It’s All Fun And Games Until—‘Near Death’–Elevator Anxiety

We went to St. Simons Island, GA, for my Cuz Christopher’s wedding twelve years ago.

{Vintage pic of my heart}

My Aunt Trisha and Uncle Jim rented this extra-large, deluxe beach house for the entire family to stay in for the wedding weekend. It was a stunning property and home; right on the water, infinity pool, large gathering areas inside and out. The main house had four floors, and the guest house that had two more bedrooms and living areas to boot.

Our family of four had the top floor of the main house (4th floor). It was fabulous. A massive room with 2 queen beds, a sitting area, a balcony overlooking the water, a small kitchenette, and access to the elevator.

{My Mom had such a great weekend-we were all so happy to be together}

I vaguely recall us all arriving around the same time, some from Florida and some from GA and unloading all the vehicles. Trish and Jim had planned several big gatherings at the house for the weekend; breakfasts, lunches, the rehearsal dinner, etc.… so they came with a lot of baggage. 

We utilized the elevator to take items from the basement level, where the parking area was to the kitchen and beyond. 

It was one of those residential elevators that appeared to be a regular interior door until you opened it up; the door would only open if the elevator was called to your floor and available.

Of course, back then, Suz was a bigger fan of stairs because—fat burning. And my knees were in tip-top shape.

The weekend was just perfect; the whole fam-damily was there, plus old friends who were like family; it was such a festive celebration.

I remember the day before we departed, a big group of us were in the kitchen, and we could vaguely hear someone yelling and banging around.

We laughed and thought, who the heck is making all that racket? Well, a few minutes later, we realized it was my Mom, and she was trapped in the elevator; her room was on the third floor, and her knees were shot, so she used the elevator often. But this time, she couldn’t get the door to open.

My Uncle was able to get her out after about 10 minutes, she was panicked, and she also had a full bladder; we kind of poo-pooed her panic-ridden face. 

I regret that terribly.

Fast forward to the last day on the Island, and my family was packing up all our crap on the fourth floor. I decided to make it easy and load ALL our stuff onto the elevator and take it down in one trip. I called the elevator, started placing suitcases in front of the closed door. When the light let me know the elevator was here, I casually opened the door, turned back and started grabbing bags, then turned towards the elevator with them in hand to step INTO the elevator when I realized the elevator was NOT on my floor. 

All I could see was the empty shaft, the elevator car was in the basement. My heart dropped.

I was ——–this close——–to just stepping into blackness.

Thinking about it again right now, how I didn’t shat my party pants is beyond me.

I’ve always had a slight fear of heights, but I added fear of elevators to my list after this escapade. 

A few years later we were in Vegas with a large group of friends and we were staying on the 30th floor. There was not ONE time that I stepped into the elevator that I didn’t look closely at the floor and step in with trepidation. Everyone giggled at my nervous antics, but the hell with them. 

It was that same year that my Mom had read in the newspaper about an older couple who lived on St. Simons Island (or the vicinity) that had an elevator. They became trapped, with no phone, and subsequently passed away there.


I still think of that couple when I think of elevators. 

When my Aunt and Uncle were looking at homes recently, a few popped up with elevators. ME; THE HELL WITH ELEVATORS!

Anyone else have an irrational a fear of elevators? I also have a little ‘something’ with escalators, but I shouldn’t show all my crazy in one day.

Your friend Suz who might not be able to entertain you with her blog had she taken that ONE step.


My Face, The Weather, My Heart, The Germs

Part of my regular ‘maintenance program’ is having a facial every few months, but, I’ve not had one since February. Certainly not the end of the world. BUT, I did notice that I could feel some bumps on my nose. I couldn’t SEE what they were, but I was assuming they were those yucky things my aesthetician almost makes me cry while pressing out of the tip of my nose with her putty knife. It FEELS like a putty knife. Grosser than gross. While on a Target run I grabbed a pack of these babies in lieu of a putty knife from the garage.

I’ll not share the evidence, but this was possibly the most satisfying moment of my week.

The weather, my heart

We’ve been blessed with fall-like weather this week. Well, fall for Florida. Any day that doesn’t get hotter than 80* is a good fall day in Florida.

79* at 5pm? Let me grab my cardigan and toss a log on the fire!

Speaking of my Apple Watch. I never knew how much I would enjoy it. I have a lovely real watch that was gifted to me from the Coach many years ago and another lovely real watch from my dear friends for my 50th. But I tend to wear my Apple watch daily, saving the real ones for when we have a special event, like the grocery store. Ok, only because the grocery store in 2020 is a special event.

When I first got it last year though, I was perplexed and a bit worried that my resting heart rate was always a bit high. I even called my Dr and asked about it. She gave me the ‘once over’ and told me my ticker was fine, but some people just have faster heart beats. So, if you were ever wanting to have a heart beat race with me, I’d probably win. Or die.

The Germs

I had a memory pop into my brain the other day from many years ago when I was a girl scout leader. One fall we went camping and we played the age old game of bobbing for apples. Goodness, remember doing stuff like that? Putting your OPEN MOUTH in a bucket after 10 of your friends? It’s a wonder we made it this long.

Which in turn reminded me of a time when my girls were little, they would turn me into a complete lunatic when I took them to a public restroom. They wanted to TOUCH EVERY DAMN THING THEY COULD. I’m pretty sure it was to make me nuts and it worked, look at me now: NUTS.

Suz to her impressionable, touch-everything-children:

‘Well, you might as well search for a snack in the garbage can, then let’s go and lick the escalator handrail in Macy’s!”

It’s a wonder they’re well adjusted.

They appear well adjusted, no?

Let’s be nice, Damnit

It’s Friday. We’ve survived another week. We still don’t know who will be residing in the White House next year, but whatever happens, we must love and respect one another; that is imperative, right? I honestly don’t care if Elton John is our President (think of the good music though!) I just want people to be NICE and respectful to each other, Damnit.

We’ll be home enjoying our fall weather this weekend and hopefully not shuttering up because of Hurricane/Tropical storm ETA. *raises fists in the air—ENOUGH 2020!*

Any plans for the weekend that I should know about?


I hope I don’t regret not having a title for this mess.

It’s come to my attention that I have a lot of feelings.

Good ones.
Sad ones.
Really, really bad ones.

Just kidding about the bad ones, but I do love a sing-song rhyme.

Also, spell check always tells me that I don’t’ know how to spell rhyme.

People always say to live your life without regret.
Who are these people and why should we listen to them?

{not my tattoo nor my decolletage}

How does one live without regret? Like, NOT one regret? 
I’m not buying what they’re selling.

My regrets; I have a few.

I regret being an anal-retentive Mother when my girls were little. I know exactly *why I was like that 
and I don’t believe they are scarred, but still, I could have been a ‘lighter’ person.

I regret some of the times I didn’t answer the phone when my Mom called me.

I regret all the times I stressed over buying and wearing a bathing suit. From the time I was 15 until now; I stressed whether I was 95lbs or 140lbs.

I regret not wearing sunscreen on my decolletage during my teen years.

Upcoming evidence of feelings all over the place.

This song was on my mind the other day.
When my Mom was in hospice we played some music for her.
Me: Oh, she loves this song (she really did) so I started playing it. 

After a minute or so, my Aunt Trisha said: Yeah, she likes that song, but she really loves this one.

My Mom was heavily sedated and hadn’t communicated in hours, but she twitched when this song came on. I know she was trying to dance.

When I was a kid and she would dance/drive in the car at hearing a good song…Why did that mortify me? 
Dance/driving is the best.

I don’t regret dropping everything and spending copious amounts of time with my Mom in ATL when she was sick.

I don’t regret a single day of actually being a Mom or a Wife. (I capitalized on those as they are both positions that I take seriously.)

I don’t regret knowing the word decolletage; it’s an interesting word.

I might regret hitting publish on this post.


The one where I visit a Doctor in a closet and I need a tongue transplant.

So, I broke down and finally went to the Dr. yesterday. I really didn’t want it to get to that point because, and I hope I’m not telling you something you don’t know, but all the sick people are at the Doctors office.

My regular Dr stopped taking our insurance, so right now I really don’t have a regular.
But I am regular in contrast to the lady I will meet up with in line at CVS.

My friend told me about the Minute Clinic. Have you heard of these? Just a little closet office inside CVS and you’re seen by a nurse practitioner. I mean, I wouldn’t go there if I fell off the roof while pressure washing and had a bone jutting out of my skin, but for my issue it was sufficient.

I was sure I had a sinus infection and of course, I was right. Sadly, they wouldn’t pay ME for the diagnosis, I still had to pay THEM. ‘Merica
Anyhoo, I’m on antibiotics, some saline spray, and Flonase. I’m certain I’ll be feeling like my normal sassy self in a hot minute.

The day before I had a bunch of errands to run starting with picking up a package at UPS, then Target.
I went into the UPS place and the lady fetched my package for me. Then I had to sign paperwork and this entire time, I needed to cough. I was holding in my cough. Kind of like holding your pee, but you know in my throat.
Finally, package in hand, papers signed and I almost made it to the door when my body wouldn’t hold in the cough one more second.


I’m not kidding when I say a lady 4 feet behind me let out a gasp so big, that I know tons of old UPS germs made a beeline for her respiratory system.
Calm down, people.

After I didn’t infect the patrons of the UPS store, I headed to Target for my typical shopping run that I do every 10-14 days. On my list were some various items and apparently a hot ticket item.
No, it wasn’t for Tickle Me Elmo.

*cue the dramatic background music*
              TOILET PAPER

Do you think they had any TP at Target? 

Nope. Nada.
Not a square to spare.

I sent a family text complaining about the toilet paper and Linds let on that she is always stocked up and she would share, but only a square.
My people.

The next day after my visit with the minute clinic Dr inside the CVS closet, I purchased a six-pack of bud toilet paper like a normal human.
There was a lady behind me that had at least 48 rolls of TP.
My tongue was bleeding from me biting it because I wanted to ask if she needed a referral to a gastro specialist or did she want me to help her find the Imodium to assist with her apparent issue,
but on this day apparently, I had self-control.
Having self-control really takes a bite out of my fun.

I’m still very confused by it all and it’s the last thing I would think of hoarding. 
Food? Sure.
Medicine? Yeah.
Wine? Absofreakinglutely.
Toilet paper? Not even on my radar.

If anyone could clarify, please let me know.

Bueller?  Bueller? 

Last night as I was almost finished with dinner (the chores!)
I said to the Coach, can I still have ice cream if I don’t finish my chicken? (I told you I’m 12)
Oh, nevermind, we don’t have any ice cream.
His response: I’ll take you out for ice cream, but you have to stay in the car so you don’t scare anyone.
My people.  

I decided I didn’t really want ice cream, although the prospect of having it delivered to the car was appealing.

I already shared two nonsensical posts this week and I was thinking that was enough, but this one’s for you, Kari.
*holds bud light up in the air*
Wait, I don’t drink beer.

Wishing everyone a healthy weekend doing something fun and by fun, I don’t mean hoarding paper products.

Bee sweet.
Bee healthy.
Bee a good human.