Of Late Nights and Forgetting Things by Konnie Enos

Last night, just minutes before midnight, I lay in bed trying to figure out what day it was, and I remember thinking this is what happens when you no longer have kids to get up and ready for school. Well, that and being retired. Most days we simply do not have to get up because we have places to be.

Now, as I said it was near midnight. I know, I checked the time. My husband had curled up in bed over an hour earlier, so I had every reason to believe he was fast asleep. However, just before I looked at the time, he’d started talking to me, quite wide awake. So, I asked him what day it was.

He told me but also pointed out some context clues. One of which was our son had taken the garbage bins to the curb only a few hours earlier. Wednesday is garbage day.

I then went over everything I knew that had happened that day which would indicate it was Tuesday. One of those being I had looked at my planner.

Okay, the day of the week was established.

Then I found myself trying to remember if I had to write the post for this week. Since my husband cannot seem to remember that I don’t do the post every single week, he wasn’t going to be any help with that question. He was the only one in the room, unless you count the two dogs.

The other dog and our daughter were asleep in her room, and since I had not heard our son since he dealt with the garbage, I had to assume he was asleep too. (He was not. I heard him opening and closing doors shortly after this.) Of course, while my children would have a clue that I don’t post every week, they would have no reason to remember on what schedule I do post.

There was also no reason for me to leave my bed, and room, in search of someone to ask if it was my turn to post. There was also no reason to wake up Bonnie particularly since it was by then after midnight and it’s an hour later where she lives. One would assume she was fast asleep, like I should have been.

My solution was to turn my reading light back on and pull out my planner because I have the days I have to post marked in there. Even without also putting my glasses back on, I was able to see the necessary information.

Mind you by now it was well after midnight and I was quite tired.

What did I do?

I spent more time trying to decide if I was awake enough to write a post and trying to remember if I could even produce the smallest idea for said post. The answer to both those questions was clearly no.

I opted for sleep since I knew I’d be awake well before I needed to have anything up. That and I’d need to be awake to even figure out something to write about.

Now, I do have an alarm to wake me up on Wednesday mornings. One set early enough that I’d have time to write my post if I needed to.

Being the post-menopausal women that I am, my bladder woke me up several minutes before my alarm went off. So, turn off the alarm, get out my laptop and opened Word. Fortunately, I did not then stare at the blank screen trying to figure what to write about because everything that had happened as I was beginning to fall asleep was still fresh in my mind.

Though I was able to figure out why the fact I had to post this morning had so completely slipped my mind. Two reasons in fact.

One was after a week without our washing machine working, we’d gotten it repaired yesterday morning. While drying the very first load of long overdue laundry, the drier conked out. And that’s on top of the oven dying at the same time the washer did. (The oven is not worth fixing but we can’t afford fixing the washer, and now the drier and replacing the stove.)

The second was my other son called. You know, the apprentice electrician, who is making really good money. He promised to send me enough money to cover getting a new oven. Yeah!

But he also told me he was coming down for a visit. For my birthday! Double yeah!

I spent considerable time discussing a birthday dinner menu with my daughter after that delightful news. I am so looking forward to having one more person at the table for my birthday celebration.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

 

Time Blindness by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

Right now, I am recovering from my last trip out of my house. You might think I went on some massive road trip or something, but I didn’t. No, what I did was go to a doctor’s appointment, then run a few errands.

I might also point out that the first three stops I made after the doctor’s appointment were to three different drive-throughs. As in, I didn’t even get out of my car.

At the fourth stop, I was getting my walker out of my car when the salesclerk came out and told me I needed to hurry because the place was closing in five minutes.

I hurried. I did get what I needed, then I sat in my car for several minutes just catching my breath.

I might add, I told the clerk I hadn’t realized it was that late, and I was sorry for coming so late.

I am not now, nor have I ever been, one of those who think they keep the store open as long as there are still customers in the place. That is, by the way, quite rude.

There is only one other time when I entered a store close to closing time, and neither I nor the friend I was with realized the store was about to close. When we learned it was about to close, we rushed to check out, apologizing as we did for coming in so late.

Monday, I did the same thing. I apologized for coming so late, and I thanked her for letting me get the bread I needed.

I might add that I knew that the store closed at 5, so did the third drive-through I’d been to. I just hadn’t looked at the clock to ascertain how late it was, which is a problem I do have. Most days, time is irrelevant to me.

I read somewhere recently that a lot of autistic people see time in terms of now and not now. Yeah, I get that. I don’t pay close enough attention to the clock and have been known to set an alarm to alert me when I need to leave the house for appointments.

Having errands I need to accomplish by a certain date without an exact appointment is difficult, if not downright impossible. Let’s face it, I have missed appointments because I forgot them.

Actually, I’ve had my doctor’s office call me, waking me up, saying, “You’re late for your appointment.”

The number of times this past year I’ve had to reschedule because I slept in or my car wouldn’t start is frightening.

And it is something Konnie doesn’t have to deal with.

Yeah, she sets alarms for certain things, but those things are constants, like when she takes her medications. My alarms, except for the morning one, are all set to remind me I need to get up and out the door for an appointment.

I honestly once thought I had set an alarm I needed, but I forgot to click on the save icon. Ergo, it never went off. I missed that appointment and had to reschedule.

 I think the only time Konnie has mentioned needing to reschedule an appointment at the last minute was once when her husband took off with their only car and wasn’t back in time for her to make her appointment.

But that’s just it. In Konnie’s house, they have to coordinate when appointments are because they have only one car. They have a big calendar they use to keep track of who has appointments when, and if everyone is paying attention, the car is available when needed.

I live alone. My car is always available when needed. My brain is the issue here. I just have trouble thinking that far ahead.

 I suppose, if I lived with Konnie – well, to be honest, her daughter, who still lives at home, would be the one keeping me on schedule, because that’s something she’s capable of.

I can practically hear her right now saying, “Don’t you have someplace you need to get to?"

I have certainly, when I was visiting Konnie’s house, heard my niece say more than once, “Have you looked at the time?” to somebody or other who really needed to get a move on.

Maybe that’s the kind of assistance I need, an actual human being to point out the time to me regularly.

By the way, I had this issue even when my husband was still alive. I remember once when we had a meeting to go to, I was trying to write a scene. I told him more than once to just let me finish what I was writing.

He eventually went to the meeting without me.

Anyway, happy writing, everyone!

Of Bread and Unicorns by Konnie Enos

I think we’ve found a unicorn. That is if my understanding of what is a unicorn is correct. It means something rare or unique, and that’s what we found.

To understand why what we found is so unique, you have to understand something about my family.

As currently composed, there are four of us. Me, my husband and our youngest (son) and our middle child (daughter). My husband is the sort of person who will eat whatever is placed before him. My son is the sort of person who is extremely picky about what he will and will not eat. Taste and texture are important to him, so what we can get him to eat is limited. Bread is a staple of his diet because he eats a lot of sandwiches.

Then there is me and my daughter. We both have medically restricted diets. Her because of her severe allergies and me, well, I’m supposed to be on a low-carbs, low-sugar, low-salt diet for type 2 diabetes, and high blood pressure.

It was recommended that I eat a multi-grain, whole wheat bread, which we did find but my son refuses to eat. My daughter won’t eat it either because of allergens, which is completely understandable. We did find an inexpensive bread that my son liked.

As for my daughter, due to one of her allergies being soy, and soy is in EVERYTHING, she couldn’t eat commercially made bread. She’d make her own.

But because she has several chronic conditions, such as fibromyalgia, she often finds she does not have the stamina to make bread every time she runs out.

Her brother and I cannot knead anything with activated yeast in it, our hands get very red and sore if we do. But we do have a bread machine, and my son has mastered how to get a decent loaf out of it, so he will sometimes help her out a make a loaf. She has also purchased food grade gloves so if necessary, I can knead some bread, which is something I have not done in decades, but I obviously still know how to do it.

I learned the same time Bonnie did when our dad forced us all to learn how to make bread because of how expensive it was to feed a family of 7 (at the time), especially when one was a teenage boy with a hollow leg. (And yes, even telling dad that it made my hands red, sore, and itchy, did not get me out of it, which is why I’ve avoided it as an adult.)

Now, since we could make a wheat bread, homemade bread could satisfy every family member. The problem with that is my son goes through a lot of bread, and we’d constantly be out, generally when my daughter or I, who don’t eat it that often, wanted some. And, having chronic conditions, making it every week was out of the question.

So instead, we banned all but my daughter from eating the homemade bread and bought me the whole wheat I needed while supplying my son with the type he would eat, which he shared with my husband. Yes, at any given time we’d have three types of bread loafs in our house.

Recently however, we’ve been unable to find the type of bread my son likes so we’ve been experimenting with new types. He is not loving this at all and has actually stopped eating sandwiches almost completely.

Then, needing to find yet another type of bread to see if my son would like it, we picked up a relatively small loaf of organic wheat bread, not whole-grain, but still wheat. I did not have high hopes for it, because he’s never liked wheat bread.

But then my daughter got a good look of the ingredients.

Unlike every other loaf of bread on the market, it does NOT have soy in it. Not only that, but it is low-carbs and absolutely no sugar (some honey, but no sugar). Which means I could eat it.

My son tried it and could tolerate it with bacon (his version of a BLT without the vegetables he won’t eat), but the texture and taste were not up to snuff otherwise.

Since this bread is slightly more expensive than the other stuff we buy, we’ve decided that we’d reserve it for my daughter for when she’s not up to making some of her own.

It’s still a unique find, a unicorn.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

 

Our Official Language by Bonnie Le Hamilton

 

Not too long ago, I saw a post online asking whether people thought it should be made the law that everyone needed to be able to speak English before becoming a citizen of America.

I pointed out that we have no official language, so that wouldn’t work.

Though it seems now that I was quite a bit behind the times. It seems President Trump made a proclamation last year stating that English should be our official language to promote unity in this country.

The big problem with this is that it isn’t the law. A presidential statement lacks the backing of the Constitution and is therefore unenforceable.

Yes, he said English is now our official language, but there is no amendment or even legal language giving that statement any legal weight.

Government agencies still print all their forms in a long list of languages to accommodate everyone, and/or supply an interpreter, because there is no law requiring a person to know English to get those services, as in countries that have their laws backing up their official language.

And I might point out that even if English were legally our language, that wouldn’t mean no one could speak any other language. That would be a violation of their rights.

Even in countries where they do have a legal official language, people still speak their native tongue.

President Trump says having an official language will bring us together, but other countries have more than one official language without the divisive problems we have. I don’t think language is really the issue, but aside from that, some people seem to think that means no one can ever speak a different language than the official one.

How wrong can you get?

Even if we have a legal official language, people can still speak their native tongue, still hold conversations some people won’t be able to eavesdrop on, and Karens are still going to scream at them to speak English.

Which brings me to the point of my post.

I see no problem with people speaking something other than English when they are only speaking to someone who speaks the same tongue.

Around here, I have identified three non-English languages being used when I was out and about.

Some Arabic language (based on the attire of the speakers), Spanish (based on the fact they were working in the kitchen of a locally owned Mexican restaurant), and Sho-Ban (also based on the attire of the speakers and the major tribe at the nearest reservation).

In none of the cases where I overheard these languages were they being rude.

The Arabic couple was a clear married couple speaking to each other; ergo, none of my business. The Spanish speakers could be seen and heard from the tables in the restaurant, but they were talking to each other, not the patrons. The several times I’ve heard Sho-Ban, it was clearly either a family or a group of friends from the nearby reservation. They were not talking to me or with me.

It all reminds me of Konnie’s epic sci-fi where they have an official language, but other languages do exist; they just have rules for when each language can and shouldn’t be used.

When speaking in a group, they use the language known by everyone present, so no one is left out. When speaking privately, they either use a casual language they both know or an intimate language, which is generally the ancestral language if both of them know it. Again, there are rules for when each can be used.

The official language is always used at work or when giving orders.

The casual language is used when it isn’t official, and if everyone knows the one you are using.

The intimate language falls into the category of PDAs.

This is a basic breakdown, and it is more complex than that because of the sheer volume of languages available, but that’s the gist of it.

Though I might point out there is no rule against using casual language in public spaces, only against using it when not everyone included in the conversation knows the language used.

In other words, if you are not part of the conversation, mind your own business! If you are, they’re being rude or deceptive.

Like a story of a guy whose wife and sister-in-law used sign language to scheme about divorcing him while he was out of town on a long-planned business trip. He had taken sign language in college and was able to learn her plans in advance rather than being blindsided by her.

And having an official language is not going to outlaw that sort of thing from happening. Nor should it. Everyone has the right to use whatever language they are comfortable with.

Anyway, happy writing, everyone!