Expiration Dates

    There it was, way in the back of the refrigerator, an unopened container of sour cream. Exactly what I needed to top my spinach and mushroom quesadilla - yummy!

But DANG IT!!! The expiration date was like 8 months ago. I opened it anyway. It’s sour cream for goodness sake. It’s already sour. Surely if it had never been opened it’d still be good - right? WRONG. I’ll spare you the details. Sadly I had to toss a full container of sour cream in the garbage.

    That happened about three days before I was scheduled to jump out of an airplane for an episode of MidlifeRoad Trip. It got me to thinking about expiration dates.

Like it or not, all of us have an expiration date. But unlike sour cream, we don’t know when it is.  Any doubts I had about skydiving vanished as I thought of what a waste it was to throw away an unopened container of sour cream.

When ever my expiration date rolls around, I don’t want any unexplored opportunities, unfulfilled experiences or unchased dreams left in my container. I want my container empty with the insides licked clean.

There’s something about Midlife when your hair starts graying, your bones start aching and your… you know … starts you knowing, that makes you start thinking about your own mortaility.

This is one of my favorite poems of all time. I think it puts expiration dates in their proper perspective.

The Dash Poem

by Linda Ellis

I read of a man who stood to speak


At the funeral of a friend.

He referred to the dates on her tombstone

From the beginning to the end.

He noted that first came the date of her birth

And spoke of the following date with tears,


But he said what mattered most of all

Was the dash between those years.

For that dash represents all the time

That she spent alive on earth


And now only those who loved her

Know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own,


The cars, the house, the cash,


What matters is how we live and love


And how we spend our dash.


So think about this long and hard;


Are there things you'd like to change?


For you never know how much time is left

That can still be rearranged.

If we could just slow down enough


To consider what's true and real

And always try to understand


The way other people feel.

And be less quick to anger

And show appreciation more


And love the people in our lives


Like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect

And more often wear a smile,


Remembering that this special dash


Might only last a little while.

So when your eulogy is being read

With your life's actions to rehash


Would you be proud of the things they say


About how you spent your dash?

© 1996 Linda Ellis

www.lindaellis.net

Contemplating Murder

I’m in really nice resort / conference center in Tampa, FLorida. I never intended to write a real-time blog but it’s 3:10 a.m. and I can’t sleep.
    I can’t sleep because I have a roommate.
    My roommate is snoring.
    My roommate is snoring, loudly.
    My roommate is J.D.  Lindman. J.D is the executive producer of the Midlife Road Trip show. We have a busy production schedule later in the morning - much later. When on the road, we often room together in order to share expenses. J.D. has become one of my best friends in the world.
    Friendship aside, J.D.’s snoring is unbelievably annoying. I am contemplating using the pillow that is no longer of use to me, to shut J.D. up - permanently.

     I’ll be right back.
...
...
    Didn’t go through with it. I couldn’t live with the guilt of snuffing out a friend. Besides, I’d have to pay for the whole room myself. I think I’ll get a shower.
    Be back soon.
...
...
    I remembered to wash behind my ears. Even in the shower, with the water running, I could hear J.D. snoring. He hasn’t always been this bad. That can’t be healthy. He needs to get something checked. I think I’ll wake him up.
    Back in a few...
...
    I guess I’d better put some clothes on first. If a naked man woke me up at 3:40 a.m., Im not sure what I’d think. I certainly wouldn’t room with him again. I’d better get dressed first.
    Where are my socks?
    This is the first time I have ever written anything naked.  I’m actually feeling very creative; I’ll have to remember to try this next time I get a case of writer’s block, unless it’s one of those times when I’m writing in a hotel lobby.
    Should probably get dressed.
    Don’t look.
...
...
    O.K. I’m dressed now, but I’m not sure how I’m going to wake J.D. I have an idea, but it’s risky. I’ll let you know how it goes.
    Pray it works.
....

    It didn’t work like it did in camp. I filled the ice bucket with warm water and tried putting J.D.’s hand in it. He spilled the bucket all over the bed. He didn’t think it was funny, but at least he’s awake now. In fact, he’s taking a shower. He thinks it’s somewhere around 6:30 a.m. He wants to go to breakfast as soon as he gets dressed.
    I’m going sleep, y’all.  

Writing for Leno

    Being raised in the Bible belt, I was a taught that it is a sin to brag. I have always felt that whatever level of success I attain as a writer should be attributed to what I have written, not for whom I have written. I want my writing to stand on its own merits.
    That said, one of the Midlife Road Trip producers insisted that I should at least mention I had written material for Jay Leno, of Tonight Show fame. She said that it would not be bragging if I mentioned how I now look back on those years with a great sense of humility - which in all sincerity, I do.
    Right now, my life’s work is guiding others through their midlife journeys; showing them how to live their lives to the fullest, without regrets; encouraging them to take chances and fulfill  their dreams. How can I be an encouragement to others without sharing a personal experience of a time when I threw caution to the wind in pursuit of my dream to make the world laugh?
    So I guess it's not  bragging if my intent is to encourage others, right?  I think this letter received from Mr. Leno, shortly before I decided to pursue other endeavors, conveys the nature of our professional relationship. 

Please Don't Kill Me

I have always been a little off, a little twisted. My momma says I was a handful growing up. If somebody says you’re a “handful”, it’s just a polite, Southern way of saying you are a pain in the butt.

I debated whether it is O.K. to say “butt” because I’m not sure if it is a cuss word or not. But then I remembered what the King James Bible calls a donkey, and I figured it was all right.    

My momma is a very intelligent woman; she has her Master’s Degree in early childhood education. While I was growing up, she tried everything she knew to get me under control, but I was still a handful. Eventually she decided to have me  evaluated. She arranged for some “professionals” with legal pads to visit my school and observe me throughout the day.

These experts told Momma that I had Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder – ADHD, which is just a big, fancy, clinical way of saying I was a “handful”. Momma already knew that, but I guess we had good insurance and  she wanted to have it confirmed.

I still remember the first time Momma ever talked to me about ADHD; she was so kind and loving. She sat me down, took my little hands in hers and looked into my eyes. Then she pinched my cheeks real hard so I’d look into her eyes. 

“Honey, you have a condition known as Attention Deficit….Look at me….Attention Deficit Hyper…LOOK AT ME!… Hyperactivity Dis…. Just take this little pill RIGHT NOW!”

“What’s it do?” I asked.

She knew I was too young to understand the chemistry behind it so she said, “It will help you to grow up to be big and strong and live a long life!”

Frightened, I asked, “Will I die if I don’t take it?”

She said, “No, honey, no. You won’t die... But somebody might kill you.”

After all these years, I am taking myself off my ADD meds. Midlife is the time you give your self permission to be yourself. I’m not sure that I am myself when I’m on the meds.

As I transition back to my natural ADD glory, I’m not sure what I’ll say or what I’ll do, but it will be me who says is and does it. Just please know that it is never, ever, ever my intent to offend anyone – except maybe the Amish – but that’s only because I know they don’t read my blog.

CRAPPY New Year!

So here’s what happened. After church, a group of us headed into Atlanta for some Thai food. I voted for Mexican  because I knew that this particular Thai restaurant didn’t have wi-fi to support my Twitter addiction.

Since I couldn’t tweet and eat, I left my 3-month-old, 17”Macbook Pro in the car. Even though we were in a “safe” part of town, I wisely hid my laptop on the floor of  the rear passenger seat. And then to be extra safe, I covered it with my leather jacket.

When we returned to the car, we found a shattered window. But we didn’t find my laptop or my leather jacket - which obviously fled the scene in shame for not fulfilling its leather jackety duties of protecting my laptop.

I then uttered my first cuss word(s) of the new year, which is OK because I didn’t make a resolution not to cuss. Besides, screaming "Happy FAMOUS New Year to me! DARN it! shucks, Shucks, SHUCKS!" doesn't have the same therapeutic effect.

We called 911, but since no one was bleeding, we were given a low priority. After waiting for two and a half hours in 26 degree weather, I called 911 AGAIN to report hypothermia and frost bite, thinking it might move us up in priority.

While I was on the phone, an officer finally arrived. He told us that particular parking lot was hit 6-8 times per week. He said that the thief was probably a crack-head who traded my $2,800 computer to his junkie for a hit of crack.

Had the officer told me that the thief had traded my laptop for a hit of crack AND a hooker, I’d have felt much better knowing that I wasn’t the only one who got screwed.

On the off chance that whoever took my computer is reading my blog, please know that I will buy you a whole week’s supply of crack and hookers for it’s safe return - maybe even a month's supply! I don’t really know the current market price for either.

NOTE to everyone else reading this blog: Please be advised that my missing laptop had a current version of Photoshop and many personal pictures. So any unflattering or compromising pictures of me that EVER appear in the internet, are probably just the work of a creative druggie.

Gettin' Sauced

People who follow me on Twitter know that I am a self-proclaimed foodie. They know that I love to cook and that I love to eat. They know that when I bite into certain foods, I WANT the food to bite me back - “forkplay", if you will. Yes, I’m one of those who likes it HOT & SPICEY!

On a recent trip to Tampa, the cast was having breakfast with our producer, Sandi, AKA @McMedia.  She made us a wonderful breakfast in her fancy, right out of Southern Living Magazine kitchen.

I asked for some Tabasco sauce for my eggs - ‘cause that’s how I eat my eggs. She said that she didn’t have any Tabasco sauce. Dang it!  But just as I was deciding that she must be a communist, she said “I have something bettah” - that’s yankee for “better.”

She handed me a small bottle of a habanero, carrot based hot sauce by Intensity Academy. Carrot based? What the heck? Habaneros? Waaay too hot to enjoy. I was sure that I wouldn’t like it.
   
    I will not like it, I will not
    Habaneros, much too hot
    Carrot based? I do not care
    I will not like this stuff, I swear!

But since I kinda made a big deal about having to have hot sauce on my eggs, I figured I’d better give it a try. And you know what? It was the BEST STUFF I’d ever put in my mouth. The sweetness of the carrots enhanced the flavor of the habaneros while taming their heat yet maintaining their kick. I finished my eggs and later caught my self taking shots of the stuff straight from the bottle - which Sandi said I could keep after catching me.

I said,”Sandi, we should ask Intensity Academy to be the ‘Official Hot Sauce’ of the Midlife Road Trip.”  God bless her, Sandi made a few phone calls and landed Intensity Academy as a sponsor! As a product that we fell in love with and sought out as a sponsor, I am hereby awarding Intensity Academy the Midlife Road Trip Seal of Satisfaction.

Over the holidays I got to meet the founder of Intensity Academy, Michele Northrup and her husband, Tom. They brought me what has been my favorite gift this year - a WHOLE GALLON of their hottest, hot sauce, H-3 and a sampler pack of their Scovie Award winning sauces and marinades! Here’s a picture of me getting sauced. That's Michele, me, Tom & Denise (my wife).

 

DISCLAIMER:
Though we shamelessly attempt to get free products, services, accommodations and whatnot along our midlife journey, cast members only award the MLRT Seal of Satisfaction if we believe in it and LOVE it. We’ll be glad to try anything you send us, just be advised that if we don’t like it, we won’t mention it, and if it doesn’t ROCK OUR WORLD, it won’t get our Seal of Satisfaction. Our fans know that our endorsements mean something.

Midlife and Resolutions

So it’s the time of year when bloggers everywhere begin making suggestions for resolutions guaranteed to make my life better in the new year. Here are the top recurring themes I’m seeing in the blogs.

1.  diet and exercise
2.  quit drinking and smoking
3.  spend more time with family
4.  get out of debt
5.  get organized

Screw all of that. I’m in the middle of my midlife crisis.  I don’t wanna diet. I don’t wanna exercise. I don’t wanna quit drinking - especially if I have to spend more time with family. I’d have to start smoking in order to quit smoking. I would feel totally un-American if I were out of debt. And dang it, I have A.D.D. so getting organized is a medical impossibility.

The ultimate purpose of resolutions is to make your life better, right? BUT, statistics show that most resolutions are broken sometimes between Superbowl Sunday and Fat Tuesday. A broken resolution is tantamount to personal failure.

Personal failure leads to low-self-esteem WHICH erodes productivity and diminishes the quality of life, THUS having the EXACT OPPOSITE effect of what what the resolutions were intended to do in the first place. All of that to say… I ain’t gonna make no resolutions this year.*


*Note to my northern friends who got their thongs in a thistle over my use of the words “ain’t” and “no” in the same sentence constituting a “double negative"... blah... blah... blah.  Please be advised that I type in fluent Southern where the first negative adds emphasis to the second negative rather than negating it.