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. ©

Bones, the OP Fairy and my Niece

Next winter when I’m snowed in I know I will look back at the statement I’m about to make and think I was crazy for saying it. But here it goes: Hallelujah, I have four whole days with nothing written on the calendar! That’s not exactly true, I could go to a slide presentation at the museum tonight but my after-dark driving is going to have to wait until after I have cataract surgery. “They’re not big enough yet,” the ophthalmologist said, “but soon. Maybe next summer.” Oh, goody, another gift from the Old People Fairy.

At night when pain from my bad bones wakes me up and I can’t fall back to sleep it’s hard for me to stop plotting ways to assassinate that Old People Fairy. I gave up on the idea of wringing her neck. After a summer of having my shoulder joint pop in and out of its socket I’d probably hurt myself more than I’d hurt that evil fairy. I gave up on the idea of kicking her butt because one of my knee joints is too painful and bending it is impossible without major fanfare. In the middle of the night the Old People Fairy just laughs at my currant aches and pains and reminds me that someday I’ll be at the mercy of a nursing home aide who may or may not like her job. I tell her I don’t like to borrow trouble from the future but that evil fairy knows me too well. “Yes, you do,” she taunts, “you’re always trying to come up with plans A, B and C  so you can give yourself the illusion that you’ll always remain in control of your future. But you’re not. I am!”  After one too many arguments with that bitch, I rolled out of bed one morning and made an appointment with my orthopedic doctor. Can we all shout out, “Hallelujah"? Help is on the way!

I saw Dr. Bone Guy yesterday and I got better news than I expected on my knee. When you imagine the worst that’s not hard to do. I imagined the knee replacement in my left knee---I’ve had them both replaced---had completely worn out after only seven years or it was out of line and either way I’d have to have another surgery. I imagined he’d say, “You’re a bad old lady! You shouldn’t have been doing Zumba in the first place!” What he did say was: “Both prosthetics still look great, no wear pattern, nothing out of line, the spacing between the top and bottom joints are still exactly as they should be.” He gave me a 12 day round of prednisone to cure the pain and stiffness and told me that in a couple of weeks I co-o-o-uld go back to Zumba but he’d much prefer I found a less intense workout in a swimming pool. Prescription: Build a swimming pool in the backyard or move to a condo with amenities. “Great!” says my Debby Downer persona, “that’s not likely to happen anytime soon.” “What about the YMCA just three miles away?” you’re asking. “They have a pool.” Three miles might as well be three hundred when there’s six feet of snow on the ground. I shall grow fat and sassy over the winter and join the Y in the spring. So there!

Dr. Bone Guy is a god in my family. He’s our go-to-guy for all deep dives when it involves a structural problem with our bones. When I saw him yesterday I also found out I probably have the exact same thing as my niece’s daughter-in-law. “It’s likely a labrum tear in your shoulder joint,” he said. Then he gave me a cortisone shot as part of the diagnosis process and I have to go back in two weeks. At the worst, I’ll need an hour operation to fix it. All those trips to the chiropractor this summer, when it felt like the joint was out of its socket, were a waste of time and money because that can’t cure the underlying problem. You don't have to write that on a chalkboard for me to remember, wasn't I the one who called Dr. Bone Guy in the first place? I just should have called him sooner. Oops.

My niece takes her daughter-in-law back to Dr. Bone Guy tomorrow and she’s going to call me with details on how her cortisone test shot went and what her next steps will be, but she’s a nursing mother so she might be delaying her surgery if that’s practical and won’t cause more damage. But the best part of my conversation with my niece was when I mentioned I was worried about driving myself home from the surgery, and she said---without the slightest hesitation---that she and my other niece can work something out on that. I could have cried from relief! They both live a great distance away so this is not a small commitment, but in the middle of the night when I’m arguing with the Old People Fairy, it’s the biggest issue on earth. I visualize myself getting permanently admitted to a nursing home, kicking and screaming, for lack of a ride home from a minor surgery. My nieces are both new grandmothers and if you believe the Republican pundits on TV, first time grandmothers don’t have time for things like running for president and helping out old aunts. Ohmygod, I should wash my fingertips off with soap for typing that last sentence and bringing politics into my blog. What I should be saying instead is that after the conversations with Dr. Bone Guy and my niece I feel like I can stuff that Old People Fairy back in her box and pile rocks on top. That will teach her for annoying me in the middle of the night. ©