SHIFTING

He was getting a bottle of water from the fridge and it slipped from his hand.

I woke when the bottle hit the floor.

He was clinging to a door frame.

"What are you doing?"

My sleepy brain was not really getting the gravity of the situation.

"Trying not to fall down." he said.

Rewind.

Randy had been having trouble with his hand not wanting to work properly.

His grip would let go on its own.

He had been having trouble with the check book and Randy always balances to the penny.

Little things.

I was concerned.

On Monday I took him to the doctor.

Randy told her that he had stopped taking his medication because he had run out...

and that's what he thought was the trouble.

I told her flat out that I thought he was having mini strokes and it scared me.

She listened to both of us,then to his his heart, lungs, and arteries.

In the end she decided that Randy's reasoning sounded more likely...

and wrote him a new prescription.

He was smug about being "right".

Monday night (the same day) he went to work and his boss sent him home early,

saying that Randy wasn't himself.

That really scared me.

But not near as much as that bottle hitting the floor and finding him

clinging to the door frame.

Fast forward...

My first thought was to get him to the hospital.

I could not lift him myself.

I ran across the street to the young, buff neighbor's house, but no one answered.

I ran down a long driveway to the other neighbor's house

Kim was home and ran on ahead of me back to the house...

 where Randy now lay on the floor because he had tried and failed to get to his feet.

I stopped on my porch and called 911.

I wanted to throw him in the car and take off,

but we would never get him in there.

He was too much dead weight.

A fire truck responded and then the ambulance.

I locked up and followed in my car.

When my mother died, there was an obvious shift in the world.

Everything felt different.

Like, how can the world keep going on when she is not here?

The world goes on.

I felt that same weird shift as I followed them to the hospital.

My world had taken a new deep shift.

Gratefully he did not die.

He looked at me before they took him in for a CT scan and said

"I will only say this once... you were right."

I would have much rather have been wrong.

Randy had an Ischemic stroke...

a blockage or reduction in the flow of blood to the brain.

The left side of his body is affected because the stroke is in his right hemisphere.

He can talk, though it was slurred at first.

He has some trouble swallowing on his left side of his throat.

His left leg and arm are weak.

He can walk with assistance.

He has lost his left side peripheral vision,

so his brain does not recognize that his left arm exists and he rams it into things.

I am on FMLA leave and so is he.

We are looking at a year of recovery.

I'm in the process of filing for disability for him and trying to figure

out how I can work and care for him.

Too much crap in my head if you ask me.

But the word has shifted and I must follow the shift.

He is out of ICU and in a normal room.

He takes walks, and does various therapy.

He wants to go to the local mall and walk around and around

until everything works right.

In his damaged head, that sounds very reasonable.

Just the ticket!

What is or isn't reasonable is a problem for him right now.

So comes the comical portion of my current journey...

trying to convince him that he has to stay there is a 24/7 job.

He tries various ways to escape.

None of them work.

Catching him pisses him off.

He believes that we... the hospital staff and I are in cahoots.

That there is a royal conspiracy to keep him from his normal life.

I have become his enemy depending on the time of day and how loopy he is.

I am not living on a cot in his hospital room to be there for him out of concern and love...

I am there to keep him prisoner.

I admit it.

His kooky actions make this part of my agenda.

He has an alarm that goes off if his butt leaves the mattress.

It plays "Mary Had A Little Lamb" in the most obnoxious

electronic tones you can imagine.

At 4:00 A.M. it is a horrific sound.

Yet I am soooo grateful for it.

They installed it after he tried to get away and fell flat on the floor.

Now he grumbles that his ribs hurt and refuses to admit that he knows why.

I am in a very frustrating and upsetting place right now.

Family and visitors are very good for him...

overwhelming for me sometimes.

But I know that family and friends make recovery faster.

I am grateful for the staff who does so much for him.

Grateful for my own support group.

I have really great kids.

So allow me to leave you with some weird stroke humor...

Randy wanted to escape.  He wanted me to help him and after some exhausting arguing over it, I allowed him to have his underwear back.  He insisted on putting it on himself (because there is nothing wrong with him in his head) and I watched in utter exasperation as he began to put them on backwards and kept pulling on the back of his sock, missing his underwear all together,  in his vain attempt to pull his underwear up.  I said "At least let me help you get them turned around right... they're backwards." 

He gave me a stare as if I was beyond dumb and said "Well then I guess I'll have a pocket to keep my poop in!"

 

 

So today, let me wish you all the joy of having your underwear on right.

Despite the great poop pocket, you're better off that way.

 

=:]

.

 

 

 

 

PAY DAY

My folks did NOT buy us everything we wanted.
They were big on allowances, and extra chores to earn extra money.
They also encouraged us to take on neighborhood jobs, like dog sitting, 

yard watering, etc.

I suspect in part, that window shopping was to give us time to want things...
to yearn for them enough to feel encouraged to make the money to buy them ourselves.
If nothing else, if all we did was save our allowance, then we were getting a lesson in managing money.
Having to save for them helped us to want to take good care of them.

They were big on that too... taking care of your things.
If my bike was noticeably dirty my dad would spirit it away to his garage.
I would go to hop on it and no bike.
The first time I complained about this disappearance,
I was told that the bike was not leaving the yard until it passed my dad's inspection.
Since I was a stubborn learner, 

I didn't have to ask the other times it went into his garage,
I just got the soap and prepared it for the old man to view.

Allowance day was a great day, but possibly the longest day on earth!
When the basset alerted us to my dad's arrival,
my feet beat their way down the stairs,
leaping the last three steps to stand at the door with my open palm extended toward him.
There was no sense in messing around... it was pay day.

He did not grumble about that.
He shelled a few quarters into my hand and off I ran...
back upstairs to my bedroom where the little metal box with the combination lock in the center waited.
Immediately I turned the dial back and forth.
I could have dropped the coins into the top of the box where a handy little slit waited...
but I wanted to join the money together while gazing at it.
What a lovely sound it made when they mixed together!

The content was dumped onto my bed, new quarters added and the counting began.
This was generally followed by a visit with the catalog...
once the loot was back in the bank.
If I spent all of it I could get... and the dreaming would begin.
But generally I would put it back into the bank and decide that
better things waited if I made it another week or so before spending any.

I was almost as bad about it as a young adult with my first pay check not connected to family or neighbors.
I knew when pay time was and I would be there...waiting.
It was my money, I earned it and I wanted it on time.
Unfortunately, the older I got,
the more experience I gained  with employer connected pay screw ups.

Checks for the wrong amount or wrong hours credited.
Checks that were delayed for hours or even days.
Snow or ice delays.
Once my check was wrong and they told me that I had to give it back and they would give me another in two weeks...
Are you kidding me?
What were we supposed to do for money for two weeks?

I liked the pay envelopes best.
Those little envelopes much like the ones used for school bank accounts
that came to you fat with bills.
They felt like pay.
They looked like pay.
The gratification was immediate.
But those days vanished away in the tide of time.

Paper checks never seemed that satisfying.
At least not until you cashed them.
They tended to be larger amounts though.
That part I liked.
But most of it was left at the bank...
not as many bills and coins to run through my fingers.

Now days my pay comes on a pay card.
It arrives mysteriously between 8:30 and 9:00.
I can view it on my computer once it has arrived.
This means many visits to the site starting around 8:15.
(Hey, maybe it will be early one day.)
Proving that the little girl who's feet beat their way down the stairs
to stick out her eager little hand is still alive and well inside me.

Its not the same of course.
The thrill is less.
I don't hold a pile of money in my hands.
I hardly see it,
unless I ask for cash back at the store.
I don't see it when it transfers into my bank account later either...
because I don't want it all on a pay card that can be lost or stolen.

 

 

Yet there I am after the transfer at the bank...
because I like to do it in person...
immediately upon my return home...
it must be checked to assure myself it is there...
and the dreaming can begin.

=:]

GOOD-BYE

He had grown frosty....
His defroster was no longer using hot air.
Likely due to the curiosity of one of the neighborhood squirrels.
Each morning he greeted me with an icy air.

G.G. once gave me advice on dealing with the Medusa.
When I was angry, stop and think what it would be like if she died...
and the petty thing that was bothering me would seem much less important.
(On a side note, I'd like to mention that this advice was given before the Medusa poured bleach on G.G.'s dark clothes in one of her snits.)

It was 28 degrees and my hands ached from scraping ice off of 

Clown Car's windshield.
I tired to warm them with my breath and 

picture what it would be like without Clown Car.
I thought back on the day I'd gotten him.
Life without any car at all had been much, much worse.
Count it as a blessing and drive on to work 

(Work: another somewhat dubious blessing).

And really, for the price of $1,000 I'd gotten a heck of a deal for several years.
If it had not been for Clown Car, 

I might never have met my husband and certainly
would never have driven 400 + back and forth most weekends for a year.

But then the man decided we would "follow the bumper" once again...
his code for "Its a surprise"
The bumper led us to the car dealership where he got his truck.

I decided not to get excited.
The man is funny, 

in that he enjoys researching and looking at things before he buys them.
This is followed by a mulling over period.
Being an impulse reactor myself, 

it is best for me to not think of this activity as anything more than entertainment.

"How can I help you folks today?" said the salesman with a commission smile.
The man tells him the type of car I had decided that I wanted.
He added 

"And what mama wants... mama gets."

But there it was... seductive smokey silver, with tinted windows, 

and room to haul my large boys around!
Despite the fact that I have never cheated on a spouse and never would...
the instant lust in my heart for this beast challenged me to dump Clown Car without the slightest hint that I could actually buy this dream machine.

We looked inside and out.
I sat in it and felt the comfort of the seat with its adjustable lumbar support.
(Later when I spoke of this to my eldest son, he laughed and said 

"Oh an old people's car!").
I touched all the buttons and looked over the sound system 

with its six speakers.
I appreciated its large "way back" that would keep

 Roxy in a happy roomy space on trips.
I was in love.

When the salesman asked if I wanted to test drive it, the man answered
"No.  We still need to crunch some numbers yet.  If its do-able we'll be back."
That was my man alright.
Good-bye my new road romance fantasy!

The man began to crunch and I continued to freeze every morning.
Every opportunity I had, I would chat up my dream car.
"It only has 32,000 miles on it."
"Un-huh.  I saw."
At one point the man had told me not to get too excited because 

it might not be there by the time we were ready.
"Fine."

(Said in dull listless tone.)

I had three days in a row off.  Whoopie!
Maybe one of those days we would follow the bumper!
Not on Thursday.
Not Friday.
I was giving up.

Saturday found us back at the dealership.
The man warned me of his top payment limit.
The salesman took his time doing his number crunching.
It came out $50 more that the man said we could spend.
My heart sank... but there would be other cars on other days... I told myself.
Sniffle.

My dissapointment must have shown on my face.
A worried look crossed the salesman's eye.
"I might could go a little lower." he added. "What is your ceiling?"
They dickered and I crossed my fingers, 

then said a little prayer.
They found a price they could both agree on.
My heart began to thump and I began to glow.

Bahahahahaha.... it was going to be mine!  

MINE!

Four bazillion forms and signatures later and after an endless amount of time...
the car went off to be detailed while we visited DMV guy...
where there were more forms and signatures.
"Is there anything you need to get from your Aspire?"

It was at this point that it hit me.
This was good-bye to Clown Car.
No need.
I had already given it a good cleaning and emptied it...
just in case.
I decided that I did not want to say good-bye in person

and invite my eyes to well up.

Yes, it is only an inanimate object...
but one that gave me so much pleasure and joy.
I'd driven to my grand babies births in that car...
Ferried my large boys here and there...
met the love of my life in it.
Softly I wished Clown Car would be adopted by a young family who desperately need him and would love him as I had for so long...
and that he would continue to serve faithfully.
Then I added that I hoped that they would fix his defroster hose for good measure.

Funny how you can be both delighted and sad at the same time.
When the last signature was signed and I was free to take my new ride...
I looked for Clown Car but he had been whisked away.
So long old friend!  And thank you!

The rumble and motion of the new-to-me-car made those feelings  

dissipate to a faint sorrow.
By the time I got home, I was giddy with joy.
Inside the house, I grabbed my cell to take a picture, 

eager to share my good news.
I had a missed call... and a voice mail...so I called and listened to it.
"Hi Mrs. H.  I wanted to thank you for the lovely brown purse... 

but I'm afraid it just doesn't go with my suit."
said the cheerful voice of the DMV guy.

Yep... I was so excited that I left my purse behind.
When I told the man he laughed and said...
"Yeah, you just did that so that you'd have a reason to drive it again."
We both knew that was not true, but it what a great idea for next time!
=;]

 
Now I'd like you to meet my new ride...

Otto.
Long may we ride together!

=:D

CHEERS!

 

( photoblog.nbcnews.com )

Wishes to you for a bountiful and happy 2013 !

The holidays are over.  YAY!

I had as nice a holiday season as possible

with the craziness in the shopper world all around me, but...

I was never happier for 4:00P.M. on a Dec. 23rd.

Randy cooked up to surprise me for my Christmas...

not Christmas with the kids,

but almost as good.

We loaded up the red sleigh and packed the toys

Grandpa Fuzzy had made for our northern grand kids

into the back bed.

It was a very brief trip.

The reason being that finishing the gifts had taken longer than planned...

and it was too late to ship.

No child shall have Christmas without a gift from Grandpa and Grandma Fuzzy!

After the drive,

we exchanged gifts with the D. P. H.'s lot,

hugged and kissed... and said good-byes.

The visit lasted only a couple of hours.

In the morning we started out early

with an even briefer stop 

in P'land

to exchange gifts with Bear.

(Who is expecting a new baby bear!)

Yay!

The next day we had diner at our local family gathering.

Before I knew it, 

we were home and I was going back to work.

The holiday had flown past.

New Years Eve found us each snoring on our sofa

when the ball dropped.

I woke up when Roxy began to freak out over

fireworks.

I covered the man up and left him behind.

I knew that Roxy would not be able to deal with the explosions.

I hustled her off to the bedroom

where I thought she would feel safe.

Wrong.

She barricaded herself under the bed.

Allow me to point out that there is NO

"under the bed".

There are drawers in a big base.

But there is a gap of about nine inches between the base and the wall,

covered by the mattress platform.

Oh well.

She did feel safe in there.

Of course we had to move the entire bed to get her out

in the morning.

The start of 2013 looked an awful lot like 2012.

But then the sun came out!

Glorious blue skies and rays that warmed the air and skin.

It felt like a promise for a wonderful new year.

I will take that optimistic point of view and run with it.

I am making no resolutions this year.

I am simply going to enjoy as much of it as possible.

Cheers!

 

BZZZZZZ

Morning.

I sat up.
Ugh.
Another day.

Roxy peers up at me with that guilty look...
the one that begs me not to make her get out of her warm bed just because I have to work.
Were our roles reversed, I would make the same face.

The chill of morning air requires that I put on my clothes as rapidly as possible...
and my room is the warmest in the house.
They are cold...
but only briefly.
I top it all  with a hoodie.

I put the last night's coffee into the giant Starbucks container

 and shove it into the microwave.
Next stop is the bathroom.

This is the routine;
put hair in pony tail, brush teeth, use mouthwash, beat the toothbrush on the edge of the sink and replace it in the cup.
(No worries... deodorant is next to my bed in my table drawer and part of getting dressed.)

I reach over and click out the light.
Bzzzzzzzz... zzzz...zzz...
I turn the light back on.
zzzzzzzzzzzz....

Its an insistent little buzzzzz.
I put my hand on the light box.
No vibration.
I look at Randy's beard trimmer, then touch it.
No vibration.
I pull open the drawer and check the old shaver.
Not only is it silent, but it is unplugged.
Oh yeah.  Duh.
Still... zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

I feel the wall.
What if it's a short or something electrical?
The wall feels normally cool.
zzzzzzzzzzzz
I touch the light again, like that will help.
I feel the counter.

Meanwhile the phone in my pocket begins to play its morning swan song...
my alarm telling me that if I want to get to work on time that I need to leave NOW.
zzzzzzzzzz

Well crap.
No hope for it... I'm going to have to go to work.
I rush to the kitchen and write the man a note.
"There's an electrical sounding buzzz in the front bathroom...."

I lock the front doors behind me hoping that my home will not burn down.
I think about the buzzz all through the first two hours of my day at work.
By break time I can't stand it....

"Its me" I say cleverly, as if he did not know.
My phone announcement on his phone is the William Tell Overture.
"Did you figure out the buzzz?"

"Its okay.  Only a little fire.  Its out now..."
I feel relief!
He would never sound that calm if there had been a real fire.
"It was your toothbrush Silly Rabbit!"

Ok.
Mystery solved.
Then he says

"Now you want to tell me how to shut the damn thing off?"

SLUMBER

I've been sleeping.

A lot.

I have done little else.

Only what was required to keep my home clean

and both of us in clean clothes.

Then I sit for a second and fall asleep.

 

 

I've needed it.

I've been working a lot of hours and days.

My job is physical.

Basically I lift weights all day long.

I don't just hang up clothing...

I hang up groups of clothing at a time.

Ten coats can be pretty heavy for an old silly rabbit.

 

Not that I am complaining.

Its good for the "bat wings" that form under the arms.

And it is exercise.

 

But its the mental part of my  job that exhausts me.

Answering questions like

"Do you have battery operated gloves?"

Or

"Can I speak to your Twinky department?"

Or

"Are you real... I mean a real person?"

 

 

Its the work politics.

Tush is an older woman with ego issues...

she can't stand Mike and Ike...

who are young women...

 telling her what to do.

It does not matter that they have worked there longer.

She imagines Mike and Ike plots against her.

Sigh.

Mike and Ike ignore and avoid her.

 

 

I am so sad that I cannot do the same.

I am locked into working with her and have to hear plots all day long.

Ugh.

Mike and Ike are not plotting.

They are doing their jobs. 

 

 

I try to do what I can to avoid work conflict.

I let my mind wander to other interests.

Let's face it...

my job is not demanding of actual brain power

so mine is free to play.

 

 I watch people.

We have an endless supply and variety.

I find the homeless particularly interesting.

They do some odd things.

 

There are grazers.

These are the folk who come in and graze off the shelves...

then hide their wrappers and opened packages, etc.

in the merchandise.

I found a half eaten chicken breast tucked between two purses.

(We have a hot deli.)

An empty can of Red Bull in a pair of boots.

 

But the ones that amaze me most are the ones who do their laundry

in our store.

No, not the kind where one uses a washing machine.

One pair of boxers is replaced in a package with a used pair.

Oh yuck.

Same with pairs of socks, shirts, pants, shoes, etc.

 

 

Everyone needs food and clothing.

I get that.

But seriously... ick!

 

Or they become angry when they cannot do or have something they want...

and defecate on the floor or benches.

I have never been that mad.

I am afraid it is out of my scope of understanding. 

 

 

I see homeless women in the public bathrooms putting on their make up

in the morning...

or taking  sponge baths in the sinks daily.

It makes me feel both sad

 and 

admire them for not giving up completely.

 

Some walk the store all night...

imitating shoppers.

Filling their carts with all manor of clothing and items...

that they never take to the check stand.

Slowly making the time inside out of the cold last as long as they

can go unnoticed...

abandoning full carts when they attract attention...

to flee back out into the dark.

 

 

I don't mind the lifting of clothing and moving them around all day.

That is a good kind of tired.

That is a day of good honest work.

Its watching work place pettiness...

and watching the sad lives of homeless human beings...

that exhausts my soul.

 

But there are highlights too...

a tale for another day.

Right now,

I'm feeling sleepy again.

Sorry I've been gone so long.

I have missed you all.

 

=:]