I fell in love with Lewis Grizzard the first time I saw his name in print. Momma foretold it. She gave me his book, "Kathy Sue Loudermilk, I Love You" when I was having my last baby with whom she hoped would be my last husband. Momma thoughtfully exclaimed, "I know that you will just love him, he has been married as many times as you." Momma always had a way with words. Even though I had been reading his columns in the Atlanta Journal Constitution long before, the book sealed the deal. I couldn't wait to see what he wrote next. He made me laugh every time I read anything he wrote.
My friends and I laughed all the way back home from Athens the first time we heard Grizzard tell the story about Uga on the football field taking care of some personal hygiene matters and Bubba admiring the dog's, let's say flexibility. I don't remember the year, who Georgia played, nor the outcome of the game but I will always remember Lewis' advice to Bubba, "That dog will bite you".
Grizzard made me laugh for years. Then he made me cry. It seemed like a pig valve would be well suited for him and his humor. He got lots of miles out of joking about his new affectation to sunshine and mud. He married, had a child in his life, life seemed good for Lewis. Then he up and died. It was the first time I ever cried at the news of a writer's death. Even though I never got around to marrying him, or meeting him for that matter, I miss his humor, his slant on life, and his childhood memories. Lewis, if you are out there, I want you to know that you inspired me to write. I know that it took thirty years to get my stories on paper but I have been busy. I want you to know that you were and are still my inspiration. Thank goodness we never met or we might have had to cross your name out of the family bible.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Monday, October 5, 2009
Growing Old Gracefully
I have always heard that old is a state of mind. Well I can tell you one thing, it is not a state I want to live in. Isn't funny how the number connected to old is always a much higher number than your age?
I didn't mind forty, I finally reached the triple digits on the scale. It was a major milestone to weigh one hundred pounds. The greatest thing about being in my forties was that I found myself no longer cold. In fact I was hot. Real hot. I really never cared for cokes but I did discover how to cool off by holding an ice cold can of coke to my neck during long board meetings. Have you ever noticed how no one questions a menopausal woman's actions. My children were growing up and I was pleased that they had not killed each other nor had I done them in. I soon came to realize that menopause and puberty did not mix. Thankfully every one in my family survived my forties.
Fifty was fantastic, I felt great and had accomplished many things in my career and personal life that I found satisfying. Fifty didn't bother me until I started getting invitations to join the senior citizens center for God's sake. I was incensed that someone thought that I would fit in with those old people. My first inclination was to go over there and give those old men a heart attack. I quickly came to my senses and just ignored the invitations to AARP and senior banking discounts.
I have been sixty for one year. I am learning to go to Ross on Tuesdays for the 10% discount, eat lunch at Captain D's on Wednesday, and take advantage of all sorts of "senior discounts". I can even get in the movies cheaper than my grandson. Older was starting to look better and better. I didn't even mind being asked for my I.D. at the grocery store when purchasing a bottle of wine, even though I knew the 12 year old cashier wanted to yell out "old lady on 5 buying wine".
I'm thinking that I am doing pretty darn good with this aging thing. I have come to accept the fact that major league baseball must be drafting from the Little League, doctors are starting their practices at fifteen, and maybe I better check with my grandson before I say something like "I could hook you up". Yes, I watch my weight now. I swear that am never going to weigh as much as I did the day I had any of my children. So what if it was only 119 pounds. That is my number I keep in my head and I even kind of have to work at staying below that. I still call grown men boys if they are young enough to be my children. So I now know 41 year old boys. I discovered cougar has a new meaning. I don't think that is a complementary term and I sure don't want it ever applied to me. There is something foolish looking about older women looking at boys that are young enough to be their children, or at least their younger brothers, as possible dating material. I was, however, dismayed to see the term applied to Courtney Cox in her new TV series "Cougar". If someone as young as her, isn't she about 30, could be called a cougar then I must be a dinosaur. Don't get me wrong, I am happy that I am married to a wonderful man my own age who appreciates how the years have changed me.
Yes I still look at the obits and exclaim how young some dead person was if they were any where close to my age. I'll admit that old age is on a sliding scale and it will always be older than my current age. I get that from my mother, she used to say she was going to the church to help the old people. She was 80. Good God, I wondered how old the old people were. Now I know, much older than me.
I didn't mind forty, I finally reached the triple digits on the scale. It was a major milestone to weigh one hundred pounds. The greatest thing about being in my forties was that I found myself no longer cold. In fact I was hot. Real hot. I really never cared for cokes but I did discover how to cool off by holding an ice cold can of coke to my neck during long board meetings. Have you ever noticed how no one questions a menopausal woman's actions. My children were growing up and I was pleased that they had not killed each other nor had I done them in. I soon came to realize that menopause and puberty did not mix. Thankfully every one in my family survived my forties.
Fifty was fantastic, I felt great and had accomplished many things in my career and personal life that I found satisfying. Fifty didn't bother me until I started getting invitations to join the senior citizens center for God's sake. I was incensed that someone thought that I would fit in with those old people. My first inclination was to go over there and give those old men a heart attack. I quickly came to my senses and just ignored the invitations to AARP and senior banking discounts.
I have been sixty for one year. I am learning to go to Ross on Tuesdays for the 10% discount, eat lunch at Captain D's on Wednesday, and take advantage of all sorts of "senior discounts". I can even get in the movies cheaper than my grandson. Older was starting to look better and better. I didn't even mind being asked for my I.D. at the grocery store when purchasing a bottle of wine, even though I knew the 12 year old cashier wanted to yell out "old lady on 5 buying wine".
I'm thinking that I am doing pretty darn good with this aging thing. I have come to accept the fact that major league baseball must be drafting from the Little League, doctors are starting their practices at fifteen, and maybe I better check with my grandson before I say something like "I could hook you up". Yes, I watch my weight now. I swear that am never going to weigh as much as I did the day I had any of my children. So what if it was only 119 pounds. That is my number I keep in my head and I even kind of have to work at staying below that. I still call grown men boys if they are young enough to be my children. So I now know 41 year old boys. I discovered cougar has a new meaning. I don't think that is a complementary term and I sure don't want it ever applied to me. There is something foolish looking about older women looking at boys that are young enough to be their children, or at least their younger brothers, as possible dating material. I was, however, dismayed to see the term applied to Courtney Cox in her new TV series "Cougar". If someone as young as her, isn't she about 30, could be called a cougar then I must be a dinosaur. Don't get me wrong, I am happy that I am married to a wonderful man my own age who appreciates how the years have changed me.
Yes I still look at the obits and exclaim how young some dead person was if they were any where close to my age. I'll admit that old age is on a sliding scale and it will always be older than my current age. I get that from my mother, she used to say she was going to the church to help the old people. She was 80. Good God, I wondered how old the old people were. Now I know, much older than me.
Monday, August 10, 2009
The Accident
I remember it as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. It was in 1978 on a hot summer afternoon in Marietta, Georgia. My children, Greg 4 and Tory 10, and I had been invited eat with some of my college friends who lived in an older neighborhood of quaint cottages bordered by a city park. What a safe place for the boys to play. I was in the kitchen when I heard the tires squeal in a vain attempt to stop which ended with the sound of an impact followed by screams. Above all the noise I heard Tory screaming, "It's my brother, it's my brother". Everyone in the neighborhood ran out, a panicked neighbor had picked up Greg's limp body without thought of injuring him further. When I reached him the back of his head was bloody and swollen. His breathing was shallow. We jumped in my friend's van to drive the two blocks to Kennestone Hospital. As we left, I shouted for someone to alert the ER we were in a private vehicle transporting a serious head trauma. Those two blocks were the longest journey I had ever taken, holding my precious boy in my arms, urging him to breathe with mouth to mouth resuscitation, willing him to live with my entire being.
The E.R. was expecting us as they met the van with a trauma team that took my injured child from my arms to the inner sanctum where the doctors do battle with death. Finally the attending E.R. doctor came out with the report, my child, my baby, was in a coma induced by a non-compressed fracture of the occiput. What I heard was, "he's alive". The endless wait had begun. My brother, Tim, came to sit with me through the long night. My parents were in the height of their square dance era so I was not able to reach them until they got home very late that night. Their response of "Do you want us to come?" has shaped the rest of my life as a parent. I never wanted my children to need ask for me to come, I always wanted them to know that I would be there for them just as my brother had been there for me.
The coma dragged on for three long days. Good news came in the form of no other broken bones, the skull fracture did not compress into his brain tissue, and the pneumonia caused from the impact was able to be treated. My parents came the next day. I maintained my bedside vigil sleeping in a chair, eating only what was put in front of me, and going to Greg's bedside with every sound heard in the room. Dr. Causey, the pediatrician, came to visit on the third day and commented that as soon as Greg was over the head trauma he would see to it that his ear was fixed. Ear was fixed? I looked at Greg and laughed with joy. Greg had always folded the top of his ear down and tucked the side of his ear in to his ear canal. He amused everyone with this trick but I was concerned that he would grow up looking like a bloodhound. He was awake and tucking his ear! Greg never went to Dr. Causey's office after that without him asking Greg display his ear tucking ability to everyone in the office.
We came home later that week to our tiny little apartment in downtown Marietta. It was a single building with 4 apartments, two up and two down. It was perfect for us, we were only living with three other poor families. My 80 year old neighbor, Bertha Millholland, looked after the boys as I returned to school and work. Momma and daddy decided that they could take better care of Tory in school than I could so they moved him off to Hampton to live with them until I graduated. Greg and I were alone. He had terrible headaches as the swelling surrounding his brain resolved, the doctor said that he could not sustain another blow to his head so he missed out on playing with other children. He and Bertha were fast friends. The only entertainment we could afford was to walk downtown at night after the heat of the day had dissipated. One night we were walking past the Marietta First Baptist Church when Greg said, "there is the man that was with me when I got hurt" as he looked up at the beautiful back lit stained glass depicting Christ with his arms held out. That moment I knew for sure that there was a loving father in heaven who held my child in his arms and nudged him back into this life where his days were not finished.
Greg has little, if any memory of the accident. He is a healthy, good looking 36 year old man with a mentally challenging job as a Chief Engineer on a ship servicing the oil industry. My memory has softened and become less painful over the years. After the accident it seemed as if I had an audio clip of the event embedded in my brain. At first the sounds of the accident would play without provocation through to the time I saw Greg's lifeless body, I could not stop the sounds. As time passed the sounds would only start with the squeal of a tire or the sound of an impact, I could not stop the sounds. Later the internal audio tape would start and I could mentally stop it. Thirty-two years later I do not hear the sounds of the accident but the memory will never leave me.
The E.R. was expecting us as they met the van with a trauma team that took my injured child from my arms to the inner sanctum where the doctors do battle with death. Finally the attending E.R. doctor came out with the report, my child, my baby, was in a coma induced by a non-compressed fracture of the occiput. What I heard was, "he's alive". The endless wait had begun. My brother, Tim, came to sit with me through the long night. My parents were in the height of their square dance era so I was not able to reach them until they got home very late that night. Their response of "Do you want us to come?" has shaped the rest of my life as a parent. I never wanted my children to need ask for me to come, I always wanted them to know that I would be there for them just as my brother had been there for me.
The coma dragged on for three long days. Good news came in the form of no other broken bones, the skull fracture did not compress into his brain tissue, and the pneumonia caused from the impact was able to be treated. My parents came the next day. I maintained my bedside vigil sleeping in a chair, eating only what was put in front of me, and going to Greg's bedside with every sound heard in the room. Dr. Causey, the pediatrician, came to visit on the third day and commented that as soon as Greg was over the head trauma he would see to it that his ear was fixed. Ear was fixed? I looked at Greg and laughed with joy. Greg had always folded the top of his ear down and tucked the side of his ear in to his ear canal. He amused everyone with this trick but I was concerned that he would grow up looking like a bloodhound. He was awake and tucking his ear! Greg never went to Dr. Causey's office after that without him asking Greg display his ear tucking ability to everyone in the office.
We came home later that week to our tiny little apartment in downtown Marietta. It was a single building with 4 apartments, two up and two down. It was perfect for us, we were only living with three other poor families. My 80 year old neighbor, Bertha Millholland, looked after the boys as I returned to school and work. Momma and daddy decided that they could take better care of Tory in school than I could so they moved him off to Hampton to live with them until I graduated. Greg and I were alone. He had terrible headaches as the swelling surrounding his brain resolved, the doctor said that he could not sustain another blow to his head so he missed out on playing with other children. He and Bertha were fast friends. The only entertainment we could afford was to walk downtown at night after the heat of the day had dissipated. One night we were walking past the Marietta First Baptist Church when Greg said, "there is the man that was with me when I got hurt" as he looked up at the beautiful back lit stained glass depicting Christ with his arms held out. That moment I knew for sure that there was a loving father in heaven who held my child in his arms and nudged him back into this life where his days were not finished.
Greg has little, if any memory of the accident. He is a healthy, good looking 36 year old man with a mentally challenging job as a Chief Engineer on a ship servicing the oil industry. My memory has softened and become less painful over the years. After the accident it seemed as if I had an audio clip of the event embedded in my brain. At first the sounds of the accident would play without provocation through to the time I saw Greg's lifeless body, I could not stop the sounds. As time passed the sounds would only start with the squeal of a tire or the sound of an impact, I could not stop the sounds. Later the internal audio tape would start and I could mentally stop it. Thirty-two years later I do not hear the sounds of the accident but the memory will never leave me.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
How To Treasure Your Mother-In-Law
I have some sound advice; if you are having difficulty treasuring your mother-in-law, spend a weekend with your own mother. My mother-in-law is accustomed to being cared for as she has been in a wheelchair and catered to by her son, my husband, for almost 15 years. She not only accepts it, she relishes the idea of someone being at her beck and call. Fast-forward 80 miles to my parent’s house. Momma is legally blind and daddy has an eye infection in both eyes, which he got from caring for momma’s eye infection. Momma’s eye looked great when I went to see them the week earlier, daddy was in full-blown trouble. Momma’s comment to the situation was, “mine was worse”. Difficult for a blind person to make that assessment I would say. I told daddy that he needed to see a doctor immediately for some antibiotics. He informed me that he was using momma’s eye drops, which is just another indication that he is not making good decisions. Finally daddy did call my son, his oldest grandchild, to take him to the doctor four days later. The first doctor said that this was the worst case of pink eye he had ever seen. Daddy was given drops to put in his eyes every hour. Daddy has lost his sense of time. He put the drops in every time he thought about it, which was constantly because his eyes really hurt. He ran out of medicine.
Monday morning the grandfather and grandson were sitting in the doctor’s office for a re-exam. The eyes were worse. They were referred to an eye clinic. Medicine was changed and an appointment was made for Wednesday. Wednesday morning the grandfather and grandson were back at the eye clinic. Eyes worse. A new doctor’s appointment at a Piedmont Hospital cornea specialist came with a new diagnosis, eye infection in both eyes with the added insult of shingles in his right eye. A new, urgent, course of treatment to prevent imminent blindness was prescribed. Every hour four procedures had to be performed on each eye. One might think that their four grown children were ignoring their parents, one would be wrong. The stubborn, independent parents refused outside intervention. This was it. I called momma, who mercifully had been left at home, and told her that she could not see to take care of daddy and he had to have some help or he would also be blind and to quote an old family saying, "they would be in a hell of a mess". When momma is scared she will agree to anything. When daddy came home she had changed her mind. That was really it. Their next-door neighbor who thankfully is their youngest child came to the rescue. Tommy became the administrator of prescribed treatments. This was a new role for him as his wife has always filled that position in their family. Remember, Tommy is related to momma who does not deal well with medical emergencies. I’ll have to say, he really stepped up to the plate and did a wonderful job.
My brothers and I have made momma so mad in the past by showing up unannounced to do major house cleaning. Apparently blindness can fool you in to thinking your house is actually clean. I know blindness can lead you to leave things in the refrigerator that resemble a science experiment. Our efforts were met with such resistance that we were relieved to hear that momma had relented and hired a house cleaner. Once a month, are you kidding? Oh well, it was a start. We were thinking more on the lines of someone four to six hours every day. We sought their support in that effort by saying things like, “We want you to stay in your own home for as long as you can.” I vowed to never come to clean her house again. This was different, we could not let momma make a poor medical decision for daddy. His eyesight was at stake. I told my brothers that I would take over the eye-care for the weekend if they would interview and hire someone to stay with them for eight hours a day. We had grand visions of this becoming a permanent thing.
You have heard the saying, “It takes a village to raise a child” Well I am here to tell you it takes more than that to raise elderly parents. Momma and daddy have a guardian angel at my brother Tim’s office. April attempts to keep track of daddy’s bills and checking account, which is like trying “to nail Jell-O to the wall”. She peruses his credit card bill looking for donations to scam artist TV preachers, one time vitamin orders that have been scheduled on a monthly basis, and other things that senile people subject themselves to. Paying daddy’s other bills is quite a trick. The first part of that trick is getting him to bring them in to the office before they get lost in a stack of old magazines. The most intriguing part is dealing with the unaccounted for checks. My parents would be living without lights, heat, or telephone if it were not for her efforts. We have come to depend on April for our parent issues. She schedules and keeps up with their doctor’s appointments because they can’t remember and go on the wrong day. She gets daddy’s prescriptions filled because he could not make it out of the pharmacy without misplacing his prescription. She is the one that put herself on the line to hire someone to stay with momma and daddy. If there were ever a star in anyone’s crown in heaven, it would be in April’s.
Let me get back to the mother-in-law treasuring aspect of the story. Momma was terrible the entire weekend. She didn’t catch on to the infectious nature of their situation. She did not want me to wash their towels, pillowcases, and clothing. She could do that. I got her on board when I told her that SHE could get re-infected. Things don’t go well when you forget one of the founding principles of living in the Steele family, “It’s all about momma.” Momma wanted to forgo the 11:00a.m. eye care routine because it interfered with their set lunchtime at Cracker Barrel. We can do it when we get home was not an acceptable statement so we started the trip out to eat on a bad note. I bravely headed for my car with daddy in the front passenger seat and momma and my daughter-in-law in the back seat. Momma was complaining about my poor driving skills in a stage whisper the entire trip. She recounted over and over how she could drive as well as I. In an effort to convince me that she could actually see how to drive she pointed out every approaching vehicle, intersection, and stop sign. Let me tell you this, there is nothing that can get on your nerves more than a blind person in the backseat telling you how to drive. In my defense I might add that if I had followed her instructions I would be writing this from either a hospital or the morgue. Let’s just say the day went downhill from there. Just think, this was only my first day there.
Sunday was the prearranged day to interview the caregiver, Julie. We were all so nervous that they would change their mind, which was not an option as none of us could be there to perform the eye care the next week. Sweet Julie came with her husband Sunday afternoon. We all sat and talked on the porch. She had cared for her grandparents and seemed like, and was, a wonderful choice. We agreed on the price of $10 an hour, 40 hours a week. This was going to work, we thought. There were three big problems. Momma and daddy didn’t think they needed any help, they didn’t want any help, and they didn’t comprehend the price difference of being able to stay at home verses being in an assisted living facility. Julie came as arranged on Monday. Momma wouldn’t let her do anything except the eye care. When Julie asked about doing the laundry, Momma said that she had already done it. Later that night momma told me that it was stupid to have someone sitting around the house all day with nothing to do. I told momma that what was stupid was having someone in the house to help them and not letting them do it. I have to commend Julie she saw to it that daddy wore clean clothes, she didn’t let him drive, and she lasted three days. Myself, I could only do two. Daddy sat her down and told her that he couldn’t afford her prices, a term that he has never uttered to momma. She wouldn’t have batted an eye to spend $400 on a dress. To add insult to injury to Julie, my sister-in-law had an emergency appointment for her child Wednesday afternoon when she had planned to take momma to her retina specialist. Poor Julie, she got fired and then had to take momma to the doctor. I can just imagine that she will not include elder caregiver on her resume again.
This is all a very long explanation of why I came rushing home, grabbed my husband and told him that I loved him and where was his precious, sweet, darling mother. Then I purchased a Miata the following day. I just love cars with no backseat.
Monday morning the grandfather and grandson were sitting in the doctor’s office for a re-exam. The eyes were worse. They were referred to an eye clinic. Medicine was changed and an appointment was made for Wednesday. Wednesday morning the grandfather and grandson were back at the eye clinic. Eyes worse. A new doctor’s appointment at a Piedmont Hospital cornea specialist came with a new diagnosis, eye infection in both eyes with the added insult of shingles in his right eye. A new, urgent, course of treatment to prevent imminent blindness was prescribed. Every hour four procedures had to be performed on each eye. One might think that their four grown children were ignoring their parents, one would be wrong. The stubborn, independent parents refused outside intervention. This was it. I called momma, who mercifully had been left at home, and told her that she could not see to take care of daddy and he had to have some help or he would also be blind and to quote an old family saying, "they would be in a hell of a mess". When momma is scared she will agree to anything. When daddy came home she had changed her mind. That was really it. Their next-door neighbor who thankfully is their youngest child came to the rescue. Tommy became the administrator of prescribed treatments. This was a new role for him as his wife has always filled that position in their family. Remember, Tommy is related to momma who does not deal well with medical emergencies. I’ll have to say, he really stepped up to the plate and did a wonderful job.
My brothers and I have made momma so mad in the past by showing up unannounced to do major house cleaning. Apparently blindness can fool you in to thinking your house is actually clean. I know blindness can lead you to leave things in the refrigerator that resemble a science experiment. Our efforts were met with such resistance that we were relieved to hear that momma had relented and hired a house cleaner. Once a month, are you kidding? Oh well, it was a start. We were thinking more on the lines of someone four to six hours every day. We sought their support in that effort by saying things like, “We want you to stay in your own home for as long as you can.” I vowed to never come to clean her house again. This was different, we could not let momma make a poor medical decision for daddy. His eyesight was at stake. I told my brothers that I would take over the eye-care for the weekend if they would interview and hire someone to stay with them for eight hours a day. We had grand visions of this becoming a permanent thing.
You have heard the saying, “It takes a village to raise a child” Well I am here to tell you it takes more than that to raise elderly parents. Momma and daddy have a guardian angel at my brother Tim’s office. April attempts to keep track of daddy’s bills and checking account, which is like trying “to nail Jell-O to the wall”. She peruses his credit card bill looking for donations to scam artist TV preachers, one time vitamin orders that have been scheduled on a monthly basis, and other things that senile people subject themselves to. Paying daddy’s other bills is quite a trick. The first part of that trick is getting him to bring them in to the office before they get lost in a stack of old magazines. The most intriguing part is dealing with the unaccounted for checks. My parents would be living without lights, heat, or telephone if it were not for her efforts. We have come to depend on April for our parent issues. She schedules and keeps up with their doctor’s appointments because they can’t remember and go on the wrong day. She gets daddy’s prescriptions filled because he could not make it out of the pharmacy without misplacing his prescription. She is the one that put herself on the line to hire someone to stay with momma and daddy. If there were ever a star in anyone’s crown in heaven, it would be in April’s.
Let me get back to the mother-in-law treasuring aspect of the story. Momma was terrible the entire weekend. She didn’t catch on to the infectious nature of their situation. She did not want me to wash their towels, pillowcases, and clothing. She could do that. I got her on board when I told her that SHE could get re-infected. Things don’t go well when you forget one of the founding principles of living in the Steele family, “It’s all about momma.” Momma wanted to forgo the 11:00a.m. eye care routine because it interfered with their set lunchtime at Cracker Barrel. We can do it when we get home was not an acceptable statement so we started the trip out to eat on a bad note. I bravely headed for my car with daddy in the front passenger seat and momma and my daughter-in-law in the back seat. Momma was complaining about my poor driving skills in a stage whisper the entire trip. She recounted over and over how she could drive as well as I. In an effort to convince me that she could actually see how to drive she pointed out every approaching vehicle, intersection, and stop sign. Let me tell you this, there is nothing that can get on your nerves more than a blind person in the backseat telling you how to drive. In my defense I might add that if I had followed her instructions I would be writing this from either a hospital or the morgue. Let’s just say the day went downhill from there. Just think, this was only my first day there.
Sunday was the prearranged day to interview the caregiver, Julie. We were all so nervous that they would change their mind, which was not an option as none of us could be there to perform the eye care the next week. Sweet Julie came with her husband Sunday afternoon. We all sat and talked on the porch. She had cared for her grandparents and seemed like, and was, a wonderful choice. We agreed on the price of $10 an hour, 40 hours a week. This was going to work, we thought. There were three big problems. Momma and daddy didn’t think they needed any help, they didn’t want any help, and they didn’t comprehend the price difference of being able to stay at home verses being in an assisted living facility. Julie came as arranged on Monday. Momma wouldn’t let her do anything except the eye care. When Julie asked about doing the laundry, Momma said that she had already done it. Later that night momma told me that it was stupid to have someone sitting around the house all day with nothing to do. I told momma that what was stupid was having someone in the house to help them and not letting them do it. I have to commend Julie she saw to it that daddy wore clean clothes, she didn’t let him drive, and she lasted three days. Myself, I could only do two. Daddy sat her down and told her that he couldn’t afford her prices, a term that he has never uttered to momma. She wouldn’t have batted an eye to spend $400 on a dress. To add insult to injury to Julie, my sister-in-law had an emergency appointment for her child Wednesday afternoon when she had planned to take momma to her retina specialist. Poor Julie, she got fired and then had to take momma to the doctor. I can just imagine that she will not include elder caregiver on her resume again.
This is all a very long explanation of why I came rushing home, grabbed my husband and told him that I loved him and where was his precious, sweet, darling mother. Then I purchased a Miata the following day. I just love cars with no backseat.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Life Is Cool
Some times it just becomes necessary to pitch a hissy fit. A strategically placed hissy fit in a Southern Woman's life can bring life in to focus and add a sense of direction. Now don't get me wrong, pitching hissy fits all over the place is not productive and can brand you with an identity that is not named hissy fit pitcher. A woman of southern culture adheres to the unspoken rule, do not to gloat over the spoils of HFP (hissy fit pitching). You just smile like nothing has changed and say things like, my how nice and cool the house feels and what a lovely shawl you have on. That being said I will just retire fully clothed to the sofa and drink a glass of sweet tea.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Air Conditioning War
When you get right down to the nitty-gritty, the phrase climate control can drop the pretense of the word climate and just get to the business of control. Granted there are many factors that regulate the desire or lack there of for air conditioning. We all know that as your muscles age or atrophy from lack of use they loose the ability to generate body heat. Well, maybe we all don't know that but that is how it works. When you are busy, say cleaning house or preparing a meal with the use of an oven or stove top, not only does your internal temperature rise so does the temperature of the house. Throw in the fact that the windows are up letting hot air in and most of the ceiling fans are not on because some older person in a sleeveless gown is "cold" the temperature in your home could actually be say 88 degrees. To say that can make you crabby would be an understatement. The air conditioning war is on.
The first strike was to close the windows and turn on the central air conditioner that has very few miles on it's three years of age. This battle move was not with malice, the temperature was set at 75-76 as our household is anti-digital, but it was with might. The gauntlet was thrown down by stating the air conditioner better not be turned off during the night because someone is cold. There are blankets and other sleep clothing available. The defensive move, that came at some undisclosed time, was to turn the temperature up to 80. This was noted but not acted upon.
To say this is a cold war would not be an understatement. A plan for action was devised with a clear head in the comfort of air conditioning at work. The heat of the day, the ceiling fans turned off, and the stove top on aided in the temperature elevation. A quick check of the temperature control revealed the setting to be cemented on 80. With out a word the stealth attack came with the removal of a blouse while continuing to clean the kitchen. Suddenly there was no one at the dining room table. Mopping a floor can make you really hot so off comes the Capri's. This counter attack was not misinterpreted as an amorous move, a line had been drawn in the hot air.
The near nudity was not mentioned until I calmly sat on the sofa next to my husband, who had shielded his 93 year old mother from my cooling off by putting her to bed, when he sweetly said, "Honey, if you are hot turn the air down". I told him that was a great idea because there was not much more I could take off.
We will see what happens tonight. He knows now that I am fearless. In fact this morning as I left he mentioned I was getting kind of crabby. Georgia heat can do that to you.
The first strike was to close the windows and turn on the central air conditioner that has very few miles on it's three years of age. This battle move was not with malice, the temperature was set at 75-76 as our household is anti-digital, but it was with might. The gauntlet was thrown down by stating the air conditioner better not be turned off during the night because someone is cold. There are blankets and other sleep clothing available. The defensive move, that came at some undisclosed time, was to turn the temperature up to 80. This was noted but not acted upon.
To say this is a cold war would not be an understatement. A plan for action was devised with a clear head in the comfort of air conditioning at work. The heat of the day, the ceiling fans turned off, and the stove top on aided in the temperature elevation. A quick check of the temperature control revealed the setting to be cemented on 80. With out a word the stealth attack came with the removal of a blouse while continuing to clean the kitchen. Suddenly there was no one at the dining room table. Mopping a floor can make you really hot so off comes the Capri's. This counter attack was not misinterpreted as an amorous move, a line had been drawn in the hot air.
The near nudity was not mentioned until I calmly sat on the sofa next to my husband, who had shielded his 93 year old mother from my cooling off by putting her to bed, when he sweetly said, "Honey, if you are hot turn the air down". I told him that was a great idea because there was not much more I could take off.
We will see what happens tonight. He knows now that I am fearless. In fact this morning as I left he mentioned I was getting kind of crabby. Georgia heat can do that to you.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
The Last Baby
I went to St. Louis to spend a summer with my grandparents and my father in 1959. I loved going to my grandparents home even though my grandfather, who always had a cigar in his hand, was a little grumpy. He worked constantly in his flower garden and wanted nothing to interfere with his handiwork. We secretly called him Mr. Wilson after Dennis the Menace's neighbor. My father, who lived with his parents after his tragic motorcycle accident, was a little odd. His idea of summer entertainment was to work algebra problems. My grandmother made up for all their short comings, she loved me for the little skinny southern girl I was and did not expect me to be anything else. All us children heard from our St. Louis grandparents on Christmas and birthdays with special cigar scented cards topped off with cigar scented cash. The smell of cigars always brought fond memories back to me. Once I worked for the Department of Revenue with cigar smoking Mr. Benson. Every one complained about the cigar smell when he entered a room. I wanted to make him feel better about himself so one day I kindly said, "Mr. Benson, you smell just like my dead grandfather". His reply, "How long has he been dead".
Little did we know just how the summer of 1959 would change our lives forever. I thought my momma and little brother Tim went to Iowa to spend the summer with a friend. Momma came to pick me up with a new husband. He was our daddy from the get go. He worked part time at the Strombecker Toy Factory while he was in his last year of chiropractic college and we couldn't wait to see what factory reject he brought home each day. Who cared if the Bill Dings had a paint kick or the doll house furniture had glue drips. Our own father had brought home items such as a Geiger counter, slides of bombs going off, and an occasional parachute. Beside this, daddy Tom didn't yell at us and scare us half to death. Granted we deserved some of the yelling. My brother Bob and I spent all our money at the trick shop purchasing things like trick ink spills and plastic vomit. We almost got our dog Rover killed over the plastic vomit strategically placed on our father's new Air Force uniform. I would like to point out that Bob led the way in the trick department, but I was a willing participant. The other big surprise when we went back to Montgomery was that momma was pregnant! No one knew momma was married much less pregnant. Mr. Moncrief, one of the less tactfull neighbors, asked momma right to her face when the baby was due and then asked when she got married as he proceeded to count to nine on his fingers.
Tommy came in March and Tim had a playmate five years younger. I was much too old to play baby doll as I was in Junior High School. I was big enough, however, to pick him up. With the new daddy and new baby came a move to Georgia. Moving was the worst part of the deal. We were ripped away from all that we knew and held dear. Tommy was a great consolation. We loved him so much if he even looked like he wanted something we got it for him. That being the case, he did not find it necessary to talk. He looked thirsty, we got water. He loved Gerber Jr. Baby Food. He ate it so long that he would go to the cabinet and pick out the dinner he wanted. Momma made him eat from the table when he could open the jar himself. Poor Tommy, it is a wonder he ever survived having siblings. We used to strap him in a rocking chair with a belt around his tummy and he would rock so hard the chair would turn over and he would hit his head on the floor. Tommy has turned out to be a handsome, well adjusted man with tremendous speech capabilities and Tim and I are happy to say carries no sign of cranial damage from the frequent head trauma. We no longer call him our little brother as he is the biggest kid in the family.
Bob, Tim, and I had the momma who never went anywhere and Tommy had the momma that was never home. This change came when square dancing entered her life. She and daddy were do-si-do-ing all over three states. It was good, clean fun which my brother tagged along until he could opt to stay home. Momma, Daddy, and their square dancing friends always stopped off at a Denny's Restaurant after a night of dancing. You would think that all the Denny's were laid out the same. That's what momma and her friends thought when they went rushing in to the restroom with their crinolines flying to wash their hands after an evening of ala-mand-ing left. They saw a woman standing at the sink washing her hands so they all rushed over. They were in the men's room and it was not a woman standing at the sink washing her hands. The poor man turned around mid stream spraying the entire group. I asked momma what they did, she said they screamed and ran out of the restroom. Some where in Georgia there is a man who has had to spend lots of money on therapy in order to use public restrooms again. Needless to say, Tommy never took up square dancing.
Little did we know just how the summer of 1959 would change our lives forever. I thought my momma and little brother Tim went to Iowa to spend the summer with a friend. Momma came to pick me up with a new husband. He was our daddy from the get go. He worked part time at the Strombecker Toy Factory while he was in his last year of chiropractic college and we couldn't wait to see what factory reject he brought home each day. Who cared if the Bill Dings had a paint kick or the doll house furniture had glue drips. Our own father had brought home items such as a Geiger counter, slides of bombs going off, and an occasional parachute. Beside this, daddy Tom didn't yell at us and scare us half to death. Granted we deserved some of the yelling. My brother Bob and I spent all our money at the trick shop purchasing things like trick ink spills and plastic vomit. We almost got our dog Rover killed over the plastic vomit strategically placed on our father's new Air Force uniform. I would like to point out that Bob led the way in the trick department, but I was a willing participant. The other big surprise when we went back to Montgomery was that momma was pregnant! No one knew momma was married much less pregnant. Mr. Moncrief, one of the less tactfull neighbors, asked momma right to her face when the baby was due and then asked when she got married as he proceeded to count to nine on his fingers.
Tommy came in March and Tim had a playmate five years younger. I was much too old to play baby doll as I was in Junior High School. I was big enough, however, to pick him up. With the new daddy and new baby came a move to Georgia. Moving was the worst part of the deal. We were ripped away from all that we knew and held dear. Tommy was a great consolation. We loved him so much if he even looked like he wanted something we got it for him. That being the case, he did not find it necessary to talk. He looked thirsty, we got water. He loved Gerber Jr. Baby Food. He ate it so long that he would go to the cabinet and pick out the dinner he wanted. Momma made him eat from the table when he could open the jar himself. Poor Tommy, it is a wonder he ever survived having siblings. We used to strap him in a rocking chair with a belt around his tummy and he would rock so hard the chair would turn over and he would hit his head on the floor. Tommy has turned out to be a handsome, well adjusted man with tremendous speech capabilities and Tim and I are happy to say carries no sign of cranial damage from the frequent head trauma. We no longer call him our little brother as he is the biggest kid in the family.
Bob, Tim, and I had the momma who never went anywhere and Tommy had the momma that was never home. This change came when square dancing entered her life. She and daddy were do-si-do-ing all over three states. It was good, clean fun which my brother tagged along until he could opt to stay home. Momma, Daddy, and their square dancing friends always stopped off at a Denny's Restaurant after a night of dancing. You would think that all the Denny's were laid out the same. That's what momma and her friends thought when they went rushing in to the restroom with their crinolines flying to wash their hands after an evening of ala-mand-ing left. They saw a woman standing at the sink washing her hands so they all rushed over. They were in the men's room and it was not a woman standing at the sink washing her hands. The poor man turned around mid stream spraying the entire group. I asked momma what they did, she said they screamed and ran out of the restroom. Some where in Georgia there is a man who has had to spend lots of money on therapy in order to use public restrooms again. Needless to say, Tommy never took up square dancing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
