Thursday, April 21, 2011

The Fountain Of Youth

I'VE FOUND IT!!!!!

When I get up in the morning, everything hurts. My muscles are stiff, my back hurts, my plantar fasciitis is agonizing. I suck it up and gut it out: I walk on the treadmill, work in the garden, chase little kids, move the chicken house, hang out the laundry, and after a day of lifting that bale and toting that barge, I feel every day of my years. Long before bedtime, I am ready to give in, and I'm not surprised when I wake up with Charley Horse a few hours later. That's the way it is at home.

But here! Out here in magical California, things are different! I cook, fetch and carry, do errands, work in the garage, take out the dumpsters (ours and the neighbors' for a grand total of seven, and those suckers are heavy!). Throw in my little mother and her sister to take care of, and just like at home, it adds up to hard labor. By 7 o'clock, it's bedtime at the old folks' home. They are all tucked into their recliners, in their pj's, for an evening of Mexican Dr. Phil. I've still got hours to go, but you know what, NOTHING HURTS!!!

So. What's the deal? Do I recommend California? Nope. I've given this some thought, and I'm pretty sure I've got it figured out.

At home, I am just about the oldest person around, but here...well, the opposite. There is no Fountain of Youth, not really. What there is though, is two old great/grandmas, and there's nothing like a couple of 80+yo's to make a 50-something grandma feel like a KID!

In the final analysis, it's all kinda "relative"....

Saturday, April 16, 2011

Flying Through Phoenix

It isn't that I fly to LA all that often or anything, but every time I do, I find myself in Phoenix. And every time, the same thing happens. It goes like this:

We are making good time. Not only are we on time, we are a few minutes early. So far so good. But as soon as we land, we come to a stop, and the captain announces that our gate is occupied and we will just cool our w/heels out here on the fringes for a "few minutes" until our gate is free.

We settle down to wait, and from then on, every five minutes we hear, "It should just be another few minutes." This goes on enough times that my one-plus-hour layover ends up shortened by 25%. The flight attendant optimistically informs me that a run is probably not required, but a hustle will definitely be helpful, and don't worry, there are golf carts and moving sidewalks. So, I don't worry, but I tie on my running shoes and prepare to sprint.

Even 45 minutes is do-able for a grandma in fairly decent shape, but the minute I step into the terminal, I see that a run may not be a bad idea, because I have de-barked at this end of the "B" gates, and my connecting flight is alllllllllll the way at that end of the "A" gates.

The race is on! And God bless the man who invented wheels on suitcases. I just wish that was the kind of suitcase I had right now.

Sky Harbor is well-marked, and it takes just a quick glance to locate the "A Gates" arrow. I scurry over to the sign and behold a corridor stretching to eternity. I can't even see the other end. Fortunately there is a moving sidewalk. It would be even more fortunate if it worked. But that would be a lot to expect at this point, wouldn't it, so I gird up my loins and start the first mile.

Lo and behold! The second leg of the moving sidewalk is moving, and I hop on! "Stand on the right/Walk on the left," the sign says, and that's cool, except that the sign doesn't say how fast to walk, and it only takes one minute for me to catch up to the next walker who is taking his Sunday stroll. There is no way to pass, so I fall in and slow my step to match his, which leaves me frantically cooling my heels and see myself being overtaken, and passed, by the horde that spurned the hi-tech sidewalk in favor of only their own foot power.

The moving sidewalk finally reaches the end of the terminal. I think. But when I get off...PSYYYYCH! It's only the corner in a 90-degree turn, and off to the right stretches another endless hallway. "A" gates all, but mine is nowhere in sight.

I spit on my hands, hoist my non-wheeled case over my shoulder, and gird up my loins, rejecting the moving sidewalk to take off on my own. Sure enough, I easily pass the suckers walkers on the moving sidewalk. Coming to one last moving sidewalk, which I also bypass, I can see my gate coming up in the nebulous distance. YAY! There is light at the end of the tunnel!

I really don't know what I'm worried about. This event is scripted and finely tuned, and I have participated enough times to know how it comes out: I will make it to the gate in plenty to time to make my flight.

What I should be worried about is what comes next: KALIFORNIA.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

A Tale of Two Summers

YAY! Summer! Not. Summer is far and away my least favorite season, but this one promised Pure Promise: a new(ish) house, a trip to Jamaica, a trip to California, and TWO visits from our cadet! What could be better? Well, as it happens...

Good Summer: A new house! Well, new to us. Definitely not our dream house, but we have discovered that our dream house doesn't exist. At least not in our price range.

More Good Summer: A visit from the cadet! Having him safe at home in his own little bed is reason enough worth living for, all by itself. But having him at home to lend some friendly muscle to toting that barge and lifting that bale, What could top that?!

More Good Summer yet: Our first trip to Jamaica, and all expenses paid! Jamaica absolutely lived up to every expectation. Waterfalls, beaches, open-air restaurants, humorous road signs, flowers in cascades of rainbows, good weather~complete with a summer storm~and friendly natives. But as much as we liked the "Jamaica" stamp in our passport, nothing measures up to the "America" stamp at the end of the trail. Well, to be perfectly honest, there is no "America" stamp, only a disappointing electronic swipe. But if there were an "America" stamp, it would definitely be the best.

And this is when the Promise fell apart.

Bad Summer: One day after we arrived back in the Land of the Free, our cadet showed up for his second visit. That is always cause for celebration, and so far so good. But one day after his arrival, one of our darling daughters got sick. Fine one day, deathly sick the next, with not an instant of warning.

For her: emergency room visits, tests, scans, labs, appointments with doctors of every specialty. Threats of lupus, Crone's disease, cancer, leukemia, kidney infections, and who-knows-what other unnamed horrors.

For me: grandma-ing in spades. Breakfasts and lunches, laundries, beds, toys, you-name-it, for four little almost-motherless kidlets. Keeping two houses going is not for sissies, and only the bare minimum got done at either place. My house, four months later, still looks like we moved in yesterday.

Thank God that the other grandmother, who lives in the area was able and willing to do the afternoon shift. There went eight weeks. And finally, armed with a freezer full of ready-to-eat meals and an accommodating husband, darling daughter was able to hold her own. Nothing heroic yet, but at least essential functions. So it was time for California for me.

Good summer: California! Sorta. I am NOT a fan of California, but my mom lives there, and my brother, who lives in Japan, was coming for a visit, so that is worthwhile anyplace. It was a trip to remember, dusting off old memories, and making new ones. We were kids again, visiting the house we lived in, playing in the house where we used to visit our cousins half a century ago, doing some touristy things, meeting the new neighbors, enjoying the 107-degree record-breaking heat that we thought we had left at home. Oh, no, scratch that last one. It goes under Bad Summer.

Bad summer: My little mother's health is failing. She can no longer get around without the help of a cane or a walker. Her beloved garden and outside birds now take up far more time than they used to, but...in a way, time is what she has now. Some things she simply can do no more. She gave up driving, leaving her at the mercy of whomever will take the time to take her the few places she needs to go. I am sandwiched between the realization of the mortality of my daughter on one side and of my mother on the other side.

At last home again, home again, to things precariously balanced, but ok for the moment. Nothing good happened at home while I was gone. My house still looked like we moved in yesterday, and my paperwork was piled sky-high. Neither of those has shown any significant improvement. But nothing terribly bad happened, either, and though my darling daughter has had another small relapse or two, she is overall very much better, a fact for which we are very thankful, even though we still don't know what ails her.

Just to top off the bad-ness of the summer, shortly after I came home my internet went on strike. Two weeks later, I am still internet-less, on begged and borrowed computer time, and really, no relief on the horizon that I can see. Trivial in the big scheme of things, I know, but how frustrated do I want to be. Technology is wonderful. When it works, but, alas.... And now I am ashamed to even include this little irritation in my bad summer, because the hits just kept on coming.

More Bad Summer: Two days later we had word that our little 3-year-old friend died suddenly. Her grandmother and I were homeschooling moms together about a hundred years ago, when our children were young. A lot of things can happen in 25 years, and what happened was that our children grew up and became parents themselves. This little girl suffered some major injuries at birth, and her life was severely compromised. She was blind, and at the age of 3 still did not sit up or even hold her own head up. We always knew that "someday" this would happen, but we had no way to know that it would be as simple and sudden, and shocking, as a cold when she was visiting her other grandmother in Florida with her family. I am once again acutely confronted with mortality in a place you don't usually find it.

Yet more of a Bad Summer: My daughter's precious mother-in-law, so selfless and generous all summer long with her time and her resources, has been diagnosed with inflammatory breast cancer. All the more unbelievable because she was perfectly fine until only five days before, but since then, every day she is visibly worse than the day before.

What could possibly measure up to a summer that set out to be so promising? Well, as it turned out, maybe nothing. Maybe nothing at all. Maybe what trumps everything is the uneventful, everyday, ordinary day.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

A Housewife's Life - August

50sHousewife

This brought to mind Jenny Wren's "A Day in My Life" from awhile back. That was always fun to write, and it's fun to look back at now and then and be reminded of all the little ordinary things that make up a lifetime.

I was out of the house by 6:15 this morning for Mom Duty. C has been having some health issues for the last month or so, and today I took her to her fluoroscopy appointment ~ basically a 2-and-a-half-hour x-ray. Good thing I remembered my book!

After the appointment we stopped briefly at the bookstore, and by then it was well into lunchtime, so we drove through our favorite drive-thru, Chick-Fil-A, on our way home.

When we got home we found the other grandma watching Mickey Mouse with the little kids while the big kids played a round of football against a team of stuffed animals.

I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out what to do next. We moved recently and still have piles and piles of boxes all over the house waiting to be unpacked and put away, or better yet, donated. Gotta get busy on that!

After dinner I watched NCIS. I usually have a date to watch it with M on IM, but he had better things to do tonight, so I just caught up folding the laundry while I watched the rerun, and later I shopped for an airline ticket for a trip to California to visit my mom and her sister, and my brother and his family who will be there from Japan for a couple of weeks.

Now it's bedtime, and it's still HOT! Nothing like going to bed and sweating all night under the fan.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

The Fine Print

Shouts of "DO WE GET A REFUND???" provided a welcome interruption to the tedium of malingering at the end of the long, slow line to check in for our flight to Jamaica. A quick glance around the terminal revealed the source: a knot of women chattering excitedly as they frantically waved their passport-card-bearing hands around.

It did not take long to learn that these women would not be taking their long-anticipated, eagerly-awaited vacation in Jamaica, because when they applied for their passports they opted to save $35 by going with the $65 passport card rather than the $100 passport book.

All but one of the women walked away, to the general murmur of sympathy among the rest of the passengers. Consensus: It wasn't their fault. WAAAAH! It should have been explained to them that the card is good only for cruises and for driving acroxx into Canada or Mexico.

My mind floated back to the day I saw the question on my passport application: Card? Or Book? I DON"T KNOW!!!! And nobody explained it to me, either. The difference between me and them was...I asked. And I guess their friend asked, too, because she was the lone one in the group with a book passport and no compunction about going on to Jamaica without them.

My best advice is: Read the fine print. And if you can't make it out, ask. Because the vacation you save may be your own.

Signs of Jamaica

Traffic signs:
  • ARRIVE ALIVE, DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE.
  • PROTECT YOUR HEAD, DON'T END UP DEAD, illustrated by a picture of a motorcycle going off in one direction while its rider takes a conk on his helmeted head.
  • SPEED KILLS. DON'T BE IN A HURRY TO ENTER ETERNITY.
  • KEEP FATALITIES DOWN. DRIVE, RIDE, AND WALK GOOD.
  • GIVE WAY = Yield.

Other road signs:

  • Only fools break safety rules.
  • Children our future - Watch out for them on the road.
  • NO SMOKIN ~ We thought at first that the "G" had fallen off, but on second thought...Maybe not?
  • Have a COOL day.
  • PROUD TO BE JAMAICAN ~ A caricature of a horse head saying "Yeh, Mon."

Billboards:
  • Spruce up Jamaica. Nice up Yourself ~ Some sort of tourist promotion?
  • My Life Soon Set with Lotto.

Business names:
  • Stronger for Longer ~ Name of a battery store.
  • Choice Cut for Choosy People ~ Deli, grocery, meat store.
  • Haberdashery ~ I'm not sure I've ever even seen a haberdashery store, but in Jamaica they abound, a holdover, I suppose, from their recent British past.
  • Liquor and Ice Cream ~ The store with something for everybody.
  • Long and Strong ~ A party store.
  • FDR ~ Franklyn D Resort.
  • Art's Car Park ~ I saw several of these, kinda like a chain business. I never could figure out if it was a parking lot or a car dealer, but at least it rhymes.
  • Devon House I Scream, Devon House I Cream ~ The Baskin-Robbins of Jamaica, I'm guessing.

And, the WINNER! Seen at a gas station:
  • NO NAKED LIGHTS = "No Smoking."