The Taboo

            It has been a source of amazement to me that a tiny thing such as a booger can transpose even the most confident of a human being into a silent and uneasy fool.  Have you ever been caught in a situation where serious business is being conducted and one of the individuals involved has a booger on their nose?

            Everyone knows but the booger wearer.  Why does no one speak up?  You all look at each other and you know, and you know they know, but none of you says anything.

           

            I was once involved in a serious Girl Scout Council meeting.  We were seated at a conference table in a well-lit room.  I was seated across from a middle-aged woman who happened to be sporting a moist white booger at the edge of her nose.

            She spoke solemnly about some concerns in her troop and was asking for advice from the members of the council.

            My first thought had been to hand her a tissue.  In my experience, that is usually enough of a hint, that and pointing to the affected area on your own nose, to leave them a certain amount of self respect.  Not having a tissue in my pocket or purse, I couldn’t go for that old trick.

            When she glanced at me, I tried rubbing my nose quickly to see if that would help her.  No, she blew right past that one.  I avoided eye contact with the other ladies at the table and noticed they also were shifting uncomfortably in their seats.

            Finally, during the course of the meeting, the woman removed a tissue from her purse and blew her nose.  You could almost see the cloud of relief that left the room after her removal of the booger.

            I, too, have been in the uncomfortable position of being the booger wearer.  Fortunately, I have been near friends who gave me the old, “hand her a tissue and wipe at their own nose” routine.

            The taboos in our society include not passing gas in public, being discrete about lavatory usage, suppressing belches, and even yawns are hidden behind the hand or a hankie.  In Japanese society it is very impolite to blow your nose at a dining table.  The Japanese probably commit hari kari if ever caught with a stray booger on their nose.

 Anderson Garden in Rockford, Illinois.  If you haven't been there, you must go.

            Why is it that something as inconsequential as a dry piece of mucus can create this much discomfort?  We are all human beings and being such, we do have waste products, one of them being mucus.  Perhaps there should be a universal sign of communication between us to indicate when and if we have a straggling bit of booger on our nose when we are in public.  We could use the old wipe at our nose bit.

            When I discussed this subject with my daughter she shared her observation that scratching your nose is similar to yawning.  Once someone does it, there is a chain reaction and someone else does it too.  And so on.  She agreed with me that the wipe your nose procedure would be a good universal sign.

            Now what shall we do when we have a snocker in our eye?

I have a little lamentation today.  I just purchased a new pair of walking shoes to do Zumba in.  They are Sauconys and I really like them.  But the darn shoestrings are a mile long.  Why do shoe makers include shoestrings that are ridiculously long?  I am an adul, and should not have to double tie my shoestrings.

I had this pair of Nikes several years ago and they had the best shoestrings.  They were curled.  As if someone had macraméd them and made them twist.  They were not a mile long and they stayed tied without double tying them.  I dumped the shoes recently because they were so slippery on the bottom that they weren’t even safe to garden in.  I kept those shoestrings and I am determined to change them with my new shoestrings.

Take that shoe makers!  I hope they last me a long time.

Note to self:  go online and see if you can find those wonderful shoestrings.

Today on Facebook I watched the most stirring video.  It was a news anchor and a guy whose mom had Alzheimer’s disease.  They were doing a 12 minute experiment to experience what it is like to have the disease.  They wore goggles to make their eyesight screwed up, headphones to hear nonsensical noises constantly.  They wore rubber gloves and had their fingers taped to make it like they had arthritis.  They put stones in their shoes so they were uncomfortable walking.

Each was given 5 tasks to perform.  At first they couldn’t understand what their instructor said because of the headphones.  (I didn’t realize that Alzheimer’s patients usually hear constant irritating noises.)  The two became quickly impatient.  The lovely news anchor actually threw down a dinner plate at one point.  Each said it seemed like ages and not just 12 minutes.

I suggested all my FB friends watch this video.  It was mind blowing to say the least.

My grandfather was the first person I ever knew that had Alzheimer’s disease.  It was the saddest death possible--slowly reverting to your childhood and infancy.  His death was so very sad.

My grandma and grandpa Long.  He loved the Cincinnati Reds and listened to them on the radio.  The time I had to sit with him I took my radio and we listened to the game.  I'm sure he was confused.

I’ve noticed in my sixties that I have had to make some adjustments because of age.  I put my underwear and pants on quite differently.  I used to just stand up and pull them on.  Now I have to hold onto something like the doorknob and put one leg in and then switch holding onto the doorknob with the other hand etcetera…

Recently I put my underwear on sideways.  My immediate thought was, “Oh my god, I have gained twenty pounds.”  And of course, then I realized that I had put my underwear on sideways.  What an idiot!  It was about then that I changed my underwear and pants strategy.  Now I sit down and look at the item first.

I used to run up and down the stairs.  No big deal.  Now, I have to hold onto the banister while running up and down the stairs.  (It is not easy being hyperactive at 64, let me tell you.)  Sometimes after one or two flights, I may slow down a bit.

My eating habits have changed also.  I can no longer eat a big meal and go to sleep.  The heartburn or acid reflux hits me.  Now after I eat I have to run up and down the stairs at least once, and I stretch myself for a while to gets the digestion process going.  And then I stack two pillows up and sleep elevated.

Another of my habits that have changed since getting older is putting on makeup.  I no longer find it necessary to put on makeup to go everywhere.  Sometimes I go to the store in my pajama bottoms and no makeup.  And as far as the fixing my hair goes, sometimes I just wear a hat.

Getting older is not for sissys for sure.  The fear of Alzheimer’s disease is always with me.  I have had an aunt die this past year from the disease, and I have one aunt in an Alzheimer’s nursing facility right now.  I was told my mother had symptoms of the disease shortly before she passed away.

I’ve always been told that I am much more like my father’s family.  I certainly hope all my genes are more like his family.

Here’s to growing older and wiser.

Yesterday, February 4, 2015, was World Cancer Day.  I didn’t realize it until today when I saw it on Facebook.  I also saw a post by a friend whose daughter is going through chemo where she said something to the effect that no one knows what they are going through until they have gone through it themselves.

Isn’t this true of all our life experiences?  Someone going through a divorce, having had surgery, losing a loved one—all these situations we can empathize with but until we go through such experiences, no one knows what it is like.

Walk a mile in my shoes.  What a true statement!  And we all do have our cross to bear.  Perspective is our own reality.  Others perspective is their reality.  They are never the same.

Another post I saw said we need to quit saying, “let me know if I can do anything.”  The person who wrote this said they didn’t want to bother others to do what needed to be done.  This is just not fair.  I have had friends who went through chemo and radiation and I told them to let me do anything to help.  I meant it.  I would have cleaned their house, cooked them dinner, run their errands, anything because I felt so darn helpless.

The first experience with cancer was with one of my best friends.  Kim C. was a young 38 year old mother of two young sons.  She had just graduated from college and was going to become a teacher.  She was substituting in the area to get the feel of the schools.  She held an exercise class once a week that I attended.  She was a healthy eater, got plenty of exercise and was not an ounce overweight.  Of all people to get cancer, she was not one I would have pointed to.

I asked her to let me know if I could do anything.  I did not hold back.  She did not ask me often to do much so I made soup for her, breakfast for her family and visited as often as I could.  In the end she asked me to take her goldfish, and so I did.  Bob gave us much pleasure in the coming years.  I still think of Kim when I see goldfish.

My good friend and hairdresser, Terry V. was the next intimate cancer victim.  Terry was such a wonderful human being.  She was smart, empathetic and very sure of herself.  She was knowledgeable in many subjects, probably because she was so smart and a very good hairdresser.  Hairdressers hear many secrets and talk about many subjects.

Terry was a healthy eater (probably one of the most healthy I know), she didn’t exercise that I knew of but she was not overweight.  She loved hearing live music and would go anywhere with anyone who asked.  She joined our guitar group and became quite good at finger picking songs.

 

Doctors gave Terry six months at the most and she made it over a year and a half.  She didn’t ask much of me but I made goodies and food and took them to her and her husband.  The last thing she wanted was some Italian cookies that were made with dates.  I told her I would find dates and make them for her.  Instead, I found the cookies at the big grocery store in town.  I bought her a dozen and also a box of dates.

In the middle of winter all my girlfriends were gathering at the local bar to hear one of our favorite bands, The Blue Olives.  (If you see them playing, go, they are tremendous.)  Much to our surprise one of the girlfriends walked in with Terry at her arm.  We all swarmed over her.  She smiled the entire concert.  I think we all did.

I didn’t see her again after the date cookies.  Her spirit is with me and the many memories of our fun times together.

My friend and sister in crime, Garnet S. is going through her third round of chemo and radiation.  I wish I could do something so I visit and set up girlfriend outings.  You see Garnet was a bit of a hermit throughout her life.  I would go several years and not see her, and then I would see her often.  We worked together for about six months at one time.  (Mental hospital, yes, really!)

I am not thinking of Garnet not making it through this.  She is part of me and she has to stay part of me.  I will not give up on her.  I love her too much.

Right now she has gotten me hooked on Zumba.  She gave me a collection of DVDs for Christmas.  I gave her a sachet…  We did Zumba at her place one day and I really like it.  I am so glad she still feels good enough to exercise.  Radiation for like 27 days straight.  My God, that would drive anyone nuts.

So back to Zumba, her girlfriend Charyl gave her a Zumba whore outfit for Christmas.  I gave her my tattoo sleeve.   She loved it.  We have plans to get together in our Zumba whore costumes and Zumba till we drop.  More later…

One of the hardest times in my life was the couple of years before my girls went away to college.  I believe I started grieving when they were Sophomore and Freshman. Anticipatory grief.  Only I would waste my time doing such nonsense.  I think I wrote this one day before they left.

Letting Go

This zigzagging fortress created by my mind and emotions

  has suddenly left me unarmed and vulnerable.

I am open to the archer’s arrows of pain from all sides.

Arrows of grief from failings in the past

  to arrows of uncertainty about my invisible future.

Taking a bath and hoping it will wash away my sorrow,

I walk dripping wet for my journal with a towel draping my wringing wet hair.

I am Mary “The Virgin”, about to give up my child for the future of mankind.

How did she do it?  Where did she muster the strength?

No my child is not a God or the incarnate savior

  but to me my children were my saving grace.

They gave my life purpose, pleasure and pain.

Where will I find my new purpose?

I must go on into the darkness because they will take me into light.

Got to get fresh batteries for the flashlight tomorrow.  Reasons for living.

Once my reasons for living.  I am so proud of both of them.  Such fine ladies and with jobs and insurance, and husbands who love them dearly.

Humiliation at age 9

At age nine I was a tomboy who was quickly maturing prematurely.  I was in fourth grade and was already growing taller than most of my classmates.  I was a cut-up and constantly being reprimanded for my outbursts.  I’m sure if I were a child now I would be diagnosed as hyperactive.

            My teacher that year was a most horrid woman.  She was a very strict teacher, quite impatient and I was obviously not one of her favorites.  Parents should never have entrusted her with their children.

            One of my favorite classroom activities was Baseball math.  We would set up bases in the corners of the classroom and the person at bat would combat each base person to see who was fastest at math flashcards.  If you won, you took another base, until you were counted out or went around the bases for a home run.

            Our teacher, Mrs. Clay, was called away during one of these games when we were competing against the class next door.  There were about 50 kids crammed into one of the homerooms.  The game was getting intense and the kids not at bat were tired of being crammed together.  I was up to bat and doing pretty well for myself as I recall.  I finally came up against someone and they were faster than I was.  I made some kind of scene about being so disappointed about being out and one of my classmates, Kathy E., told me to sit down as if she were in charge.  Being a kid, I stuck my tongue out at her.

            Miss Tattletale, Kathy E., immediately told the other classes’ teacher that I had made a face at her, the teacher.  The teacher asked me to wait in the hall.  I tried to tell the teacher that I did not make a face at her but at Kathy but she wouldn’t listen to me.

            I waited in the hall fuming at Kathy and the teacher and knowing Mrs. Clay was going to be mad at me.  Little did I know but I think Mrs. Clay had just had a battle in the Principal’s office became she came storming back to the classroom.  She asked me what I was doing in the hall and not waiting for an answer went in to speak to the other teacher.  They spoke for a quiet moment and Mrs. Clay picked up her paddle and came back to the hallway where she had me bend down and gave me 3 pretty nasty whacks on the behind.

            I was humiliated beyond comprehension.  I was determined not to cry but the tears spilled anyhow because the paddle whacks had really stung.  She sent me immediately back into the room where every eye in the room was trained on me.  I looked at Kathy E. and she had a satisfied smirk on her face.  I don’t believe I have ever hated anyone as much in my life.

            I sat down gently and most of the rest of that day is blank in my mind.  I do remember thinking that I had been unjustly accused.  I felt that I had been handed a horrible injustice.  I had not made faces at that teacher.  Mrs. Clay had not even let me explain.

            I couldn’t wait to get home that day but when I did I got quite a surprise.  My mother knew all about the incident from the school calling her and she spanked me upon arriving home.  I was not to disrupt the classroom for any reason.  She didn’t listen to what I had to say either and she told me she didn’t care what happened.  She just wanted me to know that I was to behave and mind my elders.  No one cared that I had been falsely accused, not even my own mother.  My butt was pretty sore for quite a while.

            The next day at school, I accosted Kathy E. in the restroom. I told her she had lied to the teacher and I had gotten a paddling for sticking my tongue out at her.  She immediately went and told Mrs. Clay that I had threatened her.  Mrs. Clay warned me that if I didn’t want a repeat to watch my mouth.

            When I grew up and had children of my own, I made up my mind not to listen to tattletalers.  When a kid came to me to tell on someone, I always replied, “and you are tattletaleing.  Which is worse?”  I never told them why I hated tattletalers because I am still ashamed.

            What I learned from this incident in my life was that life is not fair and sometimes you just get dealt a bad hand.  I don’t hate many people in the world, but still, to this day, I hate Mrs. Clay for not listening to me.  I have even considered trying to look her up just to tell her how this incident affected the rest of my life.

I resent Kathy E. but she was just a child.  I know that as an adult, if I am falsely accused, I have my day in court.  But I think about all of the people who are punished unjustly because of such false accusations by children.  (Remember the Salem Witch Trials?)

            The humiliation and degradation that I felt in front of my classmates will never be erased.  I never felt part of that group of children.  And I blame this incident for most of my feelings of being different.  I think this incident is the reason I don’t want to go to high school reunions.  All those people were there when this happened.

            I still have a picture of Mrs. Clay in my desk at home.  I keep it there so that I can remember that life is not fair.

Another example of unfairness.  This is one of my favorite places in the world.  The Three Sisters live in Sugarcreek Forest Preserve (Metro Park) in Bellbrook, Ohio.  I have learned since my last visit that one of the sisters has died.  So very sad.

Lunacy is interpreted to mean extreme foolishness or an instance of it or unsoundness of mind sufficient to incapacitate one for civil transactions.

I first remember our family having “lunacy” during a Spring break trip to Florida.  And I am sure the hubster would correct this to say “we girls” first had lunacy, blah, blah.  It seemed as if we had been in the car for ages.  We were stopped just inside the Florida state line in a traffic jam.  The girls wanted to write big signs and hold them up to the windows to talk to the cars next to us.

“We’re from Ohio,” one said.  The hubster pointed out that our license plates said we were from Illinois.  (Who in their right mind wants other people to think that they are from Illinois?)  The hubster pointed out a car in front of us which was from Alaska.  “What are you gonna write on their sign, ‘Had any good blubber lately?’”

That did it.  The three of us girls were in hysterics.  I looked back and Addi had her dunking bag over her head with her McDonald’s pig nose over it.  I about peed myself.  Then I looked over a Jess and she had her Barbie doll hanging from the window by her hair.  She was waving Barbie’s arm at the car next door.

We were all (not him, of course) laughing so hard we were crying.  I think we finally got on the move and probably all fell asleep.

And so our family, well okay, not him, we girls, have on occasion gotten lunacy.  Usually it was car lunacy.  But we have had many instances when we could no longer control the situation or have sufficient mind for civil transactions.  Bed lunacy, book lunacy, dance lunacy, we girls did it all.

A few years ago Jess and Anthony came for a visit during the fall.  Addi and Sam were down from Madison, and so my family was intact.  I decided one day when we were all cleaned up and dressed up that I would like to have a current photo of me and my girls.  I got the camera out and started to direct whichever guy was going to take the photo.

As soon as we got together the lunacy began.  Addi was talking about something and Jess just burst out laughing.  I soon joined in and then we all could not hold it in any longer.  We drenched ourselves in extreme foolishness.  Little did we realize that whoever had the camera was documenting this unsound mind occasion.

I will share them with you.

And I did finally get a current photo of my girls, my sons and myself.