Great Summer Social Outings

I’ve been to many places this week where old people conjugate and let me tell you I was a little shocked at how---well, how old we all looked! At the senior hall ice cream social a field of white hair was all I saw when I first walked into the place. Then my artist eyes zeroed in on wrinkled and saggy skin and plump bodies with lumps, bumps and skin tags not to mention knobby knees and puffed up feet in sensible shoes. Of those who weren’t overweight or out of shape there were a few ladies who looked like death warmed over. And if you look that way here’s a fashion tip: don’t wear those god-awful ‘cold shoulders’ dresses! You have to work out at a gym to look good in those. One women who last year at this same event was showing off her new eyelids lift surgery I hardly recognized this year because the skin on her face was like a blow-up plastic doll’s and not in a good way. I don’t know what kind of cosmetic surgery she had this time but it was proof positive you can’t turn back the hands of time. That day and the next at a Red Hat Society garden party they started out by announcing the grave illnesses and impeding deaths of a couple of delightful women. “Send prayers,” they said and I thought, I’ve got to quit hanging around with people my own age! They scare the crap out of me, reminding me that the damn funeral bells could toll for me next!

The garden party was a crack-of-dawn breakfast planned during our recent heat wave but that morning I could have used a sweater. Half the ladies were directed to bring ‘savory’ and half of the group was directed to bring ‘sweet.’ The orange juice was spiked with champagne, the coffee was strong and just the way I like it. There were twelve of us so I was in sweet-tooth heaven with all the cranberry-walnut bread, donuts, date strudel, pecan rolls and baked French toast. I was assigned to bring savory and---surprise, surprise---everyone raved about the mini tarts I made. I’ve been bringing mini tarts to everything that requires a dish to pass since last Christmas and I’m getting pretty good at inventing fillings for them. These were filled with a spinach, artichoke and Parmesan dip that was cut with equal parts of whipped cream cheese and mixed with chopped bacon and dates. I’ll probably make mini tarts again for a summer picnic next month but I’ll have to bring ‘sweet’ to that party so I’ll probably experiment with lemon curd tarts topped with raspberries stuffed with almond paste or blueberries because half the fun of making tarts is testing combinations and eating the rejects.

Somewhere in my busy week I found time to see Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom which was actually the results of a mistake on my part. A Gathering Girl friend and I had intended to see Won’t you be my Neighbor? in a tourist town near-by, but the listing on the internet I read for an AMC theater was for a showing in a town with the same name in a different state. The ticket seller says it happens from time to time but it was still embarrassing. Jurassic World was the only thing starting soon and tickets in that theater are only $4.50 so we went inside on a spur-of-the-moment decision and had a good time. It had a darker, more sinister storyline and ending than the original Jurassic Park but it was fast paced, scary-as-in-I-screamed-out-loud-a-couple-of-times and the movie had the cutest leading actors who stole my heart with flashes of humor and romance. Chris Pratt was paired with Bryce Dallas Howard (Ron Howard’s daughter, who I didn’t know was in the business. What a beautiful woman.)

Chris got his start in the TV series Parks and Recreation and in the storyline of the film he and Bryce's character used to date and were thrown back together. My favorite lines came when he was asking about who she was dating now. “A lawyer? A Wall Street guy?” he guessed. “Your skin looks great. A dermatologist?” If they could bottle up that flirty, sparkle in his eyes and the tease in his voice I’d buy a fifty gallon drum of that charisma and wallow in memories of being young enough to have flirty eyes and a voice like that aimed in my direction.

By Thursday all the fun stuff was over for the week and I was in caregiver mode taking care of Levi. He’s always been a wimp about getting his annual teeth cleaning and this time he got three teeth pulled as well and he cost me over $1,000! We’ve gone through this seven times now and it doesn’t get any easier. He doesn’t handle pain well and he’s been known to pass out for unknown reasons. Poor baby. And the patch they shave where his IV line got poked in his leg annoys the heck out of him and I think he blames me for the whole ordeal. Hopefully, by the time this post gets published the ‘mighty’ should be back in Levi my _______ Schnauzer. In the meantime I'll be fluffing his pillow and dispensing his meds. ©

Birthdays, Photo Albums and Old People Nonsense

I like to get up in the morning and start writing before my brain wakes up. That’s when I do my best pondering of insignificant things like why does the dog always take his favorite plush toy outside on his first trip of the day. Does Levi think his duck needs airing out? Does he think the duck will eat his breakfast kibble while he's gone? And why doesn’t the dog ever take the duck outside later on in the day? Mornings are turning me into a one trick pony. I ask a lot of questions but try as I might the answers rarely follow. I think Levi is germaphobic, though, because he never takes the duck down into the barked-over area where he pees and poops. He drops him off on the top step before he goes down to do his duty and then Levi collects the duck again when he comes inside.

All my life I’ve had a problem multitasking. My husband used to tease me with the nickname of ‘one track’ because I get so wrapped up with whatever I do that all else could fall off the face of the earth and I’d never notice. I always considered it to be an asset rather than a liability but I can see where someday it’s going to get me in trouble. Someday, for example, I’m going to have to explain to a social worker why I’m still sitting in my nightgown at 2:00 in the afternoon because some noisy neighbor got concerned seeing me not dressed so late in the day. "Ms. Social Worker, I got lost writing the next great American novel and here’s the proof.” Then I’ll proudly hold up one pristine page of nonsensical writing to show for my morning’s work.

I’m so sick of chasing magenta dust bunnies around the house that I’ve taken to wearing my chenille bathrobe inside out hoping that will contain the little fuzz balls from jumping ship. I’ve washed that robe a zillion times and it still creates those pretty colored dust bunnies. I even find them on my keyboard! I just know this act of wearing my robe inside out is going to be used against me in a sanity hearing one day. “Yes, sir, Mr. Judge. My aunt can’t even dress herself without getting her garments on wrong side out.” The older I get the more I want to write notes about why I do this or that and leave them all over house. If I put a note in the pocket of my inside-out-bathrobe do you think it would save me from getting shipped off to assisted living some day? How many calls from social services is one too many before your family gives up and says, “Take her, she’s all yours!”

Recently I found out that my older brother is throwing himself a big 75th birthday party. The years go by so fast, don’t they. One minute you’re in the prime of your life, then the next minute you’re looking back and wondering where it all went. I thought my half century birthday was monumental but approaching three quarters of a century is on a completely different scale. It’s very weird, indeed, to think of my brother (and me not many years behind him) as being as old as two of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World---the Empire State Building and the Golden Gate Bridge. Nearly seventy-five years’ worth of memories, life experiences, book learning, laughter and tears is a lot of data to keep sorted in one tiny little brain. No wonder that data processing gets misdirected from time to time.

I’ve been working on a book to give to my brother at his birthday party. It's titled, The Boy Behind the Man and it’s mostly sepia tone photos that highlight his first 18 years. I also put in some poems he wrote and a few quotes that help describe his childhood. I can’t wait until the book comes back from the printers. Due to a divorce and moving I don’t think he has a lot of photos from his childhood and I know he hasn’t seen the ones my mom gave me a very long time ago. It was a fun project. Next winter when my social calendar dries up due to bad weather like it did this winter I’m going to make more topic specific photo books. I even made a notation in my day planner so I don’t forget.

Well, I’ve got to take a shower. The sun is shining and the roads are good so I’m going off to a Red Hat Society tea. We really should call it a coffee, though, because most of us stop at a near-by Starbucks before going to the community room for the meet-up. We’ll be planning an outing to see a dinosaur exhibit later this month. ©

Note: The photo above is of my brother and me.

Old People Problems, Puppets and Politics

When a neighbor tells you she saw some nice beans at the farmers market and you think she said she saw some nice queens, it’s time to get your hearing checked. When a friend tells you he’s going downtown to suck on a beer and you think he said he wants to suck on an ear, it’s time to get your hearing checked…unless, of course, you enjoy being fodder for old people jokes. Oh my god, I hate telling on myself but recently another friend was talking about getting her son’s horse some new tack and I actually spent a few moments wondering how you get a horse a new rack. Do they have veterinaries that do boob jobs on fillies? Why on earth would a horse even need a bigger rack? It’s not like horses are judged on the size of their mammary glands.

So today I spent two hours getting a hearing test. I honestly thought they’d find a big hunk of wax down in there to explain why I’ve suddenly developed old-people-itis. No such luck. I’ve lost a “significant” amount of hearing in the higher frequencies, according to the audiologist. The test was through one of those big chains that do free testing, hoping to suck you in to buying their product. The set of middle-of-the-road aids he was trying to sell me would cost roughly $5,000 or $2,700 on top of what the insurance will cover. Cripe, I hate having an old people problem! How do you go about buying a set of hearing aids so you don’t get ripped off? In my case, I’m taking the easy way out and I booked an appointment for a second test at my husband’s audiologist who is connected to an ear, nose, and throat specialist. I know they are not snake oil salesmen, I’m not so sure about the chain hearing aid place.

Old People Problem #2: Why in the world do young people think it’s so funny to lock the doors on handicap bathroom stalls, then crawl under the door and leave? It happened to me again today. In a pinch I can use a regular stall but back when I used to take my wheelchair bound husband to the restroom that wasn’t an option. Now, that's a REAL problem in situations like that and one that's not so easy for old people to solve. On several occasions little kids have crawled under the door to unlock the stalls for us and we were grateful for their help while at the same time trying not to let the ‘yuck factor’ show on our faces. You gotta know there’s cooties living on that floor! Not all kids are evil, I know that, but one evil kid who locks handicap bathroom stalls, and then leaves the building makes you forget about the next 100 good ones.

When I got home from the hearing test and the annoying bathroom experience I had a call on my answering machine from a guy with a smooth, sexy voice. Oh, my! It was the director of the museum wanting to know if I could voluntary this weekend at a park party helping with some children’s activities. All the proceeds earned at the park party are being donated to the museum and they were understaffed. I was glad I wasn't home to pick up phone as the call came in because I was in no mood, today, to be nice to cute little kids with sticky fingers and candy cotton in their hair. I had to call the guy back, though, and I was actually glad I had a prior commitment. I don't have a lot of experience with little kids. I do know they've done things like pee on my shoes, tie me up and put earth worms in my purse---and that was my nieces and nephew who love me. What will strangers do? The museum is going to be doing a lot of puppet shows so I can see where I'll need to over come my fear of little rug rats. I might actually like shoving my arm up the town’s founder in effigy. Or I might claim the Indian princess puppet. I think my voice is too high to take on the role of a lumberjack. When I declined the volunteer invitation the director said, “Don’t worry, we’ll hook you into something else. Now that we have you, we won’t let go.”

I’m going to a political rally fundraiser this weekend---my excuse for not helping with the park party. The last one I went to Don won a Michelle Obama doll in a raffle and the next week I sold it on e-Bay for a cool $150. I don’t even know who is speaking at the rally but, what the heck, don’t we all need a team to support? I hate football, baseball, basketball and hockey so it’s either politics or polo and since I don’t look good in garden hats, polo is out of the question. I try to keep politics out of my blogs but I’m really angry over what is going on in D.C. right now with the shut down, so if you’ll excuse me I’m going over to a website where debating politics is not only welcome but encouraged. And we all get to fight anonymously. ©