from the porches

Sounds

As I sat on the front porch tonight listening to night sounds, I was reminded of the sounds I'd  heard in Fort White since 1974 before we had air conditioner, when the screened windows were the only blockage between us and the outside world. Sounds of whip-or-wills, or chuck wills widows.  Sounds of hawks, owls, and cicadas.  Glorious sounds.

When Truett and I moved to Fort White, a train would rumble down the train tracks in the middle of the night headed west.  For several years, the phone would ring in the middle of the night, and twenty minutes later, a train would be heard on the train tracks less than a mile away. We got used to that sound of the phone ringing in the middle of the night and the rumbling of the train twenty minutes later.  But, eventually, the trains stopped running and the tracks were removed.

For years afterward, I would hear the phantom train running on the tracks and I would wake up and smile and miss that sound.  Eventually, the chuck wills widows disappeared as well as the whip-or-wills.  Eventually, the lightning bugs stopped blinking in the dark woods.  Eventually, the cicadas were heard in the distant woods, not in my front yard.  Eventually, my home in Fort White gave way to other sounds.  Town sounds.

Pow! Pow! Pow!  Sounds of the Fort White Gun Club across my driveway, across State Road 47.  Sounds of monster trucks roaring through town with mufflers resounding in the night air, music blaring.  Despicable sounds.  Sounds that drown out the peacefulness that Truett and I moved to Fort White for.  Sounds that we closed our widows to.

The only peaceful night sound I have now is Bee Boy with his dripping fountain.  Thanks Bee Boy.

Two Hundred Dollar Bonus Dilemma

Today I spent Christmas with Merry Jennifer and her family.  It was a wonderful day.  As I had Maddie show me what Santa brought her, she showed me her Singer sewing machine.  I questioned Merry Jennifer about her being too young to sew, but she told me a few of Maddie's friends had one along with a special sewing book for kids.  Kid projects to sew.  Wow!  That blew me away.

And then I got to tell my story about my Singer sewing machine, so I will recount it now:

In 1971 Truett and I were living in Nashville, Tennessee.  He came home with a $200 bonus.  Well, that $200 bonus was burning a hole in our pockets, so we went to 100 Oaks Mall to spend it. As we entered the mall, a pet store was immediately to our right and peering out at the people was the cutest Ocelot kitten I had ever seen.  "Can we get it?" I pleaded.  "Please!  Please! Please!"

Truett thought about it for a few minutes and we discussed how it would have to be walked on a leash as it got older.  Truett told me to keep looking so we left the pet store and wandered up one side and down the next of the mall.  Of course, all I could think about was the Ocelot.  Finally, Truett gave in.  "Okay," he said.  "But you'll have to do all the work."

Well, lo and behold, when we went back to the pet store, the Ocelot kitten had been sold.  My heart sank.  Plus, the $200 bonus was still burning a hole in Truett's pocket.  That's when I looked across the mall and saw a Singer Sewing Machine Shop.  "That's it!"  I exclaimed.  "I want a sewing machine!"

You see, up until this point I had never sewed a thing in my life.  In high school I took Home Economics and we had to make an 8-gored skirt.  Well, my skirt was too long, so I had to take it home and rehem the thing.  Guess what I did?  I hemmed that stupid skirt right back in the same place and I cried and Mama thought I was probably one of her dumbest children she had ever raised, although she denied it tonight even after she told me how she felt.  So that's when I quit sewing!

Now, here I am in 1971 purchasing a Singer sewing machine even though my heart was wanting an Ocelot kitten.  The first thing I made was a one-piece green velour zip-up jumpsuit for Truett.  I was so proud of it.  We called friends over and he wore the thing and we probably listened to John Travolta singing "Staying Alive".  But, somehow after that night the green velour jumpsuit disappeared into thin air.

The second thing I sewed was a gray flannel skirt and cowl neck top for my twin.  You know what?  I never saw her wear that either.  So I gave up on sewing.

When we had our hurricane rains in 2004, I gladly dumped my Singer sewing machine  in the dumpster and thoughts of an Ocelot kitten flitted out of my mind.

And that's my story.

I hope Maddie enjoys her Christmas present. 

Time with my Grandchildren

It's rare that I get to babysit my grandchildren, but today was one of those special days.  Maddie had emailed me and said she was excited about me coming.  Upon arriving at their house I said, "No.  We're not staying in all day while you play on  your Ipads. I have to get fresh air."

So outside we went.

Clay was there so a soccer game ensued.

Kick it Maddie!

Run!

Following the soccer game the grandchildren challenged me to a game of Monopoly.  Easy Beasy, right?

Not with those expressions on my grandchildren's faces.  They were out for blood.

Oliver thinks he's made a clever move, but I just bought Park Place.  So there!  HA!

And Maddie?  Is this some new fangled mathematic equation for beating Nana at Monopoly?

Doesn't matter.  Guess who lost?  How could I have more property and they say, "But, Nana.  We have more money."  Once again.  I am not a math person . . . so I let them win.

It was a wonderful day  for me spending time with my grandchildren.

My First Ever Valium Story

My first ever Valium story happened around 1968 when I lived in Louisville, Kentucky.  A boyfriend of mine broke up with me and I was devastated and heart broken.  So I went to my doctor and told him about my depression because I was crying all the time.  He said, "Well, you are carrying a lot of water retention so I am going to prescribe a diuretic and valium to help calm you down."

No problem.  I then went to Cherokee Park, with my two prescriptions in hand.  I decided I had no other choice but to end my life.  I had a coca cola in one hand and I grabbed a bottle of pills and then sat on swings in the park.  I took several pills and took a sip of coke.  I took more pills and another sip of coke.  On and on until the bottle of pills was empty.  And then I waited for the inevitable.

Meanwhile I swang and swang on the park swings.  (Or is it swung and swung??)  I never did figure that one out.  Mentally, I was prepared to flip out on the grassy knoll with my eyes rolled up in my head and hope the jerk of a boyfriend felt guilty one day. 

But, I didn't flip out on the ground.  No.  I had to go to the porta potty.  Not once.  Not twice, but multiple times during that hour and a half at that city park.  Finally, I realized I wasn't going to die. 

Guess what I took a whole bottle of? 

Was it Valium? 

I don't think so.  It was the diuretic.  As I left the park, I chucked one empty bottle of diuretic and one full bottle of Valium in the public trash can. 

I figured since I didn't die, I would do something else.  I figured it just wasn't 'my time'.

So I went to the mall.

End of story.

A Flapper

This is the only picture I will be showing you because I love this photo.  It brings me a sense of peace, unlike my day.

I have serious periodontal disease inherited from my dad.  My twin has it as well.  You know, as a caregiver since 2010, people would say,  "Don't forget to take care of yourself."  I knew I was taking care of myself.  I eat breakfast out, snack on potato chips for lunch, and make a meal or get take-out for supper.  If I have a runny nose, I blow it.  If I can't sleep I meditate or take a Tylenol PM.  What more could I do to take care of myself?

However, I knew I had gum issues.  Over the past several months my bottom teeth had shifted and became loose.  I thought, "I will deal with this in due time."  But, I didn't. During my drives to Gainesville, I would flick my tongue against a couple of loose bottom teeth; but I will say, I knew the inevitable would happen.  Last night while watching "Castle", I flicked my bottom tooth and it flipped into my mouth.  Gross!  Well, I immediately called Sam Markham, my daughter's husband who works on root canals.  "Not to worry Mrs. George. I'll look at it tomorrow and take X-rays."

So today I met Sam at his office (after getting lost twice).  We waited for his assistant, Tracy to arrive.  I was so apologetic.  Embarrased is the real word.  With a dentist in your family, I knew better, but I had had such a bad experience from a royal jerk about fifteen years ago, that I stopped taking care of my teeth.  Pompous jerk, I might add.

Anyway, today I was laid back in the dentist chair feeling somewhat calm.  Of course I started barking orders to Sam.  "Don't wiggle that other tooth or it will fall out on the floor."  Sam told me to calm down many times.  Eventually, he let Tracy take the X-rays.

Oh, my word.  That little bitty but wide contraption she put in my mouth was uncomfortable.  At one point my left hand was extended straight out like I imagine electrocution must look like, pointer finger stiffened to the heavens.  In the meantime, Sam kept reassuring me I was doing good.  Yeah!  Right!  I think I said at one point, "You are NOT getting a Christmas present from me!"  Later, I think I said, "I'm NOT coming to Christmas dinner even if you invite me!"

Poor Tracy.  She was so patient.  She tried not to hurt me, but my lower teeth and gums were in agony.  No.  I was in agony.  "Just pull them all and give me dentures!"  I squalled.  But, dear sweet Sam kept reassuring me that he and other specialists would come up with a plan.

People, I didn't even get a shot today.  I longed for a shot in the gums.  I longed to be put out of misery.  I even longed for a Long Island Iced Tea. Finally, taking X-rays was over and Sam told me I did good.   "Liar liar pants on fire!" I thought.  I'm a whimp!  A big cry baby!  In the end, something was mentioned to me about having a flapper put in my mouth once my bottom teeth were pulled while a bridge was being made.

A flapper?  I was so out of it, I didn't even ask.  So if you see me around town in the next week or two and there's something strange in my mouth, please don't ask.  Do not make me talk.  Pretend I look normal. . . because I don't know what a flapper is. 

And, by the way Sam Markham,  "I still love you!"  It's all my fault because I didn't take care of myself.

I learned a lesson

 

I learned a lesson today.  I have prided myself in organizing and living my life revolving around visits to Truett, taking Mom to appointments and buying her the right size panties at Wal*Mart, plus hearing aide batteries from Dr. Shimon and the right pads from Winn* Dixie. 

I have prided myself in taking my cats and dogs to the vet, getting the Suburban ready to sell, getting my Acadia checked out and fixed.  I have prided myself that several nights a week I cook a meal for Mom and me, with plenty of leftovers for Clay.  I've been keeping up with the bills and four checkbooks, managing my banking accout, Truett's, Clay's and Mom's, plus I have found time to photograph birds when I remember to put the camera in the car.

Yes, I am a morning person.  I usually get a lot done in the morning so I can visit Truett around noon and be back home by 2:00 P.M. to take care of Mom.  But, today I learned a lesson.  My well planned plans did not work.  Today when I visited Truett so I could help feed him, I found out I was in the way.  The crowded dining room where Truett eats was jammed pack.  I could not maneuver his wheelchair to a table.  I got several annoying looks from head nurses and sharp quips, "Excuse me.  He's in the way."

  Truett refused to eat lunch today because his butt hurt.  It seems they put him in his wheelchair early this morning, with a tray attached to the front to keep him contained because he is a fall risk.  He was very agitated. He did not eat lunch.  All he wanted to do was stand up or lay down.  I left Gainesville Health Care Center resolved that I have to adjust my schedule to theirs.  It didn't feel good to be in the way.

Yes, today I learned a lesson.  I cannot visit Truett until at least 1:00-2:00 P.M.  That's too bad because now I won't get home until 3:00 P.M. so all my errands have to be done in the morning which might mean a trip to High Springs or Lake City and then on to Gainesville.  And that means gas money.

Today I learned a lesson.

 

It did not take me long to realize that I must change my visitation schedule with Truett.  Clearly, I will not visit him until after 1:00 P.M.  And that throws my whole schedule off.  That means I may make a trip to High Springs to grocery in the morning and then head to Gainesville in the afternoon.  You know what that means, don't you?  $$$$$ for gas.

 

 

 

 

Mabel's room

Today I visited Truett at Gainesville Health Care Center.  It wasn't an easy visit for me because I drove around for an hour and forty-five minutes to find a parking space.  In the meantime, Clay called me on his cellphone and said, "Mom, there are no parking spaces.  Do you want to have lunch somewhere?"  I told him I was leaving Wal*Mart and I would meet him at Cody's Grill .

After Clay and I had lunch, he left and then I drove back to the nursing home.  No parking spaces whatsoever, so I decided to find the Sandhill Cranes on the University of Florida farm.  I parked my car and wondered if it would be towed because the laws have gotten stricter.  I didn't get towed so I headed back to GHCC.

By now it was 1:30 P.M.  and I found a parking spot.  Whew!  Thank the Good Lord.  When I reached floor three I searched for Truett in the dining area.  He was not there.  Then I went to his room.  Truett was not there.  So I asked the nurses and interns,  "Where is Truett?"  They said they did not know, but I could hear the call, "Merry!  Merry!"

Truett had obviously made his way to another wing . . . the women's wing.  And he was laying in Mabel's bed.  A nurse and I rescued him.  "Truett, get up!"  I said.  This is not your bed.  "You are in Mabel's bed!"  So with the nurse's help, she transfered Truett to his wheelchair and we took him to his room.

I had a good visit my husband today.  I told him Maddie, my granddaughter ,was emailing me . . . and he wept.  He asked about Sherry and I told him Sherry bought a new car, and he wept.  This is the first time in weeks Truett has asked about family at all.  I think they are readjusting his medications.

Any way,  who is this Mabel and why is he in her bed?

The Whole Truth

Today I took my 90 year old Mom to Dr. Thomas Beers in Gainesville.  Mom has had trouble swallowing so she insited on keeping this appointment.  We left Fort White at 9:15 A.M. and this was the following conversations . . . the whole truth.

Mom as we're pulling out of the driveway:  Well, Lord.  Look at these long fingernails.

Me:  Mom, you get them cut on Friday.

Mom as we continued on our way to Gainesville:  Oh greens!  I love greens.

  Silence.

Mom, as we're driving through High Springs:  Well, I sure wouldn't go to that church.  They don't believe like we do.

Me:  Silence.

Mom, as we're driving through the countryside:  Oh, cows!

Me:  Silence.

We finally drive into North Florida Regional Hospital area and immediately became lost.

Me:  Mom, where is Dr. Beers' office?

Mom:  Well how would I know?

Me:  Mom, he's one of your doctors!

So we drove and drove and drove past a multitude of doctors' offices.

Mom:  Oh, Dr. Sharpe!  Oh, Dr. Smith!

Me:  Mom, are they your doctors?

Mom:  Well, no.

Me:  Then why are you calling out their names?

Mom:  I don't know.

Eventually, we found Dr. Beers office where we waited and waited and waited.  The good doctor finally came in the room and asked mom questions.

Dr. Beers:  What seems to be the problem?

Mom:  I don't know.  Yes, I do.  I have trouble swallowing.

Dr. Beers:  How often does this happen?

Mom:  I don't know.

At which point I glance at Mom and think, What?  You don't know?

Dr. Beers:  Do you have trouble swallowing with solid food or liquids?

Mom:  I don't know.

By now I am exasperated and I say, Mom, be specific! And I reiterated his questions.

Mom:  Well, I don't know.

AHHHHHH!  We drove to Gainesville and Mom can't answer the questions.  So Dr. Beers eventually told Mom he wanted her to take a couple of swallowing tests, followed by a follow-up visit.

Mom:  Do you think it could be the cancer coming back?

And there you have it!  But, Dr. Beers reminded Mom that she is 90 years old and things wear out, like swallowing muscles. (or something to that effect)

We finally left the office with three scheduled appointments in the future.

Mom:  I don't like his diagnosis.

Me:  Mom, there was no diagnosis.  You have three more appointments before you know anything.

Mom:  Well, I still don't like it.

And then I figured it out.  Mom doesn't want to get up at 8:A.M. and drive to Gainesville three more times.  So we headed home back through the countryside. 

Mom:  Horses!

Me:  Silence.

Mom:  Pike!

Me looking at Mom:  What?

Mom:  Pike.  They dig ditches.

As we enter the driveway, Mom says: Just look at these fingernails.  They're so long.

Me:  Silence.  Get me in that house!

And folks, that's the whole truth, but with many more comments omitted!