English, The Absolutely 100% Confusing Language

 When did absolutely and 100% replace the word "yes" in the English language?   It seems that people are trying to amplify even the simplicity of an affirmative.  Do you like flowers?  A mere yes no longer suffices.  Do you like flowers?  Absolutely!  How about fake flowers?  One-hundred percent!  See what I mean?  

When I was in college studying English as my major, I was taught that clarity was achieved through an "economy of words".  In other parlance, make your point clearly with forceful simplicity.  Layering modifiers tends to lessen the forcefulness, so keep those down.  The example used was "I love you".  Sweet.  Simple.  Meaningful.  According to this one instructor, however, adding "very" to the mix lessened the message.  "I love you very much" wasn't as impactful.  (Not sure if I agreed with that, but it did give me something to think about back then.  And I still think about it.

 My favorite TV show is Big Bang Theory, now only in reruns.  In one episode, Penny is talking to Leonard when she tells him she'll always have feelings for him, no matter what happens to their relationship.  That convinces Leonard that she's going to break up with him because "always" makes things worse.  "I'll have feelings for you", to him, was more positive than "I'll always have feelings for you."  

I simply can't listen to any of the Kardashian sisters--or any of the Valley Girls--because they cannot speak without using the word "like" every fifth word.  It's ingrained.  I'm not sure it can, like, be beaten out of them if, like, their lives depended on it.  You, like, get the picture.

If nothing else, our language is fluid.  It changes over time in the same way that we do.  Examples: In elementary school, we had spelling lists and tests over how to spell the words on the list each Friday.  I was a lucky kids with a good visual memory.  Once I saw a word, I usually could spell it (for the most part).  There were some tricky ones, however.  For instance, Halloween was spelled with an apostrophe between the two e's.  Hallowe'en.  On the test, if you left out the apostrophe, the word was counted wrong.  Horrors!  Not so now.  (In fact, no one believes me on this one.  Google it.  It's there!)  Also in those days, seasons of the year were capitalized.  Nope.  Not now.  Words that ended in "f" in the singular were pluralized by changing the "f" to "v" and adding "es".  Scarf became scarves.  Dwarf became dwarves.  Knife; knives.  Hoof; hooves.  Roof; rooves, etc.  But wait, there's more!  These days, many of those words have now been accepted without the changes, yet there seem to be no rules, rhyme, or reason to which is which.  Scarf is now scarfs.  Roof is now roofs; hoof is hoofs....but knife is still knives, and dwarf seems to be determined by whatever you are reading at the time.  Ugh!

After college, I saved my three-inch thick handbook Perrin's Guide to English.  For a long time, it was my go-to book to answer my questions about the mechanics of grammar.  I threw it out a few years ago because so much of it no longer applies.  

I can't keep up.  It seems that it is no longer required to have a double space between typewritten sentences.  Blasphemy!

My granddaughter uses terms I've never heard before:  agism, ablism, cis gender. gender fluid...and so it goes.  Things that were once cool, neat, or groovy are now sick, lit, or fire.  Okay...  Not a day goes by that I don't have to look something up to see what it means in today's usage.

Yes, I'm not a kid, but I'm not stupid, either.  I actually try to stay current on important things if for no other reason than not to make a fool of myself.  As a 40-year veteran English teacher, I spent an enormous amount of time harping on things like subject-verb agreement and pronoun-antecedent agreement.  Now the newest generation comes along with its requests for pronouns.  A single person may wish to be called "they".  I do respect calling people what they want to be called, but so much goes against everything I ever learned/taught about pronouns, I usually have to beg for forgiveness when I slip up.  

I am a Baby Boomer in the U.S.  Apparently, "we" have a bad reputation for wanting things to stay the way they were in prehistoric times.  That's not me.  I'm a live-and-let-live person with a huge penchant for fairness.  I try to roll with the punches--and all of those other cliche' things.  I'm running in place as fast as I can.  Does it matter?  Absolutely!  100%!  

Losing Things in Old Age

 True story:  Just two days ago, I had to do the math to remind myself of my age.  For a few moments, I couldn't remember if I was 74 or 75.  The ugly reality is 75.  And therein lies the content of today's post.  When we get older, we lose things.  It seems that memory is first.  This is one of the reasons that I try to write down memories in this venue.  If any of my potential descendants are the least bit interested in me or my life, they won't run into brick walls.  

What else do we lose with age?  Certainly, everyone is different, but the general public seems to follow the same path as I.  In no particular order:

1.  Teeth.  I've already written about mine, and the situation isn't getting better.  I'm facing dentures or implants, although I'm not eager for either.  I've lost many but still have enough that I don't look forward to having them all removed at once.  Trust me: this won't be a quick decision.

2.  At least one sense.  Humans are known to have five senses:  sight, smell, hearing, touch, and taste.  (There is current discussion that we have more than those, but that's what I was taught in school.)  Typically, we don't lose any of them completely, but it does happen.  My vision isn't great, nor is my hearing.  Can't smell a thing, unless it is crushed garlic or the alcohol in hand sanitizer, due to long-term sinusitis.  (Smell and taste are supposed to be connected.  Thank God, that hasn't happened in my case!  I can still taste my food even though I can't always smell it!)  Thankfully, my sense of touch isn't affected.  I can still feel things.  In fact, I can feel things crawling on me that aren't there, thanks to circumstances beyond my control.  And so it is.

3.  Bladder/bowel control.  Indeed, this happens occasionally to everybody, no matter their age, but it happens more frequently to those of us who have a few years on us.  Youngsters make fun of it in social media, but their turn will come!  We need to de-shame this, even for men, because it's a fact of life!

4.  Dignity.  HA!  All a woman has to do to lose her dignity is to get pregnant.  Thereafter, she will be poked and prodded in every way possible, with many people witnessing her most private and personal moments.  Now, with state laws all over the USA making it difficult to end a pregnancy, it gets worse.  There are moments for ALL of us that take away our ability to preserve our dignity--the things we don't wish to make public about how life is for us.

As an example, my dear grandmother developed a benign tumor on her spine.  By the time it was discovered and removed, the damage had already been done.  She never walked again, spending the last 15 years of her life in a wheelchair.  She was too heavy for family to lift her out of her chair into bed, so they bought a hydraulic lift  that had her "flying" through the air, with her naked bottom in full view of anyone who happened to be around.  My mother worked and worked on her mother's rear end to prevent pressure sores, which meant that Grandma laid on her side in bed, bare, with a heat lamp aimed at her butt.  This woman...this woman...was the darling of the rural gentry.  She was beautiful.  A leader in the church, directing the choir, etc.  Also directing all that went on with the huge garden and inside the home.  Everyone that I knew respected my grandmother as the matriarch of an honored family.  Of course, they didn't know how hard it was for her behind the scenes to lose her dignity in those moments.

5.  Autonomy.  The older you get and the less you can do for yourself, the more you are at the mercy of others who think they know what is best for you, regardless of what YOU think.  This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but I do admit that there are times when I don't tell some people about some of my trials and tribulations because I know that they will begin to supervise my decisions--perhaps before I am mentally prepared to deal with them.  (I am a world-class procrastinator!)

Of course, things I used to do for myself I now have to pay for.  I had to give up yard work first.  Although I love to garden, mowing became a chore that knocked the strength out of me.  In the early days of living in my little house, my Egyptian Muslim neighbor, Abdul, would stop me and say, "You shouldn't be doing this.  This is too hard for you."  I think my sweaty red face gave me away.  I smiled and nodded and thought to myself, "Are you gonna do it for me?  It won't mow itself!"  No...in those days, I did everything I could by myself.  It wasn't/isn't in my nature to ask for help.  Of course, and perhaps because of that, people close to me get passive-aggressive about "hinting" what I should be doing.  Yeah...I'm not ready for "the home" quite yet, but coming, I'm sure!

6.  Hair.  I know I'm not the only woman whose hair has thinned dramatically with age.  It actually started way back in college.  In fact, I'm probably lucky that I still have as much as I do, but it sure irritates me!  Men understandably regret their baldness, but women are supposed to be protected from that by hormones.  Yeah, right!  I never had morning sickness during pregnancy, and never had mood swings or hot flashes in menopause.  Do I even have hormones???

I'm begrudgingly learning to accept the things I can't change.  Focusing now on how to get through the last days with the least amount of regret.  There is no other way!

When It Rains, It Leaks

 (With apologies to the Morton Salt people for messing up their motto.)

I've lived in my little house-on-a-slab for 30 years.  It had a new roof when I moved in.  The new roof was layered over the old roof, so there were at least two layers of shingles up there with very little chance of a leak.  But I DID have a leak.  Why, you may ask?  Because my house was built on a concrete slab.

One might also ask why a leak in the ceiling would be caused by concrete in the floor.  If you're very, very bright, you might figure it out.  There was no central air in the bungalow when I bought it.  The only AC was a window unit in a back bedroom in line with the hallway.  I asked the previous owner to take it with him (which he gladly did) because I didn't have the strength or desire to move it in and out, seasonally, and also didn't want to mesx with covering it on the outside.  It was my intention to install central AC.  Meg and I moved into the house in late March of 1992.  By June, I already had contracted a guy to put in the unit.  Hallelujah!  My home was air conditioned!

Air conditioning not only cools the air; it also removes the moisture from the air.  That moisture becomes "condensate", which means "water".  There is a condensate pump that sends the collected water outside the house, somewhere.  In my house, it can't go through a crawl space because there is no crawl space.  So, where does it have to go?  Up through the attic and outside.  Even though the attic is insulated, it still gets cold up there above the insulation.  (Are you following me so far??)

When the AC was installed, a copper tube drained the condensate up into the attic via a condensate pump, and out through an outlet on the ground in the back yard.  Not long thereafter, a "handy" friend of mine volunteered to install ceiling fans in three bedrooms.  That meant a trip to the attic.  Truth be known, the attic is nasty in temperatures over 70 degrees F.  I wouldn't send my worst enemy up there in warm weather.  It's too hot to sustain life!

Somehow in the process, the copper tube was accidentally kneeled on (since one can't stand up in my attic).  That created a crimp in which water pooled at the end of the air conditioning season, only to freeze and crack the tube in the winter.  The next spring, as the water thawed, I had ceiling leaks that occurred in two rooms.  Called the AC guy who came out, found the problem, and encased the copper tubing in a section of garden hose to solve the problem.  Hooray!

Fast forward MANY years--like all the up to just three years ago.  My house was paid off.  I was switching homeowner's insurance companies.  The company of choice sent out a dude who said they would not insure the house because the roof was covered in moss.  Yes, I knew this.  I had already been talking to my bank and roofing sources to find my cheapest options for getting that little detail taken care of.  I contracted a local company who came two days later to install a new roof.

In the meantime, a ceiling leak developed in a back bedroom.  Since I'm rarely back there, it wasn't noticed for awhile.  And then another leak spot showed up.  It had to be a slow leak because nothing dripped.  It just moistened the drywall, but it was problematic.  One person even suggested that it could be animals in the attic and that the wet spots were critter urine.  Ack!  I called my roofing company.  They sent out a small team to take care of the problem at no charge to me.  We have taken steps to watch the spots to see if they get wetter or bigger.  I'm keeping my fingers crossed!

I'm chuckling at myself here.  Who would think that a whole wordy blog post could be made out of a roof leak?  You ain't seen nuthin' yet!

No News Is Good News?

 My mother frequently used the expression, "no news is good news", meaning that if nothing bad came up in correspondence or the media, it must mean that all is well.  In some respects, I agree; however, my own experience tells me that silence from any source can mean that things aren't going well enough to talk about.  It's like raising a toddler.  When they get quiet is when you need to get worried.

I've been largely absent from this venue for some weeks.  I've started several posts but never finished them.  What's up with that?  I wish I knew!

Most of the time, I have a burning desire to express myself, like anything I have to say would be mind-bogglingly important to the world.  The truth is, who cares?  What I think and feel is important to me, but the rest of the world sees me as an aging organism, out of touch with the world.  I have to admit that in some respects, that is true, but doesn't experience count for something?  Might I not have something to share that would help someone?  

Should people be worried that I haven't written anything in this blog for awhile?  Maybe.  I am just feeling somewhat invisible...and discounted, perhaps.  There is so much hypocrisy and negativity in the world right now that I have been reluctant to add to it by whining.  Do I need to whine?  Well--doesn't everyone?  Venting can be therapeutic for the complainer, perhaps, but not others who aren't falling into that black hole.  Thus, I've largely been curling up in a corner in silence until I can find something of interest to share.  You're welcome.

My 15th "Aneurversary"

 In my wallet, I carry two cards.  One shows where I have a heart stent and what brand it is.  The other explains that I have a clip in my brain where a ruptured aneurysm once was.  I produce them to radiography technicians when I get scans, etc., so they know I'm safe to have the scans.

I have the heart stent because I had a heart attack on August 1, 2009.  I didn't have common symptoms.  I just knew something was wrong because I couldn't raise my arms.  The "attack" was fairly minor, and, after a short hospital stay to have a stent installed, my ticker went back to normal "sinus rhythm" and hasn't been problematic since.  

I have a clip in my brain because I had a ruptured brain aneurysm on July 21, 2007.  Called a sub-arachnoid hemorrhage, it came on quite suddenly.  So suddenly that I didn't know what hit me.  I was visiting with my sister and family near Springfield, Illinois.  We had been to a dirt track race of some kind to watch my nephew drive in it.  Got home about 11:00 PM.  I poured myself a glass of wine and headed to their basement where their computer was to check my email.  Just at the bottom of the stairs, I flushed hot.  Turned on their fan...but suddenly felt enormous pressure in my head.  Felt like it was being blown up from inside.  At the same time, I became nauseated.  Knew I was going to throw up.  Made it up the stairs to the bathroom.  My sister could hear me being sick so came to inquire if I was okay.  I wasn't!  I thought I had picked up some magical stomach bug that had the ability to make one vomit with very little warning or other symptoms.  And my head/neck hurt.  A lot.  Sister Shari provided me with two ice bags, one for my head and one for my neck, but I continued to vomit painfully every few minutes, all night.  

I have written about all of this before, so I'll just run a timeline now:

July 21, 2007, Saturday:  My brain exploded late in the evening.  I spent the night sick as a dog.

July 22, Sunday:  I had a break in the vomiting long enough to allow my sister to take me to an Immediate Care place in Springfield.  (She had been asking since early in the morning, but I didn't feel well enough to do even that before mid-afternoon.)  The doctor asked me if I had a history of headaches or neck pain.  I said no...so he sent us to Memorial Hospital in Springfield for a CT scan of my head.  Once there, the scan happened quickly.  An Indian woman came to me to announce, "We hav bahd nuuz.  You hav a bleeeeed."  Thereafter, another doctor came in to the room to announce that they were transferring me to St. Francis Hospital in Peoria, IL, via helicopter.  I asked if my sister couldn't just drive me there.  He said, "Not unless she has one of these on her car"...as he twirled his finger over his head like a propeller.  Ack!  There I was, 200 miles from home, with my daughter (who lived with me) unaware of what was going on, and they are taking me away from everything to uncharted territory??  Seconds later, I could hear the helicopter overhead.  For me!

The 'copter EMTs showed up promptly, moved me to a gurney, strapped me in, and off we went.  I felt like a passenger on my own life's journey.  Certainly, I wasn't the pilot!  The pilot in charge of my life was sitting at the controls of the helicopter.  The other EMT was my companion, wearing headphones because of the noise and reassuring me all the way.  I was flat on my back, clutching a little kidney-shaped container since the nausea never left me, even though I wasn't actively emptying my already-empty stomach.  It was dark by now.  The only thing I was acutely aware of was a blood pressure monitor overhead in my view.  I remember seeing 180 as the top number and being incredulous.  It lowered during the flight, and the attending EMT advised me, "You did that all by yourself!"  Well, yeah...yay me! 

July 24, Monday:  Having been plopped and monitored in the ICU at St. Francis, I was put through all kinds of tests this day.  It's all blurry to me now, but it was determined that the aneurysm couldn't be stopped with the installation of a coil.  I needed brain surgery--craniotomy--to put a clip on the aneurysm so it would no longer bleed.  The surgeon said something about how a paper-thin clot was saving me.  I had the surgery late that evening.  I, of course, was oblivious.  Meanwhile, my poor family was playing tag to have someone with me.  My poor daughter was at home in Indiana, trying to find someone to take care of my two grandchildren and getting permission to be absent from work at IUPUI so she could be with me.  My sister was with me whenever she could be.  And, bless her heart, so was my daughter.  

July 25-27, Tuesday thru Thursday:  I was finally moved out of ICU into a private room, but it took some time to find a room.  The hospital provided a roll-away bed so that my sister or my daughter could stay with me, since both were at long distance.  I looked like hell, with staples in my head and two black eyes, but I was alive!   My dear friend, Major Patrick McPherson of The Salvation Army out of the Chicago Metro area showed up, unexpectedly, to visit.  (Because of his pastor status, he got in with no problems.)  I was tested and found to have no mental or physical deficits.  I had all kinds of support from my radio friends and my school friends.  God is good!

July 28, Friday, Fifteen years ago today:  I was released from the hospital to go home.  I'd been referred to a neurologist in Indy for my follow-up care.  He didn't want me to return to teaching until after Labor Day, so I was on a 2-week hiatus from the beginning of the school year!    

My poor daughter had been to hell and back to get me home.  My car was still at my sister's in Springfield.  I don't remember how, but she snagged a friend to drive one car while she drove me in the other.  Once home, I was supposedly not to be left alone due to the potential of vasospasm...for three weeks.  She did her best to find babysitters for me.  

So today, I celebrate my existence!  By every design, I should be dead, but I'm not.  I was granted at least 15 more years.  I am not only grateful for that but for the dedication of my sister and my daughter who moved mountains just to take care of me.  Thankful for my friends and colleagues who not only provided food to the household but also contributed to funds to help defray my challenges.  Thankful for those who babysat me in the weeks after my return home until I decided I no longer needed it.  

Fifteen years of grace, in spite of the horrendous odds.  I am the one out of five ruptured brain aneurysm sufferers who survive with no mental or physical deficits.  I am so very blessed!  

Fixing Things That "Ain't Broke"

 Not sure what's up with corporations that are always looking for gimmicks to make their products more desirable, but usually they totally miss the mark.  

Sometimes, the formula for the product is changed for the worse.  Sometimes, the product is replaced by another product that the company deems is the same, or better.  And sometimes, the product simply disappears, seemingly forever.  

I present to you, Exhibit A.  For years, I used a cosmetic foundation called Moisture Wear, from Cover Girl, I think.  It blended perfectly on my skin and made it easy to shop.  I knew the product and I knew the tint.  Great!  And then it was gone.  The company had flyers recommending the product that had replaced it.  Sorry.  Not the same.  I ended up buying several other (expensive) foundations before I found one that could be used.  The very same thing happened with a "permanent" lipstick that I found.  I fixed them!  I hardly ever wear makeup any more!

Exhibit B.  When I was on a serious diet a number of years ago, I settled on I Can't Believe It's Not Butter, Light as my spread of choice.  Out of nowhere, they announced a new and improved product, made with a "simpler" recipe.  They took out a lot of salt, and the product would no longer melt.  Spreading it was like spreading wax, which was also what it tasted like.  Neither my daughter nor I liked it, which launched us into buying alternatives in order to determine which would give us the taste and the fat content we desired.  She settled on Country Crock.  I settled on Land-o-Lakes Butter Light, with Canola Oil.  My daughter came to see things my way and also changed to my brand.  And now?  Because of the complications from the pandemic, it's nowhere to be found.  UGH!

Exhibit C.  In my country, one is either a Coke (Coca-Cola) fan or a Pepsi-Cola fan, and never the twain shall meet.  The competition between the two brands can be fierce, causing each to provide de-caffeinated varieties, flavored varieties, and (of course) diet varieties.  I am a Pepsi fan...and so is my daughter.  Many years ago, when sugar substitutes were replaced by aspartame, which tasted MUCH better than what was being used, I started drinking only Diet Pepsi as my soft drink of choice.  (I'm not a coffee or tea drinker.)  And then...and then...Pepsi decided to change the sweetener in the formula for Diet Pepsi, which made the "new and improved" drink totally unacceptable to faithful Diet Pepsi drinkers.  They didn't ask us!

This is ONE time when the reaction from the public made a difference.  After a number of months, the company went back to the original formula due to a huge outcry from consumers.  "Bring back the old Diet Pepsi!"  They actually listened!  Amazing!  I can now, once again, drink my one can per day in confidence!

I admit that I am somewhat a creature of habit.  I find products/brands that I like and stay faithful to them.  I have dabbled in off-brand products because they are cheaper.  Most, I like.  Some, I don't.  For example, not all sour creams or cream cheeses are the same in taste.  I've checked them all out and determined my favorites.  So be it! 

Notice that I'm not complaining about "supply chain" glitches.  We live with the backlash from the pandemic on a daily basis.  I get that.  My target, instead, is manufacturers who try to improve on an already-good product in order to pander to the "foodies".  I get that, too.

We have an expression here that comes complete with bad grammar and colloquialisms that totally hit the mark, and I agree:  If it ain't broke, don't fix it! 

       

Fingernails, Kidneys, Teeth, and Boomerism

 It's been awhile since I have made an entry here.  No, I have not been ill.  (Well, mostly not.)  I have, instead, been embroiled in emotional upset about things going on in our country that don't sit well with me, and I'm feeling a bit helpless about it.  If you know me at all, you know that I've always been a "damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead" kind of person.  I've always tried to give leadership to situations to make a difference; but, now that I am elderly and somewhat disabled, I've had to give up some control.  And I hate it.

I've spent a lot of time in the last 4-6 years avoiding dealing with the personal conflicts.  I've had  to for the sake of my sanity and blood pressure.  Thus, I will follow suit today by not talking about anything too deep.  Humor me.

1.  Fingernails.  When I was younger and more attractive, I spent every Sunday evening giving myself manicures.  I removed old polish, filed my nails into proper shape, and reapplied polish.  I've been blessed with very sturdy fingernails, so I always wore them longish, and kept them up religiously.  Even my students noticed.

After I retired, I was busy with my daughter and grandchildren who were living with me at the time, so the nails got pushed to the back burner.  Days turned into weeks, months, and years.  Changes happened in life.  Instead of polishing my nails, I was only clipping them to keep them short enough to type.  Good enough, yes?

For as long as I can remember, the tip of the nail on the index finger on my right hand was curved down.     Not sure why it is called that, but it means that the tip of the nail curves downward, which pushes the sides up.  I lived with it.  Over the last couple of years, however, five of my nails have curved down quite noticeably.  I Googled it.  Of course, Google claimed it could be anything from nutritional deficiencies to diseases.  One site called it "clubbing", but that meant that the involved fingers were swollen and out of shape, too...which is not the case for me.  It does say that the "clubbed" nails are a sign of lung disease.  Which I have.  So there we are.

All I do now is keep my nails much shorter than I used to.  If I don't clip them often, they are misshapen and ugly.  It hurts my vanity!

2.  Over about the last three years or so, I developed lymphedema (swelling) of my lower legs and feet.  Because of that, I "doctored" more than usual.  I was prescribed diuretics which sent my kidneys into a major tailspin.  Test results were so bad, at one point, that my doctor called and said if I started to feel bad, I should just present myself to the Emergency Room.  I was taken off the diuretics and told to drink lots of water.  The next blood test showed a perfect kidney result, but it was not to last.

My doctor left her practice to move on to the VA, so I established myself with one of her colleagues.  I had my first introductory appointment with the new doc a month or so ago.  We had a long talk in reviewing my test results, etc.  She is a gal of many specialties.  When I inquired about my kidneys, she told me--and I was glad to hear it out loud--that I had Stage 3 Kidney Disease, but had likely had it for a long time, and it was stable.  She explained that many patients with it never progress to Stage 4, which requires dialysis, so I was not to worry.  (Of course, I will anyway.)  I am not to take any NSAID painkillers, even though my cardiologist wants me to take a baby aspirin every day.  I seriously doubt that that little white pill could possibly hurt my kidneys!  I'll keep taking it until I'm told not to.

Oh, dear kidneys!  What did I ever do to you???

3.  And then there are teeth.  Both my brother and I were missing permanent teeth.  One dentist told our mother that we were probably the beginning of the evolution of toothless humans.  (Our sister had all of hers.  Proof again, that she got all of the good family genes!!)  The emergence of permanent teeth somehow dissolves the roots of baby teeth, which causes them to loosen and come out.  Without a permanent tooth coming in, the baby teeth stay, even though they were only designed to last for 5-10 years.

I was missing three regular teeth (two molars and one lateral incisor) and one wisdom tooth.  A canine tooth came in over the lateral incisor and kicked it out, with no permanent tooth to fill in the gap.  The two primary molars stayed and stayed, until one of them broke.  The dentist put a pin in it to give it more time, but eventually, over a many years, they both broke and had to be removed.  They held on probably 35 years longer than designed. 

The wisdom teeth were another story.  One came in somewhat normally, although it didn't emerge at the same level as the molar next to it.  Two others were impacted, which means they were sideways under the gums.  The fourth one didn't exist.  Way back in the 80s, I had the upper impacted wisdom tooth removed because I could taste something weird going on up there.  The other impacted tooth gave me fits when, somehow, it seemed to be pushing sideways out of my gums.  (It eventually stopped, so I didn't do anything about it.)  

Now, in my old age, my teeth are moving which, I'm told, means periodontal disease.  I have already accepted that I will probably end up with dentures or full mouth implants.  I have tooth problems on a regular basis!

My father, God rest his soul, had not one cavity in his teeth, ever, even though he claimed that he didn't even own a toothbrush until he was 19.  He died in 1994, at age 76, with his original choppers still intact.  Why couldn't I have inherited that????           

4.  And now, the piece de resistance <---that's French:  I was born in 1947, which makes me part of a generation known as Baby Boomers.  This refers to a glut of babies born after soldiers and sailors came home from WWII.  Baby Boomers were raised by parents who have come to be known as the Greatest Generation...those who survived the Great Depression, fought in two wars, and worked hard to provide for their families.  In our family, family was first.  We were raised with solid values and expectations, leadership, and always always love.  We weren't spoiled in the least, but we always knew we were protected and cared for by our parents who wanted more for us than what they had.

The "Boomers" grew up in the 50s, 60s, and early 70s.  At the college level, we somehow became the Vietnam War generation, the anti-war protest generation, the drug generation, the "free love" generation, the "Hippie" generation, shaped by the assassinations of JFK, MLK, RFK, Malcomb X, and many, many others who were seeking to eliminate racial segregation.  Politics was divided among the hawks (Republicans) and the doves (Democrats), and things got insane with race riots and political demonstrations that resulted in deaths and more division.  In short, Boomers were rebelling against the "establishment" of the previous generation, and the previous generation was fighting back.

In the middle of it all, I was a silent sympathizer.  I felt what the anti-war protesters felt.  Did I participate?  No.  I had too much respect for all that my parents had gone through in life to betray them with rebellion.  I am both proud of myself for that and ashamed that I didn't have the courage to buck what was wrong with society back then.  They sacrificed a lot for us kids, and I didn't want to reject that just to make a point.     

So now, in my old age, the internet seems to blame my generation for the way things are now.  Apparently Boomers vote Republican.  Apparently Boomers are nasty and unbending.  Apparently Boomers are selfish, entitled, and power-grabbing...and that's where the big question mark appears over my head.  That's not me.  That's not us.  Or, at least, I didn't think it was.  I'm not at all sure when the Boomers became the villains for the current generation.  I would LOVE to have a civil conversation with someone who blames "us" for today's ills, just to get a handle on what went wrong.  I honestly don't get it.  I want to, but I don't.  It isn't part of my experience.

I'm not a risk taker.  I simply don't make waves.  Never have, deliberately.   And so, I will now take my weird fingernails, damaged kidneys, and rotten teeth into my Boomer lair--like Grendel's fen--and hide.  God bless us, every one!

I'm not happy with the way things are going in MY country right now