A-G-I-N-G!

I think my bed is trying to kill me. I’m serious. A few months ago, I went to bed feeling perfectly fine – sleepy and looking forward to a good night’s slumber – and when I woke up, I could barely move. My left hip and knee were so sore, I could hardly walk Maggie that morning. For sure she got shortchanged in the sniff-and-pee department.

 

While my hip recovered quickly, my knee? Not so much. I’ve been icing it and applying stinky topical pain relievers to the point where I’m sure anyone walking by me thinks I’m confusing pain reliever ointment with perfume.

 

All this pain simply from sleeping? C’mon. Life is not supposed to be this difficult, people!

 

I took to sleeping in my old spare room bed, which seemed to prevent any new aches and pains.

 

And I got rid of my cheap-o mattress that I bought when I moved here. I’d heard horror stories about people spending thousands of dollars on a particular type of mattress – and not being happy with it. I didn’t want to suffer the same fate.

 

I didn’t know the differences between types of mattresses and I didn’t have time to do any sort of research prior to moving. Memory Foam? Cooling Gel? Coils, inner springs, pillow tops? Oh my.

 

So I picked something inexpensive thinking it would do until I had more time to figure it out.

 

Yeah, clearly the memory foam mattress wasn’t it. For me, anyway.

 

Vince and I had bought a Sleep Number bed from someone years ago. It worked well for a long time, but eventually the air pump broke. Because it was a used bed, we couldn’t call the manufacturer to have new parts sent to us. So Vince did some sort of MacGyver repair with rubber bands and gaskets and chewing gum (I think), but that meant we couldn’t raise or lower our sleep number after that. 

Sort of defeats the purpose of a Sleep Number bed, doesn’t it? (I did write a rather amusing blog about our Sleep Number issue here if you'd like to read it.)

 

Anyway, I didn’t want to bring the bed with me when I moved. For one, it didn’t work right and I’m no MacGyver. And for another, it had so many baffles and foam pieces I didn’t think I could figure out how to jigsaw it back together. I’m not all that good with puzzles anyway.

 

So I recently did a little research and bought another, more expensive, mattress. And it’s sort of hard as a rock. Now I’m torn between sleeping on my softer, more giving, spare room bed – and my hard-as-a-rock bed.

 

I feel like Goldilocks. When am I gonna find a mattress that is “just right”?

 

Toppers have helped – a little. But eventually I’m going to add so many toppers to my bed that I’ll be forced to use a step ladder to climb into it at night. And Maggie Minx won’t be able to jump up into it no matter how spry she is.

 

I sure do miss those days when I could sleep pretty much anywhere on pretty much anything and I could wake up pretty much raring to go.

 

I remember one time in my mid-20s going to a Halloween party where the hosts had just bought an old house and hadn’t yet fixed it up – so it was perfect for a spooky Halloween party. There was a roll of new carpeting in one large room awaiting installation. I’m guessing they didn’t want to take the chance of installing it and then having a party with a bunch of 20-somethings spilling beer on their new carpet.

 

A group of us out-of-towners ended up using that roll of carpeting as our pillows and our jackets, coats and costumes as our blankets.

 

And no one complained.

 

Nowadays, I require a special ergonomic pillow to alleviate any possibility of waking up with a sore neck.

 

Aging. So fun.

 

I sure do miss those days when I could fall asleep all curled up and snug in my bed and wake up without experiencing a frozen shoulder or an aching back. Those days are gone for good, I fear. Nevertheless, I know that I need sleep every night in order to function. So I’m just doing my best to figure out how to make that happen.

 

Probably I should just walk into a Beds-R-Us in my PJs carrying my special ergonomic pillow and tell them I’ll let them know in the morning if I’m going to buy their bed.

 

And, PS, applying stinky topical pain reliever regularly does seem to be helping my sore knee. But perhaps I should knock on wood. I don’t need to tempt Fate or mean ol' Father Time. Neither has been very nice to me lately. Maybe I called ‘em “crotchety” once too often.

 

Until next time, friends.

 

A Chance Encounter

Yesterday Vince and I would have celebrated our 15^th wedding anniversary. We probably would have gone somewhere special for dinner and enjoyed a great bottle of wine. And, knowing Vince, he probably would have brought me a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

 

We would have talked about how 15 years flew by in a flash, but he would have said something especially sweet to me by telling me he’d loved every minute of it (even those times when we argued about whose turn it was to walk Maggie Minx.)

 

Instead, I went about my day as if it were just any old Friday in September. I filled up my gas tank and ran my car through the car wash. And I stopped by the library to pick up the September book club book.

 

As I crossed off items on my To-Do list, I felt a sense of accomplishment because I was being productive. But I missed him. All day long. And I had this sense of sadness because September 6^th isn’t really a special day anymore, except in my heart.

 

My last stop of the day was to go to Kroger to pick up a prescription as well as a few items I’d forgotten the last time I went grocery shopping.

 

As I was getting out of the car to head into the store, I received a text from a friend who said she’d gotten a reminder notification on her phone – and forwarded a picture of Vince and me on our wedding day.

 

It was sweet of her to remember and I appreciated it, but again, I felt the sadness start to take over and I even got a little choked up.

 

Yeah, this is not the sort of thing you want to be experiencing in the middle of the Kroger parking lot on a random Friday in September. 

 

So I got myself centered a bit and marched determinedly into the store. There’s no crying in Kroger, Jane!

 

I managed to get everything on my list…well, except for ice. I – once again – forgot the ice. I always remember it as I’m walking into the store, but a person can’t exactly walk around a grocery store with a bag of ice in her cart. It’ll be an expensive bag of slushy water by the time one reaches the checkout line.

 

Anyway, I finished up and loaded my purchases into the trunk.

 

After I dropped off the cart in the corral, I turned and headed back towards my car. A woman walking by my car said, “Is this your car and is your name Jane?”

 

Probably I should have looked it over for dings and dents in case there had been a runaway cart incident while I was in the store – but I answered her and said that, yes, my name is Jane. This, by the way, is not an indication that she was psychic or anything. My name is actually on my license plate.

 

I almost expected her to tell me her name was Jane as well. Instead, she said, “I just lost my best friend of 50 years this week. And her name was Jane.”

 

Immediately, I told her how sorry I was to hear it and that I can only imagine how hard it is to lose your best friend. She told me it was unexpected and she was still reeling from the shock and the loss.

 

“I used to call her Janie,” she said. “Did anyone ever call you Janie?”

 

Oh, man.

 

I told her that Vince, my husband, always called me Janie. And that today would have been our 15^th wedding anniversary. And then I told her that he’d passed away three years ago and I was kind of sad today.

 

So we stood there commiserating with each other over the loss of her friend and my husband. And then she asked me if she could give me a hug.

 

And she did. This perfect stranger and I stood in the middle of the Kroger parking lot and hugged one another.

 

It was an amazing moment. Because we both needed that little bit of comfort and I think we both felt a little bit better when we separated.

 

She told me that everyone needs a hug once in a while. And then she wished me a happy anniversary and told me to have a blessed day.

 

And then she turned and walked into the store.

 

She never even told me her name.

 

When I got into my vehicle and started it up, I was feeling that incredible rush from a chance encounter with a stranger. Was that a God wink or a Vince wink, or what?

 

I felt lighter and happier. And I knew that she was put in my path – and I was put in her path – for a reason.

 

So Happy 15^th Anniversary, my Vince. I forgot to buy myself some flowers. And I didn’t even crack open a bottle of wine. But I’m okay. You know that – right?

 

And I know it, too. Even if I did forget to buy ice.

 

Until next time, friends.

The Summer of ‘24

Haha!

It has been a relatively uneventful summer for me, other than a wonderful family wedding in Traverse City in June.

I’ve had no other big summer vacations. No road trips. No major plans. But still. I count every interaction and get-together as a blessing.

 

Recently I had dinner with a couple of friends from my old neighborhood. We went to a new place I don’t think any of us had been to before. Sadly, we were all decidedly underwhelmed. Since it was happy hour, we took advantage of the appetizer and drink specials – but the food was not great and the drinks were a little too concocted, if that makes sense.

 

They took a simple gin and tonic and mixed all sorts of weird ingredients in it to make it completely unrecognizable as a G&T. When I had to remove the green leaves floating on the top in order to take a sip, well, that didn’t bode well.

 

On the other hand, we got to experience a new place. For all we knew, it could have turned out to be our new favorite hangout.

 

And aren’t new experiences what life is all about?

 

Maybe.

 

Because on the other other hand, I’m best described as a creature of habit. I tend to visit the same places repeatedly. I have favorite meals that I order consistently such that I won’t even bother looking at the menu. And I find comfort in knowing how to get to a certain location and what I’m going to find upon entering the establishment.

 

But I also know that life is filled with adventures and it’s sometimes good to get out of my comfort zone, so I do make the effort every so often!

 

Regardless, I was happy to be out and it was good to have some time with Pat and Suzy and catch up on life a little bit.

 

I’m finding it hard to believe that it’s past the middle of August already and kids are heading back to school. My floatie is still filled with fresh air and I can count on one hand the times I’ve gotten to the Lazy River this summer.

 

Believe me, that’s a tragedy in Jane’s Domain.

 

I was sick after returning home from the wedding in Michigan, so I missed out on several mid-summertime activities and events. And then I had some doctors’ visits, family obligations and various and sundry responsibilities to handle that precluded me from being the social butterfly I normally am.

 

So, in recent weeks, I’ve made the effort to get together with various friends. 

I've been fortunate enough to be invited on friends' boats a couple of times. But rather than wait for the phone to ring or the invite to come via text, I've made the extra effort to schedule those get-togethers with friends. After all, isn't that where the maintenance part of friendship comes into play?

 

A few weeks ago I had lunch with Becky – a forever friend from our days at Ohio State. Becky and I don’t get together often – usually only a time or two every year for a marathon catch-up session at lunch. Fortunately, we found a spot that doesn’t care if our stay exceeds the normal time for lunch – and I always tip a lot extra so that our server doesn’t get too annoyed with us. (The place is rarely busy at lunchtime, so we’re not holding up the table. That is, until the happy hour crowd starts to arrive. And that’s generally our cue to leave!)

 

Anyway, Becky and I have traveled the same route with our aging parents and we are kindred spirits. We’ve been able to commiserate with each other and give each other helpful advice when it’s needed. So we always leave those lunches exhausted from trying to fit in ALL the stories we’ve been saving for our next get-together. I don’t know about Becky, but I always go home and remember something I meant to share with her but forgot.

 

Nevertheless, I thoroughly enjoy our time together and look forward to the next one.

 

I’ve had get-togethers with Sue (before she left on her recent international trip with her husband), with Karen and Karen, and with Debbie in recent weeks. Incredibly, I’ve known all these women since my late teens and early 20s.

 

I even met up with John and Sesame at the Hollywood Casino recently. And that was definitely impromptu. Going to the casino on a random Tuesday evening was nowhere close to being on my radar, but Sesame texted me and said they were heading out and did I want to meet them there. Spontaneous is not my modus operandi, but I surprised myself by saying yes.

 

The ONLY picture I took from
all these get-togethers. 

Since I had had no plans that day, I was most assuredly not ready for a public appearance. But I slapped on a little blush and lipstick, pulled my hair back and dressed in something other than the wrinkled tank top I’d been wearing. And set out for the other side of town for a quick meal and a little gambling. As I’ve never won anything at this casino, “little” is the operative word in that last sentence, but I figured it was a fun way to spend the evening. Plus, I hadn’t seen much of my friends – so I was happy to spend a little quality time with them.

 

I had breakfast with Lynn whom I hadn’t seen in a while. Her husband had been in a serious car accident last spring and Lynn has been by his side every day helping him in his recovery. Thus, getting together with her was a special occasion and I was happy we had the opportunity to spend a little time talking about our lives, faith and Steve's progress.

 

I also had lunch with Melinda last week at Carrabba’s because, well, I had a coupon. This place was the location of my first date with Vince, so it holds a special place in my heart. And he always indulged me by taking me there a couple of times a year. Since his passing more than three years ago, I’ve only been there a couple of times when I can talk someone into going.

 

But Melinda is actually the one who introduced me to the restaurant years ago. She also introduced me to their Chicken Bryan, which is my most favorite meal. (The lemon butter sauce is amazing!)

 

So even though I was excited about having my most favorite meal, I was also looking forward to seeing Melinda and catching up on life. Oh, and to clarify - the coupon was only the impetus to our getting together; not the only reason we got together.

And I can’t believe these words are coming out of my mouth, but friendships are even more important than lemon butter sauce!

 

We have a few more weeks of summer left and I’m hoping to fit in a few more get-togethers with friends. It may not add up to a phenomenal summer filled with major plans and adventures, but it was a phenomenal summer anyway. Friends make life phenomenal. And good friends? Well, they’re priceless.

 

I hope your summer has been phenomenal, too.

 

Until next time, friends.

DEFINITELY a Senior Moment

I was on the phone with my friend Debbie the other day having a good catch-up chat. She’d been traveling to see her daughter and family and we’d missed each other’s call several times, so I was happy when we finally connected.

 

I had not charged my AirPods after my last marathon phone conversation, so I had to do the old-fashioned thing and hold the phone up to my one good ear. This was no problem when I was sitting in my living room, but not so great when Maggie Minx insisted on a late afternoon walk. (She does not like it when I’m on the phone and whines constantly for some attention.)

 

Being the super-human that I am, I managed to hook Maggie to the leash, put a bag in my pocket, pull my hair up in a ponytail (since it was hot out), switch to my sunglasses and pop on my shoes without missing a beat during the conversation.

 

It became a little trickier when Maggie decided that this was an unregularly-scheduled “poo walk” and I had to collect her, uh, deposit – all without dropping the leash, the phone or the poo bag.

 

Debbie offered to hang up, but we were in the middle of solving the world’s problems, so I wanted to continue.

 

I got home, unclipped Maggie, replaced my sunglasses with regular glasses, took off my shoes and then sat down with a sigh. And then I did something that I never thought I’d do.

 

I started looking for my phone.

 

While I was on my phone!

 

I even went so far as to get my Apple Watch off the charger to do the “Find My Phone” thing, which will make the phone chime so it can be located.

 

I don’t know if that actually works because once I pushed the button on the watch, I realized that I was holding my phone.

 

I literally felt my face turn red in embarrassment. That hasn’t happened to me in a long time. And I didn’t tell Debbie what I’d just done because, well, I didn’t want her to laugh at me.

 

(So, naturally, I had to blog about it so lots of people could laugh at me…!) What can I say? I’m a conundrum.

 

But, seriously. I’d heard of people doing this and would shake my head in wonder. How in the world could someone be so clueless??

 

Well, friends, I’m here to tell you – it’s entirely possible to be so clueless!

 

I think the problem was that I’m usually talking on the phone using my AirPods, so my phone is not physically tethered to me, but is in the charging stand next to me. And when I didn’t see it there, I started looking for it.

 

Either way, it was definitely a Senior Moment.

 

So I started wondering what other Senior Moments I’ve had lately.

 

Well, let’s see.

 

There was the time several weeks ago at the grocery store. I had my list, my purse and my keys in hand. I even remembered to put a couple reusable totes in my car ahead of time so I would be all set once I got to the store since that particular establishment no longer offers “paper or plastic” options.

 

As I strolled the aisles, I realized I was having trouble seeing clearly. I thought back to the last time I’d had an eye doctor appointment and it occurred to me that I was definitely overdue for another one.

 

But it was still concerning since my vision shouldn’t have changed that much in the last year and change.

 

When I got home, I sat down at my computer to look up my eye doctor’s phone number…and then it hit me. I’d been wearing my computer glasses instead of my regular glasses! They are half the strength of regular glasses – so no wonder things were fuzzy.

 

Computer glasses, by the way, are a godsend if you have bad vision. My coke bottle nearsightedness has always been a little hard to correct and I’m not one of those people who can “get by” without some sort of corrective lenses (either glasses or contacts).

 

But a few years ago when I took a seasonal job that was basically sitting at a computer for eight hours a day responding to emails, I struggled to see the words on the screen. I’d go home every night with blurry vision and a headache. I told my eye doctor about it at my next appointment and he suggested an easy fix and prescribed computer glasses for me.

 

I was a bit skeptical and figured it was one more way for them to make money off me, but I went ahead and ordered them anyway. And, boy, have they been a godsend. No more eye strain. No more headaches.

 

Not so good, on the other hand, when I’m trying to see at a distance farther than a couple of feet.

 

I’ve since gotten in the habit of feeling the shape of the glasses on my face, which are rather distinctive and different than my long-distance vision glasses. Then I know if I’m wearing the correct glasses.

 

Oh, sure, I could just take off the glasses and look at them. Or perhaps I could simply look at either the computer screen or out at the ducks in the pond outside my window to see which is clearer, but hey, my method has been working for me so I’m not going to mess with success.

 

I think we just have to keep trying as we get older. Adapt and overcome – right?

 

I will say just one more thing that concerns me. At my last doctor’s visit, she said that my next one would be a little different since I will be over 65 and on Medicare. This is the annual Wellness Visit where they do the memory thing, I guess. So they will tell me the three words that I have to remember and repeat back to them after some conversation – right?

 

Well, heck. I sometimes have a hard time remembering someone’s name the second after I’m introduced. If I purposely attempt to remember someone’s name after meeting them, I seem a little “off” during whatever initial conversation we have because I’m so busy trying to remember their name that I’m not paying attention to the words coming out of their mouth.

 

Instead, in my head I’m just repeating, “Helen & Bob, Helen & Bob, Helen & Bob” over and over to try to store the names and their faces in my short-term memory bank.

 

And then I can only hope that my efforts will pay off the next time I see Helen and Bob.

 

I don’t know if they still do that thing during the memory portion of the Wellness Visit where you have to draw the analog clock and “set” the hands at a certain time. I’ve never really drawn a clock in my life – so maybe I’d better start practicing. I don’t want any medical professionals to begin suggesting I may need “assistance” in my daily living.

 

I am not ready for that. At all.

 

Meanwhile, have you had any “Senior Moments” lately that you want to admit to??

Time Management Gone Awry in Jane's Domain

You know those days that don’t go as planned? Yeah, I had one of those last week. And it was a doozy.

 

I was meeting a friend for lunch and I ended up being so late that I was surprised she was still there waiting for me.

 

I do not like being late.

 

Nor do I like being too early.

 

I’ve written before how I carefully count backwards from the meeting time – and I factor in road construction, hair washing/drying/styling (if necessary), and dog walking prior to actually getting in my car and heading to my destination. I try to leave enough extra time so that I get there anywhere from five to seven minutes early.

 

Yeah, I know. That’s not a big window.

 

My friend, on the other hand, creates a giant window of extra time. And she has been known to arrive 15-20 minutes early on a regular basis.

 

So I also try to factor that in because I don’t like to keep her waiting.

 

On that particular day, I did not factor in that there would be a time delay for every single activity leading up to my arrival.

 

The dog walking, which usually takes 15 minutes, took an additional six minutes because the guy cutting the lawn had to stop for a break and get out of his riding lawnmower to try to pet Maggie Minx.

 

Maggie Minx, by the way, hates loud, motorized machines and was barking her fool head off at it. And him. But he was determined to get her calmed down enough to pet her. Why, I don’t know – unless he was simply trying to exert control over a silly little dog.

 

Thankfully, she allowed him to get in at least one head rub without chomping on one of his fingers – but it did put me behind schedule.

 

Since it was not a hair-washing day, I hadn’t needed to factor in an additional half hour for hair drying, but I had intended to use some sort of electrical appliance to tame the mane.

 

But that was out. Instead, I figured I would just use a little dry shampoo, brush it out – and pull my hair back. Easy-peasy.

 

Except that I was completely out of dry shampoo and I hadn’t yet gotten the replacement.

 

So I searched through my travel bag. Grabbed the TSA-approved can and liberally sprayed the top of my head.

 

It was only when I flipped my hair back that I realized it was not dry shampoo, but was instead a small bottle of 50-SPF spray sunblock.

 

Eeeek!

 

Not my actual hair. No pic.

The top of my hair was now extremely greasy-looking – but I was afraid to brush it through for fear I would look like a bag lady who hadn’t showered in the past decade.

 

So I carefully pulled my hair back in a tight ponytail and brought along a hair towel thinking that once the spray sunblock had dried, I could pat it down and it would look okay. (It didn’t.)

 

On the good news front, at least my scalp wouldn’t get sunburned that day. Which, by the way, was a moot point since it was raining.

 

I got in the car and headed in the direction of my destination, which, according to Siri, was 24 minutes away given current traffic conditions.

 

Siri can be such a fibber sometimes.

 

Because she didn’t factor in the fender bender amidst the road construction that reduced the traffic to one lane only as we skirted around the mess.

 

I called Sue to say that I was about 6-7 minutes behind schedule. Provided there were no other snags. Perhaps I should have added that caveat out loud.

 

There is a particular road in Columbus that I avoid during rush hour because it’s only a two-lane road that in recent years is overflowing with commuters. I figured lunch time might not be so bad. But there I was – wrong again.

 

Because instead of moving along smoothly, traffic in our direction suddenly stopped. I saw that there were maybe 20 cars ahead of me and at least 30 cars behind me with no clear indication what the holdup was. I got more and more frantic and upset, and my BP was probably sky high – but there was not a single thing I could do about it.

 

I hadn’t been this upset or stressed since I stopped working and dealing with commuter delays and rush hour traffic.

 

The cause of the delay? A road crew was cutting back some brush off the side of the road and they were letting only one lane from either direction go at a time until they were finished.

 

OMG. I was beside myself by the time I finally pulled up to the restaurant and entered. I mean, there may have even been a tear or two. Because I was a half hour late – and she had gotten there 15 minutes early.

 

You do the math.

 

But she is the best and even if she was annoyed, she didn’t show it. Gave me the grace of forgiveness. And we had a lovely lunch together.

 

She didn’t even mention my greasy hair – although I, of course, had to tell her the story. And we did have a laugh about it.

 

Ah well. I can only hope to do better the next time.

 

Which I didn’t. Because that very evening I was driving to a friend’s house 14 miles away for salads and some girl chat. I had had several errands to run between lunch and dinner. And I had to walk the dog again before leaving for downtown, but fortunately this time there were no grass-cutting personnel to deal with.

 

I hadn’t had time to shower and clean up the greasy hair mess from earlier because I thought it more prudent to fill up the gas tank that was nearly on “E” (something else I rarely let happen). So I left home about 10 minutes later than I should have.

 

But since there were several of us getting together, I figured it was okay if I was one of the last to arrive. By this point, I didn’t even care if there was traffic. I knew I’d get there eventually.

 

I was five minutes late, but the first to arrive, so go figure.

 

Besides, we were a little loosey-goosey with the start time of the evening and the host was comfortably at home – so I wasn’t as concerned as I would have been if we were meeting at a restaurant.

 

Hey, at my age, sky high BPs are not a good thing.

 

But after all this, I’m thinkin’ that maybe I should factor in an additional buffer time. If I get to my destination uncomfortably early (for me), I could use it to, oh, I don’t know, sit in my car and clean up whatever hair/makeup/outfit snafu I’ve experienced that day.

 

You know, considering that I have to factor in extra buffer time…

No Internet Connection? However Will I Manage?

So the worst thing imaginable happened today. My internet was out. All. Day. Long. (Well, not quite. Most all day. Okay, maybe something like six hours so far. I tend to exaggerate when cataclysmic events occur.)

 

But, seriously. This is one of my worst nightmares. Sitting here with no TV to watch. No emails to read. No games to play on my phone. No Social Media to peruse. And, worst of all – no checking Amazon to see if they sell White Duct tape. (Don’t ask.)

 

But, OMG – it’s like we’ve descended into the Ice Age around here.

 

Actually, that’s not true since it hit 90-something degrees today. I’d be accurate and tell you more precisely today’s high temperature – but I don’t have Internet, so I can’t check my phone, my Apple watch OR ask Alexis. (Who just tells me she’s having trouble connecting and then shuts up and goes dark on me.)

 

I can’t remember the last time there was such an extended period of time without the Internet. Sure, there are the occasional storms that temporarily knock out the electricity and my WiFi. Once the power comes back on, I have to fiddle with the TV remote a few times checking connectivity, but it usually comes back on without incident.

 

So far I’ve gotten three text messages from AT&T telling me they’re “hard at work” restoring my Internet. When the first message popped up saying there was an Internet outage in my area and they expect to get it back on by 11:00 PM, I was a little nonplussed.

 

Usually they under-promise and over-deliver – so I figured we’d be back online in no time. Well, it is now six hours later and still nuthin’.

 

Maggie's either bored...or hot!

So I had to resort to other means of entertainment today. Like catching up on my laundry. And taking Maggie on extra walks. Which, frankly, I don’t think she much appreciated. It was hot out there.

 

I even read a book and wrote a letter.

 

Go me!

 

Actually, reading a book and writing a letter aren’t all that unusual. I write at least one letter a month, which is a definite slowdown from my younger years. I don’t want to shock anyone or anything by writing too much or too often.

 

And I’ve been a voracious reader since I was a kid, although I was off my game a bit after my mom and then Vince died. For some reason, it was hard for me to concentrate on the written page and I’d frequently finish a chapter having no clue what I’d just read.

 

But, since I’m back in book club with my old neighborhood, I’ve been reading a lot more. And, lately, I’ve also been reading a series of books written by a guy who lives in Northern Michigan (They’re the Ray Elkin series by Aaron Stander, if you were wondering). My cousin loaned me four of the books in the series and I told her last September that I’d read them and bring them back when I head up north at the end of June. That gave me ten whole months to read four measly books. I could do that in my sleep.

 

Yeah, not so much.

 

I ran across those four books on the shelf in my spare room and realized that the end of June was fast approaching and I’d either better get busy reading – or bring them back unread. Since I at least try to finish tasks that I commit to, I started a bit of a reading marathon the other week and finished the first four. Now I’m on the sixth book in the series. Guess I like them. They’re an easy read and keep me entertained.

 

Which, again, is a good thing since I Have. No. Internet.

 

Sheesh. You would think I spent my whole life “connected,” which I most assuredly have not since I predate Google by…several decades. (See? Here again, I’d check to find out when Google arrived on the scene…but I can’t.)

 

I do remember in the early 80s getting some sort of Intranet thing at Ross Labs and marveling at being able to send messages to friends on other floors in the building. I thought that was some SciFi kind of magic and was eagerly awaiting the next technological invention.

 

On the other hand, I do worry sometimes that, for some of us, our lives are SO connected that if we were to be globally hacked, we would be in such big trouble. Like me. Everything I do and everything I have is online. Passwords. Phone numbers. Directions.

 

I don’t even own a paper map anymore. And, with my sense of direction (or lack thereof), how would I get anywhere?

 

The other day I went to the bank to withdraw some cash. I rarely go to the bank to do, well, banking anymore – but I needed some actual bills for a couple of graduation gifts. Only I couldn’t remember my account number. Or my PIN. I knew the teller would be able to take my ID and look it up, but I was trying to be efficient and look it up on my banking app so I could write it down on the withdrawal slip. Except that I didn’t know where to find my full Account number – usually only the last four digits are displayed and you have to clickety-click somewhere to get the full number.

 

So the 20-something Teller showed the old lady Customer how to work her phone and get her account number. This was helpful at the time, but I’m not positive I will remember if and when there is a next time.

 

Anyway, my point is that I’m a prime example of how reliant I am on technology and the Internet these days.

 

What I intended to make. No "after" photo of
what I actually DID make.

I’m planning to meet with some friends later this week for dinner. I said I’d bring dessert, which was going to be some sort of lemon tart thing I saw on an online video. Except since we’ve been warned about this massive heat wave this week, I wasn’t sure I wanted to put any extra strain on the A/C by turning on the oven. So instead I figured I’d bring fresh fruit. And I saw this really cute tray of fruit that looked like a flower that someone posted on Pinterest. Only I can’t access it to see how they did it or what fruit they used.

 

So I can’t go to the grocery store until I have photo in hand (or more precisely, photo on my phone in hand).  Let’s hope this connectivity problem is resolved by tomorrow or else I may be tossing some grapes and strawberries on a tray and calling it a day. Sorry, ladies. My creativity was stunted by my lack of Internet access.

 

I guess it’s a good thing I can type this blog in my Word document. I just can’t post it until the Internet comes back. Nor can I upload any pictures to accompany the blog.

 

And I still can’t check Amazon to see if they sell White Duct tape. Dang. Let’s just hope in the meantime I don’t forget why I wanted to know if they make white duct tape in the first place.

 

 

The Joys (?) of Aging...

Lately, I’ve been feeling old. If I didn’t think I was old, Medicare is doing its level best to remind me.

 

Not only did I receive my Medicare card in the mail recently, but I’ve gotten so many unsolicited mailings about Supplemental insurance plans that I know we are down several trees from the process.

 

Besides that, I’ve had numerous instances where this age thing has reared its ugly head.

 

Notes from a new doctor visit: “Female appears stated age…” What?? I have always been told I look young for my age. Guess time has caught up to me. Probably this is why Botox and facelifts were invented. Not that I’d ever go that route because (a) who has that kinda cash lyin’ around? And (b) I really don’t want to look like the Joker at this point in my life.

 

No, I guess I’ll just age naturally and do my best to cover up my turkey neck.

 

Oh, but even worse than looking old? Having aging body parts fail on me.

 

Yikes!

A couple of weeks ago, I chipped a tooth while eating a sandwich. A sandwich!  In my tooth’s defense, I think there may have been a tiny piece of an infinitesimally small olive pit in there. That’ll teach me to go all fancy trying to turn a plain ham and cheese into a muffuletta sandwich.

 

I have a friend who is a mere three months older than me – and she told me she has long since stopped eating hard, crunchy foods. I don’t know what she subsists on, but it’s a sure bet she’s not snacking on granola, carrots or crunching on any toffee-coated almonds.

 

But more on my tooth problem later.

 

Something as simple as sleeping has also proven to be detrimental to my health. A couple of months ago, I went to bed feeling just fine and then woke up the next morning with my left hip and knee hurting so badly I was thinking it was time to get fitted for a walker. I spent a lot of time alternating between icing and heating my left appendage, sleeping with specialty pillows – and even boycotting the offensive bed altogether. The other bed seems to have alleviated the pain, so I’m now sleeping in my spare bedroom until my new mattress gets delivered. Maggie Minx is oh-so-confused as she trots to the old bedroom every night and looks back at me questioningly with her adorable little head tilt.

 

Also, for the past year and a half I’ve had an incredibly sore neck. Injury or stress, I don’t know. But I figured it’s a symptom of aging, so I hadn’t done much for it except to occasionally slap an ice pack on it and pop a couple Tylenol.

 

Then a few months ago it got so bad, I went to a massage therapist. And that has helped, which is great. Walking around in constant pain is not conducive to feeling young and energized.

 

But when I moved beds, I also slept on the pillow in the spare room. And – wonder of wonders – my neck wasn’t as sore in the morning. Hunh. How awesome was that? Of course, you should also know that I’ve tried every new pillow gimmick out there for relief of neck pain. The particular pillow I had on the spare room bed was one of those weird looking pillows that was supposed to help whether you were a back sleeper or a side sleeper.

 

I hadn’t thought it worked when I originally purchased it (thus, the reason it was relegated to the spare room bed), but perhaps it just needed some “seasoning” before it worked well.

 

I try desperately not to appear to be of the Boomer generation, but sometimes my doddering “oldness” simply manifests itself. Like when confronted with payment options at the checkout line. I’m constantly reviewing whether or not the card I’m using has “tapping” abilities – or if I have to swipe or insert the card into the machine. It doesn’t help that every machine operates differently.

 

When I’m confident I can tap the card, I’ll try 2-3 times – and then the clerk will tell me their machine is glitchy and I’m better off inserting the card. Or I end up tapping it too soon or too late. Or I’m not holding the card at the precise angle for the reader to catch those all-important 16 digits. NOW I understand why my dad had so many problems paying for gas at the pump and preferred using cash.

 

So, back to my chipped tooth problem. Since it really wasn’t bad, I figured I’d just wait for an upcoming dentist’s visit to bring it up. I was scheduled to have a “porcelain onlay restoration” on one of my back teeth, which had cracked.

 

This is from either the pointy upper molar having its way with the lower one throughout the years – or the silver amalgam fillings that Dr. Kelleher put in there back in the early 70s. He evidently did such a good job, no dentist in the intervening years wanted to mess with those silver fillings. And, as a result of metal expansion and contraction, some of the molars have cracked around the fillings.

 

Sigh.

 

So I had to have the tooth fixed before more expensive words like “crowns” or ”implants” were bandied about.

 

My dentist proceeded to numb the right side of my face – and then asked me an all-important question: “What kind of music do you like?”

 

I was completely stumped because I like a lot of music. Motown, 70s, 80s, 90s? Of course. Sinatra, Dean Martin? Sure. Girl groups, boy bands, soft rock, hard rock? Yeah. Lady Gaga, Taylor Swift, Ed Sheeran? Okay.

 

Depending on the song, the artist and/or my mood – I like a lot of music.

 

But he wasn’t asking me to have an in-depth discussion about musical genres, he simply wanted to know so he could ask Alexa to play something that I liked in order to distract me from the horrible whine of the drill.

 

Yeesh.

 

Before I could get my numbed-up mouth to form actual words, he went with 70s music. Ack. He, too, thinks I’m old.

 

I wanted to say, “But…some of the music from the 70s was when I was in grade school!” Yeah, I wanted to say that, but with all the dental instruments and suction thingies in my mouth, I wasn’t able to get that message across.

 

I have a college friend I speak to from time to time when we have a couple of hours to kill on the phone. It’s usually in the evening after he’s had a few cocktails, so our conversational topics can range from the fancy food he cooked that evening to his job to the state of the world in which we live. We can talk about the “olden days” at OSU, or we can talk about what happened to us yesterday.

 

I always enjoy these conversations.

 

Except lately. Because the subject matter has revolved around Medicare, Social Security, his health – or how badly he wants to retire and how carefully he’s orchestrating the final months at his job.

 

(Insert eye-rolling emoji here.)

 

The fact that he’s a year and a half older than I am boded well for me in the beginning of these chats. Last September when I was one year away from Medicare, I began to be inundated with literature in the mail on Supplemental plans for Medicare.

 

So I figured I could ride on the coattails of all his Medicare-related research to help me navigate my own journey.

 

And, in truth, our discussions DID help. But now, he’s still talking about Medicare supplemental plans and which one he is selecting. (He hasn’t had to choose one yet since he’s still getting healthcare through work.)

 

Anyway, I do my best to steer our conversation in another direction. But what do I have to talk about? My chipped tooth? My neck pain?

 

No wonder they say aging ain’t for sissies. True dat.

 

So now I’m just shuffling along in my house slippers and robe, clutching my aching back and being careful while walking Maggie so I don’t fall. I’m learning to tie silk scarves around my neck to hide the tell-tale signs of my age. (This is a challenge during the summer months since I’m still dealing with the occasional hot flash.) And I’m researching short hair styles for Medicare-eligible old ladies. Maybe it’s time for that poodle perm?

 

No. I kid. Instead, I’m researching exercises to alleviate hip and knee pain. I’m doing my best to learn new things and keep up with technology. And I’m still wearing my hair long with sparkling strands of silk in it because I like the effect.

 

But I AM careful while walking Maggie so I don’t fall. I don’t need a broken hip at my age (or any age). Let’s hope I can avoid that challenge. After all, I’m not quite Medicare-eligible.