My St. Louis Holiday, Part V (Christmas Day)

 I did virtually all of my Christmas shopping online this year.  That meant I had to be alert to deliveries beyond my control.. because I worry about porch pirates and mail thieves, but everything came through as planned.  I wrapped virtually ONE present, and that one only by default.  But Santa was good!

Shari, Jim, and I spent a fairly quiet morning opening all of the boxes under the tree, and so many boxes there were!  One big one came from the PNW and was sent by my daughter and family.  Oh, the yummies in the smaller boxes inside that big one!  There were tons of Seattle Chocolates (a personal favorite of mine); cookies from one local PNW source; cheese crackers from another; a jar of fruit jam and a jar of Sweet Onion Mustard; and three boxes of different kinds of smoked salmon indigenous to the Seattle area.  All were delicious.  Still are!

 Along about 2 PM, I got a Merry Christmas call from my family from Washington State, and then we were off to Jim's daughter's for Christmas dinner somewhat nearby.

Laura and Steve were lovely hosts, along with their college-aged children home for the holidays.  We ate well--grilled beef tenderloin roast, scalloped potatoes, a Caesar-type salad, a jello fruit salad, and dessert.  (The dessert came from us.  We made pecan tassies and brought a Monrovia Bulldog Brigade Band variety cheesecake from Indiana.  Bet the band doesn't even know how far their cheesecake influence goes!) 

Jim wasn't feeling all that chipper, so we didn't stay long after dinner.  Still, it was a pleasant day for all (I hope).

Happy Birthday, Jesus!  

My St. Louis Holiday, Part IV (Unwelcome Experiences)

Into each life, some rain must fall.

I came to my sister's on Tuesday, Nov. 22nd.  Thursday was Thanksgiving.   On Friday, the word came that my brother-in-law's brother-in-law--his twin sister's husband--had passed away from lung cancer.  He had just been put in hospice and wasn't expected to live long.  He didn't.  The man's final wishes were to have a very private funeral with only immediate family attending.  Jim was encouraged by his sister not to come.  Jim wouldn't be dissuaded.  The rest of us who would not attend convinced Jim to take the trip to Lafayette, IN, and back in two days rather than one.  It was sad but expected.

 More recently...Saturday, Dec. 11th...I fell.  I was wearing slippers on a slippery floor.  (Maybe that's why they're called "slippers"?)  It happened so fast, I can't even say what happened.  I careened off of several surfaces trying to catch myself, but down I went.  Nothing broken except my dignity--and the handle on a laundry basket.

The really embarrassing part of it all was that I was on the floor and could NOT get up on my own.  Three of us struggled and struggled to try to get me up, with little success.  Finally--FINALLY--I was able to get on my knees and Jim could slide a library stool under my behind.  From there, I could somewhat easily get to a chair.  Hallelujah!  I'm finding bruises a couple of days later...  This gives new meaning of the advertisement that starts with some old lady on the floor calling Life Alert:  "I've fallen, and I can't get up!"  I found a few bumps and bruises but nothing was broken except the handle on that basket that was, unfortunately, in the path of the fallen on her way down.

The very next day, Sunday, Dec. 12th, I got up in time for Shari to say that Jim was sick.  He had somewhat fallen in the bedroom and was complaining of dizziness and a fuzzy brain.  With help, he managed to get down the stairs to the living room to his recliner.  Not too long later, he decided he wanted to use the bathroom, but when he got up--with help--he floundered and fell in the middle of the room.  As with me, we had trouble getting him up.  When it finally happened, we got him plunked back down in the recliner and declared that he would be staying there until Shari decided she was going to call the paramedics to get him checked out (against his protestations).

The ambulance arrived mere minutes after Shari got off the phone.  They took his "vitals" and found nothing alarming, but they seemed to notice some weakness on his left side so decided to transport him to the hospital to determine why he was falling.  Shari followed right behind.  Diagnosis: stroke!  Jim had a small blood clot on his brain which was sucked out with tube snaked up through vessels in his groin--done quickly enough that the clot hadn't been there long enough to do much damage.  Jim was released to come home on that Tuesday afternoon with NO orders for physical therapy or anything else by way of follow-up.   He was prescribed an adult aspirin as a blood thinner, and was wearing a heart monitor to check for A-fib.  One and done!

On Thursday, Dec. 16th, "we" began having trouble with the heart monitor.  Shari had gone to a doctor appointment that had already been postponed once, so Jim and I were holding down the fort.  The heart monitor said it needed to be recharged.  The phone that goes with the monitor was beeping incessantly.  Jim didn't have a clue how to charge it.  I was TRYING to help but he was getting irritated by the beeping.  Although I got the sensor in the charge unit, the phone kept beeping...and he kept yelling at it to shut up!  He called on the phone for support, but he and the poor gal on the other end of the line weren't communicating, and the monitor came OFF.

While Jim had his t-shirt pulled up, I noticed a slight rash on his belly.  I mentioned it to Shari when she came home, but she said it was just how his sensitive skin is.  A day or two later, he had a roaring, itchy, angry rash over most of his torso, front and back...and was miserable.  There were calls to the doctor who decided that it was the aspirin that was causing the rash and decided to send a prescription for Plavix, instead.  Slowly, slowly, over the course of a week, the rash got better (with the help of a lot of Benadryl and Hydrocortisone creams.)    We're still waiting on the Plavix.  (Don't get me started!!)

And then came the ankle.  At first, Jim thought he had somehow strained his Achilles tendon.  By the next day, it was his whole foot, without explanations.  We started icing, elevating, and using anti-inflammatories....plus yet another call to the doctor.  As of today, Dec. 28th, both the foot and rash are much better. 

 And in between, there was Christmas.  Next entry.  Whew!

My St. Louis Holiday, Part III (The Party)

 My sister was born on THE Pearl Harbor Day--the day that the Empire of Japan bombed the US Navy fleet and other military installations at Pearl Harbor in Honolulu, Hawaii.  December 7, 1941.  Thus, Tuesday of last week was her 80th birthday.  While 80 years may seem ancient to some, Shari neither looks nor acts that old.  I envy her youthful appearance!

On December 4th (Saturday) of last week, Shari's daughters in the Springfield, IL, area threw a birthday party for her there at the Route 66 Motel, complete with separate rooms for us to stay the night.  We drove the two hours to Springfield cool day with no problems.   The party took place in a conference room.  While there were some old and faithful friends there, the attendees were mostly family--children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren along with some Significant Others and spouses.  It was refreshing to have everyone together in one place for a happy occasion rather than a funeral for once!

The party room was decorated with birthday bling.  There was a cash bar for those who imbibe.  There were finger foods:  veggie trays with dips, sub sandwiches with all the fixings, home made cookies (including home made coconut macaroons), brownies, and (of course) birthday cake.  The party only took up half the room.  The other half was wide-open space which, as might be guessed, turned into a romper room when the great-grandchildren got bored.  There were cartwheels, splits, a game of duck- duck-goose, and lots of noise and commotion.  (Fortunately, this occurred very late in the party so it wasn't obnoxious.  Only family left by this time.)  As the old Society Gossip pages used to say, a good time was had by all.

The motel is called the Route 66.  It's under major remodeling.  I think people actually live there.  They had displays of vintage Coca Cola machines and other 50s memorabilia.  Our rooms were provided gratis because my sister's eldest daughter knows the motel owners.  My sis/bro-in-law's room was a double--one half was bed and TV; the other half was a bar and a jacuzzi.  Needless to say, the old folks didn't bring bathing suits, and the water just didn't get warm enough to want to go in au naturel.  I had my own room--handicapped accessible.  There was no seat in the shower.  I probably could have asked for one but decided not to shower.   It did have a high toilet seat, just like the new one I have at home.  The only thing I really missed was that the room did not include a tissue dispenser.  I need my tissues!! 

We were on the road back to Missouri by 9:00 AM, in the rain.  We brought home a ton of leftover sweet things--cakes, brownies, cookies.  We moved on from there.  We'd had a great time!

    

My St. Louis Holiday Trip, Part II (Thanksgiving)

 I arrived in Ballwin, MO, on November 22nd, Tuesday.  Thanksgiving was the 25th, Thursday.  I hardly had a chance to settle in before the cooking began on the 24th, Wednesday.  We were preparing all of the traditional American dishes plus a few from our own family traditions--a veritable feast of fat.  It was a full day!  

On Thanksgiving Day, the turkey went in the oven (American tradition), and the hors d'oeuvres came out of the refrigerator (family tradition).  We grazed as we cooked and drank and waited for our guests to arrive.  The place was hopping!

My sister (Shari) and brother-in-law (Jim) have a townhome which is much smaller than either of their homes prior to marriage (May of 2020).  They pared down when they married.  The problem with that is that they were combining two well-established households of HER stuff and HIS stuff, and crammed it all into a smaller space.  Just the three of us bouncing around sometimes get in each other's way.  Add five more people to the mix--three of them young children--and you get a chaotic dough of half-baked edibles.  <---(That's a metaphor that doesn't work.  Sorry!)  Our Thanksgiving guests were Shari's grandson Jeremy, wife Amanda, and their three kids, 14, 7, and 2.  They arrived about noon and filled up our senses!  <---  (That's a John Denver metaphor that also doesn't work!)

Jeremy is a soldier in the Army Reserves who came home from a year's deployment to Poland a year ago just prior to Thanksgiving.  I hadn't seen him since then, so he had pictures and stories to share, and I was an interested listener.  Most interesting was his unguided tour of Auschwitz with some of his Army buddies.  The experience moved him, and moved ME, in our conversation.  It was nice to see that crew again!

When it came time to give the blessing before the feast, Jeremy was elected by default.  He read from the cross stitch on the wall that I worked years ago:  Popo's Grace.  Popo was our grandfather who gave the same grace every time.  It was a nice touch.  

We ate well, as you might suspect:  turkey, stuffing/dressing, mashed potatoes and gravy, candied sweet potatoes, corn bread casserole, green beans, cranberries, mandarin orange Jello "salad", rolls, pickled beets and bread-and-butter pickles, deviled eggs, and pumpkin pie/chocolate silk pie/coconut cream pie for dessert, with cheesecake in reserve.  In other words, we didn't have to send out for pizza!

I missed my own family, of course, but it was nice to break bread with my extended family.  God bless us, everyone!

My St. Louis Holiday Visit, Part I (Getting There)

In Y2K20 <----that's code for the year 2020, also known as the year of the beginning of the COVID-19 pandemic.  The winter holidays in the U.S., Thanksgiving and Christmas, which are both extremely family-oriented were a wash for me.  I couldn't go to Washington State to be with my family, and they couldn't come to be with me.  I had my Thanksgiving feast in a food trade with my co-grandparent friends.  They gave me Boardwalk and I sent them Park Place, but we never got to break bread together.  Christmas was the same, except that I sat and blubbered in my aloneness because it was the first time since the birth of my child that we weren't together for the celebration of Jesus' birth.  It killed me.  I looked to Y2K21 for another chance, if I survived the pandemic.  Surely the worst would be over by then?  Yeah...not so much.

2021 hasn't proved to be much better, holiday-wise.  Although we have all been vaccinated and many travel restrictions have been lifted, COVID-19--the virus of the century (so far)--is still with us, with new variants that make safety unlikely.  While it is possible to fly now, my daughter's place in Washington is still under construction and they wouldn't have a place for me at Thanksgiving, and even Christmas was iffy.  I decided to take advantage of my sister and brother-in-law's standing invitation to be with them in Ballwin, Missouri, near St. Louis, for both holidays.  I hadn't seen their new home yet.  I decided to drive the distance myself--a little over four hours or so.  Packing and preparing to be gone that long was a nightmare.  I just didn't want to subject others to having to drive to Indiana just to pick me and my "stuff" up.  I wanted to be off the road by dark and miss as much St. Louis traffic as possible.  Thus, with brother-in-law's directions, I headed out.  Here is what I wrote on Facebook after arrival:

I made it safely to my sister's in Ballwin, MO, on Tuesday, but not before my senility kicked in. Ballwin is just outside of St. Louis. Thus, I got on I-70 in Plainfield, Indiana, and headed west, then eventually got on I-270, per my bro-in-law's directions. Was supposed to go about 40 miles or so on 270, then get off on Exit 9 (Manchester)...which I did...but it wasn't 40 miles, and the exit didn't say Manchester. And a couple of routes split up just past the exit, and I no longer knew where I was or what I was supposed to do. It just didn't look as I expected. I should be really close to St. Louis, but the signs made it look like what I was close to was Southern Illinois University. I pulled off the road and called my bro-in-law.

After a few seconds of explanations, he figured things out. "You haven't crossed the Mississippi River yet, Peg. You're still in Illinois!"

It was a DUH moment for me. I've been to/through St. Louis before. I KNOW you have to go over the Mississippi before you are actually in Missouri, but somehow, it didn't click. Who knew that I-270 west would have an exit 9 in Illinois and again in Missouri? I felt like an idiot!

I backtracked, got back on the interstate, drove the 40 miles to the OTHER exit 9, and eventually found my way, but geez.....

Unfortunately, that was not the end of the travel story. My directions said that Manchester Road would have 15 stoplights to go through before I would turn off. I was given landmarks to look for before the turn that had to be made to the left. What I didn't know was that Manchester is a main artery that is heavily traveled with lots of shopping centers and businesses on both sides of the road. Traffic was slow and bumper-to-bumper. I had to keep an eye on the traffic to prevent a fender-bender from inattention, so I only occasionally looked for the landmarks. I had lost count of the traffic signals after four or five. Finally--FINALLY--I noticed a significant landmark and the tiny little sign for Old Ballwin Road that only went to the left and had no stoplight. Whew! According to my directions, I was in the right neighborhood, just a street or two away from my sister's. And then the new landmarks didn't happen for me. It occurred to me that I was driving far longer than I should, so I pulled over into the parking lot of a red brick building that said, "Msgr. Buccheit Parish Hall" on it. Aha! A church! Surely my bro-in-law would know where it is and could guide me to their house. So, I called.

Bro-in-law Jim seemed not to know where I was! I stepped out of my car to check the street sign to give him cross streets. One was New Ballwin Road, and the other was provided to me by a young mother who was walking to her car from the building: Dennison. When I told Jim the cross streets, suddenly he said, "I know where you are!" He then came to find me and lead me back to their house maybe half a mile away. At last! And why did Jim not recognize the name of the church where I landed? Apparently, the name of the church is Holy Infant Catholic Church. The name of parish hall is not as well known. Such is my luck!

The only other problem I encountered during the trip was that the sun was in my eyes the whole way. At this point in the season, the sun stays in the south. It came streaming through the driver's side window. Moving the visor over worked for awhile until the sun got even lower in the sky. What it meant about my driving was that the sun was behind all of the road signs, putting them in silhouette and impossible to read until I was right on top of them with little time to change lanes if required. Argh!

Now that I've made the trip once, it won't be so difficult next time. (I hope!) Here's to 2022!

Epiphanies

I'm not a stupid person.  I've been around, and I know things.  And some of the things I know, I have known most of my life.  Then something happens that makes the known things light up with new meaning that I had never considered before.  And then I feel stupid.

This is one of those times.  

My neighbors of almost 30 years, Fred and Sharon, live directly across the street from me.  We don't visit socially, but we have given each other keys to our doors for things like taking care of pets in our absence, collecting mail when we are gone, using driveway space when there is an overflow for special events--that sort of thing.  When my breathing and mobility became a problem some years ago, Fred started bringing my mail up to my house and takes my garbage can to the street each collection day--then brings it back up to the house later.  I never asked him to do that.  He just does it out of the goodness of his heart.  It makes my life sooo much easier.

And what about the goodness of his heart?  Freddie calls himself my "Nosy Neighbor".  If he sees something going on over here that he doesn't know about, he emails--or comes over.  Once, I had called the EMTs when my sister needed a health evaluation.  Fred saw the ambulance and came in the door.  One of the EMTs alerted me:  someone just came in.  Yes...of course...that's just Fred.  We have a bit of a family joke: Freddie knows all!

One time, when my grandchildren were here about three years ago, my grandson couldn't get the hot water to shut off when he was done with his shower.  The water control knob just spinned without doing a thing.  Fred was outside, mowing, so I hailed him to come over to figure things out.  He found the water turnoff valve, tightened a screw under the little plate on the face of the knob, then turned the water back on.  Problem solved in no time! 

Another time, he jumped my car when the battery was toast.  It was enough to get me to a place that would put in a new one. 

Another time when I tore the meniscus in my knee, I called and he was johnny-on-the-spot to come over and help me out.  

Yet another time, when I wasn't responsive to knocks on the door, etc., he came in with his key.  He found me asleep in bed, napping, patted my hand to wake me up to see if I was okay.  People in other circumstances than mine might have felt violated by the intrusion, but I was grateful.  If having a nosy neighbor means someone might find me in dire straits, I'm all for it.  God bless Nosy Neighbor Fred!

Well...now Neighbor Fred is in trouble.  He messed up his ankle in a fall, so I found someone to mow his lawn.  The next time I talked to him on the phone, he didn't sound well.  His wife called me a couple of days later to tell me that he was in the county hospital, in ICU, with COVID.  I texted him with my support.  His wife also took a test but hadn't received results yet.  Then she called to say that the hospital had put him on a respirator...which is not good news.  She still didn't have tests results for herself, yet.  Both Fred and wife Sharon were vaccinated.  I don't know what to think.  Later, Sharon got the news that she also is COVID positive.  Doing okay...but who deserves this? 

Just yesterday, I was reading something that put a wave of understanding over me.  Why are we here?  What is our purpose?  Why is the current wave of nastiness not important?  Jesus said, "If you love me, tend my flock.  Feed my sheep." Etc.  Yeah, okay...I've tried to help others as long as they don't intrude into my meager life.  But when we are talking about life or death, there are no choices.  DO!  Do whatever it takes to have no regrets on your soul when it's your turn to beg for mercy in life.  There are no second chances.  There is no do-over.  Life isn't a dress rehearsal for something better: this is IT.  

Regardless of your religious bent, we are on this earth to contribute to the survival of our species.  If we can't help each other or respect each other's existence, we are nothing.  Dust to dust.  Nothing left by which to remember us as individuals.

I don't pretend to be important as part of the Universe.  I just don't want to feel that I lived, loved, and died for nothing.  Please God...make it not so!  

       

TSA and Flight Experiences

I was just watching a vlog of a young Southern woman blathering on about her flight experience with airport security for a second honeymoon with her husband.  It was funny.  I probably can't match that, but I do have some experiences of my own to add.

Prior to 9/11/2001, the Transportation Safety Administration (TSA) didn't exist.  Or if it did, I don't remember.  After that date, passengers were subject to baggage and personal inspections.  Over time, as new terrorists attempted new things, even more rules were added to the list of things that were not allowed.  Some things that you could put in baggage checked in the cargo section of the plane could not be put in baggage that is carried on.  I had to make lists to make sure I was doing it all right.  

I took two flights long before airplane travel became as convenient as it is.  

The first one was in 1958, when my sister and I (16 and 10) were put on a flight, unattended, from Seattle to Chicago, where our grandparents met us.  We had just returned from Japan.  Dad put us on a plane to meet the grandparents so they could put us in school, since we'd just spent ten days crossing the ocean on a Navy ship.  I remember very little about that flight, except that I wanted to sleep (since it was a late-night flight), just to make the time go faster...and a nice old gentleman that sat next to me made sure I had a blanket and pillow.

The second one was in early-to-mid 1970s, flying from Chicago to San Diego (and back) to visit with my mother's sister, Aunt Rosie, Uncle Bob, and their son (called Sandy due to the color of his hair).  They showed me a wonderful time for the few days that I was there.  Took me to Sea World, Balboa Park to watch the Scottish Highland Games...and Sandy even took me snorkeling in San Diego Bay, where I came sputtering out of the water because I had disturbed a flounder that I thought was a stingray.  Sandy laughed and laughed.  (He was an abalone diver.)

There was nothing remarkable about either flight to or from; EXCEPT, on the trip back to Chicago, the fellow sitting next to me wanted to play cards with me.  He was a very handsome African-American fellow.  I was quite thin, 24ish, and adventurous in those days.  I wasn't brushing him off by any means but was just trying not to disturb anyone or call attention to myself.  Finally, he asked if I knew who he was.  He introduced himself as Kermit Alexander.  I still didn't know who he was but thought he was quite charming.  He was a professional football player!  You can read about him here:

  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kermit_Alexander

The very next time I flew, I was winging my way to Oklahoma City to visit a friend, mid-90s.  The airport experience on the way there was no problem.  On the return trip, however, my luggage had been chosen "at random" for a physical search (not just x-ray).  A female agent set my suitcase on top of a table in front of God and everyone and started digging around in my clothing, cosmetics, and underwear.  The was opening bottles of stuff and sniffing it, then putting it back NOT where I'd had it packed.  I mean, I didn't have anything to hide, but it did feel a bit violated.  I was cleared to go after the delay.  Humph!

The next times I flew--four times, I think--were to California (Sunnyvale, to be exact) where my daughter and her fella had moved.  My grandchildren, at the time, were living with their father, first in Muncie, IN, then in Zion, IL (close to Lake Michigan and the Wisconsin State Line).  During school holidays, etc., it was my job to escort the grandkids to CA to visit with their mom and soon-to-be stepfather.  On probably the second trip there, as the plane was making its descent and the flight attendants were all strapped in their seats, things started popping in my head.  Painful things.  I don't know what to call them.  They were little "pings" all over my my skull.  I felt panic in my soul. God, what is happening??  No one was in a position to help me should things go south.  I dared not ask for help because I didn't even know what was wrong, and I didn't want to frighten the children.  I silently prayed:  "Dear God, please let me get these children to their mother before I die!"  Once we landed, all was okay, but I was totally shaken for the entire rest of the evening...and it never happened again.  Surely it had something to do with cabin pressure as we descended?  I'll never know.

 There were always tears on arrival and tears at departure.  The children were very young...  Finally, my daughter decided that she couldn't stand to be so far away from her children, so her husband snared a job in the north suburbs of Chicago.  I flew with the children to Sunnyvale to begin a loooong trek across the American West back to the Midwest to see as much as we could possibly see in the time we had.  I believe it was a 19-day trip.  And when we reached my house, the adults unpacked and repacked the car with a few things I knew they would need if they actually found a place to live in 24 hours.  They left early the very next morning for job interviews and house hunting.  They found a rental townhome and both were hired for their jobs in less than two days and were only a 30-minute drive from the children.  Wow! They never missed a soccer game or school activity thereafter.  Times changed!

With my daughter and son-in-law now within driving distance, I was delightedly convinced that I would never have to fly again.  Ha!  The children had a custody change, so they now lived with Mom and Stepdad, which freed the breadwinner to seek better jobs.  They decided to move to Seattle for Microsoft.  In a sense, I didn't blame them.  In another sense, I was furious.  Once they flew to Washington, I've never seen my daughter again on my turf.  Fortunately, the grandkids still come for occasional visits, but I'm still doing the flying.  Until the pandemic when everything came to a roaring halt.

I'm going to get my visits mixed up, but here are some of my TSA experiences in airports, other than the ones I have already mentioned.  All of these happened after I had to have handicapped assistance with a wheelchair:

1.  Heading home from Seattle, I was asked to step aside because my carry-on bag alerted positive for gun powder.  Huh?  It was a brand new bag, used only for the trip TO Seattle, with no problem.  A female TSA agent said she would have to search me and my bag, offering to take me to a private place to do so.  I said no...let's just get this over with here.  I think I was embarrassed because I wasn't wearing a bra but figured I couldn't have been the first one.  I was eventually cleared to return to my wheelchair.

I racked my brain to figure out why my new, cute, polka-dotted luggage would alert for gun powder. I finally concluded that my nebulizer for my albuterol sulphate inhalant (that was in that bag) contained one of the same ingredients (sulphate) as gun powder.  I hadn't been cautious about packing the used mouthpiece.  Lesson learned!  It hasn't happened since.

2.  One trip to California with the very young grandchildren, Robin said she needed to use the restroom while we were in line for takeoff.  She didn't come out and she didn't come out...and we couldn't take off until she did.  Finally, I got up to check on her--just ahead of the flight attendant asking me to.  The door wasn't locked.  Robin was washing her hands.  I scooted her out, scoldingly.  When we got to our seats, she said, "Grandma, I had diarrhea."   Then, of course, I felt like a jerk.  I never bothered to try to explain to the flight attendant.  I don't think we were delayed too long.  I hope the rest of the passengers didn't know why we were!

3.  One Spring Break trip, I was taking an Easter candle in a base, with little Easter eggs around the base on little springs.  It was glittery and delightful, a spring gift for my family when I got there.  The bag that contained it went through the x-ray machine twice.  Finally, the TSA rep asked to open the bag.  When he saw the candle, he said, "So THAT'S what that is!".  Closed the bag, and off we went.  No one had bothered to ask me.  If they had, I could have told them...

4.  One time, when the children and I were returning to the Midwest from California, my granddaughter still had a partial bottle of water in her backpack from the trip out.  Neither of us caught it.  The TSA agent yelled at me for allowing it.  It was in the line of "You should be ashamed of yourself."  Yeah, dude.  I'm ashamed that a 10-year-old slipped up and had WATER in her backpack.  I was ticked...

5.  One time, when I was traveling alone, the TSA agent asked me to walk through the metal detector.  I was never asked to remove my shoes.  On the other side of the detector, I said, "How come I didn't have to take my shoes off?"  He said that I didn't have to do that because 75 is the age limit for that.  I mentioned that I wasn't yet 75.  He said, and I quote, "Well you look like you are."  Well, thank you, sonny!

I haven't flown since late December of 2019.  I'm not fond of flying, largely because I am disabled enough to require special attention, which I don't like because I wish I could still be a regular passenger.  Time marches on.  My disabilities won't get better over time.  I'm now hoping that I'll be able to fly again, if only just to see my baby and HER babies again!

Whatever works!   

All That Wiggles Is Not Jello

 I guess we could say that things are not always as they seem, yes?  

In today's mail, I received a refund check from the hospital with which I do business, for "overpayment".  It was about $250, and my heart began to race.  Yay!  More money to get through the month!  I just paid a bill last week online, and when I did, it looked like I actually owed more, so I got suspicious with the refund.  Thus, I called...and boy, am I glad I did!  The refund check was in error...a computer glitch that spits out stuff due to algorithms or whatever.

What people don't know is that hospitals have several accounts:  physicians, facilities, and whatever else.  You can pay one and think you are done, but then the others rear up.  When I called Billing today, I got a peach of a representative.  I told her that I had a refund check but was suspicious of it.  In the course of our conversation, she determined that the refund check was part of a computer glitch.  She explained it all and was quite specific about what I could expect after the call.  She voided the refund check and applied the funds to the THREE accounts still open for me.  That left me with a balance of less than $50.  I'm delighted to have it all taken care of, even if I still owe a little bit.  

Meanwhile, I will be spending Thanksgiving with my sister and bro-in-law in Missouri.  We will pig out and rejoice in our blessings!  Of course, that all puts me in a different mode.  Now I have to start the packing/planning process.  What to take...what to leave behind...God help me!

The "all that wiggles is not Jello" thing originated with my mother and her siblings. When Aunt Net (Calnetta, who was big-bosomed) came to dinner, their mother dared not present a Jello dessert for fear her kids would say something about the jiggle looking like Aunt Net.  Funny now.  Treacherous then!

  

The Old Gray Mare....

 How does the song go?

The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be,

Ain't what she used to be, ain't what she used to be,

The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be,

Many long years ago.

Many long years ago, many long years ago,

The old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be,

Many long years ago.

The old gray mare, she kicked on the whiffletree,

Kicked on the whiffletree, kicked on the whiffletree,

The old gray mare, she kicked on the whiffletree,

Many long years ago.

Many long years ago, many long years ago,

The old gray mare, she kicked on the whiffletree,

Many long years ago.

• (Note that "mule" is sometimes substituted for "mare".)
• (A whiffletree is a force-distributing mechanism in the traces of a draft animal. As an energetic younger horse, the mare still had the spirit to kick even though she was harnessed up to pull a plow or similar.)

Okay, so I had to look up the lyrics (thank you, Wikipedia!), but my mother used to sing the first verse all the time when referring to getting old.  (Mom and her siblings were farm kids and tight as thieves all their lives.  They had many family jokes, made funnier by their interpretations.  I always loved listening to their tales!)

The other day, when I was trying to explain my history to a caregiver, it occurred to me that I had so many physical problems that I had to prioritize them just to make their importance known!  Yeah...I'm the old gray mare.  At the very same time, I realized that my little house-on-a-slab is also an old gray mare.  It has quirks that take experience to know.  The house was built in 1968.  When I bought the place, almost 30 years ago, the only quirk that was pointed out to me by the previous owner was the location of the sewer cleanout.  In fact, someone had carved an arrow in the cement border blocks by the house to indicate where it was.  At the time, I didn't know why that was so important, but over almost three decades in this home, I believe I now know.  The sewer line needs to be rooted out at least once every 18-24 months to remove tree roots from the line.  Bazinga!

So now, nearing the end of my years on the planet, I'm wondering if I should be writing down all the the little things that future owners of this bungalow should know.  I know it's not my job, but if you love a house, you want others to love it, too.  For instance, whenever I had guests, I had to warn them that the toilet would continue to run if the flush handle wasn't jiggled.  (I've since replaced that toilet!)  Of course, there's the sewer tree root problem.  There is a covered-over light switch that I hide under a picture in the bathroom, because, once upon a time, the back door to the house had a door to the main bathroom, with a light switch just inside that door.  (I had the door removed and wall-boarded over, and the switch removed.)  What other little things do I know that future owners need to know?

1.  If one turns off the light switch on the house side of the garage door into the house, every electrical outlet in the garage is turned off.  Not important, except that the garage is no longer a garage.  It's now a bedroom/bonus room, and has been since 2009.  I have put a block on that switch so that guests can't accidentally turn it off, but nobody but me knows that.

2.  Half of the linen closet is taken up with a brine tank for the water softener.  The water softener itself is in the hall closet next to the water heater.  The brine tank is empty, and the water softener doesn't work.  It should.  I replaced it once, but I could no longer handle the 40-lb. bags of softener salt, nor had I taken the time to understand the programming of the machine.  Replace it?  Take it out?  The path of least resistance has been to do nothing.  Unless I get inspired, it will just sit there, unplugged and unused, taking up space.

The other part of that is that, although softened water is generally a good thing, it's hard on water heaters.  For the first few years of living here, I went through three water heaters in quick succession; hence, the reason I haven't done a thing about the water softener since it (or I) gave up.

3.  Light bulbs burn out faster in this house than in any other in which I have lived.  I don't know why.  I finally determined that replacing ceiling fan lights with candelabra bulbs was a total waste of money.  The kitchen was the worst.  Light bulbs, with all of the new "changes", are so much more expensive than they used to be, I buy them and pray for the best, but no more bulbs that look like candles!  

4.  Soooo many changes have been made to this house and yard, not only since I bought it, but also since it was built.  (The way I know this is having looked at another home in the area with the same floor plan.)  For example, there used to be long swinging saloon doors to separate the kitchen from the rest of the house.  Gone.  I already mentioned the second door to the main bathroom.  Now just a wall.  Many perennial plants/shrubs outside that just died.  Some replaced; some not.  Structurally, however, the house remains solid, on a slab of concrete.

5.  Yearly critter invasions, of the multi-legged kind.  Every year, it's something different.  For the last ten years or so, June brings big black ants into the house.  Often, I know they are there because they crawl up  my legs.  Ack!  They are easy to see and easy to crush because they are so visible.  A couple of years, I had an invasion of tiny sugar ants, not seen unless a food crumb happens to hit the floor.  Then, almost invisibly, they surround the crumb, making it easier to see and easier to stamp out.  Twice--this year included--earwigs found their way into the house.  I hate those bugs because they know no boundaries.  I could find them anywhere in the house, but mostly in the kitchen and bathroom.  All of these creatures have somehow found a way into my house, over time.  I don't have answers; only questions.  Doesn't seem to matter what I do, the critters keep doing what they do best: annoy me.  To be honest, it's not a major infestation...just embarrassing.  The infestation is done for this season, thank God.  Stay tuned!

The household Old Gray Mare, combined with the personal Old Gray Mare are quite a team!  There were times, when my daughter and I were younger, that we both wished we lived in a bigger house.  Dear Lord, how would things be for me now if I had ever acted on bigger, better, and more?  I am thankful that I didn't give in to that which I couldn't afford.  They'll probably take me out of this house in a body bag.  I'm okay with that.  This little house-on-a-slab has been my shelter and comfort for almost 30 years.  Very little else has ever been so faithful.     

        

Empty Nesting

 I'm convinced that having teenagers is God's way of preparing parents for the "empty nest".  When the fledglings have flown, is the mother bird delighted or sad that her chicks are gone?  Of course, in Nature's world, where animals do thing instinctively, the parent birds' only job is to hatch the eggs and feed the chicks until they are old enough and strong enough to fly free.  Then it's off to the next brood or migration...or simply finding sustenance to survive until the next breeding season.  It just isn't that simple in the Human world.  Human bairn stay dependent far longer than our animal friends.  It takes decades for a human chick to be ready to fly with confidence.  In the meantime, human parents have expectations about how we want our chicks to grow up.  We form connections, work hard, sacrifice, and pray that our children will grow up to be mentally and physically healthy.  Most parents love their kids so much that they would take a bullet for them.

When babies are born, parents feed them, bathe them, clothe them, and talk to them.  When they are toddlers, we rejoice in their firsts:  first smile, first time they roll over on their own, first crawls, first time standing, first steps...and the list goes on.  All of this is the same as with the parent birds, with a twist: the birds move on when their job is done, but humans cling to their children, even when grown.  Honestly, I have never met a mother who didn't feel wistful when their babies aren't babies anymore.  Not a single one!   

Teenagers present a special challenge.  They are not really children anymore, but not really adults, either.  They want to test their wings sometimes before they even have feathers enough to try to fly.  Happy are the parents that can find a way to communicate with their young ones in a way that will encourage rather than discourage!  It's a crap shoot.  What works today might not work tomorrow.  Still, we keep trying.

I was a pretty easy kid to raise.  I was a good student with virtually no teenage rebellion.  I mostly respected my parents and followed rules.  ALL rules at the time, theirs and society's.  My mother gave lip service to that, but she also repeated a saying (many times over):  "You don't pay for your raising until you have children of your own."  Yeah...that's a curse.  It means, in essence, that when it's your turn to become a parent, you will suddenly understand how tough things were for your own parents. As Sheldon Cooper would say, "BAZINGA"!  I do remember saying to my one-and-only child when she was a teenager--particularly in middle school--"I hope you have six kids and that they are all just like you!"  Yup.  That was the "payin' for your raisin' " curse.  Still, I felt that we were close and shared many passions.  In my experience, family was/is everything.  I could never be a female bird.  Turning loose has never been in my DNA.  

As my daughter's life changed, she changed with it, taking my grandchildren along for the ride.  Almost every move took her, her "new" husband, and my grandchildren farther from me in distance.  When they moved to Washington State for her husband's job, I was mostly devastated, but we found ways for me to visit at least twice a year.  I'm sure I loved it more than they did.  Such beautiful things to see!  Even in my handicapped condition, I enjoyed every second.  So many memories and wonderful experiences!  Still, I couldn't even imagine moving that far away from my parents.  I was definitely feeling orphaned, and the COVID-19 pandemic made things much worse for me.  I missed my family!  I wept daily. 

My granddaughter has started her sophomore college year on campus at Western Washington University in Bellingham, WA.  Her freshman year was spent online at home due to the pandemic.   She and her brother were able to come to the Midwest to visit with their dad and two sets of grandparents this August.  I was ecstatic!  At one point, I told Robin (aka Adrian) that her mother was going to miss her when she went to college.  Her response was, "I know.  She cries every time I mention it."   Aha!  My daughter is now feeling the pinch of the beginnings of the Empty Nest!  She still has a young'un at home, soon to become an 18-year-old adult, so she hasn't quite felt the whole pinch yet...but maybe she is starting to understand how very difficult it is to let go.  Adrian called her mother from campus last week, just to chit-chat.  Of course, Megan cried thereafter.  Maybe now she can begin to comprehend my anxieties when I don't hear from my own kid.  Maybe now, we can be Birds of a Feather in the process of empty nesting.   Maybe my daughter is paying for her raising?  

After all these years, the emptiness of my nest still haunts me.  I want my family to have their best life, of course.  I just wish they weren't so far away!      

When It Rains, The Money Pours

 When I was a child, I noticed the Morton Salt container on our kitchen table.  On it was a picture of a young girl, carrying an umbrella in the rain, also carrying a bag of salt with her other arm, but the bag was carried sideways with a hole in it, and the salt was pouring out behind her as she walked.  Near it was the caption, "When it rains, it pours."  

In those days, I didn't understand it.  I finally figured it out but recently wondered if the Morton Salt people invented it.  (Google says it's a twist of an old English saying, "It never rains but it pours.")  Some have suggested that the Morton ad was an effort to point out that their salt pours freely no matter the moisture in the air.  But I digress.  

My reference to raining and pouring is actually budget-generated.  Once my house mortgage was paid off three or four years ago, I knew I had an extra $600 or so to play with in my budget.  Since property taxes and insurance had to come directly from me instead of from the escrow included in my mortgage payment, I calculated how much of that "extra" money I needed to save per month in order to make everything work.  For awhile, it worked.  I could save some, and then things would hit, unexpectedly.  Everyone knows the drill, unless they are well off.  

I was just sure I could put $500 in savings this month, but, well..."things" happened.  I had two medical bills come in for my share of services, to the tune of $358.  Then my bathroom toilet was bubbling when the washing machine drained.  (Not a good sign!  It has happened before.  The result of ignoring it is a sewer backup and overflowing toilets.)  Plumber call to dig out tree roots in my sewer:  $130.  If my math is correct, that's almost $500.  So much for savings this month!  Maybe next month?

Oh, wait.  Property taxes are due next month, plus my grandson's 18th birthday, plus Thanksgiving will happen.  The next month is Christmas.

Well, drat!  When it rains, it pours!  Maybe 2022....      

The Cost of Being Poor

(Private message:  Thinking of you today, Libby--which has nothing to do with today's topic!)

 It's likely happened to all of us in our younger years, unless we were very, very fortunate.  Get in a tight financial spot, then watch it get tighter and tighter as things move forward.  As an example: Accidentally overdraw your bank account.  The bank charges overdraft fees, and so does/do the entities you were trying to pay.  That can add up to $60 or more (if you only bounced one check), on an account that already has a zero balance.  Bounce more than one, and you suddenly owe more than you can easily pay, and puts you less able to pay your bills the next month.  Of course, the answer is to pay more attention to your bank balance, but before online banking came alone, everyone has done it more than once.

I've talked about my friend Bruce who is on the autism spectrum, living in government housing on his own for the first time in his life.  He has no job and no driver's license.  Thus, everything he does has to come at the convenience of others.  It's a tough space to be in, and NOTHING is easy.  

As an example, a few days ago, he informed me that he owed the apartment complex some money for a utility bill that they paid for him.  He had $50 in cash to give to them.  It wasn't enough.  He actually owed $76, and they would not accept the cash as partial payment.  Payment needed to be by personal check or money order.  Well...money orders cost money, and he has no bank checks.  Only a debit card.  (Not sure why he didn't get checks when he opened the account, but oh well!)  I gave him my personal check for $76 to give them and took his $50 cash as payment.  When  he came out of the office, it turns out that he owes another $27 for a bill that slipped through the cracks before he got his gas deposit taken care of...  Thereafter, I took him to his bank to order checks.  The bank doesn't have temporary checks to give and can only send checks in the mail, at a cost of $12-something.  He only has $.40 in the bank...so no checks this time.

All of this takes him exactly back to where he started.  Yes, I could have given him the money for the checks, and yes, I could have given him the money for the gas bill he still owes the apartment complex, but I didn't.  I didn't because he has come to rely on me for more than I can or am willing to give.  I have spent hundreds of $$ to get him set up on his own but not teaching him how to be an adult if I keep caving in to "help".  What am I helping??

Today is another example of that.  He usually gets a $53 check from the apartment complex at the beginning of each month--don't ask me why, but it has something to do with the government funding.  He hasn't received it yet, so today told me that he hadn't, followed by "I don't know what to do."  I've heard this from him before.  What it really means is "save me".  His mother is only, maybe, ten miles away.  I don't know if he talks to her as much as he talks to me.  When he told me he hadn't received his check and didn't know what to do, I said, "Call the office and ask."  Simple enough.  He's not dumb.  He might have thought of it if he weren't leaning on me.  

With establishments crying for workers, Bruce has applied to many.  He never hears back.  There are reasons for that, but what is he to do?  He wants to work.  He needs to work.  But he has a disability that doesn't always make him the best candidate.  So everyone says "Nobody wants to work."  WRONGO!  And how hard it is for him to try to establish life on his own with no job and no way to get there?  

I've been working with Bruce to help himself with the whole driving thing.  I'm all about taking him necessary places, like the BMV, the doctor's office, job interviews, and grocery shopping, but I live 20 minutes away in a different community.  There is only so much I can do.  He is involved in social services, but the only real answer is for Social Security to accept his disability and put him on the dole.  That takes lawyers, and lawyers take money.

Being poor is a Catch 22.  Do it or don't do it; the result will be the same.  It hurts.        

Stupid Questions?

 (Private message:  Get well, Libby!  Hope you are feeling better every day!)

As you might guess, I have too much time on my hands, but not enough.  It doesn't take much effort to exhaust myself, physically, but my brain is always going full tilt.  With a plethora of things to do that actually need my attention, yet not much ability to get them done, I spend an inordinate amount of time pondering life and the universe...on the Internet.  It's both a blessing and a curse.  Because of this, I know that there are more questions than there are answers, because every answer causes more questions.

I saw a humorous meme on Facebook yesterday about a parent whose young son asked a question that was "so unanswerable that it threatened to tear a hole in the fabric of the space/time continuum:  'Why isn't there any mouse-flavored cat food?' "   How childlike and innocent!  No one would call that a stupid question.  Inquisitive and curious, yes.  Stupid, no.  

I could remember questions like that from my own childhood.  I wondered why, if I jumped into the air on a moving bus or train, I would come down in the same place.  The vehicle didn't move forward and leave me smashed a few feet farther back.  Or why, on a hot day in the car, the road ahead always looked wet, but when we got there, it wasn't wet at all.  Or why God would let bad things happen.  The questions are always acceptable when we are young.  It's when we are adults that they appear "stupid" because, we assume that adults should already know that from their years as questioning toddlers.  

When I was teaching high school juniors and seniors--almost adults--I had one young woman come to me in private to ask if someone could get oral herpes from giving oral sex to someone with genital herpes.  (Quite a change from questions like, "Why is the sky blue?")  I'd already told my students that there are no stupid questions as long as they are sincere.  I spent part of my free period looking up the answer she sought...wrote down the answer in a note, put it in a sealed envelope, and delivered it to her later that day.  (The answer, in case you are curious, is yes.)  We never spoke of it again.  I was flattered that she felt comfortable enough to ask ME the question.  I mean, there aren't that many teenagers that could easily ask that question of a parent.)  

Truth be known, I have many questions that I'd like to ask people--many of which would sound out of bounds if they weren't sincere:                                                                                                                     1.  Why are Black women so sensitive about their hair?                                                                               2.  Do criminals actually think ahead when they commit crimes?  Do they think about consequences, and are the consequences worth what they get from the crime?                                                                3. When society lowers the bar on acceptable behavior and language, what's left?                                    4.  What to do with the questions for which there are only arguable answers?  Abortion has been debated my whole life, as has capital punishment.  Peace in the Middle East has never been established in my lifetime.  Gun control, climate change, minimum wage...and now pandemic vaccinations/masks?  5.  No stupid questions.  Sometimes stupid answers.  

My stupid question for today is why does my house blow lightbulbs faster than what the bulbs say their life is?  Inquiring minds want to know!  (I probably wouldn't understand the answers, so don't bother to tell me.  I just want things to work!)        

Pictures of the Past

 Some years ago, I was cleaning out drawers in what once had been my daughter's bedroom when she and her children moved in with me at her divorce time.  I found three rolls of exposed 35mm film in one of the drawers.  One of the rolls was sealed up and said something like "Your negatives are in this roll."  The other two were mysteries.  I never had a 35mm camera, so I figured the film had to be my daughter's, but they'd been around so long, no one had any idea what could be on them.  In fact, it had been SO long that digital cameras had taken over the world, making developing film almost an ancient process.  

I put those rolls on a bedroom shelf to remind myself to have them developed--but never seemed to get around to it.  I dusted around those rolls for even more years until I decided to put them in my living space to remind myself even MORE to take them to be processed.  FINALLY, on July 23rd, I took them to the local drug store that has a whole department for pictures (Walgreens), to be send away for processing.  I was told it would take two to three weeks to get them back.  After a number of confusing phone calls to/from Walgreens thereafter, one roll of film came back.  The other was problematic.  (More about that later.)

Out of a roll of 24 pictures, only 6 or 8 were printed.  Thank God, the photos were dated by the camera.  It was only by super-sleuthing with those dates and the appearance of my grandchildren and the picture backgrounds that I was able to determine what was going on when they were taken.  First of all, the pictures were NOT good.  They came from obviously old film dating back to late 2005 and early 2006.  The 2005 ones were of a just-post-Christmas visit to my sister Shari and Roger's in Springfield, IL, with my daughter and grandchildren.  The 2006 ones were a scant three weeks later, taken at the Bereavement Meal in Streator, IL, at the Leslie G. Woods American Legion Post, for our brother who had died suddenly.  Again, not good pictures, but they are the ONLY pictures I have of the event.  Can't pitch them!  

After several more calls to/from Walgreens, it seems that the second roll of film had been lost or overlooked.  The computer showed "processing" for weeks and weeks.  Finally, they came in.  The guy on the phone advised me that I should look at the pictures before paying for them, since the package had a price tag of $57, yet when they rang it up on the register, it said $14-something.  I glanced at the pictures before purchasing.  O.M.G!  They were wedding photos from the year 2000!  My daughter's wedding to Nathan, the father of my grandchildren!  

The first four pictures were of a track meet featuring an award-adorned young man that I didn't recognize.  I saw him acting as an usher at the wedding in another picture, so figured it had to be family on the groom's side (Ken), I believe.  His father Frank (Mother of the Groom's brother) did all of the wedding photos, so I'm thinking that he started a roll with a track meet with his son, and finished that particular roll with his nephew's wedding.  Since most of the pictures featured the bride and her family (my side), he just gave her the whole roll of film, which just sat for 21 years!

There was my beautiful daughter.  There was her half-brother Eric walking Grandma McNary down the aisle.  Then Mother of the Bride.  There was Cousin Ken walking the Mother of the Groom down the aisle.  There was the bride's father walking her down the aisle.  Pictures of the bride with Mom alone; pictures of bride and biological parents; pictures of bride with Dad and stepmother.  Pictures of the past.  I was younger and thinner with more-and-darker hair, but seeing those pictures just reminded me of the impermanence of life.  

The marriage didn't last, but the legacy did.  I am still married to the groom's family.  The photographer, Frank, passed awhile ago.  The bride's grandmother is no longer with us.  The bride's half-brother sadly died of cancer in his 40s, and the step-mother just this year.  I consider these pictures as treasures...not because of the marriage, but because of family.  Someday soon, I will also be just one of the memories.  Rejoice in what you have while you still have it!     

Teacher Dreams

 I retired from teaching in public schools in 2009.  I was probably three years premature in doing so, since I was only 62 at the time, and the general age for retirement (according to Social Security) is 65.  At the time, I was teaching 8th grade, but my daughter and grandchildren were living with me, and we really needed more child-care coverage at home for pre-and-post-school supervision, so I gave up three years of potential retirement benefits in order to stay home and help take care of the kids, who were very young--kdg and 2nd grade--at the time.  In those days, I could still breathe well and could stand/walk without problems, but I had a heart attack two months after retirement, so things changed quickly.  In short, although I didn't help myself financially, it was probably wise for me to hang up my teaching credentials after 40 years.  Honestly?  I didn't really miss it.  Oh...maybe at the beginning and the end of each school year, I missed the excitement of traditions, but as the years continued and I no longer knew the kids or even the teachers who came after me, I was okay with it all.

In the same year that I retired, both my daughter and my children left, against my better wishes.  I went into a tailspin for awhile...but I never left the classroom.  Every night, in my dreams, I was in class, facing students that were challenging me every second.  I'm always unprepared, and I'm always trying to be effective, to no avail.  Many times, I am lost in the school buildings trying to find my way to a classroom.  Often, I feel like a fraud.

Many people have dreams that they are walking around in public naked, or in their underwear.  I have dreams of being vulnerable in front of a class of students.  To me, that's the ultimate value of what I chose to do with my life.  Either I'm up for it, or I'm not.  Apparently, my subconscious mind thinks I'm a fraud.  While I'm always in there, kicking, in my dreams, I never deem myself successful.  When I wake up, I still don't trust myself as a teacher.  Maybe that's normal, but it sure doesn't help my Positive Mental Attitude, even though I've been retired for 12 years!

  

Little Things Mean a Lot

 I guess it's a common experience that "a stitch in time saves nine".  My dad used to call it "preventive maintenance".  If some little thing goes wrong, doing something about it quickly will usually preclude other problems later.  Yeah.

I live alone.  I have a helper.  She's my housecleaner-become-friend.  I'm not sure how I got so lucky to have found her, but she has been a tremendous help to me...not just with cleaning.  We've been working together for probably three years now, and she's a godsend.

I am also disabled.  Trying to do anything that requires standing or stamina is an issue for me.  I can still drive like a champ, but I can scarcely walk.  (Thankful that I live in a small house.  I'm never far from things I can hold onto while moving room-to-room.)  

That said, often little things don't get done, or if they do--and something else goes awry--it might not get fixed for months.  Then the little things become bigger things, and so it goes.  

My computer is on a hutch in the living room.  The top of the hutch has become a catch-all for "stuff".  When my gal was here today to clean, I asked her to clear off the "stuff".  Then she asked about the piano lamp on top.  Did I want it to stay?  Well, yes.  I use it...or did...until the bulb burned out.  It uses a tube-shaped bulb, so I needed to buy one.  With my gal doing all of the legwork, we tested it out.  Put in a new bulb.  Still didn't work.  Lamp must be faulty.  We trashed it.  She brought out an adjustable desk lamp from my bedroom to see if that was a good substitute.  I thought it was a stroke of genius.  I know she pretty much had to stand on her head to get it unplugged but was sure it would be perfect.  Ha!  Wouldn't turn on.  Changed the bulb.  Still no go, so hmmmm....  Maybe the problem is with the power strip way back in the dark knee-hole of the computer desk?  Bingo!  For reasons known only to God, the slot my computer was plugged into worked.  The rest did not.  

My gal (who knows more about where things are in my house than I do) appeared with a new power strip out of my closet.  She unplugged the old and plugged in the new, then tested it with the desk lamp.  Worked!  Then she fished the piano lamp out of the trash and tested it.  Voila!  It worked, too.  Problem solved, but at what price?  She returned both lamps to their original places.  She was up and down off the floor, reaching, testing, doing, and undoing.  These were things I could not have done and/or had no patience to do.  What a blessing!  It's such a little thing, but just having something that little turn into something that problematic...then resolved...brings enormous relief to me.

There is no end to the little things.  A silly example: dishes in the sink.  Need to get them in the dishwasher, but the dishwasher is full (and clean).  Can't wash the dirty dishes until the dishwasher is emptied.  How hard is it?  Such a little thing, but failing to do it prevents other things from being done.

And what about doing the laundry?  Sort it, wash it, dry it, fold/hang it, put it away.  So why do I have tons of it undone?  And how much better do I feel when I actually do all of that!  Little things...but having no clean clothes means not going anywhere, and not going anywhere means deliberate isolation.  

Little things make a huge difference!  I keep trying!  

Why Bother? Why I Live With Some Inconveniences.

 My mother and her mother weren't complainers.  Neither was my dad.  They just did what they had to do, and lived with it.  The only time my mother ever gave a hint that things weren't always quite right was when she would say, as she hobbled her first couple of steps off the couch:  "Growing old is hell."  Not much of warning about what was to come for me many decades later!  Mom didn't really take care of herself.  She died at age 67, suddenly, and sent me into a couple of years of numbness.  

I am also guilty of not taking very good care of myself when it was important to do so.  I'm better about it now that I'm 74, when it's almost too late, but I would have appreciated a little more by way of warning from my mom and grandmother.  As a result, I DO complain.  I'm not always aware that I'm doing it, but I'm trying to be being honest here.

When I was in 7th grade, my Girls' PE class was playing kickball outside on a crisp fall day.  The ball was kicked in my direction, but I missed it.  It just gave a glancing blow to one of my fingers as I tried to catch it.  It hurt.  I looked down and noticed a big lump on the first knuckle of the ring finger on my right hand.  I was convinced it was broken.  When I got home, I insisted that my dad take me to the ER, even though (as a football coach) he was telling me there was nothing they would do about it even if it was broken.  He was right, of course.  The finger wasn't broken, but there was a dislocated bone chip that gave the knuckle its lump.  They put a splint on it and sent us home.  I carry that knuckle deformity to this day.  The finger works, so why the fuss?  Why did I bother?

Another time in my childhood, I was playing tetherball with my best friend in her yard.  I came down from a hit and rolled my ankle.  It hurt like crazy.  I limped home.  That night, I had to get up in the night...stepped on that ankle...and nearly went to the floor.  Again, I was convinced it was broken.  Once again, I went to the ER for xrays, and once again was told nothing was broken.  Back home again with a wrap for a sprain until it healed.  More medical expense for nothing.  Why bother?  

I've had other aches and pains through the years, as an adult.  Just when I think I should seek medical attention for them, they go away.  Some come back intermittently.  Some never come back at all, and I congratulate myself for having waited just long enough to save medical expenses.  

Just a couple of months ago, I complained to my PCP's nurse practitioner that something wasn't right in my belly.  Among other things, my navel had gone from being an "inny" to an "outie".  All I could think of was that something was going on in there that I should probably look into.  The NP ordered an xray.  Nothing showed, but my belly hadn't improved, so she ordered a CT scan.  The scan showed...ta-dah!...pockets of gas in my large intestines. Gas, of all things!  The doc told me that it is diet-related and that I should probably begin to take things out of my diet to determine sensitivity.  Well, there you are!  There is not a single thing I eat that I can live without, so I guess I won't do anything, nor worry.  Why bother?  I love food!

I'm fairly crippled up with back problems that affect my ability to stand and walk.  When I first complained about it to my then-PCP, I felt brushed off.  Oh, they took an xray that my then-doc said showed "weakness".  I'm sorry?  An x-ray shows weakness?  I didn't go back to that dude, and since then, my back problems have only increased.  

I get yearly chest scans looking for lung cancer.  The scans almost always show spinal degeneration.  I've been told it is arthritis, but no one knows for sure because no one has been brave enough to order an MRI for my back.  I struggle around in my little house-on-a-slab, doing the best I can.

Interestingly, if I do have arthritis, it doesn't really bother my knees.  I did have a torn meniscus a few years ago, but my knees don't give me any pain.

Know what DOES give me pain?  The index finger on my right hand.  The second knuckle has a hitch in it, and now the whole finger lets me know if I'm doing something it doesn't want.  Like picking up a jug of wine by the handle, or opening a pop-top can.  I'm right-handed, so this is an issue.  Should I seek medical attention for it?  Why would I want to?  There's no way to fix it besides surgery.  I'm guessing it's arthritis, but why only in one finger??  I haven't "done my research" about it yet.  All I really want to know is if I am hurting it by continuing to use it, or should I put a splint on it to let it rest for awhile?  My general knowledge of arthritis is that you have to keep using an affected joint just to keep it moving.  

I'm extremely flinchy about seeking medical attention for anything that isn't critical right now.  The "why bother" attitude is in there, of course.  I don't want to whine about the little crap that nothing can be done about when the rest of the world is struggling with COVID.  I think my swollen finger can wait.  It's inconvenient...but why bother?          

Letting Go

Where has the time gone?  Just yesterday, I was busy raising my daughter and trying to help her find her way in life.  Today, however, the time has come that I am busy helping my daughter get through helping HER daughter take that next step.

My grandchild, Robin (now known as Adrian) will move into her college accommodations today.  She spent her freshman year at home, online, due to the pandemic.  This year, she's going to be in person on campus.  Her mom and stepdad took her on a week-long vacation trip to Oregon in their RV, then home for a couple of days before departing for WWU in Bellingham, WA.  They got there yesterday.  Today is move-in day.  

Adrian will be staying in an off-campus apartment complex.  She will share accommodations with three other students.  When she was here just a couple of weeks ago, she was on a quest to get things she thought she would need, so I was able to play a tiny part in getting her ready for her new adventure.  That's all I've ever wanted...to be a part.  I feel good about that.

My daughter, Adrian's mother, has been quite emotional about the whole process of letting go of her daughter.  Her latest message to me was, "I hope I can get through today."  I assured her that she could, which is probably not what she wanted to hear, but it is the truth.  We do what we have to do for our children and family.  Period.  And we adapt and move on.  It isn't always pretty.

I came from (at least) two generations of strong women who instilled in me that you pick up, dust off, and do what needs to be done in the moment.  Falling apart is never an option.  When my mother died unexpectedly in 1986, the funeral director met me in the parking lot just before Mom's funeral.  I recall putting my head on his shoulder, saying, "I don't think I can do this."  His response?  "Yes, you can."  It was such a Mom thing to say!  It took all I had to do it, but I  "bucked up" and got through.  I remember nothing about the funeral, but I got through it without embarrassing myself. 

Then, too, many years later (1990 or so), I was embroiled in determining what to do about my marriage in the midst of my then-husband's infidelity.  Every single day was a challenge.  I had a child to finish raising and a challenging teaching job.  One of my best teacher friends told me, "Peg, don't fold up.  You'll just have to unfold again."   Again, a Mom thing to say.  She was right, of course, and I didn't fold up, even though there were many, many times when I wished I could.  I knew that "folding up" wouldn't change a thing, so I did what I had to do.

Today will be hard on my daughter.  She has already been weepy about giving her eldest to the world in the midst of a pandemic that isn't over yet.  I am, too, but I have no voice or choice.  All I can do is prop up my daughter as she gives up HER daughter to the world.  All I can give her is words.

She doesn't know about the days I cried when she and the family moved to Muncie so many years ago, out of my immediate clutches.  I wept for days before I figured out that I would just have to drive a little farther to see them.  

She doesn't know about the days that I cried when my daughter and the children left the children's father and moved in with me for two years or so.  I had no warning.  I loved it but felt bad for the children who loved their father.

She doesn't know about the two years of tears and depression I went through when she gave custody of my grandchildren to their father so she could follow her boyfriend to California for a career with Microsoft.  The feelings of hurt, betrayal, helplessness all came crashing down.  It improved over time, but not without major trauma to the kids.  

She doesn't know about all of the tears I shed in the years of raising her alone, praying that I was doing the right thing, hoping she'd turn out well because I had no one else to blame if she didn't.

And now...NOW...my daughter is feeling the same pinch that I did in all of those years:  letting go, but not wanting to.  She and Adrian are sooo much alike, it's pathetic, but they love each other in ways that aren't always obvious.  But I know my kid...and I know my grandkid.  God willing, all will be okay.  My task for today is to reassure my daughter that her first-born will be okay.  She will be missed, but she's not gone.  We will weep together for a bit, but love will win.  Nothing is lost, but letting go is hard!

We are all treading on new ground today.  May God have mercy on all of us!

         

Godspeed

 Godspeed is not an expression that is often used these days.  I use it quite a bit, with my own interpretation of what it means.  To me, it is a blessing of sorts.  

I've looked it up.  It is an ancient expression that equates to wishing someone safe travels and good luck to be prosperous on a journey.  More than "good-bye"--which, btw, is derived from "God be with you"--to me, it is an investment in love and a prayer for the traveler.  To me, it is like "aloha"...hello and good-bye, until we meet again.

And that's the kicker: meeting again.  To me, Godspeed means "May God speed you on your trip and return you safely back to me."

If I tell you "Godspeed", you'd better bet that I love you and am putting my faith in Almighty God/Intelligence to make it happen.  Consider it my Mizpah:  The Lord watch between thee and me while we are apart, one from the other.  Amen!!

      

  

Gramma Time!

 (With apologies to American music artist M.C. Hammer.)

When I first became a grandmother, I had no clue how important any of my grandchildren would be to me.  I adored the first one; then, 15 months later, I adored the second one, too.  I did whatever I could to help make their lives, and those of their parents, pleasurable.  The kids are now 19 and 17.  They moved to the Pacific Northwest (Seattle, WA) a number of years ago, much to my dismay.  Too far away from Grandma!!  Still, I was blessed to visit them and my own daughter and husband, about twice a year.  Then the COVID  pandemic hit.  The world stopped.  I could not go there, and they could not come here.

From the spring of 2020 onward, I had no respite from the longing for my family.  My physical health and my mental health took a nosedive.  I finally went to my doctor and said, "I am not okay."  She put me on a low dose of Sertraline, which seemed to help.  Still, it's not a substitute for the ones I love.  I hadn't seen my babies since Christmas of 2019, and it killed me!

Last week, all of that ended.  The children flew to the Midwest, masked and fully-vaccinated, to see their father and their two sets of grandparents.   I hadn't seen them since the Christmas of 2019, and it was killing me.  

Friday, Aug. 20, 2021:

The kids arrived via Alaska Airlines in the late afternoon of August 20th, a Friday.  It was a very hot and humid day.  The air conditioning in my car only works if the car is moving, so I knew it wasn't going to be a good thing to wait in the Cell Phone Lot at the airport for word that they were down.  Thus, their paternal grandmother (my friend and co-grandparent who lives a scant mile from me, Judy) volunteered to drive us to the airport to pick up the kids when they landed.  We drove through a gully-washer rain to get to the CP Lot to sit and wait for a bit until we got the word "We down" from the grandson.  The rain had let up.  When they texted that they were off the plane, we headed to the terminal, just two minutes away, and there they were, waiting for us at the curb!  (They didn't have any checked bags, so could just deplane and head to the street.)   Judy brought us home and lingered in the driveway to hug her grandkids before heading home to have supper with her husband and live-in son.

In short order, I fixed "walking tacos" which is essentially tacos using corn chips instead of taco shells or tortillas.  We ate, chatted, settled in, and eventually went to bed.  (I should probably note here that when the kids come to Indiana, they generally sleep at my house because I still maintain their bedrooms from long ago.)

Saturday, Aug. 21, 2021:    

The kids didn't really unpack because their father and stepmom were to pick them up here and whisk them away to Muncie for a couple of days.  (Their dad lives in Zion, IL, north of Chicago, almost on the Wisconsin border. Their stepmother's mom lives in Muncie, and the day before was her birthday.) They were a tad late picking the kids up because of traffic between Chicago and Indy, but when they arrived, the kids' dad hugged them long and hard in the driveway, came in for a few minutes, then ran off to Muncie.  I don't think he has seen them any sooner than I did....  

Sunday, Aug. 22, 20211, and Monday, Aug. 23rd:

Nathan and Kendra (the kids' dad and stepmother) brought the kiddos back to Plainfield, to Judy and Phil's house (the other grandparents'.)  Apparently they had been to a car show in Muncie, and had gone mushroom hunting somewhere--or at least Nathan and son did.  They both came back covered in chigger bites!  I was invited to join them all for dinner, which I did.  Judy is a good cook!  

After dinner, we all sat down to watch Animal Farm.  We only made it halfway through when my stomach began to act weird, so I excused myself to come home.  The kids would come after the movie.  Just into the one mile trip between their house and mine, my intestinal urges became acute.  I was doing my best to get home, pronto...which I did...but only made it just inside the front door when the intestinal dam burst under pressure from muddy water.  I was in the process of cleaning myself up when their father brought the kids home to my house.  Yeah...that was fun!

Tuesday, Aug. 24, 2021:

The plan for the day was for everyone to go to the Indianapolis Museum of Art where they had a digital Van Gogh exhibit, and more.  Bless her heart, Judy had done a lot of research into it and had all of the details figured out.  As it happened, I chose not to go (because of my disabilities)...so did Stepmother....and so did Grandpa.  Thus, Judy, her son, and the two grandchildren were the only takers.  Thankfully, it was totally an inside experience because it was blistering hot and humid outside!  The kids came back late but in good spirits.  

Wednesday, Aug. 25, 2021:

The kids' dad picked them up sometime in the morning and took them to the Heffelman grandparents' house for one last gasp before the parents left to head back to the Chicago area.  They planned to be gone by noon, but the weather had other ideas.  A thunderstorm hit about 11:30 AM.  Some wind.  HEAVY rain.  Lightning and thunder.  At one point during the storm, several tree-sized limbs came crashing down from one of their oak trees onto the two cars in Judy and Phil's driveway.  Both vehicles were totaled, and the kids were wide-eyed.  A little Midwest weather action to keep things hopping!  (They don't get much by way of thunderstorms in the Pacific Northwest where they live.)

When their dad delivered the kids back to my house after the storm so they could head north, everyone was a bit in a twitter about the storm and the cars.  The children and I just "vegged" for the rest of the day.  The day's excitement had been enough!

Thursday, Aug. 26, 2021:

Grandma Judy had planned to take the children to the Indianapolis Zoo on this day.  I had already called Grandpa Phil the afternoon before and suggested that, due to the heat and car circumstances, it would be better to cancel those plans.  Though I never got an official cancellation from them, the zoo trip didn't happen, which was an enormous relief.  Ryan had already declared that he just wanted to "hang out here", and that his "social battery [was] drained".    

Grandpa had requested Ryan's help in cleaning up tree trash in their yard early in the day.  Robin drove him over there in the morning.  I would have let Ryan drive himself, but I thought we would need the car.  Both of my grandkids are licensed drivers, although they have never driven in Plainfield, IN, to know how to get anywhere, including the other grandparents' house.  I swallowed my fear, gave Robin my Proof of Insurance card and car key, and prayed a lot.  She was home almost before I even knew she was gone! 

Here is where my memories of what happened on which days gets a little cloudy.  There was a musical slated for the entertainment center at our biggest community park in Pfield for the weekend of August 27-28:  Newzies.  It piqued Robin's interest and mine; Ryan even said he would go if that's what the rest wanted to do.  (Bless him!  Ry was definitely being a team player this trip.  He usually excuses himself from things like this if he has a choice, but he was clearly focused on doing family things this time.  My grandson is maturing!)  Meanwhile, the heat/humidity wave had not abated.  This was an outdoor event, complete with walking uphill on grass--not great for me, even with my rollator--and finding enough folding chairs for all of us.  I was having heat-related breathing problems...and I know Grandpa Phil doesn't handle the heat well, either.  We all just kind of let the event slide by without making much of an effort to go.  Too blasted hot! 

On one of those days, I turned Robin loose with my car, my credit card, a budget "rice point", and off she went, using Google Maps as her only means of navigation.  (I did steer her in a direction that had most of the stores she would need but knew that she was better off shopping without me.)  Robin is preparing to attend her sophomore year at Western Washington University on campus, having spent her entire freshman year online at home, due to COVID.  She is vaccinated; faithfully wears a mask; and is one sharp cookie.  Still, she hasn't lived away from home before, so has a list of things she thinks she will need, augmented by friends and family.  Since she came with only carry-on luggage, I proposed to ship her overage to WA, then hatched the idea of packing her overage in an extra suitcase of mine and give her the fee for a checked bag.  (Cheaper to pay the checked bag fee than USPS would charge to ship, and they would all arrive at the same time!)

Robin arrived safely at home with her treasures hours later.  We did Show and Tell.  She made great choices, in my opinion.  A couple of days later, Grandma Judy took Robin shopping, too.  More goodies!  

Sunday, Aug. 29, 2021:              

I did online church, as usual.  Can't remember much else about the day except that we went to Judy and Phil's for Sunday dinner.  As usual, it was good!

Monday, Aug. 30, 2021:

Can't remember!

Tuesday, Aug. 31, 2021:

This day was the last full day that the grandchildren would be here.  I had already invited the Heffelman grandparents to share dinner with us, as a "last gasp" before the kids left AND their 60th wedding anniversary two days after.  My senile brain had been working overtime to find ways to make the meal special for them.  As it happened, it was a semi-disaster on my part.  (More on that later.)  

I sent Robin out to find some little token gift to give to the grandparents for their anniversary.  She returned with a plant, then asked for supplies to make a homemade card for them.  In the meantime, I had to clean off the kitchen table, dig out the fine china and glassware, put a leaf in the table, set the table, and somehow have energy left to cook.  Grandchildren to the rescue!  Both kids dug right in to help get things done.  I'm not at all sure that a respectable family dinner would have happened without them!  I had changed the dessert menu several times.  Cooked the stir fry too long.  Added WHOLE water chestnuts to the stir fry instead of sliced because, apparently, that's all I had.  Long story short, the kids saved my life on that dinner, and I was totally aware that I could not have done it alone.  Thank you, Robin and Ryan!  We ate and visited, then spent the remainder of the evening starting to organize for the next day's departure.

Wednesday, Sept. 1, 2021:

Thankfully, the non-stop flight from Indy to SeaTac happens in the late afternoon.  We determined to leave for the airport at 4:30 PM.  Grandma Judy wanted to go with us, but she was participating in a Homemaker's Club outing to Beef and Boards dinner theater for the matinee.  She had Phil call to say she would be here to join us at the airport drop-off.

Meanwhile, Robin had already determined which of her purchased treasures would not fit in her carry-on bag.  She felt certain that if Ryan let her pack his bag, she could find room for it all so as not to have the expense or responsibility for a checked bag.  It worked!!  In our down time before departure, we conversed.  The heat wave had relaxed, so the humidity was down...and the kids and I had long, introspective discussions out on my patio.  I do so love these young adults!

At 4:30, Judy pulled into my drive behind my car, in her rental.  I asked which car.  She said hers, so we packed up and headed to the airport.  It's about a 10-15 minute trip from my door to the terminal.  We dropped the kids off at the curb by Alaska Airlines, hugged and kissed them both, then drove off as they walked into the terminal.  I didn't cry until I got home, and then the tears flowed.  I settled down to track their flight on the Internet for the next four hours.  They arrived safely.  Their mom and stepdad and Ryan's puppy greeted them inside the terminal.  Nyla (the puppy) didn't recognize the kids until she smelled them, and then all wiggling broke loose.  Ryan had worried that Nyla wouldn't remember him.  Nope!  Once I knew that my grandbabies were in the clutches of family, I could breathe and relax.  I already miss them terribly!

Conclusion:

 Throughout the course of the Covid crisis--which is far from over--I had myself convinced that I would never get to see my family again.  That I would die alone and lonely.  They live half a continent away from me, without much hope that I could move there and maintain a place of my own.  Thanks to my former son-in-law, this trip happened.  I enjoyed every second of it!  

The children have changed since December of 2019.  I'm amazed at their maturity and have dropped back from thinking of telling them what to do, to enjoying their personalities.  They are questioning, evaluating, thinking critically--much more than I ever did at their ages.  I am so blessed to be their grandmother!

There is nothing that my grandchildren could do or be that would ever cause me to turn my back on them.  I will go to my grave adoring them.