WINTER IN THE WOODS AND A MOUSE IN MY SHOE

 Even though it technically is not winter for another month and ten days if there is snow on the ground it is winter to me.   Since it has to be cold for it to snow and winter is the coldest season of the year then if there is snow it has to be winter!   

Two nights ago it snowed. Not a lot but enough to cover the grass and the driveway. I got up Sunday morning to a winter scene right out of a Norman Rockwell painting.  Red barn, white snow, grey sky. I was like a kid on Christmas morning!!  I can't tell you how excited I was to see snow.  I have been living in Florida for 25 years so that's how long it has been since I saw that fluffy white stuff.   

As the day went on the snow melted and everything returned to the drab grey and brown of winter. I put on my sneakers and walked out to the mail box and realized there was still some patches of snow in the woods along the driveway. There was still a hint of magic amid the trees.  It was COLD, not Alaska cold but cold for anyone from Florida. It felt wonderful !!  My nose was red and running, my hand were cold even inside my gloves and I could see my breath.  It felt awesome.  I got the mail and returned to the house feeling like I needed to make hot chocolate and popcorn.  (A traditional snow day ritual from our New York days.  I did make some hot chocolate but held back on the popcorn. ) 

Later that evening or in the early hours of Monday morning it began to snow again.  It snowed ALL DAY off and on.  Some times it looked like a blizzard and other times there was just a tiny bit of snow blowing around. I knew I HAD to get out there and experience this first hand.  There was about an inch and a half covering everything. The trees were heavy with snowy branches and the woods were all white. It was beautiful!

I decided that with an inch of snow I didn't want to get my sneakers wet so I went in search of my hiking boots that I had brought to Michigan about 6 years ago. (No need for heavy boots in Florida.). These are heavy, ankle high boots that I had bought a zillion years ago when our family took month long trips out west in our pop up camper. I used them on Girl Scout camping adventures and many other occasions.  They were well broken in and quite comfortable.  Perfect for a snowy day in the UP.   I knew exactly where I had put them so I headed into the second bed room and sure enough there they were on the bottom shelf of my shoe stand.  They looked just like when I had left them all those years ago.  I pulled them out and stuck my hand into one to see if I needed to put my orthotics into them. 

YIKES !!!!!!!!    

There inside my shoe was a mouse nest. (Thank goodness the mouse had vacated the property a while ago.). Stuart Little did leave behind a mess of chewed up paper and a handful of seeds. Apparently my boot made for a nice warm home during the winters that The Man and I were in Florida.  The second boot was fine, no evidence of little critters homesteading in there.  Once I cleaned out the boot and put in my orthotics we were good to go.  ALMOST . . . It seems that over the years not only has my belly grown in girth but my feet have splayed out and elongated.  My toes are now crammed into a space much too small for my big, flat feet.  But I was determined to go for a walk in the snow so cram I did !!!!  Wool socks made things even tighter but I got those boots on and out I went into the winter wonderland.  No one had walked in the snow except for some animals. I found rabbit tracks, deer tracks and either a dog or more likely coyote tracks.  The turkeys must be hunkered down trying to stay warm.  I walked all over the property enjoying all the changes in the landscape thanks to the snow. I walked out to see if the pond was starting to freeze and sure enough there is a film of ice covering the water.  

Heading back to the house my boots kept my feet nice and dry. My scarf that my friend Jeanne had knitted for me kept my neck warm and my hat that I crocheted years ago had my ears and head staying nice and toasty. My winter coat, like my boots, is a zillion years old, bought years and years ago from REI.  That coat has seen most of the US and has been amazing. It has pockets all over it, is light weight yet is so very warm even on the coldest of days.  (And if I remember correctly it was on sale when I bought it.). 

I will leave those boots here when I return to Florida.    #1.  They really don't fit anymore.     #2. I still have no need for hiking boots in Florida.  And #3. Where will the mice live if I take my boots away??

BUZZ KILL

 If ever there was anyone who could throw a wet blanket on me it is The Man.  Things are getting tougher for him every day and that equals my life getting harder.  I'm not g going to say I am not complaining because I AM !!!!  

There has been a big change in The Man over the last 12 months.  His breathing has gotten so much worse and his stamina is at an all time low.  Yet he carries on. And so must I.  I have always believed and continue to believe that God has put me here for a reason. But Good God it isn't easy.  

I am here in the upper reaches of Michigan for the winter.  I have a perfectly good condo in Florida, (Which my daughter and her family are living in because their beautiful, big house has become a Petri dish for mold. Their floors, ceilings and walls are being torn up and replaced with hopes of getting rid of the mold.  So they moved into my condo for a couple of months.  I  do believe that this too is part of Gods plan. Even if I wanted to jump ship and run back to my home I can't because there is no room for me.  

So here I am !  I really don't mind being here on the farm in the cold.  It's wonderful to take a walk and not be sweating like a pig. (Do pigs really sweat?). The sunsets are amazing and the people are so lovely. Even The Man is happy here in his home.  Mostly . . .   because his breathing is so much worse that makes him VERY anxious.  And when he is anxious he is short tempered and stubborn as a mule. (I do know mules really ARE stubborn.)  I understand all this but it sure as hell is not fun to deal with.  I am feeling like I did when living with Husband, never relaxed, always on edge waiting for the next explosion.  (The men in my life have never really exploded. They leave that to me. Instead there are "the looks" and the "silence" which is almost worse. 

Anyway,  tonight I got a surprise phone call from my oldest child and his wife.  They were calling to ask if I would like them to fly from Atlanta, GA to MI at Christmas and visit for a couple of days.  WOOPIE !!!!  My son has been to the farm for a few hours when he was on a business trip up this way but my daughter-in-law and grand daughter have never experienced being a Yooper.  (A person who lives in the UP). I would LOVE LOVE LOVE them to all come to see this wonderful place.  They will not stay with us, they will rent a car, they will arrive Christmas evening and stay for 2 full days before returning home.  

Because I am staying up here until February and will miss spending the holidays with my family so this is a WONDERFUL gift.  I was so excited !!!!  When we got off the phone The Man was napping so I kept myself from running around the house all excited.  My DIL said they would check out flights and hotels and dates and let me know what they come up with.  We would talk again before final arrangements were made.     

When You Know Who got up from his nap I let him adjust to being awake, I offered him a Bloody Mary and I started dinner. When I handed him his drink I sat down and told him about my phone call from GA.  I totally played it down knowing full well what the response would be. (The Man does NOT like change).

Sure enough, true to form The Man got all excited and upset. I could hear his mind working over time. He was finding all the reasons why my family should not come to visit me for Christmas. There were a thousand "What Ifs".  I deflected every one of them with sanity and reason.  Then he tried, "I really wish you had discussed this with me before making a commitment."  HELLO !!!!  What do you think we are doing sitting here ???????????   Good Grief Charlie Brown !  

Normally I would have given him a "whatever, I know you don't like change, I'll tell them not to come" but for crying out loud . . . give me a break.  I am here for the winter, giving up the Hollidays with my kids and he is going to piss about 2 days?  I DO understand he is not wanting to share me, it is a minor change but my kids are not going to be sitting at the kitchen table staring at us for hours on end like the "helpers" that are here 7 days a week. These women come in, sit down at the kitchen table and do not move unless you specifically ask them to do something. But I digress . . . 

Anyway,  My son and family are coming to MI at Christmas with or without the "blessing" of The Man.  I will go spend 2 days in a hotel with them if they are not welcome here. (I know that won't happen) But for heavens sake I need to get this man on Prozac !!!!!

SNEAKY APPLE CRISP

 Being in Michigan in Autumn is lovely.  When I first got here in mid October it was actually warm, quite sunny and delightful to be outside.   That has all changed.  Here we are on November second and I wore my winter coat and gloves to church this morning.  The day looks like it could snow but it's really not quite cold enough.  It's the perfect day to bake something. And since we have many, many apple trees what ever is going to be baked will include apples.  For some strange reason there were only about 3 of the 17 apple trees that actually produced apples this year.  Last year we had so many apples from all the trees most of them were eaten by the deer. There are just so many apple things to make before you can't stand the sight of one more recipe for apple what ever.  

This year we only had 2 trees produce apples.  One of the trees is on the edge of the property and I am told by The Man that those apples aren't very good. (I have eaten them right off the tree and they were delicious.)  The second tree is right outside the bedroom window so The Man can check it daily. This particular tree is his favorite and he thinks that the apples it produces are the best in the world. (I do agree, the are wonderful.) 

 It has taken me 3 weeks to settle in here at the farm,  catch up on my sleep and get readjusted to living with The Man.   I am sleeping GREAT but I think it will take A LOT longer to get used to you know who.  His COPD continues to worsen so we are home most of the time.  He has only gone out once since I have been here. He passes the time sitting on his kitchen chair watching TV and critiquing every thing I do.  

Apparently I have become senile and can't wash a dish or cook a meal without much input from his royal highness.  From his kitchen chair he has a direct line of sight into the kitchen so he can watch my every move. I am constantly being told where things are, (I have been coming here for 9 years so I think I pretty much know where to find just about anything.  Except my sanity.), and how to put the coffee into his cup and how to wash a dish without using any water. (Houdini couldn't perform THAT act.  God forbid I fill up the septic tank with a bowl of dish water.). 

Anyway . . .  I decided today would be a great day to bake something Apple.  I made the mistake of saying this out loud. And so it began. 

 TM:         " Don't make a lot. It's only the 2 of us here. You always make too much."                                              ME:          "OK. I'll cut the recipe in half."                                                                                                         TM:           "Even that's  too much."                                                                                                                   ME:           " Well dear, I can only cut it down so much. How do I cut an egg in half?"  (The recipe did not                      call for an egg but it suited my argument.)                                                                                                   TM:           "mumble mumble mumble"                                                                                                          

You can fill in the rest of the conversation because it just went around in circles for the next ten minutes. He finally gave up after remembering that I was going to do what I wanted no matter what he says. Rather than admit defeat he went into the bedroom to lie on the bed and watch football. (or take a nap). 

I gave him about 45 minutes to fall asleep and prepared myself for some ninja baking.  I figured I would take full advantage of his absence to bake some apple crisp in the BIG pan so that I can put some of it in containers and freeze it for mid winter when all the apples have rotted and I am craving something sweet but "healthy" (?)  I mean, hey, it's made with apples and oats. It's got to be a little healthy. I just won't  think about the sugar and butter.

Right now the house smells wonderful. The apple crisp is done and The Man is still in the bed room.  With any luck I can sneak some of the crisp into the freezer and wash the big pan before TM comes out into the kitchen.  What he doesn't know won't hurt him. 

And I won't need to take an extra Valium !

WHY ?????

 Do you have a garbage "can", bag, box in your kitchen?  You know, the thing that you throw scraps into; empty food containers, used paper towels, anything that doesn't go into the recycling container. I can't imagine a kitchen in the world that doesn't have someplace in their kitchen to throw the garbage.  Furthermore I would assume that if you have a trash can in your kitchen you actually USE it !  Unless you are The Man.

Since I have been coming to the farm there has been a big, fancy trash container standing in the kitchen right next to the stove.  It is an expensive one. It looks nice and it keeps the stinky garbage from smelling up the house. Especially these days when it is never used.  When I first started coming up here all garbage went into the kitchen trash container but somewhere along the way The Man decided he didn't want to use. that trash receptacle because the bag in it is too expensive to buy and too big to carry to the garbage can outside at the end of the drive way.  The bag is NOT too heavy nor is it too hard to carry. According to The Man it takes up too much space in the garbage can so that when the garbage man comes every 2 weeks there is too much trash in the can. 

Please read that paragraph again !

Picture an industrial size garbage can. That is what sits at the end of the driveways and gets emptied every 2 weeks by Delta Trash Company.  Delta has garbage trucks that have a robotic arm that lifts the can, dumps its contents in their truck and replaces the can where it was. You could probably put a piano in the trash can and the truck could lift and empty the can.  But according to The Man the plastic "tall kitchen bag" is too big for the outside trash container. His solution is to use twelve thousand small plastic grocery bags that he hangs on the side of one of the kitchen cabinet. We need an endless supply of these bags which are saved from whatever store we shop in. The Man even went so far as to put a hook on the cabinet so the bag won't fall off. (The last few years since this genius idea occurred to The Man the "Walmart" bags have been looped over the cabinet door which often resulted in the bag falling on the floor and dumping everything all over the kitchen. So now we have a hook!). These 12 thousand small plastic bags are not biodegradable and they will blow around the city dump for eons. As opposed to ONE larger plastic bag. Not only that but instead of having to take the trash out every 2 or 3 days we are taking out small bags 2 or 3 TIMES a day.  Good exercise for me.  

I have yet to figure out the sense in any of this. But as with everything else dealing with The Man HE is master of his domaine and what ever genius idea he comes up with THAT is what will be.  

Unfortunately I am having a hard time understanding or accepting these idiotic ideas of his. My 4 month "vacation "ALONE"  in Florida for my heart surgery gave me a reality check on normal.  Up here on the farm I am constantly biting my tongue to keep from slapping you know who up side his head.  Good thing I get to walk out to the garbage can several times a day to cool down.

Which brings up another issue.  The temperature in this house is like a sauna. I am wearing shorts and tank tops in the house and sweat shirts and jeans when I go out side.  I can not imagine what the temperature in here will be when it REALLY gets cold outside.  I am spending much of my time out in the parlor because there is no heat out here.  It is WONDERFUL !  Lots of windows with lots of sunshine. This room is one of the perks of coming here and it provides an escape for me because The Man's oxygen hose will not reach this far !!!

OH SHEETS

 How many ways are there to make a bed?  I'm sure if you are a member of the military you will say there is only ONE way to perform this task. But if you are a home health aide you will prove that wrong.  

I never realized how a simple task of putting sheets on a bed could be so challenging. Even just making the bed in the morning seems to be a job that requires a doctorate in engineering.  My mother is rolling over in her grave for sure.

When The Man came up to Michigan this year he arranged with the VA to provide helpers 3 days a week. They come any where between 9AM and noon and spend three hours here "helping" with laundry, light house keeping and odds and ends that The Man needs done. Some will go grocery shopping but that usually doesn't go well.  Some how or other a package of napkins can substitute for a roll of toilet paper or a box of tissues.  We are never sure of exactly what will be bought and brought home. I find this all pretty amusing but The Man finds little humor in it. 

Today we had a "new" girl show up as our helper.  The Man does not like it when the VA substitutes someone for his regular "girl".  He hates having to train someone new. There are very specific ways some things must be done and trying to get a new person familiar with where things like brooms, vacuums and other items are located is very irritating for him. So today when the door opened an hour later than the normal arrival time of Jamie and a total stranger stood there "we" were already annoyed.  Because there really wasn't that much to do today and the fact that this girl had never been here before "we" decided to keep it simple. I was on my way out to the chiropractor so I hadn't made our bed yet. I figured this would be an easy task and it would give the girl something to do.  She asked if she needed to wash the sheets and I told her that was not necessary. If she could just pull up the sheet and comforter that would be great. Off I went.

When I arrived home an hour later the helper was already gone. She was supposed to stay until 1:00 and it was only 12:15 when I returned. This was not a good sign so I knew things had not gone well. The first thing The Man said when I came in the house was, "Look at the bed!  Can you believe THAT is how she made the bed!"   Sure enough, he had good reason to be upset.  The bed looked like a herd of buffalo had stampeded across the room. Sheets were all scrunched up, pillows tossed willy nilly and the comforter was hanging half on the floor.   A blind, one armed chimpanzee could have done a better job.  But is that wasn't enough, The Man told me he asked the girl to sweep the kitchen floor and she asked if she should sweep UNDER the table.  That totally blew his mind.  

As bad as that was the best one occurred a couple of weeks ago before I got here. It was a Wednesday, which has become "change the sheets day". There were clean sheets all ready to be put on the bed when the others were put in the washer to be ready for next week.  The man sent the girl in to put the clean sheets on the bed, which she did. That evening when The Man went to climb into bed there was no flat sheet on top of the fitted sheet. He couldn't imagine where the flat sheet could be. He then realized that the "helper" had put the flat sheet on the bed first and put the fitted sheet over it !!!!  

Apparently these "young" people, who are in their 30's and 40's, must live under a rock and never learned how to make beds or sweep a floor. Heaven forbid we ever ask them to do something complicated like putting  dishes away.  I do think the world is in major trouble if this is what will someday be "in charge". 

Or is it just up here in the UP?  They make fun of the weirdos in Florida.  I think that even though the swamp people of Florida have fewer teeth they do have a bit more smarts. 

SOLITUDE

 I LOVE being alone.   No one to have to share a space with. No one to interrupt my thoughts or actions. No one to cook for. No one to "supervise" my every move. I feel like a fish in a fish bowl. There are ALWAYS eyes watching me AND commenting on EVERYTHING I do. I feel like an amoeba under a microscope.  

At the moment I am in my sanctuary sitting in the dark where I hope to go unnoticed for the next hour or more.  I just finished cleaning up dinner, grabbed my laptop and told The Man I was going to sit out in the parlor and "check my e-mail".  Of course he had 42 different things to tell me that he had apparently not thought of while we were eating dinner. These thoughts only come into his head when I am leaving the room. 

It is interesting that The Man who called me EVERY NIGHT for 5 months has nothing to say unless it is to tell me how to wash a dish or make a bed. He honestly does not know what he is doing. Yesterday I was making him a sandwich for his lunch and he started telling me how to put the ham and cheese on the bread. SERIOUSLY !!!    I told him to settle down,  if he didn't like how I made his sandwich he could do it himself.  He was taken back that I had a thought of my own and actually voiced it because I usually just give him an "OK" and go on doing what I'm doing. He apologized later but I still don't think he realizes just how "up tight" he is. 

The Man needs to be on anti anxiety meds but he tried them once for 2 days and decided he didn't l ike the way they made him feel.  As if they would have started working that quickly. I have met my match in being stubborn. And he isn't even a Taurus or German.  I thought Norwegians were supposed to be very easy going. 

The past week has been interesting. Getting used to sharing a space and not eating what I want when I want is a challenge. The good thing is that I can escape if I want to and head for town. The poor guy isn't going out much so I can suddenly decide I am out of tooth paste so I need to take a trip to the dollar store. My trips to the dollar store are a high point of my life in Michigan.  The place is such a "junk shop" but they have EVERYTHING. I love walking up and down the aisles checking out all the dumb stuff. Yesterday I bought a $4 Christmas tree. Complete with decorations and lights.  It's only 3 feet tall but that is all we need. I also bought an ugly $4 wreath and some ribbon to dress it up. 

In case you're wondering, Yes, I am already loosing my mind !  And I have only been here 10 days. Lord help me by the time February rolls around when I get to go home. I will be a stark raving lunatic !!!!! But I will have lots of Dollar Store junk to bring home with me. 

THE LORD AND MASTER

 Once again The Man is reigning over his kingdom. He sits upon his throne, (the red naugahyde kitchen chair) and rules his roost.  (Maybe I should have titled this blog "The Rooster")  I think I may buy him a crown and scepter for Christmas.  Oooo. and a red velvet cape.  Then he really would look like the king of the castle!    Anything has to be better than underwear and a tee shirt greeting me first thing in the morning.

The Man has been living "on his own" (with his nephew 24 hours a day and aids coming in 3-4 hours EVERY day) for the past 6 months.  He has totally forgotten everything I "taught" him and has reverted to his primal state of giving orders to everyone and anyone.  I AM NOT A HAPPY CAMPER !!  It has taken me nearly 10 years of "training" to get The Man to a point where he does not have to direct my every move. And now, we are back at square one. 

I am sure all the helpers who come in are in need of directions.  Because common sense no longer exists it has become necessary to give step by step directions on how to change the toilet paper roll, how to boil water, how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and numerous other simple tasks. It boggles my mind how these people can function in the world on their own.  The best one was the girl who changed the sheets on the bed and put the flat sheet on first with the fitted sheet over it.  GOOD LORD !!!   

Well this is surely the place to come because The Man thrives on giving directions.  He gets up in the morning, gets his cup of coffee and begins makings a list of things he wants the helpers to do.  Then, like a spider in its web, he waits for the first unsuspecting fly to enter his kitchen.  From that point on the helper is not allowed to do ANYTHING without the step by step instructions of The King.  

 I am not picking on The Man because I realize that he wants things done a certain way in his home. I feel the exact same way when someone is helping me in my house.  The difference between the 2 of us is in how the asking is done.  I will ask someone to grab the dishes and put them on the table.  The Man will start with something like this:  "You see that cabinet over there?"  (no pointing or any other indication of what cabinet he is talking about.). "Go to the cabinet and open the door. Reach inside and take out 2 dishes, the big ones with the flowers on them,  and bring them to the table. Don't forget to close the cabinet door.  Put one of the dishes on this side of the table and put the second one across from it."          By the time he gives all his directions dinner has burned.  

The Man does this will EVERYTHING as I have mentioned numerous times in numerous blogs. But after his living "alone" and me living alone for 6 months I am out of practice on keeping my patience.  The minute he starts with giving me directions I want to reach across the room and slap him silly.  This morning was a perfect example.  I wanted to wash the bath mats and towels from the bathroom.  I have been here a week and these items are looking like they have not been washed since the last time I was here six months ago.   The helpers have learned, as have I, not to do anything without first asking permission.  (It gives The Man the illusion of "being in charge". You and I know better.).  I am sure that the helpers have never given a thought to washing the mats and if they had I know The Man would have told them "no, they're fine."   So I gathered the mats and towels and walked into the throne room where I said to the king, " I would like to wash all these mats and towels. Is that OK with you?"  Naturally he knew the correct answer was "Yes. They really need washing."  

Now because the idea wasn't his to start with I now had to endure the endless directions on how to wash a towel. (As if I have never done this in my 80 years on earth.) The Man went through his step by step directions to  make sure I knew how to turn on the washer and what the settings should be on the machine. You would be SO proud of me.!  I just let him talk, (I did not bother to listen but I gave a good performance.). I washed the items exactly the way I have been for years on end. Thanked The Man for his help and went into the bedroom to scream into my pillow.

I think there may be a "come to Jesus" moment where I explain to The Man that I do not like him thinking he is the only one around here who knows how to do anything. And basically he should just SHUT THE HELL UP!   

OR

WE will just continue on as we have for the last 10 years where he thinks he's in charge but you, me and the man in the moon all know who's REALLY running this show.

LEAF BLOWING AND OTHER FUN ACTIVITIES

 I LIKE LEAF. BLOWERS !!!!!!!  I find great satisfaction in blowing a mess of leaves off my lanai or lawn.   It is almost as enjoyable as power washing the lanai.  

I know you're thinking, "Is she NUTS????"  Probably !  But II feel very young and productive doing both those tasks.  (Although I usually make more of a mess than there was when I started.  I was one of those kids who ALWAYS jumped into a pile of leaves.  Much to the chagrin of my dad and our neighbors.) To be quite clear, I HATE raking leaves. But with a leaf blower I will spend hours out side. Squirrels and bunnies beware !   

My first leaf blower was one that Husband and I bought when we bought our house on Long Island.  We had a decent size front and side lawn that would be totally covered with leaves once September arrived.  Husband was a creature of habit and would only use a rake to gather leaves. (He also had the belief that if God put the leaves there God could clean them off.  The same went for snow.). But then guilt would raise its ugly head and the entire family was enlisted to RAKE LEAVES.  We HATED it !!!!   The kids would disappear within seconds of Husbands announcement that "today we ALL rake leaves".  I would attempt to make it a game but the kids were too smart for that.  Finally I woke up and bought a leaf blower. SO much better !!!!!

We left the leaf blower with the house when we moved from NY. to FL because we were moving into a community that. provided lawn service. Once a week there would be an invasion of Guatemalans racing around everyone property cutting lawns and blowing leaves.  When Husband died and I moved into a condo and met The Man I started traveling north to MI in. the summer. In MI we live on a farm that has lots of trees but because no one cares, no one rakes leaves.  So why does The Man have THREE leaf blowers?   (Haven't figured that one out yet.).   When we arrived at the farm each year I checked out the property and figured out where my leaf blowing skills were needed. It keeps me busy most of the summer. The MI leaf blowers are large and heavy so I have to pace myself.  I do enjoy it. 

This year because of my heart surgery I remained in Florida for the entire summer while The Man returned to the farm.  He misses me.  Awwwwww.  How sweet.  I will be traveling up there in a few weeks to experience my FIRST winter in Northern MI.  (Yes I am actually looking forward to spending the holidays up North.).    But back to the leaf blower.   When I returned home after 3 weeks in the hospital I realized my "garden" on the lanai was OUT OF CONTROL !!   Some sort of weed had invaded everything.  My climbing, flowering plant by the door was dead and there were leaves EVERYWHERE.   Being 3 weeks out of the hospital there was NO WAY I was going to do any gardening.  I could barely stand on my own no less rake leaves.  I blocked it out of my mind and went on my merry way to rrcovery, which included a LOT of naps.     

Fast forward to about a week ago when I realized I was no longer exhausted and I was able to do just about anything. That was when my Amazon account went through the roof.  I bought an electric scrubber for the bathroom showers.  I bought an electric can opener.  I bought a reading light for over my bed AND most importantly, I bought a LEAF BLOWER.   Even though I live in a community that provides lawn service I have a very large lanai that, even though it is completely screened in, fills with leaves.  Some blow in from outside when I leave the door open but most of them come from the various plants that I have growing in my garden.  (Inside on 2 sides of the screened in lanai there is a 2 foot wide section of dirt that can be used for planting. It doesn't sound like much but there is probably about 50 feet of soil in which I have experimented with over the 9 years we have lived here. ). Sadly none of my experiments were successful.     And so I have a lovely border around my Lani filled with weeds. 

But now, when I return to. FL in February when it hopefully will be cooler I. can pull weeds and blow them into the trash with my handy dandy. leaf blower. 

MICHIGAN RETURN

 Hang on to your hats . . . the blogs are about to resume.    I finally have something to write about thanks to my return to The Farm and The Man.  I had a WONDERFUL 6 months of living on my own.  Even with a month of surgery and rehab and temperatures in the 90's I still had a great time spending the summer in my condo.  

   To refresh your memory, The Man and I were in Florida for the whole winter. But once the weather started to warm up to boiling The Man knew he had to head back North to his home.  Mid April found him riding back to MI with his son where he immediately got sick and ended up in the hospital for a few days.  Once that passed he has been doing fantastic living "alone".  He has "helpers" coming in every day, seven days a week and his nephew moved in so that The Man would not be alone at night.  Win, win for everyone.  The Man has flourished and I was living my best life alone in FL.  (Except for the nightly one hour phone calls from The Man EVERY night I was free as a bird.). 

But all good things must come to an end.   After recouping from my heart surgery for 3 months and hearing EVERY NIGHT  how much The Man misses me I have been "guilted" into going back to Michigan to see The Man. The idea of not having to spend an hour or more every night talking about nothing was incentive enough to get my butt on a plane and head north. I have heard nothing since I arrived here except how much I am loved which is a lovely thing to hear.  Now it is my job to get The Man to settle down and stop hovering and directing and advising me about everything from how to cook dinner to taking out the garbage.   It seems I must have had brain surgery instead of heart surgery because The Man thinks I need constant supervision. (Actually he isn't that far off in his thinking.). Time will pass and we will settle back into our old routine of me being in charge and him being too afraid to speak. 

Before returning to The Farm I prepared myself for the changes I would have to make.  Number 1 being the change in climate.   Not the outside climate . . .   the temperature IN the house.  So far the weather outside is perfect.  High 60's, sun shine, slight breeze. PERFECT !!!!!!!   Apparently The Man does not open a. window or door to see what the weather is. He just looks at the calendar and decides that it is now mid October so the heat in the house MUST go on.  I am dying !!!  This house is so hot I can bake bread by just leaving it on the counter top. I have to return to my Ninja mode where I sneak around turning down the thermostat whenever The Man is not looking. It is going to be a long 4 months until my return to independent living in FL. 

Number 2 changes are food.  I lost about 15 pounds after my heart surgery. Mostly from the 2 weeks post op that I had zero appetite. It has been enough of an incentive to watch what I am eating.  Living alone. it is easy. Living with an ice cream addict it is nearly impossible.  I mean, who eats ice cream for breakfast?? Yup, you guessed it. I got the man drinking smoothies for breakfast but in order to make his smoothie even better he adds ice cream.  Then he has lunch of a sandwich which he doesn't like to eat alone even though I don't eat lunch.  And forget about dinner.  No more just a salad for me, it must be accompanied by a steak or burger or (ugh) potato sausage.  I am doing my best but it sure  isn't as easy as living alone. 

Numbers 3 & 4 . . . sleep and TV.  I have become accustomed to watching anything I want from 7PM till 1AM.  I never turn on the TV during the day and when I do watch TV it is something quirky, funny or romantic.  NEVER a war movie or western. I will get my dinner, head for the couch and turn on the TV ready for a night of binge watching.  I come to MI and it is Fox News at 5 for sure. It is usually preceded by what ever other news is on from the time The Man gets up from his nap around 3 till dinner time when we eat at the kitchen table watching Fox TV.  The Man showers shortly after dinner and heads for bed by 7:15.  At 7:15 at night I am just getting ready to settle down to dinner and several hours of TV. But now I have someone asking when I am coming to bed because he is lonesome. 

It will take some time for me to readjust to "married" life.  So until I do you can expect blogs on a pretty regular basis. I hope you enjoy but even if you don't I need to write to keep from killing someone I am living with.  

THE "UN" SMART TV

To be honest it is not the TV that is not smart, it is the person who purchased the TV who is just not living in the 21st century.   LORD !!!   How does he manage to function on a daily basis?????????

One guess who I am talking about. . .    YUP !!  Once again The Man has managed to screw up a soup sandwich. Or to put it another way,  "WHAT WERE YOU THINKING ?????????????"

Let me back up a bit for those of you who may not be familiar with The Man and his many screw-ups.  I will be the first to tell you he is a lovely person and I am delighted to have him in my life.  But I am also delighted that he is now at his home up in Michigan while I remain here in Florida "recovering" from surgery in July.  The Man chose to leave the sunny south in April so he could be home in his house.  i totally agreed with that decision. At that time he was not doing well physically so I knew he wanted to be in his home with his family near by.  I actually was quite happy with his decision because I did not think I could handle surgery and The Man at the same time.  (If you have ever had your spouse take care of you during your recovery from anything you know what I am talking about. You could have lost both your arms and legs and you would still be expected to cook dinner and entertain them. )

And so The Man is now into his third month of living "alone" up on his farm.  But . . .  he is not alone. (Thank goodness!)  His nephew has moved in with him to be there to help cook, and give him a hand with daily chores.  The Man also has aides coming in 7 days a week for 4 hours a day.  They do laundry, shop and clean and do what ever else The Man may challenge them with.  Naturally none of them are as smart as The Man so when they don't know how to make an egg salad sandwich or put the sheets on the bed the "RIGHT" way The man goes into a tizzy for days.   

About a month ago The Man decided he wanted to buy a "SMART TV"  to put out in the living room so we could stream shows out there instead of watching on my computer.  Both of the other TV's in the house are so ancient that we have a gerbil on a wheel  running round and round to provide power to turn the TV's on.   (No, not really.  We have a raccoon.)     Anyway . . .  The Man decided he wants to put a smart TV in the living room, (That would be the room that he NEVER goes into)  I have gotten into the habit of going into the living room at night after dinner to get away from the TV and The Man.  So much for that !!

The Man has asked a thousand questions about Smart TV's so he would be prepared to  purchase one on line and have his nephew pick it up and bring it home.  I assured him that all he would have to do is plug it in, go to  one of the streaming venues, aka Netflix or Hulu and enter our pass word for that service.  (I spend a small fortune for all these sites so we would be good to go.)  

Two nights ago I got a phone call from "Mr Happy" all proud of himself that he bought a Smart TV which is now sitting in the living room on the new TV stand that I suggested he buy. (It was either buy a small piece of furniture or survive the goat screw that would happen if he and the nephew decided to hang the TV on the wall. )  The two of them put the cabinet together and put the TV up on it. He even sent me a picture to show me how great they did.  I wrote back that it looked wonderful and they did indeed "Do Good".   Ten minutes later my phone rang.It was The Man asking me for my ROKU password.     HUH ??????     Why would you need my ROKU password if you bought a Smart TV????  We have ROKU on the 2 TV's in the house. It came free when we switched over to "fiber Optic" service last year.  But because it did not allow Netflix and a few other streaming apps we decided to get a SMART TV !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!   

After going around in circles with The Man for ten minutes I asked to speak with his nephew.  (Who apparently was not much smarter than The Man. )   I know EXACTLY what happened. The Man went on line to look for TV's at Walmart, saw one one sale and bought it thinking all TV's now are Smart!!! (Which I guess is true because the TV sure is a lot smarter than it's purchaser.)   The TV is NOT   a smart TV it is a ROKU TV.     You have to buy the streaming services that you want even though you already have subscriptions for all of them.   

So now I am paying for Netflix and others so that I can enjoy TV here in FL while The Man is paying . . .  who knows how much a month for his ROKU services on a TV that is not smart.  

GOOD LORD !!!!!!!!!!!!

THERE MAY HAVE BEEN DRUGS INVOLVED

 I think I have lost two weeks of my life.  This is not a concern so much as a puzzle.  All I can attribute it to is drugs.  And to that I say. " THANK YOU VERY MUCH !"

I managed to survive the 60's without ever having tried any illegal substances. (God knew what he was doing when he kept me out of temptation. Or perhaps it was just that I was too dumb to need drugs or too dorky to know anyone who had drugs.). What ever the reason I have made it 80 years without ever being stoned.

Until now . . .  

Open heart surgery was almost 4 weeks ago and the more time that passes the more I realize that I have NO IDEA of where I was or what was real for the first 2 of those weeks.  Every day the fog fills my brain just a little more until I suspect the only evidence I will have of my hospital adventure will the the scar on my chest.  

It is an extremely weird feeling to have "memories" of something but not be sure if they are in fact memories of things that happened or some psychedelic random wanderings of my brain.  I remember bits and pieces of things . . .  The pattern of the tiles  on the floor of what I assume was my hospital room. Is that not a strange thing to have stuck in my. head?   I vividly remember a painting hanging on the wall at the foot of my bed. I remember this because I was endlessly entertained by the people in the painting who were moving around all the time. (I am told by my children that the painting contained not a single person. But I swear to you there were people and a flock of seagulls flying around.). I apparently spent a lot of time laying in the bed with the painting to entertain me. I have no idea if this was in the ICU or cardiac recovery. It's all a blur.  Each day in the hospital I thought I was perfectly fine. No pain, no worries and now no memories.  One of my friends has told me the doctors probably had me pretty well drugged those first weeks so that I would rest and recover.  I remember being up and walking around. Sitting up in a chair each day to eat meals, (which I did not eat because I had zero appetite). This is really strange !  I don't remember individuals . . .  doctors, nurses, aides. It seemed there was a constant stream of people coming in and out of my room but I can't picture the room. I remember thinking I was in a hotel. A very old hotel with green tiles on the floor.  

I would really like to see a video of myself those first 2 weeks after surgery.  I can only imagine how entertaining that would be.  I know my son Kyle was with me every day even though I don't have a single memory of him being there until I went to the rehab facility.  That was when the cloud started to lift and I began making some sense of what was going on and where I was.  

One thing I DO remember is how freaking cold I was.  Perhaps it is kept so cold in hospitals so that if you should die the body will not decompose too quickly before the nurse answers the call button.   I have never been in a meat locker but I imagine the hospital rooms are at least twenty degrees cooler,  

I also remember the day about half way through my hospital stay when I had had enough and told the nurses I was going home NOW !!!  I was cold, tired, in need of some bathroom privacy and sick to death of nurses telling me I can't get out of the bed!!!!  My kids and the nursing staff managed to keep me from getting dressed and leaving, (as if I could have walked out on my own power.)  We came to an agreement that if I stayed one more day they promised I could leave after that.  I have a feeling they may have bumped up my medication right after that. 

WHY anyone would choose nursing as a profession is beyond me.  I guess it has its rewarding moments but as far as I could tell the poor nurses are overworked, underpaid and definitely un appreciated.  For the little I can remember I wouldn't want me as a patient.  

Hopefully the "nightmare" is over. Not that there was anything horrible that I had to endure but that sense of helplessness, frustration and fatigue really wears on you.  

Did I forget to mention the strange clock that was in my hospital room ?  Every night I would go to sleep around 8:00 PM.  (The time was determined by the staff so that they could fit in rounds and the changing of the shift.). Everyone would get tucked into bed, given medications and lights out.  There I would lay staring at the clock on the wall. (The moving painting was now a past memory).  I SWEAR to you I would look at that damn clock and it would say 8:02.  The next time I looked at the clock it would say 8:01.  HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE ?????  This would go on all night long.  I would look at the time only to realize it was earlier then when I had checked it before.  I would watch the clock, doze off,, check the clock again and finally fall asleep at about 3:30 AM.  Just in time for the nurses to come busting into the room at FOUR in the morning to get me up and ready for the day. The door would slam open, all the lights would go on and a cheerful, sadistic  evil nurse would say "Good Morning! Would you like to get up ad sit in the chair?"   There is no correct answer to this question. No matter what my response I ended up in that freaking chair, freezing and waiting for 7:30 AM when I might be fortunate to have something hot served for breakfast.   

Sadly these are the memories I have managed to retain.  

HOW DID I EVER MAKE IT THIS FAR. ???????

 Almost every day you can find some silly little thing on the internet about how the Baby Boomer generation actually survived their childhood in spite of no bike helmets, concrete playgrounds, drinking from a hose and any number of other things that should have killed us before the age of 10.  And yet here we are.  

UNLESS . . . You are now that "lucky" senior who is blessed with loving children who want to protect you from the ravages of time.  Because Grand ma and grandpa have now suddenly become brain dead and totally incapable of making decision on our own.  

GOD HELP US !!!!!!!!!!.     

My recent adventures with open heart surgery have brought forth the masterful take over of my body and brain by my loving children.   All those years when I thought I was at least a little bit smarter than my kids has proven not only false but deadly.  All because they "LOVE ME" !!!    I realize that my children have patiently awaited this day when they will have their revenge.  Mom is no l longer in charge, the kids are and heaven help the old lady sho is left to their mercy.

Let's start at the beginning . . .   I have managed to make it to a ripe old age of 80 only by the grace of God.   He blessed me with  parents who gave me life and managed not to kill me during my teenage years.  I don't know how I survived my college years other than God must have had a plan where I would have children just so they could have their revenge.  My  life was full of blessings. The most precious ones being my 3 children.  

My kids are amazing adults. Kind, generous, loving and evil.  I know they think they are helping but Lord save me from their care. And to think I would have moved mountains to live near them.  Now all I want to do is hide when I hear them coming.

From the moment the decision was made to under go this surgery my kids rallied like Custer at his last stand.   Phone calls were made between them, calendars were consulted, vacations were moved and I began to slide into the vortex of The Black Hole of my deadliest nightmares.  I had not realizes just how great a job I did raising these people.  They are smart, competent and well meaning. If only they would be taking care of someone other than me..  I would be so proud of them. 

It seems that mom going into the hospital for "serious" surgery meant that mom would suddenly become brain dead, incompetent, frail, need to be under their watch 24/7 and STUPID !!  The looks that would pass between siblings when I would  say or do anything no longer mean, "Isn't mom funny!  Look how cute she is when she is drooling mashed peaches into her Ensure."  Now the looks that pass between my kids mean so much more, first and foremost being, "OH GOD !  She has totally lost it and we are going to be taking care of her for years on end."  

Am I the same person who had heart surgery just 3 weeks ago?  YUP !  Do I need diapers and a bib?  NO! Not quite.  Is my brain still a bit fuzzy from being under anesthesia for several hours?  Yes !  Do I still know my name and how to wipe my. own butt?  YES ! There seems to be no middle ground here. I am either a half step from being a Kumquat or am so old that all I'm good for is clearing dishes from the table and bringing in the mail.  I might as well be a German Shepherd.  

My first born child arrived on the scene shortly after I was out of recovery.  (We shall call him "K 1" ) I do not remember ANY of those days.  I know the kids were there for me and had a plan of attack for when I would come home to an empty house.  It is a good plan and one I truly appreciate.  BUT . . . My first born child is Type A personality. I am sure there is a power point presentation for any and all who care to know how well I will be cared for.  He arrived with a full menu plan for the next 3 weeks. He is an excellent cook but I really think I may have appreciated being consulted in deciding what I would like to eat.  So far we have feasted on Salmon, swordfish and chicken. All gourmet meals but I am craving a simple bowl of spaghetti with sauce.  "K1" has taken care of laundry and "cleaning" all while working from here a full 8 hours a day.  If I make the slightest sound he suddenly appears out of nowhere to ask if I am "OK".  I am constantly asked if I want/need anything but my lips are sealed.  My fingers are itching to get into my kitchen to clean off the counter tops and put things away.  (I too am a Type "A" personality and it KILLS me to have to just sit and watch.). 

"K1" is also showing signs of being equipped to do nursing and physical therapy.  I have only just arrived home from a week in a rehab facility and "Richard Simmons" is concerned that I am loosing ground. If I don't get back to therapy I may spend the rest of my life in bed from lack of moving for 2 days.  Meanwhile the surgeon kept impressing on me that I am STILL HEALING inside and I need to "take it easy".  I guess that means that I can not open a bottle of aspirin but I can be made to march in place of 45 minutes until I drop dead.  

But it is all being done in the name of LOVE. 

MY COMPUTER HAS A MOLE

 I"Ve been watching way too much TV lately.  Lawyers, cops, aliens, . . .   you name it,  I'm watching it.  (The perks of living alone.  I get to watch what I want whenever I want.). The down side of this is that I am becoming paranoid.  My computer and TV seem to be "listening to and/or watching ME !   I think there is spy ware at play.   Good thing I don't have any national secrets to hide.

Let me explain.     Facebook seems to be the worst or best at tracking my emotions, decisions, choices, life.     If I see something on Facebook that looks interesting I may pause to check it out.  Natural curiosity if you will.  I am wary about opening up things because I know there is a little mole in my computer that is just waiting for me to show an interest in compression socks or whatever. If I pause more than 3 seconds on any given "pop-up" I am guaranteed to be bombarded with an avalanche of web sites and phone calls trying to sell me their brand of whatever.  Ads will show up on my phone, in my snail mail, in my "in box" of my e-mail. I will get phone calls trying to sell me things. Billboards on the highway will say, " We know you're shopping for _______, just call us at XXXXXX.  . The only thing I have not been subjected to is fliers being dropped from a helicopter that is circling my house. 

Apparently the mole is not very intelligent.  Not only do I receive offers for the most comfortable sheets in the world, recipes for all sorts of desserts, (I can't imagine why those are sent to me), and a vast assortment of diets and health food suggestions.  (Which is quite silly since they are sending all those great, fattening recipes.)  For some reason my computer also thinks that I need Nail Fungus cures, (I DO NOT have nail fungus but The Man did), advertisements for chair yoga, (I get at least three of these a day. I had hoped those would stop when I threw out all my chairs), lots of reference material for diabetes treatment, (I DO NOT have diabetes), weight loss and fire blanks for my kitchen.  (I swear I have NEVER set fire to my kitchen . . . )

Where in Hell do these things come from ?   There is either a hidden microphone in my couch or one of my so called friends is telling tales about me.  I guess this is the new age way of pranking.  When I was young the "fun" thing to do was to sign up someone you disliked for a years subscription of some stupid magazine like "Hemorrhoid Monthly",  Or order a pizza to be delivered to someone you wanted to annoy .  My computer is playing with me.  

If only I would get some information that would actually be useful to me.  I never get advertisements for cleaning products for my house.  Apparently my computer thinks I only sit on the couch eating snacks all day and night while soaking my fungus infected feet.  I REALLY don't know where they got that idea from. What I could use is helpful information on what is the best cure for insanity.  What is a sure fire way of winning the lottery. How can I make a Billion dollars sitting at home watching TV while eating snacks and soaking my fungus infected feet.  (REALLY . . .  I DO NOT HAVE TOE FUNGUS) 

I have searched my house for hidden cameras and microphones.  I have signed onto Facebook under a phony name, I stopped answering phone calls from unknown numbers but the "harassment" continues.  Can you imagine what it would be like if I actually bought one of the "suggested" items.  I would never hear the end of it.  

(PS . . . in case you are tracking all that I say and do I REALLY could use some help with that lottery winning information. )

THE JOKE IS ON ME

 I couldn't make this stuff up even if I tried . . .   When God has a plan then you had better just sit back and go for the ride.  When I have a plan God laughs.  

Today's plan was for me to be in the operating room right now with my heart stopped so the surgeon could fix my aortic valve.  It seemed like a good plan, It has been a long time coming with heart scans every 6 months for the past 15 years.  Each year there were small changes, nothing major but the cardiologist was watching me closely.  Then this year things were getting to a point of "poop or get off the pot".  The decision was made to have open heart surgery and take care of my poor old ticker.  A date was set for the surgery and all was getting ready for lift-off.

As with any surgery there are all the pre-op tests to be done. Last Thursday was set aside for all that. Arrive at the hospital at 7:30 and go through all the tests to be sure I was healthy enough to go through the surgery and recovery.  I passed everything with flying colors!  Meanwhile the previous weekend I had gotten a stomach virus where every thing I ate went right through me. So for the 5 days prior to the testing I had basically been eating nothing but toast, bananas and applesauce.  Fortunately for all involved my tummy settled down and I was ready to start eating normal food.  By last Thursday I was feeling back to normal.  I was ready for surgery !  Let's do this !

Then the second shoe dropped.  On Friday I woke up with a swollen cheek. (Not the butt one, the other cheek on my face). The gums in my mouth had been sore since I had a tooth pulled 3 weeks ago.  Just a little irritated, nothing to worry about.  Until my face swelled up.  Not horrifically where I looked like the Pillsbury Dough boy but swollen enough to notice.  With surgery now only 3 days away I wasn't sure what to do.  I spent the two hours from the time I woke up till about 12:30 before I decided to call my dentist who had pulled the tooth.  Naturally . . .  (God is chuckling) . . . Dr. "C"  leaves his office at noon on Fridays.  OK . . .   I can figure this out. I left a message with the answering service knowing someone would call me back eventually.   I called my regular dentist but she is leaving her practice for medical reasons so she was no longer available.  I called the dentist that I had seen a couple of months ago when we were trying to figure out if I needed a root canal, a cap or an extraction.  Her office closed at 2:00.  It was now 2:15.   (God is starting to laugh).  

By 2:30 I was pacing up and down trying to figure out my next move.  Then my phone rang !!  Hooray !!! Someone is paying attention.  It was Doctor "C's" office getting back to me.  Karen the secretary asked what was going on.  She told me the doctor would probably put me on an antibiotic.  I reminded her about my upcoming heart surgery and asked if taking an antibiotic would interfere with that.  She had to check with Dr. "C" and get back to me. Karen got back to be within about a half hour to say the medications should not make a difference. She will send a prescription to my pharmacy. 

Now one of the things that was made extremely clear to me at the pre-op meetings was that if ANYTHING,  ANYTHING . . . even a bug bite . . .  should occur before the surgery I needed to call the hospital immediately . ( I had called my surgeon's office early on in all this but no one answered. I left a message on their machine.)  I now called the hospital and was told by them that my surgery would probably have to be postponed. My surgeon would call me.   Sure enough within minutes the surgeons office called and told me it was in my best interest to postpone until all this got settled and the dentist could check me out.  Then, AFTER the surgeon got back from his 3 week vacation the office would set up another date for me.

I'm not sure if I was happy to get a reprieve or upset because I really wanted this over and done.  I think relief won that battle.  A whole month to relax more and prep for this couldn't be a bad thing. 

But by Saturday I was second guessing myself. "My gums were probably just sore from the stitches that were supposed to dissolve but are still in my gums.  That's probably what's rubbing and irritating my mouth,"  "I never should have called the dentist," "What was I thinking?" , "stupid me!" All day Saturday I was beating myself up thinking I had screwed the pooch.  (God is now laughing out loud).  

And this is where I am made aware that nothing is in my hands.  When God wants something to happen or, in this case, NOT happen HE makes sure we hear Him.

Sunday morning I woke up with a sore throat and as the day progressed it got worse. My eyes started to water and my nose began to drip or clog depending on the moment.  I realized that if all this nonsense had not happened I could have been in that operating room with a bunch of cold germs running around my system just waiting to attack.  There was NO doubt in my mind that all this was happening for a reason. What ever that reason is I will never know but what I DO know is that I was not meant to have surgery today.   

I guess I must be fairly stupid not to have gotten God's message the first time, or the second. Thankfully I heard the last message. If I hadn't paid attention to that I imagine I would have been hit by a bus. 

When God speaks you had better LISTEN !!!

HOSPITAL GAMES

 Are you familiar with the series of books and movies titled "HUNGER GAMES" ?   Or perhaps you are a fan of "SQUID GAMES" ?  (Which I liked but also found quite disturbing).  I always wonder when watching or reading these stories how the authors have come up with this stuff. Forget about my favorite author, Stephen King.  That man has the mind of a genius or a lunatic.  

This morning I got thinking about what I may/will encounter during my next adventure. Open heart surgery is scheduled for me this coming Monday.  I will be in the hospital for about a week after the surgery and then a couple of weeks in a rehab facility.  This is nothing new to me as I have had many dubious "opportunities" to experience surgery, hospital stays and the torture they inflict on us patients who are at their diabolical mercy. (That is an oxymoron for sure.)  I do not really look forward to any of it. If I were like anyone else I would take a cruise every so often to get away from "The Daily Grind" but since that is usually not an option I visit the hospital to have a "vacation" 

  It must have taken the hospitals years to get their evil torture perfected.   I think they must all be fans of the genre of reading material that I enjoy.  

Let's start at the beginning of any hospital stay.  You are told to arrive at the Devils Lair at some unGodly hour of the morning.  They blithely say, "Be there by SEVEN but arrive 15 minutes early to fill out forms.  These forms they refer to are the very same ones that I have filled out seventeen times already on my iPhone or computer.  For weeks before the surgery I receive a constant barrage of requests to "REGISTER ON LINE".  Who these seventeen different persons are I have no idea. They apparently don't work in the same place or for the same office and they do NOT communicate with each other.  Every questionnaire is EXACTLY the same. Each time I fill in my information it is like the hospital has NEVER heard of me before.  With this in mind, by the time I arrive at the hospital is it no surprise when they ask me to "FILL OUT SOME FORMS" !!!!!  For me this is not an easy task to perform at SEVEN AM.  

From the registration desk I move on to "PRE-OP" where I will be asked to remove all my clothing and put on a hospital gown that is 87 times too BIG. (That is always a moral booster to put on clothing that is too big. It doesn't happen often.) Depending on the surgery the gown will either open in the front or the back. Which ever it is I know that gown will be removed as soon as I get into the operating room where it is twenty degrees below zero.  

As soon as I have gotten the "gown" on and climbed up onto the bed the parade begins.  Nursers, aids, house keeping and I think I have even seen the valet that parked my car,  keep showing up to stick me with needles, take blood, put in an IV line, take more information, sweep the floor.   Every single one of these people enter saying, "What is your name and date of birth?"  I have no hesitation answering these questions because I have spent the last month and morning writing down this information.  (In thinking about it I should put a different name and date of birth on every different form.).       Once this flurry of activity is done I am left alone to freeze and think.  If I'm lucky some one has asked me if I am cold, (which I am), would I like a blanket.  This is the FIRST GOOD thing that happens in this adventure,  They proved me with a heated blanket or two so I can "relax".  The heated blanket is in fact a sheet that they have doubled over so it really doesn't cover me but it is better than nothing. 

And now I wait !   There is always a huge clock on the wall facing me so I get to count the seconds, minutes, hours that I wait, and wait and wait until FINALLY a doctor shows up, all smiles (if he doesn't have his mask on), and asked me how. I'm doing.  SERIOUSLY . . .   I'm cold, tired, achey from sitting in this "bed" for 3 hours and scared shitless.  (Actually I have not been nervous about any of my previous surgeries but this open heart thing has my tummy in a twist.). My mantra of, "I'm in God's hands" has always carried me through but as much as I know that I am still nervous.  Once the Doctor shows up it is now a whirlwind of activity.  All of which ends in the operating room where I get knocked out.  

 But the games are not over.  When I wake up there is usually someone about 2 inches from my face calling my name and asking how I feel.  They ask me this before I have time to assess the situation so I mutter something and they are satisfied that I am in deed alive.  I will have plenty of time in recovery to figure out what hurts, where it hurts and how much it hurts.  From this point on every nurse and doctor and aid will constantly be asking me, " How bad is my pain?"  They actually have a dumb ass poster on the wall with ten round faces that go from smiling to agony. The faces are numbered from one to ten with one being no pain and ten being "Holy Crap  . . .  give me drugs !!!!!!!!"   I usually answer this dumb, "How am I feeling" question by telling them my pain is at about 17.  It gets me now where but at least I'm being honest.  

From recovery I get to go to a room.  This this time it will be the ICU where they will monitor me for a couple of days before sending me to a regular room for another few days.  ICU means "I Can see U" because the nurses are constantly watching. Or at least that's what they are supposed to be doing.  Nine times out of ten they are sitting at a desk doing paper work.  (I thought computers were supposed to take care of that.). If an alarm goes off they will slowly put down their charts, stand up and calmly walk to my room. As they enter they say, "How are you feeling, on a scale of 1-10?"  This is all part of the game.  

The hospital stay continues with many more games such as . . .

Let's give her a huge bag of fluids in the IV and then wait and see how long it takes before I have to pee.  What goes in must come out. The joke of this game is that they have put a monitor on my bed so I can't get up without someone helping me. (Even if I am feeling fine I am being held captive because of my age). Anyone who enters the hospital and is over the age of 60 is automatically considered a fall risk.  There is a HUGE red sign on the door of the room stating "FALL RISK".  I could stand up and dance a jig for them but I would still be a fall risk because of my age.  As soon as you tell someone you are 80 they immediately expect you to be a drooling, wheelchair vegetable who can't remember her name.  I hate thatI!    The water came continues as they "allow" me to get up and go into the bathroom.  I am tethered to the wall with heart monitors on my chest, IV's in my arm and things on my legs that keep squeezing my legs to keep from getting blood clots.  If they would just shut off the "fall" alarm, take off all this other stuff and let me walk I wouldn't have to worry about blood clots or atrophy of my limbs.  Once I get all the paraphaernalia into the bathroom I am tied up in knots of wires and tubes that keep falling into the toilet. Funny game.

Another game is to put an IV in my right arm so I can't bend it to eat or scratch my nose.  Every time I move the most annoying noise starts because the IV line is now bent.  This "IV DRIP" machine has been around for years and in all that time they have not figured out how to shut it up once it starts blaring. Eventually they get it to quiet down, they leave the room and within 5 minutes it starts again. No one is in a hurry to come shut it off so I get to lie there listening to this damn thing over and over.  

The leaving game is the most cruel of all.  Once I have "recovered" , the hospital staff begins the "DISCHARGE GAME". They usually start a couple of days before I actually get to leave. Someone comes into my room and announces they are the hospital "Social Worker". They of course ask me my name and date of birth before asking how I am feeling . . .  on a scale of 1 to 10.  Then they start their standard speech about my "release" . Where do I want to go?  Home or Rehab?  Who do I have at home to take care of me?   How am I feeling . . .  on a scale of 1-10?   What rehab would I like to go to? Who will pick me up? How am I feeling . . . on a scale of 1-10?  When would I like to go home? Are there stairs at my home. Can I bathe myself?  How and I feeling on a scale of 1-10 ?   When they leave my room they make it sound like I will be discharged any minute.  When in fact it will be days before they get all their paperwork done, made sure I am indeed ready for discharge, and most importantly of all . . . I have pooped!!!!   This is a big thing with hospitals.  They will NOT release you until you have done #2. What I have realized from one particularly difficult past recovery is that they really don't need proof of this bodily function,  Telling them I have not gone to the potty only delays my release by days until I am so filled with fluids and laxatives that I can't be more than 5 feet from a bathroom.  To avoid this embarrassing situation I just tell them YES when they ask their question.  

Sweet freedom is only hours away and I can feel the fresh air already.  But as they arrive at my room with a wheelchair to take me down to the hospital exit they once again ask for my name, date of birth and HOW AM I FEELING ?   ON A SCALE OF 1-10. 

And I have all this to look forward to this coming Monday.  

THINGS I HATE TO HEAR

 I am not talking about nails on a chalk board, although that is the most horrid sound. Even thinking about that gives me the shivers.   No, I am talking about things I say or things that others say.  Just this morning I was searching for a sheet of stamps that I had bought for mailing Mother's Day cards.  They were lovely. pastel colors, flowers and butterflies.  The perfect stamp to send warm wishes to my fellow moms.  I bought them about 2 months ago and . . .  (here comes the most dreaded sentence in my life) . . .  "I PUT THEM SOME PLACE SAFE" !!!!!!!!    Good Lord they could be ANYWHERE !!!!!   I have a folder that I keep all my stamps in so why are they not in there??????  That would and should have been the best place to put the stamps but in my muddled brain I am sure I thought I would put them someplace "OBVIOUS" so I would have them for Mother's Day.    I remember using them at Easter, at which time I must have decided to "put them some place safe" until Mother's Day.     Yup . . .  they are surely some place safe. Too bad I don't remember where that place is.    I do this often with so many things.  My glasses, my keys, my shoes, my children.  (Oh no, scratch that last one. Thankfully my kids are grown so I don't have to worry about misplacing them any more.).  

I would like to think that this problem of misplacing things is because I am SO busy but to be honest you and I know better.   My brain is unfocussed most of the time.  I jump from one thing to another and do not pay FULL attention to anything I am doing.  (Good thing I'm not a pilot or a brain surgeon.)  I find that my brain is always two steps ahead of me so while I am doing one thing I am thinking about the next two things that I must do.  I walk through the house singing my mantra . . . FOCUS.  FOCUS.  FOCUS !!!!!  Sadly this does not help because I am now so hung up on chanting focus, focus, focus that I have forgotten what the hell I need to focus ON.  .   I am doomed to walking in circles wondering what I was doing and where I was going.  And if I do remember either of these things I cannot find what I was looking for because I have, "PUT  IT  SOME  PLACE  SAFE!!"       

Another phrase I HATE to hear is when The Man is around and he calls to me saying, "COME LOOK AT THIS!".     Oh Lord . . . those words run through my ears and into my brain and I know I should RUN in the opposite direction because I KNOW it will be something nasty !!!  It could be something he found stuck to the bottom of his shoe.  It could be some sort of oozing bodily orifice that I REALLY do not want to see. Or on one occasion it was something in a tissue that he had coughed up.  OMG!   I still get nauseous thinking about that one.   WHY !  Why would anyone think to show off any of the above things This is NASTY NASTY stuff that you REALLY need to keep to yourself.    Even when I taught kindergarten and the little ankle biters would come to me with some of the most God Awful stuff it wasn't nearly half as disgusting as what this man can come up with.  That is the absolute worst thing I want to hear him say . . . "Come look at this".   It sends chills down my spine every time he says it.  Sometimes I will be fortunate and it will just be something on the TV.  Or something that is in his closet that he has forgotten about for the last three hundred years.  More than likely it is an autographed picture of some hockey player who I have never heard of but it excites The Man so I pretend to be impressed.  "Oh WOW !  THATS AWESOME! "  Meanwhile I have left dinner to burn because he needed me to come see RIGHT AWAY!!!  Like it is going to magically vanish in the next three seconds if I don't come look NOW!   

You can keep your "What's for dinner?" or "Are we there yet?" questions. Those will never grow old for me but if you say, "Quick !  Come Look At This!" I will have my suitcase out and car keys in my hand as I head for the door.    

Unless I have put my car keys, "Some Place Safe".   Then I'll have to stick around to see why I am being summoned. 

MY BEST FRIEND HATES ME

 Well, not really but every time I do laundry it sure makes me think she hates me.  

I shall not name names but her sister Carol knows exactly who I am talking about.  

I have several "Best Friends" but this particular one is my oldest BFF.  We met many, many years ago when she and her family moved into a house across the street from me.  Her first child was about three when they moved in and she and I would soon be pregnant at the same time.  She saved me many times from panic and the attempt of giving my new child away.   I had NO idea what to do as a mother but here I had this experienced, patient angel living right across the street.  

I can also call her my "OLDEST" best friend because although we were bot born the same month in the same year she is 16 days older than me.  Today is the last day I can officially tell her she is a year older than me because tomorrow is my birthday and we will once again be the same age. We have been friends since the moment we met so it breaks my heart that she would be so cruel to me. 

Two years ago at Christmas this wonderful friend sent me a gift that, to this day, makes me think of her each time I use it.  The thoughts are not nice thoughts because she is evil !   How could someone I love send this gift to me?  She knows I'm one banana peal from the loony bin and yet she thought this gift would be a good idea.  It's a wonder it is still being sold. I see it in the stores often and when ever I see some one picking it up I warn them of its demonic nature.  

The gift I received two years ago from my alleged best friend was a cute little cloth bag containing SIX (6) fluffy, semi hard white balls the size of a softball.   They are advertised as LAUNDRY balls that when added to your wet wash each time you put things into the dryer they  "SUPPOSEDLY"  will "fluff" your wash and help things to dry more evenly.  I will be honest,  they actually do work.               BUT . . .  They also like to hide inside your laundry.  I find them inside the pockets of my slacks.  They like to crawl up into the sleeves of my blouses.  Forget when I wash my bed sheets.  The flat sheet usually has one or two tangled up with it but the fitted sheet . . .   That is a whole other story.  

Today was sheet washing day.  Knowing what I am in for I put the fitted sheet into the dryer all by itself. When the dryer finished I opened the door to find just the sheet.  NO dryer balls at all.  My first thought was that they had disintegrated and would no longer make me nuts. But as I pulled the sheet out of the dryer the balls started popping out all over the place.  One rolled into the living room,  one rolled across the kitchen floor as it trying to make a break for the door. One even rolled into the bathroom which is around aa corner from the dryer.   But that only accounted for THREE (3) of these sneaky little monsters.  

Now I KNOW that I have six (6) dryer balls.  I have accounted for three (3). Doing the advanced math I now know that three (3) are still unaccounted for.  And I know where I will find them.   I took the sheet into the bedroom and spread it out and VOILA !!!!!  TWO (2) sneaky little bastards pop out of the fitted corners of the sheet. But one is still missing. HUM ?   I fluff the sheet out, No ball ! I retrace my steps back to the dryer and check inside.  No ball !  It's not in the living room, nor is it under the bed. Where in holy hell is it?   I smooth out the sheet on the bed convinced I will find the lump of a little white dryer ball.  Nope !     I am totally puzzled but decide I really want to get this bed made so I can jump into it. So I go get the now dry top sheet, fluff it up and put it on the bed.  Looking good but the mystery remains.  Until I put the pillows back on the bed and one of the pillows keeps falling over.  What the heck?   The stupid dryer ball is stuck under the bottom sheet way up at the top of the bed wedged down between the mattress and the wall.   Now I have to crawl across the bed right to the middle where I have to wrestle with the bottom sheet to recover the missing ball.

I am now totally exhausted and I know for sure my very best and oldest friend is really an evil fiend put into my life to make me crazier than I am.   

Oh, you ask why I don't stop using these silly things in my dryer?   Well, they actually do work and if I got rid of them there would be no fun in doing laundry 

Thanks Sharon,  I'll get you for this !!!

R.I.P. VACUUM

 Yesterday I found myself in tears because my vacuum is broken.  How silly is that !!!!!

But then I got to thinking that it is NOT about the vacuum. What it is about is my life right now.  I am feeling broken and tossed in the trash bin, just like my lovely vacuum. The vacuum was just the straw that broke the camels back or the incident that shattered my mind into a zillion dust bunnies. Like the dust bunnies I would like to spend my days this week/month/year hiding under my bed.

The quick list of straws on my back is this.  The Man's health is failing quickly now.  He will return to MI the end of this week when his son flies down from AK to drive The Man back to his home in MI. He will not return to Florida again.  Can he manage to live alone in his house on the farm ?   I doubt it but that is what he wants to do and I totally get it.   I am not going up to the farm this summer because I will be having open heart surgery some time soon. (I see the cardiac surgeon today.  I was born with a funky bi cuspid valve that is not happy after these past 80 years so it needs fixing.   Another blog in the making for sure.).     Then we have Cousin LuLu who is now having health issues. (She is only 94). She has been in the hospital for a week and calls every day to ask when I'm coming to visit.  Her kidneys are failing, she is loopier than normal and she looks so tiny and frail.  When I was there the other day I just sat with her holding her hand while she asked me why God is doing this to her.   I could have gotten into a deep, (well as deep as I can get) philosophical discussion or I could have told her she WAS 94 . . .  What do you expect !!!!!!  But I bit my tongue which is shredded by now.  

But there is a light at the end of the tunnel.   I just hope it's not THE LIGHT !!!!  I'm not ready to "Go To The Light"  quite yet.  I have more adventures to take.  The Man is leaving here on Saturday.  I will be dancing through the house as the car pulls out of the parking lot.   Don't get me wrong.  I love this guy. He is kind, sweet and caring but he is A MAN !!!!  And you know my thoughts on that subject !  The whole scooter debacle is making it much easier to say good bye before I kill him.  Because of his failing health and my heart issues I can't do all that I normally do for him and he can't do much for himself.  (Thankfully personal hygiene is still up to him.) This limited living situation has brought aides into our home twice a week for 3 hours a day.   Now before you say, "Oh, isn't that wonderful" let me tell you about home health aides provided by the VA.  These good folks are not doing this job to get rich and they certainly don't have a degree in Astro Physics, (or possibly even 8th grade).  It is one of them who destroyed my vacuum by ripping off the filter instead of just opening it. They never said anything to us so I didn't discover it until I went to use it.  Then we had the woman who apparently has never made a bed.  I had washed the sheets and The Man asked her to put the sheets on the bed.   She put the top flat sheet on the bottom and the fitted bottom sheet was put over that.   (That's how I know they don't have a degree in Astro Physics.).  They empty the dish washer and put the forks in with the spoons and dishes in with the pots.  It is a game of hide and seek every time.     I can not wait for this week to end !  Here's why . . . 

1. No more man asking me to put lotion on his legs. (Come on !  You CAN do it yourself !

2. No more watching TV shows about Cops, Cowboys, Soldiers or sports. No more hockey, basket ball, football or golf.

3. No more having to plan, shop and prepare dinners.  I probably will eat one meal a day. And while we are speaking about food . . . NO MORE Swedish meatballs, potato sausage, pasties or halibut. 

4. No more staying up until midnight watching TV because someone isn't tired because he took a 3 hour nap that afternoon.   

5. No more living in a house that is hot enough to qualify as a sauna.  

6.  I will eat my meal(s) OUTSIDE !!!   And then when I get too warm I can go inside where the temperature will be cold enough to freeze a side of beef.

7. I can put the wheel chair into the shed instead of the middle of the living room. 

8. I can clean out the freezer of all 12 gallons of ice cream that we had for The Man.

9. I can go out with friends and not have to worry about getting home in time to cook dinner.  

I am looking forward to this new life. Even if it is only for a few months.  I hopefully will be recharged with a heart that's working properly and a lot of QUIET TIME not taking care of other people.  I have my list of shows and movies that I want to watch. Life will be good. 

 I"m thinking that no matter what happens with this open heart surgery I WILL BE IN HEAVEN !!!!!

BUBMLEDOOR AND THE BATTERY

 If Harry Potter were a car mechanic he would probably have put a disappearing spell on The Man when he came to charge the battery on The Man's car.  As it was I could see the mechanics frustration as he was working under the hood and The Man was standing RIGHT on top of him.  If I had a magic wand I would have used it !   POOF !!  Good-bye mister annoying.   Once again I got to experience the lack of workings of the male mind.

About a month ago The Man got into his car and it would not start.  Because I have a Triple A membership I get to call for roadside service, even though it is not my car. About an hour later Pete's Roadside Service arrived. The mechanic, who was not Pete, opened up the hood, looked inside and said, "You need a new battery".  To which The Man replied, "No I don't. Just charge it up and it will be fine." How The Man knows this is beyond me but it is his car so he makes the decision.  The mechanic looked at me, I shrugged and he charged up the old battery.  The Man's car is a 2019. The battery in it is the original one that came with the car.  Batteries are only supposed to last 4-5 years.  You do the math.  

But as always,  The Man knows best !

From the time that the battery was charged by a mechanic, not named Pete, to today the car has only been driven ONCE.  Between that one ride that we took to West Palm Beach the car has not moved from its parking spot.  (The Man is not driving because he can't walk the distance from the condo to the parking lot. If he had a scooter he would be able to get out there and take a ride but don't get me started on that. Just read my previous blog.

It was then that I was given the job of going out every so often when The Man thought about it to start the car.  His "orders" were to just turn the motor on and let it run for a few minutes while I collected the mail. I took it. upon myself to drive it around the community for 5 minutes or so just to give it a better charge.  Yet even with all this the battery died again.  No surprise there !!!!    

 Today when The Man requested I go out and run his car engine for a few minutes I was not the least bit surprised when all I got was dead silence.  I returned to the condo and informed you know who that his battery was dead.  He was SHOCKED !!!!!  How could that be ?   (I could have told him exactly how that could be but I chose to just remain silent and see where this was going.  As if I didn't know.) The Man continued to mumble under his breath while I called AAA once again.  Help was on the way.     Now I had  to get the new wheelchair out of the shed, (another story for another time), get The Man settled in the chair with his oxygen tank in his lap and push him out to the parking lot where he can supervise Pete's mechanic who's name is Johnny.    I  positioned The Man and wheel chair about 4 feet back from the front of his car because I KNOW he will want to have his head stuck under the hood to make sure Johnny doesn't pull a fast one on him.  Sure enough as soon as the hood of the car goes up . . . The Man is out of his wheelchair and standing two INCHES away from the mechanic.  I am now sitting IN the car because I don't want to be part of this.  The Man is watching every move Johnny makes and when the battery tester reads D E A D !!!  The Man tells Johnny to just jump it and it will be fine.  (Where have I heard that before ?)

I don't know how or what Johnny said to The Man but the next thing I see is a new battery going into the car!!!  (Maybe Johnny had a magic wand?).   As Johnny is leaving he looks at me and grins. I read that to mean, "Good luck Lady, Your man is a pain but I won this one,"   

Unlike the previous battery incident where The Man swore up and down for days after he was NOT paying that kind of money to buy a new battery when this one is just fine . . . I have heard NOTHING! There has been no mention of why he decided to make the purchase now when just a month ago he swore he wouldn't spend his money on something he didn't need.     I say NOTHING !!!

THE SCOOTER

 I am taking a deep breath before I write this blog.   I have put off writing about "The Scooter" because every time I think about it my blood pressure rises about  200 points. Today I have taken my medication with hopes that I can make it through this without having a stroke or killing some one.  (Can you guess who that someone might be?)

Someone who lives in my house with me has been getting weaker and weaker. Some days his breathing is OK and other days he is dragging butt.  When his breathing is bad he can't move from the couch to the kitchen without pausing every other step, Around the house this isn't a problem because the condo is not huge and there are lots of places to sit on the way to the bedroom or kitchen.  BUT when we have to go to the VA to see a doctor the journey becomes almost impossible.  We have changed many  appointments to video chats but there comes a point when a doctor needs to SEE The Man in person.  (It is SO frustrating to make the journey to the VA only to have a doctor make you wait an hour and then not even physically examine you.  Don't you think a pulmonologist appointment would involve at least listening to your lungs??????  Apparently not ! )  

One of the major problems with visiting the VA is having enough oxygen to last the entire trip and visit.  One tank of oxygen only lasts about 2 hours and even less when The Man has to turn up the flow rate because he is exerting himself by getting in and out of vehicles and wheel chairs.  It is also a problem because I am pushing the wheel chair while The Man is rolling the oxygen tank in front of him. It is ridiculous and exhausting for both of us.  We no longer drive ourselves to the VA because it is too much on me hauling the wheelchair in and out of the car, we now use VA transportation.  That is working well. They arrive, wheel him out to a van, strap in the wheel chair with him in it and I get to ride along.   When we get to the VA they get The Man and wheelchair out, push us up to what ever floor our appointment is on.  When the visit is over we call the transport company and they send someone to pick us up.   Unfortunately the last visit we had we ended up waiting 2 hours for our ride.  We had to go back into the building, go up to the 5th floor to get a full oxygen tank because ours had run out.  The VA is very accommodating so that isn't a problem, except for the push back and forth.  The elevators are a real challenge for me as I may have written about previously.

Considering all this I thought it would be a GREAT idea if The Man got a scooter.  The VA will provide an electric wheel chair or a scooter for anyone who qualifies.  THREE years ago I started planting seeds in The Mans head.  I would whisper in his ear, "SCOOTER". I would find articles in magazines and on the internet that talked about different types of vehicles available. Every time we were out and there was a  person zipping along on a scooter I would casually remark " Look at that guy ! He's got a scooter!  WOW!  Look at him go !"   Of course I would finish with, "THAT COULD BE YOU!!!!!"   All my hinting and seed planting were ignored.  I will give The Man credit that he never yelled, "WILL YOU PLEASE STOP TALKING ABOUT SCOOTERS !!!!!!"  He just let it all fall on deaf ears. Until 2 weeks ago.  The Man had a phone call with his VA social worker. He complained about how difficult it is getting around so they suggested he apply for a scooter.  It was like he had NEVER heard this before. The Man got off the phone and said, "You know, I should get a scooter!"    DUH !   What have I been talking about for 3 years ?????   

The social worker set us up with an appointment with the wheelchair clinic and off we went to meet with someone who would access our needs.  The young woman, Kate,  was lovely and very helpful.  She showed us all the things that were available to The Man.  He chose the one he thought would work best for him.  He sat on it, drove it around a bit and the young lady started writing up the order.  It will be delivered to our home in 4-6 weeks.  The VA will build a ramp for it to get into the house.  They will instal a lift in the car that will pick the scooter up and swing it into the back of the van.  We were ALL SET TO GO !!!           NOT !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It was at this moment that The Man looked at me and said, "WE have to talk".   OH GOD !  NOW WHAT ???       But I knew exactly what the problem was.  We never mentioned to Kate that The Man will be returning to MI in about 6 weeks, probably never to return to FL.  (The trip back and forth has become too much for hm to handle.)   That was my signal to step in and say that The Man was leaving FL to return to MI in about 6 weeks.  Would it be better if we waited until we got to MI to order a scooter from the VA up there?  

OF COURSE IT WOULD BE BETTER TO GET ONE IN MICHIGAN WHERE HE LIVES !!

And so all of our time and energy to get to this meeting was a waste.  Well, I guess not really. At least it gave The Man a chance to find out what was available so that when he gets home he has a starting point.  

Will all this actually happen ???? Who knows.  Guess we have to wait for the next blog.