The Hits Just Keep On Comin'

            Lately, the messages sent my way have me scratching my head. When I add them up, they lead me to some startling discoveries about myself.

            Like many of you, when I look in the mirror – if I don’t look too closely, that is – I look and mostly feel just like I always did.  I certainly act the same; just ask my husband who no doubt desperately wishes that weren’t so.  Anyway, I’m wondering if the world is trying to tell me something.

            In the past few months, I’ve had some encounters that have given me pause.    I went to my doctor for a check up.  For the first time ever, my cholesterol was elevated.  I can’t say I was too surprised as I also learned (ok, I already knew it)  that I am just slightly off the chart in another area – ok, you guessed it – the suggested weight for my age and height.  Do you think those two things could go together? Never mind. 

            I was then sent for a bone scan where I learned that my bones are thinning out.  Furthermore, I’m a fourth of an inch shorter than I was last time I was measured.   How is this fair when my full-grown  height was only 5’ 2 ½”?

            So, I’m fat and getting shorter.   What’s so bad about that?  Well, keep reading; I’m not done yet.  I went to my eye doctor and learned that I have cataracts. They aren’t causing any problems, but they are now on my chart for future reference.

            However, my most startling revelation occurred not in a doctor’s office, but when buying a pair of shoes.  The over-eager shoe salesman would not leave me alone.  He consistently directed me to the “old lady” boots with low heels.  I kept looking at the high-heeled ones (they are great for short fat people, you know), trying to throw him off and to regain a bit of self-respect.   Nonetheless, I did finally buy a pair of black boots (Ok I admit they are low-heeled Naturalizers).  He asked me if I had exciting plans for the afternoon.  I said no, that my errands were completed, and I was going home.  He looked at me, leered,  and said, “Are you going home to take a little nap?” 

            So, somehow I’m not only short and fat with bad eyes, but I look like I need to go home and take a nap? 

Add to this list the fact that I recently got brand new glasses with very (or so I was led to believe) up-to-date frames.  Guess what?  I had them for over a week, and not a single soul –friend, neighbor, husband,  grocery clerk – noticed. 

            I think that my mother’s oft-repeated adage has now come true, “Nobody’s looking at me” – except for predatory shoe salesmen, that is.

Shrinking and thinking,

I remain

Tizzie/Tiz/Liz/ Tizmom/Mom/Grandma/Grizzie

Winter Wonderland

1/1/18

Temp:   -11

Hi, fam, friends, and frenemies,

Holiday fervor subsided?  Looking at a half-dead poinsettia and wondering whether to revive it?  A broken Christmas plate and wondering whether to glue it back together?  A Christmas sweater that hasn’t buttoned in a few years and wondering if you should go on a diet? If you are the wondering and not doing stage, then you’ve come to the right place.  Grab you leftover bubbly and have a seat.

Here's what I've been wondering:

In attempting to remove a frozen turkey neck from a turkey, I managed to twist my hand which produced a cracking sound in three of my fingers , and now I am rendered even less likely than ever be able to open a pickle jar.  I’m wondering why they put the neck and giblets  in a frozen turkey anyway. Assuming anyone wants to eat those “extras”, who has time to cook them on Christmas Day?

In buying my husband a belt, I took his current belt with me to the store.  While trying to measure the new belts for size, the buckle of the old belt somehow became commingled with the buckle of the new belt such that I could not untangle it. Neither could the young man at the check out.  Several shoppers were kept waiting in line while valiant attempts were made.  Finally, the belts broke free.    I’m wondering why JC Penney doesn’t provide better training for its Christmas help, aren't you?

Our granddog Frannie, a French bulldog, took my husband Bob for a walk the morning of our family Christmas dinner.  Frannie chased after some birds and ran out her leash.  This caused Bob to fall on his knee, elbow himself in the ribs, and bend his pinkie into a new position. While at UrgentCare awaiting treatment, my daughters and son-in-law were frantically texting me with requests of how to mash potatoes, cook cranberries, prepare brussel sprouts, etc. and, of course, do this all simultaneously.  Always willing to help, I spewed forth my culinary orders.  When we arrived home, all was completed beautifully, and we sat down on time.   I’m wondering what I can stage next year to get out of the last two hours of Christmas dinner preparation.  All suggestions welcome.  (Note :  I learned later that my son-in-law was wise to this possibility , and exhorted the girls and himself not to do too good of a job lest they get their cooking jobs permanently. My son and daughter-in-law and kids were gone during this event, so maybe I can trick them next year…)

Here in Middle America, the temperatures have been frigid, so I have been mostly inside for several days.  One task I have tackled is  purging the hallway closet.    That sounds easy enough, doesn’t it?  Take the shoeshine box, for example. The shoeshine items (rags, polish, leather balm, brushes, shoe laces which still have price tags stickered on them, more rags, water-proofing spray) are rarely invoked; however, they have resided in the the hall closet for over twenty years.   What will be the result of moving them to a less accessible spot? Like the new tax plan, it’s hard to predict.  The change probably won’t be noticed for a while. However, at some point, a sleeping giant will awake and want to polish his shoes and he will demand to know – immediately – what has become of the shoeshine supplies.  Then he will decry the fact that he was not consulted on the moving of them and will proceed to put them back where they have resided for the previous twenty years.  I’m wondering if it’s safe to move the shoeshine box.  Is it worth the risk? Let me know what you think.

What to do with my “techo-deco”picture  frame circa 2000 that provides a slide show of photos when you push a button?  It seemed like such a clever idea at the time.   I’m not quite sure when it took up residence in the hall closet.  Remarkably, the remote was with it.  However, when I pushed the button, it said that no photos are on the frame.  You and I both know that’s not true.  Those photos are somewhere.   I don’t know what they are or where they are, but I must preserve them at all costs, right?    This item will be sent to the electronics mausoleum in the basement until further notice.   I’m sure it will enjoy meeting the 8mm camcorder, some old cell phones,  and many, many chargers, wires, cords, and gadgets that may or may not go with anything we currently own.   I’m wondering if  I there’s really anyone qualified to tell me what all those items are for and how much longer I need to save them.

Well, slackers, I hate to tell you this, but the fun is up.  It’s time for you to stop drinking and thinking and start moving.   That’s right. Surely, you have a closet you need to clean out or a plot you need to devise to trick  your own family.  Or at least some leftovers you need to polish off. It’s a new year, remember? So, get busy.  I wouldn't want you to follow my example.  I just went downstairs to retrieve my Christmas ornament boxes, and  ended up reading 20+ years of my own Christmas letters. I wonder why.....

Blundering and wondering,

I remain

Tizzie/Liz/Elizabeth/Tizmom/Mom/Grandma/Grizzie