Feeling Good

What’s up doc?

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There are two kinds of people in society:  1) Hypochondriacs and 2) FODs (Fear of Doctors).  I am of the European reasoning that doctors will only give you bad news.  If you are like me, you prefer good news and happy times.  So, with this thought in mind, why would I go to a place where there are other ill people who can make me sick, and speak to someone who will only give me bad news?  As of today I renounce my FOD status!  Why? I had a life changing experience that I will share with you and hopefully convert you from a FOD person to a…hmmm…guess I will need to come up with a third group of personalities.  Here is what happened.

My story begins two and a half weeks ago.  Remember those dreary, rain filled days?  I had decided to book an “annual” physical with my doctor (at her subtle request).  You see, I had visited a few weeks earlier unsure if I had strep throat.  I wanted to ensure that none of the grandbabies got sick so…yes…I fought my Fear of Doctor to get checked out.  That day I did not have strep, but I still had a miserably sore throat.  Although I truly believed I had no reason for it…well, hindsight is 20/20 and as you recall I proceeded into that awful cold/sinus/deafness ailment.  Now, let’s backup to that day of the physical.

As a sidenote, I would like to state that my “yearly” physical takes place every decade (if I can schedule it).  Now, being closer to my 50s, the creaky bones of arthritis and the hollering of other women to get checked out, made me think I should squeeze one in early.  This one was done after 5 years.  Good for me!  The physical part of my checkup was done and I was sent for blood work.  Does everyone know what blood work is all about?  Sure you do!  Or, are you more like me.  Last time I needed to go for surgery, when I was at the ripe old age of twenty-three , I had blood work done.  It’s been a couple of years.  Not that my doctor hasn’t been trying.  I believe that in the last 15 years she has given me the paper for blood work about 4 times.  (1) I lost it.  (2)  The paper had been in my purse so long that it was tattered and torn and unreadable.  (3) I think the dog ate it  (haha, I always wanted to say that, but he actually didn’t).  The last one she gave me (4) was still on my desk at home.  I had every good intention of having it done.  Well, this time she beat me.  “Take this upstairs and get your blood work done.”  Now, if I didn’t, I would be an awful patient.  So I trotted upstairs and bided my time.

One minute later it was my turn.  I sat in the chair, rolled up my sleeve and proceeded to have a needle jammed into me.  I asked, “So, will the doctor call me with the results?”  She looked at me like I had three heads.  I explained, “I haven’t had blood taken in about twenty years.”  “Oh,” she began, “if there is nothing wrong then you won’t get a call.”  My follow up question, “How long until the she gets the test results?”  Reply, “about three days.”

My blood was drawn Wednesday.  No call on Thursday.  It was Friday and all was clear!  Woo hoo!  Brrrrrrriiinnnggggg!  CRAP!  Doctor’s office.  Summary of phone call:  Doctor wants to see me.  YIKES!  Since doctors’ appointment days book up quickly, I had to wait a week to see her.  Naturally, I spent those five days doing what any other normal FOD would do.  It’s also a Hypochondriac’s favourite game.  All together now:  What’s My Ailment!

Yes, I spent several gloriously rainy days in a cough-ridden haze being depressed about my  extended cold illness.  I got to worry about what beloved foods I was going to have to cut out.  I LOVE PIZZA!   High cholesterol?  That was possible.  Hmmm, maybe diabetes.  Was I going to be a diabetic?  Then, through this mist of sorrow I would reach for that happy spark of simple stuff like low iron.  I could handle that!  Yeah, that’s all it was.  If it was something really drastic then I would be rushed to Emergency right?  That was how I finally stopped thinking about it.

Sunday night I realized that the next day would be THE day that I saw my doctor and got the final say.  I decided to stay with my positive side.  No matter what happened, I could handle it.  And if I had to give up pizza or french fries then I would die happily at an early age eating the foods I loved.  (I know…I’m a total realist).

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Now, not only did I wake up to SUNSHINE after three weeks (hello Vitamin D), but that just added to my increased happy thoughts.  I ate a banana for breakfast.  I got there early.  I actually got to see Doc before my scheduled appointment.  I took a deep breath.  I relaxed and believed that there was nothing bad.  She walked in, “So, we are here to talk about your results.”  My heart skipped a beat.  I reminded myself, think positive.  “You’re not dying,” she said matter-of-factly.  “You’ll be happy to hear it’s your thyroid.”  Happy?  Happy to hear that something is wrong with me?  Short notes:  I have a slow thyroid which makes me sleepy and cold and with one pill a day I’ll be good as new.  Celebration time!

So, I am sharing my story to tell you:  GO SEE YOUR DOCTOR.  It can be good news.

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Don’t be a FOD (Fear of Doctor) type.  Be a SYD (See Your Doctor).  You might be pleasantly surprised and ask, “What’s up doc?”

Note 1:  Supreme artwork and colour choices were represented and drawn by Maryann.

Note 2:  Yes, I’m proud of it.

Note 3:  Yes, I’m improving.  I might try markers next time.

 

The sun’ll come out…tomorrow???

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I think I am finally over that horrendous sinus-stuffed / bruised-rib coughing / voice-losing bout.  I believe I am on the mend after four tortuous weeks of headaches and hearing loss.  I am alive and I am (almost) well.  I believe there was one main ingredient that I had been lacking and I also believe that this crucial element to my normal daily routine is what made this illness continue to haunt me.  It made my usual chipper self, quite miserable on a daily basis and I could not release myself from this funk.  I have been ill before (though not quite this like this) and I have managed to fib myself to wellness.  “I am not sick.  I’m not sick.  I am well.  I feel fine.”  This little mantra could always get me back to my happy, smiling self.  What was missing?

It appears that my good ol’ friend, the sun, decided to go away on vacation for awhile.  Had not been seen in weeks.  Why would this matter?  Well, I recall reading about SAD people.  No, not sad people, but SAD people; those affected by Seasonal Affective Disorder.  It seems that if we do not get our daily dose of those beautiful rays our serotonin (mood balancer) levels drop.  With the lack of Vitamin D that we get from the sun, our moods change and we end up in a sleep slump that could lead to depression.  So, while good ol’ fireball went into vacation mode, the rest of us trudged daily through our lives.  Our sloppy, squishy, rain-soaked lives.

So, here was I was thinking I was not getting enough sleep and that this was the cause of my awful, cranky mood.  True, I wasn’t sleeping well on those mega-cough nights, but then I’d make up for it with an almost coma-like sleep the next night.  Yes, my ears were plugging and unplugging, which was annoying, but I had really never been that irritable before.  After week three, and more rain in our forecast, it hit me.  I had not seen the sun in many, many, many days.  Living in Canada we are used to lots of snowstorms at this time of year which is accompanied by bright sunlight that bounces off the newly fallen snow and blinds you from time to time.  Here we are in January (one of our usually worse winter months) and no snow.  No flakes falling.  Nothing to shovel.  I was grateful for not having to perform that miserable task and yet, the daily rain forecast made me even more crestfallen.  What was a girl to do?

I did what everyone else around me seemed to be doing…skulking.  I would go shopping to get groceries and people were wearing their best scowling faces.  Cashiers would ramp up the: “Hi how are you?” when starting to process your order, and would then turn off the bling smile until the obligatory: “Have a nice day.”  Yeah, even smiling was becoming a chore.  What is the point of warmer weather if you are constantly walking through a downpour or even worse, the ever present drizzle of rain.  It was like wandering through a rain forest without the actual accompanying heat.  Not fair!  When was this going to end?

Update.  Weather forecast.  Cold.  Colder than the weather we had been having.  Hmmm, what was this?  Snow?  SNOW!  That meant NO MORE RAIN!  What else did that mean (besides shovelling)?   You guessed it. Look who came back!  I missed you!  We all missed you!  Gorgeous!  Absolutely fabulous!

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So what did I do?  I looked right up at that beautiful burning ball in the sky (and promptly blinded myself for several seconds. Meh…it was worth it)!

I am no longer SAD…yes, I think I did catch a quick spell of it.  It is amazing how this glorious Vitamin D provider can, literally, affect one’s mood.  This morning I was happy as a lark, singing as I went outside into the cold air to view my good friend above.  Thanks for coming back. You really were missed.

I would like to take a wee bit of time to review the lyrics to “Tomorrow” from Annie.

“The sun’ll come out / Tomorrow / Bet your bottom dollar / That tomorrow / There’ll be sun!”

My dear Annie, it was a few week’s worth of tomorrows, but the sun finally DID come out!  Hallelujah cause now I’m “Walking on sunshine / Ain’t don’t it feel good!”  (Shout out to the ’80s crowd!)

 

The Chosen One…

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Today’s “it” word for mean people is:  bullying.  When we elders think of the term bully, we imagine the kid that used to prank us.  That prankster would grab your knapsack or hide your lunch bag or move your coat.  This led to endless laughter from classmates.  What did this bully teach us?  The one thing that I recall the most was thinking “I will never be like that person.” I think that is the greatest lesson learned.

In school we siblings were lucky to be the Chosen One for many of the bullies.  My parents were typical parents in some ways and yet extremely different in others.  Not fashion forward at all.  When puberty hit and there a growth spurt coming, there was no point in buying clothes that you were going to outgrow.  Hand me downs, or clothes that we had outgrown were fine.  Really?  Oh yes, really.  My parents grew up in a village where they were lucky to have shoes in the winter.  Yup,  those were my parents.  We didn’t invite kids from school to our house.  Our parents had us hang out with “our nationality” of people.  There was mass on Sundays (prayed in the “mother tongue”).  During the week we had choir practice (in the “homeland” language).  There were the musical instruments we learned to play (something that resembled a mandolin).  Dance group…yup, you got it:  the folk dancing of our ancestors.  These were all fantastic things to keep their heritage alive in another country.   In hindsight I am very grateful to have had such a wonderful upbringing.  As a child I wanted to break free.  I wanted to be like everyone else.  Why?  Here is the simple equation:

DIFFERENT = MISUNDERSTOOD = CHOSEN ONE

The Chosen One was NOT a good thing.  That meant you were prime target for being picked on.  Did we tell our parents about any of the verbal or physical abuse we received at school?  Heck no!  That would lead you to becoming a bigger outcast because then you were a snitch.  Equation:

SNITCH = UNRELIABLE = CHOSEN ONE

I wonder how my life would have been different if I had all the protection that is available nowadays.  Parents are told everything about what happens in school.  If there is a volatile child doing “bullying activities” they get sent to the principal’s office.  Why?  Due to past indiscretions of previous educators, teachers no longer have the right to say or do anything that will upset the bully.  The bully sits in the principal’s office.  The principal will tell them that what they are doing is wrong (which the bully already knows) and is told that if they reoffend it will lead to suspension or expulsion.  This should remedy the situation right?  In the majority of cases…no.

This system might work if parents would believe that their child is a bully.  However, the parent(s) will not believe any of this malarkey.  Here is how it plays out:

  • Meeting with principal
  • Parent(s) argues that their child is misunderstood and someone or something provoked their child
  • Principal stands firm
  • Parent(s) meets with Superintendent who then overturns the principal’s ruling
  • Game, set, match!
  • Bully returns to class
  • Cycle continues

I believe that what makes matters worse now is that everything is recorded and uploaded to be shared and viewed over and over and over again.  My generation didn’t have to deal with that.  If something happened, people would tell the story and laugh about it, but no one would be able to flash a phone at you and replay the indignation you had to deal with.

How do you get children to understand that their “joke” is not funny?  How can you teach them that it’s wrong to make people feel dumb or ugly when our “reality”  shows are demeaning people all the time.  Children learn by example.  What example is our society providing them with?  Which makes me think about how we survived in our day.

Friends.  I truly believe that whenever you feel down and lonely there will always be that one Chosen One who will be there for you.  You are not alone.  I find it interesting that in a world full of people, there are no human connections.  The connections are made through “text messages” and “likes” and “unlikes” and pictures.  We elders are the examples for our youth and we are constantly texting, e-mailing, talking on the phone and ignoring them, so why would they respect others when they get no respect themselves?  Are we really too busy to spend time with the youth of today?

I will agree that you need to love yourself first.  The reason is simple:  Equation:

LOVE YOURSELF = BARRIER TO BULLIES = HAPPY LIFE

If you can love yourself, then the mean people can’t bring you down.  If you live each day being grateful for something, then the little things won’t depress you.  If you take time to listen to your child and their day, oftentimes it helps you forget about any stress you have had in your day.  Why?  Their distress is usually something that we can resolve.  More often than not, your bit of advice will not only make them feel appreciated and loved, but it will make you feel like a genius!

This was a long one, but I am very passionate about this topic.  What can be done to get rid of the bully.  Are you going to the Chosen One (victim) or the Chosen One (friend)?  The choice is up to you.

Love…

Your friend (The Chosen One)

“Be the friend you always wanted to have.” – Maryann 

Just One More Please…

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I am sure you will recall my story about my peculiar “crack” addiction.  Shopping at Sephora or The Crack Store as I refer to it.  Besides being addicted to beauty creams and magic lotions and colour palates for my face, there is one other thing that I just realized I can’t get enough of.  No, no it’s not kitchen appliances (though THAT would be a good guess and also a great story for another day).  As I was vacuuming today, I went room by room by room by room (you get the idea) and I noticed one of these in each room.  Whenever I saw one, I glowed with joy and happiness to see their cuddliness there…just waiting for me to snuggle in.  What was this resplendent item?  A baby blanket.

Now, you may be wondering, “What is so special about a baby blanket?”  You may also be wondering, “What is a baby blanket?”  I shall explain both.  I call my “throw” a baby blanket.  You see, blankets are larger and are used for covering such things as beds.  My “throw” is half the size of a blanket, but it is still soft and cuddly and has all the characteristics of a regular blanket.  Why are they called throws?  Well, I guess decor persons would “throw” them onto a chair for a pop of colour or to add chic-ness to a room. To me it sounds like someone is throwing away a comfort cloth.  So, logically,  I have decided to rename it a baby blanket.

There are electric blankets and there are wool blankets and there are cotton blankets.  What makes my baby blankets special?  They have that soft cashmere feel to them.  Your hand smooths over them and you can feel the tiny little fibres brush languidly against your palm and fingers.  It’s like the peace you get with yoga, but without the stretch.  No downward dogs here.

B-blankets are personal sized.  Room for one and no more.  Well, maybe one adult and a chihuahua.  Then again, two children could snuggle under one.  These are helpful at bedtime if one person doesn’t need many layers of warmth and you do.  Wiseguy and I have a King size bed (oh glory be!) and he doesn’t like being buried under mountains of blankets and comforters.  Solution?  My amazing new fake chinchilla wee blankie!  It is 100% fake chinchilla and also 100% polyester!  It is incredible how soft this man-made plastic throw is!  It feels like lamb’s wool on the one side…warm and knotty like a real wool blanket except no itch to it.  The other side is even more cool!  Literally…more cool.  That chinchilla soft fur feel, but it’s cool to the touch.  Incredible!  How do they make these!

Ok, besides the fact that my winter hands need a good manicure, observe the soft, cushy, cool blue layer.  Seriously…does it not look like blue-dyed fur?  Yet it is not!  Totally fake.  You can also see the fake lamb’s wool too!  Honestly, it’s incredible!  So why I am writing about fake fur blankets…ahem…baby blankets?

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As mentioned previously, I never really realized how many of these wonderful little snugglers I possessed.  I have this lovely ice blue one which is my latest acquisition.  It definitely reminded me of Elsa from “Frozen”.  I went through a brown phase.  A really large brown phase.  I believe I have three different brown bitty blankets.  I have an uber soft navy blue one and there is an off-white one somewhere in my humble abode.  Why do I keep purchasing these throws?  They are portable hugs!

I have been a hugaholic all my life! When I meet people for the first time and, if it feels right, I go right in for the hug!  Blankets are usually too large to be able to swirl around you and somehow transform into a comfortable warming position.  They usually awkwardly overhang and some part of your body gets left out.  With a mini-blanket you can quickly yank it up in the air and it will swiftly land on your person in the most pleasant and accommodating hug-type position.

As you can see, there are many great features to the semi-blanket:  perfect size, lightweight, fabulous feel, colour variety, fits one and all.  They also make great housewarming gifts.  Who would NOT want to get a petite blanket?

The cold weather has set in.  It’s nice to know that the days are getting longer.  We will be heading into the worst of winter and happily looking forward to the days of spring.  I am very pleased to have my plethora of small blankets to warm my winter-worn body.  I lazily sit down on the couch and curl my legs up under me.  I pull the blankie off the back of the couch and wrap myself in it.  Happy.  Content.  I grin with joy.  I know Wiseguy is happy that I have all these woolies in each room.  He is ecstatic!  (Not really…but he has told me NO MORE!)  Sadly, the feeling is short lived.  I am watching tv and I see the new spring colours appear that would definitely brighten up one (or many) of my rooms.  So many new potential fuzzy hugs to have in each room and I have luxurious space for them!  I am sure that Wiseguy would LOVE to have more colourful, soft, cuddly, fuzzy, love blankets.  Right?  Dearest….sweetheart…love of my life… JUST ONE MORE PLEASE!

Food Fight!

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You are probably thinking that I am going to regale you with the many high school adventures I had with food fights.  Firstly you would be incorrect as we never had food fights in my high school cafeteria.  Secondly, I can’t throw straight!  (You can confirm that with my dart-playing partner.)  So, what food fight am I referring to?  Let me gently guide you back to your childhood for this one.  If that part of your life has bad memories then you can easily relate while watching (your) children.  Here we go.

Close your eyes and think back to a time when you were playing with your brother or sister or cousin or neighbourhood kid.  Now, recall when a bag of chips came out.  The bag was cautiously opened by an adult to ensure minimum spillage.  The glorious contents of the bag were then deployed into an awaiting cavernous bowl.  YES!  Junk food!  Chips!  Woo hoo!  You would think this would be an amazing event and all would be happy.  NOT! Why?  Well, if there was a younger (spoiled) sibling it got ruined.  Who got the biggest chip?  Who got the chip with the most flavour toppings on it?  Once you got down to the end of the bowl, how could it be divided evenly?  Does this sound like your family?  Chips were a special food group in our humble abode.  Now, let’s ramp up the crazy and discuss the genius solution that my brother and I came up with in order to ensure equality.

Me:  There aren’t too many chips in this bag.

Bro:  I know.

Me:  Our two cousins are here so we need to make sure we share or we’ll get in trouble.

Bro:  I know!  Let’s crush the chips so there’s more of ’em!

Me:  Great idea!

Well, truth be told, we actually had our cousins help us crunch up the chips into bitty pieces so that there would be more pieces for everyone to share. Genius right?  Perhaps, but eating chip crumbs wasn’t that great.

Now, let’s discuss family meal time.  How about that can of pork and beans!  I loved this canned delight!  Honestly, when I saw that on the dinner table I was mega-excited!  As a child I loved the thickness of the sauce and how tasty it was.  However, there was a glitch…pork.  The can stated there was “pork” and beans in its innards.  How true!  Imagine a family of six.  Two adults and four children.  There was a “pork” inside.  One “pork” in the pork and beans.  Who would be lucky to get the “pork”.  If you have never had the honour of digesting the contents of a can of pork ‘n’ beans, you cannot really understand the need to be the “Chosen One” to get that insignificant little fatty piece of bacon.  You want Food Fight!  Bring it on!  This was where the debate began of who was worthy.  To this day, I view this canned good as a vessel of divisive evil.

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Moving right along we come to the eternal evil: CEREAL!  I do believe that serial killer was hatched from the word CEREAL!  From childhood to grandparenthood I do not find that cereal has good qualities.  I shall explain.

Cereal commercials show the benefits of these boxed glorified sugar bandits.  They contain fibre, vitamins, iron, petroleum, fairy dust and other things we know nothing about.  For some reason, as children, the FUN cereals were the ones that led to the most trouble.  Do you recall “Count Chocula”?  Healthy breakfast?  Heck no!  We wanted it because it would make chocolate milk.  When my mother actually bought a box we children stood there in awe trying to figure out the type of hostage situation we would have to deal with.   There it was.  The box of our imagination.  It was in front of eyes.  Not only did we get our dream cereal but there was a prize inside!  Oops.  There was the catch.  Since we were only permitted about a 1/4 cup of that prized cereal to mix with our Rice Krispies and Honey Comb cereal we had no idea who would be the lucky one to get the prize.  Dissension occurred.  What if Mom picked the youngest child out of pity?  What it the child with the best grades got the prize?  What if it meant being nicest to mom?  What were the rules to getting the prize?  You want insane behaviour?  Find a child surrounded by other children competing for the two-cent prize in a cereal box.  The rules changed.  You were never ready.

The same deal for the Cracker Jack box.  Lovely box with caramel popcorn.  There was a prize inside.  Gadzooks!  If one child got the prize there was always a fight.  Honestly, the prizes were crap, but it was always about who got something more than the other kid.  You solo kids…you missed out on all the drama in life.

 

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The same holds true for marshmallows in hot chocolate.  You had better ensure that each child gets the same amount of marshmallows in that brown frothy goodness.  That is a misstep that parents make and it leads to traumatic psychiatric treatments.

Popsicles?  Same drama.  For some reason that mixed box of popsicles should only contain purple and red.  Why is there an orange flavour for children?  In the olden days only red and purple were of any use.  They were like the gold bullion of frozen sugar water. Orange?  Bleh.

SUMMARY:  Food fights.  Jealous food fisticuffs are all about who got what and why or who was deemed more deserving.  Perhaps the world is better off with real food fights.  Although I have never partaken in such a vigorous display of displeasure, I have seen reels of The Three Stooges throwing cream pies at many an adversary.  What did I learn?  It appears that the evil ones were stymied.  The good, although creamed, being recipients of said sugary confections, appeared to be satisfactory with the results of their actions.  In plain English:  FOOD FIGHT!!!!!   Whip it!  Whip it Good!   (Let’s “LOL” you children of the ’80s)

 

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way into the New Year…

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Here it was, a few hours before the New Year and my little heart was going pitter-patter with nervousness.  I am sure everyone has their tradition regarding the coming year, but I have this quirky superstition that whatever I am doing last in the “old year” will be a representation of what my life will be like in the new year.  So, here it was, 2016, and I was having a fantastic time hanging out with wonderful friends.  We were shooting darts or playing Euchre and for some reason, I still felt like there was something not quite right.  Playing games is a good way to start the new year but I felt I needed more.  Then…it happened!

“3…2…1…Jump!” I heard everyone yell.  I jumped excitedly off the couch, waving my hands in the air and landing happily on the floor.  This was my fantastic leap into the New Year!  I was also 7 years old.  My parents had let us stay up late so that we could do this exciting thing!  My mother had made homemade pizza (we weren’t take-out OR delivery people).  My aunts, uncles, and (YAY) cousins had come over for this new adventure.  I recall the big joke my dad had made with regards to my eating habits:  “Ha ha!  It took you two years to eat a slice of pizza.”  Too true!  I started a slice of pizza (I was a super, super slow eater.  Nothing like the Hoover-eater I am today!) and I finally got to finish it after my super bounce.  What a memory!

As a teen, I was lucky to go out with my older siblings.  We went out to fancy banquets / dances for New Year’s Eve.  There would be a fancy three-course meal and afterward there would be endless dancing.  There was the obligatory nervousness due to the desire to find the best dress, matching high-heel shoes, fancy jewelry to be worn that evening.  Quite the show!  Quite the excitement!  Quite the fun for one evening!  Year after year we looked forward to this event.  Then marriage and children came along and the procedure changed.

As new parents, instead of going out for the evening, it was time to invite other new parents over and hang out while the kids either played together or were put to bed early.  A quiet evening with some munchies and chit-chat.  5…4…3…2…1.  Happy New Year!  Quieter, but still fun.

Fast-forward again and you see children breaking away from their parents to do their own thing.  The parents would either have fun continuing their pre-toddler tradition of a banquet hall or they might even stay home.  Parents worried about their children, but pretended they did not.  Children…ahem…adults…not worrying at all since they were invincible. 5…4…3…2…1. Happy New Year!

This is a footnote of what life was like for me every New Year’s Eve.  As I grew older I realized the beauty of life and how incredible each coming new year was.  I also gave up on resolutions.  I found that these best-intentioned goals seemed to dissipate, usually by…um…January 14th.  I finally decided that I would focus on that last hour of the old year to predict my new year’s fate.  Why?  Not sure, but it seemed like a genuinely great idea at the time.  This brings us full circle back to December 31st, 2016 and when IT happened.

We had congregated in the kitchen. Nine minutes to go.  Here we were, all gathered together, awaiting the dawn of the new year.  I sat there nervously, pensively.  Why?  Well, my weird (unique) thought-bend of “last actions of previous year permeating the new year” were beginning to haunt me.  Yes we had had fun! Yes we were surrounded by friends!  Something was missing and I didn’t know how to fix it.  Then, a funny thing happened on the way into the New Year.

“Amanda is still up,” said H.

“Who threw up?!” queried B.  That was it!  I broke out in fits of laughter.

“No,” said H, “Amanda is still up.”  I was done for.  I was laughing hysterically.  Literally laughing out loud (the real LOL).

Suddenly Wiseguy yelled “HAPPY NEW YEAR!!”  We looked at him like he was a crazy man.  The time on the stove clock showed a minute to midnight.  He pointed to the television which showed all these lovely people happily kissing and embracing each other.  Not only had we missed the countdown, but we had missed the actual jump into the New Year.  Were we upset?  Heck no!  We all hugged afterward and wished each other all the best in the new year.

Me?  I was beyond ecstatic.  I had desired a sign to show me what the 2017 year would be like based on my interesting definition of “old versus new” philosophy.  I was so grateful to be laughing hysterically from 2016 into 2017.  This was something very new for me.  So far my jaw is going to need therapy from all the laughing I have been doing.

P.S.  I did feel short-changed a bit in missing the countdown.  Imagine my surprise and supreme gratefulness, when my friends and I got to do a repeat countdown!  We watched as New Orleans counted down (an hour later) into the New Year.  I love this life!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!   May you wake up happy every morning.  May you look out and enjoy what you see daily.  May you appreciate all the good that you have in your life.  May you smile everyday.  Even when your life seems impossibly hard, believe that everything that happens is leading you to something brighter and better.  Life is beautiful and so are you.

 

I Am A Stripper…

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Yes it’s true.  I am a stripper.  I became a stripper three days ago.  It wasn’t what I thought it was going to be.  I should’ve started each day with a warm up.  I am using muscles I haven’t used in many, many, many, millennial years.  Sometimes you have to do what is necessary.  I am reaching up high.  I am bending down low.  Squats.  I thought this only happened at the gym with a tough trainer, but here I am doing squats and hating it.  My hip joints are yelling at me.  My shoulder muscles (whatever they are called) are talking to me “Keep it up!  Great job!”  Yep.  Oh!  On top of that I am looking at my accomplishments and I am not that impressed.  Oh, by the way, being a wallpaper stripper is not as easy as you think.

BAHAHAHAHA!  Ok, my tagline of “stripper” was just a draw, but I was serious and honest.  I have been assigned the task of stripping…wallpaper.  This hideous, super-glued paper that has been the bane of my existence.  I have never been a wallpaper person as I have heard the tragedies from friends about the horrendous job of trying to remove said demon paper.  You know what?  They were and are RIGHT!

Wiseguy and I moved into a house with many levels (three) and many…ahem…interesting quirks.  That’s a nice way of saying, “Holy Sh**!  How did we miss that??!!”  This is where I am going to be very honest.  W and I didn’t really pick this house.  FIL (father-in-law) loved it.  He said this would be the perfect place for all of us as he was moving in with us.  (This will be a story (novel) for another day.)  However, we love this neighbourhood and were have great neighbours and there are many other locational benefits.  BUT…this Pandora’s box of a house has been…let’s call it an interesting boxing match.  Hubby and I get relaxed in our home and the house suddenly  says:  “Hey!  It’s freezing outside!  No water for you!”  Yup, our pipes froze.  Hubby punched a hole in the wall and once the copper piping was exposed the water flowed.  Good.  All was well and then…

Basically, our “home” has a personality.  (Seriously, I have worked hard to find the silver lining).  So, when it came to the removal of the wallpaper I knew it was not going to be easy.  I was ready.  I was armed with “Friend” knowledge and with “Google” knowledge.  I was going to prove to Wiseguy that I could do this!  Woman Power!

I am NOT a Renovationator!  I am a wannabe.  I am nowhere near being that reliable person to remove wallpaper.  Honestly, I even thought I would write a proposal to federal prisons and suggest that a good method of ensuring that offenders would never re-offend would be to make them remove wallpaper dating back to the 1950s.  I am sure anyone who has moved into an older home can agree with me.  Those in prison might also agree with me.  The desire to actually take a Thor hammer and demolish the wall is WAAAAAAAAAYY easier than removing this clinging wallpaper.  I digress.  Let me take a step back and re-evaluate the situation.

We have lived in this house for thirteen years.  There have been many changes and upgrades done to this house:  New roof (shingles), siding, eavestroughs, soffit.  New air conditioner.  New furnace.  New windows.  New kitchen.  New wood floors.  New bathrooms.  New driveway.  New bedroom mattresses.  Back to new kitchen because it includes new appliances including Wolf stove, Wolf toaster, Wolf toaster Oven.  Wow!  There are so many things to be grateful for!  Seriously grateful for!  The silver lining in this laborious new work is that once all the irksome wallpaper has been removed we are going to paint the walls with a beautiful new colour and make our house even more of a wonderful home.  In fact, tearing the wallpaper down is not actually a bad thing.  It’s a very good thing right?  Which means that being a stripper of said wallpaper is a job that I should be applauded for!  Yes! Yes! Yes!  It’s good to be me!

Then again, I could be delusional and I actually am in hell (or prison) and my punishment is to try and remove this horrific flowered paper that seems have been glued on with Gorilla Glue.  I will be needing physiotherapy as I am slowly losing the ability to put my hands over my head due to the usage of muscles that I have not used in about 40 years.

Progress Report:  As you can see from the scene below, it really does look like Alcatraz!  Except for the cute puppies.  (This could become a good “rescue dog” video).

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MORAL OF THE STORY:  There may be hard times facing you.  It may seem impossible and overwhelming.  Little by little, and with lots of good thoughts (and/or good music) you can tackle any (seemingly) impossible job.  You can do it.  You will do it.  Believe in yourself.  Love yourself.  Conquer those self-doubts and you can do anything.  Even become an accomplished (wallpaper) stripper.