Tracy's dogs were alarmed when they heard the unfamiliar sound of me setting up the ironing board. They have lived with us two and a half years.
I had to hunt for my iron. The iron was a gift from a home care client. My previous iron died of loneliness.
The first year at our former home, I thought our chandelier globes were frosted. Then I washed them.
I wake up every morning with a song in my head. It could be anything from a commercial jingle from my childhood, a movie theme, or a hymn. It's like a ear worm that crawls in while I'm sleeping and spends the morning with me, like it or not.
When my husband first got his business credit card, I was hesitant to use it. Ex: What if I want to use some of the office supplies we bought on his Visa? Now I'm like: Heck yeah the labradoodle goes on the business card. We're on a business trip, aren't we?
I grew up thinking camping was for people who couldn't afford a real vacation. My idea of camping is a cheap hotel.
I get upset if I discover the gallon of milk I just bought was $.20 cheaper at the next store, but I am not particularly bothered by a $30 discrepancy when I balance the checkbook.
I add up my grocery bill in my head as I shop so there are no surprises at check out. I know exactly how much money I have in my wallet at all times. I also know the best sale price of any item we use regularly.
I wash and reuse One Zip plastic bags, but not ordinary ziplocs, I have some standards.
I seldom pay full price for anything except store brands. I want to be buried in a Costco casket.
I am seldom late, but I also hate being early. Unlike my Dad who would show up 20 minutes early for his own execution. I tell my husband, I don't mind being early for being on time, but I refuse to be early for being early. He doesn't understand it either. I usually arrive right on time.
I love looking at beautiful landscaping, but have no interest in creating or maintaining it. I am relieved when the frost kills my flowers and I no longer have to water them. I love annuals because they die.
When we went on our cruise, I did not want the cleaning staff to see my cracked makeup cases and think I was some poor bumpkin who could not afford makeup, so I went back to the Dollar Tree and bought replacements.
Tuesday, July 10, 2018
What God Didn't Say
I was so impressed when I did my Bible study in 1 Samuel by what God didn't say. The people of Israel were no longer satisfied with being ruled by judges, they wanted a king. They wanted a king for two reasons, the first is peer pressure. All the cool nations had kings. They wanted to fit in. Samuel could have used the line from the parents' manual--If all the other nations decided to jump off a cliff, would you? But the reason that had to hit Samuel hard, was that his sons were ungodly, they took bribes and perverted justice and Israel did not want them to lead their nation. Since the Bible does not say otherwise, I assume this is true. Apparently the object lesson of what happened to Eli's sons made no impression on them.
So Samuel took his disappointment to God. What the Lord didn't say was, "They are right about your sons." Instead he took the rejection on Himself and told Samuel to listen to the people. No condemnation. No shame. He just told Samuel what to do next.
There are lots of other examples of such compassion of God toward his people. He did not introduce himself to Abram by saying, "Hello moon worshiper." Instead, he chose Abram to be the father of his people and promise. Then told him what to do next. When God came to Hagar as the Angel of the Lord when she fled to the wilderness, He didn't say, "So, how did despising your mistress work out for you?" Instead, he promised her a son and nation of her own. Then he told her what to do next. When Jacob had to run for his life after stealing his brother's birthright blessing, God didn't say, "What a rotten trick to play on your Dad." Instead, he gave him a dream of a stairway to heaven, introduced Himself, and made beautiful promises.
And then there is me. When I come to God, I do not hear, "You again? Do you know how many things you have done wrong today?" Even when I ask God to show me my sins to confess them, He doesn't dump the truckload on me, He usually just shows me one. I can handle one--although I can multitask at sinning. And perhaps I can show that same kind of compassion to someone who has hurt or disappointed me. To reach out when I want to strike out. To bless instead of berate. Or at least to pray again as I have so often, "If you can't make me saintly, make me silent." Compassion can speak eloquently in the things we don't say.
So Samuel took his disappointment to God. What the Lord didn't say was, "They are right about your sons." Instead he took the rejection on Himself and told Samuel to listen to the people. No condemnation. No shame. He just told Samuel what to do next.
There are lots of other examples of such compassion of God toward his people. He did not introduce himself to Abram by saying, "Hello moon worshiper." Instead, he chose Abram to be the father of his people and promise. Then told him what to do next. When God came to Hagar as the Angel of the Lord when she fled to the wilderness, He didn't say, "So, how did despising your mistress work out for you?" Instead, he promised her a son and nation of her own. Then he told her what to do next. When Jacob had to run for his life after stealing his brother's birthright blessing, God didn't say, "What a rotten trick to play on your Dad." Instead, he gave him a dream of a stairway to heaven, introduced Himself, and made beautiful promises.
And then there is me. When I come to God, I do not hear, "You again? Do you know how many things you have done wrong today?" Even when I ask God to show me my sins to confess them, He doesn't dump the truckload on me, He usually just shows me one. I can handle one--although I can multitask at sinning. And perhaps I can show that same kind of compassion to someone who has hurt or disappointed me. To reach out when I want to strike out. To bless instead of berate. Or at least to pray again as I have so often, "If you can't make me saintly, make me silent." Compassion can speak eloquently in the things we don't say.
Wednesday, July 4, 2018
Geezer Prevention Dress Code
Older women should not wear white pants with adult diapers. They show. Depend on that.
Makeup rule--less is more. Moderate makeup makes you look younger, too much makes you look older. That is probably not the look you are going for.
If you can't tell the difference between your brow pencil, lip liner and eye liner, don't use any of them. Blue eyebrows draw attention to your face, but not in a good way.
If you are still wearing your high school hair color and style, you either looked stupid as a teenager, or you look stupid now.
Gray hair, worn long, makes 99 percent of women look like witches. Most of the remaining one percent are aging fashion models.
If you wear shorts down to your knees and socks up to your knees, they cancel each other out. Just wear pants.
Even if your black socks match your black shorts, they don't go together.
Same goes for socks and sandals. Are you cold or hot? Make up your mind or, at least, make up your feet.
Pearls do not go with a sweatshirt. Frankly, there is very little jewelry that goes with a sweatshirt.
When young people tell older people their outfit is cute, they actually mean pathetic.
Older men--if the suspenders are working, you don't need the belt, and vice versa.
Wearing leggings will make you more comfortable and everyone else--less.
The washing machine does not remove pet hair from your clothing. It redistributes it.
Sense of smell diminishes with age. You and your clothes have not become unscented, wash both frequently.
Sense of taste diminishes also, which is why you need the above guidelines.
Makeup rule--less is more. Moderate makeup makes you look younger, too much makes you look older. That is probably not the look you are going for.
If you can't tell the difference between your brow pencil, lip liner and eye liner, don't use any of them. Blue eyebrows draw attention to your face, but not in a good way.
If you are still wearing your high school hair color and style, you either looked stupid as a teenager, or you look stupid now.
Gray hair, worn long, makes 99 percent of women look like witches. Most of the remaining one percent are aging fashion models.
If you wear shorts down to your knees and socks up to your knees, they cancel each other out. Just wear pants.
Even if your black socks match your black shorts, they don't go together.
Same goes for socks and sandals. Are you cold or hot? Make up your mind or, at least, make up your feet.
Pearls do not go with a sweatshirt. Frankly, there is very little jewelry that goes with a sweatshirt.
When young people tell older people their outfit is cute, they actually mean pathetic.
Older men--if the suspenders are working, you don't need the belt, and vice versa.
Wearing leggings will make you more comfortable and everyone else--less.
The washing machine does not remove pet hair from your clothing. It redistributes it.
Sense of smell diminishes with age. You and your clothes have not become unscented, wash both frequently.
Sense of taste diminishes also, which is why you need the above guidelines.
Tuesday, June 26, 2018
Washing Undies
Yesterday I was using a public restroom when I noticed my panties were on inside out. This is not a common problem, but it has happened often enough for me to recognize a pattern. I think there are three basic responses to that situation that categorize you as a person. Why not? Facebook says it can divine personalities by color preference, musical taste, toe length, etc. Though I am rarely willing to waste the time to take those tests, I have found the ones I have taken to be wildly inaccurate, unless they say really flattering things, then they are gospel. Or I answer the questions until I get to one where none of the answers would be my response. Those are inaccurate before I even finish them. So here are my personality categories for panty waists.
1) It won't wash: This is the Type A response. Inside out underwear are nonnegotiable. These women will take off shoes, pants, (maybe even pantyhose) right there in the public restroom, reverse the panties, redress. Life is good.
2) Wishy washy: This is my response. Yes, it really bothers me that my underwear are inside out, but it would bother me more to know someone outside of the stall could see or hear me taking my shoes, pants, (never pantyhose) off while sitting on the toilet. As soon as we got home, however, I stripped, fixed my skivvies and order returned to my world.
3) It'll all come out in the wash: This is literally true. Underwear get clean no matter which way we wear them or how they go into the washer. Women like this see the bungled bloomers, but don't consider changing them worth the bother. They go with the flow. I wish I could be like those let it all hang inside out ladies, but my underwear and I are just not designed that way.
I will probably not submit this personality test to Facebook, even though it meets their criteria of being totally unscientific. Nevertheless, I think it is a good, real world demonstration of basic temperament. It is at least as accurate as the ones where you pick your favorite flowers, or foods, or dog breeds, or paintings or an entire laundry list of variables. A lot of those assessments are total wash outs.
1) It won't wash: This is the Type A response. Inside out underwear are nonnegotiable. These women will take off shoes, pants, (maybe even pantyhose) right there in the public restroom, reverse the panties, redress. Life is good.
2) Wishy washy: This is my response. Yes, it really bothers me that my underwear are inside out, but it would bother me more to know someone outside of the stall could see or hear me taking my shoes, pants, (never pantyhose) off while sitting on the toilet. As soon as we got home, however, I stripped, fixed my skivvies and order returned to my world.
3) It'll all come out in the wash: This is literally true. Underwear get clean no matter which way we wear them or how they go into the washer. Women like this see the bungled bloomers, but don't consider changing them worth the bother. They go with the flow. I wish I could be like those let it all hang inside out ladies, but my underwear and I are just not designed that way.
I will probably not submit this personality test to Facebook, even though it meets their criteria of being totally unscientific. Nevertheless, I think it is a good, real world demonstration of basic temperament. It is at least as accurate as the ones where you pick your favorite flowers, or foods, or dog breeds, or paintings or an entire laundry list of variables. A lot of those assessments are total wash outs.
Wednesday, June 20, 2018
No One is Looking
There is a certain freedom that comes with being in your 60's. It's not that I no longer care how I look. It's that most other people don't care how I look. For instance, Reed and I went on a boat tour on a sunny Saturday in Gig Harbor and I got a farmer tan--a short sleeved shirt composed of pasty white skin. Even before bingo flaps, I had lots more short sleeved tops than sleeveless, so this is a common occurrence. Years ago, having a two-toned tan would have really bothered me, but it's no big deal now because I realized, no one is looking. Age not only confers (or at least increases the odds for) wisdom, it is also a magic invisibility cloak.You become just another old person. Younger generations barely glance at us and older generations do not care about farmer tans. I am free to let myself go. That is not my intention, but my body is going for it nonetheless.
I am, I confess, prone to vanity. I still check the beauty sections of my magazines, but their recommendation for women in their 60's and up is less is more. I have long known that too much makeup on young girls makes them look even younger and too much on older women makes them look older. And for both groups, rather pathetic. When my dear friend, DJ, asked me to pick up an eyelash curler for her when she was in her mid 80's, I conveniently kept forgetting. By that time, she couldn't see well enough to use one, her eyelids rested on top of her lashes, she hardly had any lashes left, and the curler could break off the few that remained. I indulged her when she wasted her precious shopping money on overpriced items, but I drew the line at an eyelash curler. Her beautician also indulged her by dying her hair black and styling it in the top-of-the-head bun she had worn since girlhood. She was unwilling to change even though that style revealed her white roots sooner and the elastic band made her thinning hair brittle. Only in assisted living did a beautician convince her to wear it lighter and shorter. Though by that time she was 90, the new "do" made her look years younger. Which was convenient, because, as her memory failed, she thought she was years younger.
I knew, with my black hair, blue eyes combo, I would gray early. I did not mind the salt and pepper look when I was in my 30's and could describe myself as prematurely gray. But I started coloring it at 40 and am having a hard time deciding when to bring the "maturely" gray hair out of hiding. My beautician has hinted through subtle stories about other clients that it would make me look 20 years older. And she is not just saying that so I will keep using her services. She is semi-retired and charges $40 when most places charge $60 and here in Gig Harbor, over $100.
Another reason right now would not be a good time to change my stripes is because our one year old granddaughter gets freaked out when her own parents alter their appearance by wearing a hat. I'm afraid she wouldn't recognize me if my hair color suddenly changed. The other reason I keep putting off coming out as gray is that I am afraid of my hair. When the gray grows out, I can't get the roots to lift. In my case, stubborn gray does not mean it won't absorb dye, it means it won't cooperate with styling. The roots are hard enough to work with, a whole head full of the stuff would be a nightmare.
Due to a knee problem, I joined the ministry of funny walks long ago. I don't know when I will reach the age of wearing unmatched clothes, socks with sandals, etc. But those things go unnoticed under the senior invisibility cloak. If I want to turn heads at my age, I just need to start wearing too much makeup, black hair, or junior girls' clothing styles. The rest of the time, I can relax because no one is looking.
I am, I confess, prone to vanity. I still check the beauty sections of my magazines, but their recommendation for women in their 60's and up is less is more. I have long known that too much makeup on young girls makes them look even younger and too much on older women makes them look older. And for both groups, rather pathetic. When my dear friend, DJ, asked me to pick up an eyelash curler for her when she was in her mid 80's, I conveniently kept forgetting. By that time, she couldn't see well enough to use one, her eyelids rested on top of her lashes, she hardly had any lashes left, and the curler could break off the few that remained. I indulged her when she wasted her precious shopping money on overpriced items, but I drew the line at an eyelash curler. Her beautician also indulged her by dying her hair black and styling it in the top-of-the-head bun she had worn since girlhood. She was unwilling to change even though that style revealed her white roots sooner and the elastic band made her thinning hair brittle. Only in assisted living did a beautician convince her to wear it lighter and shorter. Though by that time she was 90, the new "do" made her look years younger. Which was convenient, because, as her memory failed, she thought she was years younger.
I knew, with my black hair, blue eyes combo, I would gray early. I did not mind the salt and pepper look when I was in my 30's and could describe myself as prematurely gray. But I started coloring it at 40 and am having a hard time deciding when to bring the "maturely" gray hair out of hiding. My beautician has hinted through subtle stories about other clients that it would make me look 20 years older. And she is not just saying that so I will keep using her services. She is semi-retired and charges $40 when most places charge $60 and here in Gig Harbor, over $100.
Another reason right now would not be a good time to change my stripes is because our one year old granddaughter gets freaked out when her own parents alter their appearance by wearing a hat. I'm afraid she wouldn't recognize me if my hair color suddenly changed. The other reason I keep putting off coming out as gray is that I am afraid of my hair. When the gray grows out, I can't get the roots to lift. In my case, stubborn gray does not mean it won't absorb dye, it means it won't cooperate with styling. The roots are hard enough to work with, a whole head full of the stuff would be a nightmare.
Due to a knee problem, I joined the ministry of funny walks long ago. I don't know when I will reach the age of wearing unmatched clothes, socks with sandals, etc. But those things go unnoticed under the senior invisibility cloak. If I want to turn heads at my age, I just need to start wearing too much makeup, black hair, or junior girls' clothing styles. The rest of the time, I can relax because no one is looking.
Things You Realize in Later Life
- There is no way to suck in your breasts.
- Being gimpy opens doors for you. Literally. Go with it.
- It is okay for other people to be not like you. Be thankful for it.
- Life is too short to nurse a grudge.
- If you really want to reach people, share your failures.
- What works for you does not work for everybody. There's no formula.
- Don't worry about what other people think about you, they seldom do.
- Have the grace to listen to people you disagree with. You may learn something.
- You are not powerful enough to mess up God's plans.
- Worry implies God is not good enough, or not powerful enough, to take care of you.
- There is no such thing as hypothetical grace. God gives us what we need, when we need it.
- Don't compare your insides with other people's outsides.
- Reading the Bible does not change your life.
- Studying the Bible does not change your life.
- Applying the Bible changes your life.
- When you pray for someone you don't like, God changes your heart, not theirs.
- When you discourage someone, you are playing on Satan's team.
- Don't take yourself too seriously. No one else does.
- Tears and laughter are the best stress relievers.
- Age spots show God has blessed you with long years and sunshine.
- God has got this, keep your eyes on Him.
Monday, June 18, 2018
The Transmigration of the Body
From time to time much attention is given to the idea of transmigration of the soul. The belief that souls, both human and animal, leave their bodies at death and are reborn in another form. Adherents are going to be desperately disappointed when they die and discover instead of reincarnation they face eternal damnation. Multiple lifetimes would only give us more opportunities to condemn ourselves. We can never get it right spiritually. But what I am concerned about is the transmigration of the body.
In the 40 plus years we have been married, Reed and I have shared a lot of things, a few of which are homes, beds, and as a consequence, children. I don't mind sharing, but the part where they say married couples begin to look alike is where I draw the line. We are not out of shape. Round is a shape. But he has his way of being well rounded and I have mine. So we are both fervently hoping the looking alike thing is not true, but perhaps we are sharing traits. Neither of us have waist lines anymore. Both of us have wrinkles, age spots and boobs. And in time, both of us will have mustaches. What makes me suspicious of body migration is that as my eyebrows have thinned, Reed's have thickened. His eyebrows have grown to Gandalf proportions while mine have shriveled to wimpy wisps. I can only conclude that during the night, for some traitorous reason, mine have been migrating to my husband's face. My weight, joints, skin and hair have already betrayed me, and now they have apparently enlisted my eyebrows. Although even middle aged men become victims of their own hair migration. Hair leaves their head and finds a new home in their ears, nose and brows. Reed's chest hair is now longer than he ever wore it on his head. For a formal occasion, I could braid it.
The only place my soul will migrate to after I die is heaven. My body is the part that gets the redo, and I get happier about that every day.
In the 40 plus years we have been married, Reed and I have shared a lot of things, a few of which are homes, beds, and as a consequence, children. I don't mind sharing, but the part where they say married couples begin to look alike is where I draw the line. We are not out of shape. Round is a shape. But he has his way of being well rounded and I have mine. So we are both fervently hoping the looking alike thing is not true, but perhaps we are sharing traits. Neither of us have waist lines anymore. Both of us have wrinkles, age spots and boobs. And in time, both of us will have mustaches. What makes me suspicious of body migration is that as my eyebrows have thinned, Reed's have thickened. His eyebrows have grown to Gandalf proportions while mine have shriveled to wimpy wisps. I can only conclude that during the night, for some traitorous reason, mine have been migrating to my husband's face. My weight, joints, skin and hair have already betrayed me, and now they have apparently enlisted my eyebrows. Although even middle aged men become victims of their own hair migration. Hair leaves their head and finds a new home in their ears, nose and brows. Reed's chest hair is now longer than he ever wore it on his head. For a formal occasion, I could braid it.
The only place my soul will migrate to after I die is heaven. My body is the part that gets the redo, and I get happier about that every day.
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