Maintenance Month and Summer Expectations

I now officially have the cleanest gutters and downspouts on the block and it only cost me a hundred bucks. Trust me, that’s a bargain. This spring my neighbor cut down seven dead, 100 foot tall pine trees so I’m hoping my gutters will stay clean longer than in the past. The wads of yucky pine needles and maple leaves the company threw on the ground looked like bird’s nests for vultures. Having my gutters cleaned yearly---sometimes twice yearly---is a “thing” for me and I always schedule it just before the Fourth of July. Why? Because I have neighbors who are into shooting off fireworks and I’m afraid those rockets and other things that go kaboom in the night will start my house on fire. Every year, I find spent fireworks in my yard, just feet from reaching my roof. It's legal here around the holiday, so don’t bother suggesting I complain. It’s also legal to have open campfires in our back yards and two of my neighbors have them quite often. 

I officially also have the cleanest windows on the block. This week I had a company do those as well. Twenty-six windows and glass doors for $180, another bargain. It’s been five years since they’ve been professionally cleaned inside and five years since the outside has been done by anyone other than Mother Nature. The crew took the screens out, cleaned them and the window frames as well as all the glass. Two birds have died striking the windows since yesterday---the glass is that clean. Later today I’ll go to the bird supply store to get some bird strike decals. I took the old ones off for the cleaning crew because their UV reflective quality does wear out over time. And I thought I wouldn’t need them anymore, now that I don’t feed the birds at the back of my house which is where the birds did their suicide dives. The woodpeckers outside my breakfast nook window got a reprieve. Right now, I’m getting as many as seven woodpeckers at a time coming to their suet-plugs-in-a-log feeder and half of them are babies getting fed beak-to-beak by their mamas. 

The tree guy was also here this week. Can you sense of pattern here? Two of my best trees have/had a disease and this week’s treatment was the second of three needed. What a great recovery they are making, worth the $88 spent per service call. That may sound like a lot of money to spend on trees but if you’ve ever had a landscape company come in to plant mature trees you know it’s an investment worth protecting. Not to mention it costs far more than $264 to have two dead trees cut down.

Oh, the joys of home ownership! Ask me later on for that list because I still have two more maintenance contractors that need to come out for I'm done for the summer: one for carpet cleaning and one for my roof. Has anyone had any experience with low pressure washing your roof with a chemical that kills the algae (the black streaks)? It doesn’t cost much (under $300) and the guy who came out to give me a price says I don’t need a new roof at all. Oh course, the guy who came out to give me an estimate on replacing the roof ($14,400) says I do need a new one. One of the Gathering Girls, who is on her condo board said, “We looked into that wash. Don’t waste your money” but someone else I know had it done seven years ago and the black streaks haven’t come back yet. Decisions like this can drive a widow crazy. No wonder so many elderly people give up on maintenance and are living in houses that are falling down around them. 

I can’t believe June is almost over and the fun I thought I’d be having this summer doesn’t look like it’s going to materialize and there is no one else to blame but myself for setting unrealistic expectations. I had high hopes for my gaggle of new friends (aka The Gathering Girls) going to summer street fairs, outdoor music concerts and art-in-the-park shows---maybe even spend an afternoon at Lake Michigan. But after making concrete plans to go to the first outdoor event of the season three of the six of us buggered out on going because they didn’t think they could do the walking required. Another had a funeral to attend so that left just two of us. Not being able to walk a couple of small town blocks, cuts out a lot of activities we could have planned. We are all still hanging in there with our “First Monday Monthly Brunches” and lunch/dessert after the official, senior hall Gathering (for people looking for friends) and I foresee all us still going to movies if Hollywood would just cooperate and put out something worth seeing this summer. But as a group we’re going to need some fresh ideas that are lower key than the vagabonds-wandering-in-the-summer-sun stuff I had envisioned. Growing friendships is tricky business. No wonder we’re all going to a "Friendship for Dummies" group. Finding our common denominators, working around our individual foibles and family obligations is like solving a Chinese puzzle box; it's going to take a little frustration and a lot determination to get to the prize. ©

Adventures and Misadventures in Aging

Have you ever done something and soon after you start questioning why you did it and if doing it was a sign that your mental sharpness is waning? That’s what happened to me last week when the irrigation guy was in my garage. He spotted an iron object and said, “Hey, that’s a Civil War cannon ball!” and I replied, “Yup, I know. I’d been carrying it around since I was ten.” “I could take it off your hands,” he offered and I shocked myself by saying, “Why not. Take it.” And that was the sum total of our conversation about the piece. I’ve given antiques and collectibles away to family and friends but never, ever to a total stranger and I can’t get it out of my head. Am I entering the land where old people are be easily manipulated? I’ve heard stories about elderly people getting conned out of valuable antiques but I never thought it could happen to me. Not that I was a victim of anything more than my own impulsiveness. Afterward, I thought he might think of himself as an American Picker and that was his clumsy way of expecting me to throw a price back at him. But the more I thought about it the more insulted I felt by his “take it off your hands” remark. One: I wasn’t looking for a way to get rid of it and, two, if I was, I know its value and how to use eBay to sell it.

With all my hand wringing about giving a Civil War antique away to a stranger the only thing I could come up with to explain my out-of-character action was a few weeks ago when I was sweeping the garage floor I saw the cannon ball and I thought, I should put a label on that so it doesn't get discarded as junk when I die. Maybe with that thought in the back of my mind, I was just happy someone came along who knew what it was and wanted that cannon ball with the same enthusiasm I did back when I was a kid? Still, afterward it shook my confidence and made me feel vulnerable. There have been other small changes I've noticed in my interactions with strangers that had me concerned even before this happened, a kind of need to please them. Will I start buying things from door-to-door salesman just to make them happy? At what point do I throw a lifetime of carefully cultivated caution to the winds and start inviting homeless people to crash on my couch? Is it possible to pinpoint the beginnings of dementia, of letting go of inhibitions that have worked to protect us from harm? Does that 'pinpoint' look anything like a cannon ball?

Enough of that! Yesterday was the long-awaited Conversation Day---a whole day of interaction with people I know and like, starting with a haircut from my stylist who seems to like hearing me ramble on about my misadventures. That was followed by a trip to Starbucks for a drink from their Cup-of-Kindness line and a couple of their new Sous Vides (egg white bites with bacon). For every ‘cup’ sold Starbucks is donating twenty-five cents to Lady Gaga’s Born This Way Foundation and the Channel Kindness project, guaranteeing a minimum check of $250,000 for the six day campaign. I’ve tried the Pink (strawberries with coconut milk) and Violet (blackberries with coconut milk) and I’m hoping to get back for the Green (malcha green tea with lemonade). No need to tell me how you don’t like their coffee; we’ve had this conversation before. Starbucks aficionados never, ever order a plain cup of coffee. Why would you when there are dozens and dozens of blended and shaken coffee and tea concoctions and flavor profiles from all over the world to try? Starbucks isn't just a coffee shop; it's an adventure park for your taste buds. If I could, I’d take all you naysayers by the hand to a Starbucks tasting party.

After Starbucks I went to the senior hall for the monthly Gathering (for people looking for friends). A new couple was there, former teachers, who after retiring had bought a sailboat and they’ve been all over the world with it. When they revealed that I wanted to be them, to be able to tell the stories they must have up their sleeves. The mauve-to-mango sunsets, the stunning pink sand beaches and the pearl white sails blowing in the winds. I used to be an artist, I know all the proper hues to describe those colorful things. The couple is new in town, downsized from two houses elsewhere. I admire them for having had the adventure of their lives but in the end their goals for the future and mine are the same: they want to be close to trusted family members as they age.

Author Mercedes Lackey, wrote, “Adventure, yeah. I guess that's what you call it when everybody comes back alive.” That means we can’t call the aging process a true adventure---it's more like a misadventure---because the one thing we know for sure is that no one gets out of this world alive. The most we can hope for is we get to keep our grey matter and marbles in place for as long as possible. And I write to help with that endeavor; it's my mental calisthenics. ©

 

High Drama, Laugh-Fest, Body Parts and Quirky Widowers

CNN ran a story on Monday with the headline: The 'Trumphaustion' plaguing the GOP. In it their chief national correspondent, John King, said: “A number of veteran GOP members tell friends and associates they are at, or near, a boiling point – ‘Trumphaustion,’ as one put it -- after another week in which efforts to sell their agenda were overwhelmed by Trump's brash moves -- in this case the James Comey firing.” And that was before this latest round of whatever-you-want-to-call-it where our loose-lipped president raised the hackles of both Washington and the Heartland by revealing highly classified information to the Russian foreign minister and their ambassador. Trump has a mouth like Linda Blair…the crap just keeps coming out. When a photo of those two with Trump appeared---taken during their meeting by the Russians and released to their press, then to ours---an angry White House spokesperson said, “We were tricked! They lied! We did not anticipate that the photos would ever be used.” I’m starting a support group for people suffering from Trumphaustion. We’ll find a litter of puppies or kittens to hold and play meditation tapes while we suck on Chocolate Tootsie Pops. Goodness gracious, can we really stay sane with this head spinning, human drama queen machine in the White House?

That was Sunday. Monday I had lunch after The Gathering with my posse of new friends plus another woman new to the group. We talked---or I should say we laughed for nearly two hours about silly things like super-big butts and buying bras and the new lady gave a scathing monologue about young people and sex. According to her, they all have a check list of sexual things to do and they don’t care who they do them with or where. The way she pursed her lips and poo-pooed the morals of everyone under thirty-five reminded me of Dana Carvey’s church Lady character only this was no comedy act on her part. I thought I’d bust a gut laughing. She looked like she thought she could get a venereal disease just talking about the subject. Then the group gave me a crash course on how to shop on QVC which I doubt I’ll ever do but it was interesting how enamored two of the ladies were with shopping via their television sets. I must admit they were both better dressed than I was. I was wearing a burgundy blouse that’s much older than Levi my dog who turned nine last January. I can’t help it, I love that blouse and I refuse to donate it to Goodwill when it’s still in great condition and it fits in the loose and comfortable way I like. 

Tuesday I had another one-on-one session with my personal trainer. Only two more sessions to go before I have to decide if I’m going to buy another block of sessions. I’ve been going to the YMCA three times a week for two hours each time since early February and guess which parts of my body are getting smaller---my wrists and my ankles! I’ve lost some in other places, too, but not enough that the smaller clothes in my closet are calling me down to their end of the rack. I’m almost there but ‘close’ only counts in throwing horseshoes and grenades, as baseball player Frank Robinson used to say. My trainer is suggesting if cost is factor that we could meet once a month, stretching the sessions out. She’s concerned that I’ll get bored and quit coming without the accountability. Duh, it’s going to happen sooner or later whether I set up for more sessions or not. I’m more concerned that I'll be free to change to another gym where my health insurance will cover the monthly fees. $55 a month plus the cost of the trainer at the Y is nothing to sneeze at. The other place is near-by, too, but it’s teeny-tiny in size and what they offer in the way of equipment. I checked it out when I first learned about the deal, but at the time I thought I’d be using the Y pool.

I forgot to mention above when I talked about The Gathering that there were two newbies---a man and a woman who both lost their spouses seven/eight months ago. They go to the same church and came to the meeting together. I’m taking bets that they’ll be dating before summer is over. Heck, they already are but they just don’t know it yet. In his introduction he said they are both going through all the same things so they have a lot in common. No kidding. There was another new guy at The Gathering, too, who refused to tell the group his name. I’m guessing he feared all the widows in the room would track him down and start dropping casseroles off at his front door. Who goes to a group that's advertised as a place for people looking for friends and refuses to give their name during the round-the-table introductions? Mysteries like this drive me crazy and I was glad he didn’t join us for lunch afterward. “Hey you with the set a balls between your legs, will you pass the pepper please?”©

Russians in the Oval Office with Trump