Part II of Another Edition of This ‘n’ That

Another thing that happened in Jane’s Domain in the past week is that Vince and I got our first COVID immunization.

 

Apparently, some people didn’t show up for their shot and the pharmacy didn’t want them to go to waste. So we beat feet and made it in time to snag the last couple they had available on Tuesday.

 

We’re grateful – especially since I know some people have had a difficult time getting an appointment.

 

I had my injection in my left arm since I’m right handed and Vince had his in his right arm since he’s left handed.

 

We thought that was a smart move…until we realized that my left arm is the one I fell on recently when I slipped on the ice. And Vince? Well, he has been having some trouble with his shoulder. Yes, his right shoulder.

 

Guess you could say we’re a hot mess over here!

 

The first night was fine other than some pain we both experienced at the injection site. We’d heard that would probably happen, so we expected it. And, truthfully, when I saw Vince get his shot I wasn’t surprised. Man, that needle seemed to go in deep!

 

Oh, and maybe it didn’t help when I rolled over in my sleep and whacked Vince smack dab in the upper arm. When he yelped, I woke up and apologized all over myself. Oops!

 

In the morning he was still complaining about the pain, so I must have really gotten him good.

 

Later that second day, though, I was the one who was doing the complaining. OMG. I had chills, I had a low grade fever. And I felt awful.

 

So I covered up in a bajillion blankets and tried to sleep for a bit.

 

The next day I still had muscle and joint pain and a major headache. Frankly, I felt like I did when I had COVID in December.

 

But by Friday, I was fine.  

 

Vince didn’t have as bad a reaction as I did, although he did feel a bit badly the second day. But by Friday, he was fine, too.

 

The nurse who gave us the immunization had told us that people who had COVID within a few months of getting the immunization had more incidents of this sort of reaction after the first shot.

 

So we did. But we’re doing well now.

 

And hopefully as more people get immunized, we’ll start to see our world returning to normal. (Whatever that is.)  I mean, I’d seriously love to ditch the face mask one of these years!

 

Another Edition of This ‘n’ That

It has been an interesting couple of weeks in Jane’s Domain. It all started with me slipping and falling on the ice while walking Maggie Minx one morning.

 

It was a balmy 39 degrees outside and much of the snow and ice had melted the previous day, but there were still patches of ice on the sidewalk.  And despite my careful sidestepping, I still managed to find that one small patch that sent me sprawling on the ground.

 

Immediately I did the furtive look-see to see who might’ve seen me take the tumble. Once I determined that there were no obvious observers (although who knows who was looking out their kitchen window at that precise moment), I began an inventory of my bones. Nothing seemed to be out of whack and no bones were protruding where they shouldn’t be, so I started the comical process of getting back up on my feet.

 

It was only then that I realized that I still had a hold of Maggie’s leash, which is a major accomplishment. Because if I had let go, Maggie would have taken off for points unknown with her leash bouncing merrily along behind her. 

 

But the fact that I hadn’t let go of Maggie’s leash wasn’t the biggest accomplishment that morning. No, what was even more impressive was that I still had a firm hold of her previously collected doggie poo bag.

 

Wow. Extra points for that little victory.

 

Because let me just say that if that bag had gone flying and anything inside it had come anywhere remotely near me, you would not be reading this right now. It would have been too disgusting for words and I would probably still be in the shower two weeks later.

 

So other than a sore left hand and arm, nothing was bruised or sprained or broken – and I felt exceedingly grateful. And I credit my heavy parka-like winter coat that evidently cushioned my fall.

 

By the way, I was not wearing my winter boots with the little spikes on them because – again – it had been above freezing and I figured I would be okay in just regular ol’ snow boots.

 

Still livin’ and learnin’, I guess.

 

The next morning, then, I donned the spikes – and felt completely silly as there was barely any snow left on the ground, let alone ice.  (Insert favorite idiom here…I’ll start: A day late and a dollar short...)

 

A few days later, then, I sat down at my trusty computer and penned the wittiest, most perfect blog ever. But did I post it? No. I thought I would wait until the next day so that I could add a photo or two and make any final edits.

 

Big mistake.

 

Yeah, sure it's autosaving...

Because when I sat down at my trusty computer the next day, the wittiest, most perfect blog ever was GONE. Not saved, even though I thought my autosave was autosaving my pithy writings every 2.3 seconds.

 

Not so much.

 

I was so traumatized, I can’t even remember what I wrote about and I couldn’t sit in front of my computer again for several harrowing days thereafter. Because I have never been able to recreate a blog – the words just don’t flow and I’m never satisfied with the second attempt.

 

(And I guess you’ll just have to trust me that it was the wittiest, most perfect blog ever!)

 

Hunh. Evidently my trusty computer is not so trusty, eh?!

 

Turns out that our yearly Microsoft 365 subscription had ended and my computer was no longer saving things. My computer was even sending out little death threats and ransom notes unless we ponied up the $99 for an update.

 

This is how little I know about computers. If I sit down at one and it doesn’t work, I have no clue what to do to fix it. Oh sure, I can turn it off and then back on, but that’s about the extent of my technical abilities.

 

Now here’s the worst part. Vince had already updated the subscription with the third and final key card that we had purchased when we bought his computer and, since it was for a family subscription, it should easily have covered my computer as well. Only when I asked Vince to make sure I was included in his “family” – and he did – his computer was not showing that he had updated the subscription.

 

Huh?

 

Yeah, that was my response, too.

 

We tried poking around on his computer. And on my computer. We tried reading the prompts offered by Microsoft. And we tried calling, but couldn’t get through to a real-life human. We even bothered our sister-in-law, who seems to be able to figure that sort of thing out, but she couldn’t make any headway either.

 

Points to Vince for his perseverance, because he finally reached someone at Microsoft (a guy in the Philippines who had live chickens squawking in the background), but he was extremely helpful and figured out the problem. Turns out that Vince has way too many email accounts and had used the wrong one.

 

Now my autosave is back on merrily autosaving every 2.3 seconds. I just need to make a note next year to renew our subscription before the ransom notes start appearing. Because I don’t think I could take another experience of sitting down to a blank page where hours before had been the most amazingly perfect blog ever.

 

Trust me.

 

Hey Grouchy!

So back to my wacky list of National “Holidays.” Yesterday was Do a Grouch a Favor Day.

 

Darn. I missed it.

 

But, then…who in my life is a grouch? And what kind of a favor could I possibly have done for them anyway?

 

Fortunately, I couldn’t immediately come up with anyone. That’s a good thing, don’t you think?  Maybe everyone in my life is happy-go-lucky and all cheery-like all the time?

 

Naw, that’s pretty impossible, statistically speaking.

 

So then I wondered if nobody in my life is the grouch – maybe I am the grouch? And people aren’t brave enough to tell me?

 

Egads.

 

Okay, sure, I admit that I have my grouchy moments from time to time. Just ask Vince.

 

First thing in the morning, for instance. Vince bounds out of bed fully awake and ready to go. I, on the other hand, blearily open one eye and demand coffee.

 

So you can imagine how jaunty a pre-caffeinated Jane is stumbling around the neighborhood taking Maggie on her first walk.

 

Once I’ve woken up, though, I’d like to think I become nice again – and “grouchy” is not the adjective people would use to describe me.

 

For the most part, I have a pretty good sense of humor and I tend to be even keeled. I mean, who wants to hang out all the time with Oscar the Grouch? The poor guy lives in a trash can, after all.

 

But I have to admit that on occasion I revert to Ms. Grouchy-Pants even when it’s not first thing in the morning.  Like when it’s Vince’s turn to take Maggie out for a walk. He comes back in from the cold and he thinks it’s funny to take his frozen mitts and put them down my back to share the sub-zero outside temps.

 

Nice, huh? I screech and smack his hands away.

 

But, I dunno. Maybe that’s more shrieky than it is grouchy.

 

Overall, though, I’m okay with who I am. Yeah, I have my grouchy moments…but I think we all do. From time to time. And maybe that’s the favor we can do for our grouchy selves. Forgiveness for being grouchy.

 

As long as we don’t live there in Grouchyville. I think that’s a splendid plan. As long as we don’t run out of coffee…or have someone putting their freezing cold hands down our backs for “fun.”

 

If that happens, I’m moving in with Oscar.

 

Baby, it's Cold Outside!

Last night I took Maggie on her 5^th walk of the day. It was snowing. Again. And OMG – it was FREEZING out there! Literally. It was, like, 18 degrees. And with the wind chill it felt like it was minus 100.

 

And, okay, so maybe the last sentence was not literally true…but it sure felt like it.  I was wearing my heaviest winter coat with gloves, a winter scarf and earmuffs. I had on snow boots with these lovely rubber gripper thingies that have little spikes on the bottom so I don’t slip on the snow and ice.

 

Normally, these winter trappings would be good enough to keep me warm while I’m walking my dog around the neighborhood. Not last night, though.

 

I was shivering so hard it would have been difficult to tell the difference if I was merely cold or doing a bad imitation of the jitterbug.

 

This surprises me because in the mornings when Maggie drags me out of bed before I’m even awake, I’m usually wearing a tank top and thin sleep pants – and I’m still warm enough with my Nanook of the North coat, gloves, scarf and earmuffs.

 

But last night – dear lord – I was ready to chuck it all, grab my flip flops and hop a plane and move to Fiji.

Of course, knowing I couldn’t possibly wear a face mask for the duration of a flight to Fiji, I gave up that idea as impractical.

 

Oh, sure, Jane – and that’s the only reason you’re not moving to Fiji?

 

Besides, when I came in from the cold with my nose running and my eyeglasses fogged up, my only thought was to kick off my spikey boots, release Maggie from the leash and blow my nose before I embarrassed myself.  

 

Meanwhile, Vince was standing in the kitchen laughing at me as I stumbled around searching for a tissue. When my eyeglasses had cleared little circles in the middle of the lenses, I discovered Vince taking pictures of me looking absolutely ridiculous.

 

Sadly, I didn’t realize just how ridiculous I looked until he showed me the photos. Egad. I completely forgot about Fiji. Besides the flip flops and face mask, I’d need a paper bag to cover my entire head. And then I surely would not have been able to withstand the 15-hour flight to Fiji.

 

I vaguely resembled Marcie from the Peanuts Gang. Or the Where’s Waldo guy. Or even Mister. Magoo.

 

You can only laugh at yourself when you compare yourself to Mister Magoo.

 

And today? I’ve been on three walks so far without any sign of jitterbugging. Why? Because it’s a balmy 27 degrees today.

 

I’ve helped shovel the sidewalk and driveway three times in the last week. So I think that’s enough outdoor activities for me. I have absolutely zero plans to go snowboarding or ice skating anytime soon.

 

And when the doorbell rang a little while ago and the kid outside offered to shovel my driveway, I nearly dropped to my knees in gratitude and practically threw money at him!

 

Overly dramatic? Perhaps. But I’m ever so much happier staying warm and toasty inside.

 

Until it’s my next turn to walk Maggie Minx.  

 

 

I happened upon a wacky list of National Holidays and today happens to be “Spunky Old Broads Day.”

 Ooh. Interesting.

It made me wonder – at what age does a woman qualify for Old Broad status?  I’m probably there already.  But adding the spunky descriptor makes it way better, in my opinion.

 

The other day I was talking to a friend I’ve known a bajillion years (and okay, so that’s a slight exaggeration – but it somehow seems scarier to say I’ve known her for thirty-eight years. Eek!)

 

At any rate, we were talking about life in general and we somehow stumbled into a discussion about our ages.

 

It sort of freaked us out when we examined it. She’s ten years older than I am, but I’ve never really thought of her as that much older. Well, except when I was in my mid-20s and she had more life experience and was great at giving me gentle advice.

 

Once I matured a little and the playing field was a bit more level, our friendship became…I don’t know – richer, maybe.  We talked and laughed and shared details about our lives and we knew that we had become forever friends.

 

And yet there we were the other day expressing shock that we are the ages we are. I feel like I was just in my 30s a few short years ago. Thirties? Heck, I remember being a teenager – and it truly doesn’t seem all that long ago.

 

Yet, every time my knee aches when I walk Maggie Minx or I have a twinge in my back from lifting something heavy, like, say, a quart of milk from the fridge, I’m reminded that I’m far from being a teenager.

 

On the other hand, I appreciate every moment of my 61 years. I’ve loved and I’ve lost, and after watching my mom slip away little by little over the years from Alzheimer’s disease, I know that my life and my memories are incredibly precious.

 

Mom was the epitome of a spunky old broad. (Except I think she was a lady, too.) Mom embraced her age whatever her age was at the time. She wore her silver hair with pride – even when she started turning grey in her 30s. She didn’t try to be someone she wasn’t. She was never afraid to speak her mind or state her opinion – even if it wasn’t popular.

 

Despite her faults (and – c’mon – we all have ‘em), and despite her relatively small 6-1/2 shoe size, she left pretty big shoes for us to fill.

 

I looked up the definition of “spunky” and some of the adjectives included: brave, courageous, determined, outspoken. Those adjectives described my mom. Before Alzheimer’s. Before she became afraid of who she was becoming. And what was going to become of her.

 

Before mom became sick, I had a pretty good sense of humor. I laughed a lot more than I do now. Being her advocate made me tougher. It made me sad sometimes. But it also made me stronger.

 

So I think it’s time to laugh again. It’s time to get a little wacky. It’s time to be a spunky old broad. Have a little fun. Be a little crazy.

 

Let’s unite and celebrate our spunky old broad-ness! Who’s with me?

 

The Shaggy Dog (and Human) Transformation

 

Maggie had a grooming appointment the other week – shampoo, cut, blow-dry, nails – you know, the works. We were even springing for the dremel for her nails, which cost a few extra bucks.

 

And okay, so truthfully the dremel was for our own self-preservation…sometimes those nail trims leave sharp edges that hurt.

 

When we picked her up, Maggie had been transformed from the Shaggy Dog to CinderYorkie. She looked divine and smelled wonderful, to boot!

 

After I booked her appointment it occurred to me that Maggie gets beautified more often than I do these days.  I no longer get my nails done twice a month – unless I do them myself.  And I hadn’t had a hair appointment in well over seven months! How does that happen?!

 

Well, truthfully, I can withstand hair growth for seven months – it’s long, but it’s not going to interfere with my daily activities. Maggie, on the other hand, would be dragging a mop of Yorkie hair through the snow and mud on her walks.  Ick.

 

That is so not happening since I refuse to give her daily baths. Thus, it’s not all that surprising that we have her groomed more often. It’s more of a necessity – for me if not for her.

 

Nevertheless, I finally booked a hair appointment for myself.  My hair hadn’t been this long in years and I was kind of getting used to it, but it was definitely time for at least a trim.

 

For me, having my hair long makes it much easier to deal with than when it’s shorter and has some sort of style. I have to blow dry it or it frizzes – and I then have to either flat iron or curl it.

 

Instead, these days I just wash it and leave it alone.

 

My mom used to tell me that women over 40 shouldn’t have long hair. And then she changed it to 50 because I wasn’t listening to her. I thought my only other option in the short hair style was the permed poodle do.  (Can you tell I’ve never really ever had a successful short hairstyle?)

 

So I guess I’ve decided that I’m going to be that old lady with the long white hair she twines around her head in a bun. Or with the long grey braid down her back

Before

 

But I digress.

 

For now, I have to wonder why it even matters. I mean, where am I going during this pandemic that I need to impress anyone with my hairdo? I can pretty much guarantee that nobody at Kroger gives two flips about what I look like. As long as I’m wearing a mask.

 

Anyway, I drove to Alissa’s house and she transformed me once again. She only trimmed it so I no longer resembled the Shaggy Dog and put in some highlights to balance the color a little more.

 

After

I have to admit – I felt better. And I felt a little pampered. And that’s okay.

 

I feel fortunate that as I’m aging, my hair is turning white and gray, which makes it look lighter and it blends into the rest of my hair.  And, because it wasn’t really dark to begin with I haven’t had to deal with major lines of demarcation between the blonde and the grey.

 

But one thing I’ve learned during the last ten months of this pandemic is that manicured nails and perfect hair are really not all that important.

After

 

What is most important are the relationships we have with the people in our lives.

 

I miss seeing friends and getting (and giving) hugs. I miss date nights with Vince without having to weigh the pros and cons of going out in public. And I miss gathering for weddings and, yes, even funerals to honor those we love and care about.

 

So one of these days we will be able to once again gather together without being concerned about transmitting a virus that – for some people – can be deadly.  And maybe we’ll remember what it’s like not to have to wear a mask every time we leave our home. And hopefully we can eliminate the need for virtual, well, anything – virtual meetings, virtual parties and virtual book clubs.

 

Because, let’s face it – you still have to fix up a little when you participate in virtual meetings. Shaggy Dog hair notwithstanding.

 

But a virtual hug just isn’t the same as the real thing.

 

I can’t wait!

 

In the interim, I’ve decided that feeling a little better after a hair appointment can also be good. It’s a balance thing. And I’m okay with that.

Ditzy Blonde, Senior Moment or COVID brain. You Decide.

If you read my last blog, you know that Vince and I have been recovering from COVID-19. We thank you all for the get-well comments, prayers and well wishes you sent.

And, while I’m not going to say that we’re 100% recovered yet, we are nearly there. I, for one, get pretty tired after walking the dog and doing other physical activity.

Like emptying the trash. Or watering the plants.

Okay, so I’m pretty much kidding on those. But we were both completely winded and worn out the other day from packing up all the Christmas decorations and hauling the heavy bins upstairs to the attic.

On the other hand, I was probably a little winded hauling the heavy bins downstairs in late November to decorate for Christmas. And that was pre-COVID.

Sheesh. I really need this virus to go away so I can get back to the gym and work out without wearing a mask!

So while there was very little to laugh about while we were sick, there were a few humorous things that happened to me while I was dealing with this virus.

Call it COVID brain, or ditzy blonde or senior moment – or maybe all three – but I did have a few duh situations.

Like one day when I was upstairs working on the computer. I was trying to finish something in between naps – and I needed to set a timer. I kept asking “Alexa” on my phone to set a timer for 20 minutes.

But she refused to comply. After about the third time asking, I got a little peeved and raised my voice to ask once again.

And that’s when I heard – very faintly from downstairs – “Okay, timer set for 20 minutes.”

Oops.

Apparently I couldn’t remember the difference between “Hey Siri” on my iPhone and “Alexa” on our Amazon Echo Show.

(Do you see me rolling my eyes and shaking my head?)

Another time I was tasked with walking Maggie even though I was feeling pretty rotten.  Since Vince was feeling pretty rotten himself, but the dog still needed to do her business, we took turns.

Because it was so cold and rainy out, I put on one of Maggie’s little jackets over her harness vest. There are two D-rings attached to the harness – and those attach to the leash. Except that only one of the D-rings fit through the opening in the jacket.  We’ve hooked her up this way many times before, so I didn’t think anything of it. I clipped her leash to the one D-ring and off we went.

Immediately I saw her nemesis from another neighborhood being led down the street past our house, so I hurriedly turned and walked Maggie the other way down the cul-de-sac. I really wasn’t up for the crazy dog barking that would ensue if Maggie saw him.

By the way, we have no idea what Maggie has against this little guy, but she goes absolutely bonkers whenever she sees him.

Anyway, there we were walking along minding our own business when suddenly I had the leash in my hand…but the other end was not attached to Maggie. The D-ring had somehow separated from the harness and Maggie was trotting along completely unaware that she was untethered.

Believe me, if she had known, she would’ve taken off like a shot. This is not a well-behaved dog when it comes to her freedom in the great outdoors.

But I tried to remain calm and I hurried along behind her so she’d think she was still attached to the leash. When she stopped to take a quick squat, I reached down and scooped her up.

Ha! Way to outsmart a 10 pound dog, Jane! But in my defense, I really didn’t think I was up for a Maggie on the Run incident right about then.

Oh, and by the way, I waited to scoop her up until AFTER she was done squatting. I was neither blonde nor senior enough – and I didn’t have a completely muddled COVID brain to know that I needed to let her conclude her business.

The last incident happened toward the end of our home confinement. We had placed a grocery order for pick-up – and I was planning to ride to the store with Vince so a store clerk could put the bags in our trunk.

Major outing, huh?

But as it was the first time in over a month that I was going to leave the house, I decided to slap on a little face paint.

It was like a little celebration for me – put on a bit of blush. Some undereye cover-up. Maybe even a little eyeliner and lipstick. You know – so I could feel almost normal again.

Anyway, I had just sat down in front of my makeup mirror. I spun my rotating makeup organizer to the section that holds my cover-up, pulled the one out that has a spongy tipped wand. I was feeling too lazy to actually get out a makeup brush and dab from one of the little pots of cover-up.

So I swept the wand under my eye…and then looked at myself in the mirror in horror. I had just taken a mascara wand and swiped black mascara underneath my right eye.

I looked like a football player about to go out and pound on the opposing team. All I needed to finish the look…well, besides swiping mascara underneath my left eye for a matching set…was a helmet and some shoulder pads.

At that moment, I thought to myself that I should take a picture of my idiot move, but given that the mascara was waterproof, I knew I needed to remove it. Stat.

So that’s what I did – the whole time shaking my head and laughing at myself.

And then I promptly returned the mascara to the Mascara and Eyeliner Section in the organizer and wondered who could have put it in the wrong section? Not me, certainly, as I’m perfect.  Must’ve been one of the cats getting her revenge over our bringing a dog into the house.

Yeah, I’d believe one of the cats did it before I’d admit that I’m not perfect.

Heh heh. (There I go again – being a ditzy blonde, having a senior moment AND showing my COVID brain…!)

Maybe I need a nap. Yeah, that’s it.

Let’s just hope I don’t fall out of bed or something else equally as goofy!