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.