Young at Heart

I was waiting to be called in to see the doctor re BigFoot (now on the opposite foot!) Feeling sorry for myself too, out in public in the middle of a pandemic, masked among other anonymously masked people.

On top of the doom and gloom mood I was in, it was raining hard and I wasn’t feeling a bit cozy even though I was dry.

Then a beautifully dressed woman came in. She was maybe in her 60’s. And with her was a little stooped man, also impeccably dressed. He looked like an English magazine ad for what to wear to look prosperously elegant.

“What an interesting duo,” I thought.

They went to the reception counter where the little man was asked his birth date. Around here in Virginia’s medical communities we seem to be known more for our birthdates than for our names. Anyway, here was the little man’s answer:

“July 12, 1918 – I have been around for awhile.”

That makes him 102 years old!

And then he walked by me, looked down and said, “Good morning.” It was 2PM in the afternoon but so what? And I replied “Good morning to you.”

That encounter literally made my day, cheered me out of my doldrums and gave me hope. I have never met a 102 year old person, have you? What a wonder that was. And I could tell he must have been and probably still is great fun.

A people person. A man who lives for rainbows.

A man who is young at heart.

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Waiting

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I am an expert at waiting:

• Always the one who is dressed and ready to go first,
• Always early to arrive for appointments,
• Always flexible about time constraints,
• I usually wait double time since I arrive early and others arrive late

Imagine all the waiting required over a lifetime – a half hour here, an hour there, etc.

Turns out even I (the expert at waiting) can be surprised stunned.

The general concensus among orthopedic experts is that I need a hip replacement. Yes, another complaint has emerged about one of two lower extremeties.

Yesterday I went to a highly recommended surgeon who, after double XRays, agreed that the hip on the opposite side of BigFoot needs replacing.

“You could get in for surgery soon with one of my partners. But I am booked through the summer of 2021,” he said.

What?

Did I hear that right?

A year?

2021?

I would have to wait a year?

In bewildered shock I answered, “It seems you are the best surgeon for this and of course I want the best. Maybe I could tough things out.”

The doc did not seem surprised as he outlined the plan. “My nurse will call you with a date,” said he. And then they gave me a folder on exercises to do post surgery as well as what to expect in the hospital.

Are they serious?

In a year there may be technological advances that would call for exercise instead of surgery!

In a year I might be DOA from Covid-19. Notice how I can talk in initials now?

In a year I may be too old for surgery.

In a year ANYTHING could happen.

I still cannot imagine WAITING A YEAR for a date with a surgeon can you?

On the other hand, I am an expert at waiting.

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Kit the Wit

 

Kit the Wit

My oldest best friend’s birthday is coming up tomorrow.

She is an old lady now.

But, I suppose I am too.

Still, every year about this time she is older than I am and that lasts until November.

Kit and I were little children when we first met.  She was older than me then too.

She was 12 years old and I was 11.

She wanted to ride my brand new bike and I said, “NO.”  Then I changed my mind and we have been best friends forever ever since!  That means we went through all the joys of childhood, then all the hopes, dreams and traumas of the teen years, first jobs, dating and marriage, parenthood, and now, finally, the ups, downs and mysteries of aging.

Way back then Kit gave us nicknames.  She would be Kit the Wit from that point on and we shortened that to just “Wit.”

And I was Dort the Snort.  Not too glamorous but “Snort” stuck (I have a wonderful sense of humor you know!  In fact I have other friends who call me “Dork” – imagine?).

People do stare when Wit calls out in a store, “Hey Snort, come and look at this!”

HAPPY BIRTHDAY WIT!  I am more grateful than ever to have you as my oldest best friend forever.  Let’s ignore old age and the pandemic and all the other things that might get in the way and plan to spend the night (just one more night) like we did so long ago.

 

 

 

 

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Winter Swim

No, I am not the type of person who wants to run into an icey sea for any reason.

However, I continue to miss swimming in a warmer pool of water.  BigFoot has also been crying out for a bit more exercise.

About BigFoot:

For any newcomers to my blog, please know that BigFoot is the nickname for a problematical left foot that swells off and on.  There were nine different diagnoses. The latest concensus is a combination of arthritis and a damaged nerve.

Submersion in water seems to help the swelling.  But mostly there is the proud reaction I get from simply sinking into the water and hanging on a noodle.  If I kick my feet I feel like I’m exercising!

I suppose you can tell I have begun to visit our community indoor pool – our local Aquatics Center.  What a joy!

I have been there one time and ready for the second visit this week!

It is a dome covered pool.  It is also the largest pool I have ever seen except on t.v. for the summer Olympics.  There are eight very long lanes and at the time I went, I had two of them all to myself.

I think those open two lanes are reserved for un-serious lap swimmers, who simply dog paddle on a noodle from end to end.

Wait a minute!  Isn’t EXERCISE really a subjective term?

In my case it means BigFoot is engaged in gentle kicking.

On Day One I even abandoned the noodle for short periods of real swinning.  Now that is EXERCISE –  right?

Like I said, “subjective.”

Now please stay tuned for more excitement after my Day Two visit this week.

 

 

 

 

 

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Best Friends Forever

We met when we were children, both eleven years old with paper dolls, coloring books, and we played jacks on the kitchen floor.  We shared our dreams, spent whole nights giggling, traded clothes, and created lifelong memories of wild adventures.

Time slipped by almost accidentally and we grew up together – still best friends.

We are still growing up together – and still best friends.

Kit gave us nicknames way back when first we met.

She was Kit-the-Wit and I was Dort-the-Snort (Dort short for Dorothy).  When we are together we still use those names.  If we are shopping, Kit will call me to look at something.  “Hey Snort – look at this!”  Sometimes I wonder what people think.

To celebrate the arrival of 2020 I received a package from my Oldest Best Friend Forever.  And here was my reply:

Dear Wit,  I now have a collection of 3 Best Friend books from you.  Earlier you sent  “Kindred Spirits, Forever Wacky Friends”.  I have it behind glass in our breakfront.

But now I love the last one best – the one that came today called “I’m Lucky to Have a Friend Like You” and I love the pictures and comments you included in the front.  We both look so young and beautiful.  We didn’t even know how young and beautiful we really were did we?

Then there is the 3rd book…the birthday gift…the laughter when you’re at “Wit’s end.”  So clever and what a reminder about the role laughter played through all our years as friends.

There are only a few people who can unlock what I call my hysterical laughter.  You were first.  And now son Corky. It’s when I get this uncontrollable unstoppable laughter to the point of tears.

You have been a gift throughout my life Wit and more thoughtful than I can ever be.  

You are the friend I loved through childhood and through all the stages between then and now. 

And even now in our golden-olden years I am proud to call you my Best Friend Forever.  

Love, Snort

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Remember?

 

When the grandgirls were little and came for a visit I remember singing to them.  I tucked them in at night to Mr. Sandman, recorded in 1954 by the Chordettes.  And there was the popular song from the 50’s sung by Doris Day,  A Bushel and a Peck, a happy piece from my own youth.  My best friend Kit and I actually made a recording of us singing, “I love you, a bushel and a peck, You bet your purdy neck I do!” They used to have booths in the old days where for a quarter you could have your picture taken and even make a recording!  The little record we made disappeared over the years, but the song still makes me smile.

Then all of a sudden I was a Grandmother who loved to make her grandgirls laugh.  They knew and I knew Grammy really could not carry a tune so there was always a lot of giggling going on.

My grandgirls are all grown up now and the tucking in days are over.  But last year for my birthday they came bearing a special gift – a pillow!

But it is not just any old pillow.

This one is a pillow full of memories!

And it has a home in the “kids’ room” where we sang those happy songs.  I love the memories of the laughter and the love, and I am so glad my grandgirls remember too.

And Kit, if you are reading this, “Thanks for the memories”!

Published in 2016 by Okmusix

 

 

 

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BIG FOOT’S UPS AND DOWNS

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The BigFoot story is not over – until it is over of course.

Big Foot has been somewhat reduced to a visibly normal size.  At the same time, it is still bigger than it should be.  Sometimes I can walk fast but still cannot run with abandon.

Today, on the way to PT (Physical Therapy), I was walking with my cane in front of a young couple.  They eventually passed me and the young man said, “You don’t need that cane.”  And I said, “Yes, it is only for balance.”  Wasn’t he the sweetest thing? He actually made my day and I am still grinning and thrilled that someone said I don’t really need that cane.

But this story is about today’s journey through PT (Physical Therapy).

PLAYING WITH ELSA-THE-DOG

“I want to get down on the floor to play with Elsa,” I said to Anne-Marie (my physical therapist) today.  “The problem is, once I get down, I am not sure I can get up.”

Anne-Marie is a very sweet and expert therapist who will work on whatever problem I present. She understood immediately and she promptly demonstrated her technique for gracefully lowering herself to the floor with one bent knee.

I explained my own technique for getting down there.

“It’s like this,” I said. “ At home I collapse face first and chest first onto an easy chair.

Then I push off in a pre-aimed sideways fall to get the rest of the way to the floor.”

“Uh, I don’t like the word collapse,” said Anne-Marie. “Don’t collapse on anything but remember stomach in and accomplish goals with slow determination.”

O.K.  I made it to the floor in front of my therapist and anyone else who was watching of course. I got there by holding a death grip on Anne-Marie’s wall mounted ballet rails and kind of hanging my way down.  There was nothing graceful in this.

NOW HOW TO GET BACK UP!

I explained to Anne-Marie that at home I arise from whatever position I fall in by

•  hoisting my upper body onto the seat of the easy chair,
• swinging BigFoot as far forward as it will go and pushing it a little further with my hand,
• then not so gracefully heaving myself up to a somewhat wobbly standing position.

Do you have a mental image of this action?

IT IS NOT A PRETTY PICTURE!

Again, my lovely therapist urged me to use thoughtful, slow, determined movements to hold onto the chair but to bring that foot around and to lean on my own bent foot to rise with strength and grace.  I will be a picture of graceful moves.  Ha!

I did it there once again using the ballet rails and arm muscles instead of abs!

I think I can do it at home.

It will be a move in the direction of physical fitness.

Not today though.

Maybe tomorrow.

I will try not to collapse onto the chair, but to lower myself, abs in and with goal-oriented determination.  If you are young you have not read this far. Getting up is not a challenge.  If you are old, stick with me.

Lowering my body to the floor and then hoisting myself up from the floor was not the only goal today but it was the major one.  After all, this session was designed specifically for Elsa-the-dog so we can play face to face on her own level.

For more pretty pictures of Dor managing to live happily ever after with BigFoot, stay tuned.

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Uh Huh, I am Listening

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I have a friend who talks non-stop on the phone.  She includes minute by minute details about what she is doing, has done or will do.

And all I have to say is, “Uh huh,” and off she goes again.

Then one day the oddest thing happened while we were on the phone.

Nature called me.

At first gently.

And then URGENTLY.

A bathroom run became a neccessity.!  And Argh!!!! 

My friend was on a roll winding up for a marathon one-sided talking session.

This quickly became a competition between her call and Nature’s.

Not wanting to interrupt or hurt her feelings, I made a rush for the Necessary Room and took my phone along too (with friend still chattering away).

I just-in-time managed to stifle a loud sigh of relief and said, “Uh Huh”.

And to my surprise she kept on talking!

Now every time this friend calls, my body reacts with the urgent need to evacuate and the same ritual is repeated.  I keep saying “Uh Huh” at crucial times and she keeps on talking.

She is like a built in laxative.

And I am actually enjoying the bathroom subtrefuge now too.  Feels like mini escapes.

At first I thought I might be missing something important but  this particular friend manages to repeat the same stories over and over when I see her in person.  If I get the beginning and the end of the story during our bathroom sessions I can fill in the middle when next we meet.

Uh Oh!  Have you called me recently?

Did you think I was listening?

Did I say,”Uh Huh” in the middle of our conversation?

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When I was Seventeen

Flowers from our friends of 56 years – Janet, Pam, Deb, and Scott – Thank you!

It was a very good year.

It was when I met Bill.

I told my Mom I had finally met a real “man” because Bill was all of 21.

My Dad didn’t like him.

We were married anyway, three years later.

Today is another anniversary.

Today we have been married 60 years!

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Egg on My Face, Etc.

 

It might be a funny story for future generation giggles.

It was not funny yesterday.

I decided to make hard boiled eggs.

I decided to try another way to make them.

• Step 1:

You bring them to a boil and

• Step 2:

Immediately remove them from the heat and allow to stand precisely 17 minutes.

Yup.  I did Step 1.  I am good at following directions.

And then I left.

I think I thought I had 17 minutes to write thank you notes.

The bad thing is I missed Step 2 – the 17 minute-part where you take the eggs off the stove and allow them to stand.

It must have been about 37 minutes later when I heard a funny noise.   Elsa-the-dog was pacing and trying to tell me something was amiss, but I ignored her and told her everything would be allright.

I was busy concentrating you know – writing lovely thank you notes.  It couldn’t be 17 minutes already.  Could it?

Then there came another noise.

Only this time it was a thunderous BANG!  Like a very loud GUNSHOT in the kitchen!

Was someone being murdered INSIDE my house?

It is still gun hunting season here.

Was there someone actually firing a gun in my house?

I ran/hobbled to the kitchen in time to see – YES – it was an explosion all right –

AN EXPLOSION OF EGGS!

Have you ever seen an egg explode?

It was a first for me too.

Oddly enough, I become very calm and deliberate in a crisis.  If you discount the way I talk to myself and even give myself vocal instructions, you would surely admire my bravery in quickly turning the burner off.  I also thought to put Elsa in the back room to keep her from eating exploded eggs.

Note: There were no more eggs in the pot.  I think most of them were on the ceiling and the pot was burned black.

There was definitely egg on the ceiling,

egg on the floor,

egg across the stove top,

egg under the vent hood,

eggs on the walls,

bits of egg into the next room,

egg EVERYWHERE!

Bill helped me clean up, especially in the upper reaches (like egg on top of the refrigerator).

I am still finding egg or egg shells in unusual places.

Finally my friend Amy came over and under her eagle eye and a tightrope walker’s balance, the last remnants of eggs on the ceiling are gone.

The only thing left is

“egg on my face.”

If you are not familiar with this expression, here is what it means.

From “The Dictionary of Cliches” by James Rogers (Ballatine Books, New York, 1985): “to have egg on your face – To be embarrassed or chagrined at something one has done or the way one did it; to do something ineptly. The expression originated in the United States some 25 years ago, probably from the fact that someone eating an egg sloppily is likely to wind up with some of it on his face and therefore not looking his best. 

 

 

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