Why Am I Hearing Voices….Or Am I?

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Most of you know I am a horror film buff.

IMG_1744Which is so weird since I was afraid of EVERYTHING growing up and into adulthood. I had a startle-reflex that was always on HIGH ALERT.  My husband used to torment me by poking his head over the shower curtain even after I had locked the bathroom door (never marry a man who can pick a lock).  And I was terrified of the dark and living out in the woods where there are no street lights, etc. when it was dark, it was BLACK.

 

But then I started taking drugs for high blood pressure which slows my heartbeat (and my metabolism and I have gained 50 pounds) and a drug for panic disorder which also has totally made me a semi-non-feeling person and now I even take an anti-anxiety drug to help me sleep at night so I guess you can say I am in a state of “mellowness” most of the time. (But trust me, it is not a good mellowness….more of a state of “grayness of feeling”….no highs, no lows…just a nothingness….but that is a topic of another post).  So most of my fears are gone….

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So I watch these movies in the dark, by myself, and it used to be that my husband was gone overnight and that made watching them even more “delicious”.   And rarely, do any of them frighten me.  But I will not normally sleep with an arm or leg off the bed….for two reasons….one: everyone knows that if you hang something off the bed something evil will grab it….but since I either sleep on a blow up bed that has no “underneath” or in my camper on the dinette set where you would have to be a tiny creature to fit under there (and when I sleep in my tent bed, then I zip myself in and nothing can get to me!!!!) I really should not worry about that.  Second reason:  my dog has been known to sneak into our room and touch my hand or leg, whichever has accidentally roamed off the safety of the bed, which causes me to have a nanosecond dream that something is touching my hand and I wake up with a scream (which may or may not come out of my mouth….ever dreamt you were screaming but nothing was coming out????)

Anyway, yesterday morning I was sleeping in our bedroom (moved my bed from the basement bedroom back into our room for the summer since I usually sleep in my camper all summer) and I heard little kid voices.  Now, it was not my usual crack of dawn 10am wake up, but much earlier and I could not understand why I would hear kids voices since there are very few children on my road and none of my windows were open.  I usually wear earplugs when I sleep and I have noticed that occasionally I will hear someone call my name or my dog bark or yap and when I take out my earplugs, I realized that the voice or sound was in my head…..(cue the Twilight Zone music) so I had wondered if that were the case.  Then I heard it again and I was fully awake and had no earplugs in so I got up and looked outside and there were no kids in my yard or at the door (I thought maybe my daughter had dropped by unannounced and they were in the front porch….highly unlikely….but it kinda did sound like my grands) so I just went about my business and grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down in the living room to check up on what everyone was doing on FaceBook.  I am sitting there, in the quiet, when all of a sudden I hear “whispering”….and I can tell you my heart started to beat a little harder.  What on earth is going on?  And my imagination jumps to all the movies where the doomed people start hearing voices…..and then it happens again followed by my grandson’s voice from when he was much younger saying, “M is for missing you when you are gone”!

I don’t mind sharing with you all that I was now freaking out.  WHERE AM I GOING AND WHY IS MY GRANDSON TELLING ME THIS??????  Then I hear the whispers again, and my grandson repeating his forewarning.  I am wracking my brain as to what my daughter could have used to record this and was it meant for my husband as he was gone for a couple of days and we had stopped to see the grands before he left and how on earth did she get it to my house since I had not left it.

Finally it hits me!  A few years ago, I had given my daughter a book for her to record Jack and Lola’s voices reading a story about loving their grandmother and a few days prior, I had taken it out of my curio cabinet for the kids to listen to and when I put it back, I stood it upright and the vibration of people walking by the cabinet must have opened the book to a page and it must be so sensitive to movement that it would go off periodically (I have puzzles and other toys that go off randomly….geez….it never occurred to me till right now….is it really RANDOM????  Cue scary music…..). And the whispering I heard was my daughter telling the kids what to say since they were both way too young to read.

Now, I ask you….what would you have thought had this happened to you?????   And do you sleep with an arm or leg over the bed?????

Inquiring Elvira Queens want to know……

Blame It On Orlando Bloom

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Normally I will take the blame when I do something knuckleheaded but not today.  No siree, this time the blame falls straight into Orlando Bloom’s gorgeous lap.IMG_1732We all know that he and Katy Perry dated for quite awhile and there were even rumors that they were engaged.  But then after the Grammy Awards we hear that they have split up and what does Katy do post Bloom?   She gets her hair all cut off!

I have watched Katy with much interest since she is a girl after my own hair-coloring heart and I swooned over her bright purple locks and applauded her royal blue tresses and even gave her kudos for going green….I mean, the woman is downright GORGEOUS no matter what color her hair is.  And while I have thought it would be fun to have hair like hers,  I never was interested in having long locks (tho, I have had bright purple and royal blue hair).  But this new hair do……YOWZER!!!!!!!

IMG_1733I am in hair heaven…..HAIR HEAVEN, I SAY……and anyone who knows me knows that once I get a glimpse of hair heaven, I am ready and willing and not-so-able to get there.

Because I have yet to throw out my buzz clippers (TMI moment….I also use them on my dog….if I start sitting down and raising my leg up to scratch behind my ear, I better get checked for fleas…..hahaha….ya, like I could get my leg up to my ear…I kill myself….ahaha ha”) I thought today, “I can do that”.   But possums, we know I CAN’T but Lord knows that never stops me.  I think I may some a new psychological malady that I will call, “Definite Delusional Disorder Personality” for no sane person attempts to do the impossible time and time again expecting different results.

I should learn how to put my face over the faces of the women who’s hair dos I want to wear and see how they would look on me BEFORE trying to cut my hair like theirs.   But then again, what would be the point since I won’t be able to cut my hair like their’s anyway.  But still I keep doing it….(Huh, my momma didn’t raise no quitter.  My momma is now thinking, “QUIT, QUIT….for the love of all that is holy, QUIT CUTTING YOUR FREAKIN’ HAIR OFF”!!!)

So here are the results of my Katy Perry wanna-be-hair-cut…..as soon as I get the products, I am going to be bleaching my hair out and MAYBE letting it get white or completely dye it green for the summer….who knows….depends on my mood that day.   Please excuse the goofy poses as I have yet to acquire the “art of the selfie”.

Your ever crazy Queen,

Robyn

Karma…another name for Mother

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IMG_1539Anyone who knows me and my sister, knows we love to tease our Mama about her “ditziness” and the way she can mess up stories and calls things like assisted living-“assistant living” or Dinty Moore Stew-“Dainty Moore”….stuff like that.  Our sleepovers always end up with Mother saying she is never going to come again cause we are mean to her.

Well Karma showed up this week and it was a b*tch.

I was driving to our business and as usual my phone was in my purse.  I cannot multi-task anymore so talking on the phone and driving are a no-no for me.  I am 3 minutes away from the business when my hubs calls me (I know it is him cause he is on a special ringtone).  I am thinking he just wants to know if I am on my way so I ignore it as I will be there before I could dig out my phone and answer it.  One minute later he calls again, which ticks me off because if I didn’t answer it one minute ago, why should I answer it now?  So I am thinking of all the reasons he might be trying to get me and I turn right on to what I thought was old Hwy 61 and I see a woman in the lane that I am supposed to be in and  I stop and I am thinking, “What a moron….she is in the wrong lane” and she looks at me with the exact same look on her face and starts starts waving her arms and shaking her head, “NO”.  So I am thinking, “WTH, lady?” and then I see the NO ENTRANCE sign.

I was trying to go up the EXIT ramp of I-35!

The next day I have a doctor appointment for a pre-op physical and my clinic has moved since my last visit and I THOUGHT I knew where it was but at the exact minute I am supposed to be there, I am sitting in the Hobby Lobby parking lot…lost.  So I call and get an exasperated receptionist (they must get a lot of these kind of calls and probably think we are idiots and why didn’t we leave home sooner if we don’t know where in the heck we are going).  She tells me they are located across the street from Hom Furnishings.

I don’t get out much and I am not exactly sure how to get from Hobby Lobby to Hom but I was not about to ask….I knew it was somewhere by Walmart.  Is there anything more frustrating to be able to see a place from the road you are on and not be able to find the damn road to get there.  Finally after pure luck, I pull into the clinic parking lot and race in where the receptionist tells me in a very cool (and I don’t mean “awesome”) voice that she will have to try to squeeze me in since I was LATE.  I thought about telling her that I was lost but since this is a very small town and I have lived in it my whole 62 years and getting lost is just not that easy,  I just sat down quietly.  Much to my surprise, I was called in very shortly and then began to worry that my blood pressure would be high because of all the stress of getting there.

So the nurse has me sit down and asks a few questions and then takes my pressure.  Normally when they do that, I can feel when the cuff deflates to the upper number of the pressure, since it sort of throbs…..but not this time.  I figured she didn’t pump it up high enough and holy crap, it will be sky high but instead she tells me that she thinks it is 106/72 but it is very soft and she had a hard time hearing it.  This is a first for me.  My pressure is never that low even on drugs.  Which made me start to wonder if I really did get on that exit ramp and had been killed and now I was in hell and I would have to go the doctor, get lost and have no blood pressure for all of eternity.  She asks if it would be OK if she tried the other arm.  (Now, if you are a dedicated reader, you will remember that I “broke” the blood pressure machine in the day surgery when I was in for my hysterectomy and they could not find any pressure in either arm for awhile) so I am thinking….here we go again…my personal “aura” is screwing up another thing and sure enough…..she can’t really hear my pressure in the other arm either.  I know my arms are fat, but still…..

To make this story even longer….the doctor comes in and we go through everything that is on the computer ending with my last operation….the hysterectomy.  Then she has me get up on the table and she looks in my ears and has me open my mouth wide and looks down my throat.  When she is done, she looks at me quizzicality and says, “Where you born without a uvula or did you have it removed’?

Now remember, we had just been talking about my hysterectomy and I think, “Holy sh*t, I knew they removed everything including my cervix but why on earth would they have taken my “Vulva” and could she really see that from looking down my throat?  So I say, “Well, I just had a hysterectomy but why would they take that”?  And she looks at me like, “What the he!! kind of moron are you”?

Mother, I sincerely apologize for everytime I laughed at your expense.  Now, please tell Karma to back off or go visit your other daughter who also has laughed her fool head off at you!

Moral of this story is….What you laugh at will come back to bite you on your uvula or vulva…..and it won’t be pretty!

Your penitent Queen,

Robyn

Just A Spoonful of Sugar or Is It?

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Once upon a time there was a delusional woman who thought she could make freezer jam.  Seemed simple enough.  Strawberries, pectin, sugar, cook it up and put it in cute little canning jars and freeze.  Yup, even she could do it.

So she went and picked strawberries….who knew that you have to be there EARLY in the day and that you are to bring your own containers…these things should be in the newspaper ads (this was before Al Gore invented the internet and we used to have these things called “newspapers”….can you say….. news…paper….good job) so those of us that had never picked before could come prepared….not everyone knows these kind of things,  you know.

Picking strawberries seems like such an idyllic endeavor; there you are in your bonnet and strawberry-picking basket and the birds are trilling away and you are feeling like Ma Ingalls….but in reality, you are all bent over and mosquitoes are buzzing around your face and biting you everywhere they can find your pink flesh and gnats are getting into your eyes and ears and you are cursing Ma and the strawberry farm….there ought to be WARNING signs up so you know what you will be facing.

After a horrific  20 minutes you check your berry basket to find that you have picked a grand total of 43 strawberries and you decide to say the devil with picking your own and head off to check out and buy the stupid berries.

Having never bought fresh strawberries before, there is a bit of sticker shock at the price of one flat of berries.  But hubby will be so pleased at having homemade strawberry jelly that certainly spending half of that week’s food budget won’t bother him once he bites into a piece of freshly baked bread (another delusion) slathered with strawberry jam made by his wife’s tiny hands (delusion…they are like tiny stuffed sausages stuck on ham hocks).

So she drives the 50 miles back home and gathers all her supplies and reads the directions for Easy Strawberry Freezer Jam (liars).  One must sterilize the canning jars before beginning (are they neutered or spayed?) So she loads them up in her giant canning pot and cooks the hell out of them and then gingerly lays them upside down on an equally sterile dish towel.  Now to de-stem the ruby-red jewels that lay helter-skelter in the wooden flat.  After all that work, now they need to be rinsed off and chopped up.  The little woman decides that this is a one-time deal and old hubby better damn well bow down and kiss her feet (or at least rub them) for doing all this work for some stupid jam.

When the woman was gathering her supplies, she grabbed the Tupperware container that held the sugar and proceeded to pour in the correct amount into the berries and the pectin and cooked them all up into a mouth-watering thick confection of strawberry gooeyness.

Next, she ladled the mixture into her sterile little jars and sealed them tight and was delighted to hear the little “pops” of the tops sealing.  She felt so proud of herself as she looked over the dozens of little jars, all popping away.  Oh, her husband would be so proud of her and even though she would never speak of it, she was kinda proud of herself.

The next day, she put all those precious, ten dollars a half pint, jars of jam into the freezer to await a special occasion when she could bring one out and exclaim, “Why, yes, I did make the jam myself”!

A few days later, her nephew was visiting for dinner and it was time to bring out a jar of jelly.  Every one was seated and grace was said and the woman heaped jelly onto a hot bun and took a big bite just as her nephew was doing the same…..but instead of a mouthful of delectable sweetness, it was poisoned and the woman screamed to her nephew, as he was just opening his mouth to take a bite, “Don’t eat that!!!  It’s poisoned!”  (She just knew if she canned she would end of giving her family botulism because her mother always warned her of the dangers of home canning and dang, if she hadn’t almost killed her nephew!!!!)

All that beautiful and expensive jam had to be thrown away because as she figured out days later, she had accidentally grabbed her husband’s CANNING SALT instead of sugar.

Moral of this story…..label your Tupperware.

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Verborum Vomitus

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Verborum vomitus is Latin for “verbal vomit”.  I had a an attack of verborum vomitus today while at the post office.  It was not pretty.

I remember when I was a kid/teenager/adult and I would be with my mom and she would be checking out or something where she did not need to have a conversation with anyone but instead chatted the whole time, giving information that I knew the person being verbally vomited on could not care less about.  And I would feel bad for the person who had to listen.IMG_1430

Well Karma is a b*tch, ain’t it?

Because I have entered that phase of my life where Lord help me, I verbally vomit all over the place.  Add caffeine to the mix and I am like a college freshman after their first frat party….spewing forth all over the place.

My friends from church used to love when I would be at a party and have a cup or two of coffee because I would put on a verbal show for them.  Often when we would leave the party,  I would have to ask my poor daughter if I had crossed any lines as once I got going it was like I had lost all sense of decorum and stuff would just fly from my mouth without first having been sifted through my brain filter.  I have never taken speed but I can imagine it must be something like that.

So today I had to venture out to mail some packages and I did not want to get all cleaned up just to run to the post office (remember I live in the country, my mailman has seen me in every early morning get-up imaginable and every hair color/style/cut known to man so to run to the local PO in my painting clothes and no make-up is not a big deal.) but since I had gotten the notion to buzz on side of my head in the delusion of having a funkier hairstyle and it turned out looking like I have mange, I threw a scarf around my head and hoped to meet no one I knew.

Luckily as I pulled into the parking lot of the PO, there was nary a car there so I grabbed my packages and ran in.  I haven’t been to the PO in ages and the last time I was there, the Postmistress was not real friendly and so I was pleasantly surprised to see a new woman behind the counter and she was very friendly.

Big Mistake on her part….not only had I had two STRONG cups of coffee but I had also not eaten so I was on a wild caffeine high, plus when I get nervous, I talk more and faster and my voice octave rises.  OMG.  I chatted up such a storm that papers were flying around and she was forgetting to put labels on my packages, and yet, I kept talking….faster and faster…..higher and higher…..I felt like I could not stop eventhough I was getting this…..IMG_1429I even showed her my mange spot….dear Lord….what is wrong with me?

I can just imagine the story she will tell tonight over dinner about the crazy woman in the red crocs and purple sweats in the big black coat with a scarf around her head who has a bald spot in her orangutan orange hair because she thought she would look better with it cut like that…..man, what I wouldn’t give to be a fly on that wall!

Till next time,

I remain your caffeinated Queen

Give Me a Lift…..

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img_1355I never knew I made noise getting up until my first grandchild was about two and everytime he got up from sitting or moved something or did any kind of lifting, he would make these sounds of extreme effort.  I thought it was quite odd in such a young child until one day when I was lifting my fat arse off the couch, I made a sound very similar to Jack and then the proverbial light bulb went off in my head.

Jack was imitating the noises he had heard me make whenever I had to “move it, move it” (did you just sing it like the King Lemur Julien from Madagascar?)

How long had I been doing that?  Do I do it in front of others?

Getting older has not been pleasant for me in terms of both my physical limitations and my mental state.  I just cannot wrap my mind around being in my early 60’s…it just seems impossible for the young girl inside me to be that age in body.

But my body is certainly trying to convince my brain we are the same age.

Besides the huffing and puffing (you would huff and puff too, if you were carrying the extra weight of a full-size human around), it seems every part of my body that could sag or hang has decided to give up the ghost of fighting gravity and is racing towards my knees….even those things that are supposed to be stationary inside my body.  My bladder has decided it would like to see the light of day and it is fighting like hell to get out and since I have gotten rid of my lady parts in my Southern Hemisphere, it has clear sailing to someday pop out and say, “Surprise”!   Not that it will really be a surprise as it is certainly giving me clues as to it’s trajectory.  I am afraid I will soon be asking my youngest granddaughter for her Dora the Explorer pull-ups.

Is there truly any way to tighten the bat wings which have now become my upper arms?  I would trade a kidney (tho, I better hang on to both since they are not working up to snuff and two bad kidneys I suppose are better than one bad kidney) to get an upper arm lift. Actually I need a full on body lift.  Like how “Egger” from the first Men In Black movie just grabbed the top of his head and lifted all his excess skin.  Why is there not a need for more human skin.  I would be first in line if they needed it.  Go ahead, cut a slab off here and there….just make sure you cut both sides the same….liposuction ain’t gonna help me none since once the fat is gone, I would have miles and miles of defatted skin…..

If I had known I really would live this long, I might have taken better care of my body…key word here folks is: Might.   Because when you are young and everything is where it should be and nothing is hanging, you never give a thought to how fast you will age and if it hangs at 35, watch out at 62….

People will tell you that “you are never too old to start getting healthy or in shape” but that’s a load of crap.  Which is harder on a body, staying the same or starting to stress it out by not eating your favorite foods, giving up drinking, and taking long walks when the thought of falling is paramount in your mind and you just shuffle down the road in your crocs, hoping against hope that your bladder will stay put, you won’t sneeze or cough, and nobody you know will drive by.  I don’t think my heart could handle that kind of stress.

I just want to wake up some morning fit as a fiddle and as long as I am feeling delusional, I might as well wake up with a taunt neck, unspeckled skin, with upper arms like Michelle, and a body like JLo and legs like Taylor.  And a Kim K. bank account ( I would have said an Oprah bank account but that would be just crazy thinking).

I would love to continue chatting but I must go pluck those eyelash hairs that have transplanted themselves to my chin….how do they do that?

Keeping my chins up till next time,

Your aging Queen

The Truth About Aging (and it ain’t what you think)

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Last week my mom just lost another close friend.  And I wonder what it is like to be my mom’s age and to have suffered through the loss of most of her childhood friends and those women whom she knew so intimately all during the newlywed/young family/teenagers/empty nest/marriages/grandbabies/widowhood years of her life?

How do you  cope with funeral after funeral?  Do you lie in bed each night and wonder if tomorrow it will be your time to die?  Do you long for sleep to dream about all your loved ones who have been gone these past many years.  Do you wake up in the middle of the night and relive the past….the joys and the sorrows?

Even at 62, I often go back to the past when I can’t sleep.  I see the neighbors who are now gone, some who had a profound part in my growing up.  I see them all in their younger years, gathering for coffee at one another’s house or on the tiny patios or lawns each had.  I see Eleanor and Bernice, Joyce and Cel, Millie and Sylvia, Diane and June, my Grandma Tillie and Mrs. Kiehl, Nancy and DeMaris and Mrs. Persh sitting out on her back steps.  In my mind’s eye, I see them all, I remember their homes and the scent each one had.  I remember being yelled at by some and being given cookies by others.

I remember them all.

Is that what it all boils down to?  To be remembered?  Does anyone lay in bed and think of me?  Will anyone remember me?

I hate with a passion getting older.  Not because I have lost my looks or that my body has expanded and that everything hurts.  No, it is the future that scares the heck out of me.  The inevitable losses that must come.  I am not a brave person.  I don’t do well with emotional pain….it sits like an elephant on my chest and the ache overwhelms me until I retch with unnerving sounds that crawl up from the deepest parts of my soul and frighten me with their intensity.  It is in that pit of despair and hopelessness that I struggle with ending the pain myself.  But I have to remind myself that ending my pain will only bring pain to those left behind who care for me; and do I not love them more than myself?  If you have ever struggled with the longing to step from this world into the next, you know the fight that goes on inside your brain.

I am not brave.

My mother is brave.  She mourns her loss and then goes on with life.  She is the poster child for aging right!  She looks forward to each new day.  To the adventures that day may bring.  She does not hide from the pain of life.  She LIVES.  And LIVES well.

I hide.  I close up.  I retreat.  I am not aging well……

I WILL go gentle into that good night…..

img_1341This poem is by Dylan Thomas.

This post is in memory of Bernice Olson who died last week and who was the “Ethel” to my mom’s “Lucy”.  Bernice lived next-door to my mom for 47 years.  She was my “second mom”.  We had keys to her house and she ours.  Need something from her cupboard?  Go on in and find it.  It was normal to come downstairs in the mornings and find Bernice in her robe having coffee with her hair up in pincurls or rollers.  She had piercing blue eyes that she highlighted by the use of cake mascara….like clumps of black spider legs were surrounding her eyes.  I was always fascinated by those clumps.  Bernice seemed to bring me a lot of places with her.  She had one son who was like six or so years older than me and who got the biggest kick out of teasing me.  He was the love of her life.  I don’t think she had the easiest of lives.  Her husband died of a sudden heart attack at the age of 62 and then her beloved son died of a heart attack at 54 and if memory serves me, she was there to witness it.

Rest In Peace, dear Bernice, with Larry and Laird….as long as I live, you will be remembered with love……

Robyn