Welcome to Mindy's Musings- My daily escapades through the extraordinarily ordinary!
Thanks for visiting. I hope this blog brings a smile to your face. Everything you read here is true. Non-fiction, baby! The names have been changed to protect.... well, me. My book is in the works so I thought I'd test out the waters here and see what you think. So, please be free and candid with the feedback. Oh, and don't hesitate to share your stories here as well!
First Post- excerpt from my book.
A little background. I worry. I'm a worrier. I have all the anxiety naturally attributed to Jewish women and then some. This little blurb from my book is the result of a recent mother-daughter trip to Florida where I was nearly taken out by a headless driver in the Publix parking lot and subsequently berated by an enima wielding patron in CVS. Whoah.
Gotta earn money, then spend money to retire, right? Wrong. After (very little) reflection, it’s safe to say that, with Jewish people, money and everything go hand in hand so let’s talk retirement and be on the alert for the money theme here. You won’t have to work very hard.
After a long career, my mom retired from her executive role in HR and decided to build a second home in Florida for the winter months. She is officially a “snowbird” now. Cool! Every six months I fly down with her to get her moved in then perform the opposite exercise to come back home.
After my first trip to Boynton Beach, I began to wonder if it was mandatory for every Jew east of the Missippi and north of the Mason Dixon line to relocate to Florida upon retirement. I wondered if I would end up like the stereotypical old Jewish people we used to laugh about. You know, the ones who take sugar packets and mints from restaurants, loiter in the supermarket deli section for more free samples, wear socks and sandals on the beach, and carry out a variety of miserly, money-related exploits that undermine the small percentage of us who are willing to buy our own sugar, go barefoot and pay fair price.
This has gone from a topic I ponder to a gripping, almost paralyzing fear. I am 46 years old. How much time do I have left? Is a car going to show up at my house when I turn sixty and whisk me away to Del Boca Vista where the Seinfeld’s lived? Maybe I’ll get a pass because I married a goy. I don’t know but these thoughts are not good for one with a natural predisposition to anxiety and apprehension. If I only have 14 years until I morph into a condiment pilfering meshuggeneh, just shoot me now. I do NOT want to turn into one of those old tightwads that turns parting with a dollar to a complex hostage negotiation. I’ve seen it folks, it’s not pretty.
If you think I’m kidding, visit my page again soon where I share a few stories of my escapades with Mom in Boynton.