It's my birthday!

Today is my birthday. I'm 56. FIFTY SIX. So that means I've had a whole bunch of birthdays. I've had some really bad ones -- for example, my 20th birthday -- I was supposed to go out with 3 friends: one got sick, one had to work, and the 3rd forgot. The one that forget felt horrible and  scrambled up some plans for us, and while we were out my car was broken into and our purses stolen.  And I've had some fantastic ones: my 40th when I sort of maybe bullied a friend into letting me use her lake house for my party, and I maybe sort of bullied my husband into working his butt off to ensure that everything was exactly the way I wanted. And my 50th when my husband and son pulled off a surprise birthday party and my son got me Springsteen -- SPRINGSTEEN!  -- tickets.   But I've mostly had mediocre birthdays that leave me feeling a little bit melancholy about getting older.

I am a birthday brat. I really want a crown and a parade and a cake and to feel freaking special all day. Is there something wrong with that?  Well, my poor husband doesn't get it, and I can tell that every August he gets that panicky look in his eyes that translates like this:  "oh shit. her birthday is almost here and I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO.".

Today went nothing like it was supposed to. It was supposed to be a day off leading to a 3 day weekend.. Instead, it's a ONE day weekend, because I ended up going to work today, AND I have to drive 4 hours on Sunday to be at a Monday morning 9 am meeting in another state.  But here's how my birthday went:

• I went to work about an hour late, so I got some extra sleep this morning. 
• When I got to work, there was a gift on my desk and some cards from co workers.
• I finished everything by about 1:30, and I left, took myself out to lunch, and bought myself some goodies at Ulta.
• I got a massage. And, when I went to pay, I was told that my bill had been taken care of by another coworker.  (I don't even know how she knew where I was!!)
• I had about 50 billion texts, calls, and/or facebook messages from friends.  
• My son came over with my 2 sweet grandsons, who had homemade birthday cards and a balloon!  And hugs!!!!
• my husband cooked a yummy family dinner, and cleaned up a big old mess afterwards.  
• We had a store-bought cake with candles, and everyone sang, and Owen blew out the candles, and we had to re-light the candles  and sing again so that Carson could blow out the candles.
• And when they left, they each gave me a really big hug -- not just the kids, my son too! -- and said that they loved me.  

So. I don't need a crown. Or a parade. Cake's fine but I don't have to have it. Parties are great but not necessary. This birthday included none of those things (well, OK, I had cake).  And I'll be darned if it wasn't awesome!

I'm Back - With A Little Bit Less of Me

It's a good thing no one reads this blog, because I suck at keeping up with it. Every now and then someone will tell me that I should get back to blogging, which always flatters me, because I really am amazed that anyone would want to read my musings. But the thing is, I enjoy doing it. I mostly do it for me. So I decided to start doing it again!

So, I've mused on here for years about getting healthier and losing weight. I seldom get very far. But I've finally done a little something toward that goal -- I've lost about 27 pounds since the first of the year, by following a medically supervised low carb diet. Low carb is one of the only things that seems to work for me, because, I'm told, I'm insulin-resistance. I don't know what that means, exactly, but if a doctor says it, it must be true, right?

Low carb eating -- in case you live in a cave -- is a diet that includes lean meat & eggs, green veggies, healthy fats and small amounts of some fruit and dairy. No bread, sugar, starchy veggies, potatoes, beer, wine, chocolate, donuts, croissants, cronuts, Reese's peanut butter cups, ice cream, chips, french fries, or any of my other favorite things. Which means, it pretty much sucks. Just kidding! It's awesome! Or at least that's what I tell myself!

OK for real, it's not too bad. But lately I've been slacking off and have been in a holding pattern for about a month. Gain a pound, lose that pound, etc.etc.  So in an effort to get back on track, I thought I'd remind myself of all the things that a 25 pound weight-loss has meant to me:

• I've lost about 5.5 inches in my waist. This means that many of my clothes no longer fit. however --
• I've been able to buy quite a few cute new items of clothing in a SMALLER SIZE.  I'm not quite 2 sizes down, but then, my original size was often quite snug.  So it probably was not my "real" size anyway  (SHHH! Don't tell anyone)
• I can cross my legs comfortably. This may sound silly, unless you've ever been large enough for that not to be a possible sitting option.
• I tucked my shirt in one day, AND wore a belt, and I didn't look heinous. Although, I think my co-workers were annoyed that I was constantly telling them to LOOK! Because I was WEARING A BELT!!
• Last week, I wore a bathing suit that DID NOT have that camoflaug-y skirt thing on it. And I probably still looked scary, but, I DID NOT CARE!!!!  WOO HOO!!!
• My face has lost one set of chins.  It was my least favorite set, so I was glad to see them go.
• I can reach my toes with ease when I paint my toenails.  I still can't see WTF I'm doing, so the polish job isn't perfect. Don't judge. Being unable to see anything close-up is NOT a by-product of being fat.  

In all seriousness, I do feel better. I do look better, at least to me. I still have a long way to go, so I hope I can get over this slump. I As soon as I polish off this little stack of Reese's cups, I'm going to start thinking about my plan.  

These things confuse me

Life can be confusing, no? Some things confuse me more than others. Here are a few of them.

Single "cold ones" at convenience store check-outs. Why on earth is it legal to buy a single icy-cold beer at the c-store check out? Does anyone really buy that beer and take it home for later? I know dad-gum well that those puppies get sipped on the ride home.

Hot dogs & buns. Why are there 8 buns in a packet, but 10 hot dogs? Is it like a commonly known thing that 20% of all hot dogs are eaten bunless? Am I the only one that didn't know this?

Things people say.  Why do people say "I could care less" when what they MEAN is, "I could not possibly, in a trillion years, care any less than than I do".  Also, "supposably". I'm confused that people who say that don't get smacked regularly.

Four way stop signs.  On the one hand, they seem extremely polite. "your turn". "no, yours". On the other hand, well, WHOSE TURN IS IT????

Braille on drive-up ATM's   I don't think I need to expound.

Parents who smack their kids while saying,"STOP CRYING".  Almost as confusing, a parent spanking a kid while saying, "we don't hit people!".

Percentages, without a calculator.  I'm really glad normal tipping is a nice even percentage like 20. If the common tip amount was, oh, 17%, I'd probably still be sitting in the restaurant from lunch, trying to figure out what to tip.

I'm feeling a little overwhelmed just thinking of these things. I think I'll drive down the road and buy me a tall boy.

Committed.

I love a new year. It feels like a fresh start, from the new calendars to the optimism that "this will be the year I ....".  Only, it never is, is it? I think the only resolution I've ever kept is the year I resolved to floss my teeth regularly. 

I'm not making a resolution this year. Instead, I've decided to have a theme for the year. So my theme for 2014 is: Committed.   

I'm committed to doing at least one thing every day that moves me toward improved health and fitness.  No matter how small or insignificant that step might be, I need to remember that it takes a series of steps to get anywhere.  

Today, I stocked up on lots of healthy options, planning to pack my lunch at least 3 days a week.  I've filled the fridge with fruits and veggies, lean meats, and some fixings for healthy breakfasts, lunches and dinners.   

And cookies.  I bought cookies.  And I ate quite a few of them. Damn I have no willpower over cookies.  

Baby steps.  

Heavy Stuff

I'm fat.

I don't mean that I no longer fit into my size 4 jeans. (full disclosure -- I've NEVER worn size 4 jeans. In college I had a size 4 dress once, but I think it was mislabeled!)  I don't mean that I ate a big meal and feel bloated. I mean, I'M FAT.  I'm a significantly overweight person. As in, I'd be happy losing 50 pounds but I'd still technically be overweight even then.

I have resolved to lose weight every single new year since I was, I don't know, about 12. Of course, I wasn't fat then, I was just brainwashed into thinking I was. I think I always tended to be on the chubby side as a child, but I wasn't fat. I am short -- and when you're short, every pound counts really fast. Throughout my 20's and most of my 30's, I was on the heavy side of a normal weight range, and when I look at pictures of myself during that time, I realize now that I was fit, and that I wore my body well. But I always thought I was fat. Since about 40, however, the pounds started creeping (or maybe galloping) on, and I weigh close to 100 pounds more than I did in college.  Wow. That was not especially pleasant to write.

I hate being fat. It is the single largest burden of my life. That said, though, I feel pretty good about who I am. I'm not one of those people who thinks my life would be perfect "if only" I lost this weight. I used to think that way.  But my life is awesome, for the most part, and I don't think being thinner would make my life any more awesome.  Except ..... I'm fat enough that it's caused heath problems. I'm pre-diabetic. I take meds for cholesterol, high blood pressure, acid-reflux, and hot flashes. (OK, the hot flashes probably have nothing to do with my weight, but who knows?) My knees ache nonstop, and recently one of my hips has joined in the fun. I get out of breath doing housework, climbing stairs, or even thinking about doing either of those things! And the absolute worst thing about being fat? Plus-sized clothes shopping. Don't even get me started. That's a post all by itself.

I know that, at age 54, I've got more years behind me than ahead of me. But I don't want to short-change myself or the people who love me. If I don't take control of my weight and my health, I know I'm dancing on thin ice. (Not literally. I never dance. I never do anything that might make me look stupid if I can help it!)  Here's the thing:  I really want to stick around a while.  I have these two grandsons who -- for now, anyway -- think I am the best thing since chocolate pudding. WITH sprinkles. I have a husband who loves me and who I still love (and, even better, LIKE) after nearly 30 years of marriage. I'm a dozen or so years away from thinking about retiring. I have travelling to do. And I really want to be a wild, crazy old lady one day!!

So here's the deal. I'm putting this out there on the interwebs as an accountability tool. I have a plan. It's a plan of baby steps -- taking one or two things at a time to clean up my health. My first two steps on my journey are these:

• Give up diet sodas. I've been tackling this for a couple of weeks, with pretty good success. I'm down to less than one a day (most days, NONE) -- and this is from a typical 10 or so a day. All that aspartame is bad for insulin and a can of chemicals couldn't possibly be GOOD for me.
• Exercise at least 5 times a week.  I'm going to get up every Tues-Thurs at 5 and hit the treadmill upstairs, and every Sat and Sun I'll do the same (or hit the streets).   I'll incorporate different kinds of exercise soon but for now, I just need to get moving.

I'm working with a nutritionist, but truthfully, I KNOW what to eat and what not to eat. This person is actually serving as more of a coach, and I like that arrangement.  I'm going to try to post some of my progress here -- even if no one reads it, I know it's out there in the universe somewhere.  

Here's to being a loser in 2014!

2014 will be the year of the Blog.

OK, I kind of suck at blogging. Truth is, I know I only do this for myself. No one's reading, and that's OK. But I like doing it. So, probably the only "resolution" I'm making is to keep blogging. Who knows ... maybe 100 years from now someone will stumble on it and think I was an interesting person!

So, 2013 in review.  I can't complain. The hubster and I both worked hard this past year, but we're both in good places in our jobs. Probably the best thing that happened was that my son finally ended his marriage, doomed from the beginning. He's single-parenting his 2 young boys, and even though he shared physical custody with the ex, he has primary custody. We've helped out A. LOT. in may ways - physically, emotionally and financially. But he's doing OK. Doing well, in fact. So that's good. And the ex wife was extremely difficult for all of us. She is bi-polar, and i think probably has borderline personality disorder as well, and dear god it was like walking on egg shells every time we were together. Honestly, I feel 100% less stressed with her out of the picture.

I did a lot of mom-stuff this past year. We went to Florida in February, Charleston in May, and Myrtle Beach in September. I do it for her, not me. It's been tough seeing her decline physically - she doesn't get around well, and she's pretty depressed. So I try to get her out, and when she can't do much, she gets depressed again. Vicious circle. But I want to do what I can.

If I have anything to complain about for 2013, it's that I felt disconnected from my friends. Not because anything happened, but because of various situations.  We're all working a lot -- I guess it's the season of life when we've hit our strides in our careers -- and we're all dealing with various family issues that come with these mid-50's.  Adult children who aren't quite grown, parents who need to be cared for, and marriages that are showing the strain of lack of attention. It's not an easy age to be.

I don't think I wrote about this, but I lost my first close friend in 2012. She had lung cancer. She was about 15 years older than the rest of our "gang", but she was like our much-wiser and oh-so-much-worldlier older sister. I'm still troubled by the reality of that loss, and the insistent reminder of my own mortality.

So, 2014. Lots of change coming. A merger at work becomes effective tomorrow. It's all good, but it's also going to be a tremendous amount of change. In fact, I think it's going to be the "Year of change".  I hope I'm ready.

These are a few of my favorite things .....

Hello from Hell.  Also known as, summertime in Columbia, SC.  First of all, I must stress: this is not a beauty blog. (Are you stunned by that revelation?)  This is not a fashion blog.  (Again; stunned?) But, these are some things I really love for looking somewhat pulled together and feeling somewhat comfy during these sweltering days of summer.

I hate being hot.  And, whenever someone tells me I look hot, I know they do not mean it in the "hey baby, you look hot" kind of way .... they mean I'm dripping sweat and red-faced and probably slightly crazed looking.  It ain't my best look.  So, here are some things I've discovered that help me cope a little bit.  These aren't miracle workers; I'm still not going to get any complimentary "you look hot" comments, but hey, I feel a little less frazzled thanks to some of these discoveries.

First, let's talk makeup.  I have a new favorite thing that I use every day on my face: it's Jouer Matte Tinted Moisturizer.  It has sunscreen, plus some magic fairy dust that absorbs oil and mattifies my skin.   Coverage is really light but good! It feels like I got nothing on my face, only, I DO!!  I really like it and you will too.  I get it from Birchbox.com and it costs $38.00.  Pricey, yeah, but the tube I'm using; I've had since February and it's still got tons of product in it.  I've been using it EVERY DAY since it got hot.  I use a makeup brush to apply -- it seems to go on nicer and I don't think I use as much of it.

The other thing in the face-department that I've been loving this summer is high-def translucent mineral face powder. OK Confession time:  I splurged on a jar of this stuff by Youngblood; it was $38 (Birchbox, again, I'm hooked).  However, I also bought a jar of very similar stuff by E.L.F. (Target, maybe $4.00?) and it's JUST AS GOOD!  It sort of "sets" your makeup and keeps the shine at bay.  It goes on white, so a little dab will do ya.  But unless you cake it on, it's invisible.  

These are some old faves that are great for summer:  cheek tint by Tarte (I have no idea where I got it).  I apply with a wet sponge and it just leaves a little hint of color, no powder to rub off or streak.  And my new favorite mascara -- because all mascaras I've ever used would melt and leave me with raccoon eyes in the summer, and this one doesn't:  Benefits They're Real.  About $23 and yes, it is worth it.  I swear I will never use drugstore mascara again.   When you get to be 53.80 years old, you have to use the good stuff.  

OK my other favorite summer thing is an unmentionable of sorts.  It's underwear.  If you are a guy I would hope that by now you've quit reading this because I'm sure you don't want to read about my underwear.  

I like to wear dresses in the summer because they're cooler.  Well, I could use a little shapewear, only, THAT SHIT IS UNCOMFORTABLE.  I mean, if shapewear could suddenly make me appear 70 pounds thinner and 20 years younger, maybe I'd suffer through it.  But, I'm still fat and old when I wear it, so nope.  But last summer I found these things made by Jockey (on line purchase) called Skimmies Slipshorts.  They are $20 each and I am madly in love with them.  (in an entirely appropriate way)  They're like shapewear, only not.   Just the slightest bit snug -- enough to smooth lumps and bumps and kill panty lines.  They fit like an awesomely silky comfy and cool pair of bike shorts.  And they are awesome.   And, for those of you who, like me, have a little extra fluff, they come in plus sizes.

There are lots of good things about summer -- like, my birthday -- and I can't think of much else ---- but I find it so hard to be comfortable and feel "put together" in this weather.  So consider this my one and quite likely only contribution to your beautification and staying cool for the rest of this summer!

Dad.

It’s my fourth Father’s Day since Dad passed away in January 2010. People say it gets easier and it really does, but it leaves a dad-sized hole in your life that never goes away. The edges of the hole heal up a bit so that it doesn’t ache all the time, but the hole’s still there. I reckon it always will be.

My dad loved me and was proud of me, although he wasn’t the kind to say it out loud too often. His wasn’t a generation that lent itself to a great deal of touchy-feely mumbo jumbo.  But he loved his kids, and truly, would have done anything for us.  He wasn’t one for long phone calls, either, but when life was going badly, he was who I called.  He just knew how to make me feel like it was going to be OK. 

Oh, but he was a worrier!  He worried so much about the darnedest things.    If I was out sick from work, he worried that I might get fired. (Dad was of the opinion that not many things were an excuse for missing work)  I used to joke that if he got a call informing him I’d been in a car accident, his first question would be to ask if I was OK, but his second question would be “did she go to work?”  He also was deeply concerned and disappointed that I was not, and vowed never to be, a Southern Baptist or a Republican.  His steadfast convictions in matters of religion and politics were such that we couldn’t even have a conversation about either. It wasn’t that he got angry. It was more like he was just …. SAD that I was so misguided. 

My earliest memory of my dad is of the two of us playing “Three Little Pigs”.  Yes, you read that correctly. We didn’t read it, we played it.  I was all 3 pigs, and he was the Big Bad Wolf.  We acted out the book, over and over, he huffed and puffed and blew the house down and I guess I just did pig stuff. 

Dad was not the disciplinarian type. Basically, he had three trigger items as it related to us kids:  Don’t get between him and the TV; for God’s sake, don’t leave a room and leave the light on, and do not, under any circumstances, make any noise after he has gone to bed.   But all he ever did was yell a little bit.   The only time I ever remember getting a spanking by him, (these were the days when “spankings” usually meant belts, or switches!) he picked up a cloth belt.  I started laughing. He tried his hardest to be stern as he flapped that wimpy belt against my leg.  I laughed again.  He made a serious frowny-face and told me it wasn’t one bit funny, or at least I think that’s what he was saying because he burst out laughing before he could get it all out.  So then he put his hand over my mouth and said “if your mother hears us laughing we’re BOTH in trouble – at least pretend to cry!”

My dad was a good guy.  I could write for days about all of the good qualities he had. But some of the funniest things I remember about dad are when he was being, well, a grumpy old fart. He wouldn’t have really appreciated the fact that I find those memories funny, but the fact is when Dad was being a jerk, it was like a tiny little puppy trying to growl and act like a bad ass – all for show, and more amusing than anything else.

Dad would get so blustery sometimes and it usually left everyone perplexed and amused. One Christmas, we had a very large family gathering – siblings, spouses, grandkids – more mouths than my mom had silverware for – I think there were 19-20 of us.  So, she had mixed in a few salad forks at some places – we had the dining room table, the kitchen table, and a couple card tables set up.   As we all got our plates fixed and settled in, and after Dad said his tradition mumbled Grace, he sat down, stared at his fork (he’d drawn one of the salad forks) and said, “I believe I just won’t eat if I have to eat with a little fork”. And then, he stood up and calmly walked away to the den, where he sat down huffily to read the paper.   We all sort of just looked at each other a moment before someone started chucking, and someone swapped out their “big” fork for the “little” fork, and someone cajoled him into coming back to the table.

One of my favorite holiday memories was from maybe the mid 1990’s.  Both of my brothers were living in Florida at the time, so they were staying at the parents’ house for the holidays. For some reason my sister was also staying at their house as well. My husband, my son and I joined the family about 11 that morning.  Apparently all 3 siblings had gone out partying the night before, and they were all still asleep when we arrived, much to my dad’s consternation.  (He wasn’t keen on drinking OR sleeping in!)  When everyone finally woke up and came downstairs, well, they looked like people who’d been out drinking until all hours.  I looked around at them all – bleary-eyed, dressed in clothes they’d hastily picked up from the floor, with slept-in hair; and then at my own family – we weren’t dressed up but we’d showered and at least put on clean clothes.  It suddenly struck me as hilarious that I felt wildly overdressed in my jeans and clean shirt, and when dad asked what I was laughing about, I pointed out the disparity.  Without looking up from the newspaper, he said, not amusedly, “how do you think I feel when I look at this motley group and realize this is my legacy to the world?” 

I guess this has gotten way too long for a blog post, so I’ll end this here. But every day, I miss that man. And despite his musings that Christmas morning, I think he left his four kids a legacy that will make us all better people for having him as our dad.   

Operation Anti-Anti-Depressant = FAIL.

I am not a depressed person. Or at least I don't think I am. But in the months after my father died, my world sort of got twisted. My nerves were a frazzled mass of rawness. My doctor suggested Lexapro, and darned if it didn't help. Lots.

So nearly 2 years later, life was calmer. Things were good. One day I asked myself, "Self, why do you still take these things anyway?" I decided to stop. I knew not to stop cold turkey ... I did my research and talked to my doctor, and then followed a slow and deliberate withdrawal schedule. I'd read about these things called Brain Zaps that can occur from anti-depressant withdrawal. You know what? I had them. It was very strange -- it felt something like a slight electrical current in my head. Sometimes, I'd have the sensation that things were moving that weren't really moving. It took nearly a month before I quit having those sensations, but they finally went away. Yay, no more anti-depressants, I thought.

Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, said Life.

Damned if the whole world didn't go bonkers all at the same time. First, I started noticing that I was just -- moody, I guess. I cried more, over dumb things, and I was snippier than I should be. I felt overwhelmed by work, bills, and other normal responsibilities. Then, I had a little medical adventure that involved a biopsy and in-patient surgery. As I write this, I still don't know the biopsy results. I missed a week of work and spent that week in pain a few days, and just downright uncomfortable for the rest of the week.

Just before the surgery, a family member got really pissed at me about something I won't hash out here, and she didn't pull any punches in letting me know just how pissed she was. Which is certainly her right, but the timing sucked. The very day of my surgery, I had an rather, well, MEAN email from her awaiting me in my mail box. (Thank goodness I had a few nice ones from people hoping my surgery had gone well!) So during a time when I could have really used a little TLC and support -- um, yeah, that wasn't happening. While I think we'll be OK, I have to say, that really HURT. DAMN, way to kick someone when they're down and bleeding! And off of the anti-depressants!!

Then, I decided today to take a look at my mom's bank balance. I manage her finances and have done so since my dad died. It's been very frustrating, because she seems to have no concept of how much she spends and how much she has. Let's just leave it at this: There are some family members who don't hesitate to ask for her help, and she seems to be unable to say no. I've repeatedly told her that she cannot afford to be as generous as she is being and she repeatedly ignores me. So today was the day I knew was coming. The balances in her account are in the double digits. The balance in her "emergency fund", which had a hefty balance when my father died 2 years ago, has about $30.00 left. So, while she has annuity income that will insure that her bills are paid, she has completely depleted her emergency reserves.

To say I lost it would be an understatement. I cried .... WAILED .... for about an hour. That was the first melt down. I proceeded to have about 4 more similar, but thankfully shorter, meltdowns over the course of the day. I am not a crying, sobbing, wailing sort of person.

During one of the calmer moments, my husband looked at me and very nervously asked, "are you sure you need to be off of those anti-depressants?" For some reason, that was the funniest thing I'd heard all day.

Stuff Larry Says Saturday

This Saturday, I can't make fun of my husband. I have to kind of say nice things about him.

We've been married nearly 28 years. It took me 26 years to come to terms with the fact that Larry doesn't do special occasions well. I could write a book about that, or at least a few blog posts. He's completely forgotten some occasions, and on others he's clearly run into an all-night drug store and frantically purchased the first thing he saw. On still other occasions, his gifts have been just ....

Anyway, on Valentine's Day this year, he had the day off. I came home to dinner, all cooked by him: Prime Rib, roasted potatoes and asparagus, chocolate dipped strawberries. He was so very proud of his gift: instead of taking what he called the "lazy route" and ordering flowers, he bought me one single, perfect rose encased in gold, no less. I felt pretty slack -- my gift was a 6 pack of beer. (fancy beer, but still).

Truth be told, I really wasn't in the best of moods that day. I've been stressed out for multiple reasons, the weather was lousy, and I was even annoyed at the high-fat meal that appeared three days into my latest attempt to go on yet another diet. But yet, after all these years, I have a hubby who went to all that trouble for Valentine's day.

So, yeah. I did OK in the husband department. But he still says funny stuff.

Saturdays are supposed to be fun.

I miss the Saturdays of childhood. Sleeping in, only not wanting to because cartoons were on. (Anyone besides me remember when Saturday morning was the only time you could see cartoons?) My dad cooked breakfast every Saturday: two eggs over easy, each egg atop a slice of toast. My family creatively named this dish "Eggs on Toast". True story: My dad never cooked. But my mom convinced us all -- by demonstrating -- that she could not flip an egg without breaking the yolk. We eventually learned that she broke the yolks on purpose so that we'd wake my dad up for breakfast on Saturday instead of her. Then, we usually got sent outside to play all day. No chores, no errands, no nothing.

Today I was at work before 8:00. I have to be out all of next week and I had a few bazillion things to tie up before I'm out. Then, I went with two co-workers to an employee's mother's funeral. It was in an old, small, country church and the pastor was a lively man of about 907. Yes, I meant to type 907. But as always, I remember how much it meant to me when co-workers came to my dad's funeral, and I try to do the same whenever I can.

So finally, I'm home, and flat worn out. But there's laundry and shopping and ...... I think I'll take a nap.

Life After 50 (or, keeping doctors rich, one appointment at a time)

This week should be a fun one. What's up, you ask? Here's what's up:

Monday: MRI on the left knee. This knee has been problematic for a couple of years. I reckon I have arthritis in it. However, about 6 months ago, in my quest to become more fit (and I might as well have launched a quest for unicorns), I fell off of a treadmill. In public. My knee was decimated. My ego was in even worse shape. I had a CT scan at the time, as I was really afraid I'd broken something, but all was well. however, the knee continues to be swollen and painful. Now, I'm not exactly sure what I hope to gain from the MRI. If they tell me I need surgery, I will politely decline. I guess I just want to know what's up, what's helping and what's making it worse. In my secret, darkest place I am kind of hoping that I'm told that all forms of strenuous exercise are explicitly forbidden forevermore.

Tuesday: I'm having a biopsy done. Sometimes I'm fairly certain that I only do this blog for my own amusement, but in the off-chance that someone is reading this, I'll spare you any grueling details. I'll just say that the biopsy is being done by a gynecologist and I'll leave it at that. Ouch, you might be saying. Ouch, I will be saying, I'm sure -- along with several of my more colorful favorite curse words. I may even do some research to learn a few new ones. My doc has prescribed some pills to help relax me ("heck, yeah, I'll dope you up -- this isn't going to be any fun at all!" she said helpfully)so I'm hoping to giggle and slur my way through the whole procedure. I'm dragging the hubby with me with the hopes he can converse intelligently with the doctor.

OK, the rest of the week is pretty mundane, except for the waiting-for-biopsy-results part. Whatcha wanna bet these tests will lead to even more doc appointments? Which is why I vowed, years ago, to never volunteer ANY sort of problems to the doctor. I should have kept that vow!

Stuff Larry Says Saturday

OK, I'm not posting this until Sunday. My husband was remarkably un-funny this week. What's up with that? I did have to laugh at this little vignette from yesterday:

Cue Scene: Larry is in recliner, controlling the remote, watching whatever Pawn Shop/Storage Wars/Swamp People thing he's stumbled upon, and, as always, he falls asleep. I'm paying the bills ... not just mine, but my mother's. Since bill paying is one of my least favorite things, doing it for two households makes me, kind of, insanely bitc .... um, grumpy.

Larry: zzzzzzzzz

Me: OK bills are paid. My mom's bills were crazy this month!

Larry: (snappishly, waking from his nap) You already told me that!

Me: NO I DIDN'T! BUT I'M SORRY I INTERRUPTED YOUR SILLY NAP (i didn't say silly -- for the purposes of this g-rated post please substitute your favorite profanity for the word 'silly') ARE YOU GOING TO DO ANYTHING TODAY OR IS NAPPING ABOUT AS SILLY AMBITIOUS AS IT GETS FOR YOU ON WEEKENDS?

Larry: Why are you yelling?

ME: BECAUSE ALL YOU SILLY DO IS SILLY SLEEP! I'M SO SILLY SICK OF SEEING YOUR EYELIDS EVERY TIME I LOOK AT YOU! I CARRY ON CONVERSATIONS WITH YOU ONLY TO SILLY REALIZE YOU ARE SILLY SLEEPING!!!!

Larry: Well I had a big lunch!

******

Oh. My bad.

"Stuff"-Larry-Says Saturday

I mentioned previously on Facebook that my son and daughter in law have told me several times that I should write a blog called "S*&$ Larry says". Larry is my husband of, let me count, 28 years. As he gets older, he gets funnier. Only he doesn't mean to. Which makes it even funnier.

So I'm going to try to make every Saturday a post about the latest absurd or funny thing Larry did.

Last night, my husband was watching the news. Which almost always means that he's actually napping. The funny thing about my husband's naps, which are legendary, is that he frequently acts offended and/or defensive about them. "I'm awake!" He often snaps, if you suggest that he, perhaps, go to bed to snore.

Anyway, he was napping or watching the news, depending on who you ask. My son called and was telling me about something that had happened at work. We'd been talking awhile. At one point, I asked my son, "what do you think's going to happen?" Larry sat up straight, eyes wide open and said, "I don't know!" very conversationally, as if we'd been talking all along.

Doctor, My Eyes!

Getting old kind of sucks. For many reasons. I could go on and on. But for now, I'm only going to go on about the vision part.

I've worn glasses or contact since I was, I think, about 8. My mother was "frugal" before it was cool to be frugal, and she would be the cheapest possible thing no matter what.

(a quick story that proves my point. When I was pregnant, just barely pregnant, and living 400 miles from home, mom called to ask if I needed anything. I was quickly becoming too fat for my regular clothes but not yet big enough for maternity clothes. So, I told her I needed some stretchy sweat pants in a size Large. She sent them. In a size Medium. Which didn't fit. When I asked why, I was told that the medium ones were one dollar cheaper.)

OK back on point. My frugal mother purchased for my first pair of glasses the least expensive glasses she could. These were blue, pointy, and very, very, very not cool. I realize retro is kind of "in" now, but before it becomes retro, it's ugly and geeky. So off I went into the belly of the beast that is grade school, sporting my specs. Yeah, four-eyes was one of the nicer things I was called. I became the "girl with the glasses". And it's true what they say about boys and passes and girls with glasses. (at least I think it was the glasses!)

My memories of growing up oddly include many about my vision correction devices. Finally getting the cool wire rimmed specs in 7th grade. Begging, pleading, crying for contact lenses at 15. Begging, pleading, crying for SOFT lenses at 17 and not getting them. Buying them myself when I was 18, going out and getting drunker than a skunk the first night I wore them, (I'm so old it was legal to drink when i was 18) and 3 of my college hall-mates (who had been drinking with me) trying to help me get them out. Hint: they don't come out the same way as the hard ones did.

So I go every year for the eye exam, and have been doing this for lots o' years. When I hit 40, doctors started warning me that the reading vision would start going any time. Ha. I could read even the tiniest print on the card. Year after year. My reading vision was fine, thank you very much. Until all of a sudden, it wasn't. Crap! I couldn't read the time on your watch, the back of a box of macaroni to see how long to cook it, and Lord help if I need to know how many pills to take! So I started sporting the readers, leaving them in every room, purse, and location. I must have collected 10 pairs. But I always hated how I look in glasses, and this just wasn't making me happy.

When I first tried multi-focal lenses, I was ecstatic. These amazing lenses are comprised of concentric circles for close vision/distance vision, and somehow one's eyes just know which circle to use. Amazing! No more readers! I could see like a 39 year old! And I could, for a long time. Until I couldn't. Apparently, the worse your close-vision gets, the less likely it becomes that these types of lenses will work. So next, we did the split one-eye-for-close-and-one-eye-for distance. I hated it the whole time. I felt off balance, and I couldn't really see that well up close OR at a distance. Plus, my dry-eyes have gotten worse and worse, making contacts terribly uncomfortable some days.

So this last visit, I scrapped them. Now on deck: Daily wear disposables. So thin you can barely see them. UBER comfy.Wear 'em once, and toss 'em. No cleaning, no solution to buy. And, once more, an array of stylish, cute, quirky readers. I'm learning to embrace the four-eye look again. I may even look for a pair of pointy blue ones.

Presenteeism

I'm home sick from work today. The thing is, I've gone to work on days when I felt much worse than today. I've been sick, off and on, for most of this month. First a cold/sore throat/plague thing that lingered forever, then a vicious stomach bug (or food poisoning?) last week, and this morning, the stomach bug, albeit a milder version, seems to have returned. From what I hear, it's circled around the office a few times as well. A few weeks ago, when I had the cold/sore throat/plague thing, everyone in the office was hacking and horking and looking like death warmed over. But our schedules were demanding, our calendars were full, our deadlines were looming, and we pressed on.

But I wonder -- when you just keep working when you're sick, what are you really accomplishing? Sure, you get things done and maybe avoid missing a deadline. But at best, you're not firing on all pistons. At worst, your brain is fuddled by medication or fevers or lack of sleep. And the germs you're sharing are just going to mean that your co-worker has the same thing going on a few days later. Also, I just have to think that actually staying out of work and resting (like the doctor suggested I do a few weeks ago -- fat chance, I worked a holiday instead) would go a long way towards getting well faster warding off the relapses. So a day spent at home might equal four productive workdays, whereas a day in which you drag your half-dead ass to work might drag out the illness and result in five days of mediocrity or mistakes.

Most of my co-workers and many of my friends have very busy, demanding jobs. I consider my job to be demanding, and most times it's quite busy. For the most part, if I get behind, there's no one who can cover for me. So we drag ourselves in. Secretly, I think, we all want the brownie points we get for going the extra mile. These days, no one can afford to be seen as the weakest link. So we're damn glad to have our jobs and we just don't think a fever or a night spent vomiting is an acceptable reason to stay home.

What's wrong with this picture?

Revival

I'm not sure why I've let the blog go dormant. I've been busy since the last time I posted with things like, oh, I don't know, a few dozen months of working and living. I'm sure there are many spell-binding tales I could share, some good, some bad. But the quick highlights (many of which would have made AWESOME blog posts) are as follows:

-2010 sucked. Enough said.

-2011 was way better. Went to Key West, started working out again, and best of all, got blessed with a second amazing and awesome grandson named Owen.

Anyway, I missed my quirky little blog that I'm sure no one reads. So I'm reviving it. My life is full of randomly profound moments and equally random absurd moments, and I want to remember them.

So stay turned, whoever you are.

1.1.11

Happy New Year! I didn't realize that it had been more than 6 months since I posted anything here. 2010 was just not my best year. My dad died early last January, and the world sort of, I don't know, tilted. So this year, my only resolution is to get my world back on its proper axis.

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted ....

My husband and I are on a long-awaited, much-needed vacation this week. And we're having a really great time. We're at the beach -- my favorite place since childhood. And like I said, we're having a really great time. Except that, we have somehow become a couple of grumpy old farts.

We haven't been to the beach in the summer in ages. For the last 4 or 5 years, we've beached in September, November, April, and May. We forgot about what the beach was like at the height of "tourist season". Well, now we remember why we QUIT coming in summer: 1. It's hotter than hell. 2. Kids are everywhere and we don't really like kids unless they are cute and named Carson. 3. There are people everywhere, and many of them are rude and loud and drive badly.

About the heat -- I know it's supposed to be hot in the summer but DAMN it's hot! Temps have been in the 90's with a "heat index" of over 100 every day this week. After about an hour at the beach or the pool, I feel like I'm baking from the inside out. Literally. And speaking of the pool, people apparently get up at 5 am to go festoon all the deck chairs with towels, because no matter how early we get out there, all the chairs have towels draped on them (of course, there are only 4-5 people at the pool and all 30 chairs appear "taken".) Never mind that there are signs everywhere saying "no reserving of chairs allowed!". Grr.

Oh! This is new -- golf carts. There must be a gazillion of them riding the roads. Usually there are a couple of teenagers motoring down the road in this little go-cart. So while I'm trying to get to the Kroger to pick up more beer and coffee, I'm behind a golf cart going 7 miles an hour. It's not a good thing.

But just when the hell did we turn into old farts??? We've been "in" every night by around 9. Asleep by 11. Tonight, we were going to head to the pier to check out the live music, and we couldn't find a parking place closer than 4-5 blocks away -- so we just gave up! I remember when we used to walk the mile and a half from where we stayed to the the pier. I wouldn't imagine subjecting my poor aching knees to a hike like that now.

I think we'll tour retirement homes tomorrow.

Stuff Happens. Be Prepared.

Boy oh boy. There are a lot of things about losing a parent that are very difficult. OK, I know, there is NOTHING about losing a parent that is NOT difficult. But I have a point here so I'll get right to it.

When you die, which, I'm sorry to tell you, you will do one day, someone is going to have to tie up all sorts of lose ends for you. They will be struggling with grief, guilt, stress, worry, heartache, and any number of other fun things that go with losing a loved one, so they won't be thinking all that clearly. So go ahead and set aside some time to get your "stuff" in order. It's probably one of the most loving things you can do.

I'm not saying my dad left a mess. It wasn't incredibly difficult, but then again, it wasn't very easy, either. His records -- those that I could find, anyway -- were a mish-mash of papers crammed in one big ol' drawer. No order, no system, no logic. An investment statement might be right next to an empty envelope from the phone company. My mom, bless her heart (and I sort of mean that in that southern way right now) is NO HELP. She wants to help, but she has perfected the helpless damsel in distress role to a high art form. Here are some things that you might want to think about.

Funerals are outrageous. I think we spent about $25k, and that didn't include a cemetary plot. We didn't, at least to my knowledge, do anything extravagent. The problem is, you're making decisions when the death and grief and shock are so fresh that someone could tell you that you will need an elephant at the funeral and you'd just sign the form. I'm not saying we were taken advantage of -- maybe we were, maybe we weren't --- but for sure, no one in my family was making any smart decisions about that purchase. Preplanning a funeral, while a depressing way to spend money, would be a really good thing to do.

Remember that someone will need to make sense out of your finances. Someone in your family should have a list of things like:
-do you have a will? Is it current? Where is it?
-life insurance and 401k. do you have a policy at work? who is the contact at work?
-passwords -- for bank accounts, computers, 401k, etc.
-what bank accounts do you have?
-where are important papers kept?
-who do you owe money to?
-does anyone owe YOU money?
-where are your tax records from previous year?

These are all things I've had to figure out on my own. Fortunately, my dad was not a very complex man, and he did not have complex finances. Simply gathering a month's worth of mail pretty much told me everything I needed to know. His bills were few, he hadn't set up any online accounts, and he had a will. The most challenging thing, so far, was deciphering his tax form from the previous year .... he did his own taxes, by hand, in his terrible handwriting.

I am the person in my family who handles all the finances. My husband doesn't like that sort of thing and is happy to just not worry about it. But if I die unexpectedly, he wouldn't know where to start. And I only have one son, so the thought of him having to make funeral arrangements all on his own breaks my heart. I am going to make it my business to get my "affairs in order" this year. You should too.