Snow Bound Yet Again

This is what it looked like last week.

Stay tuned.

It will be here again on Wednesday night.

In all likelihood I will have to cancel yet another doctor's appointment.

Might not seem insurmountable; but with one barely functioning leg, one leg almost useless and agonizing, two aluminum canes, no boots, ice covered parking lot, and little physical confidence even this level of snow is able to cripple me.

Just kill me now.

First Thing

Every morning without fail the desperate urge to pee wakes me.  Yeah, I know.  Not such an appetizing thought but that's what happens when you get old, have given birth to three ginormous babies (and one medium sized one), and have been denied access to your required bladder medication.  But ranting about the suckage of medical care for the poor is for another post.

Today I also had this ever so pressing question on what's left of my mind:  Did Jada Pinkett ever divorce what's his name?

And, yes. I think of her by her maiden name.  That antiquated, patriarchal means of referring to a woman's birth surname. (Another rant for another post I suppose.  No, I promise.)  And, yes, I truly couldn't immediately recalled her spouse's name.  It occurred to me later, but that doesn't really matter.

Being the 21st century girl I pretend to be I immediately looked it up in the ever so trusty Wikipedia.  HHHhhhhaaaaa.  The closest we have to accurate information in a pinch.  No.  The couple have not divorced.  But I found this horrifying photo:

From an attractive but probably over exercised and underweight lady Ms. Pinkett has become a scary looking visage.  I figure it is a result from plastic surgery gone dreadfully awry.  But even that isn't what caused me to read the attached article.

Rather it was a lambasting by Ms. Pinkett of the media for attacking her daughter's "buzz cut" hairdo.  Hurrah!  For the mom defending her child's decision, but she went further to (dare I say?) rant about how a woman's beauty is not related to outer appearance and that judging one by features is just plain wrong.

Then what is going on with her artificially sculpted face?!  If it came about another way then I will happily shut up.  But at the very least isn't Willow's mommy setting a mixed message?  Or maybe it's not the same to alter hair as opposed to bone structures?  I don't get it and I'm glad it's not my problem.

But I still had to pee.  Now there's a problem I'd like to trade for a new jaw line.  Does that makes sense?

Lost

Even if Kubler- Ross had it right, this knowledge about the grief cycle is not helping me.

Physical and emotional losses have hit me like a ton of bricks in the last several years.  I never denied them. I realized clearly what was going on; no denial was involved.  Intractable pain is not something I could ignore or pretend that it wasn't happening.  Banishment by former dear ones was also made undeniable.   SMASHO!

And maybe that was the problem right from the start.  Maybe if I had pondered the impossibility of these events I would have been better prepared for what came next.  In any case I've been stuck at anger for far too long. Every morning the pain wakes me up, then literally brings me to what is left of my knees during the day, and crushes me into bed at night.  Does this make me furious?  You betcha! The emotional wounds by people I thought I knew better cause  me to fantasize serious science fiction type torture for them all.  Anger is what I've got these days.  But, whoa, if I ever got hold of real weapons on an especially bad day; and there's no telling how much or how many I would annihilate.

Still, perhaps I've been lagging at this stage longer than is helpful.

I don't think bargaining is for me.  No one I know is willing to change much less listen to what I'd need to say.  Not much talking goes on in my sibling circle.  Drama, yes.  Photo opportunities, yes.  Serious conversation, NEVER.  Not with me anyway.  Who knows what they are scared of.  And there is no bargaining regarding medical care.  I am poor, old, and over weight.  Limitations prohibit any optional discussion.  YIKES.  Working around all this stuff is exhausting.

So what's left is acceptance.  And, 'dear holy god and matrimony' I am trying.  But, I am seriously considering the chain saw aisle at the big box.

Must Calm Down

Phone calls. Done.  Done.  Sort of done.  One appointment made but I know the directions she gave me are impossible.  That street ends at a barber shop.  It's easy she said.  You won't get lost she said.  Obviously she does not know me.  I stayed polite but she actually said she had to answer another line.  Wait.  Please put on someone who speaks with a lesser accent.  Please help me.

How to ask to please speak to a speech therapist when you cannot speak well enough to make yourself understood?  What do I do?  Breathe, breathe.  I'm sick of breathing.  I'm sick of this being so difficult.  I'm sick of feeling so damn stupid.  I used to be able to do all these things.  Stop.  Stop.  Please do not sob.  Not again.

What if the referrals don't get here?  I didn't get the fax numbers and now they are all out for lunch.  After then the meds will slam me down to sleep.  No fair.  I'm trying so hard.  I know this crap is so boring to hear about.  Believe me, it's even more boring and scary to be the one at this end.  And now the charge is gone on the phone.  And so I will miss any return call and then get yelled at for not answering the line.  This, any of this, is complicated for a normal regular person.

I'm trying so hard.

Everything Buttons Can Do

But Why?

Sad Rolls In

Made literally thirty plus phone calls attempting to complete doctor homework.

 Yes, I'd be happy to see you, sir, in another month if I could ever get through to your office to make another appointment.  That's a joke, right?  The earliest opening is the week before Christmas?

Hello?  Please.  To whom do I speak to request referral to specialists?  No, I don't have the name because the insurance has not located anyone nearer than 100 miles.  Well, she told me to get the referral first?  But, you say I should get the names first?  Tell you what, why don't you just sign the damn thing and send me a bunch of copies?

Morning and how sick am I of medical topics?!  Jillions!  There must be other subjects.  And fighting with the post office does not count.  And realizing all the sexy locations I am never going to be able to see don't count either.  I'd love to discuss the neighbor lady who abscond with one of my best lines to flirt with the UPS guy.  Damn her.  A conversation with someone interested in ephemera (Isn't that the coolest word?) projects and the crazy houseplants would be sweet.  First in line would be also.

And DO not tell me to stop whining and just get going.  This IS me not whining.  You ain't just NEVER seen the whining me.  As far as getting going is concerned?  Bite me.

Duty Called

After Monday's visit to the blood guy I had some homework.  A chore I took seriously but was clearly not thrilled about. Twelve phone calls which put me in the awkward position of giving some, at the very least, icky news.  I did it as best I could.  Although apparently one of the individuals has completely dropped off the planet.  Do people really do not have voicemail or answering machines?  Ah, well...

Today is brain guy's turn.  Can't wait to see what he's going to want me to do when I get home.  This time I charged up the phone already.  His office mailed eleven pages to be completed before the appointment AND I received two robo-calls.  One confirming the visit itself and a second call instructing me to arrive twenty minutes early to finish any paperwork I didn't complete or completed incorrectly.  I'm not certain if the office is incredibly thorough or they expect their patients are incredibly stupid.  Ah well...

One of the things I know I'll be doing when I get home is trying to figure out a way to annihilate all these damn ants.  My friend tells me they are "sweet ants" and follow anything sugary and anything remotely warm.  Also they bite.  Found that part this morning and have a smidgy, red itchy spot on my arm now.  Don't need the phone for this chore.  Do wish I had more bleach.  Ah well...

Tomorrow is Library Guy and my radio entertainment.  No homework from any of them.  Yippee!

Cheer Me Up!

Today is Blood Test Day and, of course I am sinking fast.  Usual terror.  Usual cigarette desire.  Usual imagining car catastrophes and traffic conflagrations.

Usual forgetting that these things usually work out and I make it home in one piece.  Usual forgetting that I promised myself to think of it as an interesting adventure and not another torturous phenomenon.  Try to at least think of it as a learning experience.

At least  eight vials of blood.  The coolest one is to test for some kind of genetic defect.

Then I'll really know who to blame.

Fashion Nincompoop

Along with everything else, I envision myself as one of the great undiscovered fashion stylists of our time.  Being the relic that I am, and the self-proclaimed arbiter of good taste, and that I have frequently been labelled "all talk and no action" I can pretty much say whatever I want.  Slowly but surely I am closing my ears when that nagging childhood voice leaps in criticising every choice I make.

Gaining self confidence is tricky when most of one's developmental stages have already been achieved.  Still, it is a battle I choose to fight.  And I can hear the snide chuckling in the background.  Hopefully there will be enough "big words" in this post so that those saboteurs will be completely confused.  Anyway, I like to tell myself that I am gaining ground.  At least I know my choices are mine.

As a young lady I kind of missed out on fashion.  I was (and am to this day) the quintessential Fat Girl.  I cannot remember buying clothes off the rack; I sped past the available sizes in area department stores quite rapidly.   Luckily for me, Mommy Dearest was an accomplished seamstress and so I did have something of a wardrobe.

Skirts were required at church, of course, and at school too for most of my adolescence.  The dress code was relaxed for my final two years of high school.  These years were the transition from hosiery to panty hose.  Both were nightmares for fat girls.  Hosiery required girdles and garters and twisting stockings over bulging knees.  Panty hose could be sliced in two: one side of one pair yanked up on the right.  The other side from the other pair yanked up on the left.  A tight squeeze  but at least the crotch landed in the right place.  When a run or snag appeared, the damaged leg, so to speak, could be changed out for a leg from one of the remaining cut up pairs.

Runs were the death knell for stockings and panty hose.  Clear nail polish or hair spray could sometimes halt the progression of the run.  Or the ruined leg could be twisted even further so the (runned? ran?) area with the run was positioned on the inside of one's leg and would be further camouflaged by taking very small steps.  In any case a good girl, a nice girl, a stylish girl did NOT let herself be caught with runs in her stockings.  Which is why I've been so surprised to see photos like this:

This one is from the Sartorialist but Zana Bayne favors this look also.  And, I amaze myself sometimes, I don't hate it.  It makes me wish I could do my teens and twenties over again.  Im-poss-ee-blay!  I know.  I also can't help but wonder (thanks, Carrie) what their mothers must think.

Only In America!!!!

Celebrate capitalism with the best game show ever!



Frenzy

Usually I try to get my laundry at least started early in the morning.  Many of the tenants here at Elder House have professional helpers who begin their work day at nine.  The washing machines fill up quickly.  This past Friday I made it to the laundry room later than I had planned and, yes, all the machines were taken.

No worries.  I perched in my usual spot and opened my book.  Some brilliant individual had propped open the laundry room door by wedging a yellow plastic dustpan underneath.  A blast of air conditioned air swirled into the hall.  Very welcome as the halls are not temperature controlled.

Not all were happy about this.  "Why is that door open?"  The lady in the splashy sundress asked me in a challenging tone.  I told her I didn't know, didn't do it, but was glad for the breeze.  She huffed off,  "Some people are just selfish!"  What?

Leroy (Don't Call Me Sir I Was An Enlisted Man) rolled past and made his usual crack about me guarding the place from all and sundry.  I smiled and assured him I'd let him know if we were under attack.  One of the Dianes had joined me for a bit of wash day conversation and Leroy  loudly pointed out her "size thriteens" in the aisle.  "Move those things outta the way or join me up in my room.  You know what I mean?  Join me?"  Rude and tasteless.  What?

By this time a washer had opened up and I hustled as best I could to start my load of clothes.  How sad is it that my entire wardrobe, so to speak, fits in one machine?  Back in the hall the Other Diane and Kathy had joined us and began a spirited discussion about Grandpa John.  Apparently he has some bladder control issues that the Other Diane had discovered and she was describing an embarassing elevator incident.  I didn't say a word and feigned interest in my book. (Always wanted to use "feigned" in a sentence.)  What is up with these people?

My experiences here, as I've said have been overwhelmingly ones of consideration and kindness.  Was this Friday morning behavior a new thing that I just hadn't seen or heard before?  The days have been steadily getting hotter and maybe that makes old folks act crazy.  A long holiday weekend is near and most of us will not have any fun plans.  Does that induce bad behavior? I'm not sure.  But I got my clean laundry out as soon as it was dry and hightailed it back to my airconditioned room.  Frenzy is just not my style.

And didn't I say that Katie Holmes/Tom Cruise thing wouldn't last?

Waiting For The Library Guy

I reserved a magazine from 2009.  It was obtained from a library in Calumet City where they must have incredibly strict rules about library loans.

It came in its own envelope with a bubble wrap lining.  Many rubber bands securing many handwritten forms and checklists.  Paper clipped instructions to me; here after to be known as "borrower."  Colorful post its affixed to certain pages noting acknowledged damage (corner folded, ink stain, etc.) so that, I hope, I will not be blamed.  And its own special, earlier scheduled pick up time.  Not like plain old home delivery schedule this magazine would be out of Calumet for only a few days rather than the usual three weeks.

Okey Dokey.

I read the articles I wanted.  I wrote down some book titles.  I copied one picture.  And I reverently replaced the magazine  inside the special envelope.  All ready to go.  Nine o'clock came and went.  Does this mean the magazine is mine?  Has it been forgotten?  Should I call Calumet City?  And what happened to my beloved Library Guy?

I'm just evil enough to reserve a magazine from the 20th century.  Wouldn't that throw them for a loop?!

Jumbled

Is this what it means to be at sixes and sevens?
 
My brain keeps flitting from one topic to another.  All are terrifying.  All hinge on the great "what if."

This I know for sure:  Today is the last day of this.  Either it improves or it ends.

Decisions used to exhilarate me.  Some still do.  But this.....this is too much for me.  It makes me so sad and so grief stricken.  I know it hasn't happened yet and I always feel as if I am drawing the bad, dark, twisty stuff to myself.  But I don't know if I really believe that.

I think I've just finally gotten the lesson.

Oh god!

What if this really is the lesson? I'm so damn scared.

Well......goodbye maybe.

Did This Really Happen?

Two things that NEVER happen apparently did.

I won a bracelet in an online sort of writing contest.

AND...

Thanks to new drug program eligibility purchased two prescriptions for quite a bit less than expected.

Being the totally dedicated pessimist and resident of the Dark Side that I am, I did not celebrate.  Cried in disbelief on the drive home of course.  I am still anticipating the letter arriving telling me it was all a big mistake.

Life-10.   Me-Zero.

Overthink

What's for lunch?

a.)  PB and J on toast and a tall glass of icy cold milk.

b.) Leftover chicken and mushroom casserole, three remaining spears of roasted asparagus, and the final wedge of lemon meringue pie.

c.) Taco salad you've been saving and iced tea.

d.)  The last medium meat lover's pizza in the freezer.  But wait, remember what happened the last time you had some of that this late in the day?  Oh, no!  That was NOT pretty.  And it is SO warm today.  Do you really want to get the whole place all hot by turning on the oven?  How much electricity are you going to use trying to cool the place down?  Besides don't those pizzas always need extra grated cheese to make them worth it?  And you forgot to buy the Parmesan the last time you went to the grocery.  You don't really have the taste for pizza anyway, do you?  Why not just skip the whole idea and dive into that bag of double stuffed oreos?

Hello June

This time last year my daughters and I were preparing for a joint graduation celebration.  Baby Sister came into town from the hinterlands of New England and my two best buds finally met.  It was such a happy time.  I am still overwhelmed by the love and effort put forth by so many.  Thanks, Guys.

Now I'm trying.  Crocheted a bundle of sleeves and covered some hideous plastic containers.  Three successes there.  Grew some beet foliage that was more gorgeous than I could have predicted.

And then it died.

No broken hearts.  I composted what I could.  Saved the soil.  Reworked the sleeve.  Waited for inspiration.  And it came, eventually.

When I was a home owner I delighted in my teeny herb garden.  Terra cotta pots on a bent wire baker's rack on my front porch.  Dappled shade.  Dappled sunlight.  Bliss.  Parsley, basil, tarragon,thyme, mint, dill, and chives in abundance.  Here the scale is more limited.

And so I potted up some sage, mint, and rosemary.  So fragrant.  So lovely.  What visions I had of yummy edible surprises.  Roast chicken.  Herbal iced teas.  Smoothies.  But disaster struck!  Today I found this on my counter:

Can you see?  Hideous smudgy black spots on almost every leaf.  As if the poor plants had been attacked by aliens or acid rain or....who knows what.  "That is a disappointment" as Ron Howard would say.

I hope it's not a prelude.  June better not suck. 

Expanding My Cultural Horizons

I think I was a Finn in another life.  Finnish?  Finnlander?  Finnlandian?  I mean no disrespect.

Blog trolling and I often find myself in a sea of grotesquely long words and absolutely stunning photographs.  I am drawn to the bright, no nonsense, in your face colors of the clothing and interiors pictured on these blogs.  I'll get to that in a minute.

But here's a tip:  Don't bother with the google translator widget.  It takes days to figure out how to install the damn thing and then this is an example of what you get as translation:

Playing in the park got wet today and it's pretty litimäräksi pikkunen maple had dropped almost all the bright yellow leaves. Synkästä säästä huolimatta oli hyvä tunnelma. Gloomy weather, the atmosphere was good.

What?  I give.  Anyway the photos on this particular blog are so special I decided to fore go trying to grasp any context.  The blogger does reuse pictures very often; and so I skip around a lot.  What I love:


The clothing.  Particularly the kids' stuff.  Hand knitted, bulky sweaters and scarves.  Big, big buttons.  The yarns, from what I can determine, look REAL.  No acrylic blends.  These are seriously warm garments.  It's Finland!





The colors.  The winters there last forever, right?  So it makes sense that homes are filled with saturated color.  Cups, carpets, cutting boards, slip covers, bulletin boards, plates, baskets.  On and on.  All bright.  White, WHITE walls and cabinets.  And NOTHING CLASHES!  An orange sideboard.  A green step stool.  No muted earth tones here. I adore it!

This particular blogger posts all kinds of scary, threatening warnings about reposting her stuff.  I've submitted "requests", but the language difference hinders the process.  I'm choosing to be daring.

Drain

Another week of beautiful weather.
Outside.
Where I rarely go.
Pain is such an inhibitor.
Fear also.
The breeze is incredibly enticing and windows are open wide.
I share what I can.
I am grateful.
Yes.
I am grateful.
A week on the blasted cell phone.
Trying to make contact.
Trying to understand.
Trying for answers.
Trying.
Trying is exhausting.
Especially when there is nothing to show for it.
This state of affairs masquerades as laziness or lassitude.
The fight begins before I am out of bed.
That doesn't count.
No space on the score card.
Get over it.
Go on.
Go.

Numbers

34   Trees outside my bedroom
35   Months without a cigarette
3     Precious Jewels
2,345  Messages deleted from my old aol account
7     Phone calls completed
2     Calls returned
This is where the video for "Dance 10 Looks 3" from A Chorus Line The Movie is supposed to go.  Anyone who knows how to find it, copy it, and actually figure out how to insert the damn thing, please let me know.  Thanks!
88   Steps to the exit
17   Cars usually in the parking lot
8,450.00  Price of a motorized wheelchair
19   Trips to the bathroom
6    Nightmares last night
47  Pain on a scale of one to ten
11  Days til the card reloads
96   Sad

62  Minutes wasted waiting for program to boot up
5  Snarky emails sent to said program's network
4.09  Dollars in my account
1  Hideous runaway dog
8  Daily meds
11/2 Remaining time

Dark And Twisty

Meredith Grey has nothing on me.

Forms arrived in the mail yesterday.  Blood pressure rises.  Heartbeat increases.  Urge to vomit makes itself known.  This is NOT going to be good news. 

Still.....

The envelope is thick.  In college application lore this is a positive indication.  Do I dare open it in the hallway?  Deep breath.

Reading.  Reading.  Continued reading.  And every page is incomprehensible.  Each paragraph seems to contradict the paragraph preceding it.  Half of the pages are in Spanish and I cannot locate the equivalent pages in English.  The letterheads do not match up.  I am totally lost; at least I am not dissolved in panic driven tears yet.

Back inside apartment.  Rest.  Eat.  Fold laundry.  Pee.  Sleep.  Pee again and again.  Crochet.  Pee yet again.  Oh, yeah, breathe.  Peruse forms and discover the desperation contact number.  Decide to wait til morning.  Procrastination is king around here.  And I must say, I believe it keeps me alive most days.

Morning.  Assemble forms, a working pen, charged phone, plenty of paper.  Navigate to the website in case it is referenced during the call.  Dial.  Listen to endless phone prompts and menu selections.  Wait.  Wait.  Continue waiting til the final recorded message:  "Regular office hours are Monday through Thursday, 8:00 am to..."  I stop listening and look at the clock.

7:59.

It figures.

What do you bet when I call back the final message will go something like this:  "All our mindless drones are speaking with other more important clients."

I wish I had learned to speak "Government Red Tape."