Dance with me

Dance is one of the oldest forms of human expression. I was raised by a Fundamentalist Baptist mother who felt dance was a sin.

I sinned - I cannot stand still when I hear music. I begged for ballet lessons, tap lessons, jazz classes. I was eventually allowed to take some classes as long as I did not make a public spectacle of myself and participate in recitals. I agreed to the terms. I went back to ballet when I was in my late 20s. I stuck with it until I was too pregnant with the child to continue. Afterwards, I went again to jazz classes.

There are many forms of dance.

One dance I do not like is the car sales dance. I do not enjoy the process that so many people seem to love. I dislike it almost as much as I dislike buying furniture. At least furniture lasts longer.

Not only was the inside of my front window dirty in the Highlander, and my spare tire on the car with a blown flat tire flapping around in the back, the final insult came when the gas tank was low.

I still had no idea what kind of car I wanted. Car? SUV? American? Japanese? Jeep?

I went back to the Lexus guy who was kind enough to take pity on me before and suggest I extend the lease on the Highlander. He could have tried to push me into a new car, but perhaps he saw the futility of it at the time.

He and I talked prices, and I decided to look for a slightly previous owned car. I am all for fiscal responsibility, and moving has caused me some expenses. He first steered me to a Jaguar sedan. It was interesting, with all-wheel drive, but it didn't talk to me. We didn't dance. I didn't even want to drive it, although I sat in it. Nice car.

We moved on to the Lexus. Lexuses. Lexi? He pointed me to one that had a 3-year warranty and a 3-year lease. Nice symmetry. He said it was a special deal. I know that dance. I know all the steps, as a matter of fact.

I liked the looks, sat in it, decided to drive it. A nice sedan, mid-sized I guess, all cleaned up like new. Truly, I felt like it was a new car.

It handled well, sounded good, felt nice and tight. He kindly rode with me and did not complain at all. Nice guy, yes?

We sat down in his office and started the next steps of the dance. I offered to leave a few times, as it was getting late on a Friday and we hadn't come to an agreement. I offered to return the following day. He smelled the kill of the hunt. I was amused.

We know I like to be amused.

Eventually, we found a semi-middle ground where no one was really happy except the second guy who did the paperwork. Some sort of manager with a wimpy handshake. A three-way dance ensued. I signed the papers, unloaded the Highlander.

That was painful. I had no intentions of buying a car that day, and I had all manner of possessions in that car. Highlanders can carry a lot, and mine did.

I removed three bags of hardback books from the old house that I forgot were in the back seat. I dragged out unaccountable items. I had bought diet soda that day, and had to lug that between vehicles while they finished up the paperwork. Spare shoes, gym clothes, papers, snacks, extra jacket...I had to carefully crawl around the entire vehicle and look under the seats. I found almost a dollar in change. Dime a dance?

While we finished up the insurance and other information, I called Late to tell her I would be late this time. She asked why? I said I was getting a car. She said call her when I was done.

I drove out with my Lexus, a full tank of gas, clean windows, and five good tires. New tires, actually. I rushed home, dragged the dogs outside to pee, and called Late.

When I told her I would be leaving immediately, she said she would leave in 15-20 minutes. I asked why, since we wanted to get to our favorite restaurant before 7:30, and it closes at 8 pm. She said it takes me 20 minutes to get there now that I moved. I said yes, and I am leaving right now - she needed 15 minutes to get there - I said she didn't need to wait until I was already there to leave her house. Oh, yeah, she sidestepped.

I got to the mall, walked for maybe 15 minutes. I had left in such a hurry that I wasn't wearing the best shoes for walking. I went back to the parking lot after 20 minutes. No Late. I called her cell - no answer.

I know this dance well, too.

I called her home, and her husband said she left 5 minutes ago.

She showed up 45 minutes after I had called her and said I would be leaving right now. We had to eat else where.

She loves my car.

Me too.

 

 

Boom Boom

I had a very pleasant morning today, even if it did strart very early. I was outside with the dogs at 5:30 am, visiting with a neighbor who also has a beagle. She walks past my home every morning that early, but usually we sleep through it. This morning, we were already outside.

Today was also massage day, and I must say the Vampire really does have a wonderful touch. He can get rid of any kinks I have. He makes me laugh, too.

The day was going like that - all smooth and happy and sunny. The dogs were well behaved and were rewarded with a nice stroll through the neighborhood. All was good.

I hopped in my car to go meet Late for dinner and a walk, which we do most Fridays. I knew she would be late, so I didn't worry too much that I was running a few minutes behind, but I did decide to take a different, likely faster route than usual. Perhaps that was not a good decision. Perhaps the outcome would have been worse if I hadn't.

I found myself on the phone a few minutes later. It was about 10 minutes past the time we had agreed to meet at the mall, and Late answered. I heard her car radio, so I knew she wasn't there yet. I told her where I was and asked her to come get me.

Why? As I drove peacefully down the 3 lane boulevard at a nice brisk pace my right rear tire decided to blow up. I heard a BOOM, thought oh crap, a rock hit my car. I hope it didn't do any damage. Next thing I knew, I heard thump thump thump and I headed for the nearest parking lot. The Elk's Club.

Late showed up, and I was in the process of deciding if I should change the tire or call road service. I asked her if she had a tire guage, since I had taken mine out when I had planned to get a new car. She did, and I found myself underneath the Highlander, using a tire guage on the spare, while talking to AAA to see how long they would take to come change my tire. I figured the chances of me lifting a tire that large were low.

Just two nights ago I was discussing tire changing with someone on the phone. I had mentioned that the only time I ever had to do it myself I was on my way to work in downtown Detroit and was wearing all white, and had to change the tire on the side of the freeway. I was successful, and my clothes remained white. Somehow.

Tonight, I wasn't in the mood. The tire had adequate air pressure, but I told AAA that I was going on to dinner and would call them before I was ready to return to my car and hoped they could meet me then to change the tire for me. I didn't want a blown tire to ruin my night.

The guy, who wasn't too bright, said sure. Late and I went to the mall, had dinner, walked, stopped in to say hi to the child, and walked some more. I called AAA and said I would be at the car in 15 minutes.

The tow truck showed up about 5 minutes after that. I stood outside with Late and I watched the stars, still looking for Cassiopeia, which I did not find. That is not a surprise, since I was standing in a well-lighted parking lot. I did find the big dipper, but that isn't very hard.

We will be having a Blue Moon on May 31, if anyone needed to know that.

The nice guy in the tow truck changed my tire and I said goodnight to Late. I drove home. Molly was all in a snit, just jumping at me and carrying on whining until I told her the car and I were just fine. Then she settled down. Sometimes I wonder about that dog.

Oddly enough, two minutes before the tire blew up, I was thinking it was time to get a new car because the inside of my windows were dirty.

 

 

 

Momma Molly

When my back was hurting, I had to sit still as much as I could. I would get up now and then to do gentle stretching, but it hurt. Every time I moved, I moaned or groaned a little from the pain. I couldn't help it. Taking the dogs outside and down the front stairs was agonizing.

Molly did her best to take care of me. When I sat down, she sat next to me and put her head on me. When I whined, she was right at my side. While I read, she was my book rest. Her eyes never left me.

Molly had just had surgery herself a few days before. Can we say devotion?

Sitting and reading is a wonderful thing to have time to do. After 18 hours of it a day for several days, it can lose a little shine. I decided that since I have almost a dozen new pairs of sandals (OK, I have more than that, if we go back a couple of weeks), I should do something with my feet. Besides, they were achy.

What to do with achy feet? The Vampire massages them every Friday morning. I try not to moan, but sometimes I can't help it because it just feels so good. If I ever re-marry, part of the deal will be a session with the Vampire while my intended learns to massage feet.

Bending over and putting polish on my toes wasn't going to happen. I went to my linen closet and got out a little plastic tub. I ran the water to get it hot while I rummaged through my supplies. I decided on foot soaking salts with ginger and mint. Yummy. I also grabbed a fluffy towel. Molly followed me, trying to understand this new dance.

I filled the little tub, tossed in some salts, and brought it to my reading spot. I eased my tired little toes into the hot water and just sighed with relief. The beagles thought about taking a drink since it smelled so pretty, but I disabused them of the idea. I wasn't surrendering any of that lovely soak.

Happy Feet took on a whole new meaning. I read for a while, just letting my feet take in the pleasure of a soak. When they said they were done, I dried them on the fluffy towel.

Now my feet expect this every night, along with the fragrant foot cream that I carefully rubbed into them afterwards.

 

Out of the Woodwork

Molly's vet called to tell me that the histopathology tests were negative. I never doubted it for a minute. Whew...go Molly! She is healing well, although it will be months before all her fur grows back in. I will start trying to remove some stitches next week, but I think my vet probably does needlework in her spare time. Those stitches are tight! I won't mess with them - if I can't get to them easily, the vet will have to get them out.

Last year I had some problems with an intercoastal muscle on the left side of my back. I had probably cracked a rib in May or June. I was diagnosed with an inflamed muscle in November, and I had to take 12 Motrin a day plus 3 Flexeril a day. The Flexeril tends to knock me out if I take just one. It works well, but it makes me very sleepy. The pain and location felt the same, so I decided to just go the same route for treatment.

I counted the pills out very carefully. Four of these, one of those, four of these...by Saturday night, I was on the medications for several days and I was very tired. I thought it was odd, but the pills looked much alike so I was very careful in sorting them out.

Friday and Saturday I had trouble just moving at all. Any slight movement and I felt like I was being stabbed in the back. It felt like a very angry little muscle was just clenching itself, but I had no idea why. I just tried to make it happy. I put on ice regularly, and moved as little as possible. I read more than a whole book a day, just trying to sit still and let the medication make the muscle let go.

Sunday morning I was ready to walk as usual, so I took the 4 Motrin and skipped the Flexeril. I figured I didn't want to take it when I had to drive. Before I got the full 20 miles to the mall where I walk with Late, I was tired. Sleepy. Slightly confused.

I started walking, and told Late that I was sleepy. I tripped a few times. She commented on that, since I tend to be very sure footed. I felt weak, tired. Sleepy. After an hour or two, my vision became jumpy.

I was too tired to give it much thought. I just walked and chatted the best I could with Late.

Eventually it hit me that there was A Problem. I must have made a mistake with my medications. I tried to think, but it wasn't easy. The pills looked alike Saturday night? They really don't. Both are round, one is bigger, one is yellowish, one is more orange-ish. There was only one possibility. I had taken FOUR Flexeril at once instead of four Motrin. Oops.

Oh my. That explained why I got dizzy more than once. I felt close to blacking out a few times. We stopped to eat, as usual. I played with a salad. Even my tongue was rather relaxed.

The pain was letting up quite well. It should have, with an overdose like that. I cannot believe I did that! A simple error, but honestly, I would have assumed 4 Flexeril could be a fatal dose on someone my size.

It started to sort of wear off by the time we were leaving. I drove home, and didn't even take a nap. I haven't taken any Flexeril since. That scared me.

So, Sunday afternoon I decided to stop at the clinic and have a doctor look at my back. Hmm, 4 men waiting to be seen. OK, I will wait - they are usually quite fast. I grabbed a mazagine. The men looked startled.

Ah, I had "Men's Health" in my hand. They really looked upset. I smiled, and sat down to read up on the Other Side. They resigned themselves.

Forty-five minutes later, one man was called in. I got up, went to the desk, and said I was leaving.

Child had crawled out of the woodwork and called me while I was trying to eat the salad. She and her boyfriend wanted to take me to dinner. I said yes, of course. I had to get ready to go out, and I wasn't spending the evening in the clinic.

I got ready, and child came over with her boyfriend. They brought me a nice card and some beautiful flowers. We went to dinner. Child and I talked non-stop, catching up on the last several months of our lives.

When we got back, she opened my pantry. That was a sign for me. She wasn't looking for food; we just ate. I asked her if she was planning to go through every drawer, cupboard, and closet again? This is what she did before when she had come back after having estranged herself. She laughed, and said they better go before she did just that. No apologies, no explanations. We don't seem to need them.

Today after physical therapy I went back to the clinic and was seen within 5 minutes. X-rays were taken. They obviously were training a new tech. She had no idea what she was doing. I found myself on my back on an x-ray table with three women reading a chart to figure out how to do the x-rays. After a while, they decided my bra had to come off. I already knew that, but was waiting to see when they would figure it out.

Doctor said I have a bone spur on a vertebrae. He wanted me to take Skelaxin and Darvocet. I accepted the Skelaxin and refused more Darvocet. He was confused. Don't people who complain of back pain want pain pills? No thanks. I have already learned that if I take the pain pills I will do things that cause more damage.

If the pain isn't gone by Monday, I am to see an ortho. I don't see why it would be all gone, but, I will wait until Monday. Hopefully a few days after that I am off to Arizona. Not sure, since once again I don't have tickets yet.  

He said to put heat on it instead of ice. That means go to Arizona, doesn't it?

 

 

Sole Action

Molly is a lumpy-bumpy girl. More correctly, she was. I finally took her with all her lypomas and her two other odd things (one was a growth under her right ear, the other was a BB sort of thing on her knee. How does one spell BB? I forget....) Both dogs needed their teeth cleaned for the very first time and Baby needed shots and blood work done.

I anticipated a bill in the four figures. All I really cared about was getting my babies back in good health. Poor Molly has Addison's Disease and stress can kill her. I have lamented that often enough in this journal. I am much more experienced now with being her adrenal glands. When she needs more prednisone, I am there to administer it, just as her original adrenal glands would have released cortisol.

I also anticipated a high need for prednisone. I didn't anticipate as high as the vet did, so I did not give her as much as the vet told me to. I had to make my own decision. I did tell the vet what I had given, and she was good with it.

However, after dealing with two food sharks who were not allowed food or water after midnight on Tuesday, getting them up at 5 am for company at 6:45 am, and then walking them to keep their little walnut-sized brains off food and running into a thunderstorm half a mile away (and literally running back), we were off to the vet at 9 am. I was then told that their appointment was on Thursday.

I knew better. I have to keep good records because of my bad memory, and I had to rearrange my physical therapy for my shoulder around the vet appointment. I just stood at the vet's office and thought, "I am not going to do this again." They then told me that since they only had one other dog scheduled for surgery, they could take my girls. We all smiled.

My girls weren't too happy once they were shoved into a crate. I wanted to avoid the crate, but the least I could do was be the one to shove them in, chase Molly as she escaped once, and sit on the floor with my fingers through the bars while Molly ripped them up with her nails, trying to get out. Once they settled down a little, I said, "Say goodbye. Be good girls." - same as I do at home when I leave the house, and quietly walked out. No tears, nocarrying on. I was a good girl.

I was told to call about them at 2 pm. It wasn't even 10 am yet! What was I to do with myself while I had horrible thoughts about one or both of them dying from a bad batch of general anesthetic?

Shoes. I could think of nothing else. I realized I was about to be greedy, so instead of Nordstrom I hit Nordstrom Rack, their outlet store which is conveniently located only a few miles from the vet's office (and my old house). I have the luck to wear a size 6, which means sample shoes are my size.

The downside of this is that my shoes are the sample size. Everyone who wears a size 8 has to try to get their feet in the shoes to see how they will look. Even my friend Cindy did this recently when she saw a new pair of sandals I was wearing. She actually was trying to put her foot in my shoe until I reminded her that it would permanently stretch the shoe out and I would no longer be able to wear it. She sighed. So did I. I am forever trying on shoes where one fits and the other flaps around, all stretched to hell. Ann, you know what I mean, yes?

Nordstrom Rack has racks and racks of shoes. Just thousands of them. You grab what looks good, try on the right one, and then go to a counter to get the other. I had just decided I have no flip flops or thong sandals at all, and it was time for me to start a collection. Nordstrom is great for collections.

I grabbed all that I liked and tried them on, assuming that some would not match once I got the left shoes. Sometimes the right one has been left out on display too long and the color is off, or the right one has been tried on many times and shows wear, but the left does not. I ended up with 5 pairs of Reef sandals, all thong style. None very expensive, just every day sandals. Four pair of good leather ones, and one nice pair of Keen sandals for sports.

Sad to say, they were all perfect. So, I bought them all. Even as I bought them, I was telling myself, look, you don't need 10 pair of sandals. You have plenty, just none with toe straps. But, I said back, I can leave some in the casita in AZ for my next trip. Still, I said, you don't need them. Tough titties, I retorted, I want them. It took two bags.

Did I mention it was still raining? Hard? I then went to the library and grabbed some books that I had on hold. I always look guilty there, since I don't live in that city any more but I haven't told them yet. I like that library better than my new one. I haven't really tried the new one, so I think it's just principle. Everyone knows me in the old one. They should, after all these years.

So, there went about 3 hours. I went home for an hour, and played with my shoes while I again worried about my babies. At 2 pm I called, and was told they were doing just fine. I was also told Molly was "just fine" when her potassium was over-corrected to 3.6, but that is another story. I wanted my babies with me. They said 4 pm, come get the babies. I played with my shoes some more, read a book, and generally was miserable.

As I went to go get them, I realized I still had a kitchen table and vacuum cleaner in the back of my Highlander because I didn't want to lift them yet. I decided the girls might have to separate and not sit together in the front passenger seat, so I took the things out of the car. By myself, of course. I would like a video of me removing that table, since I think I employed all the laws of physics to do it. I didn't even need the dolly. I love my dolly anyway.

I went to get my babies. First I had to pay the bill (four figures - they seemed surprised that I wasn't), then get the directions, and then I got my babies back.

Non-event. Baby was her usual boucing beagle pup tart self, and Molly was a little quieter, with 8 separate incisions that were shaved. She looks like a very bad patch quilt. I was worried about the pred, and the vet said give her 2.5 mg that night. I gave her .625 mg. It was too much. Molly begged for food all night.

Once Molly was able to jump on the sofa, I was able to get up off the floor and read in a comfortable position. They slept all evening while I played nurse/cook/mommy. Did I mention that I am now changing them over to home cooking?

Today Molly is great. She is a little slow and stiff if she sleeps too long, but her Addison's did not affect her surgery. She scratches a little at the incision below her ear, and the vet said OK to Benadryl cream or tablets. I gave her both. I expect her to sleep again soon, and who scratches in her sleep?OK, I do.

Molly heard me talking on the phone to the vet tech and she sat down in front of me and sat up in a beg. She could hear the voice, and wanted to give attention to the tech. Molly is like that - very loving.

All will be well. I have two healthy beagles and 10 new pair of sandals. Anyone want to go for a walk?

I might be slow, I have shin splints and stress fractures in my foot and ankle - which is why I needed new, soft-soled sandals.

Now I just await the results of the histopathology on the thing that was growing under her ear and the BB in her knee.

 

Day After Closing, second attempt to write...

I would like to blame AOL for this being my second attempt to write this, but the truth is my fingers just tripped over each other. Must be the tremendous speed at which I type - or maybe I am just clumsy.

Sunday I went to the old house and one of the girls in the house to the west brought out her beagle puppy. They got him right after I moved. I wonder if they missed the baying? I had stopped for a Dairy Queen on my way to the house - I needed it. The beagle boy managed to jump high enough to get a good lick off it. I was impressed - I am usually able to protect my food from any dog. I learned the skill because I had an older brother who always tried to eat my food. I was fast with a fork to the back of a hand.

Anyway, once the beagle boy let me pet him and play with him, I was in a much improved mood. I filled the car with useless stuff, swept the basement, wandered the rooms, went up and down 3 flights of stairs, made a trip around the outside of the house to check things out, and generally decided I was highly pleased not to have to work that yard one more year.

Monday I went back with my beloved dolly to get a solid wood kitchen table, several chairs, an executive chair that had to come up a flight of stairs, and a few odds and ends. I remembered the scissors and cut a bouquet of flowers that I now have in a vase in my condo, but I forgot the shovel to dig up a few things to drag along to the condo.

I was delighted when my neighbor to the east was outside with her grandchildren. She offered both a hand and the use of a shovel. Once I opened up the double front doors, we were able to carry the table out without having to dance with it. The chairs all went in just fine, and I dug up a few things. I took a hunk of my favorite peony, a few tulips, some black-eyed susans, and decided to leave the lavender because it really wasn't up yet.

She invited me into her home to see the work they have done on their kitchen and main bathroom. I was enthused - they have two beagles also! I picked up the first one, and she was so excited to see me that she peed all over. I was honored. I asked about the other, and my neighbor got her out of the crate in the garage (sad, very sad!). She peed all over me before I could even get her into my arms. I was doubly honored.

So, I sat on the floor and let them both just jump all over me, lick me, whine at me, and tell me their life stories. Beagles are like that. They sniffed and I petted and my neighbor just Didn't Get It. She said, "Wow! You really DO like that!" I laughed, "Oh yes, it's like therapy for me!" I was in such a more relaxed mood after that. How can anyone be unhappy or stressed after two of the sweetest, happiest dogs in the world have peed out of excitement and joy?

I barely got out of the house in time for the New Owners to have their final walk through. I was still unsure if everything was going to go according to plan.

Of course when I got home I was in Big Trouble. Molly and Baby were all over me. Why didn't they get to see their former neighbors? Why did I let them pee on me? Sniff, sniff, sniff, whine....two more life stories to listen to and enjoy.

I hopped in the shower, got dressed, fed the dogs early (no complaints from them), got everything together, rushed to the title company and started to Sign Papers.

There are a LOT of papers involved with the sale of a house. The agent and I were in one room, and their agent and they were in another. I found this odd, but it let my agent and I talk trash again. She admired my ankle bracelet and the half of a chocolate bar that I took out of my purse while seeking the keys to the old house - she ate the candy bar; I kept the anklet. I signed and signed.

They gave me a check for the difference between what my house sold for and what the bridge loan on it was. It's pitiful, but at least it's done.

It is ALL DONE. I never have to pull weeds there, I don't have to vacuum carpets on three floors, and then sweep the basement too, I don't have to pay utilties and taxes on two homes, I don't have to drag anything else here, I don't have to ever, ever go there again. I have a nice ranch condo with the bathrooms all on one floor and a full basement too. I can vacuum in a few minutes. I don't have to do any yard work at all unless I decide to tend a few flowers on my own.

I did good.

Then I drove all across town to have dinner with one of my best friends. She bought a condo around the same time I did. We both had a drink. Some peachy thing that Outback makes.

I came home after that. My condo is my home. No question of that any longer. 30 years of history in the old house - it's history.

I am creating new history in this home.

I am happy here.