As RobertaRaves’ readership grows, I remain true to my promise to avoid discussing religion or politics to avoid offending anyone. Of course, that limits the scope of my periodic diatribes. However, because my world travels and other active lifestyle pursuits have declined in recent years, I don’t encounter as many new, interesting topics to write about. My recent raves have focused on more mundane activities, so here we go again:
Recently, I acquired a new pair of glasses. It appears my depth perception has diminished. This was concerning, especially while driving a 4,000-pound automobile at the speed limit. Instead of perceiving two lanes, I began seeing four, making it unclear which lane I should be in. At home, watching soccer on TV was quite amusing—I saw 44 players on the field instead of 22.
I wrote about eyesight in an earlier post, but, meaning no disrespect, most readers probably won’t remember it. I could see well with my new glasses, but they kept slipping down my nose. So I returned to the optical shop for an adjustment. The clinician told me there was no problem with the glasses. “Just make sure the temples fit snugly behind your ears,” she advised. Temples? We laypeople use the terms arms or stems to describe the parts that hold our eyeglasses against our faces. However, the official optical term for these parts is temples, and the parts that go behind one’s ears are called temple tips!
Anyway, to use her lingo, it occurred to me that in the past all my glasses had straight temples, not curved ones, and I would always just put them on willy-nilly because there were no temple tips to fit snugly around my ears. So after a quick lesson on how to properly wear glasses, I put them on as instructed. I told the clinician. “They still don’t feel right. They seem crooked.” She laughed and, with a straight face, said, “That’s because one of your ears is higher than the other!” Rather than leave the place in a huff and likely get into a four-car pileup without the glasses, I stayed. Thankfully, she went on to explain that most people have one ear higher than the other. I smirked.
She had one more surprise in store for me. After ordering the glasses, she said she needed to take my fingerprints for their records. I told her I was sorry, but I didn’t have fingerprints. I had literally worn my fingers to the bone. She looked at me strangely and laughed. She thought I was joking. Who, me, joke?
She insisted on taking my fingerprints. So I said, “Good luck.” After ten futile attempts (all eight fingers and both thumbs), she gave up. She couldn’t find a single whorl. Sighing and shaking her head, she grudgingly conceded that I was right. I didn’t have fingerprints. She would take my phone number instead! Afterward, she left in a bit of a hurry, eager to tell someone about the weird woman she had just served.
When I got home, Hubby asked me to sit down because he had something important to discuss. I sat. He told me he needed to eat more protein to preserve the little muscle mass he had left. (I was tempted to ask him if her was referring to the muscle between his offset ears, but thought better of it.) He asked if I would hard-boil some eggs for him. Okay. Being a skeptic, though, I checked the protein content of eggs. I always thought the yolk had the most protein, but no, it’s the whites. And for years I’ve snickered at people who ordered egg whites. Personally, I like the whole egg, sans shell, of course.
I shared my fail-safe method for boiling eggs in an earlier post, but I’ll repeat it for new subscribers. I’ve got it down to a science: Put the eggs in a pan and cover them with salted water. Once the water boils, turn off the heat and put a lid on the pan. After 12 minutes, remove the pan from the stove and drain the water. Then cover the eggs with cold water and ice. When cool, peel the eggs.
It’s a foolproof method – or so I thought. I made Hubby’s hard-boiled eggs later that evening, following my age-old recipe. THE EGGS DIDN’T PEEL EASILY! It was disastrous. They looked like they had psoriasis or something even worse! It turns out the problem was me. I had two glasses of white wine before cooking the eggs. Warning: do not try to peel hard-boiled eggs if you are mentally challenged. Of course, Hubby ate them anyway.
It was a good thing I was not planning on making deviled eggs! Years ago, I made deviled eggs, but instead of cutting them lengthwise, I mistakenly cut them in half. Fortunately, it was nearly Halloween, so I decided to make them look like monster eyes by adding a pupil – a slice of olive – black or green. On some, I added bits of pimento to make them look bloodshot. They turned out to be a hit.
I’ve mellowed with age and no longer get upset about Hubby’s failings. The other day, we received an anniversary card from a dear friend. Hubby asked me what the card was for. I told him. He was adamant that we had married in September. I told him, No, we got married in July. (He must have been thinking about my birthday, which is in September.)
Somewhat chagrined, he asked me to please put the nice silk pillow his sister made for us when we got married back on the shelf. It has our wedding date embroidered on it. He claimed it brought back good memories whenever he looked at it. I smiled, knowing he just wanted a visible reminder of our anniversary date for the next time. Then, about a week later, he surprised me with a lovely anniversary gift – a Kindle book I’ve always wanted. We’re both reading and enjoying it. Thankfully, we still do some things together.
Every so often, I go on a domestic treasure hunt. What’s that? It means I’m cleaning out something in the house that badly needs my attention. This time it was the freezer. It was so entertaining. We have a standing rule for strange things in the freezer. If neither of us can identify it within five minutes, it goes into the trash. Yikes—we got a trash bag full!
One thing of value I found was a plastic bag of frozen blueberries we bought from Costco last year – 4 cups’ worth. Those medical cold packs took up half the freezer. Nobody needs that many – at least not all at once – so I put most of them in the box with our medical items. These treasure hunts are rewarding, so, like most artists, I open the freezer when Hubby isn’t looking to admire my work.
Now the problem is what to do with all those blueberries? I Googled it. One suggestion is to make smoothies. Well, only if I can’t think of anything else. I just threw out all the banana smoothies I made after Hubby accidentally ordered five bunches of bananas instead of five bananas in a grocery delivery.
So I continued my research—many recipes called for blueberries, but only about a cup. Finally, I found two recipes that used lots of blueberries: blueberry crisp and blueberry cobbler. After some thought, I chose the crisp because it seemed healthier and included oatmeal. When I surprised Hubby with a dish of fresh, homemade blueberry crisp with vanilla ice cream, he said he kinda liked it but preferred blueberry cobbler. He then went on to describe in great detail how his mother made cobbler. I don’t have to tell you that wives don’t like to hear about what their mothers-in-law excelled at. If I let him live, I’ll have enough blueberries left over to make cobbler next time.
We recently had company, and the four of us were going out to dinner. Hubby got to their car ahead of me. He opened the back door on the passenger side. I was surprised because he always sits in the front passenger seat when someone else is driving. As I headed to the front passenger door, he asked, “Where are you going?” I said, “I’m getting into the front, since you seem to be getting in the back.” His response: “No, I’m just opening the car door for you, Roberta.” Do you suppose he was feeling guilty about the anniversary faux pas? Maybe he’s having an affair. I know he’s up to some shenanigans, but I still haven’t solved the conundrum.
This aging process is really frustrating me—if it’s not one issue, it’s another. Believe it or not, I had to retrieve all those cold packs from the medical supply box and put them back in the freezer! I left the hot packs on the kitchen counter, just in case.
It has been a year of health issues. We no longer relate to times of fun events- we relate to times of one health issue or another. I call it ITIS time. Diverticulitis, cellulitis, otitis media, etc… oh, and bronchitis, bursitis.
To improve my hand-eye coordination, I’m working on a 1000-piece puzzle featuring 34 North American birds in full color. The idea started with Hubby. While relaxing outside during happy hour, we noticed more birds. It’s no surprise—he set up a bird feeder in our backyard to give Gypsy Dawn, the cat, something interesting to watch from inside.
We were stunned by how few bird species we could identify. Finding this puzzle was a stroke of luck—an excellent way to learn about birds. I’ve already assembled most of the bird bodies. All that’s left are 68 legs and the 34 branches they perch on.
This puzzle demands real patience. Do you know how tedious it is to assemble 68 bird legs? There are few noticeable differences among individual birds’ legs!
These latest reminders of aging really sent me into a rave or two. Someone asked me how old I was the other day. I said 79. I held my breath, hoping for the usual compliment, “OH, YOU LOOK SO YOUNG FOR YOUR AGE!” I let out a deep sigh when instead they replied, “OH, I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT BE 80.”
Yesterday, I entered a crowded doctor’s waiting room with no seats available. A young woman quickly stood and offered me hers. I was about to decline, but my legs hurt. I thanked her, though it sounded somewhat forced.
Guess I’ll finish my belated anniversary Kindle novel, plan my next treasure hunt, and, if time allows, assemble a few more bird legs. After a brief rest, I’ll practice putting on my new glasses!
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