Different Perspective

Friday, May 10, 2024

Today I am grateful for a different perspective.  If you’re sick of me yammering about pool crap, then go get a cuppa something and watch the trial on CNN.  You’ll be back here sooner than you think!

I’ve been struggling a little bit with the blues. . .a morose feeling that I was able to tamp down a bit. . .but couldn’t really shake.  It’s been driving me a bit nuts, because while I know it’s normal to feel that way and everyone does sometimes, it doesn’t happen to me often, so it feels a bit foreign.  And unnerving.

Look, I know I’m graphic sometimes, (most times) but hey, if you’ve ever talked with me, you know I write like I talk.  Which is why I’m going to share the truth with all of it’s farts. 

I was just fine this morning, having spent enough time in the bathroom, if you get my drift.  Then I had a little “gambled & lost” incident in the car on my way to the pool.  I knew I had “lost” when the car seat felt a little warm.  Cozy, but I didn’t have the seat turned on. Oops. Not bad, but enough of a squirt to further send me round my recent pity party bend.  I warned you.  Honesty is not always pretty.

Walking in with a friend, she looked at the back of my dress and assured me I wasn’t imagining the incident.  So, I had to make a trip to the private shower/bathroom before I went into the pool.  Thankfully I did not have to wet the entire swimsuit down, like Tuesday’s debacle of trying to pull that sucker up, but it took me awhile to be sure I’d be okay going in the pool and wouldn’t create an incident causing them to “shut ‘er down.”  Mortifying! 

So, I was late and the class was well into the first musical number when I sank into the water.  I’ve been to enough theater to know that if you come in late, you can’t go to your seat.  You have to be courteous and not disrupt.  So, I did not crawl under the three ropes I usually do and go to my normal spot.  I stayed very far to the left. . .near the stairs. . .which was okay because I might need a quick exit, based on the way my morning was going.

This change in my location totally threw off the instructor, who did a double take and commented on how everything is off because I’m not in my proper place.  And my friends, way across the pool, way over there, waved as if I was riding by on a train and totally out of their reach.  It felt weird.  Just like most of my emotional week had.

There is a small group of women who chatter through the entire class.  This drives me crazy when I’m far away, but now I was right in front of them and I thought I’d lose my mind.  I tried to zone them out, but that was like trying to ignore a weed whacker that someone is using right next to your bed at 3 a.m.!  Annoying.

I was so happy that there were no internal toxic rumblings causing me to leave early, so I could finish the class.  The chatterers always scramble out as soon we start our cool down, so they can get a good shower.  See ya!  By the time the instructor put on the calm, soothing music, and we started deep breathing and stretching, I started to feel myself slowly whirlpooling back to my center.

Then, I turned slightly to my right, with a vantage point of everyone in the pool, their arms stretched up, then out, all paying rapt attention to the instructor. I looked at them.  Really looked at them.  These 50 or so people, mostly women, but a lot of men, too, whose names I have trouble remembering, although I will never forget their faces, all connected in perfect synchronicity, each one different, but moving the same.  Like a chorus of geriatric ballet dancers. 

I turned away, tears filling my eyes then creeping down my cheeks.  I wondered if I was finally going all the way round-the-bend and losing it.  But as I once again turned to look at all of those people, who are so important to the balance of my life, I realized something vital. 

I love these people.  Not in the way you love a spouse, or a child or grandchild, or even a close friend.  But it is love.  And I know it might sound a little nuts, but you know I don’t care about that, either.  Because I love them.  I love their differences.  I love their crankiness.  I love their honesty.  I love their commitment.  I love the ones who are quiet and say almost nothing.  I love the ones who make me laugh.  I love the gloomy Gus’s who grumble and complain.

I love them with scars and blood-thinner-bruises.  I love them with parts missing, like discounted Cornish Hens.  I love them with titanium replacement joints and hinges that creak and groan.  I love them with thinning hair and no hair.  And yes, I even love the chatterers who annoy me.  I just love them.  All.

I let the tears ebb and flow naturally, because in that one cool-down song, I gently recognized I wasn’t losing it.  I was finding it.  Finding my center, my core of gratitude, that had been misplaced.  And all because of a questionable start to my day, that guided me towards a new spot in the pool. . . which offered me a different perspective.  BING! Heartprint!

Promote a Fund Raiser

Thursday, May 9, 2024

Today I am grateful to promote a fund raiser.  Those are words you will not often hear from me, but it’s not because I have a lack of causes to care about.  I have too many.  And too few disposable dollars to make much of a difference myself, so I hate to ask others to do what I am unable to. Except this time, I’m telling you about one, so you might tap into your piggie banks to help.

On Sunday, May 19, 2024, ALL DAY, (11 am to 10 pm) our Indian Valley YMCA amazing pool team organized an event at Margarita’s, where they will donate 20% of your tab to our YMCA, specifically earmarked for the pool.  That’s a lot.  Dine in or use curbside pickup!  How wonderful is that? (See the flyer for details-curbside pickup is only available through Margaritas online only. No delivery and not available through Grubhub, Doordash, or Uber Eats.)

A cool thing about Margarita’s is that they have a very large, covered outside eating area with access from the dining room and the bar.  By then it might even be possible to enjoy that space.  Or I might need air conditioning.  The jury is still out on that one and probably will be until the event and during, because I get hot quickly. . .from tequila.

They also have addicting (trust me) pre-meal tortilla chips and salsa, which for some odd reason disappear like a vulture descended when they are placed on my table.  And they’ll bring more.  Damn!  Yea!  Alas!

As much as it’s not his thing, I am dragging Himself to this.  Hopefully we will hook up with a lot of friends, while he chokes down the only thing he’ll eat in a Mexican restaurant. . .a burger!  They don’t serve liverwurst.

Since it’s so close to my house, I’m thinking of hanging around the restaurant longer than necessary, as a sort of unofficial Pearl-Mesta-Mayor-Mary creature I seem to have become.  It’ll be like hosting a party, but not at my house.  And it won’t cost me anything to feed everyone and I won’t have to clean up.  The perfect party.

I also hear that some of the instructors might hang out, too.   Very cool!  I might have to keep Himself on retainer as a designated driver, but I doubt it.  At least not for me.  One drink and I’m done these days.  Such a sad, cheap date!  But still a lot of fun.  I promise.

We don’t have a plethora of social events on our calendar, so I’m really looking forward to this one, mostly because it benefits my happy place.  Proceeds will make it possible for us to get equipment and support those who find it difficult to afford swim lessons for their kids.  I 100% believe that learning to swim is as important a life skill as anything they will learn in school.  It’s vital.  And I want everyone to be able to make it happen, even if lessons aren’t in their budget.

Check out the flyer I’ve taken a picture of and try to look past it’s crinkled, I-spent- time-in-a-swim-bag-near-wet-towels look.  I wasn’t about to haul my iron out of deep storage to make it prettier.  But all of the information is there!

Himself and I will see you at Margarita’s on Sunday, May 19 – All day!  Let me know when you’ll be around and I’ll try to run over.  Maybe I’ll even slap on some makeup and we can take a selfie to post.  And thank you ahead of time, because this is a fund raiser I’m happy to promote!  BING!  Heartprint. 

I Know What To Do

Wednesday, May 8, 2024

Today I am grateful I know what to do.  I have been the walking hopeless these days.  The world seems to be falling apart, what with wars, climate changes and anger everywhere.  My country seems to be falling apart what with trials, cancelled trials, tornados, and anger everywhere.  Yikes.

It’s really hard to wrap my brain around a population that might choose to lose democracy, rather than keep it.  It’s as simple as that.  Vote to keep the democracy, or vote to throw it away.  Forget all of the other issues like women’s rights, human rights, and the economy.  Democracy or not?  And that’s not even for another six months.  How in the world will I survive?  I will.  Because I want to vote.

So how do I handle it?  I’ve been doing some drawings and coloring, too.  Big whoop.  I don’t care.  It helps.  And it’s just fun and somewhat relaxing.

And I’ve been going to the pool, which always helps.  Except for yesterday when I needed to big-time go to the bathroom during class and did more isometric/weight-band-pulling exercises trying to get that evil spandex, wet swim suit back on than I had in a month of aerobics.  Holy crap.  I even slipped on the wet floor during the machinations and twisted my ankle a little. What the. . .

Stationed with colored pencils and markers, doing my thing while watching and listening to CNN yesterday, I could feel myself start to spiral into “what can I do?” hopelessness.

Then Himself came home from the dermatologist with the entire left side of his face bandaged and it was painful and annoying and boy he was on a rant.

“She got out the needle,” he hollered.  “Then she injected this and this and this,” he said, as if I couldn’t see where the work had been done, based on his almost mummy wrapping.  “. . .and then when she was done carving me, she blasted me with the liquid nitrogen blow torch all over my face and arms and I’m going up to play on the computer because I’m in a bad mood and I’m hurting.”

Okay, then.  When you’ve been with someone as long as I have, you know when to back off. . .okay. . .you LEARN when to back off.  I didn’t always get this for a lot of years.  But even though I sometimes find Himself a bit whiny about medical stuff, this time I really felt for him.  So, I let him alone.  For the rest of the afternoon.  And early evening.

I knew he was still alive and functioning because I could hear the distant cheers from his APBA, video baseball game.  The bat cracked for a homerun for someone, though that entire game still remains a mystery to me.  But he loves it.

When it got to be 6:00 and then 6:30 I grabbed my keys, got in the car and drove over to Freddy’s, where I purchased him a large, chocolate hot fudge sundae, and a smaller turtle one for my own internal wounds.  Nothing heals like ice cream.

He was still upstairs when I got back, so I shouted, “Time to come down!”  He grumbled something about needing a few more minutes and blah, blah, I couldn’t understand.  “No,” I insisted.  “You have to come down now!”

When he came into the kitchen and saw what I had gotten him, his buckshot and bandaged face did its very best to morph into a smile.

“You got me ice cream!”  He said.  “To hell with the A1C and diabetes.  I needed ice cream tonight!  How did you know?”

I didn’t answer. . .and he wouldn’t have heard me anyway, because he was in full gobble-gulp and that kind of focus tunes him out to everything else. 

But the truth is, that while the world is falling apart, and there is confusion in every pore of my being, if I settle myself and get out of my own way, I really do know what to do.  Especially if it involves ice cream.  BING!  Heartprint.

Playing Catch

Wednesday, May 1, 2024

Today I am grateful for playing catch.  I was stopped at a light the other day and saw a couple of guys in the distance, playing catch in the parking lot of the Verizon store.  Just playing catch.  And it took me on a huge spiral throughout my life.  Of playing catch.

My dad was not a sports guy.  He didn’t watch it on TV, and he didn’t play any sports.  Too short for basketball, too antsy for golf, and too invested in accomplishing something through good hard work and not silly like sports.  He just wasn’t into it.  But he loved to play catch.

I remember playing catch with my dad from a very, very early age.  We used a big old softball, a rock-hard baseball, or even apples or veggies, although if I dropped a tomato I was in trouble.  He taught me “soft hands,” follow through and stance.  When he got me a baseball mitt at a garage sale it presented a whole new learning curve.  For both of us.

I didn’t even remember all of this until I saw those guys playing catch.  I played catch with my kids all the time, eventually moving from a bouncy ball to a softball to a football.  Yes, I throw a pretty decent spiral!  If I don’t have to throw far.

When I worked in an office as a property management assistant someone gave me one of those spongy stress balls.  My cleaning and maintenance guys would “go out for one” whenever I wanted.  I didn’t have a large office, but if two went to the corners of the room and one stood out in the hall, we could get a decent rally going through that open door.

Himself and I play catch with the grandkids whenever we can.  I’ve even played with my grown sons from time to time, until one nailed me with a fast, high throw, that I missed with my mitt, but caught with my unibrow.  It was an accident.  He says.  I choose to believe him.

These days my shoulders don’t allow for too much ball throwing, but my playing catch days are not quite over.  Himself and I use dryer balls and sometimes we can’t find them all when we empty a load, so they end up in the living room, where I fold laundry.

Finding a ball stuck up a sleeve will set us off to play a round of catch. . .in the living room. . .leading into the dining room. . .until a lamp or some other gee-gaw is accidentally tipped over, causing me to call the game on account of destruction.

That doesn’t stop Himself, who has fashioned himself as a major league pitcher ever since I’ve known him.  Ask him about when he practiced softball throwing before the Senior Games.  It’s not my story to tell. 

So, whenever he sees a dryer ball rolling around in the living room, he grabs it, stands at the long part of the house, winds up, and wails that ball into the wine rack at the other end of the dining room.  I let him go unless some of the afore mentioned stuff gets wrecked.  And sometimes even then.  Hey, it’s his house, too.  And I confess that sometimes I deliberately leave a few dryer balls in the load so they are ready for his bullpen warm-up. 

Five seconds of watching those two guys in the Verizon parking lot reminded me of happy times with my dad, co-workers, kids, grandkids and Himself.  Because who doesn’t love playing catch?  BING! Heartprint.

Mini Heartprints

Monday, April 29, 2024

Today I am grateful for mini heartprints.  I’ve had a slew of them lately.  I decided to go to the pool yesterday, because the window washers are here today, so I knew I wouldn’t get to the class.

After 20 minutes of HARD aerobics, realizing my instructor was a real bitch. . .me. . .I decided to swim laps until my shoulder said, “No more, idiot!”  I probably did ten or twelve of various strokes.  Not bad.

I met two new friends at the pool, one a lifeguard, one a woman doing her own thing, like me. That’s always fun.  I tried to encourage the walker to come to some classes, but she is in physical therapy and might not be ready for them.  Yet.

After that I went to get bread to make PBJ sandwiches today and a few other things.  I don’t like using self-checkout, even though I only had a few items, so I got in line.  Mia, the checker, was so sweet and friendly.  Not only did she smile, she chatted as much as you can with a short order.  Delightful.  So, I told her.  And then I found her manager and told her, too.  Because I believe that if you’re going to bitch about something, you also have to compliment about something, too.

Next, at Wawa, to buy Himself a newspaper, I worried there were none left.  But they were just on the bottom rack.  So, I reached down, grabbed a bunch and loaded the higher rack.  The lady behind the counter thanked me. “I’ve been trying to get to it, but it’s been busy.”

We were having a nice, brief chat about something when a rude man rushed in and said, “Do you have any ice?”  He would have known they did if he had noticed our icy stares!  She and I ignored him and chatted a little more, but he wouldn’t be shut up and interrupted again, loudly.   She dealt with him, kindly and patiently and I left. 

I wonder if that poor sap knows how close he came to becoming eviscerated by me verbally?  Not all heartprints are soft and tender.  I’m still sorry I didn’t let him have it.  I mean, if he had come in and said, “Where are your tourniquets?  My wife is bleeding out in the car and I need help.” I would have ripped off my shirt to put pressure on her wound.  But ice?  Gimme a break.

So instead of dwelling on that nasty tidbit, I choose to remember my new pool friend and the wonderful checkers at Shop Rite and Wawa.  The point is, heartprints don’t have to be huge.  Even the mini ones pack a punch!  BING!  Heartprint.

Coloring and Doing Laundry: Courtroom Disputes

Thursday, April 25, 2024

Today I am grateful to be coloring and doing laundry while I get a crash course on the law. Two mindless things among so much information.  Since I am primarily an audible learner, I figure by the time I’m done listening to two separate court cases for the biggest criminal in the world, I should be able to hang my shingle out. 

I told myself I wouldn’t watch.  I have better things to do with my time.  I said the same thing after the Challenger exploded; after 9-11, when the planes hit the towers and crashed in Pennsylvania; and when, in real time, insurgents stormed MY capital on December 6^th, at the encouragement of a cry-baby, sour-grapes, ousted president.  I couldn’t help it.  I had to watch.

I tried to step away.  But now I’m all in.  Because I don’t want to step away from history, for good or for bad.  It is still history.  But I can’t just sit and stare at the TV, while attorneys and chief justice’s banter back and forth on one side of the screen to see if a former president can have blanket immunity, and watch the comments from reporters in the courtroom in the hush money trial on the other side of the screen.  Holy crap.  This is a very terrible bad day for someone.

So, I’m coloring and doing laundry.  I can’t say that the calm I feel when I color has 100% succeeded in doing that this time.  Then I’d have to admit that I haven’t screamed at the TV more than once.  Okay, a lot. But I haven’t thrown socks, yet, but mostly because I don’t want to have to pick them up!

Just think of the money for lawyers; the sea of lost trees in documents; and the countless hours, days, months, years of time consumed by so many people, including us. All because of Individual One!  If this all sits well with you, then I’m sorry for you.  I really am. 

The rest of us are watching what we hope will be the comeuppance, finally, of someone who we have recognized as a criminal for a very long time, even before he was elected to office.

I don’t care if he is denied his diet coke.  I feel no compassion for him having to sit still in court all day and I don’t give a shit if he’s proud because he “sat up straight.”  I think it speaks volumes as to why it’s “cold, freezing” in the courtroom, because I’d turn that AC up, too if the defendant couldn’t seem to stay awake through it all.

So far, my one major take-away is that I am beyond proud of the women of the Supreme Court.  They are kicking ass!  I told Himself, just before he left to go play pickleball, that it’s like everyone’s mom, settin’ their kids down at the kitchen table and saying, “I don’t believe you did not steal the cookies,” while their kids are licking chocolate from their fingers and lips.  Badass! 

I might have to bitch-slap a few of the other ones.  I don’t know these folks, but when I listen to their candy-coated comments, I look up from my markers and am not surprised by who is speaking.  Are they looking at the same case that is being presented to the rest of us?  Bias?  Scrounging in the mud to try and keep their positions and please their demi-god?  Not for me to say, but there you go, I just did.

And I don’t use the word bias lightly.  Because bias has abounded since the world began.  It’s a normal state of humanity.  We all have our own bias, in a lot of issues.  The problem I have is that the United States Supreme Court is supposed to be above bias.  That’s what they claim.  Now prove it!

Whew.  I’m getting riled up again. I think it’s time to stop writing and continue coloring and doing laundry.  I hope I don’t get mixed up and start coloring the drawers of Himself in the process!  Look for my Attorney at Law shingle, or call   1-888-I-Can-Smell-Bullshit-From-A-Mile-Away, to have me plead your case.

BING!  Heartprint.

Reading Material

Saturday, April 20, 2024

Today I am grateful for reading material.  Today seems like a good day to sit and read.  It’s still a bit too cold to be outside unless you’re moving around, but sometimes on weekends it feels wicked to spend time reading.

I did the usual morning toilette and decided to actually look inside the box from a prescription I just had filled.  It was chocked full of reading material.  Front and back, covered in minute print, with graphics and drawings and all manner of incomprehensible gibberish.

I’m sure they must put all of that nonsense in a prescription to cover their legal asses, but has anyone ever read any of it?  I figure when I’m done reading this two-paged, micro-printed missive, I’ll haul out the CVS receipts and start on them!  It’s nice to have reading material. . . and a back up in case we run out of toilet paper.  BING!  Heartprint.

Applause

Friday, April 19, 2024

Today I am grateful for applause.  “What is it that we’re living for? Applause, applause!” the old song asks. Who doesn’t love applause?  We all like being recognized and cheered. But at a meeting the other day I was irritated with applause.  Yes, me, the queen of the deserved ovation.

Look, this is a risky piece to write.  I’m aware.  So, I will try to choose my words wisely.  I know first hand how difficult it is to lose weight.  And keeping it off is even harder.  And I think it’s wonderful if people can succeed to this end, so I would never want to minimize their efforts.  Seriously, not ever.  Good for them.

But even when I was going to weight watchers, and it was me who had dropped a few pounds, I was uncomfortable and annoyed when people literally applauded my weight loss.  Or that of anyone else.  Because I saw the people, not just the pounds.  You might have lost one week, but will gain the next two.  It’s a roller coaster ride for most of us.  I’d rather do without the applause and keep the bar neutral than have the huge highs and devastating lows. 

At the meeting, people were asked to tell their story.  Several of them were about losing a bunch of weight.  Each person named the poundage, which I won’t do here.  And there was applause.  And it bothered me again. . .so much so, that I’ve been up since 4:30 a.m. ruminating about why it irks me to this degree.  Am I jealous?  Is it sour grapes on my part?  I don’t think so, because I’m happy when anyone has found success doing anything, including losing weight.  But aren’t we all so much more than the size/shape/look of our bodies?

And no matter how old you are, life can be tough in many more ways than just weight.  I want applause for those who work through other issues besides losing weight, too.  What about the woman with anxiety who wonders if she’ll have the emotional strength to get out of bed today?  She deserves applause when she does.  Or even if she doesn’t.

Or the man whose wife died and now he has to figure out how to navigate a life that feels vacant and empty most days.  He should get applause for putting one foot in front of the other, and for no other reason than that simple act.

The same goes for the lady whose back aches, her shoulders are crap and her arthritis is so bad that the doctor is harping at her to exercise. For her, probably the most difficult aerobic activity is getting out of the house, into the car, and dragging her achy ass to the pool.  I applaud her efforts.  Just showing up is huge!  Never mind if she moves slowly and doesn’t lose weight.

We were asked to think about our story.  So, I did.  Almost all night.  Alas. And never once did I shame myself because I don’t seem to be able to keep weight off.  I simply can’t live in that space anymore.  It already took up too much time in my mind. What about our whole story?  To me our stories don’t begin with weight/exercise, or end with weight/exercise.  That is only a part of our lives.  If we’ve been lucky enough to live fully.

Poor Himself had to listen to me ramble when I got home from the frustrating meeting.  And in my stream of consciousness diatribe, I detailed some of the amazing things I’ve done, survived, endured, and enjoyed in my life.  He was there for most of them.

“I’ve led a full life,” I said.  “I’ve ridden a moped to work as a hairdresser, in the winter, in a dress uniform, literally through snow, in Wisconsin!  I’ve followed the yellow footprints at the welfare office so my kids could get free lunches, cheese and milk. I get what it feels like to need financial help!  I’ve acted, sung on stage, written plays and won awards for writing.  I’ve worked a bazillion jobs and aced every one of them, including delivering phone books and working in a Halloween store.  I made a success of living in a developing nation and endured gut wrenching heat, humidity and loneliness when we were in Jakarta, Indonesia for three years.  I’ve been a daughter, sister, friend, wife (twice) mom, step-mom, grandma and real person. I learned to call myself a writer and had the guts to put my life out there publicly, under a microscope, when I began writing this blog!  I’m honest, kind, empathetic, and devoted to helping people feel good about themselves.”

Himself nodded, waiting for me to get to the point, as he so patiently does. 

“You know there is a lot more!  But the one thing I have not accomplished is that I have not lost weight and kept it off,” I continued.  “So, no applause for me.  There is no tangible measurement for me or the people who struggle to just get through a day.”

Now he was getting it. “Was my life less-well-spent, or insignificant, because of that ONE thing? Is the success of my life primarily based on losing weight? Because if so, I call bullshit!”

There is a movement afoot that people should not comment on the size, looks, whatever of children because they develop eating disorders and all manner of anxiety.  I think that should hold true for adults as well.  All people. It doesn’t mean you can’t compliment someone, just don’t compliment them with weight loss as your go-to.  If you wouldn’t say, “You gained a lot of weight!  What in the hell happened?”  Don’t say, “You lost a lot of weight.  How much did you lose and how in the hell did you do that?”

I tell kids they look happy or healthy or strong.  I don’t tell adults their “outfit” looks nice, because it’s not about the outfit, it’s about them. As people.  Instead, I tell them THEY look great in that color or style.  Whether losing weight or gaining weight, they can still look great, because they still ARE great.

Do we really need to beat the shit out of ourselves for that one issue?  Weight?  Yes, it struck a nerve!!!  Because I . . .we . . . are so much more. But do we find ourselves ignoring every other wonderful thing that makes us who we are?  Putting our other accomplishments on the back-burner?  Making them insignificant because of our weight issue?  It’s time to put our self-flagellating sticks away and be kinder.  To ourselves.

Let’s stop measuring our lives by the number on the scale.  Let’s start looking deeper into what real success is.  Sometimes it’s as simple as getting out of bed in the morning.  Congratulations!  Go us! 

When someone asks you to share your story, what will you say?  Will you look inside and celebrate what’s there?  Or will you clam up, and feel guilty, or ashamed, because you haven’t lost the weight you wanted to?  Please don’t. 

Because there is way more to each and every one of us than can be measured on a bloody scale.  And that is worthy of applause!  BING!  Heartprint.

Me As Tech Support

Wednesday, April 17, 2024

Today I am grateful to be our tech support.  Yikes.  Grateful for that?  Ask Himself how he feels about me sitting in his chair, invading his space, and randomly poking around in his computer system!  Probably grateful. . .but also stressed!

The only tech crap I know is what my REAL tech friend has taught me, as I sat in stress, like Himself did yesterday, while the REAL guy was poking around in my system.  Computer system!  Just to clarify.  Makes me crazy.  And I am beyond grateful each time he helps me.  So I share my un-vast knowledge to help Himself.

But it turns out that Himself ignores all requests to update shit.  He is afraid he is going to have to pay something so he pretends the update didn’t come in.  So the updates back up like a bowel on prednisone.  We sat upstairs, watching that infernal spinning circle so long, I thought we were at another eclipse!

He has been bitching that he cannot get on email.  That took me about two minutes to correct and 20 minutes to show him, because I was in the driver’s seat and he had to lean over, squint, and fiddle with his bifocals to see the screen.

His printer is not working and while he doesn’t print often, he has always, at the beginning of baseball season, played APBA baseball on the computer.  He prints his statistics and it’s important to him.  I tried printing, but that printer said, “No thank you, Bitch!”  You don’t want to know what I said to it.

We tried everything.  Unplugging, re-booting, resending, and clearing all print jobs.  It kept saying there was a paper jam so I dissected its innards, popping parts out and telling himself if I broke it further, who cares, because it wasn’t working anyway.  He got whiter than his normal Irish white.  Still didn’t work.  I’m out of tricks, so he needs a new printer.  Oh well.  It’s old.

At one point during one of the spinning circle nightmares, he hauled out the mini drum set that he keeps on top of his computer cabinet.  Swell!  Rock on, big guy, but I’m not leaving your chair until we have at least a little success.

Sitting there in the passenger seat, in the paint shirt he wears to paint little creatures in the basement, he didn’t fall asleep, shout, call me names, or choke me.  I call that a successful tech support session.  At least it is in our house!  BING!  Heartprint.

Unexpected Pictures

Saturday, April 13, 2024

Today I am grateful for unexpected pictures.  Sometimes I write the blog and then find the picture.  Sometimes it takes longer to find the right photo/graphic than it does to write the piece. Sometimes I see a picture and write the blog.  And sometimes I see a picture and the blog writes itself.

Like today.  I have no idea when or why Himself took this selfie.  He doesn’t take selfies.  Ever.  I’m sure he didn’t know he did it. 

He probably had no idea he was even holding his phone, not to mention that it was on camera. . .and reversed to do a selfie. He might have thought it was the remote control, or checkbook, or a slice of his perpetual toast, based on the shadowy, confused look on his face.

But when I found this picture that had somehow transferred to my phone, so near to when we experienced the solar eclipse, I just howled.  A perfect, unexpected picture of the Total Kitchen Eclipse of Himself, in the diamond ring phase!  You’re welcome!  BING!  Heartprint.