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.

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.