Wednesday, April 16, 2025

Bad Luck, Magical Places and and More Tariff Shopping


Never declare yourself to be on the top of world because that's a long way to fall if something goes wrong. That's what happened to my youngest niece this past weekend. She called me on her way up to her 'happy place' to tell me she'd paid off her mortgage and her husband just got clean blood work from an infectious disease clinic where they'd been dealing with for several years. At one point, after multiple knee surgeries and bad infections, they were told his lower leg might need to be amputated, but it's finally free of infection after a doctor from a foreign country took a different approach that worked, and my nephew-in-law just got cleared to start driving again. During the phone call my niece listed all the positive things going on in her life and they were celebrating with a long weekend in Traverse City, Michigan. 

I've grown up thinking of Traverse City as a small tourist town and I'd been to their famous Cherry Festival many times since I was a kid and before my husband's stroke in 2000.. It's also famous for its artist shops, gorgeous views of Lake Michigan along a peninsula drive and rows of Victorian era houses built during the lumber baron era. But while I wasn't looking it became a place for millionaires to own homes. The things you learn with a Google search such as, "More American millennial millionaires live in Traverse City, Michigan, than in any other ZIP code in the US." In recent decades many of the rolling hills that produced the sweetest cherries in The States have been replaced with wine vineyards. 

I went on a day-long a wine-tasting bus tour five-six years ago that was organized by our senior hall and I was shocked at how the Traverse City area has grown and changed since it was a regular summer destination for us. And if you like history this place is steeping with it between its eighty year old coast guard station, the lumber baron era, and a state hospital that housed everything from the mental ill to polio, tuberculosis and typhoid patients. It closed in 1903 and today you can go on a two hour tour of just the hospital featuring its Victorian Style buildings, underground tunnels and places that are supposed to haunted. Recently they've developed one of the buildings into artists' work spaces and local shops and boutiques. I bet most Michiganders would list Traverse City in their top five places to go locally and my niece even has a favorite hotel where they stay when they go up north and walking along a sidewalk she got her toe caught on something and down she went. 

Fortunately, the emergency rescue squad saw her go down so she only had to wait seconds for help to arrive. The bottom line is on Saturday she had a total hip replacement in the hospital up there and was sent home on Sunday. I can't imagine having a surgery while on vacation, in a strange hospital with doctors and surgeons you don't know. She says the nurses were all super nice and professional, and all males---didn't see a female nurse the entire time she was there. I'd love to know why and I have my theories. At least she was only two and a half hours from home and not in some third world country where she doesn't speak the language. (That's my dad's philosophy being channeled through me. No matter what went wrong he could always come up with something worse that could have happened. I'm quite proud that I took that feature of his character and made it my own.) 

Change of topic: I went to the Dollar Tree store to do some more tariff shopping before the 145% tariff kicks in for good made in China. I figure it won't hurt to have six months worth of stuff I use all the time stocked up. I came home with 5 bags of stuff for only $34.00. Stuff like, post-a-notes, and envelopes (from Canada), paper clips and a organizer for my bathroom countertop from China and bunch of fake flowers to decorate a hat for a Kentucky Derby Hat decorating contest we're having on campus in May. I kind of resent spending money on that hat decor but it was only five dollars and I plan on adding some vintage horses that came from my youth. I found a straw hat at Goodwill for ninety-nine cents. It won't be a 'pretty hat' per say, but it will match a new blouse I bought before all the tariff talks. It may be that last piece of new clothing I get in 2025. I also bought cookie and banana bread mixes, trash can liners, olives and mayo. I love those petite sized mayo jars they sell at Dollar Tree. I don’t use enough in a year to buy the larger sizes. I also bought a bag of potting soil the same size and brand as I bought at the grocery store last week only for $2 cheaper. 

I don't know why I was such a snob about not wanting to shop at dollars stores back twenty-five years ago when my dad was alive and I'd have to drive him and his girlfriend to a dollar store on their weekly dates, but if they can see my now I'll bet they're laughing at my changing attitude and Dad's girlfriend would say, "I told you so." Dad would be kinder and tell me that the Dollar Store gene is given with our with our Social Security Cards. Truth be told maybe I was banishing myself from the dollar stores because the only thing I ever shopped lifted in my entire life was from a Dime Store back when I was 10 or 11 years old. It was a cross cut out of a sea shell---or all things---and I still have it today. Every time I see it I'm reminded of my short-lived life of crime. I don't know, maybe I expected the Ghost of Woolworth's to descend upon me as the reason why it took me twenty-five years to get over my fear of going inside a dollar store aka modern-day dime store but it's as good of an excuse as any.


Until next Wednesday.©

 

The old Traverse City State Hospital


Wednesday, April 9, 2025

Accomplishing Projects, Horrific Mistakes, Tariffs and Disappearing Pain



It's two-thirty in the afternoon and I sat down at one to write my weekly blog post but these are the first words I've written on the topic. I got distracted working on a project that I started back in 2021 and just now I'm ready to push it over the finish line. It's a soft-cover, self-published (of course) book of twenty poems I've written about growing old and living on a continuum care campus. I'm only one click away from ordering my proofing copy using the Book Wright app at Blurb Publishing. The back cover content reads like this:

"_____ __ _____  is a continuum care community that sets on 40 acres in Kent County, Michigan. I was fortunate enough to move into the independent living building when it first opened in October of 2021. Those early days were very much like moving into a college dorm as we learned our way around, attended orientation classes and got to know our neighbors. The uniqueness of all of us moving in at once helped foster a close knit community that remains today and along the way I wrote poems…

There is a thin line that separates laughter and pain, comedy and tragedy, humor and hurt. ~ Erma Bombeck"

I'm at that antsy time when I want to pull the trigger to get the book published but I know myself well enough to know there is probably a dyslexic-driven mistake in there somewhere and I need to let the content set a few days before proofing it again. Just yesterday I was showing my youngest niece a hardcover book I wrote about my husband back in 2012 and I was shocked and horrified when she read the title of one of the stories within and asked: "What's a Barstood Ranger?" I can't tell you how many times over the years I've looked at that mistake and saw what I meant to type rather than what I did type---Barstood Rancher. Thankfully, there is only one copy of that book in print so I only embarrassed myself in from of one person---well, in front of all cyberspace now that I've confessed it here. ('Confessed' originally spelled 'confused' until Alex did an intervention.) So I'll take the time to let the poetry book set before I click 'place my order'. One of my reading/writing disability comes from a place where I memorized spelling words rather than coming from a place where I learned phonetics. Writing Hell comes in the form of Alex not working on Saturdays when I write my posts but I just learned that she does not answer to Alexis. So whose got egg on her face this time?

Side-note: the idiom 'to have egg on your face' as a creative way to say you are embarrassed came from the theatrical tradition of throwing eggs at performers that the audience didn't like. Obviously, this comes from a century when eggs didn't cost as much as they do now. 

Speaking of the price of goods have you done any tariff shopping? I have. I ordered a new coffee pot. I've needed one for a couple of months when I tried to clean my old one with vinegar and it took the paint off on the heating pad and it turned to rust. The pot works but it looks horrible. And my Waterpik infusion electric toothbrush and flosser had the good graces to spring a leak the day the tariffs went on. I did shop for a replacement part and they have them for other models which would have saved a ton of money. The replacements parts are under $20 while the new Infusion Waterpik is $173. I really didn't want to pay that much but I don't have room for two separate units and my gums have improved since I got my Waterpik. Once they add the 50% tariff onto the $173 it will be out of reach. I also stocked up on Burt Bee's products because they import the bee wax from a third world country that made the tariff list. 

A 45/47 supporter---just after I was bemoaning the outcome of the election---told me, "You'll see, the minute he takes office the prices will come down and the stock market will go up." I know it's petty of me but I recently sat across from her at the farm table and asked the group at large, "Did you see how far the stock market fell today?" She didn't say a word and I was enjoying the fact that she was probably biting her tongue while staring at her bellybutton as a conversation about tariffs broke out.

Other news on the home front: I saw my orthopedic doctor yesterday and he gave me a shot of lubricating gel in my wrist. Since it's given off label, there is no way of knowing if it will last 3 months or 3 years---no statistics are being compiled. And it's private pay because no insurance company will reimburse you for off label treatments. My doctor says the insurance companies don't care how much success is reported in the field because they don't want to start paying for joints other than the knees which the gel was first designed for. I've had great luck with the gel in both knees and in my shoulders so I had no hesitation getting it in my wrist. Private pay was $183 and if I only get a year out of the gel, it will be worth it as I couldn't do anything without pain or dropping things. I suspect I will get more than a year but with all typing I do, who knows. The gel shot adds a padding in where the arthritis has destroyed bone.

 Until Next Wednesday!

Wednesday, April 2, 2025

The Art Project Part Two and my Whiny Week

 


My lunch today consisted of a double serving of mashed potatoes and gravy from Kentucky Fried Chicken and it felt decadent to indulge in a classic comfort food. Don't judge. I deserved it after the week I've had since my last post. I got rid of all the pain in my arm and hand and replaced it with a nasty head cold and a hacking cough that makes my insides feel so sore that I've considered the possibility I broke a rib with all the non-stop coughing I've been doing to bring up green, chunky mucus and phlegm. Too my information? That's what someone told me here at my continuum care complex. And I didn't even say it during a meal time. I live with a bunch of wimps! 

I got a haircut today and my hairdresser says they're calling it the 100 day cough and, god, I hope it doesn't last that long. I've managed to avoid getting sick all winter long and with 72 residents plus staff all around me passing the flu, colds and Covid back and forth it hasn't been easy. I'm really careful not to touch elevator buttons with my finger tips (I use my knocks) and I wash my hands the minute I enter my apartment. I keep my fingers out of my eyes and mouth and use the hand sanitizer stations whenever I walk by them. I also don't eat food offered off other people's plates which bothers me all the time but grosses me out during cold and flu season! But when my bone doctor put me on the 20 mg of prednisone as part of his diagnostic process it must have lower my immunity system (as the package insert warns can happen) because I finally got the crud with side serving of a UTI. Thankfully, the UTI got resolved with a $24 E-Visit at the doctor's website and a three day round of magic pills. 

Still, it was a successful week in terms of the art project---the Artist Handmade Book I finished it up today, on the last day of class. One person was missing because she had a "cold." Oops! and I really felt bad because she probably got it from me but she's always trading food off other people's plates so who really knows for sure? So far she's the only one I had close contact with who has gotten sick. This week I did eat my meals as take-outs or just soup in my room and didn't go to a couple of lectures but I can't keep that up for 100 days so I'll official join the choir of "cougher" who walk around with a pocket full of cough drops and X-Kleenex. Ya, I would avoid sitting next to me too. Logic might tell you that I'm past the contagious stage but the eyes sometimes overrule what logic has to say about whatever.

Art project: Since I moved to this continuum care complex I've written a bunch of poems about life here and I've been wanting to put them in a book form. But I had no idea that a class advertised as "learn to experiment with different materials" would turn in a serendipitous marriage of art and writing. A couple of my sick days were spent playing around with fonts sizes and fonts styles, then printing all my poems out on good paper. As I explained in another post, we started with a large sheet of rag paper and acted like kindergartners slopping watercolors every which way, then turning it over and doing the same thing on the back side. Our next class we be learned how to cut and fold the sheet of paper to form a book that opens up accordion-style. I made a little sampler since then just so I'd remember how to do the folding and cutting because it's so simple, its complicated and if you don't cut in the right place the accordion doesn't work. 

Between the second and the third class I cheated and went ahead and cut my poems up and pasted them on the pages and fell in love with the stupid little five by six inch book that came together. The professor liked it enough that she asked me if I'd make her a photocopy of the book so she can share it in her European workshops this summer. I don't know how I feel about having a random photocopy floating around when I'm still trying to figure out how to make it into a real book. I know, I'm a control freak. But is it so wrong to want to be the one who decides where and who gets to see my poems? And I choose you guys for this bird's eye preview. ©

 

Showing how the book opens




 

A couple of my poems:

 
The Side Table 
 
It’s a billboard screaming
an old person lives here ---
nail clippers, a forgotten mug,
a big button remote
with a crossword puzzle
next to a magnifying glass,
a shoe horn, eye drops and
and a potato chip
that lost its bag a week ago.
Cluttered chair-side tables
talk and tell stories
to our La-Z-Boys
who don’t care if they’re
partners in this classic
display of old people gear.  © JR
 
 
At Eighty
 
In the so-called Golden Years
It takes a long time to stay alive
with all the specialists to see
and pills to count.
Then there’s the memories
that want to escape
while we’re still trying
to build new ones with
classes and books
and friends old and new.
 
In the so-called Golden Years
we try not to linger on the losses
and there are many---
careers
good friends and family,
skill sets and bodily functions.
We laugh, we cry and compare
old people thrills and chills
while counting
each day we wake up as a bonus. © JR