Sunday, March 28, 2021

Wheelie!

I received the notice that my wheelchair is ready to be picked up!  We went right away, and got it.  Brand new and a good fit to go through any enlarged doorway.  It even fits in the trunk of the Lexus.  So many times the places that we go to have 2 chairs, and they are gone.  I usually go back to the car and wait for C.  Now I have the chair, clean, intact, and can be gone however long I need.  Test drive soon!  Update:  this wheelchair is the wrong one, apparently, and they came to the house yesterday and switched the original for this heavier one. It is still in the trunk of the car.

I got my room straightened up my room as well as I can, and found 2 pairs of silk slacks, and 1 silk shirt.  I have to shorten the 2 slacks, why are they so long?  I would need to be 6 or more inches taller.  I took a pair of slacks to the cleaners several years ago with instructions to shorten, and the business was shut down when I went to get them.  My luck!  Anyway I will do these myself, once I get my sewing machine out.  All of them are unworn, and if I was 6 and a half feet tall, I'd be good to go.  One of the slacks is broad enough to wear to therapy where I need them to uncover my knee, once I need to do exercises.  

  I think I found the reason my Parker ball point would not write is because the filler, while unused, has thickened and is not feeding into the tip.  The same problem with the fountain pen, the ink is too thickened and the ink, even with a new cartridge, won't flow.  I bought one refill for the fountain pen and it works great now.  I will see if the pen will need a new cartridge every time I try to write.

I know this post is deadly dull, I mean who cares about stitching or pens?  But I will offer this next bit, maybe a better success.  

When I was a child, I never questioned why my sister needed a tutor and never went to regular school.  I didn't mind because I got some early schooling too.  I now think the tutor stayed because of me, I was way ahead in the workbooks she gave me, even though my sister was 4 years older than me  When I took over my parents' check book all the bills got paid and there was no "helping out" my sister.  I did her checkbook too, and she cleared much more money than my parents.  I went over and over that she needed to write down the checks that she wrote, and when I tried to balance her checkbook it was hopeless.  For one thing she wrote (she tried to write) with a used eyebrow pencil, (no matter how many pens I left for her, and I believe that she couldn't read or write).  She seemed to believe, really believe  that if she still had checks, she still had money.  Until the overdue accounts started arriving, that is where my parents came in.  They carried $37,000 in credit card debt, and I could have screamed when I realized they nearly lost their house because of my sister.  What was brought out is that she had nothing to show for all the money/checks.  Unless it was gambling, drugs, liquor, "debt" that was the kind she would have made, and so on.  Nothing to explain purchases every month.  

I should mention that she died in 2003, and my folks a couple of years earlier than that, so I am not revealing any family secrets here.

I am so so sorry that my parents couldn't live a good retirement, travel, new furniture and so on, and instead had to think all the time of what they could juggle to pay.  

Not doing well with jovial posts here...

When I was 6 or so, I was in the rest room and trying to comb my hair.  It had quite a snarl in it and I muttered, I'm going to have to cut this thing out.  And back came a classmate with scissors and snip snip, big chunk of hair was gone. I cried loudly and the teacher came in and said, Oh no!  who did this!?!  I meekly said, not me!  A big girl... My mother saw it first thing, and she cussed under her breath.  I had long wavy blonde hair, and now she had to take me to the salon (!!) to try to make something presentable out of what was left.  No more long blonde hair for me!  


Monday, March 22, 2021

A him-or-me-decision

 THIS story is from my friend; I guess this is the ultimatum so many couples face: but probably not just the same when a 10 year old is caught up in the drama. correction...this story was originally in the Reddit forum, Am I the As***?, as near as I can tell. "Somehow only my name showed on the adoption paperwork; OK by me.   I had to work late one night, and when I got home, Adoptee was working on the dishwasher, he looked up at me and had plainly been crying.  When I got a chance that night, I asked him what is the problem and he told me.  My GF had told him if he didn't change his ways, be cheerful and help out he could go back to the home, and other BS to him, but I gave him a hug, told him thanks for letting me know.  I went out to my GF and told her that "he" would be staying, but she was not.  I told her to pack a bag and tell me where I should ship the rest.  Does it matter how late it was, or that her folks were crosstown?  No, not to me.  I gave her cab money.  She looked like she had been pole axed.  Over rated in her value, I guess, but I regarded the boy as my brother."  

Adoptees probably feel they have to walk a thin line when conflicts arise, that they are only there at the whim of the adoption adults.  Sad, really.

Anyway I need to follow this with some amusing story.  

When our son was 3 or 4, Dad always drove the kids to the sitter's.  He was often heard using profanity as he drove, and I had been after him to tone it down when the kids were in the car.  One morning a car cut him off, and Dad drew in a breath, then let it out without any comment.  And then from the back seat, we heard this small little voice say, "Stupid bastard"  We cracked up but couldn't let on that we knew what he said.

And that's  it for now.  Enjoy!



Wednesday, March 10, 2021

 This will be a short post because I am very tired. Or something with similar attributes.  

I have been looking at Med school faculty at WVU and UFL, finding a lot of familiar faces in FL that I knew back in 2004 at WVU.  Some were fine guys, male and female, and some not-so-nice faculty that I suffered being a research tech for them.  I wish there were a way to rate future phD faculty anonymously, it would save a lot of pain when the sh** hits the fan.  I worked for a woman who obviously needed heavy medication to control her manic episodes, which I would guess manic/depressant but who wouldn't take them because they made her inspiration nonexistent, or so she thought.  I don't know if she ever figured out how much time we plebes spent avoiding her when she was in full-flaming ass-chewing mode even though we needed to show her lab results that were not what she expected.  It was really uncomfortable when one of these cycles made her break down in tears, do we just excuse ourselves until the cycles move on?  There was another faculty that set up a collaboration with medical researchers all over the country, big names.  Sh** woman was not invited to join and I was told she burst into tears.  But how to be a functional source of inspiration for young candidates that needed steering when disagreements became sobs?  No way.  I was only reminding myself that however I got here it could have been worse.

I got a new walker (not the kind of horse with long strides) today and I feel much more secure using it than the old one.  Only this morning I averted a near-miss fall to the floor when my right knee buckled on the forward motion.  I am really counting on this new walker, being far less shaky than the old one, to save me from all the near-misses that make my heart pound while I try to walk smoothly.  When I saw the orthopedic doctor last week, he said no to more surgery, and no to drugs (from him) and so while I was on a roll, he agreed to writing a 'script for a walker and a wheelchair.  The wheelchair is because I want to be able to go to stores that only have 2 and they are always gone when I get there.  With my own chair I can go anywhere.  If I am careful.  The home health people said that Medicare would pay for one but not for both  so I opted to buy my walker myself, and let Uncle Sam buy the chair.  I shall see.

When I was a kid I remember my sister being taken to church in an ambulance for Easter service one year.  Our family could never have afforded that, the church paid.  She was grateful, but I bet she would rather they had taken her to a shopping store, talk about  spending.  I remember getting one new outfit for school that I wore on the first day of school.  I also remember a note sent home with me, telling my mom that my skirts were too short (after I had a growth spurt)and Mom fuming at having to buy nearly all new skirts (we never wore slacks in those days).  My aunt sewed me a couple of outfits that were really nice, and those, and the ones I needed for college were it for that year.  The college, BJU, was even more Strict, if you were new they had you kneel and would see if the skirt touched the ground, or maybe the back of the skirt and this was at the time for mini-skirts.  When I finished sophomore  year and married I threw all the skirts, and the dresses that looked like Ms. Dowdy, and I never missed even one.  I have a lot of memories of those days, almost all were bad.  That was Bob Jones University, I played a part until I could get out.  I have never sent them a damn dime since those days, and I am happy to put their fund raising mail in the trash, unopened.  I hope they are having problems with fund-raising; I never knew (until I transferred at Memphis State) that they were unaccredited, and I had to repeat almost all the science and math classes.  Bummer.

It is a beautiful day, cool, a little breeze, sunshine.  I know winter isn't through with us just yet, but this is a little foretaste for spring.  I am inside, of course, while C goes to the dentist, but even from here the lovely sunshine is, well, lovely.  Too bad it won't last. I had a nice nap after breakfast, and I enjoyed every minute of it.  

I have been thinking of BJU the last couple of days and wondering what became of all of us.  Lucky I never got pregnant given that I looped away from the admin office whenever N could get away from USC.  His getting away rested on term papers and working at the gas station and not prison like mine did.  Maybe there were more rebels than I thought.

Well, onwards and upwards, I need to do vital things like getting dressed.  take care... don't know what is wrong with text size