Memories & Getting Old

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Last night, my father and I had a conversation about the longevity of many of our ancestors on his side of the family. A great, great aunt had lived to be 110 years old and to this day, credit is given to the natural spring that fed her property. My great, great grandmother lived to be in her 90’s and had never smoked, drank or swore a day in her life, so she said. Of course, she believed she got pregnant from kissing a boy and that you could get pregnant from swimming in a public pool too.

During the conversation, we were trying to remember what year my grandmother and grandfather died. I can’t remember the years exactly, but I can remember the skirt I wore to my grandmother’s funeral and that it was around the time I graduated from high school. I remember that I was pregnant with S.R. at my grandfather’s funeral, which was 1987. I can remember going to see my great grandmother in a nursing home the same year and that I wanted her to see S.R. when she was born. But Gramma never made it. She passed away without ever meeting her great, great grandbaby.

Our conversation made twists and turns, as most random conversations do. We ended up talking about how awesome it would be to live to be in our 100’s because we could tell some really tall tales! Everyone would be interested, except of course our great grandchildren, who would have better things to do. No one would dispute our stories because they weren’t around back then! Many of them would just say we were a french fry short of a happy meal.

Then something occurred to me.

If I live to be in my 100’s, would I even remember anything about my life? Would I remember enough to tell any kind of story at all? I’m 46 years old now, and I have a hard time remembering what we had for dinner last night! Odd how I can remember the skirt I wore to a funeral over 20 years ago but can’t even remember I have a load of clothes in the washer!

It has suddenly become very scary to grow old. I can’t imagine not having my memories. What about the memories of my children as they grew up, the good times, bad times and the memories of family and friends? What about the memories I will have of my grandson D.M.? My memories are sacred to me. What happens when I’m dead and gone? My memories will be gone too.

It’s clear to me that I must write everything down! I have to put all of my memories into written form so that my children and grandchildren have something to remember me by! I wish I would have kept up my childhood diary! Just think of the memories that would be in those!

So now, I have yet another thing on my To Do List. So many things left to do and not enough time to do them!

My Little Bull Frog

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My little Bull Frog was born on October 23. He is exactly 1 month, 3 days, 3 hours and 52 minutes old. He’s the first born of my first born and the apple of my eye.

It’s hard work being a Gramma but I love it! I can barely wait until my little Bull Frog laughs at my silly faces, made-up songs and the strange Gramma kisses that he will eventually hate! It’s wonderful seeing this little human being change and grow as the days go by.

I hope to be here for a very long time because I sure don’t want to miss a thing!

Is It Just Me????

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Each and every time I have to deal with so-called “professionals” I know I’m going to get pissed about something. It never fails. No one ever does anything right the first time. No one ever does what they say they are going to do. They never do what is expected of them. And they are referred to as professionals?? Not by me.

No one is perfect I know. “Stuff” happens. But “stuff” shouldn’t happen every time — should it?

My dad goes to the doctor for his yearly check-up. He gets a complete blood work up, and the doctor says, “Someone will call you with the results.” He goes home and a week passes. No word. He waits a few more days, still nothing. He calls the doctor’s office and the nurse right away says, “Everything was fine.” My dad asks, “What is my cholesterol?” The nurse says, “It was good.” Dad asked her, “What were the numbers?” He’s ready with pen and paper. She says, “I don’t have the file in front of me.” Obviously, she didn’t have the file in front of her. So, how does she know it’s good then, right? What a joke. Dad, shortly thereafter, found a new doctor.

I took my son to see the surgeon about his hand. They gave him a work release – so he could go back to work, duh. The release form didn’t SPELL OUT that he could go back to work. It listed only a limitation of lifting 10 lbs. or less. His employer is being picky because it doesn’t say specifically that he can go back to work. So I call the surgeon’s office. I have to tell 3 different people the same stinkin’ story before finally the nurse looks up my son’s file and says, “We’ll fax a new one over.” I gave her the number. I wonder if this is even going to be done or if I will have to go there in person to pick it up myself?

I ended up calling a second time, asking if they had faxed the new work release. Nope. Message not received. Guess what? I ended up going all the way to Springfield, to the surgeon’s office to get the dang thing myself! Never would have guessed it huh?

 

10 Spiders…..

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The spiders are coming in the house from every nook and cranny they can find! They must not like the rain! It makes sense. When it rains I come inside too.

I don’t like to kill things but I take exception to flys, fleas, ticks and SPIDERS. Actually, if the spiders stay outside where they belong then I leave them alone. If they come inside MY domain, they are taking their lives into their own hands….feet, legs, whatever.

Last night, every time I turned around there was a stinkin’ spider! I don’t know what kind they were. We call them “chipmunk spiders” only because of the brown stripes they have on their backs that reminds of us of the stripes and coloring of a chipmink. Silly huh?

It started in the morning. Before I could even shower I had to rid the bathtub of, not one but 2 chipmink spiders. Later in the day, there was one crawling up my bedroom door and I know what he was doing! He was going to hide in my room, that’s what he was going to do! S.R. sucked one up in the vacuum tube when she was cleaning her room. Dad was getting ready for bed last night around 10 pm and he found one in the bathroom sink. Then, 4 of those creepy little things, one right after the other, in the living room! Then, right before I went to bed I was spooked by one scampering across the kitchen floor. He must’ve seen what I had done to his other 8-legged friends. Didn’t do much good to run away. Did he really think I was going to go to bed with him still running around in MY domain?

I was afraid to go to bed – were there more of those chipmunk spiders in my house? In my room? I couldn’t sleep for a little while – kept thinking there was something crawling on me. When I finally did fall asleep, I dreamed about Sebastian Bach making fun of Angelina Jolie. He had fake teeth in his mouth and he was doing this thing with his lips. He looked just like her, only with blond hair! Now, why on Earth would I dream something so silly? Beats spiders though. I’m not gonna bitch.

Is It Just Me?

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Am I the only one who thinks that keeping a coffee can (previously used as a pee can) under the kitchen sink to collect used cooking oil is disgusting and unsanitary, even if the oil is going to be thrown out?

Am I the only one who thinks that the kitchen sink should be scoured and disinfected after the toilet plunger was used in it?

Am I living with morons or rednecks? What is wrong with these people?

For anyone interested in why the coffee can was used as a pee can: My 72 year old father had a hernia operation and could barely move for a couple days……