The other day I was ranting, yes I do rant, periodically....throughout the day....
I told Paul, I'm sick. Don't they know that? To which he replied, "You don't act sick, so they don't think about you being sick." I don't act sick? It's not an act, it's reality. How do you act sick? Visualize me, the back of my hand to my forehead, sighing in a dramatic way, "I'm such a failure! I can't even act sick."
I've thought about that for a few days now, and wondered why I don't act sick. Maybe it's from childhood, after all, most things that are "wrong" in our lives, date back to childhood, right? I do know that we didn't whine, heaven help us if we even thought about whining. We sure didn't cry. Well, I cried, because I'm a rebel that way, but it was a costly rebellion to be sure. STOP CRYING, OR I WILL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT. WHACK. Really, I thought you just did? I knew not to smart off like that, but I sure thought it.
I remember having a severe case of the measles. So bad that I was hallucinating. That meant a call to the dr, who said...come to the hospital. We had to go in some backroom, didn't want to expose the general population. I remember my dad carrying me, wrapped up in a quilt. When they laid me on the exam table, I can still see all of this in my minds eye, the doctor said they would have to give me a shot. The nurse said that she would go get a few others so they could hold me down. My mom said, "You won't need to hold her down. She won't move, and she won't cry." Yep, mom had spoken, the rules were set forth, and I would not move, and I would not cry. The nurse looked at me, thought about this very sick three year old, and went for reinforcement. The nurse did not know my mother.
I, however, knew the rules. I did not cry, and I did not move. I wonder if somewhere along the way of growing up, Mom told me not to act sick. That's probably the only three rules I ever actually obeyed. Oh there was one more rule I learned it paid to obey. Call home! So, that's four rules I obeyed. Don't whine, don't cry, don't act sick, and call home.
I don't mean to imply mom was mean. She was just strict, and you better listen. What's kind of funny now, she gets frustrated at me, because I don't act sick, even when I'm sick. Life is funny, might as well laugh, and don't whine, don't cry, and don't act sick.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Sunflowers Versus Moving Cars
I was talking to my cousin Sarah Bassett, and I said the following to her:
I'm off to the store. Watch for me. I might fly by. The wind is strong enough to blow me clear to Austin.
Don't try to catch me, I would rip your arm off. Kind of like the time I had the brilliant idea to grab a sunflower as mom was driving down the road. Not a good idea. It's painful when the arm slams into the door frame because the sunflower is stationary, and the speedy little toyota is not. Learn from me, for I am now wise about many things, due to scientific study in idiocy. I've proven many things to be painful in my scientific study in idiocy.
Sarah asked me to post this, because she thinks it's hilarious. She mentioned that I could even post it as an event in someone elses life, but really, I might as well own it. It's who I am, and when you have a Masters in something, you should just say so.
I'm off to the store. Watch for me. I might fly by. The wind is strong enough to blow me clear to Austin.
Don't try to catch me, I would rip your arm off. Kind of like the time I had the brilliant idea to grab a sunflower as mom was driving down the road. Not a good idea. It's painful when the arm slams into the door frame because the sunflower is stationary, and the speedy little toyota is not. Learn from me, for I am now wise about many things, due to scientific study in idiocy. I've proven many things to be painful in my scientific study in idiocy.
Sarah asked me to post this, because she thinks it's hilarious. She mentioned that I could even post it as an event in someone elses life, but really, I might as well own it. It's who I am, and when you have a Masters in something, you should just say so.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
ER: The Entertainment of
I would prefer never to set foot into an Emergency Room, but if I have to be there, I will be entertained. You see it all there. The very sick, the not even sick, the drunk and disorderly, the injured, the lonely, the lost. Let's not forget that significant group of young men who don't know what size clothes they wear. I wanted so bad to act out that cartoon that was recently circulated, the old woman who said to the young man wearing pants with the waist that was cinched at his knees, a shirt that was made for Paul Bunyon, "You must be so proud to have lost so much weight." That's hysterical in a cartoon, but in real life to say that, it's suicidal. I kept my mouth shut, but my brain was frantic with comments.
My favorite group for entertainment was the Italian family who had set up camp in the corner. I mention their ethnic background, not as a slur against them, but as is necessary to define them as the family in the corner. They were obviously ER frequent flyers. They came prepared. Pops, who was the patient, was connected to an IV bag, which was hooked on a pole. The daughter, probably my age, maybe a few years older, had a large bag containing a laptop, a Tablet, and various other items. Her son, I'm sure his name was Joey, named after Papa Joe, was equally prepared with his laptop, iphone, mega headphones, which he wore on his head, but not quite on his ears.
The daughter set Pops up with her laptop and a card game. She set across from him with her Tablet and her flip phone. I had to love that. She must be of the same mindset as me. Not paying for the internet on some smartphone that I don't understand. The grandson, Joey, he was rocking to the music he was hearing through his head, not his ears, and playing a video game. He was probably early to mid twenties.
The card game ended, and Pops didn't know how to start another game, so the daughter puts down her Tablet, gets the laptop from Pops, and starts touching the screen trying to get it to work. She gets frustrated, mutters under her breath, then realizes it's her laptop, not the tablet. Laughs about it, uses the mouse pad, then promptly tries to get things to work by touching the screen. Gets the game started, hands the laptop back to Pops, and picks up her tablet again.
Sets her tablet down, and starts rummaging through her Mary Poppins bag. I really thought she would pull out a floor lamp before the evening was over. Much to my disappointment, she never did. She whips out a fan, flips it open, and starts fanning herself. Her son never notices. Must happen all the time at home, especially if she thinks to keep one in her Mary Poppins bag. Probably has the a/c on all year round while everyone else in the house walks around in arctic temperature rated clothing. She picks up her tablet, flips her hair off her forehead, and fans herself at a steady rate. Pops looks up, watches her, says "What's a madda with you?" She looks up, flips her hair of her forehead again, and says, "I'm having a moment, Pops." To which he replies, "Huh", and back to the card game he goes.
Ah, the circle of life.....
My favorite group for entertainment was the Italian family who had set up camp in the corner. I mention their ethnic background, not as a slur against them, but as is necessary to define them as the family in the corner. They were obviously ER frequent flyers. They came prepared. Pops, who was the patient, was connected to an IV bag, which was hooked on a pole. The daughter, probably my age, maybe a few years older, had a large bag containing a laptop, a Tablet, and various other items. Her son, I'm sure his name was Joey, named after Papa Joe, was equally prepared with his laptop, iphone, mega headphones, which he wore on his head, but not quite on his ears.
The daughter set Pops up with her laptop and a card game. She set across from him with her Tablet and her flip phone. I had to love that. She must be of the same mindset as me. Not paying for the internet on some smartphone that I don't understand. The grandson, Joey, he was rocking to the music he was hearing through his head, not his ears, and playing a video game. He was probably early to mid twenties.
The card game ended, and Pops didn't know how to start another game, so the daughter puts down her Tablet, gets the laptop from Pops, and starts touching the screen trying to get it to work. She gets frustrated, mutters under her breath, then realizes it's her laptop, not the tablet. Laughs about it, uses the mouse pad, then promptly tries to get things to work by touching the screen. Gets the game started, hands the laptop back to Pops, and picks up her tablet again.
Sets her tablet down, and starts rummaging through her Mary Poppins bag. I really thought she would pull out a floor lamp before the evening was over. Much to my disappointment, she never did. She whips out a fan, flips it open, and starts fanning herself. Her son never notices. Must happen all the time at home, especially if she thinks to keep one in her Mary Poppins bag. Probably has the a/c on all year round while everyone else in the house walks around in arctic temperature rated clothing. She picks up her tablet, flips her hair off her forehead, and fans herself at a steady rate. Pops looks up, watches her, says "What's a madda with you?" She looks up, flips her hair of her forehead again, and says, "I'm having a moment, Pops." To which he replies, "Huh", and back to the card game he goes.
Ah, the circle of life.....
Life's Stupid Moments
For lack of anything better to do, I was just remembering some of life's stupid moments. I've tried to forget them, but they just resurface to humiliate me when I'm trying to sleep. It would be very beneficial for me if I could just lie down and go to sleep, but my brain doesn't have an automatic shut off.
I have more stupid moments than I'm willing to write about, but this one is a doosey. This one still shames me when I think of the degree of stupidness it entails. I would like to say that it happened because I was young, naive, nervous, (terrified), whatever. In reality, I was just stupid. I had a doctors appointment with a type of doctor that all women learn to dread seeing, but are resigned to the yearly visit. At my young age of 16ish, I surely was dreading it, but had not yet learned to be resigned about it.
Mom was with me, so that was a small comfort. When my name was called, or as most often happens, mispronounced, I slowly got to my feet and started that nigh unto death and humiliation in my immediate future walk. I was consoling myself with the fact that at least I knew how to pronounce my name. The nurse might have a higher education than me, but she sure didn't know squat about name pronunciation.
We arrived at the exam room, and the already minuscule room shrunk in diameter by at least five feet. There was room for me, the nurse, the exam table, a rolling stool, a sink and cabinet combo, and last, but certainly not least, the SCALES. The scales alone will cause a room to shrink, add fear and humiliation to the factor, and mega shrinkage occurs. The nurse then hands me the designer gown with instructions to change into the lovely garment, to be tied in the front, and she exited the room. What she failed to acknowledge was the fact that the gown is known as a designer gown, due to the fact that it was designed to be worn by a anorexic midget on Prozac. The only thing I can identify with in that sentence is Prozac. An anorexic midget I'm not, and never will be. After this visit I would need Prozac. It hadn't been invented yet, or I would have overdosed on it.
The nurse returned to the room and mentioned that she would need to get my weight. She wouldn't take my word for it, so I had to prove to her that I'm reverse anorexic. Let the humiliation begin. I stood on the scales and took it like the woman that I was to become. Very sober faced the nurse moved the weights around, back and forth, upside down and backwards, just to be sure that the humiliation was complete, (little did she, nor did I, that this was only the beginning). Then she said she would need to get my height.
I know that this should have been the easy part, and the least humiliating part. Let's remember who we're talking about here. It's me! Nothing is ever easy with me. Remember what I said about the shrinkage in the size of the room. It's a very small room. The scale was situated between the exam table and the wall. I don't really remember how much space there was between the scales and the wall, but it wasn't very much. I do know however, that there was enough room for me to stand wedged between the wall and the scale. It took some work, but I managed to get myself, looking so pretty in the "tie in the front" designer gown, wedged between the wall and the scale.
While I am working so diligently at this task, the nurse is standing there watching me with the most bewildered look on her face. I'm thinking she is a nut case, and surely she has seen people get into position to have their height measured. Finally she said, 'What are you doing?" Well DUH!!! I'm stacking B B's in a corner, what does it look like I'm doing?" I didn't say that, but I thought it. I said, 'I'm standing up against the wall so you can get my height." How stupid can this nurse be? Pretty dumb. She can't even pronounce my name. She then very seriously said, "I need you to stand back up on the scales so I can use the measuring device." I knew that! I was 5' 6" when I arrived for my appointment, but by the time I got up on the scales to be measured, humility had caused me to shrink an inch. I was now 5' 5".
Now the room had become so small there was barely any room for me to stand on the scales. The temperature in the room had risen to the point of boiling hot. Made so from the heat of embarrassment. The room was not only small, but boiling hot. The nurse hurriedly measured me, wrote my height in the chart and fled the room. The designer gown got tighter, didn't close quite as well in the front, and I was burning up almost to the point of having a heat stroke.
All of this and the exam was yet to happen. Some twenty to thirty minutes later the nurse and doctor came into the room. Needless to say, a tense and dreadful experience (without stupidity added into the equation), was dreadful, tense and beyond humiliating. I was then instructed to get dressed, leave the idiotic, stupid designer gown in the laundry basket, and come to the front desk. The neat and lovely bows that I had tied on the gown, became double knotted scraps of designer threads. May they be overtaken by moths!
Surprisingly enough I managed to get my clothes on without them being wrong side out. I fleetingly thought of kicking the scales just for good measure (no pun intended) and fled to the front desk. I hoped and prayed that the story of the stupid teenager in the exam room hadn't been spread throughout the office. No such luck. The receptionist, who before had been friendly, would now barely talk to me. The nurse and doctor were nowhere to be seen. Mom wondered at the change of behavior from the staff, but I knew the answer. The soberness and the unfriendliness was a front. The entire office staff was making an effort to contain the laughter that was threatening to burst forth the minute I stepped out of the office. Once I told mom what had happened, I thought I would have to carry her to the car. She was laughing so hard she could barely walk. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Needless to say, I never again stepped foot into that doctor's office. I would rot from any female disorder known to womankind before I would be weighed, measured, and fitted with a designer gown in that shrinking, stifling office again.
I have more stupid moments than I'm willing to write about, but this one is a doosey. This one still shames me when I think of the degree of stupidness it entails. I would like to say that it happened because I was young, naive, nervous, (terrified), whatever. In reality, I was just stupid. I had a doctors appointment with a type of doctor that all women learn to dread seeing, but are resigned to the yearly visit. At my young age of 16ish, I surely was dreading it, but had not yet learned to be resigned about it.
Mom was with me, so that was a small comfort. When my name was called, or as most often happens, mispronounced, I slowly got to my feet and started that nigh unto death and humiliation in my immediate future walk. I was consoling myself with the fact that at least I knew how to pronounce my name. The nurse might have a higher education than me, but she sure didn't know squat about name pronunciation.
We arrived at the exam room, and the already minuscule room shrunk in diameter by at least five feet. There was room for me, the nurse, the exam table, a rolling stool, a sink and cabinet combo, and last, but certainly not least, the SCALES. The scales alone will cause a room to shrink, add fear and humiliation to the factor, and mega shrinkage occurs. The nurse then hands me the designer gown with instructions to change into the lovely garment, to be tied in the front, and she exited the room. What she failed to acknowledge was the fact that the gown is known as a designer gown, due to the fact that it was designed to be worn by a anorexic midget on Prozac. The only thing I can identify with in that sentence is Prozac. An anorexic midget I'm not, and never will be. After this visit I would need Prozac. It hadn't been invented yet, or I would have overdosed on it.
The nurse returned to the room and mentioned that she would need to get my weight. She wouldn't take my word for it, so I had to prove to her that I'm reverse anorexic. Let the humiliation begin. I stood on the scales and took it like the woman that I was to become. Very sober faced the nurse moved the weights around, back and forth, upside down and backwards, just to be sure that the humiliation was complete, (little did she, nor did I, that this was only the beginning). Then she said she would need to get my height.
I know that this should have been the easy part, and the least humiliating part. Let's remember who we're talking about here. It's me! Nothing is ever easy with me. Remember what I said about the shrinkage in the size of the room. It's a very small room. The scale was situated between the exam table and the wall. I don't really remember how much space there was between the scales and the wall, but it wasn't very much. I do know however, that there was enough room for me to stand wedged between the wall and the scale. It took some work, but I managed to get myself, looking so pretty in the "tie in the front" designer gown, wedged between the wall and the scale.
While I am working so diligently at this task, the nurse is standing there watching me with the most bewildered look on her face. I'm thinking she is a nut case, and surely she has seen people get into position to have their height measured. Finally she said, 'What are you doing?" Well DUH!!! I'm stacking B B's in a corner, what does it look like I'm doing?" I didn't say that, but I thought it. I said, 'I'm standing up against the wall so you can get my height." How stupid can this nurse be? Pretty dumb. She can't even pronounce my name. She then very seriously said, "I need you to stand back up on the scales so I can use the measuring device." I knew that! I was 5' 6" when I arrived for my appointment, but by the time I got up on the scales to be measured, humility had caused me to shrink an inch. I was now 5' 5".
Now the room had become so small there was barely any room for me to stand on the scales. The temperature in the room had risen to the point of boiling hot. Made so from the heat of embarrassment. The room was not only small, but boiling hot. The nurse hurriedly measured me, wrote my height in the chart and fled the room. The designer gown got tighter, didn't close quite as well in the front, and I was burning up almost to the point of having a heat stroke.
All of this and the exam was yet to happen. Some twenty to thirty minutes later the nurse and doctor came into the room. Needless to say, a tense and dreadful experience (without stupidity added into the equation), was dreadful, tense and beyond humiliating. I was then instructed to get dressed, leave the idiotic, stupid designer gown in the laundry basket, and come to the front desk. The neat and lovely bows that I had tied on the gown, became double knotted scraps of designer threads. May they be overtaken by moths!
Surprisingly enough I managed to get my clothes on without them being wrong side out. I fleetingly thought of kicking the scales just for good measure (no pun intended) and fled to the front desk. I hoped and prayed that the story of the stupid teenager in the exam room hadn't been spread throughout the office. No such luck. The receptionist, who before had been friendly, would now barely talk to me. The nurse and doctor were nowhere to be seen. Mom wondered at the change of behavior from the staff, but I knew the answer. The soberness and the unfriendliness was a front. The entire office staff was making an effort to contain the laughter that was threatening to burst forth the minute I stepped out of the office. Once I told mom what had happened, I thought I would have to carry her to the car. She was laughing so hard she could barely walk. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Needless to say, I never again stepped foot into that doctor's office. I would rot from any female disorder known to womankind before I would be weighed, measured, and fitted with a designer gown in that shrinking, stifling office again.
Hot Wax (2009)
Remember Mel Gibson in the movie: What Women Want? That was very funny. What isn't funny is when you get hot wax in your nose. Well... I guess that depends on who is the waxee and who is the waxer. If you are the waxer, it is indeed very funny.
Julie decided she wanted me to put hot wax on her upper lip. The last time she let me near her with the hot wax I waxed off half of her eyebrow. Oops! isn't a word she wanted to hear at the time. So her eyebrows were off limits, but she thought she could trust me with her upper lip. I thought she could too. I mean, it's not like you have to worry about taking her top lip off with the wax. What could possibly go wrong?
What could go wrong is wax flowing into the nostril. Did you know that your nostril has millions of tiny hairs lurking there? Julie found that out, and she also discovered how painful the removal of those tiny hairs can be. Her eyes were watering, my eyes were watering. She was really crying, and I was really laughing. In her pain and agony, her ability to swallow became hampered and she drooled all over the table.
Poor Jules! She has much to endure having me for a mom. Life is tough sometimes
Julie decided she wanted me to put hot wax on her upper lip. The last time she let me near her with the hot wax I waxed off half of her eyebrow. Oops! isn't a word she wanted to hear at the time. So her eyebrows were off limits, but she thought she could trust me with her upper lip. I thought she could too. I mean, it's not like you have to worry about taking her top lip off with the wax. What could possibly go wrong?
What could go wrong is wax flowing into the nostril. Did you know that your nostril has millions of tiny hairs lurking there? Julie found that out, and she also discovered how painful the removal of those tiny hairs can be. Her eyes were watering, my eyes were watering. She was really crying, and I was really laughing. In her pain and agony, her ability to swallow became hampered and she drooled all over the table.
Poor Jules! She has much to endure having me for a mom. Life is tough sometimes
Wrinkle Free (2010)
I decided yesterday to do what I could to stop the aging process, so I bought some anti-wrinkle cream. I have just enough intelligence roaming around in my thick head to know that only a miracle, and visits to the plastic surgeon, will stop the aging process, but I can dream. I also decided yesterday that I was tired of being awakened at night with pain in my knees, so I bought some Arnica cream to help with the pain.
With great anticipation last night, I began my new and improved beauty and pain free regiment. I opened the tube of Arnica and generously slathered it on both knees. Ahhh, looking forward to a pain free night. I then washed my face and picked up the tube of anti-wrinkle cream. It was open? How did it get opened? I haven't even used it yet. It was obvious that the tube had been tampered with. I then noticed the tube of arnica sitting on the counter, so I picked it up and removed the cap. No tampering here, which means that it had never been opened. Which also means that I had just generously slathered anti-wrinkle cream all over both of my aching knees.
I have never considered the ugliness of wrinkled knees, but now that I thought about it, that would be very unattractive. Especially when I ventured out in public in a very short skirt. Now there's a visual I didn't need. I think I will avoid slathering anti-wrinkle cream on my knees from now on, and continue to wear long skirts that hide a multitude of uglies, and two slightly less wrinkled knees.
A Child Must be Informed (2010)
Julie was scheduled for a nuclear scan, and being a progressive thinking parent, I felt it best that she understand the reality of the scan, and the procedure. The week before her nuclear scan I told her that the medicine that they injected would make her glow. I'd been telling her that all week, but I had no idea she believed me. She is supposed to be intelligent after all. So we arrive at the hospital early in the morning, and Julie lies down on the table. The tech is explaining the hour long procedure to her and then asks if she has any questions. She said, "Will I glow?" The tech is somewhat taken aback by this question, but very kindly says, "No, you won't glow." HA HA HA HA. I was crying I was laughing so hard. She looks over at me and says, "YOU ARE SUCH A JERK!"
Middle Aged: Accompanied by Aging Parents
I'm dwelling in the land of middle age, and trying to acclimate myself to the landscape. I'm thinking I should have done a sneak preview before entering this land, but how could I? The land of wrinkles, sags and bags, is quickly taking shape, and although my eyes see the landscape, my mind rebels at the journey. With the new terrain, comes an aging parent along for the ride. What vehicle is the best to navigate the journey? I'm thinking an all-terrain vehicle. This vehicle would be one with standard features which include, understanding, patience, endurance and most of all, a sound system of HUMOR. After all, it's a journey through unknown land, so the more we have on our side, the better the trip.
We all know that to keep our vehicle in good running condition, we have to have regular maintenance. What is necessary to keep the understanding, patience, endurance and humor all in good working order? The research is still underway, and in the meantime, we just keep dealing with whatever comes our way. Keeping in mind that this journey is just as new to my aging parent as it is to this middle aged woman that I have become.
This weekend, after spending time at the hospital in the surgical waiting room with Mom and Aunt Dell, I could see that the trip ahead was going to get a little rocky. I left the hospital with some reservations about leaving the two of them on their own. I knew that by the time they left the hospital it would be dark, and that the two of them would then have to drive home in the dark. Aunt Dell driving in a car that was new to her, and Mom through the canyon. I heard myself being my mom, in the fact that I continued to caution them to be careful, and to call me when they got home. They kept assuring me that they would be fine. I didn't trust that, and turns out I should have trusted that lack of trust.
Aunt Dell tripped and fell in the parking lot, spewing the contents of her purse far and wide. For those of you who have seen Aunt Dell's purse, you would know that the search and rescue of strewn items would be intense. Add to that all of Uncle Albert's personal belongings, and the search and rescue is intensified ten fold. Luckily Aunt Dell wasn't hurt, all contents of her purse were recovered, and they were on their way.
They arrive at their cars, and after reassuring one another that they would be fine, they head out of the parking lot. Aunt Dell won't drive the interstate, so she heads up Central Avenue. No worries there. She will just travel through the UNM area, the war zone, and the land of crazies. Mom prefers the interstate, so she makes her entrance onto the interstate and is in the proper lane to switch from I-25 to I-40, which she did, but she failed to move to the far left lane to keep on an eastward direction on I-40.
She then found herself sitting at the light at the off ramp at Carlise. Now she is thoroughly confused as to how she got there, so she turned North and drove along Carlise to Menaul. Still confused she turned left and headed down Menaul. She is now going back West when she needs to be going East. She made it to Sunset Memorial Park, which happens to be the cemetery where her parents are buried. She then knew where she was. She turned around and headed back East on Menaul, but she was still very unsure of where she was going. She said she passed Coronado Mall, and thought it very strange that JC Penny's had moved to the other side of the street. She made it to Edgewood, but was following a semi truck, whose driver seemed a little hesitant about his journey as well, and in her concern over his confusion, she almost missed the exit. By now it's ten o'clock at night.
She has since told me this same story, with all the same details 3 times. She then will tell me that I don't need to worry about her. She is fine. This morning I saw more wrinkles on my already lined face, the bags under my eyes are carrying a heavy load, and the ulcers that I think might be shaping up in my stomach, were a little more painful. This is my future in the land of middle aged, so you see my need for the right vehicle? The path ahead will be a challenge.
I will just climb in, fasten my understanding around me, turn on the patience to light the way, and give thanks for the endurance, all the while tuned into the humor channel. Wish me luck. We're off....
We all know that to keep our vehicle in good running condition, we have to have regular maintenance. What is necessary to keep the understanding, patience, endurance and humor all in good working order? The research is still underway, and in the meantime, we just keep dealing with whatever comes our way. Keeping in mind that this journey is just as new to my aging parent as it is to this middle aged woman that I have become.
This weekend, after spending time at the hospital in the surgical waiting room with Mom and Aunt Dell, I could see that the trip ahead was going to get a little rocky. I left the hospital with some reservations about leaving the two of them on their own. I knew that by the time they left the hospital it would be dark, and that the two of them would then have to drive home in the dark. Aunt Dell driving in a car that was new to her, and Mom through the canyon. I heard myself being my mom, in the fact that I continued to caution them to be careful, and to call me when they got home. They kept assuring me that they would be fine. I didn't trust that, and turns out I should have trusted that lack of trust.
Aunt Dell tripped and fell in the parking lot, spewing the contents of her purse far and wide. For those of you who have seen Aunt Dell's purse, you would know that the search and rescue of strewn items would be intense. Add to that all of Uncle Albert's personal belongings, and the search and rescue is intensified ten fold. Luckily Aunt Dell wasn't hurt, all contents of her purse were recovered, and they were on their way.
They arrive at their cars, and after reassuring one another that they would be fine, they head out of the parking lot. Aunt Dell won't drive the interstate, so she heads up Central Avenue. No worries there. She will just travel through the UNM area, the war zone, and the land of crazies. Mom prefers the interstate, so she makes her entrance onto the interstate and is in the proper lane to switch from I-25 to I-40, which she did, but she failed to move to the far left lane to keep on an eastward direction on I-40.
She then found herself sitting at the light at the off ramp at Carlise. Now she is thoroughly confused as to how she got there, so she turned North and drove along Carlise to Menaul. Still confused she turned left and headed down Menaul. She is now going back West when she needs to be going East. She made it to Sunset Memorial Park, which happens to be the cemetery where her parents are buried. She then knew where she was. She turned around and headed back East on Menaul, but she was still very unsure of where she was going. She said she passed Coronado Mall, and thought it very strange that JC Penny's had moved to the other side of the street. She made it to Edgewood, but was following a semi truck, whose driver seemed a little hesitant about his journey as well, and in her concern over his confusion, she almost missed the exit. By now it's ten o'clock at night.
She has since told me this same story, with all the same details 3 times. She then will tell me that I don't need to worry about her. She is fine. This morning I saw more wrinkles on my already lined face, the bags under my eyes are carrying a heavy load, and the ulcers that I think might be shaping up in my stomach, were a little more painful. This is my future in the land of middle aged, so you see my need for the right vehicle? The path ahead will be a challenge.
I will just climb in, fasten my understanding around me, turn on the patience to light the way, and give thanks for the endurance, all the while tuned into the humor channel. Wish me luck. We're off....
Don't Worry, I'm Fine (2010)
Don't worry, I'm fine. Right! Those very words I have been hearing from my Mom in recent days. She tells me this after she just told me that she got lost in her house the night before, and that wasn't the first time. Of course I'm not worried. Why would I be? Her house is three small rooms. A kitchen/dining/living area is one room. A bedroom and a bathroom are the other two rooms. Easy to get lost in three small rooms, so I'm not worried.
It doesn't worry me that she got up in the night to use the bathroom, which is just a hop, skip and a jump from her bed. When she attempted to return to her bed, the windows had moved to the other side of the room. Those were some busy windows, and they were quite fast in switching walls in the five minutes she was in the bathroom. I'm not worried. I've known all along that windows can move around and switch walls. No worries! Mom is fine! She found her bed... eventually, and the windows moved back to where they belong.
Not long before the windows switched walls, mom decided in the middle of the night that she might have forgotten to lock her front door. Rather than lie in bed and worry about that, she got up to check. No need to turn on any lights, because it's a small house, and she knows where she is going. She knew where she was going, but she didn't know how to get back to where she had been.
Her front door was locked, and when she turned around to head back to bed, her living /dining/kitchen area had flipped around and she was confused. The stove was on the wrong side of the room, and she couldn't understand how that had happened. She felt along the wall until she found the light switch. Once the light was on, the room was in the correct order.
I'm not really worried about my mom. She is fine! I'm worried about her windows and her appliances. I think they are possessed. I can't think of any other reason for them to be moving around in the night.
It doesn't worry me that she got up in the night to use the bathroom, which is just a hop, skip and a jump from her bed. When she attempted to return to her bed, the windows had moved to the other side of the room. Those were some busy windows, and they were quite fast in switching walls in the five minutes she was in the bathroom. I'm not worried. I've known all along that windows can move around and switch walls. No worries! Mom is fine! She found her bed... eventually, and the windows moved back to where they belong.
Not long before the windows switched walls, mom decided in the middle of the night that she might have forgotten to lock her front door. Rather than lie in bed and worry about that, she got up to check. No need to turn on any lights, because it's a small house, and she knows where she is going. She knew where she was going, but she didn't know how to get back to where she had been.
Her front door was locked, and when she turned around to head back to bed, her living /dining/kitchen area had flipped around and she was confused. The stove was on the wrong side of the room, and she couldn't understand how that had happened. She felt along the wall until she found the light switch. Once the light was on, the room was in the correct order.
I'm not really worried about my mom. She is fine! I'm worried about her windows and her appliances. I think they are possessed. I can't think of any other reason for them to be moving around in the night.
Pigeons at the Bank (2010)
Yesterday Julie, Jacob and I were sitting at the drive through at the bank, and we were very entertained by the pigeons that gather there. Before long we were naming them and making up stories about their life. I love that my kids have my crazy sense of humor and vivid imagination.
Susie and Bob got in a tiff, and we knew right away who was who in the pair. Of course, Bob had the prettier feathers, and Susie was rather dull, but she had a fiery disposition to make up for the lack of beauty. Bob strutted off, and Susie was right behind him. She was chattering away in pigeon speak. They were both strutting across the drive, their heads just a bobbin. The faster Bob went to avoid Susie and her pigeon fury, the more Susie chattered at him. She told him what for, and he could not get away from her.
There were other couples in the flock who seemed to be having the same relationship issues. Maybe it was a group counseling session that we happened upon. Whatever it was, we were very entertained. Julie finally said, "Mom, it's springtime, which means mating season. Lets get out of here before things get out of control."
We left the pigeons to their bobbin and spatting, and were off to other adventures. We had a good laugh about our story telling abilities, and we were all glad that an otherwise dull five minutes of waiting in line at the bank, was instead five minutes of stories and laughter.
Life is good, laugh about it!
A Cappella
I was just listening to an A Cappella group, Straight, No Chaser, and remembered one of many stupid moments in my life.
Someone was telling me about singing A Cappella at a wedding. My thought....I've never heard that song. Must be something special for a wedding....Lucky for me it was a thought I didn't express out loud. That was one time the filter between my brain and my mouth worked.
Someone was telling me about singing A Cappella at a wedding. My thought....I've never heard that song. Must be something special for a wedding....Lucky for me it was a thought I didn't express out loud. That was one time the filter between my brain and my mouth worked.
Age Spots Be Gone
I know you all love to hear about my latest adventures, so I'm going to share the latest with you. I'm not sure yet if I recommend that you try this at home or not. I'm debating whether it needs a warning label.
I found this remedy for lightening age spots, and since I have an abundance of them showing up, I got a little excited. There were a few minor problems. One being, there isn't a recipe for the mix. It simply states that you combine yogurt and horseradish together. No directions as to how much of each, or how long mixture is to be left on age spots. I think I'm pretty smart, so I can figure that one out. I will mix equal parts of horseradish to equal parts of yogurt. Just to be on the safe side, I bought plain Greek yogurt. It taste too bad to eat, so it would be great to use on my face.
On this fine morning I decided it would be a good time to embark on the age spots defying adventure. I mixed the yogurt and stinky horseradish together and began. I can tell you this, Rudolph, that little red nosed reindeer, had nothing on me. You've heard of someone's face flaming with embarrassment? Well I'm here to tell you that horseradish has a flaming affect on skin. Don't know what it does to age spots, but it surely can set fire to facial skin. I was feeling the burn. Since there were no directions as to how long to burn the age spots, I decided to remove the mixture before my face ignited. That would not have been a pretty scene.
It's possible the age spots had faded, but it was a little hard to tell, since my face was fire engine red. Not only that, I was suddenly craving a big, juicy, rib eye. Must have been the smell of horseradish lingering on my face.
Cretia
Pre Surgery
A year ago, my mom had to have surgery. I accompanied her on many a frustrating doctors visits, pre-surgery appointments, and procedures. At the best of times, mom, doctors, medical forms, do not mesh.
The day I took her in to see the surgeon, she was filling out the paperwork. Usually I do that for her, but this day she was filling it out on her own. She gets easily aggravated when she is feeling good, and when she is feeling really bad, it's even worse. So she is griping about this "stupid" paperwork, and the question is about sexual orientation. Choices are: heterosexual, same sex, homosexual and bi-sexual. This question really set her off. She is sitting there with the pen poised over the paper, and I said, "Mom, you're heterosexual." She said, "No! Same sex...no wait." I about fell off my chair. That was so funny. She told me it wasn't funny. She was right, it wasn't funny, it was hysterical.
Then she continues the questions. Next question that stumps her. "Do you use recreational drugs?" She marks yes. Then she scratches that out and marks no. Then she turns to me and says, "Do you have an eraser." I am dying here. I find out, in the matter of minutes that mom is confused, even at 80 about her sexual preferences, and she may or may not do recreational drugs. I told her that they would not think she used recreational drugs, to just leave it scratched through and not worry about it. She is so flustered by all these personal questions that she can't think what DOB means. Does that mean Date Of Birth? I said, NO! It means dead on a bike. Just write 3/30/31. She told me to shut up.
Personally, I think when she finally had the surgery that her and I both should at least have been allowed to use marijuana. You know, for medicinal purposes, and anxiety over medical forms. We wouldn't have to inhale.
Fruit Loops
Just because she's a fruit loop, she wants us all to jump in the cereal bowl and swim in the milk. That just stirs me up. I'm not swimming around in the milk with a bunch of fruit loops.
Being Thankful
In the daily scheme of things, I often forget to be thankful. I forget to be thankful for Paul, who works hard to provide for me, and for our three kids. Yes, they are all grown, but he still provides for them in many ways, big and small. I forget to be thankful that he doesn't insist that I work. He could insist that I work, but instead he tells me it's okay if I don't. I forget to be thankful that, because of Paul's generosity, I can stay home and help others. I can be available for my mom, for Julie, and for others that might need my help. I need to remember to be thankful for Paul. He's a good guy, and through the years of being married to me, he's been a trouper.
I need to be thankful for my oldest daughter, Sarah. There have been times when we didn't agree, and there are still those times, but I'm thankful that she is my daughter. She has taught me many things, and some of them I resisted the lesson, but I'm thankful she taught me. Sometimes it's hard for Sarah to say she loves me, but I'm thankful that I know she loves me.
I need to remember to be thankful for Julie, my daughter, the mother of my first grandchild. Julie has been a joy through the years, and like Sarah, she has taught me many things. And like always, I resisted the lesson, but she just kept teaching me. She taught me to be accepting, and to see beyond the surface. She taught me that stubbornness doesn't go away, so I might as well just give it up and let her be. She gave me the gift of Greyson, and I love him so much.
I need to be thankful for Jacob. My son, the youngest of three, the one who said he held my heart in his hand, and he would hold my heart forever. Yes, he will, and so will Sarah and Julie. Jacob, the quiet one. Jacob, the one who moved away, and is content not to come home. I need to be thankful that he is content, that he is working, supporting himself. I need to be thankful that he never fails to tell me he loves me when he finally calls home.
I need to be thankful for my mom. She's the one who made sure my brother and I had a home to live in, not just a place to live. She made sure we had food, even when we didn't have much. She taught us respect, honor and love. She is still helping us, and still loving us. I'm thankful for my mom.
I need to be thankful for my dad, and though he was never a father to us, as a father should be, he gave us life, and because of that life, I have all of those I have mentioned, and they have given me so much to be thankful for.
I need to be thankful for my oldest daughter, Sarah. There have been times when we didn't agree, and there are still those times, but I'm thankful that she is my daughter. She has taught me many things, and some of them I resisted the lesson, but I'm thankful she taught me. Sometimes it's hard for Sarah to say she loves me, but I'm thankful that I know she loves me.
I need to remember to be thankful for Julie, my daughter, the mother of my first grandchild. Julie has been a joy through the years, and like Sarah, she has taught me many things. And like always, I resisted the lesson, but she just kept teaching me. She taught me to be accepting, and to see beyond the surface. She taught me that stubbornness doesn't go away, so I might as well just give it up and let her be. She gave me the gift of Greyson, and I love him so much.
I need to be thankful for Jacob. My son, the youngest of three, the one who said he held my heart in his hand, and he would hold my heart forever. Yes, he will, and so will Sarah and Julie. Jacob, the quiet one. Jacob, the one who moved away, and is content not to come home. I need to be thankful that he is content, that he is working, supporting himself. I need to be thankful that he never fails to tell me he loves me when he finally calls home.
I need to be thankful for my mom. She's the one who made sure my brother and I had a home to live in, not just a place to live. She made sure we had food, even when we didn't have much. She taught us respect, honor and love. She is still helping us, and still loving us. I'm thankful for my mom.
I need to be thankful for my dad, and though he was never a father to us, as a father should be, he gave us life, and because of that life, I have all of those I have mentioned, and they have given me so much to be thankful for.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Bird in the House
A few nights ago, Sarah reminded me of the time a bird flew into our house, and this happened before I had begun my Book of the Bittners, so I think I must share the story now.
I don't recall exactly how the bird got into the house, but most likely the sliding glass door was left open and the bird flew in. The poor little bird. It had no idea it was about to become the focus of all out war. I would imagine that it's Tweeter account went well over it's monthly minutes, but then Tweeter hadn't been invented yet, but if it had been.....oh what a bill that poor little bird would have had when it escaped and lived to tell the story.
Paul, bless his heart, does not tolerate birds in our house. He is very firm about this. No birds, no spiders, no centipedes, no snakes. Okay, I'm really the one firmly against snakes, but Paul takes a stand when a bird, spider, or centipede dare to venture in. Our house is a NO FLY ZONE, no creep, or crawl zone. Don't spin any webs, or you will be de-webbed and crushed. I'm sure if there were bylaws, it would be written in bold, black ink. NO FLY, NO CREEP, NO CRAWL, NO WEB ZONE.
Well this hapless little tweeter flew into the no fly zone, and immediately incoming unauthorized object warnings went off in Paul's head. He jumped into action. We were all ordered to our stations, and we manned them with seriousness. Not really, but that sounds better than saying we manned them in amazement, mouths wide open, and laughter bursting forth at the show developing in front of us. Paul won't think this is funny, because birds in the house is not funny. It's serious. Birds carry disease, they randomly drop poop bombs, and they are not clean.
I was instructed to bring him the necessary weapons to take out, take down, dispose of the enemy that had infiltrated the NO FLY ZONE. I must bring a sheet, a pillowcase, and a towel, then I was to keep the front door open, without being seen by the enemy, and he, Paul would remove the enemy. The three kids were to remain out of sight. Yeah right, not when all the action was in the living room. And how was I to remain out of sight when I needed to see what was happening?
Paul would throw the sheet in the direction of the flying bird, and the bird would dip, swerve and dodge the sheet, and it's heart rate, its poor tiny heart, would race and pound, and it would crash into the wall. No exit there. Then an all out mighty cry from the crazy human, and a pillow case would fly at the bird, who would swoop, dive, and avoid, only to be bombarded with a flying towel, and a mighty warrior yell.
The bird was losing it's ability to keep up the diving, swooping, flight for life, but it flew on. It was remembering it's mother telling it, as it flew from the nest....never fly three sheets to the wind, and now it understood what she mean. STAY OUT OF THE NO FLY ZONE!
I stood by the front door, silently cheering the little bird to swoop, dive and dodge, and come my way. I'm here, offering you freedom from the crazy, wild, leaping human who is yelling at you. Come my way.... The kids were watching in amazement and awe, and in between Paul's yelling, leaping leaps, and flying linens, he yelled at them to go back to their rooms.
The bird finally saw it's escape route, and flew fast and furious out the front door. In exhaustion and relief, it flew to the nearest telephone wire, and perched there in thankfulness. If twitter had been invented, he would have tweeted to his friends that he had survived an outright attack by a crazy, wild human, who yelled and leapt about, throwing linens.
I don't recall exactly how the bird got into the house, but most likely the sliding glass door was left open and the bird flew in. The poor little bird. It had no idea it was about to become the focus of all out war. I would imagine that it's Tweeter account went well over it's monthly minutes, but then Tweeter hadn't been invented yet, but if it had been.....oh what a bill that poor little bird would have had when it escaped and lived to tell the story.
Paul, bless his heart, does not tolerate birds in our house. He is very firm about this. No birds, no spiders, no centipedes, no snakes. Okay, I'm really the one firmly against snakes, but Paul takes a stand when a bird, spider, or centipede dare to venture in. Our house is a NO FLY ZONE, no creep, or crawl zone. Don't spin any webs, or you will be de-webbed and crushed. I'm sure if there were bylaws, it would be written in bold, black ink. NO FLY, NO CREEP, NO CRAWL, NO WEB ZONE.
Well this hapless little tweeter flew into the no fly zone, and immediately incoming unauthorized object warnings went off in Paul's head. He jumped into action. We were all ordered to our stations, and we manned them with seriousness. Not really, but that sounds better than saying we manned them in amazement, mouths wide open, and laughter bursting forth at the show developing in front of us. Paul won't think this is funny, because birds in the house is not funny. It's serious. Birds carry disease, they randomly drop poop bombs, and they are not clean.
I was instructed to bring him the necessary weapons to take out, take down, dispose of the enemy that had infiltrated the NO FLY ZONE. I must bring a sheet, a pillowcase, and a towel, then I was to keep the front door open, without being seen by the enemy, and he, Paul would remove the enemy. The three kids were to remain out of sight. Yeah right, not when all the action was in the living room. And how was I to remain out of sight when I needed to see what was happening?
Paul would throw the sheet in the direction of the flying bird, and the bird would dip, swerve and dodge the sheet, and it's heart rate, its poor tiny heart, would race and pound, and it would crash into the wall. No exit there. Then an all out mighty cry from the crazy human, and a pillow case would fly at the bird, who would swoop, dive, and avoid, only to be bombarded with a flying towel, and a mighty warrior yell.
The bird was losing it's ability to keep up the diving, swooping, flight for life, but it flew on. It was remembering it's mother telling it, as it flew from the nest....never fly three sheets to the wind, and now it understood what she mean. STAY OUT OF THE NO FLY ZONE!
I stood by the front door, silently cheering the little bird to swoop, dive and dodge, and come my way. I'm here, offering you freedom from the crazy, wild, leaping human who is yelling at you. Come my way.... The kids were watching in amazement and awe, and in between Paul's yelling, leaping leaps, and flying linens, he yelled at them to go back to their rooms.
The bird finally saw it's escape route, and flew fast and furious out the front door. In exhaustion and relief, it flew to the nearest telephone wire, and perched there in thankfulness. If twitter had been invented, he would have tweeted to his friends that he had survived an outright attack by a crazy, wild human, who yelled and leapt about, throwing linens.
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