DO I HAVE WHAT ? ? ? ?

This morning I woke up somewhere in the wee, DARK hours of the night some time between going to sleep and getting up for the day.  It's a common occurrence for folks of the senior generation and it is not uncommon for it to happen several times a night.  At some point after falling asleep you become aware of your brain tapping at the insides of your eyelids while whispering, "Helloooooooo, your bladder is sending out a 'To Go' call so you need to wake up."  I often try to ignore this annoying call but then I realize that if I don't get up right then I may very well end up changing the sheets on the bed at a very inconvenient time. 

This was the case this morning and so I got up, staggered to the bathroom and staggered back into the bedroom, congratulating myself that I had managed to not check the clock, not awaken the overactive part of my brain or make any unauthorized stops at the fridge. All was good with the world and it should be an easy transition back into sleep.  

I had just crawled back under the covers when a small voice addressed me from the far side of the bed.  What you must understand here is that I wear hearing aids during my waking hours because I found early on that I can not understand half of what The Man says. Whether it is the pitch of his voice or just the fact that he is soft spoken I was forever asking him to repeat himself until I got what he was saying. 

I do NOT wear my hearing aids to bed !

And so when the tiny little voice spoke to me in the middle of the very dark bedroom in the middle of the night I could only assume it was The Man asking me something stupid.  (He is notorious for waiting until I am just falling asleep before asking me what we will have for dinner the next day. Most times I try to ignore him because if I were to respond it would not be done so in a loving manner).  But because The Man has such lousy lungs and heart I am always alert to the fact that there could be a medical issue that needs taking care of immediately. With that thought in mind I sat up and asked what he had said because naturally I couldn't actually hear him.  He repeated what ever he had said so, thinking it must be something important,  I got up, walked around the bed in the dark, leaned in close and asked him to repeat AGAIN what it was that he needed.  This is what he said . . . "Do you have any lotion?"  At this point I honestly thought he was still asleep and dreaming so I just said "Nooooooooooooooo,  why do you need lotion?" (I really thought this would either wake him completely or he would just roll over and go back to sleep.  Neither happened !  The voice in the dark told me that he was itchy and needed some lotion.

Now I am all for taking good care of The Man but this was pushing the limit of my generosity.  I once again told him I did not have any lotion to which he replied, "Can you get some?"  If I could have seen anything in the dark I might have picked up a shoe and hit him with it but instead I told him to wait a minute while I staggered into the kitchen to get a bottle of hand lotion that sits by the sink.  Bringing the lotion back into the still very dark bedroom I held it out in his general direction fully expecting him to reach out and take it.  Nothing happened.   I asked if he still needed the lotion, thinking he had indeed fallen back to sleep but that was only wishful thinking.  The next thing he said was, " I need you to rub the lotion 'here' ".  Not knowing where "here" was and not being able to see or even want to see what he was pointing at I asked if I should turn on the light, to which he agreed.  

Backing up a bit, two days before our night time adventure The Man had been complaining about a sore back so I had suggested we put a medicated menthol patch on his back where he was feeling discomfort.  It seemed to do the trick and he was quite happy that the pain disappeared and he felt much better.  I did not realize that he left the patch on for more than 24 hours.  

So . . .   when I turned on the light in the middle of the night last night there was The Man, rolled onto his side with his shirt pulled up to show me just where he was itchy.  Anyone care to guess just where his back was itching?  For such a tough guy The Man has the skin of a 3 month old baby. 

I must confess that I did get some perverse gratification  from his sharp intake of breath when I squirted the ice cold lotion on the middle of his back. Not nice on my part but by now I had lost my window of opportunity to fall immediately back to sleep once I took care of The Man and his itch.  (Not to be confused with the other "itches" that men tend to get.) 

From the sound of his breathing The Man had no difficulty getting back to sleep while I lay there for quite some time thinking about just how I was going to blog about the latest misadventure with The Man.   

OUR GUARDIAN EAGLE

 Not only am I blessed with a Guardian Angel but The Man and I have a Guardian Eagle who watches over us every day.  Actually we have several Guardian Eagles that can be found in several different spots around the property. 

 It seems that the most popular perch for the eagles is the old wooden row boat that sits in the grass right on the edge of the pond. This must be the eagle equivalency of the "Iron Throne" from Game of Thrones. Only the biggest and baddest of the convocation of eagles gets to sit there. ( Are you impressed that I knew what a flock of eagles is called?  I didn't ! Had to look it up. )

The eagle population up here on The Man's property is growing each year.  These are Bald Eagles and each year the mature ones with their brilliant white heads can be found watching us every day. They aren't the least bit afraid of The Man and I and will perch in a tree right above us and stare at us just as interested in us as we are of them.  There are probably a dozen mature ones and at least as many immature ones who don't have the white heads yet.  

The other day The Man walked into the bedroom and stood looking out the side window where he could get a "birds eye" look at 3 HUGE old birds sitting on three different branches on a big pine tree that is slowly dying. The pine tree is along the driveway that runs across the property linking the two driveways to the road.  The top of this particular tree started to die about a year ago and what ever is killing it is slowly working its way from top to bottom. At the moment the top third of the tree is bare, dead branches and our guardians love to sit there to get an unobstructed view of the two silly humans who live in this place.  I can only imagine the conversations they are having amongst themselves.  "Hey Harry, did you see the chubby one stuff that Twinkie into her face this morning?" or  "Myrtle, can you believe she is sitting under that tree reading again? That's all she ever does!" 

 Perhaps they are sitting in the tree figuring out the work schedule for the rest of the group.  They seem to have different places to sit so I can only think that they are in those places for a reason.  The row boat by the pond is obviously where the "life guard" sits.  He goes there early in the morning to check out the water and make sure there are no bears taking a bath before the rest of the gang comes down for a morning dip. Often there will be six or more eagles sitting around the edge of the pond or, on special occasions, there will actually be a couple of birds IN the pond splashing around like silly kids in a mud puddle on a rainy day.  It only stands to reason that they would need a lifeguard. 

The second favorite place to find them is in a large pine tree out on the edge of the property where the oldest apple trees are.  The Man will be out on his lawnmower or tractor and stop right under this big pine tree where he and his friends will have a staring contest for several minutes.  Let it be known that the eagle ALWAYS wins.  Those birds can stare at you for hours without blinking.  (Can eagles blink? I'll have to google that.).  The noise of the tractor doesn't bother the birds in the least.  

My all time  favorite perch for our feathered friends is when they balance themselves on top of the fence posts along the edge of the back field.  If you're lucky enough to catch one of the big birds come in for a landing on top of a 4' X 4" fence post it is a treat to behold.  It would be like me trying to jump off the roof and land on top of a step stool without falling off.   IMPOSSIBLE !!   Yet these beautiful creatures manage this trick several times a day.  Maybe it's a game they play amongst the young ones . . .  "Hey Louie, bet you can't land on the fence post without falling on your head!"   I have yet to see one fall off.  

When we first arrived up here this spring the fields were a mass of mud.  The grass hadn't really gotten growing yet so out in the middle of the back field there was a big, low, soft spot filled with mud.  Our fine feathered friends would be walking around in the mud all day long.  We could look out the kitchen windows and see up to 16 eagles hanging out together.  Now that the field is planted they don't seem to sit out there as much.  Or maybe that was the training ground for the young birds and school hadn't gotten out yet for the summer.  

It is quite entertaining watching and being watched.  I can only imagine what they must be thinking when I"m sitting out back in the sun writing a blog. "Martha, do you see her sitting on her butt again?! Good lord she hasn't done a decent days work in weeks !!!!" 

ON THE WAY WE CAN . . .

 Today was not one of my better days.  You know how some days you just wake up feeling lousy ?  Well, that was today. I'm having a wonderful summer in MI and I am super happy to be here.  My only concern when I am up here is, "What if I get sick?".  Being a border line hypochondriac I am forever second guessing every little ache and pain and twinge. I could easily convince myself I am dying of cancer because I have a hang nail.  I am my father's daughter.  My dad would be at the doctor for the slightest thing but I guess he was on to something because he lived to be 97.  When I think about how he lived I feel totally justified with my health concerns. 

Last summer I was not happy to be in MI away from my home. It was the first summer I was away for such a long length of time and with the Corona virus raging across our country I was sure I was going to die in Michigan far, far away from my family.  I did a lot of praying and God, being as good as He is, heard my prayers and kept me healthy and safe so I could return to FL in October.

This year I was actually looking forward to spending some wonderful cool months away from the Florida heat. The fact that my daughter and her family are renting an RV in Chicago and traveling up this way for a visit to the amazing wonders of the UP is making my summer all the more pleasant. 

EXCEPT . . . I had myself dead and buried by this morning. I was once again talking to God asking him  to not let me die in Michigan.  I am supposed to take my blood pressure a couple of times a week because I have an issue with a valve in my heart.  My doctor tells me I am fine but I should monitor my pressure. It has been at least two weeks since I last took my blood pressure so last night I figured I should sit down and see how I was doing.  I didn't feel "sick" or dizzy or weak or any of the other 42 things that doctors always ask when you go to see them.  In fact I was actually feeling pretty good.  Until I took my BP.  I will just say that it was NOT good.  I am told that the ideal BP is something around 120/80.  Those numbers were not the numbers that were coming up on my little machine. MY numbers were more like 170/90. That was all I needed to see . . .  suddenly I began to feel ill.   My dad used to do the same thing, take his blood pressure and if it was elevated he got himself upset which in turn made his BP go higher.  I made fun of him on several occasions and now it is coming back to bite me in my butt.  I must have woken up at least three times during the night being worried that I was about to die.  I got up, wandered to the bathroom and did a quick assessment of my physical state.  On all three occasions I felt great so I returned to sleep each time fully expecting to be fine in the morning. Only I didn't feel fine.  My brain had taken over so even if I was fine I knew I was dying.  Taking my BP didn't help because the numbers were still elevated so I called my MI doctor.  I was delighted to get an appointment for 1:00 today. Just knowing I was going to talk to a doctor made me feel a little better. Of course my brain was still on high alert, constantly thinking about what each and every body part was feeling at any given moment.  But all I had to do was survive a couple of hours until I could see the doctor !

I walked out into the kitchen where The Man was perched in his favorite spot and told him I was concerned about my blood pressure so I had an appointment with the doctor for 1:00. (Last night he was sitting here while I was taking my BP and getting myself worked up into a state of panic.  He really didn't have too much input which is probably a smart move on his part.  He has learned quickly to just let me run with what ever is in my head.)  So when I told him what I was doing today his first thought was to say, "OH Good! On the way into town we can . . . . . . . . . . " I think I must have looked at him like he had seven heads. I mean, doesn't he know I'm dying here ?  I'm about to have "The Big One" and drop dead on the floor and he has me driving the RV into town while he follows.  We had to stop at the gas station first so I could fill up the RV's gas tank so we would make it into town.  We then dropped the RV off at the brake shop and continued into town where The Man stopped to get himself a burger before dropping me at the doctor's office.  I should have realized that if I could climb in and out of the RV three times without dropping dead I must be fine.   

I felt better mentally after talking with the doctor.  She increased one of my heart medications and gave me some things to try to help get my BP to come down.  I will see her again in a week.  But this time I am not telling The Man so I can just go by myself. 

HAPPY FATHER'S DAY

 I cannot believe that today is the 20th day of June.  Where is the time going ?????  It seems that it was only yesterday that we were celebrating Christmas yet here we are SIX months later.  I just don't understand how a person who is retired and basically has nothing important to do each and every day can have the time pass this quickly. I'm sure if I was in a hospital or a jail cell time would slow down but for now I really want good old Father Time to slow it down a peg. 

I'll tell you just how bad it is these days . . . when I wake up at two in the morning and the house is quiet and still and I can't sleep it has always seemed that the clock is mired down in a mixture of molasses and Elmers glue. I remember those nights when the children were babies and up crying for what seemed hours. On those occasions the hands on the clock NEVER moved.  I would be watching that clock and I swear the minutes slowed down making those nights drag on forever.  Now I wake up in the night, go pee and stagger back to bed and a half hour has passed. 

Today being Father's Day I would like to request that Father Time take a break and let me live my life a bit longer and slower.  As for the other father's in my life I'd like to take a moment and thank them all for the amazing jobs they are doing.  Being a dad isn's easy . . . first and foremost every dad has had to "put up with" the mother of his children. to every dad in the world I extend my deepest sympathy.  For my deceased husband Gerry I would like to apologize for each and every moment that I gave him a hard time. I can also extend that apology to my father who,  God only knows, didn't want to send me to boarding school in Antarctica.  These two men were saints !!!!  I'm not saying they didn't have their faults but they sure as hell had their hands full living with me. 

Today's dads are particularly challenged with a world that has gone insane.  I pray for these dads every day that they can navigate through the insanity and raise their children with strong values. I pray that the dads of today nourish the minds of their children so that these children can think for them selves and not  become sheep following the loudest voice. Dads are gardeners and their children are the gardens. Dads  plant seeds, nourish them with love and by setting good examples and then step back and let their children grow. My sons and son-in-law are doing a wonderful job with their children.  I am so proud of them and so blessed to be here to see the excellent job these three men are doing. I see the effort they put into raising "good" kids and to providing the opportunities for their children to grow into intelligent and compassionate human beings.  

How easy it is to put our wants and desires ahead of our responsibilities. Being a dad requires self sacrifice and if you do it right you don't mind that in the least.  With luck you will live long enough and be healthy enough to have the opportunity to do all those things that you put on hold because you were raising your children. But just be prepared for Father Time to speed up once your children are grown. 

Happy Father's Day !

THINNER

 I wish I was referring to my body when I discuss "Thinner" but that is the last word I'd be using if I were talking about myself. I am also not referring to the book "Thinner" written by my all time favorite author, Stephen King.  What I do want to share with you today is my patience with The Man.  That is most assuredly getting thinner by the second.  It's nothing major so I almost, ALMOST, feel guilty writing this but quite honestly if I don't put this down in writing it will just fester until I explode. 

The most recent incident occurred this morning as we sat outside after breakfast.  The Man was in desperate need of a hair cut and because he is becoming more and more reluctant to go anywhere in public I offered to take on the challenge.  I have been cutting my own hair since I was 12. (This is probably no surprise to anyone who has ever met me and wondered who my hair dresser was because my hair usually looks like it's been run through a mix master. I happen to be extremely lazy when it comes to my hair.  I refuse to spend hours or even minutes standing in front of a mirror fluffing, drying and styling my golden locks. Well, they used to be golden but now they're just white. I much prefer getting out of bed in the morning, running some water over my head and then just brushing it one direction or another. ) The point I am getting at is that I am familiar with hair scissors and clippers and can do a decent job of cutting hair. Especially for a man who always wears a hat.  I have cut The Man's hair several times before today so he knows that although he will not get a professional hair cut he will be "de-fuzzed" enough so that he can go out in public without being mistaken for Big Foot. (This is not that much of a stretch because the UP is supposedly Big Foot country.)  But true to form The Man was full of suggestions and directions as to how I should proceed. I totally get it and I did a very good job of humoring him and distracting him so that we got the job done with a minimum of fear or blood. I was very proud of myself that I managed to get through another "chore" without killing him when he started discussing the RV.  It seems that The Man has made an appointment to bring the RV in to a local mechanic to have the brakes checked and oil changed.  He told me about this one day last week so I wrote it on the calendar for June 29th and put it out of my mind. Why he thought about this appointment today I have no idea but it popped into his brain and he was off and running. I got a blow by blow plan of how I would drive the RV and he would follow. We would pull out of the drive way, me leading and him following in his car. We would turn left out of the drive way and go down to the corner where we would once again turn left and  . . .     I listened for the next ten minutes while he went mile by mile down the road, down the hill, onto the "highway" past the town, past the lake . . .  I have probably driven this route a hundred times so I know it by heart but The Man felt he needed to make sure I knew exactly where I would be going THREE weeks from now.  I could be dead three weeks from now but before I die I will have to drive this route EXACTLY as described by The Man. 

I am finding that The Man is getting worse with giving detailed instructions for everything and anything.   I have a theory that his brain is beginning to feel the effects of the lack of oxygen because of his COPD. It is becoming a daily occurrence that we will be talking about something that we had discussed days ago but he will have no recollection of.  Naturally The Man insists that we never had the conversation and I am sure he thinks I must be lying to him but he never accuses me of that. 

I am totally sympathetic of his problem but I also wish my brain could shut down as he is giving me his endless detailed instructions of how to put the toilet paper on the roll or how to walk from here to the mail box.

WHAT ? WHY ????

 Why am I still amazed at the male mental process ? That has got to be a problem with my brain, the fact that I just can't, for the life of me, understand how men think. Or Do They ??? Think . . . ????

Over the past weeks I have been making a list of all the MANY things that totally puzzle me about The Man. I am at a loss to make any sense of any of this so please write me if you have an explanation for any of the following.

TRASH . . .   The Man pays to have his trash picked up 2 times a month.  There is a HUGE garbage "can" that sits out by the road and twice a month the garbage men pull up with their high tech garbage truck which automatically lifts the can and empties it into the truck untouched by human hands. Very seldom is our trash can full when the garbage men arrive. The reason for this is that The Man insists on burning his garbage because he doesn't want to fill up the trash can.  ?????????????????  Isn't the trash can there so you have a place to put your garbage ?  Am I missing something here?  Twice a week I am sent out to the fire pit with plastic grocery bags full of garbage including anything from beer cans to chicken bones. My job is to set this collection on fire and burn it all.  HELLO !!!! . . .  Cans and bottles do NOT burn.  And so then after the fire has burned itself out I get to collect the non burnable items from the fire pit and throw them in the trash can out by the road.  Now I'm not a rocket scientist but doesn't it seem that if we just tossed the grocery bags full of trash into the trash can it would save me a step and also keep from polluting the air from  burning all sorts of plastic?  

HALIBUT . . .  Every year The Man insists we bring with us to Florida a large cooler of frozen Alaskan halibut that we either pick up in Alaska or The Man's son sends to us.  First, it is super expensive to ship anything from Alaska, never mind a huge, heavy cooler full of frozen fish. (The two years that we drove to Alaska we carried a freezer with us that was plugged in each night when we stopped on our trip home. BIG PAIN IN THE ASS !!!  The fish gets to Michigan with us and we put it in the freezer in the garage. The we leave for Florida the fish goes into a cooler that keeps it frozen for about 3 days if we don't open it. Once in Florida the halibut is put into the small freezer, (in the guest bedroom of all places),  that The Man insisted we buy for the specific purpose of storing a shit load of fish.  I have only one question regarding all this . . .   WHY do we need all this halibut if The Man doesn't eat fish ????????  Any given night that I suggest we have fish for dinner The Man makes all sorts of excuses of why we should eat something else. He has flat out said that he does not like fish.  And yet here we are with a freezer full of it.  

HEAT . . .  We have established that The Man is always cold. That is a fact and I can appreciate that. But The Man ALSO does not like to be hot.  (I have attempted to move him to the Bahamas where it is always about 75 degrees and balmy but he just won't go.)  So in order to be warm we live in Florida in the winter and to be cool we live in Michigan in the summer.  Good Plan . . . So then why, if the air conditioner is on in the house, are all the windows and doors open ???????  In Florida I am in charge of temperature control and I have learned to live in a house that is a constant 78 degrees.  (My blood must be thinning because I actually don't mind most of the time.). In Michigan The Man is in charge of temperature control and it is a crap shoot as to what it will feel like in the house at any given hour.  In the morning the heat goes on to take off the chill.  Never mind that it is going to be 87 degrees by 9:30 AM, the heat will go on.  Then he forgets to turn the heat off when he turns on the wall unit AC . Now we have a battle between the furnace and the AC unit so The Man opens the windows !!!!!!   I just go outside and sit in the shade under a tree.

NO PARKING PICNIC TABLE . . .   The Man has a picnic table. It is old and it is made of wood and it is probably on it's very last leg but I LOVE to sit at this table in the summer WHEN/IF it is under the big maple tree in the yard. Unfortunately the picnic table is NEVER under the tree. Instead it is sitting out on the grass in the bright blazing sun because that is where the septic tank is.  Stay with me here folks, it gets a bit confusing.  It seems that The Man, in his infinite wisdom, has decided that the picnic table is the perfect way to keep people from driving/parking over the septic tank. And you may ask WHY people would even consider parking/driving over the septic tank ? WELL . . . that would be because when they pull into the yard they see The Man's car parked right up next to the house by the back door. It is only logical that one might assume that since one car is parked next to the house then all cars should park by the side of the house.    NOT !!!!!  The Man is parked exactly half way between the back door and the septic tank. (I personally wonder why the septic tank is buried that close to the house but I don't even want to go there.) By parking in this particular spot The Man can get out of the car and into the house with a minimum of effort. There also happens to be a telephone pole directly in front of the septic tank so anyone who drove into the yard and considered parking next to The Man's car really can't do so without driving around the telephone pole which would then put them in the middle of a huge lilac bush.  Bottom line is that NO ONE is going to park on the septic tank ! BUT . . . in The Man's head he has to have the large picnic table strategically placed next to the telephone pole to keep persons from parking there. I have attempted to suggest we put a "No Parking" sign or a little white fence in front of the septic tank but that has all been met with much distain and so I just shut up. If I want to sit under the tree in the shade I have my chair and if we ever have guests over for a picnic, (THAT will NEVER happen), they will have to sit in the sun and bake to death while sitting over the septic tank.  EWWWWWWW !!

ELECTRIC OUTLETS . . .  The house is OLD. It was built a zillion years ago as a tiny two room farm house.  Over the years it has been added on to so it is a bit of a mismatch of rooms. The one thing that ALL the rooms have in common is that the electric outlets are old and few and far between.  There are, at most, two outlets in each room and most of them are hidden behind the numerous pieces of furniture. If you are lucky enough to be able to get to an outlet there is a very good possibility that it will have a spider web of wires plugged into it.  Not only are the outlets overloaded at least half of them don't have cover plates on them. Not only do the outlets NOT have cover plates on them almost all of them are loose so that if you try to plug something into them the plugs fall out. Last week in an attempt to cover the smell of propane gas leaking from the kitchen stove, (I am told by The Man not to worry because, "It's ALWAYS been like that!" ) I purchased a small candle wax warmer that plugs into the wall. You put a cube of scented wax into the bowl on the top of the warmer and low and behold the house smells of garden flowers instead of propane gas. Only problem is I can't find an outlet to plug it into. I foolishly just assumed there would be a spot for this warmer but when I started looking I realized this was not going to work.  The first outlet and most practical one logistically has been put into to wall UPSIDE DOWN. You know how outlets have two up and down openings and then a round opening under them for the tree pronged plugs. Well, this outlet has the round opening ABOVE the two slits. No problem for a vacuum cleaner or such but the candle wax bowl would be upside down and that just won't work.  OK so I'll check out the kitchen . . . oh wait, there is only one outlet in there and that is filled with appliance plugs.  The outlets in the bedrooms are all too loose and the candle wax melter is too heavy to remain in the plug.  I finally found an outlet that was right side up and tight enough to hold the warmer but it already was full of wires. I managed to find one of those strips that you can plug several things into it so that I could plug the wax warmer into the wall. This would all be great except that this particular outlet is in a far corner of the house and the smell of scented wax just doesn't make it all the way to the kitchen which is where it stinks of propane gas. 

I GIVE UP !!!  I have three other things on my list of "WTF" items but I am just getting my blood pressure up so I'm going to stop for now and go sit under the maple tree in my chair. I can't smell the propane from there and I'm not sitting over the septic tank. 

NEW OLYMPIC EVENT

 Once again I have come up with an idea for a new game.  This time I think it is worthy of Olympic Medal status because only the extremely talented and physically fit will be able to compete. The category is . . .

                                                      MATTRESS WRESTLING 

Today's event was attempted by The Man and I so it can be classified as a "team" sport. It can be part of either the summer or Winter Olympics because it basically can be held any where at any time. I do caution the participants in this sport to be sure to get a good night's sleep before and eat a hearty breakfast because it will sap all your energy. I must give credit to Mike Lindell who provided the necessary "equipment" for the event.

It all started with watching Fox News.  One of Fox's biggest advertisers is Mike Lindell , creator of               "MY PILLOW".  It seems that every time there is a commercial break my man Mike is on talking about his Pillows, Sheets from Giza, Towels or Mattress Toppers. There is always a sales code shown on the screen for you to enter when you purchase one of these products. It had become a game with The Man and me to try to guess what code will be shown on each commercial.  I never guess the right one but The Man is actually getting quite good at this game. 

Anyway . . . Some time last year I decided to give My Pillow a try.  The Man is one of those people who, like my son-in-law, likes to sleep on a pillow that is about as flat as woodchuck that's been run over by a steam roller. (I honestly don't know why they even bother with a pillow at all but that's their issue.) I, on the other hand, love a fluffy pillow but one that will mold itself to my head. Not too soft, not too hard. Just like Goldilocks I want a pillow that is "just right".  And thanks to Mr. Mike Lindell "My Pillow" is exactly what I was looking for.  Mike said that once I tried his pillow I would never want any other and he is one hundred percent correct.  I LOVE My Pillow!  (How's that for an endorsement ?) 

Once I had "My Pillow" and was so happy with it I started paying more attention to the other products being made by this company. I have too many towels already so I haven't looked into them. Likewise, I don't need sheets although I do think that will be a purchase I will make some time in the future. The ones they show on TV look pretty amazing so I may have to give them a try. The product that did catch my eye was the "Mattress Topper". It is foam with a cover on it that supposedly regulates how hot or cold you get when you sleep. As it happens The Man had bought a new mattress last year to go along with his new adjustable bed. (I have a "sleep number" adjustable bed in Florida and The Man just loves that he can raise his feet to help keep his legs from swelling up and have the bed vibrate to help him fall asleep. As if that is ever a problem.) After getting used to the adjustable bed in Florida The Man decided to buy one for his Michigan home. He ordered the bed on line without ever trying it out. (The reason for that is he would have to drive three hours to any place that sold that type of bed. The UP does NOT have anything that fancy.) One of the questions the sales person asked The Man was, " Do you want a hard or soft mattress.?' The Man chose hard . . .  and boy was it ever! The first time I tried it I thought I was sleeping on cement. I managed to get through last summer by sleeping on a body pillow in the bed but once I saw Mile LIndell's mattress topper I knew it was just the thing I needed.  It just so happened that back in late March there was a special going on where the mattress toppers were being sold for HALF the original price.  (A side note here . . .  the MY Pillow products are NOT CHEAP ! But I think they are worth every penny.) Well all I needed was to hear was "SALE" and I was on the computer putting in my order.  Only problem was I had no idea how long it would take for the topper to arrive so I had it sent to the Florida address. I couldn't wait to buy it just before we headed north so I could have it sent to MI because it was on sale NOW.  As it turned out the thing arrived in about 2 weeks so I stuffed the huge thing in the trunk of the car and we brought it with us when we returned to The Man's house in May. I put it on the bed the minute we arrived in MI and I have never slept so well.  This thing is AMAZING !!  Super comfortable, just soft enough but firm too. All was well with the world . . .  

UNTIL . . .

Two days ago I was coming out of the house and bashed my arm on the screen door when leaving.  Because I am an old lady I got a bruise the size of Rhode Island. It was lovely purple and red and black and right in the center of it was Mt. Vesuvius. Right in the center of this colorful bruise I had a big old blood blister that I knew I should probably pop but I chose not to play doctor and let nature take it's course.  As Nature would have it Vesuvius chose to blow somewhere in the middle of the night while I was asleep. When I got up the nest morning the sheet had a huge blood stain on it. Cursing, I stripped the bed only to realize that the blood had soaked through onto my new mattress toper. Damn!  Damn!  Damn!  But wait !  Mike Lindell said the mattress topper cover was completely washable! Of course!  All I had to do was unzip the cover, pre soak it with some Oxy Clean and then run it through the wash, which is exactly what I did. The mattress topper came out spotless! Now all I had to do was put the cover back on the king size foam pad from which it came and I'd be back in business. 

This is where the new Olympic sport was born,  The Man and I wrestled the damn topper and cover for no less than a half hour. We knew that it HAD to fit because it came off the pad so it HAD to go back on. 

                                                                     NOT !!!!!!!!

It might have been easier to wrestle twelve seven foot alligators than to try to get this pad zipped back into its cover. We finally got it on but there is a huge lump of foam by my feet that just will not ooze itself out. I don't know if the topper shrunk, (I washed it in warm water, not hot), or if, like my butt, once it was released from its case it exploded out and grew in size. What ever the reason for this phenomenon I will never, EVER, take that cover off the foam ever again.  If I disintegrate on this bed just throw the topper away with my remains because I can't compete in this event again. 

A side not to all who would like a VERY good book to read . . . Mike Lindell has written his autobiography and called it, "What Are The Odds".  I bought it and read it in a matter of days. This man is a walking miracle. If ever there was someone who God wanted to remain on this earth for a reason it is Mike Lindell. I highly recommend every one read his book. 

It's not nearly as expensive as his Mattress Topper.