Good Clean Fun

(Somehow, Blogspot lost the last half of my last post. Disappeared in cyberspace, I guess. I had written about the extensive trip plans that we have...and how my daughter had researched every lodging that she booked for us to see if there were any reports of bed bugs! I never would have thought of that...)

Tonight, my Sunday School class had a "social" at church--a fish fry and pitch-in--just the Rewired class. There were probably 20 of us. We ate well, then drifted into a big circle and started sharing conversations with the whole group instead of just our own tables. Most of us are retired folks. The group consists of a lawyer, several retired teachers, the church secretary and her husband...etc. (My grandchildren's other grandparents are also part of the group.) I don't think many of the folks are friends outside of church, but we have a social get-together once a month, and we really enjoy the fellowship. All we did was talk and laugh at silly little stories, and it was good, clean fun! Our conversations covered the waterfront, from how things have changed in the last 100 years, to teacher war stories, relationships, and funky little red-tape things that we all have to go through. Many of the stories we shared wouldn't have been amusing were it not for the way in which they were told. I enjoyed it!

It reminded me of times when I was a married lady and we visited with my then-sister-in-law and family at holidays and other select times. Somehow, the topics of conversation were always inane and silly, but we all laughed and had a good time. No one whined or complained or criticized. It was just fun. We need more of that in life!

I will head up to Gary, IN, tomorrow afternoon to collect my grandchildren for our trip to California and back. I wish I were leaving the house in better shape, but that's the way it goes. Please pray for us!!

Handicapped Peg...and Other Nonsense

In order to be gone for the three weeks of my upcoming trip back from California in a few days, I've been trying to tie up some loose ends. Had to arrange for the lawn to be mowed in my absence...getting the mail picked up...making sure my medicines are in order...alert my bank to the fact that there will be out-of-state purchases on my debit card, etc. I noticed that one of my medicines needed a doctor's order for refill. Also, Meg had been strongly hinting that I should try to get a temporary handicapped parking placard for the long trip because parking lot distances in national parks can be sobering for an old lady. (My stamina has really decreased this past year, but I don't push myself. I just don't think of myself as disabled and didn't figure I was eligible for handicapped parking.)





Okay...so over a week ago, I called my cardiologist's office to ask for a prescription refill order and inquire if the doctor would sign off on a handicapped parking application. They JUST got around to calling me back today. Yes, Dr. Gill will sign the application. I downloaded and printed the form from the Internet and drove to IU West Hospital in Avon to try to catch the doctor in, figuring that I still had tomorrow and/or Monday if he escaped before I got there. As luck would have it, the doctor was in. I waited about 15 minutes while the papers were processed, then left to go straight to the Plainfield BMV. The part I had filled out asked for a temporary parking permit. What Dr. Gill filled out said "permanent". At the BMV, I noticed that he had omitted his medical license number on the form. Not good.





Trips to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles are a WHOLE lot better than they used to be! No more taking numbers...and no more long waits. I got there about 2:30 and was taken right away. I pointed out to the gal behind the counter that the doc hadn't put in his medical license number. She said, "Oh...we need that." I groaned internally. She could have sent me packing to obtain the number myself and make a return trip for the placard, but she didn't. Instead, she got on the phone with the doctor's office and was on hold for 10 minutes while she waited to get the license number. What a champ! A few minutes later, I left the BMV with a permanent handicapped parking permit.





Here's the kicker: although I am aware that I have problems with walking and breathing and stamina, etc., I'm not quite sure how to take the doctor's assessment that I am permanently disabled! I thought I was pulling a "fast one"...but now I'm a little concerned. I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth, but I won't be taking advantage of the placard unless I really need to. I've always loathed people who abuse the system!

Perspective

I had to chuckle at an email that my sister sent me today. She was at her grandson's baptism this morning, and it brought back memories of her own baptism, and family...and she ended up weeping in the service, with no tissues. I had to inform her that Rule #1 for me is: Never go to church services without tissues! It is a rare Sunday that I don't cry, at some point in the service. It's worse the older I get. I think when we get older, we are reminded of the things we have lost...or will lose soon...and all that is left is emotion. Go figure.

I was watching The Bridges of Madison County on television today. I read the book many years ago but didn't like the way it ended, so I never saw the movie when it came out. Still, I consider Meryl Streep America's finest actress, so when it came on TV today, I decided to give it a go. What a sappy, drawn-out tearjerker that turned out to be! It was depressing, actually...but, naturally, I cried. (I mean, I was supposed to, right?) The synopsis is that Francesca, an unfulfilled Midwest farmer's wife, has a 4-day fling with a photographer (Clint Eastwood) who is on assignment to shoot covered bridges in the area. All of this happens while her husband and two teen-age kids are off to a fair, showing livestock, or something. The affair shows her real passion and raison d'etre, but when she is invited to run off with the photographer, she knows it isn't something she can do. All she is left with is a locked trunk full of memories and a million what-if's. Her husband never knew of the affair. On his deathbed, he apoligizes to her for not being able to help her realize her dreams in life. And that's the part that got to me.

I got to thinking about MY dreams in life...and I realized that I didn't really have any. As a young lady, I wanted to be a homemaker like my mother...to have kids and raise them to be happy and independent. I didn't sit down and say, "Gee, my dream is to live out my old age alone and without funds." But that is my reality.

After my divorce, I had to switch gears and finish raising my daughter. Of course, that was twenty years ago. I was younger, healthier, and more attractive in those days, so there was no problem putting my own life on hold in order to do that. Before long, Megan was of dating age, and I figured out that she and I were in somewhat the same stage of life: looking for love and hoping for the best. I consciously decided not to traipse men into my life so as not to encourage competition and/or resentment. I had friends, but even I could tell that no man in his right mind was going to be able to accept my relationship with my daughter (and later, grandchildren). And I would resent anything less. I had become independent and did not want to become involved with anyone who might require something of me that I was not willing to give. And I certainly wasn't equipped to accept anyone being nice to me! I simply forgot to put myself back on the list of my own priorities...

Over the years, I have had people admire my "strength" and independence. Well...guess what? I didn't choose that. It was forced on me! I would have LOVED to have a spouse who respected and took care of me...but he didn't. When he left our marriage for another woman, I filled in the gaps as best I could. I've made plenty of mistakes along the way, but I am what I am. A couple of weeks ago, my former son-in-law's wife asked me if I was even interested in being married again. I had to think about that. No, I really don't want the responsibility. I don't want to be needed, and I'm not needy. My response to her was that I would like companionship, but my life consists of reality. What little I have, I have fought hard to keep. How can I change that?

I think I've done a poor job of writing how all of this ties together in my mind, but it does. We make choices in life and have to live with the consequences decades later. We are who we are, and our circumstances at any given moment define the future. Woulda, coulda, shoulda. My sister faces the fight of a lifetime now, with her husband's diagnosis and disease. It's obvious to me that, although she has a haven here, she can't leave him alone for any length of time...and that's what she needs to do for her own sanity! I wish I had all of the answers. It's hell to gt old!

In one week, I will be collecting the grandchildren and packing for California and the trek back to the Midwest. So much to do and so little time! Why do I continue to waste my days sitting in front of the computer and TV????????

What Does "Supportive" Mean?

As we all know, I watch too much television. I hate that, but were it not for "the boob tube", my life would be very dull, indeed. At least I try to watch programming that keeps my brain engaged. (That's not saying much!)

Today, the Dr. Phil Show was all about a 16-year-old girl who was pregnant, and the pregnancy is causing problems within the whole family because the girl's stepfather thinks she should give the baby up for adoption. The girl refuses. The mother, of course, just wants to be "supportive" of her daughter.

Then, of course, I watch such brainy shows as "Keeping Up With the Kardashians". I am actually somewhat fascinated by that family because they are rich and famous but have the same problems as most other families--with the twist that they seem to hold family in high regard and try to be "supportive" of one another, no matter what.

So now I guess I am asking what it means to be supportive. Does it mean that you stand by a person regardless of how stupid and/or self-destructive he/she is being? Does it mean that you support him/her, but with limits? When does being supportive become enabling a person to continue on a path that will negatively affect his/her life and that of others? Does it mean that you hold hands with the person as long as he/she respects you and your own situation? I wish I knew!

I think I have come to the conclusion that I can support just about anyone even in tough situations as long as I know that the lives of other people aren't being trashed in the process. I mean, if someone I loved decided to end it all, I certainly would NOT be supportive by standing aside and letting it happen. Those situations sometimes start with "If you love me, you will let me...blah, blah"...to which I would respond, "If you love ME, you would not put me in this position." (Hindsight is better than foresight. There are a number of times when I wish I'd had the guts to say that and make it stick.) There is NOTHING in the Bible about God not giving us more than we can bear. That is common theology and is a misquote of I Corinthians 10:13.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I am preparing for the vacation of a lifetime. Flying to CA with my grandchildren in a week or two, then trekking back to the Midwest by vehicle via all of the famous sites along the way, from the Grand Canyon to Yellowstone, and other breathtaking sights. I've been through the West several times in my life, and I love it. (I think I was a pioneer woman in a past life.) Still, there are places I have never seen. Going to get it done this time!! Megan has things booked. We won't sleep fancy and we won't eat fancy, but we will attempt to go to as many places along the way as we can. A raft trip down the Colorado River. A rodeo in Cody, WY. Hope to see some wildlife and beautiful scenery. Yee-haw!

I Am Certifiably Nuts!

Okay...so here it is another 90-degree day in Central Indiana, and I have a casserole in the oven. THE OVEN! Oven...as in that little box that heats up the whole kitchen. I found some leftover turkey in the freezer and figured that I should use it up, so I made a tetrazinni. It will taste good, as soon as I stop sweating... Crazy!

Since the early 1970s, I have been in possession of the Civil War diary of my great-great-grandfather. My grandmother had given it to her son (my Uncle Bud, who was a career Army officer and a Civil War buff), and he gave it to me so I could transcribe it and research it for the family. I always had a sense that it was on semi-permanent loan, but it was never mentioned again, so I kept it. Uncle Bud has long since passed away, but his daughter (my cousin Sally with whom I have only recently reconnected on Facebook) inquired about the diary a couple of months ago. She said, in a very nice way, that she thought her father wanted his eldest grandson to have the diary. I gulped because I knew that was most likely true. I have had the pleasure of possessing the diary for several decades now, but I was reaching the point of deciding to donate it to a museum in Illinois so it would not simply decay in a brief case in my home. But it wasn't mine to have! Thus, with trembling hands, I packed up the little book and sent it to Sally's son in Los Angeles, with love. It arrived safely yesterday. Were I a more selfish person, I could have resisted giving it up, but it was the right thing to do. Am I nuts? Maybe. But the diary was scanned and evaluated enough for me to be satisfied that I haven't really given up anything but the physical manifestation of my ancestor. I have enough other little goodies to share with my own grandchildren, when they are ready.

I digress here, but I have another piece of furniture that isn't really mine. My grandmother had a curved-glass china cabinet that somehow my mother decided my brother Doug should have after her demise. Mom died before Dad, so it remained at the farm where it had been forever...then, when Dad died and Doug had no use for it, I spent a weekend and a bunch of $$ to retrieve it. (It barely survived the trip to Plainfield.) Doug told me it was on semi-permanent loan to me. I took that to mean he would get it if/when he wanted it. Then Doug got sideways with his sisters when we outvoted him on selling the family farm. At that time, I made certain that I let the attorney know that I had the cabinet that was his and would give it up at any time he demanded it and could make arrangements to get it. The farm was sold. Doug no longer spoke to his sisters. And then he died, suddenly. Is the cabinet mine now? Perhaps...but Doug had a daughter that was given up for adoption at birth. I have met her and believe that she should have it when I croak. I mean, if he had taken it, she would most likely have gotten it, anyway. I just always want things to stay in the family, you know? Am I crazy?

I have some business to attend to, but I always put it off. What's wrong with me?? The answer? I'm nuts!

Subject to Change...

I guess my age is causing me to be, as they say, "set in my ways". I think that means inflexible and unable to handle change. Who, me? No! When I was teaching, I prided myself on being able to roll with the punches and change expectations as the day's circumstances changed. When I was a kid, we moved. We moved a LOT. I never had any choice, so I was expected to drop everything I was doing and go along with the rest of the family...and I changed me to fit every new situation. What was I if not flexible??

But now...well...I find myself resistant to doing things new ways. I mean, I have created new traditions to fill in blank spaces in life, but I have reached a new level of needing some measure of control over things, even while I realize that I'm not in control!

Two days ago, my daughter and son-in-law were laid low by the fact that Denis had not gotten a job offer from a company in the Chicago area, even though he had been told they would. I spent much of the day trying to prop them up, emotionally. Then the word came that the company HAD called, but Denis had just missed it. Within mere minutes, the victory cry went up that the company had come through and they would be moving back to the Midwest. Yay! Part of me wanted to rejoice with them, but another part of me wanted to smack my kid. (If you're a parent, you know what I'm talking about. Your child wanders off and is missing for a bit. You get frantic. The child is found and returned to you. Your first instinct is to hug him/her...and your next thought is to spank him/her for putting you through the worry! My "kid" is 32-years-old!)

The next day (yesterday), I found myself surprisingly tearful and depleted. I was overjoyed to think that Megan and Denis would finally be close in distance to the children--and me. But there was also the realization that I had come through so much pain and heartache just to get to this point, and wondering why it all had to happen in the first place. The children and I had no choice. Okay...so I spent the better part of two years trying to adjust to what was foist on us. Now everything is changing again!! I just want everything to work out for the best for everyone, including me. Adjustments R Us!

And speaking of adjustments, while I am whining about my sorry little existence, my sister is having to make huge changes in her approach to life. Her husband of 50 years has been diagnosed with Fronto-temporal Dementia (FTD) with Personal Progressive Aphasia. In insensitive terms, my brother-in-law is losing his memory and language somewhat quickly, and neither of them knows what to expect in the immediate future. It is an awful condition! This man has had a brilliant mind...now going...and what they have shared is currently compromised. His doctor has put him on medicine that is supposed to help Alzheimer's victims, so we are hoping that the worst won't be realized. If you are a praying person, please pray for Shari and Roger Andrew. It's a family disease. Everyone is affected.

Thanks!

So Far Behind!

I am aware that I am way behind in my posts about my activities, just in case anyone is interested.

After the Dayton Hamvention, I geared up for the arrival of "my family" for race weekend. Let's see how I can put this... The people who were to be here, invited by me, were my former son-in-law, his wife, and my grandchildren. I am no longer legally related to Nathan, and never was to his wife...but we all have some precious things in common: the children. Nathan's parents live a scant mile from me. Thankfully, we all get along well enough, in spite of divorce, to give the children a secure environment. We had a great time! They all went to the 500, and I got to see my grandbabies. It all works!

So many more things to say...but it is late. Everyone arrived home safely, including my sister and husband from a vacation trip to visit relatives near Niagara Falls. It is back to lonely here, but some nice memories to tide me over...