wherein i’m called an old hag…

Bella ~ I’m sorry I went and got old on you, honey. You could be with Linda right now. I bet she’s still beautiful.

H ~ I’m sure she got old, too.

Bella ~ Uh, that was not the right thing to say.

H ~ I mean I love what I got.

Bella ~ Not much better.

H ~ (considering options now) I never wanted anyone but YOU!

Bella ~ (… thinking, thinking…) Better.

I’m sure you deduced that Linda is one of H’s “old” girlfriends – old and former. What can I tell you about her? She was beautiful and could fit a French fry in her mouth sideways. I never understood why that should be a claim to fame, but everyone seemed very impressed. It sounds a little three-ring-circus-ish to me. Now I’m being mean. This is me being mean. Quick, say something nice. The last time I saw her was awhile after she’d had a couple of kids, and she was maintaining nicely.

She was invited to my shower but didn’t attend. I don’t blame her. I still can’t figure out who thought that was a good idea. She did give us a gift. She left that nut bowl (up there) on the doorstep of a mutual friend’s house… or more likely her mother did. I saw it when we were cleaning out the attic last weekend. We get it out every Christmas and fill it with assorted nuts. A little worse for wear, next Christmas will be its 44th year.

The first year that my DIL celebrated Christmas with us, my son regaled her with what has become the annual “nut bowl story.” There’s always some remark about that nut bowl and where it came from and how it just arrived on the doorstep. Someone always asks H, “Nice nut bowl. Where’d you get it?” And then it begins anew. Hassling H about the nut bowl has become part of our ritual just as much as the snow globe and the old Santa photos of my son.

Linda’s parents loved H. My friend (the one who gave the shower for me) told me that her parents were very disappointed when they broke up. They kept H’s field jacket in hopes that he would return for it and he and Linda would reunite. When I told this to H (years ago), he said he always wondered what happened to that jacket. I told him, “They counted on you being smart enough to remember where you left it.” He said, “They always gave me too much credit?”

A few months ago, in an old frame, we found an etching of Linda behind one of H’s Vietnam photos. It was not very good, but I recognized her immediately. It did not flatter her. She was much prettier.

After a brief and horrible marriage to a horrible man, Linda found a great guy, settled down and made a couple of beautiful children. I wonder if she can still do the French fry trick. I’m not looking her up to find out.

Who could forget?

Bella ~ (sings) I’m so glad we had this time together,
Just to have a laugh, or sing a song.
Seems we just got started and before you know it
Comes the time we have to say, ‘So long.’

H ~ Captain Kangaroo?

Bella ~ (deep sigh) Carol Burnett, goofball.

This one’s for you, H.

competition

me ~ every time i cough i wet my pants

h ~ every time i cough i fart

seven days and counting

Old Fools

I’m minding my own business. He walks in the room and you know who “he” is. He moves the plastic container that holds ALL of our vitamins and meds. He moves it from where I placed it a few minutes before he walked in the room. At least he doesn’t move my MON/TUE/WED pill container. When I finally look up and realize he’s moved the meds, I ask …

Me ~ Why did you move the meds?

H ~ I don’t know.

Me ~ I was getting ready to put my meds in my container.

H ~ (he reaches for the big container) Here.

Me ~ I sat it here… where I wanted it and you walked in a moved it.

H ~ Yup.

Me ~ I thought you were going to do your meds.

H ~ I was.

Me ~ But you didn’t.

H ~ Nope.

Me ~ So why you messin’ with my system?

H ~ &#!%!* You’re losing it, you know that?

Me ~ You’re annoying and you’re invading my space and you’re chewing (pretzels)  so loud.

H ~ He laughs. (which is even more annoying)

And that’s how two people let of steam when they’re bored. Now he’s on his way to the grocery store. That should keep him out of my hair for 45 minutes. I better get these things sorted before he gets back. Then I’ll try to distract him while he’s putting his pills in his container, and maybe he’ll screw up the order or forget a vitamin or his fiber supplements. This is how the mighty boomers get their kicks these days.

A Woman Scorned

Have you heard about the Beaverton, Oregon woman who found a text message that revealed her husband’s affair with a 22-year-old?  Elle Zober is an artist and photographer, so when she decided to sell the house, she opted to save a little cash by creating her own “house for sale” sign.

The fine print reads “by scorned, slightly bitter, newly single owner.”

What does Ms. Zober have to say?

“I’m not sure how this all happened… but, all I can say is that as soon as your husband/wife starts using new texts languages like :/, or starts talking to you like a college kid…. check your phone bill – you’re probably going to be in for a surprise.  For me that surprise came in the form of a 22 year old college student who likes yoga… and, other people’s husbands.”

This reminds me of a bizarre story in my family. My sister called one day to tell me that her husband’s sister was finally getting a divorce. The family had long wondered why she had married the fellow. He seemed more than odd at times. She finally decided to call it quits when she came home from work one day to find a huge banner tied between two trees in her front yard.  It read:

It is better to live in a corner of the roof than in a house shared with a contentious woman. – Proverbs 25:24

“H” was like, “What’s wrong with that? The guy was just stating the obvious.” I told him he could become an attic dweller anytime he wished.

Bring an Umbrella!

My friend’s daughter is getting married tomorrow. The ceremony begins at 6:30 pm. It’s an outdoor wedding. Temps will only be around 90 (could be worse) and there’s a 40% chance of thunderstorms (don’t want to think about it).

We’ve had some violent storms recently that caused power outages and downed trees, etc.  You  have to be fearless to have an outdoor wedding. I don’t have the constitution for it. I would be a mess. The ceremony will be outdoors, but they do have a tent for the reception.

Hopefully, all will go well.

They are getting married on the bride’s uncle’s farm. It’s only a few minutes from my house. The setting is perfect. It has beautiful gardens, and the bride spent a lot of her childhood there. I’m excited for them.

 

too much of each other

You have no idea.

No idea…

how happy I am that H is going to work today.

How long has he been hanging around the house?

TOO (choose your favorite expletive) long. That’s how long.

How do I know when he’s been home too long? When I can hear him chewing. That’s how I know. When he sneezes and I fantasize about holding a pillow over his face. That’s how I know. When he breathes and the inhales and exhales are like a tsunami washing over the Earth.

Because of the nose incident, he’s been unable to do ANYTHING for a week. Do you know how crazy that makes him. Plus. The other super annoying thing? I know he’s lost 10 pounds. Not from nose-ailing, but from adhering to Weight Watchers. He couldn’t even exercise and he still lost 10 pounds. I hate to think of what he would have lost if he could have done his crazy Tae Bo every day. Of course, it won’t be official until tomorrow when we weigh in.

After his one-week follow-up appointment with the Mohs surgeon, which went very well, he stopped by work and told them if they wouldn’t let him work today they shouldn’t be surprised to read about his body being found washed up on a local shore. They laughed – ha, ha, ha – but they gave him hours.

You should see his nose. His Mohs surgeon is a miracle worker. It’s only been a week, and you can barely see where the stitches were. The actual location of the basal cell is still slightly visible. She said it would heal nicely, and then she will do any sanding and fixing-up that she deems necessary. Personally, I think it’s good enough for guv’ment work already… better. He had a small white spot in the crevice of his nose (by the nostril) where another doctor had removed a small basal cell a few years ago. She actually fixed that, too. It was a little bonus. I guess she figured she may as well do it while she was in the neighborhood. Nice.

If you must have a basal cell or other type of cancer removed (especially from the face), ask your dermatologist about Mohs. This is the third basal cell she’s removed for H, and the results were terrific in every case. She’s an artist.

So that’s what’s been happening in the cul-de-sac. We’ve watched a bazillion movies and Mad Men episodes (which I’m enjoying), and we’ve sniped at one another till we just look the other way when the other one walks in the room.  It would have been more tolerable if he could have done something: golf, projects around the house, yard work, anything. I have a light fixture for the foyer sitting in the floor, and I really want a ceiling fan with a light for the office before summer gets rolling, but he had orders (that superseded mine) not to do anything “at all.”

He’s gone now and I’m here alone for the entire day. How sweet it is.

Didn’t most little boys who grew up in the fifties want to be a cowboy at one time or another?

Here I am in the middle of the night. There weren’t enough hours yesterday to cover all my worrying so I had to get up a few hours ago to get it all in. God forbid I shouldn’t spend enough of my life in the throes of anxiety.

For some reason, I can’t stop thinking about a middle-aged African-American woman who, about five years ago, told me to have a blessed day as I dragged myself across the hospital parking lot to my car after days of sitting at Dad’s bedside. This stranger, who crossed my path for only a few seconds, still pops into my head when I’m thrashing out something that has no solution but requires coping instead. I was so low that day and she reminded me of Psalm 30:5 weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.

We’ve spent a number of weeks chasing down something in H’s lungs. A lot of time was spent ruling out stuff. Waiting for the results of each test was like waiting to see which chamber holds the bullet. It isn’t cancer or COPD or Restrictive Lung Disease. He has thickening of the air passages and a precursor to Interstitial Lung Disease (ILD).

We don’t know enough about it now, and I’m not going into what I do know because I have a tendency to see only the worst when I first hear bad news. It takes a little time to get perspective and we just found out. I’m not even giving into my grand love of giving you links to informative sites tonight, and I’m not going into how many tests and doctor appointments it took to find the actual problem. I’m sure I’ll bore you with all that sometime in the future.

Yes, he smoked. He smoked long and hard, as if it was his life’s work. Interestingly enough, exposure to grain dust is linked to ILD. H grew up and worked on a farm, but let’s face it, thirty-six years of smoking trumps a few years of grain dust. No one doubts that smoking is the culprit.

Sometimes I think marriage is a boxing ring where the same battle is waged round after round. Married people don’t have singular, unique, creative arguments. They have about four or five unoriginal issues they go round and round about… over and over again. H’s smoking was my dog to kick in this marriage. I smoked for a short time and quit. Then I smoked again for a couple of years and quit for good. There’s noting more superior or judgmental than a reformed anything. If someone asked me my secret to a good and long marriage, I’d say tolerance, reasonable expectations and respect. I broke every one of those rules when we argued about H’s smoking.

H started smoking when he was in Vietnam. The soldiers received cigarettes in their C-rations. The C-ration was actually replaced in 1958 by the Meal, Combat, Individual ration (MCI), but the soldiers still called them C rations. Someone took an irony pill before coming up with that name on the package on the right.

I was reminded of those free cigarettes in his C-rations when a fellow blogger wrote so eloquently about her anger after attending a function where free cigarettes were given out to teenagers.

“… as far as I’m concerned the tobacco industry continues to groom the next generation, and apparently they’re doing a good job of it.  Yesterday I read this; more teens than ever smoking…”

H was nineteen when he was in Vietnam. Most would say a man, but his mama would say he was still a boy. Certainly, he smoked long after he was a teenager, quitting ten years ago at the age of 55. He knows he’s fully responsible for his smoking history, but somehow I don’t care who is at fault. I only care that someone who has loved me since he was barely a man has an ugly, nasty thing in his lungs.

a man in uniform

I said goodbye to H about an hour ago. He’s on his way to a new job. Can you believe it? Was it really only last week that we were dancing on each others’ nerves and eying the forks with ill intent?

He applied for a couple of jobs and was offered both. He chose a driving job with Advanced Auto. They’re opening a new store in our area. He only wants two or three days a week. God knows, he must have time off for doctor appointments and naps.

He has three days of training this week. And listen to this. He wears a uniform… sort of. He has to wear a red polo shirt and black chinos. How cute is that?

The interesting thing here is that he found two jobs instantly. H said the Advanced Auto guy told him he was relieved. He said he needed another driver ASAP and didn’t know what he would have done if he hadn’t found H when he did. Of course, these are only part-time jobs, but still. It’s good to know a few jobs are out there. These jobs are perfect for young people who need a few days off for school and partying and retirees who need to schedule their naps.

Okay. Enough nap jokes.

Wish I’d taken a pic of him before he left. He was all shiny and new like the first day of school. All that was missing was a bouquet of number twos.

Maybe he’ll try full-time retirement again next year. A person has to ease into these things.

stick a fork in it

Big and fluffy flakes are falling now. So is darkness. It won’t be long. I’m waiting for H to wake from his nap to make a cup of tea for us, or maybe I’ll go wild and have hot cocoa. I’ve spent the day watching rain mixed with ice, and then ice mixed with snow and now all snow. It’s supposed to continue through the night. Even with the constant snowfall over the past five or six hours, the ground is barely covered. It’s too warm.

H hasn’t worked for the past couple of months. Freight is down. One of their biggest customers went exclusively international – no local shipments anymore. So he’s home every day except when he plays golf. The weather has permitted outdoor activity a day or two every week, thankfully. I’m not sure how people do this full-time retirement thing. We’ve started going in opposite directions at least a day or two a week. A couple must be apart for at least a while if they are to have anything of even mediocre interest to say to one another, or if they are expected not to puncture each other with forks while one or the other is sleeping.

The snow is calming and lovely. Its soporific effect combined with one of us indulging in his thoroughly developed proclivity for napping is probably responsible for the fact that we are both still breathing… for the time being. How long this will be the case, I can not say. We mustn’t expect too much. I have no documentation to back this up, but I have a theory. When the skeletal remains of an ancient couple is excavated, and one has a mysterious hole in his skull, it’s safe to assume they were probably retired.

The other unfortunate result of H being at home all the time is that he can finally see how little I actually do when left to my own devices. The lazy, ne’er-do-well part of my nature has revealed itself in all its odiousness. How I’ve managed to hide this side of my temperament for over forty years is a marvel even to me. I’m good but no one can keep up a charade when being supervised twenty-four hours a day. Ah, the burden.

I wonder if we will wake to the softness of a snow-covered world. They’ve readjusted their predictions down from 3″ to 5″ to 1″ to 3″. We’ll see. If it snows enough he’ll have to shovel. That could take an hour or so. Then he’ll be tired. So he’ll need a long nap. Work with me here.

Where are those forks?