Tag Archives: humor

The Quest

When does an obsession start? Who really knows, but you may wake up one day and find yourself in the middle of one. It starts slowly, maybe even with a reasonable idea, but then it overtakes you. It happened to me this autumn—I became obsessed with seeing the glory of leaves changing color. This is a story that is enhanced by pictures, some of those enhanced as well, as you will see.

It started in mid-September when we were in Seattle visiting our daughter and grandkids. I took the three-year-old for a walk and we collected leaves that had already fallen.

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Later, when our grandson was playing in the band during their high school football game, I scouted for changing leaves.

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But it was too early for Seattle, which would be glorious by October.

I told myself that it was fine—I was just warming up my skills because we were to leave ten days later for a trip that would begin in Quebec. We’d board a cruise ship in Montreal, traveling on the “Fall Medley Cruise” up the St. Lawrence Seaway to the Atlantic Seaboard. “Mother Nature’s Paintbrush,” the cruise line’s brochure said. “Imagine a land so transformed by color that even the commonplace becomes extraordinary. A walk through the woods is like stepping into an autumnal kaleidoscope.”

Maybe it was this description, which started me on being a crazy person. I fell for the hype, hook, line and sinker. I expected to draw my curtains in the morning and be presented with the kaleidoscope described. Not to be. Quebec was a jewel: charming and unique. But the trees were green.

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On the train to Montreal, I was encouraged when I saw patches of changing leaves along the tracks. But it turned out that was an anomaly.

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It was chilly and crisp, but the leaves were proudly green.

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I was still hopeful. With the cold temperatures, the leaves had to turn soon, I thought. And we were going way north to Nova Scotia, so that would certainly do the trick, right? Wrong.

IMG_6653Above is what we saw. Below is what we could have seen.

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It was when we were in Maine that I became aware I was obsessed. We’d had a tour guide take us to Kennebunkport from Portland, Maine so we could visit friends and eat at the Clam Shack, which has the best fried clams anywhere in the world. On the way back, I saw some trees along the highway that were crimson. “Stop the car,” I yelled. As I stood on the side of the highway, I saw my traveling companions shooting me questioning looks. The question: Has she gone nuts?

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It wasn’t as if I hadn’t had this happen to me before. I remember being in Boston one year at Halloween. “All a yuz shouda been herah last week,” I was told.

On our return to the West Coast, we stayed a couple days in Seattle. “Finally, “I said to my husband, “we’ll see some autumn color.”A day earlier, maybe. But a storm had blown in and blew the leaves off most of the trees. I know because I took a walk with my camera to find them. An hour later, I returned, with little to show for my effort.

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Finally home, my neighbor made me feel a lot better about all the greenery we’d seen. “One year when we were back there, the leaves were so technicolor, you needed sunglasses,” he said. I’m sure he’s still wondering why I doubled over in laughter.

I did a little research on Fall Foliage, which, BTW, has become big business for the Northeast. Cruise ships disgorge hundreds of Medicare Tourists daily during this period—we were as numerous and pesky as fleas on a barn dog. I had evidence that I wasn’t alone in my quest for florescent foliage. You can even download an APP that will keep you updated as to when the leaves are reaching their peak.

But why is this so unpredictable? New England Fall Foilage Central says “the unpredictable factors that influence the rate at which leaves change colors are rain, the amount of sugar in the leaves, the number of daylight hours and temperatures….The three-day weekend around the Columbus Day holiday is often associated with peak foliage in Massachusetts, New York, Connecticut and Rhode Island, but there are no guarantees.”

Really? Thanks for the heads up!

And by the way, the photo below was taken on October 15!Screen Shot 2015-10-18 at 1.30.49 PM

Blood Lust

 

 

 

 

imagesMy fellow Phlebotomist phobics, do I have a story for you! Last week I had to have blood drawn at UCLA Medical. I have veins that can be extremely hard to find—a family trait—but haven’t had trouble lately. I was taken into a room by two young women in white coats. Then a man came in and introduced Holly and Nicole: students at UCLA who would be practicing on me.
“My veins can be difficult to find,” I warned.
“Not to worry,” James, the phlebotomist, told me. “I’m sure Holly will be able to find a vein. And I’m here to step in if needed.”
Oh great, I thought as they all gave me toothy grins.
Holly actually did find a vein, but the needle wasn’t in exactly the right spot so by the time Dr. James intervened, the vein had dried up. He was distressed (because he looked like an idiot, I think) and couldn’t find any more likely veins on my right arm so we turned to the left. I’d already pointed out that my left arm was even less giving than my right, but Dr. James poked anyway.

 

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“Did you drink water today?” he asked sharply when the only blood available was from the pokes on my arm.
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, you didn’t drink enough. You’re dehydrated. You need to drink a lot of water if you’re going to have a blood draw.”
I almost apologized but caught myself. He was the professional, for goodness sake! I did give him a pleasant smile. He was beginning to sweat and I wanted him to be calm–I had a couple of more vials to be filled.
He started looking up and down my arm and then at my neck. I swear he began to grow fangs. I quickly pointed out an almost invisible vein in the crook of my arm. It was lucky that it worked. I was ready to bolt. No way was I giving him a field day with the rest of my body.

“Ah, I think . . .” I started to say when Dr. Phleboto breathed a sigh of relief.
“Got it,” he said. “Holly, hurry, get me another vial.”

I hazarded a look. My blood was flowing now. I wasn’t sure if Holly was going to move fast enough, but she did.

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I left the examining room with two bandaged arms, shaking my head. This would never have happened to my husband, and not only because he has good veins. He’d never have put up with the trainees. I wonder if someday, I won’t.

Writing Do, Living Don’t

I always tell my writing classes that their stories need to be full of conflict and drama. “You want your life to run smoothly, but your story has to be full of hurdles and problems,” I say. Now I know first hand how true that is.

Right before surgery Selfie.

Right before surgery Selfie.

 

After my recent knee surgery, I felt great—even the crutches weren’t that difficult to use. It was a boring story—the kind you want to live. But then conflict and drama came in the door with the houseguests my husband had invited to stay.

The houseguests are wonderful people—it’s just that it’s difficult to be a hostess on crutches. My husband was a great host, though. He showed them around—took them to Malibu, took them boating, took them to breakfast, lunch and dinner. They’d leave at 9:00 and be gone for most of the day. My husband told them that I wanted to be alone. (Really? Someone on crutches really wanted to be left alone on the second floor of a house?)

Then I got a charley horse in my calf. When I called the doctor, the PA insisted I go to the hospital for an ultrasound. She thought I was probably overdoing, which would cause the leg to cramp up, but she wanted to make sure there wasn’t a blood clot. Blood clot? Blood clot! Blood clots travel to the lungs. They travel to the brain. Oh my God! I could die! But I was fine there, by myself, on crutches on the second floor. Sure I was.

I was to be at the hospital at 2:00. I called my husband. No answer. I called our houseguests. No answer. I guess they were out of cell range as they made their way to Malibu. My husband called at 12:30 to ask what kind of fish I wanted with my fish and chips. Really? Was I hungry at all? But especially for fried foods?

I have to admit I was angry. But then I told myself that the anger would not help my blood flow, which could affect my clot, existent or not. I did a 15-minute meditation, which was very helpful. My husband got back at 1:30. By then, I was reaching for the phone to call my son or daughter-in-law or a cab.

We got to the hospital on time. I did a silent meditation in the car, ignoring the Formula One race my husband was driving on the freeway. Once there, he left me off to go park the car. It was a long haul on my crutches from the sidewalk to the Information desk. Four people offered me encouragement as I gimped along.

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“Slow and steady wins the race,” one man said as he sprinted around me.

I vowed, then and there, to be kinder to people on crutches or using a cane.

I’d almost made it to the desk when my husband approached me from behind with a wheel chair.

“Get in,” he ordered.

I maneuvered into a sitting position, but didn’t know what to do with the crutches. I finally put them in my lap and my husband took off at what seemed like warp speed. He did a 360 around the Information desk and then zeroed in on the Admissions office. We took off towards it, me wondering if I were going to get motion sickness. The doorway was narrow and at the rate of speed we were doing, it would have been a miracle if we didn’t crash. I wanted to get down on my good knee to say a prayer when he slowed down enough to navigate through the door.

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The ultrasound went fine and when we left the hospital, my husband wheeled me this time to the curb. It was terrifying to be totally under his power. “Stay there,” he said and took off at a run.  I realized he’d left me on a decline as the chair began to roll toward the street. I called out to him, but he was gone. I started to put my foot out to stop the chair, but then realized this could compromise my knee. I fiddled desperately with levers until I found the brake. My husband didn’t know why I had sweat on my brow when he returned.

The houseguests left the next day. By then I had a terrible headache and was kind of achy all over. No wonder, you might think. But it turned out to be the beginnings of the stomach flu. It was a terrible stomach flu–TMI to tell you the details, but I was sicker than a dog. The only silver lining is that I am closer to my goal weight than I have been for 10 years. Today I graduated to scrambled eggs and toast. So far, all seems well in that department.

Only one other mishap to report: The earthquake Monday set off our alarm. I jumped out of bed, forgetting about my knee. The alarm would not shut off so I hobbled quickly down the stairs to the main box. The dog was doing wheelies by then, so I opened the front door to let him out. A man was there in a tree, trimming it. Really? Branches littered our lawn where Bogey makes his daily offerings. He wasn’t going near it so, of course, I had to take him for a walk. Just a short one. Nurse Ratched wasn’t there—he was playing golf.

An hour later, my knee blew up to the size of a grapefruit. No exaggeration. I go to worse case scenario in these situations. Really? You say? You hadn’t noticed. But with ice and elevation it calmed down.

Now my stitches are out and I’m on the road to recovery! Yay! The dramatic arc is complete.

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ADD on Steroids

 

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This is so me. Except I stay up late to get as much as I can done. There’s always something more to do. Like last night.

We’re living near Kona this winter and it’s not like you can just walk into Nordstrom and find a men’s robe. First of all, there is no Nordstrom. Second of all, there’s not that much need for cuddly, terry cloth robes. We even tried to find one at Target but no dice. So I said, “I’ll order you one on line, honey.”

Our ride home was so eventful, (my husband was pulled over for going 61 in a 45. The officer asked if we were in a hurry. I started to explain that we’d been behind a truck going 40 in a 55 and after the truck moved to the right when the road widened, we naturally picked up speed, not realizing it was now a 45. The officer’s eyes glazed over and he gave my husband a pitying look and a warning.)

Anyway, when we got home, the electrician, dishwasher repairman, home association landscape workers and even the condo window washers were parading through the house and outdoors.

At 2:00 PM our time, I found a vacant place on our lanai and hooked into my first Webinar, a memoir seminar put on by the National League of American Pen Women. The speaker was Janis Kearney, Clinton’s diarist. It was 7:00 PM on the East Coast. I was blown away by the technology. I even asked a question. After, since the dishwasher was finally working, I put away the clean dishes.

I got so busy that I completely forgot about the robe. Until midnight. I went on Amazon and voila, there was a robe. It’s supposed to come January 16. We will see.