Thursday, Post-Opt Visit

Busy day today. The Babe has a post-op followup to his second cataract surgery. All I can say is, it’s getting busy. We won’t have time to drop the Babe back at home before picking Mom up for a doctor’s appointment. Maybe we can do lunch if we don’t get a snowstorm. We’ve heard varying degrees of bad weather for tomorrow. Nothing sounds too bad, but we need to be prepared.

Scenes from an elders life:

It seems Mom let us know how she likes Fish Sandwiches from Burger King. Monday this week, she told me she doesn’t want them this week. It seems she had five brought to her last Friday. She’s kind of over them! I’m taking her some grilled cheese sandwiches this week. Hope she doesn’t get a dozen of those!

After finishing the book, “Broken Angels,” I’m a little puzzled about the critical reviews I’ve seen. I can only speculate the reviewers are young and don’t understand the scope and ramifications of the Holocaust, and the horrors of the death camps. My father was with Patton’s troops as they freed Auschwitz. He never told us about it, but an aunt said she asked him once. He went up to his library to get a book, which he loaned her to read. The book would tell her more than she wanted to know. I did not get the name of the book, and my aunt is no longer with us, either.

What evil my father saw, along with many, many young men. Throughout the wars of history, and “conflicts.” Anywhere men or women died, it is a war in my estimation.

I find it a little funny to see the commercial for the vision center who did the Babe’s cataract surgery. We’ve probably spent 5 or 6 hours there over the past two days. One of the frequent running commercials during the news hours is for the vision center. Perfect photos of the chair I sat in by the windows, but none of the Otis Spunkmeyer freshly baked cookies, baked fresh daily. Those are the cure for everything. Smells so good.

Not kidding. I’ve done zero quilting the past two days. It will be done when I can. Things are a little crazy at the moment. But I finished an enormous book. That counts. How about you? What will this fine Thursday find you doing? Tell me in the comments. Have a great day, and we’ll see each other tomorrow.

Happy Valentine’s Day After!

Whether you’re a couple, single, divorced, widowed, or single by choice, this is a day of love for everyone.

I was single for a lot of Valentine’s Days, folks. I hated it. Nothing made you feel more like a loser than sitting at work, seeing every other female in the North Tower of the “Twin Towers,” across the street from the old W Dale Clark Library in Downtown, Omaha than Valentine’s Day.

I didn’t mind women receiving flowers. But when I heard women say things like, “He’d BETTER send me flowers!” Like they insist on it, or they’ll be hell to pay. I just thought there’s no way I’d tell a mate that or even behave that way. I thought it was terrible.

Kind of like when a woman said, “My husband makes my lunches for me every day,” then cussed him out because he forgot lettuce. Really? How ungrateful is my take on all of that.

Sometimes, I receive flowers. Other times, I buy them for the Babe. Sometimes we don’t get out to get each other cards. It’s nice to be remembered. But what is love at this point in our lives?

We’ll be married 25 years this October. Truth be told, I’m just glad the Babe hasn’t had a heart attack/etc yet. I’m tickled to have him still here with me! He’s happy still being here, too! What did we do today?

I’m piecing together the big appliqued dog row, and couldn’t get something right again. We were sitting on the couch, I was holding the quilt and the row of blocks sewn together. The Babe said, “Let’s go lay it out on the bed!” Ok, I scurried into the bedroom. We laid out the part of the quilt that was already together, and I laid another row across. Checked the directions, he provided feedback, I agreed, decided which part to trip out, and my problem was solved.

What other husband, a former labor supervisor, concrete block delivery supervisor, manly man who managed the facility at 144 & Giles Road, Omaha, NE, who is a man among men, Vietnam combat veteran, and not afraid to love his wife, would help me out this way? No one, I got the best one for me! That made up the best Valentine’s Day gift I’ve ever had. I have no photos; there was no delivery fee, no up-charge for delivery, no price increase just because, and won’t have to throw it away when it wilts and dies.

What I do have is support in my work, a second opinion where it’s needed, and a calming force when I’m about to lose my mind. That is what love is. You want the best from your partner, because the better they are, the better your relationship is. The better your relationship is, the better you both become. And I do the same for him. Even when you can’t imagine loving your person more, it happens; love deepens and grows. There is room to fill in your hearts.

I hope that for each and every one of you. Have another beautiful day of love. See you tomorrow!

Last Saturday in August. Trust Me.

Fall cannot be far away if our Nebraska Cornhuskers started their football season today. Of course, they lost by three points. The week of hype we’ve just had promised they were ready, and all the other things players and coaches say. We trounced this team last year. They must have been more ready than we were. Sad for the players, they traveled all the way to Dublin, Ireland to play. I’m sure it will be a very long trip home. Better luck next time, guys.

A daily meditation book I have ponders fake love today, asking if it’s them or if it’s me? I find that very interesting and thought provoking. My book answers the more valuable something is, the more fakes and imitations there are. Real, authentic love is a treasure, and there are many imitations out there.

A child has a different view of love than an adult, an elderly person who is widowed has yet another definition. Finding authentic love when we’ve not seen it before is hard. For folks with addictions, they believe love is shown by their person lying for them; to the boss when they’re “sick”, to the banker when the mortgage has been gambled away, and especially to family members when there is nothing to eat. Yes, these are extremes, but simple white lies can lead to these whoppers.

Hard to explain to these folks, love is not making excuses, it’s making them accountable. They don’t like it, so they tell you you’re in the wrong. Disagreements ensue, getting louder and louder. Hopefully, they don’t turn physical. Don’t stay if they do. Always have a plan of where to go and what to do.

Substitutes are easier, but hollow. They’re not the real deal for sure. Expensive gifts in lieu of being able to trust them is not real. Flowers after they storm out and disappear for days aren’t worth it. They twist the situation to make it your fault, and lash out. Hold your ground; they’re wrong, you’re not.

Authentic love is trusting. Trust was a hard thing for me. Funny, I’ve never doubted the Babe once since we met. He showed me real love by being there, every day. Not love that is infatuation, but real, deep love, and he worked to earn my trust. When I finally realized how damaged I was, I knew I had work to do. No drama. We trust. We both are responsible for our own stuff. It works great. Grateful to know that this kind of love really exists. It’s been there all along.

The answer to the question is it them or me, is it’s both of us. If they have addiction issues of any kind, it’s them; if we have trust issues, it’s us as well. Trust is a gift, to be given as well as received. The receiver treats is as the treasure it is, the giver knows at what cost it comes.

Have a beautiful evening, I’m going to read, as it’s rainy outside. Perfect weather for finishing a book and paying bills online. Pups are napping as I just did, too. Saturdays are great, aren’t they? See you tomorrow.

Beauty/Loveableness/Teens

It’s said beauty is in the beholder’s eye. I suppose that is true. As I’ve grown older, my definition of beauty changed dramatically. I suppose as a teenager I found my idea of beauty in fashion magazines, teen magazines, and had a skewed idea of beauty. It was anything but me. I think most girls my age felt this way, although I did not know that. We just didn’t have those kinds of discussions.

As I remained dateless after the age of 16, I thought no one would love me. Images of Twiggy and Goldie Hawn as the “Sock it to Me” girl made me believe I would never be thin enough for someone to love. It reinforced the message from Madison Avenue, my mom, and what I saw around me. Everyone but me was beautiful and loveable. I felt fat and ugly. And not very smart. Little did I know I actually had a pretty face, beautiful eyes (hidden by pop bottle lenses of the 60s) and was the right size of a normal human teenage girl. (The other day, a friend commented, “I wish I was the weight I was when I first thought I was fat.” Amen, sister!)

I lost all that. While my first husband was gone in the Army (Europe in an office, not in Vietnam), I crash dieted my way to less than 130 pounds. Starved myself, lost 50 pounds, and wore hot pants and shorts for the only time in my life. It was hard to maintain. I went back to a normal weight again, and felt fat. I wasted how sad so much of my life on feeling like that. Who the heck cares? I did, way too much.

I’d gain 35-40 pounds during each pregnancy when some doctors only wanted a 20 pound weight gain. I suspect many babies did not have the great start they deserved during this era. Mine were all healthy from the get go, thankfully. I’ve yo-yo’d my way during the rest of life. I was at an unhealthy plateau for a long time, until COVID let me to realize I wasn’t comfortable. I lost about 40 – 45 pounds, feel great, and haven’t KETO’d since.

By charts, etc., I should weigh less. I’m not sure that’s going to happen. For my health, it would be a little better, but the rest of my health numbers, etc are great. No high cholesterol, blood pressure under control, and I have various specialty docs I see for chronic pain. My knees don’t require injections every 90 days any more. I’m good, by most standards.

My idea of beauty now? It’s never found in a celebrity or the pages of a magazine. It’s found in the smiling, wrinkled face of a grandmother; the wisdom of a toddler who talks constantly; the excitement of a person discovering their talents after a lifetime of doing for others. It’s in nature; it is in wildlife; and it is in the every day, commonplace things. It is in the beholder’s eye. The heart of the beholder. The mind of the beholder. It’s a tween telling you they like spending time with you. When you tease your grand kid about silly things they did when they were young, they smile. It’s there! It’s everywhere.

As I finish up the cleaning from yesterday, I’ll see the beauty and show gratitude for taking care of our home. I’ll see it in our dogs. I’ll see it in the book I’m reading. It is everywhere. I’m going to soak it all in, and be grateful for learning what is truly beautiful. Check it out for yourself. Let’s see each other tomorrow. Be safe out there!

What Day Is This?

I’m sure everyone has asked themselves that question during the last ten days. I’ve been a day ahead of myself all week for some reason. It’s perfect to have it during vacation, with the holidays themselves on Saturday. Recuperate on Sunday, back to work on Monday? Maybe. Some folks will have designated holidays on Monday, and schools won’t go back until Tuesday or Wednesday.

This is Thursday, I had some office work at the Post to help the Babe; he had two funerals at the Omaha National Cemetery for the VFW Post 2503 Honor Guard. The Commander’s wife was decorating for New Year’s Eve; it will be beautiful. A lot of progress is evident at the Post; a year ago, we met to begin planning the great remodel of the facilities. It’s coming along nicely. The bar area is the last and will be most expensive, as it includes the rest rooms. The 90th Anniversary Party is in April, 2022, and it will be wonderful.

Ralph Waldo Emerson is credited with saying:

“The hero is no braver than the ordinary man, but he is brave five minutes longer.”

All of us are capable of heroic acts. My dad was a hero in WWII and Korea. He was also a hero to me. He was a great example of working (perhaps too hard), and staying the course. He was unwavering in anything having to do with providing for his family. Shows of affection were a bit more difficult for him. His mother told me once, “he took after his father in that department.” Grandpa finished growing up in an orphanage, one of ten children, hugs weren’t given away freely in that era.

Heroes we refer to who save a regiment of soldiers solo are much more glamorous than everyday, working class heroes. Consistency is what matters. Integrity is what matters. Above and beyond often means taking care of yourself so you can care for others. It’s not news-worthy but it is necessary in life. Staying the course, being consistent, and honesty are critical. We are all capable of doing small but heroic deeds in our daily lives. Keeping on our workout routine and eating healthy makes you a hero to your child, who needs you to be there for him or her as they grow up. Be your child’s hero. Those of us who achieve hero status just have worked at it a little longer than others. But we all can do it. Let’s join each other in being each other’s heroes next year. Help each other along.

Try and list all the things that turned out well this year. Concentrate on the positive. Despite everything, I’m thrilled with how 2021 played out for me. I became not only a published blogger online, but also in print; in Nebraska Writer’s Guild Anthology #5. I’m nearly there. What have you accomplished despite the odds? Be your own hero. You know you were braver than you ever thought for even five more minutes. Be safe out there. See you tomorrow, as we say goodbye to 2021.

All You Need Is . . .

Love is probably the most abused, overused word whether you “mean” it or not. Anyone I know from South Dakota ends a phone call with “Love You, Bye!” That is pretty genuine, trust me. But the “I love my phone,” “I love your hair!” All those. But let’s not split hairs.

My handy daily mediation book jumped out at me again today.

“Where does all the fake love come from? Is it them or is it me?” – Mel K.

The meditation goes on to state the more precious something is, the more fakes are created around it. That’s a big statement. And I think it’s true. Over 25 years ago, when I was thrust into the dating world after getting married at 18 and getting divorced at 30, it was certainly true. A lot of men would be dishonest about the fact they were married. Some were quite crafty about it. Meet you for lunch, not drinks or dinner. Meet/see you during the week, but never on the weekend. It didn’t take long to figure it out.

Also, at the end of the 80s, the AIDS crisis reared it’s ugly head and had every single person worried. Again, if people weren’t honest about their marriage status, they probably wouldn’t be honest with their sexual history. It was crazy out there. Terrible. I became good at staying home. Authentic love is the goal. Inauthentic love is so hollow. Some is plain deception: If you love me, you will lie for me, don’t tell Mom, don’t tell Dad, you will cheat for me, you will call me in sick at work so I can sleep, and no, don’t even think about calling me out on my behavior. You have no right to do that.

Hey, pal. Yes I do. If you love me, you will be honest and truthful, you will not expect me to compromise my morals, you will respect my feelings, you will understand I, too, have a life and obligations. If you don’t honor that, you certainly don’t love me.

There, as a much wiser older lady, I can finally say that. I tried to wriggle out of letting the Babe tell me he loved me. I was afraid. Afraid of lies, loss, and relationships. I said, “No, you can’t. It’s too early.” But he said he knew he did. And set to convince me of that fact. Glad he didn’t give up easily. Real, true loving is hard. It’s almost more attractive to accept the cheap knock offs.

Authentic love is trusting, fake is not. It dares to try, fake does not. It dares to take a risk by being expressed, fake stays silent. We need to trust they’ll understand, they’ll believe us, and they’ll trust. The problem isn’t them; it’s us! It was hard for me to learn to trust. Thank goodness, the Babe was patient.

I had a head full of phony ideas about love. I grew up hearing Mom’s Dean Martin LP’s on the Hi-Fi. “Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime.” Andy Williams crooning, “Love Story.” Englebert Humperdink singing “A Man Without Love.” I had stupid ideas everytime you disagreed, you’d get flowers. That I got from TV. I never heard my parents disagree, if they did, they did it when we were gone or asleep. I thought if you fought, it ended. If Mom got angry with someone, they were cut out of her life. Silent treatment. With the Babe, I’ve learned that important tool of life, to listen to someone else’s side of the story, and to adjust my thinking should I need to be less rigid. It does happen.

Trust is a very hard thing to earn and to learn. I’m proud people trust me with their private thoughts, and I’ve been told I’m a good friend. That’s important to me. I’ve earned trust. I’ve also learned to give the gift of trust to those who deserve it. Those who don’t can keep walking.

Maybe I’ll write a book filled with all the lines I’ve heard over the years. That could be hilarious! Someday. For today, I’m going to design the program for our event Sunday, and work on the Post website. It needs some stuff updated soon as our newsletter comes out. It’s going to be a great weekend. I hope yours is too. Be safe out there, and we will see you tomorrow!