FAMILY BLESSINGS OR FAMILY CURSES

FAMILY BLESSINGS OR FAMILY CURSES
                                                                     T. Wieland Allen
   Do not tell anyone about this, please.  I won't swear you to secrecy, but please do not tell my kids about what I am about to tell you that I found in my house recently. 
   First let me tell you about My family.  I come from a family who laughs at everything.  It's a family tradition, most often resulting in being a blessing but a few times it's resulted in being a curse.  We laugh heartily at everything, people falling down stairs, mistakes made by pastors or choirs in churches, and most of all our own silly mistakes.  Instead of persecuting ourselves for obvious mishaps, we have the habit of laughing hilariously at ourselves.
   I remember my dad being on a trip with his 82 year old professor friend who had stumbled over his own feet and then tumbled down an entire flight of concrete stairs at a state library years ago.  My dad had marvelous restraint that time because he helped his elderly friend up, helped him to the car, drove him to their motel and helped the professor into his room.  Then my dad entered his own room with dignity, but upon entering to his safe space Daddy fell on the motel bed in hysterical laughter for 15 minutes.  It's just the way we are put together.  Life is laughable to us.
    I have been known to laugh at myself when nobody else is around to laugh with me or at me.  I am subject to make mistakes when cooking because I am a highly goal oriented person and I try to accomplish three or four things at the same time. Years ago I was baking a cake from scratch -- you know, with multiple fresh ingredients -- and I reached into the cabinet for the vanilla, always the last addition to baked goods, but instead of getting the vanilla I grabbed the Liquid Smoke bottle instead and measured a teaspoon of it, pouring it into the freshly combined sugar, butter, flour, cocoa and other ingredients mixture. Suddenly I got a strong hankering for barbecue pork sandwiches.  After letting the mixer do its job of combining the many ingredients, along with the liquid smoke, I realized that we were not having cake for dinner and laughed and laughed at my mistake.  That unbaked cake batter ended up in the trash and I dashed to the store for some of their commercial cookies with the proper seasoning. Our guests for dinner that night found my story as funny as I did and they forgave me for having store bought cookies instead of my special moist chocolate cake.
   In fact, just this week I reached in the fridge for a new bottle of vidalia onion and tomato salad dressing to put onto freshly cut home grown tomatoes for dinner but instead I grabbed a bottle of Head Country barbecue sauce.  My daughter caught me just in time to avert a disaster.  Ruining my son freshly picked home grown tomatoes by dousing them with barbecue sauce might not be a laughing matter to other people like it would have been to me. 
    My oldest sister was visiting us years ago when we lived in a two story house.  She kind of pranced with dignity when walking, much like our mother.  One day I was sitting in the living room just in time to see her turn from the first stair landing onto the second landing, missing the first stair, landing on her buttock and bouncing with dignity all the way down the ten carpeted stairs to the bottom.  I couldn't resist.  I laughed and laughed at her effort to be dignified, even in bouncing down each step on her rear end.  Fortunately, she was not injured but I'm not sure that she ever forgave me for laughing so loudly at her less than dignified descending down the stairs into the living room.    
    Now to the current situation which caused me to laugh and laugh at myself which I ask you not to publicize to anyone that I know.  Here's the scenario:  My daughter and granddaughter came to my house for a five day visit.  I cleaned and cleaned inside and outside of the house with meticulous efficiency, I thought.  I moved things and swept under and behind most of them, I thought.  I was really very proud of my clean house, I thought.  My oldest son, his girlfriend and his two grown children came for several meals and we always gather in the den which is in the middle of the house.  We moved a few chairs around to make sure everybody had a place to sit.  I did not see any surprises during those five days.  Thank God I didn't. 
    A few days later, after the family guests left for home, I was recuperating from a minor operation so I was sitting in my usual reclining chair in the aforementioned den with my arm elevated, per the doctor' instructions.  My cell phone was almost out of power, so I went behind my chair to plug it in.  Beside my chair my eyes landed on something that I had not seen while cleaning the room during the last week.  Huh, I thought, what in the world are those two pieces of white fabric?  They had not appeared into my range of sight while I was cleaning the room days earlier.  I bent down carefully to pick up one of the pieces of white fabric and realized that it was one of a pair socks which had been hidden from view for who knows how long.  It was so stiff it felt like it was petrified.  I picked up the other sock and it was equally as petrified, stiff as a board.  Upon quickly smelling the socks I realized that they were a pair of socks that I often remove from my feet after I mow the lawn and sit down in my recliner before I take a shower.  There was an aroma of what used to be called lady's "glowing", but those socks were not lady's perspiration.  They were petrified with just plain old SWEAT.  Take my word for it, both socks were stiff.  No telling how long they had been under the small side table which is loaded with books.  I always move the two reclining chairs and the table between them to sweep, but rarely do I move the side table because of its weight.  Yes, ma'am and yes, sir, the socks were practically petrified, they were so stiff.  They weren't necessarily dirty.  They were just two practically new white socks which stood straight up in the air when I held them up, petrified stiff with dried sweat.

   I sat down in my recliner and laughed for ten minutes at the thought of someone other than myself finding them when the house was full of people.  How embarrassing would that have been.  Oh, no, knowing My family we would have all had a big laugh at my expense.  My face would have been red, but I would have been laughing right along with them, just like I still laugh alone by myself today at the image of someone else locating the petrified socks which were stiffened by my sweat who knows how long ago after mowing the lawn.
   How long did it take to stiffen the socks?  As I said, only heaven knows.  They could have been there a month or only a week, but long enough for them to dry completely and cause them to stiffen.  I could bend them, but they didn't soften.  They stayed right where they were bent.  Now they are in the washing machine waiting for a full load so that they will be back to their normal clean, white, soft condition. 
   Being born into a family that laughs at everything is a wonderful family trait.  It keeps people in the family young and vibrant.  Both of my parents lived into their 90s, still laughing until the last breath.  I don't remember either one of them ever having a good laugh at finding two petrified socks in their house a few days after their kids and grandkids left.  If they ever did, I know they laughed about it.  I can guarantee you something equally as bizarre happened to them and they laughed.
   Maybe I should not use so much of my trusty orange scented house spray.  Maybe if I didn't spray so often I could follow the scent of sweaty socks and find them under the side table before guests come to visit. 
   Thank God nobody acted like they were offended by a stinky aroma during the five days they visited.  Oh, yeah, the socks were petrified and a person had to hold them close to the nose to notice the aroma of good old lawn mowing sweat.  Fortunately they were new socks, so that was a plus.
    I found out that good old fashioned sweat is a substitute for laundry starch.  There is a minus to it.  The aroma of the dried sweat keeps people away from you.  If that's your desire, to escape from people, try socks petrified by dried sweat.
    I trust you not to tell anyone in my family about my finding the petrified socks after they left to go home.  Now that I am in my 80s they watch for any signs of dementia.  They must never find out about the petrified socks.  I want it to be our little secret.  I will take it to the grave and I trust you to do the same.
    Hope you got a laugh.  After the laugh, shhhh ----- please don't tell anybody.

HOW IN THE WORLD DID I GET HERE

                                    HOW IN THE WORLD DID I GET HERE?
                                                  T. Wieland Allen
    I honestly don't know how it happened but I got to this place so suddenly, it seemed.  It's almost like I was Rip Van Winkle and woke all of a sudden and I was at the most dreaded age for women, old age.  Now, mind you, I don't feel aged.  My face doesn't show it, my mind doesn't betray me, and my productivity doesn't mirror it.  But, unfortunately, the number of years that I've lived often say it.  LOUDLY!
    Honestly, I have refused to get old, preferring to say I am mildly and slowly aging.  In fact, when my oldest child became 59 the other day, it was a shock to my self image because I feel 30, have the energy level of a 30 year old and lie to myself, telling myself that my body can do the work of a 30 year old, which I most often  do, being very healthy.  Now, I'm not a health nut, just a person who takes good care of my body, soul and spirit, preserving all areas of my life wisely.  My parents lived until their middle 90s in great health, living a lot and laughing a lot because of good stock, my mom used to say.  I want to honor their memory by doing the same thing.
    On the event of my oldest child's 59th birthday it occurred to me that the next number is 60 and the idea of having a 60 year old child is almost terrifying.  It denies the fact that I still think that I'm only 30.  It might be a miracle that a 30 year old woman could have a 59 year old man child, but I believe in miracles so I'll claim that one. 
    On that fateful day of waking up with the realization that I am a real senior citizen, I chose to switch my mind back to lying to myself and telling the aging woman in me that I'm still young and vibrant.  Lying to oneself is easy because nobody else lives in your body to refute the lie.
     Then the Rip Van Winkle rude awakening happened.  I was getting ready for bed that night (a habit that everyone does automatically without deliberately being conscious of what we are doing ) and in the middle of my nightly change from clothes into pajamas, I suddenly had an awakening as if waking from a dream, and I suddenly realized that I was routinely wiggling into a pair of -------- Depends. 
      How did I get here, in need of Depends?  As they say, a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do.  As a matter of necessity, Depends are a blessing when a person's bladder decides to activate at strange times and as a surprise to the owner of the bladder.  With me, it happens only at night.  Thank God it doesn't happen in the daytime or I would really feel aged.  Maybe a person's bladder, as it ages, becomes self determined and just does its own job without the participation of the owner, which for me is at night.  It's not a big deal, just some mild leakage that has been a real surprise to me for a few months.  I ignored it for a while, thinking it would go away, but it became clear that there are supplies at the store or pharmacy that are made for just such times when a person's bladder become rebellious and has its own off and on switch, much to the chagrin of its owner.  I decided to some day in the future buy the supplies that are made for people who have a bladder that has developed a mind of its own.
   Being a real bargain seeker, I have a store that I frequent regularly.  Listen, it's a real bargain store.  When My dad was the age that I am right now, I took him shopping at that store and he bought a Hart, Shaffner and Marx three piece suit for $10 which fit him perfectly.  As he checked out and proudly paid his $10, he discovered that there was a bonus under the jacket, a beautiful white thick men's  belt.  Now, the belt had been out of style for years, but Daddy surmised that it would surely come back in style in a few years.  He died with the much treasured white belt still hanging in his closet, unworn.   But, still, he got the joy of finding a real bargain and feeling like he had cheated Mr. Hart, Mr. Shaffner, and Mr. Marx out of the $700 price listed on the tag.  
   For me at my current shopping spree at the same discount store, I noticed some big packages of Depends, even though I had not really decided to buy any yet because, if I did I thought, then I would turn into a wrinkled, derelict, stooped, babbling old lady who had lost control of all bodily functions.  Maybe I thought that buying Depends would be a signal to my body of, okay, it's time to stop functioning  properly now.
    But, the price was right at the bargain store, only a couple of bucks, so I placed the package of Depends under the other purchases in my basket so as not to reveal my need for them.  I planned quickly in my mind that if the checker commented on them that I would tell her that they were for my mother.  She wouldn't know that my mother had gone to heaven a long ago.  I didn't have to lie since the checker wasn't the least bit interested in my purchases and was less interested in my bladder.    
     After paying and on the way out to the car, I shifted things around in the sack and put that tell-tell package of Depends on the bottom of the sack and put the other purchases on top in case someone was at my house and would know my deepest secret, that I had to use Depends at night when my rebellious bladder refused to wait on me to turn it on and off myself. 
    That evening while dressing for bed, I opened the package and found that I had bought Depends of the wrong size and for the wrong gender.  In my effort to hide my purchase so as not to reveal my advancing age and slight problematic bladder problems, I had bought a package of Depends for men in an extra large size, extra thick and super absorbent.  Well, you can guess what my thoughts were.  No way I was going to march back into that store and exchange them for a smaller size.  No way in hell, I thought.  Not ever would I put myself through that again. 
    My next thought was that I would go ahead and try out the men's extra large, extra thick and super absorbent Depends that night and see it if would work.  In getting ready for bed I pulled one on and it didn't slip down off of my hips, so I knew maybe I could keep it on since I would be lying down and not going dancing in the Depends.  Heaven forbid. 
    The only thing about the men's extra large, extra thick and super absorbent size of Depends was that the super thick absorbent material was so thick that it hung down between my legs about two or three inches.  As I walked around the room seeing if it would stay on my body, I started to think that that thick material hanging down between my legs must be what a man feels like walking around with one of his organs hanging down between his legs, which was very, very uncomfortable.  I remembered what Yoko Ono said one time.  She said that men are so constantly angry because of having something hanging down between their legs all the time.  She said that it must be very burdensome because they are always adjusting and shifting it.  I fully understood as I walked around my bedroom trying to get used to the extra large, super thick and super absorbent Depends on my body. 
     Well, I didn't need that size, did not need that thickness and certainly did not need that extra absorbency for a mild occasional leak, but a bargain is not a bargain unless you use it so I was determined to use them until they were gone.  They served their purpose and kept me dry and allowed me to sleep soundly during the night.  I blessed the inventor of Depends after that first night.  My attitude toward them changed completely. 
     On my next trip to the pharmacy I will peek into the ladies feminine product section and see if they do make ladies medium size. thin, light absorbency Depends.  I'll have to buy some other products also so that I can cover them up in my basket so as not to identify to the world that I am not only a senior citizen but a leaky one at that.
      Nope, I will never change My thinking.  I still feel 30 during the daytime, but at night when I slip into the Depends my mind does a quick forward switch into reality and tells me that I am an octogenarian.  Maybe the time will come when I don't hide my Depend purchases and I will proudly display them on top of my other purchases instead of hiding them on the bottom.  I don't know why I feel like I am shop lifting or something when I buy Depends.  Nobody cares.  I need to stop caring.  Maybe writing this story will allow me to treat aging with grace instead of disdain.  Yeah, I like change so I'll do just that, change my thinking into thanking God for the dear person who invented Depends instead of being ashamed of needing them.  
   I must face the fact that I am dependent upon Depends.  It happens to all of us sometime if we live long enough.  It is a sign that we have lived long, wonderful lives.  I will celebrate my long life from now on instead of denying my age.  Other signs of aging are sure to come and I want to look at them as evidence of the great wisdom that we gain from years of living.  Yes, that's what I will do, rejoice in wisdom instead of being ashamed of the Depends. 
    I feel much more appreciative of aging now.  Thank you for helping me sort out the wisdom of aging by writing this experience.  I guarantee that you will think about my first experience of buying Depends when you are called upon to do the same thing.  
    Just be sure you buy the right size, though.  If you mistakenly buy the men's extra large, super thick and super absorbent ones, unless you you have a bad back and are use to sleeping with a pillow between your knees you are in for the shock of your life. Just remember Yoko Ono's great wisdom relating to bulky objects between your legs and get a good laugh.  Be sure you are wearing a Depend because, at our age, laughing and coughing often calls for changing our britches.
    Life is an adventure and it's gets more and more adventuresome as we age.