Everyone should have a teddy bear

My grandparents are gone and I miss them. I like to write about crazy grandma and Wild Bill because they have certainly provided the best stories. Bobbie (my name for her) showed us love and nurtured us all. Her husband, my Pa, took care of us also. I like to think that my creativity is a little gift from him. He could take a fallen tree branch and turn it into a Christmas tree. He was magical.

Years ago, probably at Thanksgiving, the family was discussing Christmas. Pa mentioned that he had never had a teddy bear. That year, he got one.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, I have lived this life without wanting for much. (Okay, nothing!)

Never underestimate stuffed animals. I have a floppy llama that Pa gave me when I was a child. Occasionally, I sleep with it. I look at it and get flooded with memories.

The Mom Finger Wag

Chances are you've been on the receiving end of the Mom Finger Wag. Odds are pretty good that you may have done it yourself. It's pointing your finger at a child while you're scolding or making a point. (My mom preferred the head thump.)

Our city has one east-to-west street that is renowned for crime. I swear every time I read of a murder or drive-by shooting, it's on (or near) this street. It's a major thoroughfare and lots of people travel it everyday. I use it but I'm also pretty cautious to make sure my doors are locked and I make eye contact with no one.

The other night, after leaving the dreadful "I killed a goat" party, my friend and I needed to be on this street for three blocks. We're chatting and laughing. At an intersection where she had the right of way, a group of young men almost ran the light.

She pointed and did the Mom Finger Wag.

I started screaming, "Are you crazy? People get killed for less than that!"

Then I became obsessed with looking behind us to make sure they hadn't turned around to follow us.

Obviously we are okay but for a while there, I was sure we were going to be the goat.

Maniac

I rarely gripe about my dad. He's my hero. Plus, he accepts me while my mom is still trying to control me. She's always right but it's annoying at this age to admit I still need her advice and counsel. It's even more scary that I seem to need it more as I age.

The other day my dog jumped on my dad. Repeatedly. She is not a small dog. It hurts. I have been on the receiving end.

Here comes the big, sassy mouth part. When he said, "You need to get that dog under control before she hurts someone," I said, "So your dog that bites everyone in her path is ok?"

Later, I was reflecting. First of all, I should not have said that to him. It was disrespectful. I am working on my mouth but I have not conquered my need to have a comeback. Will I ever learn?

We went in the back yard and I threw the tennis ball until I wore her out.

My friend Patsy used to say (about her husband,) "He may be an a******, but he's mine." I feel that way about everyone I love. The husband can truly annoy people, including me. He's still mine. My friends can hurt me but they're still my friends. My aunts, uncles and cousins put up with my quirkiness.

The maniac dog is mine. I may never control her. Sort of like the way that the husband may not control me, my parents may not control their biting dog, my friends might have to accept the person I am instead of the person I want to be.

Finding Stuff Everywhere

My church bazaar is coming up. This is our big event of the year. I may or may not attend this year because the husband will be recovering from surgery. He's a pretty strong guy so maybe if I drop him at the club, I can pop over there for a while.

I've filled up my dad's truck with donations and I still have more to come. I've requested boxes from my local drug store and taken them to church. (I'm sure the church appreciates that they're all liquor boxes but hey, they are the sturdiest ones.)

Yesterday, I ran into a friend in the parking lot. Our cars were parked side by side. I commented on the stuff in the back of her SUV. She said, "I'm headed to get rid of it at Goodwill." I have no problem with Goodwill -- I give them tons. But now, I'm in bazaar mode. She gave it all to me to add to the bazaar.

A couple of the things are so cute that I may have to try them on before I decide if they go to the church. I'm trying to be a good steward but I am not a saint. If those pants she bought in Rome fit me, I'm keeping them.

My drug store manager friend is saving more boxes for me. I have been accumulating piles of more stuff to add. I'm trying to do my part.

I've been doing this for many years and one of the biggest hits seems to be my books. Some church members go through them before the bazaar and pick what they want. (They pay for them.)

I walk for charities. I donate to various causes. In honor of my oldies, I support many veteran organizations. For the next ten days or so, I'm all about the bazaar.

I hope I get to go.

Religion, Sex and Politics

The rule of polite society: don't discuss religion, sex or politics. Probably money too. Here's another example where I break the rules. I don't want to inflict my theory or beliefs on you -- I want to know what you think.

Prior to the VP debate with Biden and Palin, we were having dinner with friends. I was dancing with both candidates -- where they could excel and where they might embarrass themselves. One of my closest friends disagreed with me.

I talk to him a lot. During every election of the last 12 years, he is my touchstone. On election night, we have talked repeatedly -- all night. I know I can call him. I know he will be awake.

On the way home from this dinner, the husband said, "I think he's really mad at you."

He was probably miffed at me. I'm sure I annoyed him. But I think I called him at least five times during the debate and he answered the phone every time.

Part of my love for this man is he allows me to be me. We're free to agree or disagree. He can throw up his hands and say, "I cannot believe you said that!" I can roll my eyes.

The next debate is tonight. I will call him.

The election is less than 30 days away and I will be calling him all night.

Man Hands

Although I look a lot like my mother, I share so many characteristics with my father and his side of the family. This is particularly apparent to me as I get older. My father's sisters (one is deceased) are/were little people. Not tall and small enough to get knocked over by a strong wind. I am also short and sort of petite. The other thing we most definitely have in common is our small hands and feet.

When I got married the first time, they sold my husband-to-be a gold band from the children section. (Why they make gold bands for children is a puzzler!)

The husband has a client and we have often socialized with them. We've been on corporate trips with them. She has man hands. At times, I cannot listen to the conversation because I become so obsessed with her hands. In my little pea brain, they are HUGE. She could probably wrestle a bear and win. I'm glad we're "hug you and kiss you on the cheek" people because a handshake with her could break my little bones.

While watching "Dancing with the Stars" the other night, Jan called to inform me that one of contestants has man hands.

I don't have man hands but I have graduated to oldie's hands.

Perspectives on Aging

Now that my oldies have passed on, I forget that the title of this blog is, "Living with the Oldies." The oldie I live with is me. The husband may be older in years but he's much younger in spirit. When his band plays, I am a ball of fire at first and then I can barely stay awake for the next sets.
My mom shared this with me. We agree it is fitting. I wish I could credit the author but I have no clue.

Getting Old is a Gift.

>> I am now, probably for the first time in my life, the person I have always wanted to be. Oh, not my body!
>> I sometime despair over my body, the wrinkles, the baggy eyes, and the sagging butt.
>> And often I am taken aback by that old person that lives in my mirror (who looks like my mother!) but I don't agonize over those things for long.
>> I would never trade my amazing friends, or my wonderful life, my loving family
>> for less gray hair or a flatter belly.
>> As I've aged, I've become more kind to myself and less critical of myself.
>> I've become my own friend.
>> I don't chide myself for eating that extra cookie or for not making my bed, or for buying that silly cement gecko that I didn't need but looks so avante garde on my patio.
>> I am entitled to a treat, to be messy, to be extravagant.
>> I have seen too many dear friends leave this world too soon, before they understood the great freedom that comes with aging.
>> Whose business is it if I choose to read or play on the computer until 4 AM and sleep until noon?
>> I will dance with myself to those wonderful tunes of the 60 &
70's.
>> And if I, at the same time, wish to weep over a lost love … I will.
>> I will walk the beach in a swim suit that is stretched over a bulging body,
and will dive into the waves with abandon if I choose to, despite the pitying glances from the jet set .
>> They, too, will get old.I know I am sometimes forgetful.
>> But there again, some of life is just as well forgotten.
>> And I eventually remember the important things.
>> Sure, over the years my heart has been broken.
>> How can your heart not break when you lose a loved one, or when a child suffers, or even when somebody's beloved pet gets hit by a car?
>> But broken hearts are what give us strength and understanding and compassion.
>> A heart never broken is pristine and sterile and will never know the joy of being imperfect.
>> I am so blessed to have lived long enough to have my hair turning gray and to have my youthful laughs be forever etched into deep grooves on my face.
>> So many have never laughed and so many have died before their hair could turn silver.
>> As you get older, it is easier to be positive; you care less about what other people think.
>> I don't question myself anymore; we've even earned the right to be wrong.
>> I like the person I have become.
>> I am not going to live forever, but while I am still here, I will not waste time lamenting what could have been or worrying about what will be.
>> And I shall eat dessert every single day. (If I feel like it.)

With apologies to the author, I changed a couple of lines. I also will not eat dessert every single day.