Santa, Brain-Drain, The Pooper and Weird Weather
by Bella Rum
GUESS WHO’S COMING TO TOWN?!
I’ve finished Christmas shopping, and this is what my bedroom looks like. Our youngest is getting a baby doll and crib (crib 50% off). I wrapped about half of the loot. We have more of everything than most people because two of our grands have birthdays at Christmastime. One turns six on the 21st and the other turns two on the 28th. It’s something: presents, tree, turkey, birthday cake. Good times.
When H got the tree down from the attic, half the lights were not working. So he went back up to the attic, and brought down the even smaller, still-in-the-box tree I bought on the cheap in an after-Christmas sale a couple of years ago. It’s very cute. I’ve wanted to go smaller for a while, but I couldn’t bring myself to toss the older tree. It was getting a little crookedy and gappy, but I liked it. When faced with stripping all the lights and redoing it, H made an executive decision and brought out the smaller, already lighted tree.
THE LATEST ON LOSING MY MIND
I sent this email to my son last night.
Mom: What is the name of the company Bran works for?
Mom: You don’t remember?
Dad: I knew.
Mom: You forgot?
Dad: I looked it up one time.
Mom: So, what did you look up?
Dad: Well, I knew the name of the company then.
Mom: What’s the name of the company?
Mom: I don’t have a clue either.
Son writes back: Lol! Love you guys. It’s _______ _____ Studios:)
If you have small children, this must seem very strange. How could parents NOT know where their children work? It isn’t possible. When he was two, I could have picked him out in a dark room of a hundred other kids, blindfolded. His scent was in my being. Occasionally now, I can’t remember the name of his company when he worked in NYC. What the heck was it? Holy cow! He spent eight years of his life there.
I used to know his movements in two-minute intervals. How could I lose track of eight years of his life? How could I forget the name of where he spends his days now? I can’t remember my house phone number sometimes (I never use it so why should I know it?), and when I went to vote in the gubernatorial election, the poll guy made me recite my address as he looked at my driver’s license. I transposed two of the numbers. Luckily, he believed me and let me vote. You would have heard about me on the news if he hadn’t. I’m sure I would have thrown an old-lady fit. I heard somewhere that most of the time, with natural aging, we lose about 1% “or so” of our memory (unless of course it’s disease related), but it feels like more because it’s so frustrating for us. And may I add embarrassing?
On Tuesday morning, I visited my gastroenterologist. What a joy that was. Because I take coumadin (warfarin) and have a lung issue, he wanted a face (butt) meeting before he does the deed. I asked him how a fellow ended up doing such work for a living. He never really answered that to my satisfaction. I’m not sure he knows. Let’s see: pediatrics, primary care, cardiology? Um, gastroenterology. Yep, that’s my passion.
January 9th. Mark that on your calendar.
I told him that I had a hard time with the gallon-jug routine the last time I road this horse. The nausea was tough. He said I could take the smaller version. It comes in two small portions – one taken the night before and one on the morning of the procedure. I’m hoping this will be a little easier. Has anyone out there tried it?
We’ve had temps in the sixties and low seventies. That is unseasonably weird. WEIRD! It goes up and then it goes down dramatically. It was 71º yesterday while we were out, and the temperature suddenly dropped twenty degrees in about twenty minutes or less. We’ve been told to expect a “bad” ice storm this weekend and temps in the low thirties. I’m thinking we’ll be on the edge of the storm and may get mostly rain, but what do I know? Not where my son works.
Homemade vegetable beef soup is on the menu… with biscuits. Keep your fingers crossed that we don’t lose power. We’re stocked up on batteries… for the Grand Trio’s toys… which include a remote-controlled Roboraptor. Uh huh. That’s right. Look at that bad boy. On my grandson’s list, it is not anything I ever would have chosen, not in my most prehistoric dreams. Ugly, lumbering and emitting a beastly roar, it creeps me out, but I’m not a six-year-old boy.