A new sun came up today and dawned on my 60th birthday. As I reflect on the fact that I used to regard people my age as "old fogies" I wonder how I appear to others. I know that time and life have had their way with my face - sometimes I think I've forgotten to take off my Halloween mask when I look in the mirror. There was a time I thought mirrors on the ceiling might be kind of "fun" now I'm thinking those might be the cause of a stroke. Either mine or Roger's. I truly wonder how he can bear to look at me - God is kind in that regard because he causes your eyesight to fail in conjunction with diminishing appearance.
My hearing is shot - I need to track the number of times a day I say "Huh?" "Excuse me" or just ignore someone completely. Upon finding out that I have forgotten my hearing aids, one of my friends will stand talking to me just moving his mouth. He is a sick and twisted individual. And, unnecessarily cruel to boot.
My body is just something I am unwilling to discuss in polite company. I've asked Roger repeatedly..."Where did that pretty girl you married go?" He is well trained and answers "Honey, she's still here." Well then, obviously I ATE HER 'cause I'm not seeing the chick anywhere. There is enough "hail damage" on my carcass that were I a car I would be considered "totaled" and my owner would be looking for a replacement. There is enough snap, crackle and pop in me that I could make the Rice Krispie guys hang their heads in shame. My skin is so wrinkled I find it useless to even iron my clothes now. Why should they look more pulled together than the person inside. Anyone needing me to sew better be prepared to thread their own danged needle 'cause that ship has sailed as well.
All that being said.....I am finding a certain peace and contentment in not being so focused on the exterior. Beauty fades for everyone and some fight it tooth and nail. I just gave in to ebbing tide and decided I wanted to be remembered for something else. I want my legacy to be one of joy, I want to be remembered because I laughed, hard and loud. I want my life to be something that causes others to laugh as well. When I post a blog for others to read, I am giving you the essence of myself. I'm sharing me. My thoughts, fears, frustrations, and happiness. To share your thoughts is to share your heart. I do so because I trust. I have friends who fall on the complete opposite sides of the pole in religion, politics, and every other "hotbed" of controversy in our world. Their opinions are their own whether I agree, disagree or don't care one way or the other. You will seldom find me taking issue with anyone over their opinion. The reason for this is that I genuinely love my friends and there is no issue, no politician or any other situation that is worth losing even one of them over. And I would venture to say, most of my friends know exactly where I stand on things whether I am "out there" with my opinion or not. I appreciate being allowed to be just me, not having to reshape myself according to other people. For the first time in all these 60 years, I am finding a person I really like and I'm learning to trust myself too.
Gone are the fits of rage and frustration. I'm still frequently frustrated but not unreasonably so and I am seldom ever truly angry. Having made so many mistakes throughout my life, I find it easier to be tolerant of others. I have had much to confess and repent, therefore I try to not be so hard on people I know are fighting those same demons. I am working on the "don't worry - be happy" thing. This will be my toughest challenge. Worrying is in my genes. I learned it at the feet of the master worrier. However, I have learned that worrying never fixes anything. In fact, it usually creates even more causes to worry. What is truly amusing to me is that I am finding the ability to actually like myself. Or maybe I am just beginning to believe some of the people who continue to affirm me. I've lived a very interesting life, I've met people most people only read about, I've traveled to one exotic location in reality but many in my dreams. I am reasonably intelligent although basically not well educated. One of the things that makes me interesting to myself is that I am a paradox. Seemingly confident on the outside and seething with insecurities and low self esteem inside. I have a larger than life personality, yet I basically crave being alone. I am 60 years old and I can be the silliest person on earth. I am aging yet find that my heart and my mind still feel young, hopeful and full of wonder. I know God and yet at times doubt that He could love someone as flawed as I am. But then, I remember that it is wandering sheep He seeks most earnestly. I have become the matriarch of my family without ever feeling like I was a child there.
So, now that I am "old" how do I want to be remembered? First and foremost, I want to be remembered as a loving and well loved child of God. That I tried to be a good and faithful daughter. I want my children to forgive my failures and faults and be able to say they had a good mother who loved them with her whole heart. There is no shame in failure only in quitting. And I never quit on either of you. I want my grandchildren to remember that I wrote them stories and poems and drew pictures for them. I want them to remember that I made up silly songs about potty training. I want them to remember that I took the time to come to lunch at school, plays, concerts, ballgames and cheered as loud as I could. I want my husband to remember that through all the peaks and valleys, all the good times and bad, there has never been a moment when I would have done differently. I would still choose him and walk those roads again just to have him in my life. And I want my friends to remember me laughing, telling stories, dancing until I embarrassed myself and everyone around me, listening to their problems, trying to help when I could and loving them every single day of my life. And if 60 is all God allows me to be - remember ME with JOY and HAPPINESS. Stand in front of the crowd and say with one voice "Oh, Lavetta, well she laughed."
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Can I Have a Geritol on the Rocks - Please?
Well, the day I never thought would happen is approaching. I've tried running from it. But apparently it has much better sneaker connections because every time I look over my shoulder, it is breathing down my neck.
As if I hadn't already enough to contend with, now I have this to look forward to. Really? Couldn't I please postpone this for just one more year. I need to prepare. By the time the sun sets on my Sunday, I will be 60 years old. I have dirt in my flower beds younger than me. It takes the combined ages of ALL my grandchildren to be older than me. I have turned the corner on Tired and Irritable Lane and found myself on Geriatric Boulevard where everything that moves is on wheels and pills.
Gone are the days that nicely built and reasonably good looking young men would follow me to tap me on the shoulder and tell me how attractive I am. Now if one is following me, chances are he's trying to steal my purse in hopes I'll have social security check inside.
No more can I look at the Tilt - A - Whirl at the fair and shriek "I wanna ride THAT!" The kiddie carousel makes me so dizzy my ears ring.
Oh and speaking of ears, I was already dealing with the whole "hearing aid" reality and now I'm wondering how long it will be before someone breaks out an old time ear trumpet for me.
Bi-focals, tri-focals, quadrafocals.......why in the heck don't they just call them what they really are OLDFOLKALS.
Each and every joint in my body decided to chime in today. I felt like you could hear them protesting with each move. Didn't you hear it? It sounded like a group of 1st year violin students running their scales. And to add insult to injury the popping of my knees made the people around me think a plane had just gone super sonic overhead.
My granddaughters think I look like Mary Kay Ash (who is dead for goodness sake!)
Please don't get me wrong, I am so thrilled to still be around but I truly don't feel ready for this next phase.
As I've looked back today I realize there are some things I would like do overs on.
I would write my granddaughters a letter every day telling them how much I love them, and giving them insight into my thoughts and my heart.
I would not overlook people who were not "in the groove" - I have learned that everyone has something to share and more importantly, something to teach.
I would laugh every single chance I got. I would not waste one second of my precious life crying about anything.
I would be more tolerant of other people's mistakes.
I would never be without a dog for even a single second.
I would ALWAYS send a card, make a phone call, hold a hand, offer a prayer, lend an ear and wipe a tear.
I would awaken every day of my life praising God for my existence and for allowing me to experience every single blessing and challenge He gave me. And, I would go to bed every night begging forgiveness for failing so miserably in every way shape and form.
I would use the words I LOVE YOU in speaking to everyone I know - and I would mean them. And, I would earnestly ask to be loved in return.
I would read my daughter's unwritten book on being a wife and mother and try to be better at each.
I would listen to my grandparent's boring stories about their lives. It would make understanding my own so much easier.
I would genuinely try to never wrong anyone, but if I did, I would "man up" - admit it - ask forgiveness and love them anyway even if they refused.
I would journal my life every day - these are the bones of a family. The foundation we build on. I would leave it to others to put flesh on those bones.
I would be happy, joyous, glad, worshipful, praise driven, honest, kind, compassionate, fearless and soft enough to expose my tenderest parts.
Happy Birthday Old Girl! You've lived a lot, loved more than most, laughed till your stomach ached, cried a river, saw a lot, heard even more and thankfully spoke about it less. You are a contradiction in terms - and I actually find you kind of interesting. Let's try to leave this orb much better for us being here.
As if I hadn't already enough to contend with, now I have this to look forward to. Really? Couldn't I please postpone this for just one more year. I need to prepare. By the time the sun sets on my Sunday, I will be 60 years old. I have dirt in my flower beds younger than me. It takes the combined ages of ALL my grandchildren to be older than me. I have turned the corner on Tired and Irritable Lane and found myself on Geriatric Boulevard where everything that moves is on wheels and pills.
Gone are the days that nicely built and reasonably good looking young men would follow me to tap me on the shoulder and tell me how attractive I am. Now if one is following me, chances are he's trying to steal my purse in hopes I'll have social security check inside.
No more can I look at the Tilt - A - Whirl at the fair and shriek "I wanna ride THAT!" The kiddie carousel makes me so dizzy my ears ring.
Oh and speaking of ears, I was already dealing with the whole "hearing aid" reality and now I'm wondering how long it will be before someone breaks out an old time ear trumpet for me.
Bi-focals, tri-focals, quadrafocals.......why in the heck don't they just call them what they really are OLDFOLKALS.
Each and every joint in my body decided to chime in today. I felt like you could hear them protesting with each move. Didn't you hear it? It sounded like a group of 1st year violin students running their scales. And to add insult to injury the popping of my knees made the people around me think a plane had just gone super sonic overhead.
My granddaughters think I look like Mary Kay Ash (who is dead for goodness sake!)
Please don't get me wrong, I am so thrilled to still be around but I truly don't feel ready for this next phase.
As I've looked back today I realize there are some things I would like do overs on.
I would write my granddaughters a letter every day telling them how much I love them, and giving them insight into my thoughts and my heart.
I would not overlook people who were not "in the groove" - I have learned that everyone has something to share and more importantly, something to teach.
I would laugh every single chance I got. I would not waste one second of my precious life crying about anything.
I would be more tolerant of other people's mistakes.
I would never be without a dog for even a single second.
I would ALWAYS send a card, make a phone call, hold a hand, offer a prayer, lend an ear and wipe a tear.
I would awaken every day of my life praising God for my existence and for allowing me to experience every single blessing and challenge He gave me. And, I would go to bed every night begging forgiveness for failing so miserably in every way shape and form.
I would use the words I LOVE YOU in speaking to everyone I know - and I would mean them. And, I would earnestly ask to be loved in return.
I would read my daughter's unwritten book on being a wife and mother and try to be better at each.
I would listen to my grandparent's boring stories about their lives. It would make understanding my own so much easier.
I would genuinely try to never wrong anyone, but if I did, I would "man up" - admit it - ask forgiveness and love them anyway even if they refused.
I would journal my life every day - these are the bones of a family. The foundation we build on. I would leave it to others to put flesh on those bones.
I would be happy, joyous, glad, worshipful, praise driven, honest, kind, compassionate, fearless and soft enough to expose my tenderest parts.
Happy Birthday Old Girl! You've lived a lot, loved more than most, laughed till your stomach ached, cried a river, saw a lot, heard even more and thankfully spoke about it less. You are a contradiction in terms - and I actually find you kind of interesting. Let's try to leave this orb much better for us being here.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
An Oldie But Still A Goodie!
I found this today while looking for a completely unrelated document on my computer. While it is an oldie, some points still remain valid. My apologies for the one bad word - I tried to think of a different one, but nothing carried quite as much impact. Sorry.
I've decided to analyze my own dreams. I will either learn that I am borderline crazy as a room full monkeys, or well on my way to self discovery.
My dreams have always been the product of an over active imagination. But lately, depending on the level of sleep aids I've ingested have been downright bizarre. I know that my present life condition is contributing to my technicolor, Monty Pythonesque sleep periods. I also know that my inability to deal with said life condition doesn't particularly help form a relaxing restful slumber. But hey, this is me and I've always had this personality and chances are at this advanced stage in my development, things aren't likely to change. Therefore, following is my latest pillow carnival. My analysis of the different points will be set apart by asterisks.
Anyone who knows me well knows that lately I have had trouble sleeping (as evidenced by the fact I am blogging at 11:45 at night!) Watching TV you see the lovely peaceful commercials for Ambien or my personal favorite the gentle floating butterfly effect of Lunestra. What they don't tell you in these commercials is that you need to know some personal kind of dirt on your doctor before he will take pity on you and give you these. Also, the try free for a week, etc. is a further misleading statement. What they will do is send you a coupon for the product but you still have to get your doctor's permission to try it. As far as I'm concerned they are all the supreme leaders of the different levels of hell. There isn't a doctor alive who thinks that it isn't perfectly okay for me to spend practically 2 years of my life with hardly any sleep. I have desperately sought some sort of relief....no caffeine after 5:00 in the evening. Nice warm baths with candles and wine. Reading, meditating, counting sheep, counting dogs, counting money....you name it I tried it. I have on occasion considered suffocating myself (just kidding!) Actually, I'm not kidding. Given my inability to sleep and my husband's constant coughing the chances of someone getting a mouthful of feathers increases every night.
So...I decided that I would give Tylenol PM a shot. Holy Cow! Where has this stuff been all my life? As a former debilitating migraine sufferer, I have practically rendered myself impervious to medication but this stuff is "THE BOMB." Literally, light's out...... in fact, I usually feel quite lucky(?) to wake up the next morning.
I can take it, turn on the TV and the next thing I know it's morning, my mouth is dry as the desert (which probably means I've snored like a logger all night long.) I've thought about trying to do something about this problem too but given the aforementioned hubalump coughing I feel it is my only defense.
But, just as no good deed goes unpunished...neither does any good remedy.
The dreams are WILD and so vivid that I literally can remember them in perfect detail the next day. I've shared a few of these flights of fancy with a few of my family and friends who I'm pretty sure now have Harbor View on speed dial just in case. Note to family: Harbor View no longer frightens me, I totally rock group therapy.
But the one I had the other night was quite possibly the most interesting one I've ever had. Brace yourselves readers this is going to take some time.
It all began with the little Edwards girls who for some reason were in need of me dressing them for school. In putting their socks on I realized their socks were purple. ***Analysis: Direct reference to my inability to fix anything that is wrong, broken or otherwise being a pain in the butt***
Being the snappy dresser I am I knew they couldn't wear purple socks with their school uniforms so I was very concerned. At this point, their mother appeared and reassured me that all I had to do was turn them inside out. So I did and sure enough they weren't purple on the other side. However, they were brown. ***Analysis: See previous paragraph***
So...I decide to buy them more socks. ***Analysis: Can you spell control freak***
Apparently the only store in dreamland was an outdoor outfitters store. Yep, log cabin decor, trophy animals the whole nine yards. ***Analysis: Has to stem from the fact that for a solid week I dealt with the cable company telling me they were not the ones to fix my internet problem. The phone company telling me they were not the ones to fix my phone problem. And the computer repair store telling me they were not the ones to fix my computer problem***
At this point Genevieve and Audrey are no longer involved in this dream and thank heaven for that. ***Analysis: God is mighty and merciful and spared my granddaughters from having to participate further in my madness***
Working in the store is an extremely well built young man wearing spandex biker shorts. Watch it...I know what you are thinking..but I hate spandex biker shorts with a passion. Now, here's the really interesting part. His spandex shorts are completely transparent in the posterior area. ***Analysis: This has to be a direct result of the fact that I think that some men (not all) are basically asses, either by showing them or acting like them***
Yikes! I was just wrapping my mind around his unseemly attire when a stagecoach, cowboys, Indians, trick riders on horses and a zoo wagon starting circling around inside the building. ***Analysis: My life is just one bearded fat lady away from being a complete circus. Sidenote: Perhaps I should have said dog faced boy since my body style can handle the fat lady part and my hormones (or lack of) is accomplishing the rest.)***
I hope you are laughing at this point because I am splitting my pjs myself right now. Mercifully the dream ended somewhere during the circus acts but when I woke up boy was I confused! So I guess the Tylenol PM is going to have a short lived run.....darn it. Although, I could just continue to take it and continue to regale my loyal followers with my dreams. I have to run now, I think I hear the little men with the white coats knocking on the door. :)
I've decided to analyze my own dreams. I will either learn that I am borderline crazy as a room full monkeys, or well on my way to self discovery.
My dreams have always been the product of an over active imagination. But lately, depending on the level of sleep aids I've ingested have been downright bizarre. I know that my present life condition is contributing to my technicolor, Monty Pythonesque sleep periods. I also know that my inability to deal with said life condition doesn't particularly help form a relaxing restful slumber. But hey, this is me and I've always had this personality and chances are at this advanced stage in my development, things aren't likely to change. Therefore, following is my latest pillow carnival. My analysis of the different points will be set apart by asterisks.
Anyone who knows me well knows that lately I have had trouble sleeping (as evidenced by the fact I am blogging at 11:45 at night!) Watching TV you see the lovely peaceful commercials for Ambien or my personal favorite the gentle floating butterfly effect of Lunestra. What they don't tell you in these commercials is that you need to know some personal kind of dirt on your doctor before he will take pity on you and give you these. Also, the try free for a week, etc. is a further misleading statement. What they will do is send you a coupon for the product but you still have to get your doctor's permission to try it. As far as I'm concerned they are all the supreme leaders of the different levels of hell. There isn't a doctor alive who thinks that it isn't perfectly okay for me to spend practically 2 years of my life with hardly any sleep. I have desperately sought some sort of relief....no caffeine after 5:00 in the evening. Nice warm baths with candles and wine. Reading, meditating, counting sheep, counting dogs, counting money....you name it I tried it. I have on occasion considered suffocating myself (just kidding!) Actually, I'm not kidding. Given my inability to sleep and my husband's constant coughing the chances of someone getting a mouthful of feathers increases every night.
So...I decided that I would give Tylenol PM a shot. Holy Cow! Where has this stuff been all my life? As a former debilitating migraine sufferer, I have practically rendered myself impervious to medication but this stuff is "THE BOMB." Literally, light's out...... in fact, I usually feel quite lucky(?) to wake up the next morning.
I can take it, turn on the TV and the next thing I know it's morning, my mouth is dry as the desert (which probably means I've snored like a logger all night long.) I've thought about trying to do something about this problem too but given the aforementioned hubalump coughing I feel it is my only defense.
But, just as no good deed goes unpunished...neither does any good remedy.
The dreams are WILD and so vivid that I literally can remember them in perfect detail the next day. I've shared a few of these flights of fancy with a few of my family and friends who I'm pretty sure now have Harbor View on speed dial just in case. Note to family: Harbor View no longer frightens me, I totally rock group therapy.
But the one I had the other night was quite possibly the most interesting one I've ever had. Brace yourselves readers this is going to take some time.
It all began with the little Edwards girls who for some reason were in need of me dressing them for school. In putting their socks on I realized their socks were purple. ***Analysis: Direct reference to my inability to fix anything that is wrong, broken or otherwise being a pain in the butt***
Being the snappy dresser I am I knew they couldn't wear purple socks with their school uniforms so I was very concerned. At this point, their mother appeared and reassured me that all I had to do was turn them inside out. So I did and sure enough they weren't purple on the other side. However, they were brown. ***Analysis: See previous paragraph***
So...I decide to buy them more socks. ***Analysis: Can you spell control freak***
Apparently the only store in dreamland was an outdoor outfitters store. Yep, log cabin decor, trophy animals the whole nine yards. ***Analysis: Has to stem from the fact that for a solid week I dealt with the cable company telling me they were not the ones to fix my internet problem. The phone company telling me they were not the ones to fix my phone problem. And the computer repair store telling me they were not the ones to fix my computer problem***
At this point Genevieve and Audrey are no longer involved in this dream and thank heaven for that. ***Analysis: God is mighty and merciful and spared my granddaughters from having to participate further in my madness***
Working in the store is an extremely well built young man wearing spandex biker shorts. Watch it...I know what you are thinking..but I hate spandex biker shorts with a passion. Now, here's the really interesting part. His spandex shorts are completely transparent in the posterior area. ***Analysis: This has to be a direct result of the fact that I think that some men (not all) are basically asses, either by showing them or acting like them***
Yikes! I was just wrapping my mind around his unseemly attire when a stagecoach, cowboys, Indians, trick riders on horses and a zoo wagon starting circling around inside the building. ***Analysis: My life is just one bearded fat lady away from being a complete circus. Sidenote: Perhaps I should have said dog faced boy since my body style can handle the fat lady part and my hormones (or lack of) is accomplishing the rest.)***
I hope you are laughing at this point because I am splitting my pjs myself right now. Mercifully the dream ended somewhere during the circus acts but when I woke up boy was I confused! So I guess the Tylenol PM is going to have a short lived run.....darn it. Although, I could just continue to take it and continue to regale my loyal followers with my dreams. I have to run now, I think I hear the little men with the white coats knocking on the door. :)
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Everybody Polka!
Yesterday, Roger and I celebrated 17 years of wedded mess (er...I mean bliss.) Actually our life together has been nothing short of chaotic. We have been on top of the mountain and to the bottom of the abyss in those 17 years. **Ahem...I have to confess that I sure enjoy the view from the mountaintop a whole lot more.** But, I just know that being down means we have to tie on our hiking shoes, take a lot of Ibuprofen and start climbing.
Since we are not blessed with an overabundance of cash at present, we were very fortunate to be in possession of a gift card to a local German restaurant. Now of all the ethnic foods out there, German is my least favorite. But, having someone else pay for the lion's portion of my anniversary dinner.....I'm totally on board with that.
I managed to wrestle Roger into attire other than T shirt and jeans, I put on my best bib and tucker and off we went. Heck, we were even on time! **For us, that is huge. If your last name is Beshears chances are your picture is beside the word TARDY in the dictionary**
I really wish I would have been able to capture the moment when we entered the restaurant and heard Polka music. Roger is not big on "entertaining" dinners. He loves the "show" at Japanese steakhouses and to make it better they don't sing. Karaoke is in his opinion the 9th level of hell (and I have to say I pretty much agree with him on this one.) And in all of our 17 years together I've never known him to willingly seek out a Polka Band. He will sit and have a beer and listen to live entertainment **that expression has always puzzled me - live entertainment....as opposed to dead entertainment?** But I digress.
Polka was a'playin' as we entered and lucky us...they seated us right in front of the stage! This was a husband and wife team, she was wearing Pippi Longstockings tights with Mary Jane shoes and a plaid skirt and sweater combo. Her hair had been sprayed the most unusual shade of red and her hubs was also suitably attired. The woman played the accordion (which I've always been fascinated with - they look very complicated to play) and the husband played what Roger kept referring to as a Flueglehorn? The husband would occasionally sing and when I inquired of my husband who has traveled more extensively than I, if that was the way German's sang, was informed that no, that was Louie Armstrong that sang like that. The "band" had 2 preschool age children that spent the evening running through the restaurant laughing and screaming at the top of their lungs until time for them to perform as well. I have to confess that I thought those 2 little vunder kinder doing The Chicken Dance was very charming. They did it well as opposed to when they were supposed to Polka. The Polka caused them to have obvious artistic differences in their delivery. Umm, can you smell the romance in our evening?
Our prime spot right in front made it impossible to avoid the Polka Band. Since we could be seen, applause was necessary after each number and they engaged us in conversation which I assume was part of their act. In short, they would not be ignored. We did not come prepared to tip the Polka People so I had to enter into some serious negotiations with our charming ex-New Yorker waiter to come up with a cash appreciation for their entertainment. Upon tipping, we were instructed to please take one of their postcards. I picked one up, expecting to see info on their band. Instead, I found only a website referenced. www.polkayoureyeout.com hmmmmmm......after Roger and I tried to make this say everything we finally tumbled to the fact that it said Polka Your Eye Out. Honestly, I only had 3 teensy little glasses of wine.
In spite of everything, we had a great time.
I'm sure you are waiting to know what the point to this Blog post is. Well, here you go. What did Polka Night teach me? It taught me that all it takes to enjoy something is to let yourself be open to it. There were at least 3 big negatives about the night that could have ruined an evening, but instead turned it into a great fun evening for both of us. It is all about your attitude. If you decide something is going to be crappy, chances are the stench will be overwhelming. But, if you decide to just let yourself go, give yourself over, join in the craziness, you will find out that joy has jumped on the wagon with you. While we may never choose that particular event again, for now....Everybody POLKA!
Since we are not blessed with an overabundance of cash at present, we were very fortunate to be in possession of a gift card to a local German restaurant. Now of all the ethnic foods out there, German is my least favorite. But, having someone else pay for the lion's portion of my anniversary dinner.....I'm totally on board with that.
I managed to wrestle Roger into attire other than T shirt and jeans, I put on my best bib and tucker and off we went. Heck, we were even on time! **For us, that is huge. If your last name is Beshears chances are your picture is beside the word TARDY in the dictionary**
I really wish I would have been able to capture the moment when we entered the restaurant and heard Polka music. Roger is not big on "entertaining" dinners. He loves the "show" at Japanese steakhouses and to make it better they don't sing. Karaoke is in his opinion the 9th level of hell (and I have to say I pretty much agree with him on this one.) And in all of our 17 years together I've never known him to willingly seek out a Polka Band. He will sit and have a beer and listen to live entertainment **that expression has always puzzled me - live entertainment....as opposed to dead entertainment?** But I digress.
Polka was a'playin' as we entered and lucky us...they seated us right in front of the stage! This was a husband and wife team, she was wearing Pippi Longstockings tights with Mary Jane shoes and a plaid skirt and sweater combo. Her hair had been sprayed the most unusual shade of red and her hubs was also suitably attired. The woman played the accordion (which I've always been fascinated with - they look very complicated to play) and the husband played what Roger kept referring to as a Flueglehorn? The husband would occasionally sing and when I inquired of my husband who has traveled more extensively than I, if that was the way German's sang, was informed that no, that was Louie Armstrong that sang like that. The "band" had 2 preschool age children that spent the evening running through the restaurant laughing and screaming at the top of their lungs until time for them to perform as well. I have to confess that I thought those 2 little vunder kinder doing The Chicken Dance was very charming. They did it well as opposed to when they were supposed to Polka. The Polka caused them to have obvious artistic differences in their delivery. Umm, can you smell the romance in our evening?
Our prime spot right in front made it impossible to avoid the Polka Band. Since we could be seen, applause was necessary after each number and they engaged us in conversation which I assume was part of their act. In short, they would not be ignored. We did not come prepared to tip the Polka People so I had to enter into some serious negotiations with our charming ex-New Yorker waiter to come up with a cash appreciation for their entertainment. Upon tipping, we were instructed to please take one of their postcards. I picked one up, expecting to see info on their band. Instead, I found only a website referenced. www.polkayoureyeout.com hmmmmmm......after Roger and I tried to make this say everything we finally tumbled to the fact that it said Polka Your Eye Out. Honestly, I only had 3 teensy little glasses of wine.
In spite of everything, we had a great time.
I'm sure you are waiting to know what the point to this Blog post is. Well, here you go. What did Polka Night teach me? It taught me that all it takes to enjoy something is to let yourself be open to it. There were at least 3 big negatives about the night that could have ruined an evening, but instead turned it into a great fun evening for both of us. It is all about your attitude. If you decide something is going to be crappy, chances are the stench will be overwhelming. But, if you decide to just let yourself go, give yourself over, join in the craziness, you will find out that joy has jumped on the wagon with you. While we may never choose that particular event again, for now....Everybody POLKA!
Friday, February 19, 2010
Who Is On Your Pedestal?
Today I watched as Tiger Woods did his formal apology to all those people he has hurt with his actions. I sure don't approve of what Tiger did, but he is a human being after all. And like the rest of us, he suffers the same temptations, challenges and problems. Just because a person has a bazillion dollars doesn't immunize them from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
All in all, I'm pretty tired of Tiger and all "famous" people whose problems get played out in front of the world for all to see. Aren't we lucky that WE are invisible humans and get to "hide" our stuff in our own lives where few see and even fewer know. Somehow that makes us feel better about ourselves.
However, as I was watching and listening to Tiger talk, I started thinking about his position. We hold celebrities up to the light of scrutiny after we have placed them on a teetering pedestal of human frailty. I too, thought the Woodster was a "do-right" kind of guy. I've even said "Wow, what must it be like to be him?" Well, I dare say no one is terribly envious of him now.
As a kid, I looked up to my teachers. Some like Rita Chisum, George Snider, Mary Dalton, Elaine Elliott, & Louise Pierce taught me so much about the kind of person I wanted to be. Some simply were genuinely good people, some taught me about honesty and fair play, others brought the love of literature, theater and music into my life.
I looked up to people in authority. People like H. Wilbanks who tried with everything in him to have a good and decent place for us to grow up and yet he was able to keep that connection with the kids that made us try not to disappoint and feel crappy when we did.
I confess to admiring people who have found the one person in life that fits the bill and has had the intelligence and talent to stay with them.
I look up to my little bitty daughter who is a human dynamo. Her ability to multi-task and make good decisions is astounding. She also has the strength to let you lean on her less than 100 pound body when you are too tired to stand on your own. Her skill as a wife and a mother are amazing and I am in awe.
I admire my husband for his honesty, humility, tolerance, kindness, wittiness and intelligence and long suffering endurance (he is married to me after all.)
Many many people in my life have touched me and given me those awestruck moments of hero worship. But, I would be wrong to put any of them on a pedestal. They are all human and therefore prone to fall. Hopefully, I would be around to throw myself under them when they fell, wrap my arms around them and tell them it was okay. Hopefully, I wouldn't ask any of them to strip themselves bare emotionally for falling.
In my opinion, there was only One Who could stand on a pedestal and be worthy of such a position. How interesting that He didn't want to be on the pedestal, what he chose was a lowly cross with a couple of flawed humans.
Be careful who you place on your pedestal because while you are looking up at them you might miss the quiet voice whispering in your ear. He will not stand above you but He will walk beside you, comfort and sustain you and give you immeasurable peace.
So, today, I would like for us all to think about Who is on our pedestal. Who do we hold up as our example of how to live, how to treat others, how to forgive and most of all, how to endure?
All in all, I'm pretty tired of Tiger and all "famous" people whose problems get played out in front of the world for all to see. Aren't we lucky that WE are invisible humans and get to "hide" our stuff in our own lives where few see and even fewer know. Somehow that makes us feel better about ourselves.
However, as I was watching and listening to Tiger talk, I started thinking about his position. We hold celebrities up to the light of scrutiny after we have placed them on a teetering pedestal of human frailty. I too, thought the Woodster was a "do-right" kind of guy. I've even said "Wow, what must it be like to be him?" Well, I dare say no one is terribly envious of him now.
As a kid, I looked up to my teachers. Some like Rita Chisum, George Snider, Mary Dalton, Elaine Elliott, & Louise Pierce taught me so much about the kind of person I wanted to be. Some simply were genuinely good people, some taught me about honesty and fair play, others brought the love of literature, theater and music into my life.
I looked up to people in authority. People like H. Wilbanks who tried with everything in him to have a good and decent place for us to grow up and yet he was able to keep that connection with the kids that made us try not to disappoint and feel crappy when we did.
I confess to admiring people who have found the one person in life that fits the bill and has had the intelligence and talent to stay with them.
I look up to my little bitty daughter who is a human dynamo. Her ability to multi-task and make good decisions is astounding. She also has the strength to let you lean on her less than 100 pound body when you are too tired to stand on your own. Her skill as a wife and a mother are amazing and I am in awe.
I admire my husband for his honesty, humility, tolerance, kindness, wittiness and intelligence and long suffering endurance (he is married to me after all.)
Many many people in my life have touched me and given me those awestruck moments of hero worship. But, I would be wrong to put any of them on a pedestal. They are all human and therefore prone to fall. Hopefully, I would be around to throw myself under them when they fell, wrap my arms around them and tell them it was okay. Hopefully, I wouldn't ask any of them to strip themselves bare emotionally for falling.
In my opinion, there was only One Who could stand on a pedestal and be worthy of such a position. How interesting that He didn't want to be on the pedestal, what he chose was a lowly cross with a couple of flawed humans.
Be careful who you place on your pedestal because while you are looking up at them you might miss the quiet voice whispering in your ear. He will not stand above you but He will walk beside you, comfort and sustain you and give you immeasurable peace.
So, today, I would like for us all to think about Who is on our pedestal. Who do we hold up as our example of how to live, how to treat others, how to forgive and most of all, how to endure?
Thursday, February 18, 2010
So How'd Ya Get Your Big Old Butt Up There On The Fence Anyhow?
Excerpt from "The Dog Chronicles" - Chapter 7
Veronica’s final flight could have possibly been the best. And, after all the months of rescuing, chasing and worrying, I finally had a witness to my plight. At long last my husband was home. Roger was in the house in his office and unknown to me, my daughter was also about to arrive.
I was actually in the yard when Veronica went sailing over. It was miraculous to behold – one moment she was just a dog enjoying the freedom of her backyard – the next she was experiencing the miracle of flight. I watched her put her nose in the air and I truly think at that moment I witnessed her brain flipping the switch to “off.” She backed up about 12 feet from the fence, made a running dash and catapulted herself toward it. She jumped high enough that her front legs hung over the top of the fence and she scrabbled with her back feet until she achieved enough purchase on the boards to push herself over.
My blood literally went from just coursing through my hardening arteries to the point of boiling and pulsating until I thought my head would explode. I went in the house in search of my husband, explained to him that the “damn” dog had taken a powder AGAIN!
Contrary to what you think you have been able to discern about my personality and character by now, patience is NOT my strong suit. I am enough like my mother to have the “I want it done and I want it done NOW” chromosome. When I have reached a personal crisis point, any delay will only serve to make me want to annihilate not only the source of my problem but anyone who is not responding with my same level of urgency. In short, failure to help me when I request it will put your life in mortal peril. Or mine as this case proved to be.
My darling husband is the “great procrastinator.” He subscribes to the “why do today that which you can put off until tomorrow” credo. Therefore, he failed to come running when summoned and that was the first step in my ultimate undoing.
When I did not see any help forthcoming, the pounding in my head became so severe that I literally saw red. I’m sure anyone watching would have been able to observe my brain shutting down just as Veronica’s had a few minutes earlier.
Stalking to the shed, muttering every expletive known to modern man plus a few that I made up by combining several foul words, I was a woman on a collision course with destiny.
I threw the tools of my fence scaling trade against the fence and began my ascent. I don’t exactly know what went wrong. It was the same problem, the same fence, same ladder and lawn chair and I was certainly the same highly agitated person. Everything was the same except my ability to conquer the situation.
I was able to mount the fence but that was the end of my journey. Somehow once I had one leg on one side of the fence and one on the other, I was hopelessly stuck. There I was, lying on my stomach on top of the fence unable to go anywhere. I didn’t even have the ability to simply go limp and fall off the fence. I’m sure I presented a pretty picture, something akin to a beached whale impaled on a harpoon. Kaylee tells me that I spent a lot of time twitching and trying to fling my leg or legs up onto or over the fence. I'm not sure, by the time she gets to this point in the story she becomes quite incoherent and I don't completely understand her.
Under the roaring in my already deaf ears, I could hear my daughter shouting for my husband. And she must have been really worried because there was an underlying note of real urgency in her voice. Upon further examination, I came to realize what I mistook for compassionate panic was actually her rather feeble attempt to control hysterical, gut wrenching, tear jerking laughter.
Suddenly, my rescuer arrived! It is interesting to me that a person can be amused, worried and genuinely mad as can be all at the same time, but Roger was all these things and more. Somehow he managed to get my fat butt down off the fence without injuring himself but not without a solid scolding about my reckless behavior. I was counseled severely about my lack of patience and need to “do everything myself and right now.” Hello……earth to Roger…had you come when called, none of this would have happened. To add insult to injury, he also managed to retrieve the dog without significant incident and restored order to the animal kingdom in the yard.
Men have this ingrained sense of being the superior sex, more capable at problem solving and just general chest beating testosterone machismo. And now, I had unwittingly contributed to this particular man’s ego. After all, it was a female dog that started the ball rolling and HIS female that rolled it smack into a brick all, or a privacy fence in this case. I think his head grew 2 sizes that day.
It did not help that by the next day my inner thighs were bruised from where they connected to my torso all the way to my knees. This colorful reminder of my day of infamy did nothing to make my husband contrite over his failure to timely respond to my need. In fact, each time those bruises were visible, he had such a self satisfied smirk on his face that I wanted to slap him silly and lock him in the closet.
And then there is my darling daughter who continues to this day to bemoan the fact that she had not had a video camera available. She was and still is convinced she could have been the big winner on America’s Funniest Videos. And the fact that she would have profited from my misfortune would not have bothered her in the slightest. I get NO respect and probably wouldn’t have gotten part of the money either. But hey, it is enough for me to know that I am a constant source of amusement to those I love!
Next Installment: Where, oh where, has my little dog gone?
Veronica’s final flight could have possibly been the best. And, after all the months of rescuing, chasing and worrying, I finally had a witness to my plight. At long last my husband was home. Roger was in the house in his office and unknown to me, my daughter was also about to arrive.
I was actually in the yard when Veronica went sailing over. It was miraculous to behold – one moment she was just a dog enjoying the freedom of her backyard – the next she was experiencing the miracle of flight. I watched her put her nose in the air and I truly think at that moment I witnessed her brain flipping the switch to “off.” She backed up about 12 feet from the fence, made a running dash and catapulted herself toward it. She jumped high enough that her front legs hung over the top of the fence and she scrabbled with her back feet until she achieved enough purchase on the boards to push herself over.
My blood literally went from just coursing through my hardening arteries to the point of boiling and pulsating until I thought my head would explode. I went in the house in search of my husband, explained to him that the “damn” dog had taken a powder AGAIN!
Contrary to what you think you have been able to discern about my personality and character by now, patience is NOT my strong suit. I am enough like my mother to have the “I want it done and I want it done NOW” chromosome. When I have reached a personal crisis point, any delay will only serve to make me want to annihilate not only the source of my problem but anyone who is not responding with my same level of urgency. In short, failure to help me when I request it will put your life in mortal peril. Or mine as this case proved to be.
My darling husband is the “great procrastinator.” He subscribes to the “why do today that which you can put off until tomorrow” credo. Therefore, he failed to come running when summoned and that was the first step in my ultimate undoing.
When I did not see any help forthcoming, the pounding in my head became so severe that I literally saw red. I’m sure anyone watching would have been able to observe my brain shutting down just as Veronica’s had a few minutes earlier.
Stalking to the shed, muttering every expletive known to modern man plus a few that I made up by combining several foul words, I was a woman on a collision course with destiny.
I threw the tools of my fence scaling trade against the fence and began my ascent. I don’t exactly know what went wrong. It was the same problem, the same fence, same ladder and lawn chair and I was certainly the same highly agitated person. Everything was the same except my ability to conquer the situation.
I was able to mount the fence but that was the end of my journey. Somehow once I had one leg on one side of the fence and one on the other, I was hopelessly stuck. There I was, lying on my stomach on top of the fence unable to go anywhere. I didn’t even have the ability to simply go limp and fall off the fence. I’m sure I presented a pretty picture, something akin to a beached whale impaled on a harpoon. Kaylee tells me that I spent a lot of time twitching and trying to fling my leg or legs up onto or over the fence. I'm not sure, by the time she gets to this point in the story she becomes quite incoherent and I don't completely understand her.
Under the roaring in my already deaf ears, I could hear my daughter shouting for my husband. And she must have been really worried because there was an underlying note of real urgency in her voice. Upon further examination, I came to realize what I mistook for compassionate panic was actually her rather feeble attempt to control hysterical, gut wrenching, tear jerking laughter.
Suddenly, my rescuer arrived! It is interesting to me that a person can be amused, worried and genuinely mad as can be all at the same time, but Roger was all these things and more. Somehow he managed to get my fat butt down off the fence without injuring himself but not without a solid scolding about my reckless behavior. I was counseled severely about my lack of patience and need to “do everything myself and right now.” Hello……earth to Roger…had you come when called, none of this would have happened. To add insult to injury, he also managed to retrieve the dog without significant incident and restored order to the animal kingdom in the yard.
Men have this ingrained sense of being the superior sex, more capable at problem solving and just general chest beating testosterone machismo. And now, I had unwittingly contributed to this particular man’s ego. After all, it was a female dog that started the ball rolling and HIS female that rolled it smack into a brick all, or a privacy fence in this case. I think his head grew 2 sizes that day.
It did not help that by the next day my inner thighs were bruised from where they connected to my torso all the way to my knees. This colorful reminder of my day of infamy did nothing to make my husband contrite over his failure to timely respond to my need. In fact, each time those bruises were visible, he had such a self satisfied smirk on his face that I wanted to slap him silly and lock him in the closet.
And then there is my darling daughter who continues to this day to bemoan the fact that she had not had a video camera available. She was and still is convinced she could have been the big winner on America’s Funniest Videos. And the fact that she would have profited from my misfortune would not have bothered her in the slightest. I get NO respect and probably wouldn’t have gotten part of the money either. But hey, it is enough for me to know that I am a constant source of amusement to those I love!
Next Installment: Where, oh where, has my little dog gone?
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Let Me Hear You Bark Like A Dog - or Stupid Hurts
You will never be able to say that I will not make fun of myself. Part of the reason for that is sometimes I crack myself up. I think I can be really funny at times and at other times I'm so stupid it's funny.
I stuck my toe in the water today and mentioned an incident that happened a while ago and several of you have private messaged me and wanted the skinny on the story so I shall write and publish for you all. Mostly because I always feel that it is a good thing to provide a public service announcement when you can. So read on.
I've mentioned loads of times that there was a prolonged period when my husband lived and worked in Kansas City. Most of the time he came home briefly on weekends but there were times when it just didn't work out for us. It was usually during his absence that all things crappy in nature chose to happen around the house. If you have read "The Dog Chronicles" you know that Vaulting Veronica would usually pull her disappearing act while Roger was away. Leaving me to climb fences and search neighborhoods to retrieve her. But that story belongs to a different day.
I am absolutely a rabid animal lover. I can't stand the thought of someone neglecting or hurting an animal. In fact, there are people who think I need some form of intervention concerning my treatment of my dogs. I firmly believe that the more like a person you treat them, the more like a person they become. And I have proof of this in Jessie the Wonder Dog (RIP) so no arguments please.
That being said, one of our rescue dogs, Betty was and is a terrible barker. Most of her problem stems from the fact that she is absolutely terrified of all humans but Roger and I. So if there are other people in our house, she barks. If there are other people next door, she barks. The squirrel in the tree makes her bark. Thunder in North Dakota makes her bark. If she hears a mouse fart on the next street....well, you get the picture.
Her barking was contagious. She would start, then Veronica would join in and finally poor old Max would be unable to contain himself and would add his voice to the chorus. They were driving me crazy and I was scared to death that I was going to be cited by the city for disturbing the peace.
So.......I decided to try the bark collar on them hoping to bring their incessant barking under control. I bought one of those that only transmit when the dog barks, strapped it on Betty, she barked, jumped about 2 feet off the ground, flew sideways and shut up! YAY!!!! I left the collar on her for a couple of days and then removed it. She would be good for a while but eventually would need another lesson in vocal control.
One extremely boring weekend when I was home alone I decided to change the battery in the bark collar because it no longer having the desired effect.
As I unscrewed the little compartment that housed the battery, the unit beeped. Hmmmmm, maybe the battery wasn't dead after all. Now I've already told you that I am often too stupid to function and I'm sure you know where this story is headed. I'm standing in my kitchen with this bark collar in my hand and it occurs to me "How do I know that these even work?" "What if it really hurts the dog?" The literature says it is 100% HUMANE, but............is it really? No one is here for me to talk to about this enigma so scientifically I owe it to myself and my dogs to learn the true nature of this instrument.
The box on the collar has 2 small metal points about an inch and a quarter apart. Confidently, I pressed those two small points to my throat and vocalized my best imitation of a big dog bark.
My vocal cords seized completely up, tears ran both down my cheeks and my legs, and I could swear I felt my heart stop and restart. People, I have never had anything hurt so bad in my life - it was a genuine pity that I didn't have a nice thick coat of fur to somewhat diminish the sensation because right on bare skin was the equivalent of dropping your hair dryer in the tub with you.
Those things may be HUMANE - but apparently not for the individuals who make up the root of that word.
When my vision cleared and I could speak again, I called my husband and told him what I had done. He must have been really busy because he immediately got this strangled sound and said "Let me call you back."
I think it may have taken him some time to recover his composure which was lost from laughing so hard.because it took a bit for him to call me back.
Well, it didn't take long for that story to get around the family and then one Thanksgiving they all had to get the collar out and try it for themselves. They passed that collar from person to person, each one barking in turn and being AMAZED that it hurt like hell. My daughter (ever cautious) was having difficulty making a good bark and kept saying "I don't feel anything." It was at that point one of her brothers leaned over and gave a hearty WOOF - she felt it.
I sure wish I could have had a video camera that night with everyone sitting around barking............I would be fabuloso wealthy now and could send my dogs for anti-bark therapy.
And now for your public service announcement: Children don't try this at home....that dog (collar) will bite you....
I stuck my toe in the water today and mentioned an incident that happened a while ago and several of you have private messaged me and wanted the skinny on the story so I shall write and publish for you all. Mostly because I always feel that it is a good thing to provide a public service announcement when you can. So read on.
I've mentioned loads of times that there was a prolonged period when my husband lived and worked in Kansas City. Most of the time he came home briefly on weekends but there were times when it just didn't work out for us. It was usually during his absence that all things crappy in nature chose to happen around the house. If you have read "The Dog Chronicles" you know that Vaulting Veronica would usually pull her disappearing act while Roger was away. Leaving me to climb fences and search neighborhoods to retrieve her. But that story belongs to a different day.
I am absolutely a rabid animal lover. I can't stand the thought of someone neglecting or hurting an animal. In fact, there are people who think I need some form of intervention concerning my treatment of my dogs. I firmly believe that the more like a person you treat them, the more like a person they become. And I have proof of this in Jessie the Wonder Dog (RIP) so no arguments please.
That being said, one of our rescue dogs, Betty was and is a terrible barker. Most of her problem stems from the fact that she is absolutely terrified of all humans but Roger and I. So if there are other people in our house, she barks. If there are other people next door, she barks. The squirrel in the tree makes her bark. Thunder in North Dakota makes her bark. If she hears a mouse fart on the next street....well, you get the picture.
So.......I decided to try the bark collar on them hoping to bring their incessant barking under control. I bought one of those that only transmit when the dog barks, strapped it on Betty, she barked, jumped about 2 feet off the ground, flew sideways and shut up! YAY!!!! I left the collar on her for a couple of days and then removed it. She would be good for a while but eventually would need another lesson in vocal control.
One extremely boring weekend when I was home alone I decided to change the battery in the bark collar because it no longer having the desired effect.
As I unscrewed the little compartment that housed the battery, the unit beeped. Hmmmmm, maybe the battery wasn't dead after all. Now I've already told you that I am often too stupid to function and I'm sure you know where this story is headed. I'm standing in my kitchen with this bark collar in my hand and it occurs to me "How do I know that these even work?" "What if it really hurts the dog?" The literature says it is 100% HUMANE, but............is it really? No one is here for me to talk to about this enigma so scientifically I owe it to myself and my dogs to learn the true nature of this instrument.
The box on the collar has 2 small metal points about an inch and a quarter apart. Confidently, I pressed those two small points to my throat and vocalized my best imitation of a big dog bark.
HOLY CRAP!!!!
My vocal cords seized completely up, tears ran both down my cheeks and my legs, and I could swear I felt my heart stop and restart. People, I have never had anything hurt so bad in my life - it was a genuine pity that I didn't have a nice thick coat of fur to somewhat diminish the sensation because right on bare skin was the equivalent of dropping your hair dryer in the tub with you.
Those things may be HUMANE - but apparently not for the individuals who make up the root of that word.
When my vision cleared and I could speak again, I called my husband and told him what I had done. He must have been really busy because he immediately got this strangled sound and said "Let me call you back."
I think it may have taken him some time to recover his composure which was lost from laughing so hard.because it took a bit for him to call me back.
Well, it didn't take long for that story to get around the family and then one Thanksgiving they all had to get the collar out and try it for themselves. They passed that collar from person to person, each one barking in turn and being AMAZED that it hurt like hell. My daughter (ever cautious) was having difficulty making a good bark and kept saying "I don't feel anything." It was at that point one of her brothers leaned over and gave a hearty WOOF - she felt it.
I sure wish I could have had a video camera that night with everyone sitting around barking............I would be fabuloso wealthy now and could send my dogs for anti-bark therapy.
And now for your public service announcement: Children don't try this at home....that dog (collar) will bite you....
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Excuse Me Ma'am - Your Slip Is Showing
Oh wait.....No, it isn't. That's because you aren't wearing a slip. And I ask you dear madam, Why aren't you wearing a slip? What's that you say? Wal-Mart no longer carries slips? Why that simply is impossible. Do they not consider themselves the EVERYTHING place. My goodness, you can get your oil changed, your eyes checked, your nails buffed AND your picture made while waiting on the Photo department to process your film or digital imagery. Then you can leisurely stroll over to the grocery aisle while your dear husband checks out the .22 rifles in the sporting goods department. After that you might want to make a trip down the meaningless gesture aisle because surely someone has a birthday, anniversary, bar mitzvah and is dying for one of those Hot Sauce combo packs. Therefore, you must be mistaken. What's that you say? "The "associate" in the lingerie/sock department said that Wal-Mart hasn't carried slips in about 3 years!"
My stars and garters! Literally!
This morning for the 3rd time in maybe that many years, I opted to wear a dress to church. I usually go for the 2 piece suit type look as my body has not retained a shape conducive to attractive wearing of a dress. This particular dress really needed a slip under it. I realize that because over the course of the past decade I have been the self appointed "underwear" police in my area. Working for a photography studio - I saw it all. I saw girls who wore panties that should have rethought their choice. Here's a little hint gals.....thongs don't always look good under an iridescent while clingy dress - especially when said thong is royal blue. I have seen girls who opted to not wear a bra - AND SHOULD HAVE. I've seen girls who wore a bra - nice white straps with block and tackle buckles under a strapless gown. And I've seen grown women walk into a business in a nice light chiffony little summer dress. With the light shining behind them, I became far more familiar with them than I cared to.
So, I'm a little anal when it comes to proper undergarmenting (spell check says that is not a word it recognizes) TOO BAD - I recognize it.
On the way to church we stopped at the closest Wal-Mart - I ran in while the hubs circled the parking lot like an anxious lover waiting to pick up his date on a Saturday night. Carefully, I perused the foundation department. Panties - check, pantyhose - check, bras - check, check and triple check, press it down and move it up garments - check. But no slips. No full slips, no half slips. Nothing, nada, zero, zip. Running out of time I found an "associate" and inquired where I might lay my hands on a slip and was informed that indeed they no longer carry slips.
Now I was in a pickle. It was too late to return home and change, nothing else was open and I wasn't even wearing my long coat.
So, today, I went to church with no slip and was paranoid the entire day that someone else would know I had no slip. I guess I will have to do some research into why the slip has "slipped" away into oblivion. But, listen girls, if you have slips, hang on to them - they will be collector's items someday. Perhaps I will see one of you on the Antiques Roadshow being offered a million bucks for your underwear.
My stars and garters! Literally!
This morning for the 3rd time in maybe that many years, I opted to wear a dress to church. I usually go for the 2 piece suit type look as my body has not retained a shape conducive to attractive wearing of a dress. This particular dress really needed a slip under it. I realize that because over the course of the past decade I have been the self appointed "underwear" police in my area. Working for a photography studio - I saw it all. I saw girls who wore panties that should have rethought their choice. Here's a little hint gals.....thongs don't always look good under an iridescent while clingy dress - especially when said thong is royal blue. I have seen girls who opted to not wear a bra - AND SHOULD HAVE. I've seen girls who wore a bra - nice white straps with block and tackle buckles under a strapless gown. And I've seen grown women walk into a business in a nice light chiffony little summer dress. With the light shining behind them, I became far more familiar with them than I cared to.
So, I'm a little anal when it comes to proper undergarmenting (spell check says that is not a word it recognizes) TOO BAD - I recognize it.
On the way to church we stopped at the closest Wal-Mart - I ran in while the hubs circled the parking lot like an anxious lover waiting to pick up his date on a Saturday night. Carefully, I perused the foundation department. Panties - check, pantyhose - check, bras - check, check and triple check, press it down and move it up garments - check. But no slips. No full slips, no half slips. Nothing, nada, zero, zip. Running out of time I found an "associate" and inquired where I might lay my hands on a slip and was informed that indeed they no longer carry slips.
Now I was in a pickle. It was too late to return home and change, nothing else was open and I wasn't even wearing my long coat.
So, today, I went to church with no slip and was paranoid the entire day that someone else would know I had no slip. I guess I will have to do some research into why the slip has "slipped" away into oblivion. But, listen girls, if you have slips, hang on to them - they will be collector's items someday. Perhaps I will see one of you on the Antiques Roadshow being offered a million bucks for your underwear.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Forget About It!
My memory has always been something to be proud of. I also was prideful of my ability to multi-task in even the most difficult situations. Why, I am that woman who can balance her checkbook waiting on a red light, mop the floor while bouncing a baby on one hip, listen to 3 conversations at once (well provided I can hear them.)**Have I mentioned that I am deaf as a stump?**
Anyway, you get the picture....I am Woman - hear me roar! The Can Do Super Woman for the ages. Able to leap small inchworms in a single bound **I am 60 you know**. And, I could tell you what I was doing, wearing and with who at this exact moment a year ago. In short I was pretty danged sickening.
It didn't help that I was so judgmental of my poor husband who stays so distracted that he can't remember a conversation we had 12 minutes ago. The man that we tell events start a minimum of half an hour earlier just so he can arrive ONLY 15 minutes late. Yes, I will admit it, I was a genuine pain in the butt.
But God (who I am firmly convinced has a highly developed sense of humor) decided to hit me where I lived. Right in the pride.
Since I have dealt with the dementia/Alzheimer's puzzle for a couple of months, my mind automatically goes to a very dark place when I am not as focused as I should be. But I reassure myself with the facts of tired, sinus infection, too much on my mind and struggle on.
The whole trip to Target really started this Forget-a-Thon in motion. I went there for a purpose, forgot why I was there, decided to pick up a few things while already there, paid for them and promptly left without them. There was a time when a cute little teenage boy running after me trying to get my attention in the parking lot would have been a good day. Not so much now. I felt so silly, like those little white haired ladies that forget where they parked at Wal-Mart (oh wait....been there AND done that.)
But perhaps my best Forget-it was yesterday. I spent the entire morning moving furniture out of my living room and vacuuming my carpet in joyful anticipation of carpet cleaners whose ETA was between 12:00 noon and 2:00 PM.
I have dogs so the whole vacuum experience was delightful since I was able to accumulate enough dog hair to build an Alaskan dog sled team. Plus I had Jessie who is a vacuum hater/chaser. Compounding the craziness was Genevieve's dog Charly who turns out to be a vacuum hater/chaser as well. Vacuuming with one hand and rebounding attacking canines I eventually triumphed over the floors.
My husband (creep) remarked once that I had "lovingly" (his word - not mine) cleaned my floors so someone could come and clean my floors. I ask you is this really that hard to understand? Do guys really not get the whole "I don't want people to think I'm a slob" mindset?
Soooooooooooo, by noon I have a living room that is stripped down to the bare essentials, have been to Lowes to buy bulbs for my bathroom light fixture, and checked on paint options for my bathroom cabinets. I'm having a great day thank you very much! And how you doin'?
Back home I perch on my couch to wait for the carpet cleaners. And wait, and wait and wait. 2:00 which is the back end of their agreed upon arrival time rolls around with no big yellow truck at my house. Highly incensed, I march back to my office to get the phone number to give someone a large piece of my mind. While perusing the phone book I notice my desk blotter where I have written the appointment. Not today (Thursday), not tomorrow (Friday), certainly not Saturday or Sunday. But, instead, my carpets are scheduled to be cleaned Monday.
Well isn't that just great - wipe that self satisfied smirk off your face, Roger! To make matters worse, there's no way I can hide this one. All our furniture is crammed in the bedroom and I'm not bringing it back!
So, see what I mean about the sense of humor thing? Shot square in the pride with no place to hide. Oh well, in the words of that other whining, manipulative heroine in literature - "I'll worry about it tomorrow." Maybe I'll even remember to worry about it. Now where did I put my glasses.....I need them to find my phone.
Anyway, you get the picture....I am Woman - hear me roar! The Can Do Super Woman for the ages. Able to leap small inchworms in a single bound **I am 60 you know**. And, I could tell you what I was doing, wearing and with who at this exact moment a year ago. In short I was pretty danged sickening.
It didn't help that I was so judgmental of my poor husband who stays so distracted that he can't remember a conversation we had 12 minutes ago. The man that we tell events start a minimum of half an hour earlier just so he can arrive ONLY 15 minutes late. Yes, I will admit it, I was a genuine pain in the butt.
But God (who I am firmly convinced has a highly developed sense of humor) decided to hit me where I lived. Right in the pride.
Since I have dealt with the dementia/Alzheimer's puzzle for a couple of months, my mind automatically goes to a very dark place when I am not as focused as I should be. But I reassure myself with the facts of tired, sinus infection, too much on my mind and struggle on.
The whole trip to Target really started this Forget-a-Thon in motion. I went there for a purpose, forgot why I was there, decided to pick up a few things while already there, paid for them and promptly left without them. There was a time when a cute little teenage boy running after me trying to get my attention in the parking lot would have been a good day. Not so much now. I felt so silly, like those little white haired ladies that forget where they parked at Wal-Mart (oh wait....been there AND done that.)
But perhaps my best Forget-it was yesterday. I spent the entire morning moving furniture out of my living room and vacuuming my carpet in joyful anticipation of carpet cleaners whose ETA was between 12:00 noon and 2:00 PM.
I have dogs so the whole vacuum experience was delightful since I was able to accumulate enough dog hair to build an Alaskan dog sled team. Plus I had Jessie who is a vacuum hater/chaser. Compounding the craziness was Genevieve's dog Charly who turns out to be a vacuum hater/chaser as well. Vacuuming with one hand and rebounding attacking canines I eventually triumphed over the floors.
My husband (creep) remarked once that I had "lovingly" (his word - not mine) cleaned my floors so someone could come and clean my floors. I ask you is this really that hard to understand? Do guys really not get the whole "I don't want people to think I'm a slob" mindset?
Soooooooooooo, by noon I have a living room that is stripped down to the bare essentials, have been to Lowes to buy bulbs for my bathroom light fixture, and checked on paint options for my bathroom cabinets. I'm having a great day thank you very much! And how you doin'?
Back home I perch on my couch to wait for the carpet cleaners. And wait, and wait and wait. 2:00 which is the back end of their agreed upon arrival time rolls around with no big yellow truck at my house. Highly incensed, I march back to my office to get the phone number to give someone a large piece of my mind. While perusing the phone book I notice my desk blotter where I have written the appointment. Not today (Thursday), not tomorrow (Friday), certainly not Saturday or Sunday. But, instead, my carpets are scheduled to be cleaned Monday.
Well isn't that just great - wipe that self satisfied smirk off your face, Roger! To make matters worse, there's no way I can hide this one. All our furniture is crammed in the bedroom and I'm not bringing it back!
So, see what I mean about the sense of humor thing? Shot square in the pride with no place to hide. Oh well, in the words of that other whining, manipulative heroine in literature - "I'll worry about it tomorrow." Maybe I'll even remember to worry about it. Now where did I put my glasses.....I need them to find my phone.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Reading Your Way to Better Mental Health
I've always been an avid reader and my taste in books is long, tall, deep and wide. Over the course of the past two months, I have read a lot. My biggest undertaking was the new Stephen King book which I believe weighed roughly 10 pounds which made it darn near impossible to read in the bathtub. I was afraid I would drop it and it would cause the water level to rise and drown me. I also re-read the entire Twilight series - I'm not sure why but they intrigue me. Perhaps it is my genuine dislike for the heroine in those books that makes me want to read them again. I guess I needed someone to despise. Why do I not like Bella you ask? I find her whiny, needy, selfish and just all around unthoughtful and undeserving of so much blind devotion even if it is from a vampire and a werewolf. I read Koontz's "Breathless" and was once again blown away by his ability to translate his love for animals into a way that makes even the most fantastical of characters come alive for me. I also ripped through 3 books on Alzheimer Disease which were a gift from a good friend and helped me understand that the things I was dealing with were not unique to me. Rather, I was in an army of thousands that fought the same problems, guilt, denial, exhaustion, worry and sadness as I.
All of these books accomplished different things for me. Stirred my imagination, took me away for a while, helped me cope and even simply entertained.
And then, I noticed a book that had been sitting on my bookshelf untouched for at least 2 months. It was a book my daughter handed me one day and said "Mom, you really should read this book, it's really good." As I noticed it sitting there collecting dust I wondered why it hadn't occurred to me to read it before. Interestingly enough, my daughter had mentioned it only once and that was to inquire if I had read it yet.
As I began to read this book, I was swept away by the story that unfolded. A story of loss, heart wrenching sadness and pain. I could identify with this! As I read on, it became clear to me that God was speaking to me in a very real and personal way. There was so much of that book that cleared away a lot of messiness in my life and in my thoughts. I will not give away the storyline for fear of spoiling it for someone else. I will tell you that I highly recommend "The Shack". It isn't a big book and it doesn't take long to read but I will tell you that it is often not an easy read. It makes you think and makes you question and also makes you aware of some truths that you might have dreamed of but never thought possible.
I am firmly convicted that God left that book on my shelf until a time when I most needed to read it. And now, I will give it to you in the same way. You should read this book......let God tell you when.
Oh, and to my Darling Daughter who seemed to realize that the time would come when I would need this message more than any other - thank you from the depths of my heart in which you hold a most important place.
Peace my friends!
All of these books accomplished different things for me. Stirred my imagination, took me away for a while, helped me cope and even simply entertained.
And then, I noticed a book that had been sitting on my bookshelf untouched for at least 2 months. It was a book my daughter handed me one day and said "Mom, you really should read this book, it's really good." As I noticed it sitting there collecting dust I wondered why it hadn't occurred to me to read it before. Interestingly enough, my daughter had mentioned it only once and that was to inquire if I had read it yet.
As I began to read this book, I was swept away by the story that unfolded. A story of loss, heart wrenching sadness and pain. I could identify with this! As I read on, it became clear to me that God was speaking to me in a very real and personal way. There was so much of that book that cleared away a lot of messiness in my life and in my thoughts. I will not give away the storyline for fear of spoiling it for someone else. I will tell you that I highly recommend "The Shack". It isn't a big book and it doesn't take long to read but I will tell you that it is often not an easy read. It makes you think and makes you question and also makes you aware of some truths that you might have dreamed of but never thought possible.
I am firmly convicted that God left that book on my shelf until a time when I most needed to read it. And now, I will give it to you in the same way. You should read this book......let God tell you when.
Oh, and to my Darling Daughter who seemed to realize that the time would come when I would need this message more than any other - thank you from the depths of my heart in which you hold a most important place.
Peace my friends!
Friday, February 5, 2010
What Happens Now?
I've completed the week of my mom's service. Now what? My mom has been in the back of my mind or foremost in my thoughts for so long now I'm a little unfocused. Even before the 2 month long tornado hit, I was always thinking about her. Had she called lately? Did I need to call and check on her? The past 2 months just moved everything else out of my head and made me single minded about her health and well being.
Today I went to the store, made my purchases and wandered off without them. I was a tad undone by the young man racing up behind me calling "Ma'am, Ma'am!" One has to wonder if I would have ever noticed that I did not get home with 2 bags of coffee and a stack of paper plates.
Something that hit home today is how quickly everyone's life returns to normal. There is no more steady procession of crock pots and floral arrangements. The funeral home has stamped finished and paid on your business with them. Kids are back at school, people are back at work and yet you still feel the raw emotion that you felt on the very first day.
My very good friend, Judy calls me everyday to check on me. Would that I could be as good a friend to her as she is to me. My dear friends (and they know who they are) still continue to message and offer prayers of encouragement. And, I still receive condolence cards everyday. Those things have made me realize how important it is to hang with someone who grieves. I hope that in the future I remember that the acknowledgment of concern is still appreciated well after the need for it.
And so, What Happens Now? Life happens now and hopefully I am ready to resume it.
Today I went to the store, made my purchases and wandered off without them. I was a tad undone by the young man racing up behind me calling "Ma'am, Ma'am!" One has to wonder if I would have ever noticed that I did not get home with 2 bags of coffee and a stack of paper plates.
Something that hit home today is how quickly everyone's life returns to normal. There is no more steady procession of crock pots and floral arrangements. The funeral home has stamped finished and paid on your business with them. Kids are back at school, people are back at work and yet you still feel the raw emotion that you felt on the very first day.
My very good friend, Judy calls me everyday to check on me. Would that I could be as good a friend to her as she is to me. My dear friends (and they know who they are) still continue to message and offer prayers of encouragement. And, I still receive condolence cards everyday. Those things have made me realize how important it is to hang with someone who grieves. I hope that in the future I remember that the acknowledgment of concern is still appreciated well after the need for it.
And so, What Happens Now? Life happens now and hopefully I am ready to resume it.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
A Good Man
I write today to acknowledge a truly good man. He will never read this and in some ways I find that fitting. The reason he won't read is not because he is gone, it is simply that technology is not something he partakes of. He, like my mom, bemoaned the demise of Analog phone service, he doesn't email or Facebook or any of the other things I find myself so increasingly centered in. He would probably be embarrassed by my words because he never did any of the things I will acknowledge for any reason other than to help.
Ivan was my mother's very special friend. They began keeping company when mom moved to Arkansas. He drove that long drive from Stinnett to Fort Smith usually once a month for the sheer pleasure of being with my mom. It was her great worry over his being on the road so much that played a large part in her returning to Texas a decade ago. They probably didn't see each other much more than they did when she lived here.But, he didn't have as far to travel and that was easier on him and alleviated worry on my mother's part.
Their association was probably exhausting for Ivan. Mom kept him very busy when he visited. And there was no task that he didn't consider himself "up" for. I think she even had him on the roof once. He built things, fixed things, took her places and loved her. I'm sure the love they shared wasn't the mushy, cow eyes and PDA love that most of us would recognize. Their expression of affection was a quick and to the point "Love you" and "Love you too". Period. But that they loved each other I have never doubted.
I often wondered why they never made that step toward being permanently committed to each other. But that independent and fiery spirit that burned in mom, was probably mirrored in Ivan and they both wanted to maintain their own space.
While I was moving my mom's stuff in December in preparation for moving her to Arkansas, Ivan was the rock I leaned on. I would never have been able to do what I did without his help. I told him once we should start our own moving company: OLD FARTS MOVING COMPANY - "we won't get you there fast, but we might die trying."
It was during this difficult month that I came to understand and appreciate what it was about him that my mom treasured. I should backtrack here and confess that I wasn't always as kind to Ivan as I should have been. In fact I resented the hell out of him because of the spot he claimed in my mother. I will always be regretful and embarrassed for those feelings. He didn't deserve my scorn and I am heartily ashamed of myself. Fortunately, I have shared my feelings of shame and remorse with Ivan and he accepted my apology with all the grace a true gentleman possesses.
On the day we left Texas, he drove all the way to Amarillo to say goodbye to mom. Little did I expect that he was saying goodbye for good. I fully expected and intended to drive her to Elk City every so often to meet Ivan as he visited one of his sons. I'm sorry I didn't get to do that for both of them.
I know that as I grieve my mom, Ivan grieves as well. I hope that he can remember the last time he saw mom, with her hair all fixed, dressed in her traveling clothes, smiling and waving from the car as we pulled out of the parking lot. I am so grateful he never had to witness the last month of her life as we spent it. I want him to hold his memory of mom bright and beautiful, just as he always knew her to be.
Ivan was my mother's very special friend. They began keeping company when mom moved to Arkansas. He drove that long drive from Stinnett to Fort Smith usually once a month for the sheer pleasure of being with my mom. It was her great worry over his being on the road so much that played a large part in her returning to Texas a decade ago. They probably didn't see each other much more than they did when she lived here.But, he didn't have as far to travel and that was easier on him and alleviated worry on my mother's part.
Their association was probably exhausting for Ivan. Mom kept him very busy when he visited. And there was no task that he didn't consider himself "up" for. I think she even had him on the roof once. He built things, fixed things, took her places and loved her. I'm sure the love they shared wasn't the mushy, cow eyes and PDA love that most of us would recognize. Their expression of affection was a quick and to the point "Love you" and "Love you too". Period. But that they loved each other I have never doubted.
I often wondered why they never made that step toward being permanently committed to each other. But that independent and fiery spirit that burned in mom, was probably mirrored in Ivan and they both wanted to maintain their own space.
While I was moving my mom's stuff in December in preparation for moving her to Arkansas, Ivan was the rock I leaned on. I would never have been able to do what I did without his help. I told him once we should start our own moving company: OLD FARTS MOVING COMPANY - "we won't get you there fast, but we might die trying."
It was during this difficult month that I came to understand and appreciate what it was about him that my mom treasured. I should backtrack here and confess that I wasn't always as kind to Ivan as I should have been. In fact I resented the hell out of him because of the spot he claimed in my mother. I will always be regretful and embarrassed for those feelings. He didn't deserve my scorn and I am heartily ashamed of myself. Fortunately, I have shared my feelings of shame and remorse with Ivan and he accepted my apology with all the grace a true gentleman possesses.
On the day we left Texas, he drove all the way to Amarillo to say goodbye to mom. Little did I expect that he was saying goodbye for good. I fully expected and intended to drive her to Elk City every so often to meet Ivan as he visited one of his sons. I'm sorry I didn't get to do that for both of them.
I know that as I grieve my mom, Ivan grieves as well. I hope that he can remember the last time he saw mom, with her hair all fixed, dressed in her traveling clothes, smiling and waving from the car as we pulled out of the parking lot. I am so grateful he never had to witness the last month of her life as we spent it. I want him to hold his memory of mom bright and beautiful, just as he always knew her to be.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
The Beat Goes On
Yesterday was one of the hardest days of my life. The day when I had to publicly say goodbye to my mother. My day to day life has pretty much been in a holding pattern for 2 months and I forgot that outside my door the world was still turning.
No matter how sad or sick I feel, the sun keeps coming up, the snow continues to melt, the sky still peeks out with brilliant blue eyes and people continue their usual going and coming.
I've learned a lot of hard lessons in 60 days. I've learned you can't always be the help that you want to be. I've learned that I can lean on someone and not fall flat on my face. I've learned about the genuine goodness of most people and the total unreliability of others.
I've also learned that I will ALWAYS sign an on line guest book even if I barely knew the family involved. I had no idea how much comfort a few words written could mean to an aching heart.
I've learned that even if I have to buy a stick of bologna and a loaf of bread to take to someone's house, I should do it. It isn't the food you bring, it is the gift of your own thoughtfulness that makes a difference.
I've learned that something as small as taking time to attend a service, or send a plant means so much to someone who is hurting over their loss.
In doing these things we make people feel important to us. So, in short I will try to remember that while their world has stopped for a moment, mine does go on and I am called by Christ to give the gift of myself.
No matter how sad or sick I feel, the sun keeps coming up, the snow continues to melt, the sky still peeks out with brilliant blue eyes and people continue their usual going and coming.
I've learned a lot of hard lessons in 60 days. I've learned you can't always be the help that you want to be. I've learned that I can lean on someone and not fall flat on my face. I've learned about the genuine goodness of most people and the total unreliability of others.
I've also learned that I will ALWAYS sign an on line guest book even if I barely knew the family involved. I had no idea how much comfort a few words written could mean to an aching heart.
I've learned that even if I have to buy a stick of bologna and a loaf of bread to take to someone's house, I should do it. It isn't the food you bring, it is the gift of your own thoughtfulness that makes a difference.
I've learned that something as small as taking time to attend a service, or send a plant means so much to someone who is hurting over their loss.
In doing these things we make people feel important to us. So, in short I will try to remember that while their world has stopped for a moment, mine does go on and I am called by Christ to give the gift of myself.
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