My world

Random thoughts from my day that I wanted to tweet but I haven't found an app for my new(ish) phone. I have to be content with sharing my thoughts only with myself. Gasp.

Today ended a relatively long period of time during which I have not fallen or otherwise injured myself. I fell UP some stairs in a very public place and a young man who looks like the blond kid on Glee -you know, the new cast member - paused while talking on his cell phone to ask if I was OK. Oh, I was fine. Just FINE, thank you very much. I felt very old and I need Advil.

I guess really it hasn't been all that long since I injured myself. There was the incident where the hot gooey stuff on a Panera cinnamon crunch bagel jumped onto my thumb like a tick and burned a hole at the base of the nail. That's one way to get rid of those annoying cuticles. But I haven't actually FALLEN in quite a while, which for me is nothing short of miraculous. I don't remember being particularly clumsy as a child. It's definitely an acquired talent.

Lately on the way to work I've been driving around construction crews doing mysterious things. Today all was revealed. They have installed beautifully executed wheelchair ramps at the curb of every corner near Penn and I-40. They are quite something to behold, these ramps. Except that they lead straight into the soggy grass - ramps to nowhere. There are no sidewalks. I certainly hope that they are connected very soon by sidewalks, otherwise it will have been a monumental waste of time and money. Did the city get stimulus money specifically to make curbs wheelchair accessible? Weird. At least now the panhandlers can pull their shopping carts or bicycles or wheelchairs closer to the traffic. I'm not being insensitive about the wheelchair thing. They clearly do NOT need wheelchairs. Seriously people, stop giving them money.

I've had bouts of giddiness the last couple of days. I think it has to do with the cold weather and the Christmas music I'm playing in my car. It just clears the head and makes one sort of stupid happy. Truthfully I'm not a big fan of the actual holidays, but I do love the atmosphere and the days leading up to Thanksgiving and Christmas. I think it has something to do with unrealistic expectations. Everything is supposed to look and feel and smell like perfection, right? Wrong. Life isn't quite that clean and neat and free from drama. I need to approach the holidays fully expecting messiness and fussiness and a predictably unpredictable amount of non-cooperation and imperfection. Then I'll be pleasantly surprised if it turns out well. I should be Danish.

Tomorrow I say good-bye to all my new friends at United Way who now feel like old friends. So I'm off to bed early in order to be fresh for the very early morning celebration breakfast.

Feelin' Groovy

What is that noise? I don't recognize it. Wait. It seems familiar in a hazy, I've heard that somewhere before but I can't place it sort of way. Reaching back into the hidden compartments of the middle-aged woman's brain...almost have it...there it is! That sound is

SILENCE!

Tessa has gone back to her college town, Mark is working at a client's office, the in-laws haven't emerged from their room yet. Silence. Blessed, glorious sound of silence. Ahhh.

The Sound of Silence. Great, now I have Simon & Garfunkle lyrics stuck in my head. "Hello darkness my old friend. I've come to talk to you again." I once knew the words to every song on the Simon & Garfunkle's Greatest Hits album.

"And here's to you Mrs. Robinson, Jesus loves you more than you will know...Wowowo"

"I am a rock, I am an i-iii-land. And a rock feels no pain. And an island never cries"

Rocks, islands, parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme. Why did we love these songs so much? Maybe because the tunes were catchy and the lyrics easy to understand? All I know is that when I'm old and senile I'll still be able to bust out a chorus of "Feelin' Groovy".

Funny how a time or place or feeling can be conjured up by a song. I can see it now. All of us Generation Jonesers in the assisted living facility calling down the spirits of our youth. We'll be gathered around the pajama-clad dude - the one who managed to salvage an old guitar from the yard sale the day all of his worldly goods were spread out on the lawn to be sold to strangers with pockets full of rumpled dollar bills. He can still remember the chords and we all join in. "Like a bridge over troubled waters, I will lay me down". Then we move on to Elton John with a little "Rocket Man" as we rock in our chairs, nod knowingly, and sing "I think it's gonna be a long, long time".

I wish I hadn't just watched iRobot!

photo: nydn.org

Did you see the story about the 90-something woman who exhumed her dead husband and dead twin sister, propped them on separate couches in her tidy little home, and enjoyed little chats about her day while drinking tea? I made up the tea part. She's more of a vodka tonic kinda gal. OK, I made that part up too. I did NOT make up the dead people part.

The article didn't say whether Miss Jean had any children or church members to check up on her, although there apparently were neighbors who helped out. The investigators determined she was mentally healthy - except for the whole "I see dead people" thing.

The population of elderly folks is predicted to double before 2050, with most of the growth occurring between 2010 and 2030 when our Baby Boomer parents reach their elder years. These aging parents will need support and care from adult children. There's something called the parent-support ratio that I found...um...interesting. The ratio is predicted to be almost 3.5 "kids" aged 50-64 to care for every one parent over age 85. Of those elders over age 85 who are not "institutionalized", 50% need assistance with ordinary, everyday activities like bathing, cooking and getting around the home.

I think isolation is one of the biggest dangers for our elders. There is no substitute for face-to-face contact to help with the inevitable loneliness of living alone or to evaluate mental, spiritual and physical health. All I can say is, we're going to need some help!





Statistics from http://www.census.gov/apsd/www/statbrief/sb95_8.pdf

Never too old

I've been contemplating technology lately. Namely generational differences in technology. My hypothesis is that each new generation is not necessarily better with technology. I think it's more a case of its usefulness to each person. Maybe folks from the Baby Boomer generation have no use for things like Twitter or Facebook. Certainly those from "The Greatest Generation", parents of the Boomers, may not seem all that interested in setting up a Facebook account or texting on their smart phones. But perhaps it's just because they haven't explored the benefits.


Recently my father-in-law upgraded his cell phone and he now has texting capability. At age 84 he's learning the joy that is the efficiency of communicating in brief spurts and getting answers back without the extra stuff that comes with phone calls. He's very proud of himself and we're all very impressed. He hangs out on the internet for hours, checking his email and reading the news. Pretty impressive! He plays a mean Mario Kart too, when we take the Wii downstairs.


I took an online survey from the Pew Research Center, "How Millenial Are You?" (thanks JenX for pointing your readers that way). The closer you score to 73 the more you have in common with Millenials. I scored a 69! Most folks my age score in the twenties. I may be an anomaly, but I have a theory for that too. I have a lot of millenials in my life between offspring and co-workers. They all prefer texting and Facebook over phone calls or even emails, so I better adjust if I want to communicate.

According to FASTForward,"Generation Jones appears to be taking to social networking in a significant way, almost as much as Generation Xers, who already have a reputation for their computer savvy." Remember, GenJones was born at the end of the Baby Boomers in the late 1950's and early 1960's.

I'm happy to be connected through my smart phone with texting, Facebook and Twitter. When I'm in my 8th decade, I plan to still be connected to the world in new and interesting ways.
I want to be like Bernie.

Easy Come, Easy Go

If you happened to sign on to Yahoo.com this morning you might have been tempted to click on the Smartmoney.com article "10 Things Not to Buy in 2010".

Is it just me, or does Yahoo employ an extraordinarily talented headline writer? I promise myself I'm just going to pop in, check my email, and pop back out, and E.V.E.R.Y. time I get snagged by some intriguing headline.

Anyway, what I was saying was that this article is fairly painful for us Generation Jonsers. We've said good-bye to the LP record, 8-track, cassette, Walkman, video tape - all accompanied by expensive hardware. Now they want to pry our fingers off of our land-line phones, DVDs and external hard drives? I admit, my family hasn't owned a land-line phone for about seven years and hasn't really missed it. And we just cancelled our online movie rental membership in favor of the less expensive options of Hulu for missed television programs, and On-Demand cable movies. So if actions speak louder than words, we're modeling exactly what the article recommends.

Still, it's hard to let go of things we so badly wanted once-upon-a-time. Plus, what exactly are we supposed to do with all this stuff? Maybe just stash it somewhere until 2040 when it will suddenly be valuable as an uber-cool retro item?

And another thing - why, in 2040, will I not be an uber-cool retro item?

Lord help us!

Can I be honest? I mean really honest. Living with dementia is no fun. Living with someone who suffersfrom dementia, to be more accurate, although I often suffer from severe fuzz-brain-ness myself.

The precious mother-in-law is sinking deeper into a world where we cannot follow. Some days it - the beast of dementia- manifests itself as a little confused but cute and looking out at a world that is all sweetness and light. And then there is yesterday. Wow. I mean. Wow.

On days like yesterday there is no redirecting, no reasoning, no hugs or kind words that can stop the river of mean and ugly. And the thing we all know is, it's not her. It's not the mother and grandmother we all know and love. It's a disease that has attacked and betrayed her, and us along with it.

I've already asked forgiveness from my husband for the future actions of my demented mind. Should I be run down by the same beast, may you all remember me as I once was, and not as I may be if my body and/or mind becomes my enemy instead of my friend. Let's grab the moments now to hug and laugh and play so that we can face the future with the strength and courage that comes from a lifetime of love.

Too Much Information

You know it's been too long since you've visited your gynecologist when one day you need her, have to scroll through the doctors listed on yellowpages dot com to remember her name, call her office feeling all self-righteous that you plan to finally agree to another mammogram and get a recording that she has retired. It's very deflating. I hate trying to find another OBGYN. I certainly don't need the OB part of the doctor's repertoire. That ship has sailed, taking with it all of the necessary parts for baby-making. Well, not all the parts, but the bun-in-the-oven parts. What I enjoyed about my gynecologist was her experience and her understanding of the needs of a more, shall we say, mature woman. And also that she wore these little matching pastel velor sweat pants and jackets and that you had to reach around the cat lounging on the counter in order to hand over your co-pay.

Now I have to go find another doctor. Ugh. She will probably be like my primary care physician - young enough to be my offspring. I have now reached that age where more than fifty percent of the population is younger than me. I have no idea if that is a scientifically proven fact, but it feels more like eighty percent. Unless I'm in Walgreens. Then I usually feel quite young and spry. The fact that I just used the word spry in a sentence also proves my original theory.

When searching for a primary care physician after moving to OKC, I visited one doctor who matter-of-factly instructed me to eat a low sugar, low fat diet and get more exercise. Um, as if that thought wasn't the first thing I think every day and the last thing I regret every night. I'm all, thanks doc! I honestly had never thought of that. Just having you recommend it makes all the difference. I'll get right on it. Yeah. If only it were that easy...

I'll just add finding a new gynecologist to the long list of things I should do. Right behind all the things I must do but don't want to, things I want to do but never have the time for, and shaving. I really hate shaving.

What the Fungi?!

Half the time I don't write on this blog for fear of over-sharing. I could sit down here every day and pour out my thoughts, because, let me tell you, there's plenty going on. But like pretty much everyone else in the universe, I live amongst people and people have feelings. And I have feelings. And boundaries. So I'm never quite sure where the line is between being honest and open versus crossing some boundary line.

I took the photo of these mushrooms while lying on my belly in my backyard. I'm in a LOT of pain with my back lately, so that was no small effort. I hope you appreciate it! These 'shrooms are a symbol of life to me. They represent the unplanned, unexpected things that just pop up to mar the landscape. You think you've gotten your life like your lawn - all green and healthy and free of weeds and debris. Then you turn around and there's fungi. WTF! I didn't see that coming.

So anyway, here's an edited list of my life, because I haven't done a list in a very long time, and you all know how much I love a good list.

1. My back is "out" whatever that means, and I can't seem to get any relief. Finally went to the doc yesterday and got pain meds, muscle relaxers and steroids. Trouble is, when I take any of these things I'm down for the count. I pretty much do a face plant in my pillow and don't move, which seems like a total waste of these beautiful fall days.
2. While visiting the doctor yesterday, I ran into a familiar face. My husband - who was in the next exam room with my father-in-law. The FiL had fallen down some stairs and hurt his shoulder. Fortunately nothing is broken or torn - just very painful. He's on the same meds I am. Yay. Mark is now in search of some of that non-skid, glow-in-the-dark tape to put on the offending stairs to keep that from happening in the future. And the good doc is leaving on a trip to Cancun tomorrow, funded in large part by my family! The man is now treating three generations of accident prone Ogdens.
3. Mark lost his job last week. Yay. That's an odd phrase, don't you think? I mean, he knows where his job was/is. But it's not like if he looks long enough, or tries to remember where he put it, he will get it back. So yeah. What the Fungi!
4. I've been arguing with my boss all week. Seriously. Is he just that stupid or am I just in that much pain. (see #1)
5. The Aunties are coming. This is a very good thing. But it has caused a great deal of confusion with the precious mother-in-law, who can't remember what week or day her sisters are coming, and can't get up the stairs to see that the extra bedrooms are prepared, thus prompting much worry and fussing. What I really want to do is set up a video camera and let it roll while the sisters reminisce about the dust bowl days. I love to hear the stories and I'm afraid they will be lost soon. Haven't I seen public service announcements looking for people who lived through the dust bowl? Anyone know?

So yep, a small sampling of the stuff that's popped up in my lawn/life. What you don't see here is the emotion, the anger, frustration, pain, joy, laughter that comes with life's fungi. I'm trying to stay well back from the over-sharing boundary line. Which makes for some pretty boring reading, I suppose. Not to mention we all have fungi, so who wants to read about mine.

These are the best years...but those years were fun.

The party's over and I'm back at home. The whole 30th high school reunion was a fun diversion. I'm sure my daughters would have been interested in the spectacle of a room full of 48 year olds acting like teenagers, except with lots of alcohol. Or maybe I should say lots of legal alcohol. There was plenty of alcohol back in high school, so I heard. I think it's safe to say not a single person in the room got carded by the bartender. I myself stuck with club soda with lime.

Although my family moved a fair amount as I was growing up, we always moved within the same town. The result is that some of the folks in that room on Saturday night I have known since I was six years old. Yes, Brad, you were the best man when I married Mike on the playground at recess the spring of my first grade year. Thanks for the reminder. I don't think we got the marriage annulled before my family moved to the other side of town and I started attending Northview Elementary. A group of us former Northview Roadrunners gathered in a corner to take a photo and reminisce. I was saddened to learn that my elementary school crush was last seen in the county jail due to a DUI. I already knew that our classmate, Patty, had died of a brain tumor a long time ago. And another classmate, Kelly, died in a motorcycle accident - also a long time ago. But the rest of us seem to be surviving and even thriving.

I'm glad to be home again, back in my cocoon of everyday life. Glad that high school is not the end of life even though I distinctly remember wondering at 17 if it was all down hill after graduation. Nothing could be further from the truth. Life is full of opportunities for redemption and make-overs and do-overs and making something of ones self. Thank God for that! And thanks for the memories, old friends.

A lot has happened in 30 years

In a holding pattern while I wait for the big event to start in a bit. We're meeting old friends for dinner before heading to a room full of even more old friends and former acquaintances at my 30th high school reunion. The problem I'm anticipating is trying to determine who's who in a dark room with loud music. So far I've deduced that people either look just like they did when we graduated only with added wrinkles and maybe added pounds, or they are completely unrecognizable.

My only hope is that everyone is provided with a name tag designed for the visually impaired. Or maybe that's vision impaired. There will probably be many, many people in the room who are visually impaired, with an extra chin here or a beer belly there. In fact, I expect most of us to be impaired in some way. You don't get to 48 without some signs of aging. At least that's my story (excuse?) and I'm sticking to it.

Along with the problem of trying to recognize people, there's the fear that I've forgotten everyone. I'm not good at looking all casual and self-assured when I have no freaking idea who you are. Were we best buds in 7th grade home room? Did we eat lunch together every day in the cafeteria? Surely I will remember those folks. If not, I just hope I'm a better actor than I think I am.

I so wish I had been able to hunt down at least one yearbook so I could cram for this exam.

If you want my body, and you think I'm sexy... (thank you, Rod Stewart!)

In about a week I'll be headed to my high school reunion. It's been thirty years since I walked the halls of Olathe High School, in a once-small town near Kansas City. The graduates of 1979 were the last class in an era where there was only one high school in town. Now there are four or five. I've lost track.

I guess I'm one of the rare folks who enjoyed high school. I'm not saying I'd want to do it again. Certainly, there was plenty of drama and angst and questioning and, did I mention drama? I wanted to be thinner, I always wanted new clothes...I wanted to look like everyone else. But it's not like adult life isn't filled with drama too. I mean, do you WORK in an office? There are still cliques and mean girls and incompetent authority figures in the adult world. We'd all like to think that we've left high school behind, but the issues back then are often still the issues today, just in bigger pants!

It's interesting to me that some of the same locations and names are still in the news. In 1979 the Ayatollah Khomeini returned to Iran after being in exile, Saddam Hussein became president of Iraq, and the Soviets invaded Afghanistan. Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan. Hmmm. Sounds familiar.

I hope in my own life I've moved on from the issues of an 18 year old. I hope I've learned something, grown a little, made some improvements, changed my priorities. I enjoy being 48.

But I do wish I was thinner for that 30th reunion. And I do want some new clothes. Maybe things haven't changed all that much.

Generation Jones...huh?

Hello 4:00 a.m., we meet again. It's Saturday morning and there's no good reason to be up, but tell that to my restless legs. But hey! I learned something this morning. I apparently have been living under a rock because I've never heard the term Generation Jones.

I'm a frequent reader of Jen-X's blog. She identifies strongly with the Generation X crowd - those born after the Baby Boomer crowd. Born in 1961 (happy birthday to me this month) I've never really identified with the Baby Boomers or the Gen X-ers.

Yes, I was alive when Kennedy was assassinated. But I was two, people! MLK and Bobby Kennedy? I was not quite seven. The Vietnam war was background noise to my Midwestern childhood, my father just barley too old to be drafted and my brother not born until the war was waning. Race riots briefly touched Kansas City. I remember being at the mall with my mother when someone interrupted the muzak to say the mall would be closing early due to said riots. My friend Susan's Dad rushed to the University of Kansas in 1968 to retrieve a college-aged child after the Student Union was burned down and the National Guard deployed. Nixon and Watergate occupied the headlines while I concentrated on sleepovers with friends.

So I'm not really a Baby Boomer. And I'm not a Gen X-er. Generation X claims Michael Jackson as an icon. Born in 1958, Michael Jackson didn't become quite the international pop icon until I was too busy raising babies to be impressed. Personal computers, video games, the Iran hostage crisis, the end of the cold war and the fall of the Berlin Wall...all I experienced as a young adult.

But, tah dah, I just found out there's a name for us folks. Generation Jones, the generation born between roughly 1954 and 1965. Who knew. Well apparently I didn't. Key characteristics?Less optimistic, distrustful of government, and generally cynical. Mmmhmm. Now we're talking.

George Clooney, Nadia Comaneci, Lady Diana, Michael J Fox, Heather Locklear, Julia Luis-Dreyfus, Jeff Probst, Meg Ryan, and of course Barack Obama - all born in 1961. So I'm in good company. Or at least interesting company! OK, yes, Andrew Fastow (think Enron) was also born in 1961, but hey, every generation has its crooks.

So at least I have a place, sort of. I don't really think "Generation Jones" is a very cool moniker. But maybe we're just not that cool as a group. Sandwiched between the hippies and the yuppies, between free love and AIDS, we are too busy trying to keep it all together.

Maybe we should be called the Polyester Generation. Like the preferred fabric of my teen years, we are low maintenance and versatile. Now if I could only claim to be wrinkle free.

The end and the beginning - it's an endless loop

I'm awake and it's four in the morning. Another storm has rolled in and another bout of restless leg syndrome along with it. Not that the two are related. My legs are just protesting that they have been at rest too long and it's time to get up and move. They pretty much control my life.

Today we are scheduled to close on the Bethany house. It's not over 'till the fat lady sings, they say. Hopefully I'll be singing at 11:30 this morning!!! Then we will be down to one household. Hallelujah!!! Amen.

Mark and I are nostalgic about the Bethany house, which I suppose is perfectly normal, even though I often caught myself cursing it. Every time I started to complain in my head about that old house, I would stop and say a prayer of thanksgiving. It was a blessing, provided at a time when we needed shelter and a place to call our own. A place where our family could heal.

The list of important life events that happened during our tenure in that house is long. I won't bore you with the details. The memories are pouring into my heart and head. Beautiful girls ready for proms and formals, volleyball games well played, new found love, romance, engagement and a wedding. Attempts to make a comfortable home with furniture bought at thrift stores or handed down by generous relatives. Endless home renovations with some awesome new skills learned. And a whole collection of power tools. I love power tools.

Today marks another milestone in our life, another testament to God's goodness. Maybe I'm just getting old, but I find myself only remembering the good. There has been plenty of bad. Plenty of pain, just like anyone or group of someones who attempt to live life to the fullest would experience. But I'm choosing more often than not to remember the fun, the good, the blessed and forget the rest. Or at least learn the lessons and move on.

This is me, doing a happy dance, on my way back to bed. Maybe I can snatch another hour of sleep before the alarm goes off and the new day and era begins.

In which I ramble on about my life

I was talking to Angela (eldest child) today and she complained she was double and triple booked every day this week. Meee Tooo! How does that happen? As I'm dashing from Point A to Point B to Point...XYZ, I'm praying that I don't hurt myself or anyone else, and I'm thinking about margin. You know, that edge around the paper that you don't fill up? That white space that makes documents readable? I need more white space.

Do you remember back a few months ago when I said my husband owed me jewelry? Did I tell you about that? Well, today a beautiful necklace came in the mail. It was in an envelope addressed to me, so it's not like I was snooping. I just opened it and out popped a cute little box with a tag that said "from Mark". I love the necklace. I was serious when I told him that I would like to find out if "gifts" is my love language. I'm thinking I could be converted from "acts of service".

My sister and I are doing the flowers for a friend's wedding Saturday. Today I went and picked up two huge boxes of fresh flowers, rushed them home and put them in water. They are gorgeous. I could live surrounded by flowers all the time. Too bad they are a) expensive and b) not likely to be growing in my non-existent garden any time soon. I want to live in a world where fresh flowers are on my table every day. I've read about that kind of life in old English novels, where women spend their days doing embroidery, playing the piano and arranging flowers cut from the garden. If I were in an old English novel I'd probably be the scullery maid.

My precious Mother-in-law (MPML) had her knee replaced on Monday and is a bit dazed and confused during her time in the hospital. I hate the word dementia. Isn't there a more pleasant way to discuss loss of memory and problems with confusion? If you know one, let me know. There's nothing pleasant at all about someone precious to you struggling along in an alternate universe of the mind. She is increasingly in that universe and I am sad to see it.

MPML has bonded with Winnie, our dog, during this first month of our living all together. Winnie has been moping around the house since MPML left for the hospital. To make herself feel better, Winnie has been channeling Goldilocks and trying out all the chairs in the house while we're gone.

I think I'll go to bed and dream about living in a world filled with white space and flowers, and mothers-in-law and golden retrievers reunited.

Boot Scootin' Boogie Buggie

July is almost over and it has been CRAZY. KRAY-ZEE. CU.RAE.ZIE. It has been a wild ride and it's not over yet. The old house in Bethany is sold and we close in a few weeks, but we're still doing the repair things on the buyer's list. And we haven't moved our furniture out of there, but we don't have the heart to ask for any one's help because we've already moved too much too many times.

I'm thinking that hiring a few college boys when the time comes might be a good idea. Aren't they usually hungry and willing to move heavy stuff for a pizza and some cash? Personally, I've never met such college boys. But I hear they exist. Maybe we're looking in the wrong place. Maybe I should go ask the guy who stands in front of the pizza place with the big sign, dancing to the music in his head, no matter the weather. I bet he would move some furniture for cash. Most college boys just aren't hungry enough for manual labor.

Just call me middle aged and cranky. Go ahead, do it. I probably won't hear you.

Oh, I was about to sign off when I realized the "Boot Scootin' Boogie Buggie" was still hanging out there in the blog title. Angela and I saw that stenciled on a van at the Guymon Senior Center last week. I was reminded of it this morning as Mark and my father-in-law were scooting my mother-in-law out the door on their way to get her knee replaced. I think that's what I'll call their van from now on. Maybe after her knee surgery, my mother-in-law can do some boot scootin' and boogieing of her own. Prayers are appreciated.

The view is spectacular up here

My baby brother turns 40 today, which makes him not so much a baby as a middle aged man.

My middle aged bother turns 40 today. Happy Birthday Stephen! (note - I was just proof reading and realized I wrote bother instead of brother. I'm gonna leave it, because really, have you ever had a baby brother?)

I was talking to my brother on the phone the other day, discussing our upcoming family trip to visit him and explore Portland and the Oregon coast. I mentioned the fact that both he and Mark are marching over the hill. Mark turns 50 in June. Mark is waaayyyy older than me!

Stephen aptly pointed out that everyone has it backwards. It's not like everything is easier and on a breezy downhill slope when you get older. I have to agree. Everything gets harder. The knees and back hurt more readily, energy is in shorter supply, even peeing is sometimes optional -or sometimes involuntary.

According to my brilliant brother (and he is brilliant -his IQ is in the stratosphere), we should consider all of life a downhill journey until we get to middle age, at which point it turns uphill. So I guess rather than all those "Over the Hill" party supplies, they should really say "Enjoy the valley. It's all uphill from here!"

So enjoy the climb little brother. Seriously - the best years are ahead of you.

Now we really need to get moving!

Sometimes life just goes along, day after day. You make plans - have a goal. But you wait, and pray, and work toward that goal, pray, then wait some more. Then suddenly, life takes a turn and things break wide open and, just like that, the desired outcome is accomplished. It's a done deal and you're sort of left staggering from the speed of the change.


Remember this post, and this and this, where I shared the desire of the in-laws to move closer to us, and for our desire and plan to share a home in order to not maintain two households or pay exorbitant assisted living apartment prices? But then the housing market went south, the economy tanked and we were left wondering if that plan was meant to be.


It all broke loose over the weekend. The house in Newton sold and the house we've had our eye on for months here in OKC will, God willing, be ours very soon. It's big enough for three generations to co-exist peacefully when the nest is temporarily filled with a returning college student. Plenty of room for the two couples to live harmoniously. The negotiating and contract writing is done and the turn around time is fast. Now we need to put our house on the market.


So this is Cari, doing a happy dance. Well, truthfully, I'm too exhausted from all the work we did on our house over the weekend to prepare it for selling. But this is Cari, doing a happy dance in her head.

Too much information

I gotta tell you, Mother's Day with grown children is a pleasure. They don't have to rely on another adult to help them pick out a gift, they can cook, they get it when their mother plasters her blog with Mother's Day reminders. I pretty much got spoiled yesterday with a home cooked meal I didn't have to make or clean up after and a nice walk in the park. After that we spent a relaxing couple of hours doing cleansing facial masks and manicures and such at Angela's house. And my son-in-law was good enough during that part of the celebration to go to his man den to play video games and take a nap and not wander around pointing out how not beautiful we were with our mud masks. I always said he was a smart young man!

And at the end of the day I got to spend a little time with my own precious mother. I still can't believe I have the good fortune of living in the same town with her, my twin sister, and my married daughter. After living for decades in far flung places, it still seems like a miracle. We used to call one another, jokingly say "want to go get a cup of coffee?", then shed a few tears knowing it wasn't possible across so many miles. Now when someone says "Want to go get a cup of coffee?" we can say, heck yes, and jump in the car and go. Miraculous.

So after all that sweetness and light, you probably don't want to hear about how cranky I am this morning. It's raining AGAIN, I'm HUNGRY because I'm on a strict food plan, and my RLS is driving me crazy. The diet is something I'm not going to talk about until I actually have some positive results to discuss, because really, who wants to hear about yet another failed attempt at losing weight. And the Restless Leg Syndrome everyone thinks means I get a few cramps in my legs, when in reality, it means violent, full leg, creepy crawly cramping that keeps me from resting comfortable in a chair, from falling asleep, and wakes me up long before the sun. And for some reason the medication I take for it has stopped working. And I'm working all day, then teaching a four-hour class at a local university tonight on about five hours of sleep. So right now I"m CRANKY. If you know me in real life, I would suggest just staying the heck away today. Might be in your best interest.

Just when you were lulled into thinking this was a sweet mommy blog, it takes a nose dive into midlife. At least I'm not having hot flashes.

In search of a well ordered life

It appears that the little dog, Sadie, has grown thumbs herself. Or maybe Winnie has been teaching doggie door opening classes while we were away. For the last couple of nights Sadie has managed to open the bedroom door while we snore, and go curl up on the comfy couch in the living room.

Yesterday evening Mark turned on the sprinkler in the front yard. Guess what was still running when we got up this morning. Let's just say the "lawn" is well watered. Lawn is in quotes because the front yard hasn't quite achieved that lawn quality yet.

I can't find my camera. I'm so bummed. I got it for my birthday and I really liked it and now it has gone missing.

At this moment a load of laundry is washing that has been washed several times but never put in the dryer because we keep forgetting it's there.

Do you see a pattern? I think we need to tighten up this ship.

Back to the empty nest

The nest is empty. The chick has flown the coop. Wait, is she a robin or a chicken? I think I'm mixing my metaphors. Were those metaphors? The youngest daughter went back to college after a week of spring break and it's just us two old folks left. That's what I'm trying to say.

Is it just me, or does Spring break feel like a national holiday and I wasn't invited? Maybe it's just because one daughter is a student and the other a teacher. But it seems like everyone I know was on a break last week while I worked. It was a nice "break" to have Tessa home for the duration. Cocooning was her spring break plan, and I'd say she did it well. Now I miss her and it hasn't even been 24 hours.

It's such a pleasure to actually like your children. That was always my goal while raising them. Let me be clear - my goal was not to get my children to like me. I think they do now actually enjoy my company, but that wasn't the goal of parenting. I wanted them to learn to be well behaved, to contribute to the family and society in a positive way, to be respectful to others - all in an age appropriate manner. Of course, I also wanted them to learn to think independently, to love learning and books, to be compassionate, to love God.

All that to say, I just like hanging out with my kids.