I would be amiss if I didn’t expound on my adventure today at Dalton Imaging Center. Gentlemen, if you are reading this, it’s time to close the window and step away from the computer. **** Females only from this point….you have been warned. ***
I had my yearly mammogram today. I must say, it equaled the thrill of APA writing in many ways. First of all, I have been going to this same place for probably 10 years. Every year, I fill out a new form, and never has the information changed, except the insurance card. So, I sit on the [worn but comfy] settee and fill out my same old information. Not apprehensive at all, as I have been a customer here for a while, as stated previously.
Sure enough, their promptness is reinforced as after only a few minutes, they call my name. Same little woman shuffles back to The Room. She has spoken maybe 20 words to me in 10 years. I suppose in her line of work, it helps not to get too friendly.
So I’m ushered in the little changing room, “gowns are in the top cabinet” she says much like Cloris Leachman in “Young Frankenstein”, as she has for the past decade. Well, they‘ve obviously upgraded to a new, improved ‘gown’. This thing looks like a Christmas tree skirt with snaps. There are no arm-holes, only this bat-like cape-like thing. Great, I say to myself. Now I look even more stupid because I can’t figure out how this goes. Well, I go and sit in the room with the Monster, and while I wait, I notice a little difference. This is a new machine, a new configuration. The old one had to have the big old x-ray plates pushed in. This is a streamlined model, with digital access and a monitor. Neat! Not so neat. The little woman comes in and tells me to stand in front of The Beast. She squirts something on a cloth and proceeds to wipe down the surface of the jaws of this thing. I said jokingly, “Does that warm it up?” No response from the dominatrix. I’m sure she’d rather remain aloof and uncaring handling what she does all day every day.
Then she grabs my breasticle and pulls it into the gaping jaws of her new best friend. She presses a pedal with her foot and then turns a knob and cranks it down even more! I cannot breathe! I recall her saying in past years “hold your breath” – no need now….can’t breathe, can’t talk, I can only crouch in the awkward standing/leaning position the dominatrix has placed me. THEN she says, “I’ll get you out of this in just a second.” LIAR! I’m counting to ten, trying not to pass out, thinking that if I did, I’d be just hanging there with my poor bresticle in the Jaws of the Monster. With much relief, I hear the monster scream and then its hold on me eases up. That was one. She did four. I’m surprised that I’m alive to tell the tale. Say it now..."I'm too old for this!"
It is good to be screened for problems. It is not good to leave unable to stand erect and breathe normally. Only once a year, only once a year.
See why I go fishing?
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
The Summer that almost wasn't
Summer, ah summer….one of my favorite times of the year. I have so many memories of summertime when I was a child, spent with days of playing with Barbie dolls with my cousins, eating grape popcicles and having fresh, ripe tomatoes from my granddaddy’s garden. There was the occasional trip to Florida to the beach, visiting a dear uncle and aunt. Not a care in the world, knowing that when the cicadas started buzzing, my mama would be there soon to pick me up from my Granny’s house. Those days seem so long ago in one sense…another lifetime, and yet, so near and dear in my mind.
So, what has summer become? Most years of late it is spent with projects, cleaning, doing the things that one never has time to do during the school year. This summer? Not hardly. I have spent this summer at Gitmo in the computer department, allowed to leave only for nourishment and bathing, or so it seems. Very thankful that the summer semester was only 7 weeks long, but painfully wounded from the mental warfare that has taken place. A few battles lost, but the war has been won. I am finished with all assignments, I have fought the good fight. I have no more fingerprints.
I have learned, though….my expertise in Bovine Excrement profusity has increased; my knowledge of APA writing has expanded (though painfully); my thoughts on the use of instructional technology have become clearer and more defined, and I have learned what dishes not to get at several local restaurants. One thing I have retained is my right to have lunch with friends. Summer has been a time to re-connect, catch up, commiserate, and enjoy the friendships, some of which have lasted a lifetime. I have also learned to celebrate the passing of another year of life on this planet. This year, I have caught up with the old speed limit of the interstate…”Arrive alive at 55!”. I have. I did. I’m proud.
I have also learned that my quest for higher education has cost me many brain cells. For example, I no longer know my basic integers. When asked recently how many checks, I said ‘one’ and held up four fingers. I have also realized that I am the comic relief at times when my intention is to be the spectator (Thank you J, N, and M for laughing WITH me and not AT me). I have wondered if the onset of Old Timers Disease (CRS) has stricken me, and know that there is no cure but laughter.
At the same time, I have walked with my grown daughter in her quest to become an adult and obtain gainful employment….jury still out on that. I have enjoyed sitting outside on the deck with coffee in hand laughing at ‘cat antics’ and listening to the birds. I have been blessed to enjoy cool mornings of watering my plants on specified watering days and enjoying the habitat of my own little back yard. I will miss these mornings when reality as I know it comes back all too soon.
But one thing is left to do to make summer…go wet a hook, aka go fishing. Yes, I’ll check the fish and game forecast to see just what day looks best. I’ll be there at my buddy’s pond, listening to the birds, crickets, and critters, standing on the bank as I cast my line in the still water. It’s called ‘fishing’, not ‘catching fish.’ And, as they say, a bad day fishing is the best day working.
I’ll make my summer complete in a day or two. I’ll turn off this machine and put on my fishin’ hat. The summer that never was has one more good day left in it.
Gone fishin. Be back….maybe.
So, what has summer become? Most years of late it is spent with projects, cleaning, doing the things that one never has time to do during the school year. This summer? Not hardly. I have spent this summer at Gitmo in the computer department, allowed to leave only for nourishment and bathing, or so it seems. Very thankful that the summer semester was only 7 weeks long, but painfully wounded from the mental warfare that has taken place. A few battles lost, but the war has been won. I am finished with all assignments, I have fought the good fight. I have no more fingerprints.
I have learned, though….my expertise in Bovine Excrement profusity has increased; my knowledge of APA writing has expanded (though painfully); my thoughts on the use of instructional technology have become clearer and more defined, and I have learned what dishes not to get at several local restaurants. One thing I have retained is my right to have lunch with friends. Summer has been a time to re-connect, catch up, commiserate, and enjoy the friendships, some of which have lasted a lifetime. I have also learned to celebrate the passing of another year of life on this planet. This year, I have caught up with the old speed limit of the interstate…”Arrive alive at 55!”. I have. I did. I’m proud.
I have also learned that my quest for higher education has cost me many brain cells. For example, I no longer know my basic integers. When asked recently how many checks, I said ‘one’ and held up four fingers. I have also realized that I am the comic relief at times when my intention is to be the spectator (Thank you J, N, and M for laughing WITH me and not AT me). I have wondered if the onset of Old Timers Disease (CRS) has stricken me, and know that there is no cure but laughter.
At the same time, I have walked with my grown daughter in her quest to become an adult and obtain gainful employment….jury still out on that. I have enjoyed sitting outside on the deck with coffee in hand laughing at ‘cat antics’ and listening to the birds. I have been blessed to enjoy cool mornings of watering my plants on specified watering days and enjoying the habitat of my own little back yard. I will miss these mornings when reality as I know it comes back all too soon.
But one thing is left to do to make summer…go wet a hook, aka go fishing. Yes, I’ll check the fish and game forecast to see just what day looks best. I’ll be there at my buddy’s pond, listening to the birds, crickets, and critters, standing on the bank as I cast my line in the still water. It’s called ‘fishing’, not ‘catching fish.’ And, as they say, a bad day fishing is the best day working.
I’ll make my summer complete in a day or two. I’ll turn off this machine and put on my fishin’ hat. The summer that never was has one more good day left in it.
Gone fishin. Be back….maybe.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Running
I knew it, but didn’t think I needed to remind myself. Running. It’s not just for the young, the healthy, the yuppie with nothing to do, it’s for old people in an emergency. However, I do admit and follow the policy that “I’m too old for this”….regarding running. I have always maintained that I would not run unless something foreboding was chasing me or a loved one was in danger. Add to this list: runaway tires. Yes, Mr. Michelin.
[Stop reading and go to the bathroom now, because this may cause you to laugh uncontrollably and you might have an accident. You have been warned.]
My next door neighbor is having a yard sale today. We live on a highly traveled, main artery-type street, where business is usually good. I have these three, odd tires that I’ve been trying to sell via my neighborhood recycle network and word of mouth, but no takers. I thought I’d mosey over and ask her if I could slide those in perhaps to make a sale and get rid of them myself. Neighbor wasn’t outside, but two friends were, and they said that my neighbor was just letting them do the sale in her yard, and that she wouldn’t mind at all.
I go over to where these three tires are stacked up. Pulling the first one off the top, I noticed that it had been rained on and water had collected. Yuk, “Though I. I will plop this down and let the water splash out so it won’t slosh out while rolling it over.” So, I hoisted it up and rolled it over a little to a space off the driveway to plop it down. It didn’t plop. It rolled, and rolled, and rolled….getting faster and faster to the point I was chasing it down the driveway yelling, “Stop, stop!!!” …as if a tire will hear or respond to my calls. At that point, it bounced over into the grass and a thought of hope sprang from my winded chest. Yes, I WAS CHASING the stupid thing down the driveway. I would have gladly just stood and watched, but it was about to go into that busy street I mentioned previously. Lots of crashes happen on this street, and I can see myself being sued by a driver who was hit by a runaway tire and swerved into another car, causing a chain reaction crash and disrupting the church service happening across the road.
Well, as I check out the approaching traffic, to my left I see a little silver something-or-other speeding down the street. I think I was yelling, “Stop” to him, too. To my right, a small pick-up truck had obviously seen this tirade (!) and had stopped, waiting on the runaway Michelin to cross. I could see his teeth, meaning that he was either smiling politely or laughing his head off. Fortunately, the tire missed the little silver car and went straight across the road in front of the pick-up, hitting the curb and stopping to rest. (I know I was out of breath by this time!). The kindly man motioned me across (while laughing out loud) and I rescued the tire which now lay propped up in the gutter of the street, out of harm’s way.
The lady doing the yard sale (a good ten years younger than myself) is coming over to assist in the rescue. She crosses the street, then PICKS UP the tire amidst my protest that “I can get that!” Well, obviously I proved that I couldn’t! She carries it back up the hill into my neighbor’s yard to the ‘merchandise’ section, where she plops it down and that nasty water splashes out, getting on her. See? That was the whole point of this charade! Got that nasty water out. Well whatever. I told her that I’d just scoot the other two out into the sunlight and if someone was interested, send them over to my driveway. I was not about to do a re-take on the previous scene.
The other lady who was younger but larger than myself said, “I must confess….we were sitting here laughing!” Well good for you. I probably would have laughed myself if I had witnessed such a scene. So I tread home breathless (remember….I do NOT run) and walk into my house somewhat humiliated and breathless. I sat down in front of the computer and felt my pocket….MY CELL PHONE IS GONE! Good Lord! It must have fallen out during that Olympic tire run. So here I go, back out the door, over to the neighbor’s where the lady and myself start re-tracing our steps to find My Precious. Nowhere to be seen. She starts calling my number, and after a thorough outdoor search, I decide I’d go BACK in and look one more time in the house. I retrace my steps, and what do I find next to the computer? Yes, My Precious. So I pick it up, dial the missed call, which was my new BFF, and said when she answered, “This is the crazy neighbor lady. I found my phone.” She was laughing, and couldn’t stop. Fine. Glad you had your chuckle for the day. After all, that’s my purpose in life to bring laughter to others. Think of all those lives I’ve touched today. I will now go look for myself on YouTube. I’m SURE somebody must have gotten that!
[Stop reading and go to the bathroom now, because this may cause you to laugh uncontrollably and you might have an accident. You have been warned.]
My next door neighbor is having a yard sale today. We live on a highly traveled, main artery-type street, where business is usually good. I have these three, odd tires that I’ve been trying to sell via my neighborhood recycle network and word of mouth, but no takers. I thought I’d mosey over and ask her if I could slide those in perhaps to make a sale and get rid of them myself. Neighbor wasn’t outside, but two friends were, and they said that my neighbor was just letting them do the sale in her yard, and that she wouldn’t mind at all.
I go over to where these three tires are stacked up. Pulling the first one off the top, I noticed that it had been rained on and water had collected. Yuk, “Though I. I will plop this down and let the water splash out so it won’t slosh out while rolling it over.” So, I hoisted it up and rolled it over a little to a space off the driveway to plop it down. It didn’t plop. It rolled, and rolled, and rolled….getting faster and faster to the point I was chasing it down the driveway yelling, “Stop, stop!!!” …as if a tire will hear or respond to my calls. At that point, it bounced over into the grass and a thought of hope sprang from my winded chest. Yes, I WAS CHASING the stupid thing down the driveway. I would have gladly just stood and watched, but it was about to go into that busy street I mentioned previously. Lots of crashes happen on this street, and I can see myself being sued by a driver who was hit by a runaway tire and swerved into another car, causing a chain reaction crash and disrupting the church service happening across the road.
Well, as I check out the approaching traffic, to my left I see a little silver something-or-other speeding down the street. I think I was yelling, “Stop” to him, too. To my right, a small pick-up truck had obviously seen this tirade (!) and had stopped, waiting on the runaway Michelin to cross. I could see his teeth, meaning that he was either smiling politely or laughing his head off. Fortunately, the tire missed the little silver car and went straight across the road in front of the pick-up, hitting the curb and stopping to rest. (I know I was out of breath by this time!). The kindly man motioned me across (while laughing out loud) and I rescued the tire which now lay propped up in the gutter of the street, out of harm’s way.
The lady doing the yard sale (a good ten years younger than myself) is coming over to assist in the rescue. She crosses the street, then PICKS UP the tire amidst my protest that “I can get that!” Well, obviously I proved that I couldn’t! She carries it back up the hill into my neighbor’s yard to the ‘merchandise’ section, where she plops it down and that nasty water splashes out, getting on her. See? That was the whole point of this charade! Got that nasty water out. Well whatever. I told her that I’d just scoot the other two out into the sunlight and if someone was interested, send them over to my driveway. I was not about to do a re-take on the previous scene.
The other lady who was younger but larger than myself said, “I must confess….we were sitting here laughing!” Well good for you. I probably would have laughed myself if I had witnessed such a scene. So I tread home breathless (remember….I do NOT run) and walk into my house somewhat humiliated and breathless. I sat down in front of the computer and felt my pocket….MY CELL PHONE IS GONE! Good Lord! It must have fallen out during that Olympic tire run. So here I go, back out the door, over to the neighbor’s where the lady and myself start re-tracing our steps to find My Precious. Nowhere to be seen. She starts calling my number, and after a thorough outdoor search, I decide I’d go BACK in and look one more time in the house. I retrace my steps, and what do I find next to the computer? Yes, My Precious. So I pick it up, dial the missed call, which was my new BFF, and said when she answered, “This is the crazy neighbor lady. I found my phone.” She was laughing, and couldn’t stop. Fine. Glad you had your chuckle for the day. After all, that’s my purpose in life to bring laughter to others. Think of all those lives I’ve touched today. I will now go look for myself on YouTube. I’m SURE somebody must have gotten that!
Monday, July 6, 2009
Twilight Blue and Caramel Melt
Don’t those words just ease your tension and make your mouth water? Not hardly. They are paint colors. (Yes, a job I’d like to have: sit around and think up new paint color names.) These are two colors that are being used in my basement. We are in process of “fixin’ up the basement apartment” for my adult daughter. To make it her own, she picked out paint colors. I have no problem with that. They are pretty. The reason for this entry is that I have found out today that “I’m too old for this.”[Caramel melt.] Painting. Not me. No more. The ‘proper’ method of painting [thank you DIY network and HGTV] is to tape off everything you don’t want to become the new color. Well, this is a kitchen. Do you actually KNOW how many nooks and crannies are in a kitchen area? The designer of this particular kitchen, well, was on drugs…literally. Therefore, we spent taping about an hour and painting about 15 minutes.
I have discovered that my poor old bones do NOT want to climb the little ladder, up and down, up and down. I have also discovered that my arms do NOT want to roll paint on a wall…back and forth, back and forth. There IS a reason why we hire painters when we get old. I know my daughter was frustrated with me when I said, “That’s as high as I can reach,” meaning that she got to climb around on the counter and paint the top part. Did this activity USED to be fun? I remember watching my dad paint and thinking just how cool it was. Well, for the record…this is NOT FUN ANYMORE nor is it cool by anyone's imagination.
Then comes the cleaning of the rollers and the brushes. Oh please! This task was usually left to my dad or my husband. Since that new rule went into effect of “you mess it up, you clean it,” the joy of fishing and painting has escaped. Don’t want to clean fish. Did it once, won’t do it again. Don’t want to clean rollers and brushes. Alas, this task fell to me today.
So, as I settle down and dry out from the shower and rinsing the Twilight Blue from my fingers, I can look forward to the Caramel Melt painting of tomorrow. Perhaps if I’m eating, say, a Snickers bar it might go a little easier. Works for me.
I have discovered that my poor old bones do NOT want to climb the little ladder, up and down, up and down. I have also discovered that my arms do NOT want to roll paint on a wall…back and forth, back and forth. There IS a reason why we hire painters when we get old. I know my daughter was frustrated with me when I said, “That’s as high as I can reach,” meaning that she got to climb around on the counter and paint the top part. Did this activity USED to be fun? I remember watching my dad paint and thinking just how cool it was. Well, for the record…this is NOT FUN ANYMORE nor is it cool by anyone's imagination.
Then comes the cleaning of the rollers and the brushes. Oh please! This task was usually left to my dad or my husband. Since that new rule went into effect of “you mess it up, you clean it,” the joy of fishing and painting has escaped. Don’t want to clean fish. Did it once, won’t do it again. Don’t want to clean rollers and brushes. Alas, this task fell to me today.
So, as I settle down and dry out from the shower and rinsing the Twilight Blue from my fingers, I can look forward to the Caramel Melt painting of tomorrow. Perhaps if I’m eating, say, a Snickers bar it might go a little easier. Works for me.
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