Goodbye is Never Easy

A little melancholy today. My car, my old, faithful (mostly), pal and chariot, was unceremoniously hauled off on a flat-bed as "salvage". Back in July, it began to act as though it was tired of going places. Broke down and left me stranded with two little girls on my hands on one of the hottest days of the Summer. Had to be towed, TY AAA, and the next day I got the news that it was a blown fuse. At $120.00, a pretty expensive fuse. But it seemed as though the problem was solved. Ah, but no. A couple of weeks later, the same thing happened. Dtr-in-law rescued me and the following day, son got it going with a new fuse and it looked like I could simply carry a supply of fuses and be okay. Heading to shop for a few items and my brakes failed. Boy, howdy! Didn't expect that. Managed to limp to my neighborhood mechanic who effected a repair and that was $200.00. Good to go, right? Nuh-uh. A few days later, the Old Grey Ghost gave it up. Gave up the Ghost, that is. Stranded me in the middle of five lanes of traffic on a busy afternoon. Kind Sir pushed me off the road. Once again called the DIL and she agreed to come for me. While I waited, I turned the key and the sucker started. I began to drive (a circuitous, back-street route) and managed to make it home. Where I promised that I would never again attempt to make the car do what it obviously wasn't willing to do. It had performed yeoman service for 23 years. That's right. Twenty-three years. Time to let it rest. DIL shopped around and found me a deal on a 2013 Honda Civic. (I've always been a Toyota girl but you take your deal where you find it. On Tuesday, I drove home in a car that is smarter than I. I swear. Only problem is, the Old Grey Ghost is in the garage, leaving no room for the New Grey Ghost. This cannot be allowed. I found a web-site called Peddle.com, that offered to give me a quote based on the answers to a few questions concerning age and condition. Got a quote. All I had to do was accept it. But I couldn't. I was 1. afraid it was a scam, and 2. reluctant to say goodbye. In the end, after 48 hours of pondering, I pulled the trigger, accepted the offer, and 12 hours later, a wrecker was at my door. I signed over the title, the man handed me cash, and my old faithful pal was off to the Big Junkyard in the Sky, or where ever it is. And I felt a twinge of melancholy as I pulled my new bestie into the garage. I don't foresee a 23 year relationship with this one. At least not on my part. But for however long it lasts, just get me "there" and "back", 'kay?

Dance, Dance, Dance

Last night was the "Big Girl Ballet" recital, in which two of my not-very-big granddaughters performed. The younger of the two, approaching her 8th birthday, was on the mark and knew all her steps. She was fully involved with the other dancers. But she, being her first year in "Big Girl Ballet", is still one of the little ones and her role was minor. The older girl, all of 11 and weighing not much more than that, is so graceful and happy to be dancing that the joy transmits to the audience. And since she is so petite, the one male dancer in the troupe is able to lift her successfully and repeatedly. The lifts evoke applause from the audience. It just isn't expected because there aren't any other males. The young men in the finale don't count because they aren't students of the dance academy, but are brought in as foils for the older "Big Girls". It isn't quite as exciting watching young men lifting young mid-teen ladies as it is to see a not-yet-teen lifting a teeny girl. Anyway, the dance and the dancers were lovely and when it ends, there are hugs, and compliments and bouguets. And having been on stage myself, I know the feeling of the adrenalin pumping and thinking that there won't be sleep for hours. As strange as it seems today, I can't quite believe that one of these girls will be on pointe next year. Time just goes too fast. Too fast. Next week-end will be the final recital of the season. The girls will dance tap, jazz and hip-hop. They have been dancing, each of them, since the age of three. Every year, the skill and discipline grows and it's a nice evening out, even if I do have to sit through everybody else's kids.

That Time Again

Today is that most dreaded of days - Prep Day. In all fairness, I haven't had a Prep Day for three years. But if you've had one, you know what I mean. If you haven't, let me explain. If you've had colon cancer and survived the surgery and chemo, you need to periodically have a colonoscopy. I know, right? You shuddered just at the mention. But trust me, the scope part is simple. I'm pretty sure I've described it here in an earlier post. You could look it up. You show up at the center, check in, disrobe, get an IV inserted and then they take you into the Procedure Room, knock you out, and when you awake, you're back in the holding area where they give you cookies and something to drink - that actually tastes good. But Prep Day. Ahhh, Prep Day. A horse of an entirely different color. First off, you are expected to refrain from solid food from midnight and throughout the day. You can have jello, just not red. I happen to like green jello so that isn't too bad. You can have clear broth. Popsicles, not red. Coffee, tea, soda, as long as it isn't red. And you can't have cream or creamer in your beverage. No milk products on this day. At 4 PM, you take a pill. The pill is a laxative and within an hour or so, ya gotta go. Not urgent, but you really need to heed the call. Then you can relax for a bit before you have to drink a gallon - YES, A GALLON! - of a not-very-pleasant-tasting liquid. And you have to get it down at the rate of 8 oz. every 10 minutes. They give you a little packet of flavoring to make you think it's going to taste better. It isn't. But drink it you must. At this point, you'll want to take your phone, a book, a crossword puzzle, your laptop, a radio if you like, and head for the Loo. The actual time spent there will vary with the person, but you can plan on anywhere from an hour to several hours. Until you are completely empty. E-M-P-T-Y. At the end of this, you'll be very tired and you might want to spend a few minutes in the shower. Just to make you feel a little better. You think how nice it would be to have a sandwich. Or a cookie. Or a pretzel. Anything. But you can't. You are to continue fasting from solid food for another 12 hours or so. You can have clear liquid until midnight, then nothing until after your scope. Mine is scheduled for 9AM. It's very hard to manage those hours in the morning with no coffee, but knowing how important it is, you hang in there. Eat something now and you have to cancel the appointment. Then you have to do it all over again for the rescheduled appointment. You're almost there so suck it up. You'll get up in the morning and the person you've arranged to pick you up will pick you up and take you to the center. Refer back to the second paragraph for what happens next. If all goes well, you won't have to do this again for three years so you can go home and eat whatever you want. Strangely, you won't be as hungry as you think. But after you eat something, you will probably want to take a nap. And that's good because you're not supposed to drive for at least 12 hours after your procedure. So there you have it. Prep Day. I truly hope I haven't scared you. It's important to get this test when your doctor tells you it's time. Colon cancer is one of the most curable cancers when detected in its early stages. I've survived for four years after my diagnosis. And looking forward to more. Oh, something's going to get me. You don't get out of here alive. But I'll do whatever I can to try to avoid that something being cancer.

Don't Drink the Kool-Aid!

Well, I've done it...again. Drank the Kool-aid, I mean. I try very hard to avoid it, and I'm usually able to spot when I'm being sold something that I don't want and would never agree to buy, and yet, sometimes I just have to find out the hard way. For background, I'm pretty much a food purist. By that, I mean I like the way most food tastes all by itself. I'm one of those strange people who, as a child, liked liver. Really liked it. Just floured and fried in a pan with a little oil and served with salt and pepper. I like shrimp and I refuse to eat Shrimp Scampi. Why on earth would you overwhelm the sweet deliciousness of a shrimp with garlic? Meat loaf? Just the meat, TYVM, with a bit of onion, some bread crumbs and a little milk. No fancy additives. Given those few examples, you should be able to glean the fact that I'm satisfied with few frills when it comes to eating. And so it was, that I heard, read, and watched as people went all-out to convince me that roasting veggies brought out a "nutty, buttery" taste. So even though I like the taste of Brussels Sprouts steamed and dressed with a dab of butter, a kiss of salt and a soupcon of cracked black pepper, I succumbed to the cajoling and roasted ten ounces of the little beauties "drizzled with olive oil and salt until golden brown". Let me hasten to assure you that I went into this venture with a fully open mind. After 22 minutes, or so, I checked on my roasting sprouts and saw that they had turned a golden brown, thereupon, I removed them from the oven, blew on one to cool it off, and tasted. YUK. As I suspected, the whole "foodie" thing has us doing ridiculous things to foods that were perfectly fine for ages; in order to sell new products and new cookery channels and convince us that we have been doing it all wrong. Believe me when I tell you, that my steamed sprouts with a drizzle of butter, a sprinkle of salt (the plain old iodized, TYVM) and a grind of black pepper are far superior to my taste buds than the "golden brown" roasted lumps that are currently resting at the bottom of my kitchen garbage can. P.S. The only thing nutty about this whole thing was me for believing the hype.

Sometimes, You Need a Nudge

Christmas has come and gone once again. And I didn't put up a tree - well, okay, a little ceramic one. And a wreath and a couple of my favorite old Christmas items, but nothing approaching a full-blown, all-out, ring-a-ding Christmas of old. I decided last year that it was over. That I was no longer willing to put myself in such a stew over one day. So I didn't. Oh, I baked cookies, and gave my kindly neighbor a gift. He does much for me, quietly. I gave my grandchildren cash gifts. They are teen-agers who have their own tastes and styles and I wouldn't begin to even think of selecting something tangible to open. One little girl got a gift because she's so easy to buy for and loves what I buy. One little girl got a promissory note for something she's scheduled to need come Summer. I spent the day alone and watched TV and read and enjoyed not having to pretend that I have a Leave It To Beaver family. My children found other pursuits for the day and let's hope that it begins a new tradition for them all. I visited with them later in the week and it was up to someone else to provide the food and libations and the tree and the atmosphere. It went well. Mainly. And the sun continues to rise in the East and the world continues to turn. And I feel content. Sometimes, you just have to get a nudge.

Where You Been?

Yes, you may well ask, "where you been?" Had a few bumps in the road. Last month, I had to call 9-1-1 to haul me off to the hospital, suffering from pains in my chest and arms. What would you think? Heart attack, right? And I with a replacement valve in my heart have concerns at every twinge. Is my valve failing? Well, they tested and they tested and my valve is fine. (Side note:) on the 20th of January 2013 it will be eight years since the little piggy gave up his life for my aorta) They tell me that I have arrythmia. Idiopathic. Which just means that there is no actual physical abnormality causing it. So one new medication and the beat goes on.