Crossing the country by air is no mean feat in the winter, let me tell you! First leg of a three leg flight, delayed by three hours; then a missed connection; next a standby seat (I made it, whew!); an arrival for the third and final leg of my trip, with 15 minutes to spare and taking off in a huge storm, only to circle above my destination for an hour, before being able to land, because of a low ceiling. I almost ended up in Sept-Îles, for crying out loud.
How do you express TOTAL relief and gratitude? By HUGGING the two pilots and the flight attendant in the baggage retrieval area, as they waited for their cab to pick them up at the airport.
I am SO, SO happy to be home. Well, except for the inch of water in my basement laundry room!
Experience gives you your own definitions of life!
How do I define GOOD SERVICE? Having the car I just purchased driven up to the Miramichi, so that I don't have to go all the way to the southern part of the province to pick it up. How do I define NOT SO GOOD service? Having it delivered with cigarette burns on the back seat, a film of dirt and grime on everything, (I could write my name in the rear view mirror); in need of an oil change, missing plates, the bill of sale, stickers and permit; no driver's manual or extra key, and to boot, a BRAND NEW CONDOM tucked under the driver side visor.
How do I define PERCEPTION? I don't think that the basement of my new apartment still totally reeks of cat urine, though I know it DOES smell. However, my baby Bro comes over to install the washer and dryer, and has to run back upstairs, gagging, and apologizing for not being to stay down there long enough to finish the job all at once. My mother and my sister, arriving later, insist I close the door to the basement, and put a towel along the bottom, to impede the stink from wafting up under the door. So much for my thinking the smell wasn't THAT bad.
REDUCE, REUSE, RECYCLE, has now become for me "Caveat Emptor", or buyer beware! I buy a used washer and dryer, reassured that both work, and if they don't, I can return them. Of course the dryer doesn't work, and I am not going to ask baby Bro to return them. Too much hassle for us both. A service call repair later, and $80 POORER, I have a functioning dryer. IRONY? My mother moves into her new apartment six weeks later and gives me her old washer and dryer. Now I have to turn around and sell the ones I just bought, because they aren't the same good quality as my mother's appliances, and won't last long, according to the repairman. Did I mention I could use the $300.00 as well?
More Buyer Beware: The Bissell Carpet Sweeper I buy off Kijiji works, but it seems to blow more than it sucks and it makes a God awlful noise every time I use it. I decide that I am NOT going to buy a used microwave after all, so I bite the bullet and go buy one at Walmart. Buying anything at Walmart is totally against my core values, but hey.... I have been twice burned doing this Reduce, Reuse and Recycle schtick!
HONESTY DOES NOT PAY - You advise your home insurance carrier that your house you have been trying to sell for two years, is now vacant, but being well taken care of and checked at least three times a week. What do they do? They lead you down the garden path with so many different quotes on a quadrupling of your house insurance premium, that you are left reeling and frantic about having your home insurance cancelled before you can get a more reasonable premium elsewhere. Which all leads to untold stress between you and your ex leading up to Christmas. Yeah, right, try to tell me that "Honesty is always the best policy!"
HIGH ANXIETY - Your pooch, who never barks unless someone comes to the door, barks furiously the entire time you leave him alone the first time, in the new apartment. HIGHER ANXIETY? Your landlord calls you on your cell to complain. You think, "OMG, I am going to get thrown out of my apartment, and I have just moved in!" You have to work most days, and your pooch is alone. Who comes to your rescue? Your dog kennel man, a sweetie who lends you his birdhouse decoration, that emits a high pitched sound within 75 feet of any barking dog. Your poor Vimy is so cowed by that noise, that he remains upstairs when you leave. I don't think he dares come down again until I come home. I feel so sorry for him, but the alternative was a shock collar. That I wanted to avoid at all costs. They are cruel!
RIDICULOUS? You work for two different employers, in two different languages; one in French, one in English. One employer hounds you for a certificate of proficiency in French, although ONE- it is your mother tongue, TWO - you have always taught it, and THREE - you have a certificate showing superior proficiency in your second language, English. Ipso facto, since French is your native tongue, you should be quite proficient in teaching it. Correct? Nope! If you don't supply the certificate by early January, or pay $60, get tested and pass, your name will be removed from the eligibility list to teach that language in specialized classes. Another "beggars belief" in my books! I fight back by sending emails back and forth, and exchanging phone calls. On a matter of principle alone, I REFUSE to pay the $60.00.
SUBLIME? The school board in question will reimburse my $60.00 once I been evaluated and designated PROFICIENT, so I cave. I need to work. They can interview me until the COWS come home if they want. I will not be out of pocket. So, ten days before Christmas I am running around downloading an application form to be evaluated, running to the bank for a money order, stamping and posting the two and awaiting notice by email of my testing date. I needed this like I need another hole in my head. Where is the common sense? Replaced by "Policies and Procedures", I am told. "Accept it!" I am told. "NEVER!", I say. Unfortunately, common sense is no longer common.
BRAIN FART? For the FIRST time in my working life, I fail to show up for work, and I DON'T even call. Why? I misread the supply assignment posted by the app on my cell phone. I think it is a one day assignment, but it is a TWO day assignment. Imagine my chagrin when the school secretary calls and asks me where I am. I am obviously NOT in the classroom, where I am supposed to be. I am thinking I have a day off so I am waiting for the dryer repair man to come fix my dryer. So in reality, that repair call cost me over $280.00. Not to mention total mortification on my part.
I have come up with all these definitions as applicable to my life, over a span of less than six weeks. I know we are supposed to be lifelong learners, but I think I have learned QUITE enough for awhile, thank you.
How do I define PERCEPTION? I don't think that the basement of my new apartment still totally reeks of cat urine, though I know it DOES smell. However, my baby Bro comes over to install the washer and dryer, and has to run back upstairs, gagging, and apologizing for not being to stay down there long enough to finish the job all at once. My mother and my sister, arriving later, insist I close the door to the basement, and put a towel along the bottom, to impede the stink from wafting up under the door. So much for my thinking the smell wasn't THAT bad.
REDUCE, REUSE, RECYCLE, has now become for me "Caveat Emptor", or buyer beware! I buy a used washer and dryer, reassured that both work, and if they don't, I can return them. Of course the dryer doesn't work, and I am not going to ask baby Bro to return them. Too much hassle for us both. A service call repair later, and $80 POORER, I have a functioning dryer. IRONY? My mother moves into her new apartment six weeks later and gives me her old washer and dryer. Now I have to turn around and sell the ones I just bought, because they aren't the same good quality as my mother's appliances, and won't last long, according to the repairman. Did I mention I could use the $300.00 as well?
More Buyer Beware: The Bissell Carpet Sweeper I buy off Kijiji works, but it seems to blow more than it sucks and it makes a God awlful noise every time I use it. I decide that I am NOT going to buy a used microwave after all, so I bite the bullet and go buy one at Walmart. Buying anything at Walmart is totally against my core values, but hey.... I have been twice burned doing this Reduce, Reuse and Recycle schtick!
HONESTY DOES NOT PAY - You advise your home insurance carrier that your house you have been trying to sell for two years, is now vacant, but being well taken care of and checked at least three times a week. What do they do? They lead you down the garden path with so many different quotes on a quadrupling of your house insurance premium, that you are left reeling and frantic about having your home insurance cancelled before you can get a more reasonable premium elsewhere. Which all leads to untold stress between you and your ex leading up to Christmas. Yeah, right, try to tell me that "Honesty is always the best policy!"
HIGH ANXIETY - Your pooch, who never barks unless someone comes to the door, barks furiously the entire time you leave him alone the first time, in the new apartment. HIGHER ANXIETY? Your landlord calls you on your cell to complain. You think, "OMG, I am going to get thrown out of my apartment, and I have just moved in!" You have to work most days, and your pooch is alone. Who comes to your rescue? Your dog kennel man, a sweetie who lends you his birdhouse decoration, that emits a high pitched sound within 75 feet of any barking dog. Your poor Vimy is so cowed by that noise, that he remains upstairs when you leave. I don't think he dares come down again until I come home. I feel so sorry for him, but the alternative was a shock collar. That I wanted to avoid at all costs. They are cruel!
RIDICULOUS? You work for two different employers, in two different languages; one in French, one in English. One employer hounds you for a certificate of proficiency in French, although ONE- it is your mother tongue, TWO - you have always taught it, and THREE - you have a certificate showing superior proficiency in your second language, English. Ipso facto, since French is your native tongue, you should be quite proficient in teaching it. Correct? Nope! If you don't supply the certificate by early January, or pay $60, get tested and pass, your name will be removed from the eligibility list to teach that language in specialized classes. Another "beggars belief" in my books! I fight back by sending emails back and forth, and exchanging phone calls. On a matter of principle alone, I REFUSE to pay the $60.00.
SUBLIME? The school board in question will reimburse my $60.00 once I been evaluated and designated PROFICIENT, so I cave. I need to work. They can interview me until the COWS come home if they want. I will not be out of pocket. So, ten days before Christmas I am running around downloading an application form to be evaluated, running to the bank for a money order, stamping and posting the two and awaiting notice by email of my testing date. I needed this like I need another hole in my head. Where is the common sense? Replaced by "Policies and Procedures", I am told. "Accept it!" I am told. "NEVER!", I say. Unfortunately, common sense is no longer common.
BRAIN FART? For the FIRST time in my working life, I fail to show up for work, and I DON'T even call. Why? I misread the supply assignment posted by the app on my cell phone. I think it is a one day assignment, but it is a TWO day assignment. Imagine my chagrin when the school secretary calls and asks me where I am. I am obviously NOT in the classroom, where I am supposed to be. I am thinking I have a day off so I am waiting for the dryer repair man to come fix my dryer. So in reality, that repair call cost me over $280.00. Not to mention total mortification on my part.
I have come up with all these definitions as applicable to my life, over a span of less than six weeks. I know we are supposed to be lifelong learners, but I think I have learned QUITE enough for awhile, thank you.
Déjà vu!!!!!
I am sure once I moved out of my mother's place, she didn't know what hit her. It must have become SO, SO quiet all of a sudden. When I lived with her for six weeks, there was never a dull moment.
My Mamacita had an old, decrepit lock on her apartment door that was getting harder and harder to open with the key. I warned her that she wouldn't be able to get in one day, and she needed to advise her landlord. She did call him but he put her off by saying that he had ordered a BRAND NEW DOOR, with a BRAND NEW LOCK, both of which were on back order, but would be arriving soon.
Soooooooo.... I advised Mamacita NOT to lock her door. Absolutely TOTALLY POINTLESS advice. When you are elderly, you need to feel secure, so you lock your door; all of which is fine when you are inside your apartment, but NOT so fine, when you are trying to get in.
Two weeks later the door is still on backorder, but Mamancita and I haven't really gone anywhere together, so we haven't had to lock the door when no one is home. One day we decide to go look at a house for rent. A waste of time to remind Mamacita NOT to lock the door, so I scoot out the back patio doors on the pretext of checking my laundry on the clothesline, just as we are about to leave. I come back in and deliberately leave the patio door unlocked. I foolishly say to myself, "We are good to go!"
We visit the house (too far in the woods) and upon returning, Mamancita struggles with the key to open the front door. I am about to zip out back and go in through the patio doors when she informs me that she had LOCKED those as well! Which means she surreptiously snuck up behind me and locked them as we were leaving.
No point in being upset with her. It isn't her fault she wants to protect her home and belongings. However, I am SO TICKED off at her landlord, Dufus, that I could spit.
She calls him. He is in town. His wife assures my mother that he will be there lickety-split to get the door open.
I don't want to be there, because I will tear a strip off him and Mamacita has already warned me to NOT say a word to him. Being the good daughter that I am, I ask to borrow her shoes so I can go for a run with my dog, and blow off some steam. I am wearing opened backed mules. You can't run in those. Off I go, and my mother goes to grab a quick lunch at Tim's.
When I return about 45 minutes later, I see her landlord driving away. I think, "Awesome, he fixed the door!" No, no, no! He can't get in EITHER. He has gone to get a sledge hammer. I decide to park myself in my useless car that is sitting in the driveway. It has to be good for something since it blew a gasket, and is essentially worthless. I least I have a place to cool my jets. Dufus returns... with a sledge hammer. I don't trust myself to keep my mouth SHUT, so I go sit on the back step and wait. Rather quickly, I see my mother in the apartment and she lets me in.
"So, we are all set now? We can go out and lock the door?", I ask. "Not exactly," Mamancita says sweetly. " He put in a lock that works, but there is no key." WHAT? THIS BEGGARS BELIEF! The cheapo has put in an old lock, left over from another apartment, probably, which you can lock from the inside. HOWEVER, we are exactly where we were when this whole story STARTED! We can't open the front door if it is locked. This time because we DON'T ACTUALLY EVEN HAVE a key.
I cannot believe this. I am totally gobsmacked!
For a week I make sure we don't go anywhere together, and I watch Mamancita closely. When she is away one day, I call the landlord's wife and give her a piece of my mind. Very nicely, mind you, but nontheless, a piece of my mind. "How would you like to go out in the evening, and have to leave your front door unlocked?", I ask you. She tells me I can call her husband on his cell and tell him this, and I say "No, you tell him!", thereby keeping my promise to my mother.
This was Thursday. Monday morning Maman had her new door and fancy new lock with KEYS, installed!
Payback? Six weeks later my mother moved OUT of that apartment and into a newer one. Her landlord is a woman. Hopefully she won't stress out her tenants by being so cavalier about replacing a simple front door lock. A good landlord who pays attention to the needs of his/her elderly, faithful tenants is worth their weight in gold. Take heed if you have elderly parents living in an apartment. Make sure their needs are not being ignored by their landlord.
This was the second time in less than nine months, that I have been locked out of my abode! I and everyone else - thank goodness for sledge hammers!
My Mamacita had an old, decrepit lock on her apartment door that was getting harder and harder to open with the key. I warned her that she wouldn't be able to get in one day, and she needed to advise her landlord. She did call him but he put her off by saying that he had ordered a BRAND NEW DOOR, with a BRAND NEW LOCK, both of which were on back order, but would be arriving soon.
Soooooooo.... I advised Mamacita NOT to lock her door. Absolutely TOTALLY POINTLESS advice. When you are elderly, you need to feel secure, so you lock your door; all of which is fine when you are inside your apartment, but NOT so fine, when you are trying to get in.
Two weeks later the door is still on backorder, but Mamancita and I haven't really gone anywhere together, so we haven't had to lock the door when no one is home. One day we decide to go look at a house for rent. A waste of time to remind Mamacita NOT to lock the door, so I scoot out the back patio doors on the pretext of checking my laundry on the clothesline, just as we are about to leave. I come back in and deliberately leave the patio door unlocked. I foolishly say to myself, "We are good to go!"
We visit the house (too far in the woods) and upon returning, Mamancita struggles with the key to open the front door. I am about to zip out back and go in through the patio doors when she informs me that she had LOCKED those as well! Which means she surreptiously snuck up behind me and locked them as we were leaving.
No point in being upset with her. It isn't her fault she wants to protect her home and belongings. However, I am SO TICKED off at her landlord, Dufus, that I could spit.
She calls him. He is in town. His wife assures my mother that he will be there lickety-split to get the door open.
I don't want to be there, because I will tear a strip off him and Mamacita has already warned me to NOT say a word to him. Being the good daughter that I am, I ask to borrow her shoes so I can go for a run with my dog, and blow off some steam. I am wearing opened backed mules. You can't run in those. Off I go, and my mother goes to grab a quick lunch at Tim's.
When I return about 45 minutes later, I see her landlord driving away. I think, "Awesome, he fixed the door!" No, no, no! He can't get in EITHER. He has gone to get a sledge hammer. I decide to park myself in my useless car that is sitting in the driveway. It has to be good for something since it blew a gasket, and is essentially worthless. I least I have a place to cool my jets. Dufus returns... with a sledge hammer. I don't trust myself to keep my mouth SHUT, so I go sit on the back step and wait. Rather quickly, I see my mother in the apartment and she lets me in.
"So, we are all set now? We can go out and lock the door?", I ask. "Not exactly," Mamancita says sweetly. " He put in a lock that works, but there is no key." WHAT? THIS BEGGARS BELIEF! The cheapo has put in an old lock, left over from another apartment, probably, which you can lock from the inside. HOWEVER, we are exactly where we were when this whole story STARTED! We can't open the front door if it is locked. This time because we DON'T ACTUALLY EVEN HAVE a key.
I cannot believe this. I am totally gobsmacked!
For a week I make sure we don't go anywhere together, and I watch Mamancita closely. When she is away one day, I call the landlord's wife and give her a piece of my mind. Very nicely, mind you, but nontheless, a piece of my mind. "How would you like to go out in the evening, and have to leave your front door unlocked?", I ask you. She tells me I can call her husband on his cell and tell him this, and I say "No, you tell him!", thereby keeping my promise to my mother.
This was Thursday. Monday morning Maman had her new door and fancy new lock with KEYS, installed!
Payback? Six weeks later my mother moved OUT of that apartment and into a newer one. Her landlord is a woman. Hopefully she won't stress out her tenants by being so cavalier about replacing a simple front door lock. A good landlord who pays attention to the needs of his/her elderly, faithful tenants is worth their weight in gold. Take heed if you have elderly parents living in an apartment. Make sure their needs are not being ignored by their landlord.
This was the second time in less than nine months, that I have been locked out of my abode! I and everyone else - thank goodness for sledge hammers!
Misadventures continue to happen.... even at Christmas.
One just happened to me right now. I somehow erased the first three paragraphs of this posting! No way, no how, could I get it back. My mother always called me "Sloppy Jo", because of my carelessness. I didn't mean to be careless, but I did get into all kinds of predicaments; i.e. the time the snowmobile I was driving when I was fourteen years old, got stuck on the train track and had the front part blown to bits by a train whizzing by, as I stood on the snowbank and sobbed my heart out.
However, I digress. I am no longer a teenager, but an old boomer who still manages to get herself into tight spots.
I am getting ready to leave my daugther's place and move to my son's. They have left for work, so I start to pack and get ready to take a shower. They have a beautiful antique, claw legged bathtub with the oval shower curtain rod that surround the tub. I give the curtain on my left a gentle tug, as I step into the tub, to close the curtain around me. You guessed it! The entire left side of the curtain rod falls out of the ceiling, and rests on a shelf that itself, is precariously perched on the wall. What could I do? I couldn't see anything; I didn't have my glasses on. I wasn't tall enough to try to put the rod, hanging from the ceiling, back into its hole, AND I was stark naked. There is something about not being very capable of anything, when you aren't wearing any clothes. Jeepers... I am in panic mode. I have visions of the entire right side falling down as well. Let me tell you, that was one QUICK shower.
I hopped out, called my EVER so handy brother and godfather to my daughter, who also happens to live close by, to come fix my mess. God bless his heart, he comes right over after I text him five pictures of the damage. With the pics, he was able to discern the tools and parts needed to repair the rod.
At the same time, he also fixes the clothes rack that had fallen off the wall in my room, the night before. That probably happened because I hung all my clothes at one end, instead of spreading the clothing out over the entire rod. That is me... I didn't think. There were all these hangers at the other end of the rod, and I didn't know where to put them so I left them where they were. Can you see my helpless shrug?
This curtain rod incident reminds me of when I was in St.Jean Pied de Port, in France, in August, getting ready to start The Camino the next day. In our lovely Air BNB I thought I was turning on the hot water tank for the shower, when I actually turned on the heat! That wouldn't have been so bad, except that it was 35 freaking degrees Celsius outside. I simply couldn't figure out how to turn the WRONG heater off and the RIGHT heater on. Thank God another angel came to my rescue - my Camino walking partner Nancy. She figured it all out in no time flat. We never did tell Evelyne, our host. She will find out if she reads this blog. I hope her English is still basic. LOL
A-N-Y-W-A-Y, to conclude my story... forty five minutes later, $10 worth of screws, and butterfly clamps, a lecture from brother and a huge headache growing on me by then, EVERYTHING has been fixed. He and I are on our way to pick up my cell phone charger that I had left at a girlfriend's the night before. I am exhausted from all this running around this morning, clothed and naked. I can't wait to take a nap!
I never say anything to my daughter or son-in-law. I figure if they don't notice anything, all the better. Then I won't have to explain anything!
However, I digress. I am no longer a teenager, but an old boomer who still manages to get herself into tight spots.
I am getting ready to leave my daugther's place and move to my son's. They have left for work, so I start to pack and get ready to take a shower. They have a beautiful antique, claw legged bathtub with the oval shower curtain rod that surround the tub. I give the curtain on my left a gentle tug, as I step into the tub, to close the curtain around me. You guessed it! The entire left side of the curtain rod falls out of the ceiling, and rests on a shelf that itself, is precariously perched on the wall. What could I do? I couldn't see anything; I didn't have my glasses on. I wasn't tall enough to try to put the rod, hanging from the ceiling, back into its hole, AND I was stark naked. There is something about not being very capable of anything, when you aren't wearing any clothes. Jeepers... I am in panic mode. I have visions of the entire right side falling down as well. Let me tell you, that was one QUICK shower.
I hopped out, called my EVER so handy brother and godfather to my daughter, who also happens to live close by, to come fix my mess. God bless his heart, he comes right over after I text him five pictures of the damage. With the pics, he was able to discern the tools and parts needed to repair the rod.
At the same time, he also fixes the clothes rack that had fallen off the wall in my room, the night before. That probably happened because I hung all my clothes at one end, instead of spreading the clothing out over the entire rod. That is me... I didn't think. There were all these hangers at the other end of the rod, and I didn't know where to put them so I left them where they were. Can you see my helpless shrug?
This curtain rod incident reminds me of when I was in St.Jean Pied de Port, in France, in August, getting ready to start The Camino the next day. In our lovely Air BNB I thought I was turning on the hot water tank for the shower, when I actually turned on the heat! That wouldn't have been so bad, except that it was 35 freaking degrees Celsius outside. I simply couldn't figure out how to turn the WRONG heater off and the RIGHT heater on. Thank God another angel came to my rescue - my Camino walking partner Nancy. She figured it all out in no time flat. We never did tell Evelyne, our host. She will find out if she reads this blog. I hope her English is still basic. LOL
A-N-Y-W-A-Y, to conclude my story... forty five minutes later, $10 worth of screws, and butterfly clamps, a lecture from brother and a huge headache growing on me by then, EVERYTHING has been fixed. He and I are on our way to pick up my cell phone charger that I had left at a girlfriend's the night before. I am exhausted from all this running around this morning, clothed and naked. I can't wait to take a nap!
I never say anything to my daughter or son-in-law. I figure if they don't notice anything, all the better. Then I won't have to explain anything!
That weren't no funny bone!
I am visiting my adult children for Christmas. I want to be useful and helpful, so that I get invited back again. That is how it works, right?
I love dogs and I love to walk, so I walk the dogs. Easy and enjoyable! Coming back from a brisk cold walk early one afternoon recently, I decide to shovel the sidewalk in front of my daughter's house, and also do their front walk. About a half inch of light, fluffly and sparkly snow has fallen. I know it will take me five minutes to do this little chore.
Well, I breeze through the sidewalk in five minutues, so up the front path I trot, dragging the snow scraper behind me, prepared to turn around and shovel the snow away in one quick, fell swoop, down to the sidewalk. The pathway is quite short.
Well, I went W-A-Y, W-A-Y too fast. The cement path slabs were NOT even, nor was the scraper handle level with my lower abdomen, to give me strength. Nope! I hit the very uneven last slab HARD! It was like hitting a brick wall with your fist. Only it wasn't my fist. It was my lower pelvic area. It hurt... hurt...HURT! I immediately thought, "OMG, I have cracked my pubic bone!"
Well, I made it into the house without CRAWLING on all fours, so I figured I was going to be okay. However, I needed to do something about the pain, and quickly. My cell phone rang and it was my mother calling. So of course I take the call, all the while taking off my coat and boots, mitts, and boots, thinking, "I need ice FAST", and trying to keep up my end of the conversation. I manage to chat, though not as long as my mother would have liked, I am sure. I hang up and tell my son-in-law, "Quick, I need an ice pack! I hurt myself shoveling". As he is rummaging around in the freezer, I think "A bag of frozen peas is NOT going to cut it here!". He hands me a freezer pack, and yells out to me in a concerned voice as I scoot up the stairs, "Did you fall?". "No", I yell back as I close the guest room door, throw myself on the bed, pull off my pants and long underwear, and slide a 5 inch by 7 inch ice pack between my legs. Lying there for twenty minutes, I have plenty of time to figure out that I don't know how to use a snow scraper properly.
I ended up with freezer burn on my inner thighs, and a very bruised pelvic area. Not that I have taken a look, mind you. It has been four days and it STILL hurts when I sit down or apply any pressure.
So another lesson learned by this Boomer. DO NOT, and I repeat, DO NOT use your pelvic area as a brace for your handle, when scraping snow off your sidewalk or front path. It is far better to feel like you have been sucker punched in the stomach or lower abdomen, than to feel like you have broken or cracked one of the more strategic and important bones in your body. Fais toujours attention à la bizoune, comme qu'on dit en Acadie.
I love dogs and I love to walk, so I walk the dogs. Easy and enjoyable! Coming back from a brisk cold walk early one afternoon recently, I decide to shovel the sidewalk in front of my daughter's house, and also do their front walk. About a half inch of light, fluffly and sparkly snow has fallen. I know it will take me five minutes to do this little chore.
Well, I breeze through the sidewalk in five minutues, so up the front path I trot, dragging the snow scraper behind me, prepared to turn around and shovel the snow away in one quick, fell swoop, down to the sidewalk. The pathway is quite short.
Well, I went W-A-Y, W-A-Y too fast. The cement path slabs were NOT even, nor was the scraper handle level with my lower abdomen, to give me strength. Nope! I hit the very uneven last slab HARD! It was like hitting a brick wall with your fist. Only it wasn't my fist. It was my lower pelvic area. It hurt... hurt...HURT! I immediately thought, "OMG, I have cracked my pubic bone!"
Well, I made it into the house without CRAWLING on all fours, so I figured I was going to be okay. However, I needed to do something about the pain, and quickly. My cell phone rang and it was my mother calling. So of course I take the call, all the while taking off my coat and boots, mitts, and boots, thinking, "I need ice FAST", and trying to keep up my end of the conversation. I manage to chat, though not as long as my mother would have liked, I am sure. I hang up and tell my son-in-law, "Quick, I need an ice pack! I hurt myself shoveling". As he is rummaging around in the freezer, I think "A bag of frozen peas is NOT going to cut it here!". He hands me a freezer pack, and yells out to me in a concerned voice as I scoot up the stairs, "Did you fall?". "No", I yell back as I close the guest room door, throw myself on the bed, pull off my pants and long underwear, and slide a 5 inch by 7 inch ice pack between my legs. Lying there for twenty minutes, I have plenty of time to figure out that I don't know how to use a snow scraper properly.
I ended up with freezer burn on my inner thighs, and a very bruised pelvic area. Not that I have taken a look, mind you. It has been four days and it STILL hurts when I sit down or apply any pressure.
So another lesson learned by this Boomer. DO NOT, and I repeat, DO NOT use your pelvic area as a brace for your handle, when scraping snow off your sidewalk or front path. It is far better to feel like you have been sucker punched in the stomach or lower abdomen, than to feel like you have broken or cracked one of the more strategic and important bones in your body. Fais toujours attention à la bizoune, comme qu'on dit en Acadie.
Postal Saga Sequel
I had lots of time over the weekend to think how I was going to approach "those" employees at the front desk of the Post Office. I decided to make a joke out of the whole thing, with a comment like "Are you guys out to get me?"
So off I went to the Post Office for the FOURTH time, on Monday morning. Lo and behold! Who do I see in the parking lot, but the same affable gentleman who opened my box and gave me my second set of keys last Thursday.
I yell out to him. He tells me to talk to the employee at the front desk and he will be right in. So of course, this is déjà vu all over again. Miss Competent ( Can you detect a note of sarcasm there?) arranges for Mr. Affable to meet me once AGAIN, at my Super Box, in an hour.
When we meet up, he tries my keys. Well, they don't work any better for him than they did for me. Did he think I didn't know how to use them? So he opens my box with his master key. For those of you who made a prediction that my locks had been changed AGAIN, in those twenty four hours, you were right! There lay two NEW keys ONCE AGAIN!
We go through the same routine, double checking that my third set of keys actually work for me. I make a remark to the effect that OBVIOUSLY, no one had told the "lock changer person" Thursday, that the lock didn't need to be changed. So they went and changed the lock Friday. His parting comment to me? "Well, that may be so, but I don't know WHO changed the lock, since I am the one who does it!"
So I have come to the conclusion that some EVIL, EVIL Elf has been out to get me since I came back from My Camino. He has thrown every possible roadblock at me. Well, Christmas is coming and maybe he is going to take a rest? From making my life miserable anyway. I didn't think I had been that naughty.
On a final note for 2015, I wish you all a Joyous Christmas and a Peaceful and Prosperous New Year. Joyeux Noël et Bonne et Heureuse Année à tous. 2016 promises to hold more adventures. Of that, I am certain.
So off I went to the Post Office for the FOURTH time, on Monday morning. Lo and behold! Who do I see in the parking lot, but the same affable gentleman who opened my box and gave me my second set of keys last Thursday.
I yell out to him. He tells me to talk to the employee at the front desk and he will be right in. So of course, this is déjà vu all over again. Miss Competent ( Can you detect a note of sarcasm there?) arranges for Mr. Affable to meet me once AGAIN, at my Super Box, in an hour.
When we meet up, he tries my keys. Well, they don't work any better for him than they did for me. Did he think I didn't know how to use them? So he opens my box with his master key. For those of you who made a prediction that my locks had been changed AGAIN, in those twenty four hours, you were right! There lay two NEW keys ONCE AGAIN!
We go through the same routine, double checking that my third set of keys actually work for me. I make a remark to the effect that OBVIOUSLY, no one had told the "lock changer person" Thursday, that the lock didn't need to be changed. So they went and changed the lock Friday. His parting comment to me? "Well, that may be so, but I don't know WHO changed the lock, since I am the one who does it!"
So I have come to the conclusion that some EVIL, EVIL Elf has been out to get me since I came back from My Camino. He has thrown every possible roadblock at me. Well, Christmas is coming and maybe he is going to take a rest? From making my life miserable anyway. I didn't think I had been that naughty.
On a final note for 2015, I wish you all a Joyous Christmas and a Peaceful and Prosperous New Year. Joyeux Noël et Bonne et Heureuse Année à tous. 2016 promises to hold more adventures. Of that, I am certain.
MY STORAGE WARS!
MY STORAGE WARS - When you own a storage unit that has access from the outside, you SHOULD NOT park your vehicle in front of someone else's storage unit. I showed up at my unit one day last week, and when I rounded the corner, there was a vehicle in front of mine. I thought "Okay, I haven't been here in a while. Maybe mine if further up?" I park further up, but not in directly in front so as to block anyone's access. By the time I do that, a woman is standing in front of what I thought was MY unit, with the door open. So I figure I was having another total mentalpausal moment, a total brain fart, so I walked up a unit or two, trying to recognize my padlocks, wishing I had had the foresight to write my storage unit number in my phone. Of couse....I hadn't.
Nothing looked familiar, but I hadn't been there since the summer. So, I stuck a key in a padlock. It went in halfway, and then got STUCK!! No amount of jiggling and wiggling would get it out. Meanwhile, those people have left. I now have one key left, which doesn't fit any padlock I have tried around me. On a hunch, I go where their van had been parked, and SURE ENOUGH, MY OTHER KEY opens that lock. So that was MY storage unit. GEEZ Louise!
Now of course, I have two problems. Not only do I NOT have any spare keys - one of my keys is stuck where it doesn't belong, and the other opens only one of the two locks I have on my unit. I have screwed up someone's unit and I CAN'T get into mine.
I tried spraying some foamy thing out of a can, that I found in my car breakdown box, but that didn't budge the key. Off to the office I went, to get the lady from the front desk. She couldn't do anything, and told me she would have to get the maintenance guy in to saw off the padlock.
So, now I have to pay for a new padlock for this poor schmuck who won't be able to get into his unit, should he show up right now; I can't get into mine; I don't have my spare keys; I have to go back to my mother's to get it; and come back.
All of which I do, bouncing and swearing! My rearrival is timely; the maintenance guy comes around the corner as I am finally getting into MY unit. He can't get the key out, so he will have to saw it off.
Meanwhile, the reception lady comes out, reassures me that the unit owner is in Alberta and doesn't need to get into his storage and I don't have to pay for another lock, she has plenty. I think she took a shine to Vimy - he followed her everywhere earlier, even into her office.
So, as I told the maintenance man "Aren't you happy there are i-d-i-o-t-s like me, so that you have lots of work to keep you busy?"
Tout est bien qui finit bien!
Nothing looked familiar, but I hadn't been there since the summer. So, I stuck a key in a padlock. It went in halfway, and then got STUCK!! No amount of jiggling and wiggling would get it out. Meanwhile, those people have left. I now have one key left, which doesn't fit any padlock I have tried around me. On a hunch, I go where their van had been parked, and SURE ENOUGH, MY OTHER KEY opens that lock. So that was MY storage unit. GEEZ Louise!
Now of course, I have two problems. Not only do I NOT have any spare keys - one of my keys is stuck where it doesn't belong, and the other opens only one of the two locks I have on my unit. I have screwed up someone's unit and I CAN'T get into mine.
I tried spraying some foamy thing out of a can, that I found in my car breakdown box, but that didn't budge the key. Off to the office I went, to get the lady from the front desk. She couldn't do anything, and told me she would have to get the maintenance guy in to saw off the padlock.
So, now I have to pay for a new padlock for this poor schmuck who won't be able to get into his unit, should he show up right now; I can't get into mine; I don't have my spare keys; I have to go back to my mother's to get it; and come back.
All of which I do, bouncing and swearing! My rearrival is timely; the maintenance guy comes around the corner as I am finally getting into MY unit. He can't get the key out, so he will have to saw it off.
Meanwhile, the reception lady comes out, reassures me that the unit owner is in Alberta and doesn't need to get into his storage and I don't have to pay for another lock, she has plenty. I think she took a shine to Vimy - he followed her everywhere earlier, even into her office.
So, as I told the maintenance man "Aren't you happy there are i-d-i-o-t-s like me, so that you have lots of work to keep you busy?"
Tout est bien qui finit bien!
Life CAN'T Always Suck But....
it sure can be difficult!
Admittedly, my midlife's misadventures have been more AWESOME than awlful! That is true. So I pick up where I last left off. Sixty-one and living with Mom, and no wheels. Truly pathetic!
Well, I have since found a place to hang my hat, and I have a vehicle. Whoop! Whoop!, as my daughter would say (or write!).
How I arrived where I am today has been a long and circuitous route, with one misadventure after another. As my wonderful, former hairdresser often says "It could only happen to you!" I am beginning to believe she is right!
What do I think of my new apartment? Awesome! However, I have to try and forget that the landlord tricked me into paying $110.00 for a new paint job on the first floor. He also left me with a basement that REEKS of cat urine, after assuring me that it had been steam cleaned, and the smell would disappear. Well, it STILL reeks, after two weeks. I have spent a small fortune on baking soda to pull out the stench, not to mention hours of labour sprinkling, spraying, scrubbing, washing, rinsing and drying the area which the previous tenants' four cats had decided was their litter box. However, Vimy and I have a home of our own, with WONDERFUL neighbours!
I have a new mailbox to go with my new address. However, the previous tenants skipped out without leaving their mail key behind. Simple enough to go to the Post Office and get a new key and lock, right? NO! NO! NO! Not for this gal! I had to go to the Post Office FOUR times. The first time, they gave me a key and said the lock would be changed in a few days. When that didn't happen, I went back. "Oh, she is so busy. She is all alone. Give her a few more days to change the lock." So I do. Eleven days later, I still can't get into my mailbox. The key they gave me doesn't work. Back I go ... two employees are there, and the guy tells me that they didn't give me the key I am showing them that doesn't work. I tell him "Well, yeah, this lady standing right beside you gave me that key." She, of course, never admits or denies giving me the key. Are they deliberately trying to drive me crazy? I reiterate that I was INDEED given this key, which never worked, and what are they going to do about it? "We will arrange for you to meet one of our collegues at your box, and he will make sure you get your mail. "What about having a key that actually works?", I ask. "Oh, well, you will have to wait until Friday, or Monday, for the lock to be changed,"I am told. I am left feeling absolutely gobsmacked by this whole comedy of errors.
So I meet this man at the prescribed time, at my Super Box. He takes one look at the key I was given and says "Yeah, that's not the right key. They do that all the time". He opens my mailbox, and sure enough, there are two new keys in there! So he closes the box, makes me try the two new keys, which work, (Wonder of Wonders), and he assures me that I am all set. Perfect! I pick up 11 days worth of junk mail, happy that I finally have this "to do"off my list. So what do you think happens when I go to my mailbox the next day? You guessed it! My keys DON'T fit. This is beginning to feel like the Twilight Zone.
For those of you who like to predict what happens next... stay tuned to see if your prediction is right.
Admittedly, my midlife's misadventures have been more AWESOME than awlful! That is true. So I pick up where I last left off. Sixty-one and living with Mom, and no wheels. Truly pathetic!
Well, I have since found a place to hang my hat, and I have a vehicle. Whoop! Whoop!, as my daughter would say (or write!).
How I arrived where I am today has been a long and circuitous route, with one misadventure after another. As my wonderful, former hairdresser often says "It could only happen to you!" I am beginning to believe she is right!
What do I think of my new apartment? Awesome! However, I have to try and forget that the landlord tricked me into paying $110.00 for a new paint job on the first floor. He also left me with a basement that REEKS of cat urine, after assuring me that it had been steam cleaned, and the smell would disappear. Well, it STILL reeks, after two weeks. I have spent a small fortune on baking soda to pull out the stench, not to mention hours of labour sprinkling, spraying, scrubbing, washing, rinsing and drying the area which the previous tenants' four cats had decided was their litter box. However, Vimy and I have a home of our own, with WONDERFUL neighbours!
I have a new mailbox to go with my new address. However, the previous tenants skipped out without leaving their mail key behind. Simple enough to go to the Post Office and get a new key and lock, right? NO! NO! NO! Not for this gal! I had to go to the Post Office FOUR times. The first time, they gave me a key and said the lock would be changed in a few days. When that didn't happen, I went back. "Oh, she is so busy. She is all alone. Give her a few more days to change the lock." So I do. Eleven days later, I still can't get into my mailbox. The key they gave me doesn't work. Back I go ... two employees are there, and the guy tells me that they didn't give me the key I am showing them that doesn't work. I tell him "Well, yeah, this lady standing right beside you gave me that key." She, of course, never admits or denies giving me the key. Are they deliberately trying to drive me crazy? I reiterate that I was INDEED given this key, which never worked, and what are they going to do about it? "We will arrange for you to meet one of our collegues at your box, and he will make sure you get your mail. "What about having a key that actually works?", I ask. "Oh, well, you will have to wait until Friday, or Monday, for the lock to be changed,"I am told. I am left feeling absolutely gobsmacked by this whole comedy of errors.
So I meet this man at the prescribed time, at my Super Box. He takes one look at the key I was given and says "Yeah, that's not the right key. They do that all the time". He opens my mailbox, and sure enough, there are two new keys in there! So he closes the box, makes me try the two new keys, which work, (Wonder of Wonders), and he assures me that I am all set. Perfect! I pick up 11 days worth of junk mail, happy that I finally have this "to do"off my list. So what do you think happens when I go to my mailbox the next day? You guessed it! My keys DON'T fit. This is beginning to feel like the Twilight Zone.
For those of you who like to predict what happens next... stay tuned to see if your prediction is right.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
-
that was TOTALLY life affirming, happened to me this morning. I walked out my door, at 7:30 am, on my way to take Vimy for a walk, before... -
especially in the month of January, on the east coast of Canada. With -35 Celsius temperatures, blizzards, weather bombs, treacherous road... -
That day, I woke up to the news that Canada was seemingly falling apart. I was getting frantic messages to come home, while I still could. ...