ONE O'CLOCK

 Once again I have failed to comprehend the male mind. I just don't think like men do so I have continue to have difficulty communicating with the opposite sex. 

 MY brain is like a bubbling vat of lava, constantly motion and usually heated to the boiling point and beyond. The Man's brain is like a single ice cube sitting alone in the frozen tundra of Siberia.  WE are at two VERY opposite ends of the thought process. 

Case in point . . . I wake up this morning, check the weather on my phone, (Just for shits and giggles because they are never right), get dressed in what I hope will be appropriate clothes for the days weather, make the bed, empty my c pap machine water tank, put away some clothes that I had left out last night, plug in the computer and my phone and then wander into the kitchen.  As usual The Man is seated at the kitchen table, TV on and phone within reach.  Because the phone is on the table I know he has been talking to someone because most times he has no idea where his phone is. I say good morning and we discuss the weather. I tell him that my weather app says we can expect rain today around 1:00.  This makes him happy because we need rain. I then ask who he has been talking to, and he tells me about the two phone calls that he has made to different doctors. We discuss both of these calls at length and then move on to what I am going to be doing today.  I tell him I have a chiropractor appointment at 11:15 and then I was going into town.  We talked about all the stops I was going to make and why I was making those stops.  He asked me to stop at one place for him so I added that to the list.  With all of that taken care of I am now "free" to go into the bathroom to brush my teeth, wash my face and what ever else is necessary to get me functioning and looking like a human being  (Not an easy task!) 

When I come out of the bathroom I stop at the refrigerator to see what I can munch on for breakfast.  As I am standing in the open door way of the fridge I hear from across the kitchen . . . "ONE O'CLOCK !"        I turn to look at the man with a puzzled look on my face, wondering if perhaps he is on the phone with someone who he is irritated at because the tone of voice is not friendly. As I turn he loudly repeats,  "ONE O'CLOCK!!!!" Even more angrily than the first time. I am still totally puzzled by this outburst but am starting to wonder if perhaps he has had a mini stroke and lost his mind. I'm now staring at him and I ask, "What????" still with a completely confused expression on my face. My answer is, "O N E  O'CLOCK!  ONE O'CLOCK.   ONE O'CLOCK !!!!!!!" which he is yelling at me in a very irritated tone of voice.  

I lost it !!!  This man is sitting there yelling "one o'clock at me from across the room and I haven't got a clue as to what the hell he is talking about!  So I yelled back . . . "WHAT ABOUT ONE O'CLOCK???  YOU KEEP YELLING ONE O'CLOCK AND I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT!"

His answer,    "The rain !!!  You said the it would start raining at one o'clock !"  

OK . . .  now I don't know about you or any other person on God's green earth but none of any of that made one bit of sense to me.  I don't know what or how I was supposed to respond to any of that. Was he asking if I really did tell him it would rain at 1:00?  Did he think that a magic rain fairy had come hopping through the forest to bop me on the head and turn me into the magic weather fairy who has the power to push a button to make it rain ?   I just don't know what to do at this point so I just walked away.

The Man is NUTS !!!!!   And he is sucking me right down the crazy person whirlpool with him. 

"J U S T"

 Anytime a man starts a sentence with the word "just" you should turn tail and run for the hills.  You can be assured what ever follows that word is not going to be anything good. 

Some of the occasions that My Man uses the word "Just" to start a sentence usually involves him wanting me to do something for him.  Husband was exactly the same so I know this is common to the male population. (My girl friends have noted this phenomenon so I am not alone in this observation.) The Man will say something like, "Just stop and fill the car with gas on your way home from your appointment to have a root canal", or "Just stop at the hardware store on your way to the insane asylum", or "Just drop this off at the post office on your way to your knee replacement surgery". The word "Just" implies that I have nothing better to do than what ever stupid thing he wants done. 

But today's "Just" gave me this idea for a blog. 

The Man's property is large. Part of it is fields and parts of it are wooded. There is a large wooded area between the house and the road with the drive way cutting through these trees. As with any wooded space there are live trees and there are dead trees. It's the evolution of a forest. Trees grow and trees die and the older the forest the more dead trees there are. Several years ago The Man hired a company to come in and cut down much of this dead wood. The neighbors were delighted because it gave all of them a lot of fire wood for years to come. (There was a LOT of wood) It opened up the area so that sunlight could get in and new trees could grow. The Man did good ! 

But that was several years ago and now there are some more dead trees out there just waiting to get blown down. Last winter we had one large tree fall across the driveway and take down the power line to the house.  We were without electricity for 48 hours and the driveway was blocked until some of the neighbors came over with their chain saws. (More free firewood!) It was an inconvenience that sent us into town to stay at a motel because The Man's oxygen concentrator is dependent on electricity. (Tanks of Oxygen don''t last very long.) 

You would think that this event would have The Man on high alert when it comes to dead trees near the driveway.  NOPE!  There is one large tree out near the road that is dead dead dead. The wood peckers LOVE this tree and have made holes in it the size of the Lincoln Tunnel. I know that sucker is coming down the first big wind storm that we get but The Man seems to have no problem with it. Then there is the HUGE, TALL pine tree that is across from the house. The entire top half of the tree is dead. Has been for two years now and is getting worse with each passing year. I can not tell you how many times The Man looks out the bedroom window at that tree and says, "WE really need to get that cut down before it falls on the house", (Not just the house in general but the bedroom. Because if that sucker falls this way, which is where it is leaning, our bedroom is toast).  Besides that disaster waiting to happen there was the small dead tree standing next to the second driveway. It was maybe 15 feet tall and right next to the drive.  For weeks The Man has been saying, (anytime we come in that driveway), "I need to get that cut down before it falls across the driveway" Well guess what?  IT FELL !

This morning I went out to move the car and I saw that during the night the small tree had fallen and it was right across the road. (We have 2 driveways that form a big "U". The UPS man loves this because he can come in the one driveway, cut across next to the house and go out the second driveway. No backing up for him.)  Now driveway #2 is blocked with the fallen tree. (That would be the tree that WE were going to get taken care of, OOPS!)   Because we were on our way out to an appointment we couldn't do anything right then but when we came home it was time for action. Out we went to the downed tree to access the situation. Being the smart woman that I am I let the man go ahead on his lawn mower while I stayed far enough away to keep from saying or doing anything to "upset" you know who. The next thing I know I am being summoned to the scene of the crime. The Man has decided on a course of action . . .  He will sit on his mower and supervise while I move the tree !  (You can only imagine what is going through my mind and the words that I am holding in.) I know full well that I can not move this tree but I'll play the game.  I walk over to the tree, bend down, grasp the trunk and give it a little lift to see just how heavy this sucker really is.  It is at this moment that The Man decides to say, "JUST push it!" (Like I am going to try to lift a tree and carry it across the yard.) I give it a slight tug and realize that it is still attached to the trunk. When it fell it did not completely snap off so there is no way to push, pull or lift it. But there sits The Man saying over and over, "JUST PUSH IT!!!!"  (Right now I am ready to push something and it isn't the tree.) I try to explain to him that the tree is still attached to the trunk but he is not listening. Instead he decides I am useless so he will go get a rope and pull the tree off the driveway.  Off he goes on his mower to the garage where there is a ton of rope.  All sorts of rope. Thick rope, thin rope, heavy rope, white rope, yellow rope and even some orange rope.  There is enough rope out there to hang the entire population of New Jersey.  

Soon I hear the mower coming back toward the tree and sure enough The Man has something orange thrown in the back of his little trailer. I foolishly assume it is the orange rope.  WRONG !!!  The Man has brought back an orange electric extension chord. He gets off his mower, ties one end of the extension chord to his mower, the other end around the tree, climbs back on and starts to pull.  

I swear to you I am not making this up.  The Man pulled the tree off its trunk, across the yard all the way to the fire pit using an electric extension chord !  I had to JUST untie the electric chord. Tomorrow he will go out and cut up the tree.  He will probably use a steak knife for that !

As for me, I JUST couldn't wait to write about all this. 

YES ! OK ! SURE ! UH HUH !!

Daniel Webster compiled the dictionary filled with millions of words. Because he was a man he had a vocabulary consisting of thousands and thousands of words because men use all those words.  Usually they are using them all in one single conversation because a man just CAN NOT get to the point !!!! 

Example; This morning I woke up to find The Man sitting at the kitchen table.  No surprise there. I didn't even get two steps into the kitchen on my way to the bathroom when he announced, "I was talking to Pat,(like I am supposed to know who the hell Pat is), and she said to call her back when you get up and get your computer out because I was telling her about all the trouble we are having, (Not true, I had gotten us up and running on this particular web site), trying to get my VA trip reimbursements and she said that she could help walk us through the whole process as soon as you get up and get your computer working.(A statement that he started this conversation with.). My eyes are not even open yet and I am being assaulted with all this. At least I did have my hearing aids in so I could hear what The Man was saying, (even if I didn't want to), because if I didn't have my ears in I would have to listen to the whole tirade again. 

I, not being a man, responded with the simple four words that are all a woman needs to live with a man . . .    "Uh huh, OK, sure, yes". Those are the only words a man EVER wants to hear from a woman so having learned early on with Husband those are the only words I use when talking to a man.  It is a fact that men just don't care about anything you have to say.  You can be telling them the house is on fire, the kids are all druggies, the dog just attacked your neighbor and you are pregnant with quintuplets and all the man will says is "OK". BUT if HE wants to tell you anything then you better pack a bag with food and water and get yourself comfortable because you will be listening to him for the next 3 days. 

Moving on to this mornings phone call.  I went straight back in to the bedroom to get my computer. I did not go pee, I did not brush my teeth, I did not get dressed because I knew I would be haunted until the man had me make this phone call to the poor inspecting woman at the VA. I did not pass GO, I did not collect two hundred dollars, I did not stop on Boardwalk, I just went back to the bedroom and brought the computer into the kitchen.  I went over and sat next to The Man because I know full well that if I am sitting across the table where he can't see the computer screen he will be correcting and instructing me the whole time.  As I walked into the kitchen I told him I was going to sit next to him so he could see the screen and follow along. Naturally he asked why that was necessary. I explained that HE needed to know how to do this in case anything ever happened to me.  His answer, "But I don't have a computer". I see his simple minded logic here but REALLY !!!  So apparently if I drop dead tomorrow The Man will just have to stop living because he can not do ANYTHING on his own. Who knew I was so valuable ??

OK . . .  The Man places the call and Pat answers. From the tone of her voice I could tell she knew what she was in for. ( I can NOT imaging any woman working for the Veterans Association. Having to deal with mostly men over the age of forty it is a challenge.  I would hope that the young veterans are a bit more on the ball.)  The Man begins his conversation with, " Hello, this is (insert name here). I'm calling about what we talked about this morning so you can walk us through the process on the computer so that I can get reimbursed . . . . . . on and on and on . . . ." After listening to him fumbling around telling this poor woman why he called I interrupted him to say I was there with the computer and was now on such and such a page.  I proceeded to move from screen to screen, telling Pat what I was doing, until we got where we needed to be.  All the while Pat is saying, "Yes, OK, Sure, Uh huh".   You see, I knew we had done everything right last week when The Man had me set this up for him but because he did not receive an answer from the VA OVER THE WEEKEND, WHEN THEIR OFFICES ARE CLOSED) He had to make sure we,(I), had done this right.  

Here's the thing with this man, he needs to control it all. I am a control freak but I also know when to shut up. If The Man wants something done and he needs my help, (like with EVERYTHING!) he is going to supervise my every step. And that is where the female vocabulary comes in. Yes, OK, sure, uh huh. What drives me nuts is that he does NOT know how to navigate these web sites. I am far from genius on the computer but I do know how to figure out most things. Of course the VA website, being set up by our government, is a tangled, confusing, complicated mess. This being said I did manage to navigate it and accomplish the task that The Man needed done.  

We had done all this last Wednesday.  On Wednesday night The Man asked me to check the website to see if what we had done had gone through. (Actually a valid request considering the internet up here.) The information was indeed posted and the comment said, "Undergoing manual review". I take this to mean that who ever is sitting in their dark, dank windowless hole in the wall in the bowels of the VA building is now looking at The Man's request and taking it under consideration.  I also know that this being a government agency it will take that lone person WEEKS to do anything. The Man does not think this way.  He envisions 500 enthusiastic workers just waiting for HIS request to come in so that they can all start working on his concerns immediately because HE is the only person on this earth who needs attention. 

On Thursday afternoon I had to check on this for him.  Same message as Wednesday.  We checked again on Friday . . .  TWICE . . .  Same message.   When The Man heard nothing OVER THE WEEKEND, (Government agencies do NOT work on weekends!) he immediately assumed that I did not put in his claim properly so he called poor unsuspecting Pat at 9:00 AM this Monday morning. I could tell just how delighted Pat was to receive this rambling phone call from some old guy who has the patience of a gnat. All her responses were, "Yes, OK, Sure, Uh Huh".

I sure hope Pat had a good weekend and wasn't hung over. 

WHERE'S MY LEFT OVERS ! ?

Over this past week I have been experiencing Tummy Troubles.  Nothing new there but I really did a stupid thing and now I am paying the price.  Two weeks ago I was in the grocery store where I naturally gravitate to the bakery department. I actually don't have to "gravitate" at all because this particular store is very smart.  When you enter this store you are IN the bakery department.  In Florida Publix gives the illusion of caring about your health so when you walk into any Publix you are in the produce department.  Being surrounded by Kumquats and Kale does nothing to entice me to buy junk food. But Jacks in the UP, well there is a SMART store!!  As the automatic double door opens you are transported to your moms kitchen when you were a kid.  My mother was always baking something, (I am her daughter for sure). To this day I can smell that kitchen. And so when I walk into Jacks I float over to the fresh baked donuts, cakes, pies, breads and the other million tempting goodies that are all calling to me. Unfortunately, on this particular day I wandered through the display tables and came upon "home" made granola. I am a sucker for granola !!  I love the stuff !!! And so in my weakened state of mind I bought a container of the stuff which I proceeded to shove into my face the minute I left the store.  By the time I returned to pick up The Man from his hour of exercise I had eaten at least a quarter of the granola. Over the next 48 hours I got the contents of the container down to a little less than half.

I KNOW better !!!  I suffer from diverticulosis, a condition that causes my intestines to rebel against nuts and seeds.  What is granola ?  NUTS AND SEEDS!!!!  Does that ever stop me? NO, of course not.  I compensate by "chewing carefully", drinking lots of water, taking probiotics daily. All of which usually work very well if I refrain from overdosing on the nuts and seeds. Because I have not had a flare-up in over 2 years I stupidly figured I was good to go and my innards had made a miraculous transformation to those of a 15 year old. NOT !  Within 2 days I knew I was in for a bout of pain and discomfort. Fortunately I did have a half bottle of some medication that the doctor had prescribed for me the last time I ate stupid so I started tossing pills into my face, As Prescribed, for the next few days.  UN fortunately I only had a HALF bottle so my tummy is not completely happy yet. BUT if I watch my diet, (I always WATCH my diet, I just fail to CONTROL my diet.  I watch the cookies and potato chips as I shove them into my face just so that when the doctor asks if I am "watching my diet" I can answer honestly.), I can get everything to settle back down to "normal".

And so . . . . when The Man suggested I stop to pick up some Chinese food on my way home from church last night I had to stop and think about what I could get that would not get my innards all rilled up again. Pain is a powerful motivator!  The Man loves Pepper Steak from China Lily, our local Chinese fine dining establishment. (Yes, we have restaurants here in the UP, just not anything like we have in Florida.  In Florida I can dine at a 10 star restaurant, if I want to mortgage my house and sell my car and kids, in the UP we dine at one quarter star restaurants. Occasionally you may come across a one star place but those are few and far between. ) I decided I would get myself some Wonton Soup. That should be safe. But then I saw the Crab Rangoon and I couldn't help myself.  I mean how bad can Crab Rangoon be?  It's the same little "noodles" that are in the Wonton soup but stuffed with that wonderful creamy cheese stuff. 

I brought our dinners home and we sat down for a delicious feast. The Man managed to eat maybe half of the huge portions of pepper steak and I ate half my soup and ALL 6 of the Crab Rangoons. They were wonderful !!

And I paid for that treat all night !!  

Today I had tea and toast for brunch and even that is not sitting too well. The Man decided he was going to finish off his left over Chinese dinner, which, last night, I had closed back up in the original container and placed in the refrigerator. If HE had put HIS leftovers away then this mornings event would never have happened. 

As I am sitting, nibbling on my "delicious" toast when I hear from behind me, "WHERE'S MY LEFTOVERS !!??" in exactly that tone of voice that all wives everywhere just love to hear. It is like nails on a chalkboard to any woman who has ever been married.  (The tone implies that WE have purposely hidden the man's food just to annoy him. The men never stop to think about how silly that is when there are SO many better ways to drive them nuts than hiding leftovers!) I turn to see The Man standing in front of the open fridge just staring straight ahead of him.  Like the leftovers were put in a totally empty refrigerator just so they would be blatantly visible to the first fool who opens the fridge door.  The Man has not moved a muscle.  He has not reached up to move a single thing, he has neither looked up nor down, just straight ahead like a dumb ass donkey with blinders on.  Of course the leftovers are right in front of him "hidden" behind an egg roll and a half of an apple.  (I may join the CIA since I am SO good at hiding top secret items!). 

So now not only does my stomach still hurt but I've got a tension headache like you can't believe.  Maybe I'll have some granola to ease my angst. 

CURSE OF THE HAPPY GRILL

 If you read my last blog you will know I was having issues with the electric grill that I purchased.  The issue wasn't with the actual grill, it was with the "Happy Grill" company. I have yet to figure out exactly who or what this company is and where they are located.  One address was California but the address on the shipping label was Illinois. After the incident yesterday I think Happy Grill comes from some little dark, dank shop in the bowels of Voodoo country, perhaps some part of New Orleans or Baton Rouge. 

What ever city houses this company I am sure the Happy Grill employees practice the dark arts. I picture a wrinkled old woman hunched over a boiling pot of spider legs and frog eyes cackling as she stirs the brew that will then be sprinkled on the next grill that some unsuspecting idiot buys. Someone like me.

After finally getting the prepaid shipping label from the Happy Grill company I taped it on the box and planned to set off to the UPS store.  The box was large, (as I noted in my previous blog). and it was HEAVY.  Not so heavy that I couldn't carry it but heavier than something I should be lifting and carrying. The box was also awkward to handle. It was just large enough that I couldn't get my arms around it so I had to prop it up on my hip, (good thing I have the hips that I do), and hold on to it as to not drop it on my foot. I managed to wrestle it down the steps of the house and on to the back seat of the car. 

(The Man would gladly do this for me but he can't because of his oxygen tank and hoses. It was bad enough that I was cursed with this grill without The Man dropping dead on me.)

So now I have the stupid grill in the back seat of the car ready to make the trip into town.  The Man was driving and we were both in great moods.  We stopped at the gas station, the post office, the farm store and  a few other places before finally arriving at the UPS store. Being the marvelously organized person that I am I had put my little shopping cart in the car so that when we got to UPS I could pull the box out of the car and balance it on top of the cart in order to wheel it into the store. (I had visions of trying to hold the box and open the door of the store without killing myself or destroying the grill or the door. So I planned ahead.)

At the UPS store I get out of the car, get the cart out of the back and wheel it around to the side of the car. Being a mini van I can slide the side door open and just reach in to grab the box.  EASY PEASY  !!!!  Except that as I grab the Happy Grill box and lift it to place it on top of the cart it starts to slip out of my hands, I fumble it for a second or two, it hits the cart which then starts rolling across the parking lot as the LARGE, HEAVY, box crashes into my shin and rakes itself down my leg landing at my feet. 

Remember when you were a kid and really wanted to hurt someone you kicked them in the shin? Or when you are wandering around in the dark at 2 in the morning and you bash your shin into the step stool that you left in the middle of the kitchen?  Remember that pain ?  Well that is what The Happy Grill box did to me. PAIN !! 

I grabbed the cart to keep it from getting too far, reached down and picked up the damn box and then checked to see if there was blood.  Wonder of wonders the box did not break the skin on my leg but it did leave a 6 inch scrape which immediately turned all sorts of black, blue and purple. (All of this transpired within 3 feet of The Man but he was totally oblivious to it all.). I DO think they guy in the store must have seen some of the parking lot adventures because as soon as I got to the door the UPS guy opened the door and grabbed the box. ( I did have visions of getting to the counter in the store only to find that the shipping label was not prepaid but it was.)  

As I waved adieu to Happy Grill and limped back out to the car I cursed every person who worked for the Happy Grill company. I swear the damn thing was evil !

HAPPY. GRILL

 I am not happy!  (And for once it is not because of The Man.) I am not happy because of my "HAPPY GRILL".  You may ask, "What is a Happy Grill?" and I will tell you.  For The Man's birthday I wanted to buy him an electric barbecue so he could cook burgers and such outside on the patio.  We have a small electric barbecue in Florida and we love it.  No propane tanks to refill, no charcoal to purchase and wait for it to heat up. Just plug it in and you are ready to grill.  Is it cheating?  Maybe, but it is easy !  And when you get to be a senior citizen you like easy !

Naturally I went onto Amazon for my search for the perfect grill.  It should not be too small or too large.  It needs to be tall enough to make grilling easy. (The one we have in Florida is short. We had to put it up on a cinder block so that we didn't have to lean over to cook.) I THOUGHT I considered all these factors in my search so that when I found the "perfect" grill it would be, . . . well,  it would be PERFECT. 

NOT !!! Being the dumb ass that I am I purchased an electric barbecue from a company called "HAPPY GRILL".  What was my first clue that this was not a good idea?  Seriously, a company called "Happy Grill"?  Oh well, what the hey, the price was right and the grill seemed to meet all my criteria and so I bought it.  A week later the LARGE box arrived and I knew I had screwed up.  We did open the box but when I took one look at the monster within I knew this was not the grill I wanted.  Perhaps if I had a 42 room mansion and wanted to barbecue for 56 people this would have been the grill for me but since it is only The Man and myself we did not need a grill the size of a bath tub. (How did I mess up looking at the measurements I don't know.) 

Naturally having bought this item on Amazon I immediately went to "My orders" and checked out the return policy. OK, looks good, no problem.  I print out the return label and read the instructions. HUM? Wait a minute . . . what's this about if it's too expensive to return just contact the company?  Usually I just print out the label or QR code and take it to UPS and off it goes at no cost to me.  NOT THIS TIME !  I take the box to UPS, haul it out of the car and into the store where the lady tells me it will be $60 to return the damn thing.  AH HA !  Now that sentence makes sense. I take the box back out to the car and drive it home and get on the computer to contact HAPPY GRILL company.  

Let me take a moment here to say that when I was reading the Happy Grill instruction on shipping the statements were not written in exactly proper English.  Little things like "You send grill back" in stead of "IF you send THE grill back". If you were to be politically incorrect or racist and did an imitation of someone from China or Japan speaking English that is how the instructions were worded.  So now I know just what I am going to be dealing with.

On to the return . . .  OK, says here "contact company if it is too expensive to ship item back". That should be easy.  NOT !!!  They have an address in California and a phone number.  I call the number . . . and I get the message along with that annoying sound telling me, "Please try again, this is not a working number". So I try again making sure I have the correct number. "Please try again, this is not a working number".  I tried putting a "1" in front of the area code, nothing. This is "Not a working number"!!! Then I Google the name of the company, "Happy Grill" does not exist.  Not in California or any other state as far as I could tell. By now I am cursing out the damn foreigners that make this crap and kicking myself for being so damn stupid as to buy from them. 

Now I need to bring in the big guns . . . I call Amazon customer service. If you have ever had an issue with something Amazon related you know that the customer service number is rated up there with US National Security and secret spy documents.  It is probably easier to get through to the Pentagon or the White House than it is to talk to a person about something you bought on Amazon.  Years ago I spent a day researching this secret phone number which I have written in invisible ink in my well hidden password book. ( I will sell it to you for a small price). I must say Amazon has fantastic customer service. I get right through to a real person who listens to my sad tale if woe and tell me not to worry they will contact the company and the company will then contact me.  If a week goes by and I don't hear anything just call back.  A few days later I get an email from "Happy Grill" asking "Why you return grill?" I write back explaining that it is too large.  They want to know if it is damaged and I explain that I never took it out of the box. They then ask me to send a picture.  I respond that the grill is in the box that it came in, do they want a picture of the box? I get no response to that.  A week goes by and I still do not have a pre-paid shipping label from Happy Grill so I contact Amazon again.  Two days later I get another e-mail with the label attached. 

I am going to UPS tomorrow with the damn thing.  I'll keep you posted.

THE LAIR

 Batman has his Bat Cave, Superman has The Fortress of Solitude, Spiderman has his web . . . ( I Googled where Spiderman lives and it says he lives in Forest Hills, Queens, NY. They actually give a street address, 20 Ingram Street. Who Knew?)

Anyway, the point I am trying to make is that every super hero has a "home base" and in the case of Prednisone Man, (aka "P" man) his lair is The Farm.  The farm has a street address in the outskirts of Gladstone, MI. It is about as rural as you can get without living in the middle of a forest or on top of a mountain. It is lovely, quiet and a great place for a super hero to reside.  

As with any lair it does have it's own very special features. Lots of open space guarded by a whole bunch of Bald Eagles. I could guess that these eagles have some super powers but I wouldn't even begin to imagine what they are.  Perhaps the ability to perch and balance their huge bodies on a 6 inch fence post might be considered a super power or spotting a mouse hiding in the grass from 50 feet up in the air is pretty amazing. Whatever powers they posses they are perfect for living on The Farm.

 Another of our special protections is the swamp that surrounds us.  I have yet to figure out how land that is on top of a huge bluff can be swampy. Doesn't all the water drain down to the lake?  The Man has tried to explain this phenomena to me but I still don't get it.  The area up here is very swampy. Some of the neighbors were telling a story about when the highway was being built many years ago the construction crew needed sand to fill in the area where the road would be. They dug up a whole bunch of sand from someones property and the ground water filled in the hole that was left creating the small lake that is just down the road from here. If you decide to take a hike in the woods you need to be prepared to find yourself wading through swamp at some point.  There's a hiking trail just up the road from us with wooden boardwalks so you can hike. The ground is too soft and mushy to just walk on a dirt trail. (Why would you make a hiking trail through a swamp is beyond me. I have yet to walk this trail because I have been told that there is an occasional bear or two residing out there. I guess they don't mind getting their feet wet.)

In addition to our various safe guards that keep "P" Man protected in his lair it seems that this property also possesses Magical Powers !  Or at least that is what "P" is trying to tell me.  According to The Man his property has NO wood ticks on it ! This fact flies in the face of all that I read in the paper and see on the TV. According to those sources the entire state of Michigan and neighboring Wisconsin are being over run with ticks and mosquitos.  BUT . . . not here in "P" Man's lair.  (The news does not state this fact, only "P" man says this is true.)  The fact that we had the incident that I wrote about several weeks ago with The Man's grand daughter and friend being covered in ticks after going into the woods on the property does not change The Man's mind.  Any time I tell that story to someone "P" Man says I am exaggerating, there were NO ticks.  (I was there picking the little blood sucking bastards off the kids clothes.  I KNOW what I saw !). But no, no . . .  there are NO ticks on The Farm.

Fast forward to yesterday morning when I woke up at 4 AM.  I knew I wanted to go to 8:30 mass so my internal alarm woke me at 4.  (I need to fix that alarm)  I got up and went into the other bedroom so as to not wake The Man.  I climbed up on the other bed was sitting on there going through mail on my computer when I feel a tickle on the back of my neck just at the hair line. I reached back to feel around and I felt a small bump.  At first I thought I just had another little patch of dry skin growing back there but then it MOVED !                 TICK !!!!!!!!!!!!!!        ON MY HEAD !!!!    IN THE BEDROOM !!!!!!!!!  ON THE BED !!!!    It is at this point that I am ready to get a blow torch and burn the bed, the pillows, sheets and comforter and possibly the entire room and/or house.  There is a freaking tick in my hair !!!    But I did remain calm. I took the tick, (a very tiny little bugger) and flushed it down the toilet. ( I considered taping it to a piece of paper to show The Man but I didn't want it to escape)  Fast forward to me coming home from church at 10:00 and sitting down to have breakfast with The Man, who is now sitting at his usual place in the kitchen. You know that the first thing I said was, "I had a tick in my hair this morning!"  To which "P" Man says, (I swear to you this is a quote)  "No", (he is looking right at me with a look that says, "you are making this up".) I reply that I did indeed have a tick in my hair! To which he asks, "Are you SURE it was a tick?"  Like I don't know what a freaking tick looks like !!!!!!!!!! By now I have lost all the peace and serenity that I gained from going to church and am ready to grab "P" Man by the throat and strangle him.  (I KNEW I should have taped the little blood sucker to paper.)  I gritted my teeth and told The Man in no uncertain terms that I DID have a tick on me and it came from his property because I had not been anywhere for days except around the yard.  His response . . . "No. You must have picked it up somewhere because we don't have any ticks here."

And so I need to say to all of you . . . please stop sending me all those ticks in the mail.  That has got to be where they are coming from because "P" Man says they don't live here in his lair.  

" I DON'T SEE IT ! "

 How often do you find yourself standing in front of the open refrigerator looking for something but you just can't see it ?  If you're anything like me the answer to that is ALL THE TIME !  I will go to get a jar of olives and swear that I put them in a particular spot but I just don't see them.  Nine times out of ten they are staring me in the face because I am looking for a red jar but have forgotten that the last time I bought them they were in a green jar so I am looking right at them but just don't realize it.  I will spend five minutes moving things around, searching behind things, thinking they MUST be in here somewhere and sure enough, DUH !, I realize they are right where I thought they were but I was looking for the wrong packaging. BUT . . .  I WILL find them !!!!

Now take the exact same situation but put Your Man there standing in front of the same refrigerator/closet/cabinet and what happens ?  YUP . . . he will stand there for three hours saying . . . . . . "I don't see it !" without ever moving a single thing.  He will continue to stand there saying this over and over until you get up and say, "Here, let me look!" and sure enough you find what he wants in a matter of seconds because you have moved the carton of milk which is standing in front of the item being searched for.  All it takes is moving one thing and    VOILA !!!!!!!!     MAGIC !!!!    PRESTO-CHANGE-O !!!!! the item in question suddenly appears our of thin air.  Or so it seems to The Man. 

This happens all the time. It gets pretty tiresome because most of the time I am in the middle of doing something but I have to stop to help the poor slob or he will remain in that spot forever.  It is like the deer in the headlights, they freeze and can't move.  Just the other morning The Man was searching for a regulator to use on his oxygen tank. Off the top of my head I can tell your where there are at least 3 of these things but The Man couldn't find a single one.  These particular items are like paper clips, you see them laying around everywhere until you need one, then you can't find any.  Of course if you put them away in ONE place then you might just be able to find one when you need it but that is just too silly a concept to ever consider.  Instead The Man stuffs them in random drawers, on random shelves, in boxes and cabinets, under beds and in the car. Then when he needs one he can't find any!  He is like a squirrel storing nuts for the winter and then starving to death in January because he can't remember where the hell he put his food.

Back to our regulators . . . .   I walked into the laundry room yesterday and there stood The Man staring at the big metal shelves that take up one whole wall of the room.  When I first started coming to The Farm with The Man these shelves were PACKED with cooking items. Pressure cookers, (plural), crock pots, (plural), pots, pans, baking pans . . . so many things.  Over the past 7 years I have managed to put most of these items in the basement so that we can use the shelves for more practical items like bags of potato chips, cookies, soda and snacks.  You know, IMPORTANT things !!!  (I sure as hell do NOT need pressure cookers and crock pots. ONE little crock pot is all we need.) I have managed to clean off two of the shelves, one for our stuff and one for The Man's stuff.  Every time I find oxygen related items stuffed here and there I pick them up and put them on his one shelf. This shelf is now overflowing with tubes, containers, and Heaven only knows what. But it is all in one place.  And so when The Man said he was looking for a regulator for his oxygen tank I sent him out to the shelf in the laundry room.  (He had not realized this one shelf had all his stuff on it and I doubt that even after standing and staring at it for twenty minutes he even realizes it now.) There he stood, standing right in front of a shelf that is at eye level, not moving a single item, just staring and saying over and over, "I DON'T SEE IT !".  He did not look in back of boxes or IN boxes, he just stood there saying,  . . .  well, you know exactly what he said don't you !!

It turns out there were no regulators on the shelf but it really was worth the show.  It cracks me up every time.  I finally took pity on the poor guy and went out to the car where I knew there was one of what he was searching for. I knew this because when we had left Florida to head to Michigan I packed the car and put one of the regulators in the back of the car just in case of an emergency.  It was still where I had left it and The Man was happier than the proverbial pig in poop.  Will he be able to find where he left it when he takes it off his tank, probably not, but by then I will have found ten more of them and put them where they belong. 

A quick little note added on to this story . . .  HAPPY BIRTHDAY to The Man.  Yesterday we celebrated his 76th birthday with a small gathering of his 3 brothers and their wives.  It was a beautiful sunny day to sit outside and chat, drink beer and eat a really tasty taco dip that I made.  The left overs are in the fridge. I wonder how long it will take The Man to find them ?

PREDNISONE MAN

 Move over Super Man. Fly away Bat Man, spin your webs elsewhere Spider Man. There's a new super hero in town and his name is Prednisone Man !  Or maybe just "P" Man for short.  

 I am picturing a super hero in farmer's jeans and flannel shirt with a large yellow "P" emblazoned on the front.  I chose the color yellow because Prednisone Man not only gains his strength from pills but also from the lack of protein and the need to pee every fifteen minutes.  Yes, Prednisone Man is the alter ego of The Man. 

This vision of The Man as a super hero came about thanks to my daughter.  When I was telling her of our adventures in the hospital last week and the resulting decision to keep The Man on Prednisone for the remainder of his days she came up with this new name for The Man. I can not take credit for this. It was entirely Keri's idea. We laughed at the thought and then my brain got working on it a bit more. And here we are, a week later, still chuckling over it.

Every super hero has a story. Prednisone man came into being after too many visits to doctors and hospitals. Unlike Spider Man, "P" Man was not bitten by an insect, instead he was given too many doses of a particular drug which resulted in him developing his super powers.  I have yet to determine what these super powers may be but I am eliminating things every day. Here is a list of things that I KNOW Prednisone Man can NOT do:

"P" Man can not figure out how to work the windshield wipers on his car.  The lack of this super power became quite evident today as we drove one hour in the pouring rain.  "P" Man has owned his car for at least 2 years now. Admittedly he does not drive that often and when he does drive it is usually not that far. But come on now . . .  really ??  You don't know how to work the windshield wipers ?  It has not rained here for over a month so perhaps "P" Man has forgotten how to work them but it really is a pretty basic skill for anyone who has ever driven a car.  It's not like the Honda's wipers are hidden in a mysterious place and only pop out upon voicing a secret code. If his car was newer and had the wipers like my car that sense moisture on the windshield and come on automatically I might understand his lack of ability in adjusting the speed of them but that is not the case.  Wipers are ALWAYS on the right side of the steering column. Push the handle up or down, (depending on your car), and they go on.  Turn the base of the wiper lever and the intermittent wiper speed increases or decreases as desired.  Simple ! 

Today I watched "P" Man fiddling with the wipers and had all I could do to keep from reaching over to adjust them. He has this most annoying habit of putting the wipers on intermittent even when it is pouring. How he can see is beyond me. But I remain quiet. (That seems to be my super power.) When a truck passes us the back spray totally blinds us but "P" Man does not even flinch. He just keeps driving.  I managed to stay quiet about this all the way to our destination but almost lost it on our return trip.  Driving back home the rain increased so much so that it was very difficult to see the road. I sat silently watching "P" man fiddle with the wipers. He would push the arm up and the wipers would make two sweeps and then stop.  (He had them on "cleaning mode that sprays water, wipes twice and stops.). After ten minutes of this he finally figured out that he needed to push the arm DOWN to get the wipers to stay on. BUT they were on intermittent mode. Short pauses between swipes . . .   This quickly frustrated "P" Man because, and I quote, "I don't want the wipers running all the time and wearing out the blades." This is the same logic that The Man uses when I do laundry.  He gets upset because I am wearing out the washer and the dryer. (Three loads of wash a week for 2 people? One of those loads are to wash the bed sheets and towels. We are living on a farm and I am our gardening most days. Gardening requires dirt and water, lawnmowers and rakes. And I am not supposed to wash my clothes?) 

But I digress.  After his comment of not wearing our the wipers all I could think of was the epitaph on my tomb stone when I am killed in a car crash on a rainy highway.  "Here lies Catherine. Her mind and body wore out but her wipers were good as new." By now I am practically ready to leap form the car from frustration of watching "P" Man try to clear the windshield. It is at this point that "P" Man says, " I can't get these wipers to work the way I want."  I quietly reached across the car, twisted the wiper lever into the correct position and sat back saying, "Is that better?" All the while I am thinking, "What is wrong with this man???????" 

Obviously Prednisone does not give a super hero any advantage when it comes to the working of his brain. Thanks to the Prednisone he has energy to spare, which is much better than seeing him laying in bed sleeping all day but I do think a super hero needs a little more brain power than this.  

Maybe if "P" Man ate more protein it would help his brain. 

P R O T E I N

 Dr. Seuss would have a field day trying to explain Protein to The Man.  It might go something like this . . "Is is meat? Sam I am, Does it have feet? Sam I am,  Can you eat it in a bowl?  Can you put it on a roll?".  Perhaps that might be the only way this person I live with will ever understand the concept of PROTEIN!!

I think I was about 5 years old when I learned about protein. All living creatures need fuel for their bodies. My mom would make sure I did not exist on a diet of M&M's, ice cream and potato chips.  She explained in her very basic way, "EAT YOUR MEAT OR YOU WILL DIE!!"  Now I was never quite clear on whether I was going to die of malnutrition or her murdering me but I did know I needed meat or cheese or some form of food that would give me nourishment.  The actual word "protein" didn't not enter into my vocabulary until later in my life but the concept had been installed early on. I am very aware of those times when I have neglected to eat something "decent" and need to stop to eat some protein for fuel. 

So why is this SO difficult for The Man to understand ?????  One word . . .  LAZY !!

This man has survived 75 years with other people feeding him. Even being one of 7 kids there was always food on the table.  Years in the military provided him with meat, even in Vietnam when it came in a can, it was still meat.  I have no idea how he survived hunting trips in Alaska other than he was with other people so maybe they brought the "healthy" food. Or there was lots of fish and wildlife at their disposal. He was married to a woman who, from what I can gather, was a gourmet cook. For the three years between his wife's death and me coming into his life he existed on TV dinners and Burger King.  But even then he was managing to eat some Protein !!  

What the "F" has happened over the past 7 years ????????  

This morning I got up and, as usual, found The Man sitting at the kitchen table. (If I ever wanted to be REALLY cruel I would remove the kitchen table and chairs in the middle of the night just to see what he would do. This would be a crisis for sure. He would probably sit down on the floor right where his chair ought to be.). I sat down across from him to access the situation and see how he was doing.  As I do every morning, I asked him what he had eaten, knowing full well there would not be one ounce of protein included.  Sure enough he proceeded to tell me, very proudly, that he had had breakfast. I pressed on. "WHAT did you have for breakfast?" . . . A cup of coffee and a cheese danish . . . (He is very proud of himself because he made the coffee himself and found the cheese danish without my help.)  

If you open our refrigerator there are all sorts of healthy choices to be had. Cheese, eggs, sandwich meat, yogurt and lately . . . little drink boxes of Ensure or some brand of liquid nourishment. But I need to stress  the word "choices". Given any choice The Man will choose anything containing sugar, carbs and NO protein. And he can't figure out why he is always so tired ! FUEL MAN !!!!  YOU NEED FUEL !! 

For someone who flew helicopters, drove pickup trucks, tractors and lawn mowers all his life how does he not get the concept of "running out of gas"?????

OLD WIVES TALES

 I'm sure if you told anyone over the age of 50 about "Old Wive's Tales" they would look at you like you were speaking a different language.  I grew up on old wives tales.  I would catch a cold and my mother would say it was because I didn't wear a hat. Or if her bones ached she would tell me it was because it was going to rain. (That one is actually true as I am sad to have discovered). The little poem about "Red in the morning, sailor take warning. Red at night, sailors delight" still sticks in my head,

  Old wives tales are steeped in superstition. "Don't walk under a ladder or you will have bad luck", "See a penny, pick it up and all the day you'll have good luck", "An apple a day keeps the doctor away". There's a million of these little bits of wisdom that stick in my head but today the one about, "Never put your shoes on the furniture or you will have bad luck" jumped out at me. 

The Man and I have spent the past 2 days at a hospital an hour from here.  The man was feeling terrible for days and was finally told by the local dr. to go to this particular hospital's ER because they have a pulmonologist on staff there.  And so we drove an hour south to Aurora Medical Center/ Bay Area in Marionette, WI. (Yes, we had to go to another state to find a lung doctor.) Of course The Man was admitted.  (We had anticipated this so we brought suitcases with us. We travel no where without the need of a sherpa. Our medications alone need a pack horse and then the bathroom supplies and sleep machines need a mule. Good thing The Man bought a van!) We spent 2 days in the most AMAZING hospital I have ever been.  Super modern, SUPER super efficient and not crowded. We arrived at the ER at 11:00 AM and were in his room by 12:15. The room was super spacious with a little sitting area of 2 seats with a small table between them that folded down into a semi comfortable bed with a curtain that I could pull across for privacy. (It did not keep out the noise of the continuous flow of nurses checking on The Man throughout the night so I didn't get much sleep.  The Man slept through it all!). Two doctors were in to see the patient and spent a good amount of time talking with us. If you called the nurses they were there within a minute. It really was a GREAT hospital.  It was quickly determined that The Man's issues stemmed from his coming off years of steroids. Even though it was done over a span of two months his body did NOT like being deprived of Prednisone and so he is now back on this medication and feeling WONDERFUL !!! Unfortunately I am exhausted.

And so this morning, after my sleeping almost 12 hours last night but still feeling like I've been run over by an eighteen wheeler, I dragged my aching bones, (maybe its going to rain?) out of bed and into the kitchen where I found Mr Happy all chipper and full of energy. It took all my strength to keep from telling The Man to shut up and let me wake up slowly. As I sat listening to all he was planning on doing today all I could think about was going back to bed.  He FINALLY stopped talking long enough for me to make a break for it, (green light) so I could go pee and splash some water on my face.  When I returned to the kitchen he was gone so I headed to the bedroom to find some clothes to wear for the day since it did not look like I was getting back into bed for quite some time. This is when I saw it . . .  The Man was standing at the end of the unmade bed, (the bed that I had just recently vacated. ) I had thrown back the top sheet and opened the windows to air out the bed and The Man had come into the bedroom, thrown his suitcase up on the covers AND put his SHOES ON THE SHEETS !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Now I am sorry but THAT is a NO NO in my world.  You do NOT put SHOES on bed sheets. You do NOT PUT SHOES ANYWHERE  other than the FLOOR. Dear God in Heaven !!!! Who does not know this ?????????????  Was he raised in a barn ?????? (Well, maybe.). Shoes on a bed, even on the made bed, is DISGUSTING !!!  Do you know what kind of shit is on your shoes ??  LITERALLY !!!!!!!!

Given the old wives tale that if you put your shoes on furniture, (ie A BED),  you will have bad luck I felt I was fully within my rights to kill the man right then and there but I restrained myself.  I DID take his shoes and "throw" them on the floor while saying, in my stern "mommy" voice,  "NEVER EVER put shoes on the bed, no less on the sheets!"  I took EVERYTHING off the bed, quickly pulled up the comforter and returned his suitcase and clothes, but NOT the shoes, onto the bed so he could finish what ever he was doing. 

Thankfully a blood bath avoided because I remembered another age old saying that my mother taught me,

PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE, POSSESS IT IF YOU CAN.                                                                           SELDOM IN A WOMAN BUT NEVER IN A MAN !!!! 

SENIOR CITIZEN "SQUID GAME"

 If you are not familiar with the Netflix series "Squid Games" I am not surprised.  It premiered in 2021 and it is bizarre to say the least.  (But I watched the entire thing!). The premise is that a bunch of people who need money compete in a series of slightly revised kids games. They are eliminated until only one survivor remains and claims the cash prize.  I say survivor because with each game contestants are eliminated, PERMANENTLY ! As in DEAD !  It is brutal and not meant for kids to watch.

Anyway . . .   The first game that is played is a deadly version of "Red Light Green Light". I am sure you know the game.  It is when the player who is "IT" turns away from the rest of the kids and yells, "Green Light" every one can move in an attempt to get to "IT" and tag him.  But when "IT" suddenly turns around to face you and yells, "Red Light" everyone has to stop immediately. If you are seen moving you are out of the game.  

Senior version goes something like this:  The Man is talking so I am stopped. (Red Light).  I stand or sit quietly while he rants or rambles about what ever. When The Man stops talking for more than a minute I foolishly assume this is "Green Light" for me to move on to my next project. (ie. washing dishes, making beds or just a much needed trip to the bathroom not only to pee but for some solitude and quiet.)  Silly Silly me !!!  The second I make a move guess who starts talking ? !  RED LIGHT !  I stop in mid stride, turn to see what he is saying and he stops talking . . . Green Light !  I stand quietly for a moment, possibly even asking if he was saying something only to be met with a totally blank stare.  OK, I start moving again and, yup, you guessed it RED LIGHT !  Again I stop in mid stride only to be met with dead silence once again. 

 His favorite trigger to start talking is as soon as my hand is on the door handle to leave the house.  I have an appointment somewhere.  We talk about this appointment for days, it is marked on the calendar that hangs on the kitchen wall.  The event is highlighted in PINK so that The Man knows it is something that I am going to do.  He sees me changing out of my usual hanging around clothes of jeans and tee shirt into something nice. ("Going to a meeting clothes" as my mom would call it.) He sees me putting on makeup . . . (I do not apply makeup to feed the deer.) He is sitting at the kitchen table in complete silence the entire time.  I am chatting as I go along. He just sits. I say good-bye and place my hand on the door nob and BAM !!!!!  Like I have pulled a trigger, his mouth opens and he begins a conversation about something that needs to be addressed, like his last doctor visit or something. I stare in disbelief and quietly say, "I have to go. We can talk about that when I get back". Then I mutter to myself for the next twenty minutes as I drive to wherever I am going.  

I swear to you he is doing this on purpose to drive me nuts.  

Tonight was even better though.  We had dinner at the kitchen table.  Silence.  TV is on so no need to talk. Dinner is over and I remain sitting thinking that perhaps now that our mouths are not full and the nightly news is over there may be a conversation to be had.  NOPE !   Still silence.  UNTIL I stand up.  It is like my body in motion triggers his need to become verbal. ( Sort of like Charlie McCarthy the ventriloquists dummy but I'm not pulling any strings.)  This odd phenomenon happens ALL the time !  I stop, (Red Light) and wait to see where this conversation is going.  I can't even remember what he was talking about, I just know I talked with him for a minute or two until silence once more descended on the kitchen. (Green Light). I stood there a moment waiting but The Man's eyes were fixed on the TV so I left the room.  As I was walking into the bedroom I could hear him start talking.  HELLOOOOOOOOO . . .  Can he not see I am no longer in the same room as him ???  Yet there he is having a big conversation with no one present to hear him. He knows I wear hearing aids and yet he is talking into the air.  When I got what I had gone into the bedroom for I returned to the kitchen and foolishly asked, "Were you saying something while I was in the bedroom?"  The Man looked at me like I had 3 heads and said, (I swear I am not making this up) "Well Yes!  I thought we were talking about . . . (whatever) . . . and you walked away."  Nooooo, You had stopped talking and then I walked away.        RED LIGHT !!!  Not because he is now talking but because all I can see is RED !!!     What the #%&%^$#?    Seriously ????     Am I now expected to stand in place even when it is a Green Light because The Man may decide to continue speaking after a ten minute silence whether I am in the same room or not ?????  

I do think the Squid Game version of this Red Light Green Light  game where the contestants were SHOT when they were caught moving needs a slight revision for this house hold.  Our version would be, if the person who is "IT" (AKA The Man) starts talking when the room is empty HE needs to be shot !!

I do love playing kid games !!!

WHACK A MOLE

 It seems that recently the game of Whack-A-Mole has been used to describe several different issues from several different places.   In case you have never been fortunate enough to go to a carnival or Chucky Cheese where you can play this silly game I will briefly explain it to you.  There is a flat surface with several different holes cut out of it.  A "mole" will pop up from any of the holes and then quickly duck back down. Sometimes several pop up at once, always alternating from hole to hole.  The object is for you to WHACK the moles when they pop up, accumulating points for each one you hit. 

A few weeks ago when I attended mass here at All Saints in Gladstone the pastor spoke at every mass informing the parishioners of the planned reconstruction of the church building.  He explained that for years they have been playing "Whack-A Mole" repairing different parts of the 100 year old church.  It is a beautiful Gothic Stone building that is slowly falling apart piece by piece.  It was decided that rather than fixing one thing only to have three other things have issues the parish would have a Capital Funds Campaign to raise Two MILLION dollars to do all the renovations at one time.  It is an excellent plan that I totally support.  We are already half way there so by next year at this time I will be attending an entirely refurbished church.  I am excited!

But . . .   that is not what I am writing about.  Back to the Whack-A-Mole analogy.  Today The Man came into the bedroom while I was making the bed and we got talking about his last doctor visit and all the topics that were covered during that visit. (I keep a journal at each visit for exactly this reason.) The Man was questioning some new medication that the doctor talked about prescribing but did he actually send in that order?  Having discussed several other issues concerning different medications neither of us could remember what the outcome was on this one particular subject. (I did not have that information in my book so we guess there never was a final decision on the topic.) As The Man and I were trying to sort through all this The Man said that I was "dealing with a man with a bad heart, lousy lungs, kidney issues, a rash on his legs and a brain that can't remember shit." To which I replied, "We are playing "Whack-A-Mole" !!!

I guess that is just part of the aging process.  Can't pee?  Drink more water.  Drink too much water and it fills up your stomach so that your lungs don't have enough room to expand.  Your lungs aren't expanding so your organs aren't getting enough oxygen so your heart has to work harder.  Your heart has to work harder so you feel like crap and don't want to eat or drink. If you don't drink then you can't pee and it starts all over again.  

Fun times !!!  Unfortunately our bodies are not like my 100 year old church that can go for a complete overhaul. We just have to keep playing the game and hope we score enough points to stay alive for a few more years.

SNOW BIRD SNAFOO

 Are you jealous of your friends who are "Snow Birds" ?  Those lucky bastards who get to go south in the winter and north in the summer living the best of all worlds.  It does sound wonderful doesn't it !   And IT IS wonderful !  I am blessed' have discovered this marvelous life style, thanks to The Man and his house in wayyyyyyyyyy Northern Michigan.  He hates cold winters and I melt in the hot summers of South Florida.  Its a match made in Heaven and we both are completely happy with the move back and forth in May and October.  No problem there, other than living in motels for 3 nights but even that has settled into a routine of sorts. 

Where we DO run into problems is once we have made the move from one location to the other we have to TOTALLY readjust ALL our health care because now we have moved from one medical care provider to another.  

So what 's the BIG deal ???   There are doctors everywhere and they all should basically be the same.  It's not like we have moved to the jungles of Africa where our medical needs will be attended to by a doctor wearing a lion skin and sporting a bone in his nose.  And yet it REALLY does seem that way.

First of all, The Man is a veteran.  ALL his medical needs are taken care of through the United States Veterans hospital.  If he breaks a bone he goes to the VA.  If he has the flu he goes to the VA, if he needs or wants ANYTHING medical he goes to the VA.  

Because it is the year 2022  I foolishly was/am under the assumption that the World Wide Web of internet connections can INSTANTLY connect you and me to anyone anywhere to find out anything !  If Siri and Alexa can answer all my questions AND flush my toilet I expect the internet to be connected to everyone who has a computer.  ESPECIALLY government agencies.  (I am pretty sure there is a computer reading my blogs to see if I am planning an insurrection.). So when The Man and I go to the VA hospital in West Palm Beach, Florida wouldn't you assume that they are connected to the VA in Iron Mountain, Michigan ?????  It's not like we are asking Mac Donalds to give their secret sauce recipe to Burger King.  The Veterans Hospital is a government agency no matter what city the building is located in.  I get that the CIA doesn't want the FBI to know what they're doing and vice versa, God Forbid, but I am talking about the VETERANS HOSPITAL.  

So . . .   From October to May The Man, who's primary residence is in Michigan, travels to Florida to spend his winter in the warm sunshine. He is 75 years old, has worked all his life so he is entitled to some R&R in his senior years.  He does, unfortunately, have a shit load of medical issues so he NEEDS good medical care to monitor his health. He is also taking a shit load of medications to keep him alive so he NEEDS to be sure the doctors check his health regularly AND provide him with prescriptions for the medicine that he needs.  Yet EVERY SINGLE TIME we go to a VA doctor, no matter where we are, they never have the updated list of his medications in their computer !  I am VERY meticulous, (thanks to my OCD) I carry with me several copies of his most recent list of medications. The first thing the doctor or nurse always asks for is a list of medications.  I hand them the typed list and the fun begins. For what ever reason the VA can NOT get this straight.  (In their pitiful defense they are constantly changing his meds in order to save money. More often than not these changes result in major set backs in The Man's health and it takes us weeks to get him back on the original medication so he can get back to "normal") But even with that they inevitably have two or three medications on their list that The Man has NOT been on for months or even years.  It is a twenty minute process just getting the medication list straight with them.  

Next we get to the Medical History part of the exam.  If The Man is in the government computer under his social security number don't you think that ALL his records would be accessible from the Veteran's web site.  Nah . . .  that is just too much to hope for.  West Palm Beach can't access Iron Mountain. Iron Mountain can not access West Palm Beach.  Add to all that the hospitals in Green Bay,Wisconsin and Milwaukee where we have to go to see any sort of specialist.  Yes, we have to drive 2-4 hours to see a cardiologist or a pulmonologist. These Veteran Hospital doctors can not access either West Palm Beach or Iron Mountain or each other.  I have a folder of all his medical files that we ourselves find and print out. There are days when it takes us hours to find the notes of his last visit to a VA doctor. But they are there if we search long enough. The US Government does NOT make it easy. If things continue as they have these past several years I will need to buy a truck to transport The Man's files with me when we visit any doctors. 

The most recent issue we had with the VA happened two weeks ago.  Actually it started about 2 months ago when some idiot decided it was too expensive to provide a particular inhaler for people with COPD.  The Man had been using this inhaler, "S",  for years and it did a great job of helping him breathe. Then all of a sudden, out of the blue, that inhaler was no longer available to veterans.  The VA has switched over to something else because it was cheaper. OK we will give it a try. Problem being that the old inhaler "S" shot a LIQUID mist into The Man's lungs. Inhaler "X" shot a POWDERED mist. Because The Man's issue is that he CAN'T BREATHE the powder from inhaler"X" did not get into his lungs. Rather it got only as far as the back of his throat and that did NOTHING for his lungs.  We tried to explain this to the VA doctors but that was like trying to teach a chicken to sing. It was ALL about the MONEY.  

FINALLY we got a doctor in the Milwaukee VA who listened and realized that what we were telling him was in fact quite true so he ordered a new inhaler, "Q" for The Man. That arrived, The Man used it and it worked great. Until The Man forgot to reorder it and ended up with no inhaler for about a week.  When he first realized he was running out of "Q" he called the VA in Milwaukee where the original order had come from to order a refill.  He was told they had no record of him being on "Q". So we called the doctor who prescribed it and of course had to leave a message.  After spending a couple of days chasing after the doctor we were told the prescription was being filled and would be sent within 12 hours.  Forty eight hours later and no inhaler we called the pharmacy who told us it was being shipped overnight express that day. Thirty six hours later still no medicine.  Called the pharmacy again and they said it was sitting there waiting to be picked up in MILWAUKEE which is 4 hours away.   We then called the Iron Mountain VA to see if they would fill the prescription and we would drive an hour to pick it up but they had NO record of the medicine ever being prescribed for The Man.  

This went on and on for days until we finally called the new doctor at the Gladstone VA Clinic that just opened this year. We had been to see Dr. Mike for a check up when we arrived here this season and really liked the guy.  He is young, he is smart and he is not one thousand percent on board with Government policies regarding health care for the veterans.  He thinks outside the box.  He listened to our tale of woe and wrote a prescription to be sent to us ASAP.  He also gave us a written prescription in case the other didn't arrive so we could go to a local pharmacy. We would have to pay out of pocket but at least we would get the medicine.  That wasn't necessary because the new inhaler arrived within eighteen hours and The Man was finally able to breathe.  

For all my friends out there who think the government should be in charge of everything please take note of how well they can screw up one little prescription for one veteran. God Help Us if we allow the powers that be to be in charge of everyones health care, housing, food and education.  

NOTE - WORTHY NEWS

 Growing up in NYC I was used to newspapers that took all day to read.  There were "fluff" pieces but there was also a lot of local and national news.  When we moved to Florida we made fun of the Palm Beach Post because of all the "silly" stories about rogue alligators and the many many articles concerning the antics of "Florida Man".  (Florida Man is the endearing term given to any idiot living in Florida who manages to do something REALLY stupid.  It is mind boggling how many of these stories there are.) As stupid as these featured articles are I find them quite entertaining.  (Which goes to show you just how shallow and immature I am.)

This year when The Man and I returned to the UP one of The Man's brothers had left us several news paper articles about some things that have gone on within Delta County while we were away.  There is a huge dispute over Solar Panels being installed on farm land. A few people stand to make a lot of money if these panels are allowed to be put up but most of the residents are dead set against it for various valid reasons.  The Escanaba Press covers all this on an almost daily basis. 

Because all this is going on around us I decided it would be a good idea to subscribe to The Press for the months we are here. The cost of The Press is minuscule compared to my seasonal subscription to our Florida paper, probably because the Escanaba Press only has 2 sections.  The main part of the paper covers "The News" and the second section is sports and comics.  Section one is usually 5-6 pages and sports section averages 3-4 pages.  There are very few international stories and even fewer national news stories. Instead the paper covers important issues like these . . . 

                

And I thought stories about Florida Man were silly.   But I will not make fun because these are serious issues here in the UP.  On any day on a drive from the farm into town we will pass at least 2 dead porcupines and/or skunks. There is the occasional dead fox but seldom anyones dog or cat.  It seems that the local house pets have learned about roads and cars. In September there is always a multitude of dead deer all over the place. 

As for the fishing report . . .  Let me just say that it is now Walleye season and we have not seen any of our neighbors in days.  As you drive past the lake there are any number of boats out there.  I have learned that the boats that are close to the shore in The Flats are fishing for Bass not Walleye. (In my world a fish is a fish.) The UP is an area where the kids get off from school for the first day of hunting and fishing seasons.  

Serious stuff !!!!!

I will keep you posted on any other interesting articles I come across and you can keep me up to date on world news and politics. 

Or maybe not.

THE GAME OF LIFE

 I LOVE board games.  I really don't care for card games although I would not say no to a good game of Gin Rummy, (which I rarely win but I like the game anyway.)  But board games, those I love. When I was growing up I had a whole closet full of board games which I used to play alone, using imaginary friends to compete with. I did not always win . . . which says a lot about my guilt ridden Catholic upbringing. 

Of all the games I had,  my very favorite was Clue.  Good old Colonel Mustard and Miss Peacock wielding the knife or the candle stick in the parlor or the kitchen.  THAT game I almost always won but then it was a lot more difficult to play that one alone.  I think I drove my parents nuts wanting them to play it with me all the time.  Unfortunately their favorite game was Scrabble which I came to HATE with a passion.  My mother thought it would be a very good learning tool to improve my spelling.  All it did was frustrate me so that to this day I avoid that game like the plague.  

My second most favorite game was, The Game Of Life.  For a kid it was exciting to get that little plastic car to drive around the board.  Stopping first to decided if I wanted to go to college or not, (more money if you did), and then moving on to add a husband and then children along the way depending on which spaces you stopped on.  (Getting married was not an option. You HAD to stop and add a spouse.  Thinking  back on that now I'm sure it would have been an issue for some group of radicals,  but in the 50's getting married and having children was what you were supposed to do. The silly part was that for gaining a spouse and children you got more money.  That should have been my first warning signal that this board game was not at all like real life. 

Let's start with that gaining a husband and getting paid to do it.  At this point of my life you couldn't pay me enough to add a man to my life. Back when I was young and stupid getting married seemed like the most wonderful thing to do. You would never need anyone to pay you. Silly me !  Then as we moved through the game we added children and also gained more money for each child. Sounds a lot like our welfare programs of today. (I think this board game was a socialist propaganda ploy.)   In the reality of my life every time I added a child I lost money.  Doctor and hospital bills were the first indication that having children was an expensive proposition.  (But I wouldn't change that for all the money in the world.). 

Moving along in our Game of Life there are many other discrepancies between the board game and reality. First and foremost is, There are NO Mosquitoes in the board Game of Life. I do think there should be a space that says, "You have moved to the UP and are being eaten alive by blood sucking insects. Pay $12,000 for gallons of bug spray."  The game could add many other spaces such as, "Sweating to death at night, pay $900 for a new air conditioner", or "Need to hire a hit man to kill your husband, pay $50,000". Let's also add a space for "Cable TV and Internet suck so you can't read your email or watch Netflix . . .  pay a zillion dollars" or a space for "Can't find a decent doctor, bagel or pizza within 300 miles. Sell your soul to Satan". 

There could be some spaces where you gained money but those would be few and far between. Maybe there could be a space where you got paid to plant a garden, spend a day with a friend, win the lottery or go on a Caribbean cruise. But then that would really be silly. After all, life just doesn't work that way.