O.F.T.

So, the title is O.F.T.. Want to know what that stands for? Old Farts Travel...

You can sit there and laugh and your younger self can think, "What the Hell is she talking about?" Guaranteed though, some of the "more mature" of the readers will understand and take pity.

Let me enlighten you to the "fun" of old farts travel. You decide you're going somewhere, anywhere, it doesn't make much difference if it's far away or a day trip, the drill is pretty much the same.

You go to bed the night before trying to remember all the stuff you must take for the upcoming trip. If it's a day trip it's not as bad, but gees, if it's a trip that you'll need a suitcase, God help you...

Recently Larry and I went on a Fossil Bus tour (read below if you don't know what that is). We were really in trouble the very first moment of the day we were going on the %^&$ bus. Our bus left the meeting site at 5:30 am. The last time we left that early for something we didn't go to bed the night before knowing full well if we did it wouldn't be a pretty sight for anyone who saw us that early in the morning. We should have remembered that.

Larry has a routine in the morning that CAN NOT BE MODIFIED or else life as we know it will cease to exist. I hear him get up and I pull the covers over my head. I know better than to rise at the same time as he. It's either get up earlier than him, or wait until the coast is clear to get up after him. There is no exception...usually.

His day starts as follows: You hear him swing his legs off the bed with a resounding "THUD!!". Then the expletives start..."Holy #$%^, jesum-h-christo, life sucks, omigod, %^&$#, whatthehell....oh gees, freakin'foot^&%$%, (now mind you this is all before he stands up). Then you hear the movement to the bathroom (it's not walking...it's kind of a shuffle with a bunch of expletives thrown in for good measure). The bathroom must have some kind of hidden agenda because the room gets a slap as he walks through the door. I'm still under cover at this point so I'm not sure what's going on, and I'll be damned sure I'm not getting out of my blanket fort to check it out....I know when I'm safe.

After a couple of minutes, I hear the toilet flush (a good sign... there is life and the toilet hasn't been demolished in the morning "hate") then the "clomp, clomp. clomp" sound of heavy footfall down the hallway. Our hallway is short, but honest to God you'd think it was the length of the corridors on the way to "old Sparky" to be electrocuted.

When he gets into the kitchen, he hits the button on the coffee pot...(thank all that's holy for that invention). He ambles into the living room where he drops into his chair...The TV goes on and he waits with half opened eyes until the coffee pot extends its welcomed hand toward him in the form of coffee scent...

OK you have the idea. Now, put all that in your mind and imagine what it's like when you have to be somewhere early in the morning. Do you think the sight is pretty? Do you think it's easy to get out the door in time?

I usually have everything I need in a pile on the table. I take time a day or so before to assemble the necessary items I'll need. No sweat. Larry however, has a different approach. He waits until the last minute to decide he wants something to wear that was stored in the cellar last fall... You get the idea. He has gotten better as he's aged, but there's still something that won't be where he wants it, when he wants it and it will be the worst thing that's ever happened to anyone ever, ever, ever. I don't buy into that, by the way. I go on my merry way getting myself ready.

In the past we could grab stuff, put it into a back pack and be on our way. We had sports cars so we couldn't take much stuff anyway, but we didn't need much. However, times have changed. When we go any place these days we're looking at plastic bags filled with patent meds, lots of patent meds. In the bag (which we have one always at the ready now-you know "grab-n- go") we have: aspirin, ibuprofen, salon pas (stick on liniment pads), tums, q-tips, Maalox, moleskin patches, nail file, tiny scissors, a pillbox (filled with enough meds we can sell on the street for big bucks if we find we need money???why???), eye drops, tucks pads (if you don't know what they're for you're too young to be reading this) and an assortment of other "necessities".

With the bag and at least one change of clothes we're ready, almost, to go. Then there's the question...do I need a jacket? do I need a sweatshirt? What if I spill something on myself, I may need a different shirt, oh gee, if I bring a different shirt, I'll need other pants, should I bring another pair of undies? The list goes on...

When you think everything is correct, you're ready to leave, after you go to the bathroom again... and that dear friends is a shortened version of Old Farts Travel...

I'm walking on Egg Shells

Have you ever had days when you knew you should have stayed in bed, but were too stupid to listen to yourself? I don't know why I'm asking that, because I know you have had days like the ones I've had lately.

Through no fault of my own, and that's not the usual case, I seem to be in some weird dimension that revels in making my life a living Hell. Since the past weekend I have had some of the strangest things happen to me and all I'm doing is breathing. Honest, all I've done is breathe. I haven't tried to alienate folks, but I have. I haven't tried to hurt myself, physically, but I have. I haven't tried to make people uncomfortable in my presence, but apparently my being alive is enough to put some ill at ease.

Now, maybe some folks would think this weird ability I seem to have attained is a positive asset. Maybe some would think I have control over others just because I'm breathing, but I have to tell you, I'm not crazy about this feeling as though I'm walking on egg shells. For the next few days I'm planning on staying either in my house, or when I do go out, I'm going to keep my mouth shut. Keeping my mouth shut is going to be rough, but I must do it, either that or find a nunnery somewhere I can stay for a while.

I have to go to a funeral tomorrow. A friend passed away unexpectedly, and I sort of wonder if this may be the reason for the strange events of the past few days. I'm not really into the "woo-woo" stuff but I'm beginning to wonder about some of it.

Oh well, one day at a time, I guess.......

Fossil Buses

If you Goggle "Fossil Bus" I think you get some buses doing archaeological research and some video tape of kids on a school bus, although I don't get that one...

The Fossil Buses I'm talking about are neither of those. No, I'm talking about the buses filled with Senior Citizens going on "adventures" to places they don't want to drive to, or can't go on their own, or don't want to go on their own. There's a definite place for these buses, but I have to tell you, it's a mind blower the first time you go on one.

We went down to NY city on one....I saw the trip advertised in the paper. It was inexpensive, going to a place we wanted to go to, and I knew some of the folks on the bus.

The bus trip was organized by a Senior Citizen group and it was...a bit different. I am a Senior Citizen. I know I'm old. I know I don't do things the way I did them in the past, but I don't think I'm quite old enough for Fossil Buses, yet.

I enjoyed the trip. We had a good time but, and you knew there had to be a but, I have a difficult time going on a bus with few folks I know, listening to horror medical stories about colons, gall bladders, lower intestines, stomach, pancreas, prostate, breasts and vaginal discharges. All spoken about with laughter and jokes...

OK, admittedly, these topics were common ground, but honest to God I thought I'd gone through to another dimension and came out in "Hospital-land". You'd think conversations about poop would be discussed quietly, if at all, but not this bunch. There was a discussion on one side of the bus about the best anti-diarrhea meds. On the other side the discussion was about constipation and how eating prunes wasn't the best method to alleviate the problem these days. At the same time I heard all about someones colonoscopy and the polyps that showed up. The answering comment included a dissertation about colostomy bags and where you could get the supplies almost wholesale (I'm shelving that for future reference).

When it wasn't about poop, and all it's facets, the topic morphed into the surgeries they have had, their spouses have had, they were going to have or someone else's surgery. Then it went to the Doctors they had. Who the Docs were. What their specialty was and how many divorces the Docs racked up...

I learned more on that bus trip about my neighbors colons and breasts than I really needed to know. The Docs, well I would've liked to hear more about the divorces and the rest of the gossip I couldn't hear. Next time I'm going to bring one of those ear phone things that make the conversations around you easier to hear... I think I missed some really good tidbits of info...

Why write?

Look, I will admit I like to gamble. I like the adrenaline rush of a winning hand or the sight of the numbers rolling the way I want and I'll admit it, I like the sound of the one armed bandits as they spin. I don't go into a casino with much money, only the amount I'm willing to lose that day.

The problem is, a casino of sorts opened less than 2 miles from my house. Knowing how I like the adrenaline and the sounds, I stayed away at first. Slowly I learned more about the place, so I decided to check it out.

It's one of those normal looking casino places, all glittery, noisy, people bustling around, officials and floor personnel walking the gauntlet of aisles searching for people either in distress or people getting ready to take a sledge hammer to the machines. It wasn't different from any other gambling establishment I've been to.

I've been going on and off since the place opened. I don't go everyday, but I go at least a couple times a month. The most I've ever brought in with me is $50.00, that's big spending to me. I play certain games that make me laugh or I try to figure out how they work. After that I leave.

Every month I get a flyer from the casino. It's as if there's some subliminal message on the page trying to entice me to go more often. Usually the flyer gives me some incentive to go into the place to get free "something". I don't pay for food there since they give me free points if I bring the coupons in that are on the flyer.

I've written before about the people I see in the Casino. The majority are o-l-d. I'll bet the average age in the "neighborhood" casino is 75. Sure, there are others who are younger, but honest most are old, in wheel chairs, those blasted scooters, walkers, with oxygen, canes, braces, you name it.

I have no problem with older folks, Hell, I'm one of them myself, but some of them shouldn't be in there with all those people.... Their sneezing, coughing, choking, grunting as they sit with the glazed over look in their eyes, hitting buttons on a damned machine.

My friends are concerned that I have a "gambling problem". Maybe I do, but I think, like the older folks I see, it's a "boredom" problem. Most of the folks I see in the casino are passing time. That's all. I know all of them want to win that "Big Jackpot in the Sky", but the reality is, if they won it, they'd be back in the casino as soon as they could to hit the buttons on the machine again.

It's time to think about this boredom thing. I need to analyze it...but I'll wait until I get back from the casino........

Is it just me?

Can someone please tell me what the Hell is happening to us in this country? I'm not talking about politics, this is a general question. I'm really stumped. I'm wondering if I'm the only one who is noticing this stuff and I'm so old I'm out of touch with reality or something.

Today I was in a Dollar Store. I hate the Dollar Stores, but sometimes they have something I want and certainly the price is right, so I cave...

While I was looking for the "must have" thing I wanted, I noticed a woman sitting on the edge of an end cap display. She was crying and I started to walk up to her to ask if I could help. I realized she was on the phone to someone. Now, honestly, I thought she had gotten bad news about a death or something, so I found myself wondering how I could approach her to give her some comfort. I truly felt empathy for her obvious distress.

In my mind there were all kinds of scenarios going through my head. Her Mother, Father, brother, sister, husband had died, was maimed, fell out of an airplane, fell off a roof, was in an accident all kinds of things. While I was going through all the tragedies in my head which would cause this distress, I heard her say, "I've had it with you! I spend my life trying to make sure you have all that you need. I put things off that I need, so you have the resources to do what you want. I'm through". Clearly this conversation was not about the death of a parent or any other family member. I was sure no one had fallen out of an airplane or off a roof. I felt better about that, but then I started to wonder, why anyone would have a conversation like the one I witnessed in the Dollar Store?

What is there about cell phones that make people feel they can bare their souls in public, then look at the people around them with disdain because they're listening to their conversation? For God's sake don't sit on the end cap of a counter having a private conversation in the damned Dollar Store. If you're in a restaurant and you get a call where you have to start to talk about some personal hygeine issues, or health issues, take it away from me...Actually, don't talk on the damned cell phone while you're in the reataurant at all. I you don't have the cell phone on you at all times, is the world going to end>? Are you so important you need to be available 24/7? I think not. Am I wrong?

Cell phones are a great little invention, if they're used correctly. Don't take the damned thing into the restaurants, theatre, or the library. Honestly, I don't want to hear your conversation. If you're having a fight with your significant other, go outside, sit in your car and talk to the jerk, I don't need to hear it. I sure don't want to hear about your sex life. I don't care about it.

When did the cell phone take priority over sitting and speaking face to face with someone. I can't stand it when I'm in a conversation with someone at a restaurant, deep into the conversation and their cell phone rings. What I hate more is when they hold up their hand to me as if to say, "hold on", then they answer the &*^%% cell phone. At that point I have all I can do to sit and "hold on" to my temper. I am obviously not as important to them as the nameless (to me) entity on the *&^%% cell phone.

I'm making a deal with myself as of this moment. When that happens again, I don't care who it is, I'm getting up and leaving the table. I have had it with rudeness, and that's what it is...rude.

We all have our own opinions

Aldi’s Adventure

I have a bumper sticker on my car that states: Don't like abortion? Don't have one. Seems to be a reasonable statement to me, but I've had several folks stop and challenge me about it. I actually had a problem at a grocery store.

As I left the store I noticed that another car was parked so close to mine I was unable to open the driver's door. I stood and waited until the person came out of the store. As I was standing there I noticed the car was filled with all manner of literature depicting right to life info. Some of the stuff was really offensive and nasty. The back seat was piled high with bibles and some pamphlets that resembled some extreme conservative types of literature.

After a couple of minutes, I noticed a woman coming towards the car and she was Hell bent on getting in my face from the get-go. She angrily stated, "I wanted to make sure YOU couldn't get into your car before I let you know that I DON'T appreciate your bumper sticker…" I thought she was talking about the one that says, "Christianity has Pagan DNA", or maybe it was the one that says, "I haven't been the same since that house fell on my sister",but that wasn't the one she took offense to. No, it was the abortion sticker. She went on a tirade and I just looked at her and said, "Isn't it great, we live in a country where we can all have our own opinions and we don't have to worry about someone trying to shut us down?" She went completely nuts. Unbeknownst to me there was a man on the other side of my car who was listening to the tirade and he stepped in to defend my right to my opinion, and to defend me, while this woman decided to defame my character, my car, my bumper stickers, my clothes...you name it she was on a roll. I just stood there. How the Hell I was able to keep myself from blowing up is beyond me, but I thought at the time that I was witnessing, first hand, a sociology/psychology experiment. I slipped around to the other side of the car, crawled into the driver's side, over the console between my seats and started my car.

The two of them were still going at it tooth and nail. I eased the car out of the parking spot and drove away. I looked into the rear view mirror at the sight of them poking each other with pointed fingers. I just smiled and thought..."oh well..." I choose the battles I fight, and if I see that battle is going to be with someone who's fanatical, I will always retreat to fight another day. Some may find that cowardly, I say its self preservation.

I just can't find it!

I'm writing this as a public service for those of you that haven't gotten to this point in life. I'm not blaming it on the age thing, because there's more to this than just aging.

This happened to me this morning, so it's fresh in my mind. I'm in the middle, actually the end, of a kitchen remodel. The old kitchen has looked the same for the last 20 or so years. After careful deliberation I decided the whole thing had to be gutted and reconfigured into something for the 21st century and not some vintage 1960's Beaver Cleaver Mom's kitchen. I've been writing about the kitchen remodel and the education I've gotten regarding new kitchen stuff, enlightening, to say the least (also "lightning" my pocketbook at killer speed as well).

Today, while hubby slept, I decided it was time to clean up the appliances. I started with the glass topped stove. I put the polish goop on it and did the best I could. I realized I needed to get one of the scrapers I use to get the little stuck-on stuff off. The problem with that was I couldn't remember where I put the widget thing I use for this purpose.

My search took me into the depths of the garage where all the contractor's tools and equipment is being temporarily stored. I had put all the contents of the old drawers and cabinets in the garage in the interim. As the new cabinets were installed I emptied the boxes holding all the essential contents of the old cabinets into the new ones. Let me tell you this, not everything went into the new cabinets, I had some pretty used up crap I was still holding on to (why? I don't know. You'd think I was raised during the depression...that's the one in the 30's not the one we're currently in... Why we all keep junk is beyond me...). The crap went into the garage sale box (like someone is going to buy this junk?).

I pulled apart every box in the garage. I stood on ladders looking for the stupid thing on the top shelves. Then I decided that &*^% hubby must have seen the thing, moved it to some other spot. I had some very choice words for the man of my former dreams, who at that point was dreaming in his #$%^^&%% bed, as I was looking for the #%$%^&& widget thing to clean my stove.

I went into his work room in the basement. I tore through all the cartons, tool boxes, and shelving. As I did that I began to straighten out the mess down there, finding all kinds of goodies I could use in the new kitchen. I figured if the #$%^& creepy hubby could move or take MY widget, I could appropriate some of his little organizer things. I classified this as the Right of Imminent Domain. I, being the "imminent", "domain" being the new kitchen rehab.

Still not finding the widget, I went into my studio and searched all the nooks and crannies in that hovel. No luck finding the widget thing, (you know what I'm talking about, it's a razor blade in a plastic holder). By this time I was sure when I found the damned thing I'd use it to slit my wrist, or better yet, hubby's, since I KNEW he moved the &^%*@ thing.

Upstairs I trudged, carrying all the new found goodies from the basement work room. My new cabinets are the kind that go to the ceiling. They are really tall, I'm not. I have a convertible chair/ladder that works great for me to climb so I can reach the top cabinet. I almost get a nose bleed on the top stair, but that's OK. The cabinets look cool, so I'll deal with that...

Up on the ladder, I decided to check every cabinet for the offending widget. Peering into the cabinets, I decided they needed to be better organized. When you get something like new cabinets it takes months to finally settle on where things are best suited. There's lots of movement of stuff as the stuff gets settled in it's new home. Nothing is permanent for quite a while.

By now, three hours have passed, trying to find the %$#%&* widget. I could have used: a knife, a razor, a spatula or probably some other utensil, but no, I had to have the &^*^%$$ widget.

I've used every dirty word in my vocabulary. I've called the Father of my children, the love of my life, my best friend, every rotten expletive I know, all over a $2.00 little plastic razor thing. All because I won't use any other thing but that ^%$%$* widget for this job. What's that all about?

I lose things on a regular basis, oh there in the house, they're not lost forever, but when I need them, they're lost. This was different though, I knew HE moved it. I almost gave up looking, grabbed a pot of ice cold water to throw at him in the bed.

As I gave up the quest for the widget to get the pot I was going to fill, a sudden glimmer of remembrance came fleeting through my thought processes...hmmm...I remembered putting the widget thing into a plastic bag, then dropping it into a drawer. I stopped in my pot grab stance, and looked down at the drawers. I opened the bottom drawer, and there in all it's glory was the baggie with the widget. I think I'll go give hubby a little peck on the cheek.......