Amnesia meets deja vu

Posted on May 10, 2012 by Penny Print This Post Print This Post

I forgot — again.  As you age you need to develop tricks for remembering.  My mom used to tie a piece of string around her ring finger just above her wedding ring.  She’d look at the string and just know what she was supposed to remember.  Years later she’d look at the string and remember that she’d forgotten something — she had no idea what it was.

I store the number of things I want to remember to do in my brain.  I hold up “x” amount of fingers and lock it in.  I’d go to bed thinking the number three, I awake in the morning and can rattle off the three things I needed to do.   One for each finger as I hold it up.  Now I think of the number two, and make a visit to the bathroom.

It appears I have unselective amnesia.  I can remember my first husband’s social security number, but can’t remember to shut the garage door after I pull the car in.

It’s happening more and more.  Like deja vu all over again.

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The big red caboose

Posted on May 7, 2012 by Penny Print This Post Print This Post

I could be writing about coming in last, but I’m not.  I could be writing about my rear end, but I am not.  Surprise…  I’m writing about a big red caboose.  Saturday was Train Days in Fullerton.  We sat in a little red caboose to take a free train ride in the parking lot

Train rideRetired Disney train cars, miles of model train track under big tents, one model train 62 cars in length (the Bug counted them), even a circus and a whole train village with moving locomotives made out of Legos were on display.  My grandkids were loving it.  They pressed controls to make cows move off the track, make the engines puff from their smoke stacks, and ran from train to train.

Outside train set   Train pulley

It couldn’t be more than fifty years (could it really be that long or longer?) since I’d visited my uncle who had added a room onto the back of his house for his Lionel train sets.  He’d let me push the controls of his fifteen or so locomotives.  I loved the automation, even back then — the dairy delivery, the logging factory, and the gasoline drum loader.  Little houses lit up; locomotives huffed and puffed.  Cousins (there were 25 of us) gathered to watch the trains move past one another in a delicately balanced display.  Maybe the cousins were the best part.

What great memories…  And what a run time sharing them with my grandkids.

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A flood of memories

Posted on May 5, 2012 by Penny Print This Post Print This Post

Daddy Daughter Dance“The Worm is going on a date with her dad tonight,” said the GAP.  “They’re going to a Daddy-Daughter dance.  I even painted her fingernails.”  (Not “hooker red,” I hoped.)

A flood of memories took over.  My dates with my dad were not so prim and proper.  I don’t ever remember polishing my fingernails to go someplace with my dad.  He’d take me to the neighborhood park and buy me a cherry snowcone.  He’d take me to the midget car races.  The fun part was afterwards when he’d take me to the flea market across the way and I’d get to pick out a porcelain statue for my collection.  My favorites were the white poodle twins.  There was the time he took me to the local fair.  I’d wanted a blue stuffed poodle (what can I say? I was in to poodles), and he’d tried one of those chance games to win one for me.  He tried over and over, and at 25¢ a pop, it was getting too rich for our family’s pocketbook.  The carnie guy ended up giving it to him after $25 worth of quarters.

Dad and me on a tobbagonOr the times he’d take me to Big Bear in the mountains and we’d ride town the toboggan together in the snow.  I liked to go fast then, too.  He made me feel safe.  He drove cars fast, too.  As long as you kept your eyes closed, you felt safe then, too. 

He taught me, oh, so many things.  Like to love ice cream, and to love long and hard, especially when it comes to your children.  And mostly to laugh.

I hope the Worm has memories of her dad, Mr. Greenjeans, just like I have of my dad.

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You’re killing me, Larry

Posted on May 2, 2012 by Penny Print This Post Print This Post

I headed out this evening for the gym behind a long chain of cars.  I could see the flashing red light for a non-working traffic signal about a mile up the road.  I’d never have time to warm up.  Oh, well.  I could still make the training session, I thought.  I made a quick U-turn and headed up another street only to be stopped by a slow moving train.  Now most people headed to a workout they dread would use less than these events to get out of it, but remember I’m on a vacation mission.

I rolled in to the gym (literally) at ten after the hour.  Travis the Trainer was ready.  I leaned back on one of the large exercise balls.  He held a small pink ball out in front of me.  “Get the ball,” he coaxed.  “Get the ball.”  I barked.  After a few “get the balls,” I panted.

“Okay,” Travis instructed, “ride the imaginary bicycle.”  I laid flat on the mat and didn’t move.  “Come on,” he said.  “Work those abs.”

“I am,” I said, still laying flat.  “My imaginary abs are riding the imaginary bicycle.”

Next it was lunges, curls, and Venus Fly Traps.  My Venus Fly Traps are unrecognizable.  If my legs come up, my chest can’t make it off the ground, and if my chest comes off the ground, my legs are in hover mode.  I held plank for forty-five seconds and then did mountain climber’s twists.

“Come on, pushups.”

“You’re killing me, Larry,” I panted.  Travis just smiled.

Before I realized what I was doing, I did a full push-up.  Not a girly one.  “I didn’t know you could do that,” Travis said.

I was just as shocked.  I didn’t either.

I could barely get up off the floor.  I tapped a rather large woman on the shoulder who looked like she had the same feelings for her trainer as I was harboring for Travis.  “Let’s join forces and beat them up,” I suggested.

“Find those abs,” he said.

“They’re under the donuts,” I said.

He looked at my waist.  I could tell he agreed with me.  They were under the donuts alright.  But instead, he said, “I can see a little shape already.”

So can I.  Round is a shape, right?

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Fun farts

Posted on May 1, 2012 by Penny Print This Post Print This Post

My family, by nature, is couch bound.  We chat (if the mood hits); we laugh with (at) one another; we watch (some profess skill) sports; we eat; we play board games.  So today for my niece’s birthday,  we combined forces and did a little of all of these.  With the exception of the eating part – that wasn’t a little thing.  Just ask my scales.

“Let’s play capture the flag, Grandma,” said the Bug.  I don’t think so.  He picked up on my look.  “Okay, how about Olympians?”  I’m thinking pentathlons and disk throwing is way too much activity.  “No, Grandma, you pick your favorite Greek mythology god.”  I can barely remember the name of my family members, let alone a Greek goddess.

“How about charades?” I asked.  That was more low key.  I showed them a few gestures for movie, book, song, and made up rabbit ears for TV.  “Okay, I’ll go first,” I said.  I made the “roll it” motion with my fist.

“Movie,” said the Worm. I nodded.

I held up three fingers. “Three words,” said the Bug.  I nodded.

I pointed to my niece, then I moved my hands in a shapely woman form.  After a couple of dumb answers, my daughter, the GAP said, “Lady.”  I touched my nose.  The GAP shouted out “Lady and the Tramp.”  Again I touched my nose.  “Mom, that’s four words.”  I shrugged.  Doesn’t close count in charades?

Soon more family members participated.  It’s difficult finding games for ages spanning over half a century.  One niece held up a thumb and fingers slightly apart from one another.  “Little.”  Then she laid on the floor, locking her knees and waving them back and forth.  She did kind of look like a mermaid.

The Worm stood up to take her turn.  “How many words?” I asked.

“Actually, I don’t really know,” she said, “I need a volunteer from the audience.”  I think
she had this game mixed up.

On her next turn after announcing a two-word movie, when she acted out flipping the handle on an imaginary toilet, the Bug cleverly guessed “Harry Potter.”  My brother thought it was “Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants” (he’s no better at counting than I am), when she stood and pulled up on her pair of pants.

I’m doing “Flushed Away,” said the Worm.

I was sitting on the floor.  Perhaps the recent topics had been a little too suggestive.  Whatever, a little toot escaped.  The two-year-old Mouse was sitting on my lap.  “Maddoc,” the GAP said in astonishment.  He smiled.

“Did you let a stinker?” I asked him.

He nodded.  I love a fall guy.

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That’s a stretch

Posted on April 29, 2012 by Penny Print This Post Print This Post

The front seat of Couponman’s car is always cluttered with torn coupons, receipts, and miscellaneous debris picked up at the 99¢ Store.  I try to scooch to the front edge of the seat so that I don’t disturb his treasures.  However, this morning I had a strange sensation on my well-padded extremity.  I reached behind me and found I had sat on a box containing an unopened bottle of Tylenol for Arthritis. 

“You don’t have arthritis,” I said.  “You buy this bottle on sale for your girlfriend with arthritis?”

He gave me a look like he’d been caught.  “That’s a stretch,” he said.

“No,” I said.  “Not if she has arthritis.  She can’t stretch.”

“And white girls can’t jump,” he said.  

Touché.  He’d obviously been there the other night when I’d talked two friends into trying their hands (errr… rather feet) at Let’s Dance on the Wii.  Rolling on the River with Tina Turner just didn’t happen.  We may just have captured the lowest scores in the history of Wii.

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Posted in communication, humor, marriage, shopping | Tagged

Born leaders

Posted on April 28, 2012 by Penny Print This Post Print This Post

You know how sometimes you can just see it…  Some people are born leaders.

His eyes lit up when he saw me.  He ran to the plastic laundry basket on the floor, threw the clothes out, climbed inside, and said persuasively, “Row, Row.”  I was putty in his hands.  The last time we’d been together, I’d rowed him back and forth in the basket singing Row Row Row your boat.  He hadn’t forgotten.  He commanded my attention and without even a battle, he’d won.

When I’d laid snuggly between the older two older grandchildren, he’d wanted to join us.  As you can well imagine on a twin bed, there was no room.  Not even an inch  That didn’t stop this little fellow from knowing exactly what he wanted.  He climbed over his brother.  When he pulled himself to a sitting position, after an elbow to my chest and a diaper in the face, he sat on top of me.

“YaYa,” he whispered and smiled.  It was worth the pain he’d caused to get there.

Then the next day he’d come to visit me for lunch at work.  “YaYa, race,” he said.  And he and I galloped down the long hall.  Whatever he tells me to do, I do without question.  I don’t think any other man can make that claim.

Then he leaned back, put his feet up, and took a rest.  He’s really got this man thing down pat.

Relaxing in the chair

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Word banks

Posted on April 27, 2012 by Penny Print This Post Print This Post

My girlfriend and I are on a mission.  Actually I’m on the mission and I’ve coerced her into joining me.  I’m trying to find my 21-year-old body wrapped deep inside my 21×3+1 body.  So the other night after surviving a Travis the Trainer workout to die for from, Carla and I took a brisk walk around the neighborhood.  Our clip was rather vigorous.  She could still talk (she’s younger than I am); I could only pant. 

But I could listen.  She teaches high school anatomy and culinary arts.  Not together.  I think that would be illegal or immoral or both.  “When I passed out the semester’s first exam, the students asked, ‘So where’s the word bank?’ 

“What do you mean ‘where’s the word bank?” she said back to them.  “There’s no ‘word bank’ in life.”

I shared the story with my sister, “Yeah,” she said.  “There’s no word bank.  Can you imagine a surgeon asking for a word bank.  ‘Nurse hand me the … uh, uh, uh.’  ‘Okay, Doctor,’ his nurse would ask.  ‘Is it the (a) stethoscope, (b) switchblade, (c) scalpel or (d) spoon?’” 

“I guess it would depend on the surgery,” I laughed. 

Life is hard even on its best days.  However, I’m thinking at this age when words just vanish into thin air, it might not be a bad thing to bank a few words here and there.

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Hola, mama

Posted on April 25, 2012 by Penny Print This Post Print This Post

“Bueno,” the voice on the other end of the line said.

“Jenn,” I hesitantly asked. 

“Hola, Mamacita.”  The GAP’s been doing too much planning for our Costa Rica trip.  “Te quiere to stop-po by después de trabajo ver el tuturo farm-o.”  I surmised we’d better take a Spanish dictionary with us.

I didn’t get to see much of the planned scenery on the internet, because the grandkids took me hostage.  We played the Mouse’s favorite game of “be-ball” with his Nemo ball and our arms extended like a bat while the older two played soccer. 

“Let’s go in,” I suggested.  “It’s getting cold.”

“Don’t leave, Grandma,” they said.  Darn, they caught on.  I was inching my way to the front door.  The two youngest sat in a plastic laundry basket on the floor.  I walked over to them, took hold of the side and rocked it back and forth singing, “Row, Row, Row your boat.”  When I finished, the “ha, ha, fooled you all, I’m a submarine line,” I tipped them over.

I don’t know how it happened, but soon I was squished in the laundry tub with the two piled on top rocking back and forth.  “You bent the plastic, Grandma,” reported the Bug, from his vantage point.

It was going to be rougher getting to the front door.  I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to unbend my way out of the basket, let alone out from under the pile on.

As I moved to the door, I heard a little, “YaYa, home?”

“I have to go,” I said, blowing him a kiss. 

“YaYa, home?”  A little finger pointed at me.

“No, not tonight,” I whispered.  I opened the door slightly and put one foot on the porch.

“YaYa, home?”

I pulled the door closed in front of me as I head a little disappointed, “YaYa,” in the distance. 

I love breaking hearts.  Mi amor.

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Posted in grandchildren, leisure | Tagged ,

Taking the risk

Posted on April 24, 2012 by Penny Print This Post Print This Post

“Let’s grab a bite to eat,” I said to Nae.  We’d been working hard and deserved a break.

“Where do you want to go?”

I gave her the look like “duh, where you think?”  We have a favorite place.  It’s a little Vietnamese hole in the wall that has soup to die for — broth, chicken, rare steak, bean sprouts, rice noodles, mint, jalapeño.  I’ve learned don’t break the jalapeño in tiny pieces with your fingers and then rub your eye. 

Just before we departed, an email caught my eye.  “Important notice.”  It was from the office manager.  “Please be alert and aware if you use the stairs or go outside.  There is an unhappy client who is headed for the building.  He lives nearby.”

“Should we stay in?” I asked her.  My stomach growled.  “I think we should still go,” I said.

Nae continued to read the email.  “The person has been described as Caucasian male, 60 years old, salt and pepper hair, wears blazer style of jackets, plaid shorts and loafers.”  She paused only a moment, picturing our enemy.  “Let’s go for it.  I think we can take him.”

It’s great to have brave and tough friends.

P.S.  The soup was worth the risk!

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