A Little of This and a Little of That

Yesterday the world heard the news that Dolly Parton had died at 80.

 

And the world mourned.

 

Now, sure, maybe Dolly had some detractors, but I’d be hard pressed to name any. She was kind and generous and loved life to the fullest. She was talented and giving and so down to earth, you simply had to love her sky-high wigs and heels and long fingernails and rhinestones.

 

As a Sparkle Girly myself, I can relate.

 

Her Imagination Library program has gifted over 300 million books to kids around the world, inspiring generations of children to learn to love to read.

 

That’s a life well lived – and something we should all strive to achieve.

 

Sadly, I’m not that talented or rich or inspiring. And maybe that’s okay. I never did learn to play the guitar and write songs. But I can be kind and generous and giving in my own little world. Or at least try to.

 

I was just talking to a friend on the phone this morning – and we were both feeling a little down. We both lost our husbands – and the anniversary of hers is coming up. Also, the anniversary of my wedding to Vince is coming up that same week and I’m sad that he’s not here to celebrate with me.

 

And (this sounds silly, I know), the summer is nearly over and I’ve only been to the Lazy River a couple of times because we’ve had so much rain this season.

 

Yeah, yeah – we should all have such problems.

 

I do try to find things to be grateful about. Like, for instance, with all that rain we had, I never once lost power here nor did my basement fill with water with the flash floods Central Ohio experienced. Oh wait – part of the reason for that is that I don’t have a basement. But still. Seeing videos of people whose homes and belongings were destroyed by the flash flooding was awful. And I feel so much empathy towards them.

 

A couple of weeks ago, I met a friend for lunch and as we were talking about this and that, I mentioned that I was having more hot flashes lately. It was weird and I was surprised by it, but I wondered aloud if perhaps I’d run out of my little over-the-counter supply of Estroven and hadn’t realized it when I refilled my vitamin and supplement container this month.

 

And then a day or so later, I took Maggie for her late evening walk. It had cooled down enough that I wore a light jacket over my summer tank. When we came inside, I realized that it was much warmer inside than outside. So I looked at the thermostat and it read 79 degrees. Well, I never have my thermostat set at 79 degrees – summer or winter.

 

So I bumped down the temperature. Before going to bed, I looked at it again – and realized it wasn’t cooling off the place and was still hovering around 79 degrees. The fan was running, but that was about it.

 

Clearly, it wasn’t working properly.

 

And then I had to laugh at myself. No wonder I thought I was having hot flashes! The A/C was on the fritz. 

 

Fortunately, we weren’t experiencing the 90+ degree days from earlier in the summer. And the repair was done that next day, so in short order I was cool once again. Another thing to be grateful for.

 

Last week I went to the eye doctor for my annual checkup. My vision has been a little “off” and I was hoping for some clarity from him. (Ha. Get it?!)

 

Yeah, well, the “clarity” was the news that I need cataract surgery, particularly in my left eye. Yeesh.

 

So while I knew this day was coming, I hadn’t realized that the fuzziness in my vision was due to cataracts. I just thought it was time for a prescription upgrade. No wonder I've had such a hard time reading lately.

 

But nothin’ like a little cataract to make a girl feel old. So I have to start that process soon. And I will hope and pray that whoever does this surgery does a good job and I can see well afterwards.

 

Last year around this time I was preparing for the Great Knee Surgery Adventure, aka, The Final Quarter of Pain. To prepare for this, I crammed all my doctor and dentist and vet visits into the six weeks of August and early September. So now I’m getting notices and reminders that all these annual visits are once again due. Sigh. It’s not all that much fun in the Age of Medicare. Really, it’s not.

 

But scheduling these visits are a must and I’ve finally learned the lesson that I can’t just go to the doctor when I feel sick.

 

Yesterday was my brother’s birthday. Today is my niece’s. Today is also my brother and sister-in-law’s 37^th wedding anniversary. And my sister and her husband have had a big year – retiring, putting their house on the market, buying a new one and moving across the country. While we aren’t celebrating all these events together, we’re all still here and happy to have reasons to celebrate.

 

So that’s all good – right?

 

But then this morning I filled up my 40 oz insulated cup with water and popped it in the refrigerator to chill for a bit since I forgot to refill my Brita last night. So a little while ago, when it was time to switch from coffee to water, I went to the fridge to pick up the drink cup, fill it with ice hydrate myself for the rest of the day.

 

Only I dropped the 40 oz water bottle all over the floor. Water everywhere. Turns out, forty ounces is a lot of water!

 

Fortunately, writing this blog today has made me realize I truly do have much to be grateful for, and I didn’t react as negatively as I may have otherwise. I simply pulled out some towels and dried the floor. I washed my cup and refilled it – and then filled it with ice to cool it down immediately. Something I probably should have done from the get.

 

Evidently, one can be in the Age of Medicare and still learn new lessons every day.

 

Anyway, that’s a little bit of This ‘n’ That for today. I’m in a much better mood than when I started. So that’s a good thing. And I hope that whatever you’re doing today, you’re finding something to be grateful for and happy about.

 

Lessons from Dolly.

 

Until next time, friends…

A Visit to the State of My Birth

My birthday week is also my wedding anniversary, so the past couple of years have been a little tough without my Vince to celebrate with. But I’m pretty good at distracting myself – and I have some pretty great people in my life who help to distract me, too.

 

This year was no different.

 

I went to visit my cousin and friend in Ann Arbor a few weeks ago as a quick late summer getaway. And, okay, sure, it also gave me a bit of a break from having to get up at 6 a.m. every morning to walk my precious little Maggie Minx.

 

Hey, what can I say? I love the little stinker. But I also have to confess that I don’t love getting up before dawn to stumble around in the dark with a poo bag and a flashlight.

 

Anyway, Cathy and I spent hours talking and catching up on both current events in our lives as well as sharing memories from our childhood.

 

We spent some time exploring the area – including the campus at the University of Michigan. Yeah, yeah, my OSU brethren may boo and hiss – but, c’mon. Have a little respect. We’re rivals, sure, but we’re also talkin’ family here.

 

The day we drove around campus was Move-In day for the students, which meant we were dodging veritable throngs of children. Yeah, I said it. It’s hard to remember ever being that young. And yet, we were that same age when our parents released us into the wild that is a college campus.

 

What Cathy and I found amusing, however, was the way the co-eds were dressed. About 95% of them had on cropped tank tops and frayed edge jean cutoffs with the pockets peeking out of the bottoms.  (Which translates to short shorts. Very short shorts!)

 

Holy tomatoes – it was like we were transported back to the 70s! I wore the exact same outfits in high school. Well, not to actual class. But after school? Yeah, I sported that very look.

 

Now, of course, I’m amazed that my mother let me walk around like that. Guess she was picking her battles and that wasn’t the one to fight about?

 

I don’t know, but it’s too bad I can’t ask her now.

 

Another day Cathy and I took a tour of the homes our families lived in back in the day. While I could remember the name of the street my family lived on when we lived in Dearborn, I couldn’t remember the street number. I knew it had five digits, but all the houses on that street had five digits. Not helpful.

 

On the other hand, I was only six when we moved from Michigan to Ohio – so I had to give myself a pass.

 

Nevertheless, as we drove up and down the street that held my earliest memories, it was so familiar. I can remember my grandfather rocking in a rocking chair on the front porch. I can remember chasing the neighborhood boy across the street after he clonked my brother John in the head when the three of us were playing in the sandbox and John wouldn’t give up the toy Douglas wanted to play with.

 

Good thing I didn’t catch Douglas. What was I thinking I’d do to him? Clonk him back? I dunno. But I just knew I was fiercely protective of my brother and I didn’t like seeing him hurt.

 

And when I was five, I can remember morosely looking out the window at my brothers who were taunting me because I had the chicken pox and had to stay inside.

 

My revenge was realized shortly thereafter when I so kindly shared the virus with them. (Hee hee. No scratching, boys!)

 

Yeah, I was protective of him, but that didn’t mean he could tease me at will without any repercussions.

 

Anyway, it was a fun day with Cathy and it wasn’t something I would ever have thought to do. But, again, remember I was six when we moved to Ohio. I couldn’t have remembered the streets my cousins lived on back then, let alone the specific houses. I had to rely on Cathy’s superior memory. Plus, she’s a few years older than I am and she lived there a lot longer.

 

Hey, it’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.

 

Before I left to head back to Ohio, Cathy said she was going “up north” to the Irwin family cottage for Labor Day week and I should think about coming up for a few days.

 

My initial reaction was…But I’m here in Michigan now. You want me to come back?

 

And my next thought was Well…maybe.

 

She said she was hosting a cookout on Sunday, and lots of cousins would be there – so if I were coming I’d definitely want to be there on Sunday.

 

That was certainly an incentive as I love my cousins. And my cousin Margie who lives in Washington state was going to be there – and I hadn’t seen Margie in several years.

 

Still. I had to think about it and I told Cathy I’d let her know.

 

So…did I or didn’t I? (If you read my Facebook posts, you already know the answer), but stay tuned for more of the story.

 

It's All in the Timing

I was at the pool recently wringing out every last little bit of summer. The opportunity to float in the lazy river is something I dream about in mid-February when I’d kill for a little warm sunshine on my face. But while we all know that Fall doesn’t officially begin until September 22^nd, the pool closes long before that.

 

So I hit the pool arriving with my towel, 24 oz double-insulated tumbler of ice water, can of ultra-high SPF sunblock and my pool floatie. I kicked off my flip-flops, dropped everything on a lounge chair but the pool floatie – and I waded in.

 

You should know that it could be 90 degrees outside and I still do the toe-dipping thing where I test the water in which I’m preparing to submerge myself. It could be as warm as bath water, but my face wears the same expression as if I were participating in a Polar Bear plunge in frigid January.

 

Fortunately, that expression lasts only seconds before I’ve acclimated to the water temperature. I close my eyes and peacefully float as the water jets carry me along and the sun shines down upon me.

 

Ahhh.

 

This euphoria lasts only as long as the little hooligans stay out of the lazy river. Once the pool is overly filled with splashing pre-teenaged boys, I get out. And then I eagerly await the announcement every hour that it’s the time-out period for all children under eighteen.

 

Believe me, we diehard lazy river fans who have purchased our own floaties positively live for those brief kid-less moments in the lazy river.

 

After a couple hours of floating and sunning, I was relaxing in my lounge chair reading a book and awaiting the next adult only swim, which was about 10 minutes away. I was also shamelessly eavesdropping on a man and his son sitting next to me. He was telling his son that it looked like a brief thunderstorm was headed our way and the boy wasn’t allowed to go back in the water.

 

I looked up and, sure enough, there were some clouds in the sky that didn’t look too friendly.

 

The woman on the other side of me asked me what the pool’s policy was for rainstorms. Clearly, she assumed I was the professional pool-goer amongst us what with my super-duper pool floatie leaning next to my chair.

 

I told her that everyone would have to take shelter. And if the storm involved thunder and lightning, the pool would close.

 

And then, because I didn’t really feel like hanging out under a crowded shelter hoping the rain would stop and the sun would come out again – I decided I’d probably had enough lazy river time that day.

 

So I packed up and headed to my car.

 

No sooner had I latched my seatbelt and put the car in gear when the skies opened up and it rained like Noah was making a comeback. There were brilliant flashes of lightning and booming cracks of thunder. And as I left the parking lot I could barely see the road in front of me.

 

Talk about timing. That was just about perfect. And, yeah, sure, I had a little hint from my lounge neighbor with the doppler radar app that the weather was going to take a turn…but had I left even a moment later I would have been soaked.

 

And I know what you're thinking. But, no, I wasn’t still wet from the lazy river. I’d changed into street clothes in the restroom since I had planned to run some errands after my afternoon at the pool.

 

There are so few instances in life that I have perfect timing that when they happen, I marvel.

 

On the other hand, there are many instances where my timing is off. Yin and Yang, perhaps?

 

Let’s compare and contrast, shall we? Let me tell you about my most recent journey to the pool.

 

It was this past Friday. August 12^th. Still well over a month before the end of summer, no?

 

I looked at my handy weather map and determined that Friday was going to be the best day to go to the pool. Saturday, conversely, was going to be cloudy and there was a greater chance of rain.

 

So I made arrangements to visit my father-in-law on Saturday and invited a friend to join me at the pool on Friday.

 

Alas, she couldn’t go at the last minute, but that didn’t stop me. I slapped on the sunblock, grabbed my pool bag and floatie and headed for the pool.

 

Once there, I was surprised that the parking lot wasn’t more crowded as it was an absolutely perfect summer day to lounge by the pool.

 

But I forged on ahead and walked up to the gate. Only to be stopped by a big sign indicating that the pool was closed until 4 pm. Unless I wanted to swim laps. Which I didn’t. I haven’t swum laps since my late 30s when my shoulder naggingly suggested it was time to stop swimming laps lest I was interested in signing up for a little rotator-cuff surgery.

 

Thursday had been the last day that the pool was open at noon. The stinkin’ day before!

 

Sigh.

 

So I turned around and headed back to the parking lot. I stowed my floatie in the trunk and then headed home. All sad and dejected because I might have missed my last opportunity to float in the lazy river for the season.

 

I had snapped a photo of the sign because I wanted to read it more thoroughly to see if I might have any more opportunities to hit the pool again. And – lo and behold – I discovered that the pool is open on the weekends from 12-6:30 until Labor Day. I swear, I may have heard an angel or two singing in my head when I read that news!

 

But here’s the thing about timing. There has been a definite chill in the air the past few mornings when I’ve taken Maggie for her first walk of the day. And the sky isn’t so bright either leading me to acknowledge that a time change is headed our way before too long.

 

So it’s starting to feel a little like Fall. And I’m guessing that the whole Pumpkin Spice Phenomena is about to descend upon us poor folk who are not remotely interested in any manner of Pumpkin Spice. Drinks, candles or otherwise.

 

Maybe I should hold out hope that we have a resurgence of a late summer heat wave so I can eke out a few more times at the pool over the next couple weekends?

 

We’ll see.

 

As long as the timing isn’t off and we don’t get that heat wave until after Labor Day.

 

Then the sound you’ll hear from way over here? Yeah, it’ll be the air coming from my deflating floatie. Along with perhaps the sound of sweat splashing on the fabric as I fold it up and put it away for another year in the middle of the after-Labor Day heat wave.