He's Got My Number

Hangdog is being transported from one hospital, where he checked out ok, to the VA hospital for the necessary evaluation before he can go back to the Home.

I answered the phone a few minutes ago and it was an EMT, traveling with my father-in-law in an ambulance. Pop needed to talk to me. The EMT is probably taking an oxygen moment. Good plan.

A while ago, I made these big flash cards for him with phone numbers. I forgot the engineering mind and the memory ability.

Meanwhile, the husband is pacing the VA facility. I've let him know that his father is safe and on the way.

The doctors call our home, our various cell phones, etc. We are well informed. Pop has memorized a couple of numbers. Unless he's hampered by a medical situation, I know the numbers he will call.

Ratios and Perspective

I'm addicted to numbers and I love math. I also love words so I'm trying to decide if that makes me a little smart or ultra-weird. No need to comment.

Writing is hard. If it's not raw and honest, it's not worth doing. There's also a balance so you don't throw too many people "under the bus," as the husband calls it.

Let me share some numbers with you:

For every thought and experience with the oldies, there were at least 10 where I resprected their privacy and did not write about it.

For every childhood memory of the daughter or the baby, there are 100 moments of glory or difficulties that are private and stay only with me.

For every fun story I've shared about the husband and our endless idiosyncrasies, there are 10,000 tears shed in laughter and pain that remain my memories. Mine alone.

For every friend who has leaned on me, I have put 100 lbs. more pressure on him or her.

For every vignette I share about my parents (who continue to be supportive of their little nutcase,} the five phone calls a day are not enough.

For everyone who thinks I've thrown them under the bus, I hope you realize that occasionally that three-ton bus is running over me.

My conscience is clear. Ten-four.

Numbers

I love numbers. (Self-diagnosis: Mildly autistic.) I count constantly, especially when I'm trying to get my brain to stop spinning so I can go to sleep.

Newspaper headlines or magazine cover lines immediately get my attention if they include a number:

10 Steps to a Healthier You.
One Out of 12 Live in Poverty.
Five Legal Documents You Should Complete.
20 Simple Ways to De clutter Your Life.
Six Sex Tips No One Ever Told You.
Eight Ways to Update Your Little Black Dress.
Seven Dinners in Seven Minutes or Less.

I'm thinking about writing my own series. Here are some of the headlines I'm considering:

Fifteen things the Dog Ate or Destroyed.
Only Six random pills discovered on the Floor -- When You know it's a Good Day.
Disaster Alert! When You Get Down to Five Pounds of Butter.
Ten Fun Ways to Celebrate Your 10th Fire.
18 Things You Never Knew You Could Bleach.
25 Things You Never Considered Frying.
150 Things You Forgot to Worry About.
Four Ways to Wear the Unabomber Hood.
Five Different Ways to Fall.
Seven New Guilt Trips You've Never Tried.

I'm not sure to whom I'll pitch this. I'll have to get my sources in order. Lucky for me, they're all around me.

How Much Do You Weigh?

There are certain questions that are not polite to ask. At least, that's what I was taught. Politics and religion are tricky topics. "How old are you?" used to be taboo but that seems to have changed. I'll give you my opinion on current political situations. I'm anxious to hear what others think. I'll tell you my religious affiliation and I love a respectful debate. For years I was coy about my age but I'm over that now. If you ask, I tell the truth.

I won't tell my weight.

When my "sister" was 2-years old, she told anyone and everyone within shouting distance that she weighed 28 lbs. The baby used to tell everyone his weight. I guess we pay so much attention to height and weight charts when they're children, it's natural for them to be fascinated with these numbers.

There's a scale in my bathroom. The husband gets on it every day. Occasionally, he tells me the number. I rarely step on it. I know where I am by how my clothes fit. Sometimes I put my luggage on it to make sure I won't be charged for a bag that weighs more than 50 lbs. I've put the dog on it. Other than that, it's just one more thing I trip over as I stumble to the shower.

Sometimes the workout girls discuss weight. It's usually vague comments, "I feel fat," etc. (There is not a fat person in the room.) Rarely are numbers thrown around. I'm in safe territory because if someone asks me, I can honestly say I don't know.

I went to the doctor yesterday for myself and the oldies. The first thing they do is put you on that huge, ominous scale. Then, THEY WRITE IT DOWN! Another quirk, but this is not fun for me. Thankfully, my doctor is an honorable guy and a great friend. I'm fascinated with numbers but this number will remain our secret.