WHOA! IS ME

It’s raining! It’s pouring. The Old Lady is not snoring. She’s sitting in a large, lovely contemporary waiting area to have a few routine jobs done on her two year old Camry that just reached 5000 miles. Sounds ok so far, doesn’t it? Well, I’ll tell you the truth, I’m the lady, the ‘she’ in this tale and I’m a wreck. Why is such a load of crap falling on my head so late in life? I can find no explicable reason, yet it multiplies hour by hour, day by day. It’s fine with me if you want to ridicule the pettiness I am bitching about. That won’t stop me. I must keep on trying to get rid of some of the garbage and you can go plant roses, fly to the Riviera, play with your grandchildren. There is no jealousy on my part. I’ve been there, done that.

Almost a year ago my hale, hearty, happy tennis playing husband died on the court. That was a blow for both of us. Fortunately I recovered, smiled a lot and cried alone. My grandson is in rehab for the 3rd time and there is bound to be a 4th or a funeral.

Visiting my son in Canada on a lovely October day, I walked thru the park with him, amazed at the beauty of the maple trees turning orange and brown. They were in their glory. I looked up to watch them fall gently to earth, tripped on a covered heavy twig and broke my leg. The vacation went to hell. As soon as I could manage to take care of myself, fit into a miserably narrow aisle seat on a Delta flight, I headed home. Seated between me and a young fairly attractive woman was a child somewhere near aged one. Her seat belt was not secure. She never sat still a moment, fidgeting, whining, kicking my cast. The mother was unable to keep her quiet or still. Dora, the Explorer, her favorite doll, fell under the seat in front of me. I could not reach it. The mother crawled over her child, fell on my leg and retrieved Dora. Yes, she was sorry and so was I.

A hundred years later the cast came off. I continued to hobble for weeks until I finally knew I had what could not be put off any longer. Something was happening to my eyelids. They didn’t burn, didn’t itch but they weren’t mine. Never in my 75 years was I aware I had eyelids. They were just on my face like my nose, my chin. They had become so heavy they were looked like elephant lids, minus the huge lashes. I could hardly keep them open. My ophthalmologist knew immediately and gave me the news, ‘Miss Gladstone, you have dry eyes.’ My denying it, telling him how often I cry and have plenty of tears, made no impression. If I don’t follow his instructions, the problem would get worse. There is no cure. For the rest of my life I will be buying drops to be used as often as I need them. They will do no harm. At least twice a day I have to put hot compresses on my eyes which supposedly will give me comfort. And so I am now a prisoner and carry out my sentence.

That was, is, minor, compared to learning my cataracts should be removed. I was strongly advised to do so. What a 2 month trauma it was. Don’t squirm. I am not going to load you with details but will tell you the one good thing in my saga so far. I now have 20/20 vision, may possibly need reading glasses later. I’d like to tell you I feel better but I don’t. Things I never noticed jump out at me. Stains from cooking are under the cabinets. My clothes have spilled food on them that have hardened. Nobody mentioned these things. Colors have changed totally. My den sofa is falling apart. Seams are opening. The small pillows I use when watching t.v. have turned a hideous shade of orange sweat.

Whoa! Old Lady, find an upholsterer fast. Sure. There are 10 in the phone book. I call each. When I tell them the colors and type of fabric I will need to coordinate with the rest of the room, they laugh. Nobody makes mauve fabric any more. That was the rage in the 90's. ‘Look all you want, Lady. You aren’t going to find it.’ None wanted to come to my home with books to show me except one who measured the sofa and gave me an approximate price IF I can find a fabric, $1800! Ridiculous. It cost $350 the last time. I am now ‘The Huntress’ going almost daily to furniture stores who offer me nothing in a new sofa as they have no ‘mauve’ fabric. Sitting, still loving my sofa, I am in a vortex of worry, just about no place else to try. What am I going to do? You may leave now. I won’t know.

Yesterday, yesterday, almost finished me off. Wearing dark glasses to avoid the glare of headlights, I left the house before the sun was fully in view. I took extra care maintaining the speed limits as I headed towards the large, lovely contemporary Toyota waiting area. The ride is 20 miles with several school crossings guarded by mothers who do nothing to make the red lights change while no children wait.

About 5 miles from my destination, a policeman must have fallen out of the sky. He was in my lane, signaling me to pull over. I saw his motorcycle on the grass, pulled to the side, but not enough to please him. ‘Lady, first you went thru blinking yellow lights for a school crossing and now you are about to obstruct traffic. Move over!’ My explanation, although true, held no water. ‘I saw the lights, slowed down, and when close enough so I could read what the lights were for, I was past them.’ ‘Where is your driving licence, Ma am?’ I gave it to him. He wanted the other credentials that I knew were in my wallet and/or glove compartment but was so nervous I couldn’t find them. My throat was dry. Words were hard to get out. The officer was brutal. He called my license in. If I were going to the guillotine, I doubt I would have been any more frightened. While he was gone and I was shaking, crying, I found my papers and was trying to crawl over the center of the seats so I could get out of the car safely and got stuck. When he returned, he saw my sincerity and helped me back up. I told him again and again that in 55 years I had never received a ticket. He was not blind and became aware that I was probably going to pass out. ‘Lady, do you know this ticket would cost you $350?’ I don’t think I even shook my head. He was writing and I was crying silently. The sound of the ticket being torn from his book made the quiet tears flow like a swollen river. I thought all of the dry eye drops I had been using were coming out at once. ‘Here, Lady. I am giving you a warning only. You don’t have to sign it or do anything but never go thru blinking yellow lights again.’ The officer pulled away and I sat still collecting myself. On the way to Toyota yellow lights were blinking ahead. They were on a big truck, not a school warning at all.

My tale of woe has a rocky road to go. Yesterday was simply too heavy for me. I’ll cut to the quick. The service man with whom I had arranged my appointment, didn’t show up. My car was out of alignment, it needed tremendous, costly work. I waited 3 hours to have only what I thought should get done, done. If I did as suggested, I would have had to take out a loan in order to drive home.

So–now I have loused up your day, bored you into a catatonic state.Today is still young. I am old, feel no better dumping on you.

Just the same, trite or not, ‘Have a nice day.’