That was the title of a cut on one of Ronnie Milsap's early albums. The irony of it has never escaped me.
What is it about getting older? I remember my older brother talking about this phenom of older people always talking about their aches and pains, and the sudden realisation that he had started doing it, too. I guess it's that mortality thing setting in, the fact that we are "all terminal, baby!"
That recent class reunion is a good example. If I had really told people how I was, they would think I was lying. This much shit doesn't happen to one person, does it? I was taken aback by a friend who stopped over where I was staying, and almost the first thing said was, "Ok, tell me what the deal is with your license plate." I haven't seen this person in years, and that's the first question? (I have disabled plates on the car.) Little does this person know, but next time I might not even be driving myself to the reunion. Hell, who knows if either one of us will still be alive? Life doesn't exactly come with a money-back guarantee, now, does it?
Two trips to the doctor in one week gets tiring. The fact that I literally cannot take the heat doesn't help matters one bit either. I have slept more in the past two days than I have in the past two weeks. The hardest part is cutting myself some slack for doing it. I feel like I am wasting time when I sleep. But, damn, I have had some interesting dreams. That's the beauty of only sleeping a couple of hours at a stretch.
A couple of them had to do with gathering up belongings before a big disaster happened. I guess a joke about earthquakes on the New Madrid fault (not far at all from here) and tsunami warnings from the Mississippi River started all that. Who knows? Another one had to do with helping with a renovation project like the ones on Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. Whole lot of colour going on in that one, more than usual. Still another was that old favourite that haunts me...the end of school is near, and I can't remember where my locker is, or what the combination to the lock might be, because I haven't been to class all semester, and it's exam time.
Good news is that my CT scan showed nothing, and the rest is nothing that won't heal up. At least I did get a consult to opthamology with the VA. Heaven knows when I will actually get an appointment. Hopefully before they have to enroll me in O&M...heh.
Geez, after that rant, I think I feel better!
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Class Reunion
This is hard for me to believe, that I have been out of high school for this long.
Reality check: time again for another class reunion. I drove nearly 800 miles two days ago to come to this event held every five years. I have to say this one was a lot more fun than the last one.
I went with my best friend (since fourth grade) over to the American Legion Hall in my hometown this morning to help out with the decorations. I wasn't in on the main part of the planning, because I don't live in town, and nobody asked me. So I contented myself with putting the cheesy white plastic tableclothes out and placing the purple crepe paper circles in the center, topped with fake greenery, white-painted tuna cans that held purple votive candles, crowned with a hurricane lantern globe. (Actually, it looked better than it sounds. And once they started serving the alcohol, no one cared anyway.) Another old school chum helped me put twisted purple and white crepe paper streamers up on the walls, topped with purple cardboard stars. R and I were reprimanded by the others for giggling over in the corner where he and I were finishing up the decor. We were just laughing at overhearing one of the other classmates talking about her ex bringing some girl half his age to the party later tonight, and another saying that she was dating someone seventeen years younger than she. Someone discovered that we needed to go pick up balloon bouquets in a nearby town, and he and I volunteered to drive over to get them.
The last time I saw R was at the last reunion five years ago, and before that, I had not seen him since high school. He is a tall, slender, handsome guy with the type of dimples that just are wonderful. We were not good friends in school, but had a lot of classes together over the years. In fact, in the first grade, I pushed him off the ladder of the slide when he tried to cut in front of me. He fell, bit either his tongue or his lip, I forget which, and ran in crying to the teacher. Since there was a bit of blood involved, I got spanked and had to sit facing the corner of the room. The big traumatic moment of my first school year. I remember it well. R did not. We had an excellent laugh over it, though.
R has done quite well for himself. He drives a Cadillac, which he claims is because he likes a large back seat in which to hang his clothes when he travels, as he hates to pack. Sure enough, his back seat had all these neatly pressed shirts and trousers all lined up on the rod. (I haven't ironed that much since I left the Navy.) I am certain that these did not come from the laundry this way. There were no cleaners' bags on any of them. His car was spotless, of course. A couple of things that I found quite funny, however were the teddy bear dressed in black biker garb on the front console, and the sparkly star shaped fairy wand tucked into the headliner by the passenger door. I asked if there was a story behind these objects and he just smiled and winked at me. "Yes." But since he said no more about them, I am drawing my own conclusions, which I have thought since back in school.
We went in the party store to discover that the order was for more balloons than even his big Caddy could hold, so we brought back all we could and called for reinforcements to bring the others. We delivered them to the Legion Hall, then went in search of a frame for the memorial table. (Our class has lost over a dozen members already.) That took us to Walmart, where I decided to look for a purple tshirt to wear to the party. All they had were plain ones, as the clerk said that the school logo shirts sell out very fast. We found a decent, respectable frame for the memorial list and headed out.
Driving through town, I spotted a shop that sold school spirit gear, and we made a dash into there. Excellent, they had one my size and much to my surprise, R bought it for me. I was extremely grateful, because this whole trip has been on such a shoestring budget that I wasn't quite sure if I would have enough to buy gas for the trip home. It was such a sweet gesture. He said for me to just remember what a fun time we had today every time I wear it. Believe me, I will.
The reunion itself was a lot of fun. R and I staked out a table towards the back, and he had brought in a nice bottle of red wine. Everyone mingled before dinner, and I saw a couple of people that I seriously did not recognise, and several people obviously did not recognise me until they read my name tag. One person flatly told me that she didn't remember me at all. Pfffft.
There are always a couple of people that haven't changed hardly at all. But most of the women are fat, and a lot of the men are bald, or headed that way. I could care less. One person showed up that was the major talk of the party, mainly because she has had so much work done that she doesn't resemble herself anymore. Extreme makeover deluxe. Looked like she got her money's worth.
There is one fellow, D, who claims that I am the reason he made it through high school. He says that he managed to copy my test answers over my shoulder. He even says he was so intent about copying me once that he looked down and had put my name on his paper. We sat and laughed about goofy shit we all had done in school, and it was really a blast from the past.
One thing I have to agree with R about, however. The people who were assholes in high school are STILL assholes. So we sat back and christened one table of the former "in crowd" as the asshole table. They do tend to run in packs.
I hope to see most of these people back again in five more years. Probably at the American Legion Hall, probably over a good barbeque dinner and a candle stuck in a tuna can.
Reality check: time again for another class reunion. I drove nearly 800 miles two days ago to come to this event held every five years. I have to say this one was a lot more fun than the last one.
I went with my best friend (since fourth grade) over to the American Legion Hall in my hometown this morning to help out with the decorations. I wasn't in on the main part of the planning, because I don't live in town, and nobody asked me. So I contented myself with putting the cheesy white plastic tableclothes out and placing the purple crepe paper circles in the center, topped with fake greenery, white-painted tuna cans that held purple votive candles, crowned with a hurricane lantern globe. (Actually, it looked better than it sounds. And once they started serving the alcohol, no one cared anyway.) Another old school chum helped me put twisted purple and white crepe paper streamers up on the walls, topped with purple cardboard stars. R and I were reprimanded by the others for giggling over in the corner where he and I were finishing up the decor. We were just laughing at overhearing one of the other classmates talking about her ex bringing some girl half his age to the party later tonight, and another saying that she was dating someone seventeen years younger than she. Someone discovered that we needed to go pick up balloon bouquets in a nearby town, and he and I volunteered to drive over to get them.
The last time I saw R was at the last reunion five years ago, and before that, I had not seen him since high school. He is a tall, slender, handsome guy with the type of dimples that just are wonderful. We were not good friends in school, but had a lot of classes together over the years. In fact, in the first grade, I pushed him off the ladder of the slide when he tried to cut in front of me. He fell, bit either his tongue or his lip, I forget which, and ran in crying to the teacher. Since there was a bit of blood involved, I got spanked and had to sit facing the corner of the room. The big traumatic moment of my first school year. I remember it well. R did not. We had an excellent laugh over it, though.
R has done quite well for himself. He drives a Cadillac, which he claims is because he likes a large back seat in which to hang his clothes when he travels, as he hates to pack. Sure enough, his back seat had all these neatly pressed shirts and trousers all lined up on the rod. (I haven't ironed that much since I left the Navy.) I am certain that these did not come from the laundry this way. There were no cleaners' bags on any of them. His car was spotless, of course. A couple of things that I found quite funny, however were the teddy bear dressed in black biker garb on the front console, and the sparkly star shaped fairy wand tucked into the headliner by the passenger door. I asked if there was a story behind these objects and he just smiled and winked at me. "Yes." But since he said no more about them, I am drawing my own conclusions, which I have thought since back in school.
We went in the party store to discover that the order was for more balloons than even his big Caddy could hold, so we brought back all we could and called for reinforcements to bring the others. We delivered them to the Legion Hall, then went in search of a frame for the memorial table. (Our class has lost over a dozen members already.) That took us to Walmart, where I decided to look for a purple tshirt to wear to the party. All they had were plain ones, as the clerk said that the school logo shirts sell out very fast. We found a decent, respectable frame for the memorial list and headed out.
Driving through town, I spotted a shop that sold school spirit gear, and we made a dash into there. Excellent, they had one my size and much to my surprise, R bought it for me. I was extremely grateful, because this whole trip has been on such a shoestring budget that I wasn't quite sure if I would have enough to buy gas for the trip home. It was such a sweet gesture. He said for me to just remember what a fun time we had today every time I wear it. Believe me, I will.
The reunion itself was a lot of fun. R and I staked out a table towards the back, and he had brought in a nice bottle of red wine. Everyone mingled before dinner, and I saw a couple of people that I seriously did not recognise, and several people obviously did not recognise me until they read my name tag. One person flatly told me that she didn't remember me at all. Pfffft.
There are always a couple of people that haven't changed hardly at all. But most of the women are fat, and a lot of the men are bald, or headed that way. I could care less. One person showed up that was the major talk of the party, mainly because she has had so much work done that she doesn't resemble herself anymore. Extreme makeover deluxe. Looked like she got her money's worth.
There is one fellow, D, who claims that I am the reason he made it through high school. He says that he managed to copy my test answers over my shoulder. He even says he was so intent about copying me once that he looked down and had put my name on his paper. We sat and laughed about goofy shit we all had done in school, and it was really a blast from the past.
One thing I have to agree with R about, however. The people who were assholes in high school are STILL assholes. So we sat back and christened one table of the former "in crowd" as the asshole table. They do tend to run in packs.
I hope to see most of these people back again in five more years. Probably at the American Legion Hall, probably over a good barbeque dinner and a candle stuck in a tuna can.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
A bloody awful thing
What am I? Disaster central? Today I had a nosebleed in the middle of a Chinese restaurant. Give me a break!
It was one like I've never had before. I began to wonder if I should fish the cellphone out of my pocket and call 911, after I had soaked up a pile of napkins. Ick. Took me a good five minutes to get it under control, and as soon as I made it to my next stop, it started again. The people in the copy shop gave me a stack of wet paper towels. I quit dripping long enough to write them a check, and then three times was the charm when I got to the bank. At least no one around me fainted at the sight of my blood.
So, tomorrow I start my trip to visit with old friends at my high school reunion. I just hope that my arm doesn't fall off, or something. Sheesh.
It was one like I've never had before. I began to wonder if I should fish the cellphone out of my pocket and call 911, after I had soaked up a pile of napkins. Ick. Took me a good five minutes to get it under control, and as soon as I made it to my next stop, it started again. The people in the copy shop gave me a stack of wet paper towels. I quit dripping long enough to write them a check, and then three times was the charm when I got to the bank. At least no one around me fainted at the sight of my blood.
So, tomorrow I start my trip to visit with old friends at my high school reunion. I just hope that my arm doesn't fall off, or something. Sheesh.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
The Whole Kitten Caboodle
The hardest thing about my recent divorce was leaving behind the kitties. We have seven, and I could only take two with me, as per the apartment lease provisions. I had to determine which two would be the most compatible and least affected by the move. I chose the last two we added to the household, Ringo and Toby.
Ringo was grown when we got him. His owner was elderly, had a stroke, and was placed in a nursing home. The son-in-law is the guy my ex buys his bulk cat litter (floor dry) from. He knew we had other cats and asked if we could take in this big orange neutered male. He didn't even know what the cat's name was, so we had free reign at what to call him. He has a wonderful thick tail with distinct rings on it, so he became Ringo. It would have been easy to call him Morris, because he looks just like the cat food commercial cat. He is a love, very easy-going, and likes Toby a lot.
Toby was dropped off in the neighborhood of my ex's workplace when he was barely weaned. I could hold him in one hand he was so tiny. Dan (the ex) called me and told me to bring the cat carrier to work because he thought this kitten was adorable. That made seven cats...I was really getting where I felt like I had too many with six. Toby would be a curtain climber if we had not declawed him at a very young age, and he still has no idea he isn't supposed to climb. He literally runs up the walls on the door frame of my bedroom, sometimes reaching almost 5 feet off the floor, and sliding down like a fireman on the brass pole. I wish I had it on video. It's a riot. Toby gets called "Toby-wan Kenobi" on occasion when he looks too serious, and he has an orange fish that he likes to drag into bed for me to toss and him to fetch.
The two of them together keep me in good company and a good humour.
Ringo was grown when we got him. His owner was elderly, had a stroke, and was placed in a nursing home. The son-in-law is the guy my ex buys his bulk cat litter (floor dry) from. He knew we had other cats and asked if we could take in this big orange neutered male. He didn't even know what the cat's name was, so we had free reign at what to call him. He has a wonderful thick tail with distinct rings on it, so he became Ringo. It would have been easy to call him Morris, because he looks just like the cat food commercial cat. He is a love, very easy-going, and likes Toby a lot.
Toby was dropped off in the neighborhood of my ex's workplace when he was barely weaned. I could hold him in one hand he was so tiny. Dan (the ex) called me and told me to bring the cat carrier to work because he thought this kitten was adorable. That made seven cats...I was really getting where I felt like I had too many with six. Toby would be a curtain climber if we had not declawed him at a very young age, and he still has no idea he isn't supposed to climb. He literally runs up the walls on the door frame of my bedroom, sometimes reaching almost 5 feet off the floor, and sliding down like a fireman on the brass pole. I wish I had it on video. It's a riot. Toby gets called "Toby-wan Kenobi" on occasion when he looks too serious, and he has an orange fish that he likes to drag into bed for me to toss and him to fetch.
The two of them together keep me in good company and a good humour.
Strange dreams
Lately, I seem to be having a lot of strange dreams. Maybe it's due to my sleep schedule (or lack thereof), or I need to lay off those spicy foods. I dunno.
The other night(or day, actually), I dreamed I was talking to a friend of mine, who walked in and asked me point blank what was bothering me. There were a couple of odd things about this dream, but the strangest thing was that I have never met this internet friend face to face, but I KNEW who he was. And it seemed so natural that he be here.
Skip a few days, and I'm dreaming about cats again. Many times I dream about my cats getting loose from the house and how I frantically try to collect them, to make sure they are safe. But this one was a topper. I was with a family...not mine...who were going to an amusement park of some sort. We stopped at this attraction, where the focus was on a display of cats who could catch fish from a running stream, or so the signs said. (?) The children ran ahead, and we caught up with them leaning over a railing watching the cats do their thing with the fish. The fish were in a kind of recirculating waterfall, like they were swimming upstream, and the cats would wait alongside for one to get too close to the edge, and would snag the fish, trot over to show the spectators, then trot back and drop it back into the water. (Cats doing catch and release???) Not exactly entertainment value to me, so I wandered away, where there was sort of a carnival sideshow thing that had men doing caricatures of paying customers up on a sort of platform. I remember that one of the signs touted the artist as having worked for Disney. He was drawing this guy, but putting him in a cartoon setting. Another guy was drawing people in their favourite sports pose, the particular one happening was this fat guy being portrayed as a baseball player. I rounded a corner, and there were the "extra cats". They were hanging on a canvas wall, their heads stuck through holes in the canvas, suspended by bows tied around their necks. Someone was feeding them, and they all looked contented. I made the remark that it must take a lot of kitty valium to keep them that way.
I'm going to have to lay off the jalapeno Pringles.
The other night(or day, actually), I dreamed I was talking to a friend of mine, who walked in and asked me point blank what was bothering me. There were a couple of odd things about this dream, but the strangest thing was that I have never met this internet friend face to face, but I KNEW who he was. And it seemed so natural that he be here.
Skip a few days, and I'm dreaming about cats again. Many times I dream about my cats getting loose from the house and how I frantically try to collect them, to make sure they are safe. But this one was a topper. I was with a family...not mine...who were going to an amusement park of some sort. We stopped at this attraction, where the focus was on a display of cats who could catch fish from a running stream, or so the signs said. (?) The children ran ahead, and we caught up with them leaning over a railing watching the cats do their thing with the fish. The fish were in a kind of recirculating waterfall, like they were swimming upstream, and the cats would wait alongside for one to get too close to the edge, and would snag the fish, trot over to show the spectators, then trot back and drop it back into the water. (Cats doing catch and release???) Not exactly entertainment value to me, so I wandered away, where there was sort of a carnival sideshow thing that had men doing caricatures of paying customers up on a sort of platform. I remember that one of the signs touted the artist as having worked for Disney. He was drawing this guy, but putting him in a cartoon setting. Another guy was drawing people in their favourite sports pose, the particular one happening was this fat guy being portrayed as a baseball player. I rounded a corner, and there were the "extra cats". They were hanging on a canvas wall, their heads stuck through holes in the canvas, suspended by bows tied around their necks. Someone was feeding them, and they all looked contented. I made the remark that it must take a lot of kitty valium to keep them that way.
I'm going to have to lay off the jalapeno Pringles.
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