Lost in Time, Memories and Other Things

This week ushered in an eclectic collection of activities. One day I saw the foot doctor and went to a luncheon at the senior hall---the band was great---and the next day I attended a class on genealogy research and went to a Red Hat tea. It’s always feast or famine with my social life. I wish I could schedule my day planner out so my activities are spread out more evenly but I can’t, so you’ll have to listen to me complain. I know, you’re thinking I had control of when I made an appointment with the podiatrist; I didn’t have to pencil him in around all those re-occurring events. Originally I had him scheduled for two weeks from now but they called with a cancellation and I took it because it was a no snow, easy driving day and who knows if I’ll be able to say the same in February. 

When I wasn’t out and about I was glued to my computer emerged in researching the military records of an ancestor who fought in the Civil War. Wow, I can’t believe how thorough the records are for the era. He got shot in the head with a Minie Ball, was given 150 acres of homestead land as payment for his service and in 1900 he was still around to collect a $16.00 pension. I also built family trees back to where my mom’s family first set foot in America. On her dad’s side that tree took me back to Dungannon, Ireland (1832) and on her mom’s side my tree goes back to Glastonbury, England, 1581. For my entire life I’ve claimed I was half Italian and half English. Now, I have to pay homage to the one quarter Irish part of my roots. When you have famous people in your English roots—and I have three---I guess it’s natural for families to ignore the rest. Sunday I got so wrapped up in research that I didn’t get dressed or have breakfast until 3:00 in the afternoon! At one point I fed my own name into a genealogy search engine and was surprised to learn I that “lived” six years at an address of a friend. I certainly never claimed that address as my residence. How in the heck did that misinformation get recorded for all of eternity? Unraveling the mysteries genealogy research turns up might seem boring to a lot of people, but others will understand the thrill of digging up the family bones. 

Speaking of misinformation, never get medical advice from your pedicurist. Mine has been nagging me to see a doctor because she was convinced I have circulation problems caused by heart issues. I have some brown spots on my toenails and on top of my feet, near my toes. I thought it was a fungus and, guess what, I was right. For three pedicures in a row, she said it wasn’t a fungus. I finally went to the foot doctor because the toes on one foot have a needles and pins feeling at night and just like I thought, the nerve he killed off four years ago with a series of shots is regenerating and if it starts back up with the hot, stabling pain on the bottom of my foot, he’ll do the injections again. For now, I’ll be the woman painting anti-fungus stuff on my toes twice a day and, the doctor said, it will never go away but I can keep it under control so it doesn’t spread. Oh, goodie. What gets me is the pedicurist charged the same $35 plus tip for a pedicure even though I skipped the polish this last time. I wish I could still reach my toes to do them myself. Oh, to be young again! I shouldn’t admit this, but when I was a teenager I could and did bite my toe nails. Not my fingernails, lord no! They showed. Now, I can barely see my toenails through my tri-folds much less get them up to my mouth even if---yuck!---I even wanted to be that pretzel kid again.

At the senior hall luncheon I won my first door prize ever at one of these events, a tin of shortbread cookies. Just what I need. As I sat there during the entertainment portion I counted up all the women I’ve come to know by name and personality. About two dozen that I enjoy having little chit-chats with when I run into them at the hall or at the Movie and Lunch Club. I was trying to decide if I’d feel cut off from all civilization if I move to the other end of town, leaving behind my senior hall and Red Hat acquaintances---no more shallow (but pleasant) little conversations, no more friendly smiles when I run into one of them out shopping. The answer is 'yes' I would miss the human contact. I decided I need to research the heck out of what’s available down in my target moving area in the way of entertainment. I’ve done some research without finding much. Surely there must be a book club, a Red Hat Chapter, something I can join for interaction and, no, my days of volunteering on a regular basis are over. Thank you very much. Cross that off the list, been there, done that. I want to be selfish if you want to look at it that way.

The more invested I get into condo and house shopping the more the uncertainties come to the surface. When I was coming home from the Red Hat tea I was driving on country roads that I’ve been on many times with my husband before he lost his speech. It was his old stomping grounds and he could tell great stories about half the places along the route. That’s when it hit me that when/if I move closer to my family I’ll also be moving farther away from so many memory making queues in my daily environment. Ohmygod, am I really ready to do that? Am I really ready not to have those warm, fuzzy thoughts pop in my head as I travel around my days, going to and by places where Don and I spent time together? ©