The Storm Continues…

The November storm that has dumped enough snow to bury the dog and then some---a total of 24.6 inches---is still going strong. Many schools are still closed, my street is a mess with no cars in sight and already TV viewers are being advised to shovel their flat roofs so they don’t cave in. Usually, that comes much later in the season.   

I'm so cut off from the world I feel like Tom Hanks in the movie, Cast Away, only my ‘Wilson’ is trapped in the nature strip behind the house, covered with snow and probably as lonely as I am. Like Tom’s character in the movie, before the storm I caught myself talking to that ball and I even thought about drawing a face on him before I came to my sense. The powers of nature always push stray balls up my street and around my house until they get caught in the weeds or I pick them up and put them on the deck for Levi’s amusement. Over the years I’ve seen many beach and soccer balls circle my house 5 or 6 times before they get trapped in the back. It’s fascinating how the lay of the landscaping and the wind makes that happen. But I swear if a tornado is ever in the area my house will go up and Levi and I would be wandering around like Dorothy and Toto in the Wizard of Oz.

Old people seem to talk about their bird-feeders a lot so I will follow suit and share the fact that my feeders need a traffic light to keep the chickadees, finches, cardinals, titmouse, mourning doves, blue jays and woodpeckers from fighting over the prime positions. I’ve even had a huge Northern Harrier sitting on my deck rail---probably hunting for mice. What the heck is he still doing in town? He should be on his way to Central America. I’ve gone through an alarming quantity of seed this week. My feeders are just eight feet away from my door and very accessible from my deck and I suspect my neighbors aren’t able to get out to their feeders to resupply them which would explain why so many birds are dining at my house. The bummer part, though, is with my arm sling I’ve had to resort to using smaller feeders because I can’t lift my large feeders up to their hooks using just one arm. I’ve had to refill the little ones twice a day since the storm began.

I made a decision this morning to spend the afternoon reading The Hunger Games. I was probably the last person in the world to see the movie so I figured I might as well be the last person in the world to read the book. Amazon.com make decisions like that too easy to follow through. A quick download and it’s on your Kindle.  I’m not a fan of doomsday or dystopian themes in fiction where civilizations break down into factions of dominate, decadent or exploitative people who rule over the have-nots but on the other hand, I do like to understand pop culture and what makes people world-wide like to read popular stuff like The Hunger Games franchise. Snow days are good for reading if nothing else.

The snow is supposed to end during the coming night. Hopefully that will give the road crews a chance to catch up so I can get out tomorrow. If not, oh well. I won’t starve to death. Mostly what I need to do is replenish the protein mix for the diet I’ve been on. Speaking of which, I’ve lost enough weight so that I’ve had to buy a smaller pair of pants for when I leave the house and this morning I realized my pajamas are so big they are actually a trip hazard. I don’t need any more falls so they will be the first of my clothing to get purged from the closet. If I keep this up, it going to be fun in the spring when I can go shopping for a whole new wardrobe. Just think, my goal was just to get into the smallest of the three sizes already in my closet. ©

The Widow's Dog and her Diet

 

This past week, the dog had been showing an unusual level of interest in something going on underneath a shrub in the front yard.  Today, I found out why. Just before I was ready to walk out the door to go to the dentist, Levi made a quick trip outside to pee and when he came back in he was chewing on something hidden by his long Schnauzer beard. I almost didn’t check it out and I’m so glad I didn’t make that error in judgment. When I pried his jaw open I discovered he’d brought a bird inside!  At least it was dead. The last time I had to pry his jaw open a live toad dropped out. Thankfully, it wasn’t a species that makes dogs sick but I had a heck of a time catching the thing before he disappeared under the couch.  

Minus the bird prize that Levi wasn’t happy about giving up, he still had a great day. Going to the dentist I drove by (and over in one case) four dead skunks. Nothing makes Levi happier than inspecting the wheels on my car when I return home from an outing and he actually finds something of interest. The minute I unlock the door coming in from the garage, he’s there to do his walk-around my Malibu. I think he was a detective in a former life. He also checks my pant legs for signs that I’ve been cheating on him with another dog or cat. And in the mornings if I sleep later than he’d like he checks to see if I’m still breathing, his lips pressed against mine in case he has to do mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.  Ohmygod, I’m setting the alarm the rest of the week or he’ll give me his dead bird germs!

I had my first weigh-in at the drink-a-diet-shake-and-talk meeting. Five pounds down in five days. I don’t expect that kind of results to last long but it was a great way to kick off my get-fit project. They have me eating high-protein snacks throughout the day so I feel like I’m getting more calories, now, than before. In addition to the snacking and two shakes a day, you have to have one healthy meal of whatever you like and I can honestly say I’m not missing the sugar fixes and Starbucks I’ve become too dependent on lately. I did a bad thing, though. I was at my doctor’s office yesterday for my biannual appointment and I didn’t run this diet plan past him. Not that he’s the boss of me, and I did check the product out on the internet for safety alerts and I couldn’t find much. He’s big on Weight Watchers and I know it works but all that talk of cooking, recipes and counting points whips me into a cross-eyed frenzy. Weight Watcher math is time consuming and you’re always thinking about food! It’s not unusual for me, though, to go on a diet from Halloween through New Year’s. If nothing more, it keeps me from gaining with all the holiday temptations around.

Also on my agenda this week of old people maintenance obligations to do before winter sets in I had my first annual checkup at the hearing aid center. Yes, the little buggers are still annoying in large places with all the background noises amplified. No, I didn’t drop one of the aids in the toilet or otherwise compromise its functionality. And begrudgingly, I bought the insurance against things like that happening, says the woman whose dog destroyed two of her deceased husband’s hearing aids. Earwax is so tasty, mom! Crunch, crunch.

When the Baby Boomers die off, what are younger people going to do for jobs? Think about all the services and products that it takes to keep us old people up and running. The economy will go down the drain. Housing values will plummet with a glut of unsold grandma houses on the market. City budgets dependent on real estate taxes will suffer. But the solution to those problems that the long-range government planners want---increased immigration of younger people to bring on another baby boom---isn’t flying right now. They say we can’t be a strong force in the world without something driving our economy like the Baby Boomers have done for their entire lives. Others argue a larger military complex/industry can drive commerce better than babies. Babies or building weapons of war, what a choice! It’s all too complicated, isn’t it? Thankfully, I’m from a generation of women who can imitate Scarlett O'Hara and say, “I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow.” Well, aren’t I little Miss Sunshine today?

Speaking of sunshine, the dog is laying in his own ray of that warm, wonderful stuff coming in through the dining room door. I wish I could do that, but alas I need to step away from the keyboard and make myself useful. I have a garage to clean, perennials to cut back and three door frames to paint this month so I can check them off my fall to-do list. Gone are the October days when I had rake leaves, take down screens and put storm windows up, or to help get snow plow equipment moved out of storage and I am grateful for that. Not having to work so hard is one of the perks of growing older and I’ll take all of those kind of perks I can get. ©

Diet Shakes and Clothing Optional

I have struggled with controlling my weight my entire adult life and then some.  I can’t remember a time when I didn’t have three sizes of clothing hanging in the closet. (Remember the bowls in Goldilocks and the Three Bears?) One size is always just right while the other two batches of clothing hang there either taunting me or making me feel proud. If I didn’t see my doctor for biannual check-ups I’d probably have four or five sets of clothing and I’d have to grow a wart of a closet off the side of house, advertising to any passerby that a fatty-fatty two-by-four lives within. I’m not quite that bad about holding on to clothes I can’t wear, but it always amuses me how I can put on an outfit from Lot C (the big ones) when I should have grabbed something from Lot A and people will tell me I look like I’ve lost weight. I don’t like clothing that is skin tight, they give me hives. Literally. I’m one of those people who has to be careful about laundry soaps, fabrics and elastics that go next to my skin. If something even starts to tingle when I put it on, off it comes and I move up the line of porridge bowls trying to find the one that’s just right.

I used to know a couple who ran a nudist ranch in the nice weather months and while the idea of going without clothing would have some practical applications for me, I’d take one look at that fully dressed, robust figured couple and I couldn’t for one minute picture them or me walking around in public with all the assets hanging out there. I don’t mind looking at pudgy, naked people in a live figure drawing class and I’ve have done it many times, but seeing body parts and "muffin tops" all in motion on volleyball court would probably scar my sensibilities beyond repair.

I could, however, spend my in-the house time happily clad in a bathrobe. That was great when I was younger and I did it whenever I could but now that I’m elderly---and know too much about how the system works---I need to stop that before it gets me in trouble. It’s one of the signs Social Services marks down as an indication that an older person is losing it and can’t be trusted to live alone anymore. “Does your father get dressed every morning?” “Does he take a shower every day?” Those tricky social workers have even been known to poll the neighbors for “signs” of senility. I’m screwed! If I have nowhere to go I can usually be found happily typing in my robe until noon, I need a sign printed up that reads: I’m not senile! I’m a would-be writer and this robe is my work uniform. Do you think that would fool a social services worker checking out a report if a neighbor called in, worried that he spied me hugging my chenille bathrobe to my body as I’d wait at the door for the dog to come from the cold? And---gasp---it was after noon!

Yesterday I walked into a place my niece-in-law was telling me about. She’s lost 30 pounds drinking a supplement shake mix this place sells along with hosting a weekly support group. Oh, boy! For a mere $3.00 a week I can get a nutritious shake to drink while engaging in conversations about food and get the opportunity to buy goodies to fill up my blender so I, too, can make delicious shakes. For years I’ve been having a Slim-Fast shake for a meal replacement on a daily basis so this isn’t much of life style change for me. EXCEPT I feel the same way about using my blender as I do all the other appliances in the kitchen. I’ve tried, truly I’ve tried liking the activities that go on in that room. I’ve taken cooking lessons and I really do enjoy watching the Food Network but I just can’t work up a lasting interest in spending so much time making things that disappear so quickly afterward. When I plate up a meal that looks especially nice I want to grab a can of shellac and preserve like it's a piece of art.

Anyway, this nutrition wellness place has no long term commitment to sign and the niece-in-law that I’ll be attending meetings with and I go way back when it comes to trying to keep our weight in check---Weight Watchers, diet clubs, walking clubs and now this. My trusty, mostly unused blender will be heard twice a day until I find an excuse to revert back to my default, food grazing habits. The goal: Get rid of the Lot C of clothing from the closet. Actually take them out this time, bury them in a back yard vault and have the door welded shut.  As much as I know you should give away clothing when you lose weight, I can’t bear the thought of doing it. The fear of being a bag lady someday and not be able to buy big again, if needed, is deeply entrenched. I blame my depression era parents for that mindset, then came along my husband (whose own parents had the same mindset) to reinforce the notion that poverty can come knocking at any time. Doctor, doctor do you have a pill for irrational fears like that? And don’t even get me started on my rational fear of living in clothing washed in strong detergents and bleaches at a nursing home. I will die scratching myself to death and no one will know why this old lady keeps taking off her clothes and roaming the halls naked. ©