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.

The Time Has Come, the Walrus Said...

I had my first child at age 17. Hard to believe he's already 59! And me so young! He was rapidly followed by a brother and even more rapidly by another. Time passed and so did the marriage. I returned to Pennsylvania and found work, a home, and a new husband. After a couple of years, the three brothers soon welcomed a fourth and then a fifth. Then I stopped. There was to be no girl, but when they all grow up and get married, I reasoned, I'll have my daughters. That first year, I had a modest Christmas tree and a few little presents for the Little King. At four months of age, what would he know of Christmas? Guess I've always been of a practical mind, because even at a young age, I knew it was wasteful to make a huge splash for such a tiny kid. But we did have a Christmas. A tree, a dinner, presents and Silent Night on the radio. And thus the first Christmas was born. After that, with the exception of one year when a daughter-in-law wanted to do it and a year when I was virtually homeless and the three older children were living with a friend while I searched for a home for all of us, after that, I had hosted every. single. Christmas. for fifty-six years. During many of those years, I was employed in a full-time job. Well, not the same full-time job. And I put up a tree, and strung lights on the front porch, and fashioned wreaths from pine cones, and ribbons and anything else that goes with the season. I cleaned and cooked and baked and shopped and wrapped and hid what I wrapped. Cookies covered every surface and filled the extra space in the freezer. And on Christmas, I was the elf who put together bikes and trains and Big Wheels and various other items that I would have gladly paid to have assembled, if I had the money, that is. Through gall bladder surgery, heart valve replacement surgery, cancer surgery and chemo, I never missed a Christmas. And all the activities that preceded it. I found time in the later years to perform in the Dicken's play A Christmas Carol most of the month of December, and crocheted six afghans to give as gifts during my down-time backstage. But this old Walrus is suddenly tired. Last Christmas, there were 24 of us. I don't ask for help. Only one person ever offers, but that person has a house, a job and children, so I usually say, "It's okay, I can handle it." Events of the past year and the realization that I am too old to do it all and the fact that I'm not sure it it's even appreciated has forced me to come to the realization that the party's over. I'm left with the task of informing the family that they will have to make other arrangements for their Yuletide celebration this year. Two people have already been told. They accepted it with aplomb. Two others were upset and appalled but realize that I need to do this.

Walk It Off

So a week at the beach and some absolutely wonderful weather got me a jump-start on the resumption of my walking regimen. Walked every day. At least 20 minutes each day and on several of the days, I managed an hour or better. The condo had a gorgeous balcony overlooking the sea and I could easily have spent most of the week just sitting there. I contemplated sleeping out there on the lounge, but opted for the bedroom and the TV when it was time for nigh-night. The walks along the sea wall were scenic and the destination of the Hereford Lighthouse was the goal. Did that walk three times during the week. Then there was the boardwalk. Did that one twice. So all that walking made me determined to continue now that I'm home. Fingers crossed that I don't get the strangling cough that I had for six weeks that required medical attention. I've been looking after the little girls every morning for an hour or so and that means getting up and getting out early. Having started the day, it's not hard to get in 20 minutes of walking when I get home. But I have to concentrate on the food aspect as well and that's a bit harder. My own Personal Trainer is going to work up a fitness program for me. I just hope he realizes that I'm not going to be up for P90-X. Yet.

Tentacles

The closest I've ever come to octopuses/octopi (take your choice) is when I have calamari.  That's usually at the Chinese restaurant that happens to be the favorite of my eldest son and his wife.   I do like calamari; I just never think to order it when I'm alone.  This particular restaurant makes it very nicely and I think the next time I order take-out from there, I may go for broke and get an order of fried calamari. 

But as far as tentacles are concerned, one doesn't have to be near an octopus to observe how they reach out and touch many things at one time.  Often, a single word, or deed, can have far-reaching consequences, intended or unintended.  In an effort to hurt someone, the unintended consequences reach out like the tentacles of the octopus to hurt those who care about the someone and are thereby hurt by proxy.   Families have been rent asunder by such unintended consequences. 

Living in a large family, it's not unusual for an off-hand remark to upset, offend, or otherwise cause one or a couple of the group to get in a snit.  Fortunately, it mostly gets resolved by the next family gathering or, heaven forbid! the next funeral.

But when the intent is to inflict hurt, it will not be so easily forgotten.  Especially for those touched by the tentacles.  And sadly, the original target, who probably wasn't nearly as upset as was intended, will continue to be reminded by the expressions of disgust and anger from the tentacle-touched sympathizers.

If you make a thoughtless remark, you will surely be forgiven.  If you intentionally attempt to wound a person, the scars will last longer than you could have anticipated.   And all the King's horses, and all the King's men...

I haven't been in a terrific mood the last few days. My walking has been limited because I have shin splints from my initial two days of walking this week. Althought the weather has been glorious, except for a rainy half-day, my OA has escalated and my thumbs have been aching severely. I went shopping for sneakers on Wednesday, but no luck. I was even willing to go for the expensive ones because I had a 30% off deal at Kohl's.

When I woke up this morning, I was in terrible shape so one coffee and into the shower. That meant I was presentable to run to the pharmacy to pick up my refills. Because I was nearby, and because I had another 30% off coupon, I stopped in to Payless and bought sneakers. They feel fine and the price was right. Had some lunch and decided to attempt a walk. Only managed 13 minutes because my breathing was labored. Came home and despite the new shoes, I was really morose.

BUT, my TV was tuned to PBS because son had called to suggest I watch a production about Yoga for seniors. (Truth? I only watched about 10 minutes - booorrrriiinng) And because I usually do as Baby Boy suggests, I was able to watch a marvelous show, despite the fund-raising breaks. The three baby tenors, known as Il Volo, put on a show that just exceeded my expectations.

Now, I had heard of these young men some time ago and thought it was just a gimmick. It's no gimmick. These boys, and they are boys, 18, 17, 16 years of age. Piero, Gianluca and Ignacio. And they sing with voices that transcend angelic. Of course, most of their selections are in Italian, since that's their native language, but they do some in Spanish (not too big a stretch) and they sing some in English, but I'm thinking they learn those lyrics phonetically. Why do I think that?, because in ad lib conversation, they struggle with the unfamiliar words.

They sang and they sang and they interacted with the audience, who obviously adored them. The PBS gals who were doing the begging breaks were absolutely cougar-ish around them.

They are three handsome, engaging young men who seem to be unspoiled by the attention they garner from the young girls and the fame and acclamation of the music world. I pray that they don't mess it all up by getting in legal trouble for the antics that have overtaken other young people suffering from too much too soon. I'm not sure how long their fame as Il Volo will last once they are in their 20's and 30's. Piero will surely have some career in the music business, and Gianluca looks as though he might be destined for the operatic stage. Whatever 'nacio does, he has such a winning personality that he should be successful.

All of this is by way of saying that enjoying the talents of these young men has left me feeling much better about the world in general and about me in particular. There's hope for the planet.

Teaching an Old Dog...

Christmas past, I received a new 'phone. Now for years, I've carried a TracFone. Yes, one of those prepaid jobbies. I only have it for emergencies, and I don't even give the number to anyone except a couple of family members. My minutes don't get used up before it's time to add more to keep the line utile. Anyway, this new 'phone has triple minutes for life. Add a 60 minute card, get three hours. I've got about 2,000+ minutes waiting to be used. And no monthly bill!

This new 'phone replaces a basic Motorola flip model with an LG800. I've got texting capability, (with a qwerty keyboard!) and a camera, and video, and mp3 player. Ye gods and little fishes. It takes me a long time to figure out all these electronic gizmos. So in order to put music in the 'phone, I had to order a cable with a teeny tiny USB on one end and a somewhat larger USB on the other. They tell me that I can put a CD in my laptop and end up with the music in my 'phone. It will be good when I start my daily walks again but I'm not buying headphones until I'm sure I've got something to listen to.

My taste in music runs to the classical swing tunes - and some jazz. Not very conducive to keeping a good pace when I'm walking for my health. Thinking of ordering a John Phillip Sousa CD. That should keep me moving at a decent clip. I could dig out my baton and twirl for a little extra exercise. Or not.