SLIPPING MINDS AND SLIPPERY PILLS

This is "BIN," better known as Rich
Most of our senior friends and relatives are always concerned about losing things, misplacing things, forgetting things, etc. We all agree that the most perplexing thing is going into a room and standing in utter amazement, wondering why we are there and what we went into the room to retrieve. That’s not just a daily occurrence, it’s several times a day. We also talk about misplacing things that we just had in our hands several minutes ago.
On our recent trip to Texas we had a really good laugh at/with my brother-in-law Rich, who said he doesn’t mind me mentioning his name. I wanted to call him BIN for Brother-In-Law but he says he’s not modest and gave me permission to use his actual name. He doesn’t mind being laughed at.
When I went to the kitchen of their home, I heard Rich say, “I need to take my pills before we leave on our trip.” He went to the cabinet, took out his pills and vitamins, put them on the cabinet like we all do. There in plain view was the stack of his various pills to take.
I turned and went to the adjoining room. Suddenly I heard him say, “Where did my pills go? They were right here on the cabinet.“
Rich had mysteriously lost his pills on their journey from the cabinet to his mouth. I gave him a really hard time about that. How can you lose pills on their journey from the cabinet to your mouth? That’s nutty, not just a matter of senior-absent-mindedness.
“Maybe I threw them in the trash,” Rich remarked in disgust at himself. He went to the trash bin and searched all the way down to the bottom of the trash, which is never a pleasant task. No pills.
It was starting to get serious. He spoke about his mind slipping, like all of us can attest to who are over 60, but now his pills were also slipping into oblivion. He had not moved from the appointed place at the cabinet where he always takes his pills.
As I am laughing uncontrollably at Rich’s predicament, which he found to be not as funny as I did at this point, he is understandably totally confused because he had lost the pills somewhere between the cabinet and his mouth. How could this be? Was there a pill snatching fairy who exists to keep senior citizens on their toes wondering if they’re losing their minds?
The mystery was finally solved when Rich opened the drawer of the cabinet and saw the pills in a nice little stack next to the scissors, which he had used to open his over-the-counter antihistamine.
See, the pharmaceutical companies are in a conspiracy again. Not only do they make pill bottles that seniors cannot open, but they make over-the-counter pills in ridiculously encased cardboard sheets that we have to use scissors to separate a single pill from the cardboard instead of being able to easily push them out of the foiled top like we should be able to do. It’s impossible.
I know that the designers of those antihistamines are envisioning gently aging seniors citizens struggling with the packaging of over-the-counter pills, and they’re laughing at us. It’s, simply put, a conspiracy.
However, I don’t think there are many people who scoop up their pills and deposit them in the drawer with the scissors they just used on the difficult packaging.
Rich got our trip off to a good start as we talked a long time about his slipping mind and the slippery pills that ended up in the scissor drawer. That got us started on a good humor wave which lasted all day.
Rich was a good sport but I’ll always think of him as BIN (brother-in-law) who lost his pills on their journey from the cabinet to his mouth.

MEME'S PICKLED LEGS

It’s been eons since I’ve slept past 4:30 in the morning. I wake, write in my blogs, do early morning chores and other necessary things before everyone else in the Southeast gets up. I’m used to it but often wished I could sleep until at least 6:30.
I woke at 2:30 this morning with paralyzing cramps in the calf of my right leg. That hasn’t happened since I started taking Dr. Gott’s advice and putting an unwrapped bar of soap under the bottom sheet of my bed. Often I would have a slight tightening in my calf, but I would rub a bar of soap on it and it would go away. Don’t ask me how it works, it just does. Dr. Gott said in his newspaper column that it might work and it has for Gramps and for me.
This morning at 2:30 I woke to horrible cramps in the calf of my right leg. I walked around. No relief. I rubbed the calf with a bar of soap (I can hear you laughing). No relief. I sat on the closed stool lid in the bathroom so as to not wake Gramps while I massaged the affected area very hard trying to work out the cramps. No luck.
I thought maybe if I were to get back in bed it would go away. That was wishful thinking. The cramps became more intense and I barely was able to get out of bed. I was only able to roll out of the bed, endeavoring to stand up without screaming in pain.
Suddenly the thought crossed my mind to drink pickle juice. I vaguely remembered reading that some football coaches give pickle juice to their players who have cramps during a game.
Being desperate, I limped painfully down the hall toward the kitchen disgusted because nothing seemed to even help the leg, let alone totally relieve the pain.
I opened the fridge and spotted a jar of bread and butter pickles, the only jar of pickles in the fridge. Grabbing the jar, unscrewing the top, I wondered how much pickle juice to drink. Shoot, if one drink would work, then two or three would certainly cure my problem. I swigged the pickle juice just like a thirsty man swigs water. First drink, the tightening seemed to lessen. Must be my imagination.
Second drink, I could feel the calf relaxing.
Third drink, the pain was completely gone.
How could this be? The pickle juice hadn’t had time to get to my stomach yet.
I stood there in front of the open door of the fridge in utter amazement. Surely this was not a total cure. I walked unaffected back to bed, wondering if the relief would last after I got in bed.
It did. I had no pain, no tenderness, no cramping. Instant sleep came.
I woke at 6:30, not my habitual 4:30.
Okay. If it did that for me, maybe I’ve found a cure for insomnia. When I wake at 2:30 to go to the bathroom in the morning, I’m going to go into the kitchen, take a couple of swigs of bread and butter pickle juice, go back to bed, and if I wake at 6:30 again I will write to Dr. Gott about my cure for insomnia.
After I told Gramps about my miracle, he decided he would take a swig of the same pickle juice when his hands cramped up, like they do every day while reading the newspaper or a magazine. He opened the newspaper, began to read it. Both hands immediately cramped up. His hands were frozen in place by the cramps. He dropped the newspaper, grabbed the pickle jar with grossly distorted hands, took two drinks of the pickle juice and the cramping went away immediately. Glory be!
The only problem is, our breath could light a candle because the bread and butter pickle juice has Tabasco in it.
Oh, heck, I don’t care. It’s just good to have lucked onto this cure for leg cramps, hand cramps and possibly insomnia.
Can you believe this? While reading the paper this morning I read that Dr. Gott’s topic for the day was about pickle juice for leg cramps. How timely was that? I’ll bet he doesn’t know about using pickle juice for insomnia. I’ll have to try it out tonight.
Do not ever throw your pickle juice away. You might need it to cure various and sundry things in the future. Pickle juice might put the pharmaceutical companies out of business.

R FOR RAUNCHY

R rated movies have finally taken a toll on Gramps and me. The R rating passed us by on its downward stroll to the gutter. Several months ago we went to a movie at our Dollar Movie Theater that we thought was rated PG-13. We liked the actors and the movie had gotten a three star review rating, meaning it was only one star off of the highest rating. In the first five minutes of the movie I saw more nude male genitalia than I did in the first fifteen years of our marriage. It was full frontal nudity. Now, you know that there are two kinds of sexual scenes in movies. There are dirty scenes and there are shocking scenes in movies. The dirty scenes are truly offensive and aimed at the minds of twelve year old boys or dirty old men who are consumed with sex. The shocking scenes, even though there is nudity, are merely there to shock us and they don’t seem to be offensive to me because there‘s no depravity, just some nudity. During the first two minutes when the frontal nudity appeared on the screen I thought, “Well, I’m old enough to handle a little nudity since there are no sexual acts performed on the screen.” That lasted about another five minutes until there were scenes with people “doing it” on the desk, on the bed, on the kitchen cabinet and every other place in the house, plus at the office of the characters. The only redeeming thing about that movie was that there wasn’t any really offensive language, just slang words that young boys love to use for shock value. Gramps and I stayed and saw the whole movie, too shocked to make a spectacle of ourselves by leaving. The story was a precious love story and had redeeming qualities, but the nudity and sexual scenes ruined the good story. How did we get there to see something so offensive? Gramps must not have had his reading glasses on, because it was actually rated R, not PG-13 like he erroneously had relayed to me. Last Sunday on our way to the movie theater I remarked that I would like to see a certain movie which had a real R rating but it had gotten raving reviews as a comedy, another three star rating. I, in my naivete, believed that the R rating, because the movie is a comedy and the cast was made up of many, many well known actors, would only have violent scenes and crude and rude humor like it was reported in the reviews, but nothing to embarrass and offend Gramps and Me. Wrong! This movie was so filled with vile language that Gramps and I only lasted about ten minutes before we left and went to what is referred to as a “chick” movie which was sweet and loving and had great morals about friendship and good relationships. That’s the great thing about going to the Dollar Movie Theater, if you don’t like a movie showing on one screen, you can leave one and go to another one. I finally figured out something about the R rated movie that we left. I think the director assembled a group of talented comics, dressed them up in combat gear, gave them a weak plot, and told them to have a contest to see which one of the ten men could use the most vile cuss words and sexual descriptions in the hour and half time it took to film the movie. It couldn’t have taken more time than that to film the debacle. I really think that’s what happened. Those poor guys, they reverted back to immature little boys and let their mouths loose without restraint. I am really disappointed in the actors because I know some of them are fathers. Their kids must be used to that kind of language around their houses because if their fathers have no filtering on their mouths in front of a camera, then you know they don’t filter their words at home. There were parents with young children in the R rated movie who remained there until the end. I know that because, being curious, after our sweet movie ended I waited to see who exited the R rated one. Yes, the families came out of it. I’m hoping that the parents of those children used the movie for a learning experience, teaching their kids that simple minded grown men make fools of themselves by acting like mentally deranged potty mouths. Somehow I think I’ve being naïve about that, too. Those offensive words will erupt from the mouths of their children at some inconvenient moment, probably in front of a grandparent or a teacher, and the parents will be embarrassed and probably whack the child across the mouth for saying it. Hey, the child was programmed by that R rated movie to think that cool people talk like that. The children and their parents would have loved the “chick” movie that Gramps and I ended up seeing. They would have all left with a clean feeling in their minds instead of a dirty, polluted one. Gramps and I have been very lucky in our viewing of movies at the Dollar Movie Theater. We’ve seen some wonderful ones. However, Hollywood has spiraled downward in movie dialogue and actions. Now that I’ve gotten my mind out of the clouds and seen what’s happening in the gutter, I think I’ll just write some letters. How about you?

MAGICAL SOAP

Nathan's Green Apple Collage "age 9"

Gramps and I are firm believers in preventing night leg cramps by putting a bar of soap under the fitted sheet in our bed. We both keep a bar of soap on our side of the bed. We even carry two bars of soap with us when we travel and place them in the beds in motel rooms and in beds where we visit. We've forgotten to retrieve them and have left them as calling cards in many motel rooms. I know the maids have wondered what in the world they are doing in the beds. Our relatives understand us and just save the soap that we leave in their beds until our next visits. We really never doubted that it works and we've told our own children about it many times. They probably think we're loony, but we don't question success. We rarely have leg cramps at night now, where we used to have them all the time. Not long ago when we were visiting California our precious grandson Nathan sprained his ankle skateboarding. He had a hard time getting up the stairs of their house leading to his bedroom but he finally did, grimacing in pain all the way. I fixed an ice pack for him and took it upstairs to his room and placed it on the affected ankle, which was beginning to swell. We were all going to take an important trip the next day and Nathan wanted to make sure that the ankle would be well so he wouldn't be hampered. Nathan asked me in a pitiful, woeful voice, "Grandma, do you think if I put a bar of soap on my ankle or put one under my sheet that it will make my sprained ankle get well faster?" There's one person who believes in the magical bar of soap that we use. I assured him that a bar of soap under the sheet is only good for leg cramps. Now that I think about it, I wish Nathan and I had tried it. We might have discovered a new cure for a sprained ankle. Athletes everywhere would have been grateful to Nathan for the discovery. Grandchildren believe everything we say so be careful what you discuss around them. By the way, Gramps' brother says that the reason grandparents and grandchildren get along so well together is they have a common enemy. Truer words were never spoken!

MOLDY MOUTHS

Our grandson Neil spent a few weeks with us for several summer beginning when he was seven years old. Neil taught us how to be good grandparents.
Neil was even responsible for getting rid of Grandpop's sternness by calling attention to Grandpop's "The Look." Neil would fall out of his chair as if he was suddenly vaporized by "The Look", and that would make Grandpop laugh. We rarely saw "The Look" after that summer.
One day while Neil was swimming in the pool and was spending most of his time under water, like he always did at that age, his head suddenly popped out of the water and he made a declaration which he has kept even to this day. He said, "Grandma, I've just decided to always be generous and kind like all of the Filipinos."
While visiting with us, his primary thoughts were always about taking gifts home to his parents and all of his cousins. We spent many hours picking out gifts for them. His suitcases were always laden with gifts from Oklahoma, so it really was part of his Filipino heritage. They are definitely generous and kind people.
Here is a poem Neil wrote when he was visiting us when he was eight years old. He's a wonderful philosopher!

"The world goes round from you and me,
Together we are family,
Do not gripe and do not scold
Or your mouth just might turn into mold."

Grandparents, watch out for your moldy mouths.

REAL LUCK

Be attentive to what you say to your grandchildren. We, as grandparents, have a monumental influence upon our grandchildren. Our actions are important, but our words are equally important.
When one of our grandsons, Jarrett, was visiting us from California one summer I casually mentioned to him that I had heard that luck means Living Under Christ's Kindness. He listened to me, and made his usual comment of, "Cool, Grandma."
A few months later we were visiting our son and his family in California. While we were there we were invited to attend open house at Jarrett's school. He was in first grade at the time. We observed his art work and his penmanship papers hanging on the wall and we were very proud of him because he has always been an excellent student. He's so eager to please his parents, grandparents and his teachers.
Jarrett introduced us to his teacher. She shook our hands and said to me, "Are you the grandma who told Jarrett what 'luck' means?"
I cautiously took credit for it, curious as to her reaction. The teacher gave Jarrett a motherly hug and said to him, "I'll never forget that 'luck' means Living Under Christ's Kindness."
She turned to us and said, "Jarrett was so enthused to share that with the class at the first of school and we were all delighted to know that. I will never forget it and I will never forget Jarrett for telling me."
Well, my chest swelled with pride, just like any grandparent does when someone praises a grand child. I was especially impressed that Jarrett was not ashamed to share that truth, that luck is Living Under Christ's Kindness. He's always been a deep thinker, very merciful, and a gift to us from God.
I know he'll always remember that luck is not just by a chance occurrence but it is a gift from Kindness Himself.

A HAIR RAISING CHAIR

Gramps and I went to see a New York musical traveling company put on a performance of Camelot at a small college in eastern Oklahoma. It was an excellent performance.
After we left the theater, full to the brim with culture and sophistication, we passed a new business close to the college campus, right on Main Street.
Gramps said to me, very seriously, "Isn't that a terrible name for a beauty shop?"
"What name?" I inquired.
Gramps continued with his serious criticism. "See the name on the big sign over there advertising that new beauty shop? It says, 'The Electric Chair.'"
Surely not, was my thought, doubting that they would ever have any customers with a name like that. So I looked more closely in the direction of the sign. There it was as clear as day, "The Eclectic Chair."
Gramp's dyslexia had kicked in and he missed the C in "eclectic" and had added an R.
He's a hoot to live with.
I was relaying the occasion of Gramps dyslexic mistake to a friend and she told me that her sister-in-law misread a sign advertising a diaper service. She was incensed that a diaper service would name its company Titty Ditty. My friend clued her in, that the actual name was Tidy Didy.
Aging eyes plus a little dyslexia can get us into lots of trouble.

SIBLING LOVE

I guess sibling rivalry goes back to Cain and Abel and continues today. Sometimes it can be maddening for parents. Sometimes it can be hilarious for grandparents.
Gramps was taking two of our grandchildren, Jesse and Lindsey, to school today and he heard a typical teenage brother and preteen sister story.
Lindsey, 12 years old, told Gramps that she kissed Jesse at church last night.
Jesse, 15 years old, remarked that she kissed him to impress her friends at church.
Gramps chimed in and said that it was so sweet for Lindsey to kiss her brother. He added that she must love Jesse very much.
Lindsey added insult to injury by confessing that she does loves her brother very much.
Then Lindsey told the conclusion to the story, that Jesse has since told her, "If we hadn't been at church you would have been on the floor."
Gramps gave wonderful advice to Lindsey. He suggested to her that she not do that again.
Jesse gratefully told Gramps, "Thanks."
Lindsey's closing remark was, "I won't. Now I'm scared."
Sibling rivalry has gone on forever, but this is an example of the truth, that sibling rivalry is really based on love.
The real truth is that there wouldn't be any problem if demonstrative, pre-teen sisters were totally invisible.