Okay, reading the obituaries might sound a bit depressing. I don’t make a habit of it, but I do find myself looking at them from time-to-time. Perhaps it’s because I’ve passed the Biblical “three score and ten” and I realize that one of these days, people will be reading mine and saying, “huh — really? I didn’t know that.” Or perhaps it’s that I haven’t finished the second cup of coffee and there’s not much left to read. I’m not exactly an expert obituaries, but I’ve read enough to know that it basically starts with the person’s age and sometimes cause of death, what they accomplished in their life, a list of family, and finally their religious affiliation, if any, and memorial service. Or as they call it now, “celebration of life.” So there is a sameness about them all starting with the name. I’m amazed that people feel the need to… Read More »
Even the Trash Man feels sorry for me
It’s not enough that my doctor’s staff, the checker at the market and the lawn guys treat me like I’m an old lady, add the trash man to that list. Honestly! It’s one of those days — no, one of those weeks. You know — lots to do, no desire or energy to do any of it. Two days ago I spent with a friend at the passport office, waiting in line, waiting for an interview, waiting, waiting. Yesterday I woke up with a queasy tummy and spent the day pretty much lying around. This morning started out much better. Woke up early, fed the cats, made myself a big breakfast (hungry after not eating yesterday) and took off to feed and walk a friend’s dog while she’s on vacation. I’d been home only a few minutes when I heard the trash truck coming down the street. I ran out… Read More »
Is it hairspray or is it a fire hose?
Every time I pick up a can of hairspray, I cringe. I know I’m not the only woman on the North American continent experiencing this, either. It’s always been something of a problem, but seems to be getting more so. My hair — which was never anything to brag about to begin with — has decidedly become less so. My mother used to tell me it wasn’t thin — it was “fine.” Even as a child, I knew better. My hair wasn’t just “fine,” it was thin, too. Great, both thin and fine. Wonderful. The only thing mother could do with it was braid it into two thin (or fine. or both) braids which she dressed up with ribbons. And, as if that weren’t enough, it would never grow much past my shoulders. In fifth grade there was a girl named Maria Mendez. Maria had heavy, thick dark hair. Maria… Read More »
Oh no, not John Gavin!
“Wait. Wait … who is John Gavin?” Jeanine and I looked at Kathie and then looked at each other. “What do you mean who is John Gavin?” I asked. “How can you have not heard of him? He’s one of the handsomest actors of all time. He was every woman ‘s dream man.” “He was in a bunch of movies,” Jeanine added. “Psycho and Spartacus, Imitation of Life, Back Street… You don’t emember him? ” Kathie shook her head. Granted, she is a bit — well, maybe more than a bit — younger than I am, but how could she not know my teenage heartthrob, John Gavin? “Here, let me pull up a picture,” Jeanine added as she reached for her phone. This all occurred a few nights ago when Kathie and Jeanine dropped by. We had started out talking about dogs and their people and it brought back a memory… Read More »
clarification and apology
Oh, my word, I owe you an apology! When I sent yesterday’s blog about my adventure in the hospital, I didn’t take into account that many of my friends and blog followers were not aware of the situation. So I apologize for (1) leaving you in he my dark and (2) startling you with my account. Just to bring you into the loop – about six months ago I started having breathing problems and ended up in the hospital with pneumonia. (And by-the-way, on the hospital admission paper, they put the reason for admission as “SOB.” A bit confusing until I figured out that stood for Shortness of Breath and was not a reflection on my character. I hope.) CT scans and X-rays show scarring, cloudiness and “spider-webbing” in my lungs, none of which are good. In spite of extensive testing, X-rays and CT scans, the doctors couldn’t pinpoint the… Read More »
So how about that morphine?
“Okay, now, don’t move.” It was my first night in the Intensive Care Unit and the nurse was standing there holding a needle. “This morphine is going right into your heart.” “What?” “The vena cava. It’s the large vein that takes the blood right into your heart.” No … that “what” wasn’t a request for more information — it was a yelp of shock, dismay and whatever is the next step down from terror. “Hold real still,” she said as she picked up the IV port in my neck. Oh, believe me, I was holding real still! There was nothing in this hospital that was holding stiller than I was. The chair in the corner wasn’t even as still as me. I coulda been a statue. I wasn’t even breathing. “There,” she said. “All done. How do you feel?” Terrified would probably cover it. Scared out of my wits. You’re… Read More »
Is it Kipling, or is it my dad?
Okay, perhaps that is a silly question — of course the poem was written by Rudyard Kipling. At least I’m pretty sure. Dad would sometimes quote “Twenty Bridges from tower to Kew … twenty bridges or twenty-two … wanted to know what the river knew.” My dad was born and raised in England back at the beginning of the last century when, he would sometimes tell me, “British meant best.” Although he loved America, a part of his heart still belonged to England. So you bet I was thrilled when my second assignment in the U.S. Foreign Service was to the American Embassy in London. I remember walking along the Thames thinking of those twenty bridges … or twenty-two. Today when I was sorting through (yet another!) box of papers from decades ago in an effort to pare down the clutter, I came across the poem my dad typed out and… Read More »
You can’t kill an oleander? Bet me!
The nice lady at the nursery assured me, “it’s impossible to kill an oleander.” I almost said, “wanna bet? Come by my house.” Instead, I just said “Maybe I can’t, but something sure is.” When we moved into this house over 30 years ago, the oleander hedge between us and the neighbor was well-established and thriving. In summer it was covered with bright pink flowers; the rest of the year the leaves were dark green and glossy. It formed a pleasant demarcation. It seemed independent and content, and I was perfectly content to let it be. In fact, I never gave it a second thought and only occasionally dragged the hose across the driveway to water it. Then a couple of years ago I noticed withering leaves and bare, dead branches. Oops. “So,” I said as I plopped a couple of smallish oleander bushes on the wagon, “how long do you… Read More »
Stop Changing the Dratted Color!
” Can I help you?” the perky young woman asks. I obviously look perplexed. I’m standing in Ulta — a large cosmetics chain store — holding my favorite color of nearly-used-up lipstick. “I’m looking for this color,” I say, extending the tube. She takes my old lipstick and quickly scans the display. “It’s right here,” she said, plucking up the tube I had put back a moment before. Triumphantly she hands me the tester. “That’s not it,” I told her. She looks at the bottom of both lipsticks. “Yes, it is. It says it right here.” “No, it isn’t,” I tell her. She looks at the labels on the bottom and then shows them to me. “Shimmering Brandy,” she says holding my original lipstick, and “Shimmering Brandy” she says, extending the tester from the display. “This is it.” She doesn’t actually roll her eyes, but I can tell it’s an effort. “No,”… Read More »
Dang those Clydesdales are big!
“It’s, okay,” my dad said. “they’re big, but they’re very gentle.” It was New Year’s Day and my parents had taken me to the Tournament of Roses Parade in Pasadena. It was years ago when nobody had thought to blanket the area with security guards. People like us were strolling around looking at the bands, floats and horses waiting for the parade to begin. And now I was standing close to a huge — massive — horse. A Clydesdale. The handler was standing nearby. “It’s okay,” he said, “you can pet him. This is Captain.” Pet him? How on earth was I going to pet this huge animal? I mean, even if I wanted to — he towered above me. Horses have always scared me and this one was mammoth — a super-horse. His feet were the size of a dinner plate. “Captain, say hello to the little girl,” the… Read More »
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