Author: Susie (Page 6 of 48)

Last week, I shared a senior moment with my sister-in-law that was so bizarre it was almost not funny. But it was funny. In fact, it was hilarious.
We were having a cookout for Memorial Day and she was to bring some kind of fruit dish. She brought all the makings for a delicious fruit pie – sugar free graham cracker crust, cool whip, blueberries and strawberries. She opened the crust package and began to blend the fruit into the cool whip.
Then she poured the mixture into the crust. I stood next to her for a moment as she looked around the counter. “Where’s the lid?” she asked me. “I know there’s a lid here somewhere.”
We looked all over the counter. We checked her bags. I even ran out to her car to check the seats. The lid did not appear to be in the vicinity. Finally, she lifted up the pie filling and checked under it, on top of the crust.
Yep, you read that correctly. I watched her do it. She lifted it all up and we both looked underneath. The lid was not on top of the crust.
What we both failed to realize – sharing that amazing senior moment together – was that the lid was on top of the crust! At least it was, when she set the filling back down.
We realized this when, after dinner, we tried to cut the pie. She had made the filling IN the lid of the pie crust. That was convenient when we wanted to look underneath it, but not so when we wanted to cut the pie.
Everyone had a great laugh was we spooned out the filing and used the crust as “cookies” to scoop. Turns out, it was just as tasty and gave us a good memory. Or at least a lasting one.
Later this week, I shared such a moment with my husband. We were making breakfasts and I was going to put a banana in my smoothie. Typically, he wants half the banana. This is great for me, because I’m not a huge fan of bananas and only put it in my smoothie because it’s good for me (potassium and all that).
So I asked him, “Do you want half a banana?” He responded, “No.” This I swear on my cat’s ashes! He said, “No.”
Meanwhile, I started putting the old banana into the blender with the other ingredients. Usually, he uses the blender after me to make his own smoothie and so again, I asked him, “Do you want half this banana for the smoothie?”
My error (according to him) was I didn’t say “do you want it for YOUR smoothie.” Because he once again declined and I put the whole thing into the blender with my other stuff. I poured my smoothie and handed him the pitcher.
At this point, he said, “Where’s my banana?” and so a ridiculous exchange of “you said” “no I didn’t” began. Finally, I realized that he meant he didn’t want the half a banana in THE smoothie, but he DID want it for HIS smoothie.
It’s funny getting old. Honest.

A couple of weeks ago, a deer hit our car as we were driving home. Literally. We didn’t even see her (him?) coming. At the very last nanosecond, we saw a nose in the window of the driver’s side, and then – BAM! A huge thump, the car swerved a bit, and there was no sign of the animal.
Well, there was no sign of the actual animal. The car, however, showed a lot of sign that the animal had existed. The back door on the driver’s side was crumpled, with a scrape down the edge, and the back rear panel had a dent.
We dutifully reported the incident to the police, and filed the insurance claim. Fortunately, deer/car collisions are so commonplace in Ohio that there are no nasty repercussions, at least police and insurance-wise.
Getting three estimates was another matter. One place didn’t acknowledge our request. The second one said they’d have an estimate in a “day or two.” They must have gone to general contracting school, because we got the actual estimate in two weeks – give or take a day or two (so 17 days later). The third place had the estimate in our email before we even got home. They won.
Best of all, our insurance appears to be the gold star of insurance policies (which may account for why it’s so gosh-darned expensive). We are allowed to have a rental car, for the duration of the repair.
I naively thought this would be a day or two, but it sounds like it might be more like a couple of weeks. Again, in contractor lingo, that could be a month or more!
So today we picked up our rental car. I should have expected something strange when the woman on the phone said, “Do you want a 5-seat SUV like you currently have?”
Um, no. I don’t currently have such a thing. I have a 10-year-old sedan.
She rebounded nicely and said, “The businessmen clean us out of sedans early, so will an SUV be acceptable?”
Why not, I thought.
We picked it up, and here’s why not:
It’s brand, spanking new. I think it had 20 miles on it.
It’s a Cadillac. A Cadillac!! I’ve never driven a Cadillac before! It is a six-seat SUV with trunk space. Trunk? Is that the right term for the back part that would fit a small cow in it?
It’s harder to get in and out of than my old sedan. Only because I’m not used to it, I think. But the bells and whistles are astounding! (and confusing).
It took me a minute to realize that you push the gearshift backward to make it go in “D” (that’s for drive) and you push it forward to make it go in “R” (that’s reverse). I think that’s counterintuitive, but time will tell. I do hope I get it right before I push on the accelerator.
It’s doesn’t have a CD player (WHA???) but it DOES have Sirius XM. All glorious 104 channels. The radio volume and dial are on the console, so you don’t have to reach up to fiddle with them. They are right at your hand!
There is a fancy cover that pulls out to cover up your two coffee holders. So if you spill, you don’t have to look at it!
The console has a little pouch for your phone. It charges your phone while you drive! Without a cord! It’s magic!
I researched this baby online and turns out it costs about $75,000 to purchase such a thing. I will not be spilling coffee, pushing on the accelerator in the incorrect gear, or – god willing – hitting any deer! My insurance might pay for any of that, but I really can’t afford any higher rates. Who am I, Rockefeller?

I put it off as long as I could, but I’ve officially entered Geezerville. There were signs along the way, but lately the signs have been billboards and flashing neon signals “you’re old.”
Some are subtle. For example, I have completely lost control of my telephone. Last night, I set it down on the table and walked into the kitchen. Fortunately, my husband was still sitting at the table, as he heard a voice from the phone saying, “Sheriff’s Department, what is your emergency?” Apparently, in placing the phone on the table, I dialed 911. Now, how is that even possible? I would have chalked it up to a weird one-time thing, but a similar event occurred this morning.
I put my phone on the dresser and walked into the bathroom. Suddenly, I heard music. I exited the bathroom and looked to see if the alarm clock has somehow turned on, or if my husband was playing the radio. No, nothing so logical. My phone decided to play some jazzy music for my trip to the john.
Why? I have no idea. There must be buttons or apps or something that I inadvertently press in completing the action of putting the phone down. I want to believe the phone is possessed, but it’s far more likely that I am just getting old and have no clue what is happening.
Another example is my inability to get through to anyone (or any robot) on an important call, like for example, scheduling a routine doctor’s appointment. I patiently waited on the line, as they were experiencing “an unusually high call rate” to speak to a real person. This was after I’d pressed “1” because I’m a patient, pressed “1” again because I wanted to schedule a test, and pressed “1” a final time because I wanted to speak to a scheduler. I waited. And waited. After a number of minutes, and reminders that “we value your time” (all evidence to the contrary), I got a real voice on the phone. Unfortunately, she didn’t want to schedule my test, because she thought the order was incorrect. She assured me she would contact the doctor’s office to get the order corrected and call me back.
That didn’t happen that day. Or the next. At this point, I have no idea when she might call, but I’m absolutely sure it will be (a) when I’m driving and (b) when I don’t have my calendar available to schedule it. After all, it’s Geezerville.
Our physicians’ network uses a digital charting system. This system is routinely incorrect. This week, for example, I sent a message to my doctor saying that my chart says “the doctor contacted you to discuss blood work on Tuesday,” but that didn’t happen. The doctor didn’t call me and I haven’t had blood work done this year.
I got a message back that says “that just means he ordered your blood work.” Why doesn’t it say that, then? I only worry because in a true emergency, if the medical staff is depending on my digital chart for treatment planning, it’s got a lot of errors. I don’t have the family history it indicates, I don’t take the medicines it says I do, and I haven’t talked to my doctor on the phone this year. Despite my repeated efforts to correct these errors, there they are. I guess I should just not worry about it, but again, Geezerville.
The saddest sign has been our latest delivery to the house. I used to get excited for flowers, jewelry, or other trinkets of romance and love. Today, we got a new vacuum cleaner! We put it together, took it for a spin, and spent hours extolling the cleanliness of our carpets.
It’s inescapable. I live in Geezerville.

I have a long-time friend who volunteered several years ago to help me declutter my attic. We had generations of stuff up there – literally. My husband’s grandparents, his parents, and our own junk plus stuff we are “saving” for our adult son.
So, I was honored that she volunteered to help with this horrible and time-intensive task (three flights of stairs up, drag stuff down three flights of stairs, pile it up, make that trip about 25 more times, then start sorting the paraphernalia in the boxes….you get the idea). Honored, but not excited.
You see, my friend is a hoarder. Not only that, she is a messy hoarder. Things aren’t in neatly labeled boxes or tubs, stacked in her basement or garage. No, no, they are in bags of all material, in open stacks, piled on top of each other and all over the place. On countertops, on tables, jammed in closets and on bookshelves bowed in the middle from the weight. You can’t walk through her basement except in a tiny path from one end to the other. You can’t get a car in her garage. There’s just too much stuff. Too. Much. Stuff.
So I had this awful feeling that to accept her help would mean she would put my junk into her car and pile it all over the place at her house. Having her help is like sending a match to put out a fire.
I’ve observed similar contradictory behavior in my life. It’s usually amusing, and sometimes scary. A few years ago, we had a big snowfall. The person operating the snowplow that year opted to run the blade about two or three feet into our yard at the corner. We realize that snow plowing is a difficult job, but the intersection at our corner is the absolute widest in the county. You could have three or four cars turn around it a circle – side by side and simultaneously – and not touch any of the four corners. But the plow managed to carve up our corner and all the way up one side of our front yard. Gravel and dirt under the snow were piled up ten inches. We had to rake and reseed in the spring a fairly large portion.
So I took pictures and sent it to the county, merely asking for them to point out to their driver that it wasn’t necessary to go that deeply into a yard.
We heard nothing.
Well, until July. Then, I got an email stating that the supervisor had visited the “scene” and had found no damage to our yard.
Duh. After we raked and seeded and spring/summer had gone by, of course there was no “evidence of damage.” They sent someone to look at snow plow damage in July?
It reminded me of a great movie – Pillow Talk. In this movie Doris Day (an interior decorator) and Rock Hudson (a womanizing song-writer) share a party line. Let me digress to say if you know what a party line is, you’ve likely seen this movie and if you don’t know – you’ll have to google it.
At any rate, Doris can’t get a call in or out because Rock is always singing to some woman. So she complains to the phone company and they send an investigator out to see what Rock is doing. The phone company subsequently notifies Doris that her claim is unfounded. You know why?
Because they sent a woman investigator.
You don’t ask a hoarder to help you redd up. You don’t send a supervisor to observe snow plow damage in July. And you don’t send a woman to “investigate” a womanizer. At least not in the movies!