Bean Mania - Save Me!

If you read my blogs you know I call my Mother, Mother. But for the sake of this blog, she'll be Mama.

Mama is manic. This was caused not by a mental illness, but by a bushel of white half runners.

Lord!

As you know, when a bean is born, it is born. We can't change the date or put it off. It just is.

So my bushel came up, Husband went and got, and then we were in a dilemma.

In the  midst, when we should have been fixin, we had to go to Dalton to the ENT because both Mama and me was gettin deafer by the minute.

Husband is yelling at me this morning, by the way. He swears his volume has not changed a bit. So I told him to change it.

We brought the beans home and spread them out on the cold tile in the sun room and turned the fan on them.

Still, Mama fretted all day. It wasn't so bad  on the way to Dalton, but on the way back I could actually hear her, and it got bad.

We set to the minute we walked in the door, grabbin pans and knives and such and started stringin and breakin beans.

With the four of us workin our fingers to the bone (Mama, me, Husband and Daughter), we got about two thirds of them done.

Mama called this mornin and said she'd been up since 4:30 a.m. breakin' beans. (She made Husband put the remainder of what was unstrung last night in a sack and she took them with her, as I have an appointment at noon and couldn't get started early.)

I didn't even know they still have a 4:30 a.m.

She was talkin fast and loud on the phone about what all we can have for lunch, and how we needed to know how many rings and lids we needed from the Pig. Run all that together as one word, and say it LOUD and you'll see what I was hearin before coffee.

Mama is also thrilled because they turned up her hearing aids and she can actually hear better.

They turned mine up, too.

Anyway, this afternoon and tomorrow we'll be fixin and cannin beans.

He'll have more beans in Monday and Mama says she might just want some more.

All I ask is everyone just speak a little softer, okay?

You're givin me a headache.

You Know You're Getting Old When...

You know you're getting old when  your dreams have as many dead people in them as living. I especially dream about my maternal grandmother for some reason.

My in-laws and my daddy, as well as my other grandparents, show up on occasion, too.

In my dreams they are as alive and well as ever, although people's ages are often mixed up. I may still be a young adult, whereas my great-nephew is a toddler, like he is now. Sometimes I'm still very young and my daughter is the age she is now. I must say it's pretty convenient. I like it when everyone is in their prime in my dreams, no one sickly or old. My own physical handicaps are gone, and I am free to walk and run without pain like I was most my life.

I've also noted that as I've gotten older I relate the person I'm talking about to connect them. "I saw old John Doe the other day. You know, his daddy was Ralph Doe who owned the hardware store till Jane Nobody bought it in the 90's. Yeah."  Pause. Listen to best friend. "Really? I didn't know that! When did Jane's boy marry that sorry trash? And twins to boot! Bless her heart."

You get the picture. I don't see my mother when I look in the mirror. But boy I sure do hear her when I open my mouth.

Best Friend and I are eager to discuss our ailments with one another, too. We relish going into great detail, and both of us have plenty to talk about. We have physical troubles you wouldn't believe, even if I told you.  

But I'll be happy to tell you anyway.

We gripe about fashion trends and how they aren't fit for humans to even wear. How ugly new hairdos are. How gross music is. How hard technology is to  understand. The usual fair of a geezer's conversation, I guess.

Due to a stroke during surgery a few years ago, I wear hearing aids. And I've glasses since I was thirteen. Nevertheless, this makes me appear much older if I talk about them.

At least I don't have false teeth.

Yet.

When I'm around the younger set, I try to be current and not talk about "when I was  your age", although occasionally I do say that, because darn it, when I was their age things were so interesting and important.

And, as  you know, if you are over forty, young people aren't as smart as they used to be. We need to tell them stuff. Right? 

And the day I've  dreaded all my life has arrived. I've always enjoyed staying up late and sleeping late. My staying up late was squashed when I got hurt and so was sleeping late, to an extent.

But I am now finding myself awakening early, not because of pain or discomfort but because of the only other reason I can think of. My age.

Husband is starting to look old. Of course I don't. (ha)

Every month or two I see a sag that wasn't there. And although I weigh the same, it ain't where it  used to be.

Ah, well. They say old age ain't for sissies. So I better buck up and forge ahead.

Have I ever told you about how I got that terrible scar on my right elbow?

Hello? Hello? Anybody out there....