Mena's Wisdom

STILL GOOD TO GO!

2012-02-10T02:42:00.000-08:00

As I woke this morning, my thoughts first went to the usual mind ruminations of the morning. What time is it? What day is it? What is the date? What’s scheduled? Oh yeah, I paid Christmas bills yesterday…..Royster has an appointment this afternoon for the dentist. I need to go look at a dress for a wedding. Pick up prescriptions. My eye doctor appointment has to be rescheduled. It’s trash day…get it out to the curb. Too cold to work in the yard … leftovers for dinner tonight. The day awaits something new.

Royster woke early and went upstairs to his office. I sat up and placed my feet on the floor. After all of those waking morning thoughts trampled through my head, the thought occurred to me that I’m 64 years old…I’m upright, bleed when I’m cut, and can still cast a full shadow….so I must be fine. I don’t hurt anywhere, and I have everything I need for the day. I’m still good to go! I smiled at this wry thought. You’ve put yourself through a rough mill, old girl, but have always dodged the worst of it. I’m still good to go! I stood and padded to the bathroom.

I wondered what was in store for the day, daring not to project too far into my future. I’ll just take what’s on my plate for today, Lord…Help me put this day to good use …. do a kindness for someone today.

The past several weeks seemed so long ago already. I found myself unable to stop thinking about the recent past dramas and joys, all mixed in a strange potpourri, I decided to review the last few weeks…starting just before Thanksgiving. Actually, it started months before, while we made plans for The Royster’s retirement and the big Retirement Vacation out west. Things were getting close, as we had planned to start this vacation on January 5^th. I decided to get some things tied up prior to this. Getting a check up in order to have all of the age appropriate meds in hand while we’re on our big vacation was at the top of the list….an eye doctor visit was optional, but there was a distinct feeling that I needed to make sure I got my vision checked. I called my “provider clinic” and made all of the appropriate appointments, and an unplanned appointment with the eye clinic there. Strangely, I got an immediate appointment for the next day.

Somewhat apprehensive, but in a bit of denial that there was anything more than just an adjustment in my contact prescription; I sat in the examination room, eyes fully dilated and waiting for the doctor to come have a look. Dr. Patel was a beautiful young woman. She was friendly, but at the same time very professional and thorough. As she flashed the light into my eyes, she kept going back to look at my left eye. I must have squirmed a bit, because she apologized for the discomfort the light was causing, and said that there was something there, and that I needed to have a specialist look at it immediately. There was no way I could go that afternoon, so after some phone calling, an appointment was arranged with a retinal specialist in the medical center down town for the next morning. Roy came home early, and we fretted together about what could possibly be there in my left eye.

We arrived early at the retinal specialist’s office……….Every kind of test was run, pictures taken, ultrasounds, MRI’s, PET Scans through my clinic. Finally, the thing in the back of my eye had a name. There was a malignant melanoma in the retina in the back of my left eye. How could this be? Since I had had lung cancer before (8 years ago), I was examined for any cancer anywhere else in my body. The good news was that there was no other cancer found anywhere else. I was told that there was nothing I did to have caused this. “Sometimes these things just happen.” The doctor said. I was sent to the go to man in the field to be treated. The same imaging was repeated through his office. By all rights I should still be glowing with radiation just from the preliminary imaging.

I was offered two scenarios of treatment. One involved surgery to sew a patch of radiation on to the tumor…left on for a week, and another surgery to remove it. It wasn’t new, but it had proved successful. That just hurt thinking about it. The second scenario was a relatively new procedure called a CyberKnife. It was relatively painless, and a one-time treatment. It involved making a mask to hold my head still and in place for a radiation laser to literally kill the cancer cells. I chose the latter, CyberKnife treatment.

We had asked Dr. B. if we should cancel or post pone our vacation plans. He said that the recovery time was only a couple of days, so the treatment was scheduled for January 3^rd … just two days before we were to leave for our vacation. That having been arranged, I was oddly ready to get on with the Thanksgiving and Christmas preparations and celebrations, and tried to put off thinking about the cancer and the radiation treatment I would soon be having.

We went to Fredericksburg for Thanksgiving and enjoyed the festive shopping, photo ops and good food. After a couple of days, we headed home to make preparations for Christmas. We set up a Christmas tree outside on the deck, and decorated very little inside. Got all the out of town mailings done and celebrated the season with friends. Christmas came and went, giving way to the New Year. My surgery date was ironically on my 64^th birthday, on January 3^rd. I was ready.

I slept very little the night before the CyberKnife surgery, and after a brief snooze in the early hours, I woke with a bodacious headache and nausea. There was not a chance I was going to let that keep me from this life-saving surgery. I was sick for the entire hours’ drive to the CyberKnife clinic, and continued to throw up my toenails until they finally gave me an Oxycontin for my nausea, and then a Vicodin for the headache. By the time they had me in a gown, I was pretty much like a silly beanbag. I was no longer nervous, that is, until they shot my eye muscles and optic nerve with the anesthetic. That hurt like hell. And after one more round of MRI and CT scans before the surgery, they put the mask on me and buckled my head to the table; and I was left alone in the room with the robot that would shoot radiation via laser to the tumor in my eye. A voice spoke to me over a speaker to announce that the laser would start and continue for about an hour. I was to remain positively motionless for the duration (like I had a choice). Let the cure began! The procedure itself was painless, but none the less nerve-wracking. After what seemed like an eternity, a cheerful voice came over the speaker again to announce, “All done!”

Suddenly, there were people around me unbuckling my mask, and setting me free. They raised me up and helped me into a wheel chair to a dressing room. I don’t remember if I had help dressing, but before I knew it, I was being wheeled down the hall to Roy, who was waiting for me in the hallway next to an examination room. It was over, but I’d had so much adrenalin built up, there was nowhere for it to go. All I could do was bury my face in his goose down vest and sob tears of release and relief. It was over, and all I wanted to do was to go home and sleep off the rest of the pre-surgery happy meds.

The work of the CyberKnife was a success. The cancer cells were zapped and are dead. The tumor itself will shrink gradually. I did not lose any vision at all, and I can still wear my contacts. All is good again….and once again, I’m upright, bleed when cut and can still cast a full shadow. I’m good to go. We left on our vacation at 5:30 on January 5^th. Westward hoooooooo!

SENIORS - Creatures of Habit, or Creators of Habits

2011-11-11T04:29:00.000-08:00

It was suggested to me by a dear friend that I should write about snoring. We’d been comparing notes, and I wasn’t to be out done. I informed her that my husband snores so loud that it rattles the windows and scares the cattle for 50 miles around. I think Erma Bombeck said that of her husband … or was that Phyllis Diller? Let it be said, that I, too, snore; according to The Royster. And furthermore, it’s bad enough to wake the dead. We spend a lot of our sleeping time nudging and punching each other….”Turn over! You’re snoring!” “Please turn over and get your elbow out of my ribs.” If this doesn’t work, then a pillow over the face and/or pinching the nose closed is a means of stopping the offensive night noises and poking. No pun intended.

Snoring isn’t the only “Senior Sleep Pattern”. I’ve always been a very light sleeper. I do turn in early, but always have been an early riser. Working for years, and getting up before dawn to make it to work is a really hard habit to break, especially if one of us is still working. I find it very hard to sleep if my love has to get up to go to work.

I had called my gynecologist to try to get my HRT patch called in. The pharmacist would not refill it without permission from Dr. Carol. I was told that it was time for my annual Well-Woman Exam. I thought there was not much logic to it, since I’d already had my mammogram (which was fine), and there wasn’t much else left to “look at”. I am not morbidly obese, and I’m not even considered over weight by anyone but me … probably a little flabby and in need of an exercise program. The nurse scheduled me for a Well-Woman Exam for the next week. I was ready, and truly, NO one wants to have me do without that HRT patch. Also, this would be a good opportunity to bring up the snoring issues and being Sleepless in Spring, Texas.

As I stood there disrobing, as you must do when you go for his kind of exam, I glanced up, I caught myself in the full length mirror. These mirrors are even less flattering than the ones in the department store dressing rooms. OH! MY GAWD! It’s worse than I thought. Despite the fact that stepping onto the scales had revealed that I had lost 3 lbs.; it was still horrifying. I guess it’s because when I turned around to get the “gown” I was handed, I was completely nude, and it caught me by surprise. There is a point in everyone’s lives whereby we look much better in clothes that out of clothes; but these mirrors in the examination room are worse; even less flattering, than department store dressing room mirrors. I finished covering myself with the tent sized gown, and dutifully perched myself on the end of the examination table.

Dr. Carol came in with her usual cheerful greeting. I had been coming to her for the past 30 years. She remembered that there is not much left to see any more, as she had taken everything but the “playpen” out years ago with a hysterectomy. She gently propped my head on a pillow and started the routine Pat-Down. I mentioned that I’d been having a problem sleeping … not going to sleep, but staying asleep. Lately, I’ve been tempted to take a nap in the middle of the day. The very idea! I’ve never been one to nap, with the exception of a nap on Saturday or Sunday afternoon.

“Everything seems to be fine.” She said. “You’re good to go, and I’ve called your prescriptions down to the pharmacy.” According to Dr. Carol, I’m good for many more years. That’s good to know.

She had prescribed a mild something or other to help me get back in to a good sleep pattern, and we’ll soon see if it that happens. I suspect that a return to a more healthy sleep pattern will return when the Royster and I go on our vacation in January, after he retires. I have wondered how many of my contemporaries wake several times during the night, finally rising at the ridiculous hour of 3 or 4 a.m.

The way we do things, even the habits we’ve developed over the many years have changed with our age. Sleep is just one of them; not to mention the shape of our bodies. Skin looses a lot of elasticity, and becomes dry if we don’t slather ourselves with the best of emollients immediately after a bath or shower. Did I mention tinnitus? And, NO I’m not giving up my coffee. I tried that, but the tinnitus still prevailed, and I got one doozie of a withdrawal headache.

Eating habits are another strange change. IN MY YOUTH, I was able to eat as much of anything that I wanted, and not put on an extra pound. This started changing about 10 years ago. I could accept an additional 5 lb. after the age of 50, but it just kept coming on. I have left claw marks on the kitchen counter trying to resist the simplest of foods…like cheese and crackers. My Gawd! …. It’s not like I was serving myself up a huge bowl of ice cream topped with everything from nuts to chocolate. Sometimes that happens after dinner, though. The weight and inches still climb aboard! According to most of the articles in AARP Magazine, and Dr. OZ, we’re supposed to cut back drastically, to raw fruit and vegetables, chicken and or turkey, and lean beef. Lean beef isn’t much of an option….but it is allowed. Cookies, cakes, pies and candy are absolutely out of the question.

Upon returning from my annual Well Woman Pat Down this morning, I stopped off at the pharmacy to pick up a prescription for my HRT patch. You know … the one NO one wants to see me do without. I’m on a first name basis with them all. It happens sometime after the age of 50. The doctor visits and pharmaceuticals increase from then on. I was grateful for my doctors that I have known, and who have known me for so long.

My primary care doctor had been pestering me for 13 years for me to get a colonoscopy. When he pestered, I bullied back. Finally, I had occasion to visit a gastro-doctor. This one was new, and would not be bullied. She scheduled me for the next Friday for my colonoscopy, and handed me the package of that vile liquid mix to be consumed the day before said colonoscopy. I told her I wanted to be the first one scheduled for that day, and she was happy to comply. Royster took me at dark thirty in the morning, and the whole thing only took a few minutes. She also said that I was good to go for another 5 years. Royster took me home, and I got to sleep most of the rest of the day.

To sum it all up, I can truly say that I’m pretty much on top of all of it. If I don’t stay on top of my health, no one else will, but if I don't stay in charge of my health, my doctors will schedule me just to try to find something to treat. Suffice to say that at my age, I have been poked, prodded and “surgeried” from top to bottom, quite literally. However, I’m the one who says yea or nay. My clinic even has an Optometrist, with whom I have an appointment next week. I’m very happy to be able to get it all done (almost) at one place, and I feel very fortunate and grateful for the health that I have at 63. Think about it. Be in charge of your own health.

TAKE A WALK ON THE WILD SIDE. The Older We Get….

2011-10-17T13:50:00.000-07:00

Before you start reading this dissertation, I’d like to implant a little ditty in your brain for you to carry with you all day long. You must go back to the 70’s music to Lou Reed and listen to “Walk on the Wild Side”. This is insured to stay with you for at least a day. It’s been buzzing around in my head for a couple of days….God only knows why.

“…. Hey Babe, Take A Walk On The Wild Side,
Said Hey Honey, Take A Walk On The Wild Side.”

Being a Senior Citizen is not for sissies’. Ask any of my high school classmates. So, I’ve aptly entitled this little story TAKE A WALK ON THE SILD SIDE.

Ask any of them, and they will still tell you that we still see things through the eyes we were born with, only with a bit more wisdom and maybe a little more aplomb (but not much). We try to be tactful, but the older we get, we see things for what they are, and it’s very difficult to just let stuff slide. We’ve learned to call a spade a SPADE: And, NO, there is NO racial slur there. It simply means we call it as we see it. However, I have found that it sometimes gets you ostracized from any group you happen to have joined; especially if the others are under 50 years old. They see to it that everything falls under the politically correct terms. We, on the other hand, we just don’t give a rat’s ass. I’ll be the first one to say when I’m being sexually harassed, or discriminated against for my age! You will definitely be informed.

One of my pet peeves is when I’ve had an oil change at the Dodge dealership. It’s really good service, and a really happy guy comes right up to the window ready to take information and exchange pleasantries for the morning. That’s not what I’m opposed to. It’s the fact that, as soon as you return home from there, the phone starts ringing. They want to speak to “Mr. Anderson”. I know it’s because I just had the oil changed in his Durango. They want to take a survey on the service performed at the Dodge dealership. They ask for “Mr. Anderson”, and I tell them, “He’s at work.” And that’s the truth. That’s why I took his car to get the oil changed. I know what they want, but I resent the fact that as soon as I return home they want to take a survey. They ask if there would be a better time to call, and I give them an unequivocal, “No”, after which a looonng silence ensues. Finally they just say, “Well, I’ll just call back.” …. Click. This keeps up until they are allowed to speak to “Mr.” I have my speech all planned for the next time they call. “Don’t call me: I’ll call you! BE WARE! We senior citizens can be wild, especially if irritated by pointless surveys."

I’m just saying, Don’t mess with me! I’ve just had the oil changed. That’s all. If there was a problem, you would know BEFORE I leave the premise! I will let YOU know. I have things to do when I get home; and none of them includes answering a very annoying “short survey”. Leave me alone, or I will verbally smack you with my imaginary cane!

LIFETIMES OF FRIENDS AND LIFE'S CHALLENGES AS I SEE IT

2011-09-13T10:18:00.000-07:00

For the past several weeks I've had a touch of the dreaded writer's block, and I've been thinking a lot about all my friends and lifetime challenges that we've all faced. It's true. Over the past few years I have had the privilege of becoming re-acquainted with many people that I grew up with and went to school with. I will admit that Facebook has been largely instrumental in this. This is the year we had one huge class reunion that included all classed of 1960 through 1969.

I will be first to admit, that even though I have seen faces, “friended” and “chatted” with most of these people, and I ended up, (just like everyone else), looking at name tags. I actually did recognize many of them, and I’m just as sure that there were many that perused my name tag as well. All of the people had changed in one way or another, including myself, and I suppose one doesn’t notice subtle changes in self as much as one would notice changes (after long periods of time) in others. People adjust to changes in themselves and their spouses, and children rather quickly. My, my, my…how we’ve all changed, and we’re all still cute and adorable, but just in another way! We all turned out to be pretty magnificent people.

The Mexican restaurant was beautiful….up on a hill, the dinner was served on the patio. There had to have been at least 30 large round tables, each seating about 8 people. We seated ourselves and were joined by six other folks. This made the evening even more special. I introduced the Royster around for a while, and then circulated a bit, bought raffle tickets and chatted. By the time I got back to our table, it was time to get in line for some really good Texas cooking.

While sitting at our table, gazing around at peers and teachers from the past, I thought; We are common group of unique individuals.

All of this brought forth the “rules of people and acceptance”. I put that in quotation marks because these rules are in my head as though I invented them myself, though I don’t really believe it to be an original concept.

We are a common grouping of animals, classified as humans, who are unique as individuals. No two are exactly alike.
People will change with time, and should be allowed to be exactly who they are.

It's vital that we accept individuals for who they are, and do not expect them to be anything more or less than they are. If I could make them more like ME, then I probably wouldn’t find them very interesting, nor would I like them very much.
No one sees me the same way I see myself in the mirror, nor do they perceive the who in me as I perceive myself to be.
Play the game with the cards you were dealt. This means use what you were given. This makes one sit down to take inventory. We forget what beautiful gifts we are given; and we take these gifts for granted.

We all have been down our prospective roads far enough to realize that we were put here to handle whatever is in front of us at the time, and further, to learn from it. I sure hope I’ve learned from all the things I’ve stumbled over in the years I’ve been on this road. Looks like there are several more miles of things to stumble over, study and learn from, and I can truthfully say that I look forward to it. After you get over the shock of some of the stumbles, it’s just so damned interesting.

None of us solve problems and/or dilemmas in the same way, because we are all different and think differently. There are NO cookie cutter kids. And on another positive note, everything seems to fall back into place just where it’s supposed to; and not necessarily in the same place it was before, but just where it’s supposed to be. That keeps us on our toes, and interested. I think I’ll hang around for “the rest of the story”.

LITTLE, LOST SALLY

2011-05-16T11:16:00.000-07:00

This story is another marker of my daily observances. Seems that I’m so much more aware than I have ever been. Keeping an eye out for things that are unusual, or just out of place in any scene I happen upon on any given day.

Thursday, I had procrastinated leaving the house for some reason. Just didn’t want to get out right away. Dark clouds and thunder in the distance were a very welcomed indication of much needed rain. I wanted to go to the store before the rain for a couple of items that I would need to make dinner. This is a habit that I probably won’t ever break…going to the store for “just a couple of items”. It gets me out of the house. Finally, at about 10:00 I headed out the driveway, around the corner and down the main drag of our subdivision.

About a block from the light at the entrance to our subdivision, I spied a small white dog running down the very middle of the street. She held her little head high, little pointed ears straight back, and running purposefully in a straight line…a bee line toward the intersection. I could see that the little Chihuahua could be great peril. I’ve never been very fond of the notion of owning a Chihuahua, but someone would be heartbroken. I couldn’t bear the thought of possibly witnessing little Sally getting hit by an oncoming car. Dammit! I’d already named her. Okay, then….already attached, I pursued the little lost Sally. I always get too attached.

I pulled over to the curb, turned on my flashers, hopped out of my truck, and started after the little white Chihuahua. Apparently, she heard footsteps and glanced back at me without losing her pace. We neared the driveway of a small business park, and I noticed a car about to pull out into the street. I caught the young woman’s eye and begged that she stop for the little dog. She stopped. And, as if signaled that there would be a place to hide, little Sally turned to look at me as I neared, then backed under the front wheel well of the young woman’s Toyota. Thankfully, the young woman knew not to move forward and put her car in park and got out to help. Sally backed further underneath the car.

The young woman was on her way to work. Perfectly groomed, neatly dressed in her hostess outfit, and sporting a really cool chili pepper name badge, Sylvia got out of her car and squatted down to have a look at the situation.

“Oh, the poor little thing!” She cried, as she reached towards the little dog. Sally feigned a vicious growl and Sylvia calmly withdrew her hand. I reached out and tried. Sally would have none of it. Sylvia offered that she might have something in her car that might entice the little dog out. I was all for it. She disappeared into her car and produced a few Gummy Bears, and I bit my cheeks to avoid laughing, reminding myself that I didn’t have a solution at all.

Sylvia offered the morsel to Sally, who sniffed at it, stared and back up suspiciously. She tore one of the Gummy Bears in half and tried again. Sally came forward a bit, sniffed and licked the Gummy Bear. She appeared to like it, and moved a bit closer. Sylvia reached in and picked up her new friend gently. What a sweetie that Sylvia was! She handed Sally to me and bid us farewell. She had to be at work at 10:30. Good thing the restaurant was just around the corner.

I took Sally and put her in my truck. She was cute. She had no collar and was white with a black left eye, and had a black spot over her right eye. What a cutie! She was pretty chubby…like a little sausage. No….not like a sausage; a fat burrito with a Chihuahua face. I noticed that she held the tip of her tongue out. I also noticed something very remarkable for a Chihuahua. It was evident that she was frightened, but she did not tremble at all! She stood at the passenger side window to lookout. As soon as I started my truck, she was in my lap and looking out the window on my side. This wasn’t her first car ride.

I turned the truck around, and decided to go down the first street and ask at a couple of residences if they recognized little Sally. At the first house on the corner, a very pleasant woman came to the door. She didn’t recognize little Sally, but offered to take me across the street to another neighbor, who might shed some light on the lost little dog. Her neighbor didn’t recognize the little lost Sally either, so Sally and I took our leave, and headed to the veterinary clinic across the main road.

The woman at the vet clinic window offered to scan Sally to see if she had an I.D. chip. Sadly, no, she did not. I said, “Well, I don’t really know what to do with her, but I’ll….” The woman that had just scanned Sally interrupted to say…”Uhhh….Are you going to take her back to where you found her?” I was outraged! The very idea! I said, “Of course not! I’m taking her back to my house! Here’s my phone number just in case you hear of someone looking for this little dog!” I took Sally and left.

As I drove off, I thought; Now look what you’ve done! You’ve compromised your entire day! And then I felt instantly guilty for thinking such a selfish thought.

I drove home and put Sally down in the back yard and let Hank out to welcome her. He gave her the sniff test, and she passed. They headed out towards the far back yard to check their Pee-Mail. I came in the house and printed up some “FOUND, WHITE CHIHUAHUA” notices to post around the front and back of the subdivision. I let Hank in the house, and took Sally with me to post the signs at the entrances to the subdivision. Again, she hopped in my lap to navigate our drive. I used packing tape to post the signs on the light polls, and we returned home just in time for a torrent of rain to start coming down.

I sat down at the kitchen table (my kitchen office) to mess around on the computer while observing the dogs bonding. Actually, Sally sniffed around a bit and took up her post sitting on my right foot to watch Hank, who had decided he was not getting replaced by a Chihuahua. He laid down in the living room to take another nap. Sally stayed on my right foot and watched Hank intently. Apparently she had been an only dog in her household and was not familiar with hanging out with a big dog.

The rain was really pounding down, and I was grateful. We had not had a decent rain since January. Both dogs disappeared into the bedroom. I followed to see what the attraction was. It was a missed Kodak moment, as they stood at the open window together to watch the rain. It would have been a great picture.

After a while, I fixed myself a P.B. & J. and fixed some lunch for the dogs as well. Hank started in on his bowl, and Sally sniffed at hers and looked up at me as if to say…”No thank you. I just want my family.” I sat down to eat my sandwich, and Sally resumed her post on my right foot. Hank went back to resume his nap.

The rain had let up, and I wondered if the signs had held up. Just in case, I printed up 3 more signs and headed out to check on them. As I suspected, the rain and wind had knocked the signs down. I dried the light post and posted fresh signs and returned home. Someone should be calling about Little Lost Sally.

Royster would be coming home soon, so I sat back down at my “desk”, and Sally again resumed her post on my foot. I noticed a few minutes later, that Sally had crept off my foot and was creeping a little bit at a time towards Hank (still sleeping). Ears pointed forward, she’d creep forward a step or two until finally she was right behind Hank’s head. She turned to look at me, and then turned back around to sniff Hank’s ear. This made his ear twitch, and it startled her. She hurried back to my foot at once, and stared at the otherwise undisturbed sleeping dog. About that time The Royster drove up, and both dogs got up to go greet him at the back door. Royster was not surprised, and Sally recognized that he was part of the family. I find this humorous, as other stray or lost dogs would have growled at a “stranger” at the door.

We all adjourned to the bedroom to watch the evening news. I hoisted Hank up on the bed, and Sally looked at me expectantly, so I lifted her up as well. She immediately snuggled up next to me. This wasn’t her first rodeo! Hank accepted the extra company on the bed.

It wasn’t long after that the phone rang. A woman asked me if I had found a white Chihuahua. I told her I did, and that she was here and safe. The woman was ecstatic in Spanish. She didn’t speak much English, and put her daughter on the phone. She told me that they lived near the park, and that we should meet them in the parking lot there. I asked her what the dog’s name was, and she said Lisa. The Royster and I left, with Sally/Lisa in tow, first going to what we know as the park. No one was there, so I guessed they meant the club pool.

As we drove up, we saw a tan van, a woman and three children waiting anxiously for Sally/Lisa, and I handed her over to the children. The mother was in tears, and I could tell that she would have done anything for those children. The youngest had a fist full of $20’s, and tried to hand it to me. I told them, “NO MONEY! No, No dinaro! No es necesario!” They insisted, and I finally told them that I would take hugs instead and they finally agreed to that. It was very plain that Sally/Lisa belonged to them, or they belonged to Sally/Lisa.

I knew too, that the name (Lisa) that the girl had given me was probably her own name, and not the little Chihuahua’s name, which I will probably not ever know. All was as it should have been…. And,I just love happy endings.

IT JUST MAKES SENSE

2011-03-28T15:12:00.000-07:00

Not long ago, I was having lunch at an Italian restaurant with a group of my peers. This restaurant had a Wednesday lunch special with all you could eat soup, salad and fresh hot bread. This is what we all swore was a light lunch because there were no main courses involved. There were four of us, and we were discussing all the things that women of our age discuss; weight gain, diets, recipes, surgeries and other maladies, husbands, children and grandchildren.

Jacqueline had decided that she was 25 lbs. overweight because of her grandchildren. “Yes”, she said. “I’ve gained this weight because the grandchildren come over here at least once a week, and they always want me to bake, and of course I bake extra for Rick and myself.” She captured the waiter’s attention. “Could we please have some more butter?”

Karina chimed in that she had gained 30 extra Lbs. over the past 3 years sitting at a desk. “Ladies, that’s ten lbs. a year!” It was a demanding, thankless job. Someone always brought donuts or breakfast burritos in the mornings, and everyone eats out at lunchtime. The workload was grueling, and by the time she got home, she was hungry, and too tired to work out. “Bogart always has dinner ready for me when I get home….usually something fast, and sometimes ordered out, like pizza or fried chicken. I’ll be retiring in three years, and I’ll start working out then.” Well, I guess it makes sense, to wait until you’re finished putting it all on.

We all ruminated on that a bit, while eating our diet lunch of soup, salad and bread. The waiter brought out a basket of freshly baked bread to replace the empty bread basket. “Could we please have more of the olive oil for the bread and 4 more soups?” Georgina asked. “And we could probably use a little more salad.”

“You know”, continued Georgina, “It’s a damn shame that we have to age this way….I mean look at how much weight we put on! And, it’s so hard to take off.” “Harlan just doesn’t seem to understand that we cannot continue to eat like pigs….especially at night. He insists on a bowl of ice cream every night…..And, of course, he knows I simply cannot resist having a little ice cream as well. And, he doesn’t even gain an ounce! No wonder I’ve gained 35 lbs.!” It just makes sense, doesn’t it?

It’s so true! Year after year, and holiday after holiday, our husbands, children and grandchildren demand that we cook all of the seasonal delights. Our jobs donate sedentary assignments and projects that hobble us to our desks. We fall into a routine that’s really hard to change. Even the dog gets fat with us.

I finally had to add my two cents worth. “You know, girls, I think we’re all in the same boat. The older we get, the easier we gain weight, and the harder it is to take off the extra weight. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. We are definitely less active and our metabolisms have slowed down dramatically….waaayyy down. I think there must be a perfectly good reason for this extra weight. Girls, I’m pretty sure we’ve gained all this extra weight over the years to fill in all the wrinkles. Y’all don’t laugh! I’m serious about this!” Georgina almost choked and laughed her wine through her nose. Karina laughed so hard that she had to excuse herself to the bathroom, and Jacqueline fanned herself wildly…..”Stop it! I’ll wet myself!”

After two solid hours of soup, salad and bread, there was usually only room enough for the four of us to share a dessert. The favorite of which was the frosted, nut filled brownie pie a la mode. To be honest, one person could not (should not) eat one alone. I said, “I don’t know what I’d do without you girls to help me through this on Wednesdays. Honestly, this dessert is just really to die for! Dig in, ya’ll!” With that, we all grabbed our spoons and started in on the chocolate delight; and it all started to make sense. After all, we had some wrinkles to fill in.

IT’S ALL ABOUT COMFORT - AT LAST!

2011-02-18T06:15:00.000-08:00

While chatting with my friend Carolyn on the phone the other day, the subject of endearing old practices and traditions arose. Somehow, it came around to the smell and feel of freshly washed and ironed sheets, and how nice it feels to just snuggle into them. Since we lived with my grandparents for a little while when I was very young, I do remember my grandmother’s maid, Lillian, ironing them. I learned how to iron from Lillian, and she would let me stand on a box and iron pillowcases while she prepared other clothes to be ironed. She ironed everything from table linens, sheets and my grandfather’s dress shirts, khakis, boxer shorts, my grandmother’s nighties, to hankies and even the baby’s diapers. I must have been about five years old. Remembering just how nice they smelled, I tried to iron sheets after I married, but I just got too busy working and taking care of a baby. I did iron the pillowcases for a while; and that really made a difference. The sheets could just be wrinkled. Thinking about all of this, I thought of all the items that were ironed and starched, and then remembered all the old comforts that are now settling on my shoulders like a favorite old bathrobe.

There are certainly wonderful old comforts to be reviewed, but I started remembering way back when some things were just plain uncomfortable or un-cool. I recalled net and crinoline petticoats.

As little girls are from the very beginning, we were very fashion conscious from kindergarten up. Fashion and beauty were to be attained at any expense from then on. Crinoline and net petticoats were a big fashion statement, and we’d starch them in heavy starch, and then lay them out on a flat surface on a sheet to dry. Once dried, we could wear them under our fullest skirts to fluff them out, or under a circular felt skirt with a poodle appliquéd on the front.…Very fashionable in the 50’s and 60’s. The really bad part is that they were so uncomfortable as hell to sit on, not to mention that we didn’t have air conditioning in our schools then. We would sit on those petticoats in the sweltering heat of the classroom, only to get up with them stuck to the backs of our legs. Next trip to the restroom we peeled them off our legs and tried to fluff them out once more. Oh, the work ... the agony!

Crisp white blouses were starched to wear with the full skirts; and gym clothes were another couple of things that were a bit chaffing; and after one ran around the gym, or played basketball or volleyball enough to break a sweat. The stuff just stuck to you.

We little girls showed extreme interest in shoes even back then, and we knew what we wanted. Saddle oxfords were high fashion when Mom was in high school, but she made us wear those late 30’s and early 40’s “fashion statement saddle oxfords” until we were in junior high school. My sisters and I hated them. We wanted cute shoes like the other girls wore to school; the black patent Mary-Janes, and later in middle school, the “flats” and penny loafers.

Mom would buy us the Buster Brown brand or saddle oxfords, and then she would swear we would thank her later for our perfect feet and nice straight toes. And, according to Mom, you didn’t need to polish your saddle shoes very often. It was fashionable to let them get worn looking. I didn’t think that was right, and was always polishing mine. If I had to wear them, then they would look as new as I could make them look, that is, until I outgrew them. But, out growing these shoes took a long time, as Mom would buy them two sizes to long for me, in anticipation of my growth, and the new ones always rubbed blisters on my heels. With these, she bought a box of band-aids. What a bonus.

In about the 6^th grade, I started bugging Mom to let me shave my legs. ”No!” She said. “You’re too young!” She said I couldn’t’ until I was 14. Well, that was just forever! So, with that, I just quit asking and just gave myself permission to shave my legs during the summer before I entered junior high school. I was sure she wouldn’t notice.

So, I crept into the upstairs bathroom and closed the door. There was a razor in the cabinet that my older sister had used. I lathered up my right leg with the bar of Palmolive soap, and started out by taking a big swipe from the ankle of my right leg. In the process, I cut a nice neat slice from ankle, almost to my knee. Geeeeeezzzze! How was I going to explain that? And, since that was the first pass at my leg with the razor, the job never got finished. I was much too busy trying to stop the bleeding. It looked like I was going to need stitches, or at least butterfly sutures. At any rate, since I didn’t ask (because the answer was going to be “no”), I got in a lot of trouble and given extra chores to do; and of course, GROUNDED!!!! The subject was never brought up again, and I just became very careful about shaving. I learned early that it’s painful trying to be gorgeous and fashionable.

I finally reached junior high school, and was allowed to wear flats and penny loafers. I never had to wear saddle oxfords again! With the flats, you needed hose. A girl needed all the right paraphernalia to hold up the hose; a garter belt, or a girdle. I guess nothing comes easy. Panty hose were still very new on the market, and still being perfected. You needed at least one back up pair of hose, because inevitably you’d get a run in one. I learned to use clear nail polish to stop a run. I was getting a real fashion education.

Penny Loafers required crew socks. This was really a problem, because there were three of us girls in high school or junior high school at once. We learned early to try to do our own laundry separately from every one else’s. Mom tried to mark all of our clothes with color codes. No one seemed to take the color coding seriously. If your socks got tossed into the laundry for the “general population” the crew socks were as good as gone; the general population being eleven of us kids and Mom and Dad. Possession was the general rule for the general population laundry. ALL socks from the general population laundry got tossed in to the sock bag. The sock bag was actually a navy blue canvas bag that used to fit on the back of one of the old strollers. If your socks got chunked into that bag, you might as well just kiss them good-bye. You’d never see your socks again, unless they were on another sibling. Most times I’d end up wearing the revered hose with my loafers, which worked, but wasn’t as cool as it was when Mom wore loafers.

Makeup was a whole different matter. Dad was a real watch dog about this. He’d send us back in the house to “Wipe off at least half of that! You look like a clown!” On those days, we were usually late for school. From those days forward, I wore makeup shaved, wore penny loafers, flats and hose, started coloring my chestnut colored hair and used hairspray. After a while, I got pretty good at all of that, and it became just a part of who I was.

Now, there is a paradox in all of this. As I got older, I have noticed that wearing less makeup looks much better; and shoes that are more the shape of my feet are much more comfortable. I actually had a pair of Earth Shoes for years; and wish I still had them. The picture below is exactly the style I had to wear with my hip-slung bell bottoms and Tees.

When I lost all of my hair in chemotherapy, I was amazed at the color that grew back. It was a color it had never been, and it had literally been every color under the rainbow. It came back in black and silver. That was quite a switch from the natural chestnut color I vaguely remember before I started coloring it when I was about 26. I found that, not only can I live without coloring my hair, but that I prefer to leave it alone. I am very comfortable with it.

I look for comfortable clothing in the department stores. Sometimes it’s really hard to find jeans and slacks that come to the waist. I asked a clerk what I was supposed to do with the muffin top that bulged out of the top of the pants cut below the belly button. Blouses must be loose with three-quarter sleeves, and just the right neck line. I love my clogs, crocks and walking shoes. My favorites are still my flip-flops. However, I still have a few very classic dress shoes that I just refuse to get rid of; just not very many places to wear them. I guess it’s just the girl in me ... hanging on to them.

So, I’m getting to where comfort overrides style, but I’ve developed my own style over the years. No one noticed or cared when I quit wearing mascara 8 years ago. It saves me money and several minutes putting on a face in the morning; and that’s been pared down to just the very basics. I love dressing up in comfort and looking good at the same time. Why didn’t I think of that years ago?

I guess the older you get, the less you depend on what others think. It’s called having a mind of your own. When you worry about what someone else thinks of you, you’re just handing them a lot of power.

And guess what? I washed all the pillow cases and ironed them today. They smell heavenly and provide a wonderful memory and comfort of long ago. I might just do that again. So, I’m all about comfort now, and I’m off to watch the “eye-lid movies”! (Dad used to say that.) with my head on a freshly washed and ironed pillowcase. Nighty-night y’all! Sweet dreams!

COWBOY COFFEE, CRITTERS AND ARROWHEADS

2011-02-08T18:37:00.000-08:00

I found a twig the right size, and put it in the coffee pot … keeps it from boiling over.

Our Cowboy Coffee is made in an old blue, enamel coffee boiler by pouring the ground coffee in the bottom of the pot, and then filling it with water. Then, you sit it on the campfire until it just starts to boil. The twig does keep it from boiling over. Once it gets to the stage where it almost boils, you move it out to the edge to “steep” for a few minutes and to let the grounds settle to the bottom. You can make it on the Coleman stove if you want to, but It just isn’t really Cowboy Coffee that way. If you don’t have an old blue, enamel coffee boiler, then you can put coffee in a plain white cotton sock and tie a knot in it and toss it into a pot of boiling water. Do make sure the sock is clean. I have done that when we were out of power during a hurricane.

Sitting at the campfire, staring at the embers and waiting for the Cowboy Coffee to be ready, The Royster and I would sit chatting quietly and watching the dawn wake up the landscape. In the faint light of dawn, you could see a few deer grazing several yards away. There are just no other smells or sounds like the smells and sounds at dawn out where we used to camp. Nor is there the peace that one feels in that place and at that time. Roy had been camping at that same spot yearly, long before he and I met. His friend, John, called the spot where we camped, Roy’s Camp, which made it that much more special.

The place where we camped was on a ranch in Montell, Texas near Uvalde. You have to go through about seven bump gates to get there. Our little camp was situated among the hills and native trees below a ranch house, and just above a creek that flows on a limestone bed. There are real human foot prints fossilized, both in the creek and along either side. There were also limestone depressions about the size of a bathtub that two grown people could actually sit in. The whole area holds an enchantment of historical times when the Montell Indians lived there.

Where we camped, there were no conveniences as we know them in the everyday life of urban and suburban dwellers. No timer to set to have the coffee ready when we wake up; no plumbing, and no electricity. Our tent, sleeping bags, a small table, a couple of folding chairs and a lantern were all we had. We used an old Coleman two burner stove if we wanted to cook breakfast, and a couple of large coolers for food and drinks. Oh, yes, and The Royster's homemade stereo.

Since our Hosts would pop in unannounced periodically (And, they were always welcomed), we devised a really good make-shift shower using two solar camp shower bags, a very large Hula Hoop and a couple of shower curtains to hang in a nearby tree. Perfect.

It was during these early mornings when Ol’ Vic would show up to have some Cowboy Coffee with us. Roy had met Ol’ Vic through his son, John, whom he had contracted to do some work on an oil lease. They became good friends. He and his dad owned the land that we camped on, and, in his younger days, Ol’ Vic had been a 1936 Bronc Riding Champion. Vic would sip his coffee with us and tell us stories for a while before he would tell us that he had to get on with the day, which usually meant a casual day of fishing or deer hunting through the window of his cabin from his rocking chair in the living room. The window just happened to face a deer trail, and he knew just when to “hunt”. He made his own venison sausage, and cured and smoked it in the old smoke shack that had been there for generations.

Later on in the day, John would show up. I’d never hear his horse approaching, nor would I hear him sneaking up behind me to pick me up and spin me around. It always just scare the poop out of me; not just once, but every time he’d do that.

Sometimes, John would just call Roy and tell him that he’d just plowed up a field, and there had been a pretty good rain right after plowing. “There’ll be plenty arrowheads surfacing.” He’d say. We’d pack up the truck and head out west to see what we could find. With a stick and a good eye, we could go scratching around and usually come up with several good arrowheads and a pretty good artifact or two; even if it was just an old horseshoe or cow bell.

We would look for arrowheads, and snoop around until it just got too hot, and then we’d go back to camp and have some lunch and possibly a nap in the shade of a tree, or maybe take our lawn chairs down to the creek to loll in the cool clear water. On another day, we might go to Blue Hole, which was a really beautiful place further up the creek, where torrential rains had pounded a hole in the creek about 20’ deep, and maybe 30’ wide. The result was a perfect swimming hole, complete with a stone diving platform.

One afternoon we’d just finished a lunch of sandwiches and coleslaw. Since the slaw was gone, I just dropped the spoon in the Tupperware bowl and put the sealing lid back on and sat it on the table. As we gazed around, The Royster pointed out a small armadillo that was sniffing around. It was several feet away, and Roy picked up a clod of dirt and chunked it at the armadillo. Startled, it popped up like a piece of popcorn. We entertained ourselves by chunking clods of dirt at the poor thing, watching it pop up with every clod of dirt tossed near it. Later in the evening we would join John and friends for a little band music and dancing up by the ranch house. After that, it was back to camp and a very peaceful sleep.

In the wee hours of the morning there was a startling rattling noise; sort of like a spoon stuck in a garbage disposal. I jumped up and woke The Royster, who would have slept right through it. The rattling just kept on. I let my eyes adjust to the dark, and peeked out of the tent. There in the moon light, sitting on the little table was a raccoon with the sealed bowl with the spoon it. The raccoon was shaking the bowl violently, trying to get at the food inside. My hero, The Royster, came out and hurtled a cantaloupe at the little raccoon to chase it away. I brought the rattling bowl back into the tent with us. The little raccoon had won after all…a wonderful cantaloupe for a nights foraging.

We have not been out to Roy’s Camp in years, but I think about it fondly, and wonder if I could camp like that again. I think I could, but not in the heat of the summer. We had so much fun out there, and there was so much to see. It took away the fast paced, rough and tumble of the city life and the suburban life. Yes, I think I could get used to that kind of living on a daily basis … maybe not camping out, but out away from the masses of toil and haste.

Yes … I think April might just be perfect.

BIRTHDAY DINNER INTERRUPTUS

2011-01-06T10:10:00.000-08:00

There is a new Mediterranean Grill restaurant down the road, and I chose that for my birthday dinner on Monday night. The Royster and I drove there and took a seat. It appeared we were the only ones there besides the staff, and they were glad to see us. We ordered our salads and were brought some wonderful bread along with our salads. So far, so good.

Finally our main courses were brought out. I had ordered lamb kabobs. It was cooked to perfection. Forgive me if this is sounding all too familiar. I tasted the rice with it, and it proved to be very good. Then I selected a piece of roasted lamb from the kabob; cut off a bite size piece and savored the taste as I chewed. Excellent! As I swallowed, I noticed a familiar feeling as the morsel moved down to a stop. Okay, M’liss … relax. It’ll move if you just relax. Sip some water.

Oh! *#%$@!!! It’s happened again! The Royster guessed right away what had happened, and was watching me intently, as if watching for the winning lottery numbers roll out.

Food had lodged in my esophagus and it was not going to move. The Royster asked me if he should take me to the hospital E.R., and I told him that we should go home and give it a chance to move on its own. Besides, we needed to let the dog out, and if need be, find someone to check in on Hank if we had to be gone. We asked for doggie boxes and took both our full meals home. What a bummer! On the way home, he watched me out of the corner of his eye for something good to happen. Nothing! We agreed that this always seems to happen only when we eat out; and usually it’s an expensive restaurant. When we arrived home, I promptly got into the shower to try to relax….even knowing that scar tissue isn’t going to relax, once it’s constricted. After about an hour, I decided that we should go to the E.R. So we got in the car and drove the 15 minutes to St. Luke’s in The Woodlands.

So, once again, I found myself in the hospital E.R. waiting room, with a chunk of food stuck in my gullet. The last time was Labor Day week-end. I’ll call that The Beef-Tip Incident. And, again, the Royster dropped me of at the E.R. entrance to get a jump on signing in while he parked the car. I was at the desk in no time, and filled out the short form. The woman asked me what was wrong, and I told her I had food stuck in a stricture in my esophagus.

She said: “Oh my gosh! Are you in pain? Discomfort?”

My eyes rolled as I said: “I’m in considerable pain and discomfort!”

She said: “Alright then, have a seat, and doctor will be right with you.”

I asked: “Any idea of how long I’ll have to wait?”

She said: “Oh, it shouldn’t be long at all."

As I turned around, I saw that there were about 40 other people ahead of me. My heart sank with the realization that most of those people were there with cold symptoms. Runny nosed kids running around and maybe a couple people with serious hangnails. They were there because they didn’t want to go see a regular doctor they’d have to pay. They were there because emergency room care is free to people with no insurance. By law, they cannot be turned down. The only seats left were next to the automatic door, which opened every time someone walked by. It was cold. I sat and watched for an eternity, as one after another snotty nose and hangnail was called in to see doctor.

This brought to mind a song by Stevie Ray Vaughn – HANGNAILS AND BOOGERS.

We had arrived at the E.R. around 9 p.m. Around 10 p.m. I went to the desk and asked when I might be called to see a doctor. I was told there were only a few ahead of me. Again, told the nurse at the desk that I was in a great deal of pain and discomfort. He asked again what was wrong; and again I told him. He looked surprised. “It shouldn’t be long now.” I returned to my seat. The Royster and I were both squirming and very tired. I made at least two more trips to the restroom, and each time, I passed by the desk, I asked again, “How long?” The third trip around 12:30 a.m. I was told there was one more ahead of me. I thought there was truly some hope. Another eternity slipped by.

The nurse checking a list and calling patients called three more…by that time it was 1:45 a.m. I’d had enough! I stood up and glared straight at the male nurse that had told me there had been only one ahead of me. My glare said that I was coming over the desk to do some damage to him. He quickly took side-bar with Nurse Nancy who had been calling all the snotty noses and hangnails to see the doctor. He casually gestured in my direction and acted very nervous. Nurse Nancy side-glanced in my direction…..and I gave her a full glare. She nervously went back to her rolling podium and looked at her list…..”Oh, yes! Here she is!” she added with a nervous “Ha-ha”. She nodded to me and called my name. The Royster and I jumped up as if someone would hop in front of us.

Nurse Nancy escorted me in to see doctor. By this time, poor Royster was sleep-walking. Doctor asked me what the problem was, as if I hadn’t told anyone. When I told him that I had a chunk of meat stuck in the stricture in my esophagus, he acted surprised, again as if ... and then asked me if I was in any pain or discomfort! I was ready to explode, and I said:

“YES! I’m in a GREAT DEAL of pain and discomfort, not to mention that I cannot swallow my own saliva, and have been spitting in this plastic barf bag since 9 p.m.” He actually had the nerve to ask why I didn’t tell anyone when I came in. I think he sensed that I was going to take someone’s head off, so he had someone come in with a wheelchair to whisk me off to x-ray at 2:30, and after that, around 3:00 to the E.R. Examination cubicle.

They didn't have a G.I. person there, but they'd try to get the "on call" G.I. person. In the mean time, I was to sleep on a gurney in the E.R. There were no rooms available in the hospital. I sent the Royster home to get some sleep and let Hank out. Arriving home at 3:30 a.m., he didn’t get much sleep before he was back by my side before 7 a.m.

We were told that the on call G.I. doctor was on the way. We hurried up to wait longer….until 11 a.m. the next morning, when I was whisked off to surgery, prepped and lectured by a doctor I was sure didn’t like his job, or at least didn’t want to be there. Without knowing anything about my history, nor having seen the problem, he fussed at me and accused me of taking too big a bite and not chewing. I guessed that I’d interrupted a golf game or sex, or something equally as important, and he was really mad at having been called to surgery.

He said he’d take out the blockage, but was not going to dilate me. I implored him to please dilate me, because the stricture had shrunk once again. Surgery performed and the offending piece of lamb kabob extracted, and gullet dilated (9th time). I guess he finally realized the situation. He admonished me again for getting food stuck. How stupid of me! Further, he had the nerve to hand me his card, and ordered me to report to him in one week for a follow-up. I’ve made an appointment with another doctor for the follow up. I’ll be writing a complaint on him to the hospital. I was released from Recovery at 12:42 p.m.

After picking up prescriptions at the pharmacy, we were home by 1:30 p.m. and we slept all the rest of the day. We woke to have something to eat. I had a little broth, took some Aleve for pain (my head, throat and chest ached terribly from straining), and slept until about 5 a.m. the next morning. I'm on a soft diet for the next week....No problem there.

I do feel much better today; ran some errands, and will finally dismantle the Christmas tree. A nap will be in order. I do have pictures of the procedure and the offending piece of lamb kabob, but I don't think I'll put it on display. We did bring home doggy boxes from the Mediterranean Grill, and I will make soup with the kabob meat....for Roy....I think I’ll just just have some of the broth … thanks very much. And the lamb soup was pronounced good, and enjoyed by two very hungry people.

WHAT ON EARTH? Some Very Good Questions

2010-12-28T13:20:00.000-08:00

What on Earth has become of our Country, our Continent and our whole world? What’s the matter with kids today? What has come over adults to believe that they are powerful enough to control the forces of nature of our living, breathing planet? Who and what can we blame for this global warming (not that it hasn’t happened before)? And, what’s going on with our corrupt leaders, our corrupt nations and the people who pretend to care? What the hell is this business of being politically correct? Why won’t our Federal Government protect our borders from allowing the drug cartels from all over the world to come in? Surely the drug cartels do not fall among the “...Your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free…”

I have become one of those old fogies that ask these questions…one of those old people (babyboomers) that the present administration is trying to squeeze out of the “economy”.

What’s going on with people that they don’t own up to responsibility for themselves and their families? How has it come to the point here in the United States of America, where the American Dream is to be able to work hard and make a good life, that the harder you work and the more you make, the more our government will take away from you?

Why do so many people think that our government owes them a living, stripped from people who have worked hard for their money and livelihood; though these “entitled people” don’t opt to support themselves? Why do so many people who have worked hard for the money they make and the life they have worked hard for, owe it to our government to give it to those who don’t /won’t work, and won’t own up the responsibility of themselves and their families. Why does our government think it has to have a hand in everything?

Could it be that our Government has become such a chronic consumer, spending away our funds, and trying to make up for the debts owed that they are taxing us all into poverty? Another question would be….Doesn’t our government know that if you find yourself in a hole, you should stop digging? I guess not.

Well, I can’t believe I just asked all those questions…the same questions asked by our parents, their parents and their parents before them. These are valid questions and deserve an answer; though I don’t even pretend to have an answer to any one of these questions myself. The answers lie in our hearts and the reality of the persons who squint their eyes and then open them wide...wide enough to see the whole spectrum of how things have come to the point that they are now. Sorry. I guess I just got carried away once again.

Well, I guess my mind just got on a track of questions starting with, how on Earth are we going to protect our children from hot dogs and candy canes? That’s been on my mind since a middle school boys choir group called the Christmas Sweater Club, got in trouble for bringing 2” candy canes to school to pass out to all of their school mates. They were given detention for passing out “potential weapons”. And further more they were made to pick up all the wrappers from said “potential weapons” because they caused a horrible litter problem. It seems that their parents, knowing that those candy canes could be sucked on until a sharp point was established, allowed them to be brought to school; therefore providing a weapon that could possibly disrupt the entire school.

Actually, the teachers were probably afraid of them, and the students had not even considered that they could be used to stab anyone. If this rule is passed, then all pencils and pens should be taken up immediately, and jail time for anyone harboring any of these “potential weapons”.

And while I’m on the subject of punishment for infractions in school, I heard someone say that their son got detention for skipping school. The teen, obviously more clever than the person issuing the detention said, “You’re giving me detention for skipping school. What makes you think I’ll show up to do detention?” Now, that is a very, very good question.

My question would be on the above school related incidences, Why are these kids not coming to school? Granted, skipping school is as old as time itself, but more and more, there is less attraction to school. Could it be that teachers aren’t allowed to teach? They aren’t allowed to fail any student. The students know this, so they just skip school. Teachers are not allowed to discipline. Teachers are afraid of the students, because the students know teachers aren’t allowed to discipline students (outside of detention). They (teacher) are Union, so they don’t have to try hard? Teachers only have to teach for a short time, and then, they are given full benefits regardless of how they exit teaching. Children are learning from school that they don’t have to do anything to graduate.

So, they aren’t learning anything practical to help them in the real, grown-up world. I agree that technology is the future, but it shouldn’t interfere with education. In fact, it should be helping education, but as long as these communication devices are allowed in school, it will only hinder education.

Why are cell phones, iPods, Blackberries and other means of communications allowed in school AT ALL? No wonder our students are not learning anything. They can’t spell, but they can text faster than a minnow can swim a dipper. If a kid needs to call Mommy, then they can go to the office and use the phone, or the school office can contact your mom at a moments’ notice. It’s highly unlikely they are calling or texting “mommy”. Again, why are these devices even allowed in school? These devices are loaded with information, as well as the ability to contact another student for the answers to a test. It’s called C-H-E-A-T-I-N-G. And, again, teachers don’t have to do much. Are there any students or teachers, for that matter, that can spell? Or, are all teachers just equipped with blinders upon getting their teaching assignments? Key words here are, They are not allowed.

And, here is one other observation. A friend of ours got a substitute teaching assignment. He took his laptop to class. His only comment was that it was a piece of cake. Paid hourly, all he had to do, basically, was to babysit. Why even have anyone there, except for the illusion an authority figure?

Before the “Candy Cane Conspiracy”, there was the “Hotdog Dilemma”. Some hysterical person decided that the shape of hotdogs needed to be changed because young children could choke on them. They probably didn’t even consider the alternatives available: A) Cut said hotdog up in tinier pieces for the baby/toddler. B) Don’t give your baby/toddler a hotdog if you are afraid they could choke on them. Don’t even bring up changing the shape of bananas. You will be considered a moron for suggesting that we find a way to change the shape of a banana. Whatever happened to common sense?

The above two examples go with other hysteria, like banning of certain games or practices. One practice was to let the students “choose sides”. This was banned because “It might hurt some students’ feelings if they aren’t picked”. I will interject here, that I was one who was not chosen on the favored team in my elementary school. Much to the chagrin of the favored team, I hit a softball so hard into right field, that I broke a second story window in our school building. AND, I didn’t even get in trouble for it. No one called to report it to Mom and Dad.

Several games have been banned, like dodge ball. Someone could get hurt. Whatever happened to common sense and logic? We used to play swinging statue, red rover and crack the whip all of which would be outlawed today, because someone might get hurt. You cannot ride a bicycle today without full gear. Can kids still jump-rope, or is the rope a potential noose? Someone might get hurt. The point is that parents have become so controlling and so over bearing that they are unwilling to allow their little darlings to suffer as much as a scraped knee. This, in itself, is very detrimental, in that the child will never learn what is to fail and recover. They will never learn these important lessons that people/children have always been allowed to learn from the beginning of civilization…the beginning of mankind.

Okay….I’m stepping off the dais for the time being. Please comment on this..Pro and Con. I want to hear it. I promise a rebuttal!

Respectfully,

Mena/Melissa/Mom

A GATHERING OF SIBLINGS Reflections of Reinvention

2010-11-07T05:57:00.000-08:00

A GATHERING OF SIBLINGS

Reflections of Reinvention

Recently, I had the opportunity to attend a birthday party for one of my brothers. We’ve been giving special birthday celebrations for those of us that have turned 60 for almost 3 years. That means that three of us, plus one cousin, have made it to 60. Most of our siblings were able to come for this celebration. Two were not, and they were missed and talked about, lovingly, of course. As I observed my siblings, I saw “Momisms” and “Dadisms” in each of them, and I dare say they see the same “isms” in me. My observation of the entire celebration is that we all had a wonderful time, good food and very good company.

What a comfort that all of them are fine people with separate agendas; and that they certainly do not need to have my same agenda, nor my advice. It’s even conceivable that I am just fine, and can do whatever I choose, including screw up, without the help and/or advice and consent of others. And, yes, it has taken that long to realize that my siblings are just fine. This whole paragraph gives light to the term I’m OK You’re OK, which was originally coined in a book of the same name, by Thomas A Harris, MD in 1972.

Actually, I do vaguely remember reading this book about 38 years ago. In his book, Dr. Harris talks about the movie, “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Wolf?” I remember seeing that movie as well, and that I was disturbed at how the characters treated each other. It seemed that from this scenario, we are supposed to see that we create our own illusions; and when we are not happy with the illusions we have created for ourselves, then we tend to pick on the illusions that our loved ones (family, friends, neighbors, strangers?) have created for themselves. Shouldn’t we just create newer, better illusions for ourselves; reinvent ourselves? That would have been great, if we had only realized that it was that simple. Sadly, we did not and sometimes still don’t, so we continue to observe and critique others. And that’s only part of the analogy. Hence, the good doctor is telling us that we’re all okay, so we should quit picking on each other, and just appreciate and accept. What a relief not to have to analyze and pick apart!

All of this has made me realize just how difficult it is sometimes, just to be ourselves. It is very complicated. I certainly do not consider myself unique in this. We all care what others think of us, seeking approval for our deeds and actions.

Sometimes, don’t we alter the way we do things, reinventing a part of what or who we think we are? I told you that it’s complicated. We all fancy ourselves as being one thing, or one way or another. During my lifetime, I’ve seen men and boys try to emulate John Wayne, Steve McQueen, Elvis Presley, James Bond, James Dean, Ringo Starr, Steven Seagal, Gregory Peck , Mahatma Gandhi, and even Steve Martin; just to name a few. Women and girls I’ve known have tried to be Princess Grace, Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren, Janice Joplin, Nicole Kidman, Kathy Hepburn, Meg Ryan, Angelina Jolie, Doris Day, Twiggy and Julia Roberts; again, just to name a few. But, I’ve never seen anyone try to be Ward or June Clever or Ozzie or Harriet Nelson. I couldn’t wear a dress and a strand of pearls even for one day … personally.

In retrospect of growing pains up to the age of 60, I’ve done the same thing. When being who I am (Who is that anyway?) didn’t work for me, I tried to be like someone else. No. That’s not entirely true. I wanted to actually be someone else…anyone else that might have more success than I thought I was having at the time. And, didn’t we have the strangest notions of what “success” was to us then?

So, here’s where I’m going with all of that. “First, do no harm” comes to mind. It is not up to me to judge, critique, nor to try to persuade anyone to my way of thinking. It makes my life much more comfortable to accept them for just who they are, and by this, find their opinions and values much more interesting. Not only do I like them for who they are, but for their differences as well. What makes more sense is to take all of the information of differences and / or the things that I might disagree with, and process it, not to judge them, but to form my own decisions and choices.

The only time we have is right here, and right now.

SO, JUST VOTE !!!

2010-10-21T05:55:00.000-07:00

Early voting this past Monday was a piece of cake. I drove up to the precinct 4 Fire Station and saw a pick-up truck pulling out of a prime parking spot … right in front of the door. And, I didn’t have to fight for it. I just pulled in. A woman standing in the parking lot next door shouted, “Do you live in the Spring ISD?” Oh, crap! I’m in the Klein ISD. Maybe I’ve parked in a place reserved just for Spring ISD voters. I hollered back, “NO!” She seemed to have lost interest with that, and I shrugged and went in the front door and handed my Voter Registration I.D. to one of the women seated at the long table. I signed, and she handed me a little slip of paper with my voters’ code on it; and I went to one of several booths. Piece of cake! I knew how I wanted to vote and what all the issues were. Turning the dial was a pleasure. The whole thing took less than 15 minutes. I drove back home feeling the usual satisfaction that comes with having cast my vote.

The only things remaining are the political ads on television, and the recorded political phone messages. I did receive a phone call yesterday that wasn’t a recording. It was from a phone bank, and the young girl said,”I’m calling to ask just a couple of questions about how you voted.” Well, how in the hell did she know I’d already voted? And what gave her permission to, a.) Invade my privacy at home with a bunch of survey questions and, b.) Ask questions about how I voted at all? I told her that we are on the NO CALL list. She retorted that it was a political survey, and that the rule didn’t apply to political surveys. I told her that I still considered it an invasion of my personal space and that just by the fact that she would even ask me about how I voted is a violation of my privacy. Knowing that she had to get to a certain point in her “interview monologue”, I refused to allow her to get to that point. I told her I would NOT answer her questions, and that she needed to get another job….because I was not going to cooperate. Her only reply was, “We’ll just call back at a more convenient time.” I told her that there was not a convenient time to intrude on my privacy, and that she’d better not even consider calling back. I hung up feeling pretty smug. Actually, I used to be polite to telemarketers. That changed one night when we were just settling in for the night….in bed, and we got a survey call. The Royster and I started making up stuff to tell these intruders of privacy. Neither of us have any shame there.

The other annoyance is the political ads on T.V. My take on that is that if a candidate cannot run for office on their own merits, and keep their “promises” without mud-slinging, trashing, and out and out slander of their opponent, then they don’t have any business running for office. Politicians are politicians; salesmen/women with a smoke and mirrors agenda. The debates are a joke, and I don’t believe that our news medias are much better. They give the word journalism new meaning. Isn’t there supposed to be truth in journalism? Somehow, the politicians have reached into our media and opened the “bias” door to all of them. More’s the pity. Where is that “NONE OF THE ABOVE”, or the “WRITE IN CANDIDATE” selection?

Having cast my vote and endured all of the insulting ads and political phone invasions, I’ve had my opinionated say about all of this. I’m sure that all of these candidates and the media are crying all the way to the bank about my opinion. Hah! I’m not that powerful, but together, we as citizens are a powerful force. Look through all the political mud-slinging, smoke and mirrors and know what YOU want, and JUST VOTE!

AMAZING GRACE - ONCE AGAIN After All “Near Occasions” of Sin

2010-09-30T13:50:00.000-07:00

Once again, here I am, blessed in my life, and forgiven for my occasions of sin, and for my black soul that follows me everywhere. Every day I can count on these blessings, and I don’t know why, but the blessings keep coming. Possibly I should not count on them, but just count them.

I guess the reason that I’m so focused on my black soul, is because from the very first day of catechism I was told that our young innocent souls are already tainted with original sin until we are Baptized. Original Sin would be the grave sin bestowed on us by Adam and Eve by eating from the Tree of Knowledge. In the next catechism, I learned that we are never supposed to question the teachings of the Catholic Church…..EVER! Ummmm……and why not? Why shouldn’t we question anything we have a doubt about, wonder about or have a genuine curiosity about?

Sin seems to be available around every corner; pretty easy to find. It’s our job to try to avoid the near occasion of sin. We are taught from the very beginning that Satan and his minions are around every corner, lurking and sleazing around for lazy, vulnerable souls to bribe, harvest, and to convince us that bad is good, and good is bad. And furthermore, I learned that it’s a sin to waste a single second of time. Say, if you spend an afternoon lying by a river bank wondering about the miracles and beauty that our God has created, then you’re in real trouble. Couldn’t that be counted as meditating on how great our God is?

There is far too much detail heaped on us about what is bad or just plain evil. This is enough to make anyone paranoid. Our God blessed us with a free will, and then told us to use it wisely. My daily prayer is to ask God to just help me be good. That’s all I need for me. I know the difference between right and wrong. So, if I do something that is wrong, then I’m pretty aware of it, and feel appropriately guilty. Then I will summon up the appropriate amends eventually. Mea culpa, mea, culpa, mea culpa…. Done!

Blast that emotion of guilt! Ann Landers says that if you feel guilty, then you probably are guilty of something. Ain’t it the truth! And, aren’t we always? Our daily media crams us with as much fear and guilt up our patooties as they possibly can. This is done to sell products and politics. It’s on every T.V. news channel, newspaper, and televangelist and on all of the radio stations. We don’t have to have a preacher do it on Sunday.

According to whom? It’s all about viewers and ratings. They’ll promote anything within the realms of “journalism” (and these days, I use the term loosely), to promote whatever the sponsors have paid for them to say and promote. If you squint your eyes and tune in your ears, you can tell when it’s a crock. You just have to look at both sides and bone up on what each side has to say, and then take from that what you will. Who knows….really! Does anybody really know? Will anyone challenge the media, or are we all Sheeple?

Inevitable temptation is always going to be there, but perhaps we should focus more on how we respond to the temptation. Learn from it. Pride, Envy, Gluttony, Lust, Anger, Avarice, and Sloth. These seven deadly sins predate Christ. Jesus only highlighted what was already being preached. Is it Sloth then, to be sitting here at this computer?

From the beginning of mankind, people have looked to the “heavens” for the God that made them. We have basic knowledge of what’s right and what’s wrong. These are the sins we have to watch out for. People will see a temptation and assume that it is somewhat innocent, and then the next time, they/we will find it much easier to fall prey to that same temptation once we look at it as a rational, justifiable decision because we have a free will. Lightening didn’t strike, so it must not be so bad. I guess we can rationalize anything to be right and good.

So, why am I expounding about sin and guilt? Shouldn’t we be more focused on just doing good in our world, and possibly how to help others? And shouldn’t there be less focus on how bad we are, and less emphasis on the consequences for not following the rules of any one religion. Just being a good person is a step in the right direction; then follow a religion….one you believe is good for you.

We have been programed to fear retribution, and if we’re afraid, then, we humans respond with rebellious actions….fight back! And, what of the “rewards” for just being a good person? This should start out with ….First, do no harm! The very first reward for this would be the knowledge that you have harmed no one.

That’s the way I’m looking at things this morning. I think the media news on T.V. set me off. I stand by being a good person first. Eradicate fear and go forward. Recognize what is the right thing to do and do it. If you don’t know the right thing to do, then just do the next right thing. Being a good person is just too under-rated. Too many rules have been attached to being a good person. And I think that most people qualify as good people, and don’t even know it. We are a good people.

Now, just do some good for yourself and for mankind. Smile and be happy you are here for the lessons you will learn.

THE RULE OF: If It’s Not One Thing, Then It’s……

2010-09-06T04:51:00.000-07:00

We all get to a certain age, health-wise, where we feel we’re catching all of the juggling pins, but that they just keep coming. You swear that you only started with five things to juggle, but now there are six, then eight, then ten. Geeeeeezzzze! Where did they all come from? Just when you think you’ve nipped one thing in the bud, another one crops up. You’ve learned in life that if you keep a semblance of a schedule, that it makes life simpler. But…there are always things of the unexpected nature cropping up.

For our Labor Day week-end, we had planned to drive downtown and spend a day taking some candid photos of life inside Loop 610; possibly snagging some photos of some of the interesting people on Westheimer. This was the plan for at least one day of the three day week-end.

Friday night, we were having our usual dinner with friends at The Texas Roadhouse. I had decided that I would have something other than my usual medium rare steak with salad and baked sweet potato. The beef tips looked wonderful. All was good while waiting. My mouth all set for this, and I started tearing through the salad and rolls. These are always very good.

As we ate our salads, we were royally entertained by the other couples’ two year old granddaughter, Izzy. She had been staring at the funny looking man that had all the ear markings of Teddy Bear; particularly around his fur covered face. Izzy was intrigued with The Royster’s face fur. He allowed her to touch it, and that sent her in to a frenzy of giggles, much to everyone else’s’ delight. After a while, she thought it was okay to give the big Teddy Bear a kiss, which sent her in to hysterical laughter. What better entertainment at dinner time than a happy, funny baby.

The main course arrived. The waitress cleared away empty plates, and placed food in front of us. Those beef tips were making me drool. As she placed the food in front of me, I saw that the beef tips were cooked to perfect medium rare, and the rice was brown with beautiful little sautéed mushrooms. I took a big sip of water to clear my palate, stabbed one of the sautéed mushrooms and put it in my drooling, waiting mouth. The flavor was wonderful. Next, I tried the brown rice. I was deliberately teasing my mouth; making it wait for the beef tips. Finally, I cut off a bite of the beef tips and delicately placed it in my mouth to savor. Excellent, just as I thought it would be! BUT WAIT!!!!! As I chewed and swallowed, a familiar uncomfortable feeling crept in.

Six years ago, I had some radiation that created scar tissue in my swallower that had made it impossible to swallow. I had that treated (dilated) about seven times before the dang thing would work properly. Before it was fixed, though, I would have episodes of food sticking; not moving up or down. Generally, after an hour or so, the food would eventually move on. Mind you, it always happened at a really nice restaurant, and we always had to get a to-go box so I could at least enjoy the meal later.

The familiar feeling persisted, and I finally had to excuse myself to the ladies room. I wasn’t choking, but wanted to make sure I was in a convenient spot in case the beef tip finally decided to come flying out my mouth. I waited and nothing happened, so I returned to our dinner table, and announced that I’d have to have a “doggie box” to take my dinner home in. I darn sure was not going to leave my dinner on the table. The Styrofoam box arrived along with the check. We divided-up and left. I was getting more and more uncomfortable.

We stood outside in the parking lot chatting with our friends. Finally, I motioned to The Royster that we really needed to head home. I just knew that the offending beef tip would move along if I had a nice hot shower and relaxed a little, and I did just that as soon as we got home. Sadly, the clog remained. I could not even slip a sip of tea past it. Finally, I drifted off to sleep around 10:30, only to wake every hour on the hour until I finally got up around 2:30. The swallower would not relax to let the food pass. A panicky feeling replaced hope. I let The Royster sleep, because I knew that he would have to be in charge a little later. I had already made up my mind that we would be heading to an emergency room at 5:30.

Dressed and ready to go with medical info in hand we headed out the door, arriving at St. Luke’s at 6:00. The Royster let me out at the E.R. door and went to park the car. The waiting room was surprisingly quiet. We did have to wait but were called in just as the sun was about to come up, and were escorted to a small room, where I was hooked up to an I.V. of something that was supposed to relax the esophagus.

The Royster patted me in sympathy and entertained me by drawing a face on a latex glove and blowing it up. The man is talented! There just wasn’t anything to read while we waited. After about an hour, the I.V. was empty, and its contents had failed miserably. The clog had not budged. So, I was taken up to be pleasantly sedated while the doctor went diving for the beef tip. Seems the old swallower had started shrinking up again. Beef tip removed, I was dilated and awakened 40 minutes later. After all was said and done, I was cleared to go home and eat soft foods (ice cream) for the rest of the day. I was handed a page of nine progressive photos of what the doctor was doing while I enjoyed my drug induced nap. She also gave me another sheet with instructions on how to take care of myself. She then said I would need a follow-up visit in a week.

Stopping only at the pharmacy for prescriptions, we made it home around noon. The Royster poured us a cranberry pomegranate juice, and I retired to the bedroom to sleep off the rest of the anesthetic.

All is well today (a day later), and I thoroughly enjoyed the beef tips for lunch. All is back to normal, and as usual….waiting for another danged ol’ pin to be thrown into my juggling act. Bring it! Whatever comes along, we’ll just handle it! So, once again, if it’s not one thing, then it’s another. Life just happens that way and you deal with it and move on.

THAT LOVING FEELING

2010-08-12T14:05:00.000-07:00

And, I just feel loved….more now than ever in my life. How much time do we, as individuals, spend wondering if we’re loved, or even liked? I can tell you right now, we waste waaaaayyyyy too much time on this. Look around you.

I go out in the back yard every morning, and see just what’s opening up to me. It reminds me that there is beauty, love and unity in our world. Too often we see the destructive side of life in the news, and it tells me otherwise. I choose to see what’s worth living for. There is a positive for every negative that we see, know and feel.

At this juncture in my life, I can see, know and feel choices. We can go wherever we want, and live the way we want to live. Nothing in this life is anything I haven’t invited into my life…..including the misery. If we choose to feel misery, we will. After all, if we don’t know misery, how are we supposed to know joy? We choose to feel joy. And, how else are to know misery?

My children are a joy to me, just knowing how special each of my two daughters are. Opposite as night and day, they are on their own paths, and giving so much of themselves to what makes the world go around.

My siblings…and there are many, are also contributing to their lives, as well as the lives of others for the good in this life. I see beautiful art work, and beautiful children, and beautiful words coming from each of them; and .....

I feel loved.

All I’m saying is that we have choices to feel misery, or not.

A friend of mine made the statement that “No one would ever want either of us! We’re so weird.” I started to challenge that, because I was thinking the very same thing about “us”. “No one would want either of us. We’re so danged different.” I suggest that when each of us has found our mates, soul mates; the love of our lives … No one else would do.” And that’s the truth. If there is anyone who thinks they would want either one of us, they would be sorely disappointed in their choice. They would not see the wonderful things we see in each other. It’s not because we disapprove of anything the other has to offer, but because we so totally accept exactly who the other one is. That’s the one I want.

I feel so loved.

Just to know that is very important. Do you know that? Many of us do…..finally, and sometimes, that’s just what it takes….just time. We are so fortunate to live long enough to know this.

I feel so loved.

I HAVE FAT MASSES, AND I KNOW WHERE THEY ARE HIDING!

2010-08-07T05:42:00.000-07:00

Exactly a month ago, I started back to the gym (Curves); not because I expect to get back to “Cute and Adorable” again, but I finally realize that doing this can only improve my respiratory system and get me back in to pretty good shape. I felt that this is something I need to do, and I just accept this as part of my life and responsibility now; part of my efforts to keep fit for my kids. We all know that as long as we keep healthy, fit and active, then we have a much better chance of keeping our mental facilities for a longer period of time, and therefore avoiding that which we Babyboomers fear most; getting put in a nursing home or, even worse, just ending up a burden to the people we love.

Today, when I went in to do my daily 30 to 45 minutes of rigorous exercise, I was stopped by a woman with a measuring tape! “Halt! It’s your turn! It’s been exactly a month since you’ve been coming here, and it’s time to see what you’ve done!”

What have I done?

I didn’t realize they took it so seriously! Was I late? Did I miss a day or two? Oh, nooooo! She came at me with a tape measure, and measured my bust. Actually, that wasn’t so bad. After I had turned 55, it (my bust) had actually started to grow, and I was very upset over this. It had started to get in my way. I really didn’t like it at all, remembering after my two girls were born and how I actually knocked over poker chips and drinks with my newly acquired buxom boobs. At that point, I fretted and envisioned suddenly turning sideways and giving a short person a concussion. How embarrassing! I had never had them before, and didn’t want them….well not “bigguns” (Al Bundy speak). At any rate, the lady with the tape measure whipped the tape around my bust! Wow! What a relief! I had lost two inches! Even better, that probably means I’ve lost some of my recently acquired (within the past 6 years) back fat.

Next, she measured my waist. That was a disappointment, as I had not even lost a centimeter there. How discouraging! More HULA HOOP! By the way, there is actually a hula hoop at Curves that weighs about 4 lb., and the inside is scalloped. When you get it going, it actually pummels your waist line.

After that, she measured my upper arms, abdomen, hips and thighs. I had lost a total of 8 inches. It didn’t mean much to me because I had not noticed it before. However, what I did notice when I finally got on the scale, was that I had lost 2 lb. That, once again, was a little disappointing. After all, I’d been at this for a month now. You would think there should have been a greater weight loss.

Then the aggressive woman with the tape measure said: “Congratulations! You’ve made some really great progress. You may have lost only 2 lb., but you’ve lost 8” inches overall. This means you are increasing your muscle mass, and losing fat mass”. No one had ever told me that I had “fat mass”. That seemed to make everything a little better, but I had a moment of hitting basement when I realized that there was much more to go. “I know where the rest of you fat masses are hiding!” And by the way, it is NOT doing such a great job of hiding.

After giving it a bit more thought, I decided that it must be that nightly ice cream with The Royster. Well, that’s just one of the factors though. Seemingly, everything started changing at once about 6 years ago. There was the fact that I had to quit smoking, hormonal changes, chemo and radiation and age all collided at once. Oh, and add the fact that I had always been used to “eating like a man”, without gaining an ounce or an inch anywhere. Put that together with the fact that I live with a diet saboteur. Yes, and come to think of it, I’d probably lose weight and inches faster if I’d leave off the late night ice cream with The Royster. I sincerely hope The Royster won’t get his feelings hurt if I don’t join him in serving bowls of ice cream late at night. Serve yourself, Honey. I’ll try not to watch.

Alright! I’m encouraged. I’ve actually seen some progress, and just when I was starting to get discouraged. Over the past week, I had started thinking up excuses not to go to the gym. That’s a familiar pattern. I’m getting to know the other ladies, and I appreciate every one of them. Possibly I could get to know one of them well enough to call me every morning g to tell me to “Move AWAY from the computer and get your butt down here to the gym!” Guess I’m just lacking a little discipline, and could use a drill sergeant pal to encourage me.

Now that I am aware of “fat mass”, and where it’s all hiding, then I do feel inclined to continue going to the gym. I actually feel that I can drop off the ice cream habit. I’ll be starving the “fat mass”. “Put that cinnamon bun down and step AWAY from the computer and get your ass to the gym!” So…………..Call me!

OUT IN PUBLIC “AT OUR AGE”

2010-07-23T06:16:00.000-07:00

At an impasse in life where we can walk into any retail business and be asked for our AARP Card for our Senior Citizen’s discount, I’m finally getting used to it. The reason it’s taking me so long to get used to it, is that behind these eyes I still feel like the same person that I’ve always been, possibly 26 to 30 years old. This is the paradox that I’ve alluded to many times. A quick glance at my own reflection in a mirror or window tells me that I’m “entitled to” a discount for getting up in years, long in the tooth, and/or of the older generation. Retirement has been a challenge.

It seems I’ve cocooned myself in years of “self interest”, writing and just getting used to retiring. What this entire statement means is that I’ve gotten used to having the house to myself for a certain portion of the day. I have “stuff” to do, but have the option of picking and choosing what I want to do. I can go to the gym (have to make myself go). I can bead, and that’s something I am totally interested in, and can do sitting on my ass. I can write, which I love to do; or I can clean out flowerbeds (no longer a joy), clean the carpets, dust, vacuum, do laundry, cook, or just none of the afore mentioned. I can sit on the bed and read while snuggling with the dog, or watch T.V. This doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate when The Royster comes home … quite the opposite. I’m so glad when he comes home. I don’t have to decide what to do.

Since I’ve been trained from infancy that every moment and every second wasted is a sin, and that I must fill my waking hours with something productive, or something that shows I’m worthy of living this life on this planet, or I am simply not worthy. I guess that leaves out T.V. and reading (unless it’s the Bible).

God, let me do at least one kindness for at least one person today.

This morning was kicked off with a trip to the gym. I make three workouts a week. Fortunately, for me, this particular gym is where a number of women (only) of my ilk and peer group. I feel very comfortable going there, and enjoy the company of women mostly my age. It’s a really good workout (for me), and I make the circuit twice … and am done in 30 to 45 minutes. After a brief stretch-out, I return to my truck, where there is a list of things I need to do before going home.

I drive about 2 blocks in the general direction of home. My first stop is the Beadahaulic to buy some pieces I need to finish a piece of jewelry I’m making. Next stop is through Bubbles Car Wash to wash my truck, thus ensuring that it will rain in the afternoon. It worked. After that, I’m nearly home, but for a brief trip through the drive-through at the bank. They know me there, and send a dog biscuit for poor ol’ Hank. Since Hank loves to accompany me to the bank, he’ll be really hacked that he didn’t get to go. I will be thoroughly sniffed. “Hah! You went to the bank without me, didn’t you?”

One more stop at the grocery store for a couple of items, and then home.

As I walked in the back door, my phone rang. It was a friend that I hadn’t seen in a while. We agree to meet at Starbucks … an equal distance from each our homes. I put away the groceries, took a brief shower and put on clean capris', and looked for a tee-shirt that didn’t have something emblazoned across the chest or back. A nice pale green one that claimed nothing would have to do.

As I drove three miles down the road to meet Hanna, I anticipated getting to visit in a public place with a friend, and the possibility that I wasn’t sure how to act. I have bought at Starbucks many times before, mostly Iced Chi Tea, but, never to sit down and look like an intellectual in the throes of deep conversation. But today, as I met Hanna, I went all out; no holds barred, and had a Macchiato, sparing no ingredient. I certainly hope that we looked like intellectuals, because I pigged down that Macchiato in record time! We probably didn’t sound much like intellectuals either, because we giggled, snorted and guffawed the entire two hours. We had such a great time I wondered if I was in trouble for having so much fun. We did attract some side glances from other people also trying to appear intellectual.

On the way home, I stop off to visit my mother in law who lives at an assisted living facility. She’s having dinner with two other companions. The four of us chatted pleasantly for the next 30 minutes. I bid them farewell and made my departure for home and my Senior Citizen at home mode.

During that brief 2 hour intermission, I wondered if there was something at home I didn’t do or tend to, or left unattended? The dog is enough of a guilt trip for me when I come home. He wants to know “Where’ve you been? What do I smell on you … coffee and caramel? Who’ve you been seeing? And, why were you gone so long? … and … “Never mind that I have to pee … where’s my treat?”

Oh, my God! His food dish is empty, and his water dish is low! He may never forgive me! But, I know better. As soon as he does his business and comes back in the house, he’s my best friend again, snuggling and cuddling with me while we watch the news. Well, he’s my best friend until his litter mate comes home. You know … that guy that comes home in the big white thing with black tires. As soon as The Royster drives up, The Hankster is barking to tell me that his new best friend is home. Open the door! Bark, bark, bark! I open the door and The Royster enters …. More excited barking. I relinquish Hank to his litter mate.

I finally get back to the business of being at home, chopping eggs and vegetables for the tuna salad. That having been done, I started on the bracelet that I bought pieces for. As I thread the last gold piece on the end, I’m smiling and reviewing the fun I had with my friend at Starbucks; making a scene with loud storytelling and loud laughter … and, if possible grinning out loud; being a Senior Citizen, invading the usual crowd of Starbucks patrons. That was just too much fun! Yup! I’m definitely going to do that again! Watch for me, Starbucks. I’ll be back!

NEW-FANGLED ELECTRONIC GADGETS AND DOO-DADS

2010-07-08T11:13:00.000-07:00

I recall trying to get my aging parents interested in computers. Dad took NO interest at all, and smiled indulgently before dropping into a gin and tonic induced snooze. Mom didn’t really want to bother to learn it. Though I tried to explain that she could have all of her files in a nice neat filing system in a computer, she still didn’t like anything about it. I asked her to visualize her filing system in the computer as a bank of filing cabinets; each containing a subject, and further there would be sub-files under those headings. I could see her head swimming. “Mom, Everything can be contained neatly in this system without taking up any floor space.” She really just wanted her old manual typewriter and a stack of typing paper. I sighed deeply, and was acutely aware that I was wasting my time. Though I failed to convince them of the conveniences of having a computer, I had mild success in interesting them in an E-Phone. Though they were interested, it was short-lived, in that they couldn’t get the hang of checking their e-messages from us. So, they seldom answered any of our “e-mails”. However, they did finally get the hang of cell phones.

That having been said, here we are in 2010; baby boomers that we are; installing the latest electronic technology into our homes, brains and well-beings. God forbid if we should miss out on a message or information pertinent to our peace and well-being. As of last week, we have yet another piece of the latest electronic equipment in our house. The Royster bought himself a new 24” Sony Vaio touch screen computer. It came in one box, and there were a total of four pieces; the monitor/computer, the wireless mouse, wireless keyboard, and a remote control, so that we could watch Blue Ray movies on this computer.

We are babyboomers, and accept this advancement as another cross to bear. Won’t we all be better off? How did we ever live without all of these electronic gadgets? Rotary telephones and televisions with big knobs for adjustments were the “modern technology” while I was growing up, unless you want to count dishwashers and garbage disposals modern technology for that era of 1948 through 1966. After that, computers were just being introduced into businesses and not for private homes yet.

It is what it is! What else can I say? Change happens. You either accept it, or you don’t. In our case it’s happening over and over again. We are now a wireless household, including phones, T.V.s and computers. We each have cell phones (of course), iPods, and we each have our own wireless computers. We both love music, though The Royster takes it to a new level. He’s making sure that we have a mode of music for each computer, each room of the house, including the garage and the deck in the back yard and each vehicle. Who woulda thunk it back in the 60’s, when we were proud of our 8 track tape players?

When we go into Fry’s, The Royster has to make a special promenade around the speaker section of the store. He’s particularly impressed with the tiny little Bose speakers. For the past twenty plus years, I have observed him drooling over electronic equipment. I know that that if he touches the merchandise, he will fondle it, thereby ensuring that he will be buying it. I suspect he’s secretly thinking of a way to make all the toilets in the house musical. Sit down on the toilet seat and you trigger the toilet stereo. Imagine, if you will, Bachman Turner Overdrive blaring out Taking Care of Business just as you sit down.

Since this last purchase of the Sony Vaio computer, things have been tense around here for sure. From experience, I could guess this transition from the old computer upstairs would not go without a few traumatic glitches. It’s never gone smoothly . I guess the smoothest transition was when The Santa-Royster got me this wonderful Sony Vaio laptop for this past Christmas.

I digress. The transferring of files from the old computer started out smoothly enough. I knew to leave him alone, but be available to help if he asked for it. The problems started when he started trying to install the programs that we use. Quicken would NOT cooperate. There was just no way. After much scrapping, we found a phone contact number for tech help that he finally called. The guy really wasn’t supposed to help him with this particular problem, as he was to pass it on to a more specialized person, uhh … for a fee. But he did help, and very cheerfully at that. The Royster was very pleased.

This process of transferring information continued on throughout the next few days….frustration after frustration. I had been tempted to take him bottled water and a pillow, but fought that urge, knowing that it wouldn't be helpful. The best thing for me to do was to leave him alone, and listen patiently to his laments. Comments were not required, nor solicited … just listening.

Last night, as soon as he came home from work, he trotted upstairs to install the final programs. I left him alone until dinner was ready, and he reluctantly came down. He was pale and gaunt. I could tell he’d been struggling. As soon as dinner was over, he went back to his Computer Cave. Hours went by, and I finally showered and got into bed. I dozed, thinking he’d be down soon. Sure enough he came down and almost in tears. “I’ve ruined my new computer! It's just ruined ... I just know it!” Apparently, while installing a disk burning program, several programs and files just flat disappeared. How totally devastating, to think that he would have to do it all over again, that is, IF the computer was not completely ruined. I listened and told him that I didn’t think he had ruined his computer. He was completely inconsolable. His heart was breaking. He went back to his Computer Cave to brood and fret.

Sure enough, just a little after 11 p.m. he came trotting in, almost glowing in the dark. I woke with a start Oh, my Gawd! He’s fixed it! “I fixed it!” He glowed. What a relief. I really wouldn’t have know what to say or where to hide if his brand new computer had truly been ruined. I listened while he gave a gleeful blow-by-blow and step-by-step account of how he had fixed the ruined computer. “I’m so happy, I could just shit!” he said.

I was so relieved that I would not be driving him to the hospital, that I almost completely forgot about the wireless Canon printer that he purchased the same day he bought the computer. He’d still need to hook that up and install it in the newly saved wireless computer. I didn’t have the heart to mention it. Instead, I just let him expound on how he had saved the computer from total ruin, until he finally dropped off to sleep….still muttering with a smile on his face, “I fixed it! I fixed it! I fixed it! I fixed……”

2010-06-26T16:32:00.000-07:00

THE OLD BUCKET LIST

What An Excellent Idea!

NO, I am not on my death bed, or even ill. I am not a morbid person; nor am I entertaining the notion that death is near. No fear there. Everyone knows that we start to die the moment we are born, if you want to look at it that way. I prefer to see it as the beginning of a journey, and I see that I have quite a bit further to go. We also know that no one knows when their number will be up, so I’ve decided to get serious about what should be accomplished in the years I have remaining. I am not done YET. I’ll say when I’m done.

Anyone, at any age can start a Bucket List, and the sooner the better. That way you can get a head start on it and add to it. I think it’s an excellent idea. Certainly, everyone past the age of 50 should have a Bucket List, and update it frequently. I’m sure that I will be adding to my list as these notions occur to me. So get your Big Chief Tablet and get busy.

SO, here I am at 62, finally throwing down a Bucket List on cyber paper. The thought occurred to me this morning after receiving a video from one of my cousins. The video was of the rider and horse at the end of a bullfight. I’m not an advocate of bullfighting at all, but this caught me off guard, as to the artistry, skill, grace and beauty of the rider and the horse (Caballero), and how the horse and rider were one. It was beautiful. This did not make me want to go to a bullfight. On the contrary, I wanted to see the Royal Lipizzaner Stallions of Austria. I have never seen them in person. That made me think of all the things I’d better put on my Bucket List. I will not be numbering this list, as there is no particular order in which I must accomplish these “items”.

I am not interested in anything that will rush me to the end of my bucket list before I’ve really gotten a start on it. Skydiving is out, as well as any kind of martial arts, bungee jumping, race cars, motorcycle stunts, or being a stunt person in a movie. And, no, I will not be running with the bulls in Pamplona, Spain.

I won’t be getting neck rings, lip plates, body piercings or tattoos; nor will I be having any kind of cosmetic surgery. I’ll make due with the many pots and jars that line my side of the bathroom sink. My take on that is try everything and never give up. I figure if I take care of myself, I’ve got about 20 years to do this.

Bearing all of this, and my list in mind, I will accept suggestions, and of course, invitations! If I happen to do something spectacular that isn’t already on the list, or learn a new language or acquire a new skill in the process, then I will add it to my list as accomplished. No, that’s not cheating. I will get this list started, and then see how it compares to The Royster’s list. This is going to be fun! Let the journey continue!

Do a kindness for another every day
Clean out everything in the house, and pare down to “must keeps”.
Have a huge garage sale – Give the rest away
Move to a small community and get involved.
Get something published
See the Royal Lipizzaner Stallions
Maybe ride an elephant
Pan for Gold, and look for other treasures
River rafting
Hot Air Balloon Ride
Helicopter ride
Visit the Big Arizona Meteor Crater
Ride a Cable Car
Go on a Cruise
Visit Alaska and fish for salmon
Drive up the New England Coast line in the Fall
Visit all my family on both sides of the Mason Dixon Line
Camp out to see a meteor shower and/or a lunar eclipse.
Travel to at least one foreign country.
Take a month long “See America Trip” in a motor home.

Well, there it is. It’s just a starter list, and subject to change, if only because I’m a woman, and I can do that. Have a look at it and start your own list. It’s okay to borrow ideas from someone else. After all, no one has cornered the market on any of the above, and I could never tell anyone that it’s strictly MY list.

When you’re done with your list I’ll show you mine if you’ll show me yours.

I’ve always wanted to say that.

YOU'VE GOT TO KISS A LOT OF FROGS And Other Observations in Life

2010-06-08T09:32:00.000-07:00

While sitting in a doctor’s office waiting room, I thumbed through a lap full of magazines that I had taken from a stack on the table. I was hoping that just one of them would distract me from the traditional waiting room boredom. I was not waiting to see the doctor, but The Royster was in seeing his dermatologist, and I had come along for the ride, and I guess moral support for the dreaded visit.

Back to the magazines. Most of them had at least one good article that drew me to scan through, so scan I did. All of them seemed to offer lessons in life fodder. The first one was a magazine geared to giving hints and generally good ideas for making life easier. Good! I’m at the age where I’m ready to simplify everything, and I’m all for changes that make things better.

I came across an article about lessons in life. The very first one was very compelling. It suggested that if a couple is having a dispute (mild or nasty), they should hold hands as they hash it out. This is supposed to make it impossible to yell or scream. Well! I guess not; not while you’re laughing your ass of, snorting and trying not to bust a gut laughing in the process. Imagine, if you will, holding hands while having a fight with your husband about leaving the toilet seat up. You went to the bathroom in the middle of the night in the dark, and plopped your rear end right into the toilet bowl water. That’s grounds for a forehead smack with a heavy, blunt object. I certainly can see how that could lead to hysterical laughing, as well as preventing you from finding a heavy, blunt object to smack him with.

Another magazine offered that you should “trust your first instinct”. Usually, your first inclination (answer) is on the mark. In my experience, it isn’t always the right answer, but I’ve always learned from that too. If you have to guess, you haven’t done your homework.

“Don’t count your chickens before they hatch.” This takes on real meaning when you’re learning to manage money. It means that if you buy lottery tickets, don’t go out and buy a new house, car or boat in anticipation of winning. Do not spend the money you expect to get back in your income tax return. It sure could back-fire. Being optimistic is good, but do consider the odds, and wait until you’ve actually won the lottery, or have that tax return in the bank. You just don’t go buying things until you have the where-with-all to do so.

I’ve often heard, “It’s right here in black and white.” My take on that is, read only the black part. Do not try to read the white part between the lines. There is nothing there, and you will go blind.

Voltaire said: “Animals have these advantages over man: they never hear the clock strike, they die without any idea of death, they have no theologians to instruct them, their last moments are not disturbed by unwelcome and unpleasant ceremonies, their funerals cost them nothing and no one starts lawsuits over their wills.”

Now, that’s really astute, and how very true. Perhaps we take our selves much too seriously. Take that as you will.

Ben Franklin said: “He that waits upon fortune is never sure of a dinner.”

My translation: Catch your own damn fish! Buy your own dinner!

And, one on worrying, “Just don’t. If there is nothing you can do about a bleak situation, do something else, and don’t waste your time fretting. In 24 to 72 hours, things will be different.” And that doesn’t promise things will be better; just different.

On doing the right thing. “If you don’t know the right thing to do, do the next right thing.” Someone is sure to tell you if it’s the wrong thing.

One of my own offerings is: “When you can forgive your parents for the way they raised you, you have finally reached a level of maturity, and can be considered grown up.”

Here’s an old one.: You've got to kiss a lot of frogs before you finally get your prince … or something like that. Well...Ain't it the truth?! You will know when it’s the right frog. And, kissing him doesn’t make him a prince. And, furthermore, you can’t fix him.

And here’s another personal lesson I’ve learned. “As you progress through the many passages in life, you should always leave the portals ajar just a little; just enough to peek back through. No way should you actually go back, but you’ll want to see how far you’ve come in life. You’ll see where you’ve been … where you came from. If you can’t see where you came from, or the progress you’ve made, how are you going to know where you’re headed?”

Gandalf did not stand at the foot of my bed in the middle of the night and strike me wise. I'm still working on the wisdom thing. There are so many of these Life’s Lessons in magazines, on talk shows, and flying around on the internet. A person could just pick and choose which ones they will pay any attention to. Maybe that’s the problem. If you haven’t learned them yet, then, perhaps you haven’t lived them …… yet. And, YET is a very big word.

MUSINGS OF THE DAY

2010-06-03T13:31:00.000-07:00

Some days I just feel as though I’m invisible. After thinking about that statement, I have decided it’s my own paranoia. And, wherever did that trait come from? The reality is that people have their own lives, and they don’t have to pay attention to, or even respond to me; and maybe that’s a good thing.

I’m also considering that today is a bit gloomy. We’ve just had a decent rain, for which I should be very grateful. The hibiscuses love it. The little yellow roses that I potted the other day are really responding well to the rain. It’s still cloudy and humid. The temp is a moderate 76 degrees, and it really looks like it could rain again. Hank is pacing, because he wants me to get up and do something to entertain him. He wants to play. At his age, it’s a miracle he can still retrieve the little toy that he so dearly loves. Other than that, it’s eerily quiet.

Quiet doesn’t bother me. I do not have to have background noises or loud music to fill in the blanks. On these days, I still feel that I’m either dead or invisible. Music helps me go somewhere else. I love it when my family of hawks are on the hunt in the “alley-way” between houses. I know they are signaling each other that there is something to be gained. But today, it just helps drown out the tinnitus.

I think that the quiet and the invisible status are leading me somewhere. This could be a big benefit to me. Being as spiritual as I am (and not in the “religious” sense), I could just say anything I want and move anywhere I want without being noticed. This could make it easy to take a walk on the wild side….mentally. There could be some surprises there; and maybe they’d be welcomed.

On the balmier side, I’m just in a funk. I feel as though no one hears me unless I fart. That’s a Baby-boomer term for “Things just aren’t quite right” (to put it mildly). This will be rectified later in the day, when my dog, (who loves me regardless) will acknowledge me as his best friend, and my very being will let me know that I am worthy of all the good that comes my way. Still later, my love will saunter in the door, and make my day “on the dark side” go away. I’ll be all good again. Why can’t I see that for myself from the beginning of these episodes? I know everyone has these days. How I wish someone would join me, so that we could laugh at our “Grand Funk”. After all … I’m not the only one, and only human at that. This too shall pass.

2010-05-19T13:03:00.000-07:00

We Baby-Boomers have been through a number diagnoses and surgeries; not the least of which, have been major. This one was major. I’m pretty sure that most of my Baby-Boomer peers have been through this at least once or twice. However, I must put this down to see if any of them had similar experiences.

The days that led up to this surgery were crammed with several appointments for x-rays, blood labs, MRIs. CT scans, PET scans, and not to mention, arrangements for payment. These things accomplished there was nothing left but the pre-surgery exam by the anesthesiologist before the actual surgery.

So, moments before this major surgery, I was in a sort of stall, or for lack of a better description, an assembly line holding pen. Naked, with the exception of a print hospital gown and a poofy paper hat, designed to keep a patient’s hair covered for the surgery, and a pair of footies to keep the feet warm. According to previous hospital itemized statements, these items are very expensive.

There were patients on either side of me, and we were divided by mere curtains, giving the faintest illusion that there was privacy for the pre-surgery necessities and the meeting of our anesthesiologists. I heard conversations from both sides. On the left, the doctor asked someone, “How much do you weigh?” A woman’s voice answered, “Last night I weighed 250 lbs., but I’m sure I’ve lost some since then.” On the right a man asked a nurse for a bed pan to sit on, and something to ease the pain of his hemorrhoids. So much for pre-surgery privacy.

Nurses buzzed in and out, hooking me up to pre-surgery drugs, and offering pleasant conversation to put the patient at ease.

“Hi! I’m Nancy. I’ll be your nurse while you’re here in prep. Are you in any pain? Can you show me on this chart how bad your pain is?”

Okay…..Where is my clicker, so that I can click Nurse Nancy off? Instead of hurting her feelings about her monologue, I say: “I don’t have pain, but I do have anxiety about having a tracheotomy and then being flipped over to have half a lung removed.” Nurse Nancy looks at me questioningly. “Can you show me on this chart just how bad your anxiety is?” Well, if this is just taking it to the Nth. She’s really taking it to the hilt trying to take care of me. “Yes, it’s number 3….the worst. What are you going to do about it?” Nurse Nancy smiled, and said….. “That’s coming right up! Here, we’ll just inject this into your drip, and open up this valve! There! Feel better?” Just then the anesthesiologist popped in. “Any questions for me?” He asked. “I don’t know. Who are you?” He sobered up his smiling routine enough to answer, “I’m the anesthesiologist!” I said, “Well in that case, I guess not." I was gone!……….ZONK!!!!!!!

The next thing I remember, about an hour later, I was sitting up on a gurney, and a nurse was removing my hospital gown, and hooking me up to a lot of monitors. I looked around and saw that I must have been the star attraction in a surgery theater. There was a balcony, of sorts, and there had to have been about eight or ten doctors and nurses staring down at my nakedness. The anesthesiologist appeared and reintroduced himself. “In just a few seconds, you’ll be in ‘Happy Land’.” I Looked him straight in the eye and was armed and ready with a really smart-ass reply, which, for the moment, I had forgotten. He grinned and said, “Ready?” I said, “Well…if you must……uhhhhhh!” Dang! I really had a monumental statement to make, and all of it went away……. And that’s all I remember until about 7.5 hours later. I was again sitting on the gurney, naked. Nurses and doctors were removing all the monitors from various parts of my body. I started helping. “Here! You missed one!” I heard one male voice say, “Hey! She’s supposed to be out!” A female voice countered, “She won’t remember a thing! Try to keep her from grabbing stuff.”

Well, in spite of the “Milk of Amnesia” that I had been given, I do remember a heck of a lot. There was much to follow that surgery, and I ‘m sure I’m not alone in that either. It just seems to go with the age; that age where your parts start to wear out like a beloved car you’ve had for so many years. You know you can’t really buy a new one, and so you just make the old faithful one work a little longer. She’s serviced me well, and they don’t make ‘em the way they used to. I'm going to keep her around for a lot longer!

THINGS I SAW TODAY

2010-04-23T13:13:00.000-07:00

Being aware that I see hundreds of “things” every day, and knowing to check my rear view and side view mirrors for safety’s sake isn’t enough. We see things such as animals and people and personal dramas taking place. But, do we really see them? Are we so busy, and/or mentally absorbed in our daily missions that we don’t really see what’s actually taking place? I’ve made it my mission to really pay attention to things I see during the course of a single day.

I saw things today that made me sad, that made me wonder, that made me angry, that made my heart sing, that made me laugh, that made me feel happy and glad to be me.

Today, while driving out of our subdivision, I saw a hawk swoop across the road and perch at the top of a dead pine tree to hunt for field mice. I saw a coyote patiently waiting to cross the road. She was actually looking both ways and eying the subdivision on the other side. I wondered if she was going to shop in garbage cans for food for her pups. More likely, she was headed for the field across the road to hunt with the hawk.

Today while driving towards a main road, I signaled to change lanes. The car coming up in the lane I wanted to get in then sped up to make it impossible for me to change lanes. What’s up with that? It really pisses me off that when you signal; someone is going to, in effect say, NO! NO ONE gets in front of ME! I think it’s a genetic flaw for me to want to scream obscenities at discourteous drivers, and even flip them off. Fortunately, I never really took that up, though many times I’ve been tempted. Down here, though, it could get you run off the road, or even shot.

Today, while driving to the gym, I saw a man standing on a median with a sign. He had but one leg, and his sign read, “Can’t find work. Please help!” I wondered what happened to that man's leg as I got out of my truck to go work out in the gym. I counted myself fortunate to have both of my legs.

Today, while standing in line at the grocery store, I saw a cashier near tears; yet still being friendly to customers. I felt as if I known her personally for years. So, when my turn came to check out, I asked her what was wrong. She said that her son is in the Marines, and was supposed to come home this week on leave. She just got a call from him. He told her that he just got new orders and that he would not get to come from the Middle East for another six months to a year. I know if I was in her spot, I probably wouldn't be so brave. My heart broke for her.

Today, while shopping for landscape supplies at the local Garden Center, I was standing in front of 40 lb. bags of pea-gravel wondering how I was going to load it on a dolly by myself. Ten years ago, I wouldn't even have wondered. I would have just done it. A young employee walked up and asked me which gravel I was considering, and how many bags; and did I need some help? I told him which one and how many (12 bags). He didn't bat an eye, but loaded the 12 bags of gravel on the dolly; and before I could ask if he'd help me get it to the register, he started pulling the dolly. He not only stayed with me through the line, but took it out to my truck and loaded it. I thanked him profusely, and he said, “That’s what I’m here for, ma’am.” I smiled at the young whipper-snapper as he opened my truck door for me. That just made my heart sing.

Today, while I was loading my groceries into my truck, I saw a grocery store employee replacing trash can liners in the trash receptacles out in the parking lot. She appeared to be a woman around 35 or 40 years old, of ethnic origin, and possibly a newly immigrated to this country. Much to my horror, she fished a McDonald’s bag out of a trash can and found a half eaten hamburger. The woman sat down and started eating it as if it was a prime rib dinner. I thought about the groceries that I'd just bought and counted myself lucky once more.

Today, while picking up a prescription at the local CVS store, I saw a little girl about 4 years old clutching her hands together. Her hands were dripping with what appeared to be lotion. Her mother was further down the aisle. I asked the little girl if she just got too much lotion. She timidly nodded, and I asked her if she would share some of the lotion with me. She held out her little hands to share the lotion. As I was slathering my own hands with the wonderful smelling lotion, her mother came up and said, "Oh! No! That's not lotion! It's liquid soap!" Thank goodness for the new canister of wipes in my basket. I cleaned as much of the soap off both our hands as I could while her mother and I laughed. Good thing I was close to home. I'd tried to do a good deed, and it back-fired ..... a little. But I got a great deal of humor out of it, and I laughed all the way home.

While driving home today, I saw two female Mallard ducks waddling down the sidewalk on Cypresswood Drive. They were headed for the creek. They had about12 yellow spotted babies in tow. I wanted to stop to look and take pictures, but there was too much traffic, and nowhere to park. How fortunate for me to see things like this in our suburban area.

On the way home I thought of all the things I had seen, and felt happy that I could see, that I could walk, that I have food, clothing and shelter and a vehicle to drive. Grateful that I can make decisions for myself, and that my loved ones are all on this continent. My own limitations are not severe. My pain is not monumental, just a minor uncomfortable inconvenience. It was then that I realized that all of this could change in an instant, and was even more grateful for the life I have today. I’ll be watching again tomorrow to really see what’s going on in my every day world on any given day. What did you see today?

QUEEN OF THE BINGO PARLOR

2010-04-11T16:16:00.000-07:00

We were driving down 1960 East, towards Humble, as we do sometimes to go visit friends or meet them for dinner. I always look to see if the old bingo place is still there, and it is and probably will always be. I’m not an avid bingo player, but at one time, a friend of ours talked us into playing a few times. The Royster went with us once. We bought our daubers and cards and took our places at the table with our friend.

It’s huge! And, they are very serious bingo players. As you walk in, and to the left is where you buy your bingo cards and daubers. As we stood in line, I observed several very serious bingo players in line ahead of us. They were buying several cards to play at one time. Some had their big tote bags of bingo equipment. This means their daubers, their snacks and whatever else they would need to endure a grueling day at the bingo parlor. These are the serious ones. They were from all walks of life…men and women, young and old. I did happen to see some stereotypical bingo players; the kind one imagines when the term bingo parlor is uttered. There truly were a couple of those, and I would hesitate to stand in their way or cross them in any way. You’d want to wait until they find their seat before sitting down. No, you wouldn’t want to take their usual seat, and probably not even close enough to get smacked with a dauber in a frenzy of bingo card daubing.

I will attempt to describe one lady that I encountered. She was of large stature, wearing a red, green and yellow floral Mu’u Mu’u with red flip-flops to match. She wore red horn-rimmed glasses. Her fresh make-up was well done. Eye shadow was a beautiful bright blue, with lipstick to match her red horn-rims. She had just had her roots done, and her bleached blond tresses were in a Texas size mass of individual curls, in a doo on top of her head. She had just had her nails painted bright red, with a pedicure to match. Her tote bag matched her dress exactly, and I’d bet dollars to donuts that she had at least six other Mu’u Mu’us at home with totes to match; along with matching flip-flops. She wore big red hoop earrings, and a set of red, yellow and green bangle bracelets to set everything else off.

I stepped back and waited for her to take her seat. I noticed that no one took a seat directly across from her or on either side. She gingerly took her seat, and carefully sat her tote in the chair to her right. I was surprised when an adorable miniature poodle popped its head out of the tote. She arranged 20 bingo cards just so on the table in front of her and fished in the bag until she came up with two daubers, one pink and one blue. She took out a gold lame cigarette case and fished out a long cigarette and lit it. She put the cigarette case in place, just so, on her right next to the ash tray. The little poodle hopped out of her tote and sat expectantly in her lap. She was ready. She had to be the Bingo Queen of North East Houston. I was in awe and could not take my eyes off of her.

The Bingo Caller announced 5 minutes until game time. Bingo Queen took an icy cold Pibb out of her tote, opened it and took three dainty gulps while she watched the clock. We sat just a table away and in front of her. My friend, Veronica nudged me, and told me that I’d better get my three cards and dauber ready. I complied by putting the cards side by side and getting my blue dauber situated just so on my right.

The big clock above the stage read exactly 7 o’clock, and the Bingo Caller called out, “Let’s play BINGO!” The first ball rolled out. “I-16!” she called. There was loud smattering of daubers hitting bingo cards. By that time I’d found one I-16, I was ecstatic, and started looking for another. Everyone else was finished daubing. There were no more on any of my three cards. The next ball rolled out, and the Caller hollered, “G-47!” Thwap! Smack! Pow! Daubers were flying! I looked, and didn’t have one. This went on until I saw that I actually just needed one more number to Bingo! There was hope. The ball rolled down and …”N-42!” I did a double take. I actually had it! I smacked my blue dauber on my G-47 and before I could raise my hand and yell out “Bingo”, I heard it from Bingo Queen. It was a loud, but casual, raspy cigarette voice … “BINGO” Her little poodle seemed to know, and yapped an acknowledgement. So went the first round.

I bought three more cards and returned to my seat next to Veronica, who had already gotten her fresh bingo cards in order. I needed to be faster. Bingo Queen was all set and munching on a king size Snicker’s Bar. She saw me and nodded with a wry smile. I must have been staring. So went my night at the Bingo Parlor; almost winning with each game, but not quite. Bingo Queen won three times. How could that happen?

I will have to say that I had never encountered quite an event before in my life. It was really a lot of fun. My friend, Veronica asked me if I’d go with her again. Of course I would. She goes three nights a week, but I only committed to two more times. I dare say that the next two Bingo nights were almost exactly like the first one … almost winning, but not quite … or I wasn’t fast enough. Veronica won twice, and one of them was the grand prize of the night.

We went out to celebrate at Sonic. As we sat there eating cheeseburgers that dripped down our arms, we talked. She wanted to know if I’d go again the next week. I sighed and told her that, alas, Bingo just isn’t in my blood. I did save my daubers for a few years, just in case I wanted to go back. Later, I tossed them, fairly new, into a donation bag.

Yup! I’d play again, but I just couldn’t be a regular … not with competition like The Bingo Queen of North East Houston.

HAIR, AND OTHER RITES OF SPRING

2010-03-25T07:11:00.000-07:00

Spring is a big deal for all of us. It marks the occasion of coming out of a winter confinement of dark, cold, cloudy, rainy, snowy days. No matter where you live, winter is brutal to all of us in one way or another. So, we are all ready for warmer weather, and the fun that accompanies it.

My first spring awakening this year was when I looked in the mirror and decided that I had actually been giving my hair one last hoorah. It was actually past my shoulders, and starting to give me the creeps. I can truly say that I was doing this (growing it out) for myself as much as for the Royster, who would love me to have that big mass of hair that I had when we met 20+ years ago. He loved the Farrah tresses or the (Dare I go that far back?) Annette Funicello big hair. I wanted to see how my black and silver hair would look long. Every time I looked in the mirror, I was hearing this song:

Gimme head with hair
Long beautiful hair
Shining, gleaming,
Streaming, flaxen, waxen

Give me down to there hair
Shoulder length or longer
Here baby, there mama
Everywhere daddy daddy

Hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair, hair
Flow it, show it
Long as God can grow it
My haaaaiiiiirrrrr!

I just needed a trim, and right now! Later, as it warms up, I’ll decide if I can stand it any longer or not. It probably depends on if I feel as though down here in the Houston area I can keep the humidity and heat and the threat of fungus at bay. Pony tail? Oh, come on! Clip? I don’t know how to do it so it stays. Besides, I want it all up there. No trailers allowed. I just don’t know what to do with all of this. So far, I’ve controlled it with hair bands, but lately the hair bands aren’t strong enough. I guess you’d call it heavy hair. Why didn’t it bother me in my younger years? I’m sure that when I go visit my daughter and her entourage, the girls will show me what to do with it. In the meantime, I had two inches cut off, and it’s still brushing my shoulders.

We’ll see. If I can’t stand it when it starts to heat up, I’ll go get my hair cut before it just drives me insane; maybe just to the jaw line. That’s usually a safe length. I’m good with that unless I’ve waited too long. Then I go tearing into the hair salon screaming, “Just take it all off!” To tell you the truth, I really liked being bald. Chemo left me without a single hair on my body. I drew on eyebrows and wore a wig to work, but doffed it before the end of each day. I was very tempted to just drop it in the trash can. It was hot, and made my whole head itch. After a while, I just wore a baseball cap or a fashionably wrapped scarf. The baseball cap was always my first choice. I got used to it, and actually considered keeping it that way. The Royster was a bit nervous about that, and wanted to know how long I had to have it that way. Sigh……. That’s when I quit shaving it. I still have the wig....but I'm not sure exactly why.

The next spring inclination would be getting the old spring wardrobe back into shape. New shoes come to mind first, along with some appropriate clothes to match. We go to an annual party to kick off the spring. It’s a little fancy schmancy, but I really enjoy dressing for this occasion. It’s a lot of fun. It's a big switch from my jeans and tee's that I wear every day.

I went to my favorite department store to shop for something new to wear to this event. Usually, regardless of department (Jr. or Misses), the shirts are cropped short, to show some belly, and possibly a pierced belly button. Those blouses usually to go with very hip-slung pants. Honestly, the zipper in those can’t be more than an inch long. They must have 25 year old bone heads to design clothes for mature women. That kind of stuff is just a night mare for me, and I’m sure to other women my age, unless your 62 and still support the same body you had at 20 or 30. I mean, what am I supposed to do with those? Just hang all of my stuff over the top? I’m sure you've seen more than a few overweight women / girls wearing (abusing) hip-slung pants with the crop tops, exposing a huge muffin top, a piercing and / or a tattoo or two. I mean...It's just not right...It's just totally wrong! I actually put together two different outfits, and since it was so hard to decide, I bought both outfits so that the Royster could help me decide.

On the way home, I popped in to my favorite nail salon. I needed a really thorough mani-pedi. I rolled up my jeans a dropped my flip flops next to the chair. The girls that were attending my needs were chatting back and forth in Viet Namese, and I am sure, deciding how much extra to charge me for all the extra work they would have to do. It was then that I became painfully aware that I had forgotten to shave my legs, for I don’t know how long. I sat back and relaxed. Just let them do their magic, and enjoy it.

Yesterday, I went back to my favorite place, Kohl’s, to look for shoes. There were a couple of other women my age there. We chatted like magpies and compared and encouraged each other. That makes shopping enjoyable…to have someone with you. Since I was alone, as I usually am, these two made my day. We had some pretty good laughs. I found two pairs of sandles that I liked, and they were very reasonably priced. Again, since I couldn’t decide, I got both pair, and then headed over to the check out.

The line was very long, so I headed over to the other side of the store for the other check out. It was less crowded. On my way, I wandered through the Jr. Dept., thinking that was a safe maneuver because I can no longer find anything over there that fits, let alone fashion for my acquired maturity. HARK! I spotted some really cool cotton shirt/blouses. They were various colors of plaid…roll up sleeves. One of the things that drew me over was the fact that they were long enough. They were really beautiful, and marked down from $40 to $14. I had to have two….one in the turquoise and black, and one in pink and black. I needed a couple of blouses to wear next week to Arizona. Well?! They were on sale! And, I do consider that shopping trip very successful, considering the fact that I just don’t like to shop. Guess I didn’t inherit that shopping gene.

Everything seems to be falling into place. Our yard is groomed and trying to recover from the freezes we had. I’m all but dressed for the spring event for this Saturday. My trip to Arizona is planned and airfare ready to go. All I have to do is pack. Its all looking good! Poor ol’ Hank needs to be deloused and have a canine pedicure. He’s been rolling in the mulch that we had put out last week-end. I don’t suppose I’ll ever get used to that smell (the mulch) or the smell that an old wet dog brings….But it’s all part of the beginning of spring and the season for getting out and having some fun. I'm ready! BRING IT ON!

IN THE DEPTHS OF MY KNOW-IT-ALL

2010-02-28T09:16:00.000-08:00

I had decided to read a little after lunch, and found the warm spot by the window very comforting and inviting. So, I put my book down and closed my eyes. I was being called into the depths to discover something new. In this instance, I simply drifted off into some level of sleep that allowed me to … well, for lack of a better description, dream-walk. This is where there is a very vivid dream, though you are aware that you are in a very personal mental state. A very curious state of sleep, I might add.

This is the place where I go to think deeply, to meditate; in the place that holds all that I need to know, as well as the place that mends all sorrow. I rarely get to go there, because it takes so damn long to get there. I have to have complete silence, with the exception of natural quiet sounds of nature, or just the right soft music playing in the background. Actually, these conditional sounds in the background help to stimulate ideas and answers as well as good feeling and mirth. Unless proper conditions prevail, I only get to the day-dream stage. But, something shook me from the depths of my Know-It-All.

It was actually snowing! Snowflakes were making a rare appearance in our semi tropical to tropical zone. The sound was truly deafening, because it is simply such a magical sound that it’s almost thunderous. And, people who have never experienced snow have no idea what I’m talking about.

Though I was born in New York, and lived in St. Louis when I was very young, the first time I truly remember seeing and hearing snow fall was in Fort Worth, Texas. I ran straight out into the back yard and sat quietly in the middle of the falling snow, listening, getting enrapt in the enormous quietness and peace. I felt no cold at all, and almost instantly, I descended into my place of meditation, understanding and enlightenment.

People in northern climates experience the magic of snow at Christmas time, until delight becomes drudgery with days of shoveling snow, digging out cars, trudging through mud and muck, and being house-bound for days on end. For them, the magic is more than likely gone, and I truly understand how they can tire of the snow. There is indeed reason to celebrate spring. Still, I welcome the magic that snow falling brings at any time. I will also say that more poetry has been written romantically about snow than you can imagine.

There are many roads that will take me to the place I call my Know-it All, where I find the answers and inspiration for living, learning, loving and creating. To many people this is called meditation, and rightly so. Meditation to me is listening to God, or powers of a much higher dimension. Sometimes, I can get there by toiling in the yard, digging, weeding, raking, bagging, dragging and sweeping. I simply go off somewhere else and leave my physical self to the task. I’m in good company way off … somewhere else.

But, I’ve wandered away from the basis for this little dissertation. It’s all about moments of clarity. This is complicated, simply because for me, it’s hard to really understand exactly how these moments of clarity come about. What makes them clear to me? These moments of clarity are times when I can get a brief glimpse of the truth. The kind of truth that a person gets when they are least expecting it. It’s suddenly there for you, and you have to grab hold of it right then and there, because it might not ever pass through your Know-It-All again.

I suppose an example is required here. Sometimes, my Know-It-All surfaces in a waking moment. Someone close emotionally is talking to me, and I know they are sad and upset. Suddenly, I know exactly why they are sad, even if they don’t really know the real reason yet themselves. It’s not because I am any smarter or wiser, but simply because it’s just there for me to see, and to understand. No need to say anything at all, just understand. I’m also guessing that other people will see things in me that I don’t see yet, because I’m too busy in the feeling itself, and not into the true reasoning.

Sometimes, when you just have a feeling about something, or squint your eyes and really see something for the first time, though you’ve seen it every day; those are also moments of clarity. Sometimes it’s just hearing a subtle word or phrase; and sometimes, it’s something someone (maybe a perfect stranger) says to you that hits you in the face like an iron skillet. Now, that’s a moment of clarity.

I’ve asked several friends about this, and they have convinced me that I’m not just blowing sun shine up anyone’s skirt. Every one of them had said with conviction that they absolutely have these fleeting glimpses of truth. Having just a glimpse of this always makes me want to dive back into my Know-It-All for more.

Today, I will go out to start clearing out plants damaged in the winter freezes and trim up and try to save the damaged plants, making room for new growth. If left to my own resources for any length of time, I will go into my Know-It-All for more glimpses of truth and enlightenment. Before I know it, the tasks I set out to do will have been completed, and I will have been off to visit my Know-It-All once again to emerge with a clarity I didn’t know I could have. This is going to be great!

BOYS AND THEIR CHRISTMAS TOYS

2010-02-09T10:48:00.000-08:00

All of the Christmas adornments are taken down and moved up stairs to await their placement in the “Christmas Closet”. This will take the better part of another month to sort through. But I don’t want to talk about that right now, since it’s something I’m procrastinating about….again.

What’s on my mind right now is how wonderfully successful a particular gift was for our Christmas of 2009. I have always known that whenever I’m in doubt as to what to get The Royster for Christmas, I can always go to Sears and pick out some kind of woodworking tool that I know he doesn’t have, and I am very familiar with all the woodworking tools in the garage, because that’s what I’ve been getting him over the past 20 years. I learned right off the bat that Sears is always a safe bet.

This year, I was in a bit of a quandary as to what to get The Royster, even though I was standing in Sears looking at all the wonderful plug-in, buzzing, whirring and grinding Roy Candy, just to get some idea as to what to put under the Christmas tree for him. As my eyes darted around the store they came to rest on a scroll saw; and it dawned on me that a few years ago The Royster would walk over to this particular item and touch it, caress it longingly and drool a little. That was the year that I had already purchased a drill press to put under the tree, so I just forgot about the loving gazes he was bestowing on the scroll saw. When I saw it this year, actually calling to me to have a look, I knew that was the item I would purchase for my hero The Royster, “… while visions of power tools danced in his head...” Try, to imagine the delight on a 58 year old little boy’s face when he opened his new toys on Christmas morning.

I was on target with this gift. The Royster almost hopped up and down clapping his hands with glee, and whooping, “Oh! Goody goody! A scroll saw! A scroll saw!” After a couple of days passed, he had it all set up out in the garage. I could hear the gears turning in his head; ideas of what he was going to make with his new garage toy. As the days passed, there were all kinds of trips to Home Depot and Sears, and lots of noises emanating from the garage; all happy noises. Whirrrrrrrrrr! Buzzzzzzzzzz! Zingggggggg! Grrrrrrrrind, grrrrrrrrind, grrrrrrrrrrrrind! And, sand, sand, sand! There would possibly be refrigerator art and endless show ‘n’ tells forthcoming.

The man-boy has a gift, a real talent for making things out of wood, and furthermore, he loves to do it. I do enjoy seeing him have so much fun out in the garage. He’s made me so many cool things, from a gardening workbench to a recipe book holder for the kitchen counter. He never ceases to amaze me, and he always surprises me.
For his first endeavors with his new scroll saw, he created a number of small, trial things.

The stained glass peace sign was his first deliberate work of art. With the others, he just started zipping away at pieces of wood to get a feel of his new toy. It was sort of like when you see things in the clouds, a cat, dog, etc. He would come in and proudly show me what he’d made.

If he didn’t know what he was trying to make at the time, it somehow took shape ….If it looked like a duck, he called it a duck. We still don’t know what to call the little guy that looks like he’s holding something over his head. Maybe we’ll just call him Atlas. He did photo puzzles with photos on either side, one in color, the other in black and white. Unfortunately he did not take pictures of those before he gave them as gifts to friends, with their very own photos on them.

Last week, he showed me a picture of a 1930 Chevy pickup truck, and disappeared into the depths of his Man Cave. Over the week-end he spent every waking hour in there making something really special. Late on Sunday afternoon, I could smell the distinct odor of wood stain, and I knew that soon there would be a finished product that he would proudly present to me, possibly to display, on the kitchen table or better, in the window of the kitchen for all to see. Finally, on Sunday evening, he emerged with the finished product. He had out-done himself again!

Who knows what lurks in the Man Cave depths that won’t some day be uncovered as a monumental work of art.

RITUALS OF THE DAY

2010-02-01T05:12:00.000-08:00

Coming out of R.E.M., my waking mind is racing before I open my eyes for the day. It’s Thursday…..and thank you for this day and for the life I have today. I crack my eyes open enough to see the clock. It says 4:58 a.m., and I close my eyes once more to see if there is any sleep left. Guess not. Better get up. Roy has gotten up about an hour before me. He goes to the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and out to the patio for a smoke, with Hank following to do his “biddness” far out into the dark yard. After his smoke, he and the dog go upstairs to read the news on his computer until he hears me stir. He goes out to get the newspaper, with Hank following to make sure he gets his morning reward for following Roy out to get the paper.

I find my slippers and plod noiselessly into the kitchen. I have always had a reverence for the early mornings. The coffee is made, so I empty the hot water out of the big old Stanley thermos and pour most of the pot into the already hot thermos, and then pour the rest of the pot into the waiting coffee cup on the counter. I make another half pot of coffee, and pad my way quietly back into the bedroom with the old thermos and my hot cup of coffee. I turn on the news to watch until the Royster and Hank bring the newspaper in.

We divide up the paper in sections to share, with the news on the television droning in the background. Hank nervously paces from one side of the bed to the other, asking and awaiting permission to come aboard. He is 15 years old and has lost his hearing, so with simple hand motions, we invite him up to join us, and he hops up onto the bed. He’s not quite as agile and graceful as he once was, so it isn’t as easy for him as it used to be.

We listen to the news on the television while skimming through the newspaper to find things we are most accustomed to reading. I start my crossword puzzle, an exercise I’ve done faithfully for the past 30 + years. We discuss plans and possibilities for the day; a trip to the bank, a doctor’s appointment, his mom and/or other planned projects for the day. Soon it’s time for Roy to get ready to go to the office. He wishes he could retire, but I know he’s grateful for the work. He had planned to retire a long time ago, but it just didn’t happen that way. At least he’s doing something he likes to do.

The Royster finishes his shower,dresses and makes his way to the coffee pot for a short roadie. It's not a long drive to the office. Hank and I see him off, and are left with the house to ourselves.

I go into the kitchen and turn on my computer and fix some breakfast for me, and get Hank’s old dog medicine ready to give him with his breakfast. In warmer weather we would sit on the deck quietly watching the world wake up; mourning doves waking, and squirrels fussing and rustling in the highway of tree limbs overhead. But it’s much too cold and wet this morning. So, I make the oatmeal, medicate and feed the dog and carry my breakfast back to finish watching the news and my crossword puzzle. Our day has begun. Again, Thank you for this day and the life I have been given.

The day moves as planned, going to the bank, and running other odd errands until lunch time. By then it’s time to start one of many projects that need doing; not to mention the daily routine upkeep of the house. Today, I worked on a problem closet in the big guest room. Hank got exhausted watching, and laid down for a nap.

Before I am aware of the time its 3:00 o’clock. I know its 3:00 o’clock because Hank told me so. He starts herding me to the stairs. This can only mean that he wants me to open the bedroom blinds so that he can watch for the big white thing that comes here carrying his litter mate. I open the blinds, and he watches and waits. He sits there for another 30 minutes before wanting to play our “ritual game” of “Try to get this squeaky toy from me.” Then it’s back to the window to watch and wait.

Finally he’s doing the doggie dance of joy and barking distinctly ; “He’s home! He’s home!” This is when he races to the back door to greet the Royster. He herds both of us to the bedroom where he makes it impossible to be heard over his barks of joy and his playful nudging. The Royster tries to read the mail through all of this. If one of us leaves the room for anything, Hank is right there to herd us back into one room again.

Dinner as usual on trays in front of the TV; feed and medicate Hank, shower, get the coffee pot loaded and read a bit. Set the timer on the TV and lights out. I find myself floating away into the abyss of sleep that readies me for another chance for another day. My mind still chanting, Thank you for the day, and the life I have today.

And, then, before I am aware, Coming out of R.E.M., my waking mind is racing before I open my eyes for the day. It’s Friday … and thank you for this day and for the life I have today. I crack my eyes open enough to see the clock………

I’M WORKING ON IT! And Other Lame Excuses

2010-01-21T18:54:00.000-08:00

I’ve told everyone that I didn’t make any New Year’s resolutions this year. All the while my mind was a-whirl with what I wanted to accomplish this year. Like most people who announce, or secretly vow, making a New Year’s resolution, I’ve never kept any of them for more than three months. By the time the end of March rolls around, I’m done, toast and back sliding all the way to the next New Year’s Day … with nothing completed and nothing really accomplished. I need discipline!

As I said, my mind was a-whirl with all I wanted to accomplish for this year 2010.

#1. For most women my age, it usually starts by promising to practice a little weight management, become more health conscious, get more exercise. You need to keep this resolution if you can even entertain the notion of asking, “Does my ass make these jeans look fat?”

It would be far better to say that I’m going to try to get into better shape, possibly getting back into my smaller jeans by the spring time. I’m safe with that. There’s no real commitment there. This is not an impossible goal. In fact, it’s really an attainable goal. It involves managing better the food brought into this house, and controlling exactly how much gets into my mouth. Also, required is to start ignoring the “diet saboteurs”. I’ll mention no names. You know who you are. Included in this should be a change of activities. This includes getting off my ass and doing something physical. One can only sit in front of the computer and/or the T.V. This requires discipline!

#2. Read a book every two weeks. This, I would love to do, and it actually requires that I sit on my ass. But then, this would also require that I have an absolutely quiet atmosphere with nothing to distract me. No T.V., pleasant chatter, phone, computer or dog pacing about. This has always been a pitfall with me. I’ll start to read, and then think of something that, I need to do, I should do, or should have done. It’s hard for me to sit through an hour long T.V. show, let alone a movie, and I’m always popping up to do something. Once I finally get focused, I’m good with it for at least an hour.

The last time I actually sat down to read was in a cabin in Utah, with no T.V., telephone (except for our cell phones which didn’t ring), and no computer. I actually read a book and enjoyed it. The time before that, five years ago, I ran through book after book while sitting at the kitchen table with my nebulizer for the required 45 minutes. I had to do that four times a day. I actually couldn’t tear myself away from the book, so I would keep the nebulizer going an extra 20 to 30 minutes just to get through to the next chapter. I know I went through about 20 books during that time. I’m not under treatment of the nebulizer anymore, so, reading a book every two weeks would also require discipline.

#3. Better organization of my money, hoarding it and saving it. This has been a lifelong fight with myself. It doesn’t do any good to have anyone watching it for me. It’s mine! I’ll take care of it! I am an adult, and if someone else was holding my purse strings and told me I couldn't dig in to it, I would simply respond in the adult manner and yell, cry and stuff beans up my nose.

Again, I do alright with it until the middle of April comes around. Then by some magic, I feel free again. Maybe that April 15th date has something to do with it. I start to tell myself things like, “There are no pockets in the shroud.” And, “You can’t take it with you!” But what about the rainy days, and the 6 months salary saved up for emergencies? Yup! This is really going to require some discipline!

#4. I want to get started on a major fix up of the master bathroom. Yeah, this is a biggie. It’s more like a re-model. It still has all the same bathroom counter with the knee space for a vanity stool, sinks, light fixtures, faucets, and a sunken shower that was originally built into this house 30 years ago. I might as well go on to #5 because it’s far more doable than #4.

#5. Clean up the finish on the kitchen cabinets and put a clean coat of varnish on them. Hmmm … I was going to buy all new knobs and drawer pulls, but I figure, to save a lot of money, I can take them all off, clean and prime them; then spray paint them a nice brushed antique bronze … or something. What the heck! There are only 50 of knobs and drawer pulls. I would be saving a lot of money, and I can do a two of cabinets every week. I’d actually clean out the contents of each cabinet, getting rid of things we don’t need or use. That’s a two-fold accomplishment. I already have a lot of the discipline for this.

#6. Number 5 would lead me dangerously close to the infamous “Paper Closet” in the kitchen. This closet also contains small appliances, including a copper chafing dish, and a wok, neither of which have been used in 20 years. There’s a filing cabinet, a big butane burner for the big cast iron chili pot, a small vacuum cleaner, toaster oven, which I’d actually like to keep, bread maker, a toaster, and an avocado green Crock Pot. Bet you can guess how old that is. And I’d probably be correct in saying around 40 years old. Anyway….Harvest Gold appliances and shag carpet were also popular at the same time. Those are the items I can see right off the bat. Oh, and there are stacks of paper, files and binders that need to be sorted. The rest could just be a cover up for the Twilight Zone. A person could get sucked right into somewhere else really fast.

Here is my lamest excuse so far. I can’t do any of these projects until I get the “Christmas Closet” cleaned out. There is a Christmas light collection from the past twenty years. When I suggested to the Royster that we should probably get rid of some of them, he immediately went out and bought more lights. He couldn’t resist the blue LED, indoor/outdoor lights that were on sale at Sears. It’s not just the Christmas closet, it’s the closet that has off season clothes, and thing that no one has worn in years. I took down all of the Christmas decor and put it upstairs in the big guest room. The closet has to be sorted through and cleaned up before I can put Christmas away for the year. I will need the Royster to help me get rid of some of that stuff. But on the other hand … maybe some of that stuff will just go away.

And, I’m working on it!

RIGHT BEFORE YOUR EYES

2010-01-12T09:05:00.000-08:00

It‘s a miracle that they grow up at all. Really! I don’t care how much babysitting experience we claim to have had as a teen, it’s totally different when it’s our own. We give birth to these wonderful little people expecting to know just what to do with them, and then when they arrive we just don’t have a clue. And, we have vowed that we will do it differently than our parents did. They also vowed that they would do it their own way, and not the way their parents did. They (our parents) did what they considered to be the right thing to do. How utterly miserable! How in the world did we make it? What we don’t take into consideration, is that we arrived at this point in our lives in spite of how we were raised. And, we’re okay because of them and in spite of them … believe it or not.

These babies don’t come with an owner’s manual, a “sell by date”, or an “expiration date”. We are totally green on this, learning as we go. We have fallen in love with these little people, and we try hard to protect them from all ills and evils. Your mom tries to give advice, but it is ultimately our own call, and it doesn’t take long to realize that Mom can only make suggestions from her own experiences, and we probably just don’t want Mom’s advice anyway. Remember? It’s going to be our own way. Anyway, she’s on par with Dr. Spock, who can only offer advice.

But, grow up they do. The miracle is the actual unfolding … the actual forming of the individual child. We hear things like; she’s just like her mother. Or He’ll be a doctor…just like his dad. If we only knew then what a crock that is. Men like to name their sons after them “in their own image” to carry on the family name. But that doesn’t guarantee that the boy will be anything like his dad; just that he will carry on the family name. As a matter of fact, Dad is likely to be disappointed that his prodigal son has taken a much different path. How could he?!

I’ve always thought that children are different and separate entities, and they are. We watch to see what gifts these children have. Granted, we have more in common with our siblings than we have with our parents (individually), but we are still separate souls and spirits with separate agendas. Right before our eyes, these babies start forming into real people. They are on their very own path of learning and development. It is our job to protect them and guide them, impart our wisdom and hope they use their own best judgment as they grow older. We try to mold them, but their very own mold has already been designated and formed.

My own mother decided that I would be an artist, and I guess I am … in a way, but not as she had envisioned. In the first grade, I had painted a picture of a horse in a barn; just the head sticking out of its stall. Several renderings were chosen from various first grade students to go on exhibit in a local gallery. Actually, it was at a bank. Mine was among those, and apparently, Mom regarded me as art prodigy material. She and my Aunt Ollie took me to visit their favorite local artist, Josephine Mahaffey, who talked to me about art education, practice and dedication.

I truly wanted to please these people, but I felt that I disappointed them horribly. And, though I did a few pieces during my junior high and high school days that seemed promising, it just wasn’t my bailiwick. It wasn’t in my heart, though I still wasn’t aware of what exactly was in my heart at that junction of my life. I also took some classes at the art museum, and some of those pieces were admirable, but not exceptional, and again, my heart wasn’t in it. Even some of those were promising.

I ended up modeling for the artists. Barbara Goldstein was among those artists, and she and I became friends. I modeled for her first attempt at a portrait. Still, there was no calling for me to put anything on canvas or to throw a pot. Alas.
I suppose that art talent manifests itself in other ways. After all, I have become very creative. I love to write, sketch and make playful stuffed toys for the children and adults in my life. I putter in my garden and cook. There is art in all of that.

Still, I consider my best endeavors are my daughters. Let it be said that I did not have anything to do with who they are. I cannot pat myself on the back for any of that. Actually, I more than likely contributed to the hell they regarded as their up-bringing, as I regarded my own up-bringing. Who they have become was determined well before they were born. These two girls are as different as night and day, and they have made me very proud of both of them. I’ve donated half of their genes as did their father, and they have come into their own because of us and in spite of us. They are my Snow White and Rose Red. They will raise their children their own way. Not like their parents did. And, that’s not a bad thing.

We don’t see our own lives unfolding or opening up. It just happens. It’s in our paths, but we don’t even see it that way. We’re just moving in a direction to something we’re supposed to do. As my path was fraught with thorns and detours so were their paths. When it’s our own children, it’s different. We see early in their lives what potential they have, but we can’t guess what they will ultimately do. We do see, however, the unfolding and opening up of the lives of our children and our grandchildren. And, it’s a awesome thing to observe.

At what point do we start giving them the reins? When do we start to trust that they will be alright? When do we actually feel that they will take the ball and run? We don’t let go easily, and I don’t think we ever quit giving them advice. There is one constant here that I won’t deny. We don’t ever stop being a mother.

I was at the hospital for the birth of my first grandchild, Savannah; a fresh, new mind to bend. My youngest daughter, Leslie, then about 20, was with us as well. Barb had a particularly hard labor. Leslie and I were in and out of the labor room to sit with Barb. Later, Leslie announced to one and all that she would not have any children. “I’ll just have a dog.” She said. Leslie now has 8 year old twins. See how they can change their minds. On the other end of the spectrum, her older sister went through two more C-sections to have two more beautiful daughters.

See? It all plays out the way it’s supposed to, because of us and in spite of us. There are no cookie-cutter kids, and what an awesome miracle of God that is!

SISTERS AND SISTAS

2010-01-05T05:58:00.000-08:00

I am referring to girlfriends as well as my genetic sisters, because I have a lot sisters who are also girlfriends. Mostly, I am talking about loyal friends (genetic sisters and cousins included) that are with you through thick and thin, no matter how long you’ve known them. There are some that I just don’t get to see very often, that have stayed connected over the years. I know they are there, and that they have my back if I need them. I also watch their backs, and I am there for them. There are sisters that I have known for less time, but non-the-less, are sisters of the same caliber. Sistas are Sistas, no matter how long you have known them.

We start learning the value of a friend when we are very young. It starts as soon as we start to trust, and I do believe that begins with our parents. We go to M.D.O. (Mother’s Day Out), which they didn’t have when my girls were babies. It’s just three hours or so at a church nursery or a day care facility. It’s enough to get you started, especially if you don’t have siblings by then. Then there’s pre-school, pre-K and kindergarten. This is where you learn to play with your peers. You also learn to share. Sharing includes bringing home any communicable diseases that happen to be going around. Under this heading, you start developing immunities to certain diseases. You can thank your newly forming friends for this. After all you are drooling, gumming and gnawing anything you can get into your mouths, and so are they.

By the time we reach the first grade, we’ve decided that there are some friends that are better than others….OR that you like some better than others. You play with them at recess and you sometimes have “play dates”. That’s another thing we didn’t have then…or we didn’t call it that. This is where your friend’s mom brings your friend over to play at your house for a few hours, or you go over to their house. This whole scenario is part of the growing friendship that flourishes as we grow older. We share secrets, toys and play games, take sides and sometimes argue with these B.F.F.E.s. That just means you’ve had enough, and it’s time to part company for the day.

As we grow older still, our friendships grow more intense. We know that our Sistas are there for us, and that they would scratch the eyes out of anyone that would hurt or use any disparaging language or actions towards us. And, we would do the same for them.

I will say right here, that there are also male B.F.F.E.s, even if they are a bit like Lenny and Squiggy. They are also close confidants and loyal friends. They were Bob, Jim, Jerry, Chuck, Mike, and Terry, to name a few. They were the big brothers that would entertain, advise and protect us from all others. They were there to help, and hang around with you at the house and at the local Diary Queen. Woe be it to anyone who steps on your toes in front of them.

Secretly, these guys hoped that if they could be this for you, then you would eventually raise their status to the boyfriend Level. I was never aware of that fact until recent years, until one of you slipped that choice piece of information to me in a casual conversation. Hey! I know you guy will understand, and accept a compliment as it is intended. A male B.F.F.E. level was the highest level, and a friend for life. To tell the truth, we couldn’t have grown up without you guys, and I mean that from my heart.

Then, there were the C.Y.O. guys (clowns) that hung around in the sweltering summer days, and rainy, cold Saturdays, playing double Solitaire and Anaconda with us in the living room, or cooking pancakes at midnight in our kitchen after a dance or party. Pat, Art, Joe, Harry, David, and Robert. There were more, but these were the constants. What a colorful bunch. I wish I knew where they all are, and how they are doing. They were such a huge part of my formative years, and yes, they were among my very best friends. I recently re-connected with one of them, and it was like a reunion with a long lost brother. It just made me very happy to know that he was happy and busy in life. The same life-long friend award goes to these guys...from the heart.

Our C.Y.O. group was a close knit bunch. Kathy, is my Sista who has had my back since we were in junior high school. We went to separate schools, but we sure went through a bunch together. Adolescence was hard on both of us, and we were best friends through the whole thing. We double dated a lot, and I think Kathy had more of a conscience than I did, therefore being more of a conscience for me. After all, she went to a Catholic girls school. With a simple question, she could bring me back to reality. “Missy! Aren’t you afraid of going to Hell?” I only considered for very brief second that she was out to wreck my fun before taking her words seriously. Kathy has always brought me back to my ground, and my reality. To this day, her words of foreboding echo in my ears. She was the matron of honor at my wedding. I truly miss hearing from her when there is a lapse in our communications.

Since we went to public schools, there was a separate set of lifetime sisters. This was harder, since there were different “cliques”. It was hard to know who to hang out with. These girls were all friends, and we all contributed to the same cause of our class … to have fun, grow up and graduate. There are the constants like Ginger, Jackie, Ann, Vickie, Carolyn, Lyna, Nancy, Dee, Brenda and Diane; just to name a few. There were many, many more, but we all parted ways after graduation. Crossing paths occasionally, over the years we remain friends and of the highest caliber. Thanks to modern technology, we can keep in touch at the touch of a key board. We get together again at class reunions to acknowledge similarities and differences that we’ve been through growing up, and living as adults … college, marriage, children and grandchildren; and still growing, comparing what our lives have been like, where we’ve been and where we all are now.

There are friends that we’ve made in our life through spouses and or other friends. Madolyn is my dear friend that I met at least 33 years ago. Our husbands worked together and were eventually partners in their own venture. When she and her husband and children moved here from Beaumont, she and I started car-sharing every morning for about 5 years. Whoever didn’t drive was the one to read the newspaper and/or find a decent radio station to listen to. Thursday was Cajun music day, and that was a real hoot. We concluded that these hour-long rides to and from work were our therapy sessions. We laughed and cried together. We were like magpies. There was seldom a moment of silence, and there still isn't ... a moment of silence.

While driving to and from work, menopause was the main topic, since we were both in the throes of the big “M”. We were always comparing notes as to what would and would not work, concluding that the only thing to do was to get on some kind of HRT that would allow us to continue to work without beheading our bosses or co-workers. We were both deprived of sleep, as we had not found an over the counter cure for the night sweats and mood swings.

I don’t mind saying that our rides were pretty exciting. I know you might not think so, but being chased to work by a tornado is pretty exciting. It was pitch black out, and we had no idea there was a tornado on our heels until we heard it on the car radio. My boss had no sympathy for us. He just expected that we’d make it in. Then there was the time when Madolyn’s car finally gave up. I think it was a 16 year old Pontiac that just expired at the toll booth on the way to work one day. Madolyn got very emotional, and I’m not sure it was just that she was scared, but that her old car was finally going to its just reward to the junk yard in the sky. Later, it dawned on her that she would get a new car out of this incident. We ended up coasting to just the other side of the toll booth. We ran, hand in hand, across 6 lanes of traffic to the building where we would find a phone to call her husband to come take care of the dead car … which he did, and very gallantly, I might add. We had no cell phones. Cell phones were in their infant stages. I don’t’ think they were even called cell phones yet … more like “car phones” At any rate, those phones were as big as a combat boot back then, and neither of us had one.

I can always keep my cool through something traumatic. However when all is said and done, and everything has been taken care of; the catastrophe is over, my adrenalin is still so pumped that there is no place for it to go, so I sit down on the curb to cry. My friend Madolyn is always there with her nerves finally gathered up to soothe me…sitting on the curb with me helping me cry the adrenalin away.

We have a circle of friends that we go to dinner with on Friday nights. My Sistas, Donna, Becky and Karin unite in getting us together for dinner at whatever restaurant we haven’t been to in a while. The guys put in their bids, but ultimately, we decide. We always meet at the chosen restaurant at 6:45 p.m. We are truly sisters in the closest sense. They have my back and I have theirs … when ever and whatever they want or need. We argue like sisters and take care of each other in the same breath of the arguement. We love our Friday night ritual, and we love eachother.

I have recently become reunited with old friends from 40+ years ago. A special teacher has joined our ranks of Sistas. It had dawned on me that my Sistas have no age barrier. I’m everybody’s age … and they are mine; Sistas in life through feast and famine, thick and thin. New sistas in the fold, and all is well and good. Sistas are forever.

SCATTERED RESOLVE

2009-12-27T13:57:00.000-08:00

The New Year 2010 is looming, and I’ve been thinking. People who know me know just how dangerous this can be, and they get out of my way to miss the flying debris.

As I do daily, I wake to a new determination and declaration of an old new sense of values that inevitably wanes as the day, month and/or year progresses, as I get side tracked with the tedium of daily living. I remind myself that there are no big deals in life except for the miracle of life itself. No strife for me, as I remind myself that I can regroup and start my day over at any time of day I choose, with a new determination and declaration of an old sense of…

Sometimes, that’s how my day goes; derailing and getting back on track. That’s hardly a large accomplishment by some standards. But it is for me, by virtue of the fact that I get back on at all. There some days when I just shrug, and forget that I’ve wandered off course and need to get back to what I’ve set out to do. A number of things can distract me; a phone call, having a light bulb come on in my head for a new story, and rushing to my computer to get a tag on it. Or it might have just been to get something out to thaw for the evening meal, or simply taking a break. If I don’t get back on track, I will follow the stray course aimlessly, and feel at the end of the day that I had failed. Nothing was accomplished. What an awful feeling to end the day with. I needed to get my main objective back in my sights. It might have been something with a long term goal…something to aim for. Whatever the case, I constantly get off course, and at one point, I didn’t seem to care. However, it makes a big difference to me at this point in my life.

I do the very same thing in the yard. The yard itself is an overwhelmingly huge, and a daunting task that is constantly demanding attention. If I don’t have a plan, I will get sidetracked by something in the outer parameters that needs attention. If a flowerbed needs cleaning out, I will see something close by that needs trimming, and before you know it, I’ve moved down the entire side of the yard trimming, but not getting the flowerbed cleaned out. Before I am aware of it, I’ve started yet another huge project that one cannot possibly finish in one day and I did not achieve what I had set out to do. Therefore, my main goal has been thwarted. I suppose I need to wear blinders and carry a list on a string around my neck.

On a good day…that is, when there are no interruptions, I will forge through my self assigned task with the determination of an ant readying for the winter. Upon finishing the project, I pat myself on the back, shower, eat and fall into bed feeling the satisfaction of having completed the task. It’s a good feeling, and I almost always wake the next morning with that same good feeling of accomplishment. I’m then free to map out another project. These days just don’t happen very often. It’s an occasion to celebrate …out to eat and all.

House cleaning is a different matter. On “scattered” days, I will jump into a task with that same determination that I need to get started on a yard project…no plan at hand. As I wade into the middle of a mired mess I get totally overwhelmed and start picking through the debris to be moved, tossed or given away. Groan! What am I supposed to do with all this crap? If it’s mine, I can usually make a decision to toss or give away. If it’s not mine it's a different story. Thus; I have devised my “wandering figure eight” method of placing or redistributing the items that don’t belong. Lately, I’ve added a small laundry basket to toss things in that belong elsewhere. I simply start in a room that I’d planned to clean, tossing items in the basket that need to be elsewhere. When the basket is full, I move to the next room, placing items from the basket where they belong in that room and placing other items in the basket that need to be in other rooms; then move on to the next room mapped out in my figure eight. And so on through out the house until I’m back in the room where I started. After that, say, I need to dust or vacuum. That’s an easy one. There’s only one thing at a time to drag around with me in my figure eight. Dusting comes first, then starting over with vacuuming. Bathrooms are all together a different matter. That requires that I carry a small bucket with bathroom cleaning items in it, from one bathroom at a time. In the bucket are paper towels, rags, bathroom cleaner, toilet bowl cleaner and a scrubbing broom for the sunken shower. By the way, I’ve vowed never to even consider a house with a sunken tub again.

Cooking is also a different matter, but I’ve devised a plan that will eliminate the problem of leaving out a vital ingredient. I simply do what they do on cooking shows, lining everything up that I could possibly need to use, as well as a page magnifier for the directions on putting the ingredients together. I have been known to put the horse before the cart a number of times. For some reason, though, the cooking seems much more logical, and comes much easier than cleaning house. Perhaps it’s because I get to taste as I move along from step to step.

It’s the big stuff that really throws me off; you know, like big closets full of old clothes, Christmas decorations not used in 20 years, and those horrible drawers in the kitchen and other rooms that are designated as “valuable shit” drawers. Sorry if the term is as offensive as the drawers are. I cannot think of a more apt description. There are things like old booklets and warranties for things we no longer own, twisties, rubber bands, tack hammers, loose screws, dried up Super Glue and single shoe laces. These drawers literally bulge with “valuable shit”.

Here is where the logic comes in. Using such things as a reward is sometimes futile. So, I’ve decided that I would truly feel much more like completing a task in a timely fashion if I go ahead and take the reward beforehand. This will require a great deal of concentration and resolve on my part. I’ll have to have a plan. As a pre project incentive, I can pick something out that I’ve wanted to do, like go get a pedicure, or go have lunch with a friend. The logic in this is that it’s really an incentive, and the real reward comes after the completion of the task. It’s the wonderful feeling of having completed something that has always been so daunting. Get my drift?

So, the plan is in place to begin immediately after ringing in the New Year. This is going to be The Year of Completing Projects. 2010, here I come!

As I do daily, I wake to a new determination and declaration of an old new sense of values that inevitably wanes as the day, month and/or year progresses, as I get side tracked with the tedium of daily living. I remind myself that there are no big deals in life except for the miracle of life itself. No strife for me, as I remind myself that I can regroup and start my day over at any time of day I choose, with a new determination and declaration of an old sense of…

MY VERY OWN GRINCH

2009-12-09T04:07:00.000-08:00

Actually, he’s a very sweet Roy-Grinch, and I can see his frustration with this season, but I don’t know why he can’t just suck it up! I guess that, combined with our advancing age, ills and temperaments it causes this frustration that comes with the Christmas season, particularly the commercialism that has taken over. After all, it’s only once a year thing, and we’ve honed this gift giving thing down to a fine art. Besides, don’t we give these things because we want to share good cheer and good will of the season with the people we love? Have we lost the message in the madness?

Try to see this season in a positive light. The older we get, the more we can get away with. I, myself, will be first to tell a clerk, “Merry CHRISTMAS!” in advance of their “Happy Holidays” offering. This throws them off. I can be a bit of a bully at times. I just look them straight in the eye and say it very clearly; at which time some of them cast their eyes down, and glancing side to side, saying under their breath, “You too.” We don’t have to guess that their store managers have instructed them to say “Happy Holidays” instead of making any reference at all to CHRISTMAS, as it could possibly offend customers that do not observe our Christmas celebration. Bah! And Humbug! to them if they can’t take the heat. I’ve never seen anyone go off on a clerk for saying “Merry Christmas” to a customer. Most, though, do reply back with a hearty “Merry Christmas to you, too!”

Over they years, I seem to have developed the Little Red Hen attitude, I have been giving myself first billing on all cards and gifts, as my special Roy-Grinch is not the one who wraps, decorates, bakes, mails gifts to all the grands and cleans the house in preparation of the upcoming Christmas celebration. He usually takes one big shopping trip with me to buy gifts. The rest of his shopping is done piece meal, and none of my business. Granted, he did get the tree out of the rafters in the garage, and he generously contributes his share of $$’s to the Christmas cause. He has actually wrapped gifts to me to stick under the tree in the living room. He points them out and dares me to touch or, God forbid, damage any of the wrapping. “NO PEEKING!!!!!” He says. "And stay out of my closet!" Geeeeeeezzzzze what-a-Grinch!

The grandkids are getting a little harder to buy for, as their interests change with every inch of growth. But, it so much fun to go to the toy department and actually play with some of the toys, and see what new fangled contraptions toy companies have come up with to entertain these smart kids. I’ve finished baking cookies and other homemade libations to mail to our grandchildren. Actually, I got it all mailed today! I’m nearly done with the shopping. Just a few more items to pick up, and I’m waiting for the arrival of a special order. There are stocking stuffers and some birthday items that I need to pick up, as my special Roy-Grinch is having a birthday just before Christmas. What a bummer! But, he doesn’t even carp or fuss about it being so close to Christmas. In fact, he just doesn’t mention it. For that he gets extra points.

Yesterday, I finally dragged the “pre-lit-tree-with-no-lights-on-it” out of the garage and assembled it in the living room. Last year I gave up on trying to keep the lights working on it and ripped them all off. I didn’t like the “Retro-multicolored lights” that were on it anyway. The Grinch bought two boxes of 300 white mini-lites for it without even batting an eye. Give the Roy-Grinch some good points. It’s actually going to be a pretty tree. He also built a wooden stand to put it on, so it would be even taller and we could fit more presents under it.

While I was fluffing out the branches of the un-pre-lit tree, our dog Hank started pacing and drooling. For some reason, the tree made him nervous. I guess old farts just don’t like change. After a bit, he started walking under the branches and actually scratching his back on them. The tree teetered dangerously, so I removed the tree from the wooden stand. Hey! It looks better that way, and Hank quit passing under it to scratch his back. He actually settled down to watch me finish assembling it. I left it that way for Roy-Grinch to see before putting lights on it. Again, he didn’t bat an eye at my decision to not use the wooden box stand. More points in his favor.

I know that I’m going to be decorating this tree myself, as it is the Roy-Grinche’s own tradition to just watch. When I’m done, he will put a single ornament in place on the tree, and we will turn on the tree lights and turn off the living room lights. We will sit on the couch, holding hands, to admire our beautiful little Christmas tree … my hero, our dog and me. He really is my hero, even if he’s a bit of a Grinch once a year. We are ready for Christmas and whatever it brings. There will be Peace on Earth and good will to spread with my hero the Good-Grinch, our good dog, Hank and me.
BRING IT!

STILL CLUTTERED AFTER ALL THESE YEARS - Different Stuff.

2009-11-10T06:16:00.001-08:00

Ever take a good look at the items on your nightstand? What was on my night stand 20 years ago….maybe 40 years ago? Take an inventory yourself and then compare it to what was there 40 years ago. What lurks on the kitchen table, kitchen counter, and on the bathroom sink, and God forbid, in the medicine cabinet? It’s certainly not the same. Good science fiction is made of this stuff.

I’m aiming this at myself and my Baby Boomer peers. As I dusted around all the stuff on my nightstand, I thought about how things have changed over the many years. Among other things, there has always been the pair of reading glasses and a box of tissue. Many things have been added over the years. I know this, because it’s more difficult to move everything to dust…when I get around to it. Each time I dust, I gather up most of the stuff and put it into one of the three drawers below. Each time I go to dust, there it is again, out on top of the nightstand for the world to see.

On my nightstand, a stack of books to read has always been there, reading glasses, a box of tissue, my inhaler, eye drops, Mentholatum, Halls Lozenges, a saline solution nose spray, nail file, hand/body lotion, a note pad, a pad of Post-Its, a pencil, a pen and a white-out pen (for the daily crossword in the newspaper), and a plastic bag of doggie treats. I’d say that’s a far cry from what anyone of my generation would have had on their nightstand 40 years ago; and I daresay that what’s there now is pretty similar to most of my Boomer peers. I didn’t mention the remote control, and/ or the phone, as they’re not always there. Those are community items.

On my kitchen table, there is a pair of reading glasses, a large spiral notebook with a pencil stuck in the spine; one of those nice thick spirals with four partitions for semesters, I guess. With the pencil, I’ve divided each page into quarters as I go along. Each quarter is one day. On each quarter is a list of things to do, look up, research, oil change, things to get at the store and people to contact. And, most important, doctor, dental and eye exam appointments. As I turn the pages, it seems to get more complicated. There are Post-Its added on each page; notes of my notes. This is because while I do figure eights through the house, cleaning as I go, I keep a Post-It pad on me with a pencil behind my ear. I’m afraid I’ll forget to do or buy something vital. Today, I have to buy Antioxidants, my Spiriva, a toilet tank arm with chain for the master bathroom, and a few items at the grocery store. As I go along, I write down new items or chores that need to be done. I slap them down on the designated day in my big spiral. That’s a pretty good system, that admittedly, I took the idea from my #2 daughter. But, as I recall, there was a time when I didn’t need to make a list.

On my kitchen counter is a recipe book standing in a wooden holder that the Royster made for me many years ago, a pair of reading glasses, a box of tissue, on the tea cart, a huge canister of Metamucil, tomatoes in the window to be turned every other day, my beloved stereo in the window above the sink. I didn’t mention that there are various decorative items (dust catchers) in the window. Everyone has them…don’t they?

Today, I have various cleaning items lined up on the counter to remind me that there is dust that needs tending to. Usually, I just write my name or a message in the dust and go on to the really obvious stuff. However, my ceiling fans look like they’re all wearing angora sweaters. It has worked in the past to just leave the fans on 24/7. But, as I walked into the living room last week to discover what looked like little caterpillars on the carpet. Hank was giving them a curious look. Upon investigating, I discovered that they were nice thick two inch long pieces of dust. The fan had just been flinging little pieces off. I turned off the ceiling fan and studied on how to get the dust off the fan 24’ up in the air. Several years ago, The Royster devised an extended cane fishing pole with a feather duster at the end. It’s his invention, so I’ll let him use it. I know I’ll have a clean up to do after he’s done.

On the bathroom sink counter, is a small freestanding cabinet that I insisted on to help keep the clutter on the sink counter corralled. It worked beautifully for a week. The Royster hates the cabinet, even though he performed the “some assembly required” task. The clutter keeps spilling out of the cabinet onto the counter. There does seem to be the alternative of built in sliding door cabinets under the vanity mirror. That doesn’t seem to be an option right now. I just put the overflow in the medicine cabinet or under the sink.

Where does it all come from? It just seems to mate and propagate! We always open the medicine cabinet slowly, to avoid getting conked on the head by something falling out. There are all kinds of OTC remedies, patches, salves ointments and sprays for joint pain along various other OTC pain relievers. If one is bad for your liver, the other is bad for your kidneys. According to doctors who care about us, we Boomers are supposed to use the Tylenol exclusively. That’s the one that’s bad for your kidneys. I guess you can get a spare kidney easier than you can get a spare liver. Vitamins take up a great deal of space, and prescription meds for the both of us do end up on the sink ….where we can see them and remember to take them. Both of us try to keep the prescription stuff down to a minimum, though our dentist has prescribed a pain reliever “to have on hand”. That has been “on hand” long enough that it might be time to throw it out and start over. Neither of us likes to take pain medication, as it’s terribly constipating. I did not mention various pots and jars of miracle lotions and creams and make-up because it’s a given. Besides, I try to keep all that corralled in the cabinet. No sense in giving away all my beauty secrets.

In the “water closet” on the back of the toilet; matches, candles, reading glasses, and a small waste basket with various reading material stacked on it and a box of baby wipes off to the side. Don’t ask. If I didn’t say Preparation H, it’s because I know someone else will say it.

Finally, I’m embarrassed to say that this stuff has been haunting counters and nightstands long enough that I cannot for the life of me remember what used to be there. Someone please remind me. Was there ever room for a small plate of cookies?

COMFORTABLE IN THE BRIAR PATCH

2009-11-03T06:30:00.001-08:00

The discussion was about being on Facebook, playing games and/or taking up a hobby like researching ones own genealogy; and how much of a waste of time it was or was not.

My friend said, “I just don’t do that stuff….It’s such a waste of time.” … and … “I, I … just can’t allow myself to do that. I just don’t have the time!”

I wasted no time with a retort. “You’re retired, you love to communicate, you text and you’re having a second awakening! Who told you that you can’t take up a hobby, communicate with friends from the past or play?”

I know for a fact that this friend is retired, frets, worries and texts. Could renewing an old talent, an old friendship, opening new avenues to communication, or playing games be any more a waste of time than worrying, fretting and texting? And, who said it was a waste of time? Is it not creative, informative and fun? Granted some of these games are like crack cocaine to some of us. All of these thoughts brought me to thoughts of the human psyche, and how we can fashion statements to ourselves and apply them, just to keep us in a self imprisoning comfort zone. I don’t think that we were originally (genetically) wired for comfort, but more probably we were wired for challenge and survival, and not necessarily in that order.

Is there anyone out there that doesn’t have a comfort zone in the most inhospitable places of their psyche? A place where, no matter how inconvenient, financially draining, painful or sad, a person can find more alleged comfort in that place than they would find making a change or a shift to a spot more encouraging, happy, spiritually uplifting and infinitely more affable and fitting. This is the place where we hide, locked in from everyone else in a place to cry, mourn, grieve, struggle and wallow in self pity. And yet, we seem to be happy there. How utterly uninspiring. Therapists call this a Comfort Zone. I call it my Briar Patch.

It doesn’t matter what our comfort zone/briar patch is made up of. It’s an excuse. It could be holding back from applying for the job that could be, putting off getting on a healthier way of life, putting off setting money aside for savings, keeping to yourself and never joining anything, not reconnecting with old friends or not taking up an old love such as art, reading or writing. It is still squandering all your time so that there is never any left for anything that would get us out of there. Whatever it is, we’re all sealed up in our own little world, closing our eyes to the possibilities and potentialities that are right there in front of us. If we don’t go “out there”, then we can’t be turned down, hurt or left out. No challenges for sure!

As I said before, virtually everyone has one of these Comfort Zones that we are in and out of. We are just not aware of the subtle change from being in the real world to snuggling in your own misery. We feel safe there. (And, I do like to refer to mine as my Briar Patch.) Hmmmm … Very odd indeed. Why do we find this place comfortable? It just doesn’t make any sense at all. The answer is as odd as the question itself. Fear … Fear of making a change, or taking a risk, that would change things. The genuine (but irrational) fear that if we take a step out of that “safe” place, that we might fail, or even worse, that we might succeed; and if we did happen to succeed, then possibly we might be expected to succeed again and again. Practice makes perfect, so it seems logical that we’d want to come on out of there and succeed until we get it right. But no. We use every measure of procrastination available to stay in our “comfort zone / briar patch”, never to be all we could be.

What if …… God forbid ….. we should step outside this little space we have confined ourselves to? What then would take place in our world? And, what if we should find that we hate it? What if we decide we like it? Are we so pig-headed that we just want to prove a point? Or, are we so insecure in our own abilities that we can’t believe for a second that we could actually enjoy success of one kind or another.

Let’s say we decide to be brave and come out of there and rock the boat, shake things up a bit! What would happen? Brer Bear and Brer Fox might certainly be after us. But, we have out run them before. We can do it again. And in the meantime, we are running towards something else … something like a goal. I have heard that you’re only a failure if you give up. Isn’t giving up just not trying? In hiding in that Comfort Zone, or Briar Patch, aren’t we then doomed to failure because the only thing we are trying to do is stay in there? It would be logical to assume that if we don’t come out of there, then we are setting ourselves up to fail, so we don’t have to take a chance.

Come out of there this instant! Come out and meet the challenges you are meant to meet. Come out of there and live a longer and happier life!

Well, I can say I am truly inspired by my own pep talk! That's why I'm still sitting here in my pajamas at my computer at 9:00 a.m. Actually .... I'm out of here!

WHERE NO MAN HAS GONE….. Recently

2009-10-28T06:49:00.000-07:00

This year, our annual off-season vacation took us to see Bryce Canyon and Zion. The canyons along the Utah and Arizona border are a series of elevated steps on a Grand Geologic Staircase. I’d never thought of it that way.

Our vacation started out with the usual list of things for me to pack. After The Royster booked airlines, vehicles and accommodations, I lined up our suitcases in the living room and started tossing various items in the bags, crossing items off the list as I go. Bear in mind, that it wouldn’t be a real vacation if I didn’t forget something. This time I didn’t forget anything … I don’t think, but I did pack the wrong down vest for The Royster. It used to be his, but he outgrew it over a period of 40 years. Suffice to say, it was an unpleasant surprise. But, I had mine! As it turned out, I could not get everything in the suit cases, no matter how hard I tried. We were to leave early Thursday morning. Something had to be done. So, I kenneled our dog, Hank, and headed out to buy larger piece of luggage. Hiking boots take up a lot of room, as do coats and sweatshirts.

We flew out to Las Vegas, picked up our rent car and found a Wal-Mart. We bought an ice chest and food for our stay in a log cabin. Our first destination was Panguitch, Utah. We loaded up the car and then headed for Utah. And, though we had been in Utah two or three times before, I’d never heard of Panguitch until The Royster booked our accommodations there. It was a log cabin, built in 1863, was restored and added to. The location was out in the middle of nowhere … a ranch. There is a main house, and three cabins. Ours was the smaller, older one … very quaint, indeed. Everything we would need was furnished. All we needed to bring was food and clothing.

When we got there, we dragged in our massive luggage and started looking around. It was perfect! The view was beautiful, and our cabin backed up to the horse pasture. The bed room was upstairs in the loft. There was a small furnished kitchen with dining area, a bathroom, and a living room with a fireplace. What more could we ask for? I looked around the living room and noticed that there was no television.

“Hey! There’s not a T.V. down here! Guess it’s upstairs in the bedroom.” I said.

“Nope, it’s not.” Said The Royster, leaning over the railing from upstairs.

So much for our T.V. habit of morning and evening news, CNN and Bloomberg, sports and the Discovery channels. And how on earth would be wake up in the morning without the news automatically coming on?

About that time, our hostess trotted up to the back door to see that we were comfortable. I mentioned that there was no T.V. She said that being the rustic cabin that it was, they decided that the theme should continue that way with no T.V. It was the only cabin that didn’t have one. FINE! We’d just have to read, play games and talk to each other. And, actually, it wasn’t so bad. We did read, talk and played some Farkle. After all, most of our time was spent going to Bryce Canyon and surrounding sites of interest. I think that to make up for our disappointment in not having a T.V., our hostess brought us freshly baked chocolate chip cookies daily while we were there. That helped a lot. One day she brought zucchini bread. There were three horses and a filly that we fed apples and pears to ... more new BFFE's.

Also, during our stay in the cabin, we were graced with a visit almost every morning by a beautiful Golden Lab named Jesse. He would show up at breakfast, just waiting at the door (no barking included) to be invited in. He would politely go sniffing around in the kitchen, including the garbage; no action was taken there, then the living room. He would sit and wait to be given a morsel left over from breakfast, and then help himself to a nice spot in front of the fire place. We totally ate this up. What a wonderful new friend! When we were checking out to head to Zion, our host said, “What a con-dog! He’s not allowed in the house!” I guess we’re just suckers for that kind of thing, because we missed our own con-dog, Hank. In addition to that, we were treated to about 20 turkeys marching across the pasture behind our cabin.

Bryce Canyon was just plain awesome! It’s hard to believe that all of that was formed by wind, and water. The Steps, being The Grand Canyon, Zion, and Bryce, took 200 million years to form. We walked and climbed on various levels of Bryce, going back and forth to each station to catch specific formations with the sun shining just right. While The Royster took pictures, I made two new best friends. Ravens are very smart, and they can pick out a sucker in a large crowd from a mile away. Two of them, a male and a female, spotted “the cracker lady” immediately. I was willing, too! I found them to be very friendly, and even gentle. You wouldn’t think they’d be gentle, but the female, (being the larger of the two) just hopped up beside me as though she was going to take my hand off, and then very gingerly plucked the morsel from my fingers. They were soon showing up at each station just as we arrived, taking turns receiving the host of Ritz Crackers. There was one raven that just let everyone that drove up know that he owned that spot by pecking loudly on the fender of whichever car that he decided was in violation of a parking rule.

The rock formations, or Hoo Doos were awe inspiring. They were many and varied, depending on the location. My favorites were in the Devil’s Garden. This one is located about a 16.5 mile drive down Hole-in-the-Rock Road. It’s a dirt road from Escalante Rte. 12. You can just wander around, look and climb. It’s not a really big area, but non-the-less, extremely inspiring. The rock formations are smooth, and just very appealing to look at.

We moved on to Zion, in Springdale, Utah; staying at the Bumbleberry Inn. The room was a generous size and the view was a spectacular red mountain seen off our balcony. We dumped our luggage and sat on the balcony to relax and enjoy the view. After a moment, we realized that immediately behind our unit was a farm at the bottom of the mountain. There was a really well built duck pond with about 18-20 mallard ducks swimming. I thought it was odd that there were three gorgeous roosters pecking around in the grass in the same enclosure. One of the ducks would quack a “statement”, at which all the others would chime in. To me, it sounded as though one of them had just told a joke that the others found uproariously funny. After they finished their dip in the pond, the ducks all assembled in a spot in the sun to dry and preen. After a few moments, the three roosters joined them. This seemed to be a set routine. The roosters started prancing around the pond, followed by all of the ducks, in a single file. Hmmmm … a duck parade, led by three very colorful roosters. What a sight! Sorry … was so entranced that I didn’t get a picture of it.

That was the beginning of our entertainment in Zion. The first really good picture we got was a picture of a big horn sheep at the east entrance to the park. We just happened to stop at the right place at the right time, because there just aren’t a whole lot of them there, and only on the east side of the park. He appeared to be fairy young by the size of his horns. It’s just plain baffling how they just trot horizontally across the face of a steep mountain.

Zion Park is different from Bryce Canyon, whereas you just drive from station to station in Bryce. In Zion, you take a bus from your hotel to the park at no cost. Springdale is so small that besides parking at your hotel, there just isn’t any parking. Once you got to the park, you would take another bus. This time, you could get off at any of about six stops to wander and investigate, hike and/or climb all you want; depending on your physical condition and/or desire to exert a lot of energy … or not until the park closes. Buses run until about 9 p.m. We certainly did our share of hiking, but declined the rock climbing and the longest paths. There were rock climbers that we saw on the straight up and down faces of the mountains. When they walked through the park, they clinked with all their climbing gear. The Royster and I decided that neither of us needed that kind of adrenalin rush. Hmmmm ….. possibly in another life … Nah!

We did manage to see the Emerald Pools, Hanging Gardens and the River Hike along the Virgin River. The river hike was long enough, but at the point where the canyon narrows, you had to walk 97% in the water. Since it was cold enough, being in October, we declined that part. We noticed one brave couple forging on to wade through the cold water into the narrows. There is a big-screen movie to watch about the ancients that lived there and what they used these narrows for. It was very interesting. There was a clay pot of corn on display that was found in tact, and estimated to be at least 1000 years old. Mostly, we did our own investigating, climbing and hiking.

Towards the end of our stay there, we were driving along one leg of the road on the East side. You had to go into a tunnel through a mountain. That ride is over 1.5 miles. That ride alone is awesome. By-the-way, there are big windows through out the tunnel for ventilation.

As we drove along on the east entrance road, we would stop to get out and investigate. At one place, the rock was smooth, colorful and inviting. We stopped to snoop around. Roy immediately climbed down and found a narrow canyon to wander through. I can’t really explain the feeling you get when you walk through one of these. Awesome is good, but it would be more a spiritual experience. As I was following his voice from above, I spied an opening that can only be described as a cave. How did he miss that? I directed him, via voice, to that opening, and followed his voice. I kept asking Roy how far he was in the tunnel, as his voice kept getting further and further away. The Royster said he kept taking pictures in the dark so that he could see where he was going. Eventually, after a curve in the tunnel, he reached the other end, which came out on the other side of the road. I was chomping at the bit to climb down, and finally found a place were there was less chance of breaking my neck. After a bit of climbing, and delicate foot purchases, I made it down there, and we walked through the narrow canyon, and then we went to the cave. It was man made, but still … our footprints were the only human footprints there. This is where NO MAN HAS GONE … recently. It dawned on me after the fact that we had been trouncing around there as though we lived there; not bothering to watch were we were plodding along. The rattle snake is the only venomous snake there, and they were still out, looking for their places of hibernation. Believe me! I certainly paid more attention after that realization.

If it was not for the fact that there is still so much to see here in our U.S.A., we would make a return trip. Maybe we will anyway. You certainly could not see all of it in just eight days. The land outside the parks is beautiful, but the parks hold a special magic and spirituality, giving a person a feeling of reverence. Yup! I’d definitely go there again.

CURSE OF THE PURSE

2009-10-03T12:12:00.001-07:00

It’s a given. The All American Girl/Woman loves to buy shoes and purses. I do love shoes, and have written a long dissertation about having to clean out my closet, and part with some of the shoe collection that I had acquired over the years. I don’t know of any woman who easily gives up any of her beloved shoes. I did end up keeping some that, if not in style, will soon be back. It is also assumed that all women also love purses, and that they (we) keep a large horde of purses in the closet at all times; one to match each pair of shoes.

Purses are burdensome luggage. I have a sister that doesn’t carry a purse. She doesn’t even carry cash. She carries whatever card she intends to use in her pocket, along with her keys, and a lip gloss. I don’t really like carrying all that stuff around with me, but I find myself doing just that; carrying around a bunch of stuff that I don’t need. Maybe I thought I needed it when I stuck it in there. When was the last time I came rushing forward in an emergency with an item that happened to be in my purse? Never, would be the answer to that. I find myself carrying a purse that can carry a cell phone, wallet, check book, credit cards, a bag within that purse of make-up repair items, comb, brush, small hair spray, possibly a small curling iron, hand sanitizer, hand lotion, chewing gum, cough drops, Pro-Air inhaler, a dozen assorted pens, a measuring tape, a compass (now really!), receipts from everywhere I’ve been in the past month, and wads of unused tissue that I thought I might need. Well it started out neatly folded and ready for any sneeze. This is not to mention all of the “crumbs” at the bottom of the purse, like safety pens, paper clips, wadded gum wrappers, and who knows what else. How did I ever fit a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in there back when I smoked? What was next ….. a pint of…oh, well never mind.

Every year, I decide that I need to pare down to a size that only carries barest essentials. Those little crocheted bags called The Sack are great. What a great start for the New Year. They are light, and it keeps me from loading unnecessary items into it that just won’t fit. The only make up I find I use during any busy day is lipstick…No, I take that back. I mostly use my Burt’s Bees lip balm. That’s even better. This is perfect. Only taking what I’ll need for the day requires that I think every morning, before leaving the house, about where I’ll be at any time during the day, and what I will need. The givens are, keys, cash, driver’s license, health insurance card, pen, perhaps one check, maybe a credit card, a couple of cough drops, inhaler, cell phone, and a pen. That should do it. There is a box of tissue in the truck. I’m all set.

This works for a while, but there are occasions where I will require a few more items, like when we went boating with friends a few weeks ago. Of course I would need sun screen, hair brush, face moisturizer, and some “enhancement” items, possibly some deodorant, a change of clothes. Okay, I got a big bag out and added all those items, and then just popped my little purse inside that. STOP! This is just what I’ve been trying to avoid, but it’s only for a day on the lake. After we got home after a day of boating, I dumped my huge bag in the chair in the kitchen, where it remained for the rest of the week end, only taking the small purse out to carry to the store a time or two.

And so, it started all over again with that burdensome baggage that the All American Girl/Woman carries around. The next week, I found myself loading the whole thing in the back seat of my truck to go to the store, and then just taking the little sack in with me. You never know when you will need a fresh change of clothes or sun screen after having cruised around in Kroger for 30 minutes.

We are taking our fall vacation to Utah in a couple of weeks. Needless to say I’m really stoked about it. My fashion sense has kicked in, as it does on rare occasions. I simply cannot carry that tiny, cream colored, crocheted sack in the fall in Utah, while hiking through parks and canyons. This thought gnawed at me for a couple of days last week until I just had to find something else more practical, and preferably something that made better fashion sense. I also needed a pair of brown jeans to go with the brown and pink tennis shoes that The Royster gave me a couple of years ago. Off to Kohl’s I went. On my list were 1) brown jean, 2) a practical top to match, and 3) a practical yet fashionable bag for trip.

On arrival at Kohl’s I went straight for the Ladies Jeans. Starting at the back wall, where the jeans are neatly folded in little cubicles on the wall according to size, I searched for brown jeans. I worked my way up to the front of that department and saw some very nice looking Gloria Vanderbilt stretch jeans, and in brown. I looked for my size, hoping that I had dropped back down to a more acceptable size. Then I looked for that same size in long. No luck, but I picked up a pair and started looking for a matching top. That didn’t take long. Found a light pull over knit brown, pink and cream…Perfect! I headed to the dressing room. I was pleasantly surprised to find that the jeans not only fit, but were long enough. What a bonus! I headed to the purses.

Not being much of an expert on purses, simply because I resent having to carry all that stuff, I didn’t know where to start. There was another woman in the area, looking at the kind of bag I was interested in. We chatted about which purses were practical and which were not…..Your guess is as good as mine. I finally saw one that I thought would fill the bill; a very nice, large brown, leather-like purse. The leather-like material was soft. Yes there were inside compartments for a cell phone, make-up and a slot for whatever I could fit in it. The strap was wide enough and soft enough that it wouldn’t cut into my shoulder. Off I went to buy my selections. I felt very fashion savvy, indeed.

Upon arriving home with my purchases, I carefully removed all the tags, and hung the jeans and knit top in the closet. I hung the purse on the back of a kitchen chair, so that I could see it and start planning what to put in it for the trip. The big straw bag that I had packed for the boat outing was still in the chair, filled with all the necessary items for outing, plus my little crocheted sack. I’ll just sort that stuff later.

Yesterday, knowing that we would be going out to eat with friends, I dutifully unloaded the straw purse, and stored it back in the top shelf of my closet. I threw away all wadded tissue, threw away or put away anything I didn’t want to load into the new bag, and started putting essentials into the new bag. I even put away the little cream colored sack; an awfully brave move for me. Into the new purse went cell phone, wallet with check book, all essential cards, hair brush, cough drops, two pens, make-up bag, Pro-Air inhaler, a pack of gum, pictures of grands, hand sanitizer and car keys. I hefted it up with my right hand to check the weight. Hmmmm. Yup! That’s about right. It could probably give someone a concussion. I opened it up and peeked in. Holy smoke! The only thing I could see was what my next purchase would be. Tomorrow I’ll go buy one of those small LED stick up lights to stick on the inside, just so I can see where I’m going in there. Satisfied with that, I went to dress for dinner.

At dinner, the other two ladies at the table commented on what a lovely new bag I had, and marveled at what a big girl thing I had done, not only in buying a new purse, but a big one. You see, they know me well enough to know how I hate carrying a bag at all, and how hard it was for me to buy a new big bag! "Awww, Sweetie, you did the big girl thing!" Thank you ladies, for understanding!

BACK WHEN WE WERE CUTE AND ADORABLE

2009-09-22T10:23:00.000-07:00

Back in the 60’s we wore flowers in our hair, Earth Shoes, granny glasses, love beads and hip-slung bell bottoms, declared by George Carlin to be “big enough to house a hippie commune under each leg”.

The Vietnam War was going on and we protested or joined. Either way, we had our own strong beliefs. That war was not an "official" war, but it went on from 1961 through 1975. It was said that that war was to keep communism from spreading. Vietnam was split in 1954 into two parts; the communist north, and the democratic south. During that war, about 58,200 Americans were killed; friends, family and school mates. There were some 304,000 wounded out of the 2.59 million who served in the war. Families of the dead, MIA's and injured still suffer to this day. After the war, Indonesia, Singapore, Thailand, Malaysia and the Philippines stayed free from communism. During the war, our national debt was increased by $146 billion.

We grew our own vegetables, and other green things; and learned to can and preserve the food we grew. We made bread, sewed our own clothes and made our own candles. We drove Volkswagen Vans and beat up old school buses painted with flowers to represent who we were and what we stood for. We were rebellious and we loved our music. The music was like a news flash to us. We couldn’t get enough of it. We saw the Beatles’ debut on the Ed Sullivan Show on February 9th of 1964. The Beatles, God bless them, brought rock ‘n’ roll a new definition … a new dimension, and we loved them immediately! I was at the Knights of Columbus Hall in Fort Worth with our C.Y.O. group. That was an unforgettable event and back when we were cute and adorable.

Our generation of Baby Boomer hippies followed on the heels of people like Woody Guthrie and Jack Kerouac, of the Beat Generation. Those people and events culminated to what became an earthshaking generation of the people that we were in the 60’s, and are still today; and to bring together the biggest gathering of people and music in our history, combined to shout our message to the world in a small rural town of Bethel, New York from August 15th to August 18th, 1969. We called it Woodstock. We had a message to get across, and we did it in a huge way … and we were cute and adorable, and our parents were horrified.

We had toned muscles, smooth skin, long hair, agility, stamina, and most of us could read a newspaper without holding it at arms length away and without reading glasses. We were enthusiastic and passionate about our beliefs, and stood up for them. We paid attention to news headlines and had our own strong political beliefs and ideals. We dared to protest, and held fast to our dreams.

Some of us mourn the passing of our youth. Our muscles softened, skin got lax, and we cut our graying hair. Most of us don’t have the stamina and agility we used to have, but we still read the newspaper, and we still get excited about what we believe in, what we’ve nourished for the past 40+ years. The world as we knew it in the 50’s and 60’s will never be the same. We still keep up with each other, and we still love each other. I’m wondering just how many of us realize the impact we Baby Boomers have had on society to this very day. Our peace sign prevails to this day. We have our place in history, and a remarkable one at that. I’m proud to be a part of that generation that has carried us through so much, and is still carrying us. We are stronger for it, and we still stand up for ourselves, and our beliefs. We make a difference in how things are run, and we are still cute and adorable, no matter what age.

Today children dress up as hippies for Halloween. They come to the door wearing flowers in their hair, granny glasses, love beads and hip-slung bell bottoms. They hold up two fingers, saying “Peace brother!” and "Make love, not war!" They bear the peace symbol that encompasses what we stood for and still stand for. My heart thumps with pride seeing them, because they are so cute and adorable. Just like we were and still are today. Long live our legend and long may our story be told!

Hummingbird Wars and Dragonflies

2009-09-03T00:38:00.000-07:00

This is the time of year when the hummingbirds start coming around, and the dragonflies are hatched, mating, laying eggs and just looking magnificent. At dawn on any given day, we can go out to sit on the deck or patio and just watch the little hummers start their day by defending their assigned feeder. Some hover high up in the tree tops to get a good view of who’s in the neighborhood, while others light on a near by tree limb. They are very territorial and ferocious little fighters, and there can never be enough feeders out for them. There is a sentry for each one.

They weren’t at war this morning … just a few females darting back and forth to the feeders. They seemed to be taunting each other. This one is MY feeder. All others stay away! On occasion, one of them would dart over to another’s feeder; only to be fiercely chassed away by the sentry assigned to that feeder.

About two years ago they were so plentiful that there would be about 15 or more flying right over our heads on the patio. We had five feeders out, and each one was guarded by a different hummingbird. You could hear them smack in mid air. They are tenacious little creatures, never leaving their post. They hide in the trees above the feeders, watching for trespassers. As soon as one lights on a feeder the sentry assigned to that one darts out of the trees to chase them off, and sometimes they wage war.

Getting out to the battlefield early, I was armed only with my bowl of cereal, a cup of coffee and my trusty watch dog, Hank. As we sat there on the patio watching the war, I noticed that Hank was paying close attention to the lawn chairs on the patio. Upon closer examination, I saw that that there were little pink spots all over the patio chairs. Oh! My gosh! It’s hummingbird poo! Good job, Hank! I finished my cereal, and then got the hose to spray it down. Little did I know that this was going to be a morning ritual for a couple of weeks more. The Royster managed to get some really good pictures of these tiny warriors in mid-flight.

As the days went by, we invited people over to enjoy watching the warring little birds defend the feeders. Their numbers increased, and at times we couldn’t count how many of the little hummers were buzzing round our heads. They weren’t afraid of us, and some would come within an inch of my ear, zooming about. When they’d fight in mid air, and as I said before, we could hear them smack together. They are very tough little birds, but unfortunately, we found a couple of casualties. Our guests didn’t seem to mind the little pink dots on their clothing, if they noticed at all, and darned if I was going to tell them if they couldn’t figure it out for themselves. Why spoil a perfectly good show.

In the late afternoon, the dragonflies make a splendid appearance in great numbers. They zoom in and out of plants and soar off to other flowers. I found that I could coax a dragonfly off of the plant that it lit and onto a stick that I held. Not only would the beauty stay on the stick for long periods of time; but even if you startled it away, it would fly back to light on the end of the stick over and over again. I could study up close the color, the eyes, the gossamer wings, and the segmented body of the dragonfly. Eventually, I got one to sit on my hand. What a beautiful creature! For some reason I felt very privileged as well as empowered. At the same time I felt humbled that such a beautiful thing could choose to study me as well. It stayed there for a long time. I was totally enchanted, studying the dragonfly at every angle. Eventually it flew off.

I had the opportunity a few weeks ago to show a bunch of children how to catch a dragonfly and study it. They too were enchanted. They spent the next hour, each trying to catch their own dragonfly on a stick. Nearly all of them were successful. My day was made.

I‘ve always wondered if it wasn’t a sign of getting old, or older to be so enrapt with the nature in my own back yard, whether it’s feeding the squirrels and watching their antics or spying at woodpeckers, jays, mockingbirds and hawks with the binoculars. And, if that means getting old or older, then I will take it.

GARDEN CONVERSATIONS

2009-08-24T06:46:00.000-07:00

Conceivably, I am not the only one that talks to ghosts. Lord knows, there are plenty of opportunities. I believe that if you are thinking about someone you have loved, and that has passed on, they come to comfort or give advice and/or moral support and encouragement. Certainly, none of the spirits I talk to or listen to are there to give ill-advice or to do any harm at all. They just sort of pop up as I work in the garden.

Dad pops in once in a while to tell me to use a bale of hay and some manure in the flower beds. He was always growing something. He was an Ag major at Cornell before he enlisted in the Marines. Just think if he’d been able to finish college after the war.

Mom was always planting bluebonnets and iris in the side bed by the driveway. She just follows and chats pleasantly…mostly keeping me company while I rake, chop and weed. Her forte was mostly in the literary field. Sometimes she follows me around in the house.

My grandmother, we call Munnie, is usually right over my shoulder. That’s some task, as she was pretty short in stature. She stands there in her apron and her tight little fist on her hip. She advises me, “You should do your gardening as soon as light hits. It’s too hot out here for you.” And a little later, “Your mint is doing very well!” “Next year, you should plant a vegetable garden.” And, “It’s very good to stay busy! That way you stay out of trouble!” She was always worried about that....keeping me out of trouble.

My grandfather, aka, Granddad, talks to me of many things. His philosophies are genuine and amusing at the same time. He tells the story of Jonah and the Whale. “M’liss, someday, people are going to read that ‘Harry was in a pickle’, and they're gonna believe it!” He told that one to me when explaining his philosophy of the Bible just before I married. He likes my fruit trees, and oddly, he loves my little cactus plants….specifically the giant pencil cactus that Anne gave me years ago. It was only a little thing then.

Speaking of cactus….There’s Aunt Ollie. To some of us she was Aunt Cactus, because at times, she could be a bit prickly. She’s another that’s always there. She actually answers some of my questions. She usually makes her presence know with the same question, “Harvested any broomsticks today?” No, I don’t fly them. Mine is the latest model….solar powered Dyson. Actually, Aunt Ollie used to come get me to help her work in her yard when I was just a little girl. She would say to Mom, “Sis, I need to borrow Missy. That child could grow a broomstick!”

My sister, Joanie is another one who is ever present. She detested working in the yard, but she loves the Plumbago plants in the back yard, and loves to hang around in my tropical pathway near the shower. I think she likes the calm there. Mostly, she just smiles. Sometimes, she asks me questions about my life. Other times, she tells me that she so happy that I’m happy. Our conversations really help me sort things out.

There are ghosts in the house too. Gammie, our Yankee grandmother, hovers over me when I set the table. She is most proud that I remember exactly how she taught me to set a table. Down here, in the South, it's called "laying the table". She also reminds me regularly to polish my silver. That seemed to be a good thing to give little girls to do. You know … to keep them busy so they wouldn’t become heathens. Well, part of that worked. I do polish my silver. Now, being a grandmother, I understand why they worried so about their granddaughters and grandsons ... but mostly about the granddaughters.

My Great Aunt Bibi is still looking for a tissue. We went to see her in a retirement home when Barbara was a baby, about 40 years ago. She is Bibi’s namesake. "When she saw us, she immediately got teary, saying, "Oh! It's Georgie's little girl!" Then, she frantically looked for tissue stored in her ample bosom, saying; “I know I had two of them when I came in here.” I keep a box of Kleenex on the tea cart in the kitchen for Aunt Bibi.

Lastly, the father of my daughters comes around on occasion. I think he wants me to know he’s also watching the girls. And, sometimes, I tell on them to him, as if he didn’t already know. I guess I'm hoping that he haunts them too. He lets me know that he is calm and at peace now.

Conversations with these friendly and loving spirits helps my chores in the garden move smoothly and it goes much faster. I feel that I have the company and comfort of these people who used to walk among us. I believe they are here to comfort us and take away our fears of dying and death, to make us more conscious and grateful of what we have today … right here and now.

There are more, and there are some that haven’t yet come to visit. Haven’t heard from Uncle George, Uncle Torch or Aunt Joanie, Aunt Mary Ann or Uncle Danny. I have fond memories of them, and I expect they will come to visit, sooner or later. I hope they do. They are welcomed here.

MY LEFT BRAIN

2009-07-28T13:06:00.000-07:00

I did not coin the phrase My Left Brain. It came from a very gifted speaker and comedian, Jeanne Robertson. I saw one of her videos on the subject, and decided that it just fits perfectly for this article. I refer to my Magnificent Other, also known as The Royster. I say that this fits perfectly, because we seem to supply a balance of choices between us. It’s worked out that way.

Strange I should wake this morning thinking how different we are from Men. I’ve told the Royster many times, “If I were any more like you, you wouldn’t like me very much!” I say this when he’s trying to sway me to his way of doing things. I will admit that he has some pretty good, almost ingenious ideas, but they are not always the way I see things. My way works very nicely for me most of the time, and my question to anyone trying to sway me to their way of thinking or doing things would be, Since my way works perfectly for me, would you be willing to abandon your way, and do it my way? I’ve asked this question of anyone challenging my way of getting around a computer. Here is an example, hypothetically, of course.

He: Why are you doing it that way? It’s wrong!

Me: Oh yeah? Then how would you do it? I’ll bet my way takes fewer strokes than your way.

He: Well, let me sit there, and I’ll show you.

Me: Not on your life! The last time you did that, you lost my document that had taken me three days to put together! Better just tell me!

He: Well, I can’t just tell you. I’ll have to show you!

Me: Well then, NO! You are not touching this. Tell you what…you just get one of your own documents to show me on.

He: Okay, Smart Ass! Move over!

So, I move over, and Mr. Better Way sits down and brings up the last document he has done. He then proceedes to push buttons, scroll, and push more buttons, seemingly looking for something.

He: Aha! Here it is!....poke! click! Oh! My God! Where did it go? Look what you made me do!

As I said, this is a hypothetical example of one of our conversations.

I have heard that people who use more key-strokes than others are a bit old fashioned and traditional. I think that’s endearing….rather sweet. That is a pretty apt description of The Royster. Change doesn’t come easy for this man; certainly not without clawing and screaming.

Right now, we are in the troughs of planning our annual semi-road trip. I say semi because sometimes we fly to our destination and then rent a 4-wheel drive SUV, and take back roads to places of interest. This way, we’ve seen what no tourist ever gets to see.

I usually let The Royster get started on this. He’s really good at it, and comes up with some of the most fun and interesting places to see and visit. I interject and plant seeds here and there, as well as help sort out travel accommodations. However, if there are too many choices, I get really impatient, not to mention confused. We were consulting the big Atlas last night.

He: So, where to you want to go?

Me: I like the idea of going to Zion in Utah.

He: Well we could stay here, and then drive up this highway and across here,
down to Colorado, and to Cortez, and back to … and then … OR we could …

Me: Wait a minute. What if we started out in Colorado and then…

He: Or maybe …

So, I’ve made a file for this year’s vacation. I look forward to it wherever we go. Weather thou goest, I go.

Men and women think so differently for a reason. These differences strike a balance between the sexes. When one can’t seem to come up with a plan, the other provides it. Where one is weak, the other is strong. A man can come up with a plan that is absolutely ingenious. At the same time, there is always a woman who will shoot holes in it or will find fault in his plan; or even come up with a better plan. A man gets the whole picture in a box, and the woman smoothes the corners out to make a circle. So, who’s method, plan idea is the best?

I can only answer that with: Whichever method gets the results you are reaching for is the better way, method or idea. If you can show me a way, method or idea that I like better, then that’s the way I will do it. Since that may not come to pass, then why don’t you do it my way?

YOU ONLY GET ONE SHOT - No Re-do’s

2009-07-02T06:39:00.000-07:00

You can have as many shots at marriage as you want. You can divorce and pick someone else, or you can divorce and re-marry the person you originally chose. You can stay married to the same spouse, renew your wedding vows and celebrate with another wedding if you want to. That’s a good thing. And, you can do any of that as many times as you want. I guess the only real rule here is that you have to divorce one person, before you marry another, and I hope that rule never changes.

Raising kids though, you only get one shot per child. That’s all. One shot. And, I don’t care how well you think you are doing, you’re going to find that these kids have their own agenda, and will end up doing what they are destined to do any way. In my experience, it doesn’t always work to use the same techniques on one child that worked on another. Though each child inherited half of the mother’s genes and half of the father’s genes, they are still individuals with separate souls, spirits and personalities. You have to keep coming up with different plans constantly. For example, I would ground one child, who would take it like a pro. Send them up to clean their room or give them a chore to do, after which they were sent to their room to think about the horrible deed that got them grounded. The room may not get cleaned, but this is the same child that would not repeat that same offense twice. However, they would soon devise a plan by which they can get around it in a different way, and a simple play on words might get them off the hook.

On the other hand you have a child that won’t take grounding well at all. This child will scream, cry, beg and carry on, hoping you will relent. I learned the hard way, that instead of relenting, you say something like, “When your dad gets home, we’ll see what he says about you rolling a man hole cover down the street into the Sheriff’s patrol car.” This is good for at least a couple of hours of peace, and sometimes until Dad gets home. This is where Dad has to be a firm disciplinarian. If he can’t be, then it’s back on Mom’s shoulders. This is when I started taking stuff away, and possibly loading up some charity bags full of their most prized belongings. And sometimes that worked. As I said before these two children are just different people. They respond differently.

NOTE: The manhole cover incident is only an example. My girls never rolled a manhole cover down the street, but I don’t think my brother ever got caught for it. And further, I only found out about it from an old neighborhood friend that just told me not a week ago.

There is more than one “phase” in a child’s’ life whereby they do stupid things. How many adults out there can remember this scenario? I mean, as a child. Go ahead. Go back there in your mind, and put your self in the position of being grilled by one or both of your parents. I guess this goes without saying. Very uncomfortable, isn’t it? However, no matter how the question is posed to the child: "Oh, why on earth did you do that!!!?" The answer will always be, “I don’t know!” The reason for that is actually that they really don’t know. In other words, the child knows that they did something incredibly stupid, but they just don’t know why. They can’t tell you, no matter how you pose the question.

I cannot tell you why, at the age of 7, I cartwheeled down the front steps of Denver Elementary School. Even though I executed the cartwheel perfectly, I came out of it only to run straight into the flagpole with my head. It should have knocked me out cold, but my cousin and playground companion, Judy, was there to pick me up. And, instead of telling me what an incredibly stupid thing I had done, she took me aside to soothe the growing lump on my forehead. She reminded me much later in life that she baited me by daring me to do it. I never could leave a dare alone.

After the kids leave the nest, you find that they still do some stupid things. In as much as you are still trying to offer guidance, they still are ignoring it. Other people who have experienced this before you remind you that there’s really nothing you can do about it any more. If they didn’t learn before leaving the nest, they will just have to learn it on their own. The only thing you can do about that is keep the communications open and observe how they do things. You will see that the some of the methods they use, and that you disapprove of are the same methods that you used. The methods you learned from. Now you know better, but you have to stand back and let them learn that for themselves.

When the kids are finally grown, it doesn’t matter if you approve or disapprove of their choices or actions. They have to start using what you worked so hard to teach them. They are about to get their pay-back with their own children, your grandchildren. Things change dramatically from there. And, you know what to do. You know that children will do what grandparents tell them to do before they will even listen to their very own parents. The reason for this is that you finally know how to get the desired results from a child. It took raising your own to get to this valuable bargaining position. You can now use on your grandchildren what your finally learned by raising your own. Your parents were able to get your kids to mind, and now you know why. There ya’ go! Ante your chips and play your four aces!

By the way, there are no perfect parents. Ozzie and Harriet Nelson were a real life family, with real life kids. They just happened to get their life aired on T.V. It was a great spring board for their very talented rock star, Rick Nelson. They were certainly not without their share of family woes. The Clever family will forever remain a fictional family that everyone measures their growing own up days to. I’ve been guilty of that myself. This is very unrealistic, indeed. How grossly unfair life is! Where is June Clever when you need her?

I am aware that some of you are under the impression that your mother was June Clever. If you are one of those folks, step forward into the circle with the group from the Lucky Sperm Club, or children born into incredible wealth. We will just label you June's Kids. You are to be congratulated for your incredible luck.

And, another thing; Not only will your children still give you more pride, joy and happiness after they are grown, but, there is no rule or guarantee that after they leave the nest that they can’t make you mad, hurt your feelings or break your heart. You are their parent for the rest of your life, and you are still susceptible to all of that, because you love them, no matter what. And that, gentle readers, is what makes the world go round.

A SIMPLE BURIAL FOR THE OL’ DAISY DUKES

2009-06-20T11:41:00.000-07:00

This is not just about my own dainty size six Daisy Dukes; “Cut-Offs”, as they are known to most of us Baby Boomers. I gave mine a very simple burial in the bottom of a Salvation Army donation bag about 16 years ago; only until I saw the Salvation Army truck pull up in front of my house. This left little chance that I would retrieve them once again from the donation bag, only to return them safely back to their cherished spot in my dresser drawer. I had out grown those little jewels years before, but until then, I could not bring myself to part with them … just in case I could squeeze into them once more. Only after the truck pulled away from our curb was I able to even think about some deserving young woman finding such a prize on the rack at the Salvation Army. Could she do them justice, though? I wept bitterly. As most women my age, my shorts are of the Bermuda variety, or I wear Capri’s. And, as I’ve said before, I do look much better in clothes than out of them, and have, ever since I out grew my beloved Daisy Dukes…long before I parted with them.

Enough about my reminiscences, wailings and losses. This is about the Royster’s Daisy Dukes. He was going through a drawer full of shorts, deciding which to keep and which to give away. After all, I’d been bugging him for weeks to clean out that drawer. He tried on each pair before making a decision as to their fate. He picked up these very seasoned cut-offs and waved them at me. “Hey! Remember these?” And, he stepped into them as if he’d just worn them yesterday. Yes, he still looked fabulous in them. Even when he tried them on, just two hours ago, they fit, but somehow, it just wasn’t the same. No, it just wasn’t right. He said that he’d only wear them to work in the yard, certainly not to any social events. Well, I should hope not!

It may just be our age, or maybe it’s the fact that his cut-offs still fit him long after I’d out-grown my own, but it’s just not the same. I was hoping he’d put them straight in the donation bag. As it was, he put them in the stack of shorts to save, and I went about my Saturday chores with my mind still on those damned Daisy Dukes! And, they still fit him! How dare him flaunt that pair of cut-offs in front of me; especially since I had out grown mine so many years ago! And, they fit him!

Soon I was absorbed into my lawn watering, laundry washing, and baking. I forgot all about the cut-offs, and was able to be amicable. We ran a couple of errands, and returned to have lunch and rest up, as some of us must do if we are going out for the evening. As I cleaned up our lunch dishes, and walked back to the bedroom, I saw The Royster’s cut-offs in the waste basket. How heart breaking! What a heartless farewell for something so divine, so cherished, so full of history! Oh, the beaches they saw and the parties they went to! If those cut-offs could talk, what tales they would tell! I went to get my camera, and took one last picture of them.

We will always have fond memories of the summer apparel of the 60’s; cut-offs tee-shirts or halter-tops and flip-flops. PARTY TIME!!!!.

HOUNDED BY A PRO

2009-06-16T19:30:00.000-07:00

I’ve thought seriously about calling Cesar Millan about this. The only reason I haven’t contacted him is that I know that he will immediately see what milk toast we both are under Hanks whims and demands. He will also tell us that we need to walk Hank twice a day for 45 minutes each time. If I can remember while it’s cool in the mornings, I will load up my pockets with poo bags and take him for a romp around the neighborhood for a few blocks. Maybe Cesar would tell us that Hank is a work dog, and that he needs a job. Snort! I have tried for almost 7 years to get Hank to carry in the newspaper in the morning. The dog knows what I am asking him to do, and knows how to do it, but he just looks at me as if to say…. “Get it yourself, you lazy, bossy, Alpha Lady!” If the truth be known, he enjoys using his energy to show off with the tricks he can still do, and he will at every opportunity. That’s pretty darn good for being 14 years old.

For the last three nights we have had our sleep interrupted by Hank. He would start pacing and panting at about 10:30 p.m. This is how we knew he was getting ready to hound us….literally. His next move was to come to one side of our bed or the other, preferably The Royster’s side, and sit as close as possible, so that he had his nose right in front of his face. Then he would place his paws on the edge of the bed and start with the panting again. This was intended to wake up The Royster, who would immediately send him packing back to his own bed. Maybe he thought this would get better results going to The Royster, because Roy is really Hanks litter mate, and he might get up to play with him. I was only his choice when he was rejected by the occupant on the other side of the bed. He seems to view me (maybe) as “that Alpha Lady that makes me do stuff”.

The first night of his pacing, panting and pawing gave me concern. I truly thought maybe he was sick, or maybe that he even had fleas again. Mind you, Hank had never had fleas before last summer, when, for some reason he got a healthy dose of them. I never saw them until I’d taken him to the vet to see what was wrong with the pacing, panting and pawing dog. I ended up treating every inch of the house with an expensive version boric acid. Believe me, it’s the same stuff with a fancy (technical) name. That seemed to do the trick. This time, I’ve looked in all the usual places on this dog for the tiny, agony causing bugs. No. He doesn’t have any fleas. The groomer also said Hank doesn’t have fleas.

For the next two nights I got up and down several times to play Dog Whisperer. I would sit up, clap my hands loudly (he’s almost deaf), and point to the bedroom exit. At which time Hank would slink out, dejected. Thirty minutes later, he was back at it. Pace, pant, paw. I can’t sleep! Pleeeeeze get up and play with me! I just can’t stay up all by myself! Roy and I were both becoming dangerously sleep deprived, and very frustrated. I would get up and make the dog lie in a prone, submissive position, and then place a claw-like hand on his throat. This is supposed to be like the mother dog’s mouth on her puppy’s neck….disciplining him. This Cesar Millan technique worked for about 45 minutes. I’m not sure how many times I did that, but, the pace, pant and paw would begin anew each time. I started closing the bedroom door to keep him out, which was just agonizing for Hank. Now, he really was really making a scene. He would sit outside our bedroom mumbling, barking and rattling the door.

Last night was about to break both of us. At exactly 10:30 p.m. I could hear the pacing and panting start. I jumped up, threw open the bedroom door, and ran into the living room. Hank could see me coming, and quickly assumed the prone, submissive position. He would actually beat me to it each time. As I’d start to walk away, his head would pop up, and I’d go over and make the claw-like fingers on his throat again. The last time, he headed for the back door, meaning that he really had to go. What - a - liar! I actually felt a little sorry for him, but that didn’t last long. When I let him out, he just went over to his favorite grassy spot by the patio to lie down. I think he was actually waiting for me to pull up a chair and join him. He thought he had won that round. By then, I was wide awake and more than a little irritated, so, I just closed the door….rather firmly. I glanced back to see him get up and head for the door to protest. I just turned around and headed back to bed. The Royster was still awake.

R. - “Where’s Hank?”

M. - “I threw him out in the back yard! He can just sleep out there tonight!”

R. - “Why did you do that? He’ll just be going from one back door to the other, barking all night long! We still won’t get any sleep.”

M. - “Well, YOU to do something with him!

The Royster got up and took a cigarette with him to smoke and have a man-to-man talk with Hank. I think it really made an impression on Hank by throwing him out. He really didn’t want to spend the night alone in the back yard. He slept all night after that….or, he just didn’t disturb us.

I truly believe that as an old dog, Hank is getting way too much sleep during the day. He’s not standing guard at the windows as much. So, I’ve been nudging him awake when I can catch him starting to nap. This morning, I took him outside with me while it was cool enough to do a little gardening. We’d been out there about 30 minutes when he strutted up to me. “Hey! Look at me! I found some really cool mud to roll in!” I wasn’t amused, but I already had the hose in hand to fill up one of the birdbaths, so I just collared Hank and gave him a really good rinsing off, and continued with my back yard chores. In five minutes, movement caught my eye out in the yard. Sure enough, Hank was drying himself off in a select mound of dirt.

I went in and got my skinny Cesar Millan leash, and hooked Hank up to the gate, gathered up my dog washing stuff and gave him a good scrubbing. He doesn’t give me any resistance when I bathe him, but he doesn’t like it because I leave him hooked on the gate until he’s dry enough to let in the house. Today was no exception I left him there in the shade on the patio with several large towels to roll in and a big bowl of water. I was able to ignore Hank's grumbling while I finished cleaning out a flowerbed to put in a variety of mint plants. At least he wasn’t napping. Maybe tonight he will be exhausted enough from “helping” me out in the yard to actually sleep through the night without hounding us. Hell! Maybe I'll be exhausted enough.

I’m off to the eye-lid movies! Night y’all!

NAP TIME IN THE SUMMER

2009-05-05T12:24:00.000-07:00

There were several factors in growing up in such a huge family that made every one of us (11 siblings) love the written word. First of all, Mom had an affinity for reading just about anything that passed within her peripheral vision. If it was blowing across the street and looked like it might have some written word on it, she would stop it with her foot and look to see what it said.

So, it would be logical that she would always find a way in her day to read a few pages of her chosen book of the week. And, that she did. There had to be a way to corral all of these children and keep them quiet long enough to get several pages read and digested. Since she was usually pregnant, nap time was a must. There was always a nap time. Nap time was seldom ever missed at our house … every winter, spring, summer and fall. She always started the little ones out with Little Golden Books, Little Black Sambo, The Ugly ducking, Peter and the Wolf, The Three Little Pigs, The Little Train that Could and The Gingerbread Man. In the fall and winter, most of us were in school. The younger kids at home were corralled and put down for naps after lunch, whereby she made a special time to read to these preschoolers until the last one nodded off to sleep. Then she would pick up her big Steinbeck, Hemingway, Zane Grey, Larry McMurtry or Louis L’Amour, just to name a few.

Suffice to say, she always had something to read, and encouraged all of us to do the same. To do this, she read classics to us at nap time. Through the Looking-Glass, Kidnapped, Black Beauty, Treasure Island, Tom Sawyer and The Hobbit were just a few. Mostly I remember naptime in the summer.

In the summer time, from the time I was about six years old, all of us were required to part take in nap time. First, Mom would crank up the old swamp cooler in the window, and then she would situate herself in the middle of her bed with the two youngest; one on either side. Usually the two beside her were of different temperaments, and she held a switch in one hand, mostly to warn them to be still and quiet so that she could read. Everyone else was situated on their pallets on the floor.

With the switch in one hand, and the other holding the current book propped up against her usually very pregnant belly she would begin to read. On occasion, one of the two on the bed would squirm. If it was Georgie, she’d give him a little warning swat with the switch. If it was Danny, then she would tickle his back with the switch. One by one we would all fall asleep. This went on every summer until we were of junior high school age.

Joanie was the first to be excused from nap time. She was allowed to go off to the privacy of her own room and read quietly to herself. And, she was most happy do so. When Anne and I reached that age, we were given the choice of going to lie down in front of the fan in the living room, or some other quiet activity in another part of the house until nap time was over at 3 p.m. We older ones also had the option of walking to the recreation center around 3:30, when the Book Mobile would be there. It was always a really special treat to check out library books in the summer.

I will always remember how much I enjoyed being read to at nap time. Those stories inspired imagination and encouraged us all to be avid readers. Every one of my siblings has a great appreciation for the written word, and the desire write, whether it is a journal, blog or a diary. I think it all goes back to being read to. Just to be read to as a child is probably the greatest inspiration to read that there could be.