GOD DOESN'T MAKE MISTAKES

So I got to thinking about the whole "Creation" thing and just what God was thinking. I have a theory . . . 

IN THE BEGINNING . . .  So there's God sitting on his throne in Heaven wondering just what to do with Himself. He's got the angels to chat with but with everyone being so perfect there isn't much to talk about. Satan has been banned from Heaven and sent to Hell so there's really not that much to keep God busy.  And so He thinks to himself, "What IF I created something?"    Now if I got the whole bible thing right there apparently was NOTHING before God started creating things.  So there He sits deciding what to do, what to do.  And He starts with THE UNIVERSE.  No small task when you start with nothing.  God decides to toss together some large masses of whatever and throw them around the void. Some were round like planets, some were hot like stars and some were just a messy blob of stuff that went flying around like asteroids and comets.  And that was good fun for a while. But globs of stuff floating around are pretty boring so God decided to take some of them and make them a little more interesting. He added high places and low places. He filled the low places with wet stuff and the high places with frozen wet stuff.  Still pretty dull.  And this is where God really started having fun.  He added some things to the wet stuff . . . and into them he breathed LIFE.  The things could move through the wet stuff and interact with each other.  That was pretty cool for a while until some of those things decided they wanted to climb out of the wet stuff and move around on the dry parts of the blob.  And so God gave them tiny little appendages to help them move and off they went.  

I'm sure all this was pretty entertaining for quite some time but God needed something a little more interesting to keep Himself entertained.  And so . . .   GOD CREATED MAN.    Now THAT was entertaining !!!  But even then,  after a few thousand years of watching this creature mess up everything he touches,  God probably decided that maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. Creating man was good,  giving him free will was the problem.  But since God does not make mistakes I guess we have to just chalk it up to God working on a "learning curve".  I mean, the fact that God also created the Platypus does make you wonder just what was HE thinking. 

So we know that man is not a mistake, he is only the imperfect result of God's experiments. Once God realized all the errors he made on the prototype He corrected them by creating woman.  I am NOT saying that woman is perfect. NO one is perfect but I do think woman has a few more things going for her than the original human being.  

The only problem is that God forgot to let man in on this part of the joke.  He left man thinking that because he was created first he is the Alpha and the Omega.  When we all know he is actually one step this side of a Platypus.

"OLD" CLICHE'S

 "The Golden Years", "Getting Old Isn't For The Faint Hearted", "If I Knew I Was Going To Live This Long I Would Have Taken Better Care Of Myself", "You're Not Getting Any Younger" . . .   

If you are over the age of 40 (?) I'm sure sure you have begun to hear some of these fine cliche's regarding growing older.   At 40 you think, "Yeah Yeah I'm not 20 any more, I can't read the labels on cans in the grocery store without holding them three feet away, I must be getting old". But you have NO idea what you are in for. When someone older then you says,"Oh just wait!" you think, "HA, Not Me . . . I'm not going to be like THAT when I get old" 

At 50 you start noticing wrinkles and grey hairs that weren't there before.  The reason you suddenly notice these things is because you now wear glasses! Your arms could no longer hold those grocery items far enough away to read the label so you gave in and bought a six pack of "cheaters" from Costco just to read the small print. (Not that the print actually became any smaller). Now you have "reading" glasses in every room of the house for those occasions that require seeing anything up close.  

Age sixty brings on the realization that your bones hurt when ever it is going to rain.  You have suddenly become the family weather forecaster who is consulted before your kids head off to work.  "Hey mom, should I bring my umbrella today?"  It seems that your body is developing a mind of its own.  You no longer have complete control of where or when you have to pee or poop, especially when you are no where near a bathroom. It's like there is a master plan to cause you as much embarrassment and discomfort as is possible. The first thing you do when you enter a store or restaurant is to look around for the restroom, "just in case".  Your knees, hips and/or shoulders start to hurt so you now think twice before you head out to that golf or tennis game. You begin to doze off while watching TV after eating dinner at 6:00 instead of 8 or 9 at night. You start "feeling older" even thought you do NOT consider yourself old.

But it is only getting worse . . . Once into your seventies the wrecking ball is really starting to gather speed on that down hill run. Somewhere in the past how ever many years your life has reached the peak of that hill and you are slipping and sliding down the slippery slope on the far side.  You are now officially,  "Over The Hill" but you don't remember ever even seeing the hill.  Another thing you don't remember seeing is the Mack truck that seems to run over you every night while you are sleeping. Every morning is an adventure to see which body part will be in the most pain at any particular moment. There is ALWAYS at least one area of your anatomy that is screaming for attention as you open your eyes and attempt to get out of bed.  Of course that problem is easily solved by not being able to sleep. It now seems that even though you were so tired after having gone out at 4:30 for the Early Bird Special at your favorite restaurant only to return home to fall asleep on the couch while watching the 7:00 news when it comes to going to bed you can't sleep.  You lie down in bed and your body and brain starts revving up instead of shutting down.  For what ever reason that brain that didn't allow you to remember the name of the person you met in Publix now remembers EVERY name of EVERY person you have known since you were three. And it insists that you think about all of them!! No matter that it is now midnight and you are exhausted your brain is insisting you THINK about everything.  Meanwhile, your body is insisting that you pay attention to all its parts that have some sort of ache or pain screaming to be addressed.  Your brain is like a room full of three year olds all screaming for your attention. "Me Me Me, Look at Me!!!!!" As a result of all this you are in a constant state of exhaustion so that even the simplest of tasks seem too much to address.  

And speaking of addressing things, the prospect of writing Christmas Cards and decorating for the holidays has now become so daunting that you start making up excuses for why you will avoid doing both.  "The kids are all grown and the holidays are for kids so I don't need to decorate".  "Stamps are so expensive who can afford to send Christmas Cards". "Half my friends are dead or can't see so why bother sending cards". 

On and on it goes . . .      To be continued !

TIME TO GO HOME

 I need a reprieve . . .  it's time to go home and stop living like a pioneer in the 1800's.  

I want to go home to my nice condo in Florida where I have central AC, a dish washer, ( a REAL dish washer that washes the dishes FOR ME !), a refrigerator that I can fit a gallon of milk on the top shelf withoutt moving twenty other things around like a master chess player,  I want to go home to MY house where I know where everything is in the kitchen, where I can take out anything I want and put it anywhere I want.  I want to return to MY HOUSE where I do not have to ask permission to use the washer and dryer so that I can do three hundred and forty seven loads of wash a day if I choose.  I want togo home where I  am able to scrape a dirty plate into the sink and have the waste disposal chew up the scraps for me instead of having to walk out of the house and into the field to toss food out for the "critters" because if I put it in the garbage it will smell.   I want my own kitchen garbage bag instead of the big waste bin in The Man's kitchen that I am not allowed to use because he doesn't want it to get smelly. Instead we have a plastic bag hanging off of a drawer in the kitchen so that every time you walk past it falls onto the floor.  Then when it is full, (like every other hour) it has to be carried all the way down the driveway to the garbage can out by the road.   I want garbage pick up TWO times a WEEK instead of 2 times a month.  

I want my own master bathroom where I can take a three hour shower if I want because I don't have to worry about filling up the septic tank.  I want water that isn't slimy. (If you have never experienced "soft" water you don't know what you are not missing. It is water that leaves you feeling like the soap is not washed off.  It is weird!) I want MY bedroom where I have an actual end table, not a cooler chest, standing next to my side of the bed so that when I wake up in the middle of the night I can find my glasses or whatever I may want or need.  I want to be able to wake up at three AM and not have to wander through the entire house to go to pee. I want my recliner in the living room at MY house so that if I wake up in the middle of the night I have a place to go to sit and be comfortable when I can't sleep.   I want INTERNET that is fast and unlimited instead of having to keep track of how long I am on my computer so we don't run out of internet hours.  I want to be able to watch TV while sitting on a couch instead of a hard kitchen chair.  I want a BIG TV !!!  I want a SMART TV !!!!  I want MY TV's where I can watch Netflix, HBO Max or another streaming channel instead of having to watch things on my computer.  I want a CLICKER to change channels. 

Will I miss Michigan ?    Sure.    Will I be ready to return here in the spring ?     Probably.     But right now I am done done done with living in the Middle Ages where the finest cuisine is found at Burger King or Mac Donalds.  I am SO ready to go out to a restaurant and eat like a civilized person. To eat a meal that is not delivered by an acne ridden teenager.  To eat a meal that is not a burger or fried chicken.  

I have made a vow to myself that when I return to Florida next week I am going out to lunch at least once a week with friends.  I can't wait to have intelligent conversations with my female friends.  I am looking forward to dressing up in nice clothes and even putting on make-up!  I am leaving behind the flannel shirts and jeans along with my sloppy sweat pants and sneakers.  

Civilization here I come !!!!

CRANKY PANTS

 Today I have on my Cranky Pants.  They are not literal pants but rather a miserable mood that comes over me more often than I care to admit.  I wish they were real pants because then I could pull them off and burn them instead of having them dictate my mood for the day.

When I was married to Husband he would constantly tell me to "Just Get Over It" which sounds like such a simple solution . . . if only it were possible.  Sadly that is not the case so that on the days that I wake up wanting to kill anyone within ten feet of me or just pull the covers up and over my head for the next 24/48 hours instead I have to force myself to be PLEASANT and NICE.  Just like a good person should.

Well in the words of Ebenezer Scrooge . . .BAH HUMBUG on that.  I really do think I would be much more satisfied if I had a baseball bat in my hand right about now and could go on a rampage of smashing everything and everyone in sight.

Instead I am holed up in the guest bedroom with my "go to" mental health outlet . . . my computer.   

I AM TIRED !!!!!  Can I list some of the things I am tired of ?  I am tired of living someone else's life.  I am tired of having an old body. I am tired of doing all the thinking. I am tired of not being able to eat what and when I want. I am tired of not being able to watch what I want when I want.  I am tired.  I am tired of NOT being single.  Stupid stupid me.   

Are you tired of listening to this crap???  Or do you sometimes feel the same way.  Am I alone in this ?  

I think I have a very strong faith and I wholly and completely believe that The Lord has put me where He wants me to be. I DO believe that.  I don't think our lives are random.  I believe that we are guided by God to do His will.  IF we choose to do so is our choice.  I talk about this to God A LOT !!  He pats me on the head, gives me enough strength to get through that moment and we move on.  

I'm not sure a pat on the head is enough today.   I may have to enlist the help of God's second's in command    . . .  JIM BEAM or JACK DANIELS .     I'll let you know how that works out.  

WIND AND WAVES

 It was a wonderful day today.  Well, about a half hour of is was wonderful.  The rest of the day was just so-so.  It is Tuesday and Tuesday means we drive out to Manistique so The Man can do is hour of physical therapy. While he is huffing and puffing away on a treadmill I am walking on the beach at the northern end of Lake Michigan.  The lake is so large I can imagine it to be the ocean and some days the waves on the lake really make it seem like an ocean rather than a lake.  

Today the waves were small in comparison to Florida but large enough to have white caps as they rolled onto the shore.  The "beach" is a mixture of sand and dirt which makes for very easy walking so I take full advantage of that. I have the timing for my hour of freedom down to a science.  I leave The Man at PT and make the short drive down the road to a small parking lot on the beach.  I must say the state of Michigan does an A +++ job at keeping up their rest areas and road side stops.  This particular spot has a large covered cement area that houses about ten picnic tables, a soda machine and very clean bathrooms for men and women.  (There are no gender issues here)  

By the time I park and pee I have about 40 minutes to walk.  Last year when I discovered this parking spot I would walk the parking lot and on down to the river where there is a boat launch, a snack bar and a souvenir shop.  There is also a camp ground that I have walked through admiring the huge motor homes that are parked there.  (Those things must cost a small fortune!). But this year I decided to check out the beach to see how difficult it would be walking on the sand.   I know in Florida it kills my back to walk any distance on the beach but up here I discovered that once I got around the small inlet the sand was hard packed and super easy and pleasant to walk on.  It is WONDERFUL !!  I am alone with the occasional sea gull and the sound of the waves and the wind.  

I HAVE FOUND A HAPPY PLACE !!!

I take tons of pictures because with the camera on my phone I can take tons and tons of photos and then later sit and edit and delete.  (Love these phones) I turn off the ringer on my phone so no one will disturb me and I am off and walking looking for treasures.  Unlike Florida beaches the treasures on a lake beach usually come in the form of driftwood or rocks.  Lake Superior has wonderful rocks, Lake Michigan seems to have mostly driftwood.  There are large skeletons of trees all along the beach and I look with envy thinking how wonderful they would look in my garden in Florida. (Silly me). But there are also bunches of small odd shaped pieces of wood that have found their way to this place.  Today I found 3 pieces that called to me so they are now out on our picnic table drying in the sun.  Haven't decided yet what I will do with them. Good possibility they will end up as fire wood in our fire pit but that won't happen any time this year.  

I will only have one more day to walk on this beach before we return to Florida but I have lots of pictures to look at until we return next spring.  

HOW MANY . . . . . . .

 I remember an old joke from when I was a kid back when dinosaurs roamed the Earth.  It went something like, "How many . . .  (insert your ethnic group of choice here) . . . does it take to screw in a light bulb?" There were various answers to this and as I recall each answer was funnier than the last.  

I AM NOT LAUGHING . . .  

This past week was rough.  Trying to recover, clean and restore the house and my life to "normal" after our weeks worth of house guests wore me down.  The Man was cranky, I was cranky and the world decided to play games with our heads.  It was one of those weeks where NOTHING went right. Probably because we were tired things that normally might not have bothered us got to be major issues.  It was a terrible battle for me to keep from slapping someone up-side his head.  I did a LOT of talking to God this past week and thankfully God was listening because He always directed my attention to something soothing. Like right now . . .  I'm sitting outside under the big maple tree enjoying a cool breeze that is helping me to cool down in more ways than one. 

But back to our riddle/joke.  This weeks version of the joke is, "How many times does it take The Man to check a fuse before he admits there is a problem?"  

Back in November of last year The Man bought a used Honda Odyssey. It was not a good move and I had a very strong feeling that this was NOT the car to buy but having learned my lessons well I kept my mouth shut.  He is a grown man and should be capable of making his own decisions.  Usually this is the case but in this particular instance he, (we) were basically given the full on push as only a car salesman can do. The Man went through with the purchase and was basically happy with the car.  There was an issue early on where the dealership really took advantage of The Man but once that was all sorted out he was good to go.  The mini van is perfect for his needs of getting oxygen concentrators and tanks in and out of the car quite easily.  The sliding side doors make travel so much simpler for him, (us). 

Fast forward to just before we left Florida to come to MI.  I noticed the transmission was occasionally slipping. I gathered my courage to mention this to The Man and he actually said he had noticed the same thing.  OK  Did he do anything about it?  No, of course not.  But forget the transmission, we will save that problem for a day when we are 2,000 miles from home and in the middle of a monsoon or something.  Heaven forbid !    

Then somewhere in the middle of the summer we started to have a problem with the cigarette lighter in the front of the car.  Normally one would say, "who cares?" but because The Man is on oxygen we have to travel with an oxygen concentrator AND a spare concentrator AND a large oxygen tank AND a small oxygen tank.  (Breathing being a key issue here) we need power for the concentrators. The oxygen tanks are good for moving to and from the car but they only contain enough oxygen for a couple of hours at most.  Our main source of oxygen while in the car is the electric concentrator that plugs into the cigarette lighter.  So if the cigarette lighter is not working The Man is not breathing.  Minor detail !

Anyway . . .  the first time the concentrator started beeping alerting us to the fact that it was no longer receiving electricity The Man, after cursing for a few seconds, wiggled the wires and resolved the problem.  Then it happened again and again and again.  The Man cursed, wiggled wires, pulled the power cord out and pushed it back in and cursed some more.  "It must be the cord" said The Man.  Two weeks later we had a new cord and that worked fine for about a month.  Then this past week it all went of hell in a hand basket.  The cigarette lighter died completely.  The man of course blamed the wire. Tried a second wire and that didn't work either.  (The light bulb is slowly being lit in The Man's brain.). The Man reads the owners manual for the car and finds there is a second lighter outlet in the back of the car.  (Let me take a moment here to remind you that The Man does not get out to do or check any of this. I am the idiot climbing in and out of the car.). So, we plug the cord into the back lighter and it does not work.  Maybe it IS the cord.  We plug in a second cord and it DOES work.   For all of about 5 minutes and then that one dies.   

Now I am not an electrician but something tells me there IS a problem. The car is shorting out the power boxes on the cords? I don't know but I do know there is something wrong and since we  are leaving Michigan in less than TWO weeks for a 1,600 mile drive to Florida. I doubt very much The Man can hold his breath for that long. Something needs to be done.

The Man decides, (and this is where the old joke comes in) the problem is a FUSE.  A reasonable deduction. And so we begin The Great Fuse Search of 2022.  First we have to find the little buggers.  Turns out a 2019 Honda odyssey had THREE fuse boxes.  This fact was established when we made our first stop at an auto supply store.  (Did you know these stores don't just sell stuff?  They will come out to your car and run tests on the car!). I was sent into the shop to get help. A lovely young man came out, found two fuse boxes, pulled out the fuse for the cigarette lighter and said it looked fine.  End of that stop.   We return home so that The Man can have me go under the hood and check for myself.  I refused to get down on the ground to wiggle into the drivers side of the car to access fuse box # 2 but I did get to search out and find fuse box # 3 in the way back of the car.  (WE) I opened that, switched fuses and still no luck.   Does The Man accept the fact that it is NOT a fuse issue.  NO     Next day we drive to another auto supply store and after a half hour and THREE workers later we now have establishes that all the fuses are just fine !!!  And yet The Man continues to believe the problem is caused by a fuse.   Next stop is to the Toyota dealer in town, (The Honda dealer is an hour and a half away).  Toyota service department is wonderful.  They listen, look and test ALL the fuses.  They take the wires we have for the concentrator out to their own cars n the parking lot and plug them in to see if the wires are working.  THEY ARE NOT.  They test the cigarette lighters and determine that the back on is working but the front on is bad.  But since we have now blown out both of our power cords that does us no good.  

It is here that I suggest we call Honda and make an appointment.  Grumble grumble grumble.  I also suggest that perhaps The Man needs to order a new power cord and NOT plug it into the car until we get the car looked at.  Grumble grumble grumble. 

I have no idea where this is all going.  We have a car appointment at Honda for next week.  New power cord for the concentrator is ordered and I am drinking Jack Daniels Honey by the pint.  

ONCE AGAIN . . . LET'S PLAY . . . IT'S NOT MY . . . . . . . .

 All right then everyone, it is once again time to play our favorite game of, "It's NOT my . . . ".  This is the game where you get to fill in the blank regarding what thing is NOT something you have to concern yourself with.

Unfortunately I am not very good at this game.  It seems that I constantly get myself into situations where I should have just kept my big mouth shut.  I foolishly have this stupid idea that I can possibly contribute something to what ever is happening at the moment.  How very silly of me!!  

Today's segment of the game is, "It's NOT MY party".  I swore that I was not going to get involved in any of the planning or preparing for today's gathering but some how I managed to get myself in the middle of the shit storm. The up side of all that is I get to come outside under my favorite tree and blog.  (I find blogging is better than drinking or drugs because I can find the humor in a situation when I write.)

Let's go back to the beginning of this latest upset in my life.  We, (The Man), have house guests for 10 days.   The Man's son, girlfriend and her 2 boys, (ages 7 & 9) arrived here last Saturday from Alaska.  That is GREAT !!  The man enjoys his son's visits, the son is super helpful and fixes all sorts of stuff around the place and they cook !!  BUT, it is 4 extra people in a tiny, one bathroom house. Stressful to say the least especially when you are old and cranky and never know what or when your bodily functions want to kick in. I swore to myself I would stay out of the way and under the proverbial radar.  Easy to say, not so easy to do.  And this is where our game of, "It's NOT MY . . .  " kicks in.    I have to keep reminding myself it is not my family, not my house, not my place to say or do anything.  I find this nearly impossible !!!  

Today it came to a head when I tried to help, something that I promised myself I WOULD NOT do while our guests were here.  I have managed to remember this vow for three whole days but I lost it today. STUPID, STUPID, STUPID !!!!  

Our house guests are having a family, friend gathering here at the farm today.  WONDERFUL !  I am totally on board with this.  The Son and his friend are doing all the buying, cooking and work associated with a gathering of 15 people.  Their choice of menu which they are totally handling.  I have stayed as far removed from this as possible.  All was well with the world.  

UNTIL . . .  the logistics of setting up for the party became an issue.  The IDIOT, (AKA, The Man) decides the outdoor cooking and food set up should be done on a small 36 inch camping table out on the patio.  (When I got up this morning there were numerous pans and bowls of food that will be turned into fish tacos.  There is NO chance in Hell that all the food that I saw was going to fit on a 36 INCH table.) And so, STUPID, STUPID, STUPID me said, "Why don't you get the big folding table out of the garage to set up and work on. I will give you a lot more room." It was just a thought that I stupidly put into words.  You would think I had suggested The Man rip out his eyeballs and shove them up his nose. There was much huffing and puffing on his part so I just shut up and walked inside to do some dishes.  Next thing I know The Man is in the kitchen telling me to get the extension cord and put it out the bedroom window so the cooks can plug in the deep frier.   I reply, (because I am totally pissed at The Man) "Have DJ plug it in, he is right at the bottom of the stairs where there is a plug and you can put the cord out through the window right there.

BIG MISTAKE !!!!  The Man had it set in his head that the cord should be brought into the house, into the bedroom and snaked out through the bedroom window. 

Let us pause here for a moment and contemplate what happens when you put a large industrial extension cord out a window.  You must OPEN the window, right ?  Even if you then try to shut the window as much as possible there is still a half inch wide opening where bugs can get in. Normally this would not matter except that this morning while we were sitting on the patio there were HUNDREDS of flies.  The conversation was "Where did all these flies come from?", "Why are there so many flies?" "What is going on here and how do we get rid of the flies before the party."   Would you like to guess where the bedroom window opens out onto the patio ?????  If you guessed right above where all the flies were you are    correct !!!! I would have liked to have pointed this out to The Idiot, aka The Man but there was no further discussion to be had.  He wanted the cord out the bedroom window so I put the freaking cord out the freaking window.  

I'll keep you posted on how my, "NOT MY problem" works out today.  

" I DON'T WANT TO DRIVE IN THE DIRT"

It is just one of those days.   I just spent the last 10 minutes writing this blog and it suddenly disappeared. Which just goes to prove my point that it is indeed, "Just One Of Those Days" when EVERYTHING goes wrong.  

It started this morning when I woke up with a headache.  I just wanted to go back to sleep and make the world go away but WE had a full day of stuff ahead of us.  The Man's brother was coming over at 10 to bring the extra blow up bed for our guests arriving on Saturday for 10 days.  The furnace guy was coming at 11 to service the furnace in preparation for our departure to Florida in FOUR weeks. The Man had then decided he wanted to come with me into town to go to the laundromat, post office, bank and grocery store.  I REALLY had been looking forward to doing this on my own for some "quiet" time off the " reservation" but The Man wanted to "help".  Oh lucky me !  I could tell he also was not functioning at 100% but he insisted he drive.  So once our two visitors came and went WE packed up the car with 2 comforters, a fist full of quarters, detergent, boxes for the post office, a box and 2 bags for St. Vincent de Paul and a bunch of empty soda cans to be deposited in the bin at the grocery store.  (The local high school has a big open bin in the parking lot of the grocery store so you can drive up and deposit all your soda and beer cans to help fund the high school teams. They must make a fortune because they have had this bin there for several years now. )

First stop was the laundromat . . . Naturally The Man sits in the car for all our stops.  (He IS on oxygen you know.) I dragged in the first king size comforter, left it on a table and returned to the car to get the second comforter and detergent.  Once inside I found that one of the 3 heavy duty machines was out of order but fortunately the other two were working and no one was using them.  (Score one for me!). Comforters IN and running so back to the car for stop #2. The bank to get more quarters.  NO problem there.  Stop #3, the post office where I got to spend almost $8 sending two toothbrushes back to The Man's grand daughter and her boy friend.  (They had arrived this past weekend for a visit and as a result I had to wash the second comforter AGAIN because I think they were eating pizza in bed.  I had just washed the cover last week in preparation for our next batch of company but it was in no condition to be used after the "kids' visit.)

Anyway . . .  Next stop, St. Vinnys. I got the large box out of the car and wrestled it into the drop off room only to have The Man questioning what was in the box.  Dear God in Heaven, like I am throwing away something that he may consider a treasure.  (Everything is a treasure to The Man) but I was good because it was crap from the yard sale collection that WE had gone through earlier this summer.  PHEW !  Now on to our last stop . . . a "DRIVE BY" in the parking lot of "Pats Grocery.  I have done this drop at least a dozen times this summer.  Put the bag of cans on the passenger seat of the car, drive up to the bin, open the window and "TOSS"!!!!!  

We pulled into the parking lot and The Man came to a stop.  I looked at him and before I could even speak, (He knew exactly what I was going to say, "Pull up to the bin and I'll toss out the bag", he said, and I quote,  "I DON'T WANT TO DRIVE IN THE DIRT" !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!   And because he did not want to drive in the dirt I now had to climb out of the car for the 4th time this morning and walk the bag over to the bin.  

Now I realize I need the exercise BUT . . .   ARE YOU KIDDING ME ??????????  

It was after that incident that I suggested we drive him back home so he could rest.  He looked totally exhausted.  He agreed that he was not feeing 100% and it would probably be a good idea.  

I am now sitting in the car outside the laundromat waiting for my soaking wet comforters to dry.  It seems that something was not working with either of the washers so the comforters were still quite wet when they came out of the washer.  At this point I don't care if it costs me $40 to dry the damn things.  I'm in NO hurry to return home.  

ANOTHER B. - O. - S.

 I don't know what the problem is with The Man but he seems to have a huge issue with B.O.S. Otherwise known as BIG ORANGE SIGNS !!!  (I could say BFS but that is not very lady like). Do you happen to remember several weeks ago I wrote about The Man not paying attention to the B.O.S. (BIG ORANGE SIGN) that sat smack dab in the center of a road we were on.  That particular sign said, "ROAD CLOSED".  The sign was LARGE, and the sign was ORANGE, a combination that is pretty hard to miss as you drive down the road.  We were not traveling at warp speed or the speed of light, we were driving about 35 miles an hour and yet The Man did not choose to read the sign or if he DID read the sign he choose to ignore it.  And then complained for DAYS that the road was closed but no one told him!!

Moving on to todays adventure . . .   There is a small bridge on the "highway" going through the next town, Rapid River.  The bridge is old and apparently in dire need of repairs. Last month the highway department put up some BOS going through Rapid River warning they were going to close one of the two lanes on the bridge for repairs. They warned there would be "POSSIBLE DELAYS".  We all know what that means.  Well true to their word they did indeed close one lane and put up a traffic light that allowed cars to take turns crossing the bridge on the one open lane.  It was NOT nearly as bad as we expected especially since it is the middle of the summer and the highway is a main route for tourists coming and going across the UP.  At most we were inconvenienced thirty SECONDS on any of our several trips back and forth to Manistique for pulmonary rehab.  The closure lasted maybe two weeks and then as suddenly as it appeared it was gone. Much to the delight of The Man.  (There were no problems associated with the road work but The Man just does not like change of any kind.)

Fast forward to Last Thursday's trip to Manistique.  There, by the side of the road in the middle of Rapid River, stood a NEW B.O.S. (Big Orange Sign). This sign announced that road work would resume on Monday, August 22.  "EXPECT DELAYS".    OK,  NO biggie . . . the last bit of road work wasn't bad at all so we can just roll with it.  NOT !!!!  The Man began to stress all day because there was going to be MORE road work.  Then he forgot about it and went on with his life.  

UNTIL  this morning when, at 10 AM we approached Rapid River and the B.O.S. said, "ROAD WORK AHEAD"  (Now let me take a moment to tell you that when I say "traffic" I am NOT referring to traffic that most of us are familiar with from either the Long Island Expressway or I 95 at rush hour.  The definition of traffic in the UP is anything more than 2 cars.  When in a "traffic Jam" in the UP you may have to wait all of 3 seconds but that is rare. We are not talking about 3 HOUR delays in bumper to bumper traffic as you inch your way along a two mile stretch of road. )  So there we were approaching the B.O.S. and The Man is starting to panic.  "We're going to be late", "Damn road work", "What are they doing now????" All of this is being said as we continue to roll through Rapid River and over the bridge where there is NO road work. Not a single worker to be seen, no traffic light and no closed lanes on the road.  Next second we see another B.O.S. telling us we are leaving the work zone.  I do believe The Man was actually disappointed that there was no road work.  

But we are not done . . .  We still have to make the return journey after rehab.  

It is now about 12:30 in the afternoon as we once again approach Rapid River on our return trip home.  About a mile outside of town what should our wondering eyes see but,  yes,   a BIG ORANGE SIGN !!!!  Standing right there on the side of the road telling us, you guessed it,  "ROAD WORK AHEAD".   Did The Man see the sign? Or did he just choose not to believe it because they had lied to us earlier on our way to Manistique?  I honestly can't say but when we suddenly came around a curve in the road and found ourselves in a line of traffic about THIRTY cars long The Man said, and I quote, "WHAT THE HELL ???  THERE MUST BE AN ACCIDENT!"  

HELLO OOOOOOO OOOOOO OOOOOOO.  Did you not just see a BIG ORANGE SIGN telling you there was ROAD WORK AHEAD  ?????????????????????                  Did I say that out loud?                 Of course not!  I"m not stupid.  Instead I muttered something like, "Oh Wow, how about that!" and then began composing this blog in my head because it was just TOO good not to share. 

TUESDAY WITH ELVIS

 Late last night just before we were about to shut off the light and go to sleep The Man asked, "Can we get Elvis music on my phone?" Now this is not exactly the sort of question I am prepared to answer just as I'm falling asleep so it took me a second or two to process.  Can we get Elvis music on The Man's phone?  WHAT ???    The Man went on to state that on Tuesday Elvis Presley will be dead 49 years.  (I have just discovered that it was LAST Tuesday NOT this coming Tuesday. NO matter which Tuesday it is I really couldn't care less but apparently this IS a BIG deal to The Man.)

OK back to "The Question" . . .  My first reaction . . . IN MY HEAD . . . was WHY would I WANT to get Elvis music on my phone?  I did not speak this out loud because I know The Man is a HUGE Elvis fan. (Of course he is, he loves country music and he lives in the UP which is one step this side of hillbilly redneck, but in a very good way.) So naturally The Man would want to play Elvis' music to commemorate the death of The King of Rock and Roll.  Unfortunately, The Man wanted to channel the Elvis tribute through his phone and into the car radio as we drove an hour each way to his pulmonary therapy.  The thought of two hours of steady Elvis is enough to make me contemplate suicide.  

It is not that I don't like Elvis music . . .  I just don't LOVE Elvis music.  If one Elvis song plays on the radio that's fine with me but 2 hours worth really would put me over the edge. I was 12 years old when Elvis hit stardom so I really wasn't into music yet.  I was still listening to the music of my parents era, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and for country music it was Tennessee Ernie Ford with his song, "Sixteen Tons". (I can still remember all the lyrics to that one) So when Elvis broke into the music industry I was a product of my parent's generation and thought Elvis was down right horrible.  I was too young to appreciate his sex appeal and too old to think he had any talent.  

But here we are with a person who wants to honor Elvis with 2 hours of his music as we drive in the car.  On a good day The Man has trouble focusing on his driving so it we have the added distraction of Elvis tunes Heaven only knows where we might end up.  I know where I will end up, sitting in a closed banging my head on a wall.  

In answer to "The Question" I told him "NO" . . . . there's no way to play Elvis music through your phone into the car. . . .   end of problem !!!!   Good thing he doesn't understand You-tube !!!

THE SHELF

 I'll make this quick, I'm writing while The Man is in the shower.  

Amidst the many many pieces of OLD furniture that call this house their home there stands 2 old china cabinets.  The sort of which are made of wood with rounded panels of glass on each side and on the door on the front of the cabinet.  The glass would cost a small fortune to replace.  Inside these lovely antique cabinets are an assortment of beautiful antique glass ware that The Man could/should have sold to the antique dealer who was here a couple of months ago.  She admired the glassware, she told The Man it was very expensive and she said she would love to buy it from him.  He did not want to sell it to her because, "That isn't what I wanted her to look at".  She was not really interested in any of the crap that The Man wanted her to look at but she did end up taking some stuff.  As she left she told me to give her a call if The Man ever decided to sell the glassware.  

Fast forward to 2 nights ago when there was a loud crash and the sound of breaking glass.  I missed this entire event because I had moved into the second bedroom to try to get some sleep. I was convinced I was dying and didn't want to die and keep The Man awake.  (I obviously was NOT dying.  Just too much caffeine before bed time.). Anyway, I never heard the crash or The Man wandering around trying to see what broke, if in fact anything had broken.  He found nothing and returned to bed.  The following morning he checked again and in the light of day found that a shelf in one of the antique cabinets had fallen and some of the glassware had slid down and broken.  (Guess the antique dealer doesn't want that glassware now!) The man was NOT the least bit upset that the glassware broke BUT he WAS upset that the shelf had fallen.  WHY ????  HAD THE SHELF FALLEN ??????  THAT is what he was upset about.  After careful consideration of the situation he had me look at it and I realized that one of the small metal tabs that fit into holes on the cabinet frame had come loose and fallen out, thus making the shelf tip and drop its contents.  This was a BIG deal and The Man was not going to rest until the tab was returned to its spot and the shelf was once again back in it's place.  

This is where it gets silly . . . 

I took the tab and tried to get it back into its hole but the tab wouldn't go in. ( I assume it never did fit properly into the hole and was just hanging by a thread, thus the shelf finally letting go?) I told this to The Man and his question was WHY ???  WHY won't the tab go back into the hole?  I explained that probably the wood had dried out and shrunk or something like that. (WHO CARES WHY? was what I was screaming in my head.) But The Man needed to know WHY this happened, as if there was an evil conspiracy to make his shelf fall or I sneak around in the middle of the night sabotaging cabinets.  (That theory actually might be plausible.) 

The next question was how do WE fix it.  Now pay attention to this please because this is the point of this whole blog.  I suggested we make the hole a little bigger. The Man wanted to know how we would do that.  I suggested getting a Phillips head screw driver, putting it in the hole and twisting it a few times.  The Man didn't like that idea.  HE thought we needed to sand down the little knob that goes into the hole.  Being the smart person that I am I said, "OK" and walked away.  Upon my return to the kitchen I found The Man sitting in his chair rubbing an emory board on the bracket tab.  (This action would be like trying to cut a 2X4 with a butter knife.)

Now I could have burst out into peals of hysterical laughter but I did not.  I just kept walking. After a few minutes The Man asked me to take the bracket and see if it now fit in the hole.  Do you want to guess what the answer to that was ????  DUH !!! Of course if didn't make a bit of difference.  You're rubbing a freaking emory board on a piece of metal !!!!  Much to his disappointment I returned the tab to him and once again walked away.  BUT WAIT !!!  The Man has another idea . . . He asked me to check in his closet for a small blue box that contained a small electric drill tyoe of tool that is used to wear down metal. 

(I must make note here that all of this is happening minutes after I have crawled out of bed.  I have not yet had anything to eat or drink and my "keep calm" medication has not yet reached my brain.  I am in NO mood to be doing any of this while The Man is sitting at the kitchen table DIRECTING )

Back to the closet search for a tool.  No little blue box anywhere in sight.  OK, The Man decides the tool MUST be in a box in the back of another closet.  NOT.  Maybe it is . . . This could have gone on all morning but I had had enough.  I walked out to the closet where he has a bag of tools.  There I found a PHILLIPS HEAD SCREW DRIVER which I took in to the cabinet, placed it in the hole in the frame, spun it around a few times and then put the freaking metal peg back into the hole.  EXACTLY as I had wanted to do an hour ago.  

What in hell is it with these men who find it necessary to make a HUGE project out of the simplest of things ????????

GRAVEL ON MY MIND

 As if I don't have enough things floating around in my head I now have added gravel to the medley. Who in their right mind is thinking about gravel at four in the morning ?????  Apparently me.

It all began several months ago when The Man decided his dirt driveway needed a new coat of gravel.  (This is apparently something one must do every couple of years if you live in the woods) I was not living up here the last time The Man had this done so the whole adventure was new to me and I was sitting front and center when the HUGE, long dump truck backed up the driveway two weeks ago.  All I needed was a bowl of popcorn and I was all set for the show.  Let me mention that there is no way in Hell that I could ever have backed that large a truck up this narrow "path" from the road to the house.  The driveway is about 300 feet long and about 10 feet wide as it winds through the woods but this guy was a pro and before we knew it he was parked by the garage fiddling with chains and latches at the back of the truck.  Once he climbed back into the cab the back of the truck began to lift and as soon as it was high enough for the gravel to start sliding down onto the ground. At this point the driver knew just how fast or slow to accelerate down the driveway so that the gravel poured out in an even stream until he reached the street and the truck was empty.  (I even took a video!). As the truck drove off into the sunset, (not really because it was only about 6 in the evening and the sun doesn't set up here until at least 10:30) I had to walk the length of the drive to check it all out.  The gravel was beautiful if you can consider dirt and rocks beautiful. The rocks are all a lovely grey and white color so it looked so clean and new. I was delighted with this new road.  The gravel was loose so it was almost like walking on sand at the beach but over the next several days we packed it down with the car each time we drove in and out of the property. By the end of the week we had a hard packed new surface that was better than any potholed mess of road that I have ever driven on. I loved it !!! (Please note the use of the PAST tense . . . lovED rather than love). 

All was well in my world but this apparently was not the case with The Man.  It seems that the Swiss Alps were a sticking point in his mind.  

When the dump truck started up at our end of the driveway by the garage it dropped a small pile of gravel before it got up enough momentum to move on down the drive. This SMALL mound of gravel was maybe 10 inches high and as wide as the truck. This mound bugged The Man for the next several days. With every trip in and out of the property The Man would mutter about the PILE of gravel at the end of the drive.  In his mind the small mound had become as large and as high as the Swill Alps. This would NOT do and he HAD to get it taken care of ASAP.  One afternoon soon after the "drop" I decided I would just take a rake and drag the stuff around to smooth it out.  Do you know how heavy dirt and rocks are?  One attempted drag of the rake and I was done with that brilliant idea.  My thought was the lump would eventually smooth out. I kept that idea to myself. The Man, on the other hand, had a plan. Because he has lived here for years he has a "fix" for smoothing out his dirt/gravel driveway.  Now most residents up here own pick up trucks on which a snow plow can be mounted on the front. Some folks have snow plows that can be mounted on the from to their tractors. Either way, almost everyone has a snow plow tucked away in their barn or garage just waiting for the many snows of the UP winters.  This snow plow is also used to drag the dirt roads in and out of most properties out in the country. Instead of plowing forward with the plow you drive backwards dragging the plow along the dirt. This smoothes out bumps and fills in holes all at the same time.  Ingenious !!!! 

  But wait . . .  we don't have a snow plow.  

Ahhhhhhh, that's not a problem for The Man. This clever fellow has come up with his own version of a road grader/plow.  Somewhere along the line The Man has figured out that an old box spring from a mattress, when pulled along in back of his tractor, acts in the same way as a plow.  Where he ever got this idea from I don't know but it explains why most homes out here in the country have a rusty old mattress spring sitting out in the tall grass somewhere on their property. 

And so The Man plan was to have our 2 neighbor boys drive their ATV over here, hook the box spring, (which is sitting out in the tall grass by the shed on the edge of the woods),  onto the back of the ATV and run it across the Alps a few times. Good plan. (I personally thought it was not necessary but who am I to think?)

Last week, before we lost our power for a day, (that blog will be coming soon), we made our bi-weekly trip to Manistique for pulmonary rehab.  When we returned we saw that "The Boys" had been here, cut the grass, weed whacked AND dragged the Alps.  They also dragged the damn box spring up and down my lovely packed down driveway.  I don't know if the driveway drag was in The Man's plan but when we got home and I saw what had been done I was upset. I kept that to myself waiting to see what The Man's reaction would be.  HE LOVED IT !!!  Granted, The Alps were gone but in their place was a large swirl of gravel spread across the driveway in front of the garage AND out into the grass leaving a large circle of dirt in the center.  (Picture a donut). The smooth, PACKED driveway was now covered in a loose mess with bare dirt spots in the middle and gravel sprayed off to the sides. Did I mention The Man thought this was GREAT ????  I am wondering if he thinks it is as awful as I think it is but he just won't admit that his idea was STUPID !!!!! ????????    I'm sure I will never know.

And so every time I walk up and down the driveway to the mail box or the trash can I must chant my new mantra . . . "Not MY driveway, Not MY driveway, Not MY driveway". 

And yet here I am in the middle of the night blogging about gravel.  I think I need a lobotomy or at the very least a good psychiatrist and some powerful drugs.  

GETTING "OLD"

 Ask anyone over the age of 40 . . .  Yes, I said "FORTY" . . . they will tell you getting "old" sucks.  

Before 40 life is full of exciting adventures.  Falling in love, children, fullfilling careers, travel and all sorts of good things to fill our days.  Then one day you realize you can't read the small print on anything smaller than a bill board on the side of the road.  You go to the market and can't read the ingredients on a can of mixed vegetables. You go to a restaurant and if the lighting in the place is any less than the five thousand watt halogen lights in a Major League Baseball stadium you can't read the menu. You find yourself looking around to see if anyone else is using their cell phone flash light to illuminate their menu.  Suddenly driving at night becomes an issue. There are all sorts of little indications that your eyes are NOT what they used to be.                                                                                                                                   

Next thing to go is your hearing.  People no longer speak clearly, everyone "mumbles". The TV suddenly isn't loud enough for you to catch all the dialogue and your kids all speak too quickly and quietly. You are now asking people to repeat what they said or you are getting very good at reading lips. If none of that works you find yourself just nodding and agreeing with everything because you have no idea what was being said. As a result you are now the president of the PTO in your kids school.                                    

Add to all that your body decides it no longer wants to function as well as it used to.  You have aches and pains in the oddest places and your stomach no longer wants to digest Mexican food or any other food for that matter.  You are now spending a ridiculous amount of money on toilet paper each month and less money on food.                                                                                                                                          

Your body temperature refuses to remain a constant 97.4 degrees. If you're a woman you are either freezing or roasting.  There is no happy medium. It is either one extreme or the other.                           

Things that used to be fun are now a chore. I actually remember enjoying cooking. Finding new recipes to make for dinner or guests. Spending hours in the kitchen preparing a meal was fun. That ship has sailed! Now I want to order take out or just not eat because I can't stand being in the kitchen. (I literally can't stand without my back aching so that adds to the fun of spending hours on your feet preparing food.)      

And of course there is the whole sleep or lack of sleep issue. I can fall asleep in a chair at two in the afternoon but come eleven o'clock at night I am wide awake.  If I do fall asleep I wake up forty two times because I have to pee. There is no comfortable spot in the bed and it is either too hot or too cold.                        

The ultimate indignity is your hair.  If you are a man your hair decides it no longer wants to reside on your head. As it slowly disappears from your scalp it begins to flourish in your ears and nostrils. (I think I have actually seen men trying to do a "comb over" from their ears).  If you are a woman you have the opposite problem.  The hair not only continues to grow on your head it also begins to grow on your chin and upper lip. Suddenly you find yourself morphing into your great grandfather Luigi who sported a handlebar mustache and beard. 

All of this is because you have now entered the TWILIGHT ZONE !  You have no idea how or why this is all happening but you do know you don't like it. Who ever coined the phrase "Twilight years" had no idea just how right they were.

As the years pass things continue to get worse and worse until you find yourself telling people things like, "Don't get old", "This growing old stuff is for the birds" or "Just wait till you get to be my age, then you'll see what I'm talking about".  All this is understandable considering it is un chartered territory so every thing that now happens is unexpected and unwanted.  No one wants aches and pains. No one wants to walk with a cane or walker. No one wants to take 14 different pills each day. It just isn't natural.

But it IS !  It is a fact that we can't stop time. As the years, days, hours pass we grow older. Can't stop it, Can't change it. You, Me, We are ALL in this together and aging isn't something you can bypass unless you really prefer to die at 27 just so you don't ever have to feel old.  I personally enjoy being alive, even with all the "charming" adventures it brings.  Each day is a gift . . . some days I would prefer not to open that gift but then I think of all I would miss. As I sit here under the big maple tree here on The Man's farm I am not pain free but the aches and pains that have become a regular part of my aging life are nothing compared to the serenity I feel. The warm sun, the gentle breeze, the birds chirping all overshadow everything else that is going on in my life.  Sitting here reminds me of how much I am blessed and I wouldn't change that for the world.  

There are plenty of times in our daily old lives that we think we just can't put up with the aches, pains, worries and whatever but we CAN. We can, we do and we will because there is always SOMETHING that makes us know we would rather be here.   

I totally believe there is a God and Heaven. I know that once my days are done here on Earth there is a much better place that I will go but until that time I want to appreciate and enjoy every second of being alive and being old even though I REALLY am NOT old YET. 

SPIRIT NAME

If The Man was a Native American he might have a "Spirit" name, like "Wolf Hunter" or "Flies Like Bird" because he has done both.   But these days neither of those would apply so I believe that his spirit name would be changed to  "AIR TALKER".   The Man talks to the air CONSTANTLY !!!  

I imagine he thinks he is talking to me but when he is 2 rooms away I can't hear a word he is saying yet I can hear him going on and on about something.  This is an every day, one hundred times a day occurrence and I just laugh to myself time after time.  The good thing is that his memory is getting worse by the day so even if he thinks he is telling me something he won't remember that ten minutes later. 

I've written before about how The Man has a habit of starting a conversation just as I am walking out the door.  It seems there is some correlation between my body being in motion that triggers his need to start talking.  Sometimes I stop and listen for a few seconds just to make sure he is not imparting some wisdom but I soon realize he is just talking for the sake of talking.  This fact is strange because we can be in the same room/car for hours and he will never say a word.  The second I stand up and move out of his immediate surrounding he starts talking.  It's like he needs to fill the space I was inhabiting with words.  

Most times it doesn't make a difference if he chooses to start a conversation as I walk away from him. He usually lets me get into the next room before he even starts talking so it's not like I'm still in his sight. I mean, I am out of the room and around the corner when I hear him start talking.  If I come back and ask what he was saying nine times out of ten he can't remember.  Occasionally he will start over with what ever wisdom he was spewing but even then I am at a loss as to what he is talking about because he starts most conversations in the middle. Apparently The Man has a LOT of conversations going on IN his head so at any moment when the words decided to spill from his mouth they make no sense to me because I was not inside his head for the first three minutes of his thought.  I have a lot of difficulty knowing who, "She" and "He" and "They" are when I'm brought into the conversation.  Because he has been thinking about a particular person or thing he seems to assume I know who or what he is referring to when he starts speaking.  One minute we will be talking about the local hardware store and the next minute he is saying something like, "They only had Chocolate and Vanilla today".  Now I am pretty sure the hardware store is not selling Chocolate and Vanilla screwdrivers or power drills so I am confused.  When The Man sees the look of puzzlement on my face he can't figure out why I am so stupid.  It's a game for me, trying to figure out the train of thought even though the train has derailed three stations back.

As I sit here in the living room, three rooms away from where The Man is sitting watching TV I can hear him talking to me.  I know he is talking TO me because even though there are times when I think he has indeed lost his mind I do know he really is all there.  It's almost like he thinks I have super powers and can hear him no matter where he is.  There are times when I don't answer so he will walk into the room I am in to ask if I heard him.  When I say I didn't hear him he is AMAZED . . .  how could I NOT hear what he was saying ????  Gee, there must be something wrong with my hearing!  

Now let us take a moment here to explore the flip side of this problem.  I will be sitting directly across the kitchen table from The Man and he doesn't hear a word I am saying.  I speak his name to get his attention and even though he is facing me I can see that the words are floating off into space never to be heard again.  When I ask him twenty minutes later if he has thought about what I said at dinner I receive the blank look and the question, "WHAT?"  He never heard me speak to him and he will SWEAR I never did. 

As frustrating as all this can be I am beginning to use it to entertain myself when things get too dull. I walk through the room moving my mouth but saying nothing. Most times he doesn't even notice until I am out of the room and then it will dawn on him that I must have been saying something.  I naturally deny it. When I am in another room and I hear him talking I just let him go on and then two hours later I will ask what he was talking about earlier. He can't remember and it drives him nuts trying to remember what important piece of information he was sharing with me.  

It's all in good fun and I wonder if anything will change when he get his new hearing aids next month.

LITTLE MIDDLE BRAIN

 The comedian Jeanne Robertson always refers to her husband as "Left Brain".  In many of her hilarious shows she will talk about "Left Brain" and the things he does. She and I are kindred spirits although I must say she is often a lot kinder to the opposite sex than I am. 

This blog has been forming in my mind for a few days now so this morning I did some Google searching to see just what information I could find regarding our brains and how they work.  Here is a very watered down version of what I found. . .  the front of our brain controls body movement, personality, problem-solving, concentration and planning. . . the middle of our brain governs emotions and long-term memory   . . .  the back of the brain deals with balance and coordination.  Those are the basics of the brain front to back.  As for left and right, well, people with a dominant left side of their brain tend to be more logical and people who favor their right brain are more creative.  

My conclusion from all of this is I have a strong frontal lobe because I am good at problem solving and planning. The middle of my brain isn't as strong because I can't remember shit and most of the time I am an emotional mess. As for the back of my brain, well, that just depends on the day although my balance is quite good I am not coordinated. (I discovered that fact when, years ago, I tried to do aerobics and keep falling over my feet and the feet of everyone around me.  If the group was sliding left I was sliding right. It was not pretty. I gave up on all exercise shortly after that).  I also think I am a fairly even split between Left Brain and Right Brain.  I am logical and I like to think I am creative.  I can figure out how to get a couch through a door way and I enjoy arts and crafts.  All in all I guess my brain is working fairly evenly on all counts. 

As for The Man,  I have concluded he does not HAVE a brain !  None, nothing, nada, nien !  This conclusion comes from the happenings of the past week when The Man's nephew came to put in a new bathroom door. The job involved taking out the old door and its frame and the surrounding molding. It is much more of a job than I would ever attempt but I KNOW I can't do it so I would never try. But for the past 2 months we have been trying to get someone here to do this work and no one wants the job. And so we asked Nephew if he thought he could do it and he said "yes".  He had some difficulty on Tuesday getting the frame straight so The Man stepped in to help.  I stood in the kitchen watching the 2 of them try to figure out how to get the door to hang straight.  I could see exactly where the problem was but knew better than to offer any advice.  By that evening the door was still hanging crooked, Nephew had gone home to drink and The Man sat at the kitchen table trying to figure out how to fix the problem.  

Let me pause here to tell you about my father and his brother . . .   my dad could fix anything but he would  usually get to the simple solution by way of China.  What I mean is that nothing was a "simple" fix. Hanging a mirror could involved major renovations to a wall where I would just stick a nail in the same wall and hang the mirror.  

The Man appears to be the same way. Nothing is simple or he just can't see the simple answer.  By Wednesday morning The Man was still agonizing over how to get the door to hang straight when I took a chance and made a suggestion. Naturally his first reaction was, "No, that won't work!" End of discussion. But then I could see the wheels were turning in his brain and an hour later when Nephew showed up The Man was telling Nephew what to do.  We now have a new bathroom door that shuts and even locks. The 2 workers were very pleased with themselves and I just started thinking about how I could turn this into a blog. 

In case you thing there may be hope for our younger generation let me stop you right there.  While The Man and Nephew were struggling with the door I was in the basement with our 2 neighbor boys cleaning our all the trash that was down there. (Not my idea of a fun day but this was one of the many things The Man had on his "To Do" list for the summer.  Included in the trash to be removed was a large, old kitchen table. One of those ones from the 1950's with the metal legs. It was heavy so the boys had to struggle to get it up the basement stairs.  When they got to the top of the stairs and had to get the table through the back door they were stuck. Literally.  I watched from the bottom of the steps as the 2 of them tried to squeeze the table straight through but the door way was inches smaller than the width of the table. Before I could come up the stairs to show them how to turn the table The Man arrived to direct the boys.  His suggestions were as futile as the boys so that at one point the table was actually wedged in the door way with no hope of going in or out.  The boys managed to pop the table loose like a cork from a bottle but it was still INSIDE the house. I took pity on them all and told them to try turning the table on its side, put 2 legs out the door, swing the table sideways and then follow out with the back legs.  Easy Peasy.  At first they ignored me but after struggling a few more minutes they figured it out and the table made it out to the garage.  

I don't know if it was because I was an only child and had to figure things out for myself or if I inherited this ability from my mom but where ever it came from I'm glad those parts of my brain are functioning. My brain parts that control the ability to do calculus or learn a foreign language never formed and that is just fine with me as long as I can figure out how to get a 5 pound chicken into a 2 quart pot. 

WHERE TO BEGIN

 I don't even know where to begin . . . Usually when I take a hiatus from blogging it is because life is good, I have no complaints, all is well with the world. (That doesn't happen often but it does happen.) This time you have not heard from me for a while because, quite honestly, I just don't know where to begin.

With the arrival of each new month we flip the pages of our wall calendar and look ahead to see what is in store for us for the next 30 days.  Usually, because we are retired, the calendar is a fairly clean slate for the new month.  There are a few doctor appointments scattered here and there but for the most part the days are blank.  This time when we turned from May to June there were 2 doctor appointments for The Man and one Chiropractor appointment for me.  THAT WAS IT !!  We drew a sigh of relief and looked forward to a nice month of being out doors and "getting stuff done".  

Because we are so far north the summer is very short so those lovely out door days are cherished and filled to the max with things that The Man can manage to do outside on his own.  He loves riding around on his mower checking out the property and cutting paths in the tall grass from the pond to the house so the deer have a nice trail to walk on when they come each afternoon for their corn.  Occasionally WE will take a trip, (him on his mower and me walking alongside), around the property to play one of his favorite games, "Pick Up Sticks".  The Man is obsessed with sticks in the grass because, "They mess up the mower blades and those blades are EXPENSIVE". And so I go along with him as he points to sticks and I pick them up and put them in the little trailer that he pulls behind the mower.  Once the trailer is full we drive up to the fire pit where we dump the sticks to be burned on the next calm day. (The wind up here is ALWAYS blowing so some times the stick pile is huge.).  Last week when The Man suggested we go for a ride to pick up sticks I got out the 12 gallon spray can of bug spray, doused myself from head to toe and headed down the driveway to help him in his adventure.  He turned off the driveway and headed onto a path that cuts across the woods from one side of the property to the other.  He likes to mow a path through there, I have no reason why. Maybe so he doesn't have to go out on the road to cross the property out front? I don't know.  Anyway, we turned into the woods and about twenty yards in he stopped and said, "Can you get those?" (As usual he didn't point anywhere to give me an idea of where to look.) I looked on the ground next to him searching for sticks . . . Nothing . . .  He sees me looking on the left side of the mower and starts yelling, "No No, Not THERE !  Over HERE!" and this time he gives me some waving arms so I have a clue that I need to look on the other side of the mower.  I walk around the mower and look and still I don't see any sticks.  The Man by now has lost all patience with me and is waving his arms and yelling, "THERE !!  OVER THERE!!!".  It is at this point that I realize he is pointing to a pile of LOGS !!!!!  Not STICKS",  LOGS !!!   These freaking pieces of wood were trunks of small trees that had been cut down a couple of years ago.  They were at least 3 feet long and 8 inches thick. There was no way on God's green earth that I was going to be able to pick them up and carry them to the trailer.  As I looked at him the words of my Michigan sister-in-law Rhonda came to mind. She had once told me that these brothers were all nuts and there are times when you just have to tell them, "F - - K   NO !!!! I'm not doing that!"  I did not actually say that to The Man but I muttered it under my breath for the rest of the day.   I later told him I was flattered that he thinks I can do these "small" jobs but I just physically can not manage them.  I'm freaking 77 years old and he wants me picking up logs and putting them in his trailer ?  He is crazy. 

At the beginning of the month The Man was feeling fairly well.  His breathing wasn't awful and he had some energy. Then something happened and it was like he was a balloon with a small pin hole that was causing him to deflate a little more each day,  He was getting tired much faster, his breathing was getting worse each day and he felt like crap.  Part of this was because the heart doctor in Milwaukee that we had visited last month changed his medication. That was not a good idea.  After several calls we got The Man back on his original medication but even that didn't really help.  The Cardiologist said the problem is his lungs and the pulmonologist said the problem is his heart. Of course neither specialist speaks to the other so we are caught in the middle.  We made several trips to the "local" Va, (an hour away) but nothing really seems to be helping. 

In the midst of all this The Man celebrated his 75th birthday on June 17.  We had a surprise party for him here at the farm on that weekend and 30 family members and friends stopped by to wish him a happy birthday.  He loved every minute of it.  The weather was perfect and everyone had a great time. The down side was it tired him out for days after. 

Once he recovered from the party it was back to business as usual.  His breathing is still getting worse AND his memory is also fading fast. I have reached the point where I want to record every conversation we have because The Man will not remember it 24 hours later. We are now moving things that we took from the house last year to store in the garage back into the house because he has no memory of cleaning out the parlor before he had it painted and putting lots of "stuff" in the garage.  This is all coming to a head because he has a woman who owns an antique shop coming here tomorrow to "look through the garage" to see if she will buy any of this crap.  WE purposely put all sorts of things in a specific place last year with this thought in mind.  Yet when we went out to the garage yesterday to see what he had for her to look at he was all pissed off that some things were out there.  I believe his words were, "That is good stuff that I need to look at before YOU, (meaning me) get rid of it!"  As if I was the one who had decided to put these things out there.  He honestly has NO memory of going through all this last year. 

That nice clean calendar page was a total joke.  It has been one crazy month in which I have had many discussions with The Lord ranging from "Really God?", to "What do you want from me?"  God just smiles at me, gives me beautiful weather, good health and a good book to read when things get crazy.  As we always say, "This too shall pass" and "Don't ever say it can't get any worse" because you know it can and probably will.

ROAD CLOSED

 Is there anyone out there in the English speaking world who does not know the meaning of the words, "ROAD CLOSED",????????  I mean, it should be pretty simple, right ?  We know what a road is . . . "A wide way leading from one point to another", a highway, a lane, a street or an avenue. And the word, "closed" as in not open, shut down, no access.  Simple concepts, no? 

Let's take this one step further and accompany the words, 'road closed" with the words, 'DETOUR", "TURN LEFT HERE", and a HUGE flipping black arrow on an orange sign. Are you beginning to get the picture?

As you can probably tell by now The Man and I had an adventure today.  We had to drive from Gladstone to Iron Mountain, a drive that we make an average of 4 times a month when we are in Michigan.  The Man has his favorite route to drive for this hour long journey and usually all goes smoothly. But today God must have been bored and decided to play with The Man and test my patience yet again.  

The first 15 minutes of our journey takes us on back roads that wind through some lovely farm land. Big red barns, fields that are now just starting to turn green with the young shoots of corn starting to grow.  Lots of cows with little calves dot the countryside with an occasional deer standing near the road munching on the fresh new grass that the cows are enjoying. It is a lovely, quiet drive.  UNTIL . . . 

As we neared the point where the back roads lead into the "highway" we saw detour signs up ahead.  The THREE signs warned us that the road ahead was closed.  The signs also told us to FOLLOW the DETOUR signs.  OK,  no biggie!  There are bunches of small bridges that cross numerous streams and creeks and the Michigan road commission is forever repairing these structures. One day the road is open and the next day you are making a ten mile detour.  This is not the first time this has happened to us. 

BUT . . .  for what ever reason The Man decided that when we got to the cross road where the detour wanted us to turn left  HE  was going to continue straight ahead because there was no barrier across the road and this is the way he always goes so therefore the road must NOT be closed and ALL the signs must be a joke.  Five hundred feet later we were stopped in front of a large orange barricade blocking the entire road.  

It was at this point that the thoughts of this blog began to form in my brain.  It is also at this point that the conversation between The Man and I went down the tubes.  It went something like this;

The Man . . . "J.... C....  What the Hell is going on here?"    Me . . . "Looks like the road is closed" (DUH!)     The Man . . .  "What the Hell? Why didn't they tell us that back there", (he is pointing back the way we just came where there were all the signs saying the road was closed).    ME . . .  (I am not stupid so I did not say anything).  The Man . . .  "You would think they would put a barricade across the road back there to tell you the road was closed!!"   (By now he is waving his arms and is all pissed off that he drove 500 feet and now has to turn around and follow the detour signs because HE didn't believe the signs when he saw them.). ME . . .  (I'm still not stupid so I'm not saying a word but he knows damn well what I'm thinking!)

And so for the next 45 minutes I heard about the stupid highway commission not telling people the road is closed.  When we got to the VA at Iron Mountain The Man actually called the Michigan State Highway Commission to complain to them about their terrible road signs. Then I got to listen ALL the way home about how STUPID the highway department is!  

I wonder what the highway department was saying about the idiot who just called to complain about the signs.

FLORIDA FANCY . . . MICHIGAN MESS

I think that one of my favorite things about living in Michigan for the summers is that I can dress like a slob.  This thought occurred to me yesterday afternoon when I was getting dressed to go to 4:30 PM mass.  I actually found myself considering wearing jeans to church.  GASP !!!!!!     But that would be totally acceptable up here in the UP.  

Not that there seems to be any sort of a dress code for going to church these days but I am old school and still feel the need to dress up when I go to mass.  I do not go all out with hats, gloves and high healed shoes but I do dress in nice slacks and blouse. That is my going to church outfit no matter where I am in the world.  Sunday/Saturday afternoon mass calls for a NICE wardrobe. 

Up here in Michigan I know that 70% of the people at the 4:30 mass have been working around their homes and yards for a good part of the day. They will clean up and head for church in their jeans, tee shirts and work boots or sneakers. It is completely acceptable as long as they don't smell.  Meanwhile the over 70 year old population of the parish are all dressed in their Sunday best which is anything other than jeans and tee shirts.  Some of the ladies are so well dressed they would fit in nicely at my Palm Beach Gardens church but they are few and far between.  Up here it is a different culture where flannel and jeans are acceptable evening wear no matter where you are going. 

I have adapted nicely to this life style.  My wardrobe now contains at least THREE flannel shirts, (two long sleeve and one short sleeve), FOUR pairs of jeans in varying lengths and colors and any number of tee shirts and sweat shirts.  I own 3 pairs of sneakers, (one for the garden, one for everyday wear and one for "dressing up") and a pair of sandals for church. (Most Sunday's my feet freeze but I don't have any closed toe shoes to wear when it is chilly and I will NOT wear sneakers to church).  Going along with this relaxed life style the only time I wear make-up is when I go to church.  I doubt if anyone in The Man's family would recognize me if they met me on a church day.  The other six days of the week I am a mess.  NO make-up, no nice clothes and an attitude that fits slopping pigs. (I have never "slopped" a pig in my life but living up here it is a good possibility it may happen any day). 

The flip side of all this is when I return to Florida.  I usually go into culture shock for the first few weeks when I return to The South.  My Michigan wardrobe is left in Michigan because there is just no need to flannel and jeans in 80 degree weather and I would look like one of the Guatemalan lawn care workers if I wore either one. My Florida wardrobe is a mix of capri pants and colorful, pastel, tropical print tops along with sandals, sandals sandals.  I even have different jewelry that I wear in Florida.  My Michigan jewelry consists of a clunky silver watch and a pair of plain hoop earrings.  There is just no reason to wear jewelry when working in the garden or feeding the deer.  

My mother always thought I had a split personality . . . sort of a Jekyll and Hyde thing,  I guess she was right.  

RULE NUMBER FOUR THOUSAND, NINE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY THREE

 No matter what game you are playing there are always rules.  There are rules in life like, "Don't Do Drugs", "Don't Drink and Drive", "Never tell a Lie".   These rules help us to live a good life and stay safe.  

Living with The Man also has its rules.  I have learned these rules over the few years that we have been together and I live with them because basically I don't want to point out just how stupid they are.  There are certain rules that are BIG and there are some rules that are small but no matter their size they should all be obeyed.  (The Man has yet to realize that I am going to do what ever the hell I want no matter what "rule" he has about something.  I always listen and pretend I am in total agreement.  Then when he's not looking I do what ever I planned on doing in the first place.)

There are really only 2 BIG rules in The Man's world here at the farm.  The first involves the septic tank.  Out here in the country we do not have sewers like the rest of the civilized world.  Up here we have a septic tank and because it is a "container" it can get full. When that happens it gets expensive and nasty to have the "honey truck" man come to dig up the septic tank and empty it with his big sucker upper truck.  (Ewwwwww !).  Because of this nasty and expensive job The Man tries to keep the flow of water in the house to a bare minimum.  

Rule #1 is to NEVER EVER let the water just run in the sink.  We always use paper plates just so we don't have too many dishes to wash. (I now have the ability to wash all the dishes from an entire twelve course meal for 32 people in less than a cup of water.  Well, not really but you get the idea.  Good thing I have camping experience where I learned how to conserve water when washing dishes).  When I shower I must do so quickly and efficiently so as to not let the water run for hours.  And always be sure not to flush too often! ( It is different from my dishwasher, three shower a day Florida life but I get it).     

Rule #2 also involves the septic tank . . .  DO NOT drive over the septic tank which is out in the yard about twenty feet from the side door.  You would think that would be easy except that The Man parks his car right outside the side door so he can switch over his oxygen from the car to the house with a minimum of trouble.  When you go out to the car and want to leave the house you have to back up because going forward brings you too close to where the septic tank is.  I have only broken this rule twice.  The first time was because I didn't know about the septic tank. I was told (OMG) "DON'T DRIVE THERE !"  OK, makes sense to me until a few weeks later the I was in the car with The Man and HE drove FORWARD.  HUM ???   I didn't say anything but after he did it again a few days later I figured maybe if I drove in the EXACT same spot that he did it would be OK.   Apparently not !   When I tried doing that I was again told, (OMG), "DON'T DRIVE THERE!"   This time I had to say something to question the fact that he had driven that way so what was the problem.  I never did get a sensible answer to that question but he never went that way again.  

So now you know the two cardinal rules of The Farm.  There are many other silly secondary rules but the dumbest one of all is, "Don't put the trash in the trash can". This rule hurts my brain.  I have tried over and over to puzzle this out but so far I just can't get a handle on the rational behind it.  We have trash pick-up twice a month.  The second Wednesday and the last Wednesday.  Most months it works out that the trash is picked up every two weeks.  The LARGE trash can, that is provided by the trash company,  sits out by the road. It is so large that it could probably hold a Volkswagen or at least one of those little "Smart Cars". It is not a dumpster but it is big.  My point is that it can hold a LOT of garbage.  There are only 2 of us living in this house so we really don't have that much trash. (Although we do use a lot of paper plates.  See paragraph 4).  For what ever reason The Man insists that we always have a "Burn Bag" hanging from one of the kitchen cabinet doors. When ever something is being thrown away it is to be placed in the burn bag rather than the lovely, metal garbage can that stands next to the stove in the kitchen.  When the burn bag is full to overflowing, (about twice a day) it is then taken out to the fire pit in the yard and burned.  The bag could contain paper, plastic, soup, vegetable, or human remains . . .  no matter . . .  it is getting burned.  Because we live out here in the country no one cares if you are burning stuff. The wind could be blowing 40 miles an hour but we will be burning trash.  I don't want to even think about the plastic milk jugs or aluminum foil that is getting burned.  This is just what The Man does.  

So why then do we have trash service ???   I don't know the answer to that one.   Every other Tuesday evening I go around the house and yard collecting things to put in the trash can out by the road just so the garbage men feel needed.   I will also take plastic things out of the burn bag and hide them until I can walk out to the road un noticed by you know who.  It doesn't make any sense to me at all but hey . . .  

That's the rule.  

GETTING THE MESSAGE

 It is said that God speaks to all of us, all we have to do is listen.  I have daily, sometimes hourly, chats with the Lord and I know for a fact that He listens. He also always answers me. I may not care for the answer I get but there IS always an answer.  

My latest "adventure" with The Lord has been through The Holy Spirit.  Now if you're not Catholic you may not be that familiar with The Holy Spirit. Read the book "The Shack" and you'll get a very unique and cleaver idea about what this part of the Holy Trinity is all about.  

A few months ago I received a small booklet in the mail from one of the MANY religious organizations that like to send me daily requests for support.  They will often send me little items such as prayer cards, an occasional rosary, books and greeting cards.  This particular booklet was for a 9 day novena to the Holy Spirit. The Novena started this past Friday and will continue until this coming Saturday.  Each day there is a "theme" along with some very short readings pertaining to that theme.  Yesterday's topic was PATIENCE. A favorite topic of mine because I REALLY struggle with this virtue.  As a child my mother would forever be reciting  "Patience is a virtue, possesses it if you can.  It's seldom in a woman but NEVER in a man."   (My mother was a very wise woman! Of course I didn't realize this until I became a mother.)

So yesterday when I opened my little novena booklet and saw that the day's focus was on patience I had to laugh. Apparently God heard that laugh and it was down hill for me from that moment on.

First let me explain that it has been quite chilly, windy and rainy up here for most of this past month. That does not bother me in the least because I enjoy putting on 12 sweat shirts and pants, wool socks, gloves, hats and boots just to go out to the mail box.  I keep telling myself it is a refreshing change from Florida. If it is just too nasty to go out I find many things to occupy my time besides eating and watching TV like some people we know.  Each year The Man can't wait to return to Michigan after his winter in Florida because in Florida he has nothing to occupy his time. He always thinks that as soon as he  returns to MI the weather will be perfect for him to get out on his mower and do some things outside. It is not easy to be so limited because of his breathing issues so the joy he gets from riding around on his mower on his property in MI keeps him alive.  Unfortunately the weather has not cooperated since our return and he has been staying inside all the time.  (There are only so many episodes of "Cops", hunting shows and that show about the pawn shop owners in Vegas.  The hockey play offs for the Stanley Cup have been a God send but those games are all in the evening.) The damp, cold dreary days are wearing thin on The Man which means I need to have extra helpings of patience.  

It was a particularly trying weekend so the little reminder from God for me to be patient really made me laugh.  I mean who wouldn't be loosing their patience when cooped up with The Man AND two 12 year old little girls ?????  Oh, did I forget to mention the house guests we had on Friday night ?   

Last Monday I received a text message from The Man's youngest grand daughter asking if she and a friend could come spend the weekend with us here at the farm.  (We shall refer to the grand daughter as "DK"). DK LOVES being at her grand pa's farm.  She lives in town with her dad and is often "pawned off" on relatives and neighbors in town while her dad runs his bar. (It has got to be a difficult way to spend your childhood.). So when DK asks to come out here I try to get The Man to agree, even though he doesn't like having kids around getting into his "stuff". (ie, the barn, garage, house.     PATIENCE !    When it comes to kids The Man needs a novena about patience).   I did get him to agree to DK and friend coming for ONE night and one day.  I picked the girls up at 3:00 on Friday after school and brought them back here where they promptly asked if they could go out into the woods and explore the farm.  That prompted a 20 minute "discussion" (lecture) on where they could and could not go on the property. Basically what The Man said was, "Don't do anything or go anywhere). I told them to go out and be careful.      PATIENCE !

Apparently The Man has forgotten what it is like to be a kid.  Even though I have heard story after story about him and his brothers growing up in this area.  They spent their lives in the woods and around the farm with no supervision at all.  And they survived.  But when his grand daughter wants to walk out to the pond she is given a lecture.  This kid has been taking care of herself since she was two.         PATIENCE !

I had a great time with the girls and they had a great time being here.  I was patient with them, they were patient with me, grand pa was patient with no one.   The girls went home on Saturday evening so The Man was able to return to his routine of food and TV.  Sunday we were both exhausted so we just laid low. Then came Monday.  The day that God was waiting for to teach me    PATIENCE !

The Man has been watching the weather all month waiting for THE PERFECT DAY for him to go out on his mower.  MONDAY was going to be THAT DAY !!!!!!  Temperatures in the low 70's.  Sun will be shining. The grass has been growing like crazy because of all the rain so The Man was up and ready to go. His mower has been gassed up and ready to go for weeks.   But wait . . .   first we have to wait for the sun to get shining which it usually doesn't do until around 9AM. (Mornings here are usually overcast and/or foggy because of Lake Michigan being so close.) OK, sun is starting to come out but it is still only in the 50's so we now have to wait for it to warm up.  Then the "breeze" off the lake starts to build into something like a category 4 hurricane.  (There is ALWAYS a breeze off the lake and it is ALWAYS a COLD breeze because that lake water is freezing!) The "Perfect Day" is still trying to pull itself together and The Man is chomping at the bit to get outside.  Just as he decides he is ready to venture out of the house the neighbor kid shows up on his bike, hops on The Man's mower and starts to mow the lawn ! (This is an arrangement The Man has made with the kid.  Mow my lawn for me all summer and I will pay you.  The "lawn" takes about 4 hours to mow and The Man is not up to riding on his mower for that length of time.  At most he makes it about an hour before he is exhausted.) But the timing on this particular day was priceless !!!!  The Man was ready to ride and now here is the neighbor off and riding on The Man's mower.  I found it all pretty hysterical but I am smart enough to have kept that to myself.  PATIENCE !

Could The Man have gone outside anyway and found some small thing to do out there ?  Of course but instead he stayed in side all moopy and grumpy until he decided we needed to go get gas for the mower. Excellent plan !  We left the kid mowing and off we went to the gas station at the top of the hill.  When I took the gas can out of the car and went to twist off the cap the spout and cap disintegrated in my hand. (Who says plastic doesn't decompose when left out in the elements for 10 years? )  We left the can in the gas station garbage can and came home.  PATIENCE !  

All I can tell you is that I think I got the message and I am asking The Lord to PLEASE stop giving me any more opportunities to practice patience.  

I can't wait to see what today's message will be.  

THE PLUG

 I realize I am a little ACDC . . . Oh wait,  not that, I'm OCD . . .   Yeh, that's what I am. Obsessive/Compulsive which is just a fancy term for being a know-it-all that likes to be right. What ever the "disorder" is I OFTEN find myself screaming inside trying very hard not to slap someone up side their head.  It usually works but it continues to get harder by the day.  The permanent scar that I have on the tip of my tongue from "bitting my tongue" is now so thick that I have developed a lisp.  (All of this is of course an exaggeration but not too far from reality.)

Today's exercise in tongue biting comes from You Know Who,  AKA The Man.  (I know for a fact that Husband is up in Heaven laughing his fool head off because it is no longer him causing my insanity. Something he was quite good at!).   

When The Man travels anywhere, whether it is 3 miles into town or 3 thousand miles across the country he ALWAYS carries several sources of oxygen. I totally understand that the thought of not being able to breathe can be quite stressful so naturally the more oxygen tanks and concentrators the better.  I have NO problem what so ever with this. In fact I totally support and assist in making sure we have all the tanks, machines and power sources that might be needed should one or more of the concentrators fails to work. The new mini van has been a God send in this department because it is now so easy to slide open the side door and load two concentrators right in back of the drivers seat.  Another concentrator gets loaded into the van  on the other side of the vehicle. In addition to the 3 concentrators there is also a full tank of oxygen in the "way back" and a small tank of oxygen on the seat in back of the driver.  In case you are not counting that is FIVE sources of oxygen being carried with us at any given moment.  The two small concentrators are not plugged into the van's power source until they might be needed but we carry all the charging wires with us.  All three of the concentrators have plugs that go into the cigarette lighter in the car and an additional set of wires that plug directly into a wall outlet at our destinations.  We are prepared for any and all possible emergencies. 

The Man is a meticulous person when it comes to his breathing.  As well he should be.  It is, after all, quite literally a matter of life or death.  With that in mind then would someone please explain what his problem is regarding THE PLUG !?

OK . . . The Man has had the larger concentrator for quite a few years.  It was one of the first machines that he got when his COPD had progressed to the point of needing air 24/7.  In all this time I have NEVER, EVER seen this machine receive any maintenance what so ever.  I have not seen The Man clean filters or do anything to any part of this machine to keep it functioning at peak performance. For the most part the machine just sits in the back seat of the car waiting to be turned on when we get in the car.  It has a battery that will power it if it's left on by mistake when the car is turned off but its main source of power is the car's engine. It is connected to the car's power by a cord that plugs into the cigarette lighter. (I'm sure you know what that little plug looks like . . . sort of torpedo shaped with a little metal button on the end) When we get into the car The Man turns on the car engine and then reaches over and turns on the concentrator. If all is working as it should be the concentrator starts up, a series of little green lights come on and off we go.

Over a week ago . . .  WELL OVER a week ago . . .  there was one little green light that did not come on when the machine was started.  This particular little light indicates that the concentrator is getting "juice" from the car so you know it is not using up its battery power.  (These batteries last about two hours so if we are on a six hour trip the concentrator needs to be powered from the car engine, not its own battery)

 I don't know how The Man first noticed this issue but it was cause for much cursing and swearing. Along with the verbal tirade The Man began pulling the plug out of the cigarette lighter and putting it back in. (This is all being done while he is driving) When that didn't work I had to reach into the back seat and pull the cord out of the machine and re plug it to see if that made any difference.  (NOPE) So The Man resumed pulling and pushing the plug.  (Nada) The next step was to remove the plug from the lighter, shake it, slap it on the palm of his hand and then plug it back in. (Nothing) (By now I am thinking that maybe we should just pull over to work on this but those words never were spoken). FINALLY . . . after much pulling, pushing, slapping, shaking and even a small spray of spit the little green light came on !!!

PHEW !!!  We are good to go.  NOT !!  Only a short time later the little green light went back out but because we were near home we just rode in using battery power.  Once at home The Man went through all his antics again and then plugged the machine into an extension cord connected to the house.  The battery charged back up, the little green light came on and all was well with the world.

UNTIL the next time we got into the car and turned on the concentrator.  It was like the movie "Groundhog Day",  Repeat repeat repeat . . .  This has now been our daily routine for at least 2 weeks. EVERY single time we get into the car the EXACT same things occur.  Light goes out and The Man goes nuts.  Kind of sounds like the definition of insanity to me . . .  Doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results . . .   

My take on the whole thing . . .  the machine is tired, probably as tired as I am, and it needs some R&R. I have gently asked if there is someplace that the machine can be taken to have it "overhauled" or at least cleaned but so far I am being totally ignored.  Today The Man did say he was going to call the VA and tell them he is having a problem with the charger and see if they can send him a new one. So far that hasn't happened.

 I guess that 's a start at least but if my breathing depended on it I think I might be a little more proactive.