50 things!

Since I've been looking at retirement complexes for Rambling Old Women, I happened to check into a popular company that advertises they will help a person find 'a place for mom'.  I'm getting e-mail from them.  Don't get me wrong, so far every place I've checked into has been wonderful, and since I am a novice at this business I appreciate all the information I've been receiving by phone, e-mail and 'snail mail' as well.  Truth be told, I'm loving this experience.

But, I'm starting to digress...again.

Anyhoo!

This morning I got an e-mail from one of these places that suggests I read their article titled something like 50 things to do to stay young.  I thought, "what the heck", and clicked on the article. Yep, there it was a list of things to do.  I began to scroll down through the list.

I was surprised to see there are some I've already done, like try an unusual food, frog legs and escargot for instance.  Also, since I frequently work with paper while doing art work, I tend to color and doodle while waiting for inspiration to wop me upside the head.  I also tend to make paper airplanes from the scraps of doodled paper, some of which easily sail all the way across my living room.

Of course, there are more normal things I've done, and do as well, such as eat cookies with milk, watch sunrises and sunsets, and play hide and seek with Zorro...I got him good one day last week.

There was on the list a few things I know I won't do, like ride in a hot air balloon (I've seen what happens when a ride goes bad).  I also will not go on a boat ride (water terrifies me).

Surprisingly, there are some items on the list I want to do, like, write words to a song and make up a secret code.  I want to wear a funny hat in public...perhaps one of those I made a couple years ago.  I'd like to (actually) get out of my comfort zone and try something scary...perhaps climb a ladder and sit on the peak of my roof.

Then again, I guess I don't need a list.  I've got plenty going on in my daily routine what with Frankie, Zorro and CC living with me.  I never know what to expect day by day.  Or, like my daughter and I say "Age is just a number."  They come, they go. Today is the oldest I've ever been and I feel quite lucky because this morning I woke up on the up-side of the sod.

Tick-tock, tick-tock

It's 1 AM.

Frankie is already  in bed, I've finished work on the computer and trying to play a game of Hearts. Things are not going well...stupid Queen of Spades.  I decide it's time I hit the sheets as well.

Me: "Mumble, mumble, mumble, gripe, sputter, mumble, mumble."

I'm walking through the house.  It was a beautiful day, I had the windows open as well as the sliding door, and (apparently) I forgot to close some of the windows when it got dark and the house had gotten quite cold. So, as I'm getting ready for bed, I'm heating up my rice socks to warm my cold tootsies. This time of year I keep the socks on top of my refrigerator 'just in case'.  I've already heated two of them, but when I reach for the third my fingertips hit nothing but the top of the fridge, I feel around....the third and fourth socks are not where they (dum, dum, dum) should be. I'll be dang, two of them are missing,

As I've mentioned before (frequently) I can't multi-task anymore, and I figure I must have put the missing two socks down (somewhere) as I went through the house closing windows hence:


Me:  "Mumble, gripe, sputter, mumble."

By now I'm not being quiet about this whole business, I'm slamming doors and kitchen drawers.

Me:  "Where the heck did I put those two socks?"

Zorro has joined the search.

Frankie:  (Scratching her butt and yawning.)  What's ya' doin'?"
Me:  "My socks, I can't find two of my rice socks.  I must have put them down somewhere and now I can't find them."

Frankie is full of useless questions, did I check here, did I check there?

Me:  "Yes, yes, yes, yes....yes."
Frankie:  "Do you really need all four? Can't we look for the other two tomorrow morning?"
Me:  "Of course we could, but I don't want to.  I want those socks and I want them NOW."

Ever practical Frankie suggests perhaps I absent mindlessly slipped the cold ones between the sheets along with the heated ones.  I look at her like she's nuts, but we head to the bed to look.  Nope, only the two heated ones were there, doing a dang good job too, I might add.

We're checking all the rooms (again), even the ones neither Frankie or I had visited during day. We got 'nuttin'...I confess I'm ready to give up and decide Frankie is right, in the morning with a clear head, I will find the missing socks.  I'm distressed, I hate leaving a job undone. But, I brush my teeth, turn off the bedroom heat and slip into bed.

Me:  "Sigh!"

I get comfortable, Zorro eases himself under the covers beside me and CC decided to join us.  She wants to settle on my chest, but since I'm working a crossword puzzle I need that space myself and straighten out my legs so she can lay there.

My foot touches some kind of a lump.  "What the heck is THAT?"  I say in a rather loud voice.

Frankie comes running into the room.

I secure the object between my feet and pull my legs up toward my chest till I can physically grab the lump.

It's one of the missing socks.  (Color me meek, flustered and very, very embarrassed.) Yes, apparently I had forgotten to remove them from the bed when I made it in the morning.

Frankie is darn near hysterical, rolling around on the bed hugging her sides.  I hate when she does that.  Not only do I have to fess up to pulling a stupid stunt, I have to endure the humiliation of Frankie's glee...yes, glee.  She loves it when something happens that I can't blame on her.

Eventually she gets done with her giggles and goes back to bed, while I trudge back out to the kitchen.  Oh, you bet ya'...I'm not going to throw those missing socks on top of the fridge...I'm warming those suckers up...they're going to bed with me.

It's 1:30 AM.

When all at once...



...I saw a crowd of golden daffodils.

I'm not sure why every year it comes as such a delightful surprise, but it does.  Those golden daffodils...starting as green sword shaped leaves pushing themselves through the earth.  When they do I know spring is getting close, and as they get taller and taller I scrutinize each patch looking for buds. It seems each year there are not going to be any. Then one morning I see bulges at the ends of some of them, and day by day they crook over and I know something wonderful is going to happen.

This morning, I can barely wait.  The bulges have grown and are turning yellow, there are dozens of them.  Come golden daffodils...hurry...fast.  I planted the bulbs years ago, and I've done nothing to encourage their growth, yet on their own they've multiplied, so that in a week or so my front yard flower garden will be filled with sunshine yellow. There are enough this year I'm even willing to share some of them so that slugs can have a picnic.

It's strange, no matter how cold, how warm, how wet or how dry the winter is those charming bulbs know exactly what to do and when to do it.  All I have to do is practice patience,  and impatiently wait for the miracle to happen.  Oh, and it will...it is.

I hope my golden blooms bring joy to my neighbors, too, as they walk or drive by. It's my gift to them, and here's a gift for you...I know you saw this coming....

Daffodils

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the milky way,

They stretched in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:

Ten thousand saw I at a glance,

Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:

A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:

I gazed--and gazed--but little thought

What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,

They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.  

William Wordsworth
1770-1850

Something weird...

has happened.

I've been exercising for about five and a half months now, it's been hard because basically...well...I'm a lazy person.  Physical activity is not something I take to easily. I kicked, I screamed, I tried to bribe my doctor.  Eventually we made a deal.  If I was still exercising after six months, she had to buy something from my store (of course I'm not going to hold her to that...and I'm sure she does not even remember the deal), anyhoo, here I am into my exercise program to the extent that if  I have a day I don't exercise I feel guilty.  Is that nuts or what?

Anyway, I'm at the point that I've added ankle and hand weights to my program every day.  I can't believe I'm admitting this...I like it, I can feel my muscles coming back to life.  I hadn't realized just how much they have until a couple of nights ago when I happened (for what ever reason) to glance at my left forearm.  I saw this thing...this funny looking thing stretching from my wrist all the way up to the inner side of my elbow.  What the heck?

I pushed on it, it gave a little under the pressure of my fingers, but stayed in place, what was this?  I pulled up my sleeve and checked out my upper arm as I curled it up I discovered there was a bump there too.  Holy crap!

A jumble of emotions flowed through me.  I was getting muscle tone!

Here's the thing.  I didn't realize it was gone.  Boy...was it gone.  When did it go? Why hadn't I noticed it was gone?  How come I apparently didn't care that it was?
I felt a little sick to my stomach. I also felt ashamed, because as I inspected these odd looking new shapes, they seemed not to fit my body anymore, especially since old age flab still hung loosely along the bottom side of my arm.  I felt embarrassed as well that I had allowed my body to become in such deplorable condition...shame on me.

On the other hand, I felt surprise, delight and pride, in only five short months I can see the physical results that exercise works.  Don't get me wrong, is new program is not easy, there are days I want to say 'screw it' and go back to my normal, lazy, do nothing life style...ahhh, those were the good old days.  You've no idea how much I hope that doesn't happen because indeed something weird has happened.  I feel better.  I've more energy.  I breathe better.  I sleep better.  I've more strength in my arms and legs.  I don't want to stop this program.

Oh, I'm realistic enough to know the odds are nil to none against me doing this for the rest of my life, but I want to continue, I really, really do.  Lord willing and if the creek don't rise maybe, just maybe I will.

Improvisations

I sometimes have to improvise when I'm preparing something to eat.  Sometimes, the improvisation works well, sometimes not so much.

Over the weekend I had to improvise twice.  First I was hungry for homemade potato salad.  When I went to the potato storage bin, I discovered I did have potatoes, and they had not started to grow and look like octopuses.  Things were looking up!  I diced them so they would cook more quickly while I diced celery and onions to add to the salad.

When the potatoes were done, I added the rest of the salad ingredients and mixed them altogether. Time for the dressing.  Well, that's a bummer, I was sure I had purchased a bottle of vinegar, but none of the cupboards held a new bottle of the tart, sour stuff.  Maybe I just was not seeing an open bottle in the fridge, I looked again. There was no open bottle.  Then I saw it, one packet of balsamic vinegar left over from the time my daughter had purchased several pre-packaged lettuce salads.  Dare I use this vinegar in my potato salad dressing.  Sigh...did I have a choice?

So, I did open the packet and add it to the dressing, the purple color quickly changed its normal look. Uh-oh.  To late now.  As I stirred the mixture lightened, eventually I gave it a taste. By golly, it tasted quite good.  I poured it over the salad, and gave another good stir.  The potatoes got a light purple, more mauve I think.  I took a table spoon and filled it with the salad, then popped the salad into my mouth.  Oh, my goodness! Best potato salad I ever made.  Delicious.  Not having Apple Cider Vinegar turned out to be a good thing.

Now, you'd think one improvisation a weekend would be enough but, come Sunday evening I got a hankering for a peanut butter-jelly sandwich and spread a healthy amount of the stuff on a piece of whole wheat bread.  However, when I went to fetch a jar of jam from the fridge...there was none. Again, I searched the cupboards for a fresh jar of jam or jelly...again, there was none.  Dang it!

I suppose I could have settled for simple peanut butter bread, or perhaps I could have sprinkled some sugar-cinnamon on it but I knew that would not satisfy my hankering for an actual peanut butter-jelly sandwich.  Shoot!  Surely I had something in the house that would be a good substitute for jelly.  I pulled the refrigerator door open, and stared longingly at the items within. I got nuttin!  As I was about to close the door I spied several bottles of various flavored pancake syrups.  Wait a minute!  I grabbed the blueberry one, opened it and allowed it to ooze across the bread.  I thought it would run off but to my surprise, it sank into the bread.  Holy Mackerel!  I slapped the two pieces of bread together, and took a bite.  I couldn't believe it, my second improvisation worked.  Not one drop of syrup dripped off the bread onto the plate or my hand.  Well I'll be darn.

Considering how awful some of my improvisations have turned out to have two be successful in a matter of days is positively amazing...picture me walking around the place patting myself on the back.

HMMM! What happens next.

This one is for your imagination.

The elevator lurched, fell rapidly then violently jerked to a stop.

Everything went black.

It seemed like an eternity until the lights dimly flickered and finally came back on.

The old nun, in traditional habit, stood in the corner, hands folded under her scapular.  I think she was praying. A young woman knelt to hug and reassure her whimpering little boy.  The tall young man in a black, hand tailored suit looked angry and annoyed.  He glanced nervously at his watch.

But, it was the tattooed boy with the half bald head and an earring in his nose that piqued my interest. It was hard to tell if he was amused, or concerned.

Oh shoot, I thought, isn't this a fine kettle of fish.

What happens next?

Nobody ever tells you...

...how much you will change when you get old.

Oh, you think you will be able to do all the things you used to, and I guess you always will, except you will do them slower a lot slower.  Take walking up steps.  I hate steps.  I've never been tall enough to take them two at a time, but I was always able to keep up with those who did.  Now I avoid them, they make me huff and puff.  At first I thought I must be ill with some horrid disease that I couldn't do steps any more, but since I'm not dead and still around to take steps apparently that is not the case. I'm just too old to take steps.  I worry I'll stub the toe of my shoe against the edge of one and nick my shins to heck and back.  I also worry, if I don't spend the whole time looking down at the steps I'll lose my balance and tumble down, down, down.  Look out broken hip, here I come!  As a result I avoid steps at all costs.

By the way, I not just talking about flights of steps, there can be as few as two or three, every dang step presents a hazard.  There are two flights of steps around my house, one has two the other has three.  Boy, am I careful.  I don't wear one of those necklaces that I could push and help would come, so I'm careful when it comes to my steps, especially if I've got an arm load of laundry, or a handful of mail.

I never worried about or used handrails either, assuming they were for old people. And banisters? Weren't they made for sliding?  They were in every movie I've ever seen.  Now, I grasp them as though my very life depended on them....hmmm, I guess they do. It is safe to say my step-climbing confidence is gone, gone, gone.

Of course, there's the getting in and out of the tub thing, too.  I used to do it with such ease, one foot and leg over the edge, followed by the other.  NOW, I have a short list I repeat over in my head each and every time.

1. Firmly grasp side of shower door.
2  Lift leg high and over edge of tub.
3. Plant foot firmly on bath mat.
4. Repeat for leg, two.
5. Exit tub by...firmly grasping side of shower door.
6. Lift leg high and over.
7. Plant foot firmly on floor.
8. Repeat for leg, two.

Seriously!  This is what my life has come to.  I've even thought about buying and installing one of those walk in tubs.  Two things stop me...their price tag, and the fact I believe you have to be actually sitting in it as it fills, and you have to stay in it until the water drains out.  That's a long time for an old wrinkled, always cold body to be sitting naked.  Not a pretty picture to be sure.  Oh, the people in the commercials seem absolutely delighted with their tubs, warm seats and all...I guess I must be missing something...because they seem quite a bother to me.

Finally, there's walking.  I used to love to walk.  I did it with great confidence, admiring my surroundings, taking in the smallest details of trees, clouds, people and animals.  I overheard some authority say old people should not look down when they walk, because that's what causes us to fall. I don't exactly remember his theory on this, but I think it had something to do with balance.  Young, stupid whippersnapper!  There is no way this old person can do that, I have to look down...especially if it is dark.  After years, and years, and years of being told one in three old person will fall each year, and the number of broken hips are involved in these falls, there is no way I'm not going to look down when I walk.

Last time I didn't look down, a root of a tree reached out, grabbed my shoe and I went down in a perfect 'belly flop'.  So, authoritarian, mind your own 'bees wax'. That's also the last time I went on a leisurely walk.  What if I'd been alone, what if I had broken something, I could have lain there for hours.  Scary thought, right?

And, there you have it, just a few more instances of things nobody will tell you about getting old.  It can be ugly.  My theory is, I can adjust and accept my infirmities and even laugh about them or spend my days sitting in a safe, well padded corner sucking my thumb.  I think I prefer to spend my days doing the things I used to do in my youth except, more slowly, more carefully, more safely.  I'm (hopefully) years away from the necklace with the button.  That's for old people.