic-mindedness and, as a paralegal, I have an intrinsic belief in our judicial system and the right to trial by a jury of one’s peers. But I have been “selected” so many times (twice in one 12-month period once) that I am now the unofficial guide of both the courthouse facility, in particular, and the legal system, in general. Don’t ask me how it seems that others know that it’s not my first rodeo. I don’t wear a sign that reads, “Follow me to the county courthouse,” or “Courthouse Tour Guide.” But somehow, someway, even while I’m waiting in the same line with people waiting to be TSA’d for entry, I get asked questions…lots of ques

I’ve gone green. No, I don’t mean that I drive a hybrid car or protest the use of plastic straws, but as of January 9 th of this year, I’ve started eating like a grownup. And by that I mean that after more than five decades of eating as if I was a teenager scarfing down copious amounts of chips and candy, I decided to grow up and start eating healthy. Everyone asks me, “Why? What happened? Was there a catalyst?” And the best I can figure is that, following a visit with my son during which time I ate non-stop, the day that he left I decided, ‘I’ve had enough.’ I threw out the junk food, and there was plenty, and I sat down and watched a documentary called “Fed Up,” which if I recall  was mostly about blending fruits and vegetables and not eating solid food for six months. But interspersed in that documentary were just enough facts about the sugar industry – and theories about the addictive nature of sugar – that it struck a chord in my soul. In a moment, a lifetime of believing

Oh my Lord, Jesus. First, let me start by saying that I passed my driver’s license exam on the first try. Next, I am a college graduate, and I hold a bonafide, legitimate degree from a recognized university. Lastly, I have an Advanced Paralegal Certificate, having graduated with honors, also from a college whose program is recognized by the American Bar Association. All that being said, there are some people into whose hands certain tools of a trade should never fall – and I am one into whose hands a certain wax warmer hair removal machine should never have fallen but did. Unfortunately for him. Here is the part where I insert my sincerest-sounding apologies to him, my boyfriend of six years, whom I actually finagled into being, as he rightly termed, a “guinea pig.” And of this I am certain: Pretty much all guinea pig species, including Skinny Pig, the hairless guinea pig, now have more hair than he has over his eyes. How his eyebrows being prematurely emancipated from his f

For a woman, losing an eyelash on or after the age of 40 is a lot like a man getting a flat tire...and not having a spare. I discovered this the other night when, as I was applying mascara, a lash appeared to wobble, as if it was going to leave its foundation. "No!" I whispered urgently, and was relieved to discover, after a thorough search of my mascara wand, it was some sort of optical illusion. The first I heard about "older" women losing lashes and certain facial hair occurred during a makeup application session at a high-end cosmetics counter at a department store. "You have a lot of eyelashes  for your age ," the young girl told me. "Most  older  women don't have very many." I was 30 at the time. "What?!" I asked her in alarm. "You mean I'm going to lose my eyelashes?!" "Your eyebrows, too," she replied, matter-of-factly. Ever since then, I've kept an eye out, pardon the pun, and she