"Senior Student"

     Over the summer, the students from my college traveled to Europe.  I wish I'd known about the trip. I could have traveled as a student, and doubled as a chaperone!

     Some of the establishments in my town offer student discounts, provided you present your student I.D.  I wonder if I could utilize my Student discount and Senior Citizen discount simultaneously? 

     You know how grocery stores have convenient parking designated for expectant mothers and parents with young children?  Well, I have presented to my college that they incorporate "senior student" parking into their overcrowded parking system.  Believe me when I tell you, it's no small feat for me  to cross five parking lots to get to class.  I'm generally too winded upon arrival to even utter a greeting when I enter the classroom, the students viewing me with puzzled amusement as I attempt to catch my breath.  It's just not fair!  They don't require a nap after walking from car to class.   Besides,  I have to head to school thirty minutes earlier than the youngsters, and I arrive home thirty minutes later. I could take an extra class with the time and energy I expend dragging myself through the parking lot. 

     This coming semester I am registered for my favorite subject!  It's a writing course: Introduction to Business and Technical Writing.  I am looking forward to returning to school after my summer respite.  I hated that I didn't attend this summer, thereby missing out on having earned six more credits.  However, at this age, I recognize my limitations.  I am too old to over extend myself and to self impose that kind of pressure.  At this rate, I will have earned my diploma at the same time that I qualify for Social Security...I won't have to take off work to graduate-I'll be retired!

 

"By Rote"

       More often than not, I do things by rote, and that sometimes includes purchasing, and using, my "Miss Clairol" products.  During a recent hair coloring event, once applied, I quickly realized that the color on my head looked very abnormal. (Now if that isn't cause for alarm, I don't know what is!) It was, in fact, black, with a burgundy tint. My alarm turned to panic while I was rinsing it out, and the water and shower, grout and all, turned the most vivid color of Christmas cranberry!  I imagined that I might very well emerge a carrot top, while simultaneously pondering how I was going to clean the shower.  Once out, shower forgotten, I grabbed my spectacles and scanned the box to see what color I'd actually purchased.  The box indicated #20 (medium brown), my color of choice, followed by a barely discernible "R".  Ugh!  Why do they do that?  Don't they realize the people buying this stuff probably have failing eyesight?  (Not to mention, short attention spans.)  I already carry a magnifying glass with me (a fiftieth birthday present from my BFF).  Apparently the $700.00 bifocals I'm wearing aren't cutting it.  Maybe I should attach the magnifying glass to a lanyard, and wear it around my neck so it's handy while I'm shopping!  When the magnifying glass no longer works, I could use the lanyard to hang myself....

     In reality, the color of my hair actually turned out pretty nice. It was a soft brown-not too dark for my aging complexion.  The roots, however, oh the roots!  What had been grey was now a strikingly bright....orange!  What is it with the roots, that they never get dark, no matter how long the dye is on them, while the remainder of your hair is dark, regardless of how briefly it is exposed to the coloring?  What the Fudge!  

     So, to make a long story short, I spent the next three weeks with a tiger stripe all along my hairline.  (I'm not only stubborn, I'm cheap!)  Thank goodness for bangs and long hair.  They can camouflage any number of hair coloring blunders...

"Pricey Pie"

     More often than not, my eyes are bigger than my stomach. Both are bigger than my wallet.  I've had this insatiable craving for a peach pie for most of the summer.  (God forbid I should make one...)  Yesterday I had plans with one of the sons to go to his place and watch a classic movie, so I determined that this would be a good time to indulge, especially since it would just be the two of us.  (Okay, sometimes I'm a little greedy with food, especially where sweets are concerned).  I headed to the bakery behind my apartment (how convenient is that? Oh, and there's a Friendly's within walking distance.  Sounds lethal, don't you agree?)  Anyway, I decided instead to get a "very berry" pie, because that is what my son likes.  Well, by the time I got to the bakery, they were sold out of both.  So instead I chose a deep dish apple blackberry pie, requesting that the girl box it without asking the price.  That was mistake number one.  "That will be $17.99" she announced.  I responded quicker than a baker can peel an apple:  "I beg your pardon? $7.99?"  No ma'am (she would call me ma'am. If she were a waitress, that would have meant no tip).  "$17.99", she reiterated.   I briefly considered sarcastically suggesting that they may keep it, but ultimately,  I (grudgingly) opened my wallet and forked over the one cent shy of $18.00, more than a little furious that they would charge such an exorbitant amount of money for a pie. A pie!  Now, I make one of the best apple pies ever, so while driving over to my son's house, I seriously pondered a change of career. 

     My son was absolutely incredulous when he saw the size of the pie I brought for just the two of us.  Observing the magnitude of the pie in his kitchen, I had to wonder myself ... especially considering it wasn't even the kind we really wanted! Oh, and did I mention...we're both on diets? 

"Determination"

     I have been in a writing frenzy this weekend.  Recently, I had gone from writing for hours on end each day, to not writing at all.  There were days last summer when I would sit contentedly at my computer for eight hours at a time, happily writing away.  Then, much to my surprise, when I was out of work, I was too depressed to write very much.  Oftentimes when I'm depressed, I am able to work it out in verse or prose.  Not in that instance, however. 

     When I went back to work, I found myself too exhausted at the end of the day to expend another ounce of energy.  I would think about writing, briefly, then subsequently remain idly on the couch, an unproductive lump of human flesh, recovering from a demanding day (believe me when I tell you, part of that exhaustion is attributed to being just plain old). 

     The other day, however, I was inspired by a line in a movie.  I was watching Capote, and in one scene, Capote's partner, an author, indicated that he was heading to Spain, "to write".  Now, I have no intentions of going to Spain, but that singular line reminded me just how much I love, and have missed, writing.  I promptly wrote three pages in my journal, composed a poem, and am now on my third blog post. 

     Writing had become an integral part of my life, especially during the course of the last five years, when my life changed so abruptly and so radically.  I have written some of my most beautiful poems (in my estimation) as a means of expressing my emotions, my tears sometimes spilling onto the pages.  Be it pain, joy, love, or even some current events, my writing is my outlet.  It is a healthy means of expelling emotions which could prove damaging if kept locked up inside.  Additionally, I have found humor in my back to school escapades, in my dealings with young professors and even younger classmates.

     So, here's hoping that I've reached a turning point, and that my journal and my blog will once again be overflowing with the fruits of my writer's imagination and dogged determination, preferably without the tears...

"Get the Message"

     It is 7:47 A.M. on Sunday, and my day has been very productive thus far.  Buddy and I had our thirty minute daily walk done by 6:30, after which I cleaned my living room windows, made my breakfast , checked my FB page, began composing a blog post, and I updated my personal info with my car insurance company. Which brings me to my point.  I am totally fed up with self service and automated service, be it by phone, internet, or even in stores.  For example, when I go to the grocery store, I absolutely refuse to utilize the self service check out.  Why should I?  Are they providing me with a discount by having me do the work myself?  God knows they are saving money in salaries and insurance costs by employing fewer people, but who reaps the profits?  Not the average working man, that's for sure. They do not pass a nickel of those savings on to us.  We are constantly compelled to pay higher prices for smaller quantities.  Then, to add insult to injury, they want us to weigh produce, check prices, then ring up and bag the groceries ourselves!  I watch with marked incredulity as one singular, solitary customer service rep "trains" the customers to utilize the half dozen or so self serve contraptions, at very little cost to the store, rather than the store employing a half dozen people who would be grateful to have a job.  What the fudge! 

     This morning, for instance, I spent about thirty minutes online with my insurance company, registering and updating my address and phone numbers.  If I had called to make the changes, I may have spoken with an actual person, after answering a mere thirty five questions from a computer generated attendant, and thereby utilizing a scant ten or twenty minutes of my precious time, rather than thirty.  Those automated phone systems are so annoying!  Don't you agree?  I become so angry in my futile attemps to gain access to a to a human being, that the anger is obvious in my curt responses, as if the recorded voice on the other end would get the point, and promptly transfer me to the ever elusive human.  Obviously, that is not the case because...it's automated!  So, all of these corporations are earning oodles of profits, while we are inconvenienced more than ever, and the unemployment lines grow ever longer...Oh, I almost forgot, that's automated too! 

     So, what is the solution?  Well, to begin with, I say, no more self check out.  It's not much, but it's a start.  If everyone stopped using them, we could have an impact.  Someone might actually get the message...

"Antiquated"

     I am compelled to share my "prescription" saga with you.  In mid May I went to the doctor for my annual check up, and I had her refill my prescriptions, which she did electronically while I was still seated on the examination table.  Now, I had recently transferred to a new pharmacy which is more convenient to where I am living.  I can, and often do, walk there.  The problem is, they have antiquated methods.  Most doctors submit prescriptions electronically nowadays.  This pharmacy, however, wants prescriptions either phoned in or faxed. (What's a fax machine?)  Due to their strict requirements, plus the fact that my doctor has very limited office hours, I was waiting-are you ready for this-six weeks to get my prescriptions filled.  It took a multitude of phone calls and visits to the pharmacy, as well as phone calls to the doctor, all in an apparent exercise in futility.  It got to the point where I instructed my doctor to submit the prescriptions to my former pharmacy before I ran out of my meds. (Did I previously mention convenience?)  Would you believe that my former pharmacy phoned me within the hour to advise me that my prescriptions were ready to be picked up?  So I retrieved my medicine, and put the incident out of my mind.  About a week later, my new pharmacy texted me (they are updated in that respect) to tell me that my prescriptions were ready to be picked up.  Needless to say, I retrieved them.  This way I'll have a little extra stored for the next six week lag  (rather like a squirrel preparing for winter).  No-that isn't the end of the story.  The new pharmacy texted me again this week....to inform me that my prescriptions were ready for pick up!  I was somewhat puzzled, but I retrieved them anyway.  They had filled the prescriptions again!  So, because the my new pharmacy is anal and antiquated, I got my prescriptions filled three times!  Kind of defeats the purpose of being so controlling, don't you think?  Ah well, I don't have to go back to either pharmacy for about two years!  Now that's convenient!   My insurance company is going to love it...

"Spiders and Other Critters"

     Not too much has been happening in the month or so since I've written a post. I've been busy working and getting settled in my new apartment, and after two months, I'm pretty much there.  I was talking to my sister recently, and she was asking how I like my new place.  Quite frankly, I love it.  I have privacy!  I see flowing branches on a big tree, directly outside of my front window, giving me the freedom to keep my blinds open-even at night.  There are no rowdy neighbors.  In two months time, I have not been awakened by my neighbors once, not even on July 4th!  Conversely, the neighbors in my former unit had to deal with a three ring circus on the 4th.  "The witch" put up a tent, a volleyball net, and a slip & slide, all in the complex courtyard outside of my old apartment.  Then she proceeded to have thirty people over for a barbeque. Afterwards, she set off fireworks.  The management got wind of it (it was not me-it was the one armed man*).  Actually, it was another neighbor who is determined to see me vindicated.  The super subsequently went over to take pictures, prior to compelling her to take the stuff down.  I don't understand why she does not get evicted.  One of the mysteries of  (my) life, I guess.

     There is only one thing that I don't like about my apartment.  I imagine this is because of the tree, but there is an over abundance of spiders, in every size, shape, and form, not to mention stink bugs, moths, and Jersey mosquitos.  (Have you ever seen a Jersey mosquito?  They are about the size of a small fist!)  I walk through the hall bobbing and weaving, in an often futile attempt to avoid bodily contact.

       Recently, I saw something dark on my pillow one morning, grabbed for my glasses, and approached cautiously, while silently praying that it would not be a spider.  My prayers were not answered.  He was promptly squashed, and the pillow case discarded.  Then I was washing dishes, and the biggest daddy long legs started crawling up the side of the sink, headed right for me.  I was shrieking in terror, while debating how to dispose of him.  I had to think quickly, so I promptly washed him down the drain, no small feat with all of those long, wiry legs.  Additionally, a number of spiders have been swatted with my shoe, or sucked up in my vacuum.  I won't even keep the vacuum in the apartment anymore-it's in the hall until I empty the bag.  My sister, who is infinitely more clever than I, suggested I hire a professional  exterminator...Why didn't I think of that?!?!?!?!?!

 

*Dr. Richard Kimble in "The Fugitive"