Statistics, De-cluttering Houses and Red Hat Society Parties

I like statistics. For example, this blog with its 340 posts since my husband died in January of 2012, has over 121,300 views (not counting my own) and 2,200 comments (counting my own). The post that’s gotten the most views is Another Letter to my Deceased Husband topping out at 5,660 views and the second most viewed post is The True Meaning of our Dreams coming in with 4,315 views. Bloggers overview page doesn’t show the least viewed post but I wish they did. Not that I’d avoid writing about that topic if I knew what it was, but curiosity is my middle name.

I enjoy the blogging community---writing in it and reading what others are sharing about their lives. We are all so different but very much a like at the same time. Like all bloggers, however, I wish more readers would comment once in a while, but it is what it is. Some people can’t make the comment widget work. Some don’t have the time or feel a need to share their thoughts. Others land on one post or another by a Google search that went in a direction they didn’t intend. You can tell when that happens because they only stay on the post a few seconds. Well, enough of that….

I’ve only done two things the last half of this week that are worth writing about. One of those things being I attended a lecture about de-cluttering your house. I went for inspiration rather than how-to information. Unless you live under a rock or haven’t watched day-time TV in the last five years most of us know the process for de-cluttering our houses. Peter Walsh has made sure of that. I am very proud of myself because earlier this week---before the lecture---I took a three foot high stack of my husband’s specialty magazines to recycling. I’d sold a similar stack of them on eBay at five-for-fifteen-bucks a pop plus shipping but it’s a lot of work and I wanted the space on the library shelf for books I’ve accumulated since his passing. Still, it was hard to do because it was like throwing money away…at least in my head and I kept telling myself those magazine served their purposed when my husband was alive and they didn’t owe me anything. I do like the way my library looks, now, without books stacked on the floor. Decorator magazines often show stacks of books used as end tables but they are not practical to live with. The stacks get tipped over with the vacuum and you always seem to want a book near the bottom of the pile.

The woman who did the lecture is a professional, certified organizer and I wouldn’t let her within a 100 feet of my house because she doesn’t have a sentimental bone in her body. If she’d been around to help Thomas and Abigail Adams move out of the White House after his presidency was over all of the letters that Abigail and my ancestor (Mercy Otis Warren) exchanged would have gone in the trash and I wouldn’t be able to read them today in the form of a women’s history book. The organizer would call 1-800-Got-Junk for everything that isn't nailed down, I think. "No one needs a closet full of clothes and a kitchen full of gadgets. Your childhood doll and mother's locket? Seriously, do you really need those? Let someone else enjoy them." What about me? I thought, I still enjoy things from my distant past!

About the only useful thing I got from the lecture---aside from the fact that the woman threw us many laugh lines and I had a good time---came from a conversation I had with a widow in the parking lot who is 17 years out from her husband’s passing. She said, “Widowhood is a wave” and she explained that widowhood sadness comes in and out of your life like waves on a shore, even as far out as she is. “But,” she went on, “you know from experience that the waves will go back out as quickly as they came in and they will never be as high or as often as those in the beginning.” You could tell she’d given that speech many times but I do love the metaphor.

The other noteworthy thing I did this week was go to a birthday party for my Red Hat Society chapter which is marking its eleventh year. For the party we dress to the hilt. (Isn’t it funny how that expression is still around? No one wears ceremonial swords with hilts anymore.) The community room where the party was held has a three story, twelve room Victorian dollhouse and another woman and I sat behind that house rearranging the furniture and tinkering with the electrical system for over a half hour. It was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. The others had to drag us out to the tables when it was time to eat.

After the party we took cupcakes and cider punch over to a nursing home where we sponsor an unofficial a Red Hat chapter consisting of 45 ladies and 5 guys. There, we also helped our sister chapter play bingo, giving out door prizes to the winners. I was the ‘O’ girl. Whenever the caller called out an ‘O’ number I walked the aisle with a giant queue card that matched the number called. We five card ladies---B-I-N-G-O---looked like fashion models walking a runway only without the high end fashion or the stone, cold faces. What the heck, if you can’t be in entertainment mode at a nursing home, then this world has gotten too boring and reserved. The residents always thank us profusely for coming so all’s well that ends well even though going there is not one of my favorite Red Hat things to do.  ©

Bones, Bingo and Tai Chi for Widows

 

I always thought if you found me playing bingo you could just put me on a chunk of ice and let me float out to sea the way the some indigenous people used to do to their elderly who were too old to pull their weight in the tribe. So imagine my surprise when I found myself sitting with three bingo cards in front of me for the first time since I was a kid. My, how times change! These cards had sliding tabs to cover the numbers. What happened to the red bingo chips of my youth? And I hear tell they even have handheld electronic gadgets that let you keep track of dozens of cards at one time. Who knew! But I bet you’d like to know how an anti-bingo-no-not me type got roped into playing. I went to a summer potluck at the senior hall and as I was walking out the door a widow friend asked, “You’re not staying for bingo?”

“I’m not a bingo kind of person,” I replied.

“Me neither,” she said, “But I don’t have anything else to do today.”

I got out to the car, put my potluck dish on the back seat and thought: Well, shoot, I don’t have anything else to do either. So I went back inside and sat at a table with bunch of ladies from the Movie and Lunch Club. I was proud of myself because I’m generally not a spontaneous kind of person and I didn’t let my snobbish, stereotype opinion about bingo hold me back. By luck the woman sitting next to me plays bingo 3-4 times a week and she gave me a crash course on playing bingo. Corners, straight line, postage stamp, full card and bingo-the-hard-way are a few of the bingo variations that we played. I also learned she often wins between fifty and a hundred-and-fifty dollars a week playing bingo! A light bulb went on in my head. Some old people must be supplementing their income playing bingo! And here I thought they only played for soup cans and pizza kits. At the senior hall, however, a winning card only brings in one to three dollars. I went home with an extra buck in my wallet and a lot of laughs under my belt. It was fun because the people around me were fun.

Earlier in the week, though, I wasn’t laughing. I woke up with a “slipped” rib causing a stabbing pain with every move, deep breath, yawn or sneeze. Sometimes called a “floating rib” I learned that the 11^th and 12^th ribs are ribs that are attached to the spine but not to the sternum like all our other ribs and they can slip out of place, putting pressure on internal organs. I also learned that at one time in the history of fashion women had been known to have these ribs removed to help give them a more hour-glass figure. I would have done my own rib surgery the day my rib slipped out of place if I had had a sharp scalpel, a bone saw and someone to hold a mirror up to my back, it hurt that bad. An appointment with the chiropractor, though, took care of the pain in less than five minutes and with no blood spilled or drugs shot up my veins. It was like a mini miracle. Since all stories should have a moral or lesson to teach, this story sings the praises of keeping your core muscles strong so they and the ligaments can help keep your 11^th and 12^th ribs in place as you age.

Today I was back to the senior center to take a Balance Class where we’ve started doing Tai Chi moves. Or I should say kindergarten Tai Chi as our instructor calls it because we’re required to keep a chair near-by to grab should we lose our balance. Tai Chi moves have some neat names like: the white crane, calming the water, lotus flower and gathering the stars. We also learned the horse stance and the bear walk and when class was done we all thought it was a great work out. By next spring, we kidded, we’ll be good enough to do to Tai Chi barefoot in the park the way they do in the orient. We’ll have our qi (life force or energy) flowing through us because our body’s yin and yang will be in perfect balance. One class and already I can throw around the lingo (hopefully correctly). Pretty cool for an old bag of bones like me, don’t you think. ©