Mail and Stuff

My last blog was about hormones and hot flashes. One sharp eyed friend noticed the advertisement immediately following that blog was for a book entitled, "Why Men Leave Their Women".

Well.

I was coming home the other day and I noticed the car in front of me had their windows down. I assumed their air was broken, because it was 88 degrees. Then they shot out their arm in a left turn signal, so I figured their turn signal was broken, too. Except they kept on going, sometimes waving their hand around like they were drying their nails. In just a few, they flew their arm up in a right turn signal. I knew they weren't turning right as there were no right turns to make. And when they finally did turn, their signal worked just fine.

Made me wonder: were they too dumb to realize what they were doing? Had they never been taught manual turn signals? What?

When I got home, Husband greeted me with, "You are never going to believe what happened."

Now, at my house, that usually isn't followed by "I won a million dollars," or "The movies called and want to buy the rights to one of your books, " or, even, "I found a five dollar bill in an old jacket."

Nope. What happened was the mail carrier left a small box and two envelopes at the door. They left the envelopes on top of the small box. Our previous mail carrier, who was darn near perfect, would have slapped a rubber band around those envelopes to keep them secure, but the new one did not. So, when Husband picked up the box, the envelopes slid off. Right to the porch floor and through the crack between the planks, thusly: 

Now, I could have stood there all day (and so could have Husband) and tried to drop something between those planks and never succeeded. And realize, this wasn't one envelope but two. Wow.

So, not knowing if it was junk  mail or something important, he decided he had to crawl under the porch floor.

It is about six inches off the ground where they dropped, which meant he had to go clean to the far end (to your left)and crawl the whole length of the porch with a stick to swipe at the envelopes till he could pull them toward him.

I had two beautimous photos of Husband, one of him before and one after. But they disappeared into mysterious cyberspace, not to be found. He was dressed in a fishing hat, a long sleeve flannel shirt, old britches which were tucked under his socks, gloves, goggles and old shoes. So, just take a moment and savor what's in your imagination.

He was successful, junk mail and a bill.

One has to wonder if it was worth it.

Start the Day off with a BANG

I'm sound asleep. Then, WHAM! Leg cramps, both calves at the same time. I'm whooping and hollering and trying to get out of bed, which hurts my back because I do it too quickly.

Just as I get straightened up, I have a hot flash.

Good morning!

My day hasn't exactly gone downhill from there, but it's not been the day to hope for repeat, either.

I've had several days of less pain lately, which began to unravel last evening. But this morning certainly did the trick to bring it all back to "real time" of less pain in a distant memory (of a week ago).

Mostly today has been spent taking care of myself and trying not to fret about all that needs to be done. (or that I want to do).

Perhaps if I tread gently for the next few days, I'll bounce back.

Oh, please don't use the word bounce.

Is It Hot In Here, Or Is It Just Me?

If spontaneous combustion really ever occurred, I'm sure it would happen to a woman in the middle of a full blown hot flash.

WHEW!

For instance: Sitting in church, all nicely dressed, cozy and comfortable. Then a sudden heat begins to erupt in my chest and I reach for something to fan with. The hymnal is too heavy, my husband's tie too flimsy, plus, when I yank on it, it makes him get too close to me!  Get away! I don't need more body heat.

I reach into the young Mother's diaper bag sitting next to me and pull out a disposable diaper. These are good, they are light weight and can absorb your moisture. (Don't pick up a used one by mistake, they are way too heavy).

Now, I know the pastor may look at you funny, sitting there on the third row, right there on the end, waving a diaper over the top of your head. That's why it's very important that you pick a pastor who is of a certain age, that way he will figure out pretty quick what is going on, and maybe he won't lose his stride or his place in his sermon.

Now, if a diaper isn't handy, I have considered using my skirt, flopping it up and down, and possibly over my head. I'd take off my blouse, but I'm pretty sure that's against the  Baptist by-laws, not that I've had time to read them yet. I've only been a member for fifteen years, and I'm a busy person.

The bulletin is okay, fairly large and sturdy enough that if you don't go into warp speed, it won't bend right in the middle of a fanning.

Once, during choir practice I started having a bad hot flash (not that any of them are actually good!). I was trying to fan with the choir book, which is pretty heavy and unwieldy, but I was desperate. Suddenly I felt a cool breeze on the back of my head, and when I turned, three middle aged men were frantically fanning away. I appreciated it so much I sent their wives thank you notes. They have really raised those men right!

Of course, as soon as that sucker is over and the heat starts to die down, I begin to feel chilled. I smack my husband on the arm and tell him to stop fanning me with his Bible, he's freezing me to death!

Of course that hurts his feelings, and he slams the Bible shut and then he can't find Habakkuk again.

Habakkuk has always been hard to find.

His wife probably  had  hot flashes too, and he's been laying low ever since.