Making plans

Do you know how to make God laugh?

      Tell him your plans.

     (Old Jewish proverb)

I had planned to return to blogging again on August 25th which was one year after my last posting. As usual, my plans didn't work out.

I got a different computer and had all my stuff transferred, not knowing that the Microsoft Word program on the old computer was not registered. I wound up with everything stored in Word inaccessible to me. After trying several work-arounds, I gave up after four weeks and went online to buy a new copy of Word  for $109.00. As usual, everything was unbelievably complicated. It took two days and dealing with five separate people to get it installed. I must admit that one of the complications is that I am a computer putz!

I won't even get into the problems I had finding my blog and being able to post again. But anyway, here I am, nearly a year and a month later.

The reason I stopped blogging was because I felt that out of fairness, I had to follow the blogs of everyone who was a follower of mine. This became so time-consuming I that I had to draw the line. But, I missed it so I'm going to try it again. We'll see how it goes.

Still bothered after all these years

I first published this back in February of 2009. It still haunts me.

"I was reading a friend's blog today and she writes about being troubled by a worrisome incident in her past that she was powerless to do anything about.

This reminded me of an incident in a grocery store some years ago. I think about it every once in a while and it continues to bother me.

I had pushed my cart half-way down an aisle when a family of four was coming toward me. The father, a 40-ish beer-bellied type was pushing the cart. When our carts came side-by-side, the man was barking orders to a boy of around 10 on what grocery items to grab and put in the cart. The boy darted back and forth frantically while the man kept harassing him and calling him names.

The scariest part was that close behind the guy were huddled a thin, pale woman and teenage girl. They cowered close together with expressionless faces. The disturbing scene screamed ABUSE. I was angered and appalled that this was going on right in front of me. I desperately wanted to do something. I stood there watching for a moment while I debated whether to ask the woman if she needed help but she avoided making eye contact with me. I was terribly conflicted but afraid of making the bad situation worse. I looked around and other carts were now coming down the aisle and those shoppers were trying to ignore the whole situation. Reluctantly, I moved on and I have felt guilty ever since.

I always wonder what happened to that poor woman and her kids. I stew about what I should have done--alert the store manager? Intervene no matter what? Call the police?

I try to comfort myself that maybe the management saw the incident on security cameras and stepped in to help. But to this day, I wonder what would have happened if I had been more courageous."

Out, Damned Spots!

Yesterday, I went over to Target to get a new ink cartridge for my printer. As I'm walking up to the store, the sidewalks and entrance are dotted with chewing gum. Once again, I'm wondering...WHO THE  HECK DOES THAT?

                                        (Borrowed image)
I can understand that occasionally someone might have gum accidentally fall out of their mouth, but obviously, the slack-jawed slobs in question chose to spit their gum out right in that spot. What is the thinking behind it? Are they afraid they might run into their old 3rd grade school teacher and be caught chewing gum and humiliated into spitting it out in her hand? Is it that they have spaced-out the fact they have gum in their mouth until they get to the entrance? Or, do they see all the other dirty gum blobs and take that as a invitation to disgorge the contents of their mouth? In addition, it seems likely that most of them are women!

You might see cigarette butts amongst the stains and blotches, but the butts are biodegradable. Those ugly gum spots resist the elements for a long time. The cleaning guy at the clinic where I volunteer says that to clean up the gum pressed into concrete, he has to get down and spray it with something to freeze it, then scrape it off. It's hard work and not entirely effective.

It seems that this has been a problem for a century so it is not going away, but maybe it's time to bring back those old-fashioned signs that say "No Spitting". Of course, human nature being what it is, everyone thinks it doesn't mean them.

                        SOME CHEWING GUM STATISTICS
Average # of sticks of gum a person chews each year is 300.
Annual chewing gum sales is $2 billion.
Total number of US chewing gum companies is 30.

Just another stupid Sunday

I'm really mad at myself today. I've been volunteering at a Specialty Clinic for Regions Hospital for five years. They had a Volunteer Recognition brunch today at noon at a very nice restaurant I could never afford. (A New Orleans Jazz Brunch, no less!) I had been looking forward to it for weeks and then spaced it out until 1:00. I've been torturing myself all day for being so stupid.

Sometimes I blame these lapses on having worked so many years in an office job that required constant multitasking. I find it hard to focus on one thing. I'm still mentally working on several things at any one time so I never make much progress. Of course, a lot of people my age call it "a senior moment" or Halfs-heimers"
or "Olds-heimers"--or even "a brain fart"! Whatever the cause, I'm terribly disappointed.

I've been having a turkey or two coming by for a handout every once in a while. They don't hang around. Jan who blogs at Revising Life informs me that a bunch of turkeys is called a gang or a rafter. I feel kinda silly for never looking it up myself.

I also got a comment about working with Wildlife Rehab from Susan who blogs at My Mother's Apron Strings. She says, "We took a Canadian Goose that lived on our pond to one in Connecticut--she had a dislocated wing (probably from a snapping turtle).  After two days, she escaped and walked twelve miles back to our pond. It took her two weeks but she wasn't about to be kept away from her new goslings!"
Isn't that an amazing story? It really warms my heart.

                                 (Borrowed image)

Here's a salute to all the wonderful men and women who rush in whenever there's a catastrophe. They are true heroes! (My granddaughter is married to a policeman and my grandson is married to an EMT.)

Another sad duty of the hoarder

It's December first and I changed my wall calendars to their last page today for yet another year. I have begun shopping for calendars. I've been giving everyone in the family a calendar for Christmas every year for a long time. It's my thing and I really enjoy it.

I love calendar art and so I can't bear to throw old calendars away. As a result, I have a big accumulation of them on my closet shelf. Today, I noticed that the weight of those stacks of calendars was causing the shelf to sag pretty low in the middle. I took down a hefty pile of them and decided some of them have to go.

Sorting through them has been a difficult thing to do. Every one had to be paged through to make sure there weren't any notations of momentous importance, such as a dental appointment in 1996. I also have to make sure there aren't any pictures that I want to save. This made for some brutal decisions, but I finally reduced that pile to less than half.

So now I have the pile of rejects sitting aside ready to be disposed of  humanely. I feel guilty about it because there is some really wonderful photography and artwork in those calendars. Most of them are printed on high-quality paper. They don't deserve such an ignominious fate as to go into the recycling like a mere stack of old newspapers!

A little mood shifting

I hardly ever do Crossword puzzles anymore. Some years ago, I moved on to doing Cryptograms and now I'm addicted to them. If I can start the day by easily solving the daily Cryptogram that's emailed to me, I feel bright and upbeat. If I'm totally stumped by it however, I not only feel defeated but I question if I'm losing my faculties! I need to do more of them to assure myself that I've still "got it"!

I know folks who love to do Sudoku but I find it annoying. (I always say, I'm a words person, not a numbers person".)  Obviously, there are many more people doing Sudoku, Word Search and Crosswords than doing Cryptograms. I know this because books of puzzles are available for all kinds of them except Cryptograms.

In the evening, I do the cryptogram in the daily newspaper. So, I have two mental challenges each day.  I consider myself to be pretty good at solving them, but if I'm stymied twice in one day--I feel certain I'm on the road to Alzheimer's (or Halfs-heimers, as my brother calls it).

The Cryptogram in the paper that I did last night was extra tough--I had to have several assists to solve it. Now, the one this morning is driving me nuts too. If I don't find some solvable ones soon, it will surely  ruin my day!

I'll give it another go--wish me well...
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

C ' D   L K U   E   D Y D O Y J   K M   E L N   
 
K J I E L C K Y Q   S K R C U C B E R   S E J U N ,   
 
C ' D   E   Q Y D K B J E U ! 
 
-   X C R R   J K I Y J T 

(Here's a sample cryptogram, a quote by Will Rogers)

Making excuses

I read once that in the course of a normal conversation, the talk will naturally come to a stall every twenty minutes. I guess you could say it sorta "re-boots" before it resumes again.

I've come to think this is also true of writing. It seems that I can only keep blogging for so long until I run out of things to say. When I've been reduced to posting photos I found online, it's time to quit for a while. I'm sure you can understand.

I suffer from a severely critical (even ruthless) Inner Critic. My Muse, on the other hand, is a total wimp. So, while I might be inspired to blog about something, the Critic takes the wind out of my sails. As if that's not enough, the Critic destroys my confidence and will to write!

I must admit that I've also been sidetracked by a volunteer project. Then, there's also the looming specter of approaching my 400th post. I don't know why I should find that intimidating, but it's like running toward a high hurdle. So, I'm backing up to take a hard run at it and get past 400 in a blaze of glory--or its meager bloggie equivalent!

           Borrowed Image--Olivia Tejeda

Bad-luck leprechauns

Last week I posted about deleting a chain-type email that threatened the leprechauns would bring bad luck if I didn't forward it to three people within one hour. I guess was too flippant about the hazards of deleting it.

On Saturday, I found out that my best friend from high school had died. Even though we hadn't been close for many years, it made me really sad on several levels.

Then yesterday, a man knocked on my door and served me with a summons. It's for a traffic accident I had nearly two years ago! The person in the other car is now suing for disabling injuries. I took the information to my car insurance agent who forwarded it to the company claims department. He could offer little advice on what will happen going forward.  It's wait and see.

I'm also going through the last-week-of-the-month doldrums. That's when you're on a fixed income and the money gets tight by then. No matter how carefully you budget, if any unexpected expenses occur earlier in the month, you wind up pinching pennies.

But, on the upside--every one of my kids, grandkids and great-grandkids are doing just fine.Of course, it would be nice if I won the lottery and could help them all out a bit, but I guess I gotta ride out this run of bad luck first.

(Some say that bad news comes in threes so I'm holding my breath.)

I am a reluctant re-use maven

This is my dining room looking into the kitchen. The hutch came from the Salvation Army Thrift Store, the chairs from the Goodwill Store, the table under the fan was from my Mom's estate, the table on the back wall (behind the fan) came from Unique Thrift store as did the cat tower on the far left. The table under the pass-through was bought used along with the sofa and loveseat from a guy moving out of town.

I buy all my clothes at thrift stores except for socks and underwear. Just recently, my computer monitor died and I bought a used one from a store that recycles old computers.

This is not so much because I am noble or thrifty but because I don't have any "disposable income". Of course, that may well be due to the proven fact that your expenses will always increase to equal your income.

It sure would be fun to test that theory on a higher income, however!

The scent that keeps on hurting

I'm one of those people who can't stand fragrances or tobacco smoke. I didn't used to be this way. I'd burn scented candles, I was a good customer of the Avon lady and I was even a smoker at one time. Over the years, my olfactories became over-sensitive and and started rebelling.

I could no longer go near the perfume section of department stores. If someone was smoking near me--even when I couldn't smell it--my sinuses would "seize up" and a headache would burst forth. If I'm on an elevator and a heavily perfumed person gets in, I get sick to my stomach.

Recently I was invited to a friend's house. She loves to burn candles. I asked her not to burn any scented candles, but apparently all the scented-but-unlit-candles were giving off enough fragrance to start the process of giving me a case of sinusitis. I went home with a bad headache. My inflamed sinuses started draining and created an upset stomach with usual results. I've been sick and low on energy for over a week.

I still have a headache that won't go away by using a neti pot, sinus spray or pills. I hate that I can never go over to my friend's house again, but I would have rather had food poisoning--I would have recovered from that by now.

Is blogging therapeutic?

When I began my blog three years ago, it was like diving into the middle of a revolution. Even though I'd never been much of a letter-writer, I thought that blogging would give me a voice. Since I've always been the typical "Minnesota-Nice" type, I rarely ever would speak up with my true feelings, I needed to vent!

Being "nice" meant that I'd stand by, seemingly mild and pleasant, while someone was spouting the most inflammatory, despicable garbage. Of course, I would always beat myself up afterwards for being such a spineless wimp. And worse, I'd carry around a load of rage at the offender--but Lord knows, my demeanor was always mild and pleasant.

I'm now in my 70's and find that all the years of Minnesota Nice have added up to being a big nothing. As my car-buying experiences of the past year have shown, I am a spineless wimp. It's obviously stamped on my forehead--car dealers take one look at me and know they can walk all over me without fear of objection.

It seems that the only thing that blogging has taught me is that Minnesota Nice only leads to depression and self-loathing. I'm tired of sitting down to blog and not having anything positive to say, but when I vent my feelings, I feel guilty about it. I read other blogs full of insights, energy and peaceful pursuits and wonder what's wrong with me.

Maybe I'll have to ask one of those car dealers.

Did you ever feel this way?

I first saw this picture some years ago and it brought tears to my eyes. It still saddens me, not only because of the cruelty, but because I identify with the situation of being so helpless. I'm on a fixed income--apparently permanently fixed since there hasn't been a COLA raise for several years. Nevertheless, every single one of my bills has increased.

I keep trying to look at the bright side, but I can't find it.

Anybody know where it is?

..... Anybody?

Another year older and a little bit wiser

It's a little over a year ago that I crashed my car into another poor soul who had stopped to make a left turn. Both cars were totalled. I took the check and bought a nearly identical car that was five years newer from a used car lot. Thus began my long car repair history, much of it spent at Rosedale Chev. I don't even want to know how much money was wasted on keeping that used car running.

So it was that I had yet another appointment to bring it in for service on my birthday last Monday. (I spent $400 on brake work the week before but the check-engine light was on and it was shaking when in reverse.) The verdict was another $500 repair plus confirmation the transmission was on its last legs (which we already knew). It was obviously time to "pull the plug" on the car.

I had been laboring under the impression that if I treated the car well and helped it get over its past abuse and neglect, I would be rewarded with a dependable, well-behaved vehicle. This was childishly anthropomorphic of me, I know. It sorta falls into line with "putting it out to the universe" type thinking--that never works for me either.

Old Jewish saying, 

"Do you know how to make God laugh? 
Tell Him your plans!"

Upon reaching this dreaded decision, I was in such despair I asked Chad, the repair-shop supervisor if they had a "crying room". However, upbeat as ever, he said they could set me up with a leased car and turned me over a salesman to get the information. Long story short, I wound up buying a new car. It took half of my savings account and I'll be making car payments for the rest of my life, but I will have reliable transportation.

I'm telling myself that I did my bit for our economy. I just wish I could feel better about it.

Ms Sparrow commits insurance fraud!

Yesterday, I went to my Cub Pharmacy to pick up a prescription for blood pressure medication. My doctor prescribed it over a year ago. At the time, she ordered me to take one pill a day but to start out with half a pill a day. If my blood pressure exceeded 130/80, I should take a whole pill, otherwise continue with one half.

The half dose worked fine, so I kept splitting pills. I was getting a three-month supply of 90 pills for my three-month insurance copay of $30 a month or $90. That was a dollar a pill. When I split the pills, it actually provided medication for six months.

Three months ago, the pharmacy tech asked to verify the information in their system and I explained that I was splitting the pills per doctor's orders. She corrected the dosage information they had shown.

When I picked up my new bottle of meds, I had only 45 pills but the copay was still $90. I said that wasn't right as I was now paying $2 a pill. The pharmacist explained that the copay applied to the daily dosage not the number of pills. She said splitting the pills actually constituted insurance fraud!

AARGH!

I don't know when that changed, but I remember that doctors used to prescribe higher doses so patients could save money by splitting pills. There's no more compassion for people on fixed incomes, I guess. While the cost of meds goes up, Social Security benefits are frozen for yet another year. That wouldn't be so bad if the electric bill didn't jump $24 a month and gas prices at the pump are at an all-time high (and on and on).

So anyway, I am now on the straight and narrow path with Health Partners and a little poorer for it,

So, anyway...

I dropped out of the blogging scene for a month solely out of frustration with my computer. It took hours to read other blogs and I lost heart for continuing the battle.

But then, I made a surprising discovery. Last year, the neighbor guy in the unit above us was unemployed. He was concerned because his son needed the internet to keep up with his schoolwork but he couldn't afford it.

Since my roomie and I shared an internet connection via a router, we told him he could sign onto our signal and use it for free. Were naively oblivious as our internet service became worse and worse.

Then several weeks ago, it suddenly improved tremendously--we could sign on in minutes. The neighbor kid was away at camp that week but when he returned, the service was back to terrible. It was obvious that the problem was with the neighbors. I told my granddaughter's boyfriend about it and he told me that computer games and downloads "suck up a lot of bandwidth".  Thankfully, the guy has a good job now and he's going to get his own internet service.

My sister was visiting all last week and we had a really good time. We did all the thrift stores and favorite area restaurants, like Keys Cafe, Snuffy's Malt Shop, The Good Earth and Mai Village. I think the highlight was when we went to the Pavilion over at Como Park for a community production of the musical, "Oliver". This is her all-time favorite musical (mine is "Fiddler on the Roof"). What was the most fun for her was that there were four songs in the stage version that weren't in the movie version.

During the busy week, we found that our oldest cat, Snuffy was failing. He was holing up under a bed and had messed himself--neither of which he had ever done before. We realized that this was the end of the road for him and took him to a vet to be put down. We brought him home again so the other three cats could see he was dead. I'm not sure how much they understand about the loss, but it just seemed that they needed to know what happened to their companion.

Rest in Peace, little fella.

I hate summer!

Summer has arrived as if someone opened the doors to a blast furnace! It was 95 degrees in St Paul yesterday. The temps are going to be in the 80's for the next seven days.

While some folks love the hot days, I am totally miserable. The humidity is high and the sun is scorching, so I have the windows closed, the drapes all drawn and the fans blowing in every room. It's not even noon and I'm sweating.

We have air conditioners in several rooms, but to conserve energy, we don't turn them on until the heat build-up becomes intolerable. At this rate, it won't be long until we reach that point.

Days like this make me long for the lovely days of winter when you can regulate your bodily comfort by merely adding or subtracting clothing. When it's this hot, however, you can't minimize clothing past naked to cool off, yet you have to go on trying to live your daily life.

So, I will suffer another "beastly hot" summer (as my mother used to say). I will feel "blah" and lethargic and most likely, crabby.

I think I'm pretty crabby today, in fact!

Ms. Sparrow moans and groans

It's been a full week since I last posted. I'm really disappointed in myself--I meant to do better but you know how life gets in the way. One reason is that I joined Curves two months ago under a program where my health insurance pays half of the fees if I go at least three times a week.

I had hopes that this would build up my muscle strength and relieve my creaky joints in the process. The program was carefully designed to prevent the exercises from making any conditions worse, but the only benefit so far is increased stamina. The joints are still giving me grief.

I've had sciatica for some years and I've been getting periodic spinal epicdurals to relieve the pain. I had planned to get another one last week but after the MRI and visit to the doctor who does the injection, I was told that the spinal changes are worse. I can't have another steroid injection until I go back to the orthopedic surgeon.

Now I must tell you that I have a cousin and a sister-in-law who were really loused up by having spinal surgery. They are both quite disabled and feel that the surgery only made them worse. I'm told the the laminectomy surgery for sciatica is 85% effective. I'm not yet disabled to any great extent and I'm not taking pain medication on a regular basis. So, it appears that I'm faced with risking the surgery or putting up with the pain and inconvenience from now on.

Besides running to the doctor, I went out of town for the weekend, I got my taxes done and had my son over for a few more odd jobs.

Plus, I read all of your blogs. That, my dear friends, keeps my life on track! You are a great bunch to follow!

Half a hug is better than none

I haven't expired from mercury poisoning as my last post might suggest. It's my right shoulder that has given out. After years and years of carrying heavy shoulder purses and book bags, not to mention kids and groceries, doing laundry and ironing, etc. it now hurts like heck. The orthopedist says it's an impingement.

The first line of treatment is Tylenol and ice bags to reduce inflammation. I'm trying that now but if it doesn't help, the next step is to get a cortisone injection in my shoulder. Since I've had a spinal epidural for my sciatica and also an injection in my hip for bursitis in the last six months, I really don't want any more steroids for a while.

I'm giving my poor shoulder a rest and that is so very hard to do!

Wanted: Reliable Muse

I find it amazing that every day after I have read everybody else's blogs and go to my own, I don't have a single thought in my head. I often resort to MyPictures and try to find something to stimulate my Muse--you remember her?

She's the ditzy airhead who likes to mess with me. She gets most productive when I'm lying in bed at night trying to get to sleep or else driving to an appointment. But, when I sit down at the computer with fingers poised over the keys...nothing!

How do you keep blogging regularly without boring yourself? I'd really like to know!

I used to be a kid

You'd never know it to look at me, but once upon a time I was a little girl.

It didn't last long. I was the oldest of four kids and was called upon to help my mom with housework a lot. I remember that at the age of seven, I was already doing dishes, helping with supper and scrubbing floors on my hands and knees.

By the age of eight, I was babysitting my younger siblings when my folks went into town for groceries. I already thought I was too old to play with dolls or go on the merry-go-round at the fair.

At the age of ten, my parents went to the Twin Cities for a weekend and left me to get my siblings off to school on Monday morning. As a result, I was late for school and my 6th grade teacher shamed me in front of the class. When I explained why I was late she said I was old enough to get up on time.

I'm sure my mom thought this was good training for my inevitable future as a housewife. And, my teacher probably thought this was a lesson in responsibility. But looking back, I feel like I was cheated out of much of my childhood. I grew up way too fast.

Is this what you would call old-age angst?