tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73459343246033924932024-03-16T11:52:49.511-07:00Empty Nest InsiderEmpty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.comBlogger360125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-28067578248907102432021-07-06T22:55:00.042-07:002022-01-24T21:53:14.071-08:00IWSG: Heavenly Mom Strikes Again<p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-Hba5MHTyP9CclHN-U4Wa7hC9WHkmqujOpP27Lr-mTvA7aiND0zgucQ0QtS1COJSmgG7qdh8jv3Mmya8pFasRBkEBOu2GOWuMtsMwlhhIE6GJV0iFYc-CiGwiDaleW8ztDupKR7tvxjo/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="172" data-original-width="175" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4-Hba5MHTyP9CclHN-U4Wa7hC9WHkmqujOpP27Lr-mTvA7aiND0zgucQ0QtS1COJSmgG7qdh8jv3Mmya8pFasRBkEBOu2GOWuMtsMwlhhIE6GJV0iFYc-CiGwiDaleW8ztDupKR7tvxjo/" width="244" /></a></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;">Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a></b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;"> <b>Heavenly Mom Strikes Again</b></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;">About four years ago, two smart and sexy grandmas decided to fix up their grandchildren. Last spring, in the midst of Covid, the efforts of my mom and her dear friend were finally rewarded in an engagement. Though we're deeply saddened Mom won't physically be with us in November when our oldest son will marry the girl of his dreams, her spirit continues to move in mysterious ways.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;">Contrary to most normal mothers of the groom, my biggest challenge in preparation for the wedding has been finding a dress. I haven't even worn a dress or skirt, since our younger son's Bar Mitzvah 17 years ago. My go-to attire for special events in anywhere from 20 to 90 degree weather has been a dressy blazer and pants. Not only is this pantsuit perfectly paired with practical shoes, but it's forgiving of figure flaws.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;">Nevertheless, I decided to leave my comfort zone for this momentous occasion by exploring the world of formal dress shopping. After several failed online attempts, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;">I was shocked to find that even the racks in the downtown department stores were sparse.. A sales associate explained that </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;">manufacturers</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;"> cut down on their merchandise, as they anticipated a huge decline in formal events due to Covid. </span></p><p><span style="color: #333333; font-family: helvetica;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">I felt hopeful when I found a lovely long lace gown at a local dress shop. But it needed a higher neckline and long sleeves to cover the egg shaped fistula on my arm from past dialysis treatments. </span></span></p><p><span style="color: #333333; font-family: helvetica;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">Since the owner was out of town, I called her a few days later to discuss the price of the alterations. Then she</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;"> contacted the dress designer, and got back to me right away. It seemed like a fairly reasonable price, but I wanted another opinion on the dress. So my best friend graciously offered to meet me at the dress shop.</span></p><p><span style="color: #333333; font-family: helvetica;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">When we introduced ourselves to the owner, I never thought we'd become intimately acquainted. She barged in</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;">to the fitting room while I was trying on the dress, and adamantly ignored my objections by stating, "That's what we do here." </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;">This brought back memories of my first bra fitting, followed by the fifth grade class pushing me into the girls bathroom for a closer look under my see-thru peasant blouse. I think several of the boys lined up too, and there was some grabbing involved, but the teacher didn't seem to mind. Of course, I really wasn't ready for a bra at 10. This was confirmed the following summer when I was wearing a t-shirt at the pool, and the waitress said, "Your lunch order's ready, young man."</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">Meanwhile, back at the dress shop…I was relieved when my dear friend also liked the dress on me. The next step was for the owner to have the designer send me some sketches of how the dress would look with long sleeves and a higher neckline.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; background: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">Before the sketches were sent, the owner said she’d contact the designer to find out the price. Though I tried reminding her that she had already quoted me a price, she adamantly denied it, and reiterated the tremendous amount of work it would take to design a custom fitted dress in two to three months. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; background: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 11pt;">I soon realized there was no point in continuing to reason with her, because the owner was clearly trying to pull a fast one on me. I played along knowing full well she was going to hike up the price, while I continued to look for another dress on the down low.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span face="Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; background: white; color: #333333; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 16.8667px;">Just months before the big event, the Dress Nazi finally got back to me. </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span face="Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">When I heard the price was more than double her original quote, I began to wonder what else she was lying about. Would there be other hidden fees and more importantly would the dress even be ready in time for the wedding?</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span face="Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"> It was time to call in The Fixer. </span></span></span><span face="Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14.6667px;">Though I had lost touch with my dear, stylish childhood friend, he always had great instincts and never folded under pressure. No, he didn't offer to rub out the Dress Nazi, but I'll always be grateful for what he did instead.</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: black; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.6667px;">I recognized the name of the seasoned downtown dress designer, because my fabulous future daughter-in-law found her lovely wedding gown there. However, it wasn't until The Fixer explained that the designer previously had a dress shop in the suburbs, that I remembered my mom singing her praises. But I drew a blank on the details.</span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.6667px;">Coincidentally, my best friend, The Fixer, and I all grew up on the same street, and the three of us were off to see The Dress Wizard. I found a dress immediately. and the designer had excellent ideas about raising the neckline and adding long sleeves. She also accompanied me into the fitting room, but in a much kinder and gentler way.</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.6667px;">Even the pattern designer who took my measurements seemed to have been skilled in psychiatric training, as I stood in my bloomers pleading, "Do you mind doing this blindfolded?" </span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.6667px;">Memories flashed before my eyes like the time my late doctor introduced me to a nurse by saying, "She's not fat, it's her liver."</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Fortunately, my friends were in agreement that this dress was "the one," and my husband also signed off on the text photo. Then The Fixer suggested I wear one of my mom's classic brooches to complement the dress, so I could hold her close to my heart at the wedding. Just thinking about it still moves me to tears.</span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.6667px;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Then it hit me. I showed the delightful designer a photo of the dress Mom wore to my wedding 34 years ago. Without skipping a beat, she remembered designing the one of a kind</span> <span style="font-family: helvetica;">Oscar worthy creation for my beautiful mom. If there were ever a sign that I chose the right dress, this was it.</span></span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span face="Helvetica, sans-serif" style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.6667px;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-decoration-thickness: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUYBotdfuJCMa-kfbIC2kfRXefBMrOSzPeYHlsMoR6xK9MskOIIbiQk7jYcDrdWl77KTLxqSWsxBCv2093aFOESQ-vZ1FvM6wXrXvcJtb-mAcfJ9w24VsJeb7woF-pDr7lAweSDD6QKzIj/" style="background-color: white; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUYBotdfuJCMa-kfbIC2kfRXefBMrOSzPeYHlsMoR6xK9MskOIIbiQk7jYcDrdWl77KTLxqSWsxBCv2093aFOESQ-vZ1FvM6wXrXvcJtb-mAcfJ9w24VsJeb7woF-pDr7lAweSDD6QKzIj/" width="319" /></a></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(with my brother, grandma, and mom in June 1987)</span></span></p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-30048732060488077732021-05-04T22:51:00.000-07:002021-05-04T22:51:40.009-07:00IWSG: Meddling Mothers & Disappointing Daughters<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL93ixVfYeopS6LbM306OcA7VdFqQvjhlwqvkqNthxM8C9RHpp2FFENFMe2zdNIy0PnhIVPeHkW-MbQ4lKHUoAEU21KEzMV_WyiaGzqmqIKldm1ZqElEetKQJhaCWLu5T5f4I5D_DIOstX/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="172" data-original-width="175" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL93ixVfYeopS6LbM306OcA7VdFqQvjhlwqvkqNthxM8C9RHpp2FFENFMe2zdNIy0PnhIVPeHkW-MbQ4lKHUoAEU21KEzMV_WyiaGzqmqIKldm1ZqElEetKQJhaCWLu5T5f4I5D_DIOstX/" width="244" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><b> </b></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: left;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: left; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.8px; text-align: left;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: left;">Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: left;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a></b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: left;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: left;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: left;">As Mother's Day is fast approaching, I hope many families will be able to gather together for safe celebrations this year. In the meantime,</span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: helvetica;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;"> I thought I'd re-post this game show parody.</span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; text-align: start;"><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; text-align: start;"> </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; text-align: start;"> Meddling Mothers and Disappointing Daughters</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: start;"></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><b><br /></b></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: start;"></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><b>Host</b>: It's time to play Meddling Mothers and Disappointing Daughters, the only game show where mothers and daughters try to get along to win prizes that the mothers will never be able to operate in the first place. Let's meet the contestants...(</span><em style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;">He notices that one mother is still trying to climb up into her chair) </em><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; text-align: start;"> Do you need some help Dorothy?</span></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><b>Dorothy</b>: No, I'm fine thank you.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><b>Dorothy's daughter</b>: Just grab my hand, and let me give you a boost.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><b>Dorothy</b>: I said I don't need any help. STOP RUSHING ME!</div><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;" /><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><b>Host</b>: Okay, let's move on to Gladys and her daughter Gretchen. How many times do you call your mother a day?</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; line-height: 18.9px;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Gretchen</b>: Once.</span><span style="font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"> </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><b style="font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif;"><br /></b></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><b style="font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif;">Host</b><span style="font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif;">: And you Felicia?</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><b>Felicia</b>: I call my mother once a week.</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><em>(A loud siren sounds</em>)</div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.5455px; line-height: 18.9px; text-align: start;"><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Host</b>: Where's Dorothy?</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><span style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Dorothy's daughter</b>: She fell down and her Life Alert alarm went off.</span><span style="font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"> </span><br /><br style="font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;" /><span style="font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"> </span><em style="line-height: 18.9px;">(The paramedics lift Dorothy into her seat)</em><br /><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Dorothy's daughter</b>: I call my mother six times a day. She hangs up on me, and says, "It's never enough."</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><em>(The bell sounds ding ding ding)</em></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Host</b>: You are correct. The answer is, "Never enough." You just won a case of prune juice. You must be very proud of your daughter Dorothy!</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><span style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Dorothy</b>: Did you see how nice those paramedics were? Why couldn't you have married someone like that?</span><span style="font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;"> </span><br /><br style="font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;" /><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Host</b>: All right then. Now we'll ask the mothers a question. Gladys when is the last time you said something nice to your daughter?</div><br style="line-height: 18.9px;" /><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Gladys</b>: Don't we get a lunch break?</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Host</b>: It's only been five minutes. We'll have snacks after the show.</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Gladys:</b> But this is when I eat lunch.</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Gretchen</b>: Here Mom, I brought you a sandwich. <em>(takes one out of her purse)</em></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Gladys</b>: It's on rye bread. I like a nice roll. I can't eat this. What's wrong with you?</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Fanny:</b> I'll take it. I'm starving. <em>(Looks at her own daughter Felicia)</em> Why don't you ever make me lunch?</div><br style="line-height: 18.9px;" /><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Host:</b> Fanny, when is the last time you said something nice to your daughter?</div><br style="font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;" /><span style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Fanny</b>: That's easy. As we were driving over, I told my daughter that her dress was very pretty...</span><br /><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Host</b>: Well, that is nice.</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Fanny:</b> And I'm sure that if she lost ten pounds it would actually fit her.</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Host:</b> Maybe we should just throw out that question. Dorothy, when was the last time your daughter took you to the doctor?</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Dorothy</b>: You know falling down really makes a person thirsty. How come no one offered me a drink or a sandwich?</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Host</b>: If you answer the question, I'll get you both.</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Dorothy</b>: Okay, yes please.</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Host:</b> Yes please what?</div><br style="font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.79px;" /><span style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Dorothy:</b> I would like both a drink and a sandwich. Soup would be nice too, but I don't want to be a bother.</span><br /><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><em>(Gladys is dashing across the stage with her walker. Her daughter is jogging behind her)</em></div><br style="line-height: 18.9px;" /><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Host:</b> Where are you going?</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Gladys:</b> I just remembered I think I forgot to turn off the stove.</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Host:</b> Can you have someone else check on it?</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Gretchen</b>: It's my stove, and I just got a text that the fire department is heading over to my house.</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Gladys:</b> Are we stopping for lunch first, 'cause I still haven't eaten?</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Host:</b> Good luck ladies. Be sure to tell us your new address, so we can send you a lifetime supply of incontinence products.</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Dorothy:</b> Continents? I can name the continents! There's Asia, Africa.....</div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></div><span style="line-height: 18.9px;"><b>Host</b>: Well, that's all the time we have for today. Thanks for playing Meddling Mothers and Disappointing Daughters.</span><span style="line-height: 18.9px;"> </span><em style="line-height: 18.9px;">(The daughters storm off stage)</em><span style="line-height: 18.9px;"> </span><span style="line-height: 18.9px;">Aren't you forgetting something? Don't leave me alone with your mothers. Come back!!!</span></div><div style="line-height: 18.9px;"><span style="line-height: 18.9px;"><br /></span></div></div></div></div></div></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p></p>Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-70815159381914437352021-03-03T00:00:00.002-08:002021-03-03T01:48:14.705-08:00IWSG: Psst...Looking For A COVID Vaccine?<p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-WzYYc5tiYZD7a-tL-V8Hy1oZdxZKAy-sKF2WnDGmG6KkM9h4Z3ImDK4sspqv39OfU1CGe5RgwVDoXB6z-6VeW8ZR1ynC0jW7CPViIYQQUquxzpxrqhrBdNzrA9PIL-wZic55lA3syJ9/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="197" data-original-width="200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-WzYYc5tiYZD7a-tL-V8Hy1oZdxZKAy-sKF2WnDGmG6KkM9h4Z3ImDK4sspqv39OfU1CGe5RgwVDoXB6z-6VeW8ZR1ynC0jW7CPViIYQQUquxzpxrqhrBdNzrA9PIL-wZic55lA3syJ9/" width="244" /></a></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: helvetica; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica;">Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: helvetica;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a></b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: helvetica;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: helvetica;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span></p><p><br /></p><p> <b>Psst...Looking For A COVID Vaccine?</b></p><p>It was almost midnight when the text came through. My friend had just made an appointment for a COVID-19 vaccine and proceeded to share the details, so I could do the same. The first step was changing her iPhone general setting to a city in Australia. As if reading my mind she added, "That's probably not the 'kosher' way to do this."</p><p>Though my friend is only 61 and has no pre-existing medical conditions, she embellished being an essential worker and has already received her first dose of the vaccine. She encouraged me to join her, but I politely declined.</p><p>Another friend and her husband who are both over 65 got frustrated waiting for the vaccine, so they obtained it by driving to a pharmacy in a crime-ridden neighborhood. Their registration method involved signing in on the website at precisely 12:01 a.m. and changing their zip code to increase their chances of finding a location. To complete the process, the retired couple both falsely indicated they were healthcare personnel.</p><p> Needless to say, I was pleased when my age appropriate husband decided to wait to register until he was alerted of openings from our hospital. He received his first dose two weeks ago.</p><p>People of all ages without pre-existing conditions who worked from the comfort of their own homes have also found ways to get the COVID vaccine, and some were willing to pay $200 for it.</p><p>Despite this me-first mentality, there are still good people out there who inspire us to do better. One random act of kindness involved my former classmate who struck up a conversation about the vaccine with an elderly woman at a pharmacy.</p><p>When the elderly woman explained that her first dose was scheduled in a few days, but she had no means of transportation, my former classmate generously offered to drive her to the appointment. The pair became fast friends, and the elderly woman has even been giving her art lessons. </p><p></p><p>But the most inspirational story comes from Dolly Parton who donated $1 million dollars to Moderna for COVID-19 vaccine research. The 75 year-old country music star and philanthropist graciously insisted on waiting her turn for the vaccine, and finally received her first dose on March 2nd.</p><p>Parton explained her decision to wait in a February article in The Associated Press, "I don't want to look like I'm jumping the line, just because I donated money. I'm funny that way." </p><p>We can all learn from Dolly Parton's extreme generosity and selflessness to get us through these tumultuous times. And of course, her wise words of encouragement have never rung truer:</p><p>"The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain."</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-53053216635400345462021-01-05T23:53:00.001-08:002021-01-05T23:53:29.437-08:00IWSG: The Instant Gratification Sexagenarian<p> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDMxlv-JGpO_fKMcO6NloVA3pzw72wyjR0pNipgdHo7Y4KcT1mPkTLOWATRQUX07jGvg1Cgi_zh42UTRvVHzCOPMM8gFWwqv4x2N4bxR15L7PLSJVCsbjh-0ryhC3TGe3sA74Odsnl5oAF/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="197" data-original-width="200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDMxlv-JGpO_fKMcO6NloVA3pzw72wyjR0pNipgdHo7Y4KcT1mPkTLOWATRQUX07jGvg1Cgi_zh42UTRvVHzCOPMM8gFWwqv4x2N4bxR15L7PLSJVCsbjh-0ryhC3TGe3sA74Odsnl5oAF/" width="244" /></a></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><span style="text-align: start;">It's time for the first 2021 edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-align: start; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="line-height: 20.8px; text-align: start;">. Happy New Year to all! </span><span style="text-align: start;">Be sure to visit </span><b style="color: #336699; text-align: start;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a></b><b style="color: #336699; text-align: start;"> </b><span style="text-align: start;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand</span><span style="text-align: start;">. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><b>January 6 optional question</b> - <i>Being a writer, when you're reading someone else's work, what stops you from finishing a book/throws you out of the story/frustrates you the most about other people's books?</i></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: medium;">Since the Covid outbreak, I've had more free time than ever; yet, I've become even less patient. For example, choosing a book and actually reading it from cover to cover has become more of a rarity. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: medium;">If the story doesn't reel me in right away, I throw it overboard in favor of binge watching a star-studded mini series on TV. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: medium;">Does my intense desire for instant gratification mean that I'm turning into a millennial disguised in Golden Girl clothing with a beauty shop hairdo?</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: medium;">Is it unreasonable for someone who takes over an hour to complete her nightly brushing and flossing ritual to want to feel some emotion for one of the main characters by the end of the first chapter? Indifference is not our friend.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: medium;">I'd rather wonder what makes this woman so atrocious, or is this guy really as innocent as he seems, then when is this chapter going to end? And with my new gnat-like attention span, long chapters are my kryptonite. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: medium;">There's something satisfying about finishing a chapter at bedtime, and looking forward to delving into a new chapter with endless possibilities the following day. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: medium;">Though writers often spend years researching, writing and editing their manuscripts, many readers benefit in even more ways than they realize. The chance to settle in with a good book, is one of the best means of escape particularly during the pandemic, and the IWSG has many of you to thank for that.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;">I appreciate having the opportunity to share my two cents which is practically worthless, as the penny will soon be obsolete. </span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-11375625549316451892020-11-03T22:50:00.000-08:002020-11-03T22:50:10.791-08:00IWSG: Writing Therapy<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDRVaPtOd1nhQcYCxZdv8VmKLoWRJ7vVGjYR5NralnDOUw3EERXv6fStAolKWo7nGiotzJuJ-B1yRkDRpx-fwSmHsoSoJS7O1V04VKd0zOp2JwQHW5wjyc5_su_VA6bfwWCHcK1Q7DrVTc/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="197" data-original-width="200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDRVaPtOd1nhQcYCxZdv8VmKLoWRJ7vVGjYR5NralnDOUw3EERXv6fStAolKWo7nGiotzJuJ-B1yRkDRpx-fwSmHsoSoJS7O1V04VKd0zOp2JwQHW5wjyc5_su_VA6bfwWCHcK1Q7DrVTc/" width="244" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="text-align: start;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-align: start; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="line-height: 20.8px; text-align: start;">. </span><span style="text-align: start;">Be sure to visit </span><b style="color: #336699; text-align: start;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="color: #336699; text-align: start;"> </b><span style="text-align: start;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand</span><span style="text-align: start;">.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="text-align: start;"><b>November </b></span><b style="text-align: left;">Optional </b><span style="text-align: start;"><b>Question:</b> Albert Camus once said, "The purpose of a writer is to keep </span><span style="text-align: start;">civilization</span><span style="text-align: start;"> from destroying itself." Flannery O'Connor said, "I write to discover what I know." Authors across time and distance have had many reasons to write. Why do you write what you write?</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #333333;">I finally gathered up the courage to start writing in 2011 when our boys were off at college and law school. What</span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; font-family: georgia;"> began as a blog</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: georgia;"> to share humorous stories about my life as an empty nester, became a scrapbook of wonderful family memories, and opened doors to becoming a journalist.</span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #333333;">Soon the focus of the empty nest changed when my beautiful rebellious mom reluctantly moved into an assisted living facility. Her home of 46 years had multi-levels, so it was too difficult for her to navigate the stairs in a walker. Though we toured several pretty places, my young, hip septuagenarian mom had the same complaint, "There are too many old people here." </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: georgia;">Mom became the star of so many of my stories that she told me, " You're lucky I'm your mother; otherwise, I'd sue you for stealing all my best lines."</span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #333333;">Writing about my mom was also therapeutic for me. Instead of pulling my hair out from her many falls and hospitalizations which later led to her inevitable move into a nursing home, we managed to always find the humor in every situation. And she took great joy in reading the comments from her many dedicated fans. I couldn't possibly have asked for a better muse, and nearly two years later, I still miss my mom dearly.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: georgia;">In 2015, I began writing for a daily local news website which featured a weekend print edition. I always wanted to write professionally, and believe the experience I gained through blogging and the IWSG, led to helping me achieve this goal. </span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="color: #333333;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: georgia;">Though I learned a great deal about local schools and city news, I especially enjoyed writing human interest stories. Whether interviewing individuals from 12 to 100, I tried to treat each story as a personal gift. </span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: georgia;">One of my favorite interviews was a darling couple about to celebrate their 75th wedding anniversary. When asked the secret of a successful marriage, the charming husband replied in two words, "Yes, dear." </span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: georgia;">His wife had a wonderful sense of humor too, and they couldn't have been more appreciative. When I dropped off extra print copies of their newspaper article, she told me about all the positive feedback they received from the beauty shop, grocery store and even the gas station.</span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: georgia;"> Because they were "instant celebrities," they were now being approached by neighbors who never spoke to them before. She even joked about moving, as the women were getting a little too friendly with her 97-year-old husband. </span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: georgia;">Then she took me aside and expressed how much my interview meant to them, since most of their family lived out of state, and many of their friends had passed away. Their humorous love story made her feel young again. I couldn't help but tear up, as we hugged and said our goodbyes.</span></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;">Some of my other news stories were about Holocaust survivors, shelters for abused women and children, and many health issues from preventing injuries to overcoming debilitating illnesses. I'll always be grateful to my encouraging editor who patiently guided me along the way.</div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; text-align: left;">My goal was to write news stories that were both informative and entertaining when possible. Though my blog stories have often missed the mark on both counts, I hope to at least provide a distraction during these turbulent times.</div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: start;"><br /></span></div>Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-21673925623635814802020-10-06T23:25:00.001-07:002020-10-06T23:27:48.863-07:00IWSG: A Frightful Visit To The ER<p> <img alt="" data-original-height="197" data-original-width="200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrT7gP3u4TV_-Yw0TIrhqd9znySwIFyhs7Vg7axeZUqkHUYEj9c3ebtfIxJt9krQ_zWulVw6z0f8Yh0qxMM0sMmx5kAcbTJT_otWikix37s10mfvfoWXnKfWOUpBvD7jS1XrN1GP5wuoTr/" width="244" /> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana; text-align: start;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana; text-align: start; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana; line-height: 20.8px; text-align: start;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana; text-align: start;">Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana; text-align: start;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana; text-align: start;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana; text-align: start;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana; text-align: start;">.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b> </b><b> </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b> A Frightful Visit To The ER</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-family: helvetica;">It all began just days after my husband's successful knee replacement surgery. While he was racing around on his walker, I felt like I had just gotten off of a horse</span>. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Though I hated to bother my out-of-state kidney transplant team on Labor Day weekend, I feared without a medication adjustment, I wouldn't be able to continue to care for my strong and selfless hubby. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">After describing my symptoms, the transplant nurse urged me to head over to the emergency room. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I told her that I couldn't possibly leave my husband unattended shortly after his surgery, and there was no way of knowing how long the wait would be in the ER. But the nurse apologetically explained that she couldn't prescribe anything without examining me, and didn't want to take any chances since my immune system had already been compromised from a serious intestinal infection last June.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Fortunately, both my considerate brother and devoted son graciously offered to hubby-sit while I drove myself to the ER. Thank goodness for cell phones, as I texted with friends to help pass the time. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">I knew it would be a long wait, but the staff would not let me leave the building to walk around outside. So I did laps inside the hospital until I got reprimanded for walking a short distance from the crowded ER to the empty lobby.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Three hours later, I was placed into an examining room. It took longer for me to change into my hospital gown than it did for the doctor to provide a humiliating diagnosis. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">He tried to ease my embarrassment by explaining that this painful condition resulted from having a compromised immune system along with being a complete nervous wreck. Well, he was two for two, but I couldn't help thinking he was being a bit rash.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Though I attempted to assure the doctor that I like Princess Di was a "woman with a history, but not a past," he quickly left to call my transplant doctor to discuss treatment. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">While I was awaiting the doctor's return, I called Hubby to fill him in, but no one answered. Surely, the poor boy was worried sick about me, so I called my brother to find out what was going on. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">My brother said my husband didn't bring his phone with him on their walk. This was the farthest he had walked since his surgery. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Apparently while I was on the verge of being branded with the Scarlet Letter, my husband was holding court on a bench outside our apartment building, as some of the neighbors stopped to admire his new knee along with his sheer bravery. I could hear him laughing in the background; clearly having the time of his life.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">After waiting almost another hour, the ER doctor returned to announce there was nothing they could do for now, but the pain would subside on its own in a few days. While I was doing the walk of shame out of the ER, I could've sworn one of the technicians winked at me.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">During the drive home, a dear friend called to see how I was doing. I told her that it was all a terribly humiliating waste of time, but she didn't seem to believe me. I finally mustered the courage to say my disgraceful diagnosis out loud, as a train thunderously whistled down the tracks.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Then she blurted out, "What do you mean you have burps? And why would you have to change into a hospital gown for that?"</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Later when I jokingly asked my husband for a list of partners he's had throughout our 33 year marriage, he replied, "Got a pen?"</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><i>Wishing everyone in blogland, a safe and happy Halloween! In the meantime, please wear your masks in public, and don't forget to get a flu shot!</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-8939044372319047462020-09-01T22:36:00.002-07:002020-09-01T22:42:37.712-07:00ISWG: Slumming It In College<p> </p><p> <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" /></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana;">Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span></p><p><br /></p><p>I wrote this story in 2012 BC (Before Covid). Though I can't possibly imagine what parents and students are currently going through during the Coronavirus pandemic on college campuses across the country and around the world, I wish everyone a safe and healthy school year. </p><p>In the meantime, here's a look at this neurotic mother's worst fears during what now seems like a much simpler time.</p><p> <b> </b></p><p><b> Slumming It In College</b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="146" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQNYEcb1Vzn6NcOacpd7BXNMj7b2jj7tx2zeixTzMbGw9ALKgZDDg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="222" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: xx-small;">(boisedailyphoto.com)</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Last weekend our boys left for school. While our older son set off for his third year of law school, we drove our youngest for his third year of college. Both boys completed their physicals, were updated on all of their shots, had their teeth cleaned, hair combed and were good to go. Their clothes were washed and pressed, and they were starting off on the right foot. Unfortunately, our younger son's left foot got stuck in it when we arrived.</span></span></p><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">He was moving into an older house with three other boys, and I thought I was prepared for the worst. The rent was too good to be true, and I strongly recommended that he find another place last spring. My husband agreed, but he assured us that this was a great house conveniently located near the campus. It pains me to write these words, but we sort of trusted him.</span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">It was raining when we pulled up to the wood shack, so the muddy walkway only added to the ambiance. We walked into the kitchen with a flickering ceiling fixture, and a sunken floor made of mismatched tiles with large gaps throughout. There were missing electrical outlet covers, missing sections of dry wall, and huge holes in the ceilings. All of these slight imperfections were found in the kitchen and living room. I was afraid of what else was lurking in this four bedroom house, and never made it further than our son's bedroom.</span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">He lived in a fraternity house his sophomore year, and spent freshmen year in a dorm. I remember how we helped him set up his room each year, but this time I was afraid to even touch anything. He was offended when I said that his happy home resembled a crack house, and looked to his father for support. My husband calmly likened it to a slum. He tried comforting me by reminding me how our older son almost lived in a converted garage when he was an undergraduate. To this day, we're not sure if we talked him out of it, or if he was just relieved to get a better offer.</span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">After the screaming subsided, my son told me that I was a snob. He went on to say that this house wasn't good enough for me. I told him that this house wasn't good enough for any human being, and that he didn't need to be in a place that wasn't safe to live in. To accentuate my point, as our son's foot gently brushed the top of the stairway, we watched the metal threshold come tumbling down.</span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">Another pleasant thought occurred to me. Because our son is the first one in the house to turn twenty-one, I was wondering if he would be held responsible if there were an accident. For example, if an underage girl is over-served, and stumbled over a large rat at a party in their basement, would our son be carted away? Our older son alerted me by text that the owner would be responsible. </span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /></span><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The next day, my husband and son went to talk to the landlord. His office said that they would be happy to make any repairs and even offered to replace the dilapidated kitchen floor. They claimed that the house had already been painted. My husband asked how they could've painted over areas with missing drywall. Of course they blamed this on the hooligans who rented the house last year. </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">When we said our goodbyes, my son smiled and assured me that he would be okay. He told me that I should stop being such a negative person, and focus on the positives.</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> I hugged him tightly, as I did a mental count of all his fingers and toes. Then I took a deep breath and said, "Well, at least you're only about a block away from the hospital." </span></div><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333;" /></span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;" />Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-52860404127257051072020-08-04T00:49:00.016-07:002020-08-05T00:21:29.578-07:00IWSG: Neighborhood Watch<div><br /></div><div> <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" /></div><div><br /></div><div><font face="verdana"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14.85px;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-size: 14.85px; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14.85px;">Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-size: 14.85px;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-size: 14.85px;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 14.85px;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span></font></div><div><font face="verdana"> </font></div><div> <b> </b></div><div><b> <font face="verdana">Neighborhood Watch</font></b></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><font face="verdana">Ted Abel was known for being a good neighbor who enjoyed history, The Chicago White Sox, cycling, classical music and pickle ball. He could often be seen strolling hand in hand with his wife of 40 years down their quiet wooded street.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">The Abels tried on several occasions to be friendly with their next door neighbors, the Cains, but the wife was more interested in sun bathing and six packs (tin not skin) than any form of socializing. The husband usually kept to himself.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">Consequently, their paths would soon cross again, and Ted's life would never be the same.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">Fast forward to early June when many thought the pandemic was slowing down and several states were optimistically moving into Phase 3. Ah, the good old days.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">Shortly thereafter, Ted's landscaper found him climbing down a tree with a nervous cat in tow. The landscaper warned him that someone was throwing yard waste into his backyard, Outraged, but playing it cool for the cat's sake, Ted was determined to keep his fly dumping degenerate neighbor from disgracing his yard again.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">He quickly went next door to confront Cain, but was rudely greeted by his wife. Ted tried to divert his eyes, as Cain's wife was sunbathing in a bikini that was stretched out in all the wrong places.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">"Is your husband home?"</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">Her whole body creaked, as she struggled to free her entangled thong bikini from the lounge chair slats.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">"He's busy working. What do you want?"</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">Ted calmly explained that if her husband dumped his yard waste in their backyard again, the landscaper was going to add it to his bill. </font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">This set Mrs. Cain into a rage. How dare Ted accuse her husband of any wrong doing. At first she threatened to blow Ted up, but then decided it would be a better idea to shoot him in the face. Yes, she never liked his face anyway.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">Remarkably, Ted remained composed when he asked her if they had any firearms in their home. But his delusional neighbor wasn't listening. She just rambled on about how much she hated Ted and his excuse for a wife.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">"You two definitely deserve each other. Your wife is a vile woman."</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">Awakened from the one woman shouting match, Cain stormed out of his house.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">After Ted filled him in about the yard waste fiasco followed by his wife's threats to shoot him, he casually asked if Cain had any guns in their home. When Cain refused to answer, Ted said he had no choice but to call the police.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">Cain just shrugged his shoulders and said, "Do what you gotta do."</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">The next day, two police officers escorted Ted to the house of Cain where they spoke to the couple on their front porch. Ted almost didn't recognize Mrs. Cain, as she wasn't dressed like a retired stripper. The Cains politely denied any confrontation with Ted, and the police went on their way.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">Ted couldn't believe that the police weren't taking her threats seriously. When he asked why they didn't investigate further, the officers explained that they </font><span style="font-family: verdana;">couldn’t legally search or even ask the couple if they owned a gun.</span></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">In an ill attempt to set Ted's mind at ease, the officers added they were going to file a police report. Ted wanted to say how the report would really come in handy when he's shot to death by a screaming bikini wearing gun moll, but he thanked them anyway. </font></div><div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div></div><div><font face="verdana">Later that night, Ted told his wife every sordid detail about his life threatening confrontation with the Cains, as well as, the futile follow-up with the police. Upon hearing the news, his wife's face drained of color, and she couldn't speak. </font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">Ted tried to put on a brave face while reassuring her that she needn't worry, as he was getting his affairs in order, so she would be well taken care of in the event of his sudden demise.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">Within minutes, his wife miraculously rose to announce that they needed to notify the family. She went into the den to call their eldest daughter and Ted quickly followed.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">After repeating the story verbatim to their daughter, Ted couldn't believe his ears when he realized what most upset his wife.</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana">"Yes, she did threaten to shoot Daddy in the face, but can you believe that no good former street walker had the nerve to call your mother a 'vile woman?'"</font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><font face="verdana"><br /></font></div><div><br /></div>Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-51881714244055422092020-05-05T22:49:00.002-07:002020-05-08T15:52:03.263-07:00IWSG: Going To The Dogs on Mother's Day<br />
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" /><br />
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<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span><br />
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<b> Going To The Dogs On Mother's Day</b><br />
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I woke up with a fright. My wildly overgrown hair looked like I spent a little too much time in the spin cycle, just days before I'd be reunited with my boys for a social distancing walk on Mother's Day.<br />
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Unfortunately, all hair and nail salons in Illinois will remain closed until at least the end of May, so I had to find an alternative plan. That's when I read that dog grooming services were now officially open. As I took a good hard look in the mirror at my unruly hair, pale blotchy skin, and overgrown toenails, I decided if it's good enough for the dogs...<br />
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I couldn't believe my eyes when I found a highly rated mobile dog grooming service specializing in elderly dogs that would come directly to our apartment building. I scrambled to make an appointment, and found a last minute cancellation.<br />
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When I was greeted by the Certified Canine Esthetician clad in a face mask, shield and gloves, she kept looking over my shoulder to see where my dog was. So I explained that I desperately needed her help, as I hadn't seen my boys on my birthday or Passover and was terrified of scaring them off on Mother's Day.<br />
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Upon closer examination, she yelled to the Portuguese Water Dog at the other end of the truck, "Sorry Ginger you'll have to wait. This gal clearly needs this more than you do."<br />
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First, she put me in a microbubble bath which is strong enough to remove skunk odors, but it was the reduced shedding factor that really sold me. Though we were six feet apart and separated by a clear shower curtain, I scrambled to get dressed, but I could've sworn I heard Ginger gag and giggle.<br />
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Next, the groomer brought out the shears to cut my hair. I tried to show her a pre-quarantine photo of when I resembled a human, but she wasn't interested. Then she told me to relax and offered me a cow ear chew to snack on. It wasn't bad.<br />
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Afterward, the groomer blowed-dry my hair, but there were no mirrors. As if reading my mind, she said, "You look gorgeous!"<br />
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When the groomer set out a water bowl with fresh lemons, I put my hand in to soak for my manicure. But she quickly took it out of the bowl. "Bad girl! That water is for drinking not playing," she said in a stern voice.<br />
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After my shiny new manicure and pedicure, I grabbed my purse to pay the bill; however, the groomer commanded me to "stay" for one additional service. Then she gave me a squirt of minty mouth spray and a dental chew to freshen my breath.<br />
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Lastly, the groomer walked me over to a large mirror in the corner of the truck. Sure, I looked like a French Poodle, but I came in pale and pasty and walked out glowing with a shiny new coat.<br />
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I couldn't thank her enough and even splurged on a dog toy to reward Ginger for patiently waiting. Though she snarled at me, and tossed it into the microbubble bath, I think Ginger felt bad when it disintegrated before our eyes.<br />
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When I walked into our building, a flirty Bulldog kept following me around. At first I was flattered, until I realized that he most likely was attracted to my canine cologne.<br />
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Of course, my husband didn't say a word about my kennel clip, though he did compliment me on my minty fresh breath.<br />
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The next morning, I awoke refreshed and full of energy. But I couldn't figure out why I was curled up near my hubby at the foot of the bed with a rolled-up newspaper between my teeth.<br />
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Have a safe and Happy Mother's Day!<br />
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<br />Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-21134229949262319602020-03-31T23:22:00.002-07:002020-04-01T11:03:57.640-07:00IWSG: The Quirks of Quarantine <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" /><br />
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<br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> <b>The Quirks of Quarantine</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">Being under self-quarantine certainly gives a person plenty of time to think, especially during TV commercials. Unfortunately, many of my insights are soon forgotten in the time it takes to find a pen, wipe it down, and sterilize my desk, </span><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">counter-top, wall, or husband's back all before realizing I ran out of paper. </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Of course, my laptop is more efficient, but where's the fun in that?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">Sadly, I've gotten used to being in isolation. I wouldn't necessarily call it my new normal, because it's more like my old abnormal. But while others are having trouble abiding with all of the necessary safety precautions, my husband has been enjoying social distancing from me a little too much. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">Though we share a small apartment, Hubby recently sent me an e-card for my birthday. Not only did it save him a trip to the store, it saved him the trouble of being in the same room with me.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Whether walking around the apartment building or venturing outside, I feel like I'm trapped in a Spaghetti Western. If I do happen upon another lone drifter</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> in our deserted hallways, or ghos</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">t town sidewalks, </span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">it's as if we're about to face-off in a duel or gunfight. We each step back about six feet waiting for one to pass the other. Fortunately, no guns have been drawn, but I've taken to carrying toilet paper rolls as a peace offering.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">Though my neighbors used to greet me with a kind word and a smile, everyone is so terrified of catching COVID-19, that they've even begun to avoid eye contact at all costs. Thus far, I haven't heard any evidence of contracting the virus through eye rolls, side-eye, or uncontrollable blinking, but this works to my advantage.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">I no longer have to wear make-up, suck in my stomach, or wash my hair on a regular basis. I've considered brushing my teeth as an optional activity, but even that gets old after a few days.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">The quarantine has forced me to get reacquainted with my kitchen, which isn't necessarily a good thing. I'm cooking more and eating more, which makes me a prime candidate for gaining the "quarantine 15." </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">So I try to walk laps around our tiny apartment in between meals, snacks, desserts and thoughts about any of the above. I'm sure our neighbor below us is thrilled when I'm gracefully trotting around before midnight in a last minute attempt to reach my daily step goal. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Sadly, I'll probably have to attend PTQD (Post Traumatic Quarantine Disorder) meetings when the stay-at-home order is lifted.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">Though I miss my boys terribly, I'm proud of how seriously they're taking COVID-19, and how hard they've been working to help others. Our older son learned to create face masks on his 3-D printer, and offered to give them to us, and his doctor friends since hospitals are in such short supply. Unfortunately, the face masks are not considered hospital grade at this time, but may be helpful to others at risk.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Our younger son has also been providing a useful service by Skyping with clients of all ages to lift their spirits, as well as their gluteus maximus through strength training.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">I also miss my brother who in addition to picking up prescriptions and groceries for his neighbors, is frequently offering to run errands for us.</span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> But my husband has taken to avoiding crowds by shopping during the early senior hours. Though I tease Hubby a lot, there's no one else I'd rather be quarantined with, and I'm truly grateful for him.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">Yesterday, was a good day, as my husband finally tracked down some much needed sanitizing wipes and paper towels. The paper towels might also come in handy to keep the peace in our hallways.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">Stay safe and healthy, my friends.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span>Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-62681587182369712862020-03-04T00:03:00.003-08:002020-03-04T00:03:26.166-08:00IWSG: A Pain In The As...king <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span><br />
<br />
<b>A Pain In The As...king</b><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><b style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">BOLO Alert: </b><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">My husband has a cough and cold. But it's not an ordinary cough and cold, because my husband has it. What makes it even more horrific is that his endless suffering is just weeks before his knee replacement surgery.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">The other night I found Hubby napping in front of the blaring TV, so I turned down the volume. He awoke shortly, changed chairs and turned the volume way up to generously share his program with the majority of neighbors on our floor and the floor below. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">When the phone rang, I had to quarantine myself in our bedroom with the door closed in order to hear the other voice on the line. This took away from my laundry time, as I would have to enter a dangerous hearing zone that would make even the calmest dogs go absolutely mad. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">After the call ended, I decided to take my life into my own hands by re-entering the mutant hearing zone to find my husband was once again sound asleep. When I told him how the blaring TV was affecting my hearing he replied, "I can't worry about that right now, as I have to focus on my upcoming knee replacement surgery."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">The other day, I went to the doctor to be treated for a sore throat, cold and slight cough. Fortunately, I knew right away that it wasn't the Coronavirus, as I was fever-free, but I didn't want to take a chance on being sick for my husband's upcoming surgery.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">The nurse was having difficulty swabbing the back of my throat during the strep test, so I offered to grab hold of my tongue while she went in with the swab.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">After after several failed attempts, I finally held my tongue down long enough for her to get a culture. When I apologized for being such a difficult patient, the nurse said it wasn't my fault that the lab ran out of </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">tongue depressors. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Needless to say, I went home with neither prescription nor pride in tact. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">The next day, my husband's cough soared from a one to a two on a scale of 10, so he saw the same NP (nurse practitioner) in our doctors' office. Before he left, I reminded him to tell her that we were both at a children's birthday party where many of the guests later came down with either colds or the flu. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">Then he walked out muttering (in between exaggerated coughs), "Julie, thanks for giving me this generous gift before my surgery."</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">Apparently, Hubby accomplished a lot more during his office visit. He explained that the NP swabbed him for the flu, and if the results were positive, she would call in a prescription for him and a preventative dosage for me with approval from my kidney transplant doctors. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">I couldn't believe that I wasn't tested for the flu, but my husband was not surprised. According to the NP, I did not have flu-like symptoms. I only had a sore throat, runny nose and slight cough, while Hubby had a terrible cough, runny nose and felt (here's the operative word)...ACHY.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">A few expletives later, I offered to pick up some soup, and other favorite items at the deli, along with his pending prescription, but Hubby wanted to go instead. I argued that he was far too sickly to venture out again, but he insisted.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">Then the NP called and said he didn't have the flu, but she'd still give him a prescription to make him more comfortable. Now I was really angry. Shouldn't I be at my full strength to take care of her favorite patient after his surgery? </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">After throwing back a cool glass of chocolate milk, I calmly offered once again to make a deli and drugstore run, so this poor suffering man could crawl under the covers to begin the healing process. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">Finally, my husband told me the real reason why he needed to run those errands. Apparently, he had a taste for the deli's special tuna salad, but their tomatoes left a lot to be desired. Rather than settle for a less than perfect sandwich, he preferred making an additional stop at an upscale grocery store to personally select an exquisitely firm tomato. Of course, I couldn't be trusted with this important task.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">In the end, the NP also prescribed something for me, but it's not strong enough to numb my new pain.</span></span></span><br />
<br />Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-33164590443265424012020-02-05T00:06:00.002-08:002020-02-05T11:23:33.372-08:00IWSG: Falling For Each Other <br />
<img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;"> </span><b><span style="font-size: 14.85px;"> </span>Falling For Each Other</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Last month I wrote about how 2020 got off to a rocky start when my husband fell in the shower, and we almost didn't make it to our dear friends' New Year's Eve party. Though the story had a happy ending, I stumbled by taking a lighthearted approach to my husband's accident, causing karma to step in. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">About a week later, Hubby experienced debilitating pain in his right knee, and couldn't walk. In an effort not to wake me, he used a Swiffer handle as a makeshift cane. Then I bought him an actual cane, and we went to an orthopedic doctor the next day. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">The x-ray showed that the arthritis of Hubby's right knee was so severe that his leg was bone on bone. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The doctor ordered physical therapy, in addition to continuing pre-shower fall therapy on his right shoulder. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">He also advised him that he'd likely need knee replacement surgery in the near future. We researched surgeons and will be seeing our first choice in mid-February. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">But karma didn't end there. A few days later, despite clear skies, I bundled up in layers, snow boots and my warmest winter coat en route to a hair appointment. I didn't want to take any chances encountering wild winds or slick sidewalks. Then without warning, as I approached the corner before the beauty shop, </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I gracefully fell face first on an uneven sidewalk. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A kind stranger apparently witnessed the dreadfully embarrassing incident and offered to help me up, but I slowly managed to get to my feet. I tried to smile with my protruding bloody lip, and thanked her as I limped into the shop. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Then my wonderful beautician sprang into action by helping me into the chair. I admired her restraint, as </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I was aghast at my reflection when I saw something resembling a freakish Simpson cartoon character staring back at me. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Next, I checked to make sure I wasn't missing any teeth while my caring beautician gently dabbed my lip, and bandaged my bloody knee. Then she offered to either drive me home or to the ER. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">But I did exactly what my mom would've done. I ignored my throbbing knee, and stayed for the two hour color highlights appointment. Hey, if I had to go to the hospital, I was darn well going to look my best. My full-service nurse/beautician even drove me home afterward.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Fortunately, my husband's knee was improving, so later that night he lent me the family cane. By this time I was screaming in pain, but he didn't notice any swelling and thought my knee would heal quickly. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Grateful that I fell on the opposite side of my new kidney, I spent the next few days toughing it out by icing and elevating my knee, in between Nancy Kerrigan "Why me?" rantings. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">A few days later, my husband woke me with a start when his blood pressure sky rocketed to 184/100. I drove him to the ER for a series of tests. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Fortunately, aside from his blood pressure, his other numbers looked good, and there was no evidence of a heart attack or stroke. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Relieved that Hubby was out of danger, I asked if the young trauma doctor would look at my knee. He nodded. Then I rolled up my pant leg, and added, "If I was your grandmother, would you recommend having an x-ray?" That went over like a lead balloon which really cheered me up.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">The x-ray showed I have a small fracture of my kneecap, so I was outfitted with an immobilizer (brace) which spans from my lower thigh to my upper calf. Thankfully, my husband has been doing well on a low-dose hypertension pill.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">When we arrived home that afternoon, we were greeted by our neighbor whose husband is a former orthopedic surgeon. After we told her why I was wearing a brace she reiterated what I already knew, that a fractured kneecap is extremely painful. Then my husband apologized for not taking me more seriously</span><span style="background-color: white;">.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">We also took a photo of the uneven sidewalk where I fell, and sent it to the city to hopefully prevent future injuries.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Last week Hubby celebrated his birthday, and our wonderful boys took us out for a delicious pre-birthday dinner at an outstanding steak restaurant which really raised our spirits.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">On my husband's actual birthday,</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> I wanted to make his favorite fudge brownies, but the mixing bowl is located on a high kitchen shelf. With his painful shoulder(s) and our bad knees, we didn't dare risk climbing up the step stool. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Though I offered to make a bakery run, he insisted on finishing the last slice of frozen key lime pie instead.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: black;">February 4th marked the three week anniversary of my fall, and when we're not putting our impaired knees together (my left and Hubby's right) to team-up in competitive three-legged races, </span></span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">we can be found casually limping down the sidewalk. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">However, when the disgruntled seniors sideswipe us with their walkers as they forge ahead, my husband is never left behind in a trail of dust.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> Instead, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Hubby can be heard howling in his best raspy Ratso Rizzo voice from </span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Midnight Cowboy, "</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I'm walkin' here.</span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">" </i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Of course, this just makes me fall for him all over again.</span><br />
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Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-50181420792059964572020-01-08T00:14:00.000-08:002020-01-08T00:14:11.371-08:00IWSG: The New Year That Almost Wasn't <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">It's time for the first 2020 edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 20.8px;">. Happy New Year to all!</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"> Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <b>The New Year That Almost Wasn't</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It started like a film noir: Man opens door and gingerly steps into the shower only to unwittingly slip on a sprinkling of sequestered water drops. This could lead to possible paralysis, sudden death, or an extremely embarrassing Facebook photo.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Fortunately, none of those things happened. Instead my husband morphed into Batman mode by holding on for dear life, as he slid down the shower door. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Consequently, he plummeted on his posterior while straddling the door like a scissors, thus leaving him without a cape or utility belt to cover his secret identity. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In retrospect, the photo would've come in handy.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I probably would've pretended not to notice, if our friends' New Year's Eve party wasn't just moments away. This minor inconvenience caused the shower door to come off the track, so Super Hubby had to temporarily lodge it back in to take his shower. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Let this be a lesson not to put things off until the last minute. Nothing good comes from procrastination. Meanwhile, I was still putting on my makeup, and hoping the potatoes would come out of the oven in time for the party. But this was not about me. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">My husband was about to reach for his towel, when he realized the shower door was stuck. So I climbed up on my tiptoes to pass it over the glass. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">The more Hubby tried to move the door, the more it came off the track. Suddenly, Naked But Not Afraid was boxed in. We needed to summon Houdini from beyond, but it looked more like a job for the fire department.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="background-color: white;">The good news was that this was a pleasant distraction from my husband's shoulder and knee pain. "No one has ever suffered more than I have,</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">" he moaned over the last several days as we tipped our hats in the hallway.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My husband thought he was destined to spend the night trapped in the shower which led to the five stages of grief: 1. Denial 2. Anger 3. Bargaining 4. Depression 5. Acceptance.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">The first stage began when he wrongfully accused me of not squeegeeing the shower floor properly, and I immediately went into denial mode. "I don't know how that water got there. I wiped down every last drop on the floor. This is fake news." </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Not only did my husband refuse to believe anything I said, but he ignored me when I went through the other four stages of grief. After all, he was a captive audience. Finally, when I got to the Acceptance stage, and told him that I forgave him for wearing the wrong shoes to my 25th birthday dinner, I noticed the time.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">Then I sprang into action by quickly reminding Hubby about the delicious barbecue skirt steaks that our wonderful New Year's Eve host promised to grill despite the frigid weather. This was just the motivation he needed </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;">to plan his getaway. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My husband summoned all his strength to gradually open the shower door inch by inch until there was barely enough room to make a narrow escape. Next, we finished getting dressed and loaded everything up in the car including a few bags of ice. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Though we were only 15 minutes late, our host was not happy and texted, "Our guests are all here and dying of thirst cause there's no ice!!!"</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Despite the whole shower ordeal, we had a great time ringing in the New Year with our dear friends who even sang and played the guitar after an exquisite dinner.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When we got home I immediately checked on the shower situation and found a few more drops of water on the slippery floor. This didn't make sense, as I took extra care in squeegeeing it before we left. While I was wiping the floor again, the shower head mysteriously began to drip.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I quickly grabbed my husband to prove my innocence once and for all, but he just stared in silence. Then I rambled on about contacting the maintenance man to fix the shower door, and adding safety features like a non-slip shower floor mat and grab bars to prevent future accidents.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">He nodded and muttered under his breath that he hoped I could sleep that night knowing how I almost killed my husband. Then he felt a twinge in his shoulder and a knot in his knee and started moaning again. I guess we know who 2020 is going to be all about.</span><br />
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Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-64605154300308866382019-11-05T22:29:00.000-08:002019-11-05T22:29:08.198-08:00IWSG: Thankful To A Gracious Donor For A Healthy Kidney <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" /><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif;"> Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJzqG5lKYDPZyn1hXlIsHjlTdStFe9s4Tv2ify5NOf1jI6RtNK0Q6_s7xoOW1AIlff_bd2-bMYgVEn9ZtjwhOZCQtIOK4KbfXCIIDdbqiqSfbALuUDhEaVIjRLb62y2ErrgB6Bwd6tBKn/s1600/My+support+team.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwJzqG5lKYDPZyn1hXlIsHjlTdStFe9s4Tv2ify5NOf1jI6RtNK0Q6_s7xoOW1AIlff_bd2-bMYgVEn9ZtjwhOZCQtIOK4KbfXCIIDdbqiqSfbALuUDhEaVIjRLb62y2ErrgB6Bwd6tBKn/s400/My+support+team.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My faithful support team (husband center between boys; brother and trusted adviser on the right)</td></tr>
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<b> Thankful To A Gracious Donor For A Healthy Kidney</b><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">The life changing call came late in August while I was undergoing dialysis treatment. I usually don't answer my phone at dialysis, but I noticed the area code for Madison, Wisconsin, and had a feeling it was important. I tried very hard to keep my hand from shaking, as I tightly gripped the phone.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">The woman introduced herself as a transplant coordinator from the University of Wisconsin Hospital. She began by asking me if I ever had a blood transfusion and I answered no.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">She explained that I was a match with an anonymous living donor through a paired kidney exchange program. Though my blood type is B, I qualified because I was A-2 blood sub-type compatible. I was also on the waiting list for three years at a prominent Chicago hospital which never even mentioned this option.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">The transplant coordinator added that another patient was ahead of me on the list, but this person had too many antibodies that would likely reject this donor's kidney. I was next on the list and my numbers seemed to match well with the donor. She asked if I'd be interested in coming in for an evaluation in Septemb<span style="font-size: 14.85px;">er </span>and if all went well, I'd have the surgery on October 9th.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I was in complete shock, as I couldn't believe my good fortune. Surely someone younger than I deserved the kidney more. The transplant coordinator tried to put my guilty feelings to rest by simply stating that I was next on the list.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I thanked her several times and tried to fight back the tears. In order to protect the donor's privacy, the transplant coordinator couldn't answer any of my questions other than that he or she lives somewhere in the United States and the kidney would likely be shipped to the hospital in Madison, Wisconsin. She told me that I could send the donor a thank-you note through the hospital, but it would be up to the donor to contact me. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">After we said goodbye, I just sat in my dialysis chair and continued weeping quietly. I was astounded that after almost two years on dialysis, an exceptionally generous and selfless humanitarian was willing to donate his or her kidney to save my life. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Shortly after hearing the news, my brother and husband came to visit me at dialysis and we all were over the moon.</span></span><br />
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That night we called the boys, and I couldn't stop thanking my older son who convinced me to get on the transplant list at the University of Wisconsin/Madison. If I hadn't taken his advice, I'd probably be years away from a transplant in Chicago, and it was highly unlikely that I'd receive a kidney from a living donor.<br />
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The average wait for a kidney transplant in Chicago from a deceased donor is between five and seven years and the outcomes are generally not as good. I asked the boys to hold off on sharing the news with anyone else, as I was being cautiously optimistic and didn't want to jinx the opportunity to receive a healthy kidney.<br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Four donors and four recipients were involved in this paired kidney exchange. We were familiar with the concept, as about two years ago, my husband graciously offered to be part of a paired kidney exchange at a Chicago hospital.Because he wasn't a match for me, his hope was by donating a kidney to someone else, he would move me up the long transplant waiting list. But after a full day of extensive testing, the transplant doctor deemed him too old to donate a kidney. </span></span><br />
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The next step was to go to Madison for a pre-surgical evaluation on September 16, the day after my mom's dedication. I couldn't help feeling that Mom was my guardian angel, as she always told me, "You will get a kidney."<br />
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At the evaluation, the transplant team told my husband and me that even though my numbers were excellent and I was a good match, there was always a chance that someone in this paired donor exchange could have a change of heart, or get sick which would postpone the surgery. But we tried our best to remain positive.<br />
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We decided to go to Madison the afternoon before the October 9th surgery which was the eve of Yom Kippur, the holiest Jewish holiday of the year where people atone for their sins with prayer and fasting. This was also a good sign, as Yom Kippur follows Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) which symbolized a fresh start with a healthy new kidney.<br />
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I was thrilled to have a great support team accompany me to Madison, as my brother drove up with our boys. My brother also has Polycystic Kidney Disease, (PKD), and underwent a kidney transplant 14 years ago. I think the worst part of any surgery is the fear of the unknown, and thanks to him, I had a better understanding of what to expect, and how to proceed moving forward.<br />
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My brother also went to the University of Wisconsin/Madison, so he served as a tour guide. I asked my support team not to hang around the hospital during my surgery, as there's nothing worse than waiting around the hospital on a beautiful day. At first, my husband didn't want to leave, but I insisted and my brother helped convince him that it was the right thing to do. Somehow they still managed to observe the holiday, and didn't eat until after sundown. I also fasted that day.<br />
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Fortunately, the surgery was a success, and my new kidney started working right away. While I was waiting in recovery, one of the doctors asked if I wanted a shot in the stomach for pain. I happily accepted and I only needed Tylenol for the first two nights of my four and a half day hospital stay.<br />
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The night after the surgery, I was very uncomfortable and couldn't sleep. Finally, I asked the nurse if she'd mind going on a walk with me. We went on our first walk at 2 a.m. and followed up with a second walk at 4 a.m. The walking helped relieve some of my discomfort and it felt good to be productive. I will always be grateful to the caring and compassionate staff.<br />
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The hospital held classes each day for the transplant patients. My devoted husband was kind enough to attend each class with me. Classes covered nutrition, medications, how to clean your incision, and follow-up care. There were about six to eight patients in the class, but I was the only one fortunate enough to receive a kidney from a living donor.<br />
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It really cheered me up having all my boys including my brother with me at the hospital. I'm so lucky to have such a supportive and loving family who continue to cheer me on every day. My younger son even taught me some gentle stretching exercises, as the binder I wear to protect my incision causes pressure on my back.<br />
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My surgery was on a Wednesday and my talented surgeon discharged me early Sunday evening. He asked me to stay at the hotel and come in as an outpatient for labs and follow-up testing on Monday and Tuesday.<br />
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One of the doctors told me what a good patient I was, as my numbers were good and I was getting stronger every day. I really think all the walking helped immensely in my recovery. My husband and I knew every inch of the 6th floor in the hospital, and he still continues to walk with me quite a bit.<br />
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He's also helped me organize my medications, and takes copious notes of my weight, temperature and blood pressure every day. When I told my husband how lucky I was to have him, he said he was the lucky one. He joked, "Who else can say my wife has three kidneys?"<br />
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Last week we went back to Madison to have my staples removed, and in three weeks we'll return to have my stent taken out. We also walk to the lab twice weekly at my primary care doctor's office, which is conveniently located one block away.<br />
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Though it's about a two and a half hour drive to Madison, I couldn't be happier with the sterling staff and quality care that I've received.<br />
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I still can't believe that I no longer have to go to dialysis three times a week. I promised the wonderful dialysis nurses, techs and some of the patients that I've grown close to, that I'd come back to visit. But the doctors cautioned me to wait, as my immune system has been compromised and I'm more susceptible to getting sick. I look forward to seeing everyone in the near future, and in the meantime, my incredible brother has been making rounds for me.<br />
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I still haven't heard from the gracious anonymous donor who gave me a new lease on life. I will always be grateful to him or her, and will try reaching out again soon. A few people wished me happy birthday on Facebook after they heard about my kidney transplant. Now October 9th is officially my second birthday, as the gift of a new kidney has forever changed my life.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span>Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com45tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-1840183136419316402019-09-03T21:01:00.018-07:002019-09-03T21:01:37.353-07:00IWSG: Hair Hysteria <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" /><br />
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<br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span><div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> <b> Hair Hysteria</b></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Surrounded by my favorite boys; 8/19</td></tr>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">My mom's entire life revolved around her hair. From a young age, she fought by any means necessary to keep her hair from getting wet. Mom was the only one in her high school gym class who was able to talk her way out of taking four years of swimming.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">Beginning in her 20s, Mom had weekly beauty shop appointments. She would patiently watch her beautician dry and style her hair. Then she would primp in front of the mirror with a pick until her hair was teased and coiffed to perfection, adding enough hairspray to choke an elephant. Fortunately, her saintly beautician didn't take it personally.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">Is hair obsession hereditary? Though I suffered through four years of swimming in high school, I admit to being traumatized by bad hair days. Then fate stepped in.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">The night before a haircut appointment last April, I received a text from my beautician informing me that she had a bad case of the flu and wasn't sure when she'd feel well enough to reschedule.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">I hate change which is evidenced by the fact that I've had slight variations on the shag hairdo since I turned double digits. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">As much as I adore my beautician of over 20 years, I felt that maybe this would be a good opportunity to finally try something new.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Not only was I able to get into another highly recommended stylist two days later, but she was just steps away from our apartment building.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Our first meeting prompted her to ask, "Why do you have a Carol Brady hairdo?"</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Carol Brady was the mom played by Florence Henderson on the popular sitcom <i>The Brady Bunch.</i> Shag hairstyles were all the rage in the 70s and Mrs. Brady was quite a trendsetter. The series ran from 1969-1974.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">Though almost 50 years later, this was clearly not a compliment, I was in dire need of a stylist who wasn't afraid of hurting my feelings. Boy I miss my mom!</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">The beautician explained that I could have a more contemporary look by simply growing out my top layers, while trimming the surrounding longer layers. She styled it straight for the first few haircuts which looked great, but I had trouble working with it. Even using a flat iron didn't help.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">When I pleaded with her to bring back my shorter layers which had morphed into wings, she assured me that if I just held out a little longer, my hair would be easier to handle. I told her that she was like having an AA sponsor.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">Like any good sponsor, she could relate to my frustrations, as she also has curly hair. I decided to follow her lead and stop fighting the heat and humidity by embracing my curls. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">I'm happier and my husband's happier, so it's a win-win. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Now I have the best of both worlds, as my former beautician (who's also a color expert) moved into a shop just blocks away from where we live, so I still see her whenever I need highlights.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">Hair obsession doesn't only effect the women in our family. Years ago, a close relative joked that he was a member of the "Balding Men's Club," after one of my sons saw him talking to another balding man, and assumed that all men experiencing hair loss knew each other.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">One day after being traumatized by the worst haircut of his life, the close relative ranted to the barber in vivid details about what a terrible job he had done. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">Finally, the barber asked, "If I don't charge you for the haircut, will you promise never to come back to my barbershop again?"</span></span></div>
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Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-73044943173174250952019-08-06T23:18:00.015-07:002019-08-06T23:18:49.089-07:00IWSG: Don't Go in the Bathroom <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong> Don't Go in the Bathroom</strong><br />
<br />
The staff at the dialysis center where I receive treatments three days a week is exceptionally efficient, and is always there within seconds in the event of the slightest problem. For example, even a leg cramp is immediately tended to, as patients usually do not leave their recliner seats until the treatment is complete. Not only is the staff extremely pleasant to talk to, but they're also excellent listeners. As patients, our vitals are taken several times, and we are continually monitored throughout the day. Recently, I was surprised to find a police car in the parking lot.<br />
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As I walked in, a nurse stopped me from going to the treatment area restroom, and guided me to the ladies room in the lobby. I thought nothing of it, as this restroom is often occupied. On the way to my designated chair, I noticed a policeman stationed between the doorway leading to the dialysis unit and the treatment area restroom. <br />
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I quietly asked one of the staff what was going on and she offered to explain later. In all the commotion, my treatment was delayed a few minutes, so I texted my friend across the room for the 411. She explained that a 91-year-old patient from the morning shift suffered a heart attack in the restroom. The staff responded immediately followed by the paramedics, but they were unable to revive him. Hours later the funeral home still hadn't arrived to pick up his body.<br />
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Now the pieces were starting to come together. The people that I hadn't recognized in the lobby, were the deceased man's son, daughter-in-law and grandson. They arrived after his treatment expecting to take him home, as they did every Saturday. I could see the son tearing up, while he spoke to the police officer. Though I never met the elderly patient or his family, I found myself tearing up too.<br />
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I turned to my friend, Mrs. C. in the seat next to me. Without saying a word, I could tell that she knew exactly what was going on. At 88. Mrs. C. is very sharp and perceptive. She is a trooper who never complains. Many of the older patients have a very difficult time adjusting to dialysis, but Mrs. C. seems to take everything in stride. <br />
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Unfortunately, Mrs. C's eyesight must not be the best, as she only sees the good in me. She actually thinks I move like a gazelle. Yes, I'm kind of a big-shot with geriatrics in walkers, though some cocky nonagenarians with canes have passed me up on occasion.<br />
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As Mrs. C. and I had front row seats across from the treatment area restroom, we both silently wondered when the funeral home was going to arrive to pick up the deceased patient. Suddenly, trying to watch anything on TV seemed pointless.<br />
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A few minutes after the funeral home arrived, one of my dear friends came to visit me. I quickly motioned for her to put on her protective gown and sit next to me. I didn't want her to get caught in the patient's final exit from dialysis.<br />
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Next, the staff smoothly put up privacy curtains between the restroom and the door leading to the lobby. Remarkably, a small woman from the funeral home single-handedly managed to wheel the body bag on a gurney out of the building.<br />
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After I filled my visiting friend in, she said, "I feel kind of sick, since I've used that bathroom before."<br />
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I told her that I felt for her, and was very sorry for what she was going through.<br />
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Then I tried to imagine how Mrs. C. and most of the other patients in the same age group were feeling. I turned to Mrs. C. and asked how she was doing, and as I expected, she looked very sad.<br />
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Fortunately, I cheered her up a little when I told her my brother was coming to visit. Mrs. C. and my brother also have a special relationship. She laughs at all of his jokes, and they could talk forever about their love of the Chicago Cubs. They also have a little flirtation going on, but that's another story.<br />
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The staff at the dialysis center remained professional throughout the entire experience. They are always appreciative when Mrs. C. and I don't complain when there's an occasional problem. But I tell them there's no reason to complain, as they always respond quickly, and bend over backwards to make sure that we're comfortable.<br />
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The following week everything was back to normal, but it took me a few days until I summoned the courage to use the restroom again.<br />
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<br />Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-54678395049615014032019-06-04T22:47:00.002-07:002019-08-05T21:11:41.202-07:00IWSG: Food For Thought on Cheating Husbands <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>IWSG: Food For Thought on Cheating Husbands</b><br />
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3HjPgiWG8NvTxX-ttQcXoBOeeBGI4hTjJ8Vjm2TXP5fEUGNwijDU8oaLyvBluwLtS5YxqHJLwmAHN8sxN6s9GZ_x26BTo7RJBbgqLN178k_CyXYWQhxwb8jr7CYLb_J_h2lhz5ts6k2oy/s320/J+_%2526_+M_+Stu_+B_-dau.jpg.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nah, he wouldn't...would he?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
While switching TV channels awaiting my dialysis treatment, my husband came across an episode<i> </i>about a suspected cheating husband with a twist on the <i>Maury</i> <i>Show.</i> She claimed he was having an affair with another woman while she was undergoing dialysis.<br />
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My husband and I had a good laugh, though this was entirely possible, as my appointments lasted about three and a half hours. When it came time for the suspected husband to take a lie detector test, some of the staff at the clinic also joined in on the fun. According to the show, he passed the test with flying colors.<br />
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Once I was all settled in, my husband left to run errands. As always, he returned to the clinic about two and a half hours later. His timing was perfect, as my doctor was making rounds. She was about to move on to another patient when she noticed my husband walking toward us.<br />
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My doctor couldn’t stop talking about how good my husband looked. He had lost about 10 pounds and she wanted to know if he lifted weights and what else he did to get in such great shape. I didn’t find it the slightest bit odd that her conversation with my husband who made the ultimate sacrifice of cutting down to three meals a day lasted longer than my exam.<br />
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On the way home, we made a quick stop at the grocery store. In the checkout line, the woman who was bagging the groceries turned to my husband and said, “Do you want paper or plastic, honey?”<br />
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Then I realized that I couldn’t leave my husband alone for a second. Terrible thoughts started racing through my head. I remembered my mom telling me how her unsuspecting friend couldn’t understand how her husband kept losing his underwear. They divorced a year later.<br />
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As soon as we got home, I rifled through my husband’s underwear drawer and every pair was accounted for. I smiled when I realized it was too comfortably worn out to attract anyone without cataracts.<br />
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Unfortunately, my relief was short-lived when he brought up that Macy’s was having a sale on men's underwear for Father’s Day and wanted to stock up since he went down a size. Suddenly my life was turning into the <i>Maury</i> <i>Show </i>and I didn’t know what to do.<br />
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The next morning my husband was nowhere to be found. I saw our car was still in the parking lot, so I figured he went for a walk. But what if he merely walked to another floor in our apartment building? Our building is swarming with single women. Though he can barely see or hear, he still drives at night and is pretty handy around the house.<br />
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I was so distraught that I quickly fell back asleep. An hour later I awoke to the aroma of my favorite brunch - scrambled eggs with mushrooms and garlic. While Hubby was busy cooking, he explained that he just returned from an invigorating walk to the beach. He even picked up fresh bagels on his way home.<br />
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Within minutes, I decided that it was pointless to have my husband submit to a lie detector test, as no matter where he'd been, he still came home to cook for me. I know I got the better end of the deal for which I'm very grateful.<br />
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But if he does decide to get friendly with the flirtatious divorcee down the hall, I won't stand in his way. Rumor has it, our new neighbor ordered a deluxe gas grill and doesn't know the first thing about barbecuing. Did I mention that my husband is known for his legendary grilled London broil and skirt steaks? Sadly, he hung up his tongs when we moved.<br />
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Remarkably, our new neighbor's days off coincide with my treatments, and I always have an insatiable appetite after dialysis. This could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.<br />
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<br />Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-51231720684323099812019-04-30T22:15:00.031-07:002019-04-30T22:15:59.054-07:00IWSG: Hubby's Selective Hearing Powers <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> <b>Hubby's</b> <b>Selective Hearing Powers</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">My husband and I had to make some adjustments almost two years ago when we moved from our two-story family home to a small apartment. But I thought our close surroundings would make it easier for us to communicate.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">Though I have the uncanny ability to be able to lie in bed and hear my husband enjoying a grape in the kitchen, he often doesn't hear me even when I'm standing right next to him. He has no desire to try a hearing aid, and often blames me for mumbling. Afterward when I intentionally mumble an unkind word or two about him, he has no trouble hearing that.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">Fast forward to our Passover Seder on April 19th. My aunt and uncle hosted the holiday and generously asked my husband to lead the Seder. In all fairness, my husband was a huge help for the holidays. Not only did he do all of the shopping in preparation, but he even made the Charoset for the Seder plate. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;">Charoset is made from chopped nuts, grated apples, cinnamon and sweet red wine. It represents the mortar used by the Hebrew slaves to build the pyramids of Egypt.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">My brother always volunteers to be in charge of the seating chart, and somehow he never fails to be surrounded by the same people on any given occasion. For example, whether it's my birthday or Mother's Day, you can always find him seated in between his biggest fans, my two sons. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14.85px;">Since I was not the official host of this holiday dinner, my brother followed my aunt's lead. However, once his nephews took their seats he quickly positioned himself next to them. Meanwhile, my husband and I were seated at the opposite end of the table with the other grownups.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">At one point there were three distinct conversations going on simultaneously at the dinner table. Though I was seated at elbow's length from my husband, for some reason he didn't seem to hear me when I asked him to pass a heavy platter. Yet, he had no trouble hearing the conversation between my brother and son from clear across the table.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">I tried asking again. This proved to be a waste of time, as my brother added a hilarious punchline to my son's story and now my husband was drowning in laughter. Of course the middle of the table had no idea what he was laughing at. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">I couldn't take it anymore. Here I had done a lot of the cooking and I was asking for very little in return. Finally, I looked directly at my husband and bellowed, "What am I, chopped liver?" </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">Then he passed me the chopped liver. Unfortunately, we were eating dessert at the time.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span>Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com33tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-61121184449770729142019-04-02T22:45:00.008-07:002019-04-02T22:45:29.280-07:00IWSG: How a Routine Dental Exam Led to Hoof & Mouth Disease <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, tahoma, helvetica, freesans, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </span><br />
<b> How a Routine Dental Exam Led to Hoof & Mouth Disease</b><br />
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I was looking forward to a thorough teeth cleaning, when the dental hygienist caught me off guard. After she prepped me with an oversize bib and goggles; likening the contents of my mouth to a crime scene, she paused to ask me a very inappropriate question:<br />
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"Didn't you used to have a serious illness?"<br />
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I told her that I still have a serious illness.<br />
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Then she said, "Oh, well I remember you lost a lot of weight, but it looks like you gained it all back."<br />
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When I explained that I probably lost about 10 pounds and gained five back, she covered by adding that I looked much healthier now.<br />
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Thank goodness I floss religiously, or she would've let me know how she really felt.<br />
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Needless to say I was not pleased. I wanted to tell her off, but I was too busy rinsing and spitting.<br />
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The next day I relayed the story to someone on the dialysis staff.<br />
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She thought for a moment before asking, "So you get weighed when you go to the dentist's office?"<br />
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<br />Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-16110748865735883432019-03-05T22:01:00.014-08:002019-03-05T22:13:59.292-08:00IWSG: Missing Mom <img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "arial" , "tahoma" , "helvetica" , "freesans" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> Be sure to visit </span><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; text-decoration-line: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> <b> Missing Mom </b> </span><br />
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(Mom and her boys in 2013)</div>
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When people ask how I'm doing, I usually respond that I'm sad but okay. Though I lost my mom in January, waves of sadness often come over me even in the most unlikely places. For example, I recently had a small breakdown at a car dealership.</div>
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It happened when we got a great deal on a new car that I know my mom would've approved of. It's a pretty shade of blue with chrome accents, as opposed to our last car that blended into every parking lot. But Mom described our old car best. She said, "It's perfect for a retired school teacher."</div>
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Because we have such a small family, we had a private graveside funeral, which was not ideal for the frigid and icy Chicago weather. That evening we held a shiva and memorial service where my brother, my two sons and I honored our mom and "Nana" with heartfelt eulogies.</div>
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My brother and the boys did a wonderful job and everyone seemed deeply moved. Our friends and family came together to help with the shiva, but someone whom I considered a close friend since our college days, was noticeably absent.</div>
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The day after my mom passed away, I phoned my friend, let's call her "Jess." She knew Mom was in hospice through a series of phone conversations and texts. Though she only lives about 20 minutes away, I haven't seen Jess since her daughter's wedding last March.</div>
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Jess expressed her condolences and generously offered to help with the shiva. Since we were just having a small gathering, I wanted to handle everything myself. I explained that I was still getting estimates on fish and meat trays. Then she offered some suggestions and offered to call places for me. I thanked her, but reiterated that I would take care of it myself. </div>
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She kept insisting on helping me, so I suggested doing what I did for her mom's shiva the year before. After offering to send dinner to her family before the funeral and offering to bring something to the shiva after the funeral, her cousin (aka contact person) said that everything was already ordered. So I offered to make a contribution and brought a check.</div>
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For some reason, Jess took offense to this. It didn't seem right to her that I hadn't assigned a contact person, and Jess did not want to hand me a check.</div>
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In many instances, women have groups of friends handle shivas like assembly lines where one person orders the food, another collects donations from friends and family, and two or three friends set everything up before the family arrives. </div>
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Soon some of my brother's friends also generously offered to contribute, so I asked my oldest and dearest friend Lana (name also protected) to be my contact person.</div>
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I texted Jess the next day with Lana's digits. Little did I know that trouble was about to ensue.</div>
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The day before my mom's funeral, I could sense that Lana was upset, but she wouldn't tell me why. After much prodding, she said that Jess accidentally sent her the worst text that she's ever seen. I don't know who the text was originally intended for, but Lana was referred to as a harsh expletive. Jess added that Lana treated her like a "second class citizen" by declining her offer to help set up my mom's shiva. </div>
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Lana was merely following my request, as it was held in the entertainment room in our apartment building which has a very small kitchen. My hubby helped me set up as much as we could the night before and Lana helped me set up and clean up on the day of. My brother's friends were the coffee co-chairs, so there wasn't enough room for anyone else. If only Jess had reasonably expressed her concerns to me, instead of going on the warpath with an innocent messenger.</div>
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After receiving the disturbing text, Lana tried contacting Jess. Finally, Jess told her that she sent her the text by mistake and would send the check to me in the mail.</div>
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I couldn't sit by and let her treat Lana this way, but I needed to cool off first. Though my brother convinced me to send a kinder, gentler text, my first instinct was to consult my mom. Mom had the ability to handle any given situation and was always the voice of reason.</div>
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Later, I texted Jess at dialysis explaining that I heard the news while I was crying and writing Mom's eulogy. I told her that a few days earlier, my mom was unresponsive until Lana came to visit her. My brother was deeply moved when he returned to my mom's room to find her and Lana holding hands and singing songs. Before Lana left, Mom even told Lana she loved her.</div>
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I asked Jess not to contribute to the shiva and not to bother showing up, unless she sent Lana a "sincere" apology. I did not want to have any extra aggravation on the worst day of my life. I added that Lana is my oldest and dearest friend, who has been there for me and my family for more than 50 years.</div>
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Shortly thereafter, I received a text from Jess saying that she was glad that we saw her original text, because it expressed her "true feelings." She would not apologize for being treated like a "second class citizen," and she knows what it's like to have the "worst day of her life," so she would not be attending the shiva. Jess made it sound like a competition and I clearly chose Lana over her. She wished me and my family well and I never heard from her again. But she still had to send the last word to Lana.</div>
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The morning of the funeral. she told Lana she knew she'd show me the text. Jess also wanted to stir things up by adding that Lana's been on my "naughty list" a few times.</div>
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How stupid of me not to have realized that my mom's funeral was all about Jess.</div>
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Lana continued to apologize profusely for telling me about her confrontation with Jess and I told her that I would've never wanted her there knowing how badly she treated my best friend, and if she was bad mouthing Lana, I could only imagine what she was saying about me.</div>
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Lana went above and beyond to help me before, during and after my mom's funeral, and though she and my mom often joked about it, my mom really did think of her as a second daughter. We were also touched that many of Lana's family members also came to pay their respects, in addition to making a generous contribution to the Shiva. </div>
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I really don't feel comfortable asking for anything, though my husband would be inclined to disagree. But I was pleasantly surprised when friends and family members generously offered to bring specific things like desserts, candy or fruit. I was also pleased to see cousins that we hadn't seen in years. Just making a condolence call is a gift in itself.</div>
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I also received an unexpected gift when I broke the news of Mom's passing to one of my oldest friends, who inspired me to write the ending of my eulogy. She said it was no coincidence that my mom died the same week as Carol Channing and like the Broadway legend, my mom had her own unique style and was "so cool."</div>
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Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-31261034564078598122019-01-02T01:47:00.015-08:002019-01-02T13:49:53.977-08:00IWSG: In Appreciation of Mom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It's time for the first 2019 edition of the <a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 20.8px;">. </span> Be sure to visit <b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</a> </b><b style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">and the rest of the talented bloggers who are always willing to lend a helping hand</span><span style="background-color: white;">.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b> In Appreciation of Mom</b></span><br />
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As I sat by my mom's bedside, I told her how she helped me in ways she hadn't realized. I explained that it wasn't until I started writing about her humorous adventures that I developed a small but loyal following of bloggers which led to giving me the confidence to put together the anthology, <i>Old Broads Waxing Poetic</i> with Susan Flett Swiderski and a host of gifted writers/poets.<br />
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A few years later, I accumulated enough diverse stories to include in a modest portfolio, thus enabling me to get hired as a reporter for a local news website and newspaper - my dream job. But none of this would've been possible without my mom's help.<br />
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After I thanked her, Mom replied, "And in all that time I was never a burden."<br />
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And my mom kept her word. Even after she endured endless pain from spinal fusion surgery about 10 years ago, I was the cause of my mom's only complaint.<br />
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She lived in the multi-level home that my brother and I grew up in, while our home had a first floor bedroom and bathroom, So I insisted that she move in with us for almost a year. But my mom wanted to live on the edge instead of being in my overprotective custody.<br />
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She said, "I can't live with you, because you're too nervous that I'll fall every minute. How am I supposed to have any fun?" Mom was about 74 at the time.<br />
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Mom's health took a turn for the worse a few months ago. Some of her symptoms included: pneumonia, low hemoglobin which required a blood transfusion, and loss of appetite. She also has Parkinson's Disease.<br />
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She was admitted to the hospital on November 18th, but discharged after a few days against our wishes. Though at first she seemed to be doing better, on the day before Thanksgiving she was very weak and didn't recognize my brother. She also was barely eating.<br />
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My brother pleaded with the head hospitalist, head nurse and head of patient care to let her stay in the hospital and have more tests to find out why her health wasn't improving, but they insisted on discharging her.<br />
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Unfortunately, these strangers who had never met my mom before told him that she had dementia and there was nothing more that they could do for her. He tried to explain that she had all of her faculties before she had taken ill, but they wouldn't listen.<br />
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Nine days later my brother and I agreed to have Mom readmitted to the hospital where she was diagnosed with a collapsed lung and stage 4 lung cancer. Apparently, the hospital hadn't done a CT scan during her prior visit.<br />
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She is now in hospice at the nursing home where she's resided for the last three years.Though my mom lost her ability to walk years ago, she never lost her positive outlook. True to form, she is handling her recent prognosis with grace and dignity.<br />
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When I told her she doesn't have to be so brave, she explained that she's grateful to have lived a long life.<br />
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My brother and I have tried to spend as much time with our mom as possible. He has been a tremendous help to both of us. Though I tell him not to, he often visits me at the dialysis clinic before heading over to Mom's.<br />
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I'm also grateful to my husband and our boys. While my mom was in and out of the hospital, I never once had to ask our grown sons to visit her. They continue to see their beloved Nana frequently which is her greatest joy.<br />
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My mom has good days and bad days, but through it all she has never lost her sense of humor. Recently, when my brother asked her to tell me where she'd like to go, she thought for a minute and said, "To the mortician."<br />
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But she had talked about wanting to attend the Academy Awards. She always enjoyed the glitz and glamour and would've easily fit in during her heyday.<br />
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The other day, Mom noticed that my concealer wasn't blended in properly under my left eye and wanted to fix it. She couldn't believe that I didn't have an emergency supply of Q-tips with me, so she decided to make her own by attaching a cotton ball to a pen. So what if I risked getting poked in the eye, as it was more important to look good than to feel good.<br />
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This experience has definitely brought us all closer. My brother and I have spent many nights with our mom, reminiscing, singing her favorite songs and telling her how much we love her.<br />
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Growing up we fought about sitting next to our mom on the couch while watching our favorite TV shows. Ever the genius, my brother would always find ways to trick me into leaving the room, so he could steal my seat.<br />
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Now we politely take turns sitting next to our mom. Though on some days, Mom could barely speak above a whisper, she said she loves when we fuss over her.<br />
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On New Year's Eve, Mom's favorite nurse's aid announced she was going on vacation for a week. We were all sad, because she's gone above and beyond for our mom and we think of her as a member of the family. Then she told me that my mom asked her to take care of me when she's gone.<br />
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In second grade we were asked to write about our best friend. While others were writing about their neighbors or classmates, I wrote about my mom.<br />
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I hope to continue writing about my courageous mom and all of her witticisms, Fortunately, she hasn't tried to throw me out of her room yet.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.85px;"> </span>Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-7462507448362309712018-11-06T21:09:00.002-08:002018-11-06T21:09:20.781-08:00IWSG: #MeToo at The Movies?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 20.8px;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 20.8px;">. Be sure to visit </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="background-color: white; color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Alex J. Cavanaugh</b></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; line-height: 20.8px;"> and the rest of the talented writers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white;"><b><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> IWSG: #MeToo at The Movies?</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Many cinema classics<i> </i>are known for their romantic love scenes. Everyone remembers when the masculine Rhett Butler (Clark Gable) first kissed selfish Scarlett O'hara (Vivien Leigh) in <i>Gone With The Wind</i>, as well as the iconic scene where Sergeant Milton Warden (Burt Lancaster) and army wife Karen Holmes (Deborah Kerr) were frolicking on a Oahu beach in <i>From Here To Eternity</i>.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But with everything surrounding the #MeToo movement, I wonder if screenwriters will take pause before the handsome leading man takes the lovely leading lady in his arms.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Below is an example of how a future love scene might go in keeping with recent happenings:</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>This scene takes place outside a New York brownstone apartment, as a young couple are giggling and running upstairs to seek shelter from the rain. Both the man and woman are dressed alike with short hair, black long sleeved t-shirts and black form-fitting pants, as they are equals in every way.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Woman:</b> Would you like to come in for a drink?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Man: </b>Yes, if it's not too much trouble.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">They enter the apartment and he sits on the couch while she pours two glasses of wine in the kitchen. Then she brings the glasses into the living room.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Man:</b> Oh, you already poured the drinks?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Woman:</b> Yes, why?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Man:</b> Well, how do I know that you didn't slip anything into mine?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Woman:</b> (<i>sarcastically</i>) So that I could take advantage of you?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Man:</b> Just kidding.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>She chooses to overlook his peculiar remark and they toast to getting to know each other better.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>After a few more drinks, they look into each other's eyes and move closer.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Man:</b> Is it all right if I kiss you?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The woman leans in.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Man:</b> I want to hear the words.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Woman:</b> Yes, it's all right to kiss me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>They kiss awkwardly and the man jumps up. He pulls something out of his pocket and hands it to her.</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>She reads it and a strange look comes over her face. </i></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Woman:</b> Is this some kind of a joke?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Man:</b> No, it's a perfectly legit list of all of the things that we'll likely be doing tonight and hopefully tomorrow morning. Just initial all of the items front and back. Then sign and date at the bottom. Oh, and you also have to include a separate signature for item #103 that states you will not change your mind about consenting 30 years from now. You know, in case I make it big.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Woman:</b> But you play the kazoo in the subway.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Man:</b> Yeah, but I could get discovered any day now.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Woman:</b> What's this part in the contract about size?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Man:</b> Size doesn't matter and it should never matter or be discussed. Just date and initial that too. Which reminds me that as a safety measure, all cellular devices, cameras, and lights should be turned off throughout my stay.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Woman:</b> I don't think you need to worry about that last part or any of this ridiculous contract, as I'm not going to sign anything.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Man:</b> <i>(points to his short and pudgy looking self)</i> Well, then you're not going to have any of this.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Woman:</b> GET OUT!</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Man:</b> Calm down. I'm not the enemy here. I did this for you.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Woman:</b> What are you talking about? We just met at a bar across the street about an hour ago.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Man:</b> Well, you're the first woman I've given the contract to. I had my friend who's studying pre-law draw it up on account of the #MeToo movement.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Woman:</b> This has nothing to do with #MeToo.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Man:</b> But, the President said men have to be more careful now. This protects us both from making any mistakes now or in the future.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Woman:</b> The President says and does a lot of things that are just wrong. #MeToo is about women standing together to make sure that men don't take advantage of them in the workplace or anyplace else. The message is simple, "No means no."</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Man:</b> So I guess I'll just rip up the contract then.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Woman:</b> Better yet, take it home, so you could shred it and recycle it. Bye bye now! (Before she completely closes the door, he sticks his head back in.)</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Man:</b> Do you have any single friends?</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>End scene.</i></span></span></div>
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Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com31tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-49127425822778859422018-10-02T21:28:00.005-07:002018-10-02T21:28:21.199-07:00IWSG: Oh Brother & Apology from a Bad Blogger <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 20.8px;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 20.8px;">. Be sure to visit </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="color: #336699; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: none;"><b>Alex J. Cavanaugh</b></a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: 20.8px;"> and the rest of the talented writers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.86px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.86px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.86px;"> </span><br />
<b style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.86px;"> Oh Brother & Apology from a Bad Blogger</b><br />
<b style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14.86px;"><br /></b>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;">I am grateful to all of the supportive bloggers throughout the years and apologize for not doing a better job of returning the favor. Though I have been experiencing computer issues over the last few months, I have also been trying to adjust to my new role as a professional patient.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;">I finally took my son's advice to increase my chances of a getting a new kidney by going out of state. I'm currently on a kidney transplant waiting list for a hereditary condition known as Polycystic Kidney Disease (PKD). The waiting list in Illinois is estimated between five and seven years, so my husband drove me to a hospital in another nearby state for an evaluation.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;">We were both impressed with the transplant team's thoroughness. Before the visit I had to have several tests to rule out everything from heart disease and cancer to a special evaluation from my dentist. After the visit I had to follow up with more tests. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;">I wanted to get everything over with, so last week I saw doctors Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and underwent dialysis treatments Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Hence, I became a professional patient. </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.86px;">Fortunately, the tests all came back negative. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.86px;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.86px;">My brother had a kidney transplant more than 13 years ago. After I began dialysis this year he has been working tirelessly talking to politicians, clergy and other local leaders to get the word out on the importance of becoming</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.86px;"> an organ donor. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;">Many countries have "opt-out" policies where citizens are automatically organ donors and those who wish not to have to sign forms to opt-out. He has been on a mission to have this system incorporated in the U.S. but has been met with little support.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;">Many people are falsely under the impression that their religion forbids organ donation, the state will control their bodies, or an emergency room doctor will declare them prematurely dead in order to use their organs for a friend or family member. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;">There's a shortage of organ donors and one donor can save up to eight lives. The need to educate and correct misinformation is vital to increasing the number of donors.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.86px;">What I've found most therapeutic is the ability to laugh about my experiences. On long days of dialysis, my brother never fails to lift my spirits; although our dark conversations are not for everyone.</span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 14.86px;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I'll tell him that on the positive side if I'm diagnosed with a more devastating disease, it gives me comfort in knowing that I can stop going to dialysis. And he'll tell me that if the doctors ever say he's contracted an incurable disease and only has a few months to live, he'll travel all around the world. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;">Then I'll say, "What if the doctors are wrong and after spending all of your money you find out that you have years to live?"</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Of course my brother is saddened by this possibility and tells me that I have ruined his pipe dream.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Meanwhile, the 87-year-old patient to my left and 95-year-old patient to my right just look at us like we're crazy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">In addition to cheering me up, when my brother noticed that another patient was waiting a long time for a ride home, he personally drove him home several times.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">This patient spoke little English, so my brother later followed up with our doctor who changed his dialysis schedule to accommodate his transportation needs. Our doctor is always thrilled to see my brother and treats him like family.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Remarkably, my brother still remains humble though he is treated like a rock star at the dialysis center, as well as our mom's nursing home.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I guess things haven't changed that much since I was a little girl and every night at bedtime I would yell downstairs to my parents, "Sorry for being so bad," and my brother would add, "And I too would like to apologize for being so good."</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.86px;"><br /></span></span>Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-36242549675906262018-09-04T23:32:00.013-07:002018-09-05T14:02:22.754-07:00IWSG: Mom Talks About...SEX <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #33aaff; font-family: Arial,Tahoma,Helvetica,FreeSans,sans-serif; font-size: 14.86px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: 14.86px; margin-right: 14.86px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="197" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(51, 170, 255); border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-image-outset: 0; border-image-repeat: stretch; border-image-slice: 100%; border-image-source: none; border-image-width: 1; border-left-color: rgb(51, 170, 255); border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: rgb(51, 170, 255); border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: rgb(51, 170, 255); border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; position: relative;" /></a><br />
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; font-family: "quot"; font-size: 14.86px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 20.8px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #336699; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><b style="color: #336699; text-decoration: none;">Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 20.8px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">. Be sure to visit </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #336699; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><b style="color: #336699; text-decoration: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</b></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 20.8px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> and the rest of the talented writers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span> </span></span><br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Mom Talks About...SEX</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">According to a recent</span> <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><a href="https://www.newsweek.com/couple-couldnt-conceive-because-theyve-been-having-sex-wrong-way-four-years-1089162">Newsweek.com</a> </b>article, a young married Chinese couple, ages 24 and 26 were trying to conceive for four years, and it wasn't until they visited an obstetrician that they discovered they were literally doing it backwards.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In other words, you know how some wives say their husbands are a pain in the...? Well this young woman was not exaggerating.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The article explained that the reason for the couple's confusion was that China considers sex-education classes in schools "taboo."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Shortly after the doctor sent the couple home with a sex-education handbook, the wife became pregnant. The happy couple was so grateful that they gave the doctor a live hen and 100 eggs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sadly, most of my fifth grade sex-education class remains a blur. I just remember while most of the boys were snickering, the graphics scared me into thinking - I will never ever do that with anyone!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Of course my mom was thrilled to hear that, though she reassured me, "You'll feel differently when you're married."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Fast forward 16 years to a month before my wedding. My mom sat me down and in between drags of her Virginia Slims cigarette, she asked me in all seriousness, "Do you have any questions about the wedding night?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Keep in mind that I was 26 and had been engaged for almost a year. Although I didn't save my handbook,</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> I wasn't going to take a back seat to anyone and my mission was front and center.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">So I confidently told my mom that I did not need her help in that department. Then I asked her what outfit to wear to work the next day and if she had time to iron it for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My mom sat in a daze until the strangest look came over her face. It was like a huge boulder had been lifted from her shoulders. Then she smiled, but it wasn't her usual smile.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I considered driving her to the hospital, but I really needed my dress ironed.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Words were never spoken, but Mom embraced me in a loving hug.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Did this mean she was finally proud of me?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The news that I was closer to Miss Kitty than "The Flying Nun" made my mom prouder than when I wrote a story about her in second grade entitled: "My Mom's My Best Friend."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When I recently reminded my mom of these events, I eagerly awaited her response.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I said, "When you were trying to give me advice about our wedding night, were you worried that I was going to screw that up too and the lovely wedding you planned would never come to fruition?"</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">She smiled and said, "Something like that." </span><br />
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Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7345934324603392493.post-7598933918789471972018-07-03T01:22:00.006-07:002018-07-03T01:27:49.973-07:00IWSG: The Writing's on the Card <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #33aaff; font-family: Arial,Tahoma,Helvetica,FreeSans,sans-serif; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: 14.86px; margin-right: 14.86px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="197" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIsAlnzeSUGsdRj0TX_LBXcrSQ8x0kew0RWO9O-KYmR_CyPIku0Xg1b82HLOIK9JkzvZB8f9YYx7udnM3TB45rOgt3ePSuWTDFYWAYxjt95sB7A1K-hwH59ygBleSi2kP07xfYMmzzuNeT/s1600/Insecure+Writers+Support+Group+Badge.jpg" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(51, 170, 255); border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-image-outset: 0; border-image-repeat: stretch; border-image-slice: 100%; border-image-source: none; border-image-width: 1; border-left-color: rgb(51, 170, 255); border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-color: rgb(51, 170, 255); border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-color: rgb(51, 170, 255); border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; position: relative;" /></a> <br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 20.8px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">It's time for another edition of the </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #336699; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><b style="color: #336699; text-decoration: none;">Insecure Writer's Support Group</b></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 20.8px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">. Be sure to visit </span><a href="http://www.alexjcavanaugh.com/" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: #336699; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><b style="color: #336699; text-decoration: none;">Alex J. Cavanaugh</b></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #333333; display: inline; float: none; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 20.8px; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"> and the rest of the talented writers who are always willing to lend a helping hand.</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> <b> The Writing's on the Card</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">While others were planning outings to 4th of July parades and fireworks, the Chicago meteorologists were forecasting rain. But I was not anticipating gloom and doom, as I was reflecting on our recent 31st wedding anniversary celebration which all began with a card.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When we first got married our anniversary meant a trip to the jewelry store - now it's a trip to Walgreens. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">My husband woke me that morning with a kiss and a plastic bag filled with two- for-one vitamins and a card. He grinned and handed me the card, as he anxiously awaited my response.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It was a plain brown and gold card that looked like it should have had Hillmark or some generic name other than Hallmark written on the back. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But he especially liked the line, "You've seen me at my best, my worst & first thing in the morning." H</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">e gazed lovingly, as the blinding sunlight shone through our curtains framing my bedhead and raccoon eyes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When I asked him if he noticed anything unusual about the card, he gave it a once over and said no. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">That was strange, because in the left hand corner of the cover the card clearly stated: "FOR MY HUSBAND."</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3HjPgiWG8NvTxX-ttQcXoBOeeBGI4hTjJ8Vjm2TXP5fEUGNwijDU8oaLyvBluwLtS5YxqHJLwmAHN8sxN6s9GZ_x26BTo7RJBbgqLN178k_CyXYWQhxwb8jr7CYLb_J_h2lhz5ts6k2oy/s1600/J+_%2526_+M_+Stu_+B_-dau.jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="869" data-original-width="634" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3HjPgiWG8NvTxX-ttQcXoBOeeBGI4hTjJ8Vjm2TXP5fEUGNwijDU8oaLyvBluwLtS5YxqHJLwmAHN8sxN6s9GZ_x26BTo7RJBbgqLN178k_CyXYWQhxwb8jr7CYLb_J_h2lhz5ts6k2oy/s320/J+_%2526_+M_+Stu_+B_-dau.jpg.jpg" width="233" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you can't tell who's who in this photo then I'm really in trouble.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Was my husband trying to tell me something?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Were there signs that I didn't recognize? For example, a few weeks ago we went shopping and my husband picked out a blue plaid shirt for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Me: </b>Are you sure I don't look like a farmer?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Hubby:</b><i> </i>No, I like it!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">After I calmly pointed out what the card said, he quickly crossed out HUSBAND and wrote WIFE next to it. He apologized and said he honestly didn't see it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Truth be told, my husband doesn't have any vision in his left eye, but he's an avid reader and this was printed in large letters.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A few days later, our kids brought dinner over for a belated anniversary celebration. Without saying a word, I handed the card over to each son separately. I was shocked when neither one of them burst out laughing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Apparently, both boys held the card with their hand covering the left-hand corner where "FOR MY HUSBAND" was printed vertically, so they also failed to see who the card was meant for.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">This made my husband feel much better, though it only made me feel worse.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Of course some of us had a good laugh afterward.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The next day I came home to find that my husband cleaned out my clogged bathroom sink and vacuumed the rugs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Now he can call me whatever he likes.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"> </span> Empty Nest Insiderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10074223969046687064noreply@blogger.com36