I Miss My Toys

During the past few years I've started thinking about the toys I enjoyed as a child. Just reminiscing about some of them makes me feel all fuzzy inside - I really like feeling fuzzy. Two toys in particular were favorites.

The first was my pogo stick. I used to "pogo" all over the place - up and down stairs, across lawns and through neighborhoods. Most people don't believe the stairs part, but I was almost a professional "pogo-er". We had about 8 flights of stairs across the street from my house which took the place of walking up a hill. I easily hopped up those steps to get to the park that was about a mile away. Now that I think about it, I was the only kid I knew who had a pogo stick. Most everyone else rode bikes. I might have been a little slower getting places, but I think I had more fun - and probably more attention.

Because of those fond memories, I started checking on-line to see if they still sold this great means of transportation - and if they had some for (old, out of shape) adults. Yes, I found that they still sold them but they sure didn't look as sturdy as the old ones - and I've grown in height and width but the pogo sticks have not. I mulled over purchasing a pogo stick for months before I finally made an adult decision - based on the fact that my health insurance really isn't very good - and I'd feel a little awkward pogo-ing in front of my neighbors, I decided against buying one. Oh, and I'm old and out of shape.

After a few days of feeling disappointed, I moved on to my other favorite toy.

My hula hoop.

If there were Olympic competitions in both pogo and hula hoops, I would have a hard time choosing - I was an almost professional in both. I decided that the hula hoop was more my speed - and would help me to get fit. I purchased my "hoop" at Walmart (noting to the cashier that my grandchild would enjoy it) and excitedly took it home.

Once home, I checked to make sure there were no neighbors around and then headed directly to my back yard. I slipped the shimmery hoop over my head and down to my waist and gave it a twirl. Even though my hips were flailing like I was being stung in both butt cheeks by a swarm of bees, the hoop went around about 1 1/2 rotations before falling to the ground. It's like riding a bike (or pogo-ing), I thought, I just need practice.

So, for about 2 weeks, I would sneak into my back yard when I heard the neighbors leaving and fling that hoop around and around and down to the ground. I was getting more exercise with my arms than with my hips. I finally decided that they don't make hula hoops like they used to. Surely it didn't have anything to do with the fact that my center of gravity was oozing toward my knees? I just needed a hula hoop that was a little sturdier and had a little more weight to it - like they used to make them.

Another Google search and I found just what I was looking for - a "new generation hoop". It's called a sports hoop and the pictures on the box brought back all of those fun memories of my youth. Everyone was smiling and having a great time. This would be perfect! The hoops came in different sizes and weights, so I ordered the 4 pound beauty.

Within three days my new "hoop" arrived. It came in sections that fit together with little button-like closures - not like what I remembered. But it was pretty because each section was a different color - and it was sturdy. The main difference between this hoop and my old hula hoop (as I remember it) was that this one had ribs running around the inside of the hoop. That was a bit strange.

When I read the directions (really, who needs "directions" to use a hula hoop) for some reason it said that you shouldn't use it for more than 1 - 3 minutes a day for the first week. I figured that those directions were for the novice "hoopers". I was an almost professional.

With great anticipation I put my hoop together and moved my furniture out of the way. I positioned the hoop on my waist and gave it a flip. This time I was able to keep it going and loved every second of it - well loved the first minute of it at least. Then those little "ribs" started causing some irritation every time they circled and landed on any part of my body. By minute two, I was cringing as the hoop continued to orbit my waist. Dang, I must really be out of shape!

I decided that two minutes was plenty for my first day. The next day, I grabbed that brightly colored dream toy and easily started it spinning - and quickly the pain came back. I felt like my waist and hips had been used as a punching bag by a very short boxer. Any midriff contact with anything besides my underwear and loose elastic-waisted sweats was excruciatingly painful. Although moaning "owww" and "yikes" and other four letter words, I did last about 30 seconds.

This is now day three and although I know I'm still almost a professional and I still love my hula hoop, I think I need a short break from the pleasure and pain of my old past time.

Maybe I'll Google "roller skates".

Rain

We finally have gotten much needed rain over the last few days. When it cleared I went outside and observed-

At my house, it didn't rain "cats and dogs"
It rained "weeds and frogs"

Really, where else could those big, plump (usually found squished on the road) frogs come from?

Palm Reader - Part II

I couldn't resist. The last time I went to a palm reader (actually the only other time I went) was at the same festival a few years ago and the man told me I was going to be very sick (or something) in 5 years. I still can't remember how many years ago that was but I think it must be going on 5 years. But what do I know - I think that Woodstock wasn't that long ago and I'm sure I went to my annual physical exam just a year or so ago. Time is just a 4 letter word.

Anyway, when I saw him - and I think it was the same man or a relative - I decided to hear my future once again. This was only for research purposes, mind you. This time, I brought an interpreter, my daughter, to listen. I'm embarrassed to say that even though my background is speech-pathology, I still needed help understanding the man. If I did have a course in "How to Understand Everyone" it must have been during a too early 7 am class.

He told me I could ask him 2 questions. He started by asking my birth date and name. Then he seemed to do some calculations on the paper. He put his pencil down and reached for my hand. I tried to ask him if it made a difference what hand he read since I was left-handed and he was reading my right hand, but I don't think he understood me. (He must have missed that course also) He started squishing the flesh on my hand like he was kneading bread and finally said "you have 2 children". OK, that was accurate. Then he went on to say "you're not going to have money problems. You'll have all of the money you'll need". (I like that so I'll accept that as accurate.)

After a bit more squishing, he said (or my daughter interpreted) "you won't go into a hospital" (excellent) "you will die of a heart attack" (hmmmm) "your friends will say 'I just talked to her yesterday and now she's gone'". (I guess that's OK but it is counter to what I was told before about getting very sick. I think I like this one better) He added that I needed to take herbs for my blood pressure. (It sounded like those herbs weren't going to work though but I didn't question)

Then he said "you're going to work until you're 66" (Yes, I can do that and actually to get full social security, I'll have to do that. But I won't have money problems he said so does that mean I can live off of my social security or I will die soon after I turn 66?)
"Does that mean I'm going to die at 66?" I asked using my first question. He shook his head "no". That was a short answer! Why did I waste my first question on one with a "yes" or "no" answer! I'm starting to think that I'm one of those people who want to know when I'm going to die. That way, being a procrastinator I can hold off cleaning and organizing until the last minute.

He changed the subject and after looking at my hand he asked how much education I had and I said that I had a masters' degree. He looked down again at my hand and then said "you quit learning at age 26". (awww, come on, my comments haven't been that unintelligent) Now, I was starting to question his reading. I actually didn't even get my masters' until I was in my 30's and I have taken a multitude of classes all of my life so this was way off. I'm pretty sure I've learned something since I was 26.

He went on to the topic of marriage and said that I would have (or had) a happy marriage after age 28. Well, I was first married at 21 and that was happy for quite awhile. I did re-marry well after 28 and that worked for awhile. Maybe I missed my window of opportunity. I was beginning to get more skeptical

We were getting to the end of the reading and I could ask one more question. I asked how my family was going to fare? He said that they would take care of me and give me descendants and that we were close (I guess having my daughter sitting beside me interpreting was pretty close) I already have 1 descendant, my little grandson, so I guess he was right.

He was a very nice man so I'm not complaining. He definitely said many of the things we older adults want to hear - I'll have money, die quickly, have descendants and have close family who will take care of me (but then why would I need to be taken care of if I'm going to be healthy and have money until I keel over?)

Next year I'm going to ask him to clarify that last point.

The Cat

I am always talking about my dog but I do also have a cat. He adopted me a few years ago. I figured out who his real owners were when I happened to pass a garage sale a short distance from my house and the lady was selling all of her cat paraphernalia. She said her cat disappeared. I mentioned that her run-away might be hanging around my place. After I described him, she said it sounded like him. But that didn't dissuade her from continuing to sell the cat's possessions.

I still wasn't willing to take on the responsibility of a pet (I didn't have my dog at the time) so although I did finally put water out for him - and some food - and a blanket for the cold weather, I didn't consider him my cat. I called him "sweetie" because I wasn't naming a cat that wasn't mine. And he was not coming in my house.

He had been hanging around for a year or so when I was getting ready to move. I tossed and turned many nights over what to do with that cat. What should I do when I move? Should I try to take him back to his original owner (who now owned no cat supplies)? Should I try to take him with me? What if I take him with me and he runs away trying to get back to the old house and gets hit by a car (OK, I'm a bit of a worrier with a touch of drama)

I finally decided that I would take him to my new house. I researched the best way to do it and reluctantly went with the "keep the cat in the house for a couple of days after you move so it can get acclimated to his new home". By then I also had a dog.

The cat came to the new house (too late I learned that riding in a car makes him sick). He moved in for a couple of days and never really moved out. He does go in and out as he pleases - through the doggie door. When he is out, he has taken over the doghouse. He is loving attention and his favorite thing is getting rolled with the lint brush. (Why waste time cleaning hair off of furniture when you can just roll it directly off of the animals?) He continues to not have a name because he's not my cat - so I still just call him Sweetie.

Tips on What Not to Do When Your Travel

1. Don't ever laugh or even acknowledge the staff working at the Xray machines in the airport unless you have a few hours to spare.

2. No matter how good the "special price" is, never eat a bean burrito before boarding a plane.

3. Never get a "spur of the moment perm" just before closing at a salon in the local mall in another city.

4. Don't ever bring only 2 tissues on a 2 plus hour flight.

5. Never try to blow your nose on a piece of notebook paper when you run out of tissues.

6. Never soap up your hands in the rest room without being sure the water faucet works.

7. Never bring too little underwear on a trip thinking you can wash it and it will dry overnight in your hotel room.

8. Never believe everything your GPS tells you.

9. Never leave the rental car parking lot without knowing how to turn on the lights, open a window, open the gas cap or open the door.

10. Never pack clothes based on the weather report you checked before you left home.

11. Never think that the safety pin holding your pants up will get you through the day problem-free.

12. Never say out loud "This flight is always on time" or "I've never had an airline lose my bag".

13. Never think that you don't have to write down where you parked your car in the airport parking lot.

Some Instructions Could Be Clearer

Why is it that some items have the most asinine instructions such as "plastic bag is not meant to go over head" or " Styrofoam peanuts are not eatable". Yet some things that should have very clear instructions, are missing highly pertinent points.

For example, I recently had my first colonoscopy and had to take those little white pills the afternoon before. The following is all of the information I received:

1. Drink at least 8 large glasses of water throughout the day (piece of cake!)
2. Take 4 tablets with 8 oz of clear liquid (does that mean another 8 oz. or is it part of my original 8 glasses? I'm not sure I can drink another glass of clear liquid even if it came in the form of a light beer!)
3. Repeat once every 15 minutes for a total of 20 tablets (so it sounds like I have to have an additional 8 oz. of clear liquid every 15 minutes - is that even possible?)
4. 8 PM take 4 pills with 8 oz. of clear liquid (nooooooo) and repeat every 15 minutes until all remaining pills are finished. (I think I've heard of someone drowning by drinking excessive liquid. I better look that up on google before I harm myself)

That was it for the instructions. What was I to expect next? Of course, I knew that what goes in, must come out - in great amounts! What they should have added was "if you were not one of the top 3 finishers in the 100 yard dash, do not attempt to leave your house." That would have been a very helpful tidbit of information. And then they could have added "When you think you are all cleaned out, you aren't. Move a chair into your bathroom and bring a good book - or two".

Because I didn't receive those additional useful instructions, I did not hire a dog-walker - or even someone to check my mail. Those are on my "must do" list for the next time - if there is a next time.

So,with my dog jumping like he was on a pogo stick every time I stood up during the day, and then being disappointed that I didn't head toward the front door, I finally had to take him out for his evening constitutional. I made another stop in my now least favorite room of my house before we (he) excitedly pranced out of the door. I was cautious at first but by the time I got across my front yard, I was feeling pretty confident. We started sniffing (he) and trotting (he) down the street, happy to be out of the house. By the time we got about 3 houses down the block, I could hear my stomach start to rumble and moan. Actually the moaning was coming from my throat when I realized that I was too far from my house to get back in time.

Mid-leg up, I quickly pulled my questioning and frustrated dog toward my house. He was having none of it. This was his time and he wanted to enjoy it. Not to get too graphic but when one has to do "number 1", it can be held back by crossing one's legs but there is no way that I have figured out to hold back "number 2" so I usually resort to the "number 1" method. Things started happening quickly. Between the internal (and soon to be external ) explosion, my new running technique of running as if my knees has been super-glued together and being hunched over while dragging a dog who still only had 3 useful legs, we were a sight to see. Usually a neighbor or two stops me to visit but I think anyone seeing us that night probably thought I was practicing for the lead in "Hunchback of Notre Dame" and shouldn't be disturbed.

Of course I didn't make it back in time but all I can say is that I was thankful to be wearing black.
I don't need to go in to the gory details because that would be too much information but this all leads back to my original premise - it would be nice if some important instructions could be a bit more detailed!

Trust Issues with my Dog

I thought I was done with all of the drama of trust issues in relationships. I have gotten to the point in my life where if it appears that someone wants out of a relationship, they just need to get out. Whether it's me or the person I'm with - if there are signs of discontent, I walk. Maybe I've been a little impetuous in the past but I feel that if things aren't working, it's time to move on.

Then I got a dog.

I can't just get rid of my dog because we may not be getting along. And he can't just pack his doggie bowl and drag his bed down the street looking for a better home. We're in it for the long haul.

It's just that I think I'm more forgiving and willing to make it work than he is. For example, when we are taking our walk and he sees another human, he runs toward them like they are his long lost original owner. He crouches down playfully, wagging his tail like he's trying to swat a swarm of flies, nuzzles their hand and looks up at them almost in a pleading manner. And of course they melt. Sometimes I feel that the person looks at me as if they are questioning my dog-parenting abilities since my dog Seymour seems exceptionally happy to see a stranger. Once the stranger passes, Seymour is his old, loving self toward me. Do I get angry, jealous or hurt? Well, maybe a little hurt but I don't say anything.

But if I should go out and happen to pet another dog, Seymour knows! As soon as I come in the door, he is sniffing me all over to find some evidence of my "cheating". Once he has found it, (and he usually does) he looks me in the eyes as if to say "how could you"? To alleviate my guilt, I dutifully head to the frig to get his favorite treat - bacon. All is usually forgiven after a few bites of that special snack.

Now when I go out, Seymour doesn't just sniff me for dog smells, but he gets right up to my face and sniffs my mouth thoroughly for "bacon smells". I often go out to breakfast with friends and I can't help myself - I usually have bacon with my eggs. I try to cover the smell with lots of coffee and even a mint but to no avail; deep in the recesses of my throat there must still be bacon residue that is smellable only by my dog.

I think he is even more upset to detect the bacon than to smell another dog. He has shamed me (just by looking me in the eyes accusingly) so that I have finally taken to dividing the bacon on my plate in a restaurant into 2 piles - one for me and one for Seymour. The only way I can hope to gain forgiveness from him is to come home with bacon in my pocket.

I'm still surprised at what I will go through for my dog that I would have never considered doing in a relationship. I think a lot has to do with the fact that he doesn't talk - he doesn't even bark when he's upset - he just stares at me. There is no arguing with a dog. You just try to make it work.

The Power of Suggestion

A few years ago I had my palm read at a Hindu festival and although I could barely understand the man who did the reading, I think he said I was going to be sick or ill or something in 5 years. I had just had knee surgery the day before so I was not in the best shape and was hobbling around with a cane. I asked him if I would live and I think he said "yes". Of course, how many palm readers will say that you are going to die? Anyway, I have periodically thought of that reading and keep wondering how many years ago it was done.

Last week I was at my dreaded market days booth selling stuff left over from my defunct shop and adding garage sale items to fill in the empty space - can you tell I'm really bought into this venture? I had some things like a juggling set, dousing wand kit, and sushi making book sitting near the front of the booth. None of those are big sellers but I figured if people glanced at the items they might also notice me sitting in my booth surrounded by other "cool" stuff they might want - or not.

To my surprise, a woman quickly grabbed the dousing wand kit and purchased it. Her friend happened to have her own dousing wand in her purse and took it out to show me. I thought a dousing wand was just to find water but I came to find out that it is also a prediction tool- like a Ouija board. So I began to tell them about my palm reader and his predication and I asked the dousing wand (attached to the woman's hands) if I was going to get sick - it said "yes". Yikes!! I also asked it if I was going to get married again and it's answer was neutral. The woman filled in the next question "Does she want to get married again?" and the wand said "no". Now wait a minute, I hadn't made up my mind on that point - or had I? I had to ask it one more question "Will I be alive next year?" and it said "yes". Thank goodness because I'm too disorganized to die that soon! They told me that if I had anymore questions, they would be walking around the market. Well, I did have more questions like "should I believe you, Mr or Ms Dousing Wand?" or "Will I win the lottery"? but I decided that as long as I was going to be alive next year, I'd deal with the rest. Dang, I wish I knew that I had such a powerful predicting tool in my booth! Do I believe? I'm not sure. . .

Two days later, I was heading to the airport at 5 am. I always do a quick check of my tires when I get in my car just to be sure I don't have a flat. Yet within 5 minutes of leaving my house the "low air in tire" light came on. At that time of the morning there was nowhere for me to stop and I didn't have time to go back home so I kept driving. I was tense and planning in my head what I could do. There was a Walmart on the way to the airport where I could stop and get some tire goop but I might also have some in my trunk. As a part-time procrastinator, I ended up just driving to the airport without stopping. When I got out of the car, I pushed on each tire and thought maybe one was a little low.

Two days later I arrived back in Austin at about midnight and went out to the parking lot to my car. The first thing I did was give the tires a quick look - they were all relatively round - so I headed home. Right away the light came on again - this time it looked brighter. Now I was really worried and thought about the reasons for my problem tire. Maybe I ran over a nail when I drove through my front yard (to make space in my driveway for visitor's cars), or I might have lost that little valve cover that covers the air valve on my tire. I'm sure air leaks out of that hole! I could feel my car starting to pull and felt like I didn't have good control over the steering. I drove slower so I wouldn't skid off of the road if my tire blew. This time I was going to stop at Walmart!
About 10 minutes later, the light went off.

In my head, I had believed in that light so much that I actually thought I felt the car weaving and pulling. Once the light was off, the car drove like a dream and I made it home without a problem. And I haven't had a problem since.

Intellectually, I know that palm readers, dousing wands and the occasional loose idiot lights do not have powers of prediction, (well maybe that light would have, if it had worked). I also realized that the power of suggestion is a scary thing. It can make things happen just by giving them credence in our minds.

The next time I want to know what is going to happen in the future, I will look in my calendar, look at my "bucket list" and get that dang light fixed!

Phlegm-o-matic

I think that one of the worst words in the English language is "phlegm". It isn't just the meaning of the word (which is gross), but also the way it is pronounced (it almost causes excretion when you say it) and the way the letters don't seem to belong together. There is nothing good about it. People don't like to say or hear that word. We say "I'm stuffed up", instead of "I'm phlegmmy" or "My nose won't stop running" instead of "The phlegm is coming out of every orifice in my head". And why is it that phlegm comes from the throat but a "discharge" comes from the nose? It's all phlegm in my mind and in my head right now.

While alternately sniffing and honking, I'm writing this tirade on a plane while simultaneously trying to find as many not-too-wet tissues as I can to get me through the 2 hour flight. I can't wait for my drink to come so that I have a new dry napkin to blow my nose with. As soon as the "seat belt" light goes off, I'm heading to the restroom to unroll a pile of toilet paper and put it up my sleeve so I don't look ridiculous walking back to my seat. I'd rather look like someone with a large tumor on her arm than someone stealing toilet paper. OK, I have a shred of pride left even if people are staring at my red, runny nose and watery eyes. I feel bad for the guy next to me. My bodily functions are hard to ignore.

I am also silently cursing the one thing in my body that works flawlessly - my phlegm making gland. Of course it couldn't be my fat-burning gland.

The word phlegm comes into my head about 10 months out of the year because that's how often I have allergic reactions to something no matter where I am in the world. How is that even possible? I'm wondering if there is a way to cut out my phlegm-producing organ - along with my appendix. Neither are essential to my thinking. Runny eyes would be no problem since I always have at least 2 pair of sunglasses with me. (by accident because I seem to always have an extra pair in the dark recesses of my purse)

I can deal with the phlegm in the privacy of my home. My animals sometimes sit up and look me in the eye when they are fed up with the nose-blowing but they still accept me for who I am - their food supplier and walker.

In the meantime, I am checking my watch every 10 minutes to see how close we are to landing. I'm trying to decide if I should tell the guy next to me that I'm not contagious, I'm just a bit "phlegmmy" or just have excessive "discharge" from my nose - or maybe I'll just let him continue to pretend to be asleep.