Dear Quarantine Diary – Week #31

Tags

aging, covid-19 diary, covid-19 humour, dear diary, family, humour, stupid people

Dear Diary – Big Guy visited this weekend and it was so good to see him…and his 3 large loads of laundry. In exchange, he upgraded my cell phone plan, helped me measure a chair by the side of the road, and went shopping with me for a new Xbox controller.

He treated us to DQ and Tim’s; I trimmed his beard. Just not at the same time – who wants hair in their ice cream. Best of all, hugs! It’s been almost 4 months since he was down and this Mama’s well was dry!

Isn’t everybody twice my height?

Dear Diary – Whoops, I did it again!

I pulled stuff out of the freezer to get to the homemade donuts, and forgot to put it back in. Twenty-four things to be exact. I discovered the box of burgers beside the deep freeze less than 12 hours later. They were completely thawed but still cool, and I hate to throw out food. So what do you do with twenty-four 1/4 lb burgers you can’t refreeze? You grill 12 (2 at a time), you fry 5 and make spaghetti sauce, and you bake 7 in a meatloaf. Not the way I planned to spend my Sunday afternoon. Sunday dinner’s choices were beef, beef or beef!

Dear Diary – Rednecks, Hillbillies and Trailer Park Trash posted a chart with your “Cowboy Name” based on your birth month and date. My immediate family would be Camouflaged Chicken Chaser, Sunburned Chicken Chaser, and Slow Poke Chicken Chaser. They all have the same second name and I’m the odd man woman out. I was Lazy Creek Jumper. It seemed like an appropriate name for me. Why jump the creek when you can just take your shoes off and wade? Why risk breaking a sweat…or an ankle?

Dear Diary – I greatly dislike the priority status given to the “important” people who sit idling in drive-thrus because they’re too lazy precious busy to go inside. Once upon a time, the service inside was superior to that in drive-thrus, probably because human contact was an important aspect of customer service. That ceased pre-covid! On multiple occasions, I’ve had to become a “Karen”, bellowing loudly to ask if anyone was going to bother servicing service the front counter. Five heads by the drive-thru window stare at me blankly like deer in the headlights, because they don’t know what to do with a real live person. But I digress!

I’ve decided to become one of the slobs important people in the drive-thru after an unpleasant encounter with humankind, in the pharmacy, no less.

First, the automated service refused to renew my prescription, so I talked to the pharmacist and we agreed I should bring in my paper script. She promised to process it ASAP. While I waited, I browsed the paint spackle make-up aisle and I ended up purchasing tangerine nailpolish to add to the 17 bottles of nailpolish at home that I never wear. I’d forgotten how empowering a little shop bag in hand can be!

Feeling great, I lined up to pick up my prescription. There were a lot of people hanging around that corner of the store. Some were dropping off and picking up prescriptions; others waiting for theirs to be filled. Three people were waiting for covid test results. The store itself was warm and I started to feel light-headed and anxious, so I began chatting with the guy behind me. Just as I was explaining to the guy that I had been waiting awhile, another pushy broad with a mask half in place, started to push her way in front of me. I stared directly into her eyes and politely directed her to the back of the line. That interruption in conversation provoked the man to state that he knew his prescription was ready so he was next and he started to step in front of me too. Pushy broad piped up that hers was ready too and she also started to step in front of me. “Excuse me,” I said, “I’ve been waiting for my prescription and it should be ready too”. But no one was listening; they were too busy jostling for position. Then the guy started to elbow me and pushy broad out of the way, no local social or distanced, and shouting, “Mine’s ready. I’m next”.

In that split-second moment, I had to make a choice: fight or flight! As I’ve aged, I’ve noticed that my fight instinct has really gotten stronger, especially when I feel I have “right” on my side. Instead, I decided to hightail it out of there before fists starting flying, quite possibly mine. I did not want to end up on the evening news. So I announced, to no one in particular, that I was going to go to the drive-thru and I stormed off!

I was the only one in the line for the drive-thru. It was cool and calm; not a pushy broad in sight. Even better. The pharmacist asked if I was “Jenn” and said she’d been looking for me, wasn’t I just in line? I explained what happened and she apologized profused. “People are terrible,” she said. And I was in no mood to argue.

“Politeness is the art of choosing among your thoughts.”

Madame de Stael

Dear Diary – Big Guy tried to convince me that mice and rats could be cute pets. I say they’re only cute when they’re a cartoon in a chef’s hat. He tried to convince me that guinea pigs are rodents too. But he’s wrong. Guinea pigs are cavies, and cavies are cute. Even without the chef hat!

Dear Diary – It’s a small sign that life is returning to “normal”!

I’m not sure I’m ready for (or that I really want) life to return to normal, but Mom, a friend and I met to celebrate their August birthdays at a local tea room…patio! But that’s a story for Monday! 😉

Dear Diary – I went swimming today, if you can call it that. There was splashing and floating, but yaks splash and float too when you stick them in water. Since I was considering swimming again later in the day I wore my bikini…with a tank top because Little Guy is still an impressionable youth, and I didn’t want to leave him with the impression that his mother was a yak. I also knew that getting a wet swimsuit on this bod would be like trying to give a cat a bath: a painful, futile experience that would leave everyone wounded, winded, and worn out.

It was very refreshing, but I decided that it was too much effort to try it again in the same day.

Some women age gracefully and graciously. They use their wisdom, gained from experience, to brighten the world for others. They are comfortable in their own skin, fully embracing those changes too: graying hair, wrinkles, and extra padding.

I am not one of those women!

When I get old, I’m not going to be sitting around knitting. I’m going to be clicking my life alert button to see how many hot firefighters show up!

Shut Up! I’m Not Done Talking

The Raging Inferno of My Youth…

Tags

#menopausehumour, aging, humour, midlife crisis, women

Warning: Today’s topic is mostly for the ladies (and perhaps a few brave men). Don’t say I didn’t warn you!

***

I have always loved summer. I love the warmer weather, the lighter clothes, and the slower pace. I appreciate a break from regular routines and dire deadlines.

At least I did…until this year.

While I’m still enjoying the sunshine, the sundresses and the slow schedules, I’m getting sick of the heat.

I haven’t been able to putter in my garden (most of it has turned to dust). I haven’t been able to enjoy a good book on the back porch. I haven’t even been able to enjoy a good night’s sleep. Even when I was on vacation.

I think it’s because Mother Nature isn’t the only one who is menopausal. I’ve been trying to convince my doctor for a few years now, that even though I’m barely in my 40’s, my biological clock battery is running low. This year, as I sat in her office, sweating through my paper dress before her very eyes, she believed me!

It’s bad enough I’m struggling to accept 1) my 3 gray hairs that keep coming back and bringing friends; 2) weight gain just by thinking about dessert; and,3) the pain in my toes heralding the approaching end of high heels. It would seem that I am acquiring a new set of tell-tale signs in the next stage of aging…

• Night sweats

I sleep alone and yet, I still wrestle with temperature control.

• Sleep Problems 

I have trouble going to sleep. I have trouble staying asleep. By 6 a.m. I’m finally heading into a deep sleep and my alarm goes off. I hear every little noise; I worry about the craziest things.

• Mood changes

There’s a fine line between love and homicide, and I’ve had increasingly “homicidal” days. This week I thought about quitting my job and taking up pole dancing…then I remembered that I’m fat, I have the upper body strength of a fairy, and I can’t really dance.

I have less patience with people and increasingly I feel more like a “secretary with a crossbow” at work. I congratulate myself at the end of the day because I haven’t beaten anyone with a chair…maybe my people skills are improving? I suppose that’s better than feeling sorry for myself – I don’t have the patience for that either!

Maybe I should put this sign up:

• Weight gain and slowed metabolism

I’m on a low-fat diet…my fat hangs lower every year. And while guys still notice my boobs, they have to bend forward to see them. My doctor was impressed that not only have I maintained my weight since 2011, I’ve lowered it a bit every year…which makes me wonder more and more what is in my closet that makes my clothes shrink?

• Memory Loss

I forgot was I going to say…

• Dry skin

It’s bad enough that my snow white gams are blinding on a cloudy day…or at midnight, but now they’re white and flaky too. It’s like leg dandruff, and that’s. not. sexy.

• Verbal Incontinence

Do I need to say more?

• Hot flashes (or power surges)

I would love a smoking body, but this is not what I had in mind. I am developing 2 temperature settings – hypothermia and hell! Some would suggest I consider it a mini vacation in the tropics…but it’s still only my living room, and I still can’t wear a bikini (they’ve outlawed whaling). I would happily strip in a snowbank if I wasn’t afraid of getting arrested for indecent exposure. I’ve watched “Orange is the New Black” – I’m not strong enough for prison! I might not mind so much if the heat melted off some extra fat, particularly around my knees, elbows and “bingo wings“. Just how does one “de-chubbify” ones’ knees and elbows? But …

Time is not only no longer on my side; it has totally defected. It sucks!

I’ve considered developing a long-term relationship with Mr.Bubble, Dr. Pepper and Henry (O Henry!), except that I’m afraid to take baths and Dr. Pepper ‘s caffeine doesn’t help the sleep situation. That leaves Henry (O Henry!) and I feel guilty every time I cheat on Hubby.

But if my eyebrows start migrating to my chin, all bets are off! Dad, I’m gonna need more of these!

Yup! It’s the beginning of “the raging inferno of my youth going up in flames”!

Everybody look out!

(And have a happy weekend!) 🙂

It Isn’t for Sissies

Tags

aging, fitness, humour

It’s time to get a wiggle on. Despite the heat and high humidity this week, I have been pounding the pavement every evening in an effort to purge the pudge. It’s not all from potato chips. It’s also from midlife mayhem and secretary spread… but it’s still time to ice ice-cream from the menu and pitch potato chips and pasta, and make way for more “rabbit food”, to quote my dear Nana. Keep in mind, she was a farm wife who frequently prepared the 3Ps – potatos, pot roast & pie. Lots of pie!

When I said pounding the pavement, I meant walking. The last time I went for a run my thights rubbing nearly caused a fire, and I am pretty sure I traumatized a 3 year on his trike, for the remainder of his life. I kept listening for the sirens…of fire trucks (not the ice-cream truck, my nemesis), to come and put me out!

In the words of Bette Davis, “growing old isn’t for sissies”!

Writing 201: Nana’s Hands

Tags

aging, blogging U, DP, DP Challenge, family, Grandparent, loss, poetry, writing

So still. Resting gently on the starched, white bed sheets. Her hands, almost blue, the skin paper thin and translucent, barely stretched across bone and ligament. Her hands, finger tips once nicked by sewing needles deftly weaving stitches in colourful patchwork wonders to swathe a newborn or shroud an invalid. Her hands, once calloused, fingernails caked with mud, tending vegetables in a patchwork of soil, or coated with sugar and flour and butter, a patchwork of dishes served to family and neighbours. Her hands, red and chapped from washing soiled bedding and soothing fevered brows, gently caring for aging relatives and growing children. Her hands, scarred but strong, competently filling heavy responsibilities on a farm, in a home. Her hands, young and supple, stroking the hands of her beautiful babies, marvelling at their size, reaching to caress the hand of the man she loves. Her hands, small and smooth reaching to move the checker across the game board, reaching for her doll in the night. Her hands, so small, fingernails like little pearls, resting gently on the starched, white bed sheets. So still.

***

The assignment today was to write a poem about fingers in a prose format.

The Empty Place Setting

Tags

aging, family, funerals, loss

In the weeks before Christmas, I have been painfully aware of all the empty place settings at family tables this Christmas. I have been praying for those families. Our church family lost a number of precious people this year, from an 11 year old to those well into their 90s. Working in the church office, I had had contact with each family. Late last week, when I answered the phone and heard the shaky intake of breath at the other end of the line, I knew that someone else was calling with the heartbreaking news. Over the next several minutes of that phone call, I listened to a complete stranger share her grief, her voice raw and catching as she tried to hold in her emotions. I could tell she was still somewhere between numbness and shock, and the stark realization that her Mom was gone.

This woman’s grief caused me to reflect on my own family Christmas dinner, starkly aware of faces missing at our own table. Grandpa passed away two years ago, and both Grandmothers were in nursing care facilities, so there were fewer places to set, but visits still to be made. I was blindsided by the phone call Tuesday evening from Big Guy – my Nana J. had slipped away that afternoon in her sleep. It wasn’t completely unexpected; after all, she would be celebrating her 100^th birthday in a few months’ time. Suddenly I was the one who was numb and shaking. I still had to finish the wrapping. I still had to pack our clothes and packages. I still had to go to work in the morning…

And I have done just what she would have done – I have gone into “organizing overload”. I have channeled my inner “Martha” and so, this holiday season has been a blur. We still celebrated Christmas with gifts and too much food. We still made the 6 hour (round trip) car ride to visit my in-laws. My brother and his family still came to my parents and we did it all again. I have allowed little time for tears or reflections, but rather have endured a sadness that lingers around the edges, waiting to be embraced.

Today is her funeral. Saturday night, we spent time as a family just sitting and sharing stories about her. I have tried my best to capture them and will stand and share them with all who gather today. I had no idea how difficult this would be…

https://www.flickr.com/photos/curtfleenor/5280814036/

Photo courtesy of Curt Fleenor

Sharing This Moment (Weekly Writing Challenge: Take Your Shoes Off…)

Tags

aging, dementia, DP, DP Challenge, DPchallenge, family, Grandparent, loss, Weekly Writing Challenge

This is a moment, a visit I made in December to my Grandmother…the writing challenge was to consider things from a different point of view — to walk a mile in someone’s shoes, to leave our moccasins or bunny slippers at the door…

Nana’s Side

I hear a knock on the door of my room, and a girl walks in, smiling, a familiar face. I reach out to hold her, knowing she is family, but it takes me a few seconds to remember her name and that she is my granddaughter. After we hug and I kiss her cheek, I shuffle to my chair. I am aware that my feet are sliding on the carpet but my legs feel so heavy, my whole body feels so very heavy. I sit down and watch her take off her coat and settle into the chair across from me. She smiles; her cheeks are still pink from the cold. Is it cold outside? It feels good to have a visitor so I smile back.

She chatters away and I try to follow, but my eyes have drifted over to see what time it is. Suddenly I realize she is looking at me, her eyes inquiring and her head tilted. She is expecting an answer, but I haven’t heard the question. She smiles and I smile back, but still she is looking at me, waiting. I can feel the colour sweeping into my face – my heart is pounding and I suddenly feel the need to take a deep breath. I don’t want her to think I wasn’t listening, or to admit I somehow got lost in the conversation. I can feel my hands start to shake and I look down at them. I see them moving, but they are no longer a part of me. I swallow hard and nod my head, answering simply “yes”. It sounds loud and forced. I look at her and she smiles and starts to talk again. She hasn’t noticed and it must have been the right answer. Sometimes I worry that I will give the wrong answer, and I will get in trouble.

I watch her lips moving and the crinkles around her eyes when she smiles. When did she get so old? When did I? When she chuckles, I chuckle too, even though I don’t understand what is funny. It is enough that we are together, sharing this moment.

She stands, still talking, but putting on her coat. I look at the clock again. I can’t remember how long she has been here – has it been minutes or hours? Time gets away from me. Sometimes it bothers me and I feel like if I could just reach out and touch it, touch time, I could make sense of things again.

My Side

I knock on the door of her room here in the nursing home, and open it slowly. She is already standing by her chair so I go into her room and give her a hug and a kiss. She kisses me back and smiles broadly before saying my name. I am relieved that she knows who I am. I watch her shuffle to her chair and once again I am shocked at how small and frail she has become. This is the same woman who used to camp and swim, and call me silly names. We settle into our chairs across from each other, and I take off my coat. It’s warm in her room.

I start talking, mostly about surface things, things that don’t really matter but I find it hard to stop. I feel like if I fill the silence I can cover up the tears that threaten to well up in my eyes, or dismiss the sting in my heart. I hate what time and age are doing to her. I hate the changes, and I hate knowing that I will lose her soon, have already lost so much of her. Does she know? Does she feel the change as sharply as I do? I ask her a question and then I wait. I force myself to keep smiling. I force myself to take a deep breath so I don’t rush ahead and cut her off. She looks down at her hands and I can see they are shaking. Those same hands worked so hard to build a life – it seems so cruel to see them clasped so tightly in her lap. She looks like a frightened child, uncertain how to answer.  And when she does answer, it is short and forced, and monotone. She doesn’t even sound the same. I keep talking, telling her about what Mom and I have been doing during my visit, what her great-grandsons are doing, funny things. When I chuckle, she chuckles too – I don’t know if she understands or if she will even remember that I was here but it is enough that we are here together, in this moment.

Before long, it’s time to go and I am reluctant to put on my things. I feel guilty leaving her. I don’t want her to be sad that I am going. Time has gotten away from me. Sometimes it bothers me, and I feel like if I could just reach out and touch it, touch time, I could make sense of things again.

***

To view others’ writing challenge, click here.

The ABCs of Aging

Tags

aging, humour, jokes, midlife crisis

I didn’t write this, but I still love it. I pull it out from time to time when I need a chuckle. Hope you chuckle too!

A is for arthritis,

B is the bad back,

C is the chest pain, perhaps cardiac?

 

D is for dentures,

E is for eyesight, can’t read that top line!

F is for fissures and fluid retention,

G is for gas which I’d rather not mention.

 

H is high blood pressure – I’d rather it low;

I is for incisions with scars you can show…

J is for joints, out of socket, won’t mend,

K is for knees that crack when they bend.

 

 L is for libido, what happened to sex?

M is for memory, I forget what comes next.

N is neuralgia, in nerves way down low;

O is for osteo, the bones that don’t grow!

 

P is for prescriptions, I have quite a few, just give me a pill and I’ll be good as new!

Q is for queasy, is it fatal or flu?

R is for reflux, one meal turns to two.

 

S is for sleepless nights, counting my fears,

T is for Tinnitus – there’s a bell in my ears!

U is for urinary… big troubles with flow;

V is for vertigo, that’s “dizzy,” you know.

 

W is for worry – what’s going ’round?

X is for X ray, and what might be found;

Y is another year I’m left here behind,

Z is for zest that I still have – in my mind.

 

I’ve survived all the symptoms, my body’s deployed

And I am keeping twenty-six doctors fully employed!

Counting Down to 40

Tags

aging, birthday, boots, chocolate, food, humour, shopping, youth

The “Big Day” is only a few days away, and I’m trying very hard to ignore the imminent toll of the bell – it tolls for me! I’ve been reciting “Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light” (Dylan Thomas). It may seem melodramatic or downright maudlin, but you’re not the one about to turn…the Big 4 0 (gulp)! I can remember my Dad turning the Big 4 0 – my brother and I made a sign that said “Lordy, lordy, look who’s 40” and taped it to the deck fence for all to see. I know Dad was not impressed but the sign stayed up all day (I’m guessing Mom told him, on behalf of his insensitive children, to leave it alone – Thanks Dad!)

There’s so much I had hoped to accomplish before my youth fled like a bat out of…some place not very nice! So many adventures. So many blog posts… Sensing that the end was near (and there isn’t time to get my tattoo…which is now an “after 40 adventure”), my time taken up with so many appointments to keep the family wheels on the road, I did take some time yesterday to get my hair done (at the place that costs more than $15 for a cut), to eat greasy food with a friend (McDonald’s because I got my hair cut at the place that costs more than $15 a cut), and to shop! I may not have my tattoo (yet) but I did purchase a biker jacket (leather would be nice but “pleather” is all that fits in our budget…I just bought a car after all)! It felt good to head off to band rehearsal (and by band, I mean rock band, not concert band) in tight jeans and a biker jacket, my long hair swishing like one of the original Charlie’s Angels…and of course, my sassy green boots!

I have no Big plans for the Big day…Little Guy has school; I have to do our taxes and buy groceries. I’m ordering pizza for supper and buying something with chocolate for dessert. I’ll lament my losses over the weekend by eating lots of sinful things. Big Guy already took me out for crepes filled with cream cheese, raspberries, and vanilla cream. Cheesy pizza tomorrow night right before I am leading an evening worship service (ack)! And I may have to cheat with Henry (O Henry!) one last time…before I turn 40! You know the saying: once a cheater – always a cheater!

And come Monday?

Happy Weekend!

Morning Break Jokes

Tags

aging, humour, jokes, laugh, marriage, retirement, seniors

“Time flies when you’re having fun” and it’s true! Morning Break, the women’s outreach ministry at my church, is coming to an end until September. Yes, this is the Committee which I mysteriously became Chair in over 9 months ago, and yes, I am still terribly confused as to how that happened.

One of my responsibilities, perhaps arguably the most important one, is choosing the morning joke. So for today, I’m going to share 4 of the jokes that I’ve shared with the ladies, because let’s face it – we can always use a laugh!

1) An elderly senior couple were invited to an old friends’ home for dinner one evening. She was impressed by the way her lady friend preceded every request to her husband with endearing terms such as: Honey, My love, Darling, Sweetheart, Pumpkin, etc. The couple had been married almost 70 years and, clearly, they were still very much in love. While the husbands were in the living room, the host leaned over to her friend to say, ‘I think it’s wonderful that, after all these years, you still call your husband all those loving pet names’. The elderly lady hung her head. ‘I have to tell you the truth,’ she said, ‘His name slipped my mind about 10 years ago and I’m scared to death to ask the cranky old goat what his name is’.

2) Two elderly ladies had been friends for many decades. Over the years, they had shared all kinds of activities and adventures. Lately, their activities had been limited to meeting a few times a week to play cards. One day, they were playing cards when one looked at the other and said, ‘Now don’t get mad at me … I know we’ve been friends for a long time, but I just can’t think of your name! I’ve thought and thought, but I can’t remember it. Please tell me what your name is…’ Her friend glared at her for at least three minutes she just stared and glared at her. Finally she said, ‘How soon do you need to know?

3) Three retirees, each with a hearing loss, were playing golf one fine March day. One remarked to the other, ‘Windy, isn’t it?’ ‘No,’ the second man replied, ‘it’s Thursday..’ And the third man chimed in, ‘So am I. Let’s have a root beer.’

4) After being married for thirty years, a wife asked her husband to describe her. He looked at her slowly then said, “You’re A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K. She asked….. “What does that mean?” He said, “Adorable, Beautiful, Cute, Delightful, Elegant, Foxy, Gorgeous, Hot. She smiled happily and said, “Oh, that’s so lovely. What about I, J, K?” He said, “I’m Just Kidding!”