For those who really don’t seem to “get it” as to how to be healthy, there can be a bit of shock when things don’t work out.  I probably shouldn’t be surprised when I hear about things they’re trying or how they’ve hurt themselves, and this is usually either endeavors of my mother or of my aunts as related by my mother. They remind me that I’m not getting any younger — hello “Project 40″ is running out of time. Mostly, though, they are a  ”wake-up call” to remind me that staying healthy really isn’t that hard, and the cost of poor health and injury can be high.

Eat consciously. Move more. Stretch. Sleep.

That is not to say “overcomplicate things with diet or calorie plans, logging, or stressing out about every bite, and then beat yourself up everytime you go off plan until you just give up and wallow in chocolate.”

Nor is that to say “rely on workout classes that you might ditch is work is hectic or you just don’t find the right workout outfit that you feel presentable in that day.”

Mostly, though, don’t try to go from zero to sixty in 4 seconds and injure something. Every step can be a positive step, and you just need to take one step at a time. Stop worrying about doing a certain thing, and just do something. Then do something else.  Everyday, just a little something. Soon you’ll feel like a little something more.

Keep it simple, but keep it going…or else

I know all this seems pretty general, but I’ve thought of all this because of mom’s latest injury. She’s made great strides in the past couple years at changing her diet and exercising more, even if it was motivated by lack of money and boredom. She’s lost a lot of weight and lowered her blood pressure a lot with walking. Fairly recently, however, she’s been “limping” because of a problem with her heel. A doctor visit told her it was probably a bone spur and to keep off it when she could.  Undaunted by this, she went from walking her trail to using the recumbant bike in front of the tv — no weight on the heel and perfectly comfortable to do.

The problem is, in all this, she wasn’t really eating great nutritionally — though she would sometimes take vitamins when she could afford them. Mostly her meals were fruit & vegetables, bread, and sweets she’d bake herself. Occasionally she’d buy meat, but mostly when she craved meat she went for fast food — fried fish, french fried, hot dogs, and big greasy burgers. Again, though, rare due to fundage, but even so, eating bad is actually pretty cheap.

Also, in all this, she wasn’t really stretching. At her age she’d already lost a lot of flexibility, but once the trail walking had to stop, she wasn’t getting much a stretch on the recumbant bike at all. She has always done all her own yardwork, which is a lot in her yard, not just to mow but plenty of trees and shrubs to trim and maintain — or cut down, cut up and haul off. The woman uses a chainsaw without a second thought.

Recently, though, her lack of flexibility caught up with her as she managed to rupture her Achilles tendon on a simple walk to the mailbox. It snapped and her foot just stopped working. No pain, but no walking either. Now she’s in a restrictive boot, waiting to see if she has to have surgery or whether it will heal on its own. From my reading about this type of injury, it is common in both weekend athletes and the elderly, and can sideline you up to six months. Recovery has to include flexibility exercises to build up a range of motion again.

The whole concept of this type of injury was foreign to mom. Strangely, she’s never even broken a bone to have to be in a cast before, though she was my mother and had to deal with mine as a child. Wearing the boot allows her to walk, if slowly, so she’s good to go on with her business as usual. She’s already driving with it on the gas pedal and using the riding lawn mower. The fact that there is no pain makes her think it can’t be that bad of an injury — her foot just won’t work so it’s frustrating.

There’s a lesson here somewhere.

Thus it can all just go downhill so fast. Let things slide, especially as you get older, and the harder you may have to work to regain that ground. And if you stay in that habit, you may end up with an injury that really sidelines you. And then you’ve just lost that much more ground.

Don’t wait for tomorrow. Do something for yourself and your health today. Right now, even. Or else I hope you were reading this while you walked at your treadmill desk!

The scent of breakfast permeates the air well before 8. The kitchen is on the floor above my room, but it’s like she’s brought coffee and sausage and muffins downstairs and has been walking them outside my doorway with a fan. When I finally manage to get out of the ridiculous waterbed, flipping half the covers off the other side in the process, I go upstairs to find my place at the table ready with a coffee mug, silverware, a survey from her recent doctors visit and an ink pen.

I recognize it as the survey she showed me briefly yesterday, saying it was the 2nd one they’d sent, so she figured they really wanted her to fill it out, even though they didn’t really want her to fill it out, because she didn’t have anything good to say about them and they must know it. This must be some subtle hint that she’d like assistance filling it out — help me, or no breakfast… or something like that. She does allow me coffee before telling me what to write for her on the comments sections. I do so, then go back and fill in all the circles she has put a tiny check mark within. She notices — “Oh, I was supposed to fill in the dots?” she asks me. Yeah, I said, it says it here, and even shows a picture, then again on the back, but it is no big deal. She comments that it must be a nightmare for me to have to deal with someone as stupid as she obviously is.

Here is where it begins to dawn on me the the mood she is in. It is Sunday morning. We, at some point this day, will leave, and she knows it. It’s do or die time, nothing to lose, so she’s going to at last say and do all the things she’s been afraid to, lest we leave earlier than Sunday. I try to brace for it, but I’m on little sleep — and for a moment wonder if I’d dreamt the 3:30 wakeup.

She puts a plate in front of me, and then asks me if I’ve ever just sat outside in the mornings and listened to the birds. She sometimes takes her coffee out there, and it just feels to her like they’re talking to her. Do I know much about what kind of birds make what sounds, she inquires, and as I’m about to mention that James is actually pretty knowledgeable about that sort of thing and she should ask him, she stops me by continuing to speak. There’s one bird, she is saying, who just says “She’s weird. She’s weird.” and she’d like to know which bird that is. The others are nicer, though. Some just say “He misses you, too.” 

She is still talking, but I am running through a kaleidescope of conflicting thoughts: laughing to myself because she thinks the birds call her weird, and sad because I know who she misses. Then of course concerned that she seems fairly serious about the birds talking to her. Then part of me just relaxes and thinks — you got your insane imagination from somebody, and here it is in your mother. Sure she may never have really learned how to express herself well, but she’s got the same crazy worlds spinning inside her head, imaginings of paths not taken, what ifs, and this is clearly her trying to share something meaningful with you. I’ve spent too long in thought, though, and she has stopped her story, sensing something from me. She laughs, and calls herself crazy. The birds are right.

It’s come up several times in this short visit that it’s been nearly 10 years since Dad died, and she’s just again mentioned missing him — so where her thoughts are is apparent to me when she next asks if I remember the song “In the Arms of the Angels.” Sure, I say, but she reminds me anyway that sis-in-law Donna had asked someone to sing that song at Dad’s funeral — the mother of Donna’s son-in-law, Adam, she says. I vaguely remember someone singing, sure, I tell her. She then goes on to ask if I’ve noticed the song being played in the animal abuse ads on TV now, and with only a quick aside about how she knows there are people even where she lives who are just that cruel to their animals — she proceeds to tell me she now has mixed feelings about Donna because of that song on those ads. I guess I’m trying to lighten her mood a little as I point out to her that it doesn’t seem right to be upset with Donna because she chose a song that would 10 years later be in animal cruelty ads. She does laugh at herself there, then goes on to say that Adam’s mother seems to be looking well after 10 years. Oh, you’ve seen her lately, I ask? Sure, mom replies, then asks again whether I’d seen the animal cruelty ads, because they show the singer in them. That’s Sarah McLachlan, I tell her. Sure, she replies, then adds, “Isn’t that Adam’s mother?” No, no it really isn’t.

I would feel better about any of this if she would ever actually laugh at herself when these things are pointed out to her, instead of just smiling awkwardly. I still turn it over in my brain whether she really thought that only Sarah McLachlan could sing that song and thus Adam’s mother must be Sarah McLachlan, or whether it was some sort of weird attempt at humor. If it is her sense of humor, she doesn’t seem to make herself laugh, and these “incidents” just make us awkward for a bit.

She goes on to tell some stories of yard work, and of Joyce’s spy — the neighbor across the street, whom mom actually likes very much, but is certain has no life except to spy on her and report every weird thing she does to my sister. At least, every weird thing she does outside, because, of course, Pete has put hidden cameras throughout her house on the inside. She hasn’t found them, but knows Pete is good with “the technology” and since he installed her security system, he must have put in cameras, too. She is bolstered by the fact that Joyce once said to her “We know more than you think, mother” in some context that has long since been lost in a faraway phone conversation — but can only mean she has spies. The neighbor is a pretty good actor, mom says, because the other day when he went for his mail mom asked him if he’d seen the turtle she tried to help across the road and he said no. She knows he did, though, and that after they spoke he went straight in to call Joyce with an update.

While I finish eating, she excuses herself to get her new cellphone so I can give her one last lesson in it’s use before we leave. We went over it yesterday, but when she brings it, she slides it to me, then starts to take my dishes. I point out that I already know how to use the phone, so why doesn’t she have a go with it while I deal with dishes and just guide her.

She takes a couple pictures, and is happy at having a phone with a camera. Then she reads off names to me to prove she’s found the contact list. I’ve put in entries for My Home Phone, My Cell Phone, and My Email — because she told me people ask her for them and she can never remember so she tries to look them up. She gets to the entry “My Home Phone” and says it as “Your home phone”, then asks, “Is this how I call you at home?” Read it again, I suggest. Whose home phone is that? She decides to call it; her home phone rings. At last she gets it, and again laughs at herself.

“Why don’t you try calling Joyce to see how she is feeling today”, I suggest. I’ve come back to sit by her, so I can watch what she is doing more closely. On the screen are five names at a time in the phone list, with only one highlighted. She is scrolling down, and as soon as Joyce’s name appears, she stops and asks me how she tells it to dial. The entry two above Joyce is actually highlighted, which happens to be James — who is still asleep downstairs, so I stop her from hitting the green phone button she has discovered on her own. I point out which name is highlighted — and she laughs about having accidentally called James before probably by doing that very thing.

She passes me the phone and tells me to call Joyce, at which point I get up to go get dressed. “If you can’t figure out how to use that phone I guess you’ll never find out how she is,” I say. She manages to call, and as she is talking to Joyce, I have finished my coffee and am walking to put the mug in the sink. I hear her tell Joyce how mean I am, and that I’m wearing a jacket in the house on the first day of August, and aren’t I ridiculous — then she says “oh, if Kim hears me say that she’ll get mad.” I’m 4 feet in front of her at the sink, she is facing me, and this is what she has said. The birds are right.

Oh, she hates the winter, all the snow they’ve had, the cold, the insane electric bill from when her heat pump freaked out, and now all the worrying about having enough wood for the fireplace. However, she took action and traded her — my old car, actually — in on something newish, and it was her first time picking out a car on her own. Sure, she stuck with Chevy — channeling the spirit of Dad — and she got a 4-door silver suv when she traded in her 4-door silver suv, but she did it herself.

At first I thought she was just happy with the purchase of a more reliable vehicle with a working radio and the confidence she could leave that boring winter whiteness if she really wanted, but I’m starting to suspect she’s feeling a bit empowered at her own ability to make decisions. This coming after her taking the reins in December to set up her own cable/phone/internet and consciously keep me out of the loop so I couldn’t arrange payment for her. She was so happy to call and tell me to be sure to stop paying the bill on her old service because she was canceling it.

I’m not sure why it’s taken Mom so long after Dad’s passing to come into her own, but she finally seems to be doing it. I’m not saying selling the house will be next, but here’s hoping that she continues to feel her own empowerment so that she can truly live and enjoy these years she’s been blessed with. I think it’s been a struggle for all of us kids to try to spend any time with the mom who just couldn’t be convinced of her own worth and just wasn’t sure why she was still around at all. Sure, she’s entitled to be the sad, mourning widow, but it was more than that. She’s just been really lost for a long time.

It was only so recent as last year we had our big blow-up, as she finally got so frustrated with us she told us all she would never visit or call because she was purposely trying to drive us all away — so we wouldn’t miss her when she was gone, the way we all miss dad. Of course, that… backfired… because it caused us to stop visiting and calling her, until she eventually came around and started reaching out to us again. Soon it seemed she’d given up that tactic all together, and thank goodness for it. Though, I’m not sure it was tactic on her part rather than speaking from her place of deep depression.

She’s found the happy place now, though, and we are all relieved. Of course, she is still being mom with her crazy mishaps surrounding getting used to the new vehicle (where is that gas tank?), and her crazy stories of going to the doctor (you really think anybody would take this medicine after you tell them those side effects?), and her crazy stories of things she did around the house that could have been disastrous (ever used the vacuum on fireplace ashes, anybody?) but somehow worked out — but that’s how she keeps life interesting for herself. The fact that she’ll call and tell us about them makes me happy.

I swear, if she were of a different generation she’d be a crazy online journal writer chronicling all this hilarious crap — just like me. Well, now, there I’ve gone and admitted I’m in yet another way like my mother. I must be in a happy place, too.

I can see the way out of this hole… it’s not an oubliette after all.

In other matters:
10K Classic went well. Yes, I actually did it. Wow, I did not expect them to take photos of the participants as they approach the finish line. Who’d want to buy that? Not me. Egads!

Light the Night walk approaches, and so far so good that mom is still interested in joining me. The notion of us doing this together, maybe even with sis and aunt G, well, just makes me really happy. Cannot believe how generous everyone has been with donations.

I’m sure the recent “100-year record” rain and flooding have reminding many folks of the many hidden joys of homeownership, and we haven’t been spared. Turns out our house is deep in need of some maintenance now… some water leaks in unexpected places, likely need a roof soon and gutter work, and our front retaining wall seems to be sagging. Nothing catastrophic from the rain, thank goodness, but there is a healthy list of things to do building up for sure.

I’m wondering if todays lovely cool weather and sunshine might be contributing to my overall good mood. Probably. Don’t tell JamesT, but I do love fall best of all! Whoops! =)

I have an appointment Wednesday at lunch to test drive a potential new vehicle, which I’m strangely excited about. I really think Spyhunter has gone on it’s last mission. Changing the air filter did nothing to stop the running very hot it’s been doing since the wedding, it’s sputtering even more, and as of the last leg of this weekend’s trip we can add in intermittent A/C. I’m just SO glad that I’m already driving a car with an average mpg of 22 so I don’t qualify for this clunker credit, though, let me tell you.

The reunion went so well, though there were still a lot of faces missing that I’d like to see again. There’s always next year… so yeah, the suggestion was thrown out that we try this simple, inexpensive picnic notion every year and maybe work on something “special” for the 25, which we can plan together in the upcoming picnics. It’ll give us time to gather more faces and figure out what we’d enjoy doing together… maybe even a group trip someplace. I’m genuinely excited at the notion of it all!

Kitty was once again pretty freaked out when we got home. Second time we’ve left her alone, and she’s going right back to the pre-Smudge crazy behavior. I guess she just misses us, but she really did seem less desperate for attention when she’d had company while we were gone. Though, talked to sis and they left three cats home while they vacationed and all three were attention-whores when they got home, each one jealously vying for lap time.

It may or may not be apparent that we stayed in a hotel for this trip up for the reunion, and certainly enjoyed some pool time while we were there. We did, however, have to stop by mom’s, and I’m sad to say things were no better. Worse, actually, though I don’t think I have the inclination to spell it all out here right now — must be the TheraFlu kicking in, as I’m getting sleepy finally, though I still can’t really breathe through my nose. I’m attempting to be kind to JamesT tonight by sleeping in the guest bed instead of keeping him up all night like last night.

There are actually a couple things from this weekend I need to set down someplace, but I’ll wait for a clearer head. Just hope this sinus funk doesn’t get in the way of dinner with Maggie and her folks when they get to town. Still haven’t really processed that by Friday she won’t be living here anymore, but heck we’ve been so busy it seems we rarely chat other than via the internets anyway. Can’t see as Texas or Oklahoma or wherever will make much difference, other than perhaps a little more planning involved for when we DO want to get together in person. Anything’s doable, though, and with a new car on the horizon, I’m sure I’ll be itching to hit the road and start putting the miles on…

So, James had a dream, where he opened the patio door to go water and Kitty ran out. He stepped back in to grab her harness, and when he came out he found her just sitting up by Smudge’s grave. I think it was a sweet dream, and probably us projecting that Kitty misses him, too.  It’s one of those things that is weighing on us as to whether to get another cat right now or not. We have to go out of town again to do two fireworks shows for the 4th, so I guess whether or not she’s all crazy again after our absense will help us decide. I don’t think we really want another kitten though, and –speak of the devil, I’ve sat still here for 5 minutes so it’s time for Kitty to be crawling on me — instead I have been looking for 2-3 year old cats on craigslist, hopefully as grown as they’ll be and already used to people and other pets. James, I’m sure, is looking for Savannah cats again.

So, mom called yesterday. She hadn’t gotten my letter yet, but had talked to Joyce and heard about Smudge. She could hear me making dinner over the phone, so she wouldn’t talk long. Nothing was resolved. She told me she was sorry about Smudge, sorry she hadn’t called sooner, and sorry she had to lie to Dennis about driving down to Alabama for the 4th. We hung up with our “usual” I love yous, but I’m still not going to be calling her. We probably will just stay there for my reunion, but I’m not sure I’ll even call until we’re in town.

So, this is week 3 out of bootcamp. I was going to start back today, which is probably why my sinuses went nuts. Instead, I’ll do next week. I have to get back in the habit. Two weeks of crappy sleep, crappy food, too many desserts, forgetting vitamins, booze instead of water, and of course the fabulous emotional roller-coaster, well, they’ve left me pretty vulnerable.

So, we’ve recently watched Road House, Top Gun and Independence Day with rifftrax, and I watched Crossroads, which needs a rifftrax. I’ve also had a desire to watch Beastmaster, Krull, and Ice Pirates. This leads me to believe I must have an incurable brain fever which is causing me to crave and enjoy crappy 80s movies. Oooh… yes, maybe even a little Pirate Movie would be good. I clearly need help.

The 97 degree heat apparently cut our numbers despite the RSVPs, and it was commented that mostly local folks didn’t show. Our anticipated 150 turned into about 90, and left us with much food — though amazingly we went through the booze PDQ. The pavillion setup worked out great, and the combo concrete-sand dance floor was perfect. And I guess for never having run a wedding rehersal or ceremony before, I did okay. Figuring out how to walk down the aisle to non-traditional music was fun, and I owe a big “sorry” to Angela for messing with her plan for the girls. Angela had to walk first, and when I threw in the “try the traditional walk to slow things down” she did it great… then of course, nobody else could figure out how to do it, though at least they all walked slower than in rehersal.

Got tons of comments about how smooth everything went, and how beautiful it all was. Myself, the caterer, the DJ and the bartender were all invited to put together another party soon, and all but me apparently took the job gladly. My reply: “Am I related to the person this party is for? Otherwise, hell no. You can’t pay me enough.”

There are a million little gripey-bitchy-moany-whiny things I’d like to relate, but I think I’m just going to let things go. I’m still worrying about things relating to the event as if I could go back and fix them, even though I doubt anybody even noticed. More than anything I wish we’d had more hired help for the night as the help we had was kept pretty busy shuttling folks back and forth to their cars.

Honestly, I have no idea what family p0ses were made, though I hope the photographer was on top of those. Not sure why Jessie elected to let the photographer leave so early in the night and blow our chance of any good night shots with the fireworks, but was really too tired to care. Don’t think anybody got good shots of the fireworks really, but maybe there is video. I have 2 tapes left by Steven’s mom which need to be converted to digital so I can go through them.

Overall, caterers: wow! food was awesome! DJ: yeah, awesome. Nobody expects that many costume changes and for him to jump in and be dancing, too. He was hilarious! Cake lady: Um yeah, when I mentioned the cake would be in the sun, I meant the cake would be IN THE SUN. And she didn’t even leave us a box to save the cake top. I do hope somebody got pictures before we had to slice up the leaning-tower that it became in the sun. Dumbass.

And finally I was impressed at how many people just jumped in and worked their butts off to make things come together and to keep everything going. I guess it just goes to show how much Jessie is loved for the whole family to pull together in such a way to make the day the best it could be. I couldn’t be happier to have planned things and even to be HBIC for the day. It was sort of amazing to be running around materializing fans and water and safety pins and bobby-pins and whatever anybody needed without them having to ask twice in the midst of setting things up. I can’t wait to get more pictures to go through!

I’m not even IN this wedding and I have just picked up yet ANOTHER possible dress I want to wear to it. I’ve got quite the array, and should be able to cover whatever mood I’m in day of the event. I even have them narrowed down so James only has to bring two ties to match any and everything I have. So, I know at least WE will be dressed…

24 days. This weekend, Alabama trip. Staining/finishing the floor in the pavilion. Joyce has picked up our “big-ass roll” of fabric, and it’s time for the final assessment of what we still might need to order or buy while we still have the time to do it.

Next weekend, “Girl’s weekend” for James’ mom’s birthday, where hopefully I can manage to relax and maybe even borrow some nice jewelry to wear with my array of dresses. We’ll likely get a mani & pedi and I’ll see if there’s a chance in heck I can maintain it for two weeks. Shyeah. Need to color my hair, too.

Then the following weekend, June 13 I leave for “week of wedding”, which I have mostly off work, with the promise to check on things daily a couple times, and will attempt to keep sis and myself sane as we finalize things and set up the event. Most of the rest of the family will be arriving on Wednesday, so we should have a lot of help.

James is downstairs soldering cables for the new fireworks firing system which will debut at this show. Actually, sis talked to the caterers today to confirm and see if they’d leave us some items to return the next day and they’ve said that if we’re doing fireworks and having an open bar, that they might just stick around for the whole party.

Mmmm… open bar. Which reminds me… must go liquor shopping. Wonder where I can find a site to help me scale up a drink recipe to mass quantities so I can mix up a gallon or so of things. So much work to be done still.

But now, time for tv and a workout.

 Apparently JamesT’s mom has quite a sweet collection… Animals, Simon & Garfunkle, America, Peter Frampton, Rod Stewart, Gary Wright, Neil Diamond,  Bob Seger, Beatles…. Leo Sayer… yes, Leo Sayer. James is reading off these titles to me and commenting on “the only songs he recognized” as a youth and how he would play a song or 2 of most of these and go through the stack pretty fast. He gets to Leo Sayer and I’m like “Whoa!? Seriously?” That was one of my first two 45s, bought as a youth at a yard-sale for a dime, as I recall, “You Make Me Feel Like Dancing/Magdalena” –the other was Rita Coolidge “Your Love (is lifting me higher)”.  Technically they were the first records I ever had that weren’t red or blue or green and went along with storybooks, though they were still played on my same toy record player. I SO played the heck out of those two 45s that mom and dad broke down and got me a real stereo with record player that Christmas and encouraged the fam to get me records to play on it… ANYTHING… so I’d leave those behind. I have vivid memories of Dad and myself playfully arguring that Leo Sayer must be a woman with a voice that high pitched.

As I recall, with the stereo that year I got my first LPs… Kenny Rogers “The Gambler” from dad, K-Tel’s “Full Tilt” 1981 collection, Rick Springfield’s “Working Class Dog” and the ever mysterious “Star Wars and Other Galactic Funk”, which contained the words “Star Wars” and thus I forever tried to love, but didn’t really “get”… at least at 9-10 years old.

Four records, of course, weren’t nearly enough, and thus began my “allowance” phase — which I was given bi-weekly along with a trip to Hills, where I could pick out a 45 or save up for an LP (save! ha). I think Mom and Dad were compelled to give me an allowance  just to keep me from playing the same record over and over (which I actually still tend to do even today, a cd may not change in my car player for a month or until I have the same passenger more than once and I get self-conscious about what was playing for them last time). I remember more than once being reminded that the “stereo” had more than just a record player, but was also a radio — though, without an antenna all I seemed to pick up was country music stations so it was worthless to me.

Anywho… as the still mostly tipsy JamesT is enjoying his nostaliga moment with all these records from his mom’s collection, and inspired mostly by the “Frampton Comes Alive”, I had to share a bit of nostalgia of my own.

The nostalgia was probably a requirement of these family reunion weekends anyway, even though I like the new traditions, too. Making our hats was fun, making (and eating!) the derby pie was fun, and our derby “lotto” made the race fun to watch, even if I didn’t win. I think we should probably make our hats in advance and just show up with them in the future… so we could be more elaborate, and though it was rich and delicious, I wasn’t fully pleased with my chosen derby pie recipe, so i think i’ll make the tradition to try a new recipe for it every year until we find a winner.

But… gah… it’s late for this crowd, and the wake-up call for breakfast will be all too early, so I’d better shut up and get some sleep. Sunday is the “official” reunion day, and we have to get that overwith so we can have our yearly gossip-fest.