Eye Exam

Friday I had my eyes examined for the first time in over two years.  When the doctor asked me why I hadn't been in in so long I replied.  "I see just fine!"

When the exam was over he told me my vision (without contacts) was terrible.  And, besides that, I have serious cataracts in both eyes.

Who knew?

As we were finishing up he added:  "And you don't see 'just fine!'"  I left his office feeling bad.  It was an overcast day and my eyes were dilated so I felt sure I was going blind.

Oh well. At least he didn't blame it on my being a democrat.  He could have.


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Breaking Bad

The "Mommy" column in this morning's paper was about how mommy can't get everything done because she needs to watch the Breaking Bad marathon this weekend - so she'll be all caught up for watching the grand finale on Sunday with her husband and kids.

The New Yorker magazine came yesterday.  What's on the cover?  A drawing of a young guy in a basement full of beakers and such with an older guy coming down the stairs.  The title is "Bad Chemistry."

Dave and I ate breakfast at First Watch this morning.  We think it's a bit pricey but we've found a yummy, big breakfast that we can share.  It's called the Trifecta.  Two strips bacon, two eggs and a plate size granola/banana pancake.  First Watch also has free copies of the USA. Today for sharing.  What's featured on the front page of the entertainment section?  Breaking Bad, of course.

I've seen the first three episodes.  I found them depressing.  But I don't know if it would be fair for me to skip all five seasons and just watch the final episode on Sunday.  It's a moral decision.

I guess I could ask myself -   "WWWD?" - "What Would Walter Do?"


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When Love Grows Old

The other day a friend asked me if Dave and I were still ga-ga.  We all know that we can't sustain that fresh, exciting, breathtaking romantic phase forever - that things have to eventually cool down.

But that has not yet happened to me and Dave.  After eight amazing years, we're still as ga-ga as ever.  Every day is fresh, new and exciting.  He's still my Darlin' Companion.

OK, part of this is attitude  I like the above cartoon from The New Yorker.

And, in that vein, you'd think, after 60 years of drawing, it might be easy for Dave to say, "There's nothing left to draw."

But he doesn't.  He still finds joy in his art.  Here's a photo of his latest.  I love it.


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A Reliable Wife

This book is the current selection for my book club.  Don't let the title fool you.  This book is full of sex, obscene wealth, drugs, sex, murder, prostitution, deception, seduction, madness and passion.  Did I mention sex?

It takes place in 1907 in bitter cold rural Wisconsin.  The book begins in a tiny Wisconsin town with Ralph Truitt waiting on the train platform for his mail order bride. He owns everything and everybody in town and they all hate him.  His soon to be bride, Catherine, is absolutely nothing like she's portrayed herself in her letters.  In fact, she's bringing arsenic, hidden away in her bag, because she plans to slowly poison Ralph and become a wealthy widow.

In fact, Ralph almost dies on the carriage ride he and Catherine make from the train station back to his mansion but it's not Catherine's fault.  This time.

"A Reliable Wife" was written by Robert Goolrick.  I love his incredible writing style.  We learn more about Ralph and Catherine's interior lives, i.e., what they're thinking, than about what they're doing.  And they're doing plenty.

All of the characters are crazy; psychologically damaged beyond repair.  Also, they're bad.  They're either having sex or trying to kill each other.  Or both at the same time.  An insight into Ralph's behavior (and angst) comes when he was a small child and asked his deeply religious monster of a mother what hell is like.  He wanted to know because she constantly told him that's where he was headed.  His mother answered by plunging her sewing needle into his hand, all the way to the bone.  Then told him it feels
like that - forever!

I thought the only good, healthy characters where Mr. and Mrs, Larsen, the caretakers.  Until Mr. Larsen whacked off his hand with an ax and they carted him off to the insane asylum.

I have a feeling that this novel is full of deep symbolism and is presenting some sort of message.  Can't wait to attend the book club meeting so somebody can tell me what it is.

Some readers think this book has a happy ending.  I don't think so.  These two are still crazy to the end.  My advice to the baby on the way is to get out of Wisconsin as soon as possible.


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Grew Dawson and His Mom

Greg Dawson has been a newspaper man all of his adult life.  I've read his columns for decades.  He's funny, smart and insightful.  When I first started reading him he was doing movie and T.V. reviews.  Today Dave and I heard him speak at our Speaker Series.  But it wasn't about entertainment or current events or consumer protection.

He spoke about his mom - and her secret.

Zhanna Dawson was, and is, a beautiful woman.  When Greg was growing up she, along with Greg's dad, taught at the renowned Indiana University School of Music.  She was a concert pianist.  Greg and his brother had a wonderful childhood in Bloomington, Indiana.

Greg never heard the word holocaust in his home.

But when Greg was 30 years old he discovered that his mother was a holocaust survivor.  When she was a 14 year old in the Ukraine, with her father's help, she miraculously escaped a Nazi death march.  She and her sister lived out the war by making music for the "beasts."

Greg's mom is a Ukrainian Jew who's entire family was wiped out.  Her story is astounding.  Why didn't she tell her sons her story until they were grown?

How can you tell children about such things?  It would be cruel.

Greg Dawson has written two books about his mother's experience.  The first, "Hiding in the Spotlight" is about her experience.  The second "Judgement Before Nuremberg," deals with the holocaust in the Ukraine and the first Nazi war crimes trial.   A story that most folks don't know about.

I bought the books and have started reading the first.  I can hardly put it down


***.

Stayin' Alive

Last week a member of my book club died.  She was alive and vivacious.  Then a heart attack.  Then death.  She was my age.

Yesterday I attended a CPR (reminder) class.  It's changed a bit.  They no longer want us to do mouth to mouth.  Just call 911 and begin immediately doing CPR.  That's good news.  I also learned how to use a defibrillator.  Here's what to do:  Open the defibrillator and follow the oral instructions the guy inside shouts at you.

But a better thing to do is to stay as healthy as possible - because I don't know how good I'd be administering the help above if you happened to need it and I was the only one around.

I'm all about staying healthy for as long as possible.  I try to evaluate myself regularly using the Eight Dimensions of Wellness.

Physical - I work out and try to eat good stuff.  I have one small glass of wine most days.  That's fine.  Just don't save up for seven days and have all of them at the same time.  That's not fine.  Among other things your liver will say "ouch."

Spiritual - Currently, all is well with my soul.

Social - I love my friends and family.  That, in itself, leads to periodic stress.  But's it's worth it.

Financial - I've finally learned how not to have this part of my life be "fear" based.

Emotional - I work hard at staying calm.

Occupational - I do just enough (non-paid) work to fulfill that need.  And I manage my financial situation.  That's work.

Intellectual - Three words:  Life long learning.  Oh, another word:  Curiosity.

Environmental - I work hard trying to be "green" and also work hard trying to keep my bedroom at 60 degrees. 

But, if all of this fails and you see me clutch my chest or left arm or jaw or anywhere else between my waist and my ears - and I pass out - please carefully consider whether or not you want to try the measures above.

And one more thing, The CPR experts used to recommend pushing on the chest 80 times per minute.  They've now upped that to 100 times per minute.  Here's how it was explained yesterday.  Sing the Bee Gee's "Stayin' Alive" song while you're saving that person's life.  It's the perfect beat for CPR.


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Our Kitchen Is Complete

Today I made a big pot of spaghetti in our spankin' new kitchen.  Everything's in a different place than before so it was kind of scary - but we're happy.

Inside this little corner cabinet is a huge lazy susan.

Some folks have asked how we found the company to do the work.  First we got a couple of bids from big places just to educate ourselves.  Then we asked friends who'd recently had kitchens - large and small - redone.  We chose Sharon as our coordinator/designer/marriage counselor.  She chose Tommy as contractor and Fernando as the granite guy.  They all did their jobs well.

deep sinks

A favorite carving from  a trip to Dominican Republic has a new
 place on the wall.

With, basically, a little square box of a kitchen, we weren't looking for a redesign but Sharon tweaked some things here and there that have given us a much cleaner and more functional space.


As I said, we're happy.  And we'll have family over for a birthday dinner in a few days to see what they think.


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Me and the Wasps

 I'm not talking about White Anglo-Saxon-Protestants (WASPS.)  That was a mostly unflattering term for some folks back in the 70s who liked to hang out exclusively with other WASPS.  I differed with them a bit back then but, technically, I am one so it was complicated.

I'm talking about wasps like the one in this photo.  Late Saturday morning when I was pulling a few weeds I managed to disturb a wasps nest.  I slapped them off as I ran into the house.  then into the bathroom where I turned on the shower while I stripped off my clothes.  Unfortunately one of them came with me.  He stung me on the lower lip.  That one hurt the most - initially.

Reasonably sure I wasn't allergic, I tried to evaluate myself while I was in the shower.  Was I breathing OK?  Was my tongue swelling up?

As it turns out I had 16 to 20 stings.  Mostly on the backs of my arms.  I got on the Internet to see what to do then spent the rest of the day trying to stop the pain.  I began by taking a Benadryl every 6 hours for 24 hours.  I used ice packs, Lidocaine and Advil.

Benedryl usually puts me to sleep.  It's my go-to sleep aid.  I sometimes take one half table at night.  But even with the all the Benedryl  (an antihistamine) I didn't sleep for 30 hours.  The wasps must have caused me to release too much histamine.

Sunday, after a miserable morning in church, I went to Walgreens to visit the pharmacist.  She said I was doing the right things.

I looked like this kid on Saturday

According to the Mayo Clinic, 10 per cent of wasp sting victims have complications due to Anaphylaxis (an allergic reaction to wasp venom.)  3 per cent have severe, life threatening reactions.

So, if you're stung, be sure you're not having an allergic reaction.  If you suspect you might be, get yourself to the E.R. pronto.

Here's another tip.  In the summertime, bee and wasp stings are common on the lips.  (And boy, do they hurt.)  Why are they common?  Because bees and wasps love sugar so they dive into sugary drinks.  When you lift your coke can to your lips, you get a big, bad surprise.

Sunday night the Benadryl finally kicked in and I slept like a baby.


***

Hugh Hefner is a Scrap Booker

Joel Stein writes a column in Time Magazine called The Awesome Column. This past week he went on location to the Playboy mansion in Los Angeles to interview - according to the Guinness World Records - the owner of the world's largest collection of personal scrapbooks, Hugh Hefner.

Who knew?

Hef greeted Joel wearing his usual uniform consisting of a captain's hat, a red robe over black p.j.s and slippers.  I always thought this was totally bizarre attire, but, as Joel says, "it's the perfect scrap booking outfit."

The average scrapbooker has made three to five scrapbooks.  How many scrapbooks has Mr. Hefner made?  When Joel visited with him Hef was working on Volume 2,685.  They fill two rooms and two hallways.

If you know anything about scrap booking you know that it's all about frames and frills and warm fuzzy photos that make you cherish and reflect on your past.

Hugh Hefner's scrapbooks are, apparently, about everything that's ever happened to him since he started scrap booking - and that was when he was in high school.  Wow, I didn't know there was enough rickrack to cover all that.

Joel started his first scrapbook while he was with Mr. Hefner and showed it to him.  Hef was not impressed.   There were no photos of Playmates or ex-wives.   He suggested Joel "live a better story."


***

Our New Kitchen

Dining Room Table

I am so discombobulated.   I get up in the morning, get my big yellow cup from the dining room table, then go to the kitchen to get 2 tea bags from the cupboard, then to the bathroom to fill my cup with water, then to the microwave that sits atop a chest of drawers in the bedroom to brew my tea.

This is no way to start the day.

But we're in the middle of a kitchen re-do.  I wasn't ready for this.  I was perfectly happy with my little 26 year old kitchen.   But then the dishwasher broke - and that started the re-do cycle.

It's a small kitchen so we were assured it would be finished fast.  It stared ten days ago and there are no signs of finishing.

I've just read an excellent book titled "What the World Eats."  It not only tells us what folks around the globe eat but how they prepare it.  And for much of the world it's a difficult task due to questionable water, no electricity and so on.  So I know how lucky I am.

Where's the Can Opener?

But, on the other hand, you know that I don't handle chaos well at this point in my life.  Also I have my routines and they don't involve eating peanut butter straight from the jar and then being tempted to lick the spoon clean so I won't have to walk down the hall to wash it.

And - I can't believe I'm saying this - I'm even getting tired of eating out.


***

My New Vocabulary Word - Twerking

Let's discuss the most talked about issue on the national (and international) scene in the past week.  No, it's not Syria and the agonizing decision as to whether or not we will punish those responsible for using poison gas to kill thousands of men, women and children.

It's about Miley Cyrus twerking at the VMA awards.  I never heard of twerking before last week but now we all know that it's a form of sexy dancing.

And, according to some columnists, it's another art form stolen from the African American community.  Much like Elvis stole his moves from the African American community.

I've seen scores of articles - from funny (How to Explain Twerking to Your Parents) to extremely serious, about how this is another indication of how we're all hell bound.  

I've never seen Miley Cyrus perform so I can't comment there but it is fascinating to me that this gets us excited - but so many other things don't.  Maybe going berserk about twerking helps us avoid the serious stuff right in front of us.

So, yesterday, Miley Cyrus finally put the record straight about the motivation for her performance. She said, and I quote:

You're thinking about it more than I thought about it when I did it.  Like, I didn't even think about it 'cause that's just me!

So, there you have it. That's just Miley.


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