[For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower left of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list of all the blogs.]
We’ve had quite a few storms over the last few weeks and though most of us are happy and relieved to have rain, it eventually wears us down. Spacing woild have been nice but instead we were hit with storm after storm with no breaks. Trudging to work and running errands and sloshing everywhere and avoiding dog walks becomes a bit depressing. So when the sun broke the other day I immediately took the dogs for a long walk. Everything was soggy and it was bitterly cold but we didn’t care. We loved every minute of it.
Each day when we return from our walks (when it’s not raining) we always stop by the mailbox. On this particular morning we had been on a long walk, and were all in a great mood. I had a day planned that involved errands, a little work in the yard which had been torn up by the storms and wind, and a few projects in the garage. I skimmed the mail envelopes and as I started toward the house one caught my eye. It was an odd sized envelope from Social Security. I opened the envelope and almost fainted. There on the first page was---my Medicare card.
I do not recall a more humbling experience in a very long time. I was frozen in place. The dogs tugged at their leashes but I was paralyzed. I started reading the materials in the envelope and just couldn’t believe what I was reading. I knew this day was coming of course but now that it was here I was stunned. Soon I would be 65 and I would be a card-carrying member of the Medicare system. I do not feel 65.
I have never had “age issues.” My birthdays have always been celebrations and I’ve embraced them happily. I believe we are only as old as we think we are and most days I’m about 16. In all of my almost 65 years I’ve only had one birthday that I “felt” and it happened to be my 38th birthday. That was how old my dad was when he died and when I hit 38 I couldn’t believe how young that was. I knew it was way too young when he died but it didn’t hit me the way it did then as it did when I turned 38. Soon my son will be 38 and observing him at the prime of his life and realizing my dad died at that age is hard to fathom even today. After that birthday all the other milestone birthdays were joyously celebrated by family and friends. I do not feel 65.
Many of us have health and body movement issues in my age group. Sore knees, bad backs, poor circulation, failing eyesight, arthritis, memory problems, and the list goes on. I suppose I have those too to some degree but I don’t feel them or give in to them when I do. I lead an active life and bop around my world like I’ve done for years. I retired at 62 so that I could do things, not sit in a rocking chair. [I do like to sit in a rocking chair though and listen to music and read or knit. But I’ve always liked to do that.] I feel energetic and bouncy most days. I keep up with new things that come along and try to keep an open mind. I am particularly interested in what younger people do and how they do it. I observe my 30- something kids and their friends and activities and I find what they do interesting. I make an effort to learn new things and keep up with technology. I do not feel 65.
To clarify, I do not behave like one of those older folks who are forcing themselves to remain youthful by unnatural and pathetic attempts to do so. I don’t go to clubs where young people hang out. I don’t troll for young men. I wear clothing that is suitable for my age group. I haven’t altered my appearance to appear younger though I do control gray hair with the help of hair products. But I’ve been doing that for years, long before the gray hairs appeared. I’ve done that because my hair has always been fine and hair color gives it a bit of body. I think I’ll be a candidate for eyelift surgery in a few years because the women in my family have droopy lids eventually and it’s uncomfortable. I behave age appropriately but with a light heart and mind. I do not feel 65.
Along with the Medicare package were instructions on what to do about obtaining a supplement. This blog isn’t specifically about Medicare so I’ll spare the reader my diatribe on our health care system and will save that for a future blog. But after reading the information I did contact my health care provider and am now a member of—Senior Advantage. I do not feel 65.
So now I’m a member of Kaiser and Senior Advantage. All in a couple of weeks. I truly can’t get a handle on how I feel about this but thank God for blogging. I do not feel depressed. That isn’t it. I can’t identify the feeling yet. I had hoped this blog would help me figure that out. My son and I went out to dinner last night and as I got dressed I looked at myself in the mirror. For the first time in a long time I didn’t see a 16-year-old face staring back at me. I saw the real me. It’s truly just shocking. I do not feel 65.
www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com
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Sunday, January 31, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
A Little OCD (Part 1/1)
[For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower left of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list of all the blogs.]
OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) is a disorder characterized by constant thoughts that produce anxiety. The afflicted believe the anxiety can be reduced by repetitive behaviors and/or compulsions. Constant washing of the hands, flipping light switches hundreds of times, opening and closing doors and containers relentlessly, and the list is long. Sometimes this disorder is often confused with people who are not truly OCD sufferers but rather are overly meticulous and perfectionists. This is often labeled OCD Personality Disorder and there are many related conditions.
Sometimes we use OCD to describe a boss who picks on us relentlessly, a coworker who is particularly neat and tidy, or a neighbor whose lawn is something one would see in Sunset Magazine. We most often label this disorder incorrectly because people who suffer from true OCD are often paralyzed by it and can barely function. People like the picky boss or fussy neighbor are often simply quirky or just odd. Or they have just a little OCD! Sometimes it’s in a good way like the person who maintains a lovely garden on a daily basis yet actually participates in other life activities. Sometimes we describe someone as “OCD perfect” because we ourselves are slobs.
Like most disorders there are many variations and levels of intensity. A wonderful TV show entitled Monk spent eight years depicting a person with severe OCD. Of course Adrian Monk, portrayed by Tony Shalhoub, was beautifully written. Early on in the series I read that many people with OCD loved the way Monk was handled by the writers and the actor.
I know many people with meticulous/perfectionist personality traits. I’m one of them. My behaviors do not rise to the level of bona fide OCD but as I’ve gotten older I have noticed an increase in my desire to have things “right.” And guess what? I know many people just like me.
I do not live in a pristine home environment. In fact, I have cats and dogs and my home is like a zoo on most days. Dog fur, cat fur, dog/cat “accidents,” dribbling of water and food, etc. Adrian Monk could not even visit my home. I also have a severe storage problem and I have way too many things scattered around my house. Over the years each time I’ve moved it’s been to a smaller house. Though I tossed as much as possible prior to each move many things are too important to me to dump.
I begin every day with my first obsession: making my bed. The minute my feet hit the floor I HAVE to make my bed. On days when I have an early morning appointment or something has happened (ants) and I don’t make the bed, I can’t wait until I finish whatever has stopped me from making my bed so that I can get it made. Further, I have to make it a certain way. If I don’t, I see it all day as I pass by the room and eventually remake it. Likewise, though I have way too many things scattered around my tiny home, I make sure on a daily basis that everything is at least neat and tidy. If I work on something and it begins to take on too many spaces I have to stop and put it back in some kind of order. I have to. I don’t just want to. I have to.
The next thing I do in the morning after the bed is made is head to the kitchen and make coffee and pet food. This process takes about 30 minutes. Before I can make coffee and pet food I have to check my entire counter surface for ant invasions. My neighborhood has a problem with ants almost year round. Once I ascertain I do not have an overnight invasion, I do the morning coffee and pet food routine. After that I have to completely wipe down the counters for fear of an invasion while I’m away from the kitchen. After the kitchen routine I hit the bathroom for dressing and teeth.
I no longer have dental insurance so I have a dental routine that would make my dentist envious. It takes about 20 minutes. If I can’t do this for whatever reason I feel a bit of anxiety because I’m so paranoid about keeping my teeth in perfect condition. I believe many seniors do this just because we know that our tooth days are numbered. A dentist can only help us to a point.
After the dental and dressing routine I come into my office and read and write emails to family and friends and check the online news stories. At this point my morning ritual/routine is complete and I have a sense of well-being. Or it’s my first cup of coffee, which by the way, I’m very particular about. If any of these morning routines get out of order I feel out of sorts all day. It’s that sense of well-being I seek so that I can have a productive day. By “productive day” that could mean simply sitting and reading all day or watching movies. But first---the morning routine/ritual must take place. Several times a day I make a trip through the house checking everything out.
It’s weird because I’m the only one here except for my pets. It’s unlikely they will move something but I feel compelled to check out the neatness level just the same. The truly weird thing is I often DO find something I missed in one of my earlier rounds. How can that be? Can we be slightly OCD and also myopic?
My semi-OCD behavior began in my office/marriage/children/divorce/night school years. I was on the run 24/7 trying to keep my life in order. When I realized I wasn’t accomplishing what I needed to accomplish I started being organized with the help of self-help books on the topic, in particular, How to Take Control of Your Time and Your Life by Alan Lakein. Of all the books I’ve read on the topic, and I think I may have read them all, his suggestions work the best for me. As a result I have been able to accomplish many things I’ve always wanted to do in life and all the while raised kids and worked full time and went to night school and wrote a book and bought a house, retire earlier than I thought I would, etc. Without being organized I’m not sure I’d be where I am today.
One way to do this for me was to keep everything as neat and tidy and organized as possible. At work I kept my desk so neat that coworkers often made jokes about my lack of anything to do. When I had something new to do I had to have my desk in order and I would clear it of all other tasks and neatly stack other work in piles far away from my current task. I currently do the same thing. I have a home office and in this office I do a multitude of tasks related to my small craft business, my book writing, and personal projects.
This is a small room and my “stuff” doesn’t fit well in here. Therefore, I spend a good amount of time each day organizing and reorganizing my work area as I go from task to task. I also do multiple tasks per day but just a little on each task. This way though it will take me longer to finish all the things I want to finish in a month or a few weeks, I will finish them because I work on them a little each day. That’s a major principle of Alan Lakein’s book. What struck me most was that if you do not touch the task at all because it’s huge and overwhelming it will sit there and never get done. If you do just 15 minutes on that task a day, without fail, it WILL get done.
I wish I could just launch into a new task without the hassle of completely putting away the other task, but I just can’t do it. Something inside me makes me keep things OCD neat. That’s the phrase we all use today to explain someone’s behavior when they operate the way I do. Yet, if someone who stopped by viewed my office they would think it was messy! It isn’t messy but it is crowded. It’s in perfect order and everything is in its own container and in its own position. It’s organized chaos. It could also use a good dusting.
Oddly enough, because I’m so organized I am also spontaneous. I found it hard to be spontaneous when I had to come back to a mess or a list of things undone so gradually over time I started organizing my life in the early morning hours before work. That way if something came up later in the day I knew everything at home was in order and I could go somewhere. People with any OCD traits, however small, can’t be spontaneous unless they are organized. I have friends who could work all day, go out after work, go to work the next day, go out after work, and so on for many days. Then they spent the weekend entertaining or going out or going away. I’d have to be placed in a padded cell. After many days of their not attending to mail, bills, groceries, and laundry, they would complain for days and days about how tired they were trying to catch up. But then they would start all over again. Procrastinators and OCD folks don’t “get” each other.
I also have issues with food preparation. Mostly it’s because of the anthill I live on but it’s also because I have pets and pet fur and dander floats through the air no matter how often I vacuum or dust. So before I begin meal prep I do a kitchen cleaning. As I prepare the food nothing ever touches the counter tops. Everything is done on cutting boards, different boards for each new food. As soon as the meal is done the trash is taken outside. I am a fanatic with food cleanliness and storage and keeping the kitchen clean. I do this for health purposes but also because of the aforementioned ant problem. This habit has now truly grown into a huge undertaking to simply prepare a sandwich. When I prepare a large meal it’s aerobic.
Errands also produce a certain amount of anxiety in me. When I know I have to run errands I check my ongoing comprehensive list of things I need (lists that I keep in each room so that if I run out of something in my office I put it on the list sitting on my desk otherwise I’ll forget—that’s not OCD, it’s being 64), places to go, and in the order to get there. Sometimes I’ll start on my way only to discover that I’m thirty minutes too early and the store isn’t open (Beverly’s, Michael’s, etc.). For a person who shops from a list this presents a problem. I either have to wait or go to the next place on the list and then come back. That drives me nuts. It also turns an hour’s worth of errands into sometimes two hours. I like to excuse this behavior by saying I try to reduce my trips and use less gas. Yeah, right.
As to shopping, I never ever go shopping without a list. I don’t hop in the car and head to the stores. I also never run out of anything. Now that’s totally OCD and I know it. On the rare occasion I do get close to running out of something I start planning other errands I could possibly run at the same time just to pick up milk. Do I need gas? Do I have to go to the post office? Dry cleaners? Is there anything else I can add to the trip on the way to getting milk? Sometimes I do without rather than screw up my system.
People reading this may think that I’m being silly because what I’ve listed isn’t really all that obsessive or compulsive, just organized. But there’s more and some of it I don’t feel like revealing. It’s not scary but a little absurd and even I know that. But what I’ve sort of glossed over and will now admit is this: it BOTHERS me when my bed is unmade. It BOTHERS me if things aren’t put away and in their place. It BOTHERS me to run errands in a haphazard manner. The result of things like this bothering me is that it makes me overly organized for the remainder of the day. It’s like if one area has failed me that morning then the rest of the day I have to make up for it. And that’s a little OCD in my book. Maybe it’s a lot. I don’t want to know.
www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com
[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.]
OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder) is a disorder characterized by constant thoughts that produce anxiety. The afflicted believe the anxiety can be reduced by repetitive behaviors and/or compulsions. Constant washing of the hands, flipping light switches hundreds of times, opening and closing doors and containers relentlessly, and the list is long. Sometimes this disorder is often confused with people who are not truly OCD sufferers but rather are overly meticulous and perfectionists. This is often labeled OCD Personality Disorder and there are many related conditions.
Sometimes we use OCD to describe a boss who picks on us relentlessly, a coworker who is particularly neat and tidy, or a neighbor whose lawn is something one would see in Sunset Magazine. We most often label this disorder incorrectly because people who suffer from true OCD are often paralyzed by it and can barely function. People like the picky boss or fussy neighbor are often simply quirky or just odd. Or they have just a little OCD! Sometimes it’s in a good way like the person who maintains a lovely garden on a daily basis yet actually participates in other life activities. Sometimes we describe someone as “OCD perfect” because we ourselves are slobs.
Like most disorders there are many variations and levels of intensity. A wonderful TV show entitled Monk spent eight years depicting a person with severe OCD. Of course Adrian Monk, portrayed by Tony Shalhoub, was beautifully written. Early on in the series I read that many people with OCD loved the way Monk was handled by the writers and the actor.
I know many people with meticulous/perfectionist personality traits. I’m one of them. My behaviors do not rise to the level of bona fide OCD but as I’ve gotten older I have noticed an increase in my desire to have things “right.” And guess what? I know many people just like me.
I do not live in a pristine home environment. In fact, I have cats and dogs and my home is like a zoo on most days. Dog fur, cat fur, dog/cat “accidents,” dribbling of water and food, etc. Adrian Monk could not even visit my home. I also have a severe storage problem and I have way too many things scattered around my house. Over the years each time I’ve moved it’s been to a smaller house. Though I tossed as much as possible prior to each move many things are too important to me to dump.
I begin every day with my first obsession: making my bed. The minute my feet hit the floor I HAVE to make my bed. On days when I have an early morning appointment or something has happened (ants) and I don’t make the bed, I can’t wait until I finish whatever has stopped me from making my bed so that I can get it made. Further, I have to make it a certain way. If I don’t, I see it all day as I pass by the room and eventually remake it. Likewise, though I have way too many things scattered around my tiny home, I make sure on a daily basis that everything is at least neat and tidy. If I work on something and it begins to take on too many spaces I have to stop and put it back in some kind of order. I have to. I don’t just want to. I have to.
The next thing I do in the morning after the bed is made is head to the kitchen and make coffee and pet food. This process takes about 30 minutes. Before I can make coffee and pet food I have to check my entire counter surface for ant invasions. My neighborhood has a problem with ants almost year round. Once I ascertain I do not have an overnight invasion, I do the morning coffee and pet food routine. After that I have to completely wipe down the counters for fear of an invasion while I’m away from the kitchen. After the kitchen routine I hit the bathroom for dressing and teeth.
I no longer have dental insurance so I have a dental routine that would make my dentist envious. It takes about 20 minutes. If I can’t do this for whatever reason I feel a bit of anxiety because I’m so paranoid about keeping my teeth in perfect condition. I believe many seniors do this just because we know that our tooth days are numbered. A dentist can only help us to a point.
After the dental and dressing routine I come into my office and read and write emails to family and friends and check the online news stories. At this point my morning ritual/routine is complete and I have a sense of well-being. Or it’s my first cup of coffee, which by the way, I’m very particular about. If any of these morning routines get out of order I feel out of sorts all day. It’s that sense of well-being I seek so that I can have a productive day. By “productive day” that could mean simply sitting and reading all day or watching movies. But first---the morning routine/ritual must take place. Several times a day I make a trip through the house checking everything out.
It’s weird because I’m the only one here except for my pets. It’s unlikely they will move something but I feel compelled to check out the neatness level just the same. The truly weird thing is I often DO find something I missed in one of my earlier rounds. How can that be? Can we be slightly OCD and also myopic?
My semi-OCD behavior began in my office/marriage/children/divorce/night school years. I was on the run 24/7 trying to keep my life in order. When I realized I wasn’t accomplishing what I needed to accomplish I started being organized with the help of self-help books on the topic, in particular, How to Take Control of Your Time and Your Life by Alan Lakein. Of all the books I’ve read on the topic, and I think I may have read them all, his suggestions work the best for me. As a result I have been able to accomplish many things I’ve always wanted to do in life and all the while raised kids and worked full time and went to night school and wrote a book and bought a house, retire earlier than I thought I would, etc. Without being organized I’m not sure I’d be where I am today.
One way to do this for me was to keep everything as neat and tidy and organized as possible. At work I kept my desk so neat that coworkers often made jokes about my lack of anything to do. When I had something new to do I had to have my desk in order and I would clear it of all other tasks and neatly stack other work in piles far away from my current task. I currently do the same thing. I have a home office and in this office I do a multitude of tasks related to my small craft business, my book writing, and personal projects.
This is a small room and my “stuff” doesn’t fit well in here. Therefore, I spend a good amount of time each day organizing and reorganizing my work area as I go from task to task. I also do multiple tasks per day but just a little on each task. This way though it will take me longer to finish all the things I want to finish in a month or a few weeks, I will finish them because I work on them a little each day. That’s a major principle of Alan Lakein’s book. What struck me most was that if you do not touch the task at all because it’s huge and overwhelming it will sit there and never get done. If you do just 15 minutes on that task a day, without fail, it WILL get done.
I wish I could just launch into a new task without the hassle of completely putting away the other task, but I just can’t do it. Something inside me makes me keep things OCD neat. That’s the phrase we all use today to explain someone’s behavior when they operate the way I do. Yet, if someone who stopped by viewed my office they would think it was messy! It isn’t messy but it is crowded. It’s in perfect order and everything is in its own container and in its own position. It’s organized chaos. It could also use a good dusting.
Oddly enough, because I’m so organized I am also spontaneous. I found it hard to be spontaneous when I had to come back to a mess or a list of things undone so gradually over time I started organizing my life in the early morning hours before work. That way if something came up later in the day I knew everything at home was in order and I could go somewhere. People with any OCD traits, however small, can’t be spontaneous unless they are organized. I have friends who could work all day, go out after work, go to work the next day, go out after work, and so on for many days. Then they spent the weekend entertaining or going out or going away. I’d have to be placed in a padded cell. After many days of their not attending to mail, bills, groceries, and laundry, they would complain for days and days about how tired they were trying to catch up. But then they would start all over again. Procrastinators and OCD folks don’t “get” each other.
I also have issues with food preparation. Mostly it’s because of the anthill I live on but it’s also because I have pets and pet fur and dander floats through the air no matter how often I vacuum or dust. So before I begin meal prep I do a kitchen cleaning. As I prepare the food nothing ever touches the counter tops. Everything is done on cutting boards, different boards for each new food. As soon as the meal is done the trash is taken outside. I am a fanatic with food cleanliness and storage and keeping the kitchen clean. I do this for health purposes but also because of the aforementioned ant problem. This habit has now truly grown into a huge undertaking to simply prepare a sandwich. When I prepare a large meal it’s aerobic.
Errands also produce a certain amount of anxiety in me. When I know I have to run errands I check my ongoing comprehensive list of things I need (lists that I keep in each room so that if I run out of something in my office I put it on the list sitting on my desk otherwise I’ll forget—that’s not OCD, it’s being 64), places to go, and in the order to get there. Sometimes I’ll start on my way only to discover that I’m thirty minutes too early and the store isn’t open (Beverly’s, Michael’s, etc.). For a person who shops from a list this presents a problem. I either have to wait or go to the next place on the list and then come back. That drives me nuts. It also turns an hour’s worth of errands into sometimes two hours. I like to excuse this behavior by saying I try to reduce my trips and use less gas. Yeah, right.
As to shopping, I never ever go shopping without a list. I don’t hop in the car and head to the stores. I also never run out of anything. Now that’s totally OCD and I know it. On the rare occasion I do get close to running out of something I start planning other errands I could possibly run at the same time just to pick up milk. Do I need gas? Do I have to go to the post office? Dry cleaners? Is there anything else I can add to the trip on the way to getting milk? Sometimes I do without rather than screw up my system.
People reading this may think that I’m being silly because what I’ve listed isn’t really all that obsessive or compulsive, just organized. But there’s more and some of it I don’t feel like revealing. It’s not scary but a little absurd and even I know that. But what I’ve sort of glossed over and will now admit is this: it BOTHERS me when my bed is unmade. It BOTHERS me if things aren’t put away and in their place. It BOTHERS me to run errands in a haphazard manner. The result of things like this bothering me is that it makes me overly organized for the remainder of the day. It’s like if one area has failed me that morning then the rest of the day I have to make up for it. And that’s a little OCD in my book. Maybe it’s a lot. I don’t want to know.
www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com
[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.]
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Food Poisoning (Part 1 of 1)
[For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower left of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list of all the blogs.]
Not long ago I tried a new restaurant in town with friends. It was fantastic. The food was fresh and well prepared, the décor was authentic, the restaurant was clean, and the service was outstanding. After lunch my friends returned to work and I came home. I’m retired now and usually when I eat out I always try to come home after rather than run errands or go to a movie or whatever. The reason is, I have been the victim of food poisoning so many times I only eat out now with fear and trepidation. And I’m not alone. I know several people who only visit certain restaurants. Yet, there’s still a chance that the food the restaurant purchases is contaminated even if they are a well run establishment with safety their highest priority. I once was a participant in a potluck at work. Over half of us came down with food poisoning and many ended up in the emergency room. A friend of mind attends potlucks when necessary but pretends to eat.
Food poisoning, in all its nasty forms, has been around for thousands of years. It is understandable that food would spoil quickly before the days of refrigeration and before people were aware their food needed special care to avoid death, but it seems odd we have so much of it today, in this country in particular. However, indeed we do and it’s increasing.
The problem is the result of mass processing of foods by thousands of companies, which is then handled by hundreds of thousands of employees. Food is mass-produced in enormous quantities and the variety of foods we can purchase is staggering. Just the past few days even Tylenol recalled thousands of their products, which were contaminated with mold. They determined the mold came from shipping pallets made of wood which contained the mold spores that made their way into the packaged and sealed products prior to shipment. Tylenol is not food but we do consume it and trust that medication of all things will be safe. We also import food from other countries. They are required to meet food safety standards before shipping. I have zero faith in that process.
Buying food not processed in any way by another country is very difficult. Though the label may say “packaged in Modesto,” the package itself could be from—dare I say it--China. Much of the beautiful fruit and vegetables we see in our super stores are from Mexico, Central and South America, and other parts of the world. There is some concern that terrorists may be able to hurt us by simply contaminating the foods that are imported for our consumption.
Over the past 20 or so years I have fallen victim to a variety of food poisonings from restaurants and potlucks. I do not recall a time I have ever been sick from food I’ve prepared at home. Sometimes we think we have the flu when in fact we are suffering from some form of food poisoning. If it's food poisoning caused by bacteria or their toxins, then nausea, abdominal pain, diarrhea and vomiting can begin as soon as an hour after consumption. Stomach flu has similar symptoms. Viruses that afflict the stomach and intestines--viral gastroenteritis, cause the stomach flu. These viruses are spread by the fecal-oral route and can persist on objects like doorknobs or on food surfaces for days. We feel miserable with both and both are hard to avoid. But several TV “doctors” have increasingly blamed illnesses that come on quickly or hours after eating a meal on food and not the flu. When people visit doctors after such an illness takes them by surprise, most often the doctors suspect food poisoning. I believe flu patterns are different from food poisoning patterns. In a potluck incident, it’s obvious after just a few questions.
I can tell if I’m sick from food poisoning because for me the problem usually develops very soon after eating the suspect food. Eggs seem to bother me when eaten in a restaurant but never at home. I believe it’s the frequency of grill cleaning or lack thereof. It may also be the egg and whatever storage it sat in before sale to a distributor. I always ordered my eggs scrambled well and still had the problem. I stopped ordering eggs about a year ago. I almost never order meat in restaurants for the same reason. Things that live in water are often a problem. Fortunately, I do not like things that live in the water except to admire them. Quality control of things that live in the water is of the highest importance in a restaurant. Pick those restaurants with caution. Employee hygiene is often blamed for food poisoning but management stretching their food dollars and keeping food after it’s lost its prime (and not staffing an adequate cleaning schedule) plays heavily into food industry problems. Take a peek at local county websites that list restaurant safety and cleanliness ratings.
Over the years I have spent a good amount of time studying food preparation and storage because of that problem. I had a relative who worked for Federal Food & Drug. I was surprised he could eat at all after some of the horrific stories he told us about when inspecting restaurants and stores. Even the famous cooking shows now include explanations on the proper way to prepare food in the kitchen, especially how to handle chicken, and how to clean surfaces and hands to prevent problems.
When I prepare and store food I am OCD careful. I could probably write an entire blog on just my food prep routine. Before I prepare a meal I first make sure my hands and food surfaces are cleaned. The food is then carefully unwrapped over the sink so that any crumbs or drips are not spread over a cutting board or counter top. I do not use the same cutting surface for preparing all my food items. Each food item I prepare gets a new cutting board or a thoroughly cleaned cutting board. Once the food is prepared and consumed, leftovers are placed in the frig and are tossed if not consumed in a day or two, depending on the leftover. Some can be frozen. After the meal the kitchen is swabbed with cleanser. I also seem to live on an anthill so it’s another reason to keep the area very clean.
Because I have a pristine food prep style I believe it may be a contributing factor to why I get so sick when I eat out. I don’t purchase many processed foods which cuts down on contamination possibilities. I also don’t eat out a lot so that when I do my stomach, which is used to a super clean food environment, may be too “delicate” to eat in a less than perfect environment.
A year or so ago I took a 6-week class on nutrition and preparation and storage was discussed in almost every class. Almost every person in the class had a food horror story to share. We were all surprised but then we discussed all the ways we get our food and the places our foods come from and how foods are stored and handled and we were amazed we weren’t all dead. We also discussed that most deaths in developing nations are almost entirely caused by lack of clean water and food.
I can’t even imagine what is happening in Haiti now. Many people who survived the earthquake and the following days will later die because of food and water contamination. This applies to the rescue workers and medical personnel. At some point in a given day or week they too may ingest something they believe is safe but it may not be. They are arriving with packaged foods but it seems unrealistic that they will be able to have enough available to them when in desperate situations. Eventually they may have to eat or drink something not carefully sealed in a nice clean container. The earthquake will keep on giving for a long time.
[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.]
Not long ago I tried a new restaurant in town with friends. It was fantastic. The food was fresh and well prepared, the décor was authentic, the restaurant was clean, and the service was outstanding. After lunch my friends returned to work and I came home. I’m retired now and usually when I eat out I always try to come home after rather than run errands or go to a movie or whatever. The reason is, I have been the victim of food poisoning so many times I only eat out now with fear and trepidation. And I’m not alone. I know several people who only visit certain restaurants. Yet, there’s still a chance that the food the restaurant purchases is contaminated even if they are a well run establishment with safety their highest priority. I once was a participant in a potluck at work. Over half of us came down with food poisoning and many ended up in the emergency room. A friend of mind attends potlucks when necessary but pretends to eat.
Food poisoning, in all its nasty forms, has been around for thousands of years. It is understandable that food would spoil quickly before the days of refrigeration and before people were aware their food needed special care to avoid death, but it seems odd we have so much of it today, in this country in particular. However, indeed we do and it’s increasing.
The problem is the result of mass processing of foods by thousands of companies, which is then handled by hundreds of thousands of employees. Food is mass-produced in enormous quantities and the variety of foods we can purchase is staggering. Just the past few days even Tylenol recalled thousands of their products, which were contaminated with mold. They determined the mold came from shipping pallets made of wood which contained the mold spores that made their way into the packaged and sealed products prior to shipment. Tylenol is not food but we do consume it and trust that medication of all things will be safe. We also import food from other countries. They are required to meet food safety standards before shipping. I have zero faith in that process.
Buying food not processed in any way by another country is very difficult. Though the label may say “packaged in Modesto,” the package itself could be from—dare I say it--China. Much of the beautiful fruit and vegetables we see in our super stores are from Mexico, Central and South America, and other parts of the world. There is some concern that terrorists may be able to hurt us by simply contaminating the foods that are imported for our consumption.
Over the past 20 or so years I have fallen victim to a variety of food poisonings from restaurants and potlucks. I do not recall a time I have ever been sick from food I’ve prepared at home. Sometimes we think we have the flu when in fact we are suffering from some form of food poisoning. If it's food poisoning caused by bacteria or their toxins, then nausea, abdominal pain, diarrhea and vomiting can begin as soon as an hour after consumption. Stomach flu has similar symptoms. Viruses that afflict the stomach and intestines--viral gastroenteritis, cause the stomach flu. These viruses are spread by the fecal-oral route and can persist on objects like doorknobs or on food surfaces for days. We feel miserable with both and both are hard to avoid. But several TV “doctors” have increasingly blamed illnesses that come on quickly or hours after eating a meal on food and not the flu. When people visit doctors after such an illness takes them by surprise, most often the doctors suspect food poisoning. I believe flu patterns are different from food poisoning patterns. In a potluck incident, it’s obvious after just a few questions.
I can tell if I’m sick from food poisoning because for me the problem usually develops very soon after eating the suspect food. Eggs seem to bother me when eaten in a restaurant but never at home. I believe it’s the frequency of grill cleaning or lack thereof. It may also be the egg and whatever storage it sat in before sale to a distributor. I always ordered my eggs scrambled well and still had the problem. I stopped ordering eggs about a year ago. I almost never order meat in restaurants for the same reason. Things that live in water are often a problem. Fortunately, I do not like things that live in the water except to admire them. Quality control of things that live in the water is of the highest importance in a restaurant. Pick those restaurants with caution. Employee hygiene is often blamed for food poisoning but management stretching their food dollars and keeping food after it’s lost its prime (and not staffing an adequate cleaning schedule) plays heavily into food industry problems. Take a peek at local county websites that list restaurant safety and cleanliness ratings.
Over the years I have spent a good amount of time studying food preparation and storage because of that problem. I had a relative who worked for Federal Food & Drug. I was surprised he could eat at all after some of the horrific stories he told us about when inspecting restaurants and stores. Even the famous cooking shows now include explanations on the proper way to prepare food in the kitchen, especially how to handle chicken, and how to clean surfaces and hands to prevent problems.
When I prepare and store food I am OCD careful. I could probably write an entire blog on just my food prep routine. Before I prepare a meal I first make sure my hands and food surfaces are cleaned. The food is then carefully unwrapped over the sink so that any crumbs or drips are not spread over a cutting board or counter top. I do not use the same cutting surface for preparing all my food items. Each food item I prepare gets a new cutting board or a thoroughly cleaned cutting board. Once the food is prepared and consumed, leftovers are placed in the frig and are tossed if not consumed in a day or two, depending on the leftover. Some can be frozen. After the meal the kitchen is swabbed with cleanser. I also seem to live on an anthill so it’s another reason to keep the area very clean.
Because I have a pristine food prep style I believe it may be a contributing factor to why I get so sick when I eat out. I don’t purchase many processed foods which cuts down on contamination possibilities. I also don’t eat out a lot so that when I do my stomach, which is used to a super clean food environment, may be too “delicate” to eat in a less than perfect environment.
A year or so ago I took a 6-week class on nutrition and preparation and storage was discussed in almost every class. Almost every person in the class had a food horror story to share. We were all surprised but then we discussed all the ways we get our food and the places our foods come from and how foods are stored and handled and we were amazed we weren’t all dead. We also discussed that most deaths in developing nations are almost entirely caused by lack of clean water and food.
I can’t even imagine what is happening in Haiti now. Many people who survived the earthquake and the following days will later die because of food and water contamination. This applies to the rescue workers and medical personnel. At some point in a given day or week they too may ingest something they believe is safe but it may not be. They are arriving with packaged foods but it seems unrealistic that they will be able to have enough available to them when in desperate situations. Eventually they may have to eat or drink something not carefully sealed in a nice clean container. The earthquake will keep on giving for a long time.
[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.]
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Bad Words Are Not Always Swear Words (Part 1/1)
[For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower left of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list of all the blogs.]
I’ve been following the discussion whether to say “two thousand and ten” or more simply “twenty ten.” I think 20-10 sounds better and over the last few days I have heard the latter more often than the former. People who study language believe 20-10 follows what we’re used to such as “nineteen fifty.” For me it sounds more compact. Everyone agrees both are correct so it will be a matter of preference and eventually we’ll all end up saying it one way or the other. My bet is on 20-10.
Some words and phrases are used so often we have desensitized ourselves to their meaning. One example is the expression “Oh, my God.” This expression became so ordinary that it was shortened to OMG to accommodate text messaging. “Oh, my God” has been used for as long as I can remember and I have myself used it constantly, though I am trying to break that habit. I’m not breaking the habit because it offends, though I’m sure it does. I just don’t like it. It doesn’t make sense most of the time. If one is praying then it makes sense. If one is watching football and it’s shouted out to the world when a player does something amazing it doesn’t sound right. It’s a sensitivity issue for the devout. For me it’s just not a smart way to express a thought.
I was born and raised Catholic and heard “Oh, dear Lord” many times as I grew up and sometimes by priests (though never by nuns). I’m not certain how these expressions were developed but they’ve been with us since the beginning of religion. Other religions have similar expressions. And in many languages. I knew many of these expressions in Portuguese at one time. I don’t think they were ever meant in a disrespectful way when delivered after a shock but sometimes they are used in an ordinary way like the above-referenced football game.
As people move from “Oh, my God” they struggle and search for a more acceptable ending and “gosh” is usually what they come up with. Sounds stupid. Doesn’t have the same punch as “Oh, my God.” “Oh, my God” became particularly popular when Matthew Perry’s character, Chandler Bing on Friends, used it in a very comical way, an exaggerated and slow “OH----MY----GOD!” Almost everyone started saying it that way. There are great alternatives. “Gosh” is not one of them. If we witness a car crash instead of “Oh, my God” how about “Oh s--t”? Too raw? Perhaps. But it isn’t blasphemous and won’t offend the devout as much. Or maybe it will because it is a bit indelicate. Sometimes people say “Oh, Jesus Christ” or a variety of puzzling variations. I’ve often said and heard “Jesus H. Christ.” What does the “H” stand for? I haven’t heard that on regular TV but I have heard it in movies. I’m trying to break that one too.
Switching from “Oh, my God” to “Oh, my gosh” is instantly recognized as what it is—an awkward last minute substitution. It takes the listener or viewer or reader out of the “moment” where the action is taking place and instead we are momentarily paying attention to the weird “gosh” rather than the content of the entire sentence or paragraph.
It’s the same with a telephone number in a movie. Movie folks have mostly changed phone numbers to the fake prefix of “555” such as 555-6547. It’s to prevent audience members with good memories from calling the numbers and annoying someone in the middle of the night who happens to be unlucky enough to have that number. If it’s a popular movie that person could end up changing their number after thousands of calls. I guess it’s happened. But the resolution they selected was stupid. The writers should give it up and instead say, “Call Bob” and leave out “Call Bob at 555-6547.” IT DOESN’T FOOL ANY OF US. We all know it’s a fake number. When I hear “555” I’m pushed right back into reality because it’s not real and it’s overused and just dumb. Maybe it’s also lazy.
Last New Year’s Day I resolved to stop swearing as much as I do and to also choose better words when proclaiming a feeling. It’s been a tough year. It’s sort of like giving up smoking. I’ve been swearing for most of my life. I started young; about the time I started smoking. I think I thought it was cool. I wasn’t raised by a sailor (actually, I was, but he didn’t swear in front of me), but it’s an era thing. Swearing and smoking were big in my youth.
Another word I have never used and vow to never use is “texted,” which is pronounced text-ed. I looked it up and it’s actually correct but it sounds horrible. Just because you can add a suffix to a word doesn’t mean you should. Some just don’t work. Instead of saying “I texted my mom” why not stretch the vocabulary just a bit and say “I sent a text to my mom.” Instead of “he texted me” why not “he sent me a text.” After more in-depth research on this word on the Internet I found a great deal of debate on the topic. The feeling is people will get used to it and not find it offensive or strange over time. Another opinion is that many people don’t find it offensive or odd at all. It’s a matter of one’s current vocabulary usage in general. “I petted my dog.” The problem is the consonant “t” with the suffix “ed.” It’s an awkward combination and the enlightened among us should try hard not to get swept away with its use. It isn’t a swear word but I’m including it herein because it’s a bad word.
Speaking of swear words, some swear words are acceptable and some are not. Sometimes a word can be bad and good at the same time, such as “bitch” (a female dog) and “bitch” (a mean woman). I’m not going to launch into a George Carlin routine but there are some great YouTube videos of George explaining language. I tried to post the link but today eBlogger isn't letting me do that.
For many years I used the word “crap” as in “Oh, crap, I dropped the lettuce.” I’m trying not to do that anymore. Sometimes we say “that’s crap.” All of it just doesn’t sound right to me anymore and I don’t know why. So I have switched from “crap” to “crappola.” For some reason it doesn’t sound as, well, crappy to me. Instead of “what a piece of crap” I have switched to “what a piece of crappola.” And we all know the other word that can be slipped into that sentence but I’m not sure eBlogger would allow it even though this blog is about words. I’m not using words to be crude in this context and I hope eBlogger agrees with me and let’s some of this pass. I’ve left out the really bad words.
Depending on a person’s age, grammar and word usage can change over time. Punctuation has changed a bit since my grammar school days. It’s hard to change one’s punctuation style if it’s been done that way an entire lifetime. A friend and I discovered that an east coast education is different from a west coast education. She learned punctuation styles quite unlike what I learned. We also had an age difference so it was very interesting when we worked together on large legal documents because we both had our different grammar school teachers ringing in our heads. [The debate surrounding “different than” and “different from” still rages. However, most agree it’s better to say “different from” as above.]
So a hit man kills someone and a witness says, “Oh, my gosh. What the fudge just happened? Oh, fudge, oh fudge, or fudge, man. Quick, call his mean wife at 555-6547. Fudge, man. Oh, fudge, man. Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh.” That’s just not going to work. Dagnabbit.
[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the auth
I’ve been following the discussion whether to say “two thousand and ten” or more simply “twenty ten.” I think 20-10 sounds better and over the last few days I have heard the latter more often than the former. People who study language believe 20-10 follows what we’re used to such as “nineteen fifty.” For me it sounds more compact. Everyone agrees both are correct so it will be a matter of preference and eventually we’ll all end up saying it one way or the other. My bet is on 20-10.
Some words and phrases are used so often we have desensitized ourselves to their meaning. One example is the expression “Oh, my God.” This expression became so ordinary that it was shortened to OMG to accommodate text messaging. “Oh, my God” has been used for as long as I can remember and I have myself used it constantly, though I am trying to break that habit. I’m not breaking the habit because it offends, though I’m sure it does. I just don’t like it. It doesn’t make sense most of the time. If one is praying then it makes sense. If one is watching football and it’s shouted out to the world when a player does something amazing it doesn’t sound right. It’s a sensitivity issue for the devout. For me it’s just not a smart way to express a thought.
I was born and raised Catholic and heard “Oh, dear Lord” many times as I grew up and sometimes by priests (though never by nuns). I’m not certain how these expressions were developed but they’ve been with us since the beginning of religion. Other religions have similar expressions. And in many languages. I knew many of these expressions in Portuguese at one time. I don’t think they were ever meant in a disrespectful way when delivered after a shock but sometimes they are used in an ordinary way like the above-referenced football game.
As people move from “Oh, my God” they struggle and search for a more acceptable ending and “gosh” is usually what they come up with. Sounds stupid. Doesn’t have the same punch as “Oh, my God.” “Oh, my God” became particularly popular when Matthew Perry’s character, Chandler Bing on Friends, used it in a very comical way, an exaggerated and slow “OH----MY----GOD!” Almost everyone started saying it that way. There are great alternatives. “Gosh” is not one of them. If we witness a car crash instead of “Oh, my God” how about “Oh s--t”? Too raw? Perhaps. But it isn’t blasphemous and won’t offend the devout as much. Or maybe it will because it is a bit indelicate. Sometimes people say “Oh, Jesus Christ” or a variety of puzzling variations. I’ve often said and heard “Jesus H. Christ.” What does the “H” stand for? I haven’t heard that on regular TV but I have heard it in movies. I’m trying to break that one too.
Switching from “Oh, my God” to “Oh, my gosh” is instantly recognized as what it is—an awkward last minute substitution. It takes the listener or viewer or reader out of the “moment” where the action is taking place and instead we are momentarily paying attention to the weird “gosh” rather than the content of the entire sentence or paragraph.
It’s the same with a telephone number in a movie. Movie folks have mostly changed phone numbers to the fake prefix of “555” such as 555-6547. It’s to prevent audience members with good memories from calling the numbers and annoying someone in the middle of the night who happens to be unlucky enough to have that number. If it’s a popular movie that person could end up changing their number after thousands of calls. I guess it’s happened. But the resolution they selected was stupid. The writers should give it up and instead say, “Call Bob” and leave out “Call Bob at 555-6547.” IT DOESN’T FOOL ANY OF US. We all know it’s a fake number. When I hear “555” I’m pushed right back into reality because it’s not real and it’s overused and just dumb. Maybe it’s also lazy.
Last New Year’s Day I resolved to stop swearing as much as I do and to also choose better words when proclaiming a feeling. It’s been a tough year. It’s sort of like giving up smoking. I’ve been swearing for most of my life. I started young; about the time I started smoking. I think I thought it was cool. I wasn’t raised by a sailor (actually, I was, but he didn’t swear in front of me), but it’s an era thing. Swearing and smoking were big in my youth.
Another word I have never used and vow to never use is “texted,” which is pronounced text-ed. I looked it up and it’s actually correct but it sounds horrible. Just because you can add a suffix to a word doesn’t mean you should. Some just don’t work. Instead of saying “I texted my mom” why not stretch the vocabulary just a bit and say “I sent a text to my mom.” Instead of “he texted me” why not “he sent me a text.” After more in-depth research on this word on the Internet I found a great deal of debate on the topic. The feeling is people will get used to it and not find it offensive or strange over time. Another opinion is that many people don’t find it offensive or odd at all. It’s a matter of one’s current vocabulary usage in general. “I petted my dog.” The problem is the consonant “t” with the suffix “ed.” It’s an awkward combination and the enlightened among us should try hard not to get swept away with its use. It isn’t a swear word but I’m including it herein because it’s a bad word.
Speaking of swear words, some swear words are acceptable and some are not. Sometimes a word can be bad and good at the same time, such as “bitch” (a female dog) and “bitch” (a mean woman). I’m not going to launch into a George Carlin routine but there are some great YouTube videos of George explaining language. I tried to post the link but today eBlogger isn't letting me do that.
For many years I used the word “crap” as in “Oh, crap, I dropped the lettuce.” I’m trying not to do that anymore. Sometimes we say “that’s crap.” All of it just doesn’t sound right to me anymore and I don’t know why. So I have switched from “crap” to “crappola.” For some reason it doesn’t sound as, well, crappy to me. Instead of “what a piece of crap” I have switched to “what a piece of crappola.” And we all know the other word that can be slipped into that sentence but I’m not sure eBlogger would allow it even though this blog is about words. I’m not using words to be crude in this context and I hope eBlogger agrees with me and let’s some of this pass. I’ve left out the really bad words.
Depending on a person’s age, grammar and word usage can change over time. Punctuation has changed a bit since my grammar school days. It’s hard to change one’s punctuation style if it’s been done that way an entire lifetime. A friend and I discovered that an east coast education is different from a west coast education. She learned punctuation styles quite unlike what I learned. We also had an age difference so it was very interesting when we worked together on large legal documents because we both had our different grammar school teachers ringing in our heads. [The debate surrounding “different than” and “different from” still rages. However, most agree it’s better to say “different from” as above.]
So a hit man kills someone and a witness says, “Oh, my gosh. What the fudge just happened? Oh, fudge, oh fudge, or fudge, man. Quick, call his mean wife at 555-6547. Fudge, man. Oh, fudge, man. Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh.” That’s just not going to work. Dagnabbit.
[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the auth
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Ouch! (Part 1 of 1)
[For previous blogs please visit “blog archive” to the lower left of this screen. Click on the small black arrows for a drop down list of all the blogs.]
I’m one of those fortunate people who never get sick. I guess I shouldn’t say “never” because of course I have gotten sick but it’s so rare I can’t remember the last time I caught a cold or the flu or any other bug that goes around.
That said, though I do not get sick very often I do injure myself on a regular basis. I’m puzzled by it because I’ve always been good at skating, riding bikes, running, skiing, bowling, basketball (I was in my teens so it may not count here), gardening, home maintenance, swimming, climbing (never once fell out of a tree, my favorite childhood activity), hiking, and a variety of other physical activities, many of which I still enjoy today. I have a treadmill I’ve used for years and have never fallen off. I’ve never fallen off a ladder and I use a ladder on a weekly basis. I do all my own home repairs, except electricity and things I can’t lift, and though I’ve ended up with scrapes and scratches, I’ve never received a serious injury using tools or my trusty ladder. I usually get hurt doing the most mundane things. Like standing up. And I’m not alone in the sisterhood of injuries.
I have a theory. Women multi-task. Women have been multi-tasking since the beginning of time. Before the term “multi-tasking” existed. It’s not that we do more than men, though there are countless hilarious Internet jokes with that theme. I believe it’s just that we go about life differently than men. It’s the way we process information as we perform tasks. And then we fall. Many men I’ve studied (and I have studied them) seem to do one task at a time then move on to other tasks. I can’t imagine that.
I’m an only child, and a girl, and my dad taught me how things work and actually encouraged me to repair things and build things and make things better and to figure out how things work. I think that early education is why I’ve always had a natural attraction to the computer. My dad would have gone nuts over computers, but he passed away in 1964. I have repaired a broken VCR, sliding glass door (it was a bit heavy and scary at a point but I did fix it), toilets, sinks, flooring (installed two floors, plumbed and pretty), wainscoting in an entry hall, house painting inside and out (lots of ladder work), made a set of ten screens from scratch to fit windows that were an odd size and I didn’t want to spend the money on special orders, a table extension with hinges, and the list goes on. If I want or need something I try to figure out a way to create it myself and save a little money and I can usually come up with something. I once installed a mirrored tiled wall in a dining room and had to cut tiles all around the border. I did cut my finger but considering all the glass tile cuts I had to make I was stunned I still had fingers at the end of the project.
The reason for that lengthy explanation is because I fall down and hurt myself constantly and rarely injure myself working on the above-referenced semi-dangerous tasks with tools and ladders. I worked in a legal office for many years and many “trip and fall” cases came to us. All the cases were women, all ages and sizes. Most were wearing sneakers and just walking. This has happened to me many times. In fact, I fell twice at work in the same spot and the maintenance man, who was a dear person and felt terrible, actually used some giant machine to roughen the walkway in that area. Both falls were bad. I was wearing flat shoes in both cases. I once broke my arm after falling down in a parking lot. Tripped in a pothole. There were dozens of people in the parking lot but I found the pothole. Though I do fall down a lot that is the only time I broke anything falling down. I did break a few toes when I walked into a steam radiator in an apartment and I recently broke more toes making my bed. The bed frame attacked me without provocation.
Once a young man broke my ankle for me. I was on vacation in Costa Rica. He didn’t mean to but as I sat down with a tray of food he moved the picnic table for me so I could sit on the bench then he pushed it back in place, vigorously, into my ankle. I could hear the “crack.” I wasn’t even moving. That doesn’t count; right? I was in a car crash when I was young and broke my nose then many years later my cousin hit me in the nose with a ping-pong paddle. I was a spectator. That actually turned out to be to my benefit. When I broke my nose the first time it slanted to the left for years. My cousin “fixed” it and after the swelling went down it was straight. And he didn’t charge me a dime for the procedure!
I have fallen down a number of times dog-walking. Usually it’s because of the dogs’ frisky behavior (seeing another dog or a bird) but often I just misstep on the uneven ground or sidewalk. Gravel is a good medium for a fall and when dog walking at a brisk pace a patch of gravel can pull me down. I had a car once that was difficult to get into and I constantly banged my head getting in or out of the car no matter how carefully I tried to avoid it. My son later had this car when he went away to college and when we went somewhere in this car I banged my head--again. Did I not have ANY memory of how to enter and exit this car?
I’ve never banged my head on any other car. I’ve banged my head on cupboards in various homes over the years. I’ve fallen down stairs (but never a ladder). I once carried a basket of laundry into my garage and missed the first of two steps and the basket and I sailed into the car. Attempting to do one’s laundry is in the mundane category. Each time I have an “incident” I’m usually out of commission for quite some time. I had a bone density test and was told I had great bone density. It’s a good thing.
And the leaf doesn’t fall too far from the tree. My daughter broke her wrist on Christmas Eve one year skating with the neighborhood kids. When she was about 13 she broke her arm, the same arm, riding her bike. Years ago when she was about 11 we stopped at a grocery store featuring “cookie cards.” Each time we visited the store the kids would get a free cookie upon presentation of their cookie card.
We had completed our shopping and forgot the cookie so I pulled in front of the store in the “no parking zone” and she went in with her card to get her cookie. She came out seconds later with a giant smile and her cookie and as she got to within five feet of the passenger side of the car she disappeared before my eyes. I was stunned. It was as though Scottie had beamed her up. She literally disappeared from sight. Seconds later she reappeared. She was sort of crying and sort of laughing. I got out to see what happened and there wasn’t a single thing on the ground that we could see that would have caused the fall. She was a swimmer, a gymnast, and a soccer player. Very agile and coordinated. She was wearing sneakers at the time of the cookie incident. She was moving briskly but certainly not running and in fact had slowed down because she was almost at the car. She did not break anything. The cookie was not so lucky.
My mother fell down a few years ago and broke her shoulder. She was simply leaving her house and fell down a small step. She was in agony and out of commission for a long time. Years ago while participating in a scavenger hunt in a vineyard with friends, she fell down a small hill. When I was young I fell down a hill in almost the same location. I also fell off a cliff at Santa Cruz. Needed surgery for that one. I wore spike heels for years and years walking all over San Francisco and went out dancing at night and never once fell. At Santa Cruz I was wearing sneakers.
My grandmother fell out of a three-story building once and broke almost every bone in her body. She was simply doing what she and countless others did routinely: hanging laundry on a line that stretched between two buildings. The pulley stuck, she pulled, it pulled back, and down she went. She also fell off chairs many times. One year she fell off a chair on Thanksgiving. She was out of commission for over a year. Because of her falls off chairs I have never stood on a chair to get items from cupboards. For most of my childhood she begged me never to stand on a chair. (She did not know about my devotion to tree climbing.) Instead I have several stools of various sizes and ladders and I have never fallen from a stool or ladder. (I’m repeating the ladder history because it amazes me.) I have a feeling that if I ever stand on a chair I’ll fall down. Self-fulfilling prophecies are a bitch.
My other leaf, my son, once fell while attempting to enter a car and broke his ankle. There were extenuating circumstances but it’s always amazed me he broke his ankle by simply trying to enter a car. He rides bikes, walks great distances, runs, goes to a gym, etc. He also had a nasty bike incident as a child. Riding home with two friends they encountered a pile of rocks a homeowner had placed in the curb area for a yard project. My son ran into it and took a header. Broken clavicle and assorted nasty scratches and bruises. He also broke his foot playing volleyball in his late teens. But those are youth accidents and they don’t count. Kids are supposed to injure themselves in childhood. It’s supposedly how we learn to not injure ourselves as adults. Faulty concept.
A couple of office friends and I decided to go to lunch one day and one of them fell down hard and had to be taken to the emergency room. She was wearing sensible shoes, and there was nothing we could find on the sidewalk that would cause such a nasty fall. We were walking. Actually, we were strolling.
Many of us tripped on the stairs outside that office. Some of us received significant injuries. Another friend not too long ago fell down and was badly hurt. She was in her own house. I believe she tripped over her dog. Last year I went to the grocery store in the rain. I was wearing Crock shoes designed to be worn in wet weather. The store had placed a small mat inside next to the entrance but it was inadequate and was full of water. I saw it and knew instantly that I had to be super careful. I carefully looked down and tried to maneuver through the wet puddles. I remember thinking, “Thank God I’m wearing these shoes,” but down I went.
A small crowd formed around me. People in these instances always start demanding information from the downed person. That person is the last person in the world to answer such questions. I had no idea what happened. Didn’t they see me fall down? They had much more information than I did. As I was catching my breath we all heard a terrible crash. I rolled over to look and a poor woman had fallen just like I did but she had crashed into a large food display of boxes and cans. Her shirt was up over her head and she was bleeding profusely from her ribcage. I was immediately abandoned and was therefore able to slink away. I took the damn shoes off and did my shopping in my socks and came home.
At another store in my mom’s town I reached down to remove something from the bottom of my shopping cart and as I brought my arm up I received a gash in my arm from my wrist to halfway up my arm. The manager came over and gave me a Band-Aid. I’ve gone back to that store and each cashier lane has the same protrusion. It’s to prevent shopping carts from banging into the counter but it’s sharp metal. This is usually covered with rubber or an entirely different design in other stores. I’m always on the alert now.
I have a very long list of these occurrences. For some falls and injuries, in my case, I believe it’s because I’m always going a mile a minute. Everything I do I do fast because I’m so anxious to get on to the next task. But not always. Recently, which is why I wrote this pathetic blog, I fell at my mom’s house. We had spent a pleasant day together, had a nice lunch, visited with the dogs (I always bring my dogs) then it was time for me to go home. I put the dogs in the car and was simply walking around the back of the car, not running, and I fell down hard. My face broke my fall. Not a pretty sight. I was wearing WALKING SHOES. Mom and I both believe I slipped on wet leaves behind the car. Possible. I hurt my left ankle, my right knee, my right shoulder, my right hand, and my right eye and right cheek. My glasses dug into the eyebrow cutting my head (so much blood) and it took a while for me to stand up and deal with it all.
That was just about three weeks ago. I developed a fantastic black eye with a very large bump on my cheekbone. The bruising on the cheekbone was a different color. Now it’s green. I think green is good. My eye is still black and blue or actually sort of burgundy now and my right hand is still somewhat out of commission. I can use my fingers but can’t lift a coffee cup. My optometrist thinks my glasses are goners and tried to fix them but eventually gave up. I have small tools and fixed them myself. Dad would be proud. Grammy not so much.
The greatest mystery of my life is: I never fell out of a tree. There’s competition in the world of tree climbing. Who dares to go to the top or who goes the highest wins. It was always me and I never fell. Walnut trees are my favorite climbing trees. The older the better. I don’t get it. I can climb a tree without falling but I can’t walk on flat ground in walking shoes without falling. [Sorry about the tree thing, mom. I think you knew. If not, you do now.]
www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com
[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.]
I’m one of those fortunate people who never get sick. I guess I shouldn’t say “never” because of course I have gotten sick but it’s so rare I can’t remember the last time I caught a cold or the flu or any other bug that goes around.
That said, though I do not get sick very often I do injure myself on a regular basis. I’m puzzled by it because I’ve always been good at skating, riding bikes, running, skiing, bowling, basketball (I was in my teens so it may not count here), gardening, home maintenance, swimming, climbing (never once fell out of a tree, my favorite childhood activity), hiking, and a variety of other physical activities, many of which I still enjoy today. I have a treadmill I’ve used for years and have never fallen off. I’ve never fallen off a ladder and I use a ladder on a weekly basis. I do all my own home repairs, except electricity and things I can’t lift, and though I’ve ended up with scrapes and scratches, I’ve never received a serious injury using tools or my trusty ladder. I usually get hurt doing the most mundane things. Like standing up. And I’m not alone in the sisterhood of injuries.
I have a theory. Women multi-task. Women have been multi-tasking since the beginning of time. Before the term “multi-tasking” existed. It’s not that we do more than men, though there are countless hilarious Internet jokes with that theme. I believe it’s just that we go about life differently than men. It’s the way we process information as we perform tasks. And then we fall. Many men I’ve studied (and I have studied them) seem to do one task at a time then move on to other tasks. I can’t imagine that.
I’m an only child, and a girl, and my dad taught me how things work and actually encouraged me to repair things and build things and make things better and to figure out how things work. I think that early education is why I’ve always had a natural attraction to the computer. My dad would have gone nuts over computers, but he passed away in 1964. I have repaired a broken VCR, sliding glass door (it was a bit heavy and scary at a point but I did fix it), toilets, sinks, flooring (installed two floors, plumbed and pretty), wainscoting in an entry hall, house painting inside and out (lots of ladder work), made a set of ten screens from scratch to fit windows that were an odd size and I didn’t want to spend the money on special orders, a table extension with hinges, and the list goes on. If I want or need something I try to figure out a way to create it myself and save a little money and I can usually come up with something. I once installed a mirrored tiled wall in a dining room and had to cut tiles all around the border. I did cut my finger but considering all the glass tile cuts I had to make I was stunned I still had fingers at the end of the project.
The reason for that lengthy explanation is because I fall down and hurt myself constantly and rarely injure myself working on the above-referenced semi-dangerous tasks with tools and ladders. I worked in a legal office for many years and many “trip and fall” cases came to us. All the cases were women, all ages and sizes. Most were wearing sneakers and just walking. This has happened to me many times. In fact, I fell twice at work in the same spot and the maintenance man, who was a dear person and felt terrible, actually used some giant machine to roughen the walkway in that area. Both falls were bad. I was wearing flat shoes in both cases. I once broke my arm after falling down in a parking lot. Tripped in a pothole. There were dozens of people in the parking lot but I found the pothole. Though I do fall down a lot that is the only time I broke anything falling down. I did break a few toes when I walked into a steam radiator in an apartment and I recently broke more toes making my bed. The bed frame attacked me without provocation.
Once a young man broke my ankle for me. I was on vacation in Costa Rica. He didn’t mean to but as I sat down with a tray of food he moved the picnic table for me so I could sit on the bench then he pushed it back in place, vigorously, into my ankle. I could hear the “crack.” I wasn’t even moving. That doesn’t count; right? I was in a car crash when I was young and broke my nose then many years later my cousin hit me in the nose with a ping-pong paddle. I was a spectator. That actually turned out to be to my benefit. When I broke my nose the first time it slanted to the left for years. My cousin “fixed” it and after the swelling went down it was straight. And he didn’t charge me a dime for the procedure!
I have fallen down a number of times dog-walking. Usually it’s because of the dogs’ frisky behavior (seeing another dog or a bird) but often I just misstep on the uneven ground or sidewalk. Gravel is a good medium for a fall and when dog walking at a brisk pace a patch of gravel can pull me down. I had a car once that was difficult to get into and I constantly banged my head getting in or out of the car no matter how carefully I tried to avoid it. My son later had this car when he went away to college and when we went somewhere in this car I banged my head--again. Did I not have ANY memory of how to enter and exit this car?
I’ve never banged my head on any other car. I’ve banged my head on cupboards in various homes over the years. I’ve fallen down stairs (but never a ladder). I once carried a basket of laundry into my garage and missed the first of two steps and the basket and I sailed into the car. Attempting to do one’s laundry is in the mundane category. Each time I have an “incident” I’m usually out of commission for quite some time. I had a bone density test and was told I had great bone density. It’s a good thing.
And the leaf doesn’t fall too far from the tree. My daughter broke her wrist on Christmas Eve one year skating with the neighborhood kids. When she was about 13 she broke her arm, the same arm, riding her bike. Years ago when she was about 11 we stopped at a grocery store featuring “cookie cards.” Each time we visited the store the kids would get a free cookie upon presentation of their cookie card.
We had completed our shopping and forgot the cookie so I pulled in front of the store in the “no parking zone” and she went in with her card to get her cookie. She came out seconds later with a giant smile and her cookie and as she got to within five feet of the passenger side of the car she disappeared before my eyes. I was stunned. It was as though Scottie had beamed her up. She literally disappeared from sight. Seconds later she reappeared. She was sort of crying and sort of laughing. I got out to see what happened and there wasn’t a single thing on the ground that we could see that would have caused the fall. She was a swimmer, a gymnast, and a soccer player. Very agile and coordinated. She was wearing sneakers at the time of the cookie incident. She was moving briskly but certainly not running and in fact had slowed down because she was almost at the car. She did not break anything. The cookie was not so lucky.
My mother fell down a few years ago and broke her shoulder. She was simply leaving her house and fell down a small step. She was in agony and out of commission for a long time. Years ago while participating in a scavenger hunt in a vineyard with friends, she fell down a small hill. When I was young I fell down a hill in almost the same location. I also fell off a cliff at Santa Cruz. Needed surgery for that one. I wore spike heels for years and years walking all over San Francisco and went out dancing at night and never once fell. At Santa Cruz I was wearing sneakers.
My grandmother fell out of a three-story building once and broke almost every bone in her body. She was simply doing what she and countless others did routinely: hanging laundry on a line that stretched between two buildings. The pulley stuck, she pulled, it pulled back, and down she went. She also fell off chairs many times. One year she fell off a chair on Thanksgiving. She was out of commission for over a year. Because of her falls off chairs I have never stood on a chair to get items from cupboards. For most of my childhood she begged me never to stand on a chair. (She did not know about my devotion to tree climbing.) Instead I have several stools of various sizes and ladders and I have never fallen from a stool or ladder. (I’m repeating the ladder history because it amazes me.) I have a feeling that if I ever stand on a chair I’ll fall down. Self-fulfilling prophecies are a bitch.
My other leaf, my son, once fell while attempting to enter a car and broke his ankle. There were extenuating circumstances but it’s always amazed me he broke his ankle by simply trying to enter a car. He rides bikes, walks great distances, runs, goes to a gym, etc. He also had a nasty bike incident as a child. Riding home with two friends they encountered a pile of rocks a homeowner had placed in the curb area for a yard project. My son ran into it and took a header. Broken clavicle and assorted nasty scratches and bruises. He also broke his foot playing volleyball in his late teens. But those are youth accidents and they don’t count. Kids are supposed to injure themselves in childhood. It’s supposedly how we learn to not injure ourselves as adults. Faulty concept.
A couple of office friends and I decided to go to lunch one day and one of them fell down hard and had to be taken to the emergency room. She was wearing sensible shoes, and there was nothing we could find on the sidewalk that would cause such a nasty fall. We were walking. Actually, we were strolling.
Many of us tripped on the stairs outside that office. Some of us received significant injuries. Another friend not too long ago fell down and was badly hurt. She was in her own house. I believe she tripped over her dog. Last year I went to the grocery store in the rain. I was wearing Crock shoes designed to be worn in wet weather. The store had placed a small mat inside next to the entrance but it was inadequate and was full of water. I saw it and knew instantly that I had to be super careful. I carefully looked down and tried to maneuver through the wet puddles. I remember thinking, “Thank God I’m wearing these shoes,” but down I went.
A small crowd formed around me. People in these instances always start demanding information from the downed person. That person is the last person in the world to answer such questions. I had no idea what happened. Didn’t they see me fall down? They had much more information than I did. As I was catching my breath we all heard a terrible crash. I rolled over to look and a poor woman had fallen just like I did but she had crashed into a large food display of boxes and cans. Her shirt was up over her head and she was bleeding profusely from her ribcage. I was immediately abandoned and was therefore able to slink away. I took the damn shoes off and did my shopping in my socks and came home.
At another store in my mom’s town I reached down to remove something from the bottom of my shopping cart and as I brought my arm up I received a gash in my arm from my wrist to halfway up my arm. The manager came over and gave me a Band-Aid. I’ve gone back to that store and each cashier lane has the same protrusion. It’s to prevent shopping carts from banging into the counter but it’s sharp metal. This is usually covered with rubber or an entirely different design in other stores. I’m always on the alert now.
I have a very long list of these occurrences. For some falls and injuries, in my case, I believe it’s because I’m always going a mile a minute. Everything I do I do fast because I’m so anxious to get on to the next task. But not always. Recently, which is why I wrote this pathetic blog, I fell at my mom’s house. We had spent a pleasant day together, had a nice lunch, visited with the dogs (I always bring my dogs) then it was time for me to go home. I put the dogs in the car and was simply walking around the back of the car, not running, and I fell down hard. My face broke my fall. Not a pretty sight. I was wearing WALKING SHOES. Mom and I both believe I slipped on wet leaves behind the car. Possible. I hurt my left ankle, my right knee, my right shoulder, my right hand, and my right eye and right cheek. My glasses dug into the eyebrow cutting my head (so much blood) and it took a while for me to stand up and deal with it all.
That was just about three weeks ago. I developed a fantastic black eye with a very large bump on my cheekbone. The bruising on the cheekbone was a different color. Now it’s green. I think green is good. My eye is still black and blue or actually sort of burgundy now and my right hand is still somewhat out of commission. I can use my fingers but can’t lift a coffee cup. My optometrist thinks my glasses are goners and tried to fix them but eventually gave up. I have small tools and fixed them myself. Dad would be proud. Grammy not so much.
The greatest mystery of my life is: I never fell out of a tree. There’s competition in the world of tree climbing. Who dares to go to the top or who goes the highest wins. It was always me and I never fell. Walnut trees are my favorite climbing trees. The older the better. I don’t get it. I can climb a tree without falling but I can’t walk on flat ground in walking shoes without falling. [Sorry about the tree thing, mom. I think you knew. If not, you do now.]
www.sharonstrawhandgarner.com
[No part of this content may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.]
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