A BLAST OF THE PAST

As the rest of the residents of Florida are racing around preparing for THE HURRICANE that probably won't amount to anything I am sitting inside on a most beautiful day pouring through photo albums and year books.  It's that domino effect working it's magic and causing me to get into things that I have managed to avoid for several years.

When I sold my Florida house 3 years ago I just stuffed books and albums into boxes which I did manage to unpack during the year I lived in "The Cave" condo. Then 2 years ago when Dwayne and I decided to rent a larger condo I once again filled boxes with these treasures only to have to find a place to store them in our new residence. These books started out in large storage containers on a shelf in our shed but then I needed that space for garden tools, Christmas decorations and kid toys for when the grand kids come to visit. Out came all the photo albums, about 20 in all, spanning the years from 1973 when Kyle was born all the way up to right before Gerry died in 2015. That's a LOT of photos but I just can't throw them out.  Right after I moved them out of the shed I started to dismantle several of them and sort the pictures of people with the intention of sending the photographs to those folks captured by my camera but that became a larger chore than I anticipated so I stuffed ALL the albums into an old steamer trunk that had belonged to my grandfather. I have moved this trunk from NY to Florida and to both the condos I have rented down here. I can't part with it, partly because it is so unique but also because it is one of the last tangible ties to my mom. The trunk is so large and bulky that there really wasn't any room to put it IN the condo so it found a nice spot on the lanai under a table that is under the overhang of the roof.  It is protected from the weather and it looks kind of neat sitting where it is.

Enter Hurricane Dorian . . .  Probably bringing lots of rain and water which will most likely flood my lanai, The lanai doesn't have the greatest drainage and even on a good day when there is a torrential down pour the water creeps up about half way to the house. So with this in mind I needed to empty the trunk and either bring it into the house or at least raise it up on blocks to keep it from getting saturated. The dominoes are now falling rapidly and I am in complete "re arrange the house" mode. The albums are now lined up in cabinets along the living room wall. The stuff that was in those cabinets is now sorted out and placed in other cabinets and drawers through out the house. (I have no doubt I will be searching for things for months.) But it is all worth it because the photos are now arranged in chronological order so that when I die and my kids have to empty out my house they can know exactly what year the photos that they are throwing out were taken. 

I began this entire project on Thursday . . . It is now Saturday and I have finally finished. It took me this long because every book I picked up called me to check out just what had gone on that particular year. I've been wallowing in memories for the last 3 days and am so nostalgic right now that I want to call all my old friends and remind them of a moment or event that took place so many years ago. And as if that wasn't enough I ALSO found my High School AND college year books. OMG . . .  Was I ever that young ?
And all the autographs and notes written by those long ago friends have stirred so many memories. Seeing the faces of people I knew over 50 years ago but haven't thought of in all that time. Remembering how it felt to be a high school senior and a college freshman. Seeing pictures of my Alma Mater in Oneonta, NY where I spent the BEST 4 years of my life. I am blown away with memories of good times and great people. I can not believe it was so long ago and I am the same person that is pictured there. I am remembering moments in time that I haven't thought of in ages and I am knowing that after all these years even though I have matured, (a nice way of saying i'm old),  I am still that same young girl in my heart and I would do it all again without hesitation.

I guess this hurricane is good for something.

THERE IS AN "UP" SIDE TO EVERYTHING

The entire state of Florida is in "Panic" mode.  Everywhere people are running around like Chicken Little yelling, A STORM IS COMING !!!  A STORM IS COMING !!!

It's hurricane season here and you would think by now people would realize that unless you are living in a cardboard box or trailer home or a multi million dollar home right ON the ocean you pretty much can guarantee you will be OK. Houses down here are built with hurricanes in mind and are sturdy and "impact" proof.  There is a chance the "lake", (AKA drainage ditch for the swamp that constitutes most of Florida), in your back yard may overflow and dampen your floor but I am pretty sure you will NOT be swept away in the ragging flood waters that plague most of the mid west. Nor will there be a freak mud slide cascading down the 1/2 foot elevation that is the local dump. A hurricane is no reason to panic, rather it is a time to get smart and check out your home and surroundings to be sure there is nothing sitting on your lanai or yard that could potentially become an incoming missal once the wind gets whipping. It is time to check on your flash lights and batteries that you haven't even seen since the last storm and fill the bath tub with water. Wait ???  Fill the bath tub with water ???  Do you plan on taking a bubble bath in order to weather out the storm? I never did really understand the reason for this. We don't have wells with pumps here in Florida so there really is very little chance of loosing our water supply. But that is one of the things on the list of "How to prepare for a hurricane". I honestly do not think I could or would drink any Florida water that has been sitting in my bath tub for days. Not when I have several large 3 gallon jugs of water sitting in my closet.

So as the rest of the population of South Florida is scrambling around buying up cases of dog food because all the tuna and canned meats have already been snatched up by the hordes of panicked residents I am sitting at home having a grand old time preparing for the storm in my very own way.

First and foremost is FOOD. I have been meaning to clean out my fridge and freezer and pantry for months now and this is the perfect motivation to get me cleaning. In case the electricity goes out I have to be prepared to survive for several days before the Royal Canadian Mounted Police come to rescue me. OH Wait . . . . wrong survival story.   I need to have enough food and toilet paper to keep me alive for the full 2 hours during which I might loose power. I think I'm good. 
Most importantly I need to spend the next 2 days eating all the ice cream in my freezer just in case the freezer defrosts during that 2 hours without electricity.  I need to eat all the frozen foods in my fridge and I need to drink lots of rum to keep me hydrated in case of loss of water.  I am also cleaning out all the closets in the search for flash lights and candles. Once we put up the hurricane shutters the house is so dark you can't find the light switch to turn on the lights. I will need several flash lights and candles to illuminate my way to the couch to find the TV remote so I can sit and watch the endless hype that is whipping everyone into a frenzy. Not only am I forced to remain at home but I better eat all the cookies and crackers in the pantry in case they get stale while the electric is out.

Due to the inability to get gas in my car I am being forced to remain at home watching TV for the next several days until this storm passes. Oh The HORROR !!!! 
You can not believer what it is like out there.  EVERYONE who is out on the roads these next couple of days preceding the storm has gone NUTS ! I pity the poor folks who have to get to their jobs amidst these storm panicked idiots who are driving around, using all their gas looking for a gas station to top off their tanks. Not that anyone will be driving anywhere during the storm but they MUST have a totally full tank of gas in their car.  As long as I have enough gas to get me to
Mac Donalds once the storm passes I'm good to go.

AGING BY OSMOSIS

I have always said that children keep me young. And that is absolutely the truth when it comes to my grand children.  Being around them is so refreshing and stimulating that I grow younger by the hour when I am with them.

Unfortunately I have not been spending very much time with these happy little people. In stead I am having my life and soul being sucked out of me by a rate that frightens the hell out of me. I know that chronologically I am considered a Senior Citizen but I really don't feel old. (Not counting the aches and pains of my body.) My mind is locked in a long ago time and I like to think I do not behave as an old person is expected to act.

All that changed a week ago when I began to die emotionally and mentally.

For the past week I have spent all my waking hours in a hospital with Cousin Lucille and her friends. I have received countless phone calls and visits from her ancient friends and neighbors, all of whom should be placed in the state mental hospital. Apparently when one lives in a "Senior" community where the average age is 300 you all begin to become clones of one another. Every house looks the same, they all drive 2009 beige Mercury Sables and they all play Mahjong every Wednesday, bridge on Monday and Bingo on Friday. The high point of every month is the bus trip to a local casino where they can graze over the "all you can eat" buffet. (None of them eats more than a thimble full of anything but they all come home with "doogie" bags for the pet poodles and shitzus .)  Almost every single one of them has hair that is colored blue or blonde and they wear an assortment of gold jewelry on their fingers, necks and wrists that could pay off the national debt. Their nails are manicured every week and they are decked out in matching tops and slacks.

It is a living HELL for someone like me.  The gossipy little old ladies cluck and scratch about looking for the juiciest gossip to feed on like a flock of hens looking for corn.  And I am the "new kid on the block" who is going to fuel them all with enough fodder to keep them going for the next 2 years. Every day I feel like the local news man reporting the latest and greatest breaking news to the flock of biddies clustered up and down the street where Lucille lives. I swear they are sitting in their front rooms with binoculars just watching for my car to come down the street.

But the absolute worst thing of dealing with the flock is each and every one of the hens has a thought on what SHOULD be done with and for Lucille.

They are driving me clucking crazy !!!

TALKING TO THE VACUUM

In today's world it really doesn't sound that strange to say you were talking to your vacuum, or refrigerator, or any other household appliance because most of us, (you) have Alexa in your home and "she" can perform all sorts of tasks for us. But when I tell you I found myself talking to my vacuum today it was not because of any technological reason of wanting it to do something specific. Rather I found myself having an entire conversation with my "robo" vac as it whirred it's way through my home just because I needed to talk to someone who would not answer me.  I now know I have completely lost my mind!

It all came about as a result of the "Week with Cousin Lucille" which would put any one over the edge. I took today off to pamper myself with a visit to the chiropractor and a lovely much needed  massage. After that I went to the grocery store and wandered around there for a while. I got a flu shot at the grocery store, (which is pretty weird in and of itself), and then came home with a large Mac Donalds iced decaf coffee which I enjoyed in total peace and quiet on my lanai.
 IT WAS WONDERFUL !!

Because I wanted to take full advantage of my "free" day I invited some friends over to swim at the pool and then have dinner with me. I was making my favorite halibut recipe that is not for the faint hearted or diet conscious. At around 2:00 I went into the kitchen to start preparing some of the dinner and decided I had earned myself a drink. Just before I headed for the kitchen I sent my automatic vacuum on its merry journey through the house to pick up all the crumbs and what not that had accumulated over the past few days, even though I have not been home for most of the week. As I was standing by the counter getting ready to open the bottle of tonic, which would soon become a Vodka tonic,  the vacuum came zipping around the corner and startled me. At that exact same moment I twisted the bottle cap and the tonic exploded all over the floor, the counter and me. Of course this resulted in hysterical laughter because I am too tired to curse. Tonic all over the place and the dumb ass vacuum going in circles under my feet. All I could do was to ask the vacuum what it thought it was doing scaring me that way. The conversation lasted about 5 minutes and was probably the most fun I've had all week.

Tomorrow I will talk to my car as I make the trip up to Port St. Lucie yet again. Maybe IT will have some answers for me and help me to figure out what I need to do with cousin Lucille.

As the old saying goes, "Of all the things I've lost I miss my mind the most!"

A TWO BOTTLE WEEK

I found myself sitting on my couch this evening clutching a bottle of wine like it was my life line to sanity. which is exactly what it was. I did not have the grace or etiquette to use a glass or even a straw. Instead I was sucking every last drop of liquid valium straight from that bottle. I had managed to finish off the first bottle of wine Last night and I was very thankful that I had a back up supply for tonight.

I do not deal with stress very well as is very evident from the contents of my recycle bin. I think if I was a psychiatrist trying to get to the root of my patient's problem I would check out their garbage. My recycle bin makes so much noise when I drag it out to the street thanks to all the bottles and cans. I'm sure the garbage man has my name written down for the police in case anything crazy happens in my neighborhood I'll be the first house they visit looking for suspects. And rightfully so because I am on the verge of loosing it!

Three, 8 hour days in a row of sitting in a hospital room with Cousin Lucille is cause for the Pope to drink. God help my family and friends if I become my cousin when I get Old. (Please note that I have at least 20 years to go before that ever happens.) The nurses and other hospital staff are saints to deal with any of these senior citizens living in Florida but I do think the "Treasure Coast" of Florida has more than their share of wacko's. For what ever reason Port Saint Lucie attracts these characters of a certain age and they have filled the area to overflowing. There are five major hospitals within 10 miles of each other just to accommodate the area population. It is a good possibility there are no maternity wards in any of these facilities. Just rooms and rooms of walkers, canes, commodes, adult diapers and Gin. I'm not sure if the gin is for the patients martini's or for the staff sanity. I only spent 3 days in one of these hospitals and I needed 2 bottles of wine to get me through.  Last night when I finished bottle # 1 I really did not think I was going to make it back to the hospital today but I am such a wuss and can not say no to the cousin in need. As much as I hate driving over 100 miles round trip I feel for Lucille and don't want her to have to get through her hospital stay alone. The crazy thing is, the woman has eight gazillion friends when it comes to going some place or playing bingo but once you are scooped up by an ambulance the friends scatter into their dens like a hoard of roaches when the lights go on. I have gotten numerous phone calls voicing much concern about the condition of their friend Lucille but I really think it is just a matter of who is going to get the juiciest gossip first.

Today I told Lu I would not be coming up there tomorrow because I ran out of wine . . .  NO . . .  just kidding. I have an appointment with my chiropractor that I refuse to miss since I have been doing nothing but sitting for days. (My back and neck feel like the Boy Scouts have been practicing their knot tying with my muscles.) I can not begin to tell you the conversations between me and my cousin for the 4 hours following my announcement regarding the fact that I would not be at her bedside for a full day.  Here is a sample of what I am dealing with . . . I arrived in her room this morning at 10:05 AM. Lucille was being attended to by 3 nurses and an aide. As I walked in she wailed" OH MY, I'm so glad you're here. Where have you been?" I was very tempted to walk out right then. she then went on to tell me about the pain she was in and how awful the BIG operation was yesterday. He quote was, "'THEY' said I had such a mess inside me it was terrible." I promptly corrected all that mis information and reassured her it was a minor surgery and all is looking very good. She had no comeback for that but I'm sure her story is the one that makes the "Kings Isle Gazette" in the next edition.

I just have to go to sleep tonight knowing I have done all that I can for now and I DO have a life of my own that I am permitted to live which does NOT include "child" care for Lucille.

COUSIN LUCILLE

I'm sure I have written about my cousins at some point but today needs to be about Lucille.
 Being an only child my cousins were the closest thing to siblings that I had. We would see each other occasionally throughout the years and I have often thought that I was truly blessed to NOT have these people living in the same house with me. We all grew up in New York City, just in different boroughs. Ann and Ray lived in Whitestone, Queens, I lived in Queens Village, Queens and Lucille, Barbara and Johnny all lived on Staten Island. (People do not live IN Staten Island but rather ON Staten Island. The fact that Queens is also on an island, Long Island to be exact makes no difference. When it came to talking about "THE CITY" Staten Island is the only island involved.)
Because it was the 40's and 50's families did not own two and three cars so travel was quite limited to when dad had the day off. There was public transportation but that usually involved several busses and in the case of Staten Island, a ferry. I still remember waiting on the ferry line that snaked through the streets of Brooklyn. Some times we would have to wait for an hour or more for the ferries to accommodate all the people wanting to take the 30 minute trip.  But it was always worth the wait because I was going to see my cousins who lived at the end of the earth. In those days NO ONE in their right mind chose to live on Staten Island. It was isolated from the rest of the city and there really was NOTHING there. But for whatever reason Uncle John, Aunt Tessie and my 3 older cousins ended up living there in a tiny tiny house surrounded by woods only a block away from the water. It was so exciting to make this trip and to walk down to the beach where my cousins entertained me for hours.
According to my oldest cousin, Lucille, She waited FOREVER for my mom to have a baby. Lucille tells me she would constantly ask my mom when she was going to have a baby because Lucille wanted a little cousin so badly. She had to wait over 15 years for that to happen but sure enough, when Lu was almost 16 years old I came into the family, much to everyone's delight. I vaguely remember her and her sister Barbara as teenagers but it was always their younger brother Johnny that I loved. (I do believe I planned to marry cousin Johnny when I grew up.) Lucille loved me as a baby and has many stories about all the things I did when I was little but then she got married and started a new life for herself so we didn't see her or her sister as often. Years passed and when I moved to Florida in the early part of the new millennia I found myself living about 45 miles away from this cousin of mine. At that time Lucille was married to her second husband, a sweetheart of a guy named Ed, and they were living in Port St. Lucie, Florida. Being so close geographically and chronologically  we would visit a couple of times a year, much to poor Gerard's dismay. Putting up with your own family is one thing but Ger just couldn't handle spending too much time with my cousins. There is a reason for this . . .  My family has no filters. My mother suffered this affliction all her life so I assume it is a "Helfrich" trait. Things are said without giving any thought to what it may come out sounding like to the poor innocent bystander.  Lucille would say something "cute" and Ger would turn to look at me with a look of horror on his face. I would smile and nod that I knew what he was thinking and he should just ignore the comment and move on. This has been my relationship with cousin Lucille for the past 20 years.
But the strange thing is that we have become a lot closer over the past several years and now that she is 88 and a widow living alone I am her "guardian" if you will. I visit every so often to check in on her and we talk on the phone occasionally. And when something happens I am the one who she turns too.
And that is why I am sitting here in the surgical waiting room of her local hospital. And that is why I am having flash backs of all the waiting rooms I have been in with other people I love. I don't like this at all but I know I need to be here for her and for myself because I couldn't live with myself if I didn't do all I could for her.

COUNTING THE HOURS

Do you ever stop to think about how many hours of your life you have spent doing something? Watching TV, eating, laughing, crying, certainly NOT exercising! I often think about things like this especially when I find myself in a situation that is unpleasant. That's when the hours drag by so slowly and it seems that time will never end.

Today I am reminded of just how many hours I have spent in hospitals. Way too many for my liking ! Up until I was in my 50's I don't think I spent any time in a hospital with the exception of having my tonsils out when I was 3, a memory that is still quite vivid in my mind. I remember that stay and the ride home as if it was yesterday. Pretty weird for a kid that young to remember at all never mind all these decades later.  I remember visiting an ER when I broke my arm when I was 6 but from that point on, with the exception of giving birth to 3 kids,  I did not set foot in a hospital until the late 1990's when shit hit the fan and I got to have several different surgeries over the next 10 years. I have become a pro at hospital visits and the whole pre-op and post-op procedures. I had actually come to "enjoy" my mini vacations of laying in a bed all day and being waited on. (Now if that isn't sick I don't know what is!)

With the dawn of a new century I discovered that going on a cruise could offer me the same perks as a hospital stay without the pain. DUH!

And yet there are those times when we can not avoid being in the hospital and as bad as it is being the patient I have found that I have spent as much time, if not more, being the "care giver" for the patient. I do not have a nursing degree nor did I ever want to be a nurse and yet I find that that God has seen fit to put me in the position of caring for someone who is ill and hospitalized. Thank you God that none of these persons was ever one of my children or grand children but I have been at the bed side of friends, husband, cousins, and others that I care deeply for. When one of these people get sick I can be found sitting in one of those horrid, uncomfortable chairs next to the hospital bed trying to do ANYTHING I can to make this poor person feel better. If ever there are days that drag by these days are the worst for me. Usually the patient in the bed is fortunate enough to have been given some "happy" drug so they are not feeling the slow tick tick of the HUGE clock on the wall. They don't even realize that I have been here with them for endless hours without food and am now considering  jumping out the 6th story window. Sitting there.is THE most boring day EVER. Happy tooth, the person in the bed, is oblivious of my presence UNTIL they need something. Then it is All Hands On Deck and get what ever is needed by any means needed. I can not tell you the things I have done in the name of "love" for this poor wretched soul who is sick but let me tell you that I better go straight to Heaven when my life is done. And there better be some one like me sitting next to my bed ready to pull out all the stops in order to make me comfortable.

COLD FINGER

South Florida is HOT ! It can be hot in the middle of January but in the middle of August it is particularly challenging. I can't imagine that living at the Equator could be much different from here, with the exception of the random monkey swinging through the trees. Yet people do choose to inhabit these heated locations around the world and many of us actually come to enjoy the elevated temperatures.. It is a process that takes years to adapt to but once your body settles into its new environment we almost welcome the arrival of summer. But like everything in the world there is a down side to this adjustment to the bodies thermostat.  For one thing you find that where ever you go, whether it is to the grocery store, church or a restaurant, you carry a jacket with you. (This month it had better be a rain jacket because EVERY afternoon , somewhere between three and four o'clock,  there is a monsoon like storm that passes through dumping enough rain in about ten minutes to flood the Nile.)
Down here you can always tell the tourists from the locals by the clothes they are wearing. Aside from the bright Bermuda shorts and sandals with socks if they are NOT wearing jeans and  long sleeve shirts in the middle of August they are probably from out of town. I know I have become a true Floridian when I keep my AC at 77 degrees for the day and it feels like the house is freezing when I come in from outside. The fact that I am sitting here wrapped up in "fuzzy pink robe" at six in the morning because it is way too cold in the houses is a true testament to the fact that I have totally adapted to life in South Florida and am slowly becoming an alligator who needs to sit in the sun to raise my body heat. (Also the fact that I have wrinkles ALL over my body.)

All this is very well and good in that I can now comfortably survive in this toasty environment but unfortunately the United States Postal Service has not taken this phenomenon into consideration when they came up with their latest brain fart of an "improvement" to expedite mailing a package.
What the hell ever happened to "If it ain't broke don't fix it!" system of thinking? It is so typical of our nation to ALWAYS have to improve on things even if they work fine.

My latest adventure with our postal service occurred yesterday when I went to mail 3 small packages.  Mailing anything larger than a letter used to be simple once the PO installed their wonderful AUTOMATED, computerized machines in the lobby. Because there is ALWAYS a line, usually out the door, of people waiting for some sort of assistance with their mail these machines were fantastic. I could weigh and buy postage for a package and send it on its way in a matter of minutes. I had gotten SO good at tapping the computer screen in answer to it's prompts that I could mail THREE packages in the time it took for the clerk at the counter to put a stamp on one envelope. The machines in the lobby were fantastic and definitely an aid to the poor overworked postal employee. They were installed several years ago and worked perfectly fine so I knew it was only a matter of time before our government geniuses would "IMPROVE" them, probably at the same cost as funding a flight to Mars.
Trouble is these new machines are apparently made for use by hot blooded Americans and those of us who have lower body temperatures are totally unable to use the damn things.

Yesterday I stopped at a PO with my 3 little packages in hand. Because the line was indeed out the door I chose to use one of the 3 machines in the lobby. (This particular post office used to have 5 machines that worked super fast and efficient. They have now been replaced by 3 updated models.)
I had attempted to use this new type of machine at my local post office and had become so frustrated that I drove 8 miles out of my way to go to this other branch. Much to my horror I found that this branch had also been updated to the "New and Improved Mailing Station". I figured it was worth a shot and would still be faster than waiting on the line. I foolishly thought that maybe these machines would work better than the ones at my branch.  NOT !!!!!!!!

For what ever reason the stupid computer screen does not register the fact that my finger is touching it. I stood there for three minutes poking and pressing and slapping the screen with no avail. A woman came in and stood at the machine next to me and merrily tapped her way to printing out her postage and sending her package on its way while I stood next to her unable to get my machine to realize I even existed. Fortunately one of the mail women saw my frustration and came over to see what the problem was. I'm sure she figured I was just some little old senile senior citizen who couldn't fathom the art of a computer screen. As she stood there slapping at the screen she had about as much luck as I did. We discussed how we HATED these new computer screens and were in total agreement that they never should have taken out the old machines. She did manage to get through the process and print out the postage for one of my packages before she was called away. Left on own once again I returned to tapping, poking, holding my finger on the screen trying to get my finger to generate enough heat to activate the computer. I finally gave up and went to stand on the line for the counter. As I stood on the line the nice postal employee who had gotten the postage for the first package saw me and the two of us returned for round two at the machine. I showed her how the machine just would not recognize the fact that my finger was touching the screen and she agreed that I must indeed be dead. To my "delight" she too had a very hard time getting this idiot machine to accept her touch but after spending 20 minutes in this post office I FINALLY got my packages stamped and mailed and on their way.

DO NOT expect me to mail you anything beyond a letter as I will not return to the Post Office any time in the near future. And if I do return it will be with hand warmers so the screen will register my touch or a blow torch to burn the damn thing to ashes.

ANTS IN MY PANTS . . .

REALLY,    I have ants in my pants when ever I get into my car.   It seems that while I was away these past 2  months on my Alaska/Michigan adventures my car was taken over by the local insect population. I had bought a wonderful cover to put over my car so that the birds and the tree sap wouldn't be decorating my car upon my return. Little did I realize it would become the breading ground for creepy crawlies. I wrote about this last month when I got home but I thought I had taken care of the little beasties. Apparently I was wrong !

This being Florida we can't have just one species of ant, NO . . . we have to have about twenty billion of these guys and their uncles.  (Because where ever you have ants you must have uncles!)
The first batch of ants that I found when I got home were small little buggers and there were millions of them.  I do not exaggerate when I say millions, they were all over my car. Outside, inside, in the vents and in the doors. I thought I took care of them with my handy dandy can of ANT AND SPIDER KILLER spray. And I actually DID rid my car of all of that type of ant. Unfortunately the removal of the small ants only made room for the REALLY small ants. These little guys are so tiny you don't even realize they are there until you find your arm covered in a walking sleeve of bugs. I tried to kill them with the spray that I used on their cousins but that only seems to stir them up into a frenzy. I discovered all this yesterday when Finn got into the back seat of my car and promptly came flying back out because there were ants all over his seat belt. I took the can of spray, (That I now carry with me at all times) and gave the ants a good soaking.  I think I actually saw a few ants  with a bar of soap and a towel washing off in the shower of bug spray.  This discovery leads me to believe that these new residents are what is called SUGAR  ANTS. Sugar ants are so so small and very hard to eliminate. They are very hardy souls for creatures their size. I think the cockroach population would have trouble out living these bastards. Lucky for me I have a little bottle of poisoned nectar that the sugar ants love. The theory is that they eat this sugary syrup and then bring it back to their colony where it kills EVERYONE !!!!  My "bug man" gave this poison to me for when my house is invaded but so far the only sugar ants that I am finding IN the house are the ones that I have carried in from my car.       Probably in my pants !

SPARE PARTS

I figure by the time I am 100, (which I fully intend to live to),  there will be nothing left of the original me except my brain. And of all the body parts I have my brain is probably the one that should be replaced.
Last year I had my right knee replaced with some sort of metal, artificial joint. It works perfect and I no longer have the pain that I had been dealing with every time I had to go up or down stairs. It was a good decision to put up with the surgery and rehab after surgery because now I have ONE body part that doesn't hurt. It still feels weird and I have yet been able to kneel on it but as long as it doesn't hurt I will put up with that. Of course my left knee is in need of surgery some time down the road but for now havin one "good" leg is enough to stand on.

Unfortunately my left shoulder is now the joint to focus on these days. Ever since I broke the the bone at the top of my arm over 20 years ago I have had trouble raising my arm any higher than my shoulder. As my daughter noted when I showed her this the other day, I look like a T Rex with tiny little arms. ( You had to be there to see her imitation of me to really appreciate this comparison.)

The shoulder has become increasingly painful and the limited range of motion is starting to effect my activities. (Fortunately I can still work the TV remote.) With all this in mind I finally bit the provabial bullet and went to see the Hand to Shoulder doctor. She took some x rays and promptly told me I needed a new shoulder . . . No if's, and's or but's . . . The old shoulder needs to be replaced.  Unlike rotator cuff surgery a shoulder replacement means taking out the old joint and putting in a new one. According to the doctor I will only be in the hospital one day and, depending on the type of joint she puts in, I will NOT need rehab !!!!!!!!!!   That is what sold me on the plan to do this surgery the beginning of January. By the end of Febuary I will be totally healed and ready to rock and roll with our winter guests visiting us in Florida.

The bonus to all these surgeries is that I have found the perfect weight loss plan. Each time I have surgery I manage to loose about 15 pounds. The trick of course is keeping the weight off but if my arm is in a sling for a month I can't get food to my mouth as easily as I do now.  That and the fact that pain pills and anesthesia totally destroy my appetite and thus force me to break all the bad habits that I have slowly slid back into.

At the rate that I am having body parts replaced not only will I be bionic by the time I am 100 years old I will also have reached my ideal weight !  I'm going to be the best looking corpse in the cemetary!

MIDNIGHT IN ATLANTA

I guess I should be a bit more specific since Atlanta is a big city and technically I'm really not in Atlanta. I believe the city I am in is Hartsfield, or something like that. In fact I am not even in a city, I am in an airport.  The Atlanta airport to be exact!

About a month ago my wonderful son, Kyle, called and asked if I would like to come to Atlanta for a visit. Never one to turn down an opportunity to travel I of course said YES ! Even better . . . Kyle bought me a round trip ticket.

Today was the day to fly to Atlanta so naturally there were storms covering all of Georgia and Florida. The 7:35 P.M. flight from West Palm was delayed an hour and a half which put me into Atlanta at 10:40 P.M.  This would have worked out fine if Kyle's flight out of Chicago hadn't been delayed over 3 hours. He was in Chicago on business and we were supposed to both arrive in Atlanta about 20 minutes apart and then drive home to his house together. So much for that well thought out plan. My plane landed just about the time that Kyle's plane was taking off. So here I sit amidst half the population of the state of Georgia, waiting for my boy to arrive. If you have t be stuck waiting at hour this is the place to be. I just want to know how there can be sooooooo many people awake at midnight. There are families with little kids, bunches of people with dogs and loads of REALLY strange characters wandering around. Maybe the population of Georgia doesn't sleep?  It is sort of like "Night of the Living Dead". Maybe this is why the TV show The Walking Dead was set in Atlanta. Apparently these people do not sleep.

If you have never been to Atlanta's airport I must tell you it is made up of about 8 separate terminal buildings that are connected by a subway train that runs continually. When you get off your plane you walk forever to get to the escalator that takes you down to the train. When the train arrives you get to cram yourself in with all the other travelers who, unlike me, are ALL pulling "carry on" bags that are twice the size of my bag that I checked. What is it about air travel that people can't let go of their damn bag ? Watching people trying to cram a duffle bag into the overhead compartment on a plane is more entertainment than a comedy special on HBO.  And then when the plane lands you have to wait while all the idiots find and pull down their bags only to have them hit you in the head in the process. But just in case you avoid getting injured on the plane there are multiple opportunities to get run over by an out of control roller bag as you travel from the plane to baggage claim. Baggage claim at this airport is an adventure all it's own. There are 2 baggage claims, one domestic and one international. They are labeled "Baggage claim North" and  "Baggage Claim South". Not very creative but I guess they had to keep it simple considering the average IQ here.  Within the baggage claim areas there are at least 8 HUGE carousels spitting out luggage at an incredible speed. Trying to grab my bag as it whizzes by is something like the "Whack a Mole" game at the local carnival. Once you get your bag you now have to maneuver through the throng of travelers who are milling around the area. I don't understand why there are so many people standing around because most of them alrady have their bags.

Once I got my bag I wandered around the airport for a while just looking at the strange sights. It is a crazy place to spend the night.