Taking a Break

Posted on July 20, 2012 by Coming East

I have been at this blogging thing for just a couple of weeks shy of two years, and I have been fairly dedicated to writing several posts a week. Many times during the two years I have posted every week day. So I think I’ve earned a blogging vacation. Since my granddaughter is coming today to visit us (she’s the Tortoise on My Pajama Days), I think now is a good time to take a few weeks break. If, during that time, something comes up that I simply must blog about, you’ll see a stray post or two, but don’t hold your breath. And I do intend to keep reading your posts, because I’ve gotten way behind and have missed hearing your voices. The reason I’m letting you know this is because some of you regulars might worry about me if I disappear for awhile. I thank you for that.

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Things That Boggle My Mind

Posted on July 18, 2012 by Coming East

There are some things that I just don’t get, no matter how many times someone explains them to me.  People can tell me the science behind these things, but it just doesn’t make sense to me. For example, have you ever weighed yourself before you went to bed, and then weighed yourself first thing in the morning? My husband and I do that all the time, and every time we find that we are two pounds lighter in the morning. Where did those two pounds go? We didn’t exercise. We were sound asleep for eight hours. Now you may tell me the science behind it is that the body burns all those calories sleeping, but then that should mean if I eat a good breakfast in the morning (akin to eating supper in the evening before we go to sleep) and then lay down and take a long nap, I should weigh two pounds less by dinner time. But that’s not what happens. I always weigh two pounds more at the end of the day than I did first thing in the morning. And you can’t tell me sleeping burns more calories than an hour and a half of yoga and a three-mile fast walk, plus a day of housecleaning. If that were so, why aren’t doctors telling their obese patients to just go home and sleep? Anyway, that’s just one small thing that boggles my mind. Here’s a really big thing.

My brother took this at the pub and sent it to me immediately.

Last night my brother and sister-in-law FaceTimed me (it’s like Skype only easier and is for Mac users. We both have FaceTime on our iPads.) Anyway, they were at a little pub having a pint and listening to music and thought my husband and I would enjoy listening, too. Which we did. They took their iPad and turned the camera around so we could see the musicians as well as hear them, and we even got to talk to some of the patrons in the pub. They waved to us, in fact, and a few blew kisses. They raised their beer glasses in salute, and my husband, who just happened to have a beer in his hand, did the same. Everything came in pretty clearly, and we had no trouble enjoying the music. We tapped our feet and clapped our hands. We felt like we were right there with them. It was great Irish music. In Ireland. Yes, they were in Ireland and we are here in Virginia. How is that possible? Don’t bother giving me the facts because it will just be a bit of mumbo jumbo to me, but it boggles my mind.

The musicians at the pub

I’m waiting for the day when “Beam me up, Scottie” won’t only be a phrase from a Star Trek movie.

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A Deeper Appreciation for the Disabled

Posted on July 16, 2012 by Coming East

I have been incapacitated in various degrees for nearly six weeks now because of this broken foot. For the first four weeks, I was completely unable to put any weight on it and had to hop everywhere I went, using a walker to assist me. Getting up and going to the bathroom in the middle of the night was a nightmare. Even though I am doing a little bit of walking now, I still have to go up and down the stairs on the seat of my pants, and my husband, George, puts me in the wheelchair if we go to the store or anywhere that necessitates me having to walk more than a meager amount. This experience has given me a completely new appreciation for people who are permanently or much more seriously disabled.

Very few restaurants or stores, even those who say they are wheelchair accessible, have doors that open automatically. If no one is around to hold the door, George has to try to hold the door open while pushing me through it. I end up having to help him hold it so it won’t smack one of us. What if I didn’t have George, or what if I didn’t have the use of my arms?

When we were in Asheville, North Carolina, a few weeks ago with my brother-in-law and sister-in-law, I could only see half of the Biltmore Estate because two floors were not wheelchair accessible. There were also shops I couldn’t go into because they were too crowded and packed with fragile items to make it possible for me to negotiate the narrow passageways. I sat outside while my family went in without me. When we went to the Cherokee museum. George pushed me in the wheelchair so I could see the exhibits, but the signs were too high for me to read them comfortably. I tried, but looking up at that angle quickly made my neck sore, and I finally gave up. When I needed to use the restroom, George pushed me over to the door and helped me up so I could use the walker to hop in. But when I tried to leave the restroom, I found I couldn’t open the door and continue to hold on to the walker. I had to bang on the door until George heard me and opened the door for me. And one added note on restrooms. Every single public restroom I used, whether it was at the museum, in a restaurant, at the Biltmore Estate, or at the welcome center on the state highway, had the handicapped stall located the farthest from the restroom door. And these places are supposed to be handicapped friendly?

So here’s the thing. I’m not writing this because I want you to feel sorry for me. In a few months time, I expect to be back to my old self, able to take walks again unaided, able to take care of myself without help from anyone. But many people are not as fortunate. Their disabilities are not going to go away. It is their life. Do you have any idea how many of our young men and women have been horribly injured in these terrible wars? I don’t know the number, but I know it is so high, it is staggering. And our communities are not easy places for them to navigate.

I don’t have any real point except to say their plight has become more real to me. I tasted only a tiny portion of what they have to eat every day. When I see them now, they won’t be invisible, and I will give them more than a passing thought. They will be in my thoughts and on my heart in a more personal way.

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Sleeping Through the Storm

Posted on July 13, 2012 by Coming East

I’m usually awoken by the alarm clock most mornings. That wasn’t always the case. Before I retired, I would awaken before the ringing started, anticipating the start of another work day, my mind already focused on what needed to get done that day. When I woke up Wednesday morning, my husband said, “That was quite a storm last night, wasn’t it!” I told him I hadn’t heard it.  “Really?” he said.  “It was a wild one and it’s still coming down in buckets.” I listened for a moment, and sure enough, I could hear the torrents of rain gushing down the gutters.  Plus, it was still quite dark, unusual even for five-thirty in the morning this time of year.

When we were a young couple with our first child, it was hard to get a good night’s sleep.  One ear was always listening for a cry or a cough coming from the room across the hall. By the time the next one came along, we had instituted the Family Bed and didn’t even have to get up to tend to the kids, but with the snorts and sneezes and general flopping around of two little ones, sound sleep was not a common thing.

Then the kids grew up, as kids are wont to do, and became those rotten teenagers that keep you up until you hear their car pull in the driveway. No matter how many times they would tell you to stop worrying about them, it’s in your genes as a parent. I’d wake up the next morning, groggy and dragging because I was the adult with things to do while they stayed in bed until noon.

Sleep still evaded me after the kids were grown and gone. I was always thinking about my job and what needed to get done for the meeting in the morning or that report that was due in a few days. And I still worried about the kids. Were they happy? Would they find a good job? Would they find someone wonderful to share their life with?

And then I retired and I’ve found that more and more nights I’ve gotten a good night’s rest, the only thing disturbing my sleep is that occasional trip to the bathroom. No, it’s not that there is nothing to worry about anymore. As long as you’re a parent, your kids will be constantly on your mind. And health concerns and hoping that what you financially planned will last occupy my thoughts now and then.

But over the years, I’ve weathered so many storms, I’ve stayed awake, been vigilant time after time, and you get to the point that you know you just have to let it go. The children have to make their own way in the world, just as I did. We’ve planned our best for the future, and we have to rest on the hope that we’ve done enough. Oh, I have those occasional nights where the old worries resurface or new ones crop up, but I find there are more and more nights I’ve slept through the storm. It’s okay. I’ve earned it. Besides, I think I’m still catching up on the sleep I missed because of those rotten teenagers.

Oh, and for the record, I had trouble falling asleep last night. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I needed to pack for vacation. Even good things can keep me awake occasionally.

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Movement

Posted on July 12, 2012 by Coming East
Taken at First Landing Beach on the Chesapeake Bay, Virginia Beach

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Let’s Talk Sex

Posted on July 9, 2012 by Coming East

Saturday morning, as I was about to read the funnies, the only section of the newspaper worth reading, I came across this headline: Hot and Bothered. It took up half the front page of the entertainment section. Of course, I thought it was talking about the steamy weather that has been hitting the nation, but as I read on, I became rather hot and bothered myself. It was about a new book craze labeled “mommy porn.” The article went into detail about the novel, Fifty Shades of Grey and its two sequels. Apparently, it is a best-seller, atop the New York Times list for fifteen weeks now. I think movie rights have already been bought. According to the article, people like dirty books.

Erotica has gone mainstream. Where have I been? My husband was busy perusing the rest of the paper across the table. “You won’t believe this article on this book called Fifty Shades of Grey. It’s about…”  Without looking up, he said, “Oh, you mean that mommy porn book?”

I was stunned? “How do you know about this?” I asked. He told me he had read an article in Time magazine. I went to the coffee table and grabbed the newest issue. “You won’t find it there,” he said. “It was awhile ago.”  How is it that even my husband has known about this for quite some time and I’m just now learning about it? We must run in different circles.

The newspaper article said that the book is a woman’s kind of fantasy. If this kind of smut appeals to women, they must be missing something in their personal lives.  One of the main characters is aloof, which is supposed to make women want him more because , so says the article, women always want something they can’t have. Really? I want what I can always have because I know how great it is. As Paul Newman said about his wife, Joanne Woodward, “Why should I go out for hamburger when I can have steak at home?”

“These books are about torture and bondage, and women are supposed to like that?” I asked my husband.

He shrugged. “It’s a turn-on for some women, I guess.”  The only turn-on I have and have ever had was sitting right across the table from me, clearly enjoying my bewilderment. “Should we read the books and get some ideas?” he joked.

I looked him dead in the eye. “Honey, we don’t need those books. You’ve been in bondage to me for over forty years.”

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Good News for Wine Drinkers

Posted on July 5, 2012 by Coming East

I like to have an occasional glass of wine, usually on the weekends, but I’ve gone nearly a month sometimes without touching a drop of it. As one gets older, it seems harder not to put on the pounds, and who needs the extra calories alcohol so readily provides us with? At least that had been my reasoning until I came across a tiny article in Wine Spectator. No, we are not snobby rich people who prominently display our copy of Wine Spectator on our coffee table. We get that magazine because there aren’t many good magazines to choose from when you need to cash in unwanted sky miles from an airline you seldom fly. It was either Wine Spectator or Golf Digest. Since we’ve never picked up a golf club in our lives, unless miniature golf counts, Wine Spectator was a better choice. That makes us the lowly working class Joes who prominently display our copy of Wine Spectator on the coffee table.

Anyway, I digress. The article says that a study has found that a substance in red wine can actually decrease fat formation during digestion. The study showed that this substance prevented the body from converting calories into fat. It hasn’t been tested in humans yet (I volunteer), so I wonder if little mousies drank to their hearts’ content and kept their svelte figures. Anyway, I thought some of you would be interested in that.

Of course, when I drink wine, and I don’t think I’m alone in this, I tend to have a spread of other things to go along with it. Salsa and chips, for example. Guacamole, charcuterie perhaps, and dark chocolate, of course goes great with red wine. Oh, and maybe some salt and vinegar chips. What about a stack of Buffalo wings with a bowl of blue cheese dressing? Ooh, I forgot about Mexican 7-Layer Dip. Yum! Do you think that fat-blocking substance in the wine blocks fat from everything you consume when you’re drinking it?  Yeah, I’m sure it does.

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Happy Independence Day

Posted on July 4, 2012 by Coming East

Photo taken at Williamsburg, Virginia

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Seeing Myself in a New Light

Posted on July 2, 2012 by Coming East

Since I’ve been incapacitated with this broken foot, my husband has taken over all the household duties that I’ve always done. It’s been difficult for him because he has his own job to do during the day, and then he comes home and does my work in the evenings and weekends. He even makes a great breakfast for me before he goes off to work.

Because my work as a domestic engineer is outside his realm of expertise, I’ve had to explain in detail what he needs to do. For instance, yesterday he did seven loads of laundry, two loads of sheets, two loads of rugs, and a load each of towels, dark things and light things. He had to ask how much detergent to use, what temperature setting was appropriate for each load, when to use fabric softener sheets (a no for towels because it makes them less absorbent, I explained), what things went in the dryer and what things needed to be hung on the drying rack.

When he cleaned the bathroom, I had to explain which product was to be used for the tub, which sponge was for which area (don’t use the same sponge for the sinks and countertop as he used for the toilet), showed him the scrubbing bubbles I used for the shower walls and how long to let it sit before he rinsed them off. When he thought he was finished, he said the bathroom didn’t smell quite as fresh as when I do it. “That’s because I also wash the floor,” I told him. He wanted to wash the floor, too, so I had to tell him which bucket to get, which mop to use, how much pine oil to put in the bucket and how much water to add.

Hubby is getting so much better in the kitchen. He has gone from being nearly a complete non-cooker to someone who can come up with a pretty decent meal with just a little bit of guidance from me. This morning he made a darn good frittata using mushrooms, onion, and basil I cut up for him. I talked him through how much olive oil to use, how to separate an egg so he could use two eggs and one egg white, how to lift up the edge of the frittata as it cooked to let the raw egg slip underneath the cooked part so all of it would be cooked evenly, when to put the lid on the skillet to finish cooking the top of it, and suggested he sprinkle just a little bit of Parmesan on the top before he plated it. It was marvelous!

My husband has so much more to do in the house to get it back into the shape I try to keep it in. He has all the floors to do and all the dusting. I will have to explain the use of the dust mop to get the areas the vacuum can’t reach and which polish to use for what and when to use just a microfiber cloth with no polish for certain things. I have no doubt he will be able to handle it all admirably.

Watching how hard he has worked these past three weeks, especially this weekend, has given me a greater appreciation of…well, of me! Lest you think I’m an egocentric, unappreciative wife, I assure you that I am unspeakably grateful to my husband’s efforts to take care of me during this difficult time. He has gone above and beyond, never complaining once. He does all this extra work with such devotion and grace, and I know I’m the luckiest gal in the world to have a husband like mine.

That being said, after watching all the hard work he is doing every day and how much knowledge it takes to be able to do all those things well, I’m thinking, “Dang! I didn’t realize I know so much and do so much!” You’ll have to excuse me now because I need to take a nap. Watching my husband do all this work makes me tired.

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My Flirtation With Gambling

Posted on June 29, 2012 by Coming East

While we were in the Asheville, North Carolina area, we spent a day on the Indian  reservation in Cherokee.  We started with the museum there and then headed to the casino for lunch.  Of course, you can’t go to a casino and not drop a few coins in the slot machines.  My husband never worries that I’ll get carried away.  I don’t like to play anything higher than the nickel slots, and once I’ve lost ten dollars, I’m done.  Sometimes I can sit for an hour before I lose that much.  Other times, ten dollars is gone in ten minutes.  The expression “Easy come, easy go” is not one I live by.  I would change it to “Hard to come by, hard to let go.”  That being said, I enjoy flirting with the possibility of winning the pot of gold, which, if you are playing nickel slots, would probably only amount to a few hundred dollars.  Could be worse.  I could play the penny slots.

When my father-in-law was alive, he and my husband used to play the lottery together.  We were living in Texas where there wasn’t a lottery yet, and my father-in-law lived in Connecticut, which had one.  My husband would send him money and he would play twice a week.  Any winnings were split down the middle.  We usually didn’t win much, but once we split $1600.  We felt like we had hit the jackpot.  Once Texas got their own lottery, we stopped playing together.  On a recent visit, our son and daughter-in-law gave my husband numbers they wanted him to play each week.  Like father, like son.

Yes, we only have one chance in several million, but don’t gamblers feel that somebody has to win, so why not them?  We only expend $2.00 a week to feed our habit.  I can’t understand people who will blow an entire paycheck or go into debt trying to strike it rich.  It’s a deadly addiction.  Everyone is a gambler though, in the game of life, as this song sung by the great Ethel Waters attests to:

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