You Can't Floss Your Teeth With A Flashlight

When you go on vacation, it's a bit like playing hide n seek with your possessions. No matter how carefully you pack or unpack, you won't be able to find anything.

Which is why by the end of said vacation one's room looks rather like a tornado has struck. Violently.

Upon arriving home I still can't find my phone charger, when I remember distinctly where I packed it. I guess that's why I can't find it. All in all, that's not bad, when you consider all the things we did bring home. Good Lord! Where did we find all that stuff?

And most of it is dirty.

I thought we'd never get there, the time there was gone in the blink of an eye, and the trip home was loooong.

My cat was deliriously ecstatic to see me. No, really.

Now the two female cats were "Meh. So what. Feed us, okay?"

But the males were anxious, thrilled, and grateful.

My male cat head butted me, scooted as close to me as he could with anxious eyes, slept right by me, and was on top of me every chance he got, purring. He was though he was holding me down so I couldn't leave again.

Husband's male cat was rolling around happy. When Husband went back out to the car to unload, his cat began to carry on in a loud whiny voice at the front door. I guess he thought Husband had left again.

Males are so much more needy, aren't they?

I learned a lot, got to spend a lot of time with my Yankee Cousin (whom you will be hearing from), ate way too much, saw the ocean again (it looks the same), hated what the air did to my hair, and wished I could have walked Charleston with Daughter and Cousin. I tried, but couldn't do it. Alas.

Daughter had a good time, getting to shop and eat good food, and spend time with cousins she hardly knows.    They are all male. She found out what it would have been like to have two brothers close to  her age with whom to share a bathroom.

She's grateful, too!

We all were happy to be back in our beds, in our own house in the mountains.

Dorothy said it all, "There's no place like home."

Old Age Spots and Other Blessings

A few weeks back, I got up, looked in the mirror, and discovered a little spot on the bridge of my nose, right between my eyes. It had not been there the night before.

Because of its sudden appearance, and my childhood spent in the sun browning my pale, pale skin, I thought I best take a little trip to the old dermatologist.

He's been my doctor since I was in my early thirties. I like him a lot. He's bald and has pale blue eyes. He wears his glasses perched on the end of his large beak and he calls me darlin'.

He always looks me over pretty good every time I'm there, I guess no point in wasting a trip to look at one little spot.

Anyway, he mumbled something about the spot being just a normal part of aging. I asked, "So, is this an old age spot?"

"We don't call them that anymore."

"But, is that what it is?"

He grinned. Yes. That's what it was.

He put some kind of light on my face that shows aging of the skin and got pretty excited. He said he couldn't believe my skin and asked the nurse to agree how wondrous it was, that here I am fifty-nine years old and my facial skin appears to be about forty-two years old.

His little nurse was maybe twenty-five and she agreed that was really something, but I could tell by the look on her face she wasn't sure what all the fuss was about.

But I can tell you, I was puffed up! I couldn't wait to get to the waiting room and share this great news with old geezer Husband.

Husband bragged on me, too, of course.

But then it hit me. I was thrilled, I was boastful, that my skin looked forty-two years old.

That would have been a shame, a nightmare, an embarrassment for me, even when I was forty-two years old!

Oh, how the mighty have fallen.

The most dreaded sentence of all has been placed upon my head:

I look good for my age.

Just shoot me now.

You can use that little brown spot right between my eyes for the target.

But you better hurry. There may be so many of them by tomorrow, you won't know where to aim.

A Star is Born

A friend sent me a YouTube video of a children's program of some sort. I guess it was graduation day from Christian kindergarten. There were probably twenty children on stage. Most of them looked bored out of their minds, or were fidgeting with their hair or shoes or picking their nose. Not really in the moment, so to speak.

Then one little boy stepped up to the mic, and with a big grin on his face, began to recite the books of the New Testament. Of course he had a lisp, which made it cuter. "Mafyou, Mawk, Wook and John and he ended with "Jude and Wevuhlashun." With a satisfied look on his face, and before the audience could applaud, the boy took a deep breath and began to wail, "All my exes wiv in Texas."

Of course the audience roared and a very embarrassed mama rushed the stage and took the mic away from him. She was mouthing, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" But she was laughing too.

This boy obviously did not have stage fright. In fact, it was quite clear as to why he had been chosen to recite in the first place.

I've seen the type all my life. Before a play or a recital, everyone is a nervous wreck except for one person who is cool as a cucumber. The one who is the star, usually. Their voice skill is way above everyone else's, or their ability to play an instrument. They can charm the audience in a heartbeat.


It's as if they are born to be on stage.

I can speak publicly now without nerves most of the time. It's fun for me. But singing, I usually get nervous. Sometimes worse than others, and for no reason I can discern.

Shirley Temple, probably the biggest child star in history, was obviously at home behind the camera or in front of crowds. She was a true natural. They said she memorized the whole script the first read through or so, and when adults would forget their lines, she'd whisper them to the actor from off stage.

There are also celebrities who are very comfortable on stage and not comfortable anywhere else.

Their star usually burns brightly and burns out quickly.

I worked with a woman whose daughter showed a lot of singing ability at a very young age. The child was eager to perform, and so the parents put in a lot of money and effort. She made some CD's and appeared on stage with some pretty famous county singers.

Then in high school she decided she was tired of it all and dropped it entirely, leaving her mother addled.

It was probably for the best.

Who wants to be a star, anyway?

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....

A Girl After My Own Heart

When Daughter was a small child, she began having a lot of stomach problems. It stemmed from too many antibiotics during a severe illness. Her belly hurt when she ate, her belly hurt if she didn't eat. We did all sorts of things trying to make her better.

A doctor finally ordered a scan, wherein she had to fast all morning, then drink some chalky stuff while they took "pictures".

They asked me if I wanted to watch, and of course I said yes. I didn't want her to be alone for even a minute.

So I donned the leaded apron, stood behind a half wall, and watched them position Daughter behind the x-ray machine. They instructed her to drink steadily, which she did.

I watched the liquid trickle down her body as she drank.

And then I noticed something to the left. It looked like a tiny bird, fluttering against her ribcage.

I was looking inside my daughter, at her heart.

I burst into tears. In fact, I am tearing up now, just remembering it.

What a precious, magnificent sight. I wondered, how many mamas get to see their darling's heart, beating inside their chest? Not many, I suppose.

They found out what was wrong with her tummy and it was easily remedied with the right medication.
She was as good as new, and has never had another problem. She doesn't remember it very well, only that she hurt a lot and couldn't eat chocolate.

But it's something I'll never forget.

For who could ever forget seeing your own baby's heart, fluttering, alive and eager?

Typhoid Mary - That's Me!

I have begun to feel a lot like Typhoid Mary.

As you know, I have been on my deathbed. (Okay, okay, but I was really, really, sick.)  Anyway, I gave the illness to Daughter, who hasn't been as severely ill as I, but still had to go to the doctor and has been pretty miserable. We thought Husband had managed to slide by with nothing more than a mild sore throat, but no.

After waking up worse every morning, he finally went to the doctor day before yesterday and got medications and an injection.

Of course today, he feels worse than ever, as this is the way this stuff progresses. He sounds bullfroggie and yesterday he got the hiccups.

He still has them. He even hiccuped in his sleep last night.

I told him I thought they were caused by the injection he received, and of course, Husband thought that was the stupidest idea he'd ever heard.

So, Husband asked Pharmacist, whom he thinks is the smartest man on earth.  Pharmacist told Husband it was a side effect from the injection he'd received.

(Insert dancing bananas here)

It's nice to be right about something.

Husband was told to expect the hiccups to hang around another day or so before they run their course.

So for the near future I have a bullfroggie, hiccuping spouse.

At least now he thinks I'm the smartest person on earth, so step aside Pharmacist.

He probably shouldn't get too close to us anyway.

Facing the Enemy

There are some enemies in one's life that you can ignore, at least for a while.

But if it is a true enemy, it will always come back. Eventually one must come face to face with the enemy and prepare for battle.

I've known for some weeks this was coming. Oh, the enemy has always been there, in the back of my mind. But it hasn't been a worry for me. Not until now.

As time has drawn nearer, my thoughts have been gradually coming back more often to this old enemy.

I remember when we were friends. One I relied on, always made me look good, as friends do, and never let me down.

But then, several years ago, things began to change. A slip there, an ugly look here. I tried to change to accommodate, but it has never been enough. And now there is nothing. Things have gone too far to ever think of having a good relationship ever, ever, again.

Unfortunately, we must be seen together in the future. I suppose I could avoid it, but it would be a real inconvenience for me and those around me. Avoidance would probably make me look as bad as going ahead and dealing with the situation.

So, yesterday, I went to the enemy. I knew exactly where to look, even though it had been several years.

We faced off. I shook my head. With trembling hand I reached out. We touched. Then we grappled and wrestled for control.

The enemy won. I was left in tears, remorseful, and of course, with the inevitable conclusion that I had been right all along. We would never be friends again.

Man, I hate bathing suits.