A Nurse, a Lawyer and a Social Worker Walk into a Bar... - May 26, 2018
(This is a “repeat performance” from almost five years ago…)
Nothing says lovin’ like somethin’ from the oven. Especially when it’s not your oven; even better when it’s not at your own place.
Two of my gal pals – Elle and Pia (not their real names) – and I get together every two weeks or so at Buzzy Brown’s, and we have fun. Folks who know me, know that I am angst-y and OCD – not a great combination. I’m lots of other things too – like funny and compassionate - but I have my days with what Winston Churchill called “the black dog,” and I’m not even a dog owner any more. I welcome these mini-retreats.
How did the three of us meet? I’m not sure but it likely had something to do with cats and books since that’s the two main things we have in common. Elle is a nurse, an artist, and a gardener; Pia is a lawyer and a pole-dancer. (What? Oh, sorry.) Rather, a Ukrainian who likes to dance. Me, my background is social-worker/counselor and wannabe tri-athlete. (I can’t run or swim, but I am thinking of taking a “spin” class.)
It helps that the three of us are pretty much retired and have the option of meeting for lunch. And it also helps that we enjoy each other’s company terrifically. I love it when, if I have something I am particularly driving myself crazy about, they’ll both look at me with very serious faces and either say, “Well, stop doing it then!” Or “Get doing it then!” And then they both laugh. And then I laugh. I think the trouble with much of “serious” counseling is that both the counselor and the client search to find the various ruts and then keep spinning the wheels in there until things sink even deeper.
*****
One of the challenges we discussed today was – given that we are ladies of a certain age – how do we keep from gaining the “matron’s muffin-top”? (A “first world” problem, I know.) Elle simply doesn’t eat that much, and gardens all summer and shovels snow all winter. Pia has taken up forced walking – she has her son drive her to a destination and drop her off so that she has to walk back.
I don’t know if I trust my husband enough to drop me off close enough to the house that I could make it home in a day. And he, rightly, doesn’t trust my sense of direction enough to get me home at all. Besides, if he dropped me off in the country, I might very well come home with a friendly straying dog. A good companion for my morose “black dog.”
Nothing says lovin’ like somethin’ from the oven. Especially when it’s not your oven; even better when it’s not at your own place.
Two of my gal pals – Elle and Pia (not their real names) – and I get together every two weeks or so at Buzzy Brown’s, and we have fun. Folks who know me, know that I am angst-y and OCD – not a great combination. I’m lots of other things too – like funny and compassionate - but I have my days with what Winston Churchill called “the black dog,” and I’m not even a dog owner any more. I welcome these mini-retreats.
How did the three of us meet? I’m not sure but it likely had something to do with cats and books since that’s the two main things we have in common. Elle is a nurse, an artist, and a gardener; Pia is a lawyer and a pole-dancer. (What? Oh, sorry.) Rather, a Ukrainian who likes to dance. Me, my background is social-worker/counselor and wannabe tri-athlete. (I can’t run or swim, but I am thinking of taking a “spin” class.)
It helps that the three of us are pretty much retired and have the option of meeting for lunch. And it also helps that we enjoy each other’s company terrifically. I love it when, if I have something I am particularly driving myself crazy about, they’ll both look at me with very serious faces and either say, “Well, stop doing it then!” Or “Get doing it then!” And then they both laugh. And then I laugh. I think the trouble with much of “serious” counseling is that both the counselor and the client search to find the various ruts and then keep spinning the wheels in there until things sink even deeper.
*****
One of the challenges we discussed today was – given that we are ladies of a certain age – how do we keep from gaining the “matron’s muffin-top”? (A “first world” problem, I know.) Elle simply doesn’t eat that much, and gardens all summer and shovels snow all winter. Pia has taken up forced walking – she has her son drive her to a destination and drop her off so that she has to walk back.
I don’t know if I trust my husband enough to drop me off close enough to the house that I could make it home in a day. And he, rightly, doesn’t trust my sense of direction enough to get me home at all. Besides, if he dropped me off in the country, I might very well come home with a friendly straying dog. A good companion for my morose “black dog.”