If at First You Don't Succeed....

As promised here’s an update on my joint replacement progress; if it’s something you are contemplating this may be a more significant column for you to digest. 

Last Monday, August 31^st, I was feeling very cocky about my recovery.  It was five weeks to the day after a very uneventful surgery.  I had arrived at the hospital in pain and left with little to no pain; in the five weeks since that time I had seldom needed a pain pill or had any problems.  Finally I'd been downgraded from a walker to the cane, but I’d given up on that too because my own clumsiness with the cane made me fear it might cause me to fall.  I was now “full weight bearing” and steaming forward!  That is until the doorbell rang……….

Opening the door is always an event at our house because our dog, Molly, feels it’s her duty to decide whether to welcome or deflect anyone at the door…the volume and bouncing are the same in either case.  As she jumped up on my leg to make sure I knew we had a visitor I reached down to scratch her head to calm her.  I must have twisted wrong, because that slight movement started a nauseating sliding sensation inside my right hip that soon became a crescendo of pain.  My brand new hip seemed to have developed a mind of its own.

I dropped to the floor on my left side, raised onto my elbow, and stayed in that position for the next five or six hours in the emergency room.    Within five minutes some nice rescue squad fellows wrapped and belted me in that position before they gingerly lifted me onto a gurney and took me to the ER.  They understood any movement caused me excruciating pain, and they did their apologetic best to move me with as little jostling as possible.  Their mothers would be proud.

Suffice it to say that it was a completely unpleasant experience, and I’ve berated myself for even bending a little bit.  I was lucky they were eventually able to knock me out and put the hip back into the socket without another operation.  I knew when I left the hospital that I had follow-up appointments for a brace and a meeting later with my surgeon. 

Sitting around before my appointments the family and I tried to figure out what a “hip brace” might look like.  My thought was a very tight girdle-like contraption, maybe with some kind of insert to keep the hip area as rigid as possible…what else could it be?

Arriving at the prosthetics company today I met with a young man who artfully fitted me for my brace.  You know that girdle thing?  Forget it!  My right hip is now encased in plastic, foam rubber, metal rods and Velcro from waist to knee.  I can only describe it to you this way:  Let’s say you head to the Halloween costume store determined to be a Star Wars Storm Trooper this year.  As you dig through their inventory you discover they only have a quarter of the costume on hand!  

Disappointed, but still determined to wear it, you put on the right leg to the Storm Trooper costume and head to the door.  Just as you’re exiting the building someone says, “Hey lady…you having some kind of hip trouble?”  That’s what my brace looks like, only not quite as attractive.

Later in the day I met with my surgeon, a nice looking young man who was wearing his “I think we discussed this” face.  He assured me I have torn muscles and ligaments but the implant doesn’t seem to be damaged.  I think that was the good news.  The bad news that followed was that I must wear the Star Wars brace 24/7 for the next six weeks while the soft tissue heals and grows to hold the implant in place.   We are starting over as far as healing goes, so I’m back to square one, doing very little except whine.   Hopefully this dislocation was a fluke, but if it happens again there may be more surgery in my future.

 

There are so many things I’ve been looking forward to doing after this hip heals; I (and everyone who cares about and for me) have been living this “hip” saga for six long months now.  Even the smallest things have been difficult to do, and now with this brace that has ramped up about a hundred percent.   I’d throw myself a pity party but I don’t have a thing to wear that even remotely compliments this darned brace.  I just have to put my gratitude and my mind in the right gear and get on with it.

If you’re facing joint replacement, and I’ve met so many people who are since this has happened to me, please don’t let this scare you out of the surgery.  Just remember that this is a rather rare event, and if it’s going to happen to anyone it’s going to be me. 

Yes....it's set-back, but this too, in time, shall pass.  Thankfully there’s nothing here that a glass of wine, a good cry, and a Star Wars costume won’t fix.

                                                         Life is Good

                                                      

Walking the Walk

         

Tomorrow it will have been four weeks since I received my new right hip.  I know it’s not as glamorous as Bruce (Caitlyn) Jenner’s surgeries…not as ground breaking as the first face transplant…and not as obvious as a well done face lift…but it’s made a big change in my life.

I came home from the hospital in less pain than when I went in.  The first week I admit I felt rather fragile, wobbly and exhausted.  By the middle of the second week that had begun to change, and I found myself challenging the 6 to 8 week recovery estimate.  After pushing too hard and discovering the surgery may have been on my hip, but it still had the upper hand, I backed off and allowed my body to manage this recovery at its chosen pace.  My impatient nature had whispered to me if recovery for everyone else was six weeks, I’d be back on a bicycle in two.  If most patients used a walker for up to eight weeks, I’d be rid of that contraption much sooner.  My silly nature didn’t know what the heck it was talking about….and not for the first time, I might ad.

If you are facing joint replacement you need to know that, at least in my case, it has been accompanied by very little pain.  You also need to realize that being nearly painless does not mean being a cake walk.  I was amazed by how much the surgery drained me.  As I reach the four week mark I am now back to a normal energy level, but I still cannot push my body too far before it reminds me that four weeks really isn’t all that long.

I visited my surgeon’s office last week, x-rays were good and I’m progressing well.  I will be allowed to drive soon, and they told me I could begin to use a cane instead of a walker.  That was music to my ears!  I went home and immediately, put the walker away, grabbed my cane and took off.  By days end I was uncomfortable, experiencing pain and muscle spasms.  As I swallowed a pain pill and headed off to bed I realized I was going to have to think things thru a bit.  Now, a few days later, I am still weaning myself off the walker, allowing my new hip to experience full weight bearing a little slower, and using the cane as long as it is comfortable. 

I know there are some of you who read this blog who are facing joint replacement, and that’s why I wanted to share my experiences with you.   Being the personality type who has to make all the mistakes before she learns anything, I thought there might be some valuable information I could pass along….so here, for what it’s worth, is what I’ve learned:

Don’t let your fear of surgery keep you from reclaiming your quality of life.  Just do it…..

Don’t expect to be running a 5k two weeks after surgery….but know that you will very likely be able to do that in a reasonable amount of time.

Let your body be your doctor.  If you’re tired, lie down….if it hurts stop.  There is no glory in joint replacement martyrdom.

Take this moment in time to delete junk from your laptop…read the books series you’ve been saving in the back of the closet; do whatever it takes to relax and allow yourself the time to heal.  Give yourself permission to invest the time necessary to regain your health!

 Remember when it comes to recovery that slow and steady wins the race…and it’s not a race.

From here on out my recovery will hopefully be a matter of graduating completely to using a cane, then putting that cane into the back of the closet where it belongs.  I look forward to gradually increasing the distance I can walk outdoors, maybe even being able to enjoy some late fall days on the bike trail if the weather holds out. 

Like everything else, this has been a learning experience.  Just a year ago this cane belonged to my mother.  She hated the darned thing, always retracing her halting steps to find it hanging on a drawer pull or door knob.  I had no idea that less than a year later she would be gone and I would be looking for that same doggoned cane; at this very moment I believe it’s hanging on the dishwasher handle.

My healing ritual continues to be quite simple…sunshine and coffee in the porch swing, with a side of thankfulness.

                                                                   Life is Good 

The Night Strider

Here I am, starting the second week of recovery; hard to believe that just a week ago I was still struggling to get the anesthetic cobwebs out of my brain.  Since discovering I needed a new hip I've talked to so many people in the same situation over the last few weeks, joint replacement seems to be as common as a hair appointment.  Getting through the recovery period, however, is not.

I've been very fortunate to have had minimal pain as this new hip and I struggle to settle into the same nest.  While I feel fortunate to be feeling as well as I do I struggle with my biggest frustration, that of getting around.  I've discovered going from point A to point B using a walker pegs my fun meter in very short order.  Every time I relocate I need both hands for the walker and a carry out boy for my ice bags, iPad, cell phone, magazines, coffee cups, etc.   If joint replacement has come so far why haven't the appliances needed to get you through to recovery kept pace?  After giving it a lot of thought, and in order to make my own downtime more productive, I am hard at work designing a new walker specifically for us baby-boomers.  It's hard to project an accurate time frame, but it should be on the market just about the time President Trump is sworn in.  I'm not quite finished, but I think the  infomercial should go something like this:


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Introducing the amazing new walker, designed specifically for the baby boomer generation!!    You enjoyed the sleek, black lines of Kip on Knight Rider...now meet "Cecil, the Night-Strider".

                            Background music: Ricky Nelson, Traveling Man

Fade in:  The video shows the front view of a shiny black walker, a red light travels back and forth, back and forth, between the handles.  An attractive, athletic 70-ish David Hasselhoff is in the foreground, sitting in a recliner with his leg in a cast .  He looks up from his news paper and speaks to the walker:

"Cecil, it's that time again.  Come here and help me to the bathroom".

As if by magic the walker moves toward the recliner, then turns around and backs itself into position. As the smiling Hasselhoff grabs the walker, it growers taller, lifting him from his sitting position.

"Thanks, Cecil..."

The walker replies (in George Burns voice), "The next surgery is going to be that prostate of yours.  You're wearing me out!   Here, give me that coffee mug.  You wanna ruin the carpet?"  A mechanical arm from Cecil's side takes the coffee mug  and news paper so David can use both hands to support himself on the walker.  A second mechanical arm from Cecil's other side smooths Hasselhoff's satin robe as they head off down the hallway to the bathroom.

           ( Fade out:  Cecil and Hasselhoff turn the corner in the hallway)

Night-Strider is a welcome advancement in mechanical assistance!  It's cutting edge voice activation system is vastly programmable to adapt to specific needs that restore mobility and independence as you work toward recovery.  In addition to making the patient more self sufficient, the verbal sparring feature helps keep his/her mind sharp.  Night-Strider is available in two models:  Cranky Uncle Cecil and Sharp-Tongued Mabel.   Unlike human assistants, Cecil and Mabel each have an off switch.

Additional features that may be added include: timed pill dispenser, insulin injection arm, food dispenser and oxygen transporter.  Our sleep apnea patients will want to watch for the January launch of the special edition "Cecil-C-pap".  Ask your operator for details.

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Maybe I've had too much frustrating time on my hands, or maybe the pain medication causes the creative neurons to miss-fire...whatever the explanation I think there's a real future for The Night Strider.   Unfortunately I don't have a prototype ready to use as I recover from this hip replacement so I guess I'll just have to give some thought to other solutions.  Let's see...maybe if I tied the belt from my bathrobe to the handle of my gardening scooter.......hmmmmmm.

                                                          Life is Good

Without A Leg to Stand On

Fifty years ago today President Lyndon Johnson signed into effect the Medicare/Medicaid act.  I was eighteen years old and probably missed that event; I certainly didn’t think I’d ever have any use for it if I even realized what a monumental thing it was.  Today I am home recovering from what will very likely be a fifty thousand dollar surgery, and I am thankful LBJ left that as his legacy.   The same surgery without the assistance of Medicare would have been as financially painful as it is physically challenging.   The irony is not lost on this patient.

Monday, July 27^th

 was my “grand opening”, and I now have a new hip.  I came home yesterday, the second day after surgery, and I promised to be honest about the experience.   My total summation:  Not bad.

The week before surgery we had an orientation day.  Larry and I went to the hospital to meet the staff and learn about the joint replacement department of Galion Hospital.  They fed us lunch, explained their program, and introduced us to staff members who were available to answer our questions. It was a nice touch because joint replacement is a scary thing.  I think it was at that very point I really understood there is very little room for error in these procedures if you want a good outcome.  Now it was really serious…..

Sunday evening my surgeon, Dr. Foster, called to make sure I didn’t have any unanswered questions, although I’m sure he must have felt like a contestant on Jeopardy after our previous meeting.  When I first started having so much pain my desire was to find a treatment to extend the life of my own hip; by the time I met with Doctor Foster I had satisfied myself that the only way to get my life back was to have a hip replacement.  I read up on the different types of replacements and the procedures for their installation.

If you are facing joint replacement I urge you to consider what travel might add to the mix.  I have friends who have had their surgery in Columbus or Cleveland, and I’ve heard good things about the results.  For me that wasn’t as appealing because my own problem had advanced to the point that sitting upright had become incredibly painful.  A two hour round trip in either direction for testing, registration and orientation was more pain than I was willing to tolerate.   We have some excellent surgeons and hospitals right here at home, and I am glad I took advantage of that.  I chose Dr. Foster because he had performed a hip replacement on my mother, and he had impressed me with his skill and after care. 

This past Monday morning found us driving through the early morning haze to arrive at the hospital at 6:30 a.m.  I can’t say I approached it with dread, but there was very little conversation in the car as Larry and I arrived at the hospital.  I think I actually felt a mixture of hope and resignation.  For three and a half months I’d been in a great deal of pain, unable to sit for long, walk very far, and hardly driving at all.  Now I could see that confinement coming to an end…but not without “investment pain” to get me there.  But I did feel confident I’d see improvement daily after the procedure instead of the steady slide into even more severe pain.

This was prep time.  My feet were marked for pulse points, and the right one was marked with a smiley face to insure the correct hip got the attention needed.  Then, after I was as sterile as one can possibly be and the IV was in place (always the worst part!),  I was off to the operating room.

As I was rolled under the big lights I noticed a figure standing to my left; it wore a clear face shield and helmet, a blue gown and scrubs and it looked like an alien.   I tried not to watch as the alien carefully placed some frightening looking instruments into their proper places on a blue draped table.  The Marquis De Sade would have been thrilled to have this great array of instruments at his disposal.  It only took a second for me to realize I didn’t want to have the vision of these things in my mind, so I quickly changed my 'mind channel' to Pinterest and thought about decorating as I drifted off to sleep.  I may be frivolous, but I’m not stupid.

I am told everything went like clockwork; I vaguely remember waking for a few minutes surrounded by my family, then nothing else till much later in the evening.  I did not wake to a blaze of pain, which I found amazing.  Dr. Foster had explained that the wound would have something placed in it to keep pain at bay for up to 36 hours, I was very happy to realize he knew what he was talking about!  That evening I got out of bed and walked a little way down the hall with the assistance of some very nice gals, the next day I made two much longer sorties outside the room to therapy.  By the time I left on Wednesday afternoon moving was becoming easier and less painful.

Now I’m home and on the mend, but this is still only the third day after surgery.  On the ever popular pain scale of one to ten I would list my current discomfort as a two, spiking to a three or four as I get up from bed.  I also have to think about moving, which is awkward.  The restrictions include not pivoting on the right leg, not crossing my legs, and not bending into more than a 90 degree angle.  As long as I give those directions the thought they deserve my pain is short lived and quite tolerable.  When I don't I have come to an intimate understanding of what a great instructor pain can be.  Dr. Foster says there will be good days and bad days, just take it easy and let your body heal.  

If you are headed down the path to joint replacement I urge you to go through your house and think about how you will manage on a walker.  Some temporary adjustments can do wonders to help you through recovery.  Those little changes and assists will mean a lot because every movement is ten time more difficult when you get home.  To prepare yourself I strongly recommend using hand weights to keep up the strength in your arms because they are your most dependable mode of transportation after surgery.   Do your homework on your physician and hospital; there is an enormous amount of information available to you on the web.  Make your choices, then plant your feet on the road to recovery and get on with it.  

Since this physically painful chapter in my life I’ve been thinking about what it must have been like a hundred years ago without this kind of surgery available.   The surgical techniques, implants, and drugs required to restore a persons health and movement just didn't exist.   I am so grateful to live in the day and age where we have these minor miracles.  Even considering all the stress and strain these are really the good old days.

I am in less pain today than I was when Larry and I drove through the early morning hours to the hospital just four days ago, and that says it all.   For the next six weeks I plan to read, write and relax. Patience has never been my strong suit, but God knows I am trying to learn.  I’m very lucky to have the world’s best friends and family who seem to take great pleasure in reminding me when I forget. 
I am anxious to see what the next couple of weeks bring.

Thanks to all of you for the prayers that went up on my behalf and the kind thoughts that came my way….Life is Good.

It's time to get out of this joint.

I’ve been absent from blogging for a good long time.  Somehow this year seems to have drained my creative energies and left me adrift in a sea of lethargy.  I hope this is my first step out of those energy sapping waters.

The past nine months have seen a lot of change in my life, and that can be draining.  My current challenge has inspired me to get back to blogging in the hopes that it might help someone who’s going thru the same thing.

One of several big changes in the last few months is a new house.  After living in the same house for 36 years we stopped at an open house on a lark, fell in love with the place and bought it on the spot.  My husband and I are not snap decision makers, so this was totally out of character for us.  Somehow, even though we’ve had longer discussions about where to go for lunch, we jumped in with both feet.   

And so it was that we found ourselves in our new home surrounded by boxes of belongings we had forgotten we owned, too much furniture, and each of us in too much pain to do much of anything.  Filling and lifting boxes had wrecked my husband’s back the day before the movers arrived.  Trying to pick up the slack I discovered my right hip became more painful every day; by the time we were actually in the new house I could hardly walk.  With the help of family and friends who have now reached ‘sainted’ status we managed to get moved into the new house.  With their continued efforts (and that of some folks we hired to help us out) we got the old house ready for the market and listed.   At first the new house had all the charm of a jumbled unit at a Store and Lock It, but slowly it has become home.  There is still a lot to be done…but some things will just have to wait.

After trips to half a dozen doctors, prescriptions and pain injections, x-rays and therapy, we are now informed medical consumers.  All this accumulated knowledge has told us what we knew at the start:  Larry has a bad back and I have a bad hip.  He seems to have come through the worst of it for right now, but I am not going to get any better unless I have joint replacement surgery.

It’s sobering to think that a doctor (think Doogie Howser) is going to cut into my body, amputate the ball at the top of the femur and replace it with a shiny silver knob, put a new piece into the hip socket, then glue it all back together.  It’s a thought that sent me to the internet to do some research.   I checked out the surgeons in the area, spoke with some people I know who have had joint replacement, and plunged ahead.  First I checked on therapies that might extend the life of my own hip.  When I settled on a doctor I’d want to know about those options; maybe I just need a little WD-40?

My choice of doctor was somewhat influenced by proximity.  In my particular case I only have relief from this maddening pain when I lie flat out; sitting upright for any length of time becomes excruciating.  Having already made a few trips stretched out in the back of our van I decided trips for tests, exams and whatever else they might require of me meant I needed to be able to get there in a short amount of time.  Fortunately we have some excellent joint replacement surgeons right here, so I don’t feel I am sacrificing quality for convenience.

Finally the day arrived for my first appointment with the surgeon.  His staff was excellent, and he took a great deal of time to explain things and answer my long list of questions.  It soon became apparent my WD-40 treatment was not an option.   In fact there were only two:  I could continue to struggle through my daily life using a cane and/or walker with this permanent grimace on my face OR I could get on with the joint replacement surgery.    I have opted for the latter. 

So far I’ve been through tests to determine if I’m healthy enough for surgery (I am), and a meeting to answer questions, discuss services and simply allay fears of the procedure (I am more than ready).  I’ve asked my questions and settled the answers in my mind.  Let’s roll.

I hope by letting you in on my experience it might help someone who’s facing the same type of surgery feel just a little more comfortable when the time comes.   I will be completely honest about the pain level and recovery.  I’m curious about how it will feel to have a foreign object doing the job of the original equipment.  Will it feel “natural”?  How many of the people I see striding around have artificial joints?  I know one thing for sure, after four months of living in bed, in a recliner, or struggling to walk on a cane, I am ready to reclaim my quality of life.  I do not want to live from one pain pill to the next and modify my life to accommodate my deteriorating hip any longer.  

Having always been an active person it’s difficult to confine your shopping excursions to stores that have the electric carts or wheel chairs to make your trip even possible.  Constant pain not only alters your life, but the life of your spouse.  My husband’s patience and thoughtfulness are amazing, but I don’t want my problem to dictate his

life as well.  I am grateful that my surgery may restore both our independence and my semi-good humor!

So….one week from today (Monday, July 27^th) I will be taking the plunge.  I will keep you posted on the experience, and if you should talk to God today please mention my name.

                                                                Life is Good

A Wave of Nostalgia

One of the very best things about a vacation is eating out....it is also one of the worst things. On a recent time away we must have hit half the restaurants on the east coast. I'm pretty sure we ate our combined weight in sea food and deep fried critters, which we washed down with drinks bearing cutsey-pootsie names and horrendous price tags.  It's our vacation tradition.

It seems to me the thing restaurants in the Sunbelt share is the choice of background music. There are only two types; reggae and sixties music. If your head isn't bobbing to the beat of the steel drums you are destined to relive the 60's with the Beach Boys. The sixties music is so well enforced that you simply cannot escape it.  As we patiently waited for a table in one establishment a man was overcome by an overdose of "Help Me Rhonda...help, help me Rhonda...." and had to be taken away by ambulance.  It was a long vacation....I've seen things.  

The marketing gurus understand a large portion of the buying public in Florida remembers the 1960's, so the overwhelming devotion to nostalgia isn't confined to just the music.  In so many restaurants, chains and local, the walls are covered with, for lack of a better term, old stuff.  License plates, old tin containers, children's toys, album covers and an impressive number of '57 Chevy car parts seem to be popular decorating items.  There are also an inordinate number of life sized pirate statues, all strategically surrounded by speakers blaring one of only four 60's songs allotted to each restaurant.  This constant assault on the senses has made me wonder what people will be looking at, and listening to, on vacations years and years down the road...........

It's 2065 and we've finally arrived in Sun City, our favorite spot at the sea shore.  We've come in January to see the ocean before the heat converts it to its normal gelatinous state.  Industrial chemicals and waste have made the water unusable and impassable, except for huge transport vehicles that hover over surface. Nothing edible can be taken from the water, even during the liquid times of year.  Still, we are looking forward to enjoying the artificially produced "sea food".

Another reason our family unit likes to come to Sun City in January is for the races.  What fun it is during "Unsustainable Energy Race Week", when we get to see old cars, trucks and motor bikes from the turn of the century run on the track at Daytona.  During this week the vehicles that ran on combustible fuels are permitted to be shown and raced; it's fascinating to see how our great grandparents got from place to place.  Personally, we cannot comprehend being confined in such a small thing for hours on end!  Give me the transport tubes any day, even if your ears ring for an hour after you get where you're going.

Meals are a special treat for us when we visit the seaside.  We always chow down on lobster capsules, beef-like pastes and crunchy compressed vegetable wafers.  From time to time we invest in a bottle of delightful water....it's a splurge we only make on vacation.  Someone told me water is delightful when it's been chilled, so we will try that this year.

One of our favorite restaurants here in Sun City is "Surrogate Mother's Kitchen".

The cheery nostalgic decor features historical items that everyone can identify with.  In one area you'll see a large shelf displaying a collection of computer towers.  It’s surrounded by an artful grouping of hand held cell phones, the type used before chips were implanted.   Everyone loves to watch the wall of old computer screens, still in good working order after all these years.  They show a constant loop of things that have become extinct.  Green trees in the wild, clear water running from a metallic kitchen tap in a private home, old fashioned washing machines sloshing away and sail boats out on water that is truly liquid and seemingly clear.  It almost makes one wish for the good old days.  From time to time an old time car or delivery truck will lumber across a screen.....we laugh and laugh.

In the front lobby of the restaurant there is a sealed case of items made of paper!  In case you didn’t know, years ago people used paper for cleaning and eating.  They also drank various liquids from plastic bottles, and were allowed to throw this stuff away anywhere they chose!  What a strange and confusing world it must have been.  To explain these destructive rituals we've rented the ear bud lecture series for our singly permitted child, Jaka. When our child comes of age, and decides his/her sexual identity, it will be important to know about these things to insure the next generation won't make the same mistakes our ancestors did.

As our clinically reproduced imitation seafood is delivered by the service drone, we can't help but be swept back to a simpler life listening to old time music by Kanye West, Jay-Z and Lady Ga-Ga.  Now those were great singers and role models!  Enjoying the music, I experienced a moment of sadness as I remembered how our much loved leader, President Ga-Ga, died in office just five years ago.  Her passing, from injuries sustained during the filming of a political music video, was a national tragedy.  

This vacation trip has been such a wonderful time away from the grinding ten hour work week;  I think we may apply for a permit to return to this area again next year.  The excitement of Race Week and seeing the ocean actually move is truly worth the money.

                                              Life is Good

Listen Closely....

I started my morning by treating myself to a luxurious McDonald’s egg white/English muffin sandwich and a plastic bottle of milk.  Something sticky oozed from one side of the paper wrapped sandwich.  While I’m assuming it was some kind of imitation cheese or something,  I refused to ask.

Anyway, one of the best things to do when you find yourself in a McDonald’s early in the morning is eavesdrop on the conversations that bounce around you.  As I sat looking at my iPad I was actually paying more attention to the conversation the four older men were having at the table beside me.

Let me say first that the reason all of us ended up in a McDonalds early in the morning is because we were all obviously retired.   These guys were older than I, but then I’m not exactly looking for the 20 year warranty on things I purchase these days, either.

When I first became aware of their conversation it was about cars, and tires, and how the guy four condos down tries to impress everyone with his car, even though it’s not a Cadillac.  Much to the chagrin of the four fellas discussing him, it seems the guy just put a “pretend” tire on the back of his car to jazz it up.  “And”, the one fella leaned in to say, “He bought the thing at a garage sale”.  They all nodded knowingly.

Eventually the group tired of bashing the guy from four condos down and the conversation turned to women.  One guy in a plaid shirt and a bad comb over shared the fact that he had been on a first date with a lady, and he was looking forward to seeing her again.  The guy on his left shook his head from side to side and intoned, “You’d be better of getting a job to keep you busy.”   Plaid shirt took a lot of abuse from his friends, and I was hard pressed to keep from choking on my egg white sandwich as it began to sound more like a locker room full of sophomore boys.

Slurping down the last of my plastic jug of white milk, I gathered my things and headed to the door.  I gave a last glance over the late 70’s/early 80’s group of men as I exited.  While it’s not polite to eavesdrop on conversations, I’m glad I did. 

I’m passing this on to those of you who are taking care of elderly parents.  Hearing these fellas chiding one another just reinforced what I learned as I helped my own parents during their last years.  We age outside, but we do not change inside. 

If you are caring for an elderly female, remember she is still a woman, an elderly man still a man.  Recently I was deleting some pictures from my phone when I found one from my daughter.  One day last August she spent the afternoon with her grandmother.  At the end of the day she sent a picture of mom with the caption, ‘Our hair is combed, our nails are done, and we are ready for the day!’  Mom sat smiling in her recliner, looking as if some first class primping had made her day.  I remember she told me about it many times over the next days. 

Always try to remember whether your loved one is still living alone or in a nursing home, they’re still the same person inside their weathered exterior.  Why should it be any less acceptable for a 75 year old to be excited about a second date than a twenty year old?  I gave myself a mental kick for being ‘amused’ at the conversation.

I don’t believe the need to be loved and accepted has an end date.  On the other hand, perhaps it does…it expires when we do.

                                                               Life is Good

Having a Kodak moment

Since my mom’s death organizing has taken on a new meaning.   Certainly it is part and parcel of “I don’t want my children to have to do this”, but it’s more than that.   It has slowly dawned on me that I’m the last one standing.   If I don’t get some of the (literally) hundreds of photos in order and labeled with the names of the subjects, much of my children’s family history will disappear when I do.

My goal is to create an electronic set of all pictures for each of my kids so I can pass the actual pictures, clippings, etc. on to people who would appreciate having them.  My mom kept everything, so I have newspaper clippings, photographs, even funeral cards, that might add to someone else’s family history. 

And so it was with respect for today’s technology and an honest understanding of my un-technical nature (I am the family test-dummy)  that I set out to find a way to handle these photos.   I looked at iPhone/iPad software…too work intensive to do these one at a time.   I checked out chute fed photo scanners…financially impractical. There is a company to whom you can send the whole lot and they scan them and return them to you on a nice, silver disc.  My own deeply held beliefs about Murphy’s Law keep me from trusting these cherished photos to the US Postal Service.

Finally my son Brian, the family keeper of technical knowledge, located a little scanner on line called a Doxie.  For just about a hundred dollars he picked up this handy gadget that is simple enough for me to operate (the biggest consideration) and makes the scanning process a breeze.  I’ve scanned three hundred photos so far, and now I am in the process of learning the software to see just how much editing capabilities it might have.   So far I’m impressed!

This project will go on for months in my spare time. By turns I’ve dissolved into giggles and tears as I go through mom’s old photos.  I am touched by the young couple who became my parents; struck by my mom’s beauty and my dad’s good looks, not to mention his head of black, crisply curly hair.  Their obvious joy at being a newly married couple is evident in a photo of mom leap frogging over my dad’s shoulders.  There are pictures of their friends, young and strong and holding babies who grew up to be my friends.  Most of my parent’s friends are gone now, or in nursing homes. 

This little project reminds me that each person with whom we come in contact is a chapter in the story of our lives.  I’m at the point now where many of these chapters are now closed; I know how their stories ends.

There are rewards for doing this…I’ve discovered some real treasures in this box.  I truly do not believe I ever saw my dad’s mother smile.  She’s been gone a lot of years, but I’m betting this picture of her with a sweet smile on her face was a treasure to my dad.  I found pictures with mom’s scrawl, “my best buddy”, a cousin she talked about often.  Another photo simply bears the last name of a young soldier to whom she was engaged when she met my father.  I think that must have been tucked into this old box to be pulled out occasionally as an ‘I wonder what would have been if…’ photo.  I am curious about the conversation that might have started if I had only taken the time.

One photo of my dad, circa 1945, shows him sharply dressed in a top coat, the scarf knotted around his neck looks quite dashing; I didn’t think Pop ever owned any dressy clothes.  So much of my parent’s young lives is displayed as I go through these pictures; I wish I had gone through them years ago when I could have asked the questions that now tumble around in my head.

The older I get the more I believe in looking for the lesson in every event. This heap of old pictures left to me is a reminder that nothing lasts forever.   The lesson gleaned from that is spurring me to plan a family soup night that will include soup, home baked bread and old photos.  It’s high time we have this session before my children find themselves sitting alone with pictures that hold so many questions… and no one the provide the answers.

                                                       Life is Good

What's the Magic Word?

I am constantly amazed as I read the news about all the computer hacking going on.  Countries invading the data banks of other countries….disgruntled employees laying out the emails of their supervisors for public consumption…banks and credit card companies drained of their data banks full of private customer information.  It’s scary, and I’m jealous.

Don’t get me wrong, I do not want your social security number or your private medical information or your credit history….I simply want to get into my Pottery Barn account!!

No company in the world works harder to get my money than Pottery Barn.  I get a catalog every other day, daily emails and special offers to tempt me.   A while back I received the sacred on-line promise that my bill is secure and available for my perusal if I simply snuggle comfortably into the security blanket of their website.  It’s like family…only with less cooking.

After thumbing through the newest every other day catalog I discovered their over-sized, over-priced, over-the-top couch pillows were now 20% off!!  Imagine my delight when I remembered I had points, or whatever they call them, to use that would save me even more money.  Halle-shopping-leujah!!!

I vaguely remembered doing it before; to find out how many points I had  I decided to take a look at my on-line, secure from the outsider but accessible to me, bill.   Evidently I had checked in from my laptop; now I was trying to gain entrance on my iPad and the site did not recognize my computer.  Following the instructions I went through the steps to fix that; they emailed me a “code number” which I dutifully entered in the appropriate pulsating square.  They didn’t like that.   I did it again and was told….well, I forget what I was told, but it didn’t work either.

Totally frustrated, I opened my laptop to try again.  Perhaps I’ve awakened the Troll under the bridge with my iPad; using my laptop will surely quiet the beast and allow me entrance to the kingdom.

Clicking the proper places and holding my tongue just right, I was taken aback when I was once again denied access.  The next step was to answer identifying questions that, once answered correctly, would put things to right.  Problem is I don’t remember filling out any questions.  The result was predictably negative.  Eventually I ran out of patience before they did, and I gave up.

As of this date I’ve still been unable to access my account on line.  That means I will have to call the “customer care” number and, after listening to a 40 minute flute solo, explain my problem to someone who will chirp apologies at me and finally fix the problem.  Somewhere in the labyrinth of offices that make up the Pottery Barn dynasty I know there is a huge reset button.   Once that sacred button is pushed I will be able to access my bill online, figure out how many points I have, and rake in the savings.

   

I heard on the news that there will be a big internet summit in Washington that brings together the greatest minds from companies like Apple, Microsoft, Google and others.  These mental giants will try to come up with a solution to the hacking problem as they ponder the complexities of creating a firewall that cannot be penetrated by our enemies, both foreign and domestic.  I wish them luck as they work to keep the World Wide Web safe for financial transactions and internet porn.  

Frankly I think they’d do much better (and save the tax payers money) if they turned the whole thing over to Pottery Barn.  I’m sure PB is prepared to deflect any cyber-attack while offering America what it really needs…more decorating help. 

                                                       Life is Good     

Let Them Eat Cake

When you're going through the holidays after losing a loved one you may find you are really just going through the motions.  That's been my situation this season, so to find inspiration and Christmas spirit I turned to a great source for a lot of women.  Pinterest.

Nothing says lovin' and promotes healing like something from the oven. At least that's what I told myself.  Pinterest is full of beautiful pictures of cakes, so I perused it's electronic pages for ideas.  I've always loved to cook, but baking...not so much.  There's all that flour and sticky stuff to contend with, isn't there?   And so,  due to my unfamiliarity with baking, I decided to keep it simple.

Next day my shopping excursion was to find the right cake pan; I'm a great believer that equipment is half the battle.   I found a wonderful Nordic Ware  pan that promised to produce two gift box cakes that I could decorate or simply sprinkle with powdered sugar.  Knowing how quickly my enthusiasm can wane that seemed like a good option.

To jazz up the display a wee bit I found a "pin" on how to make plates from peppermint hard candy.  I grabbed four bags of star mints, the ingredients for a drop-dead-delicious chocolate cake (also a Pinterest find) and I headed home.

Once I got into it my cake baking filled the house with delicious smells.  My first effort I used a Christmas tree shaped pan I had bought years ago.  I remembered why it got pushed to the back of the cabinet when I tried to remove the cake, which  produced nothing but delicious chocolate goo. After it cooled I delivered the tasty (but ugly ) reject to near by neighbors who pronounced it delicious in spite of it's unrecognizable shape.  Waste not, want not.

Whipping up another batch of cake, I filled the new gift box cake pan.  As I pushed it into the oven I sent  up a little prayer that this would go better than my first attempt.   It was getting late, and I was running out of hungry neighbors.

While I waited I heated the other oven and started unwrapping mints,

which is the most difficult part of making the candy plates.  I arranged the candy on parchment paper, plopped it onto a cookie sheet, and stuck it into the oven.

  By the time the cakes were done the plates were on cooling racks.  Then it was time for the moment of truth....I flipped the cake pan over and out popped two perfect little gift boxes. I may not know what I'm doing, but I know when it goes right!

It looked to be impossible to ice them, and I thought powdered sugar would be boring, so I simply painted the part of the cake shaped like ribbons with icing, then dusted that with sparkling candy sprinkles!

Once they were decorated and sitting on their colorful candy plates the cakes were really pretty.

So pretty, in fact, that I had to convince my family it was okay to cut them.  At least I like to think it was because they were too pretty to eat.  In truth it may be they were just being cautious because of my lack of baking experience.   Either way they eventually disappeared.

I've always found being busy to be the best way to deal with anything that's bothering me; I guess I have to work through my pain.  We all missed my mom this holiday season, and i know that won't end when the holidays are over.  So....I guess I'll be looking for more projects on Pinterest.   I just hope my neighbors are up to it!!

                                                           Life is Good

Looking for the Past

Today I had a morning “reality check” that started with the search for a wine glass.... 

Last evening we had our annual “Golden Girls” Christmas dinner here at my house.  The (now) three of us had a glass of wine before dinner.   As a surprise, after dinner I had planned a special recognition of this first Christmas get-together without our good friend, Chris Butler. 

As we talked over dinner we remembered last year’s get together where the four of us ate and laughed and had a great time together.  Chris seemed to be emerging from a long spell of illness.  She had put on some weight, looked better than she had in ages, and we all seemed to be in a good place.  We had no idea that she would be gone in just four short months.

Last evenings dinner had a quiet to it that covered a deeper sadness.  After we finished, I announced that we were heading out into the cold to send off a sky lantern to wish Chris a Merry Christmas.  We all bundled up and, after carefully reading the directions, headed for the driveway.  As is usually the case I assumed I had this thing all figured out, and it caused not a little laughter as I tried to light the lantern in the wind without igniting the whole thing.  Finally the fuel pad grabbed the flame and the lantern filled with hot air.  After a few seconds it gracefully lifted up into the black velvet night sky.

It really was a beautiful sight, a heart lifting moment as we sent our Christmas wish skyward.   I was more than a little relieved when the lantern cleared the roof of the house as the wind took the fiery lantern in a north easterly direction.   (Note: check wind direction or don’t try this at home.)

The glowing white orb rose soundlessly as we watched.  Then, quite suddenly, it seemed to stand still in the cold night air.  I was mentally going through reasons this might happen, like some cold air/hot air ratio, when Becky announced, “Uh-oh!  It’s stuck in a tree”.

 

All sentimental thoughts ceased as we watched, horrified and hoping the thing would quickly run out of fuel. (Note:  the fuel lasts a loooong time)  The skeletal fingers of that huge old tree clutched that lantern like a catcher’s mitt at home plate.  I held my breath and squinted in the darkness, hoping not to see any signs of fire on the tree limb; after what seemed like forever it went out.  Demonstrating that it was well worth the price, the thing is still up there this morning to greet me as I took the dog out.

You might think this ruined the moment; in truth it couldn’t have been more perfect.  The three of us went from solemn, to shocked, to laughter in the space of a minute.  It took much longer for me to get the sound of Chris’s laughter out of my head after we went back into the house.  I ended the evening with the feeling that the four of us had once again shared a good laugh…and if it’s possible for Chris to have orchestrated it, she did.

That takes me back to this morning.  After the gals went home last night I got lazy and left the dishes; ‘tomorrow is another day’ type thinking.  This morning I multi-tasked as I sipped a cup of coffee, loaded the dishwasher and filled the sink with things that needed to be done by hand.  I started to wash the wine glasses, and that’s when I noticed one was missing.  Automatically on the hunt, I trailed my way through a couple of rooms before I remembered there wouldn’t be a fourth wine glass to find this morning.

 

The Golden Girls now number three, but there will always be four of us in our hearts.

                                                          Life is Good

The Giving Season

Here we are at the doorstep of another Christmas.  This will be my 68^th, and the first one I’ve ever spent without my mom.  It’s not something I wanted or expected but…it simply is what it is.

As I’ve half-heartedly prepared for the holiday, picking up a gift here and there, I’ve come to think a lot about this being the season of giving and receiving gifts.   The years pass and all those gifts seem to run together.  I remember a small record player when I was eight or nine…a heart shaped pendant from my husband one year…a box containing a baby rattle to announce the upcoming birth of our first grandchild…other than that I can’t specifically remember many gifts.   Where do all those memories go?

I’ve been blessed to have been born into a family of ‘givers’.  I never left my grandmother’s house without what I jokingly called my “care package”.  It was usually comprised of a quart of her home canned green beans (which I reserved for our Thanksgiving table ), and a pint of her delicious jelly made from whatever berries were plentiful the past summer.  She might also tuck in a quilted potholder she’d made, maybe a doily she had crocheted.  There was always something delicious and personal in my package, and I hope I was as appreciative then as I am today for each of those things.

My Mom followed in that tradition.  Sometimes I tried to escape without  taking something home, but I seldom got out the door without some delicious left overs or some small things she’d ordered from TV that she thought I just had to have.  The last two years of her life she was unable to get out and shop; I was first her transportation and, ultimately, her personal shopper.  Still, she’d carefully wash out Styrofoam containers from the meals that were delivered to her.  “These can come in handy for your lunch, you never know when you can use them,” she’d say as she tucked them into a used grocery store bag she had squirrelled away in a drawer.  Even when she had so little, I almost never went home empty handed. 

This will still be a joyous Christmas, because the reason for the celebration hasn’t changed.  I will revisit my blessings, and be thankful for every one of my friends and family around the table this year.  The conspicuously empty chair will remind me how lucky I am that my entire life has been lived in a giving season, and that now it is my turn.  Perhaps I can give the important people in my life the one truly priceless thing that was given to me…the memory of hearts so full they always had something to share. 

Merry Christmas to all…make every day a giving season.