Can you hear me now?

I've got hearing trouble.
 Now, I'm nearly deaf in one ear and aching in the other for over 3 weeks. When I saw the doctor I asked what could be done. I've put every thing over the counter into the ears to clear out the wax, done self flushes with bulb syringes and drops for pain.

After the Doctor looks into my ears and says I need major cleaning ,  declaring it a painful and lengthy process, I agree and submit. How dreadful that I'm unable to clean my own ears!  After 3 hours of drops, soaking, flushing repeatedly, and a nurse with gritted teeth and determination to bring brain matter and wax out of the ear or push it through to the other side,  I called it quits after regaining muffled hearing in the deaf ear. Now sound come from behind me. Strange but its like the noise is started in front and it's arched around to the back. Maybe after all that messing around with the ear canals, they were diverted to the back of my head?  I'm like a cat. . . sitting quiet and peaceful then whipping my head to the side when there's a sound with big eyes-"What's that noise?".
 Yesterday there was a deep rumble and vibration so I thought San Andreas was parting California from the union, but it was the construction trucks next door and weird that it was so much louder inside my head than it really was.
I was directed to continue to swim every day but to keep my ears out of the water. 10 gallons of water have already been forcefully pushed into the ears by the nurse. Really! Not possible.  What would be the point? I do my best strokes under water. I swear that if I shake my head I can hear the water sloshing in there like a water bottle.
 For now, I'll walk around and be chased by the sounds. At least I can hear something! I can definitely hear myself very clearly-Isn't that what really matters? -My voice is most unpleasant and nasally- Has it always been like that? . . . just can't hear any one else! Absolutely have lost the higher pitched noises like the phone or doorbell so friends, stop any hurt feelings if you feel you've been slighted or ignored. Try banging on the door. Captain will come and get me.
I need an ear trumpet. That might work for me as a temporary aide.
  If you want to talk,  tap me on the shoulder and stand behind me so I can hear every word . If you are successful reaching me by phone, I'll hold the receiver to the back of my head.
Where is Verizon! - "Can you hear me now?"

I've exercised and I can't get up.

I went for a walk in the park the other day with my power walking friend. She is a pillar of health and strength and had already walked 2 miles to meet and motivate me to walk  with her. I used to be an avid walker, but since the knee blew out and lost all of its cartilage and I'm too stubborn to have it replaced with bionics, I can't go walking like I used to. Dear girl is all encouragement and smiles.

So we begin our walk . It's early, early morning and cool out. Overcast and no sun beating down on me.   I'm pumped. I can do this. I used to do it 3 times a week for years with no problem.

I begin the walk going up-hill. No effort at all- until we  reach the 100 yard mark. Now I'm hot. I'm panting. I cannot talk and walk but that's okay, my friend is doing all the talking and pretends  she doesn't notice me counting the steps until the hill is over. After 200 yards, I'm beginning to wonder why I ever thought I could just start walking like by gone days  on the spur of the moment. I should be working myself up for it.

At 250 yards, I tell my friend that I need to stop and pant for a bit at the stop sign ahead. At 300 yards, I see the stop sign is still another 100 feet away and just stand there on the curb panting and sweating. Apologize to my friend, but she is still  smiles and encouragement , carrying on pleasant conversation, but I know she is regretting that her power walk has turned into a stroll and she is nearly jogging in place waiting for me to continue.

I know that at the top of this endless hill there is a fire station full of firemen and paramedics so I decided to hold off on the heart attack until I got within sight of them. I forgot my phone-otherwise I could have dialed ahead and ordered my resuscitation.

We circle the massive park, overstepping the billions of snails trying to escape their dried up brush  for moisture across the path to freshly watered lawn, and work our way back up hill to the parking lot where just glimpsing the blue of my car in the distance gives me hope and a surge of energy to finish off what's left of my knee. It's been nearly an hour and I am sopping wet, a hot mess,  even though it's cool enough for my friend to wear a sweat shirt . I'm gulping my water as if I've just been released from the Mojave dessert. My friend is still smiling, not a lick of sweat on her brow or staining the shirt front, back, or pant legs of her outfit. I am all done in. No cardiac arrest but  I'm going to take some aspirin to prevent any blood clots from forming just in case. My blood isn't used to this much stimulation this early in the day.

I'm skipping the coffee and going for the diet coke as soon as I get home. I need a nap . A massage. A margarita.

My friend is kind and understanding. I doubt she'll be calling for a repeat of the day. The brush with death too close.  It was touch and go there if she'd have to carry or drag me to the car. As I bid her good day and thanked her for the bonding time, she jogs off, another  2 miles up hill to her house and I gladly jump into my car and coast 2 miles down hill toward mine. If there is a next time, I'm going to bring an electric scooter and wear an emergency responder button. "I've exercised and I can't get up!"

Maui Memory

  

One of my favorite vacation  places  is Maui. Who doesn't like Maui?

On one of our visits, we met up with some  friends from our city who were also vacationing on the island during the same week. We met them at a favorite snorkeling area, Black Rock, which is by a popular seaside resort. The water was too rough and churning for good snorkeling and the surf there can get  rough. You don't want to turn your back on it. Still, having  swim fins on is a good idea to help navigate better through the rough parts. The beach is full but there's no one in the water. Good. We won't have to worry about watching out for anybody but ourselves.

The surf was too rough to put the fins on in the water, so we put ours on while on the beach and did the backward walk into the waves. Remember, you should never turn your back on the waves crashing, but there was really no choice. My friend and I decided to give swimming a try, don our fins and start backing into the water. Our husbands are sitting on the beach, watching and opting to just work on their current sun burns.

TJ is excited and before I know it, she's already backed into the water up to her calves. Half a second later, a churning wave smacks her backside and she falls down, looking surprised and shocked. I'm rethinking the wading in treacherous ocean water, but drawn to it because it is my favorite beach and I'm in Maui! You just have to swim every day and I think I'm a pretty decent swimmer.

The wave hits the heels of my fins and I take a tentative step backward. Here comes T.J. She's still down, and now she is washed ashore like a piece of seaweed. She looks up at me, laughs and says, "Man, this is rough! " and regains an upright stance, only to be knocked down again and dragged out to her neck by the attacking wave.

She's yelping, flailing her arms to get balance on the sand below, but her head is above water. I'm out of the water taking off the fins. Forget it. I'll just wade. Throw my fins to Mr. Man to guard and turn back toward TJ.  As soon as you can say "FLIPPER", she's  back on the shore, rolling toward me like a red carpet being unfurled. These waves are relentless and unforgiving.

The beach full of people are watching her intently. No one is running to her aide. It's more fun watching her get churned up and spit out again and again. On her fifth attempt, her fin footed self is rolling around on the shore, feet in the air and her bathing suit and cover up are askew as she is laughing and spinning on her back like an upside down turtle in the middle of her own tide pool and eddy. Tough little thing, she is soon upright again, with arms waving in circles for balance, trying to dislodge the pounds of sand from the fins, decides to sit down and scooch into the water when a bigger than usual wave reaches up and smacks her on the back of the head, knocking her over, leaving her panting and sprawled again in the sand as the wave slides back and leaves her high and dry ashore.

She is a sight. Laughing hysterically and looking nearly drowned, rolling around in the surf. I'm no help to her. She is not able to regain balance long enough to stay on her feet for more than 2 seconds. We both have reverted back to toddlers. I have laughed too hard and wet myself. Our husbands are looking away and pretending not to know us. No help coming from them. One last time she is nearly into the surf up to her knees when she is expelled from the ocean like a mighty vomit, covered in sand and crawls up out of the surf and saves herself.

Neptune wins today. As we give up and walk up the beach toward the resort, there is a HUGE sign stating, "DANGEROUS AND TREACHEROUS SURF AND UNDER TOW- NO LIFE GAURD ON DUTY---Swim at your own risk accompanied by a picture of a little stick  man  in swim shorts, waving farewell as a tsunami wave symbol tosses him upside down.

I'm surprised more tourists don't get dragged out to sea and drown. Neither one of us got more than 10 feet from the shore, but the beach side resort full of people got quite the show and I got a delightful Maui Memory and lesson learned. . . . no matter how good a swimmer you think you are, it's always prudent to use caution and take the posted warning signs seriously. I think I still have sand in my ears.                                                                                            

Don't worry T.J. You are a cute sea tortoise and you made a whole lot of people laugh. 

We'll make it into the ocean next time.

Extended vacation.

Every year we take an extended vacation of more than a week , planning every single day in detail on a "grid" so we don't forget to have fun or miss something we wanted to do. (This is Mr. Man's rule). I am more of the free spirit. If I know there's a place to sleep that's safe at the end of the day with indoor plumbing, that's pretty much all I require. Otherwise, my plans are flexible and I like to find the fun spontaneously. This year, we're taking a road trip.

It seems as if there's a lot of prep  for leaving the house. Rules and directions cleaning and such. I don't want to have the house sitters or pet care givers choking on dust or fur. I clean out the fridge, leaving only the jams , olives and condiments. The refrigerator shelves are usually packed full of tasty tid- bits for our meals and snacks, but as the shelves are cleared and the food eaten, Mr. Man begins to panic about what his dinners are going to consist of . . . especially when we're down to frozen mystery meat and various canned goods of random sauces and soups.

Out of the 4 shelves in the fridge, We are down to 1 with actual edible food and a drawer of soft cheeses. The game begins -to create a meal that can be digested and presentable . (Mr. Man is picky despite his protests to the contrary and likes "attractively arranged" platters of food for dinner.   He voices his concern that we have no bread, meats, "good" veges, fruits or "fun snacks" and the fridge is looking far too empty.  We're down to half a bottle of white wine, a gallon container of pickle relish, some questionable onions, and a tub of marinated mozzarella balls .  The beer is nearly gone. Only 6 pints of IPA left, so the rationing has to be carefully calculated. . until our departure date.

The fridge clean out is a great opportunity to start our new diet plan and refilling it only with the last resort foods because they're good for you stuff. Maybe that's why Mr. Man is anxious about the empty fridge shelves. Good eating habits are only a vacation away! 

Fridge nearly empty and cleaned.
 House and pool prep completed in 1 day.

Pet supplies -obtained.                                                                                

Bathing suits packed. Hiking boots ready to walk about.

Car gassed and tires inflated.

GPS loaded and reservations saved on the cells.

We are vacation ready and good to go. . . let's do this!  (photos to follow).

Get over yourself!

Bagged salad was on  sale at the local Trader Joe's. Love the baby spinach there so I headed over to get that deal. There is a man standing in front of the refrigerated case full of all the bags of lettuce and premade salads. As I walk up and stand beside him, I'm wondering which two I will buy'; the big bags are 2 for $5 or small ones buy one get the second half off. I thought the man was pondering the same. . . so many choices, so cheap. I ask him, "which ones are we buying today?" He turns and looks at me. Shocking reply . . . "I'm married".  He walks off without choosing and I stand there blinking and wondering how that was interpreted as a  request for a hook up.  Dude! I've got news for you. I'm just shopping for vegetables, and you just may qualify with a little more practice.  Why don't you head on over to the big produce section and sit yourself between the artichokes and the squash. Get over yourself!

"Isaac"

"Isaac" is 7 years old and has asthma. He has had several hospitalizations for it in the past, but this time, he also has pneumonia . He's been having difficulty breathing for days, and with the help of I.V. antibiotics, steroids and endless breathing treatments around the clock , he's getting better after day 3. Now his problem is keeping his oxygen saturation levels above the doctor prescribed 94% and to do this, he has to keep his oxygen mask on or the level drops and the machine that measures it, the pulse oximeter, alarms to let the medical staff know he is dropping below that target.

The pulse oximeter is usually a finger probe or small light sensor connected to an adhesive strip that goes on the finger; or toe. Isaac is tired of having one of his digits covered by the probe. . . trust me, its been moved around to every possible place to keep it on. His oxygen levels have been constantly lower than 90 percent without oxygen, and with the oxygen, he is barely maintaining the 94%. The battle is constant to keep the oxygen mask on him because the nasal cannula was used as his chew toy, his sling shot, his lasso, chair whip and even was braided into his IV tubing causing an extreme excess of time to detangle and unkink. He complained about his nose hurting from the cannula so we switched him to a mask to give his nose some time off.

No amount of explaining about keeping the oxygen on or promises of going home sooner would impress this boy to keep the oxygen on his face. Heck, I would have settled for the general area, giving him a tube of blow-by oxygen that he could point in his direction if only he would do it. Short of strapping Isaac to the bed and confined into 5 point restraints, ILLEGAL I should add, we were all having a challenge keeping oxygen on this boy. The respiratory therapists and nursing staff were out of ideas how to help this child help himself. No amount of coercion , distraction or bribery worked. We needed to find out what his button for motivation was. The pediatrician tells me to do whatever it takes but has no luck talking to the boy either and no suggestions about how to achieve it.

Taking my turn at Isaac for the second shift in a row and frustrated as the rest of the staff and doctors, I walk in to find the boy wearing his mask on his ear. "It's by my face!" he shouted. Yes, but not in the right place. We discuss at length AGAIN, why he needs the oxygen, why the doctor isn't going to send him home until he wears it and gets better, etc. . . Feeling smug that I've had a break through with the little man, I replace his oxygen, walk out and alarms sound before I get to the desk. He has a lot of energy for a child who can't breathe well and clinically is pretty sick! This is going to be a very long and tedious day. My partner is laughing at me and glad she is on the other run of the pediatric unit with her compliant babies and innocent cherubs. 

Looking at Isaac, he now has his mask on top of his head like a hat. Cute, but not really conducive to air flow. The Respiratory therapist, who has the patience of a saint, has to stand and hold his treatment to make sure the IV pole isn't the one getting the nebulized medications. This is getting ridiculous. The mask has migrated to the back of his head, his chest, "look! I have a boob!", his elbow and every other body part except over his nose and mouth. All this while he's virtually panting . My best bet is to stay at the bedside with him until he falls asleep, but he's not sleepy yet!

We talk and talk and he tells me between deep breaths, that when he is a rich man, he's going to be a jet pilot and fly around the moon. When he has a ton of money, he's going to buy himself a football team and be famous. All his dreams revolve around money. I have an epiphany. Money is what this boy likes. I am going to pay him to keep that oxygen on. I like coercion better than bribery, but desperate times you know...We strike up a deal. 25 cents for 30 minutes. If the alarm goes off  because the oxygen is off his face, the timer resets. He loves the timer. I have a sand hour glass  and give it to him to start , along with an egg timer we keep for nursing breaks. My idea works. He is raking in the quarters. After the first dollars worth, he is excited. He calls his mother and tells her he has a paid job. I call her and tell her to bring more quarters! We have a craft time to make a "bank" for his money. The day is getting better for all of us.

Best $3 investment ever. Isaac got to go home 2 days later and after that first day, we weaned him off that oxygen and he didn't need to get paid to get better any longer. I'll always remember him fondly with his little oxygen mask ear muff and smile, and glad that he is breathing better. So am I!

chilling in the pool

One of my favorite past times and little luxuries is chilling in the pool. What a complete waste of time, but rejuvenating and peaceful. I've done some of my best napping and reading poolside. Not to mention the outrageous snack trays, pre-made margaritas and barbecue. I've even written term papers, taken online testing and copied transcripts, all while standing in the pool.

Getting into the pool takes no time, its the prepping that is key.

Our planter is lined with ficus trees. Lovely and green, providing shade and privacy, they drop their little balls of, "fruit?" in copious amounts filling the pool skimmer to capacity. If there's a breeze, you hear the plop, plop of the little balls hitting the water and sweeping them up is an endless task, but if you step on one it really can hurt. (Note to new pool owners. . . Don't plant these around the pool if you don't like a lot of mess!). So begins the task of prepping the pool for my entry. I have to drain the skimmer basket first.  I will not reach in to grab it because you never know what's floating in there under the layer of bobbing ficus balls.

As I pulled the basket up, a Japanese Beetle comes crawling up my arm, grateful to escape its watery grave. Little did it know its demise was eminent as I blood curdle scream and gag at the feel of its legs crawling up my limb. It was hurled into the concrete fence and as it got up to fly away, it's hit 50 yards out of the yard with the skimmer net. Still feeling it crawling on my arm, I may need to sever it or seek psychotherapy to get over the horror. If the beetle lived, I hope it warned off its friends to stay clear of my yard.

Alas, pool prep isn't over yet. I have to remove all floating matter off of the top of the water before getting in. Not risking bug contact and really hate it when a leaf sticks to my body. OCD about the floaters, and spend 30 minutes skimming the pool until its ready for entry. In the meantime, Mr. Man struts out, mounts the diving board and plunges in , heedless of bugs , balls or leaves. He taunts and heckles me the entire time I'm skimming and if he were not such a heartless man, he would prep the pool for me . Once I'm in the pool, I stay in, swimming laps, floating on my back looking at the clouds or a plethora of other activities for hours at a time.  This is southern California living at its best. I am so lucky to have this place of peace and beauty. If  you're looking for me, I'm out at the pool. Come on in. The water is fine!

15% savings

Who doesn't like a deal? Never a big user of coupons, I do like to use those that take a percentage off the entire purchase.

Finding myself in a store that would scan coupons off the iPhone, I decided to take advantage of it. Accessed the coupon, but had to wait for it to upload. I was the last customer in the store, and the manager went over and locked the doors. The cashier was all smiles and told me the wifi service in the store was abominably slow. We both stood there waiting for my coupon to upload and she finishes ringing me up. The manager wants to close the store and tells me I'll have to wave off the 15% savings. I suggest the cashier scan the coupon code from her laminated sheet. The manager says that's not allowed. I shrugged and the cashier shows me her little dimpled smile.

As we stand there chit chatting, the manager tells me again to waive the 15% coupon and I tell her I've got all night to wait for the store internet service to bring it up. The cashier is all patience and smiles. The manager is pacing. Only part of the coupon comes up, and the bar code is loading at a snails pace. The store lights are being switched off. 5 minutes have passed.  The  manager sees that I'm waiting for the rest of the bar code to load. Finally, she says, "Fine. Scan the sheet". Cashier scans her laminated coupon sheet, I pay up and we are done in 10 seconds.

The cashier was shaking her head at the manager. Why all the drama? I thank her for her kindness and patience. The manager...not so much. Tell her she isn't very nice about her job and I will be sure to mention her name in the store survey that I never fill out but making an exception this time. The cashier got a stellar review.

As I walk out of the store, my phone dings that the coupon is now fully loaded. Son of a gun!...but I saved $1.50!

The day of reckoning has arrived. . .

Summertime in Southern California.  Temperatures are kicking up into the triple digits and at 6 in the morning the thermometer is almost up to  80 degrees. The air conditioner runs endlessly to cool the place down and it's depressing to watch the electric meter wheel spin so fast its a blur, costing me a nickel a turn. This being year 4 of our 20 year predicted drought, there's little green grass and shade to hide away from the heat in and by late afternoon, the cool ocean breezes have been super heated to hotter than Hades and only serve to dry up the sweat in time for more to spill down the forehead.

Lucky for me, I have myself a "Cement Pond" in the yard and intend to make good use of it. My outdoor fridge is stocked and umbrellas strategically placed around it to provide shaded water spots for swimming and soaking.

The day of Reckoning has arrived. . . .

Time to dig out the bathing suit and strut out to the pool. Finding the suit was no problem. Getting it on was another issue. I refuse to buy a $200 piece of spandex with straps so I keep making do with my bargain suit from WalMart...retail price $24. As I step into it, the realization that it has either shrunk or I have grown is grossly apparent. Perhaps I have grown taller? The shoulder straps  elongate but my bosom isn't even covered a little and there is an uncomfortable wedgie effect that is disconcerting.  I appear to be wearing a boxer or weight lifters leotard from the 1920's. Obviously this suit is inappropriate for public wear. I'd like to think that the recent weight loss led to firm thighs and abdomen, but my toned and sexy legs have been taken over by an anorexic elephant and the thighs are creasing around the knees. . . however, if I lie flat on my back and kick my legs up into the air, they appear to be the former toned and muscled thighs of yesteryear. (which I think was only 2 years ago!).

Finding the bathing suit that hides the imperfections, accentuates the better than average ones and crushes the jelly belly rolls into one smooth surface is a tough find. Wearing an oversized T-shirt is helpful, but not conducive for swimming laps. I have a skort suit with a tank top, but when I swim laps, the skirt comes up to my chest and the top rolls up to my neck.

Standing in the water, the skirt of the suit floats around me like a swim ring and I'm thinking little weights should be sewn into the hem of it to keep it submerged and hide the fact that I'm wearing a skirt suit or masquerading as a donut. So now I stand in my bargain one piece bathing suit, contemplating my next choice of bathing wear that would be socially acceptable in all swimming holes and beaches. I feel bad for us girls. There's a lot of prep involed getting into any kind of swim wear. Shaving, waxing, peeling, moisturizing, shoving, pulling , tugging. The list is endless. And what about the hair? Once its wet, the day is over. No way am I going through another hour of teasing and spritzing it into some kind of hair do. 

Worked up a sweat just prepping for the pool. I wiggle out of the crushing, too small one piece, put on a pair of grannie-panties and a tank top and I am good enough for my own back yard. This swim get up will motivate me to butterfly more laps . I'll cover up with a sarong or bed sheet if any one comes over.  Don't judge me. Join me.  I'm coolin' and floatin' in my cement pond. 

Fuzzy Wuzzy takes a ride

I'm trying to get out there and do the 2 hours of exercise a day that my doctor prescribes. Surely, as she is telling me this, it is obvious that there is no way that's ever going to happen at this point in my life. If visualizing myself out there climbing mountains, lifting weights and running marathons every week counts, then mission accomplished!  I'm lucky to be upright and vertical  for that long every day. Still, I will attempt to accomplish some sort of physical activity daily, be it vacuuming, washing windows, sweeping, or pulling weeds.

In  an effort of some semblance of compliance , I've been riding my bicycle to various friends houses, between 1 and 4 miles one way from my house. It's easier to ride alone if there's a destination and not just ramble around the neighborhood.  So far, all of the friends have been forthcoming with cool refreshment and encouraging words when I got there, and all have lived fairly level roaded from my house, a feat in itself as this town is all on a hill and I seem to be at the near bottom of it.  I've run out of folks who live on level roads from me so my radius of ride destinations are expanding and I've been building up my stamina for those uphill parts.

My next ride was to visit  my friend Fuzzy Wuzzy.  I was surprised when she called me and said she wanted to bike ride with me to a mutual friends house, had her bike ready to go and let's meet at her house to begin the ride. We agreed to meet early to avoid the heat, 7 a.m. She grabbed her helmet, unveiled her very nice mountain bike and we were  ready to go.  As Fuzzy rolled her bike toward the street, I commented that her handlebars were on backwards, which should have been my first clue that this was not a good idea, especially when she said they were supposed to be like that.

Her bike helmet was dusty, and new - Fuzzy said she had never worn it before. Obvious because it dumped off of her head and over her ear. Who am I to tsk away a woman's dream of sweating while mounted on pieces of moving metal? Her cats are following along, thinking they are going with us too, watching her every move intently. Apparently, they go on all her walks with her around the neighborhood. Maybe they were just curious as to what their cat mom was up too, never having seen a bike before. Fuzzy tsks them away, but they just flicked their tails at her and sat on the curb in a row, watching her with big green blinking eyes.

 

On the street, Fuzzy attempts to mount her bike. It's a man's bike and she is short, and has to lay the bike on the ground to get her leg on the other side of the bar. I mentioned that I had recently attempted horizontal bike riding and show her my knees. She accomplished getting astride the bike but her feet can't touch the ground from the seat and she promptly falls over. I hold her upright on the bike and ask her when she rode the bike last? Surprised when she tells me it was when she was 3 inches taller, 7 years ago. "Besides" she says, "It's like riding a horse. I am an excellent rider "  to which I reply, "And when was the last time you rode a horse? " She is a Texan and raised on a ranch, but has been a Californian for 50 years, which was the last time she rode a horse!

Sitting on her bike while I hold her upright, she tries to readjust herself and slides off of the seat, onto the cross bar - resounding  "ouch!" from both of us. The trio of cats meow at us and start rubbing around our legs trying to help.

I've got to give it to Fuzzy. She was determined to ride. I was voicing serious doubts and laments and reminded her that it hurts to fall, again, showing her my scabbed knees and scarred elbows. I am vertically challenged on the best of days. Wondering how to keep her off of her bike and in one piece without insulting her more and avoid the cursing indignation at me for treating her like a baby. Now that she was on the bike seat, she takes a pedal forward and both bike tires go flat, like divine intervention, thus ending our biking adventure without her losing face or skin and I am relieved.

We congratulated each other for getting up so early and trying to ride. We opted for a walk and talk and agreed to try the ride again after her tires are pumped up and she is able to stay upright while riding in circles in front of her house. The cats were elated and followed along after us with tails up right like little flags, showing us the way at times and kept up with us until we circled back to the house.

So, I got 2 hours of exercise along with 2 hours of valuable time of friendship. Fuzzy Wuzzy stayed intact, and now I can claim that I have been on a cat walk and didn't even fall over once!

Most memorable day at Target

The funniest things happen in public restrooms. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because people expect a modicum of privacy or their crazy cuts loose after keeping it tapped down in the public eye.

How many of us have taken the precaution of not touching any surface in the bathroom, making use of the paper seat covers and using a piece of paper towel to open the door so our fingers don't touch the handle? Signs are all over the walls cautioning you to wash your hands thoroughly before exiting the space. Many times I have hung my purse around my neck risking choking or cervical spine injury to avoid having to put it on the floor if the door hook is absent. I've been known to roll my pant legs up to my knees.  Nothing of mine is touching that bathroom floor except the bottom of my shoes. I've never been fond of public restrooms, but very glad they are available when needed. So I find myself at Target in need of this facility.

I was taking care of "business" in the store rest-room. While I'm in my stall, I hear a woman rushing in with her 2 little kids and packing them into the handicapped cubicle at the end of the row all together, cautioning them to not touch anything..... Soon, I hear the mom say, "Ricky! Do not touch that door lock. Stop touching the walls!  Stand up! Get up off of that floor!"

Apparently , Ricky wasn't having it. He wanted OUT.

"Ricky! Get up right now"! Soon, I hear shuffling and a commotion in the stall next to mine. An elderly voice says,  "Oh my!"

Then, here comes Ricky, on his back, sliding along the bathroom floor under every stall. As his head comes into view in my stall, he is all smiles, and as he passes through , scooching along like an upside down worm. I look down at him and say, "Hello there. Where are you going?"

His mother is frantic and shouting, "Ricky!" Just as Ricky is about to clear my stall and heading for the last on the row, 2 hands grab his legs under my door and in a blink of the eye, Ricky is dragged out and disappears. He was laughing so hard. He was making this shopping day fun on his terms.

So glad that Ricky was able to help the store janitor wipe down nearly all the stall floors with  his hair and back side. Maybe he was auditioning for a job position? He is also lucky that he wasn't my child. I would've had to wrap him in saran wrap before putting him into my car on the way to a sterilization chamber and you can bet the head would be shaved just to make sure , well , you know, all of the stray "debris" would be gone for good!

Ricky rates High on the YUCK scale.  He get's  a perfect 10 for most memorable day at Target so far!

Accawesome

My days of being a bachelorette are over. Mr. Man has returned from the east and is back to full occupancy of the manor. The days without him went by so fast! The longest we have been apart and I was worried it would get boring but I kept my chin up and played as hard as I could.

Sadly, my lame attempt at a girls night was a bust. I forgot to save a stay home night and in the last 3 days of living solo, threw together a movie night to prep for the movie Pitch Perfect 2. You have to watch Pitch Perfect  to know the plot of the sequel . I recorded the show days ahead thinking there would be no problem with that. I actually know how to use that play back function of the television. It only takes 1 remote and I have 5 to choose from!

The company was awesome. The food I served was limp. We nestled in to watch the show only to discover the recorded version wouldn't play due to connection issues and we tried direct view rental from Amazon which was surely going to be easy.  That was great if you didn't mind taking a 30 minute nap every 10 minutes of paused movie time....again, poor internet service.  Acca-awful! VERY impressed that one of us had an adult child willing to drive to our rescue, go and rent the movie, bring it over here, plop it into the blue-ray and make it play without any jerking pauses.  Andrew, you are my movie hero! Accawesome!!

You know you have super nice gal pals when they over look the tufts of fur sticking to their black pants and lay panting under an ineffective fan as the air conditioner tries to catch up and cool us off and down play the long wait time between movie scenes. We missed Rebel Wilsons mermaid dance and had to wait 3 hours to see it in play back ! It only took 4 1/2 hours to watch the 1 hour 53 min. movie but it was great having the house guests that provided distraction and entertainment with many belly laughs and a new game called "bead scramble".

One of us knew all the words to every song. . . . in fact, I think she knew all of the dialogue too so when we were missing parts, she filled in without a pause. Accaentertaining!

Looking forward to seeing Pitch Perfect 2 now that I have been Accaprepped and reintroduced to the cast. Just don't ask me to sing harmony. I only do solos in the car on the freeway.

shuffle -ball- change- slide

The Expedition was so dirty and vision out the front windshield blurry and marred by various dead things squished on it. The thought to wash the car on the front lawn crossed my mind, but its Friday and that is the forbidden day to water anything except your pets and children in this town due to the ageless drought. Also, today my street is having work done on a drainage line, and there are plenty of city workers idly standing around with nothing to do except report on water wasters so I'm not risking the citation.

Car Washes are plentiful here, so headed toward the nearest one where I'm offered the "deal of the day detail" for only $10 more than my regular wash. Okay. Why not? I am made of money and maybe a little extra rubbing and spritzing on the old Ford will make it appear shiny and new again.

After 45 minutes of rub activity, my vehicle is ready. Tire detailer is honking my horn and spinning his little blue rag (which doesn't seem to be dirty enough if its been on my wheels). Doubt he has applied much elbow grease in the cleaning effort and start making calculated deductions off his tip dependent on the deficiencies visible to my eye. As I'm walking toward him, I hit a slick spot and start the shuffle-ball change slide in my flip flops. Horrified that I may fall and create a scene in front of this crowd of people I'll never see again, I find my balance and glide toward my car like Dorothy Hamill, or maybe a hockey puck - my arms outstretched and ready to be caught if needed. Well that bubble burst real quick as all the little worker bees scatter away and the one holding the car door and his spinning towel pulls open the door wide and stands behind it, using it like a shield to protect himself from my formidable form. As I reach the door and grab on to it,  He says, "careful lady". CAREFUL??? I comment about the slippery pavement in both English and Spanish and hand him the laminated claim card with tip attached. Nodding, he accepts it,  saying "thank you lady ma'am".

Well , at least I got thanks if not caught. I step up into the Expedition forgetting that the step has been waxed slick, and make a grab for the steering wheel to keep me on my feet. Grapple my way into the drivers seat, which has also been waxed slick and slide out onto the pavement, back into the unmoving towel spinner who keeps his arms to his side not helping. Roll my eyes at him and say, "wow! This is so slippery! It's dangerous! I fell right out! Did you see that?", to which he replies, "Careful lady ma'am. Yes. Have a nice day".

He isn't even phased by my  second exaggerated eye roll and mutterings. I know he thinks I must be intoxicated because I can't stay in the car on my own. Make another attempt to enter the car and take off my flip flops which must be coated in spray wax  from off  the concrete they are so slippery, toss them ahead of me and try it barefooted , easing into the car and grabbing the seat belt until I'm secured in. Towel guy is lightening speed shutting the door to keep me inside.  Take a deep breath now that I'm  strapped to the seat safely and in one piece, smelling the cheap pina colada air freshener and wishing the drink would appear in my hand with an umbrealla pick full of pineapple.

 Now THAT would be very good customer service. I'll just add that to my comment card and drop it into the box .

Iffy Thursday

There I was at the dentists office, running a little late , but hoping not TOO late because then I get cancelled and charged for the visit any way. Hate the dentist chair almost as much as the visit to the  hair salon, (nothing personal Miss Maryann- you know how I hate my hair .) The quest for pearly whites and preservation of the teeth left in my mouth motivate me to suffer the indignity of a strangers fingers in my mouth while they have expectations of verbal responses between gagging and twinges of pain inflicted by pointy instruments jammer betwixt the gum line every few seconds... and I subject myself to this voluntarily bi-yearly.

The morning started  a little 'iffy' with a dash out to the curb with the trash cans , trying to beat the dump truck driver speeding up the street at warp speed at nearly dawn and finding myself, again, in questionable attire out in the public eye. I was not to be deterred though. After seeing the amount of trash that one person has generated over a week was very disturbing and the evidence needed to be dispatched as soon as possible. I actually mixed the trash with some recycle to avoid dragging out a second trash can. Go ahead, fine me So. Cal.

Success achieved at the curb , along with the smile-nod from dump truck driver...we've danced this dance before and I think I was wearing the same costume today...my "usual"- no pants .

On the way back up the walk of shame to the house, I see a little black square on the walkway which I discover is the remote lock to the Expedition. It's totally broken off the car key after what was expected to be a fairly permanent fix 2 months ago when the same problem occurred. Very relieved to have found it waiting right there on the  walk for me and ecstatic that Mr. Sticky fingers didn't find it before me and riffle through my car again. (still waiting for that police report Corona PD).  Not sure what to do with it now but not having it attached to the key caused a few problems last go around when it broke off and I awaited repair. I set is securely in the house on the desk to await its fate. .  . hope it doesn't run off again!

So now I've arrived at the dentists office. As I leave the car my left sandal  falls off . Kicked it under the car when I got out and had to retrieve it from under the car with an umbrella kept around for such rainy day problems. Successfully skip around the nearby mud  with my bare foot but step on somebody's lost ketchup packet and this really grosses me out. De-slime my foot on the patch of dying grass , noting that ketchup really does look like blood and put an extra beat in my heart, and high tail it to the awaiting dental hygienist and my kindly dentist who has known me since I was a child- and I wonder what will I do if he ever retires ? They are all tsks and understanding as I apologize for my tardiness and allow me to disinfect the splatter bits of ketchup on the toes with their hand sanitizer and paper towels, but I still had to suffer the x-rays with the uncomfortable mouth gear that accompanies that.

After an hour, I am done, heading back to the car with my plastic baggie of rewards and incentives to floss more often in the next 6 months. Another toothbrush to add to my collection. I almost have a full rainbow of colored handles that I use for guests who have forgotten that essential item. Finishing the collection colors is almost reason enough to visit the dentist. ALMOST.

As my Expedition comes into view,  I see with dismay that my white sweatshirt jacket has escaped the mess of the car interior and is now laying abandoned and alone in the gutter.  Picking it up, I feel like a hot mess but at least now I have slick white teeth. Another item to add to the growing pile of whites awaiting attention at home. It's only 9 a.m. and I'm wondering if I should venture out again. I had planned a little bike ride but at this rate, I'm going to stay in for a bit and see if its safe or not.

I may take to my bed and try "horizontal running but don't sign me up for cardio" while the fan blows on me and motivational music plays. Let's just call this Iffy Thursday! 

Prepare the child

I'm pretty lonely without my girls. The house is quiet, there is no stray clothing on the floors or chairs, the bathroom counter stays clean and there isn't any olive oil splatter on the stove top right after I've wiped it off. They were never screamers or  fighters, not more than normal sisters at least, but I still hear the echo's of their voices from their rooms. Some times, I think I hear them talking to each other or hear the call  "Mommy" which has always been their name for me, even as grown up as they are.

I talk to them fairly often, and if I don't , I leave pleading messages to call their mother so I can hear the sweetness of their voice. (Most irritating to number one but a mother is driven to guilt when necessary). They have no idea how missed they are. Yes, I tell them often that I miss them and their beautiful faces, but until they have children of their own, they have no idea the enormity of that statement.  Having them live on opposite ends of the United States, is also a trial and the cost to see them is a hurdle for them and me to overcome. In the era of Skype and Facetime, I'm able to interact with them on occasion, cell service being sketchy in number one's part of the Redwoods.

Their father wished them to grow up fast so he could share Sci-fi and Fantasy fiction debates and conversation with them. I warned him against it, but still, he kept saying "I can't wait until they're adults!".  He really didn't think it would happen that fast either.

Empty nest arrived 8 years ago and it's still empty and getting pretty dusty. I keep their rooms ready for them in some kind of silent hope that I'll find them sleeping in their beds , and the place ransacked and a shambles . This is only out of pure selfishness on my part.

Our favorite quote  is, "Prepare the Child for the road not the road for the child."

                                                                                                                     (  Wendy Mogel & Ann Landers)

We have embraced this philosophy and implemented it into our parenting from the beginning .

If you prepare the road repeatedly' the child will falter and be unable to problem solve life's problems. The child will constantly wait and expect the road work to be taken care of before moving ahead on their own.

We have successfully launched and prepped the child. They are both independent and only need us for emotional support and encouragement to keep on doing what they're doing. They continue to succeed in their endeavors. They've done exactly what we raised them to do so I shouldn't be lamenting this empty nest.

Forever I will worry about them. I want them to be blissfully happy and find that fairy tale ever after. As they seek that end, I am ever reminded that they are my heaven sent angels, loved more than any words can express and being their mommy has been the best prize and privilege of this life. The gift of allowing me to parent them and love them is one I thank God for daily and will never be able to repay.

Yes, I miss my girls. The house is quiet, but I know they are on the right road and traveling it on their own terms, sometimes taking the curves a little too fast and exceeding the posted speed limits but always keeping the destination in sight.

I love you Peach and Pookie-do!

You are 5 different colors.

Children are always so honest. They speak their minds and have no social filter when its something that comes into their little heads.

Last week, I was out in the front yard with Captain Morgan. As usual, my ever watchful and vigilant neighbor  the "Meerkat" is out side too with plenty of questions.  She asks me why part of my lawn is dead, comments on the overgrown hedge of lavender bushes between our houses that host plenty of bees that she is afraid of - so I should cut them out, etc . .

Mr. Man comes out of the house to see what's going on out there. He is shirtless. "Meerkat" see's him coming and says, "Chris got big". I turn to have a look and laugh. Well, he isn't 20 years old and sticklike but actually, Chris, (aka Mr. Man) is smaller than usual. She has also mentioned that Captain looks bigger too and probably wants to say the same about me.

Everyone is bigger than little Meerkat. Petite and brown eyed and going to be beautiful as she grows up to look like her momma. . . but her momma never talks to me and apparently doesn't share her daughters inquisitive nature.

Mr. Man greets Meerkat  pleasantly and joins our  conversation. Then she says, "You are 5 different colors Chris," Again, she is spot on. Chris IS 5 different colors, varying in shades of red , pink,white, tan, and dark brown with a defined sleeve and neck line and tank top line making him to appear to be wearing 2 different shirts even though he's bare from the waist up.

Mr. Man is not amused. "I don't need my tan criticized in my own front yard!" and  goes back into the house.

Meerkat is not phased. "Now what are you gonna do? Are you going swimming? Eating dinner?"
No dear, we are not that exciting. We're going to watch Outlander and then go to bed~!

Linner with Mr. Man

I really enjoy going out to lunch or "linner" with Mr. Man during the week. It feels a little more special when neither of us are at work during the week.

We were at a Mexican Restaurant, getting ready to enjoy a celebratory meal. I look across the table at Mr. Man, and he is slumped over in the booth, grunting and making "umph" noises.

"What's going on over there?"

"My shoe came off and I kicked it away. I'm trying to get it."

Hmmm.  Okay, but a few minutes later, I see he is slumped over the other direction.

"Now what's going on?"

"I dropped my napkin and it's under my shoe. "

Wondering if this is going to be the theme of this luncheon, slumping from side to side and making me wonder if this is diner error or a 9-1-1 situation. He finally is upright and looking fairly normal, but his hair is a little mussed and the dimples are standing out in his craggy face from all his exertion.  He reaches for the chips and salsa and most of it falls down his favorite silk shirt. Now he is vexed and I can't help laughing because this is as amused as I've been all day at his expense.

He see's me smirking at him and stuffs his napkin in his waist band, wipes the chunks of salsa off the shirt front then says, "You're paying for lunch".

I am no longer amused.

Flush all you want

Not long ago, I was visiting a state park on water restrictions. Well, it had No water.

California has very little to spare, so I understand the lack of water and this park is very remote.  Needing to use the facilities, I follow the signage down a well tended paved path with decorative foliage marked with descriptive information about each  one. Lovely to be educated on the way to the  bathroom . Doubt I'll remember any the names, and why are they on this path? If you're heading down to the toilets, you're usually in a hurry. No time to be memorizing which plant takes the least amount of water to live and its true Fauna name.

I see my destination up ahead of me, cleverly designed to blend into the landscape of the western town of Bodie. There is also signage explaining this is a waterless facility. All the toilets and sinks are porcelain and brand new.

My stall neighbor starts muttering to herself, then  addresses her waiting friend. . .
"Helen, I can't get this  darn toilet to flush!"
Helen:   "Flush all you want Jean . These are pit toilets."
Jean:     "No! They can't be! I don't use pit toilets!"
Helen:   "I think it's too late Jean. Come out"

Now we are all out at the sinks. Keep in mind these are also waterless. There are sanitizer dispensers on the wall. No water. No paper towels.  I am very amused by this gal. She is truly upset. Nearing hysteria. . . sad that I find such humor in others little situations.

Jean: "Oh my God! I can't believe I just used a pit toilet!!" I never want to use one again."

Helen and I are smiling at each other. Now Jean is trying to wash her hands. The sinks still have a faucet but no knobs. She's waving her hands under it and around in circles trying to get it to come on like the automated ones at Disneyland.

Jean: "This bathroom is crazy! Now the faucet doesn't work!"

I point to the sign that designates this as a waterless bathroom and the hand sanitizer hanging next to the faucet.

Now Jean says, "Oh heavens! This is just awful!!! I need WATER and lots of it to wash my hands!!!!"  She fills her hands with a half cup of sanitizer and looks around for a paper towel. Not finding that, she curses and declares she is in HELL and they need to leave immediately!

Doubt the city girl will be visiting the country any time soon again! This is when a pack of baby wipes and bottled water comes in handy. At least you don't have to worry about the toilet clogging.

"Your bag is wet!"

I try to be ECO-friendly whenever I can. The ban on plastic bag use in California looming over us in the near future has motivated me to try and take canvas shopping bags  into the market or stores if possible. Might as well start training myself to make this the standard.

You have to take your own bags to SAMS club or Costco because they just lay everything into the cart and you've got to unload it item by item anyway. Boxes there are filled to over capacity and impossible to lift our of the cart so I just put the box on top and load it up at the car.

So I find myself in front of SPROUTS and happen to have their canvas bag along with me and decide to run in and buy a few things. At the checkout, I happily give the bagger my tote and wait to pay up. She looks at me with a disgusted look and says, "Your bag is wet!". Well , it was dry when I brought it into the store and dry when I handed it to her. Then, I spot the meat pack and said the unthinkable, "Maybe the meat juice leaked on it a little". To this, she shrieks and rants, saying, "Oh my God! It's MEAT juice?!!! I'm a vegan!  I'm not touching it!" 

Well, dear girl, you  have already touched it. Unlikely that your fingers will melt off and they can be repaired with a little hand sanitizer or thorough washing. You'd think she was asked to pack up nuclear waste. If being a Vegan prohibits you from bagging meat product, you need a career change.

The checker apologizes for her and grabs a plastic bag for my remaining groceries which is exactly what I was tying to avoid. I packed the meat up myself making darn sure there was no sloughed off digits or tissue in my canvas sack.  Bag Girl tells me again how disgusting my tote is to be wet. This was a proud day for me because on the tip of my tongue, I had quite a few  barbed retorts to fire at her, but left her with, " I've got to hurry home so I can squeeze the meat juice out of this bag for my gravy. Thanks for pointing it out to me."   Waste not, want not.

By the way, it wasn't even meat juice. It was wet lettuce.

I can't see out. . . can you see In?

Do you have a dog? Does it lick your windows and your sliding glass doors? How are the back windows of your vehicle? Does it match the house windows?

It's disgusting to try and look out at the yard and peer through layers of nasty slopper; gooped upon the inside and the outside of the door. It's one of those endless chores to try and keep the slimy spittle off. I can wipe it clean, then close the screen door to prevent direct contact, but the dog sits there and spits through the screen barrier or  mashes it up to the glass with his snotty nose and licks both.

Check out window and door licking on the internet . There are thousands of photos of just about every warm blooded...and a few cold as well...licking the glass.

What is the draw to licking the door? A silent plea to let the creature in or out? Most of the time, Captain's licking is mindless. Leaning against the glass and just smoothing it out with that tongue. He appears bored until he see's me and then smiling at me as if the rhythmic laps beckoned me to open the door.  Too bad Captain's tongue isn't covered in Windex and a Brillo sponge!

If the window is dirty, then I'm looking through cloudy film and mud crusts. Equally disgusting. I know people who have just given up cleaning the sliders completely, incorporating the sludge smears into the general décor. Can you blame them? It's as cyclic as trying to keep the toothpaste splatters off the bathroom mirrors .

It's bad enough to have a dog licking the doors and windows, but now the cat has joined in, adding paw prints to the lick lines,  higher than is naturally possible. The Cat paw prints smear upward toward the ceiling. He must get a long running jump to accomplish this, but to ensure they leave their mark, Ensign licks his feet before running up the sliding glass door.

Today, I have just wiped the front window clean, left the room for more towel and return to see both creatures sitting there licking the window in unison. Now I know it's a pet conspiracy. 

Arming myself with another bottle of pure ammonia and ready to battle the licks again! Not sure I should bother.  I can't see out, so can anyone see in?

Inventing the  automated- licker offer cleansing system for all smooth surfaces- TODAY!

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