Downsizing....

It's hotter than Hades today. Probably the hottest day of the summer. I am sitting here with a small fan blowing cool air on me. It helps.

It's one of those days when you don't go outside, if you don't have to. And fortunately, I didn't have to, much. Walking out the door is like walking into a blast furnace. So, I'm inside....

Since I'm still on physical restrictions at work, I spent the afternoon at home. On the computer. I think I've logged seven hours online today. That's more than I have done in a long time. But then, it WAS work....

I am doing a report for my manager. I have been reviewing a list of patients she gave me and adding the pertinent information from our data base. I can't tell you what it is about, of course, but I can tell you that I lost those seven hours.

It was fascinating. I looked up the information and read and read and read, until I found what I needed, for each patient. I then took the data and transferred it to a spreadsheet. Really, it was fun. The information was much more interesting than vital signs.....it was more about the people and how they act and react. To nurses, to physicians, and to life, in general.

I am very glad that I will be compensated nicely for my seven hours. That's seven hours of my life that I can never get back. I am also glad that the information I am spreadsheeting has value to the agency and to the rest of the nurses.

I'd hate to think I wasted all that time online.

I haven't been spending that much time online recently. In fact, I have downsized both the amount of time I spend, and the size of my computer screen, so to speak. I am now checking in on Eons, reading my email, and leaving status updates on Facebook via my iPhone.

I love the iPhone apps, too: I have Fandango, so I can check what's playing at the local theaters. I have TV Guide, so I know what I'm not watching on TV. And Solitaire, to entertain me when I'm waiting in the doctor's office. And for my grandsons' enjoyment: a lightsaber, complete with Star Wars music. And, for Aidan's football games: an air horn. Cool stuff.

Yup, less time online and only 2 inches by 3 inches of screen space. I can touch the screen, spread my fingers, and make the printing larger. But I can't read it for very long. So, I don't. I go do something else. Like read. Or write. Or clean. Or take a walk. Or play with the dogs.

As much as I enjoy my online friends, I am happier when life is large and the computer screen is small. I know that, for some people, being online becomes a refuge. A connection with kindred souls. Something to do.

I have plenty to do. And a lot of it wasn't getting done. By downsizing the distractions in my life, I have made more room for living. Really living.

I am sure that, come winter, I will spend more time online. Or not. Whatever I do, or don't do, is my choice. Just as it is your choice, too. I ebb and flow with being online. It is fun, and then it is a distraction. It is fun, and then it is too much work.

Besides, it's football season....

The Heart of the Game....

Preseason football isn't supposed to be all that interesting. We already know who the quarterbacks are going to be. It's nothing more than a chance for hundreds of young hopefuls to try to break into the NFL.

Unknowns play the important positions. Inexperienced players make mistakes and fumble the ball. Backup quarterbacks take over in the second half, throwing the ball to one guy when there is another, almost in the end zone, and wide open.

Fans wear their favorite team's gear and hold up signs. The commentary follows the action and the odds: who will get to stay and play and who is headed home? Quarterbacks are spared: no preseason game is worth getting an injured starting quarterback.

Tonight, I watched a game at Lambeau Field. It's the first stadium built expressly for an NFL team, and the longest continuously-occupied field in the NFL. It's named after the founder, player and head coach of the team, Curly Lambeau. He convinced a local businessman to pay for the team's uniforms, which were emblazoned with the name of the business: “Acme Packing.”

Lambeau Field is located at 1265 Lombardi Avenue in Green Bay, Wisconsin. Home of the “Lambeau Leap” and the “Frozen Tundra,” Lambeau is a beautiful setting for football games. And some of the greatest football games of all time have been played there, when Vince Lombardi arrived as their coach in 1961.

The wearers of the green and gold, and their diehard, Cheesehead fans, have a lot of heart. During the week preceding a preseason game at Lambeau, there is a tradition: Green Bay Packers riding bicycles.

And not just any bicycles, either. Lambeau Field is across the street from both the practice fields and their locker rooms. Somehow, in the 1960's, kids hoping to catch a glimpse of their football heroes, would line the road, on their bicycles.

As the players come out of Lambeau, headed for the locker room, they pick a young person, waiting there on their bike. Riding the kid's bike, with the kid standing on the bike behind them, or running alongside, they make their way to the locker rooms.

The kids wait. The players come back out. And they ride the bikes back to the stadium.

The fans are fiercely loyal, to a point. Once Brett “retired” and took his watch, they were still talking about him as their greatest quarterback. Now, as a Minnesota Viking, Brett is the oldest player in the NFL, and a grandpa, to boot.

But now, this team with heart, has Aaron Rodgers at the helm. Stepping into the quarterback position, after hardly playing at all, and following a legend like Brett, must have been hard. But he has heart. And an arm. He has thrown some incredible passes, and his receivers have made equally incredible catches. Matt Flynn is in the #2 spot, behind Aaron, but he's a contender, too.

Whether they win or lose tonight doesn't matter. After watching a Packer player climb on a pink bicycle, with white wall tires, and ride from the field to the locker rooms, the Packers have a new fan. Watching the eleven-year-old owner of the pink bike, riding behind him, holding on to his shoulders, made me realize the importance of having heart. Even in football.

Sorry, Niners, I have to root for my new guys. The guys with heart. From the Frozen Tundra at Lambeau Field, way back in Green Bay, Wisconsin....

Go Packers!!

From their training site:

Packers Training Camp

How 'bout a little touchdown music??

Time Travel...

I went for a ride yesterday. Well, maybe more than a ride. I was on a mission: to find a towel holder for my kitchen. Unfortunately, I know exactly what I want....and I can't find it.

So, I drove ten miles east, looking in the next little town. I was sure I would find it: they are ten miles away and more than fifty years “behind the times.” It was like crossing the time/space continuum, somehow.

I already looked at the local big box stores. No luck. I want the chrome (remember chrome?) that mounts on the wall and has two or three posts that stick out. They move, side to side, and each is long enough to hold a regular kitchen towel.

It's fallout from moving my refrigerator. I used to just loop a kitchen towel through the handle and I would wash my hands, then take two steps and dry them. Alas, the fridge is clear across the room now. The plan doesn't work anymore.

And so, the jaunt east, to another town and another time. The store is an old-fashioned hardware store, but it's not called a hardware store. It's a “mercantile”.....isn't that a great name? I wish we had one here in Podunk: Podunk Mercantile. It just has a good ring to it, I think.

But I digress....

I walked through the front door, with the sign that tells their store hours (closed on Sundays), and into the slightly darkened atmosphere of a real hardware store. From the old brick facade, to the rows and rows of shelves, it is a true denizen of hardware stores past.

Shelves and bins. No blister packs. No boxes. If you want to buy one ten-penny nail, you can. You don't have to buy a box of a thousand. Unless you want to, of course. And row after row of light bulbs, toilet gaskets, wrenches, and other ephemera that makes a hardware store what it is. Or was. Or should be.

Walking up and down the aisles, the wooden floor creaked beneath my steps. I love that, too. And being able to pick something up and see how it works. And not just wonder, through the blister pack, if the size is right. Or not.

Although the store has been there for more than seventy years, they did add a “new” section about fifty years ago. There is a wide opening between the part of the store that displays all the accoutrements of farming, ranching, and home repair, and “the other side” as it is known.

No, it's not Heaven, as in dying and going to “the other side.” But it's practically the same: there are beautiful dishes, fancy cookware, home decorations and tablecloths. That's Heaven in the Mercantile, I think.

Somebody, back then, was very smart. If HE was coming to town to go to the Mercantile, why not entice him to bring HER along? After all, they grew their own food, and she made her own clothes, and his clothing came from the Mercantile. What could they possibly need that they didn't make for themselves? Ah, dishes and pots and pans, of course.

Expensive things, at that. But there is something else about Podunk's neighbor to the east: they have the highest number of millionaires, per capita, of any place in the central valley. Not showy people, just hardworking people who have money. Lots of money. So, the HER side of the Mercantile does quiet well, too.

Alas, the Mercantile did not have what I wanted. I will have to look online for a site that specializes in stuff from the Fifties. I hope to find something that has been recycled, and not a reproduction that was made in.....China.

All in all, it was a fun trip. Going east, and going back in time....

Life.....and the Bakery

I had to go to the DMV yesterday afternoon. After waiting in line, telling the story twice, and waiting in line again, I left empty-handed. I will have to resolve the problem elsewhere.

I decided to go to Podunk Bakery, downtown on Main Street, for a treat. Surely, going to the DMV for any reason justifies a treat, afterward. That's my thinking, anyway.

The gentleman who runs the bakery is probably in his late forties, affable, and outgoing. He is the type of person who stands out in a crowd. He's an extrovert; talkative, cheerfully sharing his day with anyone who will listen.

Yet, I almost missed what happened....

After much consideration, I decided on the pink flower with the blue middle.....a frosted sugar cookie, of course. Actually, I didn't decide, really. I took one of each: pink with blue center, and blue with pink center. I was in the DMV for a long time, at least two cookies' worth.

The bakery has old-fashioned, claw-foot oak tables and high back chairs. I settled in at the table by the front window, so I could watch people walk by. The daily newspaper had been conveniently left on the table, so I glanced at that, too.

There was only one other customer in the bakery, an older gentleman enjoying a cup of coffee. Probably on a break from one of the nearby businesses, I'm guessing. So it was quiet in the bakery. Very quiet.

A woman walked by with her four children. They were a handful and she was not able to keep up with their antics. It was as if they were running down the street and she was trying to catch them. Fortunately, she did catch them at the street corner. Regrouped, they crossed the street holding each others' hands.

And then a man walked by, turned, and came into the bakery. I didn't really notice all that much about him except for his hair. He had jet black, wild hair. It was long, probably shoulder-length, but it was wild and stuck out rather than lying on his shoulders.

I looked down at the paper in front of me and wondered what he would buy. From his clothing, it didn't look like he had very much money to spend. His clothes were wrinkled, and plain; nondescript, actually. He wasn't dirty, but he wasn't clean, either.

I heard the owner tell him what kind of bagels were left and, in a soft voice, I heard him ask the owner if there was any cream cheese left. As he walked out of the bakery with his bag and a bottle of water, I realized that he hadn't paid for anything.

He sat down on the bench in front of the bakery, carefully opened his bag and spread out the contents. He used the plastic knife he was given to split the bagel in half, and then to spread the cream cheese on it. Then he opened the bottle of water and took a long sip before replacing the cap carefully.

I noticed his hands: he had long, slim fingers. From his actions, I could tell that he had very good dexterity. His hands were clean, too. And I looked more closely at his clothing and the way he wore it. Probably, at some point, he was a businessman around here....somewhere. And, at another point, that business failed, or didn't need him anymore.

As I pondered what I had just witnessed, I wondered how often things like that happen. No, not the loss of work, that happens daily. Or the wrinkled, well-worn clothing. That happens, too. No, I wondered about the kindness. And the quiet and gentle way that the kindness was transacted.

Every day, there are countless numbers of people who go without food. And every day, somewhere, there is someone who quietly, and without public fanfare, gives a “customer” a bagel, cream cheese, and a bottle of water.

And it renews my belief that, no matter what happens, we can overcome it.

Mother and Daughter....

Yesterday was a special day. We went shopping for back-to-school clothes for my granddaughter, Noelle. True, it happens every year, but this was special. Wait, who am I kidding? We go shopping at the drop of a hat, NOT once a year!

But it was truly special. For all of us: grandmother, mother and daughter. As Noelle said: “three generations of women....shopping!" What a joy. And what a day!

During one of several breaks we took, we were sitting around, remembering Noelle's first shopping trip: she was four or five days old. It was a cold and dreary January day, and Noelle's mom needed something to wear. We bundled the baby up and weren't out for all that much time. But it was a first, for Noelle.

When she was five months' old, I bought her the first purse she has ever owned. I was in Dallas for a convention and found it in one of the cute little boutiques in the hotel. The purse was meant for a baby: pink plush, all soft and snugly, and made by Gund, the folks who make teddy bears. Noelle loved it.

To paraphrase, we've come a long way since then....

Somebody forgot to tell the rest of the world to stay home yesterday so we could shop at our leisure. Oh well, we managed. The girls did give up on waiting in line for the dressing rooms. We decided to take it back home and let Noelle try everything on, then we would bring back everything that didn't fit. And, as luck would have it, the “fashion show” was lovely and nothing has to go back.

As I sat and watched, I was thinking back to the times, long ago, when I went shopping with my mother. Especially on Thursday afternoons. I worked in a clinic setting, at that time, and I had Thursday afternoons off. Invariably, my mother would call me at work, mid-morning, and ask what I was doing on my afternoon off. And I would tell her. Then, as if she didn't hear that I was going to be busy, she would invite me to go to lunch.

And there it was: the tug. How to say “no” to my mother? I had so much to do on my afternoon off from work. Important things to do. Things I cannot remember now. But I always acquiesced, and went to lunch with her. And shopped. And came home and got those other things done somehow...

Funny thing, after she died, I missed those shopping trips. Not the shopping, of course, but the time with my mother. The chance to be just “us girls”.....and it was gone forever. At that point in my life, I made an important transition. It had always been a “mother and daughter” thing: my mother called and took me out to lunch. I just had to switch roles, from being the daughter to being the mother.

And so, I started inviting my own lovely daughter out to lunch, as often as I could. The times with my mother were recalled and shared with my daughter. She understood, probably better than I did, how important the time together really is. It's not about where we eat or what we might buy, it's about being able to share our thoughts with each other. Talk, and laugh, and hug each other....

And that's what we did yesterday.

Dollars and $en$e....

It always happens. It doesn't even surprise me anymore. It's simple: my grandson comes to visit. He's stays with Grandma. He is in a hurry to pack his things when he leaves and he forgets something, remembering when he gets home. And Grandma has something of his to hang on to and remember to give back to him next time he visits...

Except, he's in college now, and trying to find a job, so he doesn't get to come visit as often as he did when he was much younger. He was here for Christmas, and then again just a few weeks ago. But when he was here this last time, I didn't have his things anymore.

We had a chance to talk, he and I, and we discussed something that was bothering him. It seems that his best friend, since he was 3, may have stolen some money from him. He was quite bothered by that prospect: not the stealing, but that it was his best friend.

He has gone to school in an urban environment. He has “lost” lots of things, including the iPod(s) I gave him. Notice the plural: I told him, after the second one was taken, that I couldn't buy him another one. He understood....

What he couldn't wrap his head around was having a best friend steal from him. And it wasn't a dollar or two, it was his ATM card and a sizeable amount of money. When I asked how his friend knew his PIN, he just looked at his feet. So, of course, we had the “don't-give-your-PIN-to-anyone” lecture. Sort of. Grandma's not a lecturer.

And so, he has had the experience of cancelling an ATM card, closing an account, and opening a new one. And all the hassles that go with it. I was almost afraid to ask my next question...

“Did you get the package I sent you by certified mail?” He looked blank. He looked at his mother, who had come to pick him up. She looked blank, too. I couldn't believe it! How could this happen?

After waiting four months for his return to my house, I decided to include his birthday present, the stuff he left at Christmas, and a little gift from me in a birthday card. Not thinking anything would happen to it, but wanting to be careful, I sent it via certified mail.

So, there we stood, a month ago, exchanging blank looks. No, he really didn't get his package. No, Mom didn't know anything about it. And worst of all, no, I didn't keep my certified mail receipt. I remember throwing it away awhile back, thinking that he surely must have his package by now.

At Christmas, he received a VISA gift card from me and a significant sum of money from his uncle. He left both behind when he went home. For his birthday, I sent him two Series E Savings Bonds that I purchased for him when he was a baby....

All of them, and the card for his birthday.....GONE!

I was sick about it. Mom was going to try to follow up with the Post Office in her town. They left, and drove home. I went on to worry about other things, and only occasionally have I thought about the missing gift.

I wondered, and I'm sure he did, too, if his best friend had taken it. It was hard to think that but, he had already betrayed grandson's trust once; why not again? And I decided not to think about it. Not only have I met this friend, but he called me “Grandma” when he was here with my grandson a couple of years ago. I didn't want to think he was capable of such a thing.

Today, the mail was late. It usually arrives mid- to late morning. It got here at just past four this afternoon. On top was a yellow mailer, addressed to me, and sent by the “Mail Recovery Center.” Low and behold, it contained grandson's savings bonds, the gift card, the birthday card, and a Money Order for the amount of the cash since they don't return cash.

This time, I'm hanging on to all of it until his return!, at my house.

In Search of Cool....Part Deux...

Water gently lapping against the muddy shore. Majestic mountains rising out of the lake, reaching for the bright, blue sky. Tall pine trees offering shade beneath their spreading branches. A gentle breeze blowing a catamaran across the water. The sound of happy voices, enjoying a day at the lake....

Such is the stuff of dreams...

And reality, too. For me. Yesterday. Even though it is cooler here in Podunk, it is still quite warm. After my physical therapy session yesterday, it was time to head out of town again, in search of cool. Walking shoes, an ice chest with cold drinks, a bag of snacks, and hoodies, just in case, were loaded in the car. And we were off, midday.

With no particular agenda, and no specific goal, we couldn't be late and we couldn't get lost. It's a lot easier to have fun when the constraints of time and destination are removed, I believe. We were meandering, headed east, and looking for cooler weather.

In Podunk, heading east means heading towards the Sierra Nevada mountain range. To avoid the road work going on at our end of the national parks, we went up the northeast route, into Kings Canyon National Park.

Grant Grove Village, one of the first stops, held a pleasant surprise: I know what Santa Claus does during the summer! He's a park ranger. And, I might add, he is very knowledgeable about the national parks in general, and Kings Canyon, in particular.

Back in the car, and driving down a winding road lined with breathtaking scenery, we descended into the canyon a bit and eventually ended up at Hume Lake. Being a native Californiana, I have been to Hume Lake many times. No, not to the Christian camps that line the lake, just around it. On the road that connects it to the General's Highway.

Yesterday was different: we took the left fork of the road instead of the right fork. The sign said something about picnic grounds and “day use” facilities. And as we rounded the bend, there it was: the trees parted and we could see the lake. Miles and miles of lake.

From the parking lot, down a gentle slope to the water's edge....

It was shady and welcoming: there was even a bench to sit on and watch the ducks. And the swimmers. There were three of them swimming across the lake. One of them was named Jake. I only know that because two swimsuit-clad, wet-haired girls came to the edge of the shore nearby and yelled “Jake” about a million times.

I couldn't tell if he noticed them or not. After yelling at him for a few minutes, they turned and left: something about it was supper time and they were hungry. We kept an eye on Jake and the other two swimmers.....just in case.

Sure enough, in a few minutes, this young man, named Jake, arrived at our side of the lake and climbed ashore. About 15 and very athletic-looking, he stood and shook the water out of his hair, then straightened up his “tousled” look. Turning around, he noticed us sitting on the bench, smiled, and said “good afternoon!” I immediately liked him: such a polite young man!

The other two swimmers came ashore and the three of them walked off towards supper, too.

It was fun to return to simpler times. Times when swimming in a lake, on a beautiful day, was enough. Picnicking with family at the lake shore was enough. Sitting on a bench, watching the ducks was enough. Enjoying the warm sun filtered through tall pine trees was enough.

No need for anything more elaborate, or complicated, or electronic. No reason to wish I was somewhere else, or doing something else. Just a lovely afternoon of watching and listening and enjoying. A chance to just be....

Exercising My Mind....

I've been going to the gym recently. No excuse not to: my physical therapy sessions are in the same building. And so, I go. To the gym after my therapy.

I can't use the machines, yet. I have to wait until Rocky clears me to use them. That's okay. I am not ready to use them yet anyway. All I want to do is walk. Not on a treadmill, or an elliptical, or a stair climber, on the track.

Just walk. Just on the track.

You see, walking around the track is my “excuse” to people watch. The gym I belong to is set up in a sort of interesting fashion: a rock climbing wall, a warm water therapy pool, a swimming pool, basketball court, men's and women's lockers, hot tubs, a cafe, and outpatient therapy are on the first floor.

Upstairs, there are all the weight machines, plus all the other accoutrements of a true gym. Circling the perimeter of the gym area is the track. Three lanes; “walkers will kindly use the inside lane”.....

Okay, not a problem.

I walk the inside lane. Joggers and runners pass me like I'm standing still. And that's not a problem, either. They're young. There are a couple of little old ladies that I can “lap” a couple of times in one trip around the track. Ha!

First, I have my therapy session. Rocky usually has several patients come at one time, so we work on the machines and do our prescribed exercises under the watchful gaze of the therapy aides. Like Ray. He's cool. He uses a stopwatch to time my exercises. Rocky makes me count...”one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand.....”

So, I started on the bicycle. I have to pedal with my feet and my hands. Five minutes forward, then five minutes backward. Today, I changed my strategy: I peddled backwards for the first five minutes because it's harder for me to do. Then, I peddled forward for the last five minutes. It gives me an advantage: I can “sprint” for the last minute, trying to beat my personal best each time I try.

Ten minutes. 1.8 miles. Burned 51 calories. You know, it should be as hard to take in calories as it is to get rid of them, right?

Then I did my stretching exercises. Until it was hurting. It really hurt today. It hasn't been bothering me at all, but this was my first therapy session after going back to work. So, I stopped exercising and Rocky did the ultrasound on my sore, sore back.

And then, after the session was through, I went upstairs to walk on the track. Walk and watch and listen. Really, there's a lot to see but not much to hear. It seems that everybody had ear buds stuck in their ears. The really “cool” ones have an iPhone strapped to their arm, playing their favorite music, I guess.

Not me. I want to enjoy the whole experience. Well, that and I don't want somebody sneaking up from behind and scaring me. I like to know when I need to scoot over and let the jocks pass me up. And I like to hear the little old ladies snicker when I pass them by....

It's odd to me, though. So many people in that place and nobody makes eye contact. There aren't a lot of smiles, either, as everyone seems to be concentrating on their “routine” or whatever it is that they call what they are doing.

After walking for almost 25 minutes on the track, I decided it was time to leave. I was tired, my back was sore, and it was supper time. And there was another reason: a man, probably in his mid to late sixties, was using the elliptical machine on the end, by the curve of the track. I swear, I have never seen anyone ANY age move that fast.....

I didn't want to have to do CPR....