I just re-read a post from last June about organizing my closets and drawers.  What a hoot! They are just about the same as they were then, only, of course, there is a year’s worth of more clothes in them. In all fairness to me, I have donated clothes to various organizations. I had one adventure in closet emptying that you may find entertaining. If you are around my age, you may identify with the situation:

I pick out my nicest things that I no longer wear. Many of them, I have not worn for several years, but all are classic pieces. Some slacks are too big, and some jackets are no longer flattering on me. Nothing is in disrepair, everything is clean. Those items that I have doubts about, I launder. So I create a good sized pile of clothing that I am sure I had paid very good money for at the time. So the thought ran through my head, maybe I can get a few bucks for them if I bring them to the thrift shop on the highway. I go on their website and I read the requirements. I take out a few things and dig a little deeper into my closets and drawers and add a few other items to the collection. I now have a very nice shopping bag, filled to the top with clothes, all in excellent condition and mostly timeless classics.

I bring this collection to the location and get on a short line of women who are dropping off their treasures as well.  When it is my turn, they ask for my name and phone number and ask if I will be available in half an hour. I will not be, so they agree to text me with their verdict: will they accept some of my items or not.

I am confused. Am I not donating? Anyway, I go about my business and in about an hour, I receive a text from them, saying that they are done and I can come back anytime before closing. I get back there in another hour and get on another line. I see someone else getting their items back…I am a little dubious. It is now my turn. The young woman hands me back ALL of my items. She says: these are all Talbots and Chicos.  I am confused and ask what that means. She patiently explains that their clientele is much younger and that merchandise will not sell…at 70% off the store price…

I walk out, shell shocked, carrying everything I brought in. I take the bag to my usual donation collection point behind the Senior Center, where I know the proceeds will go to the Municipal Alliance. As I put them in the shed, I am still shaking my head… If you are looking for a moral to the story, I don’t have one. Feel free to message me if you have a suggestion for what I was supposed to have learned from my experience…

So it was the day after my “weigh-in” that yielded the minus 10+ pounds result. I was very busy all day and somehow did not manage to eat planned, sensible meals. I grabbed a bite here and a bite there and at 3:30pm, remembered that I had not eaten lunch and I had to leave at 6:30. I ate a WW approved 4 point lunch: sardines, Schmidt’s bread (1 slice), vinegar and a handful of luscious cherries. Plus a hardboiled egg with a dab of light mayo…

Never got around to eating “dinner”. We usually have snacks at MUTS, so I didn’t give it another thought…until around 8:30, when my tummy started rumbling. Other tables were getting snacks, but apparently, no one had pre-ordered any for our table…a problem, because on Wednesday, the Windlass is closed and only pre-ordered food is available. I rummaged in my purse and found a 2 point WW nut bar, about 2 inches long. That didn’t do much, but I survived.  When I got home at close to 10:00pm, I was ravenous and ate mostly good stuff, but not all. I went into my bonus points, not my intention this early in the week.  The moral of the story: plan ahead and eat before you go out! I have 5 days to correct the damage, I believe I can.

By the way, the steel drum player last night was fabulous. He even gave us a short explanation about how the steel drums are created and tuned. I love it when I am entertained and learn something interesting, too.

This is a continuing saga. I could have written on this topic every year since I was 13 years old. Then, i thought that weighing 140 pounds was obese. Today, I can only dream of weighing 140 pounds. However, I have rejoined WW. It took me six weeks to lose 10 pounds, but I believe they are gone for good. I am now working on the next ten. Today, I wouldn’t dream of posting my actual weight…all you know is that it is more than 140 pounds. The new WW offers a very wide variety of healthy foods and a sensible format in which to construct tasty meals. I find that the more vegetables that I incorporate into my meals, the more weight I lose. A simple, yet successful method to weight loss. You read it here first…maybe not.

For the first time, I am on a diet for me and only for me. I want to be able to exercise, fit comfortably in clothes and look “good to me” while I am doing this. I don’t want to look at a style that I like and think, “oh, I can’t wear that.” I am not talking about styles with assorted holes cut in them, or clothing that should be worn so tight that every part of the anatomy is in evidence. I just mean clothes that are, in my world, appropriate for a mature, adult woman. I set the standards and work to achieve them…not to attract a man but to please myself. I won’t even tell you how long it took me to achieve this level of thinking. My opinion matters the most as far as how I look and feel. That feels wonderful to think and still a bit uncomfortable to write. I am working on it, still a work in progress, guess I always will be.

I see by the dearth of entries on my page that I have become lax about posting here. I have done plenty of writing, but none of it has seemed relevent for sharing with the world at large. My  goal for 2019 is to post at least once a month on some topic that I hope will generate enough interest to gather a small following.  I am accepting topic suggestions for this purpose and you may post them in the comments section here or send them to my email: Wordsmith647@yahoo.com

Thank you,

Joanne

I have been logging in my food and my weight for about 4 months now. I do find that the awareness of what I am eating has been helpful…the scale, not so much.  The numbers have been going down, which is encouraging, but then we hit days like today:

Every morning after I use the facilities, I pull out the scale, from under my desk, carry it to the wood floor in the hallway outside of the bathroom, but on the bathroom light to illuminate the scale and I step on it. I will admit that I step on and off until I get a number that I like, frequently, removing garments to get closer to “just me” weight.

This morning was bizarre. I performed the ritual and got the number “1*1.6″. Following my usual ritual, I removed a garment or two and stepped back on the scale, only to get this result:”1*3.0”.  Apparently, I gained 1.4 pounds by removing my pajamas.

Today is the day that I decided to try to organize and discipline myself.  I have been haphazard in my personal life for just about all of it. I have been able to call upon the necessary organizational necesssities when the situation called for it, never by choice and frankly, I was never one of those people who, afterwards, felt the need to carry this over into other aspects of my life.

I think I have finally come to grips with what trait I inherited from my Mother, lack of organization. My Father had an internal filing system that ran like clockwork. He did the family bills, monthly, weekly and annually, with apparently no help from my Mother. I never realized this. The only filing system that my Mother maintained was a handwritten collection of recipes that she had gotten from other people. Her own recipes were never written down and were never the same twice…she was a phenomenal cook and I have had many requests for her recipes since she passed, unexpectedly several years ago. Sadly, I have not been able to comply because these recipes do not exist. I did find, in her handwriting, her attempt to write down some of her mother’s recipes, which were so unwieldy that she gave up. They were written in “pounds of flour” and “dozens of eggs”. A mathematical genius would have been required to pare them down to size, but apparently, she never asked my Father for his help with this.

Back to the topic. I plan to pare down my “stuff” starting with clothes. My closet and dresser are stuffed with clothes that I cannot or should not wear. I have tee shirts, longsleeved and shortsleeved, in the same style in 3 different sizes. Problem is, the ones that “give me joy” are not always the ones that fit…Oh well, maybe this will help or maybe I’ll start tomorrow.

                                    Self-Image…how authentic is it?

There is a widely-held belief… okay, I believe that I can handle anything, coolly, with no drama.

I am the one who gets it done, (albeit that’s when I want to get it done) when others have shrunk from the task and I am left alone to face it…I will get it done! Easily, correctly, with poise and sophistication, the task is completed…by me. That’s the myth.

Reality reared its ugly head last evening when I was tabling for my anti-drug and alcohol group at a local back to school night. The group’s fearless leader and I had set up the pamphlets and books, flyers and sign-up sheet…always looking for new members. We had distributed lanyards and run out of flashlights on strings that converted to pens. We had recommended particular flyers to parents based on the ages of their children. We had each greeted people that we knew from around town and chatted pleasantly. Oh, and did I mention that we were set up dead center in the main hallway. In other words, we were impossible to miss. At that point, Val, our “fearless leader”, walked nonchalantly away from the table, about 15 to 20 feet, turned around and gestured toward the floor near my feet. She said something to the guidance counselor, who was set up across the hall from us that sounded like: there it is. I had been in conversation with a parent at that point. My eyes moved in the direction she had indicated and I very calmly and collectedly shrieked at such a high pitch that I hurt my own ears. Yeah, there was no calm and certainly no poise. What was the cause of such an outburst? A tiny, furry creature about the size of one joint of my finger, an extremely tiny mouse. The mouse turned and scurried in the opposite direction, someone called the custodian. By then I had pulled myself together and was beyond embarrassed at my antics. Val was laughing and claiming that my scream had saved her from doing the same thing.

Now the custodian emerges with a broom and a dustpan on a long handle. Another woman and I both say to him: Don’t kill it. He makes a U-turn and announces that if we want it alive then we can catch it. That would not be me…another woman produces a plastic cup from the refreshment table and a piece of cardboard and begins attempting to corral the mouse. The mouse scurries under the crack in the door of the broom closet, where he remained for quite some time, only to emerge and squeeze his tiny body under the door of the cafeteria entrance, which was probably where he had been in the first place.

I am sure that I will never know what became of him/her and if the cafeteria workers had the pleasure of his company the following morning. All that I know is, I can no longer believe that I show “Grace under pressure.” How very disappointing.

Wordsmith647

This is a story of connections, which you will probably not make until I explain them to you. Life is a chain of associations and mine is no different. Certain, seemingly ordinary, items have deep meanings to some people and so the items named above took me on a journey back into my childhood.

My granddaughter called me one day to ask directions to the cemetery where her Dad’s biological father was buried. I was out and took the call on my cellphone. Once she explained where she was, I was able to direct her to the cemetery easily. Being distracted with what I was doing, I thought nothing of her request at the time it was made. In a short while, a second phone call came from her asking directions to the grave, once inside the cemetery. I was done with my errand at this point and started thinking about what brought up this desire to see this gravesite at this point in time. Now I wondered if she was still there, since I was now free, I thought I might join her. I called her and they (she and her Mom) were already done with their errand. She asked if they could come to my house tomorrow to borrow some garden tools to clean off the footstone at his gravesite. Of course, I said “Yes.”

The next morning, I had a visitor and did not get around to thinking about the garden tools or the fact that I might like to join them at the cemetery. When my visitor left, I was doing laundry and spotted a small American flag that was mounted on a stake. I thought that I would like to place this on my late husband’s grave. I picked it up and discovered that one of the attachments, a staple, had come loose. I brought the flag upstairs with me and went to the den to look for the stapler. When I found it, I saw that it was jammed up with several staples.

“What a pain!” I thought. Maybe I should just toss it and buy a new one. Then I began to think of my Dad. My Dad always fixed things, sometimes they worked and sometimes they didn’t. I had a funny, sweet memory of him fixing a broken electric can-opener. This can-opener never failed to bring our dog, Randy, to attention because his dog food was in a can, so this was the signal for him to come and get his dinner. Well when Dad was done with his repair job, the can-opener made the appropriate noise, but could not apply the pressure needed to open the can.

I remember teasing him that he could use it to call the dog…and he had laughed with me at the idea.

By then I had the stapler on the kitchen counter and was examining it. I saw that I just needed to pull a few staples out of the delivery spot. I was able to do so, quite easily and I tested the stapler and it worked just fine. I took the flag and stapled the loose end to the post and it was as good as new. Now I had something to bring to my husband’s grave, a warm memory in my heart and such a good feeling that not three, but four generations were being connected in a warm and loving way…thanks to my Granddaughter and her Mom, my Daughter-in-law.

I remember looking forward to Autumn and the first day of school going back to when I was 5 years old and starting Kindergarten. Then I had my brand-new maroon leather Mary Janes, my tiny brown corduroy bandbox style “purse/snack box” and insatiable curiosity. For the majority of my life, from age 5 to age 66, the year began in September. I was either in school, teaching school, sending my boys off to school or wishing I was going to school. Now I have the grandkids and most of them are going off to school or already started. Aside from Christmas and their birthdays, this is the time of year when I love to shop for them. I don’t get to buy school supplies for them anymore, although I still buy myself new notebooks when they are on sale. I do get to pick out some great clothing items that I think they will like and will complement their wardrobes or if that is not an option, I take one of them for a back to school mani-pedi & give some $$$ to the others, this used to be for new shoes, originally, when Jerry was with me. Sometimes we would go with Cheryl to the mall and buy the girls back to school shoes. So many memories of back to school shopping, which to me represents hope for the future.

Pumpkin Coffee is a relatively new phenomenon. While I always associated certain flavors with certain times of the year, it never was a trend or not one that I recognized until recently. I discovered pumpkin flavored coffee a number of years ago and it immediately gained my favor. I only like it hot, iced pumpkin coffee definitely does not “do it” for me. Along with the pumpkin coffee come the fall colors: orange, brown, gold and taupe. The entire world is decked out in these colors and I am no exception. I have bought leaves in orange and brown to adorn the wreath I will hang on the front door. I start thinking of butternut squash soup and roasted sweet potatoes.

The Hurricanes, while I guess they have always been around, have suddenly become as big news as the back to school sales…only much more devastating. I don’t mean to make light of them at all. I recognize the destruction and devastation they reek as well as the lives they destroy and the cost in both dollars and human emotion. I just don’t remember there being so many of them or of them being of such magnitude. My daughter in law is worried about me, she wants me to make specific preparations and plans in case of a hurricane. I consider checking the batteries on my flashlights and lanterns and storing up bottled water enough preparation. Who knows what the right thing to do is, only time will tell. I just don’t like this new item added to my list of things that come in the Fall.

Wordsmith647

If so, we can share stories later…if not, listen to this one…

I was having difficulty focusing on the written page. Things were beginning to look blurry, especially when I looked only through my left eye.  Usually, a large portion of my life is made up of reading, writing and photo sharing, so I knew that this could not continue. Allowing for the possibility that this might be a temporary aberration, I waited two weeks before making an appointment with my eye doctor. I expected this visit would result in a stronger prescription for my eyeglasses, or possibly, that I had cataracts and needed to schedule the surgery that most people need when they approach 70. Totally unconcerned, I headed for my 1pm appointment with my long-time friend and eye doctor.

We chatted about mutual friends, the weather and if the Spring-like weather would continue or if we would have the forecast snowstorm the following day. It was mid to high 50’s and sunny, so we both voted for early Spring. As I sat in the chair and faced the eye chart, he looked concerned. I became concerned when I could see NOTHING on the eye chart with my left eye. He became strangely silent. He continued fiddling with lenses and got no improved results. He uncovered an unfamiliar machine and asked me to step over to it. I took whatever test this was, and apparently failed that one, too. He announced that he thought it was a “detached vein in the retina”….not a detached retina which was extremely serious. He offered me my choice of two retina specialists and I asked him to choose. Both were close and the one he chose was in familiar territory.

He called the doctor in Mine Hill and spoke to his nurse, who relayed the information to the doctor, who was with a patient. The decision was that I was to go immediately. Driving would not be a problem. It was around 2pm, very sunny and I had no idea what I was in for. I did become a bit anxious about the entire procedure as I left his parking lot, so I decided to use my navigation system, rather than go on memory alone. I found the voice comforting and useful, since the entrance to the complex had changed recently. I focused on finding my way, rather than what was going to happen when I got there.

I parked the car by one of multiple entrances. I made my way to a directory and found a posting for Retinal Eye Associates…or some such clue that led me to the second floor, corner office with the commodious waiting room and the friendly, helpful receptionist. I received a sheaf of forms to fill out and I made my way to a seat. I scanned the room and most of the patients were elderly and many had a companion with them. I chose not to panic because my eye doctor had assured me that I would be able to drive home. Belief in your chosen associates can make a huge difference in your attitude and I got to the task of filling out the multiple forms with not much more concern than getting the information correct. The receptionist accepted my completed forms, returned my identification and said I would be called in shortly.

I observed a rather short turnover time as patients went into the doctor’s area and either returned to the waiting area or left. None of them looked particularly distressed and that built my confidence. I looked at the clock and observed the time. For not the first time in recent history, I thought: No one knows where I am. The dog is home alone. I should have at least informed someone of my appointment.

I got called into the examining rooms and the nurses and associates were mostly lovely and informative and comforting. The doctor came in and introduced himself and explained the procedure and said he was going to show me a video of exactly what was going to happen. He assured me that driving home would not be a problem, but if I was ill at ease, I could come back at another time with a companion. I decided not to do that.

The first step involved injecting some dye into my arm that would travel to my eye in under a minute. He warned that my urine would look like antifreeze for a day or so as the dye left my system. I was amazed that injecting dye into my right arm would allow him to see the inside of my left eye clearly…however, it apparently worked and he saw what he needed to see and sent me, briefly, to the waiting room.

When I got to the waiting room, there was a young man who wanted to chat. Either he saw that I was ill at ease or he was himself, but he began speaking to me about his positive experiences with this doctor and his manner did relax me. He got called in before I did, so I never saw him again, but I was definitely more confident, as a result of our chat.

I got called into one of the doctor’s rooms which had a large machine that looked like a TV screen with a chin rest in the front. There were several computers in the room and the technician instructed me to place my chin in different notches in the chin rest and clicked away. Pictures of my inner eyes appeared on the screen and apparently were printed out. I was amazed by the technology and began asking questions about the machines and his field which apparently made him uncomfortable…so I stopped.

I went from here, back to the original room and was shown another video which clearly showed the procedure that I was about to undergo. The young woman who was with me in here, explained in great detail what would happen, how I was to place my head and graciously answered all my questions. I mentioned that I was concerned about my dog and she said that her family had just gotten a new puppy a few months ago and we talked about dogs for a bit, which was a lovely distraction. The time was now past 5pm. I was concerned about traffic and driving in it.

The doctor came in and explained about the needle, the procedure and that I would, when the numbing agent wore off, feel a little pressure for a few days, but no pain. I placed my head as I had been instructed. The doctor’s associate held my head in place as he did the procedure and it was over in under a minute.

I was given some vitamins for my eyes, some papers explaining eye conditions and treatments and was then told that I would be returning in 5 weeks to repeat this over a period of time…maybe indefinitely. I was aghast. Why? I thought this was a one procedure treatment. I was wrong. I was informed that my insurance would cover everything and that there was a more expensive medicine that required preapproval from the insurance and that I would likely get that one during the next treatment. Then the real adventure began…

By now it was 6pm and getting dark. Cars had on their headlights. I could see, but not very clearly. I, again, resorted to using the navigation system, which helped somewhat, but not with the street lights and headlights which looked like fireworks. I felt like I was driving home in Disney World’s magical kingdom with a continuous display of flashing pinwheels unfolding as I drove along the highway at 45 miles an hour. Even in this state, I was worried about inconveniencing the cars behind me, but I guess I did fine. No one beeped or attempted to pass me. Eventually I made it into the garage and breathed a sigh of relief.

About the pain…there was none. I did feel a slight bit of pressure for a few moments later in the evening. I went to bed early and slept until I was awakened by the dog around 12:30. I let her out and we both went back to bed, (but not before I used the bathroom and discovered neon yellow in the bowl) and slept until morning.

When I sat down to write my tale, I did notice that I can see a little better with both eyes, but it is still very blurry if I use only my left eye. Life is interesting to say the least. I hope to say that things just improved as time went on, but time needs to go on for me to deliver that report.

April 2nd

I am due for treatment number two and I do not face it with fear, however, I will bring a buddy along to drive. Not up for the fireworks if I can avoid them.