Bones and Ballsy Old Men

On June 29^th, 2016 I wrote in this blog, “I got some great news this week from my orthopedic doctor. The results of my bone density scans show that I’ve lowered my risk factor for a major osteoporotic fracture down from last year’s 20% to this year’s 15%. The Reclast infusion did its job---far better than the Forteo injections did after two years of doing them daily which only lowered the risk factor down by 1.3%.” Guess what, this year’s bone density scans show my risk factor for a major osteoporotic fracture is up to 16% which means my second Reclast infusion didn’t repeat its magic on my bones. It’s disappointing, especially considering I’ve also been doing intense weight bearing exercises that are recommended for building bones. The only thing left to do that is supposed to help to keep osteoporosis at bay is to give up coffee. Would life be worth living without it? I gave up soda pop several years ago and lived to tell about it. Some people don’t realize it, but there’s a correlation between having a high intake of pop and having an elevated risk of fractures. Experts aren’t sure why but some say it could be just the fact that if you’re drinking a lot of pop you aren’t drinking enough milk.

My doctor does full body scans from three different angles, not the one wrist test that a lot of women get and, he says, if my insurance doesn’t cover the cost of doing those scans every year, he will. Many companies only cover a bone density test every two years. But I have bad bones---four broken since menopause plus I’ve had two badly needed knee replacements---a by-product of taking thyroid medication since I was a kid. It leeches the calcium out of your bones. That’s the trouble with a lot of medications, they cure one thing while causing another problem in your body. I did learn something new regarding calcium. I’m taking calcium carbonate which needs to be taken with food, 600 mg taken twice a day but sometimes that second pill doesn’t get taken because I either ate away from home or I was doing a two-shakes-one-meal day. If I pick up some calcium citrate it can be taken with or without food and there’s a better chance I’ll get my full 1,200 mg in every single day.

The next day I decided to take myself out to lunch and while following another car on a five lane road, both of us going about 50 miles an hour, a tall, lean figure on a skateboard swooped out of a condo driveway, crossing closely in front of the other car and into the center lane. The other driver slammed on his breaks and so did I, thankful that he didn’t hit the skateboarder and I didn’t end up in the backseat of the other car. As the skateboarder got within six feet of my driver’s side window it hit me: The damn fool was my age! No helmet or other safety gear, gray hair, white beard and he was wearing a pair of leather goggles like drivers of early automobiles did to keep the bugs and dust out of their eyes. I wondered briefly if it was the same pair of goggles I sold in my antique booth after my husband died. As I watched the ballsy old guy in my rear view mirror I had no doubt he planned on staying in the center lane all the way to the baseball park over a mile down the road where skateboarders are known to congregate.

After I placed my order for a tuna melt on rye at the Guy-Land Cafeteria I thought about Mr. Ballsy who was probably at the park by then, matching his skateboarding skills up against kids young enough to be his great grandchildren. And I didn’t know whether to admire his careless disregard for his personal safety or to scorn him for scaring the stuffing out of drivers. But he did get me thinking. Why is it that some people, like him, don’t give up their younger self’s passion while others, like me, are afraid to even rekindle ours? Case in point: In 2016 I re-purposed my guest room into a multipurpose hobby room/guest room with a whole side devoted to painting. I hauled my oak easel out of storage, unpacked my old supplies, bought some new ones, prepared some canvases and I fully planned on picking up where I left off in the mid-1980s, before family obligations and caregiving took over my life. I still have not mixed my first palette of paints. Will my old talent come back? Will my cataracts dull my color sense too much? Will I still enjoy the process of honing a craft that takes more years than I've got left to become famous like my younger self dreamed of being? I’m afraid---afraid of the answers to those questions. Why can’t I be like that ballsy old man and say to myself: Damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead! A phrase that’s come to mean, of course, that despite the known risks continue forward with gusto. I think I’ll google that old Civil War Naval battle cry and see if I can find it cross-stitched on a throw pillow. That might help inspire me to overcome my fear of failure in an area where I once excelled. ©

 Link to the re-purposed room with photos

Repurposing the Widow’s Room

Redecorating seems to be a common thing with widows and I’m behind the normal time frame for doing mine. After all the hick-ups, hand wringing and worrying my re-purposed room is finally done. Once just a guest room with a full size bed and not much room for anything else, now it’s a multipurpose hobby room/guest room and I couldn’t be happier with how it turned out. I spent hours shopping the internet and local stores for options to host a rare overnight guest that has a smaller footprint than the full size bed. I looked at day beds, convertible footstools and benches that turn into twin beds, futons, air mattresses and sleeper chairs. I’ve never bought furniture online before but I took a chance on Wayfair and ordered the smallest sleeper chair I could find. Most sleeper chairs are 51 inches wide with a 35 inches mattress but the Clayton I got has a 35 inches overall width with a 30” wide mattress. (A standard twin is 35 inches but reviews I read online said twin size sheets fit great and for the bonus point the bedding can be stored inside the chair.)

The chair came in a huge cardboard box and I had paid extra to have it delivered to the room of my choice. When the guy asked me to sign the paperwork, I asked him if I could inspect it first so he helped me get it out of its box. I gave him a tip for being so nice about that, but I wish I had asked him if he’d take the empty box out to the garage on his way out. I couldn’t lift it, so I cut it up. I worried I wouldn’t be able to put the chair together on my own, and while it was awkward for someone like me who can’t get down on the floor, I was able to get it together in less than an hour. The holes for the eight large screws had been pre-drilled---so easy-peasy.

The chair only comes in two colors and fortunately I like gray so I bought the area rug to match the chair. It came from Mayfair too. I broke all the rules for how you’re supposed to use area rugs---it’s too small---but I don’t care. I did it because I wanted a clear distinction between the “art studio” side of the room and the guest room/reading/writing/sewing side. Not to mention a painting easel shouldn’t be around that much floor color that can reflect up on the canvas. But the chair needed to be grounded thus the broken rules. It’s my house, I can do that.

The most accurate colors above.

The lamp by the chair is a true-color Ottlite for quilters and crafters. I’ve always wanted one and if not now, when? I’m not getting any younger. The light on my easel is a true-color lamp, too, but the room gets window light from the north which is ideal for artwork. I’ve never painted with northern light so I’m excited about that. The footstool and table next to the chair are pieces I stripped and refinished decades ago. The music boxes on the table are ones Don gave me during my Gone with the Wind phase and the basket on the floor with the books is one my husband’s mom used to carry eggs into town to sell to the local grocery store during the depression.

 

The desk in the corner is the one that I used to keep closed and covered completely with my childhood dollhouse. I agonized about moving the house but in the end I’m glad it found a new table top in the garage. I’ve had this desk and chair since my twenties. They were one of my very first stripping and refinishing projects and I spent a lot of years with it as my only writing space. The baskets in the photo are called running board refrigerators, tin lined and made at the turn-of-the- century when automobiles came with dust jackets and driving goggles. The baskets now contain knitting supplies. The painting on the wall is one of mine from the 1980s, not very good but the colors match the decor in the room. I look at it now and see things that I’d like to change. That’s the trouble with hanging your own artwork so close to where you’ll be mixing fresh paint. 

Sitting in my new chair I get this view of my new art studio corner and the other photo below is my view when standing up behind the chair. (You can click any of these photos to enlarge them.)
 
This painting corner is a standard work center for artists---brushes, easel and paint cart. The rolling cart top is small for mixing paint and holding a palette, but I already owned it so it will do for now. I’ve cheated with the blue storage boxes, they hold more than just painting stuff. One side is teddy bear making, cross-stitch and quilting supplies. They came from the closet in this room and after some purging in there I can now actually sit at my sewing machine and find things. If I ever decide that I won't be making any more bears, the boxes with those supplies will house my oils and watercolors still in the basement.

Speaking of paints, I learned an important lesson when I unpacked my acrylics. The tubes where I was careful with replacing the tops, the paint is still good after all these years, the ones where I wasn’t careful I had to throw out. That’s my next step forward…buy supplies. And wouldn’t you know it, the only art supply store in town just went out of business and I’m boycotting Hobby Lobby, so I have to order online. JoAnn Fabrics has some paints but not very good quality. 

The watercolor print above my brush station is a view that can be seen in Saugatuck, MI, just before the Kalamazoo River meets up with Lake Michigan. It's one of my favorite places in the world.

And last but not least leaving the room you get a view of my spaghetti poodle collection, so named because the clay is pushed through a sieve to get "noodles" that look like hair on the porcelain dogs. The poodle painting above is one of mine from the mid-1980s. I haven’t painted much since then because I got too busy finishing college (25 years after I started) then we got caught up in dealing with parents with increasing needs---first Don’s mom and then my dad ending with twelve years of time consuming caregiving my husband. Gosh, I can’t believe so much time as past since I was seriously into art and bear making! By the way, the sewing closet I didn't put on the tour is to the left of the poodle collection and to the right of the new chair.

Now that you’ve been on the re-purposed room tour, what do you think I should call it? I’ve been calling it the art studio/guest room but that’s too long. A good friend told me to embrace the art part and suggested the art room. Craft room, play room, hobby room and art studio all makes sense, too. Fellow bloggers suggested the peace or sanctuary room or the wellspring. I'm leaning towards just The Studio. I’m so confused! But it does need a name for those times when I think, This needs to go to the _____ room or I say, “I must have been in the _____ room and didn’t hear the phone when you called.”

It may have taken me a while to do a redecorating project so common in widowhood circles but I think Don is looking down from the great unknown and he’s pleased. He was my biggest art benefactor and fan. And he'd be impressed that the make-over only cost twenty-seven cents over nine hundred dollars for what I had to buy---the chair ($652 on sale), two area rugs, two true-color lamps, a throw pillow and bed sheets.  ©