Now I have to get home and write

True to his word, we relaxed. I received the early morning breakfast text, and when I declined, my brother called.

Rusty: "Get down here. I'm buying."

I went—not because he was buying, as he did the entire trip, but because I've whined about how he doesn't spend time with me, and here he insisted. 

It was a nice breakfast spot. As often as I travel to Bonnet Creek, I've never eaten there. The seating was outside, and despite the heat, it was lovely. 

We spent the day poolside. I wrote. They swam. Eventually, I joined them on the lazy river. Later that afternoon, I made Rusty participate in the "How well do you know your songs" game. It went from the 1950's to now. We did not come in the top three. I bet we were fourth. The DJ gave us points for Rusty's creative song titles for the ones he didn't know. 

Dinner that night was fancy at an expensive restaurant that they went to last year. Unfortunately, after we were seated, we discovered someone had hacked Susan's Facebook and Instagram accounts, which threw off the evening. Still, my dinner was lovely.

Susan and I stayed up into the wee hours repairing what damage we could, but she never did get her Facebook back. Make sure you have the two-step authenticity set up on Meta accounts. 

I bid them goodbye after check-out this morning and headed home. My heart is filled with happiness and love, and if that's my last adventure with my brother, I'm okay with it because this was THE BEST.

We're going where?

The following day, I exited the bathroom to find my brother standing outside the door.

Rusty: "Get dressed. We're going to Universal Studios."

I reacted like a Floridian hearing the news in the middle of August. It came out in a shriek that pierced his ears and drifted down the hallway for everyone to hear.

Me: "ABSOLUTELY NOT!" 

My brother did not accept this response. He shoved me into my room and instructed me to get dressed and be ready in thirty minutes. I whined the entire time, reminding him of last night's promise. It did no good. Susan wanted to relive her Universal experience as a child, and Rusty was all about pleasing the wife. 

Rusty: "I'm buying. Get in the car."

When my children saw the SnapChat of the above picture, Darcy immediately texted her sister. Together, they speculated who or what had invaded my body.

MOM IS AT UNIVERSAL STUDIOS???

Yes, I was--under protest. 

I am a park person, preferably in chilly weather, and at Disney World, where they pick you up in the parking lot and shuttle you to the entrance. I had half my daily step count just walking from our car to the Universal ticket booth!

But this trip was about spending time with my brother, and this year is about opening myself to new things, so I begrudgingly enjoyed the day. 

We walked from one end of Universal to the other. It's been years since I was there, so when we tried to find the Harry Potter world, I had only a vague idea that we had to find a secret entrance. I also reluctantly allowed myself to be photographed. 

The lines were tolerable, the adventures fun, and we shared a butterbeer. By the time dusk fell, we were all happy to find a restaurant to sit our butts in a chair and eat. That was not, however, the end. After dinner, my brother made us walk some more, and by the time we finally got back to our car, I was sure tomorrow would be the day I couldn't walk. 

Rusty: "It doesn't matter. Tomorrow, we relax."

Uh huh.

Orlando with my bro

The PGA merchandising show comes to Orlando every January. My brother, a PGA professional, attends most of them. Last year, he and his family came to Florida, and when I suggested that my family come too, he declined. It hurt. My kids were hurt. My husband was pissed. And I was resigned. Been there, done that. 

This year, he had a change of heart and invited me to stay and attend the show. While his kids weren't coming, his wife was, and she and I made plans for her to help up my step count for my 2024 resolutions.

They came for a week. I went for a few days, arriving in time to head out with them for dinner. 

We were up bright and early the next day for the merchandising show. I'm unsure what I expected, but it wasn't what I got. While I knew the Orlando Convention Center was big (I'd been to the NRA convention when I bought tickets to see Toby Keith perform), I didn't realize it was ACRES of land. This thing went for MILES with rows upon rows, each labeled to work with the PGA app. He scheduled appointments with vendors while we ate breakfast and had coffee in a little food court area. Then we were off, and Susan made good on the increase in the step count. I was lucky I was still mobile the next day.

We went down almost every row. Each row had several vendors, all related to golf in some way. If I didn't know anything about the sport, I certainly did after today. My brother chatted with salesmen and women, exchanged business cards, got his badge scanned multiple times, and asked a million questions. Watching him do his thing was cool, and I might have been a bit proud. We should've run a country club together. I bet we would've been a success.

I chatted up some salespeople, but my main focus was scoring free loot. I got tons of pens, but I also snagged some men's socks (my husband loves them), hair ties, and odd things like beads I'll never wear. Still, a convention isn't a convention without coming home with free crap. Plus, I love pens! It became a game of how many pens I could get and how stealthy I could be in claiming them. My brother was impressed.

Lunch was at another food court, sitting at tables with strangers. Susan and I wandered when my brother had his meetings. The last one was in an interactive area, but we chose not to participate because our legs were shaking from so much walking.

Unfortunately, this was at the end of the convention center, which meant we had to walk back to the entrance. Then, we had to walk miles away to the car. I had over 15,000 steps. That is double what I try to get daily, and something I have NEVER done since owning an Apple watch. I had to use the massage gun on my feet that night in our Wyndham.

Thursday morning, those two were up early for breakfast at the outside cafe at our resort. They tagged my phone, but I opted to chill in the unit and have coffee. I was on a deadline for an anthology my writing group, The Write Spice, is putting out next month. I had a vague notion of my story but did not have the damn thing written. 

My time was short-lived. These two returned to the room, and we were off. We hit the pool. We took a hike around the resort. Later, we went for an early dinner, and before we retired for the night, I asked what the plan was for the next day.

Rusty: "Nothing. We're chilling here."

I asked again to make sure, and getting the same response, I wrote long into the night.

Ah, you know how I like to foreshadow...

Brother Birthday 2022

Happy Birthday to my one and only baby brother who thankfully makes me laugh more than he pisses me off (and he is good at punching my buttons). May your special day be filled with laughter and love. Sending you virtual hugs and a poke in the side of your belly!

Love, 

Me

Birthday shout out to the little bro 2020

Me: "I called to wish you a happy birthday."

Brother: "Fifty-two looks good on me."

Me: "Hey, whatever happened with the surgery on your cyst?"

Brother: "That was two months ago."

SIL: "He's fifty-two now, he can't remember."

Rusty: "Not true. I'm playing with a full deck now!"

Happy Birthday to my witty brother who ALWAYS has a comeback.

Winna!

My younger brother has always picked on me and usually still gets the best of me. Even as we age, he doesn't stop. If he isn't quizzing me on movie lines, he's poking me in the side. He is very competitive and loves nothing more than besting me in games, whether it's cards or board games or driving.

This holiday I got the upper hand.

It started first with me whining about my sore feet. No one stepped up to offer comfort, so I pouted. Rusty wanted me to play cards. I declined. I told him I couldn't concentrate on anything but my aching feet.

Rusty: "If you can beat me two out of three hands, I'll rub your feet."

We played Gin Rummy, and I won the first two games. Gin! I laid down my gin hand and had my shoes off before we could even clear the table we were using. I have never enjoyed a foot massage more than I did that one.

But the best was yet to come...

During our annual dinner to a favorite local restaurant, my brother and I sat next to one another. The vegetable for that evening was slices of cooked tomatoes with parmesan and bread crumbs. Neither one of us eats plants. While I wasn't looking, Rusty put his three tomatoes on my plate.

Me: "Ha, ha, you're so funny. The waiter will not be fooled."

Rusty: "I'll give you $50 if you eat those six tomatoes."

Me: "Show me the money."

He pulled out a fifty-dollar bill and laid it on the table. I stared at the tomatoes. Ugh.

Me: "I'll eat three of them for $50."

Rusty: "The bet is six for $50."

Me: "Then I decline. I'm not eating six tomatoes. I hate tomatoes. I could probably gag down three, but I can't do six."

Rusty: "I'll tell you what. I'll double it. Six tomatoes for $100."

He pulled out another fifty-dollar bill and laid it on top of the previous bill. The table began to buzz. My competitive juices, the ones that long to show the little shit up, kicked into gear. I channeled my inner Survivor. I took the bet.

I cut the first tomato and put half into my mouth. Ugh. I chewed it. I ate the second half. Rusty began talking shit.

Rusty: "Feel the acid? If not, you will later tonight. And look at the squishy one on your plate. That's rotten for sure. Make sure you savor that rotten tomato. Let it slide down the old gullet burning your throat with the acid."

I kept eating. The table was on my side. My husband was impressed; I had even put a half into my mouth. My competitive side kept on chugging. I pictured Rusty rubbing my feet. He began sweating after I ate the first three slices.

Rusty: "The bet was three for $50, right?"

I ignored him and kept on eating. The waiter got into the bet and kept popping back to our table to check my progress. The end was in sight. I kept eating.

When I finished the last bite, I had to open my mouth to prove I'd swallowed it. The table erupted in applause. The waiter got me a celebratory margarita to wash away the taste of tomatoes, and I pocketed the $100 in my bra.

Best Family Christmas Ever!

Under the weather

I was conversing with my brother via FaceTime, and since I lead the more exciting life, I was giving him a rundown on my upcoming day, including getting my carpets cleaned. In the process of explaining how that all came about, I used the phrase, under the weather.

Rusty: "What exactly does that mean? Under the weather?"

Me: "It means I was not feeling well."

Rusty: "What does the weather have to do with sickness? It doesn't make sense. I don't like it. I want a detailed essay on the who, what, why, when, and wheres of how that saying came to be on my desk by tomorrow."

I think the kid forgets I write a blog. 

BAM! Blog entry.

Thanks to the Internet, it didn't take long for me to research the idiom of under the weather. My sources included the sites Know Your Phrase and English Stack Exchange as well as the following sources: "Encyclopedia of Word and Phrase Origins" by Robert Hendrickson (Facts on File, New York, 1997) and "Salty Dog Talk: The Nautical Origins of Everyday Expressions" by Bill Beavis and Richard G. McCloskey (Sheridan House, Dobbs Ferry, N.Y., 1995. First published in Great Britain, 1983).

The general consensus is that the term originated in the 1800s back when the mode of transportation was via ships. Seasickness aboard was prevalent due to a combination of choppy waters, lousy food, other passengers, terrible weather, and in my opinion, a captain with a heavy foot. Upchucking overboard, which makes the most sense to me was apparently, a faux pa. So, passengers and sailors were sent below deck to recover, vomit in peace, and take cover from nasty weather.

The term is really under the weather bow, which is the side upon which all the rotten weather is blowing. Somewhere along with the invention of cars, airplanes, and toilets, the bow got knocked off the end.

First to record under the weather in print has been given to two different publications; author Donald Grant Mitchell in his Reveries of a Bachelor and an article in the Jefferson Daily Evening News, published in 1935.

The term means that one is feeling ill, drunk, or recovering from a hangover. Documented use was also when speaking of the malaise of menstruation, which back in my day was accompanied by a wink, wink.

Brother's Response: "You're a nutter butter."

Happy Birthday Rusty

Today my little brother turns another year older. While continuing my birthday movie tradition I found that many of my photos of him are self-portraits, thus the song, "Happy Birthday to me," by Cracker.

Happy Birthday little brother!

She needs sleep

Going...

Going...

Gone!

Happy Turkey Day 2009, part two

Scenes from Thanksgiving 2009

Kelly's turkey brined for several hours

Ready for the oven

In it goes

Cara's creation starts with an empty pitcher

A bottle of brandy (well just a shot)

A lovely bottle of Yago wine

Some 7 Up, maraschino cherries, and limes

And we have sangria!

A lovely table

Ready to eat!

Oh, and let's not forget the photographer

Potatoes anyone?

I don't know why I don't have a place at the table...