Today my daughter was looking at the photo I have of myself as my phone identifier. She said, "Mom, that's a good picture of you." I said, "I know." She said, "I guess as one gets to a certain age, good manners that require a humble 'thank you' go out the window."
That set me thinking about the cultural barriers that fall as one ages.
For example: My mother, with advanced Alzheimer Disease, lived in a nursing home. She had always been fairly prim and proper. She had not spoken for a couple of years. I almost could not remember how her voice sounded. My sister made daily visits to her while I made the trip every other month or so.
On one trip, I took current pictures of my grandchildren, thinking that the photos might elicit a spark of recognition from her. I held one photo of the four grand daughters in front of her, trying to position it in her glazed-over line of sight. I put the photo in her hand, pointed to each child as I named them. Mom gazed at it, kind of looking, kind of not. Finally she said, yes said, in a most audible voice, "Cute little sh...ts, aren't they?"
After a two year period of silence these were the first and last words out of her mouth.
My sister and I were shocked, looked at each other, and doubled over with laughter.
When we came up for air, gasping in stunned hilarity, we saw that my mother had once again returned to her hidden, internal world.
And that's what I think about it.
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
More Randomness
Other randomness:
-When manufacturers change the shape of their product container, it is almost always to make you think they have gifted you with more product when in reality there is less product because of indentations in the container.
-You can get ten times the product if you make your own fabric spray and wrinkle releaser...which are exactly the same product.
-Regardless of what the brochures say, Barbados looks very much like Aruba which looks very much like Jamaica. The only island that looks different is Borneo...and I don't recommend that sort of vacation. Ask me how I know!
-Even toxic relationships can be looked back upon with wisdom if 1) they are absolutely in the past, and 2) if learning took place which prevented subsequent repeatedness.
-A cat's Meow volume is in direct proportion to the level of food in the cat's bowl.
-Wisdom with age is a choice.
-Nothing says 'old people' like a padded toilet seat.
And that's what I think about it.
-When manufacturers change the shape of their product container, it is almost always to make you think they have gifted you with more product when in reality there is less product because of indentations in the container.
-You can get ten times the product if you make your own fabric spray and wrinkle releaser...which are exactly the same product.
-Regardless of what the brochures say, Barbados looks very much like Aruba which looks very much like Jamaica. The only island that looks different is Borneo...and I don't recommend that sort of vacation. Ask me how I know!
-Even toxic relationships can be looked back upon with wisdom if 1) they are absolutely in the past, and 2) if learning took place which prevented subsequent repeatedness.
-A cat's Meow volume is in direct proportion to the level of food in the cat's bowl.
-Wisdom with age is a choice.
-Nothing says 'old people' like a padded toilet seat.
And that's what I think about it.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Randomness
A few random thoughts:
-Never trust a restaurant that has only cold water in the restroom.
-Locally, a politician, Mr. Schitter, was running for county council. Unfortunately, and I don't know whether he won or lost at the Primary level, the newspaper omitted the 'c' from his name in all their reporting. Newspapers should not take sides like that.
-Words I never want to hear, "Step out of the car, please."
-Yoga is big. To differentiate one class from another, snakes have been brought in. "The hottest cool new Yoga for women, this meditative technique will unleash the 'inner serpent' and bring about healing." Curious, I went to the web site. The 'goddess' has several books on snake yoga for sale. Books, tapes, and videos. I'm thinking you have to find your own snakes locally. Beginners should start with the common garter snake, under ten inches long - that's my recommendation.
- A $25 gift certificate for catalog jewelry is never enough.
-A lady never loses a cheap earring by forgetting to put plastic backs on them, but always the priceless gifts from friends who travel the world.
-I saved a few bucks and about ten minutes a week by cancelling my TIME magazine subscription. I don't think I'll miss anything since the royal wedding has already taken place (unless they plan to have a cover shot of Kate breastfeeding the next in line to the British throne).
Today, that's what I think about it.
-Never trust a restaurant that has only cold water in the restroom.
-Locally, a politician, Mr. Schitter, was running for county council. Unfortunately, and I don't know whether he won or lost at the Primary level, the newspaper omitted the 'c' from his name in all their reporting. Newspapers should not take sides like that.
-Words I never want to hear, "Step out of the car, please."
-Yoga is big. To differentiate one class from another, snakes have been brought in. "The hottest cool new Yoga for women, this meditative technique will unleash the 'inner serpent' and bring about healing." Curious, I went to the web site. The 'goddess' has several books on snake yoga for sale. Books, tapes, and videos. I'm thinking you have to find your own snakes locally. Beginners should start with the common garter snake, under ten inches long - that's my recommendation.
- A $25 gift certificate for catalog jewelry is never enough.
-A lady never loses a cheap earring by forgetting to put plastic backs on them, but always the priceless gifts from friends who travel the world.
-I saved a few bucks and about ten minutes a week by cancelling my TIME magazine subscription. I don't think I'll miss anything since the royal wedding has already taken place (unless they plan to have a cover shot of Kate breastfeeding the next in line to the British throne).
Today, that's what I think about it.
Monday, May 7, 2012
A Shot Rang Out
It was a dark and stormy night. Actually it was a sunny afternoon. I was inside the house; my husband was in the front yard tackling weeds.
He opened the front door and called out, "Hey, did you hear that?"
"What?" I said which told him everything he needed to know, mainly that no, I had not heard whatever it was that brought him to the door.
"Gun shots! Down the street," his excitement barely masked.
We both made our way out to the driveway. Looking down the street, only three houses down on our little cul-de-sac where the houses are very close together I hasten to add, four Sheriff deputy cars had pulled onto the street and were sitting in front of Tom's house.
Here's where I need to back up to three or so weeks ago.
No, that's not right. I need to back up a year or so ago to when the guy to the back of our cul-de-sac purchased a flock of geese. On a small lot with a falling down ribbon-like fence, pure mud surface with a shed and a corral in the back, the lot keeps three, sometimes four forlorn horses...and now a flock of geese.
Geese are not clean creatures, nor are they quiet, nor are they territorial unless you admit that where ever they wander is their territory. This farm-like property backs upon Tom's. Tom had taken to feeding carrots and apples to the horses, feeling great pity for their sorry estate, but the geese placed the last straw on Tom's back.
Did I mention how very carefully Tom has cultivated his landscaping and backyard? Tom tried many methods for keeping the geese off his property. He had words with the landowner. Tom had a dog but a canine much smaller than a goose the dog was not about to get involved in a neighborhood dispute. He knew the danger. The dog was now staying inside the house. Tom told my husband one day, "Jim, I'm about to lose my Christianity over this." We thought he was joking.
Until the sheriff showed up.
I am not proud that my first thoughts were that Tom had shot either the property owner or the geese.
But, like Paul Harvey would say, here is the end of the story.
When the shots rang out, the neighbor across our street from Tom looked out his window to see what was up. He saw a stranger walking down Tom's driveway carrying a weapon in each hand. The stranger casually tossed the guns in his car and drove off. He called 9-1-1.
And really, might I add, this is one of the ironies of living in southern Indiana, where carrying weapons in public whether it's deer season or not or into the public libraries is quite within the law. You just can't hide the weapons. Last newspaper report had a guy suing the city because he was arrested for carrying a weapon into the zoo. (And people wonder what ever happened to the Emperor Penguin!) But I digress.
We ran into Tom this morning. That is another story. We have been curious. We have not seen Tom since the incident. We have watched for an obituary and/or a police blotter report, all to no avail. We did know that Tom and his wife ate breakfast at Hardee's...every morning. So we got up early and stalked them to Hardee's. There they were sitting with the stranger across from them like they'd been good friends forever. Turns out they have been.
The friend, now known by his Christian name George, had come over on that day to show Tom two antique pistols, the same kind that had killed President Lincoln. When asked, "Do they work?" the answer was given through demonstration.
We are thinking that what is shot into the air must at some time return to earth. A bullet traveling downward like that could kill something.
"Firearms expert Julian Hatcher studied falling bullets and found that .30 caliber rounds reach terminal velocities of 300 feet per second (90 m/s) and larger .50 caliber bullets have a terminal velocity of 500 feet per second (150 m/s). A bullet traveling at only 150 feet per second (46 m/s) to 170 feet per second (52 m/s) can penetrate human skin,[9] and at 200 feet per second (60 m/s) it can penetrate the skull. A bullet that does not penetrate the skull may still result in an intracranial injury.
Like your mother always told you: Don't come crying to me if someone gets their eye shot out.
And that's what I think about it.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
My Big Backyard - Then and Now
Nothing is more in your face that looking out a window at your garden and seeing one of the local trio of bunnies looking back at you with a huge petunia in his mouth.
I'm looking for flowers to plant that need little or no maintenance, that come up every year, that flower in many colors all summer long, and which are distasteful to wildlife.
Squirrels, rabbits, moles - and now the leaves of the ever-blooming, hardiest rose bushes are being eaten by something taller, or something able to fly.
On the other hand, some of the healthiest green stuff growing around the house is coming up through pebbles and between flagstones in the driveway. How can that be right?
I pruned the rose bushes for the second time. It did not take long after the first prune a few months ago to see the unevenness of my efforts as one after another of the branches or arms of the bush pushed out awkwardly from the oval shape I had planned. There seems to be more science and skill to that whole thing than I had imagined.
This morning I saw, in the street, in many pieces, one of the the petunia-eating bunnies from the back yard. Poetic justice.
I wrote the above post a few weeks ago and sat on it to see if my feelings for my big backyard might change. It has not.
Now, though, instead of neatly trimmed ever blooming rose bushes, without the constant monitoring of the clippers, they have dwarfed me in height, with errant branches filled with blooms in most stages of beauty stick out like arms on a scarecrow with the dead and dying blossoms lifting their heads up to the sun alongside the tiny new buds.Apparently whatever was munching on the bushes has moved on.
The morning glories are snaking their way up the bird feeder and up the mailbox. They will have to be cut back because they scare the birds into thinking something predatory is waiting in the leaves to pounce on them.
It's not a good look. The only saving grace is that the windows are getting so dirty that most of the yard is a blur. And that's what I think about it.
I'm looking for flowers to plant that need little or no maintenance, that come up every year, that flower in many colors all summer long, and which are distasteful to wildlife.
Squirrels, rabbits, moles - and now the leaves of the ever-blooming, hardiest rose bushes are being eaten by something taller, or something able to fly.
On the other hand, some of the healthiest green stuff growing around the house is coming up through pebbles and between flagstones in the driveway. How can that be right?
I pruned the rose bushes for the second time. It did not take long after the first prune a few months ago to see the unevenness of my efforts as one after another of the branches or arms of the bush pushed out awkwardly from the oval shape I had planned. There seems to be more science and skill to that whole thing than I had imagined.
This morning I saw, in the street, in many pieces, one of the the petunia-eating bunnies from the back yard. Poetic justice.
I wrote the above post a few weeks ago and sat on it to see if my feelings for my big backyard might change. It has not.
Now, though, instead of neatly trimmed ever blooming rose bushes, without the constant monitoring of the clippers, they have dwarfed me in height, with errant branches filled with blooms in most stages of beauty stick out like arms on a scarecrow with the dead and dying blossoms lifting their heads up to the sun alongside the tiny new buds.Apparently whatever was munching on the bushes has moved on.
The morning glories are snaking their way up the bird feeder and up the mailbox. They will have to be cut back because they scare the birds into thinking something predatory is waiting in the leaves to pounce on them.
It's not a good look. The only saving grace is that the windows are getting so dirty that most of the yard is a blur. And that's what I think about it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
