Even-Tempered and Happy-Go-Lucky

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I want to scream. I’m talking the kind of scream where I throw myself on the ground like a 5-year-old having a tantrum, legs kicking wildly, arms flailing, red faced and near tears. THAT kind of scream.

screaming-girl

So what could cause me, a normally even-tempered, happy-go-lucky gal to feel this way? Two words…a dishwasher. God help me (and everyone around me) if another of my appliances bites the dust. I’m at the point with this Bosch dishwasher that I’d throw it through a window if I could lift it. Which I can’t. So I won’t.

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My Pets are Weirdos

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Originally posted in 2018

Let me repeat: My pets are weirdos.

So what does that say about me? After all, I’m the common denominator. That doesn’t mean I think Nellie, Callie, Skip, Wally, Oliver, Savannah, Tippi, and Jack are flawed. Quite the contrary. They may be odd but they provide endless entertainment through their weirdness. And anyway, aren’t we all a little odd? Therefore, I’ll gladly take credit for their, shall we say, unique qualities.

weirdos2

As you all know, Nellie eats poop so I’m used to that weird trait of hers. But another thing she does (when she thinks I’m not looking) is to leap onto the bed immediately after I’m done making it. She gathers the sheets and comforter into a tiny mountain in the middle of the bed, then plops herself on it and promptly takes a nap. A particularly annoying weirdness.

Rather proud of herself
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The Joys of Aging

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My mom was the strongest woman I’ve known, not in physical strength, but in fortitude. Still, in 1985 she was diagnosed with six months to live. But being who she was, it didn’t surprise me she lived another 19 years.

My mom had inoperable small cell lung cancer, congestive heart failure, and severe osteoporosis. Although challenging for her, she never complained; her will to live was amazing. She simply refused to die until after my dad passed, then she joined him a week later.

How my mom managed with her condition is beyond me; she just accepted what comes with the joys of aging. I, on the other hand, will likely keep griping. However, toward the end of her life she said, “Janie Mae, getting old isn’t for sissies.” Now that I’m 71, I’m beginning to understand what she meant.

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FDA, is Jardiance Really That Swell?

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If ten years ago you read my blog post titled, FDA, How Stupid Do You Think We Are?, you’ll know my belief in them, or lack thereof, hasn’t changed a whole lot. Let’s just say I don’t have a ton of trust in their decisions to approve certain drugs.

If you watch television or listen to the radio, I’m betting you’ve seen or heard the abundance of commercials touting any number of drugs for any number of ailments. Sure seems to be an epidemic of ailments, don’t you think?

Anyway, I saw a particularly disturbing commercial last week, so I started paying better attention. At the end of it, a narrator quickly reads a list of the not so great side affects, probably hoping nobody was paying attention— except this nobody was.

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Down Memory Lane

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Last week I had occasion to visit the neighborhood where I grew up in Santa Venetia, also derogatorily known as Scabo. I’m not sure what that stands for but since it’s an ugly word, I’m guessing it wasn’t known as the most desirable place to live. But I beg to differ.

Santa Venetia

Kids don’t know they don’t live in a mansion. I certainly didn’t. We had 4 bedrooms that weren’t much bigger than some large walk-in closets and closets not much wider than a refrigerator. Now don’t get me wrong; I didn’t care one bit. I had what I needed and that was enough.

our house
Our little house

To me, our Doughboy Pool was the bomb (better known as groovy back then). Other neighborhood dads helped my dad install it. That’s how it was; neighbors helping neighbors. On summer afternoons, being in that pool or playing ping pong on the patio were my favorite places to be.

me in pool
Even as a teen, still in the pool
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