The Hired Help …

 

oops.  I mean the retired help!

Remember this cabinet?

I wrote about its evolution from TV cabinet, to scrapbooking cabinet, to sewing cabinet  here.

But, I never mentioned one very important part of the story about that cabinet.

   How it got to this guest bedroom . . .

  at the end of this not-terribly-wide hallway . . .

    up this not-terribly-wide stairway . . .

   while first maneuvering around the tight turn at the landing (yes, I did removed the candles to give them the maximum wiggle room).

  At least they didn’t have to carry it through the house from Hubby’s workshop.  They took it outside and brought it in the front door, right at the bottom of the steps.

So, who were the “they” who did this monumental task for me?  That would be the “retired help” (not to be confused with “hired help” because that would indicate some form of payment for their services!).  “They” were Hubby’s two brothers … also in their sixties.

This is the sort of job that people our age would usually ask their grown sons or sons-in-law to help with, but unfortunately we don’t have any of those who live anywhere close, so Hubby asked his two brothers if they would come over and help him carry it upstairs.  And, let me just tell you their dad, Art, raised three boys who seldom say “I can’t do that”.  They are “get it done” kind of guys, even as they have aged and have a few more aches and pains.

So, the three brothers wrestled the cabinet up the steps and down the hall to its current “home” in the guest bedroom.  And, I am eternally grateful to them.  I love it.

By the way, as they started up the stairs, brother Denny said, “This makes me wish Art had had more sons!”

To which brother Keith replied as he lifted his end of the really heavy cabinet, “Well, it makes me wish Art had had younger sons!”

Thanks, guys … for doing the heavy lifting for me, and also for making me laugh!

When Hubby whispers in my ear …

 

… sometimes he makes me laugh!

At my 45th class reunion Saturday night, Hubby and I were dancing a slow dance.

He said, “Have you noticed that this dance floor feels soft?”

I said, “Now that you mention it, it does feel sort of rubbery.”

He whispered, “It’s probably a special orthopedic one they use for old people.”

   The “old people’s” dance floor?  (We’re not in the picture.)

Hubby makes me laugh and I love him for it.

A Little Midwestern Cowgirl’s Birthday

 

   For my 7th birthday, my Uncle Jim, who loved photography, took this picture of me.  I assume the cowgirl theme was because of my love of all things Annie Oakley.  Too bad he didn’t have a barn and bale of hay for a setting , because the fru-fru hassock gives the picture kind of a “sissy” cowgirl look, don’t you think?

But then, maybe he had seen the following picture, so felt that was appropriate.

     Me and my “posse” in a not very “posse”-like setting.  Whoever heard of cowgirls lounging in a hammock?  And, do you notice the footwear?

   Three of us are wearing high heels!  (I even left my girly anklets on with them.)  I guess we didn’t have boots so we thought our “play dress-up” high heels were the next best thing?!

   The older girl was really stylin’ with her boots, cuffs and badge, but I can’t decide what’s going on with the hat.  At first, I thought there were holes in the brim, but I have come to the conclusion that I think her mama had stuffed tissue in the hat to make it fit her, and it’s sticking out around the edges! 

I tell you we were so cool, even before they knew to call it that! 

It was a wonderful childhood … a fun time to be a little Midwestern cowgirl who really didn’t know any cows.

To celebrate my birthday we are going to see Star Trek tonight, but I think I’ll leave my six-shooter and cowboy hat home. 

I hope you have a great day too.

The Paper Towels

 

The old man was gone now.  But, he left behind a mystery.  When they cleaned out his house there was a closet-full of paper towels.

 Why would one old man need all those paper towels?

 It really wasn’t a mystery to those who knew him. 

He liked to go to the grocery and just slowly push a cart up and down the isles … browsing, exchanging greetings with other customers and chatting with employees, who all recognized him as a “regular.”

 And if he didn’t need anything, he certainly didn’t feel right not buying something, so he would buy a roll of paper towels.

 The cost of a roll of paper towels … a cheap price to pay for some greetings, shared smiles and a few chats, for an old man who was a little less lonely each time he came home with another roll of paper towels.

Based on a friend’s story about her father.

 

When Is Love Perfect?

 

When I had lunch with my friend, Mary, yesterday, she told me a lovely story that inspired this post. 

In 1999, her in-laws were in their 80’s and her mother-in-law had recently had to move to a nursing home because her father-in-law couldn’t take care of her any more.  A tough choice, but both of them understood it was necessary.

Before Millie’s moved to the nursing home, they had frequently talked about their hope that they would live to see the turn of the century.  Now, the new year was almost here and their wish was coming true — they were going to be able to see that once-every-hundred-years event.  But, they were living apart, so just how “joyful” could that celebration be?

But Phil had “a plan.”  He left Millie, as usual, in the evening of New Year’s Eve and wished her a Happy New Year then.  But, just before midnight he surprised her and came back!  And he brought one of her favorite holiday treats, shrimp, along with a bottle of sparkling grape juice.  She was so touched and delighted that he had made this plan so that they could welcome the New Year together. 

They savored the shrimp and then at the stroke of midnight, they toasted the New Year and said a prayer of thanks that they were there together.

Perfect young love is hearts beating faster, long soul-searching looks and getting to know each other’s every like and dislike.

Perfect mature love is hearts that have known each other so long that they practically beat as one, looking at each other and still seeing the young version, and knowing the other’s wants and desires as well as your own. 

A surprise visit.  In a nursing home.  At the stroke of midnight.  A toast to a new century with the one you love.  As perfect as love gets.

A Humble Gift

 

He is 81 and his mind is sharp, but his body is not as limber as it once was.

His daughter has a very busy life as a successful business woman as well as a wife, mother and grandmother.  She is also very active in her church and as a volunteer.

For Father’s Day, she gave him a foot bath, and a promise.

Now every few weeks, she goes to his house and has him soak his feet in his warm, soothing new foot bath and then she gives him a pedicure.

In the bible, washing someone’s feet is considered an act of love and respect.  How fitting.

Getting Old Isn’t for Sissies!

 

I received this “Warning to Women” and had to pass it along.  I hope you enjoy it too. 

We are going to age, no matter what.  But, looking for the humor in it helps, doesn’t it?

SUBJECT:  Warning to Women

  This is a heads-up to those who haven’t experienced this yet, and an explanation to those who have.

Most of you have read the scare-mail about the person whose kidneys were stolen while he was passed out. Well, read on. While the kidney story was an urban legend, this one is not. It’s happening every day.  

My thighs were stolen from me during the night a few years ago. It was just that quick. I went to sleep in my body and woke up with someone else’s thighs. The new ones had the texture of cooked oatmeal.   Who would have done such a cruel thing to legs that had been mine for years? Whose thighs were these and what happened to mine? I spent the entire summer looking for my thighs. Finally, hurt and angry, I resigned myself to living out my life in jeans and Sheer Energy pantyhose.  

Then, just when my guard was down, the thieves struck again. My butt was next. I knew it was the same gang, because they took pains to match my new rear end (although badly attached at least three inches lower than my original) to the thighs they stuck me with earlier. Now, my rear complemented my legs, lump for lump. Frantic, I prayed that long skirts would stay in fashion.  

It was two years ago when I realized my arms had been switched. One morning, I was fixing my hair and I watched horrified but fascinated as the flesh of my upper arms swung to and fro with the motion of the hairbrush.

This was really getting scary. My body was being replaced one section at a time. How clever and fiendish.   Age? Age had nothing to do with it. Age is supposed to creep up, unnoticed, something like maturity. NO, I was being attacked repeatedly and without warning. In despair, I gave up my T-shirts. What could they do to me next?  

My poor neck disappeared more quickly than the Thanksgiving turkey it now resembled. That’s why I decided to tell my story. I can’t take on the medical profession by myself.
 
Women of the world, wake up and smell the coffee.

That really isn’t plastic that those surgeons are using. You KNOW where they are getting those replacement parts, don’t you?
 
The next time you suspect someone has had a face “lifted”, look again. Was it lifted from you? I think I finally found my thighs .. and I hope that Cindy Crawford paid a really good price for them!  

This is not a hoax. This is happening to women in every town every night.   WARN YOUR FRIENDS.

P.S. I must say that last year, I thought someone had stolen my breasts. I was lying in bed, and they were gone! As I jumped out of bed, I was relieved to see that they had just been hiding in my armpits as I slept. Now I keep them hidden in my waistband.

We Have a Wee Suggestion About Wii

As you may remember, Hubby and I purchased a Wii a few months ago.  And, I must say, we have used it alot — especially the bowling and tennis.  Both are really fun and seem to be good exercise, but the tennis is especially  physical, and actually makes me sweat! (Wait — ladies don’t sweat, right?  Okay then, It makes me “glow with liquid sunlight!”)

But, here is my concern, which I have talked about enough that I have talked Hubby into making it (or at least pretending it is) his “concern” too. (Marriage is like that, isn’t it?) 

My concern is that I am left handed, so I am, naturally, constantly swinging, lifting, extending, waving (and, of course, pumping, when I do my victory dance!) MY LEFT ARM.  What about my poor, under-utilized, ignored, flabby RIGHT ARM?  And, since Hubby is right handed, I’m concerned about his poor left arm!  (Although, if I remember correctly, he uses both arms in his victory dance, so he may not be in as much “uneven-ness trouble” as me.) 

Years down the road, are people who see me going to say, “Doesn’t she look nice – so toned.  You know she’s used a Wii for years.  But, wait!  What on earth is that limp, flabby, unattractive appendage on her right side? Oh, my lands, Ethel — IT’S HER RIGHT ARM!!  What a shame!  But, other than that, she looks very nice, very natural.  Anyway, we’d better move along now.  The viewing’s over in ten minutes.  Let’s stop for a cup of coffee and a piece of pie on our way home, shall we?”  But I digress. 

Right now, while I’m still among the living — My problem:  Uneven exercise for my arms.  My solution:  A RIGHT HANDED alter-ego!

Her name is Gigi.  She is taller and slimmer than me, and has long, flowing reddish blonde hair, and, most importantly, she’s RIGHT HANDED.  But I’ve got to tell you, for all she’s got going for her looks-wise, she is noooooo athlete!  I haven’t even let her try bowling yet.  But, in tennis she hits the ball alllll over the place and hasn’t won a match yet.  I actually think I can see the guys on the other side of the net smirking, only because they’re too polite to laugh out loud.  But, she IS execising my right arm, so I’m going to cut her some slack right now and keep her on the payroll. 

By the way, as further proof that looks really don’t matter, Hubby’s LEFT HANDED alter-ego is a quite unattractive old man named Bubba, who has a perpetual smug look on his face, and is already winning most of the time in tennis.  Apparently, Hubby’s been giving Bubba lessons before he “brought him on-board” so he’s alot better than Gigi. 

One of us likes to “win” the Mental Attitude Award and one of us just likes to win.  Can you guess which is which?  Oh well, we’re having fun, and if you have a Wii, you might want to try our solution to “evening up” your exercise. 

 

Have You Had Your Picture Taken for your Obit yet?

At a gathering the other night a group of women were talking about a recent death, and the obituary in the newspaper.  I said I really liked the picture that was included — it was probablay 10-15 years old and showed the guy at the peak of health.  I had only known him the last few years when he was in poor health, so I felt it was nice to see “the real him.”

This started a debate about pictures in obituaries.  I was really surprised that my opinion was wayyyy outnumbered.  No one else seemed to enjoy the pictures that are now included with obituaries.  But, they were especially critical of the ones that are obviously from long ago.  My defense of that is, if the person had been sick for a long time, the family probably enjoyed remembering (and wanted those reading the obituary to remember also) her/him when they were young and obviously healthy, rather than one taken in recent years that might, for instance, show them with their oxygen tubes.

So, if everyone feels as this group did, maybe popular opinion will make the pictures go away.  But I, for one, enjoy them.  It also allows you to see a picture and think, “Hey, that’s that waitress or sales clerk that I always liked dealing with!” even though you didn’t know her name.

Just shows how the same subject can have such widely different opinions!  What do you think?

(I will be interested to read what you think when I return from vacation next Saturday.  See ya!) 

Eighteen to Sixty-two in the Blink of an Eye

Yesterday I turned 62 years old, and DD wrote a very nice post about me.  She doesn’t post very often since she went back to work full time, so it’s especially touching to me that she took the time to write it.  Thank you, DD.

In regard to this milestone birthday, I really do wonder, “Where did those years go?”  It’s so hard to imagine it until you get here, but it is a reallllly short trip from 18 to 62!

For all of you who are young and very, very busy with children and careers, I urge you to find some time to sit down and really think and pray about your life and ask yourself, “When I’M turning 62, where do I want to be?  What do I want to have achieved?  Most importantly, what do I want my relationships with my family to be like?”  And then, use your answers as goals to guide all the decisions you make. 

Believe me, this is one of those “do as I say, not as I do” things.  I wasn’t very good at setting a course through life, and it made life for me, and my family, sometimes very bumpy.  I thank God that Hubby, my “rock,” was there to love me and support me, and sometimes “pull my bacon out of the fire.”  I can’t imagine what my life would have been without him.

By the grace of God, my life, and those of my family, have turned out pretty well, but certainly not because of any planning or organization or goal-setting on my part!  And I know the “road” would have been smoother if I HAD taken the time to set goals.

So, my suggestion – have some goals to keep you on course and then just savor the good and diminish the bad as much as you can, and ask for God’s help and guidance in all of it.

And, by the way, all things considered, 62 isn’t so bad.  (Well, at least not as an age, but I try realllly hard to avoid it as a golf score!)