Moron...My New State of Being

The other day I was challenged by the door to the nursing home. It took me four tries to get in the door. One..I didn't punch in the code. Two...I didn't see the star after the numbers. Three...I accidently put a hashtag instead of the star. Four...code numbers, star....and I'm in. Later that same day I screwed up the portable card reader at the restaurant.

Today, what I did beats all of that.

I hadn't yet decided on what I was going to do today, but my actions have now decided for me.

I have porridge every morning, the instant kind you can do in the microwave. I poured the package into a small bowl, added the water and stirred it up. Then I pushed the button to open the door to the microwave and it swept the bowl of porridge right off the counter and down the front of me to land, open end up of course, on the carpet.

I now have oatmeal down my T shirt, my jeans, all across the fridge and cupboard doors, and of course...the rug and floor. What a mess.

I tossed the rug out the back door to hose off. It took the rest of my roll of paper towels to clean up the floor, the cupboards, the fridge. That stuff really flew.

I guess this is a teaching moment, about keeping my kitchen counters clear, because if I had taken the container to the compost yesterday, the counter would have been clear and I would have fixed my oatmeal beside the sink instead of in front of the microwave.

I'm at the computer, obviously, and have stepped away from the final cleanup, just taking a break until I get to it. Now I can laugh at the sillyness of it all.

But, let me say, I'm ready to go back to being a sane, smart and fully functioning adult.

Feeling Stupid

I went to the nursing home yesterday to meet my daughter-in-law. First time at her work place.

I walked through the outer door and into a small vestibule, grabbed the door...and it wouldn't open. I should have realized there was security. Had I not spent the majority of my nursing career in long term care?

I found the key pad on the wall to the left, down low so not immediately in view. The code was noted above the keypad. 1 2 3 4. Simple. I tried it and it didn't work.

Leaning down I gave the code a better read (didn't have my bifocals on). 1 2 3 4 *. Okay, so I missed the star. I punched in the code again. 1 2 3 4 #. Door still didn't open.

Is this like what they call muscle memory? How many times are you directed to give the hashtag sign, like on the phone when talking through a sequence of directions? I pushed it without thinking.

Let's try this again. 1 2 3 4 *. Yeah, break out the balloons, throw the confetti, I managed to open the door.

As I stepped inside I realized there was a woman watching at reception, watching my moronic moment. We laughed, and she was very nice, trying to reassure me that many people have trouble with the door and its code. So there are other morons out there, wonderful.

Later, I was at lunch trying to pay the bill. Another machine, that I managed until it came to the tip. Percentage, amount or no tip at all. Somehow I pushed the wrong thing and ended up with the No Tip choice. If I'd had cash for a tip I could have left it at that. As it was I called our server over and had to get her to fix it, so I could tip her.

As this is a regular lunch, and we always have the same server, I was not about to stiff her on the tip.

It was my day for feeling stupid. And the day wasn't over yet.

Strange Words

My daughter-in-law was borrowing Velma (my van) for an outing with the kids, and dropped by this morning to make the vehicle exchange. She knocked softly on the door, and when there was no immediate response assumed I was still asleep.

I was up, but moving much slower, but I caught her as she started to drive away.

"There's a coffee on your window sill and a sweet potato on your door," she said.

Such strange conversations we can have. The coffee, from Tim's is self explanatory as my family is well addicted to their brew, but the sweet potato?

After a few minutes conversation she was on her way. I received a phone call after that from my neighbor. "I left a sweet potato on your door," she said.

Now I get it.

My neighbor is going away, and was giving me a vegetable that might spoil in her absence. My daughter-in-law was just letting me know it was there.

Funny, but it all made sense to me. I put the veggie in the fridge and sat down to play on the internet and enjoy my coffee. I don't need it by any means, but a donut would have been nice. Just kidding.

Recycle, Reuse

I'd had a late lunch and didn't feel like cooking dinner, but later that evening, found myself hungry. Looking in the fridge I saw the Becel container I use as a replacement for Tupperware. By the light from the open fridge door, I looked at the contents of the container.

There were peas, leftover from the night before, and some sort of white stuff in a sauce that I thought must be the chicken, also from the night before. I grabbed a fork and had a taste, cold, trying to decide if I wanted it bad enough to 'Nuke' it warm.

I didn't find it real appealing, and was surprised because the chicken was real tasty the first time.

Oh, no. I suddenly remembered what was in the container. Ugh, and I'd eaten it, well tasted it at least.

A couple of nights ago I had soup for dinner. The ready-to-eat kind that is chunky, a meal in a bowl. I only had a bit and put the rest in a Becel container, and into the refrigerator. Two days after that it was still there, and I'd known I wasn't going to eat it.

Then when I had the chicken, with peas (that had been in the freezer too long) I tossed the leftover peas in the same container as the soup. I figured I'd make that my compost type container and left it on the counter, then tossed it in the fridge in case it would start to smell.

No wonder it didn't taste so good. I know now why they sell those plastic containers with a dial-a-date on top to show how long the contents have been stored. A strip of masking tape to note the contents would also work, but, as I live alone, you'd think I' remember.

No more late night foraging in the fridge, unless it's for fruit, something safe.

Needless to say, I'm off peas and soup for awhile.

Poor Velma

My poor old Velma, she's definitely showing her age. She's got a new ailment, something that occasionally knocks, or goes thump and twack.

I need to get her to the spa (the garage), but as quiet as my life is I don't seem to have had a few consecutive days free to take her in and leave her.

For those new readers, Velma is my old van. She's much like me, showing her age, heart and mind still willing but the body wearing out. I figure we just might end our driving days together.

My daughter-in-law borrowed Velma last week for a road trip, as she and a friend wanted to do something with the kids, too many to go together in any one car. I was okay with that, as Velma likes a day out every once in a while.

I have a neighbor across the way, who also had a old car that he gave it up for safety reasons. He's a small man, in his nineties and was proud as punch with the car he purchased to replace the old. It's a bright red Sprite? a very small car that almost seems more of a toy than a car for real.

He gave me a talking to one day about cars. He told me the story of his old car, and his decision to buy another. He wasn't quite ready to give up his independence. Like me, he isn't out and about on a regular basis, but, when he wants to go, he likes having the ability to go on his own timing.

My other neighbor, also in her nineties, gave up her car a few years ago. She's quite mobile and does manage to walk downtown and to the pharmacy. Other stores are out of her range, especially if she's buying groceries.

Walmart, No Frills and the dollar stores are across town, so not as convenient. I take her with me when ever I'm going to any of those type of stores, or to the next town to hit Giant Tiger.

I hope Velma passes her physical, as I still want and need a car. Looking at my neighbors, I see the things I'll have to give up if I don't have wheels. Like the run out of town to visit my son, my doctor, the lunches out with my brother and my friend.

I couldn't even start with the bus, and I haven't ridden a bus in twenty years, because the bus stop is too far for me to walk. I have been paying attention, and know there's a bus for the disabled, but it has to be booked in advance, so there goes any spontaneity.

Hang in there Velma, we old girls need to stick together.

That's Nice

"That's nice."

Are there any more disappointing words to hear than "that's nice" when someone looks at one of your creative endeavors and that is their only response?

You know immediately the person doesn't like it and are, maybe, trying to be polite. I think, deep inside, they know their response is lacking in any sincerity.

When I visit someone's home, and see changes, like in paint color or furniture, I give a better response than 'that's nice'. Someone put a lot of thought, effort, and most likely money, to make those changes, and though the change might not be to my taste...it's not my house...and their efforts should not be dismissed or disparaged.

I comment on the color, or the comfort of the sofa, or how much I like the light fixture. Something, anything but "that's nice'.

I'm writing and I probably shouldn't be. I'm writing because I feel hurt, because 'nice' was the comment to what has been three days of effort. I think I was basically told my work is old fashioned, out of date and therefore not appealing to the next generation.

It is a sad thing, that hand made gifts, made with caring and effort, have lost their appeal.

Could You Hold Please?

Sometimes being on hold can be a pleasant thing, a chance to sit for a minute and listen to some music, if the station is right. I was calling my doctor's office and got the usual message..."Can you hold, please?"...and found myself on hold so fast I couldn't even reply..

My doctor doesn't have music when you're on hold, just silence, which always makes me think I've lost the connection. Last time I disconnected, and called again, but as the office has call display, they knew it was me who'd hung up. This time I waited, and waited, and listened to the quiet.

For something to do, I went to Google, opened Pinterest, and checked out my board of 'My Knit and Crochet'. There were lots of sweaters, and a slew of scarves and hats that should be on my other crochet board..'Winter Crochet'. I like to keep things organized, so I also have boards for slippers, bags and amiguruni.

I decided to create a new board, as I was still on hold, and called it Novelty Crochet. I started moving all the non clothing pins to the new board. I could see all the ideas I have played with in the past, like the kitchen towel holders, the coasters, the mug warmers and the scrubbies, for the kitchen and for makeup removal.

These are things I have as gifts, for family, for friends and for teacher gifts for the grandchildren.

As I moved the pins to the new board, I deleted them from the first board...while still on hold. The receptionist did come on the phone once, but I was quickly back on hold waiting for the nurse.

Finally, I got my business done and hung up. But I wasn't finished with the OCD organization of my Pinterest pins. I finished it off and felt a sense of accomplishment that I could check something off my To Do List.

And while I was doing all that organizing...I found all these new projects,  nicely saved and now I'm thinking I may give them a try.

When a Dime is Worth More Than Ten Cents

A number of years ago my daughter started finding dimes, in different and unusual spots. At first she thought nothing of it, like when she found a dime on the floor of her car. That coin could have been dropped anytime, like on a trip through the drive-thru.

She found them in her office, at home, even in the street. I know that may not seem of any consequence, as people keep change in their pockets and change could easily have been dropped and lost.

She found it curious and discovered there was a deeper meaning to finding a dime.

It is considered a sign of communication from someone who has passed on, letting the person, the finder of the dime, know they are not alone.

I think she considered the dimes a message from her father, as this seemed to coincide with the 10th (that number 10 again) anniversary of his death.

I did some research and found it could also be considered a message from beyond that the finder is on the right path...or a reminder that you are loved and valued...or a reminder to pay attention, keep watch, keep your eyes open.

The number 10 is a symbol of a circle. 10 is reduced to 1, a reminder we are at one with the spirits, or that there is to be a new beginning, a start of a new chapter.

Some believe that after the loss of a loved one, or when struggling or feeling alone, finding a dime is a reminder that one is not alone. It is a reminder of our power to begin fresh and tackle anything that comes our way.

I've had some struggles lately, new medication, adverse effects, more new medication, all while dealing with a chronic illness. I got wondering about this whole dime stuff because after a visit from my daughter not too long ago, I found a dime on the floor. No one had a wallet out, so where did this dime come from?

I'll take that this was a sign...for a new beginning...for feeling better.

I'm going to keep my eyes open from now on. You never know what signs I might have missed, that I won't be missing from now on.