All's Right With the World

Burst forth today

Pink coming soon

         

      Little baby buds of Spring burst into the breeze today.From under the river birches peek stems promising purple and pink hyacinths. Varying shades of daffodils promise appearance on hillsides and under the crepe myrtle. Lily of the Valley, even the tulips can barely contain their exuberance at the breeze, gentle rather than biting.The world welcomes Spring in a different voice this year:  it's warmer, more sincere. We're ready for God's announcement that 

All's Right With the World. 

A Chicago Celebration: Go, Tigers!

We thought we were somebody!

That is, until President Lane Rawlins declared, “Everybody off the bus.”

                 The parade started from the back. Once inside the hotel, we realized we were the only ones who got off the bus.  We, and Mr. Smith, who didn’t get the message. He was old, partially deaf, and clueless. The tour directors escorted him back onto the bus, and it motored on to supper, without benefit of our entertainment.

                 Every year, when St. Patrick’s Day engulfs us in green, and when Conference Tournaments dominate the TV channels, I remember the Chicago River dyed emerald.  We celebrated among the high rollers at the University of Memphis as the Memphis Tigers exploded with wins in an extravaganza of excitement. Penny led the charge and we led the cheers. Traveling with the daughter of the AD, we were in-like-Flynn, until we were out.
                It was conference tournament time for the Great Midwest and that fan-favorite was held in Chicago, during our Spring Break, as Irish Eyes smiled  upon us.  The tales we have stored in our collective memories could torch Chicago again, should we divulge our escapades, like trying to drive the Chicago streets ourselves, happening upon a potential gas station hold-up.
             The basketball tournament games were held in the old Chicago Bulls arena; we saw where Michael Jordan began his flying lessons.  We beheld the center court Bulls insignia that was ultimately moved to a location of MJ’s determination.  Our prime seats were below the Finch family, including “Sister” who must have coined the term, “D-Up.”  The more the Tigers won, the more Memphis fans arrived; the more times the Tigers won, the more we were treated to fancy dinners among those whose wallets carried plenty of dollars earmarked for Tiger Celebrations.
         Then, the finals happened, and we lost.  Don’t remember to what university.  Maybe Cincinnati.  We were robbed, as usual. Regardless, it was over. The bubble burst. We girls enjoyed a pizza dinner in a small bistro at the hotel.  After several hours, there was a “Tiger Sighting.” 
           And, getting off the bus was not so bad after all.

PS - We paid for our hotel rooms, transportation, tickets, tours, food, and taxi rides.  With the NCAA looking down from on high, I must divulge that we are not scouts, agents, family of players, car dealership owners, or university employees.  We are just old school teachers who love the Tigers and enjoyed a whirlwind opportunity to buy tickets and follow the team for a short time in our lives.  Go, Tigers!

Two Looney Toons

Should be a very interesting ride to the crazy farm.
This weekend, I pulled a Margaret.
Mother actually got into the car with a strange man.
Parked at Walgreens, his car was blue like mine and she never looked twice, until the old dude said, "Well, hello there!"
I had been circling the parking lot and could not get out of the car fast enough to stop her.
We got it taken care of though, and she went home with me.
As for my part on this slippery slope to the nut house, I'm not paying real close attention.
I opened the truck door and began to put my groceries inside another man's vehicle.
Having seen Marvin in his truck coming my way, I did not see another truck.  So...I just opened the first available truck door that pulled up and stopped.  Right in front of me, I might add. And there you have it.
The lady standing by said, "Ma'm, this is my husband's truck."  In other words, "Get your hands off my man...and his truck."
Marvin is gaping at me, shaking his head.
If that were not crazy enough, later in the weekend, Marvin said he hoped for "Cottage Cheese Sandwiches."
He HATES Cottage Cheese. Detests it.
Call the medics.
We were pulling out of the driveway with potato soup in the crock pot, going to Soup and Sandwich dinner at church.
Probably desiring a pimento cheese sandwich or grilled cheese with his soup, he said instead, "Oh, I hope they have cottage cheese sandwiches tonight."
What?
I looked at him like he'd lost his marbles.
He said it again.
"Honey, what are you saying?"  I've got 911 ready on speed dial.
"What did I say?"
And I told him.
"No, no, no.  I meant pimento cheese sandwiches."
What a relief.
I'm not going to the crazy farm alone.

Old Age: It's not for the Weak

Alert:  Sometimes old age creeps upon us. Now it has scored a direct hit. 

Marvin has been short winded, noticeably since just before Christmas. He’d yawn while talking on the phone, a classic symptom of begging for air. The whole S.O.B. thing came to the surface when he was exposed to God-knows-what inside a house he bought to flip.Now he is using an inhaler for asthmatic bronchial symptoms and his breathing is remarkably better. 

While sheer willpower has kept him going, and going, and going…will-power became “I’m done; I have no power at all,” this week. His blood pressure bottomed out on Wednesday, even with the medicines for treating A-fib, which began January 6, at first discovery.

Nurse Nancy-Jane Ratchet said, “Get your butt into the Highlander.  You have a room at NEA Baptist.”  He got into the passenger side and “did not say a mumbling’ word…,”  did not tell me which lane to get into, how to drive; I knew the man did not feel good at all.

The new reality –

A-fib:  erratic heart beat and High heart rate. 

Goal:  reduce heart rate to under 100, no spiking to 150+ - conservative treatment. Get the heart into an efficient working rate and pattern which will improve everything.

Probably, Marvin will be dealing with both conditions from now on.  While A-fib is not unusual, it is a bummer for Superman. He has reached a new stage in his life.

The doctors are marvelous and are treating the condition(s) conservatively – not overmedicating and not jumping into fancy procedures.  That fact, tempered with Marvin’s “healthy skepticism” makes for a good combination.

Welcome to the New World – We are getting older and while our minds may still be young and spry, our bodies beg to differ.

Jane Helps

               Housework.  Mother was a fortunate young lady.  Her mother had “Help.”  My mother experienced the luxury of housework delegated to others as she grew up.  When life changed for Mother and she alone was the housekeeper at her own home, she drafted me as her “help.”  Not good.

               Last night I folded sheets as they came warm from the dryer.  I folded them without help. This task reminds me of my mother who disliked everything related to housework. When time came for dusting, vacuuming, carpet sweeping, or sheet folding, she threw a dust rag at me, taught me to empty the carpet sweeper, and grumbled, “Get over it.” I prepared for a rumble when it was time for sheets.

               Later in our childhood, Mother hired Aileen to help clean the house and do the laundry.  At first, while Aileen was still spry and able, this arrangement worked well.  I rested easier with Aileen around, but when many tasks were on the cleaning agenda, sheets went to the bottom of the list.  And, I was on the hot seat.

                Mother did not want wrinkles in the sheets, so she developed a method to minimize that possibility. She and her helper (me) would hold opposite ends of the sheets.  I’d follow her lead as to bringing the ends together in the middle.  I performed this task relatively well until the final stages of the routine. 

                   SNAP!  Mother would whip her wrists and lower arms to snap tight the folded sheets prior to the last do-si-do.  Problem was that her SNAP! carried such power that she yanked the partially folded sheet out of my hands and onto the floor.  Heaven Forbid! We’d try it again; and again, my end would fall to the floor amid shouts, “Hold on to your side.”  I’d grab the edges into my fist, wadding the ends.  “Just quit!” Really? “Maybe you could get Daddy to help you.”  She glared at me and I’d adjust my ends and my attitude.

                One of the many skills I learned at college was sheet folding 101, a skill accomplished by one person, taught by Judi Johnston Ferguson, my room mate. I excitedly tried to teach Mother this new skill, one she did not appreciate. After all, Aileen had become less able. 

              “Miss Margaret, you know I gets dizzy.  I’ll hold the ladder. You climb right up there.” So Aileen gave direction as Mother dusted the window sills and the ceiling fan blades.

              Mother would remark when Daddy came home, “I’m exhausted.  We’ll have to go out to dinner.”  He’d reply, “Aileen must have come today!  Get in the car.”

MEET THE BEATLES!

           Scrapbooks: the reason for treasures such as Panther football ribbons, tassels from my Pantherette boots, and kindergarten pictures. And the first-ever, my one-and-only Beatles album: Meet the Beatles!

            Fifty years ago tomorrow night, Sunday night, Ed Sullivan introduced us “Live!” to those 4 heart throbs.  Well, one heartthrob:  Paul.  I sat on the edge of the sofa (not right in front of the TV as I would have preferred), leaning forward to see, hear, and burn the spectacular vision into my brain.  It worked.

           

 My parents smiled and shook their heads in dismay…long hair, bug-band name, and “you call that music?” Oh, Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! My girlfriends and I were sophomores at Camden High School.  We rode in a carpool every day to and from school, and the landmark event of the night before was all we discussed that next morning.  We giggled and swooned at the memory of Paul singing and moving to the beat of “She Loves You!” Those eyes!

            Now, after 50 years, and with all the hoop-la surrounding Sunday’s anniversary tribute, on this cold and snowy February day, I am warmed by the memory of The Beatles and me. 

Winter Heart

Winter weather
Snow, feather
Soft.

Winter beauty
Chocolate, gooey
Hot.
Winter ice
Tea, spiced
Warm.   

Winter gray
Apple a day
Crisp.

Winter love
Warm, gloved
Hand.






Winter Feb
Color's red,
Heart.


                                       February is Heart Health Month.
                                       Take care of yourself, and your heart.
                                       Wear Red every chance you get & celebrate.