ONCE SIMPLE, NOW IMPOSSIBLE

Glad to see you here for a walk.  I want to share a favorite pet peeve of mine.

Lately I have been struggling more and more with my ability to open things - usually very necessary things. When I was younger, I did not pay attention to the process of opening some of my pill bottles.  As I have now entered the octogenarian stage of my life, I find the factory safety methods for keeping children out of pill bottles also is very effective in also keeping anyone over the age of seventy out of the pill bottles.

For example, just yesterday I needed to take an Extra-Strength Tylenol.  According to the red-coded directions that were stamped into the red lid (making it even harder to read), I should press down on the lid while turning the lid counter clockwise.  That sounded simple enough.  Thirty minutes later, after bruising my arthritic hand and forcing the weight of my entire torso into an effort to try to turn the small lid, I finally just gave up! I decided to take a short break in my recliner so I rested for another thirty minutes, as the application of Voltaren gel took effect, as I planned my next attack on the pill bottle.  

This time, I approached the bottle with renewed determination. Placing a protective device (dish towel) between the lid and the now injured palm of my hand, I took a deep breath and put all the force I could muster into that lid (fortunately, the bladder and bowels held).  Amazingly, the lid moved and I was now able to unscrew it from the bottle.  However, to my dismay, because the bottle was new, under the lid it was completely sealed in a thick foil with tiny printed words that stated that the seal was there for my protection.  I tried in vain to remove the seal, clawing at it with my finger tips.  I came to the conclusion that only a sharp knife would be able to puncture the fortress of foil. Grabbing the sharpest, deadliest knife in the drawer, I stabbed at the seal, and opened the portal to the wonders of modern medicine, somehow without further injuring my hand.   Finally after one hour, I was now able to take the one Tylenol I needed.  However, I now needed two pills because of the radiating pain in my hand, my fingers, my back and my shoulder!

Looking down at the container, I resolved I would not close that lid again!  I remembered the old “easy to open” bottle that I had discarded in the trash earlier that day.  Yes, stooping to a new low, I dug through all the kitchen trash and finally uncovered the cherished bottle at the bottom of the can!  The lid was still on, so I washed the outside and transferred all the pills from the new bottle to the old.  In case you are concerned, I did change the expiration date on the outside with a sharpie pen and relaxed knowing that I would not have to struggle with another new bottle, until this one was empty.  I must use them sparingly!

I do completely understand the necessity for placing all medication in safety containers.  I remember the Tylenol scare from years back and as a Nana, I understand the need to secure medication from little hands.  However, someone needs to remember the old people, as it is the old that tend to need more pills, and the pill bottles are just one of many problems.  Bare with me as I share my list of a few of the others:

1. Flip tops on cans: They are so common (soup, vegetables, soda pop or beer).   While holding the product one simply pulls the ring-tab with one finger.  Not exactly.  Sometimes the tab snaps, and you are left holding the small ring, looking down at a solid silver cover.  Now what do you do?  You look through your very messy and crowded utensil drawer for perhaps a can opener or a “church” key.  At this point, the easy-access container has become a hazard because no matter how you open it, you will create hazardous sharp edges, and your possibility of injury has increased by 100 percent!

2. Milk, juice or other beverages in a large carton:  A small round knob covers the access area into the container.  Just try turning that little device!  I have tried counterclockwise and clockwise, but it would not budge. At this point, I will share that I do have a sacred scrap of rubber material which I trimmed from a mat which is intended to keep my floor rugs from slipping.  This now has a special place in my kitchen drawer, as this miracle fabric, when held around the knob, removes it with ease. However, I am not yet done.  I now must navigate through the dreaded “pull-tab”(similar to the flip can tap, but plastic).  Planting my feet firmly into an athlete’s stance, and holding the full container securely, I pull with 

great force and am finally able to unveil the opening to the liquid, which unfortunately half of which has now spilt all over my counter. 

3. Milk, juice or other beverages in a tiny carton:

These are those handy little containers usually found in fast-food serving areas, hospital dining, and the ever popular subway. The instructions are simple, and even direct you to the appropriate corner to fold and separate.  It does not work!  Remember, these are designed for K-12 school children.  Arthritic fingers may be fortunate enough to eventually spread apart one of the two corners, with the goal to only open half of the top portion of the box.  However, you have now reached the point of no return - you have no alternative but to spread apart the entire top of the carton.  Now the container of liquid has four floppy sides, which will collapse if you try to drink from the edges, so you are forced to use a straw which dances away from your lips in the vast circumference of the space.  

4.  Amazon packages that arrive by mail:  A soft package with something you HAD to have arrives.  The directions on the outside require that you pull the plastic tab on the top of the package to open.  Have you ever tried to do that?  I ask, because first of all, the tab is hidden somewhere under the many folds of the plastic package.  After searching for about twenty minutes a transparent piece of plastic is discovered.  You lift it up with your fingers and pull. Nothing!  You check the other end and pull.  Nothing!  So now you have managed to age by another twenty minutes (remember "Octos" value each minute left) Time to reach for the scissors and blindly cut through the packaging, hoping not to slice and destroy that something that you HAD to have!   

5. Cable T.V:  You have a digital T.V. that has all the 10,000 channels that you will never get to watch in your lifetime.  The storm last night, or a power outage, or a power surge has suddenly removed all of the pre-set controls.  What to do?  According to the information now projected on the screen, you are to call a number which will connect you with a “helper”. As I dial, I am thinking that I need a person to come and fix my T.V.  When I was a child, Mama always called Mr. Kincaid who lived down the road.  I’m hoping that it will be Mr. Kincaid who answers on the other end of the line.  No! It was not Mr. Kincaid, however a nice lady answered and we began a very intimate relationship in fine-tuning and reestablishing the T.V. to former memory.  After muddling through her vocabulary of three-letter acronyms (none of which I understood) I learned that I was to simply unplug the T.V. from the electrical source, wait ten minutes and the T.V would miraculously  reprogram itself!  Now THAT, I can remember!  

I am certain there are many more simply complicated annoyances, but these are a few of the ones I experience most often.  Perhaps I should start a list of all the tasks that have become complicated, and keep them in a notebook.  On second thought, probably not.  I started a small notebook several years back to keep a list of the  safe places I had put things, because I kept forgetting where things were.  This list  worked until I forgot where I put the notebook! 

Wouldn’t it be nice if when going to sleep each night, I could simply unplug, and my brain would miraculously reprogram itself while I slept?

Oh, the pondering of it all!

      

A RENEWED (awkward) MEETING

Another great day for a walk and a visit with you, my friend.  So many events to be remembered and many to try to forget!  The one I will share with you today is both...................................

Several years ago, before the pandemic, I met two of my colleagues for lunch.  This had become our weekly or bi-monthly time to meet over lunch at the Atlanta Bread Factory and catch up on our now divided lifestyles.  I, being the eldest of the three and having been retired now twenty years, was joined by my recently retired friend and our newly employed friend.  We shared the same experience of either having been or now the director of the Surgical Technology Program at the local community college. In addition to being good friends, we always enjoyed comparing the changes and challenges that each of us had faced in our same chosen career.

So it was, on this particular day when we were engrossed in our conversations regarding the clinical sites, the students, the college in general that I was suddenly approached by another patron of the restaurant.  This new conversation began as:  AP (another patron)

 AP:   My goodness!  It is so wonderful to see you again!

ME: ( looking up and directly into the face of the lady standing over me) Thank you!  It is certainly good to see you again too!

AP:  It is amazing that I ran into you again!  How have you been?

ME: I have been fine, thank you, and you?

AP:  Great!  Thanks!  You are looking so good, you never change!

ME:  I have to say the same for you as well!

AP:  We have all missed you, especially at the bridge-club meetings!  I cannot wait to tell the girls that I ran into you!

ME:  Yes!  Say hello to all from me!

With that, she turned away and moved across the restaurant to her table shared with others.

My friends who had listened quietly to the conversation asked me who that was.  

ME:  I have no idea!  I have never seen her before!

POST SCRIPT;  

I have often asked myself the same question you are now thinking.  Why did I not let the AP know that we did not know each other and that she had made a mistaken identification:  

My answer is that I kept trying to remember her!  As she was talking, I was searching my brain for some lost information.  Was she a childhood friend? Was this a friend in elementary school, high school?  Was she a friend of my older sister and had she confused me with her?  Was she a friend of a friend?  Was she a nurse that I had worked with?

Special note: ( The AP never called the name of the person she supposed I was.)

Unfortunately, by the time I had sorted through all my memory cards in this aging brain, I could not retrieve any information.....................nothing clicked.  At that point, I was too deep into the deception to embarrass the AP and decided to end it as graciously as possible.  

There was, however, convincing evidence at the end of her greeting that confirmed her mistaken identity:  The game of bridge, which neither I nor my sister had ever played!  

Oh, the pondering of it all......................................................................... 

  

LEARNING THE SCIENCE OF DOMESTICATION

 Come walk along..................I want to tell you about my experience with sewing.

When I was in high school, I took two years of Home Economics or Home Ec. The first year was when I was a freshman and the second as a sophomore, completing the two courses of Home Ec. I & Home Ec. II.

The first year we learned to make a blouse.  In the process, we learned how to cut out the blouse from a pattern, sew all the pieces together (using a 5/8" seam allowance), and become proficient with the placement of short sleeves, a collar and those very difficult buttonholes. It also taught us how to properly sew on a button by hand.  It took an entire school year to complete this simple white blouse. Each step was closely supervised by our lovely Mrs. White, who also happened to be the wife of our high school principal.  

Mrs. White would thoroughly inspect each step of the process and more than once I heard the dreaded advice, "Now, Brenda, you are doing well, but I am suggesting that you use your seam ripper and remove the entire ..." This phrase was followed by multiple parts of the blouse, like "sleeve", "side", or "collar."  Then she would add, "After you have put it back together again, bring it up for me to check before you sew it on the machine!"  Over and over, I would remove and stitch, remove and stitch, until I finally received her 100 % glorious approval. I suppose it took me a little longer to finally complete the garment correctly because I was the only girl in the class whose mother did not have a sewing machine.  Unlike my classmates, I could never practice at home.  Looking back, I think Mrs. White knew that, and perhaps that is why she was so attentive and encouraging. 

However, Home Ec taught us more than sewing.  Mrs. White taught how to read a recipe and prepare some dishes.  Oh, how I loved the cooking classes!  My favorite breakfast was when we learned how to make "Eggs a la Goldenrod."  The ingredients were simple:  toasted bread, boiled eggs, bacon, and the recipe for cream gravy.  To serve, we would toast slice of bread, cover it with gravy, slice the egg, reserving one yolk to sprinkle over the top, add two slices of cooked bacon and voilà, delicious!  This recipe is one that I have continued to use from time to time.

To accompany the cooking, we were taught the correct way to set the dinner table.  I can still hear her voice guiding us, "Now girls, the forks are on the left of the plate over the folded napkin, and the knife & spoon to the right.  The beverage glass should sit above the knife."  We also learned that as the dinner progressed to a more formal meal, one was to simply add the silver according to the progression of the meal. First utensil used was always placed furthest from the plate.

During our second sophomore year, we all were promoted to Home Ec. II.  In this class, we were taught how to make a dress.  I was so nervous as I went to the store to select a pattern for my dress, but thank goodness, I did select a pattern that met with her approval. (Looking back now with more experience in sewing, I realize that I had purchased a very complicated dress to make!) Because the dress was to be made of eyelet material (holes in the fabric) I would also have to create a lining to go underneath. I would essentially be making two dresses!

Somehow, through sheer ignorant luck on my part and formidable determination from my teacher, Mrs. White, I created that dress! We had a fashion show in front of the entire school, and I have to say, my dress was a bit different, but it looked and fit very well.  I had earned an A+ on the dress from Mrs. White! I was so proud of my accomplishment that I chose to wear that beautiful green eyelet dress for my piano recital at the end of the year.  I suppose I thought that even if I messed up on the piano piece, at least the audience might remember that I wore a lovely dress!

As I remember Mrs. White, I admire her patience as she taught both levels of the course curriculum.  To my recollection, she did not have any teaching assistants assigned to help with all those young girls who represented multiple levels of sewing during those one and half hours each day, five days a week.  She helped all of us, individually, all by herself.  In addition to sewing, cooking and setting a table, she also taught us how to recognize different styles of furniture.  I remember so well the project she assigned of creating a furniture book.  Thanks to her lessons, today I continue to remember the many different styles that are increasingly hard to find of French Provincial, Duncan Phife, Early American, French Countryside, Queen Anne, and Chippendale.

In those two full years of curriculum, I never heard her raise her voice.   When she insisted that a student take their project apart and put it together again, it was always with a soft voice and a reassuring smile.  Home Economics.   I believe today that course title has been changed several times.  Perhaps the title now is Family and Consumer Science, or Human Ecology.   Regardless of the change, it was indeed a useful learning experience for me, and one that I have continued to use throughout my domestic ventures, and I dare say that it would be a challenge to find a teacher who could surpass the patience and gentle determination of Mrs. White.  To her, I am indeed grateful, as she ingrained in me the proverbial creed, "If at once you do not succeed, try, try again"!

  

PHEROMONES / PERFUMES

Come take a walk on this lovely Spring Day.   I suppose the beauty of the trees and plants and the lovely fragrance wafting through the air have inspired me to share this story.

First of all, I do not wear perfumes, colognes, or any other products that have a lingering smell.  As a student nurse long ago, we were told that any strong odors such as perfumes etc. could create nausea on the part of the patient.  It was not just discouraged, it was forbidden.  As a working registered nurse, I continued this practice of perfumed abstinence, especially having chosen the surgical area as my favored nursing service.

It was during the late 1960's, and early 1970's when many of my friends were wearing a new fragrance called musk, allowing the wearer to have a more natural fragrance. (a better description should be pheromone)! At this point in my story let me explain the word pheromone:

"Pheromones are similar to hormones but work outside the body.  They induce activity in other individuals around you.  Scientists say, your airborne compounds send signals about your moods, your sexual orientation and even your genetic makeup. Airborne molecules that elicit a reaction in a member of the same species are called pheromones, and the most famous ones are potent aphrodisiacs."

I am about to share a personal experience with perfumes/pheromones that will dispute the scientific claim above!

Again, back to the time period as mentioned earlier.  One of my good female friends gave me a large bottle of Musk Oil for Christmas.  She had been using it and I had complimented her on the fragrance that she elicited as she moved about the room. A pleasant, musty, woodsy odor followed her as she moved among guests. I told her I would like to try that, believing this particular fragrance would not be noticeable. That Christmas, she gave me a huge bottle and I could not wait to try to smell really natural, like my friend.  And so it was on a particular night, I decided to run a HOT bath to which I emptied about 1/2 the bottle of Musk oil.

I slid into the exquisite silky soaking solution and stayed there for a long, delicious soak in a bathroom all to myself.  The children were asleep, and my husband was downstairs watching something on the T.V.  I was totally alone and enjoying pampering myself.  Even my flannel pajamas felt luxurious against my soft skin as I crawled into my bed.

After falling asleep, I was awakened by my husband who demanded that I wake up because there was a terrible smell in the bedroom, and we needed to find the source because it smelled like an animal had died under the bed!  I jumped out of bed and as I was helping him look under the bed and was up close to him, he began sniffing my arms, then my back. " Oh, no, he exclaimed, it is you!  What did you do?!" 

He further declared that he could not sleep with me and that the sheets needed to be changed and I needed to take another bath.  Well, I changed the sheets, but I did not take another bath, so I found other sleeping arrangement in another area of the house.

The next morning, I went to work at my position as the operating room manager of a small local hospital where I had worked for the past seven years.  I spent most of the day in the desk area located in the center of the main admitting hallway as we admitted patients into the correct surgical area.  Around mid-morning, one of the surgeons sat beside me in order to dictate his surgical notes.  He suddenly stopped during the dictation and looked at me.  He then asked if I had noticed a peculiarly foul odor that had permeated the operating room that morning.  I responded that I had not, trying to hide my secret.  I was now wishing I had taken another bath.  He then began sniffing around my arms and around the general area of my person.  He stood up and said:  "It is you!  What in the world have you done?"

Well!  Suffice it to say, I never again used the musk oil. I suppose the hot, soaking bath allowed the musk oil to diffuse from my skin into my circulatory system and emerge back through the skin after the long travels throughout the rest of my body!  I have to admit that it did take several days and showers before I felt it was safe to be around others.

Perhaps the musk changed my good pheromones to bad pheromones.  The reaction from my husband and the surgeon proved that maybe, just maybe, I could have been a good candidate for that one specimen who could demonstrate turning off/ on pheromones.

Oh, the pondering of it all...............................................

Jimmy Runs Away

There were times when my brother Jimmy was about five or six years old, that he had his own little game of running away from home.

This usually occurred at the end of the day and mostly in those good weather days of late spring or summer.  Most of the time, after supper and while mama, daddy, baby Dennis, Bonnie and I were still seated at the table following the meal. Jimmy would appear in the kitchen while carrying a paper bag or box filled with a few of his favorite toys.  The conversation would begin as:

Jimmy:  Mama, I am going to run away.

Mama:  I am sorry that you are going away, Jimmy.  

Jimmy:  Bye, Mama, Daddy, Bonnie and Brenda and baby Dennis

Mama:  I love you, Jimmy.  Please come back home soon.

All:        We love you, Jimmy.

Jimmy would leave the kitchen, exit through the back porch, down the steps and walk to the end of the driveway.  

Mama would watch him leave through the front kitchen windows.

Jimmy would carefully cross the road and proceed to walk over the front lawns of the two houses adjacent to each other.  There were several trees that separated the two houses and Jimmy always selected the big tree that would conceal him completely.  We, along with mama, would look through the window and from time to time we could see little Jimmy peeking around from behind the tree. We are not sure what he did, only knowing he had a few toys to play with.  I suppose he had created his special place, like a tree house, only he was under the tree limbs.  Maybe he felt safe there knowing his family was across the road and he had the advantage of knowing we were all there.

Jimmy would stay behind his safe tree until the shadows of the fading day beckoned him that maybe it would be a good idea to return home before dark.  We watched as he cautiously moved from his tree, walked across the yard toward the road and back to our house. The return of our “prodigal son” went something like this:

Jimmy:  Returning through the back porch to the kitchen, I am home mama.

Mama:  Embracing him in her arms, Oh Jimmy, I am so happy you came back home!

Family: Hey Jimmy, glad you are back home!

Jimmy continued his “running away from home” game from age five to six.  After he began school and enlarged his circle of friends, he no longer appeared to need his special, safe tree and his imaginary playmates again.

I do not remember that mama or daddy ever reprimanded their little boy for this behavior.  We were left with their good example of being loving parents.

As an adult my brother Jim has had a successful career in business, a loving marriage that has lasted to this date over fifty years. As parents, their two sons have the same success in their lives as now adults in their early fifties.

Jim/s adventures created trust from parents to children. As a little boy, he always knew he could come back home to loving and welcoming arms of those family members who loved him.

ANOTHER STUDENT STORY

Welcome!  I have a story about a student that I would love to share with you today.

Her name was Marguerite.  She was excited to be accepted into the Surgical Technology Program. Marguerite stood out among the all-female class, probably because of her morbid obesity.  I had interviewed her about two months before the acceptance date for entrance into the program and at that time I made several suggestions of possible other programs she might be interested in.  No, she said, I just want to work in the operating room.

Marguerite did well in all her first quarter classes.  She was a master with vocabulary and was well prepared for all her exams. Her grades were excellent. Since I had not been able to successfully lead her in another direction, I was hoping the second quarter labs would help her realize how she had several disadvantages for working in the operating room.  My predictions were true, because it became obvious, she would not be able to fit into the regulated surgical scrubs that were for hospital laundry only.  She had argued that her mother, who made all her clothes, could make her size.  No, I countered, you may not wash your scrubs at home.  I then pointed out that she appeared to be having a problem with adjusting to the small work area allotted to surgical technology students during the operative procedure.  There were many tables, several people and various pieces of machinery that had to occupy a confined space.  She began to accept that. 

That was when I offered her a Central Supply Technician as an alternative.  She could wear her own scrubs and launder them at home as there would not be blood or contagious fluids on her clothes.  She seemed happy with that and graduated with the class, but with a diploma in Central Supply Technician.

I did not hear from her again for several years.  It was then that I received a call from one of her former classmates.  This classmate was now a registered nurse working on the patient surgical unit of the local hospital.  She wanted me to know that Marguerite was a patient and was schedule for bariatric surgery the following morning (surgery to reduce the size of the stomach creating weight loss for morbid obesity).  She was very concerned about her friend because her family was trying to talk her out of having the procedure.  Marguerite was ready to cancel.  Her friend explained that she thought I could help her.  I told her to have her call me.

Marguerite called me soon after the conversation with her friend.  After the usual greetings and pleasantries, I asked her to tell me what was going on that her friend was very concerned about her welfare.  She explained that her family was objecting bitterly in regards to the surgery.  They wanted her to come home and forget about it.

I  asked Marguerite some simple questions :

1.  Do you have a boyfriend?

     Her answer:  No

2.  Do you have and drive your own car?

     Her answer:  No

3.  Are you able to shop and buy your own clothes?

     Her answer:  No

I explained that the surgery would change her life and make her more independent and happy, but it was her decision and only hers.

I did not hear from her again for two years.  However, her friend did call me and told me the surgery was successful.  Almost two years to the day, I was loading packages from Wal-mart into my car in the parking area.  I heard someone call my name as Mrs. Knight.  I turned around and saw a lovely young girl walking toward me. She had short black hair and she was wearing a fashionably cute summer outfit with shorts and sandals.  A second look told me this was Marguerite  -- the New Marguerite!

We embraced as we stood there in the parking lot.  She looked amazing! And this is what she said to me:

I have a boyfriend.

I have my own car.

I can shop at the stores.

I am Happy!

A True Story!  *Name has been changed

AND THERE WERE HURRICANES!

Come walk with me for a while and let me share two named storms I had the not so pleasant privilege of getting to know. The first one was called "Bob".

Bob came along in 1985 when my daughter was fifteen years old.  We had planned a vacation together at North Myrtle Beach with my good friend who also had a daughter the same age, and a condo to stay in.  We were excited and looking forward to some good beach time.  We arrived early in the week, and my friend and her daughter were to arrive later in the week.  

Unfortunately, on the day that they were to arrive, we received the news that an expected hurricane by the name of Bob had appeared on the radar as a category 3 hurricane and it was due to be on top of us that evening.  Of course, I panicked and wanted to leave the beach immediately and head inland.  My daughter and I began to pack our things, clean the condo and prepare for the long ride home.  I went downstairs to explain to the receiving desk that I would be leaving, but another renter would be arriving.  Of course, there were no cell phones in 1985, and no way to get in touch with my friend who was on her way.

The man at the reception desk explained to me that leaving would be a big mistake!  He said the building we were in (six stories tall) was the safest building on the beach.  He further explained that it was fairly new and was built with safety precautions against high winds.  He also reminded me that the major access roads out of the beach area would be packed with campers and other cars.  He emphasized that I would be putting myself in danger if I left!  

That was when he softened his voice, looked me dead in the eye and said that the best thing I could do would be to go to the bar down the hall and order a large strawberry daiquiri and try to relax! Well, I decided to do exactly what he recommended, and with my drink in hand was welcomed by a group across the hall playing bingo.  They invited me to join them.  They were having a hurricane party!

Julia was still upstairs in our room, frantically cleaning and packing our things.  You can imagine her surprise when I finally returned to our room and told her we were going to stay and ride out the storm.  We watched the weather report on television, and Julia kept her eyes glued on the view of the trees beginning to blow in the wind through the sliding glass door.   Around ten o'clock I decided to take the one anti-depressant my sister had given me for emergency use only.  I fell sound to sleep, leaving Julia to keep a lookout.

The next morning, I lazily awoke to my daughter's story about her night with the hurricane!  She said that while I was asleep, the hallway was filled with the other residents who chose to seek shelter in the hallway away from the windows in the condos.  She told me that the walls shook, and the wind was very loud!  I looked out the large patio door to the balcony and saw that the fence around the pool and tennis courts were bent and crumpled to the ground.  A further inspection of the damage showed all the outside chairs were floating in the pool!

Later that morning, my friend arrived and shared a harrowing tale of having to spend the night in a "shady" motel.  She was awake the entire night listening to the howling wind and praying the windows would not blow out!

Fortunately, no one was injured and we were able to enjoy the remainder of the week in the condo by the beach!  The locals quicky printed "I Survived Bob" t-shirts and sold them the rest of the summer.