The Wooden Jewel Box

It's been a long time since I treated you to a tale about Hubby and his Offspring. I hope this fills a void!

Hubby is a pack-rat. Like all such afflicted individuals, he justifies his choices vigorously and with great imagination. His home is full of doo-dads and thingamajigs. In the kitchen cupboard that holds drinking glasses, for example, you'll find a stack of plastic beverage containers from the movies - oversized and decorated with the characters and images of the particular movie they saw - when the kids were seven or eight years old!

The "kids" are now both of "major age," as the law states. But the plastic beverage containers can't be thrown out, because the movies were fun.

CDs and DVDs litter the rooms. There is a bookcase in the basement where, years ago, some attempt to put these items into order was made. They were neatly stacked, even sorted, at the time. But the collection outgrew the bookcase, and new CDs and DVDs never made it into such storage. They are in piles everywhere throughout the house now. In drawers, cubbyholes, baskets, piled on dressers or on the kitchen table. Some of them are music, some are movies, but the bulk of the collection is software. Old software, mind you. Stuff from several operating systems ago. You and I would long ago have chucked this stuff into the garbage or recycling bin. But because Hubby works with computers, he has a pathological need to hang on to every single piece of software that has even been invented, claiming he might need it one day.

The thought of telling someone who asks him for outdated software "Sorry, you're out of luck," is something he just can't stomach.

I've often complained over the years that Hubby leaves everything where it drops. He has a kind of physical memory of where he's left things. Putting them away is counter-intuitive for him.

So basically, the house looks like an episode of "Hoarders." And Hubby is quick to justify each and every doodad I point to with "reasons" it can't be thrown out or given away.

His Offspring have inherited his pack-rat tendencies, along with an inability to put things away. It's confusion everywhere. Watch where you step.

So I felt a little guilty when visiting lately, because I still have "stuff" at the house that's taking up storage space. I feel I need to help him somehow. And while Hubby was digging around for something, I spotted a wooded jewel box tucked away under a dresser.

It was mine, and I distinctly remembered throwing it away a couple of years ago.

Sure, it's a nice-looking box, carved all over and with birds carved onto the lid. Yes, it was a gift at one time. Yes, I probably should have at least given it to Village-des-odeurs, (as we are fond of calling it).

But my complaint was that Hubby snuck out to the garbage and hauled it back in and hid it under a dresser. For two years.

Well, I relieved him of it and put it back in the garbage again, over his complaints of "Somebody paid someone a whole 29 cents to carve that!"

But he left it there.

However, the next day, at work, I was informed that Stepdaughter had seen the box, said "This is way too nice to throw out!" and hauled it back in, again.

And the box is currently sitting on the dining room table.

I guess I'm going to have to go get it myself and take it to Village, like I should have done two years ago.

It's Over

A friend of mine, C, tells the story of being prescribed orthopedic shoes. There she was in the store, with the salesman making suggestions to her, looking around in dismay at the ugly selections available. She asked the salesman, "Do you have anything that looks a little nicer?" Whereupon the salesman laid his hand sympathetically on her arm and said, "Madame, it's over for you."

Well, my recent move has made me come to terms with a few things that I've been lugging around with me. More than just through the last three years of moves, lugging with me for the past ten or fifteen years, or even longer.

Those of you who know me well know that I have always had issues with makeup. I don't like how it feels on my face, even the expensive stuff. I never feel that I can get my face totally clean after wearing it, no matter how rigorously I scrub, buff and polish.

I hate the time it takes to put on makeup - even just five minutes annoys the heck out of me.

So I have now, at 54 years of age, officially retired the makeup bag. Let it gather dust and grow mould. I've had it with makeup. This is what I look like - deal with it.

It's over for me.

The next thing to get tossed was hair color. I've dyed my hair every color of the rainbow over the years. Red was my favourite, but red is the color most likely to cause cancer. Even the newfangled dyes that are "organic" leave me cold.

My Grandmother started dyeing my hair when I was eight years old. My natural color is a dark grey. I once had a hairdresser compare my natural color to her color swatches, and she confirmed this. "If your hair was woven into a fabric, it would be a dark grey fabric," she informed me.

Eight years old. Fifty-four years old. Enough is enough. No more hair color for me.

Interestingly enough, the day after the last of my blonde was trimmed off, I went out to a movie with Hubby. I asked for two tickets, and the girl gave me the "Ainés" rate. That's right, I saved five dollars because she thought I was a senior! My Daughter laughed at me and said maybe now I'd rethink putting some color into my hair, but no-go. I've had it with hair color. I've done enough damage to the environment and my scalp and my bloodstream.

It's over.

The last thing to go in the garbage bin was my nail polish. I gave away the last bottle of polish remover and threw my (unused) bottles of polish away. What a relief!

The money I spent, over the years, getting fake nails! I shudder to think how much food that money could have bought, how many Caribbean vacations I could have enjoyed, had I not been spending money on nails, hair color, and makeup!

As a cute little song goes,

"I know just how ugly I are.
I know that my face ain't no star!
But still, I don't mind it,
Because I'm behind it!
It's folks out in front get the jar!"

Summer of Sick

Well, the title says it all. I got sick about six weeks ago with a nasty bug that keeps on coming back. Thought I was over and went to Toronto to visit my Daughter and had a relapse. Got antibiotics for ten days and dutifully stayed away from alcohol (the horror!) but the day after the antibiotics finished got the sore throat back and started coughing again.

Not fun. Missed out on swimming and Margaritas. Missed out on having people over. Hoping that August goes better than July did!

A Moving Experience

Moving day approaches. In my case, it's on June 17th, so I'm lucky I'm not stuck moving on July 1 with the rest of Quebec. Right now, for me, it's the calm before the storm.

For Boyfriend, it's another story. He's been at the house since the minute he got the keys, tearing down a (non-supporting) wall, clearing out junk left by the previous owner, bringing loads from his apartment in a borrowed van...and in general, tiring himself out real good - he's doing all this after a full day's work, you understand! He's like a racehorse that's been kept behind the gate - exploding onto the track with pent-up energy. In vain I tell him to pace himself - he's a man on a mission.

He started me off packing things about two months ago. My Daughter thought this was funny, but I'm no spring chicken and packing tires me out. We took our time and he put the boxes out of the way of the living space, and it's now starting to look a little bare in here, even though I still have everything I need to be comfortable.

In fact it makes me wonder why I'm keeping all this stuff in the boxes at all. For example, I went through my wardrobe, keeping only the clothes I felt I was likely to wear in the next two weeks, and packing the rest. When I was done, I turned and looked at what was left. There are enough tops left hanging that I could wear a different one every day for two months with no repeats! If I have all these clothes still hanging up, what in the world do I need the other ones - the ones I packed - for? And I don't consider that I have an extensive wardrobe!

In the kitchen, my teapot and wine glasses are packed. But I can still enjoy a glass of wine with a friend, just not in a wine glass. I can still make tea, just in the mug. I have no shortage to contend with, I have all that I need. So what's with the four boxes of kitchen stuff?!

And don't get me started on my sewing supplies. There's a saying in quilting circles: "The one who dies with the most fabric wins." I don't know the half of what I have - but it's too much, whatever it is! Patiently, Boyfriend said "Just pack it babe - you've got the rest of your life to go through it." Only I do hope it doesn't actually take me the rest of my life...

I remember a time when I wanted things, so badly that I'd go into debt to buy them. I would pounce on my paycheck and rush to the store to get things: clothes, jewellery, CDs, DVDs... there were things I just HAD to have!

Now I look around at all these boxes and wonder, what for? What was so all-fired important about getting all this stuff?

Now what seems to be more important to me is having the money to go for a visit to see my Daughter. I'd rather see her than drink out of designer wine glasses.

I've heard all kinds of theories about the universe in my time. The universe is expanding, the universe is shrinking... Well, my universe is no longer in an expansion phase. My needs are simpler now.

Looming Large

I did something different this morning while having my coffee - I turned on the telly to see what early morning programming was like. Usually the earliest I put the tv on is noon - when Star Trek comes on. This morning I thought I'd have a look and see what other people watch.

I didn't last long. There was a brief recap of where each of the party leaders would be campaigning today. That in itself is stomach-churning stuff: Harper seems determined to ruin Canada at any cost, and since he "united the right" a few years ago, nobody on the left seems able to rise to stop him. The spectre of our humane, sane and sober country being laid waste by this corrupt, greedy and intolerant "government", our social programs slashed mercilessly, is a terrifying possibility.

This was quickly followed by an update to a war going on somewhere - probably Libya - with an image of something being blown up in a terrible explosion..."Wars and rumors of wars" indeed, straight from the book of Revelation.

I quickly turned the tv off. The words of one of my doctors rings so true: "A certain amount of denial is necessary for everyone to get through the day."

Yesterday we were greeted with the news that Japan is going to dump radioactive waste water into the ocean, this to prevent a bigger catastrophe on the land.

When, oh when, will mankind ever learn that nuclear power is simply too dangerous to use?

Am I too sensitive? My personal zone of safety seems pretty small these days. I didn't even get through a five-minute newscast before the threat of ulcers made me turn it off. This is par for the course. The world is simply too frightening a place! So I dig myself in, in my basement apartment, curled up on the couch or, more likely, hiding under the covers.

I've got a move coming up, I should be organizing stuff, editing my belongings, packing... But I'm overwhelmed before I even start, standing helplessly staring at shelves and piles, wondering what in the world I'm going to do with all this stuff. I feel as helpless about it as I do about the situations in the world. Personal "power" is also apparently at an all-time low.

My Daughter is moving to Toronto. Six months ago, she was talking about having babies, she was in a relationship with a great guy, living in a house, two cars - the works. Now she's facing an uncertain future tending bar while hoping for her "big break" in her acting career, on her own with no safely net. She's going to be in Toronto before I even move this summer. There is nothing I can do to help her or make her way easier or safer, and it churns me up inside. What kind of a mom am I? Should I be encouraging her? Dissuading her? Am I failing her somehow by doing neither? What the heck am I supposed to do in this situation?

It certainly seems that no matter which topic I pick, which way I turn, my personal level of helplessness is staring me in the face.

.......

Update on weight loss: (good news, I think)

I've played internet doctor this week and it seems that weight loss may be a side effect of one of the meds I'm on. The blood tests showed no cancer markers. So I will be discussing the results with my doctor, but for now I am tentatively hopeful. I will manage a weak smile.

The Sore Back

Fresh from a day of lounging around doing nothing in particular, I am now amazed at the depths of laziness to which I've sunk.

Oh sure, today started off with an early morning trip into town for blood tests, 2 quick visits to friends on the way home, dealing with correspondence, and finally lunch with Daughter...so I could say that I've had a "busy" day. I did do a lot of walking, and at some point or other my lower back began to hurt just the teensiest bit.

But was that from the walking, or from the lounging around?

Now let's get a few facts straight: I am moving in June. In around 10 weeks, approximately. I have packing to do. And, as everybody knows, before packing one goes through one's things and edits (gets rid of) one's belongings.

But there was no evidence of such admirable activity.

I also have a big, three-part quilt project that I've lately begun, and no pun intended. See, 4 or 5 years ago I taught a group of elementary school children the fundamentals of quilting. Well, one of the youngsters' father died, a sad story. He urged his mother to contact me regarding making a quilt out of his father's clothing. Three quilts, in fact - there's a sister, and one for mom as well.

So I've had this clothing with me through two moves so far, and we're looking at 3 years since I agreed to take this project on now. Hence, "lately" begun... For most of the 3 years I've been referring to this project as "the dead guy's quilts," however recently Boyfriend talked me into using a more positive phraseology about it. "The Memories Project" is now the going phrase, having a slightly less negative ring to it.

I've had this week off work because I had vacation days to use up, and I could have been working on the Memories Project.

But no... it rests peacefully undisturbed by activity.

I've had a week off, and I've accomplished precisely nothing at all. To quote Garfield, "if I were any lazier, I'd slip into a coma."

Is my back sore from walking, or from scooching on the couch for too long? I think, left to my own devices, I could quite happily do nothing whatsoever, for an astonishing length of time!

This state of abject worthlessness as a human being quite flummoxes me. I had no idea what indolence I was capable of.

Hell, I've even out-lazied the cat!

Weight Loss

I am puzzling over why I seem to have lost 25 lbs. without trying. Oh yes, I've been eating a bit differently over the course of the past year. I rarely have desserts any more. I've been aiming for more protein and fewer carbs. My appetite/consumption has diminished considerably. I drink water rather than juice, and chips and chocolate are all but unheard-of now, compared to when they were a staple.

But 25 lbs? And no exercise to speak of... I could see losing 5 lbs that way...

The weight has come off by itself, and that's just not ever been my experience, nor, to listen to the tales, the experience of others.

I fear there's something else at play.

I made Hubby go to the doctor several years ago when he began dropping weight without any changes in his diet, and it turned out he had diabetes.

And of course, the "C" word looms large in everyone's minds these days.

So yesterday I humphed myself off to the doc - the gyno - because I wanted him to refer me for a mammogram. I got a bit more than I expected - a referral as well to a gastroenterologist so I can have - yay - a colonoscopy.

The last time I had one of those, I swore I'd rather die than have another. It's not the test itself, it's the prep. You drink this poison that looses everything in the bowels so that by the day of the test you're all pink and clean inside and they can see what's going on. That in itself would be fine - but it makes you naseous as well. Like, really naseous. I don't handle that well at all - get feeling v e r y sorry for my poor suffering self. That's when I swore I'd never do it again.

However, I'm concerned enough to go through with it, even though I doubt that may be the trouble spot, if there is one. But I'd rather be careful.

Now I have to find a doc to send me to get my sugar tested. And since I've had a constant headache (very mild) in one specific spot on the back of my head for a month now, I should probably find a neurologist to get me a scan.

It's all very tiresome, this finding of doctors and appointments and tests. The temptation is to say "Oh you're just imagining it, you've got nothing to worry about," leave it at that, and buy smaller pants.

But I remember when my Grandma lost weight with no changes in her diet, and she had breast cancer.

No, the phrase "no pain, no gain" rings true for me here, though in this especial case, the "gain" is loss - weight loss.

It just seems too easy. Too good to be true. And you know what they say about that.