I have lived with either kids or a husband (or both) for 24 years. When Tim passed away I was worried about living on my own since all of our kids were adults.
This week, my refrigerator went out. I called a repair guy and by my description he said "I know what it is, it's your compressor". Now I don't know much about appliances, but I know that's the main part of your refrigerator so when it goes out, it's very very bad. By bad I mean expensive, of course. The repair man (who I will no doubt hire for my next appliance problem) told me that with Amana refrigerators had a compressor problem, so instead of doing a recall or something like that, they extended the warranty on the compressor to 5 years. He tells me to call Amana.
I'm searching my brain for what year we got the fridge. A couple . . . few . . . several years? I call Amana and they tell me yes, they did extend the warranty but when she looks up the serial number she said if I didn't have the receipt, the estimated date they have to go with would put me 2 months outside of warranty. So, I'm thinking what awesome place did I put that receipt. This is a pattern of mine--take a really important paper and put it in a "special" place. That special place turns out is not a logical place, because I never find it. So by chance that I actually put it in a place that I would remember, I went up to my jewelry box and opened the drawer and viola, there was the receipt. Simply amazing. So I'm excited, the customer service lady is excited, I'm still within warranty, they'll fix it for free . . . on Friday. So now I have throw away most of my food in the fridge, luckily I saved my freezer stuff before it thawed and put it down in my chest freezer.
So when I was cleaning out the fridge and cleaning out the science experiments from the back of the fridge I decided that this is starting anew yet again. As I washed the pan the kids made the rest of my eggs in and didn't wash, then the pan that I made them homemade chicken noodle soup in and loaded dishes in the dishwasher that I did not use, I thought "I will fill this refrigerator with only the things I like (once it's working) and then it's time for me to be alone in this house. I knew this was right when I went to blog and my computer was dead because somebody used it and didn't plug it in.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
You never know . . .
I am going to a financial planner these days, since I know little to nothing about investing. I very much like to have things organized and all my finances will be in one place. Whenever I plan like this, I always have an area of my mind that dips into the "you never know" factor.
It has struck me recently because my life is so wide open with possibilities right now. Every day there could be a person, a situation, an encounter of even the simplest kind that comes into your path that could change everything. Your life after may not even look different to the average person, but something inside you changes and you never quite look at things the same again.
It came up in this financial planning/retirement planning scenario that based on what I have in front of me right now, I have this plan to retire. I look back in time and see the illustration of how my life changed when I met my late husband Tim. The instant connection forever changed my life. He encouraged me to write, which caused me to write on Caringbridge throughout the years of his illness. What if, as a result of my life with him and experiencing his life to it's end, I write a book and a lot of people like it and buy it--that could change everything and I could always look back and point where my life changed forever.
I try to take in the full experience of what's around me and embrace whatever comes. Enjoy what is now, don't waste time waiting for your life to happen or waiting for that one thing that's going to make it all "better". Even the small things; you never know, that could be the thing or the person or the event that shapes your thoughts or actions and causes your life to go down a new and different path from that point on. Don't miss it by overplanning your life.
You never know . . .
It has struck me recently because my life is so wide open with possibilities right now. Every day there could be a person, a situation, an encounter of even the simplest kind that comes into your path that could change everything. Your life after may not even look different to the average person, but something inside you changes and you never quite look at things the same again.
It came up in this financial planning/retirement planning scenario that based on what I have in front of me right now, I have this plan to retire. I look back in time and see the illustration of how my life changed when I met my late husband Tim. The instant connection forever changed my life. He encouraged me to write, which caused me to write on Caringbridge throughout the years of his illness. What if, as a result of my life with him and experiencing his life to it's end, I write a book and a lot of people like it and buy it--that could change everything and I could always look back and point where my life changed forever.
I try to take in the full experience of what's around me and embrace whatever comes. Enjoy what is now, don't waste time waiting for your life to happen or waiting for that one thing that's going to make it all "better". Even the small things; you never know, that could be the thing or the person or the event that shapes your thoughts or actions and causes your life to go down a new and different path from that point on. Don't miss it by overplanning your life.
You never know . . .
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Birthday Weekend
This weekend was my birthday. Sunday--10-10-10. In a move taught to me from my late husband Tim whose birthday was never just one day, I wanted to declare the whole weekend my birthday weekend. After all it was special because it was 10-10-10, right?
Luckily there were events happening that I knew were going to be fun to go to. These events and the people who attended them were from my high school. The class before me was having their 30-year reunion. A get together was brewing in the old neighborhood, south Minneapolis. It was fun just being back there . . . my old stomping grounds. I get the feeling I'm transporting myself in a time warp. Going back in time to when I was in high school at 17. My girlfriends that are with me are the same ones as in high school. We're walking up in the uncharacteristic warm weather for October in Minneapolis. It's easy to forget what age we are. There is quite a crowd of people there, we look for familiar faces. One here, one there, some look like someone we used to know, we're searching for that yearbook picture to appear in our head.
We start talking to people, some we know from other Washburn get-togethers, but others we must have walked by in high school, but never spoke to. Of course, most of the people here were a year ahead and in high school land, that's not someone you just walk up to and start talking to. But now in this high school time warp, those people are not unapproachable. They are friendly, we are only separated by a mere year in school. We're all part of a bigger group of former Washburn graduates and we have so much in common. I saw some old friends too, people that I have rich memories with that go back to junior high school. To the days when we moved here from Michigan. Funny, weird days (and I do mean weird) of being transplanted in a city from a small town with families and people we're introduced to as our new friends. Turns out some of those people stuck and I have bonds with them that do not break.
I even had a cousin there. The only other family in our bigger extended family that lived in Minnesota, and we went to the same high school. It was kind of surreal to be sitting together, saying the same things and laughing how we did once upon a time only now we are 40-something and have had a mountain of different experiences and different lives. But this one thing brings us together and we come from all places near and far, and we are friends again. I saw old friends and even made some new ones; people whose pictures you recognize in some way but can't quite remember if you ever talked to them back in the day. Then I realized that it was my loss for not stepping out and talking, because surely the people that are in front of me now and making me laugh have been good people all along.
The next night was entertaining on so many levels. We crashed the reunion - like I said, not my year, the year before. Even now at our age, people look at you but can't place you or maybe can place you as not belonging there but say nothing. That's what we call Minnesota Nice. We walk through like teenagers that are afraid of getting caught. All those insecurities come crashing down but the confidence that we feel now causes us to keep walking with our head up like we're supposed to be there. But even if we officially didn't belong, we were welcomed with open arms to celebrate, dance, talk, and laugh.
So over those two nights we danced, we partied, and we laughed so hard, we talked about boys and I'm happy to say even got attention from some of them and it still gave me the same thrill that it did then . . . because I was 17 again. I stayed at my girlfriends house so we could talk for the next hour about the night behind us.
The next day was back to the suburbs to my little log house in the country. We watched football and talked and laughed as girls do. These ladies, although all could not be there, are my sisters. Since in my family I had only a brother and no sisters, I recruit sisters and the strength of those women get me through the bad times and now through some good times.
So this birthday weekend was like no other, as my life transitions into something brand new that I create. My Tim-angel on my shoulder is cheering me on to use the same enjoyment of the moment that I did with him to fully realize, experience, and LIVE this new life. I got to start over . . . at 17.
Luckily there were events happening that I knew were going to be fun to go to. These events and the people who attended them were from my high school. The class before me was having their 30-year reunion. A get together was brewing in the old neighborhood, south Minneapolis. It was fun just being back there . . . my old stomping grounds. I get the feeling I'm transporting myself in a time warp. Going back in time to when I was in high school at 17. My girlfriends that are with me are the same ones as in high school. We're walking up in the uncharacteristic warm weather for October in Minneapolis. It's easy to forget what age we are. There is quite a crowd of people there, we look for familiar faces. One here, one there, some look like someone we used to know, we're searching for that yearbook picture to appear in our head.
We start talking to people, some we know from other Washburn get-togethers, but others we must have walked by in high school, but never spoke to. Of course, most of the people here were a year ahead and in high school land, that's not someone you just walk up to and start talking to. But now in this high school time warp, those people are not unapproachable. They are friendly, we are only separated by a mere year in school. We're all part of a bigger group of former Washburn graduates and we have so much in common. I saw some old friends too, people that I have rich memories with that go back to junior high school. To the days when we moved here from Michigan. Funny, weird days (and I do mean weird) of being transplanted in a city from a small town with families and people we're introduced to as our new friends. Turns out some of those people stuck and I have bonds with them that do not break.
I even had a cousin there. The only other family in our bigger extended family that lived in Minnesota, and we went to the same high school. It was kind of surreal to be sitting together, saying the same things and laughing how we did once upon a time only now we are 40-something and have had a mountain of different experiences and different lives. But this one thing brings us together and we come from all places near and far, and we are friends again. I saw old friends and even made some new ones; people whose pictures you recognize in some way but can't quite remember if you ever talked to them back in the day. Then I realized that it was my loss for not stepping out and talking, because surely the people that are in front of me now and making me laugh have been good people all along.
The next night was entertaining on so many levels. We crashed the reunion - like I said, not my year, the year before. Even now at our age, people look at you but can't place you or maybe can place you as not belonging there but say nothing. That's what we call Minnesota Nice. We walk through like teenagers that are afraid of getting caught. All those insecurities come crashing down but the confidence that we feel now causes us to keep walking with our head up like we're supposed to be there. But even if we officially didn't belong, we were welcomed with open arms to celebrate, dance, talk, and laugh.
So over those two nights we danced, we partied, and we laughed so hard, we talked about boys and I'm happy to say even got attention from some of them and it still gave me the same thrill that it did then . . . because I was 17 again. I stayed at my girlfriends house so we could talk for the next hour about the night behind us.
The next day was back to the suburbs to my little log house in the country. We watched football and talked and laughed as girls do. These ladies, although all could not be there, are my sisters. Since in my family I had only a brother and no sisters, I recruit sisters and the strength of those women get me through the bad times and now through some good times.
So this birthday weekend was like no other, as my life transitions into something brand new that I create. My Tim-angel on my shoulder is cheering me on to use the same enjoyment of the moment that I did with him to fully realize, experience, and LIVE this new life. I got to start over . . . at 17.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Clumsy? Um, yeah.
I have never been athletically gifted by any means, but I resisted the title of clumsy until now. The sheer number of bruises on my body at this moment in time tells the truth. If I went into a hospital claiming abuse, I'm tellin' ya, they'd believe me.
This brings me back to my youth. My parents and my brother all had athletic ability but I apparently just plain missed out on that particular gene. My brother Ron tried to teach me to catch a football when I was a kid; this resulted in the worst bloody nose I've ever had. My parents tried and even put me into softball, but I was terrible. So I understand that I have no abilities here. When Tim used to give me a hard time, insinuating but never coming right out and saying that I was clumsy. I would defensively say "ARE YOU CALLING ME CLUMSY??" He would smirk and say "No, but you hurt yourself more than anyone I've ever known." So that is the history.
It started Friday, when I went to leave my desk, of course in a hurry, and I clipped the corner of the fireproof file cabinet. It was one of those corner hits that you just know is going to leave a mark. It did. Nice big round bruise right along side the long skinny bruises from my son's dog Rylie jumping up and catching me with one paw and scratching me down my leg.
The next encounter was at the Renaissance Festival when we were just opening up. My brother Ron had put a board that hold the doors shut up on a shelf about oh . . . nose height. He didn't push it all the way down so the board when right through the walkway to the back. Yes, you guessed it, walking to the back I hit it straight on to the bridge of my nose. I do NOT know why I did not see it. I save the best (or worst actually) for last.
Last night I went up to bed. I nearly always read before I go to sleep. I turned my reading light on and got comfortable and began to read. Then THE FLY started buzzing around the light. Just for good measure, it would occasionally come over toward me and bounce off my book or my face. It was one of those big flies that is like a translucent blue/green color. I don't know what kind of fly that is, but I don't really want to know. I used the arm of a shirt I had near me to swat it, but missed it again and again. (This may go back to the athletic ability thing.) So now I was pissed. I decided to go downstairs and get a flyswatter. I walk about halfway down the stairs and step on a file I put there earlier in the day to bring upstairs. (Note to self, clean the shit off the stairs). I started to slide and I'm not quite sure what happened after that but it all involved pain. I tumbled down the remaining log stairs. I managed to heavily bruise the back of one leg and jam my toe and bruise the front of my other leg.
So this morning as I was using my cover-up to make the small bruise around my one eye because of the nose hit, it occurred to me. Dang, I can no longer deny it, I am clumsy.
This brings me back to my youth. My parents and my brother all had athletic ability but I apparently just plain missed out on that particular gene. My brother Ron tried to teach me to catch a football when I was a kid; this resulted in the worst bloody nose I've ever had. My parents tried and even put me into softball, but I was terrible. So I understand that I have no abilities here. When Tim used to give me a hard time, insinuating but never coming right out and saying that I was clumsy. I would defensively say "ARE YOU CALLING ME CLUMSY??" He would smirk and say "No, but you hurt yourself more than anyone I've ever known." So that is the history.
It started Friday, when I went to leave my desk, of course in a hurry, and I clipped the corner of the fireproof file cabinet. It was one of those corner hits that you just know is going to leave a mark. It did. Nice big round bruise right along side the long skinny bruises from my son's dog Rylie jumping up and catching me with one paw and scratching me down my leg.
The next encounter was at the Renaissance Festival when we were just opening up. My brother Ron had put a board that hold the doors shut up on a shelf about oh . . . nose height. He didn't push it all the way down so the board when right through the walkway to the back. Yes, you guessed it, walking to the back I hit it straight on to the bridge of my nose. I do NOT know why I did not see it. I save the best (or worst actually) for last.
Last night I went up to bed. I nearly always read before I go to sleep. I turned my reading light on and got comfortable and began to read. Then THE FLY started buzzing around the light. Just for good measure, it would occasionally come over toward me and bounce off my book or my face. It was one of those big flies that is like a translucent blue/green color. I don't know what kind of fly that is, but I don't really want to know. I used the arm of a shirt I had near me to swat it, but missed it again and again. (This may go back to the athletic ability thing.) So now I was pissed. I decided to go downstairs and get a flyswatter. I walk about halfway down the stairs and step on a file I put there earlier in the day to bring upstairs. (Note to self, clean the shit off the stairs). I started to slide and I'm not quite sure what happened after that but it all involved pain. I tumbled down the remaining log stairs. I managed to heavily bruise the back of one leg and jam my toe and bruise the front of my other leg.
So this morning as I was using my cover-up to make the small bruise around my one eye because of the nose hit, it occurred to me. Dang, I can no longer deny it, I am clumsy.
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