6-28-16 This is what it is...

I'm going to give you all some valuable life lessons today. About how things REALLY are. It's all in the very elusive "Secret Book of Aging and Love."

I'll start out with...I thought I'd be so much wiser by now. Really. But, inside my head, I don't feel much different than the 25-year-old I once was. (Notice, I didn't go back to 16-years-old...I guess I HAVE made some progress since then!) My outsides may be 57, but inside, I feel YOUNG.

When Loy and I first got married we started a photo album of comics that we thought were funny. After 35 years, we have quite a book. But, when I looked through it a couple days ago I was struck by how our humor has shifted. I can still look at those first comics--lots of Cathy or Funky Winkerbean--and think they are humorous. Some even bring a smile. Then there was a Baby Blues period. Lots of cartoons about parenting young kids. You guessed it, we then moved on to the Zits section. Dealing with teen angst.

Now? Yep...we are totally LOVING Pickles. We think that one is hilarious!! And so true to life.

Maybe there has been some inward maturing and wisdom-gaining...

I work with elderly people now and I am learning that, while their bodies are failing and they nap often and they need help in the bathroom, they still want to feel like a person. They still want physical touch--thus, I put on a lot of lotion!--and they still want to hear that they are doing well. And I still want all that too.

Kids, take note...

• time will pass quickly...really
• someday you will want to tell your parents "Oh, Mom...I GET it now!"
• we did the best we could--we tried really hard

My friend's elderly mother says, "You can either become grumpy or twinkly." I'm working on twinkly!!

Next, I'll address the sexiness of life. (I think I heard my kids just gag and click off this blog!! :) )

I told Loy the other day, "I am overweight. I am balding. I have no boobs. And now I have a CPAP machine. I just get sexier and sexier." Poor Loy.

Overweight-I can hear it now from some of my contemporaries (not the young things): "You're not overweight!" I am blessed to be small-boned and I have noticed that people never seem to think I weigh as much as I do. And other people don't get/have to see me naked (thank heavens!!) I weigh more than I should. Maybe 20 pounds over.

I waffle between thinking, "A Grammy has to have a little meat on her bones! It makes me snuggly." to "I want to be this active, hiking, swimming-laps grammy." But, facts are that extra weight contributes to breast cancer; extra weight makes people snore; extra weight contributes to GERD (which I also have!). Twenty pounds. That's all. And I just cannot do it. Cookies=Good.

If breast cancer would ever return, I know I cannot think that it was my fault. BUT...I would always wonder if I had just lost that 20--would that have made a difference???

Balding-I have read that some bc survivors are suing the makers of taxol because it sometimes causes permanent baldness. I was on taxol. My hair is very, very thin and has patches where the scalp shows through quite a bit. I color it now (well, Lori colors it!) so that I get credit for every single hair on my shiny scalp. But I can say without question that I'd rather be bald than dead. So I will not be joining the lawsuit.

Just a side note...I found a magic powder made of hair fibers that is dark brown. You sprinkle it on the sparse spots and, while it does nothing to grow hair, it makes the shiny, white scalp look like my hair color. It camouflages my spots! Sounds weird, I know, but it works and makes me feel quite hairy!

No Boobs-No comment needed, I guess. It is what it is. I will add that I have absolutely ZERO regret about not having reconstruction. Just threw that bit of opinion in there for free!

CPAP-I have had a snoring problem for several years. Two years ago I had septoplasty to sort of roto-rooter out my sinuses. Didn't help. We tried a noise machine (because it doesn't really bother me to snore, but Loy was ending up in the guest room on most nights!) The machine reminded us of frying bacon and we got hungry. I got a dental appliance which actually helped quite a bit...but it made my jaw really hurt and I couldn't chew for 2/3 of each day. CPAP it is.

The good news is that it is quiet--no noise at all. That surprised me. The bad news is that I am tethered. I look like a Borg (if you don't know what that is you're obviously NOT a Trekkie.) I spend the first hour of each night counting my breaths and consciously breathing in and then out and then in and then out. More good news--reports are that I am very quiet at night now. I can't tell that I'm feeling more rested, but I have noticed that I don't get up to use the potty overnight anymore. Evidently I was waking myself up with the snoring more than I knew!

Now, the lessons:

1. To You Young Thangs: Don't base your love for someone on looks. They change. Seriously. They do. Look beyond--or inward. Love is really about being broke and puking and and plucking ingrown hairs and rogue whiskers and diarrhea and sagging and still loving. It's taking care of each other through it all. It's about never even joking about getting a divorce. About feeling safe with each other.
2. To Men: BLL. (That means "Be Like Loy.") When I was totally bald he made a conscious point to rub my shiny little head. It wasn't something to be avoided or ignored. That meant the world to me. I looked OK, I was not grotesque, I did not need to hide from him. We don't look like we once did, but we still need to hear that we are OK, that you still love us.
3. To Me (and Women): I am more than boobs and hair. I am still the same person I was, just with more experience, more seasoned. I need to cultivate that inner Kitt and make sure she is attractive. After all, that's what matters.

Lecture? Yep. I guess I did. 

Grumpy or twinkly? 

Love,

Kitt.

4-25-16 Shhhhhhh! This is Secret!

Can I go on record as saying, "I HATE PASSWORDS!!!" ??

At first I thought it was kind of cool (back in the early days of the internet). Have a password to get your email (by modem...remember "You've Got Mail!" I loved that guy!) I felt kind of spy-like. Important. It was easy. Just the one password.

This weekend I tried to buy an app for my phone. It asked for my iTunes password.



(The above space is me, drawing a blank.)

So, I clicked on "Forgot your password?" which is my go to move when something asks for a password. Then you wait for the email to link you to the resetting of your password. Or you try to remember what clever answers you gave for your security questions. "Did I use a capital letter in my mother's maiden name?" "What WAS my first car?")

Finally I get to the screen to reset my password. I don't want to reset it. I just want the stupid computer to tell me what password I used for this particular program!!! I try one password. Nope, must not have used the PW within the past year. OK, I'll add a 1 to the end of it. Or maybe a 2.

I have tried to use the same password for everything. I know, I know. That's a terrible idea. But is it really worse than having to have a list of every password you have? I have to have a hard copy list, a list hidden on my computer, and one hidden on my phone, because you never know when you need to remember a password. I watch movies. In the cyber world they can figure it out in two minutes flat, anyway. Why bother? They can just search my desk area and they are all laid out.

But, once you try to use the same password for everything you run into problems. This site says one capital letter, one number. One says one special symbol, one number, one capital letter, one small letter. It just gets so confusing!!!

And those sadists who developed the need for passwords tell you to NOT use something that is meaningful to you. No pet names, no birthdays, no anniversaries. How in the world can I remember something if it's not special to me????? That would make me CONSTANTLY use the list.

So, finally I reset the iTunes password. Then it asked me for my Google password. Then my iCloud password. And my Apple ID. None of which I have a clue!! I had to go in a reset all those. But, one of those actually is the same as my iTunes password, which I didn't know until I had changed it already. So, then I had to go back and re-enter the passwords. And change my lists.

And your phone and your computer don't like it when you change the password on one of them, but not the other. So I have to go through it all again on the phone.

Then you'll go to some site that you don't use often and it will ask for a password. I have to think, "Well, what stage of life was I in when I set up that password??? Which one shall I try?" And you try a few and then, you guessed it, locked out.

I have my phone and my computer save passwords for sites every chance I get. That way I never have to remember. Another bad idea, I'm sure.

Loy just shakes his head in disgust with me. Is it dementia setting in? Is it chemobrain? Age? Why can't I get a handle on this?????

I hate those words, "What is your password?"

Or username.

Or Apple ID.


If you need me, I'll just be over here, pulling out my few strands of hair trying to remember what I used for a particular site.

Sigh.

Kitt.

4-11-16 I Live on the Edge!!!

Loy has certain things that make him bitter. Things that he has had to endure for years, being married to me. For example, back in the day of pantyhose he was very bitter that I bought pantyhose at the grocery store, therefore I thought they should be counted as groceries, NOT be deducted out of my clothing allowance. He's all about fairness, therefore I should not be able to eat more of the cookies than he does. And closet space should be equally allotted, even though we ALL know that is just wrong, wrong, wrong!!!

(As an aside...when I was in high school we lived in a house that had a master closet. My mom got the entire closest. Yep, the ENTIRE closet. Where was my dad's stuff? In the coat closet out in the entryway. Loy has always felt so sorry for my dad about this, but I think it kind of makes sense!!! ) (When we went on a car trip, his stuff was always packed in paper grocery bags, also. Bunny and I had suitcases. I can't remember if Mom did too. But, Daddy's stuff was in the paper bag.)

So I do as most women do, especially women with an empty nest. I commandeered the guest room closet for my off season clothes. And that works for me.

Last Friday I determined was the perfect day to "switch out my closet," bringing the spring stuff into our master closet and putting away all the black sweaters I own. This will ensure that the weather will change and we will have a freak blizzard, by the way.

Picture the scene...I'm on my last load of clothes. My arms are full to the brim (can arms be full to the brim?) because I don't want to have to make an additional trip for just a few things. I'm barefoot. And I stagger out of the guest room doorway. Well, almost out. I absolutely RAMMED my foot against the door frame.

Did I panic? Did I drop my load of clothes? Nope. Did I yell??? You bet I did!!! But I rose to the occasion and staggered to my closet and hung the clothes up--in the spots where they belonged. I was Wonder Woman!! When I finished I staggered out to the bed and put the damaged appendage up and talked out loud to myself, "Man, that really hurt!!!"

I have an average size foot--a 7-1/2--but it is a very skinny foot. And my toes have always seemed abnormally short to me. And they are the cutest little curly things you've ever seen. And I have a worthless pinky toe. When I took my sock off the fourth toe was kind of looking at a different toe than it usually does. It was rather freaky. But I know that doctors don't do much for broken toes, so I just limped out to the living room and sat with the offending foot up while I read a book.

But the next day the bruising started, and it wasn't my toe that was bruised...it was on the top of my foot. So, I decided maybe I needed to go get an X-ray just to make sure the bones were aligned and I wouldn't have a snaggle-toe for life. The radiology tech said, "Well, I see why it hurts. But I can't say more." It was broken, but the bones were ok, so I just tape and wear this lovely boot.

I'm sure Loy is thinking that if I just had the one closet, my problem would not have happened. But all you women know...

I'm in a fitness competition with 19 other family members and now I can't walk!!!! This is tough.

And the final two weeks of bowling are upon us!! Can I bowl??? (I've been practicing to see if I can do my approach in the boot--the verdict is still out.) Wednesday we're supposed to have a bowl-off between us and the #5 ranked team (we're #6) to see which of us places higher.

But all this got me thinking about life and the body and toes. My fourth toe is pretty worthless, even in the best of times. I have never once awakened and thought, "Gee, my fourth toe feels great today!" I've never thought, "I've done so much with that fourth toe today--I think I'll ice that one toe." It's just there.

Now that it's out of commission, I think about that toe often. It's affecting other parts of my body as I have to limp around. And it affects others because, while Loy may be bitter, he is nice and gets my drink at the restaurant and tries to NOT make me walk so much.

For a long time I've had a theory that all the different areas of my life are inter-related.  If I'm not reading my Bible like I should, my eating habits are usually out of whack too, and my house is usually a mess, and I'm often not exercising, and probably not taking my vitamins. Unfortunately, the area where I can most easily fall away are spiritual.

Maybe I don't see a daily concrete example of what my Bible time does, but if I don't do it, it major-ly affects the rest of my life. Same goes with praying. Or Bible studying. Or living as an example of Jesus to others. These things can be so small, but if they're "broken" it hurts the whole me.

What am I going to do with this revelation? Well, when I'm done typing, I'm going to clean my kitchen. Then I'm going to read a Psalm. And I'll pray--maybe for you!!!

And, I apologize for the winter weather that is undoubtedly going to hit Lincoln now that I've put my sweaters away!!

2-15-16 Hemming and Hawwing

Whew! It's been awhile since I wrote anything. Sometimes you just have to wait for that muse...that inspiration...that idea that I want to share.

I just re-read the last post and it was about my doggies. This one is too. Is this a sad life, that the only notable things that happen are via canine-ness??? So, unless you're a dog person, you maybe want to skip this entry.

I am a dog person. Always have been. Love, love, love them. I am NOT a cat person...at all. I am allergic to them, which probably contributes to that negativity. I think they are sneaky and unloving and would love to kill me. 

However, cats adore me. Seriously. A cat will enter a room full of people, walk around from person to person, but when it comes to me, jumps in my lap. More than once this has happened. The cat owner will exclaim, "Oh, he NEVER does that!!! What got into him????" He saw the challenge of someone not bowing to his cat-ness. That's just the way life goes for me. 

But, that is a bunny trail...

After we had Lex, Loy and I decided to get a dog. He was noncommittal on dog vs. cat personage when we met. He did not grow up with inside animals and did not really bond with them before his dad would make them get rid of the animals. But he was trainable!

Due to allergies and a hatred of shedding we always get something with part-poodle. (Side note: Did you know poodles don't have fur? They have hair. Therefore, they do not shed...but you do need to get them groomed. A fair trade-off, in my opinion.) Anyhow, we found a poodle-yorkie mix and paid our $5 for this mutt. This was in 1985, back before they named every mutt some fancy name and charged you lots of money. Beano, The Wonder Dog. She was never ending on her requests for ball throwing. She was fun with Lex (and, later, the other kids.) She was happy when you first met her, but didn't get embarrassingly jumpy. 

When Beano was kind of old, we decided to get a new puppy so that Beano could train the new dog in The Way of the Good Dog. After much searching I found a farm where the woman bred purebred poodles. However, her little money-maker got frisky one time and had a fling with one or more non-purebred dogs. Therefore, she angrily advertised poodle-mix puppies for $10. We drove down to Crete to check them out. 

It turned out that I liked one dog and Loy another, so we decided to get both. And Bandit and Smudge joined our family. We found out that we LOVED having two dogs. With one dog, she thinks she is a human...part of the family. With two, they realize they are dogs--they just think dog is the superior species! They are a pack. They wrestle and chase and cuddle. Beano hated them, though. They loved her, unfortunately. Let's just say Beano's last year was fraught with anguish.

Beano's end of earthly life experience was unusual. She was old and incontinent and had a hard time walking. We knew we should make that fateful trip to the vet, but did not want to do it. Finally, we had one can of prescription dog food left for her and we said when that was gone, we would take her in. THE NIGHT BEFORE WE WERE GOING TO TAKE HER I let her out, as usual. This is the truth...she never came back. We drove around, looking for this half-blind dog but to no avail. I got up several times overnight to see if she was on the front porch. Nope. The next day I went around to the neighbor's houses and checked under their bushes--I did not want the neighbor kids to find a dead dog body. But we never found her. I figure Elijah came with his chariot and took her. 

The only thing I did not do was call the pound. If they had her, I would have to post bail, then take her in to the vet. I decided it was cheaper to let them do the dirty deed, if they had her. 

Bandit and Smudge were good dogs--not on the Beano-level, but passable. Every time they slept, they snuggled together, it was adorable. They lived into their teens, then made that fateful drive to the vet one year apart.

We had a sabbatical year, so no dogs. But after we got home I told Luke (who was still living with us then) that we would get two dogs for him. I looked and looked. Poodle mutts were now called yorkie-poos or cockapoos or golden doodles and went for $800 or so!!! I rebelled! 

I had standards. No white or orange dogs. No dogs with super pointy noses. No dogs with smooshed noses. No underbites. Finally online I found one puppy that was a papillon-poodle mix, runt of the litter, the last one left. She was brown and black and cute as could be. We drove down to Kansas and picked up our little Papi-poo. I got to name this one and she became "Pip." 

A couple weeks later I found a shih-tzu-poodle mix in Minnesota who looked an awful lot like Pip...and I had talked to the pet store down here and they said this breed does not have the underbite anymore. So we drove up there to pick up our...shihtz-a-poo? (Loy refuses to call her this...and the breed is often called a shih-poo.) Luke got to name this one, so she became Sparky. 

But as the weeks went by I started to notice that Pip's roots were white and orange. And her puppy nose got very pointy. Sparky had an underbite, but I assumed her puppy pug nose would grow. Nope. So I have white and orange and smooshed AND pointy noses and an underbite in my dogs. 

They are crazy dogs, my Pip and Sparky. My frick and frack. My kit and caboodle. My Batman and Robin. My fish and chips. They never snuggle with each other. Pip has energy galore--guess that's a papillon thing. Throw the ball, throw the ball, throw the ball. Sparky is a snuggle, but she will just keep getting closer and closer and closer to your face. She wants to breathe your air. At the same time you are breathing it. 

They sleep in the laundry room every night (and now, finally, I am getting to the point of this entry). In the morning, while it's still dark Loy gets up and lets them outside. Then, when he lets them back in, they run their absolute fastest, tucking their little rears under and speeding, into the bedroom where they get to sleep with me until I deem the time civilized to get up. They bound up on the bed and lick and sniff me once, then they collapse on the bed. Every single day it is one dog on one side of me, one on the other. Touching me. It really is cozy. They are as if dead for that sleeping time. They do not move. There are no balls. There is no petting. We just cozy up and sleep.

About a month ago someone challenged me to read Psalm 139 and meditate on it. 

1 O Lord, you examine me and know.
2 You know when I sit down and when I get up;
even from far away you understand my motives.
3 You carefully observe me when I travel or when I lie down to rest;
you are aware of everything I do.
4 Certainly my tongue does not frame a word
without you, O Lord, being thoroughly aware of it.
5 You squeeze me in from behind and in front;
you place your hand on me.
6 Your knowledge is beyond my comprehension;
it is so far beyond me, I am unable to fathom it.
7 Where can I go to escape your spirit?
Where can I flee to escape your presence?
8 If I were to ascend to heaven, you would be there.
If I were to sprawl out in Sheol, there you would be.
9 If I were to fly away on the wings of the dawn,
and settle down on the other side of the sea,
10 even there your hand would guide me,
your right hand would grab hold of me.
11 If I were to say, “Certainly the darkness will cover me,
and the light will turn to night all around me,”
12 even the darkness is not too dark for you to see,
and the night is as bright as day;
darkness and light are the same to you.
13 Certainly you made my mind and heart;
you wove me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I will give you thanks because your deeds are awesome and amazing.
You knew me thoroughly;
15 my bones were not hidden from you,
when I was made in secret
and sewed together in the depths of the earth.
16 Your eyes saw me when I was inside the womb.
All the days ordained for me
were recorded in your scroll
before one of them came into existence.
17 How difficult it is for me to fathom your thoughts about me, O God!
How vast is their sum total!
18 If I tried to count them,
they would outnumber the grains of sand.
Even if I finished counting them,
I would still have to contend with you.

It dawned on me that when David says that God "squeezes him in from behind and in front" (or other versions say "hem me in") it is sort of like what my dogs do for me (although, obviously, God does it much more!!) When the dogs are there, I feel warm. I feel content. I feel loved. I feel like I do not want to move. I trust that they are not going to bite me (they would never bit anyone.) (How often I have thought, "I want to roll over but the dogs..." Then I think, "Oh, they're just dogs." and I roll over!) And when David says God places His hand on David...that is sort of like when the dogs place their heads on my legs. It's relationship. It's love. It's protection. They don't do that to people they don't know.

So, my dogs are naughty and rambunctious and crazy...but they remind me of God, which is good, right? They love me and protect me NO MATTER WHAT. And I'm still a dog person.

That's what I have to say right now.

Love,

Kitt.