Of Birthdays and Memories by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

Yesterday was my sister’s-in-law birthday, but due to her being out camping with her big sister and brother-in-law, I celebrated with her this past Saturday. While we were chatting over lunch, I mentioned something about needing to get Konnie her birthday gift to her, before I forgot.

Well, Shirley (said sister-in-law) started to say something then berated herself, saying, “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

I frowned and asked her what was going on and she looked at me and said, “I was about to ask when Konnie’s birthday is.”

Let me point out that a few years ago Konnie came up here to celebrate our birthday with me and Shirley, her big sister (Vera-Ellen), and Vera-Ellen’s husband and daughter, threw the two of us a birthday party. On the other hand, Shirley does have Alzheimer’s and I found it pretty good that she remembered that she did know when Konnie’s birthday is before she actually got the question out.

Now if it had been Vera-Ellen or any of her family, I’d have questioned their sanity, but Shirley? The one who writes shopping lists then leaves them at home and tries to get her shopping done without one. Only to forget the two most important things on her list. Necessitating a second trip to the store, for which I am the chauffeur.

I will admit, I’m not sure all my in-laws know when my birthday is, even if they all know I’m a twin. However, Shirley, Vera-Ellen, and Vera-Ellen’s husband and daughter do know. Well, at least Shirley knows when she remembers.

Vera-Ellen and her family don’t have that excuse.

The rest of the family, well, I’m not even sure when all their birthdays are. Tom was always very vague about when their birthdays were, nor did he ever make any effort to call his siblings on their birthdays. Today, I know some of their birthdays simply because I’m friends with them on Facebook, and I really should write them down, since Facebook only reminds me the day of their birthday.

I kind of need a little more notice than that if I’m going to send them something if I remember and have the money for it. Having money to send something would be the issue. I’m lucky if I have money to buy something.

Though it did penetrate my thick skull this year that Konnie’s youngest was born on the birthday of one of my brothers-in-law. Why I didn’t notice before, I have no idea. But I could swear, this year is the only year Facebook notified me of both birthdays, which of course doesn’t make sense. Clearly what is at issue here is my thick, or scattered, brain rather than Facebook messing up.

At any rate, I can now tell you the birthdays of all three of Tom’s sisters, and the one brother. So, I am getting closer to knowing them. Took me long enough. The only trouble is I learned when the birthdays of two of his sisters before we were even married.

His sister Bonnie was born a day shy of his first birthday, and the oldest of my brothers was born on his 5th birthday, which makes it easy. And Vera-Ellen was born on August 22, the year before him. Those three came in such quick succession that his family always celebrated all three birthdays on the birthday in the middle, Tom’s. He complained about that when we first started dating.

I listened to his complaints without a word, when he finished, I said, “Yeah, I know what’s like to have to share your birthday; I’ve been doing it my whole life too.”

He responded, “Oh brother, I’m complaining to the wrong person.”

“Ya think?”

I have always shared my birthday with Konnie. I can think of one year when we had separate parties simply because she still preferred an all-girls slumber party, and I wanted a party, with guys, gals, and music.

Which didn’t go over so great. Let’s just say, I also hate having a birthday so close to a major national holiday. It never fails that come our birthday, everyone, or almost everyone, is still out of town with their family.

Konnie had picked the week after our birthday for her party; they turned out for Konnie’s party and didn’t bother to RSVP for mine.

No one did. So, I planned on everyone I invited coming and had a ton of leftovers. Not a fun night to say the least.

Though maybe I should work that disaster into a story someday.

Anyway, happy writing everyone, I’m off to do more editing on my sci-fi!

Of Phones and Wake up Calls by Konnie Enos

Fifty years ago, every house had at least one face clock, usually in the kitchen. It wasn’t uncommon for one to be in a bedroom or two. Though the new thing was digital display clocks. Most of these were found in bedroom alarm clocks.

Thirty years ago, face clocks were less common but you could still find them. It was still commonplace to have several in your home. Checking the time was never more difficult than glancing at the nearest clock.

Yesterday, it dawned on me just how much things had changed when not once, but twice, I wanted to know the time or at least where my phone was.

Both times in my dimly lit bedroom, on my bed, with dark or black blankets it was more than a little difficult to figure out where my black phone had gotten to.

Both times I looked at all the usual places. Where I generally put it. Where I could last remember seeing it. Everywhere within arm’s reach of where I was sitting. As a last resort, I even checked my purse because I sometimes put it in there so it won’t get lost.

Not that it works. My purse is black too. And sometimes I have to dump it out to find anything as small as my phone in it. However, yesterday my phone was never in my purse.

I could not find it anywhere on my nightstand or even the last place I saw it. The last time I couldn’t find it I was tempted to go check the hall bathroom because I’d been texting Bonnie when I had to go and I’d taken my phone with me and that was the last place I could remember having it. Since I could not find it, yet again, I wondered if I could have left it in there.

So I started searching everywhere with no luck.

At this point, I considered who could help me locate my phone and the easiest way to do it. Well, calling a phone is a sure-fire way to hear where it is and I’m fortunate to have five other people in my house all with their own phones.

So the next step is to locate the nearest person and ask them to call me.

Mind you, I’m in my bedroom. Guess who the nearest person is, both times.

Yep, my all-but-deaf husband. Not that he’s completely deaf, and he does have hearing aids, but that even if he has remembered to put them in, he is likely to be listening to something on one of his devices, especially when he is sitting at his desk. Of course, he is doing both times I’m looking.

So after taking a minute or two to get his attention, I had to wait further for him to turn off whatever he was listening to, get his phone, and dial me.

Now this would normally solve the problem, but both times I could hear my phone ringing from somewhere on my bed to my right. Both times it was buried enough to muffle the sounds a little.

So I had to start moving things hoping to at least unmuffle it so I could better home in on the sound.

Okay, so move my purse and whatever else I have to my right.

It’s not much help, I moved the blankets, again. All that did was unmuffle it. The next step is to shake them out but before I even get that far I finally manage to see my phone.

On Jerry’s side of the bed.

I’m going to have to assume that at some point in my search I’d tossed it over there while moving the blankets it’d been on because that is the only logical reason for my phone to be that far outside my reach.

The second time this happened, I wasn’t looking for the time, but wondering if my phone would need to be charged while I was sleeping. It was that late and I knew I still needed to write my post. Meaning, I would need my phone charged and near me so I’d hear my alarm in the morning so I’d have plenty of time to get this written.

With it found, I promptly got ready for bed. I was hoping for at least seven hours. By some miracle, my bladder didn’t wake me up until after the sun was up though a full hour before my alarm was to go off. I’d written about half this post before my alarm went off.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

 

Apologizes by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

I would like to apologize to everyone I have ever politely asked for assistance in reaching things in a store which, due to my obvious vertical challenges, I was unable to acquire on my own.

In my defense I’d like to point out that I was entirely unaware that some delusional person witnessed your act of kindness and compassion, and in her mind that meant you were some pion who had to accede to her demands, no matter what.

I have since come across some stories on YouTube about these misguided individuals who seem to feel they have every right to whatever service or property they want and everyone else in their universe is rude to deny them, no matter how inconsiderate and condescending they are.

I’d particularly like to apologize to the gentleman who was shopping in Walmart with his significant other and I politely asked him if he would mind getting down a bag of cat food I needed for my dear Patches. At the time, I could see no other people around other than the three of us, and I greatly appreciated his kindness. I am however vexed to think to some women that the internet is calling a Karen witnessed this kindness and insisted he serve her as well.

Since my husband’s death, I have frequently found myself in a position where I can not reach something I need, and knowing it is such an imposition, I have always said, “Excuse me, but could you help me?” And when you have done so I’ve thanked you profusely for being so kind. I have no idea why any other person witnessing this exchange would decide you were some sort of slave.

It is totally beyond my comprehension.

Of course, it is totally beyond my comprehension that there are people in this world who think people working in the service industry are their personal slaves! How delusional can you get? I mean, in what universe are service industry workers mere slaves there to accede to every demand anyone else makes?

Service industry workers are human beings just as much as the next person and therefore deserve just as much respect and consideration.

However, I find whenever I politely ask such service personnel, who clearly work at the establishment I am shopping in by their accouterments with their name and or the store logo somewhere on their person, for assistance. They are always so pleasantly surprised that I would address them with respect. And even more surprised when I thank them for their assistance.

I might add that I am intelligent enough to recognize when I am addressing a fellow customer that happens to be nearby and when I am approaching someone who does work at the store.

And for the life of me, I can not understand how some people can’t tell the difference between staff uniforms and regular everyday wear of your average individual. It boggles my mind that some people are so unaware that they cannot tell the difference between a vest festooned with patches and medals and a vest adorned with the company logo.

But clearly, such a person exists because I heard a story on YouTube where a woman assaulted a handicapped man and stole his walker so her daughter who had a walking cast on could use his supposed wheelchair. And her reason for her to assume he was an employee was he was wearing a blue vest. A blue vest festooned with his medals and military patches from his service days, rather than a blue vest with the word Walmart on it!

I mean this woman was so delusional as to think that an elderly man depending on a walker to get into the store was an employee with a wheelchair that she absolutely had to have for her daughter.

In the story, I heard this woman went so far as to complain to store management about how hard it was to steer what she thought was a wheelchair since the handles were not on the back of the thing. No Duh! It’s a walker, not a wheelchair.

She also refused to believe she was guilty of assault and theft for attacking this poor man and taking his walker, his walker with his wallet in the bag under the seat.

Admittedly, she didn’t know about that little bag, but she did take the gentleman’s personal property by force. What did she expect? Oh, I forgot, she expected him to be fired from a job he didn’t have!

But at least delusional people like this make great fodder for all of us writers to entertain the rest of the world with!

Happy writing everyone!

And again, I am sorry for accidentally subjecting you to this kind of person!

Of Sore Throats and Lost Voices by Konnie Enos

I woke up Sunday morning trying to decide if I’m well or not since I’d been fighting a cold for a couple of days. I didn’t feel too bad, just a sore throat but for some reason Sunday morning my throat didn’t hurt much. Then I tried to talk.

At first, I could squeak out some sound but by noon that was gone.

Okay, so no church.

Then it dawned on me that it was Mother’s Day and given my granddaughter’s love of making phone calls, I had to assume she’d call me at some point. I sent my daughter a message about not calling me and why.

Then my phone rings. The ringtone alone tells me it’s family and being that it’s Mother’s Day, rather understandable that people will call me. As I picked up my phone I was wondering who else besides my oldest daughter I should have texted.

I mean, my oldest daughter made sense. She is a mother after all. And I was concerned about how my granddaughter would react when she couldn’t talk to Grandma. We wished each other a happy Mother’s Day and she told me to get better.

This call was from Bonnie. I’m assuming she hadn’t even realized what day it was, she just wanted to talk. I did pick up, and my husband, across the room with his back to me asked me who it was but he wouldn’t even look at me so I could let him know I needed help.

I had to strain out a brief “can’t talk”. We hung up and exchanged a few texts. But texts don’t garner enough attention to keep her awake, which is why she called. I recommended calling one of my children but I think she fell asleep first.

Then, THEN my clueless husband tried to talk to me without turning around. Seriously?! He’s deaf as it is! How is he supposed to hear me when I can’t get any sound out at all?

When he does turn around he faked not being able to talk as IF I was whispering just because. I wasn’t even whispering. I just couldn’t get any sound out.

He was still asking me questions so I picked up my phone and texted him to ask Melinda. She could at least answer his questions.

Then I texted Melinda. I mean at least that way I can talk to people.

Well after that, Royce comes into my room and tries to talk to me.

I’m ready to roll my eyes.

I indicate I can’t talk. Thankfully Melinda followed Royce in and she was able to facilitate a conversation with me.

My conversation with Melinda includes some text and what little sign language we do know. Which is at least on par with my German with the added advantage that my kids do know a little bit too. None of them speak any German.

Not wanting to be voiceless for long, I do I quick internet search on home remedies for laryngitis.

This is what I found out. It can last as long as a week and is generally caused by colds/flu. As in the sore throat and general aches and pains Melinda and I have had for a few days. She can still talk.

You want to know what they gave as the best way to treat it?

Don’t talk.

Literally, rest your vocal cords for a week.

Um. I wonder how that’s going to fly.

It’s not just the fact that I have three kids at home or a husband that can’t seem to remember that I currently lack a voice. I dread my phone ringing. What am I supposed to do? Not answer?

So yeah, the next week or so might prove rather interesting seeing as I simply cannot carry on a normal conversation at the moment.

Monday I still could not talk but by Tuesday I’m back to being able to squeak out some noise. I even sound better than I did on Saturday. Not perfect, but better. And best of all, my phone only rang the one time.

Also, I typed most of this up Sunday but didn’t have enough for a post when I went to bed. Considering it was still two days before it had to be up, I didn’t think it’d be a problem.

It didn’t happen.

And the only reason I got up this morning was because Jerry’s phone was going off and as usual he either couldn’t hear it or was just ignoring it. Funny how it stopped about the time I got up, without anyone touching his phone.

And the reason mine didn’t wake me up was because it was off.

Some days/weeks are like that.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day. 

Getting on Track by Bonnie Le Hamilton

I need to write my post, but where do I start?

Since my last post, I can finally drive, but I’m still dealing with various appointments (doctors, nurses, therapists). I am hoping they will end soon. I did manage to get into work once last week, but because of appointments, I couldn’t manage any other days. And today will be my second day back to work since my hospital stay, due to various appointments on Monday and my left foot decided I hadn’t elevated it long enough Monday night and was swollen today.

As in I went to see the infectious disease doctor at the hospital for my right foot.

The first thing she told me was my left ankle did not look good.

I already knew that.

After the appointment with her, I went home and put my foot up, like a good girl, but it was still swollen when it was time to go to work. I spent most of the day in bed with my ankle elevated above my heart.

I did get up with the intention of going to work, but the way my ankle felt, well, let’s just say, I wouldn’t be able to handle five hours sitting at a desk, it would be too uncomfortable.

At home, I can stretch out in bed, and even if I don’t lie down, my foot doesn’t bother me, but once I try sitting on my couch or in a chair. Yeah, I’d rather not.

When my ankle gets swollen what I feel is somewhere between “pins and needles” and a low throbbing ache, and not even putting my foot up on my footstool helps, stretching my legs out on my bed relieves the discomfort instantly (just not the swelling).

All of which meant I couldn’t go to work, because I wouldn’t have been able to handle the full five hours in need of putting my feet up. And I have often ended my workday by going home and putting my feet up.

It has gotten to the point that I have seriously considered rearranging things, so my TV is in my bedroom. These days, my prime viewing time is when I have my feet up, and I can’t do that in the living room.

Which in and of itself is kind of weird because Konnie doesn’t watch TV. The last time she came to visit, I was surprised when I returned from work to find her watching a video.

Of course, she put the video on because my apartment is too quiet.

In other words, my place is too quiet for her to be able to write and her place is too noisy for me to be able to write!

It is of course what we’ve gotten used to. Konnie has a houseful, and I swear they have more dogs than humans in that place. I have a single cat, no kids, no husband, just me and Patches. Yeah, my place is very peaceful compared to her menagerie.

Though I might point out that when she was visiting me, her phone constantly chiming drove me up the wall! Her phone chimed more in one hour than mine usually does in a week! And you guessed it, it was her kids and her husband. Go figure.

I should have known it would happen. Back in ’95, another time I was temporarily bedridden, Konnie came to help me out, leaving her husband home with what was then their three daughters. Believe me when I tell you my phone rang every half hour or so while Konnie was at my place, and none of those calls were for me or my husband. It had been Jerry every time.

Then again, what man doesn’t have issues when left home alone with the kids for a few hours, or days?

Konnie is your typical housewife who always seems to be doing several things at once. She has used a picture depicting that for her post at least once.

To say the least, my life is way more laid back than Konnie’s. And she does finally have two kids out of the house, two out of five, all adults, and three still at home for various reasons. Let alone that her husband can’t even seem to manage his medicines without her intervention.

I do recall at least one call during her last visit was about his medicines.

At any rate, my right foot is healing nicely, I should be able to make it to work today, and hopefully, I won’t have anything else interrupt my schedule for a good long while.

And maybe I will get some writing done this week.

Anyway, happy writing everyone!

 

Of Memory, Memories and Allergies by Konnie Enos

I had all these plans and ideas for my post this week.

There’s the conversation with Jerry that I thought was funny. You know the one I forgot to record in any fashion that has since been changed out of my retrievable memory.

Then there is the funny interaction I had with Royce. Still funny. What it boils down to is his description of what a shawl is. He called it a fancy blanket. I understand why he said that. I crocheted both my shawl and my Afghan, they both are to keep me warm, and I doubt he’s noticed that they are different shapes.

I, however, didn’t write that one down either because I had to take Mable to the vet. Saturday was just a normal recheck of her bloodwork visit but they asked us to bring her back on Sunday. Not because her bloodwork was off, but because they were concerned about some changes we are seeing in her. They did some x-rays and what they could see just tells us that Mable is on her last leg. As far as we know, she’s 12 now, but that’s because she was a mature dog when the shelter got her. Veterinarians can distinguish puppies and dogs up to six years and after that, it’s harder to tell. She was mature, i.e.: at least six, when the shelter found her. She could be much older than that and is showing signs of dementia.

All in all, it means we may not have Mable much longer. But then it was almost 2 years ago when they told us her liver wasn’t functioning well and she didn’t have long left. So it’s just wait and see now.

Then Monday, Royce’s birthday, we had the wonderful event of my daughter bringing her daughters (and husband) for a visit. During this visit, someone prompted my oldest granddaughter to wish her Uncle Royce a happy birthday. She immediately responded by singing the birthday song to him.

It was beautiful. Especially since she is old enough to pronounce all the words. Not to mention young enough to be adorable doing it. Then as we were giving him his presents and cutting the cake I asked her to lead us in singing to her youngest uncle again. She happily complied. Stole the show from Royce, but I don’t care. I don’t think Royce did either.

I doubt she’ll remember it for long. Not only because of how young she is but also because I think she was more impressed that we had watermelon on the table. I don’t think she even batted an eye at the home-made pizza and cake, or the ice cream.

Then again, she’s a bit dog crazy so being in a house with five dogs to lavish some attention was a big draw for her. Unfortunately for her, all are dogs are older and the only one still young enough to give some exuberant attention was still recovering from minor surgery. Before she’d been here an hour, they were all avoiding her. Well except the biggest one, which she only saw through my bedroom window.

And at that point, I was still remembering I had a post to write. Though first I had to deal with getting some bills paid since it is the beginning of the month. So yesterday, while mauling over exactly what I’d write, I spent most of the day dealing with the bills. Then, even when I’d finished that task, I still wasn’t quite sure what to write.

However, I think what messed me up is I completely forgot to set an alarm for earlier than I usually get up so that I’d have time to get something written. So this morning, after my alarm had startled me awake, and after I’d made sure both Mable and Xavier had their morning meds, and while I was still groggy, I suddenly realized I had a post to write and only an hour in which to do so and get it posted.

Funny how deadlines can wake you up. And sometimes even stimulate the muse.

And I think I can blame my still being a bit sleepy because Friday I came in contact with something I’m reacting to. It’s not anaphylaxis so I’m just treating it with Zyrtec and Benadryl. But we all know Benadryl can put you to sleep. I took some last night and within thirty minutes I was barely able to keep my eyes open long enough to prepare for bed.

So while I’ve had a few things happen this last week, I’m going to blame my lack of energy on my allergic reaction and the treatment available to me. It is also the reason my post is up late.

How are things going for you?

Smile. Make the day a brighter day. 

My Messed-Up Life by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

At this time last week, I was in the hospital waiting for the doctor to hopefully release me. Which he did do.

I just wish it had helped. But while I may be out of the hospital, I still have to stay off my foot as much as possible; I can’t drive (It’s my right foot) or go to work. In fact, I got scolded for driving myself to the emergency room when my right foot hurt so bad. Plus, I have to have an infusion of antibiotics every day around the same time. So, between that and medical professionals coming in at all hours of the day, when would I have time to work?

And now I know the pain in my foot was severe, after all, several people at the hospital were surprised I could even walk at all because they had seen other people with the same sort of joint infection who couldn’t walk, they were in so much pain.

Maybe I should point out my high tolerance for pain.

Like my stepmom who fell back on her standard, “Well did you take anything for it?” When I told her I have a really bad earache. Then she ran for the phone when I told her I had not only taken Tylenol, but I had also tried a warm cloth.

From my stepmom’s point of view, it was serious because I actually took medicine!

And I’ve had doctors notice, most particularly my current one, that if I’m complaining about pain, it’s bad, like worse than what other patients tolerate.

He once asked me why I didn’t come in sooner; my answer was it didn’t hurt that bad sooner. I mean why bother with a doctor’s visit if it’s just a nuisance pain? Apparently, some people do.

Yeah, I tend to not call the doctor until the pain pills don’t work or it last more than a couple of days.

This makes me wonder about how accurate my pain levels are on a scale of one to ten compared to others. I mean I do feel pain, I’m not one of those people that feels no pain at all, but clearly, I can tolerate more than most.

I have also never once told a medical professional my pain level was higher than like seven, including when I was in labor. Though I might point out I was home and not around medical professionals when a jumping child fell on top of my very recently sutured belly. Believe me, that was more like a fifteen.

So maybe someone else would have said ten instead of seven? I don’t know. Doesn’t matter anyway.

I’m home and dealing with the aftermath. I just wish it wasn’t taking so long.

By the way, they determined eventually that I have septic arthritis. And yes, it is painful. It is also annoying that for several days I couldn’t put any weight on my foot at all. Bathroom trips were the hardest part to deal with. At least I don’t need help for that anymore.

Of course, the doctor at the hospital (not my primary) ordered in-home care for a while, which included not just physical therapy but also occupational therapy. This person seemed to think I would need to adjust to staying off my foot as much as possible while my foot healed.

The problem is, every time my knee goes out (thanks to EDS) or my gout or sciatica acts up, I have to stay off my feet as much as possible until it calms down, stops, or goes back into place. Let alone that I have flat feet.

I’ve lived in this place for nearly eight years, and I have places to sit near my sink, my stove, and my microwave, because I can not stand long at all. And where I sit in the living room and where my bed is positioned affords me the shortest possible distance from there to the toilet.

I don’t need help adjusting to doing chores like cooking and cleaning while staying off my foot because I’ve done that for years. I don’t need help adjusting my shower routine either. I already have a shower seat and a handheld showerhead. I’ve been using it for years.

The doctor didn’t ask me what I thought I needed or even asked what kind of aids I already had in place at home, she just ordered the occupational therapy.

I can see a nurse and physical therapist; I am getting intravenous antibiotics still and my foot was operated on to get the infection out, but little else.

I’m also a fast learner, so I don’t need that much help from the nurse.

Anyway, at least I can still write!

Happy Writing everyone!