Two Years Clean

Today I saw the surgeon. The very nice man who rearranged my digestive system. I've been seeing him every three months for the past two years. With the exception of a few times early on in the first year when there was a glitch or two that required more frequent seeing, or on his part, looking. Everything is pretty much as it was before the cancer was removed, along with some of my original parts. At this point, all test results - CT scans and blood work - show that there has been no recurrence. This is, of course, good news. And while I would wish that some of my issues would go away, I am required to take the doctor's optimism at face value, and believe that I can continue to live a good life.



So I left his office with instructions to increase some of my medication, get a repeat blood test to check for carcinogenic embryonic antigens (CEA), and a return appointment in six months. Yep, six months. It seems that reaching two years without a recurrence is a big deal and we can extend the time between appointments.

That leaves the oncologist, the cardiologist, Mammogramist (?), and of course, my primary care physician. Not to mention the G.I. Guy who does the colonoscopy. With all these professionals taking care of my health, I should live forever. As if.

Don't Yell!

Okay, okay. I haven't been around. And you miss me. Yeah, right. When I started this, I fully intended to write every day. So far, I isn't working. But, hey, I have other things to do.

I wake up about 5 am ish every morning, drink my coffee (Love that programmable pot!) and read the paper. That would be the Times Leader. I do the Jumble, the Cryptogram and Sudoku. Then another coffee with my morning bagel. Check the e-mail, read a blog or two, do a jigsaw puzzle. Really heady stuff.

About this time, I'm doing the dishes (from the previous night's supper). Make whatever calls I have to make. Usually calling a doctor's office for refills of prescriptions. Write a check or two to pay my bills. Look around to see what needs attention - dusting, vacuuming, tidying. That doesn't mean I'm going to dust, vacuum or tidy.

I look through the store flyers to see if there are any sales on items I might need. I note which stores have the deals and plan to get there at some point during the week. Of course, I don't always make it, but I plan, I plan.

About every three weeks, I have a load of laundry to do. Wash, dry and fold. There's a 65 minute job done.

Now that the clothes are clean, I'll shower and change. By now, it's time to think about lunch. Make lunch. Eat lunch. Rest up from the exertion of lunch.

Read a bit. Take out the trash. Rest up from the exertion.

Watch Cold Case. Think about supper. Have a snack while I think about supper. Cook supper. Eat supper. Put the dishes in the sink. Rest up.

Watch the news, a little TV. Read. Pretty soon it's time to think about going to bed. Which is a whole thought process of its own, never mind the planning that goes into it.

So you can see that with all the planning and resting up, there isn't a lot of time to get on in here and blog.

I ask that you don't yell at me for several reasons. Even though I intend to blog every day, what with all the other things that require my attention, I sometimes get so bogged down in the minutiae of my days that I'm too exhausted to do much else. You do see, don't you?

While it's nice to know that you miss me, it's important that you understand how screamingly busy I am. If I promise to do better, you must promise not to yell. Thank you.

Something for Everybody

Well, there truly is something for everybody...who's dumb enough to fall for it. The "send us your unwanted gold and we'll send you a fortune" ads have slowly been fading away, although they do appear on the insomnia channels. I can't imagine anyone with a lick of sense would be willing to put something as valuable as gold into an envelope and send it off to some unknown entity and expect to get anything back, let alone get back enough to match the value of what they put in aforesaid envelope. But I suppose there were enough people willing to do it that enough profit was generated to pay for the commercials. Good Lord, people, don't you have a jeweler near where you live? Where you could take your unwanted gold and get an estimate of the value? And see if it matches what gold is selling for on the open market? Having done that, couldn't you ask the jeweler how much he would willingly pay for what you have to sell? You would then have the right to accept or refuse on the spot. Bearing in mind that while it may not be the market price, it should be only slightly less than that, and you would be able to decide if it was worth selling.

But the newest one has me wondering - how many people are being taken in by this? Perhaps you have seen the commercial for CardWOO. "Send my your tired, your poor -" Oh, wait. That's not it. Oh, yes, here it is - You send for a prepaid envelope to ship your gift cards in the hope of getting cash for those cards you just don't want. Why wouldn't you want them, you may ask? The commercial tells me that some people don't like the store, can't find anything they want in the store, would rather have cash, etc, etc. So here comes your envelope and you load it up with all those gift cards "cluttering up your junk drawer or your wallet". And you think that in a few days all that money will roll in and you can pay off your mortgage or buy that Ferrari or book a cruise. Fuhgeddaboudid. Not gonna happen. Go to the company web site and read it. (take a sandwich with you 'cuz it's really long. It will tell you absolutely nothing. Oh, well, it will tell you that they will decide if they want to buy your cards or not. They will decide how much they will pay you for your cards. They will NOT be responsible if your cards, in their prepaid envelope, never reach the company red flag, red flag! And if they reject your cards and send them back, they won't be responsible if they never reach you. There are sooooo many opportunities for deception here. I didn't say you were being deceived. No, I didn't. I said there were opportunities. But anyone who buys into this without being fully informed has no one else to blame if it has a less than happy ending.

If I get a card and I can't use it, I'll wait for an appropriate occasion to re-gift it. You can do what you want.

Where've You Been?

I haven't been here so if you've been looking for me, I'm still around. Been trying to dispose of junk, junque, and just plain crap. In between, I've been shampooing carpet, a section at a time. I cannot believe it's Holiday Time again. And as usual, I try to do everything at once and end up by not finishing any of it.

I spent Thanksgiving Day doing exactly what I wanted to do. Which was nothing. Now as usual, my family dinner will happen on Sunday, and I'll enjoy it because someone else will cook it for me. It's a tradition I started many years ago when my youngest two always had "other plans" (read girlfriend) and I began accepting invitations from older, already married, sons. So I would cook my family dinner on Friday or Saturday, depending on individual schedules. It worked quite well for many years until the youngest got married and had his own home and family. He went to his in-laws on THE day, and I to somewhere else. So youngest's wife decided that she would continue my tradition and have a dinner for me. (I don't do in-laws, even though I'm invited.) Don't misunderstand - I have nothing against in-laws, but they come in large quantities and I don't do well in crowds, unless it's my own crowd. And even my own crowd, much as I love 'em, is only tolerable for limited periods.

I had to go out today for milk, the bank, and the dry cleaners. You will notice that I did not mention Black Friday Door Busters, which are, to my mind, a bunch of hoo-hah. Or as Colonel Potter used to say, mule muffins. Haven't heard any reports of violence, but I'm sure that somewhere in the country it got out of hand and tomorrow's news will have all the gory details.

The bank wasn't busy, and I was in, made a deposit, and out in less than three minutes. The market, where I bought the milk, wasn't too busy and I was in and out of there with dispatch. The dry cleaner's had two ahead of me but still not a long delay. I did make an unscheduled stop at the hardware store for some lamp repair stuff - same story, in and out. My Black Friday commerce took me all of about 35 minutes, including travel time. No bargains, but no crazy crowds either.

So I will wait for my Sunday turkey and smirk at the wild and wacky people who got up at 3:30 AM when they could have slept in.

Huh?

It's Hallowe'en and while I am prepared in case little goblins show up, at 7:30PM, none has so far. Of course, there isn't one light on in the whole street. I heard from someone that pickin's were slim on her street as well - blames it on the economy.

Meanwhile, I pass the time watching something called Sister Wives. Yet another reality show on TLC. Where do they find these people?

Anyway, premise is this polygamous family who "want to show everyone what our life style is like". Oooookay. What it's like is three women who appear to be normal, but the fact that the weasel they are "married" to makes me gag has me wondering how normal they could possibly be. And now he has added another "wife" to the mix. Along with her three children from a previous marriage. Now this fool has three other wives with an aggregate of 13 children (all his) and he's slobbering over this new chick who doesn't appear to have much to say except, "howdy".

All the while, one of the "old" wives is preggers with her sixth child. All three of the koo-koos live in the same house, divided up into three suites so each wife and her offspring has their own living quarters. Hubs spends rotational nights with each one. His interaction with the kids seems limited and they don't seem too enamored of Dear Old Dad. F'rinstance, when he was packing to visit Candidate #4, who was living four hours away, none of the kids was around to say goodby to him.
But that's none of my concern.

Now that the new wife/concubine/mistress/whatever is "legal", whatever that means to them, she is ensconced in a home half a mile away from the "compound", a place of her own which none of the other three have. Would I be ticked? You betcha!

Mr. OMYGODWHATDOTHEYSEEINHIM has a job in advertising, and the word is that he has lost clients because of the revelation on TV of his life style. Meri, the original wife, was the only one employed outside the home, and has lost her job (in the mental health field!!) since the advent of the show. But I'm sure that TLC is providing plenty of dollars to this freak show. The authorities are taking a long look at the group, since polygamy is illegal. Funny, even if the marriages are not true civic unions, it is apparently against the law where they live to present yourself as married if you aren't.

To add to the nauseating factor, he has the gall to drag some of his old kids and a couple of the Stepford Wives down south to help pack and move Miss Dumb-As-A-Stump and her kids to her new home. (To make it more interesting, one of her kids has Asperger's Syndrome, which I'm guessing entitles her to some gubmint money.)

How these unfortunate children are being dragged into this is making me cringe. It isn't as if they signed on to live a polygamous life-style. And they don't go to public school. And the daughter who wants to go to the Naval Academy doesn't have a prayer because her education is limited by the schooling she is receiving.

We've had our share of multiple births, and dwarfs who want to prove they can be self-sufficient, and people who hoard and people who need intervention for their addictions. Every Tom, Dick, and Mary bakes cakes, and fishing for crabs, lobsters, and other sea creatures is supposed to be riveting entertainment.

All of this reality is becoming way too unreal. And far creepier than the Hallowe'en kids that I wish were here instead.

The Sunday Funnies

There was a time, maybe about 25 years ago, that I couldn't call my Sunday complete until I had read the comics section. I had favorites, of course, and some I never bothered to read at all. Prince Valiant was one I never read. That said, I admired the astounding attention to detail of the artist, and that was a case where I just "looked at the pitchers". Now the comics section had changed quite a bit from the time I was a child. Some of my old favorites were gone - Smilin' Jack; Li'l Abner; Dick Tracy; Alley Oop; Mary Worth; Gasoline Alley - lost either to discontinuation of the strip or because the strip no longer existed. Over the years, lots more of them disappeared and were replaced with some stuff that just didn't hold my interest. And so, as I aged, I was less and less interested in the funnies.

Until this week. The last time anyone read the funnies to me, it was Fiorello LaGuardia, Mayor of NYC, who read them on the radio during a newspaper strike so as not to deprive people of the continuity of the strips that were following a story-line. But this week, my five-year-old granddaughter read Hagar the Horrible to me, giving it a twist that only she could conceive.

Bearing in mind that she is in Kindergarten, and while she is accomplished at printing her name, first AND last, and her sister's name, she has not yet learned to read, but she enjoys looking at the pictures and telling the story as she perceives it.

Thus it was that Hagar, (the boy) was dressed for Hallowe'en. He was dressed like a "warrior" who "kills people" and they "don't get alive again". And Helga, "the girl" is dressed "like a Grandmom" and "she cooks".

I'm sure the rest of the story was just as compelling, but I had to leave the room so as not to insult the child by laughing. (By this time, I was actually holding back a snort! Or maybe that's a snert?)

After regaining my composure, I sat with her and turned the page, and she was barely able to contain her delight when she realized there were even more comics on the inside pages. I offered to read them to her but she said she would read them herself. Her interpretations could actually get me interested in the funnies once again.

There's nothing like the point of view of a five-year-old to make us realize how jaded we have become.

What Shall We Name the Baby?

I was sitting here the other day pondering the names we give our children, and wondering what it is that drives us when faced with giving to a person, who maybe not even be here yet, or in some cases maybe not even in utero yet, the appellation by which said person will be known for the rest of his/her life. (Okay, can we agree that where I use he/his/him it will mean either sex and is in no way snubbing the femmes? Thank you)

So, back to naming the baby. Naming my own children was not too difficult. The first one was named after his father - yes, he became a Jr. on the moment of birth. But I was young and thought it was expected. I now know better. The second and third sons were named what they were named because I thought the names, first and middle, had a nice ring to them, although in the case of the second son, his middle name was a family name that could as easily been a regular name. Son number four has a first and middle name that I liked all by myself and would have named #two or #three except the last name I had at the time just didn't fit with #four's first and middle. The first and middle name of #five was a mutually-arrived at decision with #five's father. (Who was, BTW, also the father of #four.)

I happen to think that all of my sons have perfectly handsome names, and if any one of them wished to use any variation of their names, they would be equally mellifluous-sounding. Wise of me to think that while they were given those names, they at least had an option in the manner they chose to use them. To wit: First and Last; First, Middle, Last; First, Middle Initial, Last; First Initial, Middle, Last; First Initial, Middle Initial, oh, you know.

In my own case, I was given a first name, which came with a last name. NMI. I have always disliked my first name. Not hated it, exactly, but never thought it had any character or pizzazz. At one point, age 12ish, I desperately wanted my name to be Lisle. pronounced Lie-ull. No, I don't know why. Anyway, for a time I insisted my step-sister call me that, which she did but never without a snicker. But I'm stuck with the name I never really cared for, and I had no options. Until I was confirmed in the church when we got to pick a middle name. At the time, I was in the middle of an episode of religious zeal and having just seen the movie The Song of Bernadette, that's what I chose. The same people who gave me my mundane first name spent no time at all trying to talk me out of my choice and so I ended up with a middle name that offered no options once I came to my senses.

Of course, I, as many others of my age and location, wasted no time getting pregnant and married and being known as Mommy. I was still busy being Mommy when my first-to-get-married son presented me with a baby girl who would be calling me Grandmom. She was followed over the years by siblings and cousins, all 10 of whom call me Grandmom.

Now if we add to the unliked first name, the unwieldly middle name, Mommy and Grandmom, all the character names of all the roles I have played on stage, it occurs to me that it really doesn't much matter what name I was given.

I do recall one woman, upon being told what name I had selected for #five, shrieked loudly into the 'phone, "What the hell kind of a name is that!?" This from a woman who named her only son Guido.