I lost her in produce

The day to find out if the little mother, Mr. Man's 90 year old mum, can do some shopping on her own. She has been staying with us for the last few months having eye surgery and recovering from the loss of her beloved after 72 years. She has done fairly well but has not acclimated to living with her amazon daughter -in-law and her baby boy. We have faced many challenges and obstacles together, her and I. She is 4 foot 7 inches and weighs 100 lb. I outweigh her by nearly double and tower over her at 5 feet 10 inches.

I have lost track of her in department stores, (she is shorter than the clothing racks), the library, the drug store and now at the supermarket. Strangers want to hug her because she is so little and cute. I get angry face. No checker or manager has ever run around a counter and given me a hug because I was little and "darling to the max!"

It is anticipated that mom move into a small apartment less than a mile from 3 of her grandchildren and one of her 4 sons. To do that, she must be able to provide herself with basic care and hygiene, feed herself and know who and how to call for help. Today was our marketing day. I was there for support but was overseeing her purchases to make sure she was finding all the items on her list. Her eye sight is not good, even after bilateral cataract surgery and it seems she has difficulty reading the microscopic writing on the labels. Her food choices were brightly colored and large lettered on the labels. (A genius marketing choice by Best foods, and Nabisco products).

I lost her in produce and toured around the store looking for her little white head. I had her wear a bright blue shirt so she could be spotted easily from afar but this was doing me no good. It seemed to be little old lady day with dozens of white heads and blue shirts of various shades. None of them was short enough. I was beginning to think she had left the store without me and now wandered lost in the town but I caught a glimpse of  her in the unlikeliest of places - behind a cardboard display in the pet food aisle - looking for cereal. I directed her to the cereal aisle and told her to meet me at the checkout lane when she was done.

When I saw her coming toward me pushing the shopping cart, she looked like a child, her head just above the handlebars. She was very excited at her find of the Hostess pastry display at an end-cap, and she shows me her choices of hostess cupcakes and chocolate donuts. We check out and get home- Time spent shopping is 2 hours 15 minutes. The ice cream has melted. A sad loss.

 At home,We are putting our groceries away and little mother is dismayed. Her donuts, cupcakes and box of triscuits are missing. We check all the empty bags and I search the car. Sighing to myself , I head back to the market with the store receipt, approach the same cashier and ask if we have left a bag behind or did it fall off the conveyor belt? She shakes her head no but tells me to get what I have missed and apologizes. No problem. I find the awesome hostess display, resist the twinkies, and check out again. Grand total is $3.10.  As I arrive home, there is little mother, distraught. She is showing me her purse and opening it up and closing it and saying she is sorry. Then I realize, in her excitement to get home with her donut mini pack, she had put them in her purse for safe keeping, along with the rather large triscuit box. She tells me she is probably going to hell for making me go back to the store for something she had all along and I will be going with her because now I am a thief! Assuring her that I will NOT be joining her in Hades, and doubt a theft less than $5 constitutes any prison time. I will make a donation to the stores collection for March of Dimes.

I've told the little mother now that she has made me a thief, am I doomed to be sold off to a brothel next? She is laughing nervously, telling me she is truly repentant and she just won't eat the donuts but I should. Refusing the offer of tainted food obtained illegally-even if it was in error- because at least one of us has some moral standard.

It is 8 hours later and the donuts, cupcakes, and triscuits sit untouched. She won't take them to her room . She's hearing them call her "Liar!" She's saying she will need to ask a priest to forgive her.

Thankfully, I am already forgiven, and do not need a priest to tell me so. I just need to ask Jesus to forgive me and all is well. He died on the cross for all of our sins. This is what Easter is all about. He knows I will make it right with the market. All is well. My conscious is clear. I tell little mother she can rest easy. The police are not coming for her or me. Eat the donuts and enjoy every sweet bite. We are all sinners every day and all we have to do is accept Jesus into our hearts and ask for pardon of our sin sincerely.

Don't let any Hostess product lead you down the path of thievery!!

Happy Easter Everyone.

channeling Pete Seeger and gardening

El Nino has apparently come and gone. All the hype about flooding, freezing weather and massive snowfall  was just that...hype. Yes, we had a few days of heavy rain and it flooded one day. Yes, a lot of snow fell, just not in the Sierras where it is needed most during our eternal drought. The weather has turned unseasonably warm and confused all the citrus so it is now re-blooming and preparing to grow again even though its months ahead of schedule. Unseasonably warm at 90 degrees in February and in the high 70's and 80's in March, there is no sign of the rains here in our wettest month.

I have a little 8 foot by 8 foot garden behind my house that can only be seen from the bathroom window. It is my little secret place and I am the only one who ever goes into it. It dies off in the winter, and gets replanted around Easter. This year, the garden was confused as to what season it was in and went crazy wild growing the vines in every direction and the weeds sprouted overnight to beanstalk heights!

I started to dig out the garden March 1. Stripping it of all the overgrown plants and removing the pots of various dead things until I found the garden path  built from brick pavers buried there. The bird bath had fallen over and was in need of repair. In the corner a little light caught my eye. There she was, my garden Fairy, laying face down in the mud, her little hand extended above the dirt and holding her little garden globe as an SOS beacon. She was in a dismal state with rusted wings, broken off leg and her perch broken in half.

Grateful for her rescue, I gave her a make over and replaced her on her throne to oversee the garden creatures and beckon the butterflies, hummingbirds and finches into the garden.

I sang the garden song to the new plants, channeling Pete Seeger to encourage them to take root. I gave them extra fertilizer to ensure that any tomatoes or herbs brave enough to grow, would have a chance to thrive. The Fairy bobbles and waves her globe to place a rainbow over the newest additions. Garden lizards have returned to make their nests under the geraniums.

My little garden is happy. I am happy. Next time you visit, take a peek out the bathroom window. I hope it makes you happy!

disclaimer: pictured above is NOT my garden but it is my vision for it! I'll post photos when it gets a little more grown up.

The dreaded TSA line

I enjoy traveling. Well, let's say I enjoy going to a new place and experiencing what it offers...then I want to go home.

I really like getting places fast and there is no faster transportation than an airplane. I like to fly. I love to fly. My angst is the airport itself and getting through the TSA line. After I have parked myself by the gate, I am good to go. 

It really isn't unusual to have a fear of flying, or of crowds. I have none of that. My great stressor is getting through the security check and having enough time to get to my plane, without having to hoof it a quarter mile to the flight gate and beat the current distance run record. 

Mr. Man hates to wait for flights so he times his arrival so that sitting by a gate to get onto the plane  isn't even an option. He likes to keep moving and get on as the gate is closing, therefore, not having to wait or lose a precious minute. I don't mind waiting at the gate. I would rather wait so I can collect my thoughts, distress and look like flying around the U.S.A is a daily habit. (God help me if I fly internationally. What will THAT do to me?).

On my last trip, I had many prayer warriors, and friends texting me words of encouragement and hope, praying for travel mercies and safety.  They seem to understand that airports and security lines are my greatest angst. We all have our little quirks and stressors and this is mine.

I was traveling alone this trip. Demanding  Mr. Man to take me to the airport 4 hours before my flight. We compromised and left 3 1/2 hours, allowing 1 hour and 30 minutes for travel to LAX. Well, we made it 50 minutes, which was a good thing because I was detailed searched and my carry on bags emptied and searched, x-rayed 3 times and it was certain my bag would be glowing from all the radiation! When I got the bags back, my wallet and cell phone were gone, oops! and TSA had put them in their little bowl and "forgot" about them. I was instructed to find a bus which took me to a remote airport 10 minutes from the main terminal, showing us the backside of LAX and luxurious private jets not meant for us, and had 20 minutes to settle down before my flight boarded.

So, okay, I made it on. A little inconvenienced and stressed but I made it. The 3 hour drive after the flight to my final destination was a breeze and I had 3 days before having to do it again to go home.

Returning to home sweet home came sooner than I thought it should, but again, returning the rental car the 3 hours back to the airport was a cinch.

As I entered the departure terminal, there was little signage about where my plane was going to be. Finding the one digital screen at the entrance, I made note of the gate and headed to the dreaded TSA line. Heart beating faster as I approached, I was nearly there when I noticed my Drivers License was missing, sliding out of its protective sleeve meant to protect and secure it. OMG! Recovering the ninja warrior buried deep within, I leapt over and under security tapes, slid down the stair case and broke into a gimping middle aged girl run with flailing arms and baggage bumping along behind not sure of which direction the wheels should turn, Why hadn't I taken up marathon running?

Retracing my steps toward the entrance I was trying to calm myself from becoming a hysterical person and truly considered laying down on the floor and wait for the EMS to take me away. Hyperventilating, I felt my blood pressure rise to stroke level and my vision blurred as I panted and sweat throughout my search.

Dragging my luggage all the way back to the entrance, there was my ID, on the ground face up, right in front of the departure screen I had looked over 20 minutes before . I watched as strangers trod over my image not noticing the importance of the ID and with inner reflection of their own battles to gain entrance to the flight gates.

Retrieved the ID and I fell into a chair, and raised up a thankful prayer that I had found the one thing that I needed to get through the dreaded security line and homeward and also that I avoided having a stroke, seizure, apopletic fit, hysteria or heart attack.

As I made my way back to the security line and scrutiny of the officers there, I was asked to step out of the line, and into a vacant check point. Anxiety returning, I was like a lamb submitting to slaughter.

Here is the happy side. I had been tagged very low security risk due to the extensive search leaving LAX  4 days before, and got the free pass through the screening and prodding! Walk on through, do not stop, green light and GO!

Sitting outside my gate with 1 hour and 15 minutes to spare, I had a cold drink, washed my face, took an aspirin ,used the facilities, ate a snack and chatted on the phone. Yes, I did appear to be a seasoned traveler. Outwardly calm and content. The essence of peace. My inner turmoil dissipating as flight time approached.

Once again, as I travel home on the plane, I'm pleased to be going back to my life that I try not to take for granted and hoping that the people waiting for me realize how beloved they are to me and it's never as much fun without them.

And the best: There is Captain Morgan, barking and smiling at me, running around in circles, batting me in the legs with his Frisbee, ready to begin the game where we left off.

There really is no place like home!

No more monkey's swingin' on the bed!

I spent half a lifetime working on the Pediatric unit at the local hospital.

The children on this unit are never critical but can be really sick.

One of my 2 year olds, (James T.) , had been there for several days and had just turned the corner from really sick to just sick. He had been a model patient, laying quietly in his crib, hooked up to his monitors and IV fluids , watching TV and playing with his cars. Parents are encouraged to stay at the child's bedside but this little boy had 5 siblings age 0-6  , and his mom wasn't able to stay with him. Still, he was pretty compliant and never tried to escape his crib with plastic extended sides and lid 4 feet above the mattress- pretty much a cage.

I used to make rounds frequently on the kids, especially those without parents bedside or in Isolation and James T. was no exception.

 James T. was within ear shot of my nursing station, in an Isolation room, but not in line of sight. I heard an unusual noise coming from his room. I went to check and he was laying there all smiles. Left, went back to the desk, and hear the noise again. Checking on James T., He is laying at the opposite side of the bed, IV line twisted. Straighten him out, chat with him and settle him down. After a few more minutes, the noise reoccurs. This time, I was just outside James' room and walk right in. Shocked to see him hanging on the upper bar of his crib, swinging on it like a trapeze artist, getting his feet planted firmly on the cribs side rail for leverage. He has almost worked his head through the plastic roof and ready to hang himself. Horror of horrors! He is still all smiles and pleased at his new found ability and the possibility of escape. Somehow, he found what little bounce was left in the old crib mattress.  He has been caught and now we need to find a safer solution for confinement.

I discussed James T. near escape and hanging with his physician. A plan was made. He got a room upgrade, a bedside playmate (volunteer) and plans for an early discharge. A happy ending for all of us.

No more monkeys swingin' on the bed!

EXCUUUUUSE ME!

I was enjoying a therapeutic shopping day with a friend. She accompanies me occasionally to provide clucking encouragement and discerning judgment when mine fails me. 
 I have my handful of stores that give me joy just to walk around in  and look . I'm not a big shopper and when I do shop, I make sure one of my favorite stores is included in the shopping rounds.
We found ourselves walking through a store enjoying its music selection. (Hobby Lobby) . Neither one of us were finding anything we were really looking for but we strolled down each aisle pushing our empty carts along just in case we did.
My way was blocked in the middle of one aisle by a woman and her cart. The woman was texting on her cell phone and didn't move aside when she saw me.
 "Excuse me", I said. No response or movement.
"Ugh, pardon me". Still no response.
I tapped her on the shoulder and asked, "could I get by you?"
Her reply; "You'll have to wait until I'm done texting here."
I look behind me at my friend to share an indignant glance , and a scowling squint, with  lower lip bite. I turn back to deal with the aisle blocker. . .  I freakin' don't think so! I shoved Ms. Texter aside with my cart, using it as a plow.

She gives me a LOOK which is no match for mine. It took all of my self  control to stop from grabbing her phone and smacking her on the head with it .

I'm not sure what the correct etiquette is for this behavior. I didn't have Emily Posts book handy.  Guess I'll write my own!

If the shoe fits....

I have freakishly large feet. It has always been so.

Shopping for shoes as a child was a horror show. My mother could not understand why my feet kept growing. It got to the point that she had to drive me and my two fat feet all the way to another county, where there was a "special" shoe store for people like me

I know the shoe store was intended to shod people with orthotics, flat feet, stumpy feet, crippled feet.

It carried few shoes in my size range and I usually had the choice of 2-3 pretty ugly shoes. The trip to the specialty shoe store was an all day affair, ending in frustration and tears from my mother, fits of refusal from me and the purchase of an expensive, ugly pair of shoes that I was only to wear to school so they would last longer. Thankfully, my feet grew extensively longer and fatter and I only had the ugly shoes less than a year if I was lucky.

My father told me to wear shoe boxes and made me a pair of shoebox shoes as a joke. Glad that it was only a joke but I was equally glad to have gone barefoot for most of my outdoor days or wear flip flops every single day of summer. A perpetual bloody stubbed toe was my badge of honor and survival.

I had to turn down being a bridesmaid in 2 weddings because of the required footwear for the occasion. Humiliating but true.

I wore mens sneakers and sandals (still do) every day unless there was a special occasion or I was forced into a dress for school. For band recitals, when long dresses and nice shoes were required, I wore way too small shoes that came off the second the concert was over and I walked barefooted to the car.

As an adult, the quest for footwear has been just as difficult. Not so much the length any longer. Thankfully, women have grown taller and their feet longer; its the width that proves the challenge.

We all have our little imperfections to deal with as we grow up. Feet were mine. Forget acne, split ends, jelly belly or cellulite. Feelings of nausea and insecurity still strike me as I enter any shoe store.

I relive the days of shoe managers and salesmen making horrid comments about my feet. The last was at a Nordstroms where the manager was called to deal with me and told me they could not help me there so I would have to find another shoe store to order my shoes. That was a pivotal day for me. The first time I stood up for me and my feet, offering to stick one in his mouth or up his rear. . . his choice. I also wrote to the company. Although it only got me an apology and I was still shoeless.

Now that we have worldwide internet, my hours and days spent seeking shoes are shrunk. I have had much better success and suffered no further assault to my psyche.

I have to give a shout out to PAYLESS SHOES who have carried super sizes for women for decades and helped in my quest of appropriate shoes by calling associate stores. The shoes are never comfy, but suffice, are inexpensive and last.

 If you hate odd feet, have a little foot fetish or consider any shoe size over an 11 WWW to be abhorrent, keep your comments to yourselves or risk impalement by flying foot.

I am what I am, I stand tall and upright with my feet planted firmly on the ground. If the shoe fits, I wear it- Mens or womens.

Make the most of the dash

I read a quote today that I have read before but didn't give it too much consideration.

"Your life is made of two dates and a dash. 
  Make the most of the dash."

This made me stop and really soak in the words. Best case scenario, I get to live the second half of my life in perfect health and mind, experiencing all those activities on my bucket list. I'm already past the half century mark and realistically, I only have a third of my life left!

What have I done to make that dash between my beginning and end really stand out?
It seems as if I've been waiting for a period of my life to  wind down so I could do something super awesome, but its always put off because I am waiting on another life change to occur.
My life has definitely been subdivided. . . . College, marriage, have children, grow the children, launch the children, career and the race to retirement. Now what?

Now that there's time in my days,  I am running out of them and the stuff I really want to fill them in with is pricey - like touring Europe, cruising around famous islands, climbing Mt. Whitney, going on a shopping spree and only shopping from the non-clearance items. Flying around the world visiting friends and family instead a occasional texts or phone calls.

I'm hoping for out of reach hopes and dreams to appear. . .like owning an amazing house on a hill with a breath taking view to decorate and the invention of a body molder that sucks off the fat and tones your muscles until you look like a 27 year old poster girl for Women's Health magazine. Pipe dreams yes, but great dash fillers.

I It's time to make my mark in this wide world and figure out what God's purpose for me here is. Surely there is more. I hope so! Other wise my dash is done and I have lost my opportunity.

I am proclaiming the year of 2016 the beginning of a new dash chapter. Join me. Don't let your dash end with unresolved dreams and hopes. I'm sure going to give it my best!