Don't Trust the Clock

After the change from Daylight Savings Time to Standard Time, the custom is to adjust all clocks by an hour. 

Not me. 

The bedside clock is too difficult for me to remember which buttons to push. I'd do the math in my head, whichever way, to get the actual time.* Usually, this scheme works well. This season, I knew that whatever time was displayed, I would need to add an hour. It has been a workable system...until this morning.

The alarm clock read 2:00,  (I assume PM).*  I would have to leave the house by 12:30 to make it on time to Telling Our Stories. I thought, Well, I missed it.

That's what I get for snoozing. I overdid it today. 

Time to change the batteries.

⏰

* Uh-oh; me and math are a dangerous combination

* When you assume, it makes an ASS out of U and ME.

I'm falling apart

A week after falling in the library's parking lot, my back pain was no better. I woke up Thursday and kept having dizzy spells. I decided it was time to go to an ER to see what was going on inside my body.

The left half of my face is a mix of deep purple and a sickly shade of green.

Against my better instincts, I drove to Betsy Johnson Hospital in Dunn because it was closer to home and I did not need to use a highway to get there. (I'm not totally stupid). The experience was surprisingly uneventful (I've always preferred to go to Smithfield).

Granted, I spent a good six hours there. Had two CAT scans of my head and middle back. The results are: no stroke, my orbital bones are intact, and the bones in my back are only bruised. The vertebrae is compressed, so the bones are shifting. My bones are degenerating and I can't do a thing about it except maybe wear a back brace. That's good news, right? Nothing being broken is a win for me.

Then I thought:  

• This is the end of me mowing my own grass.
• This is the 2nd week I've asked my neighbor to mow it for me.   
• This is the end of my performing gardening chores.

AND

• I either need to hire a cleaning lady (because I'm a lazy housefrau).

                                                                                OR

•  I need to find an affordable senior apartment so I won't have any yard chores, period.
• Here? In Selma? In New Jersey?
• Those are frightening things to consider.

I need to discuss this with my son. Tomorrow.

#agingsucks

#aginginplace

#seniorlaments

The color purple

 

The color purple is not my favorite. 

I usually look good in dark colors. 

Not this week.

 

Thursday, I fell outside of the Smithfield Public Library. 

On concrete. 

Right before a meeting.

911 was called. An ambulance came.

The EMTs checked my vitals. 

They placed a large pad over my bleeding forehead.

I refused their kind offer of a ride to the hospital. 

Now I wonder if I made the right choice. 

There's a sharp pain on my left shoulder blade.

Did I bruise or break a rib? 

Should I go to a hospital's ER to check it out? 

Four days after a fall?

Using a heating pad feels OK while I'm seated in a chair. 

Getting out of a chair is a completely different story.

The only thing I'm sure of is that PURPLE is NOT my color!

#blackeye

#seniorfail

#seniorfall

#oopsie

Change of Plans

Tulip's new container of food had been stored on its side in the fridge  (the only way it can fit.) When the bin is full, it's too heavy for me to pick up. (Lawdy me; ah'm just a weak li'l woman!) 

Today was the second time the plastic top came off.  Uh-oh!

😺

    Ten 

        pounds 

            of 

                kibble

                    spread 

                        inside, 

                            outside,

                                and 

                                    under 

                                        the 

                                            fridge. 

Don't want or need dry cat food in the keep-fresh bins.

I swept up what I could. I'll vacuum later. In the meantime, Tulip will help me spot-clean up any scraps she finds. 

It should come as no surprise, the refrigerator needs a good cleaning. 

Sure wish I had a maid.

NEW PLAN FOR NOW: 

The food container sits upright on my bedroom dresser.

 

My Cat's Secret Thoughts

Tulip has no one to talk to unless I'm at home with her. I imagine she speaks to every venetian blind she gets her paws into. "If Mom won't open you, I will!"

Her kibble is stored in a plastic bin -- which Tulip has proven adept at opening. My only recourse was to refrigerate her food. Although I don't always visit the fridge for her specifically, Tulip races to be the first one to arrive at its door. She's forever hopeful that "Mommy's going to feed me!"

At the height of her most obnoxiousness, Tulip not-so-silently demands, "It's time for a meal. Do NOT keep me waiting!"

Tulip regularly visits the kitchen counter. It has long been a bone of contention between us. She has tested (and defeated) all types of barriers since she took up residence here. When realizing her access is blocked, Tulip laments, "Why does Mom insist on ruining my fun?"

It is not unusual to find bits of shredded paper on the floors (often from written notes to myself, or bills due for payment). Then there are paper bags; most cats like to play with them. The latest cat-in-bag experiment started the usual kitty way (comically exploring the Ins and Outs). As my feline chows down to shred the bag, Tulip probably thinks, "This is delicious!" 

There are times when Tulip behaves like a dog. When a guest comes to visit, she sniffs the person's leg to identify the scents. "Hmmm...this human has two cats and five dogs. Very interesting!"

Of course, she enjoys looking out of windows. 

• When my car pulls into the gravel parking space, Tulip appears at the office window. "Mommy's coming!" 
• Once I exit the car, Tulip leaves her perch in a race to meet me at the front door. "Mommy's home!"
• She splits her time between watching birds fly, or the feral cats who catch them, and traces two squirrels scampering up trees. Fall seems to be Tulip's favorite season; if only she could catch leaves falling from trees blowing in the wind. The glass prevents her success. "If only I could sneak out the door. I want to be part of the action."  
• Tulip effectively transmits these messages through body language. Her desire - to visit the great outdoors - is kiboshed by a well-placed foot (or box or shopping bag) in the door. "Mommy, please do not block the door." 
• (Yes, I got her message, but the answer is always "No."

I yearn for the times when Tulip settles in my lap. As she kneads my lumpy lap, she thinks, "Ah... just let me share a quiet moment with you." 

                                           

Her soft purrs let me know, "I love you, Mom."

The feeling is mutual.

💖

Merlee's Journey has a New Cover

Book sales have been underwhelming so far. If potential buyers don't flip the book over, they would not know the story is about "loss and foster care."

So now future copies of Merilee's Journey have the subtitle on the front cover. 

#merileesjourney

#fostercare

#loss

#authorbarbaracrowley

#adoption

I thought I fixed Tulip's wagon

The mesh barrier I put in place last week was not exactly foolproof. 

Well, depending on who you think the fool is...

Tulip snuck beneath the fence numerous times last week due to a stovetop gap. It has since been fixed by putting a closet rack upside down... so far, so good. 

Shh - don't tell Tulip about it because it appears to be working!

 

Notice there are four barriers shown below:

1. The mesh pull-out gate (like a theater's rope barrier system)
2. An inverted metal shelf bridges the stove gap 
3. Look for the inverted office tray on the back burner; covering potatoes
4. See the blue round bin on the right back burner. That's for fruit and veggie peels which will end up in the compost pile.

• The wooden spoon on the counter is how I reach the light switches without taking the expanding fence down.