Spying on Myself and Finding Ghosts

March 16^th. How did that happen? Life goes by too quickly and sometimes I think that happens because I tend to over schedule myself but I know if I didn’t the Lord of Boredom steps up to harass me. And he has a wicked sense of humor. Monday I took Levi to the Foo-Foo Doggie Beauty Spa, then I picked up some lunch, stopped at the pet store and on to the grocery before swinging back around to collect the dog. Tuesday and Wednesday I emptied out my bedroom and bathroom of everything I could carry to get ready for the painters to come beautify my rooms. (You should have seen all the stuff I purged out of my media cabinet and my medicine cabinet!) Wednesday I went to a lecture on Music Theory and how it affects the brain. Thursday was book club day and I’m composing this post before the painters are due on Friday. Is this lineup enough to qualify as over-scheduling my life? It wouldn’t have been back in my heydays when if I didn’t have a half-dozen things to do each day I was on vacation.

Meanwhile back at the ranch I’ve been playing with my little spy tape recorder. Years ago when I was using it a lot, I had a bad habit of not labeling the tapes I made. And since I wanted to recorder myself sleeping to see if I snore with and without the Snore Stopper device I wrote about last week, I decided I should listen to a few tapes to see if there was anything worth keeping before I recorded over one of them. The first two I listened to were conversations with my dad---he died in 1999. Worth keeping. The third tape I pop in was a shocker. It was my husband’s last out-going message from his telephone answering machine. The forth tape had me cracking up laughing along with myself laughing on the tape. I was attending a lecture given by the humor columnist from our local newspaper but there’s no denying the other voices on the tape were mine and my husband’s from 25+ years ago. A few minutes into the lecture the speaker had asked the audience members to each state our names and why we came to the lecture. Here’s what I heard…

“My name is Jean and I’m here because I don’t get a lot of humor.”

The speaker: “Are there any comedians or comedy shows you do get and like?”

I like Barry Miller,” I answered, “but I don’t get Woody Allen. I really don’t!” Then the speaker explained the differences in the two kinds of humor employed in my examples. 

Next up was my husband. “I’m Don and I’ve got to agree with her. She doesn’t get all humor and I think she’s funny when she’s not getting humor.” I’m laughing in the background as he went on…and on. “Barry Miller is a classic and Night Court. I predict in the future there will be tapes of those shows we can watch over and over again and still see the humor in them. Robin Williams is another. When he gets on a roll---say on the Johnny Carson Show---he can have us laughing until our stomachs ache. Another thing I find funny are your columns.” Don was being a kiss-up, but I could tell he was nervous speaking in public because he always talked faster when he was. It made me feel warm and fuzzy inside to hear the two of us having a good time laughing and interacting with the group. But I’m glad he wasn’t around to see what happened to Robin Williams. Don dealt with a few periods of deep depression in his life---which few people knew about---and Robin’s suicide would have hit him hard.

The first night I set the voice activated recorder to find out if I snore I was in bed from midnight to eight in the morning but my Fitbit claimed I only got three hours of sleep, the rest of the time I was restless. Now I know why. I’m not snoring but I sure am having a lot of conversations in a language that would take an intergalactic interpreter to translate. Pure gibberish punctuated with laughter and some whimpering and apparently I must look at the clock because at one point I said, “Three o’clock” as clear as a bell. Interestingly enough it was after 3:00 when Fitbit said I actually slept deep enough not to be labeled ‘restless.’ The second night I set the recorder I was wearing the Snore Stopper “baskets” up my nose and my Fitbit said I slept 6 hours and 53 minutes with only 49 minutes being labeled ‘restless.’ But the funny part was the words I was saying were easier to understand and there were less of them. 

Talking in your sleep is generally harmless, according to my online search and the only treatment needed is having your bed partner wear ear plugs, but have you ever tried making a dog wear them? I’d probably forget to take them back out in the morning and spend all day wondering why he’s ignoring me. It’s the Lord of Boredom who makes me do experiences like this, but all kidding aside, how much does a sleep study cost these days? A $1,000+? And I’ll bet I wouldn’t have learned a whole lot more. ©

The Men in My Life

Monday was the dog’s appointment at the groomers. He was sixth in line with the schnauzer specialist and it wasn’t even noon. Glen says Levi has the best temperament of any schnauzer he’s ever met. I used to worry that I’d bring the wrong dog home sometime---that breed all looks alike---but the older he gets, the more I think that might not be such a bad thing. Puppies and old dogs spend more time at the vets. Glen says the salivary gland issue Levi has is common in the breed and to expect it to happen on the other side of his mouth as well. He says to rub a little Bag Balm on the area every day and that will help keep the gland open. One of the jobs my husband had growing up was to milk the family cows morning and night and they used Bag Balm on cow udder ouchies and he swore by it for healing and softening rough hands. It’s amazing that I’ve had that product in the house for nearly a half a century and I’m still hearing about new uses for it.

While the dog was enjoying his spa day I had errands to run---get the car washed, go to the post office, go the candy store and have lunch at the Guy Land Cafeteria. I forgot how busy everything gets so close to Christmas. The first carwash I went to had twenty plus cars in line so I went to another where I was fifth in the queue. I hate that second carwash but I hate waiting in line even more. At the post office I was also fifth in line with ten holiday-jolly people behind me and the window wasn’t going to open for another ten minutes. I try to avoid the post office this time of the year but I had my two 23 & Me DNA kits to mail and I wanted to get them to their lab before all the people getting kits for Christmas come flooding in. Registering that 23 & Me health kit took FOREVER. If you don’t want to answer a bunch of questions about your health history, don’t get one. If you plan on living a life of crime, skip both the health and the ancestry kits.

I also had thirty-something Christmas cards to mail that I could have dropped in the outside box but then I would have missed seeing the woman sitting on the post office floor boxing up her gifts in priority boxes and the others in line not prepared for the task at hand. Who waits until they are standing in line before putting addresses on their Christmas cards? My cards included a one page, typed letter and the first paragraph read: “Dear Family and Friends, I’ve been writing Christmas letters for many years and I’ll bet a few people wonder why I keep doing them when even sending Christmas cards is falling out of fashion. The answer is simple, it really is but I forgot what I was going to say so there you go.” The letter went on in this silly manner and ended with, “As you can see, I’ve been keeping myself busy since my second __th birthday and now if I could only remember why I keep writing Christmas letters you might not be inclined to start a rumor about me losing a few too many marbles in aging my head. Wishing you a holiday season full of whatever makes you feel well loved and happy.” 

The candy store was so busy I couldn’t find a place to park so I decided I could do without buying the little boxes I usually hand out like---well, like candy---whenever the situation moves me to do so. At the Starbucks window, on a table along with my tip, in line at the Dollar store, to the Salvation Army bell ringer, etc., etc. This place makes all their own, pricey chocolates and you can get tiny gold boxes that hold one perfect truffle. So this year, another long-standing Christmas tradition bites the dust here on Widowhood Lane. I didn't even bring the wreath for the front door up from the basement.

At lunch an old guy two tables away was either staring at me or sleeping with his eyes open or dead. I couldn’t decide which. He was a grumpy looking man in a flannel shirt and an Elks Club hat with an untouched coffee cup sitting in front of him. He creeped me out and I tried looking anywhere but straight ahead at him. Off to the right was a guy in a pink tie who was a fine piece of eye candy who came dangerously close to making me remember what it was like to be horny. To my left was a roly-poly guy chewing on a plastic straw and using it like a tooth pick to clean his teeth. I was fascinated that anyone could do that. 

At one point the guy with the straw threw it on his plate, then picked it back up and licked ketchup off it before sticking the unchewed end back in him mouth. While it was on his plate he was an animated talker and telling a story that required him to pretend he was peeling bills off a stack of money. I didn’t have my hearing aids in so I could make up my own version of what he was telling his co-worker and I was writing in my notebook as fast as I could about the lap dance he was probably getting. Grossing myself out on that story, I glanced over at Mr. Pink Tie. Except for the blond hair, he still looked just like Princess Charming and so out of place surrounded by men like the dead-eyed guy and Mr. Roly-Poly who was dressed in Carhartt bib-overalls. Those overalls and his wind-whipped complexion pegged Roly-Poly as a man who works outdoors in the winter. Finally, these men in my life left. Sighing my disappointment, I closed my notebook. Thank goodness for the Guy Land Cafeteria. It's the best people watching place in my kingdom. ©

P.S. Lest you think I'm vain about my age, my actual Christmas letter did have that blank filled in on the copies I mailed. I've been blogging on the internet for almost two decades in one place or another and from the start I've had a rule about making it too easy for bot crawlers to find my the exact date and place of birth and other information that can be abused.

Another $100 Day in Widowhood City

 

Levi’s day at the doggie foo-foo beauty spa by sheer coincidence always falls on the same day that I run errands. I love errand days otherwise known as my $100 days because that’s what they usually end up costing me. This time I started out by going to a big box store to find a hair dryer and an electric can opener. My old hair dryer still works great but I’ve had it since the 70s and it’s starting to fight with the electrical receptacle when I try to unplug it. When you find yourself googling what to do when a hair dryer catches on fire it’s time to say, “Enough is enough!” It’s a two-step process, in case you’re wondering, starting with unplugging the dryer and ending with putting it in the sink and don’t use water on it. 

The cordless can opener I bought claims it walks itself about the can. I haven’t tried it yet. I need to give up my hand-held old style can opener because my bone doctor wants me to avoid doing any hand/wrist action that torques my forearm enough to cause pain. This is the second can opener I’ve hauled home from the store. When I tried to push the lever down on the first can to poke the cutting blade into the can it didn’t pass the torque test, so I packed it back in the box and returned it. 

On my list of errands I had to get gas and go to the car wash and as I was passing by the cemetery where my husband's headstone is at, I was prompted to turn in for a quick visit. The minute I went through the wrought iron arch between the fieldstone walls I started puckering up, well on my way to spilling tears. But I didn’t. My unexpected melancholy changed to anger as quickly as a blink when I walked over to the stone and saw that is was almost entirely covered over with quack grass! His neighbor’s stone, a veteran of the Korean War, was only showing “KOR” and I had cleaned and edged both these gravestones the end of May! I’m going to go back after a good rain to pull that grass out but it won’t help much. The whole area is full of quack grass. They obviously aren’t doing any weed and feed treatments this summer. I’ve never seen it that bad! 

Shortly after leaving the cemetery the Y2 Country channel on Sirius radio had me smiling. I love the way those country/western song writers can turn a simple idea into a song like Zac Brown’s Keep me in Mind aka ‘call me’ if you’re ever between boyfriends. Or like Brad Paisley singing:

“…I'd like to see you out in the moonlight

I'd like to kiss you way back in the sticks

I'd like to walk you through a field of wildflowers

And I'd like to check you for ticks.”

“I’d like to check you for ticks.” Who knew those words could be so romance. I laughed out loud the first time that line came up in the song. I was still smiling when I went to the bank to get some cash, which I do every time Levi gets a haircut. I was wearing a pair of squeaky cross-trainer summer Crocs that announced my arrival as I walked across the marble floor of the empty bank. I don’t use those ATM machines that dispense cash. God, if we don’t start putting our feet down---literally---and go inside of places like banks and post offices and go through grocery store lines with human cashiers---we’ll all be going weeks without seeing a single person. And people need the greetings and how-are-you-todays, even the have-a-nice-days are better than no human contact!

After the bank I went to Starbucks for lunch---a bacon, Gouda and egg sandwich and a seriously strawberry Frappuccino. (260 calories for the latter and 370 for the former. No wonder I struggle with my weight!) I wanted to eat inside for the human contact but every chair was filled with 20 or 30-somethings all wearing ear bugs and starring at their devices. Clearly they don’t need real people when virtual ones are at their fingertips. I ate in the car with Kenny Chesney singing about a girl who thinks his tractor is sexy.

The outgoing message on my cell phone says, “Please leave a message but be aware I’m old and I might not find it.” When the doggie foo-foo beauty parlor called to let me know Levi was ready to be picked up I must have been out of the car---all three times. Silly people. I always drop him off at noon and pick him up at 4:00. I could never forget to pick up Levi the Mighty Schnauzer. ©