forever young

I am slowly recovering from a Fab50 reunion with six of my closest girlfriends from high school, all graduates during the late 70's.

When I mentioned this visit to people, I was met with incredulous looks.

High school? You're still friends with girls from high school?

I do realize that for some people their best-friends-for-life were met in college. For others, as the psychology department head told we incoming graduate students, this would be the place where sacred, lifelong friendships would form.

But for me? It's always been my high school buds. No question about it.

I was really lucky that way. I moved to a new area the summer before my 8th grade year. A few weeks before school started, two nervous, 13-year-old girls knocked on my front door to meet me. The mother of one of the girls made them introduce themselves, I was to find out later. It was probably more our of nosiness about the new family in town than genuine concern for my wellbeing. But whatever the reason, these two girls became my friends and introduced me to a larger group of girls who became some of the best girlfriends I could ask for.

I've met many friends since then who have become very good friends. Excellent friends. Cherished friends. We relate in a way my high school friends and I don't, or can't, or won't ever relate.

But there's something singularly special about hometown friends. All the shared experiences, a shared larger network of friends and towns people, memories of some of life's most difficult heartaches.

Over this past weekend, here we all were, gathered in my home, the first time a few of them had even been to Texas. All of us 49 or 50 years old. (Come think of it, only ONE of us was actually 50. Poor woman. The rest of us will remain forever 49).

But here's the remarkable thing. As I looked at my friends sitting around my living room, or on my back porch with the sunlight fading, or on a river bank cooling our feet in the spring fed water, I was taking them all in.

I saw not their crow's feet, nor their varying shades of color enhanced hair hiding the gray, nor their extra-padded midlines.

What I saw were laughing teenagers. A seventeen year old running beside me during a field hockey game. A young woman chugging down her first beer and wincing at the god-awful-taste-of-it. A girlfriend crying over a boyfriend betrayal, the first of many.

Over the past recent years, when I have met someone new, someone my own age, I would see a middle-aged woman.

But my childhood friends? The years drop away in an instant. Disappear. Gone. In each other's company, for just a weekend, we are ageless, timeless, forever young.

it's about that time again

The summer is off to a running start between a busier than usual work schedule and kids with busier than usual comings and goings. No time to catch my breath much less catch up on all of the blogs I've been sorely neglecting. I expect more downtime in July but I'm not making any promises.

So far we've had afternoons of swimming at West Enfield, Deep Eddy (below) and Barton Springs Pools. Swimming is not an option, but a necessity, in these June "we've already hit 100 degrees" temps.

The oldest pool in Texas, Deep Eddy Pool is located close to downtown. Like Barton Springs and Enfield Pools, Deep Eddy is spring fed, making for an ultra-refreshing dip. It's also a great place to people watch and catch the latest trends in men's fashionable summertime headwear:

This weekend? We're beating the heat with our annual girls-plus-kids weekend trip for the second best kind of poolside relaxing, here.

And this year I'll be packing the prickly. Normally reserved for martyr syndrome intervention, I'm feeling the need for a little self-administered liquid therrapy.

Find out how you, too, can beat the heat with a pink prickly pear margarita, here.

I will add a major, energy saving modification. The pears can be frozen in the freezer, taken out the morning of your therrapy appointment, placed in a plastic container and left to thaw in your fridge. Retrieve a few hours later to find the dark purple juice oozing from the pears, ready to be strained and poured into the drink of your desire. Much easier.

the martyr syndrome: an intervention

I have sorely strayed from one of my blog objectives: to share some of my accumulated wisdom in the area of all things psychological. The holiday weekend has given me fresh motivation and inspiration.

The Martyr Syndrome

Defining Characteristics: Insisting on having one's own way in the completion of a task; which is the hardest, tedious, most time consuming and potentially back breaking way of doing said task; and despite the urging of the majority of adults present to make it easy on oneself; and despite assurances that it will "taste just fine: or "work just as well" (maybe even better) done the easier, faster, way.

Upon insisting on having done it the hard way, The Martyr becomes overly fatiqued and "stressed out," to the point of intolerable crankiness, or poutiness, or both, in repeating cycles; which, in turn, inevitably elicits feelings of alienation and emotional deprivation; and the overall belief that one is not appreciated in the slightest, and therefore not loved, despite (indeed, in spite of) the sacrifices one has made. Heavy sighs and comments such as "But I only wanted to make everyone happy!" may be heard during this latter phase of the disorder. Tears may be present.

Preparation of the annual Thanksgiving Feast is a common precipitating event. The making of turkey gravy is a particularly ripe activity for the presentation of The Martyr Syndrome but there are an infinite number of domestic scenerios that work equally well in sparking the onset of the disorder.

Unfortunately, there is very little that can be done to thwart the perpetual enactor of the syndrome. If a Martyr is in your midst, do not, therefore, direct your efforts toward trying to dissuade, shame, or engage in "I told you so's", particularly if you are in the throes of the decades long sufferer. It will be to no avail and could escalate The Martyr into further decompensation.

Recommended Treatment: There is, however, one full proof method that those exposed to The Martyr Syndrome can employ. I call it the "Dayglo Slushie Surprise."

1. Present the kids and The Martyr with a "Dayglo Pink Slushie" made in the blender. Inform recipients that you thought this would be "a fun surprise" and perhaps "the start of a holiday tradition."

2. Hold back a generous portion of the slushie.

3. Enact slight of hand.

4. Add heavy handed jiggerfulls of tequila and triple sec to the blender. At this stage, you should begin to feel the Prodromal Effects, Stage I of relief. i.e., Help IS on the way.

5. Pour covertly enhanced (prickly pear margaritas) DayGlo Slushie Surprises into two glasses: one for yourself and one for your co-conspirator, if you are fortunate enough to have one on hand.

Lime wedge and salt rim optional. Although, experts suggest these are better left off entirely lest The Martyr be tipped off to their significance and a second, more vicious round of the disorder ensues.

6. Give a knowing wink when handing the co-conspirator his Slushie "Surprise."

7. Toast to the happiness and wellbeing of all present. Give the co-conspirator a second knowing wink.

Feel Prodromal Phase, Stage II of the impending relief.

8. Slurp. Swallow. Allow the icy cold elixir to move to the back of throat, roll slowly down the esophagus, make contact with the tummy, and then ... ahhhh ... feel the merciful FULL RELIEF phase of treatment, that luxurious warmth from the inside out. The feeling that whispers, "bring.it.on."

9. Agree wholeheartedly when kids and The Martyr tell you how yummy these slushies are and what a good idea it was and how they "hope we do this every year."

10. Repeat steps #4 through #8, as often as needed.

pick a peck of prickly pear

A few months ago I experienced my first prickly pear margarita in San Antonio with a friend who was visiting from Ohio. As we sat on the riverwalk, we both savored the flavor of the best margarita this side of the Mexico border.

Afterwards, she sent me a surprise - a bottle of prickly pear syrup bought on the internets. So I've been able to enjoy, and share these marvelous margaritas with friends.

Yesterday, as on many afternoons, SAM and I went for a walk along the wooded trails behind our property. There are fields and fields of prickly pear cactus. Their fruit are turning purple. I've been hatching the idea to pick a few and take a stab at making my own prickly pear syrup.


But how? I've never even held one of those purple pods in my hand. When to pick? When is the peak ripeness of a purple prickly pear pod? How to get the pulp out without ending up with prickly fingers? How many pods do I need to make one margarita? How many pears does Peter Piper need to pick?


I don't know the answers to any of these questions. But I'm making it my (procrastination task of the day) quest. Insurance claims and therapy paychecks be damned!

At this stage I've learned that the pulp of the prickly pear is nutritious, containing lots of Vitamin C.

And that it can be used as a laxative and as a first aid salve, similar to aloe vera. But I haven't learned how to make the syrup.

Wikihow says to make a prickly pear margarita using cactus "infused" tequila. That's no help.

If you, dear reader, are a prickly pear expert who happened upon my blog, I'd be eternally grateful for any and all suggestions.

Now to remember to take my camera along on my next walk and share the view.

Update: Rachel from RachelsTinyFarm gives instruction on freezing the pear pods as a means of extracting the juice finger prick free.

rita's calling

Just so you know, I will be gone for the next few days. Impromptu vacay. Picture me kicked back at a place like this:

In the company of girlfriends who look sorta like this:

Doing things like this:And this:
And even more of this:


I do not know who the above ladies are,
but they sure have the proper technique down, don't you think?


Picture me enjoying beverages like these:

And these:

And most especially, these:

Minus the glass. We rowdy girlfriends cannot be trusted with glass poolside.

We will, instead, have plastic tumblers that look like this:

Or maybe even like this:

But they absolutely will NOT look like this:

And finally, the weekend will most certainly tolerate none of these:

As the weekend wears on, this last point might be negotiable.

feeling prickly

for a prickly pear cactus margarita ... and with a little luck I'll be drinking one on the Riverwalk tomorrow. 87 degrees expected temps. I can feel that icy liquid already... Slurrrrrrrrrrrp!