Stages

One of my favorite guest stars on the stage of my life is my grandson Brody, who just turned three.

THREE is FUN!!!

It's fun to listen to what he has to say and imagine what goes on at his house behind closed doors.  The best comments began occurring a few months after his little brother Grayson appeared on the scene.

During a visit when the baby was about three months old, Brody admonished me (time and time again) to "Be nice!" (I was.)  

Six months later, he had a new, more interesting phrase.  "Don't bite me, Grammy!"  (I didn't.)

This visit Brody delivered my favorite line so far and he did it with great conviction, right after I suggested he complete a task he obviously had no intention of doing:

"Nooooo, Grammy!!!  TIME OUT." 

I knew officers in the Air Force that hadn't mastered the art of commanding as well as this three-year-old.  Obviously, he's a genius.  Maybe he's even destined for a high-level career in the military.  

Until then, he can just order me around.  Clearly, I take directions well.

Blood Pressure Rising

You know how you find a doctor that you really, really like and then she moves away?  That happened to me.  My doc told me I could follow her to her new practice, but it was in a different city and I'm just not a gifted driver.  Plus, I'm basically lazy.  

Everything changed when Suzy got bitten by a baby copperhead.  (For you snake non-phobics, the babies are the most dangerous so this was the scariest.)
    
When I saw Suzy on Memorial Day, her foot was deep purple and swollen.  We got to talking about doctors - specifically how much she liked hers - and it was then I realized that I was willing to make that drive after all.  The icing on the cake was that Suzy sees that same delightful doctor that I used to see.  So it was settled.  I called the next day and made an appointment.

The receptionist scheduled my visit for two days later at 8:00 am.  I was so excited to get in so fast that I ignored the warning sirens going off in my head.  Anyone who knows me is aware of my aversion to morning.  Because I tend to get lost easily, I would have to allow plenty of driving time, then add more for school buses.  That meant getting up during the dead of (my) night.

Two days later I dragged myself out of bed and threw myself into my vehicle. I plugged the address into my GPS.  Nothing happened.  I put in the zip code.  Nothing.  Apparently this city doesn't exist in the real world.  

Suzy had given me vague directions on how to get to the office.  I regretted only half-listening to her now but I did have the address and plenty of time, so I decided to just go.  Clarity, as it turns out, isn't one of the things I excel at when I'm sleep deprived.  A map would have been nice, too.

Weirdly, I made it to the city without incident and I even found the highway.  What I couldn't find was the 7000 block.  The numbering went from 8000 to 6000.  I was mystified.  I drove in the other direction long enough to satisfy myself that it went away from town.  Back in the right neighborhood, I kept driving slowly up and down this same stretch of busy highway, like I was Nancy Drew, girl detective, searching for a hidden driveway or some secret clue.  

After way too many passes as well as a bit of horn-honking from the impolite drivers all around me, I decided to pull off the road and call the office.  Nobody answered.  Then it clicked.  It wasn't eight o'clock yet.  I was the first appointment.  Ain't nobody gonna be answering those phones.  

I drove up and down the highway again a couple more times and then I got the inspired idea to wander down the road a bit further, even though it defies logic. (I was sleepy, not stupid.  My logical brain was functioning perfectly well, thank you very much.)  Sure enough, I stumbled onto the office.  This may be the only city in America where the blocks are numbered 8000, 6,000, 5,000 THEN 7,000.  Kudos to them!  I admire creativity wherever it is.  Frankly, I was just shocked to find it in the numeric system.  Life is full of surprises!  

I was ten minutes late.  The driving itself was stressful and the knowledge I was late added to my tension.  After I was ushered in, the first thing the nurse did was take my blood pressure with this fancy machine.  It was 138 over God- knows-what.  I was so freaked out about the 138 that I couldn't focus.  I asked the nurse to recheck it and she took it with her stethoscope so it would be more accurate.  The top number was now 130.   This was much, much higher than normal for me and I was obsessing that I might get diagnosed with hypertension.  

My doctor visit went well.  It was definitely worth the effort to get there.  As we were wrapping up our talk, my dear doc decided to give me a shingles vaccine and then she hugged me goodbye. (I love this woman!)  

I asked the nurse if she'd take my b/p again.  She said yes, she'd do it right before she gave me the shot.  I am one big bag of phobias stacked on top of another and perhaps a blood pressure reading right before a shot isn't the best timing, but I was willing to take that chance.  

The nurse left the room for about ten minutes and I took advantage of that time by doing a relaxation meditation.  I went on a quick trip to the beach.  When we both returned to the room, my blood pressure was 114/70. Yahoo!  

I got the vaccine.  They did not, however, give me a sucker.

AND there's even some exciting news from my doctor visit:  When the nurse measured my height, I was a half-an-inch taller than on my last visit.  If I keep growing at this pace, in a mere ten years my weight will finally be a perfect match for my height.

                                              *    *     *

P.S. Snakebite Suzy's much improved and grateful that she didn't need to get the anti-venom shot.  It cost six thousand dollars.  That's almost more frightening to me than the snakebite itself!  Almost.  

Inspiration

In Michigan, Grand Rapids ArtPrize is going on this weekend (and until October 7th) and there is a two-hundred-thousand dollar purse for the best of show.  I'm sorry I can't attend it because if I could, I surely would vote for Tom Kaufmann's Junkyard Music Box. It combines many of my loves into one neat package --  music, scavenging, re-purposing and even friendship.  (Friendship played heavily in the making of this creation because, although Tom conceived the idea, many hands helped him achieve his stellar entry.)

Tom is from my hometown of Hastings, Michigan and, even though in sixth grade he once spontaneously told me that he wouldn't date me even if I were the last girl on earth, I am going to overlook my wounded pride and wish him the Grand Prize that he so clearly deserves. 

If you happen to attend ArtPrize, please take a moment to vote for Tom.  His creativity and musical genius should be rewarded with cold cash.

The Junkyard Music Box
 

Inspired by Tom's massive and successful project, I decided to attempt to (drum roll, please) assemble a tulip chair for my grandson.  I know it's paltry by comparison to Tom's way-cool Junkyard Music Box, but I have zero mechanical aptitude -- I can't even use a vacuum cleaner without breaking it -- and this seemed as insurmountable to me as making a pile of junk morph into a melodic beauty.

The directions, straight from China, were six pages long.  Still, I plodded through them one step at a time and success was MINE!  I got all the way to the final step before I hit a snafu.  "Now go back and securely tighten all bolts and nuts."  No matter how hard I tried, I could not get the nuts to move all the way up the bolts like they were supposed to.  Both ends twirled every time I tried to tighten the nut.

Since my Grandson will be sitting in this chair, I decided to let my muscle-y husband go back and do the "securing" step.  Above all, I want to be sure the chair is safe to sit in.  My pride is a little bit dinged yet again, but even Tom has a team.

 

* * *

 UPDATE:  When I was cleaning up my mess, I found this mysterious tool under the pile of instructions.  When I stuck it in the top of the bolt, I was able to use the wrench to truly "securely tighten all bolts and nuts."  So, my team will only have to check my work, not do it.

I'm on a roll!  I think I'll go vacuum...

American Roads

I just found out that in the United States of America, roads that run east to west are even numbered and those that run north and south are odd numbered. Wow! "Information I could have used yesterday!" (Adam Sandler, The Wedding Singer.) In my case, I could have enjoyed awareness of this tidbit for the decades I've been driving. Wonder why nobody ever mentioned it to me?

In an informal poll of three women, two did not know this and the third, when grilled, admitted that her husband told her. Every man I queried knew this and appeared stunned that I did not.

It's no secret that I am directionally handicapped. Not only do I not know north from south, I have to look at my wedding ring to determine left from right. Even clockwise/counter-clockwise have been known to give me grief, especially when playing games.

Once, in seventh grade, our school band went on a bus trip to a solo and ensemble festival. It was on this outing that I first realized I am directionally deficient. We had a couple of hours between when we performed and when we were to leave for home so we walked downtown to explore. We went into a store and when we emerged from it, I had no idea - none - which way to turn to go back to the school. Panic!! Lucky for me my friends knew. (Note to self: Always shop with a friend.)

To this day, when faced with a decision to turn left or right, I almost always will choose the wrong direction. It would be funny if it weren't so frustrating. I make the correct choice just often enough that I can't say "I think I should go right, so I probably should go left." I do better with the landmark system. "Go to the red barn and turn right. When you get to the lake, turn right again."

The best way by far for me to get from Point A to Point B is to let my husband drive. He never, never gets lost. If he goes to a city once, he will know how to navigate it sixteen years later. He is gifted, I am handicapped.

Opposites really do attract.