Very very very bad day

 

I don't consider myself superstitious, but there is no denying that today was a very very very bad day all the way around.

I got up to discover that my glucose meter was no longer functioning. New batteries, fiddling around, nothing worked, so I looked on line to see what was available. Apparently my particular meter is out of date now, which is bad luck because I have two boxes of strips left over and they are not cheap. I decided to go to a local drug store to buy a new meter and strips and after talking to the pharmacist, I brought them home. 

My first strip was way higher than it has ever been, so I tried three more times and got varying numbers over thirty points apart. Obviously the machine did not work, so I had to return it. I called to see if my doctor would prescribe a new meter and then my insurance would cover it. She did! 

Then the pharmacy called to say she neglected to give it a code. Since that is not something I can do I told them to call the doctor. Later I called to check and it was covered, but when I asked if there were strips included they said no. Now I am waiting to see if they call the doctor and she sends them a prescription for the strips, because it is useless without them. And, on top of all this, they will not have any meters in stock until tomorrow. So I am waiting.

In the meantime I got a voicemail that that my recliner is ready to be delivered. I tried to do the right thing and go to a local store to buy it. It cost a little more, but I thought there were several benefits. I was wrong. They no longer take away your old chair when you buy a new one and you have to wait 4-8 weeks for delivery! I tried to respond to the voicemail and set up a delivery date, but no one here or in the main office would answer. They gave me an email address, but the first one did not work. I finally got through to our local store and they gave me an email address that did work and umpteen phone calls later I now know that the men will text me on March 15th and give me a two hour delivery window. Ugh.

I almost cancelled my appointment to get my hair cut, because I figured with my luck it would be a disaster too, but I didn't.  My salon operator, who gave me the best cut ever five weeks ago was limping around with a knee brace, but she was sweet, cheerful and positive she could deliver a haircut that would rise above this awful day. 

One side is slightly shorter than the other, but I didn't notice until I was home.

I got out the scissors, trimmed up my hair and settled in. I am not leaving the house the rest of this day. In fact, I am not doing much of anything for the rest of this very very very bad day.

Surprise, surprise, surprise

 

Imagine someone trying to start a relationship with you, so they take you to a Valentine party! 

Right? Right!

Then they abandon you, let you buy your own meal and eat alone while they wander off to play games with other people.

Of course they come back. Whining that the other people didn't play nice with them! 

And some people wonder why the world treats them so badly.

This didn't happen to me, but it happened to someone I know quite well. I am just amazed that she went out with the guy at all. It's not like she doesn't know who he is. She was married to him once upon a time and he hasn't changed at all.

People can be so self absorbed they don't even realize the rest of the world is not there just for their use. They believe  it is everyone else who is rude, crude, and has no social skills!

Enough

 

People seem to love being joiners. They want to be part of something, sometimes, anything. It isn't rare in nature. There are herd mentalities, flock mentalities, schools of fish, religions, political parties, all sorts of ways to protect yourself by joining in with others of like minds, abilities, whatever. 

Unfortunately people also love attention. They like to be noticed, to stand out, to be special. Fortunately, or unfortunately, these two things sort of clash. It's hard to be just like everyone else and stand out. Teenagers aim for it. They are known for bucking the system just like all their friends, but I would hope adults might see through this.

They don't. People want to be "in style." They want to belong to exclusive groups, particular schools, millionaire and billionaire clubs. Joining is a national past time. We foster it from preschool on, because it is easier to control people who follow the crowd. They are swayed by the people around them and less likely to break out of the mold -- until they do. Then beware the frustrated, unhappy stray who suddenly goes berserk and shoots people, or runs them down with their vehicles. 

A few might simply rise to the top and run the show, but it is not possible for everyone to do this.

Or is it?

When I taught preschool we had people observe us for many different reasons. Student teachers had to be evaluated, we had to be evaluated, people wanted to see what our school was like before they enrolled their children.  One of the best criticisms we ever received was from a well respected, well educated person who complained, "You have a class full of leaders." What they meant was we had fifteen happy, outspoken, well adjusted little three year olds who were eager to contribute and participate in whatever we were doing.

It was no accident. 

People have bad days, but we made sure there were acceptable alternatives always available that made shaming unnecessary. In all the years I taught we only had one child who could not make it and he came from an extremely intense family situation. Of course these were three year olds coming from a loving family to a loving school. The world isn't like that for adults.

Bewildered adults join in, follow the leader, try not to make waves and still rise to the top. 

I think we need to redefine the top. It really and truly is not the same for everybody. Instead of aiming for a lot of money, bigger houses, faster cars, more possessions than those around you, what if the top was simply having enough to be happy?

Enough. It implies enough balance, happiness, food, joy, whatever it takes to make your endorphins content. This kind of success comes from within. People who find this may join things, or follow along for a while, but they are not driven to it by something that is not natural to them. Competition is a dis-ease spread by those who think they will profit from it.

Stress

 

Stress control is easier to talk about than practice! I think one of the things that draws me to the octopus is the way its emotions are instantly revealed by its color. I am a barometer for feelings.

For example: Last Friday I discovered that my car, in spite of everything I did to protect it from the numbing snowstorm that I knew was coming, had died. The battery was dead and the car was packed on four sides by frozen snow. Since it is nearly nine years old and has died several other times in the cold this past twelve months, I knew I needed a battery, but I could not get an appointment to do that until Tuesday! 

Five days with no car and the towing company would not commit to coming at a specific time to be sure I could get to the battery place, plus they wanted me to have my car dug out of the snow before they came. These are stressful things. Especially because of my age and the fact that I live in an apartment. I do not own a snow shovel and even if I did, trying to get out to my car, or being able to shovel it out are unlikely.

I was blessed by some young neighbors who took it upon themselves to take turns digging my car out while their toddler napped. Unasked, they simply showed up and told me it was done! Then the day of my appointment the towing company would only commit to showing up between 7 and 10, so I had to get up very very early then sit and wait for hours. Once they came I had to drive straight to the battery place and wait again. At least they worked me in early, but it was bad news. The alternator was bad too, so the cost was ten times what I had anticipated.

They kindly drove me home so I could wait there and then they picked me up when my car was ready to go. It runs better than ever now, the snow is packed down or scraped away, I can even get to my mailbox, but these have been very stressful days for me. I was sick by the time I went to bed Tuesday night.

I did some stress eating on Tuesday and even today, two days later, it is showing up in my glucose and weight. Age has left me incredibly vulnerable to everything. I am my own worst enemy. Experience helps with some things, but there are others it where it just doesn't matter and one of those is that many services for elderly people are set up to deal with those already suffering from dementia, or falls, or other disabilities, so they require extra steps for all the rest of us too. Instead of just getting my taxes done, I now have to go over there and pick up the forms ahead of time to be sure I fill them out properly. Whereas in the past I simply dropped my tax forms off. A misdiagnosis by my podiatrist caused my insurance to call my doctor requesting tests I don't need, but they don't seem to get that on the record, so I have to discuss it over and over again. The intentions are good, but it almost amounts to harassment.

I am beginning to understand why old people become crotchety and difficult!

Childhood

 

I like to look at the old pictures on Facebook's Bloomington Normal Remembered. It seems like only yesterday I was a child running to the grocery store for my parents back in Springfield, Illinois. The closest was a half block away. Grunwalds was a little mom and pop store. He sold meat across the back and would give me a piece of baloney or cheese while I waited for our order. She checked me out at the little counter up front. There was a small box freezer across from that counter where they sold popsicles and ice cream bars for seven to ten cents! There were two short aisles filled with bread, canned goods and a soap display showing which dishes were being packed inside the soap boxes as give aways. One year I saved a long time to buy a set of Mr. Peanut salt and pepper shakers behind that counter for my mother. I think they were $1.98. Sometimes, on Saturday mornings, my father would scrape up enough to send me to buy two packages of cinnamon rolls and we would feast on them lathered in butter.

If we wanted to stay on this side of the busy street of MacArthur, we sometimes went to Mitchel's Meat Market. It was about one city block away, a fair walk if you were carrying two big sacks of groceries, but sometimes I could ride my bike and balance a bag of groceries on the front fender while steering. Mitchel's was nearly three times as large as Grunwalds. They had a coke machine and sold giant dill pickles from a jar on top of the meat counter for a nickel. Otherwise it was much the same. He was the butcher. She was the check out. I remember one year she had a stroke and could only speak out of one side of her mouth. I was terrified by the thought of that happening.

And finally there was West Grand Market, which wasn't on west grand at all. It was run by Mr. and Mrs. Klang, but it was across MacArthur, so I wasn't sent there until I was older. They didn't have a coke machine, but they had a cooler with an intricate maze filled with bottles of soda that were accessible if you put a dime in it. They also had two beautiful, very smart daughters who didn't go to our grade school, but who I met in high school. One of them was a fantastic oboe player. West Grand Market had the advantage of allowing my parents to run a tab that they paid periodically while the others demanded cash.

These were the stores of my childhood that slowly disappeared as the owners got older and bigger stores appeared for a society whose women were starting to have access to cars so they could go farther afield to shop. First there was an Eisner's and later a National, which was so huge we used to view it as almost a sight seeing trip. My mother would buy each of us a whole pint of ice cream if we would sit in the car while she shopped! We took our own long ice teaspoons and feasted on such an unbelievable treat.

It seemed like this part of my life lasted for eons, but in truth we moved there at Thanksgiving when I was five and moved away right after Christmas when I was eleven. 

Those six years defined a lot of who I was.

The Entertainer

 

Be careful where you stand and who your friends are!

A little talent gets lost when it stands in the shadows of greats.

I'm being facetious of course.

And then again I am not. Among my friends I am known for having a little musical ability and a little writing ability, but then many of my friends are well known for having a lot of musical ability and a lot of writing ability.

They are all kind to a fault where I am concerned, but my pounding on the piano does not compare with concert level musicians who can actually support themselves with their gifts. Nor does my writing garner any great awards compared to those academic and popular books actually written and sold by other friends.

In a world without television or radio, or computers, I am passable at so many things, but on a world level I do not even rank being noticed and most of the time that is more than fine with me. I am horrifically shy. Every oboe solo I ever played caused me unbelievable anguish. I nearly dropped out of college rather than take speech. 

I am relegated to performing for people walking by windows, attending funerals, or reading under duress. It's not that I do not like to perform. I am just so afraid I won't measure up that I would rather not take chances. If I do end up in front of people and they like it, I am so excited my hands shake and I sometimes have no memory of it. Then I assume they were just being kind.

My moment in the sun was mostly while teaching preschool. Three year olds are fantastic audiences. If you are their teacher, they think everything you do is extraordinary. Every word you speak, every picture you draw, every story you tell, is rewarded by rapt attention and nothing compares to that. 

These are my people - sweet, kind, and safe.

Character

 

Middle class, upper class? When I hear these designations of course I think of money, but more often than not, I think of the way people speak and the manners they display as a reflection of who they are.

Poor grammar is no crime, but it's no great honor either! I grew up with three siblings. Only one of us has chosen to downgrade her language to that of the uneducated people she evidently admires. This same person also has chosen to embrace fewer pleasant habits than the rest of us, choosing to say things like, "He don't," and talk with a mouth filled with food.," 

It is not being uppity to prefer people who know more than one ugly adverb and adjective, or dare to learn a bit about the world around them - beyond Sally, Dick and Jane's torrid affairs and bad habits. There is more to life than gossip, fast food and following every Pied Piper who tootles past you.

I find a sort of reverse snob-ism in some people today and it annoys me.

If you grew up speaking a certain kind of lingo then you are excused, but if you cultivated it for some bizarre reason? Well I really do not understand that. Are you trying to fit in? And who is it you want to fit in with? Are they really worth it? Can you not join them without mimicking them? 

True ignorance is lamentable, but carefully cultivated ignorance is mind boggling! Some people wear it like a badge, but I wonder if it isn't more of a shield? Stepping past it requires a certain amount of personal character and responsibility.

It's time to get real.