Holiday Weekends, Skin Cancer and Messy Closets

The Fourth of July weekend seemed to last forever here at the continuum care complex. Except for one security guard none of the staff worked Sunday and Monday in the independent living section of the campus so they packed all kinds of Red, White and Blue activities on the calendar both last week and this week including a lecture given by an Air Force Pilot (my next post), four therapy horses who came to accept all the petting they could get, a pickle ball tutorial exhibition on our new pickle ball court, an outdoor movie that got moved inside at the last minute because it didn’t get dark enough at 7:00---Duh! Who planned that? A five year old who goes to bed at 6:30? We also had two piazza parties and for food we could order and pick that up on Saturday to eat on Sunday and Monday because even our food services were shut down. On the fifth they threw an outdoor cookout of traditional holiday foods---hot dogs, hamburgers, potato salad and ice cream. Every day they served an alcoholic drink that layered itself in red, white and blue. Some days they were free, other days just $2.00. They wanted to get us drunk and keep us that way. Or so it seems.

In addition to all that, the ‘in crowd’ here put together a picnic for those of us who are widows and not going anywhere on the Fourth. I was invited and was told to bring grapes. Yup, a bowl of grapes which in order to get more than one kind cost me $14. The cost of food in the stores these day still shocks me. I really didn’t want to bring them because I’ve never seen anyone eat grapes at a party, opting instead for the gooey desserts and salty snacks while the fruit and veggie trays barely get touched. I visualized me coming home with a mountain of grapes nearly as tall as I took to the party and then I’d have to watch them rot away in my refrigerator because I’m not that fond of them unless they come in the form of raisins. Apparently I was stressing out about this because after buying them I woke up in the middle of the night to pee and as I walked back to bed the thought that I could freeze any left over grapes popped in my head. I solve a lot of problems on my walks back to bed in the middle of the night. No wonder I never feel rested in the mornings. I ended up bringing some baggies with me and strong-armed as many people as I could to take some grapes home. But I still ended up with enough grapes to last the summer in my freezer. 

I’m writing this while sitting on the piazza giving myself skin cancer because I’m not as smart one of our four adult swans on the lake. She’s hanging out under the bridge with her two remaining babies where its shady.  Speaking of skin cancer the biopsy the dermatologist did in June on the mole that I thought was a tick turned out to be a “hperthropic actinic keratitis” which I was told are precancerous, slow growing cells that can turn into squamous cell carcinomas, a type of skin cancer that rarely kills a person if treated early. Supposedly the doctor got it all and I have nothing to worry about except a gaping hole the size of a pencil eraser surrounded by an angry red patch of skin the size of a quarter. 

I wondered if swans get skin cancers and after googling the question I learned that birds do get squamous cell carcinomas around their eyes and beaks. How in the heck do they stay out of the sun if they don’t have a bridge to hide under? I’ve had dogs with cancerous growths so I’m guessing anything with living cells can get these “mutations.” If you want to scare yourself into buying sunscreen google images of cutaneous horn moles (photo above). In the dark ages before doctors understood much about anything it’s easy to see how people with ‘horns’ growing out of their heads were the stuff of folklore and fear.  

New Topic: I am running out of room in my closet. I need to purge stuff because I bought a few new things and there is no room left or hangers to use for a Landend’s sweater and a pair of Women Within pants nor room left in my underwear drawer for some great panties made out of bamboo. I had every intention of throwing out at least six pairs of panties that are so worn out I’d be embarrassed to be caught dead in them but there’s always something else going on I’d rather do. It dawned on me over the Fourth hat I’m not really living here yet. Yes, it’s been eight months since I moved in but I still feel like I’m on a cruise ship with a schedule to explore if I want to have fun and get fed. I need to make time for normal things cleaning drawers and purging closets. Even though my world has gotten smaller since I moved to this CCC I still can’t have it all. No one can. I need to make choices, prioritize and quit drifting with the wind like I'm going to kick the bucket any day now. I need goals. I need doable goals and the willpower to carry them out. ©