Coffee heat rising

Aging in place

Colder Than a By-Gawd!

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LOL! Well, no: it’s probably not THAT cold.

It was one of my father’s favorite turns of phrase: hotter than a by-gawd! colder than a by-gawd! 

LOL! I never did figure out what, if anything, a “by-gawd” was. As a kid, I assumed he meant “bi-god.” By that, he apparently did not intend the Earls of Norfolk, a modern currency, or a premium British cheese. 😀

My hip and tailbone hurt like a by-gawd. How a bi-god got in there escapes me: he apparently snuck in while I was sleeping.

At any rate, the sun is up, but it’s still passing cold out there. This morning’s doggy-walk is gonna have to wait for an hour or two, at least until the frost is off the palm tree.

I’m IN!!!

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A miracle!  Lost the password for FaM.  And thought…well, that’s it for the blogging hobby.

But nay! called up a magical page, and presto! Here it is! Why or how, I have no idea…

Probably FaM is no longer for this world than I am…which at the moment appears not to be much longer. I’m very, very sick. No sign of help from any doc in any direction. They clearly don’t know what’s causing this ailment or how to treat it.

Nor, we might add, do they care. In America, old people are less than…”people.”

So…I guess it’s…just resign myself to the obvious fact that I’m not gonna last much longer. And…well, once I’ve stopped lasting, presumably FaM will stop lasting.

{sigh} I reckon the paucity of help or effective care is a function of my personality…which apparently is pretty obnoxious. People have hated me since I entered grade school — before that, really, as evidenced  by the time a neighbor’s preschool brat threw a fistful of sand smack into my eyes.

WOW! Did that HURT! 

Worked nicely, though, to teach me to distrust other people and to stay back from them as much as possible.

Well, WTF. I’m an old lady now — a really old lady, having pretty much outlived my life. A couple of women in my family lived into their 90s. But most died much, much younger than that.

My mother and her mother both croaked over from cancer. I don’t smoke, don’t drink anymore, and don’t f**k every soul who comes up the pike, so you’d think I’d last a little longer than some.

Well, no: “Don’t drink” is mis-speaking. I do love a glass of wine, though lately I haven’t been able to stumble to the store to get any. And I used to enjoy a bourbon and water before dinner. Can’t manage that these days, either. But still…one could figure that a lifetime of pre-prandial swiggling can’t have done the body much good….even if it’s stopped in old age.

At any rate…now that I’m old, I’m so, sooo sick that frankly, I can’t wait for the show to be over. No credible sign that it’s gonna end soon, though…unless I help it along. But that, alas, is not my style.

Ever-So-Slightly De-crippled…

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The spavined hip I’ve been whining about seems s-l-o-o-w-l-y to be getting better. The Dawg and the Human managed to make our usual perambulation around the populated part of the ‘Hood — short version — without crippling the old lady. Still hurts, but at least the leg & hip are now functional.

With any luck, the undercarriage will be back to normal within another three to five days. And then we’ll be back to our usual cavortings. Yay!

Sure as Hell hurts right now, though. 😮

Incredibly beautiful stroll! Lush, gorgeous twilight evening. Most of the kids are inside for dinner, or so it appears. So it was quieter than usual as we strolled around.

Haven’t heard from my excellent son this evening, nor have I attempted to pester him from this end of the phone line. So I hope he’s having a quiet evening…ideally, hanging out with friends.

Meanwhile, also hoping to hit the sack early — Dawg is already conkered out at the end of the bed. Maybe a good night’s sleep will help the spavined hip…with any luck and enough ibuprofen.

sigh! <3  This is such a lovely neighborhood!  I hope I can contrive to stay here until I die. Really: it couldn’t cost any more to have a caretaker come in and babysit me here in my home than it would to lock me up in some dreary old-folkerie.

Well, we shall find out before too long, as I don’t seem to be getting any younger. The longer that exigency can be put off, the better!!

Colder’n a By-Gawd

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Mighty crisp out there this morning. Truth to tell, though, it’s not THAT cold: no frost on the windshields. O’course, that may be because it’s a dry cold. 😀

Hoping that Wonder-Cleaning Lady shows up today…but then realize…hold the phone!!…it’s Friday! And that is NOT Cleaning-Lady-Day.

Oh well. The house is still clean from her last visit.

What I really hoped was that she could tell me about the (terrifying!) Beatitudes, the warehouse for old folks where I almost certainly will end up soon, unless I croak over in a timely way. She used to work there. So she should be able to tell me what I need to know and what I want to know.

And I’m hoping, as knowledgeable as she is in those subjects, that she may be able to help me duplicate the services provided by the Beatitudes without having to move into that place. I abominate institutional living: just HATE it.

When I went down to the University of Arizona, I was preternaturally young — 16 years old. The UofA required girls under 21 to live in the damned, miserable dorms. So there I was: stuck in one of those holding pens for brats for the duration of my undergraduate career.

After a couple of dreadful years, my roommate’s mother managed to spring us free. She claimed that her sister — my roommate’s aunt, who lived in Tucson — was going to put us up at her house…so ’twas said.  The aunt merrily lied for us, and so we got out of the dorm hole. We rented an apartment and lived contentedly like the grown-ups we were.

At any rate…back to the future:  What I’m hoping to do now is hire people to duplicate the services you get at the Prison for Old Folks.

Cleaning: We already have Wonder-Cleaning Lady
Driving: This neighborhood is crawling with Uber drivers
Delivery services: Is that not why we have Amazon?
Doctor: My son drags me out to the Mayo, often without especially good reason. The Mayo is great for serious stuff, but for the occasional stubbed toe, we do have have a little clinic down by the Albertson’s, staffed by nurses and MD’s.
Baby-sitting: Spare me, Lord!
Groceries and pharmacy: Yeah: we do have that mega-Albertson’s.

So what I need most immediately are cleaning and driving services…and yeah! I’ve already got those! Minor medical issues can be handled by the local store-front quacks. Et voilà! 

Serious medical issues: We’re within a five-minute drive of not one but TWO major medical centers.

There really is no reason for me to have to move into an institution to get those services.

Now, granted: this morning I’d probably freeze to death before I could walk to any of those fancy-Dan hospitals or clinics. But…I’ll take my chances, thanks.

When You Are a Dog…

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You most certainly do know how to loaf!

LOL! Ruby the Ineffable Corgi has been practicing her loafing skills all day…and by golly, it’s quarter after 1:00 in the afternoon!

And..there will be no distractions from the Ridiculous Human, by golly! 

It’s heavily overcast and just a bit chilly: 60 degrees or so. Rain predicted today and this evening; thunderstorms tomorrow.

Do we wanna go out and trot around the ‘Hood?

Hm. Prob’ly not. Normally, this cool, shady day would make a fine strolling occasion. But the agony in the right hip most certainly would not! OUCH! Dunno what on earth I did to hurt myself, but whatever it was, it inflicted a fine spavining job on the hip joint.

So I think rather than taking a chance on aggravating that — or on getting stuck several blocks from home, in the rain(!) — we will medicate ourself with heavy doses of loafing. Highly therapeutic, eh?

Boyoboy, is it ever gray out there. You just know, dontcha, that if we’re dumb enough to start hiking (heh! or limping) around the park, the heavens will open and dump BUCKETS of water on us. It’s supposed to rain today, tonight, and tomorrow, with thunderstorms tomorrow. So saith Wunderground.

This means we won’t be able to grill any of the meat that’s sitting in the fridge. However, and mercifully, my wonderful son bought several packages of delicious-looking prepared chow at the nearby Sprouts. So we have two or three days’ worth of meals sitting in the fridge!

Arf! we say to that.

Ruby is conkered out and seems not the slightest bit perturbed at the fact of missing out on the daily hike. I wonder if dogs realize that heavy clouds mean rain, and rain means (ugh!!!) getting wet?

Totally Not in the Mood!

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LOL!  A passel — and we DO mean passel — of annoying chores awaits the Human’s attention this a.m.

How can I count the ways that I don’t wanna…

  • Pick up the kitchen
  • Wash the dishes
  • Make the bed
  • Walk the dog
  • Figure out what’s wrong the the computer this time
  • Drag the garden hose around
  • Wash my hair
  • Clean the bathroom
  • Mess with the pool equipment
  • Figure out why every damn square inch of me hurts!

GAAAAA! Stop the world! I wanna get off! 

The big question of the morning is why do I hurt so damn much? Especially the hips: I can barely hobble around the house. And far’s I can see, there is exactly ZERO reason for that. Other than possibly, maybe sleeping cattywampus during the night, there is no good reason for the ridiculous body to hurt so spectacularly.

Ohhh well. Wonder Cleaning-Lady was kindly here yesterday. Thank the gods and all their minions! This will allow me to crawl back into bed (sans housecleaning chores!), whenever I can work up the strength to stumble up the hall to the bedroom again.

Meanwhile…I sit in a big old leather easy chair, swill coffee, and HURT. And that means the poor li’l dawg will not get her doggy-walk this morning.

On the one hand, I imagine walking a mile or so would loosen up whatever hurts (and hurts and hurts and HURTS), thereby relieving me of whining duty.

But on the other hand: I think not. If moving around were going to ease this pain, it would have done so already. The dawg and I have been up for nigh unto three hours, with the human putzing around in the usual a.m. tasks and frolics. By now, if normal motion were going to stop the pain, it would have done so.

This li’l excruciation actually has been going on since Christmas Day. That’s…what? Ten days or so? If it were gonna get better, it would have.

My son has made off with my car, and so I can’t go to the doctor without discommoding him. And that is a quarrel/guilt trip I do not wish to engage just now. Whenever I work up the energy (if ever???), I’ll need to call the doctor, make an appointment, reserve an Uber or a cab, get myself to the quack’s, rassle with that exchange, get a car to come back to the quack’s office, and get myself back home.

And frankly….that’s just more trouble and more hassle than I can manage just now.

Yeah: this hip thing has been going on since Christmas. According to my little Hypochondriac’s Journal (where I note ailments so I can describe them accurately to the quack), it started on the 25th.

Yup: here on the 25th we find an entry that reads “Spavined my right hip while on dog walk. Hurts like Hell!!!”

uh-HUH…  Merry Christmas to me!

So this has been going on a good 10 days. And “hurts like Hell” is a bit of an understatement…

Well…give it a day or so, and then I’ll have to start doing battle with the Mayo to try to get one of the doctors out there to look at me. That will be an exercise in frustration. And since I can no longer drive, it will be a nightmare effort to get to their office.

Hm. There’s a storefront doctor’s office next to the Albertson’s, just down the block. I’ve been there a couple times for minor stuff. They might see me on short notice. Problem is, I don’t think I can walk that far! So I’ll have to hire someone to drive me six blocks!!

Jayzuz!

STOP THE WORLD!
I WANNA GET OFF!!

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!!!ringy dingy ringy dingy!!!…..

God Damned phone solicitor!

Phone soliciting should be illegal. 

The bastards who hire prison inmates to pester you on the phone should be arrested and fined out the wazoo. And the prisoners who let themselves  be used that way should have extra time added to their sentences.

Did you know that? A fair number of the S.O.B.’s who jangle your phone several times a day are prison inmates. Phone hustling is a prison industry. Phone s0liciting businesses go into the slams and hire inmates at a fraction of the going wage to call you on the phone and pester you.

Yeah: your taxpayer dollars at work!