Red Hats, Purses and Stair Climbing

High winds on Sunday made the neighborhood and beyond lose power for five hours. The outside temperature was in the low ‘40s so I knew the water pipes wouldn’t burst nor would the dog and I freeze to death. I put on two layers of clothing and struggled to get a sweater on the dog who no doubt thinks his naked body is too cute to cover up, then I snuggled down in bed for a reading marathon. That’s making lemonade out of lemons; my book club meets next week and without the power outage I might not have finished the book. Within ten minutes of the power coming back on, the cable went out. I had heat and lights, thankfully because it was getting dark but no computer, Wi-Fi, landline or TV for the rest of the evening. It was 1950 all over again, trying to find something on the radio to fill the house with noise. Silence in the day light is one thing, but something altogether different after dark.

I’ve missed so many Red Hat Society teas lately that I made a real effort to get to Wednesday’s and I will do the same with the St. Patrick’s Day lunch later in the month. There were eleven of us in attendance and I found out they’ve been planning a three day trip to the other side of the state---to the Henry Ford Museum, Greenfield Village and a car factory tour. I doubt I’ll go. Been there, done all that several times and the idea of carpooling around Detroit with old women who may (or may not) be over estimating their driving skills in a strange town isn’t my cup of tea. On the way to the meeting I got trapped behind an old woman who was driving 15 miles an hour on a hilly, curvy road with a posted speed limit of 38 miles per hour. There was no place to get around her for two long miles! If I ever get to the point where I’m driving less than half the speed limit I hope some kindly police officer will stop me and call the Old Fogy's Brigade to get me off the roads. Heck, a cop on a bicycle could have caught up with that woman! 

Have you heard of The Purse Project? I hadn’t until the Red Hat Society tea. You take a gently used purse and pack it with things that would be useful to a woman living on the streets. A local Woman’s City Club spearheaded the project in town and the first year they distributed 75 purses, the second year 150. We’re going to contact them and see if we can donate packed purses. For many years at Christmas time we’ve had a similar project of packing shoe boxes for homeless veterans and all of us in attendance were enthusiastic about taking part in the Purse Project. I can’t image living on the streets but it could happen to anyone. Back during the banking meltdown that started at the tail end of the Bush Administration, Don and I were in real danger of losing our healthcare insurance and pension. The stress was a ball-buster---if I'd had a pair but saying an 'ovary-buster' just doesn’t evoke the same visual, does it. Anyway, our healthcare benefits and pension did get cut down but, thankfully, those safety nets are still in place for me. However, I’d seen enough people struggle through bankruptcies when I was a mentor in the stroke support community to know that no matter how well off you think you're doing financially, a major medical crisis paired with no insurance can put you at the mercy of the gods of spit and vinegar to keep you from moving to a highway underpass. 

Well, isn’t that a Debby Downer thought. On to something more upbeat. If anyone had told me two weeks ago that I would be able to walk up three LONG flights of steps and back down again and do it four days in a row---one foot in front of the other rather than always leading with my left---I wouldn’t have believed them. I’ve been doing the left lead on steps for well over two decades. Strength training is working! I’m also now up to 30 minutes on the treadmill. I’ll be adding five minutes every third time I go to the YMCA. My trainer says, for me, that distance and speed aren’t as important as lengthening my time spent on the treadmill. Still, I have a hard time ignoring those numbers. Once when the William Tell Overture played on my iPod, I actually RAN for 30-40 seconds before I had to punch the machine back down to a safe speed so I didn’t go flying off the end like a cartoon lady. That day when I left the treadmill I sat in a chair at the head of the last set of stairs going down to the locker room and I must have looked as tired as I felt because someone passing by asked if I was okay. “I’m just resting up to tackle that staircase,” I said, “but thanks for asking.” The elevator with its shiny, stainless steel doors was calling my name like a would-be lover trying to seduce me with roses and champagne, but I got up and made my way down the steps instead. ©